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Killian dropped his face into his hands and rested his elbows on the mattress. It was bad enough that Elyse was hurt. But they had also lost the rose. If Ymaritis was the one trying to summon the demon, which seemed likely given the carnage he’d reaped on De Vesalis, then they were fucked—especially if Elyse wasn’t able to help them.
He’d only caught a glimpse of Ymaritis, a lanky man with tan skin and dark hair. They’d arrived just in time to see him standing over Elyse, rose in hand—and then he’d just disappeared. There had been no vial, no blue smoke. He was there, and then he wasn’t.
Killian knew enough about magic now to know that simply vanishing wasn’t normal. If Ymaritis could do that, if he could leave Elyse in this condition, what couldn’t he do? Summer solstice was in two days, and Killian felt completely, hopelessly adrift.
Footsteps padded down the hallway, and Manny appeared in the open doorway. The potion had worn off, his appearance returned to normal. “Still sleeping?” he asked.
Killian merely nodded.
Manny stepped into the bedroom and sank into one of the chairs. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he rubbed his face as he looked at Elyse with a mixture of compassion and regret. “I think she’s sleeping for all of us.”
For the last few hours, they’d mulled around the country house, talking in quiet voices about what their next move would be, and taking turns checking on Elyse. Killian had barely left her side, which had irritated Jaime to no end. He’d glared at Killian from across the bed until Sera demanded that he retire to his bedroom.
Manny was right though. No one was getting any sleep.
All Killian could do was stare at Elyse, at her pale face and silvery hair. She might have died last night. She might have died, and he never would have heard her side of the story.
“What if she’s not the villain I made her out to be?” he uttered, his voice raw.
Manny sighed, low and heavy. His broad shoulders sagged, as he lifted his gaze. “You had every right to be angry with her, brother. You trusted her and she shattered that.”
Killian met his friend’s eyes and saw the same tangled emotions he felt reflected there.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Manny shook his head. “I think that Sera seems naive sometimes, but she’s not. She’s a good judge of character.” He looked at Elyse, his brows furrowing. “There must be something.”
Killian was determined to find out what that something was, but he needed Elyse to get better first. He needed her for so many reasons.
“You should get some rest,” Manny suggested.
Killian scoffed. “There’s no way I’m sleeping.”
“Go outside then. Get some fresh air.”
The sun was cresting, its rays illuminating the lake that shimmered down the hill from Elyse’s bedroom window.
“Go,” Manny encouraged. “Clear your head.”
Killian glanced at Elyse. Her chest rose and fell steadily beneath the covers, just as it had for the whole night.
It might do him some good to get some fresh air, as Manny suggested. His joints creaked as he stood from the chair and strode to the doorway, pausing to look at Elyse again, the peaceful expression on her face.
“Go,” Manny urged.
Killian obliged his oldest friend. He meandered outside and found himself a spot on the hill where he could look out over the lake. Its surface was calm, the blue waters sharpening into a fiery yellow where the sun’s reflection shone. It was beautiful, yet oddly artificial. He had once seen a mural painted on the side of a building in Sevhella. The artist had used perspective and tremendous detail to create the illusion of a passageway. The bricks of the building had disappeared completely, instead becoming the branches of trees, the petals of wildflowers, and a winding dirt path. Passersby had stopped to gawk, some of them even pausing to touch the mural, as if in disbelief. As if hoping to step through the wall and into the fairy-tale forest that seemed to bloom before them. But of course, it was nothing more than painted brick.
That was how Killian felt as he stared at the lake: like its beauty was nothing more than a trick of the eyes. Like it was out of his grasp, no matter how much he yearned for its serenity.
He remembered being so angry the first time he’d come to the estate. The decadent rooms and manicured lawn had been fodder for his fury. To him, Elyse was living in luxurious disregard for the rest of the world. To him, she had somehow upgraded her life, leaving him alone to bear the weight of his actions.
There had been so many clues to her despair, and yet he had chosen to ignore them. If this life and this estate were such grandiose “upgrades,” then why would she have chosen to give it all up by turning herself in? Why would she give a damn about Prestowne? And why would she have ever let Jaime become such a territorial bastard?
He had known, and he had denied it. Because it was easier for him to justify it all in his mind, painting her as a wicked witch instead of exactly what she was—what he’d always known she was. A human woman, broken and fighting.
Out of habit, he took his map from where it always stayed in his pocket. He unfolded the parchment and watched the blues, greens, and ambers sparkle across Rhodan. His eyes drifted to Sevhella first, as they always did, before gazing at the rest of the kingdom. The jewel tones shimmered from the Asterial Mountains in the west to the Staerion Sea in the south.
One of these dots is Ymaritis, he thought with a bitterness.
