Page 163 of Heir of Illusion

I lie on the floor, my breathing ragged and heart racing from the exertion.

“I told them you’d come.”

The air gets thinner as his scratchy voice echoes through the room, more familiar than my own. Scrambling to my feet, I turn to face him. My mentor. My friend. My Forsaken enemy.

Remy.

Chapter

Forty-Five

He sits with his back against the wall, his position eerily similar to the woman who sat there the last time I entered this house.

The one whose life I just ended.

But none of that matters now, not when there’s an arrow sticking out of Remy’s chest. My face pales at the sight of blood soaking the front of his uniform, the same one he was wearing when I saw him yesterday. His body jerks with a wet cough that leaves his lips stained red.

“Punctured a lung.” He grimaces as he gestures to the arrow resting right above his heart. “Fucking archers. They can’t aim for shit.”

I step forward on instinct, my hands outstretched. “Remy, I?—”

Faster than I’d expect given his injury, he reaches for the sword lying at his side and points it toward me. “You come any closer and I’ll cut that lying tongue from your mouth,rat.”

I stop in my tracks, my lips parting on a gasp. Hearing such ugly words from someone so gentle, so kind… It’s unbearable. Backing away from him, I push myself into the opposite wall.

“You need to at least pull the arrow out,” I mutter. I know I shouldn’t linger, but I’m unable to force my feet toward the door. “Otherwise, it won’t be able to heal properly.”

He rolls his eyes, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably. “I survived having my throat slit, Ivy. This is nothing.”

My gaze falls to the pale scar on his neck, the one I’ve asked him about many times. “I don’t suppose you’re finally going to tell me how you got that?”

The ghost of a smile pulls at his lips. “Maybe another time.”

Heat prickles behind my eyes. Everything about the reaction is perfectly Remy. How can he truly be lost to me when there’s so much of him left behind? Sounds of the battle rise from beneath the floorboards, but for a single moment, we exist here together in a silent reprieve. Two soldiers resting in opposite corners, readying ourselves to return to the fight.

The moment of peace fades as his gaze falls to the collar and something hot flashes behind his eyes. “That doesn’t belong to you.”

“I never asked for it,” I remind him, hating how meek my voice sounds. “I’d gladly give it away if I could remove it.”

“Doubtful.” He shakes his head. “Your kind are all the same. Every word out of your mouth is a lie.”

“My kind?” My brows raise. “You mean high fae?”

He chokes on a laugh, wincing from the movement. “High fae, half fae, mortals. This whole planet is a cesspit. And soon,hewill wipe us all away.”

A door slams shut down the hall and footsteps pound against the floorboards. Our time is running short, but I need answers.

“Who ishe, Remy?” I press him. “Who do the Forsaken serve?”

His eyes turn glassy as his stare shifts to the window. “Thealmanova,” he whispers. “TheSoul of the Star.”

Soul of the Star.

That’s what Darrow saidalmanovatranslated to in the old language. But how does that make sense? Surely the name is merely meant to be poetic, right? It can’t refer to an actual soul trapped within the sword.

The train of thought is cut short as a symphony of screams ring out beneath us. Time stands still as a single male voice rises above the rest as its owner cries out in agony. I know that voice…

Thorne.

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