Page 92 of Elysian

“You know, the Reliquary. A branch of the Registry,” Liadan continued explaining, but I had never heard of any Reliquary. “You do not know of it,” Liadan breathed, and looked at Cassiel head on. It was the first time he truly had. “Do you know?”

“What the Reliquary is?” Cassiel shrugged. “Where amulets are produced.”

“How can you be so callous, especially—” Liadan cut off, attention snagging on me. “It is a murder house. Amulets are produced with the death of a redblood.”

I went cold. My mind came to a complete halt. The denial hovered on my tongue.

“That is not the worst part. Amulets only maintain the repelling properties for an annum before they must be replenished.”

I struggled to make sense of his words. Horror did not cover what I felt. This was beyond monstrous. The Hollow had reacted oddly when it sniffed my cut. I had not thought of it again since it happened, but now, with this new information . . .

“Did you know?” I whispered.

Cassiel frowned and reached for my arm. I pulled away, backing up. He stiffened, chin jerking up.

“I have never been to a Reliquary.” He met me head on. But he knew of them. That much was clear. I could do nothing more than gawk. “Take us to the chamber.” Cassiel took hold of my arm and it ripped me out of my shock enough to yank at his grip.

Liadan hesitated, eyeing where Cassiel grabbed me. I could see the cogs turning in his mind. I shook my head. “Do as he says.”

He would not last one heartbeat against Cassiel. I would not fool myself into thinking that Cassiel would not slaughter every individual in this estate without a second thought.

Liadan’s throat moved, and he turned, leading us to the door facing another. He popped it open and waved his hand inside. Cassiel simply jerked me past, half stumbling, and slammed the door in Liadan’s face.

I caught myself and wrenched myself to the side until he let me go. If he hadn’t, I would have ended up hurting my arm.

“Do not,” I hissed, “touch me after what you’ve just said.”

Cassiel scoffed and jerked his shirt off to hang it on the back of the chair. “I speak the truth and it angers you,” he mused.

“Is it too much to want you to care?”

He was then in my face, gripping my chin. “And if I cared . . . would that change how you viewed me?”

I floundered for what to say. Tawny hair fell into his eyebrows. The iris pulsated where the red and gold met. His smile turned cruel.

“No, and I will not lie to you about who I am.”

He unstrapped the leather binding connected to the sheath to remove the sword hanging at his side and placed it on top of the settee.

“Now come to bed,” he ordered, splaying on the edge of the bed. He was so tall his leg hung off the side. “We must rest for the long travel.”

Instead of following him to the bed I stiffened my spine and raised my chin.

“Amara.”

“I said I would wed you, not that I would obey every word,” I hissed, storming to the settee.

I nudged his unusually heavy sword until it tipped off the settee and I rested on it. Then shoved my hand into the satchel to retrieve the journal, grimoire and quill with angry, jerking movements. My knuckles grazed the velvet box holding his gift.

I eased in to translate, attempting to block out my horror and frustration. Cassiel is monstrous. I mustn’t forget.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Sanguine

Ieyed the ceiling, listening to Cassiel’s breathing as he slumbered. The settee was rather hard, so it was perfect to lie against during my translation bouts. It allowed me not to fall asleep. A yawn crawled free, and I stretched out. The passage I had read within the Alpha section wove through my mind. I could not believe it, but staring at it only caused the words to turn in circles. The ache at my temple pulsed, but I couldn’t stop reading. I was close to something of enormous importance. I could feel it.

I rolled my neck and leaned forward to the pages spread before me. My journal and the grimoire lay open side by side. I hoisted the grimoire onto my lap. The passage blurred, but I forced myself to continue.