Page 151 of The Silversmith

“I made a blood oath with Molochai,” he confessed. “I agreed to be his weapon. He says a name, and I don’t have a choice. The oath takes over. I don’t have much time before my body is no longer mine, and then I lose control until it’s done. But Ella,” he continued, compassion pouring from him like a warm silver stream, “I didn’t even know you were there with the Golds until long after. Neither did Molochai. And it was not your fault they died.”

I scowled, fury brewing low in my chest. He’d lied to me, turned my world upside down and left me hanging by my ankles and still knew me. Still knew I blamed myself.

“It was not your fault,” he pressed on. “They were descendants of Simeon and Christabel’s cousins—your cousins. Molochai wanted them dead, and it had nothing to do with you.”

I refused. Shook my head. Let shallow rage infect my heart because it was easier than accepting whatever convoluted mess my reality had become.

“You let me confide in you about their deaths,” I uttered hatefully. “You asked me to give you that burden knowing you were the one who did it.”

“Because it is my burden to carry, not yours.” He reached for my hand, pausing to see if I would pull away. I should have, but I didn’t. He touched me, and I didn’t have it in me to recoil. As if my mind couldn’t trust him but my body did. So this time, I let him touch me, and though I hated myself for it, he soothed me. Even as he spoke terrible truths, my breathing slowed, my pulse calmed. “It was never supposed to be yours.”

He was so close, so warm, so rich with the scent of fresh cedar and leather that I wanted to bury myself in his chest. My source of pain and place of refuge in equal measure.

Murderer, I repeated in my mind, over and over again. He’s a murderer.

But that was something I’d known from the beginning, wasn’t it?

“Why did you make a deal with him?” I jerked my hand away, resetting myself in resentment.

“Because it was the only way I could see you again.” His hand remained on the bed, reaching for me. “I agreed to be his executioner in exchange for immortality.”

Nausea churned my stomach. Molochai had said he considered having Gavin kill me but preferred to do it himself. Indeed, in Tovick, I’d overheard Gavin tell Damond that Molochai would want to kill me himself. And he had.

If killing—at least some of them, like Phillip and Oliver—hadn’t been his choice… what a special kind of torture.

“Did you give Oliver a toy horse before you killed him?” I sputtered out.

He exhaled shakily, eyes wide, but he didn’t ask how I knew. He nodded.

“What color was it?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “Black with a white diamond on its chest. I just…” His voice cracked. “I didn’t want him to be afraid. The children, I…” He released a tormented breath. “The oath was never meant to apply to innocents. It wasn’t what I agreed to.”

A special kind of torture, indeed.

“And the prophecy?” I croaked.

“The prophecy is a lie, but your power is not. Four hundred years ago, shortly after we married, Simeon abducted you, put you in a deep, ageless sleep to buy himself time. He convinced this whole world—save for me, Elowen, and Phillip—that you were Simeon and Elowen’s child. Your people believe Christabel’s child died at three days old. And until the other night, Molochai believed that too. He’s been looking for the power of the Selvaren since the day you were born. He can… sense it. But he had no idea you survived him. He had no idea that power is you. His ignorance is the only good thing that came from Simeon’s lie.”

“Christabel’s child?” My tearful face contorted with confusion.

Molochai’s words echoed in my memory.

“You aren’t Simeon’s daughter…”

“Filthy little mutt…”

“Of course, you don’t remember the day I gave you that scar… you were only three days old, after all…”

Gavin nodded and gestured toward the scar on my chest. “That’s where he stabbed you. Where he tried to kill you.”

Nausea curled in my stomach. I remembered how angry he’d been when he asked where I’d gotten the scar and I hadn’t known its origin. As if that knowledge had been stolen from me.

And when he’d told me about his wife, if it was true it was me or whoever I used to be…

“Brought up in a prominent, wealthy family… Protected but… stifled.”

Then he had not lied about that.