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Sera’s throat bobbed, her fingers tracing the rim of her chalice. She seemed to steady herself, forcing her eyes to meet Killian’s.
“I had my suspicions. She asked me years ago if I would be willing to lie for her, should anyone come around wondering where she was on nights with a full moon.”
“And you agreed?” Killian asked, hoping it didn’t come off as judgmental.
Sera nodded. “Of course. She’s my best friend. And,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I could see that she faced some sort of turmoil, but beneath that was an inherent desire to be good.”
Turmoil—yes, it was clear that Elyse had her demons. She tried to hide it behind snarky jokes or snide comments, but it was there, simmering below the surface. Killian had hoped that one day she would open up to him about it, but he could see now how impossible that would have been.
“Do you know why she killed King Cyril?” he asked.
“Yes,” Sera said plainly.
Killian held his breath before asking, “Why?”
Sera looked at him, pain and empathy, caring and concern all shining in her eyes. “It is not my place to tell.”
Killian’s chest tightened, but he nodded. Sera was right; Elyse deserved to tell her own story.
“Now I have a question for you,” Sera said, securing his focus before his mind could wander. She took a sip from her chalice, then set it on the table and gave Killian a hard stare. “What was it that made you fall in love with her in the first place?”
Killian cocked his head to the side, surprised by the blunt question. The first thing that came to mind was the memory of watching her fight at Lex’s safehouse, and the fascination that had ensued. He had never known a woman so powerful, so bold and fierce, and she had captivated him completely.
“Her strength,” Killian answered, his voice subtly saccharine. “Not just the strength of her power, but her personality too. She had discipline. It showed in her magic, in the way she ran her store, in the way people looked at her. And with that discipline came values—values that we shared. Or at least, that I thought we shared.”
Because his values would never include murdering a kind-hearted ruler in cold blood.
Sera’s expression was deadly serious, all playfulness gone as she nodded along to his words. “And what if I told you that there was a reality where the two versions of Elyse that you hold in your mind—the version with discipline and strength, and the version who killed King Cyril… What if I told you that they could coexist?”
Killian shook his head. “That can’t be—”
“But what if it did?” Sera asked, interrupting his argument.
He blinked a few times, letting the gravity of the possibility wash over him. He couldn’t fathom it, being able to reconcile these two ideas that were so at odds with each other. But if, hypothetically, they were both true…
“I don’t know,” he breathed, because it was the truth. He had no idea how he would feel. Would it wipe out all the anger he had wallowed in these past months? Would he forgive her so easily? “I don’t know,” he repeated.
Sera looked away, giving him the privacy he desperately wanted at that moment. The tavern was too crowded, the ale too strong, the music too loud for him to even think properly.
Despite himself, he glanced up at the bar. The woman with silvery blonde hair and blue eyes still sat there, chatting with her companion. She reached out and laid a pale hand on the man’s arm, sliding narrow fingers down his bicep. Killian shivered, remembering the way Elyse’s hands felt on his body.
There was one other question that plagued him, one that he’d been far too afraid to ask Sera. Perhaps it was the ale giving him courage, or Elyse’s twin across the bar unnerving him, but he gripped the handle of his stein and downed the rest of the drink before turning toward Sera, his question on his tongue.
Chapter 32
- Elyse -
The Diamond Room was exactly like the Sapphire Hall except for two things. The first was, of course, the incorporation of diamonds. They glittered, nearly blinding, across every wall and column, their decadence overpowering any sort of elegance. The second difference was that a dais stood at the far end of the room with three chests atop pedestals, and a stout man with a ruddy face. He was dressed in a simple suit, his expression all business as he watched Elyse and the other attendees file into the room.
A murmur swept over their small group as anticipation set in, spreading from one party-goer to another. Elyse was not immune to the excitement as a mixture of curiosity and apprehension mingled in her stomach.
“What are the other two items?” she asked Jaime, who had joined her and Manny. She had been so absorbed with plans to steal the rose that she hadn’t bothered to ask sooner.
“The first is a necklace that will keep the wearer from being cursed,” Jaime explained. “And the second is a pair of gloves said to be worn by Death.”
Elyse nodded, her eyes fixed on the dais. That explained Mr. Grayson’s interest in being there. He would probably use the gloves as some sort of bargaining tool with Death. Perhaps the gloves were the final piece he needed in his eighty-year quest to bring his wife back to life.
“And the third is the rose,” Manny said. A statement, not a question. He too, stared up at the chests atop their pedestals, a sort of determination in his eyes.
