Bring Me Their Hearts(108)
“Zera—”
“Elizera, actually. No last name. Daughter of a merchant couple whose faces I can’t remember anymore.”
“—this isn’t you,” he says, hard. Almost imperious.
“This is me.” I smile with all my teeth. “You were just too stupid to see that. Blinded by a nice chest and a nice dress. PATHETIC.”
Lucien staggers back like I’ve physically hit him, and in that instant I nearly crumble. I want nothing more than to embrace him and tell him everything I’m saying is a lie—that I love him, and will marry him, and rule beside him as queen in his hopeful new land of Cavanos. A perfect ending. But that’s not how this ends. Our happiness isn’t what I came here for. It’s mine, and mine alone. The more I make my words hurt, the better he learns his lesson. The smarter he’ll be the next time a girl comes along. The harder I speak, the brighter the truth will shine. And he deserves the truth more than anyone.
Despair. I can feel it opening up beneath me, a yawning black chasm. He still hasn’t reached for his sword. I reach for mine.
IT’S OVER, the hunger cackles, those two words ringing in my ears like a deafening cacophony of screams. IT’S OVER! ALL THE PAIN. ALL MY SUFFERING—FINALLY OVER. FREE! FREE TO LIVE A HUMAN LIFE— My feet move toward him, my teeth growing long as I smile at him. FINALLY THIS WRETCHED HUNGER WILL BE GONE. I WON’T BE A MONSTER, I WON’T BE A MONSTER, I WON’T BE A MONSTER ANYMORE—
The blind anger, the blind lust, it lifts for a scarce moment. My blade is straight out, pointed at Lucien’s chest. He’s staring right at me, betrayal burning dark in his eyes. I can see it—the seeds of hate starting to blossom in his irises. The old me—the dead me—cries out with regret, my blood curdling in cold, final horror.
The only person in this world who makes me truly happy despises me.
My hand holding the sword shakes so hard and so suddenly.
DO IT.
No. (I lifted my veil, and he looked at me like I meant something.)
HE WOULD DO IT TO YOU, HE WOULD DO IT TO YOU IN A HEARTBEAT—ALL HUMANS ARE SELFISH ANIMALS, ALL HUMANS HATE YOU—
No—not him. (He laces his hand in mine as we dance, his eyes like black embers.)
HE’S GOING TO KILL YOU—LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT HIS FACE. HE HATES YOU. HE’S GOING TO TURN ON YOU. TURN ON HIM WHILE YOU HAVE THE UPPER HAND!
You’re wrong. (He kisses me. He kisses me and the world ends.)
DO IT, YOU COWARD, HE’S RIGHT HERE! INCHES MORE—AN INCH MORE AND WE ARE FREE FOREVER—
“No!” I clutch my head, the hunger fighting me like it never has before—wrenching my innards around, clawing at my throat to let it out, let it complete what it wants. “I won’t do it to him! I won’t make him suffer! Not him!”
My teeth grow even longer, sharper as my screams grow sharper. I fling my arm back and throw my sword as far as I can, before the hunger moves my body again.
“I won’t do it, you godsforsaken monster—”
The flash of searing pain and the cold steel through my chest cuts my words in half. Slowly, I arc my head down to look at the blade sticking from my unheart. Someone’s run me through from behind. Blood drips from the blade, soaking from the wound into my dress, staining the black a dark, wet crimson. Streaks of white liquid, too. I touch the liquid, my fingertips coming away sizzling. White mercury.
Someone’s killed me. Someone who knows I’m Heartless.
I look up, Lucien the only thing I see, his dark eyes unreadable, unmovable. Desperately, hopelessly, I reach out for him.
“Lucien—” I croak. “I’m sorry. I’m so…so sorry.”
My legs give out, the earth pulling me to it inescapably. The smell of pine in my nose, the smell of blood. This is so familiar—like so many days I spent in Nightsinger’s forest, being killed by mercenaries. By hungry wildcats. Today it is neither. Today, from what little I can see out of my blurring eyes and unresponsive body, it’s Gavik. A strange Gavik—disheveled and in a plain, tattered brown robe, his white hair and beard dusty as if he’s been traveling, his cold blue eyes ever the same, two shards of ice that look down on me cruelly. I can hear him speaking to Lucien, only half of it audible.
“—made it in time. Your bodyguard told me where you were…Heartless appear to pass out after…struck with such a weapon, but in reality they die…she wasn’t afraid to die in the black market…when I saw the duel, I had my suspicions…a traitor harlot, and a bitch besides…”
Faintly, my neck cracks as Gavik wrenches my head up by my hair. He’s mocking me—I can hear it in the tone of his voice, even if my brain is dying too rapidly to understand much more.
“…this is ideal…though your father will be so distraught…that his son, too, was killed by a Heartless.”
Lucien? Killed…by a Heartless? I haven’t done that. He’s still alive, I can see him just in front of me—
“…the entire country…mourning the loss of a Crown Prince…eager for revenge, don’t you think? Another war will begin…”
I see a glimmer of Varia’s sword as Lucien draws it. Gavik’s laughter rumbles, and then the sound of a dozen footsteps—heavy, in metal armor. Lawguards? All around us.
The sound of a dozen swords drawing.