“Sorry, what?”
She shakes her head. “I thought it was because of this stupid necklace he used to control me, but it must have been this bond. I don’t know what the necklace did, but it strengthened whatever is between us.”
“Can you speak to him now?” I ask, although I’m not sure what I want the answer to be. I have no idea if Marik is on our side anymore.
Elle shakes her head. “No. I keep trying, but he doesn’t say anything back. I can still feel him, though, but it feels like he’s watching from afar. He’s still there. I know that, at least. I just don’t know where.”
I sigh. We had the key to defeating Cora in our hands for approximately one hour, then it all went to shit.
“Where the hell could he be?” I mutter.
Elle shakes her head. “I don’t know. Do you think Asmo would know?”
The mirror.“Maybe.”
She leans back against the wall and tilts her head to the ceiling. “I cannot fucking believe this,” she groans.
I stare at her profile and want to kick myself for not realizing who she was before now. Although we are opposites, we were cut from the same cloth. Her warm freckles are a stark contrast to my white, but they spread along our cheeks the same way. Her straight, slender, button-nose is nearly identical to mine. Our eyes are the exact same shade of amber, framed by long lashes.
I’m not sure what possesses me, but I blurt, “Elle isn’t your real name.”
She turns to me, eyes less dark than before. Less sad. “What is it, then?”
“Ellysia,” I say, for the first time. I’ve repeated our names in my head, turned them over and studied them. I haven’t told Asmo, or anyone else, my true name. It didn’t feel right. But now, it does. “Mine’s Maerellis.”
She nods appreciatively. “Ellysia,” she whispers slowly, announcing each syllable intentionally. “Sisters.” She looks up at me, the flickering candle setting her smile in a warm glow. She leans into me. “You being my sister makes so much sense. You felt so familiar to me that first day I met you. I just thought it was because you were easy to talk to.” She sighs. “Well, what do we do now, High Queen?”
I snort. “You should’ve been High Queen. I always thought that of you, by the way. That it should’ve been you.”
She pulls away from me, eyes wide. “I don’t want it.”
I hold a hand up. “I know. I’m not saying that. When we first met, I just thought you would’ve been the better fit. You were so confident, and I felt like I was so lost.”
Her smile is sad. “You grew into it. So quickly. I was so proud of you. I’m still proud of you.”
I lean back into her, resting my head on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” My voice is a whisper.
She inhales. Her exhale is shaky. “I will be.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Not without copious amounts of wine,” she says lightly, but I know that answer for what it is—a deflection of pain that lingers just beneath the surface.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
I stand and offer my hand to her. She eyes it for a moment, as if the thought of taking it, of standing, of walking out of this abandoned house and facing whatever comes next is too much. But she grabs it and I haul her up. I’ve grown weaker in the last few months from lack of food and exercise, but Elle has grown infinitely more so. Pulling her up is too easy.
The train of her dress snags on an exposed nail and rips. She snatches it and pulls it away. “Damned thing.”
I huff a laugh. “We’ll get you back to Squall’s End and you can grab a change of clothes.”
Downstairs, Asmo leans back on the couch, staring out the window into the dark forest. “Speaking of Squall’s End?—”
“Could you hear everything we said?” I cut him off.
He stands, brushing dust from his pants. As if that will make a difference in his appearance when every inch of him is coated in blood, sweat, and dirt. “I tuned most of it out,” he answers with a wave of his hand before turning toward the door.
“What about Squall’s End?” I ask.
