Page 63 of The False Vow

Another second, and she’d swung herself on top of me, her thighs locking on either side of my own in a mirror image of the position she’d trapped me in earlier. Her blood dripped onto me, melted red wax.

“Sleeping together already?” she panted. Her eyes were wild—at once I was thrown back to the tunnels, the two of us left to squabble for victory like rats over food. “What would Eliot think?”

I tried to jab my blade up at her, but she snatched my wrist and bent it back, forcing me to drop the weapon.

“What would he think if he knew you’d rather commit murder than marry him?” I spat through gritted teeth.

Clio laughed. “What can I say? I have always wanted the best.”

Behind her there was a flicker of motion. I slammed my knee into Clio’s injured thigh just as Noé hoisted her up by her elbows, pinning her arms behind her back. A cry tore from her lips, guttural and pained; scrambling to avoid her wildly flailing legs, I rose to my feet, rushing forward to gather up my knife and tuck it beneath her chin.

I smiled as she panted, chest heaving. “And yet you always come in second.”

Noé tightened his grip on her. “Should we bring her to my father?” he asked. To Clio, he questioned sharply: “Did he send you, to make up for his failed game?”

She grinned, her breath whistling raggedly through her teeth. “He only offered me the opportunity,” she replied. “I took it myself.”

Noé’s jaw flexed. In the chaos of Clio’s assault, I hadn’t yet had a chance to examine him; he looked quite mussed, still dressed in the outfit he’d worn to the pub, his cheeks splotched with red. Gathering myself, I averted my eyes. “If we take her to Bastian, he won’t punish her,” I answered Noé. “He might even grant her a reward for her efforts.” My pulse skipped. “We’ll bring her to Eliot.”

I expected Clio to blanch at the suggestion—and indeed, for a second her pale skin seemed to grow sallower, her lips pinching. But then the emotion passed, and she chuckled. “Oh, do,” she encouraged. “Please. You could present him with my knife buried in her chest, and he would still insist that she was the one who put it there.” Fixing her stare on me, she dropped her voice to a murmur. “He despises you,” she said lowly. “Do you know that? One would not think a man so noble was capable of such hatred. It is rather delicious to behold.”

“I think that’s quite enough, Clio,” Noé interjected calmly—yet Clio did not seem cowed. Her gaze lingered on mine, mocking, challenging.

She is self-serving. Vicious. I’m only warning you.

I felt the moment my restraint broke. “You turned him against me,” I spat. Clio laughed again, delighted.

“Oh, but he wanted me to,” she breathed. “Why do you think he proposed, darling? He was looking for an excuse—”

Her voice cut out. Suddenly, I was underwater, watching my limbs move through an aquatic blue haze. Anger had drowned me; I knew what I was about to do, and I felt no guilt for it. My emotions had withered; my mind was pure salt.

I pulled my knife away from her throat and swung it at her hard.

“Tam—Cecilia!” Noé released Clio the second before my blade made contact with her chest. Snarling, she staggered away, my knife ripping through the open air instead. Still, I was not deterred; steadying myself, I prepared to lunge again, drawing my elbow back.

I screamed as Noé’s hand caught my wrist, preventing me from bringing my weapon down, then a second time when Clio scuttled toward the door, dragging her injured leg behind her. My fiancé’s arms came round my waist, lifting me up before I could throw myself forward.

“Kill her, and the blood will be on your hands,” he hissed in my ear. His mouth was pressed against my skin, his words hot. “I will not be able to protect you.” Obstinately, I thrashed again; he held me closer. “Cecilia, it is exactly what my father wants.”

It was—I knew it was—yet regardless, I felt my resolve shatter at the sound of my bedroom door slamming shut. She’s getting away. It was the only thought that mattered; it was my only thought.

It was all I was.

A cry broke from my chest—not my own, but rather wholly independent of me, like a bird splitting apart brush. “Let me go!”

He did. As if answering my call, the door Clio had just escaped through burst open with a great bang, colliding violently with the wall. Farther down the turret, I heard a series of distant echoing thumps as others did the same—the sounds falling one after the next like a deck of cards, all the way to the tower’s base.

The echo of my scream lingered in the air. Now that Noé had released me, I found that the desire to chase after Clio had also departed, abject shame flooding me in its place. My Wit pounded in my chest like a second heartbeat, eager to lash out and strike—something, anything. I felt like an animal, yowling and clawed and entirely out of my own control.

What just happened?

I tried to force my emotions down, but they writhed in my arms like cats. “Get out.”

At my command, Noé glanced back from where he’d been staring at the now-open door. “We should…” He swallowed, eyes bright. “We should discuss this.”

But I was far beyond the point of discussion. It was as if Clio’s attack had loosened the knob of control inside me; at once, I felt everything. The weight of Eliot’s rejection—the agony of seeing him with Clio—the terror of knowing my own death was waiting for me, always, just beyond my line of sight, and the deep-seated dread of wondering whether or not I deserved it. All the burdens I’d managed to bury since my betrothal now came floating up to the surface, debris caught in a tide.

I was going to cry. I was certain of it, just as I was certain I could not let Noé see me like this. “Fine,” I snapped. “Stay if you wish. I’m going to bed.”