A Court of Innocents

35: Wicked Desires

The infirmary occupied a quarter of the palace's space, three floors of long halls that opened into private, upscale rooms. Eris's recovery room was wide and open, filled with more elixirs and instruments than I recognized. Bright windows were drawn open, and a soft breeze danced through the room, carrying a hint of sea salt and fresh air. The sound of waves crashing against the shore carried all the way up here, undeniably peaceful. Eris slumbered on, and my eyelids grew heavy too. There was some sort of magic in the infirmary that infected everyone who needed healing, tempting them into a restorative sleep. The effect wasn't lost on me.

But I resisted it long enough to think clearly. My dagger pressed sharply beneath Eris's chin, catching the hairs of stubble that littered his jaw. When he still didn't stir, I pressed the blade deeper until the tip gathered a few drops of blood. Again, he didn't move.

I pulled back with an angry hiss. He shouldn't be so deeply unconscious after saving one person. I had been perfectly fine after I'd saved Cassian, and my Vanserra blood was more diluted than Eris's.

And yet, as the minutes dragged on and Eris continued to sleep, I realized that I might not be able to wake him with sheer force. I would have to wait for answers.

Unless...

A blade at his throat may not be enough to make him stir, but ripping his dreams away from him might do the trick. I lowered my mental shields half a fraction, just enough to drag my power into his mind—

And paused.

Eris was the darkest, cruelest kind of monster. I had no doubt that his thoughts made the Willicks look kind. Perhaps it was not the wisest move to dive headfirst into his mind. A need for answers wouldn't make me risk my own sanity like that. I'd ever be that desperate.

But I didn't feel like waiting around all day. Perhaps I could find the answers elsewhere. Perhaps a simple conversation with Tamlin and Helion could tell me enough about what Eris knows, and I wouldn't need him. Perhaps I could kill him and be done with it.

I'd imagined it countless times over the years. Envisioned slowly seeping blood, light at first, but darker and darker as his heart failed him. Imagined the look in his eyes when he realized he was fucked. Wondered what his last words would be, what petty remark he would breathe out as I ripped his life away.

It would be so easy now. The room was empty, and he was unconscious. It wouldn't be much of a fight. There would be no one to stop me from sliding my dagger between his fourth and fifth rib.

I reached for my dagger again.

And hesitated.

I had the power to slay my greatest demon right here and now, and yet I couldn't do it. His death would bring me the sweetest satisfaction, and yet I couldn't let myself indulge in it.

This was ridiculous. I was being ridiculous, and cowardly, and stupid, and I needed to do it now, before he awoke.

I reached for my blade again, ignoring the way my fingers shook around the hilt. With my other hand, I opened his robe. He couldn't pull off these Day Court clothes even if he wanted to. He was the heir to his father's throne, the Promised Son of Autumn. No other colors would ever fit him. In my urgency, I uncovered more skin than I needed to do this accurately, and it took my eyes a moment to process what I found.

Pale skin pulled taut across a muscled chest and stomach—a soldier's body. I was all too familiar with his brute strength. That wasn't what made me stare. It was the scars. And the burns. All of them, because there were multiple littered across his skin.

I knew what battle scars looked like. My legs and arms were covered in them. These were not battle scars.

"Yara." Tamlin's voice came from the distance, far away and yet so close at the same time.