Page 707 of Coal Hearts

So naïve.

I slouched with horror.

Death suddenly seemed like freedom.

There were so many things far worse than death and I had an awful, awful suspicion that Victor would make us wish for that freedom before he was through.

I choked on a morbid thought.

Peter had offered to kill every jewel by whatever method they wanted—all to prevent them from being slaughtered, harvested, and displayed in that cupboard. He’d been willing to crack his soul if it meant protecting us and how terribly weak of me to want him to do it.

I’d take his gentle hands holding a pillow over my face over what was coming. I would happily say goodbye as he pushed me under water in the large bath if I could avoid the horrors in our future.

“Answer me, Ilyana.” Victor curled his upper lip. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone shy.”

With a heavy sigh, I accepted how terrible everything was and let fury blaze bright. “You’ll pay for this.”

“Is that all you have to say?” He frowned. “Disappointing.”

“Let him go. You have me. You have Peter. You said it yourself that it was us conspiring against you. Henri went along with us because I made him.” I sneered. “You were right. I made him love me so I could win. He’s as much a victim of my dastardly plans as you are.” I stepped toward him, cursing Larry as he jerked me back with my hair. “I fooled him. I made him fall in love with me. I used every weakness I could, and he didn’t stand a chance.” I grinned like a maniac. “But I don’t need him anymore. He failed. Just let him go and—”

“Ily—” Henri groaned from the table.

That one word ripped up my fabrications and left them tattered on the floor.

Oh, Henri.

Tears prickled my eyes as he struggled to sit upright.

Victor actually helped him. Cooing as if Henri was his true heir, he helped him sit and patted his swollen shoulder as Henri dug his elbows onto his knees and buried his face in his hands. The altar was too high for his feet to touch the floor. One dressed foot and one bare. One black, one vulnerable. The exact enigma that was him.

Victor let him go and stepped back.

Henri spat another splash of blood on to the ground before he dropped his hands and looked up. His eyes sought Peter’s. Then mine.

My heart hurt.

God, it hurt so much.

With a doting half smile, Henri braced himself. Looking at Victor, he grunted, “Do whatever you...want to me but...please, on”—he winced and panted—“whatever friendship we shared, just...let her go.”

“You think we were friends?” Victor smirked.

“Yes.” Henri swayed, almost falling off the table. “We are.”

“Even now?”

He clung to consciousness. “If you let Ily and Peter go...yes.”

“You tried to stab me.” Victor smeared his finger through the blood on his chest. “You succeeded, even if it is superficial.”

“I’m sorry. I...didn’t mean it. It was...a mistake.” Henri swayed, his voice thin and breathless.

“I’m a little over your lies and apologies, Mercer.”

“Just please...” Henri groaned and grabbed Victor’s lapel. “Let...her—” He coughed and jerked with agony. “—go. I’ll do whatever—”

“You ask for the same thing that Ily asks for you.” Victor chuckled. “A little cliché, don’t you think?”