Protect the Prince (Crown of Shards #2)(118)

She reached out and tapped her finger on the ring. “Dahlia gave me this ring the day before you arrived. She said it was similar to one her mother had worn. I was so thrilled. I never realized that it was a Mortan design and that she was plotting to make me her scapegoat.”

She fell silent, staring at both the ring and the cactus. After several seconds, she faced me again.

“I understand why you suspected me,” Helene said. “The cactus and the ring were in my workshop, and I had the necessary skills and magic to make the poison. It was the most logical conclusion.”

“Perhaps. But part of me also wanted it to be you. Because of Sullivan, and everything the two of you shared. Petty, I know.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. But I probably would have done the same.” She gave me a small smile. “Jealousy makes fools of us all.”

“As does love,” I added in a soft voice.

We both stared at the cactus again, but our silence was companionable.

“Is it wrong that I actually admire Dahlia’s ingenuity?” Helene asked. “I always thought that I was one of the smartest, strongest plant magiers in Andvari, but she outwitted me with a bloody cactus. And not even a very big one.”

She puckered her lips in an exaggerated pout. I barked out a laugh, and she did the same.

“Enough about Dahlia and her schemes,” I said. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant—and far more useful.”

Helene frowned. “Like what?”

I strode over to another table and picked up a jar. “Like this burn cream you used to heal my arm. It’s amazing. I want to order some and invite you to Seven Spire to discuss it and your other formulas with Aisha, the head of my bone masters.”

Helene’s jaw clenched. “You don’t have to buy my forgiveness.”

I shook my head. “I respect you far too much for that. Your cream is wonderful, and I want to be the first one to buy it. This is business.” I paused. “Although I would like to get to know you better, perhaps even become friends, if you are willing.”

Helene studied me a moment, but she must have realized that I was being serious because a sly, satisfied smile spread across her face, and she stepped forward and threaded her arm through mine. “Oh, Everleigh. Mixing business and pleasure is one of my favorite things. You and I are going to get along fabulously.”

*

Helene was right. We did get along fabulously. She was smart and clever and funny, and I enjoyed her company far more than I expected. I made arrangements with her to ship a case of burn cream to Seven Spire, then left her workshop.

I didn’t want to go back to my room, and I didn’t want to see anyone else right now, so I slipped outside, walked through the hedge maze, and ended up at the gazebo.

The blood and bodies had been removed, and the structure was once again pristine. Memories of the battle with Maeven and the magiers floated through my mind, along with my time with Sullivan.

If I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could still feel his lips on mine, still feel his hands sliding across my skin, still feel him moving with me. I would never forget that one perfect moment we’d shared, even if everything else between us had been burned away to poisoned, ruinous ash.

I sat down on one of the cushioned benches and stared out over the pond, watching the water lilies twirl to and fro. I hadn’t been here long, maybe five minutes, when familiar footsteps sounded. I drew in a breath, enjoying his cold, vanilla scent, although the sharp tangs of his minty regret and ashy heartbreak made my own heart squeeze in response.

Sullivan stepped into the gazebo and slowly approached me. “May I sit?”

I waved my hand. “Of course.”

He walked over and sat on the bench beside me. I had been trying to give him some time and space to come to terms with everything, so I hadn’t seen much of him over the past few days. His face was pale and haggard, despite the stubble that darkened his chin. His eyes were dim, his shoulders were slumped, and his entire body seemed brittle and thin.

Dahlia’s funeral had been held yesterday, and she had been buried as a hero instead of the traitor she was. Of course I had wanted to talk to Sullivan after the funeral, had wanted to comfort him, but he’d left the moment the service was finished, as if he couldn’t stomach all the nice things people were saying about his mother. I wouldn’t have wanted to hear the lies either.

“You should be proud,” Sullivan said in a low, strained voice. “You finally got your treaty. My father told me that he gave you everything you wanted and then some.”

“Yes, he did.”

But I didn’t want to talk about the treaty. I wanted to talk about him, about us, or if there even was an us anymore. So I drew in a breath, then let it out and said the words I had been wanting to for days now.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “For lying to you. For letting you think that I was going to marry Dominic. I shouldn’t have done that, especially when Paloma and the others knew the truth.”

“I understand,” he said in that low, strained voice again. “You were trying to figure out who was poisoning my father and trying to hurt my family. I would have done the same, if I’d been in your position.”

“Thank you for that. Even though I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

Sullivan let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “My mother is the one who doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. And do you know what the worst part is?” He paused a moment, then answered his own question. “I keep thinking that it’s my fault. That I said or did something that convinced her to go through with her scheme. That I’m the reason she did all those awful things. That I’m the reason Frederich, Hans, and all those other people are dead.”