Page 105 of Heart of Thieves

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

NIC

I cannot find Laurel anywhere.

I’ve searched the theater several times over, certain she would track me down as soon as she realized I’d broken free of her control. But the hours have passed, and the sun has risen, and Laurel is still nowhere to be seen.

Dread rises like bile in my throat as I duck out into the sunlight, squinting past the tree line toward where the tiny, thatched roofs of Warthington peek out over the hills, then down west toward the sea, where Aethera sprawls, glittering like the discarded scales of a dragon on the coast. Beyond that, the sea shards like the chips of voratium encrusted on Laurel’s arms.

Where could she have gone?

It takes almost an hour to get through traffic to the apartment where she and I have been living. But there’s no sign she’s been home at all. Even her clothing is still strewn on the bed from when she changed into her evening gown last night.

I scour the beach next, and when I find no sign of her, I search St. James’s building downtown before making a stop at Ostena’s place.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

The day wears on, and I take to darting down streets, swearing I see her in each face I pass.

Finally, when the sun sinks toward the horizon and the streetlights flicker on, I slump to the curb, hands shaking, stomach growling, head aching.

Nocturne’s game is due to start its third round in a matter of hours, and I still have no clue where Laurel has gone.

A group of women watch me from across the street, whispering among themselves.

I probably look a mess. Nothing like the charismatic Liar they’ve seen in magazines. A far cry from the feared seaspawn I’ve made myself out to be.

“Nic,” a voice says nearby.

I leap to my feet, catching sight of Laurel beneath a streetlight with her arms loose at her sides, cheeks tear-stained, hair mussed.

Even in such disarray, she is still lovely. A beautiful, terrifying mirage.

“Laurel,” I say on an exhale.

She approaches, heels clacking on the sidewalk. “You lied to me.” Her voice does not break, but it does quaver, and I hate the hurt I hear in it. Hate knowing the reason I could not find her was not because she was out attacking people, like I presumed, but because she was mourning my betrayal.

Guilt prickles in my veins, but I keep it there, don’t let it grow into shame. I can regret hurting her and not make it mean more than that.

It’s clear she’s waiting for a response, even though her statement was not a question, so I tip my head. “Sometimes deceit is necessary.”

She winces as though I’ve struck her. “Do you love her, then?”

Pain tightens every syllable, like she’s tearing each one from the beating organ in her chest.

“Does it matter?” I ask gently. “You’d hate her regardless.”

“You know,” she says, sniffing. “The night the moonshard broke, after I ran, all I thought about was you. Whether you made it out. Whether the light had burned you. Whether you were dying. I didn’t sleep for months.”

“You weren’t the only one worrying.” I press a hand to her arm.

“I’m glad to hear that, considering I wouldn’t have been in that predicament if not for you,” she says, glare suddenly sharp. “The moonshard wouldn’t have broken. I wouldn’t have had to hide. My father would still be alive.” Each word she slings harder than the last, like she’s hoping they’ll draw blood. “Perhaps even Enzo would be happy now, too.”

I know what she’s doing. She’s feeding the shame that calls like an old friend. Wants me to hate myself so she can take over my body again.

But I’m not going to let her.

“Maybe even Astra would be better off,” she says, dropping her voice to a lethal murmur. “Free, instead of trapped between a pair of bickering brothers.”