Page 138 of The Silversmith

“Unfortunately,” I sighed, “you are not.”

And I slit his throat.

Typically, I enjoyed spilling the blood of my victims. When killing was my choice, I made sure they deserved it. I’d slit enough throats to anticipate how the blood would spatter and pour, so I easily ended Felix without staining any parts of my body aside from my hands and forearms.

Tonight, I didn’t want a mess to deal with. Tonight, I was eager to get back to Aryella, even if just to savor the peaceful expression she wore when she dreamt and watch the steady rise and fall of her body, small but tough as nails. I wouldn’t get to hold her in bed tonight. I had gone and fucked that up with the truth.

But it had been inevitable, telling her the truth. Just like it was inevitable that I would need to tell her the rest of it.

In the morning, I decided. I would tell her everything in the morning.

With a weary sigh, I bent down and rinsed my hands and forearms in the nearby creek, immune to the cutting shards of freezing water that assaulted my calloused skin. My reflection made me scowl. A weathered, scarred version of the young man she once married.

I hated that I had to take her to those Caves. To Simeon, the liar, the manipulator. To Elowen, that soul-sucking cow. To Elias Winterton, the young, unscathed warrior prince intent on taking what was mine. But he didn’t even know me. No, none of them saw my face when I butchered their loved ones. I made sure of it. They knew me only by the mark Molochai compelled me to leave on each of my victim’s bodies. The Butcher’s mark.

As much as I wanted to further delay delivering my Ella to a prison of Simeon’s design, there was no more time to train her, teach her, or help her see her value beyond the crown and that fucking prophecy. Weaseling Felix Morton into his scheme to make me give up “Simeon’s daughter” made it clear that Molochai somehow knew she was under my protection. And now, thanks to Felix, Molochai knew I had a wife too.

He wanted to trick me into trading Ella for my wife. He didn’t know they were one and the same, but if he found out, if he knew her real, full name…

I swallowed down the vomit pooling in my throat and increased the pace of my long strides toward the inn. When I arrived minutes later, I noticed the empty rope dangling from the hitching post. Before I took Felix into the woods, there had been a horse there—a brown gelding.

Felix was dead, but his horse was gone.

And somehow, I could feel… she wasn’t near.

No.

“Ella!” I shouted, frantic, nearly stumbling over myself through the back door of the inn. I covered the length of the hall in four long strides and burst into our room. “Aryella!”

An empty bed and empty room.

No.

Not again.

“Aryella!” I shouted, heart pounding in my ears, tears biting at my eyes.

I wanted to weep. Scream. Rip out my hair, gouge out my eyes, anything more bearable than what I felt at the thought of losing her again. I wanted to shrivel up and fucking die.

But then, I wondered if I should be relieved she’d gotten away. At least for a little while, hiding would keep her safe from me if Molochai made the order I couldn’t refuse. If I acted fast, I could swallow that poison around my neck, end my own miserable existence before I was sent on an involuntary quest to destroy the only thing I ever loved.

That’s what I would do. Drink the poison, and if that didn’t work—carve out my heart and pay someone else to cut it up and burn the pieces.

My heart belonged to her anyway. Without her, I didn’t want it.

She was smart. She was fast. She’d proven she could ride a horse like she used to. Her body remembered even if her mind didn’t. And now, after nearly a month of nourishment and training, she was much, much stronger. She could get to those Caves on her own.

But…

“No,” I breathed upon glancing at the mess of paper on the floor. “No.” My bag had been ransacked. The letters from countless generations of Morton men were strewn across the floor. A note in her undeniable handwriting rested on the bedside table. “No, no, no, no…”

Consumed by terrible dread, vomit churning in my stomach. I picked up that note, reminded far too vividly of the last time she left me with one.

Gavin,

I know Molochai has your wife, and I’m going to make a trade. I’m going to get her back for you. He can have me and my power if he lets her go and frees my people.

I will make him promise to take me and leave this land.