Page 169 of Heir of Illusion

“He doesn’t care?” Clyde asks incredulously. “We have backed him throughout this entire insane scheme! We followed every plan, no matter how impossible. And now when we’re so close to getting what he promised us, he’s going to ruin it all to avenge some woman? Some whor?—”

“She’s dead!” a deep voice growls, one I recognize with every fiber of my being.

As I turn toward the door, my gaze snags on the sight of my reflection in the ornate mirror above the dresser. Time stands still as my eyes flare wide at the sight of my neck.

My bare neck.

Flashes of the battle assault my mind, one after another. Calum’s lifeless eyes. Thorne killing Darby with thealmanovaand then using it to remove my collar. Baylor?—

I swallow thickly as the image of Baylor driving the sword through my chest rips through me. The memory is so sharp that I feel an echo of that searing pain. The others continue shouting, but I can’t listen through the roaring in my ears. My gaze falls to my chest, but no sign of the wound remains on my skin. A giant hole has been ripped in my tunic where the sword pierced my chest, but other than the blood stains, no trace of the fatal injury remains.

Fatal.

My body trembles as the past reawakens, rearing its ugly head as it collides with the present. I flash back to the day my father drowned me in the lake. As I’d sunk to the bottom, I convinced myself that my brother had jumped in to rescue me. I told myself everyone only believed I had died because my pulse was too faint to hear. My breathing too shallow to see.

But like so many things in my life, it wasn’t true. I’ve always been a skilled liar, able to manipulate almost anyone. Including myself.

Another vision plays in my mind, this one more recent. I’m standing before the veil, trying desperately not to tumble over as Kaldar drags me down with him. I told Thorne that I’d been able to twist over the side at the last second, that I hadn’t gone through the archway, but that was a lie too.

Deep down I’ve always known the truth, but I refused to acknowledge it. Every time those events came up, my brain carefully skirted around them, never letting me look too deeply at why they haunted my dreams relentlessly.

The vase slips from my fingers, shattering against the floor as Thorne’s shouts replay through my mind.

She’s dead.

The fighting on the other side of the wall goes silent at once. A few seconds later, heavy steps pound against the floor, and the bedroom door is thrown open. Several people file in, their expressions filled with varying degrees of shock as they catch sight of me standing beside the dresser. Multiple gasps fill the room, but I ignore them all as I’m caught in the snare of Thorne’s crystalline gaze.

Dark hair falls in a mess across his forehead, as though he’s been running his hands through it in frustration. His lips are parted, his head tilted to the side as he watches me warily, as if he fears I might disappear any second.

“Ivy.”

My name is a prayer on his lips, sending chills through me.

He moves in a blur, appearing before me faster than my eyes can track. His hand reaches toward me, hovering an inch from my cheek, as if he’s scared to close the gap and discover I’m only an illusion. His gaze flits to the bed momentarily before shifting back to me. “How are you…”

“Alive?” Griffen asks, finishing Thorne’s question.

My gaze flickers to the others briefly, finding Griffen and Fia standing by the door with three people I don’t recognize. Two men and one woman.

“How?” Thorne asks, his gloved fingers finally connecting with my skin. He turns my face back toward him, as if he’s unable to have my attention directed at anyone else.

A cold jolt of fear strikes in the center of my being, sending me shuffling back a few steps. Hurt flashes in Thorne’s eyes, there one second and gone the next as his hand falls between us. I want to throw myself into his arms and tell him everything, but a bone-deep fear holds me back.

I’ve been so honest with him. I’ve shared my pain and regrets and shame. I’ve given him every piece of myself. But this is one truth I can’t offer.

I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. When was the last time I had a drink of water?

“I must not have been as badly injured as everyone thought,” I whisper.

I can’t force myself to meet Thorne’s eyes as I utter the lie, but at least my voice sounds steady. Still, my stomach churns.

“You weren’t injured, Ivy,” Fia speaks up, her eyes watching me warily. “You were?—”

“Dead,” Thorne finishes her sentence as he closes the distance between us, coming to stand only a few inches away.

I shake my head as I stare at my feet. “No, it must have only appeared that way. My body just needed time to heal.”

“Thorne.”

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