Page 19 of A King’s Trust (Heart-Mage Trilogy #1)

19

OZONE AND SACRILEGE

A t least a dozen soldiers stood in and around the inn, the last of those who’d invaded Leau, and the two on the roof saw Beau’s party coming. A handful spread across the road, smirking, holding blades almost lazily. Beau searched past them for Ma or any of the faces he knew.

“Lexi, baby,” Gerard called, tone mockingly friendly but shark’s smile viciously sharp, “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect to see you still on your feet. I didn’t even think you’d live long enough to bleed out, pretty boy. You’ve gotten better, but not good enough.”

El’s gait slowed and dragged again. The king had a moment of realization— he’s pretending, so they’ll let him in close —before Elias exploded into motion, green light tracing after his limbs in the air. He killed so many so quickly. Two, three, four fell in as many breaths. The blond Watcher danced back, laughing in apparent surprise.

“Oh, what did you do , lap candy? Break into your boyfriend’s magic stash? How long do you think that can help you?” Two bolts fired down from the roof, one going wide of Elias and the other hitting his shoulder and punching out to the left of his spine.

Elias didn’t slow for a moment.

Though Beau held his sword, there was nowhere to insert himself into the fight. Three more died. Five. Everyone in front of the inn except Gerard, who’d backed into the doorway, amusement evaporated now that the crossbow bolts and sword slashes had had no effect on Elias.

What the fuck is that amulet? Dread, nauseating, in his belly.

Elias hurtled into the inn, and Beau followed, dodging another bolt from the roof. Inside, all was chaos. There were bodies on the floor—fishermen, unlucky bastards who’d just been enjoying the breakfast at the inn; Gabi the serving girl; and several invading soldiers—but the rest of the inn’s occupants trembled at sword point, bruised and bleeding, but alive.

“Ma!” Beau called as soon as he saw her, bound but glaring holes in the soldier that held her. Relief broke over her face, then concern as her eyes swept his body. The concern melted into absolute revulsion when Elias’s murder spree took him into her line of sight. Even at a glance, the wrongness was apparent.

Gerard darted to Mistress Corlia and pressed the tip of his blade to her throat. “Slow down, pretty boy. Your little kingling won’t be too happy if you get his ‘Ma’ killed, will he?”

Elias did not slow down. Whether he hadn’t heard or simply hadn’t cared, he swept like an angel of death through the room. The two soldiers nearest him fell neatly in half as Beau managed to choke out his, “ No, El !” Elias had to stop, he had to stop, or they were going to kill Ma, and Beau couldn’t bear—

The blond Watcher tightened his grip on Ma’s hair, lifted his blade—and then howled as someone leaped onto his back, snarling and stabbing at him with a tiny knife.

Maisie.

Maisie was attacking a Watcher, a thousand tiny bites with a paring knife as she hung from his throat with one hand, feet scrabbling for purchase on his hip and leg. Ferocious, she clawed and hacked at him, a steady stream of curse words barely intelligible among her growls.

Beau lunged for Gerard, one hand out to grab Maisie and pull her away, but the assassin flipped his sword, deftly grabbed the handle with the blade facing in, and slammed it back along his side.

Maisie dropped. Beau’s reach to pull her away became a fumbling catch instead. With a horrible, wet sound, she slid off the sword. Her body was so light, but his arms, his hands, his shoulders were weak. He slid across the inn’s floor, trying to soften her landing as much as he could, trying to minimize the damage.

Gerard grinned down at Beau. One hand holding Maisie’s head up, the other barely remembering to grip his own weapon, the king knelt before him. “Perfect position, kingling,” the Watcher said. “You have quite the talent for being executed.” Maisie’s blood sprayed off in an arc as the sword lifted.

Elias tackled the blond Watcher to the ground. Weapon gone, he glowed with a sickly, pulsing green that sucked oxygen out of the air. His hands tightened around Gerard’s head, thumbs pressing hard against eyes.

Gerard screamed. Elias made that unholy sound again.

The skull cracked like a cannon shot, like a chicken egg. Elias’s hands slammed together in the gore. Beau shook.

Perhaps enemies still surrounded him, though by the sounds, Beau thought the fighting was finally, finally over. Perhaps Ma needed help, gasping and calling out as she was. Perhaps Penny needed him; her voice rang out, authoritative, hurried. Perhaps Elias was becoming something other than a man. The ozone-and-sacrilege scent of the amulet’s magic congealed so thick in the air Beau struggled to breathe.

But all Beau could see was Maisie, eyes wide and fixed on him, pale face slick with sweat. Her fingernails clawed into his hand where it pressed against the hole through her abdomen. It was messy and open; his hands slipped and slid horribly.

“Hey, Maiz, that was pretty badass,” he said hoarsely. He thought he might’ve smiled, but who the fuck knew what his face was doing. “Just hold on for me, okay? Viv is going to patch you up, and you’ll be fine. I know it hurts, but we’ll get you sorted. Everything’s going to be all right. You’re going to be all right.”

Maisie blinked, and tears rolled down along her temples. “Like fuck I am,” she said, fire undimmed. “I’m not stupid. I’m gut-cut. I’m dead.” She laughed, a mirthless, hollow sound. “You better be the best fucking king anybody’s ever seen, hear me?”

“You’re not going to die,” Beau insisted. Over his shoulder, he shouted, “Viv! Maiz needs help! She needs you!”

Unclenching one bloody hand from Beau’s, Maisie grabbed the king by the hair. “Don’t you dare make this longer than it has to be. Love you, Barfly. Give me a kiss and make it quick like you did for that guard.” Beau dragged in a ragged, sobbing breath. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to her temple, then to her lips. She blinked up past him, grimacing in pain as she inhaled. “Ellie.”

Elias knelt next to Beau. Though his hands were on Beau’s body, cataloguing his cuts and punctures, he spared a glance for Maiz. He said, quietly, in that chill, distant voice, “I’ll make it quick.”

She smiled, blood pinking her teeth. “Show me what those—” A gurgling, pained inhale. “—hands are good for.”

Elias didn’t hesitate. He palmed her head, lifting her slightly off the ground, and drove a knife into the back of her skull. Instantly, everything that was Maisie fled her face, and Elias dropped her limply. It was so sudden, so smooth, Beau didn’t even feel the loss; he just went numb. He was shaking again.

El hauled Beau to his feet, dragging him away from Maisie’s body, away from Ma, who held Gabi’s corpse and sobbed, away from the people carrying in more bodies, some alive and howling in pain, some still. Elias scooped supplies from Viv’s bag on the floor.

In the second he let go of Beau, the king’s legs abandoned him. He was weak from blood loss and shock and the sight of Capucine pressing both hands to Nilah’s face and speaking softly to her so she couldn’t look down at her mangled leg, of Penny sharing half of Delphine’s weight as the blacksmith dangled, unconscious or dead, from her brother’s arms.

Without so much as a grunt of exertion, Elias picked Beau up and carried him into his room, which had been tossed.

El set him on the mattress and began threading a needle. “You’ve lost more blood than I’d like,” he said, voice an approximation of gentle despite the menacing green energy jolting under his skin. His fingers twitched, making the precision needed to spear the eye of the needle impossible.

Beau took his hands. His eyesight blurred, and when he blinked, he realized he was crying. “I think you should take the amulet off now, Elias.” He barely recognized his own voice, hoarse and thin. “I don’t like this. The threat has passed. Take it off.”

El stared at him, and for the first time since he’d put the artifact on, the warmth of his hazel eyes shone through. They were desperately, hopelessly sad. “Too late for that, Highness.” He looked up as the door opened and Penny slipped in. “Ah, good. My hands aren’t steady. You sew, Duchess.”

“I’ve never—”

“I’ll talk you through it. This one first. It’s worst.”

Beau lay silent, buzzing with guilt and terror and grief, as Penny’s inexpert hands gently sewed his hewn bits of skin back together, cleaned the wounds, bandaged. He didn’t feel like a king, crying in his bed while all around him, people died and screamed and bled for him. He tallied the dead, the injured, weighing them against his own life, and found himself wanting in the extreme.

The physical pain set in, too. It was almost unbearable, but it paled in comparison to the crushing, crippling weight of his thoughts. How could he ever make this right? How could he possibly make this up to the people of Leau?

You better be the best fucking king anybody’s ever seen, hear me?

It settled around his neck, an iron noose, a command stronger than any his father had issued. He would be king. He had to be, or their deaths were worth nothing. And he’d be the greatest king to sit the sun throne. He owed them that.

“That’s the last of the real injuries,” Elias said as he walked toward the door. “Get him on his feet. We have to get to the docks.”

Beau sat up with a groan. He breathed through the black spots eating at his vision. “I’m not getting on a ship, El.”

A massive shudder ran through El’s body, hands clenching. He didn’t turn toward Beau. “They’re not done. They’ll send more. Do you want to take the rest of Leau to hell with you?”

“I’m not done either,” Beau said. “I’m going back to the palace. I’m claiming my throne. And I’m going to make such an example of Alphonse Courdur that no one ever dreams of trying to take what’s mine from me again. No ships. No running. I’ll take the road.”

Now Elias turned to face him, incredulity creasing his brow. “They’ll see you on the road. They’ll come down on you in force.”

“They’ll know I’m not on Leau anymore,” Beau countered. “So there’ll be no need to come back here and hurt anyone else.”

Elias’s glowing eyes bored into him, unearthly. The voice that came out of his mouth was not his. “My business here will not be complete until you’re king, then.” He jerked again, twitching so hard it looked painful, and opened the door. “I’ll get the horses.”

Beau allowed himself a moment to pull Penny to him and hold her. Beneath the sweat and metallic blood, her hair smelled of honeyed flowers. She was soft against him, holding him gently in the places he wasn’t hurt. Desperately, he breathed in the sweet, floral air and the easy, undemanding pressure, an oasis of peace.

He should be outside helping Viv take care of the wounded. Except he was only halfway passable with stitches; medicine had never been one of his miscellaneous hobbies, and if he had to watch another islander die, he’d break down sobbing like a child. That wasn’t what a king did, and they died to make him king.

So Beau hid in his room and held onto his wife and dug for buried happiness or calm for both of them through the rings. He could find numbness; he settled for numb. He spoke so the silence wouldn’t crush him to death.

“Courdur and the Watchers. Can I fight them?”

Penny nodded against his chest. She had to clear her throat to speak, and it was clear she warded off despair with words, too. “His forces are sizable, but you could match it with time. With your father’s death, you’re Duke of Chudeau now as well as Verdmont, so you have a lot of men in and around the capital.”

Pressing his face into her hair, he inhaled the sweet, calming scent of her and ignored with your father’s death as hard as he could. “Verdmont won’t do me any good. Chudeau’s men are accessible, but Verdmont couldn’t muster men and get them to the capital in time to make a difference. I’ll be dead.”

“Don’t forget,” she said, turning her face up to him with the faintest ghost of a smile, “you married the Duchess of Veritelutte. We are close enough, and my sister’s been calling my men up already in my absence, hoping to send them to the Paibon front.”

Beau’s thumbs traced her cheeks. She was so beautiful when she talked strategy. The light in her eyes made him want to wish on her like a star. “You have less than half of what Courdur does.”

“Yes.”

“If I can’t scrape together my men in time, it’d cripple your House. You’d be wiped out.”

Her lashes fanned out over her cheeks as she dropped her eyes and smirked. “Well, you’re not counting Elias. He’s worth at least half of Courdur’s forces.”

“Be serious, Pen.”

Her eyes flicked back up, deep, lustrous brown. “I am serious. My men are yours. And it’s not so hopeless as you think—I have allies. Lady Roben and Lady Andremiere will stand with me, and Roben’s men would be carved straight out of Courdur’s forces. You’ve been a friend to several of the smaller houses. Call on them.”

She hesitated, tapping her teeth together.

“And you could write to Haydée. She has a soft spot for you, and her father can’t be pleased to see the Courdurs ascend over the Macabries. It would be a shaky alliance, and an expensive one, but maybe worth…”

“Andremiere and Macabrie have the same problem I do,” Beau said, frowning. “They’re too far from the capital to make the difference. I’d be more afraid Macabrie would sweep down after Courdur and I have gutted each other’s forces and install himself.”

“He may do that anyway,” Penny muttered. “But as long as the Macabries stay neutral, we might be able to pull it out with what we’ve got. You’ve got the legitimacy of your claim on your side, which should sway some of the other nobles toward you, if it looks like you can meet Courdur for sheer numbers. But they’ll never be seen supporting a lost cause.”

Exhaustion swept over Beau in a wave, and he pulled Penny in close again. Sweet flowers, honeyed resolve. From the ring, the stone-dust taste of her certainty. She was determined to defeat his enemies, to support him to the bitter end. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve more allies than me and mine, Beauregard, but that will come with time and power.” The door opened, and Aloise walked in, blood to her elbows and curls stuck to her with sweat.

“Elias and Uriel are getting the horses ready, Your Majesties,” she said, “and Elias and I will be riding out with you. Nilah can’t travel and Jude is dead—” Beau’s eyes went wide. “—which leaves the two of us. I wanted to be sure you knew Elias is…um…”

“We’re aware he’s a revenant,” Penny said. “It’s all right.”

Aloise swallowed. “Very good. Should I grab anything from your room?”

“The bag by the door, please, and the two pouches in the bedside drawer,” Penny said, smiling as Aloise nodded and disappeared.

“I don’t like bringing her,” Beau muttered. “It’s not safe.”

Penny’s hands on his chest stilled him. “You’re in no place to turn down offers of aid or alliance, Beauregard. When things are this uncertain, every person you ‘protect’ by not involving them endangers the life of someone who’s already committed to you. If you’re concerned about Aloise’s safety, make her safer by gathering more allies, not by turning her away.” She kissed him. “If it helps, don’t think of it as fighting for you , think of it as fighting for us. You and I, our lives are intertwined now. If you die, I die.”

Yes, she was queen now, albeit uncrowned, tied to a king with a price on his head. Any family of his was under threat until he sat solidly on the throne. A horrible thought lurched into Beau’s head. “You don’t think—my mother?”

Penny raised an uneasy shoulder, and, of all things, guilt rose up in the pool. “She’s a powerful political player. If she supported your claim…” Penny took a deep breath. “…she’s most likely dead. But she could’ve come out in support of Courdur instead of you. It’d be a significant blow to your claim, but…Courdur would’ve left her alive if she played it that way.”

They stared at each other for a moment, uncertainty plain on their faces. Beau had no idea if his mother would forswear him to save herself. As much as it hurt to consider, it was logical, given how he’d left things with his parents. “She never had a great deal of faith in me. I hope she did what was necessary to protect herself.”

Something flickered over Penny’s face: a downturn of her lips, a narrowing of her eyes, a flare of her nostrils. But from the ring came a torrent of anger and dismissal and protectiveness.

And he knew , he knew with absolute certainty that for her child—for his child—she’d burn the kingdom down before she’d let someone steal their birthright.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers, a hungry, aching kiss. “I love you,” he said against her lips.

“I know.” She smiled, but the anger and sadness only strengthened. “And I love you. Let’s go say our goodbyes so we can take back what belongs to us.”

When Beau and Penny emerged into the packed common room, silence fell in ripples. Beau bore the weight of the stares, though it threatened to collapse his legs. He cleared his throat.

“I want to thank you all. I know that sounds thin, in the wake of what’s happened. But I couldn’t be more grateful to have been your Barfly, and your Angel, and your Crow, and your Lamb for all these years. It’s only because you invited me to be those things that I can call myself—” He took a deep breath. “—King of Granvallée. But I am the king. And I promise you, I will never forget what Leaurepit has done for me. I would give you—”

His voice broke as he saw Maisie’s body, swaddled in a blanket like she was sleeping, laid alongside Gabi. Someone had braided her curls back from her face. “I would give you back those Lord Courdur stole from us if I could,” he said, voice strangled. “But whatever I can give you, it’s yours. You only have to ask.”

Ma crossed the room to him in silence, tearful eyes on him. She took his hands in both of hers. “What we want, Lamb, is you on the throne and safe. We want you to kill the bastard that did this. And we want you to come home every now and again.”

She wrapped him in a hug, and though she squeezed his injuries until he wanted to gasp from the pain, he said only, “That I can do, Ma.”

More friends lined up to hug him, to mutter goodbyes and encouragements, and to echo Ma’s requests. It was a solemn procession. When the living had made their rounds, Beau walked the line of the dead, touching hands and faces, whispering sorrows and benedictions. Someone had brought Jude to the end of the line, setting his sword on his chest. Beau pressed a hand to his forehead and muttered, “Thank you for being loyal, Jude. You made it right.”

Penny sat at one of the tables now pressed against the back wall of the common room and furiously scribbled on pigeon paper. “It’s everyone we could reasonably call on,” she said when Beau drifted close. “Hurry and read. Sign if you’re happy with them.”

Beau signed them unread; he trusted her. Handing the pile to Herb, he offered his wife a hand up and they each received more hugs and kisses and hand squeezes and claps on the back.

Elias stepped in through the front door, and everyone within fifteen feet stepped back.

Magic ran in loops and drips down his body from dozens of wounds that did not bleed. Though it made no sound, it pressed strangely on the ear, a pulsing so unpleasant Beau found himself gritting his teeth as he approached. Nearer, the smell of unholy burning blood made Beau’s eyes water. He eyed the chain where it disappeared beneath Elias’s shirt with distaste.

No one tried to say farewells to Elias. No one called to him. The common room held its breath, like breathing in the awful magic he radiated would taint them as well. As he waved Beau toward the horses, the guard twitched like his body couldn’t bear to stand still.

“We ride.” He didn’t even glance at the people in the inn.

While Beau and Penny mounted up, the king watched Elias’ unnaturally stiff back, the way he sat Po like he’d never seen him before. What was happening to him? And how could Beau fix it? If he did have magic, and Elias firmly believed he did, then maybe…

Elias’s shudder almost shook him off his horse. He swayed a moment, then yanked himself straight in the saddle again. He heeled Po into a full gallop, and Beau, bewildered, urged Tempest to match Pormort’s speed. Penny and Aloise wasted no time in catching up, though it meant the four of them tearing through the narrow streets of Leau too fast for comfort.

El barely slowed for the ferry, leaping Po over the narrow gap between dock and deck. Beau was too careful with Tempest for that; he slowed ten yards short and walked his mare across, ignoring the guard’s jittering, jerking impatience.

“Take us across. Now,” Elias demanded of the ferryman, and Penny, who’d halfway dismounted, instead kneed her horse onto the deck, calling for Aloise to hurry. She didn’t allow herself or her mare near the guard, pressing against the far rail as far from him as possible. She studied him, though, eyes narrowed and a searing mix of pomegranate and horseradish spiking through the ring.

“Are you still there, Elias?” she asked quietly as the ferry began its trek across the water.

Staring out at the land on the opposite side, El ignored her. The twitching became so frequent and so intense that his body continually shuddered. Hateful magic darkened the air around him. Whatever the amulet was doing to him, it obviously made him stronger, faster, impervious to the damage weapons could inflict. But the shaking made him look so…vulnerable. Beau couldn’t bear it; he reached out and took one of Elias’s hands.

“Does it hurt?” He only mouthed it, barely giving the words enough air to leave his lips.

Elias’s fingers didn’t curl around his in return, but the jerks and twitches softened into a pervasive tremor. The guard looked at him, and hazel swam up into the bottom of his irises. He looked at Beau like if he blinked, the king would cease to exist. He stared and stared and stared, silent and shaking.

Then the ferry hit land again, and Elias moved instantly, leaping onto Po’s back and kicking his warhorse into a flying leap onto the dock. He rode hard, gaining yards of distance before Beau and the others had even remounted. The sun, high overhead, beat down on their party as they all rode to catch him, Beau occasionally shouting after his guard to no response.

A mile outside the town, Beau began to worry for the horses. At the second mile, Tempest was breathing hard, gait slowing.

Cursing, the king drew her up into a walk and let El pull away. “You’re going to kill Po!” he shouted. When that didn’t stop Elias, he added, “It’ll be much slower getting to the palace if you have to ride double with me.”

Elias’s head jerked to the side, and with a yank of the reins that made Pormort dance uncomfortably, he slowed to a trot. The king kept his eyes on him as Penny and Aloise walked their huffing horses beside Tempest.

“Is he going to be all right?” Aloise asked quietly. “I’ve never seen him treat Pormort so hard.”

Because that’s not him, Beau thought, but he was afraid to speak it aloud. He was surer by the moment that the amulet was possessing him somehow. El wouldn’t have risked Ma’s life with a sword at her throat. El wouldn’t have put Maisie down without so much as a soft word. El wouldn’t have ridden out without saying goodbye, and he wouldn’t be picking up his pace again now, driving Po into a canter while the horse’s sides still heaved. After a minute of silence from Beau and Penny, Aloise nodded as if they’d answered.

For miles, they chased the cursed guard, Beau shouting him to a walk whenever his pace threatened the horses again. There were no pauses, no rests. Injuries burning, Beau sweated through his coat while he held himself straight in the saddle. As the day wore on, stitches pulled loose, and the bandages darkened.

“Fuck,” he muttered. The saddle was slick with blood from his hip. The sun had slipped low in the sky, melting across the horizon. “Elias! I have to stop—some of us still bleed like human beings.”

Without slowing, El turned sharply into the woods, so single-minded he seemed likely to run straight through trees instead of around. Beau cursed and followed; they couldn’t camp on the road. Branches whipped thin, stinging cuts across his face, but he squinted into the shaded gloom and kept pace with his guard as Penny and Aloise picked a more careful path behind him.

By the time he reached the tiny clearing where Elias had dismounted, the Watcher paced the perimeter, peering into the trees with restless, dark energy. The shaking grew violent again.

Beau quickly untacked Tempest, then did the same for Po, scratching and soothing both horses. Pormort followed him reluctantly at first, but by the time Beau was done, the warhorse leaned against him and nuzzled against his chest. Elias moved nonstop, more jerkily by the moment, sword in hand.

“El,” Beau said calmingly. “Do you hear anything threatening us right now?”

“No.” Elias didn’t pause in his restless pacing.

“Good. Then put the sword away so we can talk.”

Shuddering, green loops of magic pulsing around him, El paced on. His fingers tightened on the sword until they blanched of color. Beau stepped closer, and El spun on him, the glow of his eyes sucking light out of the air instead of radiating it. Aloise moved to stand between them, but Beau waved her back.

“No, no—Aloise, please stay back. He won’t hurt me.” Gods, I hope he won’t hurt me. I hope he’s not that far gone.

Beau crept closer until the point of El’s sword butted up against his sternum. The guard’s shaking and jerking drew the tip of the blade in ticklish lines across his chest, snagging on the bandage across his collarbones. “Put it down, Elias.”

Elias’s hands unhinged mechanically, letting the sword fall to the ground. Beau edged closer still, raising a hand like he approached a spooked horse. Where he touched Elias’s shoulder, the shuddering grew less violent.

Carefully, trying not to alarm Elias—or whatever had hold of him—he slid his fingers inward along El’s chest until they touched the amulet through his shirt. Beau’s hand went cold as numbing, awful vibrations spread up through his fingertips. He didn’t try to pull it away. Instead, he pushed into it, forcing his request against it like he did with the Useful Thing.

“Give me my Elias, please,” he said. He kept his voice quiet, though he was positively screaming it in his head.

The amulet squirmed. It jerked beneath his fingers like a living thing, and Elias made the unholy sound, more pain than anger in it. He gasped, and tension climbed his throat and face, writhing under his skin. His eyes were hazel, though, and his mouth worked like he was trying to speak for several seconds before he said, “Beau?”

It was his voice, his real voice, no echoes or coldness. Relief poured into the king like cold water. “El,” he breathed. “What’s going on? How do I get this fucker off you?”

Elias pressed his hand to Beau’s against his chest, sighed, and then pulled Beau’s fingers away. “Don’t touch it, Highness. I don’t want…it’s dangerous. Don’t touch it. Or me. I love—” He cut himself off, head jerking hard to the side as he squeezed his eyes shut. “No, no, that’s not what I…I should be honest with you now, shouldn’t I? I won’t get another chance.”

“What do you mean? I’m getting this off you, and you can be honest with me forever.”

An enormous shudder shook Elias, who gritted his teeth. “I…I never loved you. It was all a lie to get close enough to get information, and then I was trying to put you on the throne because you’re the horse I backed. I just wanted to win.”

Beau hugged his cold hand against his stomach, buzzing with the amulet’s magic. “I thought you were a good liar, El? That was pathetically transparent. Quit trying to protect me. I’m getting this magic off you. I have magic. I can do it.”

“I am a good liar,” Elias insisted. He forced his words out through gritted teeth. “But I didn’t have to be with you. You’re so easy to lie to. So eager to trust. So hungry for a friend.”

“ Bullshit . You are my friend, you do love me, and you fought for me because you believe in me. So fucking believe I’ll fix this.”

Elias swayed and breathed out a sharp, shuddering breath, then slammed his fist into his own side, where a deep wound spilled green. He staggered, but his eyes cleared. “Would a friend who loved you have killed your brother, Beauregard?”

Beau frowned. “I said, ‘Give me my Elias .’ El didn’t kill my brother, and he knows perfectly well he told us all as much when he couldn’t lie. So what the fuck are you?”

Elias didn’t answer. His eyes were squeezed shut, teeth bared as he crushed his fists against his gut. The magic lapped over and around him, trying to drown him. Despite the cold anger swallowing Beau whole, he took a step forward, hand reaching out automatically toward the creature before him in such obvious torment.

El staggered back, falling to a knee. “Don’t touch me. Stop. Please stop. You can’t—” The green washed over him, climbing his throat. He choked and jerked upright, scratching at his throat, his face. Then the loops overwhelmed him completely, leaking back into his eyes until they were cold and alien. He went slack except for the awful, inhuman convulsions.

A wicked, spine-flaying laugh tumbled out of Elias’s mouth, though his vocal cords didn’t make it. “You’re so godsdamned easy, Beau. All I’ve ever had to do to win your trust is exactly what I wanted. You little broken fucking thing—you made me everything.”

It wasn’t Elias’s voice. It wasn’t his eyes. But his mouth was saying the words, laughing and twitching and tracing his tongue along the edge of his teeth like he was contemplating tearing someone’s throat out.

“I could tell you to your face not to trust me, and it only ever made you trust me more. You’re a fool. Was it my face that made you so weak to me? My skill? Or were you so fucking lonely that it didn’t matter which Watcher they sent to you?” Elias’s body took a step toward Beau, radiating hate. “Allow me to repeat what I said when I couldn’t lie, Beauregard, and try to listen more closely this time.”

He tilted his head back, and a laugh boiled out that chilled Beau’s blood and raised the hair on his neck. “ Beau would never order his brother’s death, I said. You’re looking in the wrong place, Your Grace. The prince is a good man. He believes his brother deserved the throne. Would I have killed Char if His Highness had ordered it? In a fucking heartbeat. Where in there, dear Beauregard, do you hear me say I didn’t kill him?”

Beau’s heart beat loudly enough to deafen. The world was suddenly so loud, too loud, smells too sharp, tastes too bitter. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe normally. Because, of course, Elias had not said he didn’t kill Char. He’d quite emphatically said he would’ve , given the chance. He hadn’t lied. He couldn’t lie. But Penny had never asked outright, did you kill Charmant , so Elias had never answered that question.

“No,” he whispered.

“No,” Elias’s mouth said mockingly. He moved unnaturally, profanely. “ No —is that all you can muster?” He chuckled darkly. “I murdered your brother. I rode out of line and I shot him with a poison dart. He was supposed to fall to his right, into the canyon, and no one would’ve ever found the dart. But he shifted his weight at the last second and fell left instead.”

Beau couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Next to him, Penny said, “Why?” Her voice was clear and steady, like nothing insane was happening at all.

“Watchers didn’t like what he was doing with all those artifacts,” Elias said. “It wasn’t my assignment. I didn’t have to kill him. I’m a Face, not a Fighter. But I wanted to. Because I hated your brother, Beauregard. I fucking hated him and he deserved to die.”

“Why did he deserve to die?” Penny demanded.

El was losing control of his hands, his legs, twitching too hard to stand. “Beau doesn’t care why I killed him, do you, Beauregard? What’s important is that you had a big brother you hero-worshipped, and I murdered him . I killed him, and I made you step into his shoes. You could’ve lived happily on the isles, but instead, you got a dead brother and a crown you didn’t want. You had to hear every hateful thing you father really thought of you because of me. You lost people you love on Leau because I set you up for a fight.”

There was an audible crack in the back of Beau’s head as the threads of his trust in Elias snapped. He boiled alive in anger, in hurt, in confusion.

“Beau,” Penny said calmingly, hand on his arm, “he’s making you angry on purpose.”

“He’s fucking good at it,” Beau choked out. “Is this monster what you’ve always been Elias? Is this just your final form?”

“ Yes .” Five, ten, a hundred voices whispered it at once from El’s throat.

“Stop,” Penny said, more urgently. “Elias, explain. Tell us why.”

“Just let me be a monster, Duchess,” the many, many voices said. Elias hulked taller, the dark, verdant magic growing around him. He moved toward Pormort. “I have business left unfinished, and I’m running out of time. Keep them alive, Aloise. I’m clearing a path to the capital.”

He reached into his pockets as he walked and dropped artifacts in the grass before he swung onto Po’s bare back, ignoring the heap of tack. All he kept was the Revenant Chain, which pulsed beneath his shirt.

“Goodbye, Your Majesty. You’ll sit the throne soon enough.”

“Stop.” Beau’s voice had never been so cold. He knew with absolute certainty that Elias would obey, and he did. “Who will you kill in the capital? Courdur’s men?”

“Yes.”

His mind raced; it was Elias and it was not. It was a beast and it was a brutal killing force that could turn the tide. Some part of him rebelled, calling for him to demand explanations from Elias, to rip the amulet off, to kiss the man until he admitted everything in a way that could be forgiven. But the cold, furious part, the part in charge at the moment, wanted to squeeze the usefulness out of this inexplicably loyal monster.

“They’re not at fault for this; Courdur is. The Watchers are. And you’re the only one who can punish them. If you want to clear the path for me to sit on the throne, you’ll ride straight to wherever the Watchers make their headquarters and you’ll kill every Watcher there. ” Rage bubbled up in his throat as he pictured Char falling, the months of mourning where this man, who’d killed him, had pretended to comfort and commiserate. What but a monster could do that?

“Consider them dead.” The bleeding cloak of magic burned as Elias stared at him, and the forest grew still and quiet. “Goodbye, Beau.” And then Elias rode off at a reckless speed, weaving through the trees so he was invisible to Beau four steps in.

The king was left with burning rage and no one to vent it on. He shouted after Elias, a wordless, furious scream, but it only wound him tighter, made his breath harder to pull in. Penny’s hand on his back was too much, an immediate sensory overload.

“What’s happening to him?” Aloise asked, staring after Elias. “It looks…horrible.”

“Aloise, please,” Penny said, and the other woman grimaced, then went to the packs and began to set up camp.

“Do you know?” Beau asked as Penny tried again to touch him and send soothing, calming waves through the ring. “What it’s doing to him? Do you know what the amulet does?”

His wife swallowed, and each blink sent a slow tear down her cheek. “Not exactly. But I know he was right to make you send him away without trying to get it off.”

She left to help Aloise, and Beau slowly sat on the forest floor, replaying every word of the last few minutes. He choked on the realization that even at his cruelest, even saying things he knew would break Beau’s heart completely, Elias was still protecting him.

Beau stayed awake the entire night, listening for the crack of a stick or rustle of leaves that would mean Elias had returned or Courdur’s men with their Watcher agents had found them.

It never came, so he had hours and hours of remembering the exact faces the people of Leau had made when they died, the shape of Char’s body as it fell out of the saddle, the frailness of his father lying in bed the last time Beau saw him, the twitching, broken monster Elias had become.

His fault. All his fault. Lying in the dark, he dug his fingernails under the edges of his stitches and stared out into the trees and let their faces haunt him until dawn broke.