Though I tremble with adrenaline, I also shake with relief.I did it, Lore. I did it.
What did you do, Behach Éan?
I killed—
The curtain is ripped aside, tearing the sword from my fingers, and there, in perfect health, stands the man I thought—the man I thought—
My hands fly to my mouth as a scream vaults up my throat. When a heavy thud shakes the floorboards, my shriek rends the air.
Dante peers sideways. “Shame. Your grandmother will be much aggrieved.”
Oh my Gods, I killed . . . I killed the wrong man.
Thirty-One
Dante cinches my bicep and hauls me out from behind the curtain. A sob tumbles from my lips as I finally see what I’ve done.WhoI’ve killed.
“Any chance he’ll make it, or did she irreparably sever his arteries, Lastra?”
The hateful earth-Fae presses two fingers into the base of Cato’s neck.
“Why is he here?” I croak. “Why was he even here?”
“He was worried about you. The rest were worried about me.” Dante’s fingers feel like twine wrapped too snuggly, blocking my blood circulation. Or perhaps it’s the pain in my chest that’s blockading my veins. “The man erupted from the stronghold like a bat from the underworld.”
No, no, no, no.
This is a nightmare.
My ears begin to ring. In the distance, I think I hear Lore’s voice but I cannot focus on anything but the anguished beats of my heart and the pool of blood expanding around Cato’s motionless form.
Cato’s name scorches up my throat and emerges as a scream. “Wake up!” The tears fall so fast that they fill my mouth with salt. “Please, Cato.” The cry that comes out of me next isn’t human; it’s a feral keening.
What have I done? My knees soften as I try to kneel and crawl toward my friend, but Dante holds my arm in a vise, preventing me from moving.
Mo khrà, answer me godsdammit!
I jump at the tenor of Lorcan’s voice.Lore, I sob.I k-killed . . . I killed a man.
Are you trying to one-up me, sweetheart? For if you are, you’ve a long way to go.
I sniffle, then heft up the arm Dante isn’t clutching and brush it against my swollen eyes and runny nose.He was a good man, Lore. I k-killed a g-good man.
Was he helping you escape?
No. He was—he was . . .I cannot finish the thought.
If he kept you imprisoned—
He didn’t know any better, Lore. He thought—he thought he was keeping me safe.
Though I’ve no doubt Lore has plenty of opinions on Cato’s character, he’s gracious enough not to flog me with them.
“Back to the stronghold! NOW!” Dante’s shrill command bounces against my eardrums, spurring his soldiers into motion. “I’ve got her.”
As they flock out of the bedroom, I snarl, “You don’t have me! You’ll never have me, you limp-pricked coward.” I can hear Nonna whisper how one should never poke the serpent, except the pureling deserves to see that I’m not some spineless minnow frightened of him.
If anyone should be frightened, it’s him, because what the underworld’s stopping me from drawing the key sigil on his chest and sinking my hand through his ribs to yank out his heart.
