“If he truly wants Lila dead, he can kill her after he’s rested,” Kassandra says, and Eli stiffens. “But if she dies as an unintended consequence of his moment of weakness, then it will be a tragedy come light of day. We are not asking you to disobey him. We’re asking you to give him another chance to decide her fate when he has calmed.”
The executioner tightens and loosens his grip on the sword hilt at his hip.
“Okay,” he finally says. The room lets out a collective breath. “But I will inform the king after it’s done. Lord Eli?”
Death holds out a hand. Eli grips it, then glances at us. “I will order another Healer here.”
“Charge it to my account,” Kassandra says.
He nods. “We will send word.”
Then, with a plume of smoke, both males are gone.
We wait in paralyzing silence.
One minute.
Two.
After five agonizing minutes, a scroll drops into the room on a puff of smoke. Kassandra retrieves and unfurls it.
She reads: “Lila is safe and alive at House of Healing. She’s being treated in the royal center, where her care will be overseen by Eli.” Kassandra looks up. “I’ve never heard of a faerie receiving such treatment.”
The answer is not far off. It lies in all his lingering looks, the tenderness I have never seen from a fae male before. His soft questions and attentiveness to her dip in mood in wintertime.
“He loves her,” I say.
“And yet he questions me.” Kassandra closes the scroll. “Rest for now, Avery. Your friend is safe.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Fire blooms from my belly,spreading to my pelvis and down my legs. I writhe and flail, desperate to put out the flames. Hands reach through the blaze, and I shriek as they grab me, hold me down, let me perish.
“Stop!” I beg. “Stop, please!”
He has come for me. The king. I told him I would return. I told him I’d do what he asked. I just needed more time. But time is gone, and he has come to reap me and my friends.
“Get off me!” I thrash. “Get—”
A voice cuts over the roar, sharper than a diamond dagger. “Where the fuck is that Healer?”
Another voice: “We need help—”
“He was supposed to be here by now—”
“Avery!” a friend says. “Avery, you—”
But everything hurts and it’s too hot and I can’t breathe in the smoke. I roll over and vomit red sticky flames. Someone swears, then a cloth descends on my forehead and it feels like ice.
“Lila,” I cry.
“She’s—”
I retch again, and suddenly I’m staring down at a puddle of blood, so much blood, the air is metallic and thick.
“She’s bleeding from the inside!”
Everything hurts. Is this what Jeremee felt in his finalmoments? Did the cold that poured over Lila turn to fire on her skin? How my friends have suffered—and I have not understood it until now. Finally, after all these weeks, the reckoning has found me.
