Page 141 of Heir of Illusion

I spit at him, leaving a red stain on his pristine white shirt. A deranged smile pulls at my lips as he begins to shake with rage. Before he can react, the door opens again.

My gaze flits to the new arrival, thinking it’s Doral or Huxley, but my brows pinch together as I see the last person I was expecting.

Worry seeps through my anger, gnawing at me as I get a good look at Remy. He’s far thinner than the last time I saw him, his armor now swallowing his sickly frame. The dark circles under his eyes are stark against his pale face.

“Remy—” I start to ask if he’s alright, but he cuts me off.

“I apologize for the interruption, Your Majesty,” he says, his tone urgent. “But this couldn’t wait.”

Baylor waves his hand, his body still tense with unspent anger as he keeps his eyes on me. “Get on with it.”

“I have learned the identity of the Angel of Mercy,” Remy announces.

Baylor’s head snaps toward the captain. Every ounce of heat abandons my body at once, leaving me with nothing but ice in my veins.

“Give me their name,” Baylor sputters. His claws are already extending as his fury finds a new target. “Tell me who it is!”

Remy’s gaze flits to mine, and I spot a familiar hostility there. The same one I saw in Grell Darby. His attention drops to my collar as a cruel smile overtakes his face.

“Iverson Pomeroy.”

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

Silence hangs in the air in the wake of Remy’s accusation. I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. All I can do is stare into the face of the man I love like a father, begging the Fates to let me wake up from this nightmare.

Remy belongs to the whisperer now.

When did it happen? I rack my brain, trying to remember the last time we spoke? He’s been so busy searching for the sword, I don’t think I’ve truly spoken to him since the night of the ball.

The night my father was murdered.

No.No, that couldn’t have been Remy. Memories of him glaring at my father that night make their way to the front of my mind, forcing me to see what I should have noticed then. He wasn’t himself. I assumed it was because he was exhausted, but I was wrong. Thealmanovahad already latched onto him.

Remy is one of the Forsaken.

Baylor’s hand snaps out, snagging my wrist in a tight grip. His claws prick against my skin in warning. “Have you any proof of this claim, Captain?”

Remy nods. “There are several witnesses who can place her at each crime scene.”

I’d bet my life thosewitnessesare all Forsaken.

“But what made me suspect her in the first place is the fact that I saw her exiting Lord Pomeroy’s room around the time of his murder,” Remy adds. “And she had blood on her clothes, Your Majesty.”

My fists clench at my sides as I pull against Baylor’s hold. “That’s a lie.”

“Why did you wait until now to bring me these concerns?”

Remy lowers his gaze, his features twisting with false sorrow. “Forgive me, my king. I was conflicted about turning in someone who’s been like a daughter to me.”

I bark out a laugh.

“Do you deny these claims?” Baylor raises a brow.

“Yes!” I insist. “I didn’t kill my father.”

“And what of the others?” He tilts his head. “You didn’t kill those people in the city, did you, pet?”

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