Page 141 of A Sin So Pure

“Come to the revelry tonight. My father never attends, and Alexander is too young, they won’t let him in,” he says in a rushed whisper. “I need to speak freely with you.”

“Are you a fool? Don’t touch me.” I rip my arm from his grasp.

“It’s important.” His eyes beg me to heed him. They shine with an all too familiar persistence. “You can trust me, Elenora.”

My body goes still. The last time I heard my full name in use, it came from my mother’s lips.

No. That’s not true.

That honor was stolen by Patience the day he murdered her.

“You don’t get to call me that,” I snarl. “You can’t tell us your little family sob stories and expect me to trust you. You’re Seelie. And I only just met you.”

“You and I both know that me being Seelie has nothing to do with your distrust for me,” Benevolence says.

“It has everything to do with it,” I snap. “Don’t push your luck,Bennie.”

I storm off, boots pounding against the cobblestone.

“Come see me tonight,” he calls at my back. “You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

35

NORA

The springtime breeze that floats through the open window feels wrong on my skin. Casimir teases us with the rebirth of nature without allowing us to experience its death. The only reason the balminess of spring soothes us is because we fight off the sting of the winter wind before it.

Without that biting chill, I find myself at the mercy of my memory.

The nightmares love to harvest the field of my subconscious, plucking, like daisies, the worst moments of my life to replay while I slumber. Imogen lies tangled in the sheets next to me, chest rising soft and steady.

You can trust me, Elenora.

I stare at the ceiling.

You’ll want to hear what I have to say.

Benevolence’s words echo in my head, a record scratching on repeat.

What could he possibly tell me that I don’t already know?

The ache in my gut hasn’t eased since this morning, and it worsens now, pulling me from our bed. I tiptoe to the bathroom and lean against the porcelain sink, the cool surface icy against my palms. Staring into the mirror, I get lost within the tempestraging in my irises, a swirling mass of sea-storm green; I see myself, but I don’t reallyseemyself.

I see the past and the present, colliding with the severity of a bomb.

I see my father naively turning an enemy into a lover.

I see my mother betraying, and in turn being betrayed by, the older brother she once trusted.

I see both my parents trying to make a half-hidden life work for a daughter whom they loved, all to have that same child lure disaster to their doorstep.

I was deluded to think confronting my secrets would be easy. A niggling of regret worms its way between my ribs, the thought that maybe I shouldn’t have come here. That I shouldn’t have poked the bear that is Patience and instead kept my head down.

But then I take a deep breath and steel my shoulders.

No.

Nothing worthwhile in this life is easy.

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