Page 82 of A Sin So Pure

Though the photo is grainy, I can make out a few details: a smile that doesn’t reach his beady eyes, a suit that’s of an older fashion, and two-toned hair, a clear sign of aging.

He’s younger in this photo than I remember him to be, but the sharp nose and cheekbones are the same as the day he ruined my life.

Patience.

Where did they get these photos?

It’s a silly thought, because we weren’t always cut off from the Seelie Court. I know the stories from my father. The two Courts were far from friends, but we still had customs where we joined together as one realm. Such as the Solstice celebration in late December, when fifty years ago, Silas’s parents were murdered and he cemented our realm’s divide.

“This one,” I say, tapping on his face.

This man tried to steal me from my parents, and when he failed to do that, he killed them. Now, he continues to poke and prod at my life as if it’s some kind of plaything for his amusement.

I am one person, but the lives of my people are not toys to be played with.

“See, I told you,” Silas says to Wrath.

Wrath grunts.

“Where did you get these photos?” I ask.

“This library holds records of both Courts going back thousands of years,” Silas says.

A ghost of a smile graces his lips, and his eyes focus on the wall of books behind us, as if they’re replaying memories he can’t pull away from. It’s a look I’ve seen in the mirror a hundred times before.

“My parents were excited when photography was invented. They documented most of the Solstice events they attended and any other Court functions they thought worth preserving.” His smile grows. “And some that probably weren’t worth preserving. There are boxes of pictures from my youngling days in storage. Ones that should never see the light of day, let alone be discovered by a curious researcher wandering the archives.”

“You should keep them somewhere else then. Or burn them,” I say.

“He craves the attention too much to do that,” Wrath mumbles.

Silas whacks him on the back of the head, causing Wrath to mutter anouch.

“Well,” I drawl. “Now that we know we’re talking about the same man, what’s the plan?”

“Patience is old guard,” Wrath says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Been in power longer than the queen. It’s a miracle he’s still active in any capacity, but we can’t underestimate him.”

“He’s averystrong healer. And like his House’s title, he doesn’t shy away from playing the long-con. He’s smart, perceptive.” Silas’s vulpine eyes slide over me. “Same as you, Nora.”

I avoid meeting his gaze, instead I watch my fingers tap dullthunksagainst the wooden table.

“Again, where does that leave us? Stop being vague.”

“Our plan only works if we get three things right.” Silas points at me. “Number one: you. You’re our sniper. We just need to refine your shot.”

“Meaning?”

“Use your magic to plant the seed of death within him so that it bloomswithoutyour presence.”

I shoot him a deadpan stare.

“Like poison?”

“Yes, but even poison leaves a trail. Your magic won’t.” There’s a devious little tilt to his lips. “Ifwe manage to do it right.”

Silas paces around the table, one hand behind his back and the other holding up two fingers.

Such a showman.

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