Page 107 of Heir of Illusion

Her brows shoot up, and I realize perhaps that was one of those thoughts that shouldn’t be spoken aloud. Feeling uncomfortable, I drop my gaze to the floor as I cross my arms over my chest. “Anyway, I didn’t kill him.”

There’s silence for a few moments before she clears her throat. “Then who did?”

“I don’t know.” I deflate, falling into the chair across from her. “Every lord has enemies, but I can’t think of any who would have done that.”

“Is it possible it was a coincidence?” Della asks. “Maybe his killer panicked and tried to cover up their crime by blaming the Angel of Mercy?”

“Maybe,” I say, even though we both know that’s not true. This was personal. Someone is sending me a message. Which means that someone knows our secret.

Della watches me again, suspicion radiating off her. She has every right to distrust me, but still… It rankles.

“How did you get out of the palace tonight?” she asks. “After an attack like that, Baylor will have guards everywhere. And I’m sure the ones stationed outside of your room would have known to be on the lookout for doors mysteriously opening on their own.”

I stay quiet.

Her doe eyes narrow into slits as she leans forward. “How did you get out, Ivy?”

I flinch at the sound of my nickname. She hasn’t called me that in years. Not since I implemented the distance between us.

“Answ—”

“I climbed,” I snap.

She goes completely still. “From the third floor?”

I shrug. “It’s not as if the fall would’ve killed me.”

“But it would have hurt,” she insists, anger twisting her doll-like features. “A lot.”

“Then it’s just more of the same,” I mutter as I wave off her concern.

Pity clouds her eyes, and I regret choosing today of all days to give up lying. I should have made something up.

“You’re being reckless,” she says. “Sloppy.”

Tension tightens my muscles, making my body rigid. I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the anger pulsing through my veins. “You’re making too big of a deal about this, Della. No one saw me.”

“But they could have,” she points out, her fingers picking at her dark curls, pulling the larger strands apart.

Leona loved those curls. For years she pestered Della to paint a self-portrait, telling her that such perfection needed to be preserved for posterity. Della would always brush off the comments, but I used to catch her smiling to herself in the mirror as she took extra time styling her hair.

The memory only spurs my anger.

“Why are we even talking about this?” I shoot to my feet. “It doesn’t matter! Whoever killed my father did it to send me a message. They know who I am!”

“You can’t know that for sure,” she insists, but I can tell she doesn’t believe it.

I pace back and forth across the rug, taking deep breaths as I try to steady my racing thoughts. I didn’t come here for pointless arguments.

“We need a lead,” I say calmly, clasping my hands together. “Reach out to your contacts around the city and see if they know anything. And talk with the girls who work on the floor. Drunk men are always chatty when they’re trying to impress a woman. One of them might have mentioned something useful.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

I halt my pacing and slowly turn my head toward her. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” she responds evenly. I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off. “Baylor is probably going to put a high bounty on the Angel of Mercy. That will spark the interest of every desperate person in this city. Right now, we need to lie low. Asking questions and calling in favors isn’t how we do that. And if you were thinking clearly, you’d see that.”

“How long?”

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