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Jaime didn’t seem to need a response from her though. He shook his head, his blond hair falling into his eyes. “I should have walked you back to the inn. I’ll never forgive myself. I—” His voice wavered, and he reached for her hand. “It was all I could do to pick you up and get you back to safety.”
Elyse tensed, straining her sore muscles. “You carried me?” Everything that happened after she hit the ground was hazy, but it had been tan hands that had embraced her—Killian’s hands.
Jaime tilted his head, his blue eyes blinking in an almost condescending manner. “You don’t remember? You did hit your head rather hard.” He reached out and tapped her forehead with his finger.
Elyse narrowed her eyes, trying to see past the haziness of the memory. Then a river of sadness seemed to burst past, mixing with her confusion. Had she really imagined it? Had she been so desperate to see him that she had muddled reality and desire? The pounding in her head intensified.
Jaime tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll stop Ymaritis, and then when this is all over, I’ll take care of you,” he continued. “I’ll live here with you, and we can build a life together.”
Elyse’s lips parted slightly, but no words came to her. What was he talking about? When this was all over, she was going to turn herself in to the Royal Guard—to face execution. Even if she did somehow escape the blood oath, living here with Jaime wasn’t exactly her first choice.
Killian’s face flashed in her mind, replaying the way he had smiled at her when he first entered the room. Something had shifted between them. She’d thought she was imagining it, but then he had seemed so proud of her, speaking about her with so much enthusiasm, and it had stirred something within her. She didn’t want to let go of that feeling.
For a moment, she let herself imagine a future with Killian. One where he forgave her, and where they fought the blood oath together. She pictured them walking hand-in-hand through the forest—Elyse barefoot and Killian in his polished boots. She pictured them training together, reading together, shopping together. She dreamed of them making love to one another, with all the intensity of their last tryst, but none of the hatred.
But even as she imagined it, something churned in her core, as if the magic of their pact was fighting her, telling her it was forbidden.
“You don’t need to say anything now,” Jaime assured her. “Just think about it.”
“Okay,” Elyse replied, eager to end the conversation. Guilt ate at her. She had needed Jaime. She still did. Yet it seemed like she couldn’t repay his generosity—not in the way he wanted.
“Can you help me with the potions?” she asked, eager for the change of subject.
Jaime’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, that charming smile flashing across his face. “Of course. Whatever you need.”
Chapter 40
- Killian -
Killian only managed to sleep for two hours before he awoke, his mind whirling. He stretched his aching muscles, sore from cramping himself onto a settee, and rubbed his hands over his tired eyes and down his stubbled jaw.
They had a plan—get a vial of angel’s blood, connect it to a map, find Ymaritis, and stop him before he could resurrect the demon. But there were so many variables. What if this person, Zubir, didn’t have any angel’s blood? What if the map showed forty different places across the kingdom, all little specks that could potentially be Ymaritis? They knew he had several residences in the Asterial Mountains, but he could be anywhere.
And the biggest question of all—how were they going to stop him? Elyse was by far the most powerful and cunning sorceress he’d ever met. He’d seen her take on five men at once and barely break a sweat. She’d cut off her own damn hand and magicked it back on to evade arrest. And yet, Ymaritis had been able to crush her in a matter of minutes.
He wanted to ask her about it. In the Guard, he’d conducted countless debriefings, all in the hope of finding ways to better understand their opponents, to run his unit more effectively. He wanted to do the same with Elyse so they could formulate a plan of attack. But he also wanted to give her a chance to face what had happened. There’d been a despondence in her eyes, one that went beyond her physical pain. He knew that look—he had seen it in the mirror many times over the past few months.
More than anything, though, he wanted to ask her about King Cyril. He wanted to break down the final barrier between them—for good, if possible. But he knew it wasn’t the right moment. They had more important things to focus on.
He paced the sitting room where he had found Elyse two mornings ago, all of these thoughts bombarding him at once. He wished he could manipulate time, moving it ahead to when Elyse was feeling better and all their worries were at bay. Or perhaps he would turn time backwards, to find a way to protect Elyse and the rose.
But he couldn’t do any of that. All he could do was wait and pace and think, none of which was helping him.
His fingers slipped into his pocket, twiddling the small blue vial there. There was one person who always helped put his mind at ease. Someone whom he had neglected lately.
He made up his mind and left silently through the front door. It was a quick walk past the wards, and then the blue smoke carried him off to the alleyway behind his mother’s house.
It had only been a few days since he’d been home, yet it felt like years. He was exhausted, and he felt older but no wiser. Somehow it was sunnier there, as if this place was immune to all the evil Killian was wrapped up in. He could hear children playing out in the street, their laughter a reminder of what was at stake.
He opened the back door to his home and cocked his head at what he heard. His mother’s laughter, boisterous and sincere, reverberated through the house. He took a step inside, glanced around the kitchen, and froze.
There, sitting beside his mother at the kitchen table, was Siamus.
He hardly recognized the leader of the mercenaries, who leaned an elbow on the table, presenting himself as a familiar house guest. His face, though, was inharmonious with the laughter lingering in the air. An eyepatch covered his left eye, and the surrounding skin was bruised a heinous purple, from the corners of his brow to the edge of his rough beard.
“Oh, Killian!” Mrs. Southwick crooned when she saw her son. She rose and immediately shuffled over to him, her apron swishing with her hips. Standing on her tiptoes, she planted a kiss on his cheek.
Killian didn’t move. His eyes were still glued on Siamus, who gave him a sly grin and a casual wave.
