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“I do not forgive her,” she says quietly. “But her fate is not mine to decide. Send her back. The flesh markets will determine what mercy she is given.”
Dahlia’s cries rise again, more frantic as the understanding of what that means settles over her. Alessia turns away, her steps quick as she leaves the courtyard without looking back.
Eagan watches her go before he moves.
He crouches in front of Dahlia, his expression unreadable as he studies her, as if weighing something she cannot see.
“The queen has spoken,” he says quietly, and there is something in his voice that is almost reverent. “She has given you mercy where it was not deserved.”
Dahlia sobs harder, clinging to the words as if they might save her, and I move before the thought has fully formed.
One of the men nearby is splitting kindling, the dull thud of the axe against wood cutting through the noise, and I take the weapon from his hands, the weight of it settling into my grip as my fingers squeeze around it.
“No,” she wails, scrambling backward, her bound hands useless as she tries to drag herself away. “No, your queen said to let me go, she said—”
“I am letting you go,” I say, stepping in front of her.
Eagan understands before I say anything—he always does.
He moves behind her, seizing her wrists and undoing her bindings. He drags her arm forward and forces it down against the stone edge of the garden bed, holding her in place as she thrashes and screams.
“You will leave this place,” I continue, lifting the axe, my gaze steady on her face as the terror finally settles in. “But you will never again raise a hand against someone who can’t defend themselves.”
She shakes her head violently, her voice dissolving into incoherent pleading.
I bring the axe down, and her scream fractures the courtyard.
I watch her for a moment as she collapses against the stone, her body curling inward around the loss, around the pain, around the reality she will carry for the rest of her life.
“Cauterize it and take her to the piers,” I say, letting the axe fall from my hand. “She is to be on the first ship back to Purgatory.”
CHAPTER 49
• Alessia •
MY MIND IS still reeling at the thought of Madam Dahlia and the choice Kylian gave me.
He didn’t look pleased that I couldn’t match her cruelty. He’s been avoiding me ever since, and after wandering aimlessly around the castle, wishing I could tell Sable about what just happened, I decide to go to the vault and wait for someone to find me.
Eventually, it’s Eagan who comes looking, and he seems relieved to find me.
“There you are . . .” he breathes, stepping inside the vault.
“Madam Dahlia?” I ask.
“Will leave on the next ship to Purgatory.”
I chew my lip nervously, passing him my wooden box of supplies to carry before grabbing my own basket, which he swiftly takes.
I groan. “I have arms, you know.”
“Weak mortal ones. Stop complaining.”
I roll my eyes, but my lips tip in one corner as we take off for the infirmary. He’s quiet, and it makes me wonder if he’s remembering last night.
As the day goes on, his colder demeanor becomes very off-putting. He opens doors and fetches water when I need it, but the commentary is gone. The dry observations that used to surface without warning. All of it is absent, replaced by a professional distance that feels louder than any reprimand he could have given me.
I didn’t realize I considered Eagan a friend until his silence bothered me so much. The realization sits uncomfortably in my chest because I shouldn’t care what Eagan thinks. He was protecting Kylian, just following orders. Yet it’s hard to convince myself of that after he covered for me.
