Page 85 of A Sin So Pure

“Okay.”

He holds a second apple out with his other hand, this one bright red. I don’t reach for it. I don’t have gloves on and neither does he.

“I could have gotten something myself on the way down.”

“Yes, well, I can’t have you training on an empty stomach. It’s no good for either of us if you’re hungry and stoking thoughts of murder.” Silas shakes the hand that holds the spare apple as if to sayHurry up and take it. I’m waiting.“We want this experiment to be successful, no?”

With a huff, I stick out my hand, palm open and facing up. Silas’s eyes narrow on my outstretched hand, puzzled brows knitting above them. Then, the confusion drops from his face. A smug smile creeps onto his lips, like he knows I don’t want our hands to touch.

He does realize I could kill him, right?

Silas drops the apple into my hand and backs away. He twists and saunters down the hall, waving his mangled apple core in the air over his shoulder.

“See you in half an hour.”

I close the door without replying, tossing the lock into place. I rub the ruby-red apple on my dressing gown, polishing the skin until it shines.

I imagine I’ll see a lot of red today, whether it be in person or in my memories.

Lifting the fruit to my lips, I bite.

Turns out, Silas did, in fact, have a bunch of criminals lined up for me to kill.

He leads me past a red door on the first level of the complex, which opens to a large training room. Half of the space is crowded with mats and weights that have been pushed to the side. In the far corner, there’s an elevated mat for sparring, roped off like a boxer’s ring.

The other half of the room is cleared of all equipment; instead, a row of fae sit chained to chairs, iron shackles wrapped around their hands and ankles. Their clothes are in varying states of distress, stained and ripped in several places, and their hair is unkempt and greasy.

“Don’t worry,” Silas says. “They were all pulled from the Royal prisons by Wrath and were execution bound within the year. Rapists, mostly, and a sprinkle of those who killed a Royal and didn’t clean up the mess. So if you’re worried about post-murder guilt, you shouldn’t be.”

“Do I look like someone who’d feel guilty?” I ask.

My jaw ticks, and I study the chained fae with a new light. Their mouths are gagged so they can’t do more than growl in our direction, but their eyes flare with the hatred burning in their souls. I’m confident that if any of them were given the opportunity, they’d slaughter both of us in a second.

“You don’t have to convince me,” I say, rolling the sleeves of my black blouse to my elbows. My movements are methodicaland quick. I’d dressed for efficiency today, a simple shirt and slacks. “My conscience was stained black years ago.”

I pace along the line of criminals; theclack clack clackof my boots, a metronome cutting through their snarls. The skin at their wrists and ankles is rubbed raw and blistered from friction with the iron.

Stopping at the end of the line, I pivot on my heel, turning to Silas.

“How does this work?”

He stands a ways back from me with his arms crossed. Not bothering with a suit jacket for this, he’s dressed in a similar fashion to me, with simple pin-striped slacks and a white button-down. In their crossed position, his arms bulge against the golden sleeve garter that circles each bicep.

“Well, what did you learn during your studies?”

My lips downturn at the corners. “Didn’t you explicitly say no when I asked if you were going to quiz me?”

“Do you always need to answer questions with more questions?” he says. And though a dimpled smirk dusts over his cheeks, I can hear the threat in his tone.

He wants me to take this seriously.

I am.

“A soul-stealer by the name of Emmet B. Mara used the Black Death as a cover for his experiments with magic on humans. He kept detailed journals of his methods, which included attempts at manipulating the circumstances of death.”

I recite the facts monotonously. It’s another one of Silas’s tests;everythingseems to be a test to him.

“And?” He motions for me to continue.

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