Alaric groans with frustration. “Someone is setting me up. It’s the only explanation. My father’s most loyal councilors are still reeling from his death. Maybe they planted a false memory to incriminate me and—”
“Have they planted false memories before?” I interrupt. “Is that even possible?”
“Not that I know of,” Alaric says miserably. “Look, I know I’ve made mistakes. I’m not claiming to be innocent by any means. But I do know I didn’t dothat.” He gestures to the chain. “If you ever felt anything for me, Indira, please, let me see my supposed crime before you execute me for it.”
Alaric reaches out again, eyes locked with mine, willing me to coil the chain in his palm. And I almost do. The foolish, lovesick part of me still wants to believe this is just a terrible misunderstanding and everything we’ve said and felt and accomplished together was real.
But then I think of my sister’s face as the ledge crumbled, of her hands grasping wildly for purchase, and I lunge, slashing my blade toward the tender flesh of Alaric Alaverdi’s throat.
Forty-Two
I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the knife to glide through flesh. For blood to pour over my fingers. But Alaric is too quick.
He ducks, and the blade slams into the cave wall instead.
Delphine’s scream is almost as loud as the metallic clang.
Shock waves judder up my arm as sparks fly through the darkness, illuminating Alaric’s horrified expression.
“You actually tried to kill me!” he shouts.
“It’s what you deserve,” I cry, slashing sideways.
This time, my knife tears through Alaric’s waistcoat, narrowly missing his side. He clutches the shred of velvet with a shaky hand and looks at me aghast. “Please, Indira! This is madness!”
“No, this is retribution,” I growl through my tears, which makes me even madder. I shouldn’t be crying. The boy I’m mourning never existed. It was all a lie. An act. “You let me trust you!” I slash again. “Made me believe you cared for me and the future of my people! And your people too! You’re no better than your father. Youknewabout the sick people in that warehouse and did nothing to help them!” Another slash. “You listened to me grieve for Rowenna and pretended to know the same sorrow when you were responsible for her death all along!”
“What are you talking about?” Alaric explodes. “Idocare about both of our people! I knew nothing about the sick in that warehouse until I stepped through the door alongside you, and I am not, in any way, responsible for Rowenna’s death. Youknowthis. You knowme.”
“It’s impossible to truly know anyone on this mountain when the truth can be forgotten and rewritten at will,” I say, readjusting my grip on the knife.
The look of utter heartbreak that crosses Alaric’s face steals my breath. I didn’t know it was possible for my chest to hurt this much. Ifeel like I’m trapped underwater, lungs screaming, but I can’t rise to the surface and save myself becausehewas the source of my air.
“Delphine.” Alaric turns to my maid with wild, pleading eyes. “Help me. She’ll listen to you.”
Delphine shakes her head, and Alaric lets out a pitiful, gut-wrenching sob.
“Stop trying to manipulate me!” I shriek. “I’m so sick of everyone using me!”
I swing my blade again, and sparks dance around us like fireflies as I drive Alaric back, my blade striking stone with each erratic swing.
Bang, bang, bang.
Flash, flash, flash.
The ceiling pitches lower, and the walls press closer until there’s nowhere left for Alaric to go. He drops to the ground and curls in on himself like a dead beetle, which makes me even more incensed.
“Why won’t you fight back?” I yell. “Why won’t you move the earth to protect yourself?”
“You know why.” Alaric’s frantic eyes soften when they lock with mine, and it feels like I’ve been kicked in the stomach and skewered through the heart all at once.
“Stop saying things like that! We both know you won’t fight backbecause you think I’m weak and pathetic. You don’t believe I’ll kill you, even as I’m in the act of doing it!”
“Fire!” Alaric shouts, and I think he’s goading me until Delphine says it too and points over my shoulder.
“Indira, the bagrava is on fire!”
That’s when I notice the wisps of purple smoke swirling around my feet. When I realize the oppressive heat at my back is fueled by more than just my rage.
