Chapter Twenty-Seven Torn Apart

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Torn Apart

LIRONE'S TINY BODY falls to the ground like a puppet that's lost its strings.

"No!" I dash forward, but hands reach out to restrain me.

The henchman grabs me by my coat sleeve and yanks me back. I pull away harder, so hard that the seams rip and the coat slips away from my frame, leaving me free with only a single sleeve hanging on my arm.

I fall to my knees at Lirone's side. "Please. Please." He's just a kid. He doesn't deserve this. My nostrils fill with a metallic scent that sends my gut lurching. Blood gushes from the bullet hole in his stomach, pulsing with the beat of his failing heart. "Lirone," I whisper, but he doesn't reply. He's losing too much blood. I press my hands over his wound, trying to force the stream to stop as it oozes under my palm.

Strong arms grab me again, the henchman relinquishing the torn coat in order to pull me away from Lirone's still body.

"Let me go!" I cry. "He needs help!" But the henchman is relentless, ripping me away and dragging me back.

A whistle echoes through the night, and the man curses.

"We have no time," Pauline says. "Leave her."

"But Lady Sibille said—"

"Lady Sibille didn't say to get caught," she hisses .

Gun still in her hand, she throws another glance my way and sneers.

How could I have been so blind? Was she always this cruel, this cold? I can still see her soft smile in my mind, her bewilderment when I had her fitted for the gown, the awe on her face just earlier this evening when we stepped into the ballroom. This couldn't have all been a lie.

But then I remember something else—her eagerness for social events. The hunger in her eyes as she held my ruby in her hands. She was starved for this world, just like me. Dahlia was her way in. Just as she was mine.

Am I staring at my own future? Willing to lie, cheat, and even kill to get what I desire?

No. Not my future. A reflection . I've already done all those things myself.

I lied to my sister. Tricked and cheated Nuriel. Caused the coachman's death. I'm no better than the monstrous version of Pauline that stands before me.

A call comes from behind the massive green hedge. "Who's there?"

The henchman lets me go, cursing again under his breath. Then he and Pauline dart into the shadows, disappearing into the garden's maze to follow Dahlia, Henry, and my sister.

Lirone's tiny body is lying limp on the grass. I don't even know if he's still alive. I want to drop by his side again, sob, cry, stop the bleeding. But he needs medical help I can't provide . . . and if I get caught, my sister will face the same fate.

"Over there!" Another call comes, followed by resounding footsteps.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper into the night, though I know Lirone can't hear me. The steps are getting closer, but I'm already picking up Father's torn coat and my purse from the ground and staggering backward. I turn another corner and start running when I hear the shouts.

"Here! Get help! He's been shot!"

At least the guards can give him the care I can't. They might have never expected to be actually needed tonight, but I'll bet the Lenoir family secured the best personal guards money could buy, all boasting medical expertise. Maybe they can save him.

They will save him.

I need to believe he'll live, or else I'll break.

I push my legs faster, tears blurring my vision. I have no idea where I'm going; the road ahead is nothing but a dark haze. All I know is that I cannot get caught. I have to get away from the guards if I want a chance to fix any of it.

I've really done it—I've ruined absolutely everything.

I disappointed my sister. Put her in danger instead of protecting her. Caused the coachman's death. Failed to steal the Talent. Hurt Nuriel. Enraged Dahlia. And possibly cost Lirone his life.

All for what?

The tears come stronger, streaming down my face as if bleeding my soul out through my eyes. I tremble in the cold breeze, pressing Father's ripped coat to my chest as I force air into my lungs. My mind is fractured. My heart shattered. As if, like the coat, I too was torn at the seams—destroyed by brutal hands.

My foot catches on a paving stone and I stumble to the ground, cutting my hands on hard gravel. I wince in pain, a sob escaping me. I have no strength to push myself back up. To go on.

What if Lirone is dead?

Just like the coachman . . . If the guards had not appeared after hearing the gunshot, would the henchman have thrown his body in the river, too?

I shudder, another sob wracking me. I need to keep quiet, but the pain is too strong to hold in.

It's all my fault.

I was supposed to be the responsible one, taking charge after our parents passed. But I've made all the wrong choices.

"Think about Papa. What would he have said?" Anaella's voice echoes in my head. I hushed her. Ignored her words. But I know the answer .

Father would've been ashamed.

If he were alive and standing before me, I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye. He raised me to be kind, caring, honest, hardworking. Yet everything I've done in the past months has gone against his legacy.

I don't deserve to wear his coat. I don't deserve to carry his book with me. I'm nothing like the daughter he created it for.

I told myself I was doing it only for my sister. That I agreed to Dahlia's deal because I needed to pay for a doctor. But that wasn't the only thing that made me say yes.

It was the ruby.

The beautiful ruby, sitting on my finger.

It was all I ever wanted. To have a Talent, to be respected and adored. I longed for the acceptance of society, the sense of worth. The ruby provided all of that and more.

But at what cost?

I want to tear it off and toss it far away, never to see it again. But that won't get rid of the magic embedded in my blood. The only way to do that is for me to relinquish the gem to someone else, or die and take the Talent to the grave with me. Like Father did when he drowned.

I finally push myself up from the ground, whimpering in pain at the cuts on my hands. Blood covers my palms, both mine and Lirone's combined together in shades of red and dry brown. I look down, noticing the crimson spots on my ripped and wrinkled skirt.

What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to fix this?

Dahlia has my sister.

I need to get her back.

But I cannot steal Nuriel's Talent to do so. I cannot keep going down the same wretched road I've taken up until now. I must do this the right way. The way Anaella would want me to. The way Father would've wanted me to. And that means only one thing.

I need to bring Dahlia down .

It's an insane thought. A terrifying one. Just playing with it in my mind feels like jumping off a cliff, as though Dahlia might be listening to my thoughts.

Weakness enters my limbs at the thought of her dark eyes. There was softness in them when she looked at me, something caring . . . loving. She shared parts of herself that resonated so deeply with my soul, and in those rare moments I was certain she felt the same. Was any of it real?

I got swept up in fantasies and dreams, and I trusted her blindly; I gave myself to her, even though I knew how dangerous she was. Lirone clearly thought of her as a mother, yet she turned her back on him without a second thought, as though, by sheer will, she'd turned her heart to stone. She walked away. She didn't even care what punishment Pauline would choose.

Perhaps he and I have both been fools.

Still, my heart clenches at the thought of betraying Dahlia, rejecting the idea violently. But in my head, I know there is no other way. She will never let my sister go without the vicomte's gem. And even if I did manage to bring it to her, I would forever be under her control. The only way to free myself is to ruin her operation. To make sure she can never cast her spell on me—or anyone else—again.

I let out a shaky breath as I wipe away tears with the back of my hand.

The garden is quiet, no evidence of guards nearby. Water cascades down the three round tiers of a small fountain in a steady, calm flow. The sweet scent of flowers stands in the air, replacing the memory of the metallic smells of blood and gunpowder. The manor is far behind me, its windows twinkling in the distance. I must have reached the far edge of the gardens.

Soon enough, I'll have to turn back. But I cannot return without a plan.

Dahlia's influence is endless; her spies are everywhere. I have no information about Dahlia's operation, no idea how it works or where she is based. And I can't go to the police. When the dust settles after tonight, they will be on high alert. The entire city will be thrown into chaos. Not to mention that Dahlia might as well have policemen in her pocket. If I make one wrong move, take any direct action, it could all backfire on my sister. That's a risk I'm not willing to take.

Fear grips my insides. It's practically a suicide mission.

I cannot do this alone.

I need help.

And I cannot keep lying.

To fix this, I need to untangle everything I've twisted. To come clean about all I've done and ask for forgiveness from those I've hurt. To do that, I must start with the one person I've deceived more than anyone else.

Nuriel.

I stare back at the manor, thinking of the rage that twisted his face. He won't want to talk to me, but I'll have to make him listen. He deserves the truth.

The resolve quiets my trembling body, settling on me like a layer of fog. The trickling fountain lures me in, its soft ripples twinkling as they reflect the darkened skies. I take a deep breath as my hands pierce through the calm surface, allowing the water to wash off the blood. The pain. The anger. The betrayal. Soon the only evidence left of the horror is the raw scratches marking my palms in faded pink.

That will have to do.

I pick the pieces of Father's torn coat from the ground and string my purse back to my wrist. This is the first decision I've made that Father would be proud of. The thought fills me with strength as I turn back toward the manor.

The walk back feels shorter somehow. One moment I'm washing my hands in the fountain and the next I'm already right under the windows of the ballroom, with music and laughter echoing from above. I hurry along the narrow path toward the entrance, but before I get there a personal guard blocks my way.

"Stop right there," he orders .

I halt, my heart beating faster. I must look a mess—puffy eyes, hair tangled from the fall, not to mention the bloodstains on my skirt. I lower my arms, letting father's coat hide the crimson spots. "Is everything alright?" I ask, my voice only slightly trembling.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, my lady." The guard bows, averting his gaze respectfully. "You should go back inside. It is not safe to walk alone at night."

I clear my throat. "I was heading back for another glass of champagne anyway." I hope my tone is as light and entitled as I intend it to be.

"Let me escort you, my lady."

I nod, allowing him to lead the way. As soon as he turns, I try to smooth out my skirt and run a hand over my hair, tucking the stray strands behind my ears. The warm light of the entrance spills out on the front stairs, coloring them in gold hues. Here there are more guards, but they are no longer standing at ease. Instead, they are walking in and out of the main doors with determined strides.

I hold on to Father's coat more tightly. "Did something happen?" I ask, feigning innocence.

"Nothing you need to worry yourself with, my lady." The guard accompanies me up the stairs, only turning to me when I'm safely inside. He pauses, finally looking at my face. I hold my breath. Can he read the guilt written on it? Can he see the traces of tears and pain? "Enjoy your evening," he finally says.

I let out a silent sigh of relief as he leaves me and joins another group of men. But I cannot let my defenses down just yet. The entrance to the manor is not as quiet as when I left it. Guards, servants, and even a few guests have gathered in the foyer. In all the commotion, no footman even approaches to take my coat.

"Baron Laurent said he heard it himself. He thinks it was a duel," a lady in a lacy black gown says to her friend in a hushed tone.

"And you listen to that drunk? Didn't he also say he thinks he dropped his gem in the fountain?" her friend answers .

How typical of them to dismiss what's right before their eyes—too busy drinking, dancing, and gossiping to realize the truth. By the time they sober up, their gems will be long gone.

"But I'm telling you," the woman continues, "one of the guards mentioned that they found a child."

"Why would a child be out here on his own? And what monster would shoot a kid?"

A crippling sensation runs down my spine.

"Poor thing," the other lady says, pressing a gloved hand to her chest. "They say he bled to death."

No .

I stagger backwards, crashing right into a passing gentleman. "My lady, I'm so sorry," the man says.

But I don't care. My mind is spiraling out of control. Lirone is dead because of me. The image of his tiny body lying on the grass fills my mind—the blood dripping from his wound, coating my hands. The sneer on Pauline's face as she looked at me, showing no hint of remorse. The anguish crashes down on me, making my head spin. I cannot breathe.

"My lady!" The man's voice rises, his words tinged with alarm. "Someone get her a chair."

Hands lead me through the crowd, pushing me down to sit. Someone offers me a glass of water, while another tries to get me to talk. But their words are an incoherent buzzing in my mind.

I washed away all traces of it in the fountain, but Lirone's blood is on my hands.

"What is going on here?" a voice calls over the men. "Cleodora?"

I blink through my shock. Nuriel is standing right before me, his face an empty mask.

"Everything is fine over here, gentlemen," he says, and even though his voice is cold, his familiarity is a welcome relief. "I'll take care of the lady myself. "

The men bow and leave, but there is still a crowd watching us. My lower lip is trembling, my chest gushing with suppressed sobs that wish to tear it open. I cannot let Nuriel see any of it. I need to get a hold of myself. To tell him the truth.

"Nuriel, I—"

"I told you not to use my name," he hisses under his breath. "I thought you left. Come, I'll get you a carriage." He grabs me by my arm and pulls me up, not caring for the muttering crowd.

"You're hurting me," I say, trying to get out of his grasp. He tries to pull me forward, but I refuse to budge. "I need to tell you something. It's important."

"I don't have time for any more of your lies right now," he says. "You need to go."

"But—"

He grunts before suddenly lifting me up in his arms. I yelp as he presses me to his broad chest, carrying me outside, to the astonishment of the gawking crowd. I'm too stunned to even fight him.

My arm flails as he walks down the wide entrance stairs, and my purse threatens to fly off my wrist again. I try to grab it when I notice a giant bloodstain on its side. Panicked, I manage to stuff it under the coat, doing my best to cover it, along with my bloodied skirt.

His arms are strong, sure, warm. For just a second while he holds me, I almost manage to forget that he hates me.

"Get Lady Adley's carriage," Nuriel orders, whistling to a waiting coachman. "She's unwell."

"Let me down," I manage to say, but there's no conviction in my words. "Please. I need to tell you the truth. I—"

"Nuriel!"

I turn my head to see Madame and Renée walking toward us, no longer wearing their masks. They hold their long skirts up as they hurry down the stairs.

"What is going on?" Renée's eyes dart between us.

"Stay out of this, Renée," Nuriel says, but he finally puts me down. I stumble, my legs weak.

This is all too much.

"Watch your mouth, young man," Madame snaps back.

"It's fine, chère." Renée puts a hand on Madame's shoulder. "Nuriel, what is all this about people hearing shots in the garden?"

Another stab of pain pierces my chest. I cannot bear to listen to the news of Lirone's death again.

Nuriel takes his hands off me. "A boy was found shot, and I need to get my bearings and go to the H?tel-Dieu. So, if you'll excuse me."

"The hospital?" I say before he can leave. "Is the boy . . . is he alive?" My heart is rushing in my chest. Could it be?

"The guards found him in time." He sighs and turns away from me, striding back toward the manor. But I don't care that I didn't get to tell him the truth yet.

Lirone is alive.