Page 90 of The Darkest Oath

“But,” she whispered and took another step backward.

“And survive a bullet at the Bastille?”

“You said it was another’s blood.” Her voice trailed off as she remembered.

The newly issued dagger was heavier than it should have been as he drew it from his boot. He hesitated, staring at the blade. His thumb brushed the hilt, his jaw tightening. Would proving the truth ease her doubt—or drive her further away?

He thought of her fear, the way she’d recoiled from him only moments ago, and it twisted in his gut. But he couldn’t bear for her to think him a liar. Not about this. Not when it mattered most.

“I can show you,” he whispered, laying the knife across his thighs. “But there will be blood.”

She backed up a few more steps. Her eyes focused on the dagger. “What do you plan to do with that?”

“I plan to slice my hand and show you I am immortal. It will heal before your eyes after a moment.”

He took it in his hand and waited for her rejection, but curiosity must have tamed her tongue. The blade slid across his palm. Centuries of repetition had dulled the pain, but it still burned, as always.

Élise stood with arms crossed tightly over her belly, leaned forward, and gazed intently at the gash on his hand.

Blood ran freely until it didn’t, and the wound was stitched up from within.

Élise’s jaw fell agape. Her breath shaky, she spewed, “What sorcery is this? Are you a demon? Who are you?!”

He laid the dagger on the sofa before meeting her gaze. “I’ve already told you, Élise.”

Her hands balled into fists, and her arms spastically fell to her side before crossing again. “So what was your plan with me? How many Amées have there been? Did you plan to kill me all along? Get what you needed and be done with me?”

Rollant shook his head. “There has only been Amée, and now you. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted anything from you.” His chest constricted at seeing her afraid of him. “I never meant for our relationship to go this far.”

“But why me?” Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand to her chest as though to hold her heart together. “Why did you do this? Why fall in love with me? Why let me love you? Why did you not stay away?” She stepped back, trembling fingers brushing the wall as if needing support. Her breath hitched. “You should have stayed away.”

Rollant had asked himself the same questions many nights. He stayed rooted to the sofa, not wanting to scare her further. “Because I was selfish, Élise. You opened something in me that I had long since buried. You are the essence of life. You reminded me of the man I once was—a man of honor and virtue and passion for what is right and true. You are the fire of life that I was and lived for. I found the same passion I had in serving my God and my king in your words at theAu Pain Rouxthat night. I couldn’t stay away; no matter how many times I told myself to stay away, I always ended up back at your doorstep.”

He rose and leaned toward her, wishing to hold her. “For six hundred years, I found immortality was easier to bear if I lived alone, isolated, never caring about anyone or anything but you . . . Élise . . . you made me care. I feel like I have a soul again because of you.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “So what does this mean?” she stammered.

“It means I am afraid I may never hold you in my arms for fear of taking your life and letting the curse again rear its dark head. I tried to give you a good world where you could find love in return. I tried to right my selfish, vain desires, and I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

She shook her head. “You dare love me and leave? Push me away?” she choked, her voice shattering as tears streaked her cheeks. “You took my heart, Rollant. You have it, and now I want it back. Leave me! Leave me alone. You’re a monster. I never want to see you again!”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and her tear-filled eyes softened for a moment. She turned her head quickly, as though ashamed of whatever emotion had flickered across her face, and pressed her lips into a trembling line. “Just go,” she whispered. “Please.”

Her words struck him like the blows he had taken the night before. They cut deep, but were expected. She was scared and wanted nothing more to do with him, though at the softness in her eyes, maybe she did. He hung his head and dusted off the futile hope.

He responded in a hollow whisper. “I’ll do as you ask, Élise. You have my heart as well, though I fear it’s worth little to you now."

“I don’t want it,” she said, tears blurring her eyes.

He swallowed hard and glanced at her, feeling her fear and heartbreak mar her words. “Whether you want it or not, I love you, Élise. Find love. Find life. Forget me, though I’ll carry your memory forever. I have Amée’s rose, and I have your scarf. They’ll remain with me until the end of time, and that will have to be enough.”

He paused at her silence, taking in her hitching breaths.

“I’ll not intervene again.” He wiped his hand on his shirt, leaving a new trail of blood, and threw his coat and boots on. Each step to the door was heavier than the one before. He could feel her trembling breaths behind him, the weight of her tears pulling at him like a tether he could not break. But he had to.

The November air stung his face as he stepped into the street, the sound of her tears clinging to him like frost. He told himself it was for the best—a necessary pain to spare her from something far worse—but the truth was as hollow as the endless, empty years ahead. He had tried to leave every time before to be fair to Élise, but their paths kept crossing. With the violence growing every day in the city, he hoped their paths would not cross again. He would make sure they didn’t, not because of her words spoken out of fear and heartbreak, but because it was the right thing to do.

PartThree

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