Page 28

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

D ella startles as I storm into her office. She jumps up from the sofa, releasing a high-pitched squeak as her hand flies to her throat. Chest heaving, she scowls at me as her shock melts into anger.

“What do you think you’re doing, Iverson?” she demands.

My hands shake as I shut the door behind me. “Have you heard?”

Her head tilts to the side as she eyes my disheveled appearance. “How did you get in here? The back door is locked.”

“Through the front,” I explain, frustrated that she’s wasting time with inane questions. “That doesn’t matter. Did you?—”

“The front?” she exclaims, her brown eyes wide. “Someone could have seen you!”

“But no one did!” I snap. “I’m not an idiot. Obviously, I used an illusion.” I force myself to take a deep breath as I push a piece of hair out of my face. “Did you hear what happened?”

“Your engagement? I’m sure everyone’s heard by now.” She rolls her eyes as she grabs a glass of brown liquid from the side table and raises it in my direction before knocking it back. “Congratulations. You’re finally getting everything you ever wanted.”

Nausea stirs at the mention of my betrothal, but I can’t think about that. It’s too much. Too overwhelming.

I shake my head. “No. About my father’s murder.”

A sentence like that should be full of emotion. Sorrow, grief, or at the very least, anger. But I speak the words blandly. His death means nothing to me. I’m only bothered by the method his killer employed. I don’t know what that says about me, but right now, I don’t think I care.

“What?” she gasps, her eyes bulging. “When?”

“Last night. Someone slit his throat after the party.”

She sits back down, observing me in a way I don’t appreciate. “Do they know who was responsible?”

“The killer wrote ‘mercy’ on the wall in his blood.”

“Iverson…” She drags out my name, accusation heavy in her tone.

I bark out a humorless laugh. “It wasn’t me.”

“You sure about that?”

“If I’d killed him, it wouldn’t have been a quick death. His pain would have lasted for hours.”

Her brows shoot up, and I realize perhaps that was one of those thoughts that shouldn’t be spoken aloud. Feeling uncomfortable, I drop my gaze to the floor as I cross my arms over my chest. “Anyway, I didn’t kill him.”

There’s silence for a few moments before she clears her throat. “Then who did?”

“I don’t know.” I deflate, falling into the chair across from her. “Every lord has enemies, but I can’t think of any who would have done that.”

“Is it possible it was a coincidence?” Della asks. “Maybe his killer panicked and tried to cover up their crime by blaming the Angel of Mercy?”

“Maybe,” I say, even though we both know that’s not true. This was personal. Someone is sending me a message. Which means that someone knows our secret.

Della watches me again, suspicion radiating off her. She has every right to distrust me, but still… It rankles.

“How did you get out of the palace tonight?” she asks. “After an attack like that, Baylor will have guards everywhere. And I’m sure the ones stationed outside of your room would have known to be on the lookout for doors mysteriously opening on their own.”

I stay quiet.

Her doe eyes narrow into slits as she leans forward. “How did you get out, Ivy?”

I flinch at the sound of my nickname. She hasn’t called me that in years. Not since I implemented the distance between us.

“Answ—”

“I climbed,” I snap.

She goes completely still. “From the third floor?”

I shrug. “It’s not as if the fall would’ve killed me.”

“But it would have hurt,” she insists, anger twisting her doll-like features. “A lot.”

“Then it’s just more of the same,” I mutter as I wave off her concern.

Pity clouds her eyes, and I regret choosing today of all days to give up lying. I should have made something up.

“You’re being reckless,” she says. “Sloppy.”

Tension tightens my muscles, making my body rigid. I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the anger pulsing through my veins. “You’re making too big of a deal about this, Della. No one saw me.”

“But they could have,” she points out, her fingers picking at her dark curls, pulling the larger strands apart.

Leona loved those curls. For years she pestered Della to paint a self-portrait, telling her that such perfection needed to be preserved for posterity. Della would always brush off the comments, but I used to catch her smiling to herself in the mirror as she took extra time styling her hair.

The memory only spurs my anger.

“Why are we even talking about this?” I shoot to my feet. “It doesn’t matter! Whoever killed my father did it to send me a message. They know who I am!”

“You can’t know that for sure,” she insists, but I can tell she doesn’t believe it.

I pace back and forth across the rug, taking deep breaths as I try to steady my racing thoughts. I didn’t come here for pointless arguments.

“We need a lead,” I say calmly, clasping my hands together. “Reach out to your contacts around the city and see if they know anything. And talk with the girls who work on the floor. Drunk men are always chatty when they’re trying to impress a woman. One of them might have mentioned something useful.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

I halt my pacing and slowly turn my head toward her. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” she responds evenly. I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off. “Baylor is probably going to put a high bounty on the Angel of Mercy. That will spark the interest of every desperate person in this city. Right now, we need to lie low. Asking questions and calling in favors isn’t how we do that. And if you were thinking clearly, you’d see that.”

“How long?”

Her forehead wrinkles. “Excuse me?”

“How long do you suggest we lie low?” I demand, my body shaking.

She cocks her head to one side, observing me with some emotion I don’t have the energy to puzzle out. “Until it’s safe.”

I bark out a harsh laugh. “So, in the meantime we stick our heads in the sand and ignore anyone who needs our help?”

“We can’t help others if we can’t even help ourselves,” she says in a patient tone that sets my skin on fire.

“Coward.”

Della goes still. “Excuse me.”

“You’re quitting!” Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know these words are unfair, but that rational, reasonable part of me has been locked away, chained by some reckless monster wearing my face.

She rises from the couch, coming to stand before me. I can tell from her restrained movements that she’s barely holding onto her own temper, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t stop.

“Just until it’s safe,” she promises.

“It was never safe!” I shout, pounding my fist against my chest. “It will never be safe! Not for me!”

“Then maybe we should stop forever!”

The ground wobbles beneath me. Or at least I think it does. I’m not sure.

“No.” I shake my head, trying to stop the heat building behind my eyes. “I won’t.”

“You will.” The hard set of her jaw tells me I’ve lost her.

“You don’t control me. No one controls me.” The words catch in my throat, sounding wet and muffled.

Her expression fills with pity. “We both know that’s not true, Iverson.”

My head snaps back as if she’s slapped me.

“If you keep going, you’ll be caught,” she continues, her voice softening. “And I’ll be caught with you. All the good that we’re doing will end.”

My bottom lip quivers. “Aren’t you trying to end it right now?”

“There’s a difference between stopping permanently versus staying quiet for a few months,” she explains. “And with your engagement, you need to be careful. There will be more eyes on you than ever before. You shouldn’t even be here right now.”

The rational part of my mind insists that her words make sense, but I refuse to accept them. I can’t lose the only thing I’m good at. The only thing I’m good for. Without this, who am I? Just the wraith ? Baylor’s pet? His fiancée? The Angel of Mercy was the role I chose. Without it, only counterfeit versions of me exist. I’m nothing.

Worthless.

“Della, please.” My voice cracks.

She drops her gaze, shifting back and forth on her feet.

“I have to protect them,” I whisper, unable to hide the tears sliding down my cheeks.

“Why?” she asks, a strange expression haunting her lovely face. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Because I didn’t protect her!” I shout as something cracks inside of me.

My hands cover my mouth instantly, but it’s too late. Shame burns in my gut as my eyes dart back and forth between the woman in front of me and the portrait on the wall.

“Ivy—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off as I stumble backwards, unable to hear anything over the roaring in my ears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I don’t know which of them I’m speaking to, Leona or Della.

Without saying another word, I flee. My head spins as I race through the halls and into one of the front rooms. The club is structured into sections, all of which cater to different sorts of clientele. This one is essentially a casino.

Tables are spread throughout the room, each of them set up for a different game of chance. Tonight, most of the onlookers are gathered around one of the craps tables where a high roller is entertaining the masses. He should know better than to tempt the Fates by risking his fortune on the roll of the dice. It’s not in their nature to show restraint.

Smoke wafts through the air, clogging my throat. Heavy music pounds against the wall, coming from the room next door where drunk patrons grind their sweaty bodies against each other. They’ll be dancing until the sun rises. Many of them will likely end up in the upstairs rooms after that, along with some of the gamblers in here.

Instead of heading for the exit as I know I should, I find myself at the bar. Without asking, the bartender slides me a glass with a generous pour. I swallow the whole shot in one gulp, grimacing at the unpleasant taste. He chuckles at my reaction as he refills the glass and leaves me alone to go check on his other customers. It’s unwise to sit here in the open, but I’m past the point of caring. Perhaps I long for danger…

I roll my eyes as someone slides into the seat next to mine.

“Am I expected to call you ‘Your Highness’ now?” Darrow asks in an amused voice, sitting backward on the stool as he leans his elbows on the bar.

“Go away.” I sip my drink, letting it burn my throat on the way down.

“Is that any way to speak to your future subject?” he asks, his tone haughty.

“You won’t have a future at all if you keep talking to me,” I warn. “Go play foolish games with the rest of the degenerates.”

“Speculation isn’t my thing.” He signals the bartender for a drink. “Too many variables.”

“Didn’t you tell me recently that sometimes the risk is worth the reward?” My voice turns icy.

His gaze drops to the floor as he shifts uncomfortably.

“I heard about what happened,” he says carefully. “I’m sorry.”

I huff out a laugh. “Why?”

We fall silent as the bartender returns with Darrow’s drink and he downs it quickly before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“I know what it is to hate your father,” he whispers.

It’s the shared fate of all bastards. I glance down at my own drink, wondering if finishing it would make me feel better or worse. Honestly, I don’t know which one of those outcomes I’d prefer.

“I guess you do,” I say as I push off my stool and prepare to leave.

My gaze slides to Darrow. For the first time since he sat down, I take a real look at him. Dressed in maroon velvet trousers and a billowing white shirt that’s unbuttoned down to his navel, his outfit is utterly ridiculous. A gold medallion sits at his neck while a matching hoop hangs from one ear.

“You look like a pirate.”

He waggles his eyebrows as the side of his mouth kicks up in a crooked grin.

“A very wealthy pirate, lass,” he corrects me.

Rolling my eyes, I start to make my way to the door when suddenly a familiar face blocks my path.

Alice Darby appears even worse than before. Her bloodshot eyes are too big against her hollow face. The outfit she’s wearing appears to be the same one she had on before, only now it has several more stains. Based on the smell radiating from her, I have to wonder if she’s been wearing it since then. Her gaze shifts nervously between me and Darrow as she clutches a piece of paper in her hands.

“I see you took my suggestion.”

It would appear Della hired the young mortal woman. I’d meant to let her know Alice might be stopping by, but with everything going on, it slipped my mind.

“Yes.” Mrs. Darby smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, my lady. They’ve been good to me here.”

“I’m glad,” I tell her honestly, my gaze flitting to the door momentarily. “Did you need something?”

She holds out the paper, gesturing for me to take it. “Miss Della told me to give this to you.”

I inspect the folded cream parchment, finding no seal or address. Ripping it open, I quickly scan its contents.

I changed my mind.

Tonight. 8p.m. The Lowers.

Mortal male, late thirties. Red cloak. Blond hair.

-D

Ignoring the thoughts racing through my mind, I shove the paper in my pocket and return my attention to the woman in front of me. Alice watches me expectantly, her gaze flickering back and forth between my collar and my face.

“Thank you.” I nod. “Please let Della know I’ll handle it.”

“Of course.” She lowers herself into a curtsy before leaving us.

My eyes follow her as she makes her way through the crowd, keeping her head down until she disappears into a dark hallway.

“What was that?” Darrow asks, coming to stand beside me.

“A new development.” I reach into my coin purse and toss a few copper pieces onto the bar, but as I turn to go, Darrow snares my wrist.

“You should know that you were right.” Lines appear around his mouth, as if it’s physically painful to force the words out. “I lied to you when I said I didn’t have a way to remove the collar.”

My blood turns cold as I rip my arm out of his grip. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I heard about the king’s announcement last night.” Darrow’s chin dips, and I spot a trace of shame in his gaze. “And I’m sorry for my part in what’s happened to you.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes darting around the room before returning to me as he lowers his voice. “The almanova can remove your collar.”

I grab onto the bar to keep from falling as my legs threaten to give out. Darrow continues speaking, but I barely hear him. My entire being has been chiseled down to one single sentence.

The almanova can remove your collar.

The words reverberate through my mind, bouncing against my skull as I try to understand them. For weeks, I’ve suspected the sword was connected to my collar, but I couldn’t let myself truly believe it. I couldn’t bear to carry the weight of my disappointed hopes if I was wrong.

“But you need to listen to me, Iverson.” Darrow grabs my shoulders, shaking me until my eyes focus on him again. “It’s not that simple. I know how much your freedom means to you, but it will come at a price.”

“I’ll pay it,” I mutter as I push him away and force myself toward the door.

He trails after me, his voice quietly urgent. “If you touch that sword, you’ll be trading one master for another.”

I keep walking, ignoring his warning. One way or another, I’m removing this collar.

Tonight.