“He’s more useful to me alive than dead.” Not a lie.
Lysandra tapped a manicured nail on the worn table. After a moment she said, “I used to be so jealous of you. Not only did you have Sam but also Arobynn … I was such a fool, believing that he gave you everything and denied you nothing, hating you because I always knew, deep down, that I was just a pawn for him to use against you—a way to make you fight for his affection, to keep you on your toes, to hurt you. And I enjoyed it, because I thought it was better to be someone’s pawn than nothing at all.” Her hand shook as she raised it to brush back a strand of her hair. “I think I would have continued on that way for my whole life. But then—then Arobynn killed Sam and arranged for your capture, and … and summoned me the night you were hauled to Endovier. Afterward, on the carriage ride home, I just cried. I didn’t know why. But Wesley was in the carriage with me. That was the night that everything changed between us.” Lysandra glanced at the scars around Aelin’s wrists, then at the tattoo marring her own.
Aelin said, “The other night, you didn’t just come to warn me about Arobynn.”
When Lysandra raised her head, her eyes were frozen. “No,” she said with soft savagery. “I came to help you destroy him.”
“You must trust me a great deal to have said that.”
“You wrecked the Vaults,” Lysandra said. “It was for Sam, wasn’t it? Because those people—they all worked for Rourke Farran, and were there when …” She shook her head. “It’s all for Sam, whatever you have planned for Arobynn. Besides, if you betray me, there’s little that can hurt me more than what I’ve already endured.”
Aelin leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, trying not to think about the darkness the woman across from her had survived. “I went too long without demanding retribution. I have no interest in forgiveness.”
Lysandra smiled—and there was no joy in it. “After he murdered Wesley, I lay awake in his bed and thought about killing him right there. But it didn’t seem like enough, and the debt didn’t belong only to me.”
For a moment, Aelin couldn’t say anything. Then she shook her head. “You honestly mean to imply that you’ve been waiting for me this whole time?”
“You loved Sam as much as I loved Wesley.”
Her chest hollowed out, but she nodded. Yes, she’d loved Sam—more than she’d ever loved anyone. Even Chaol. And reading in Wesley’s letter exactly what Arobynn had ordered Rourke Farran to do to Sam had left a raging wound in the core of her. Sam’s clothes were still in the two bottom drawers of her dresser, where Arobynn had indeed unpacked them. She’d worn one of his shirts to bed these past two nights.
Arobynn would pay.
“I’m sorry,” Aelin said. “For the years I spent being a monster toward you, for whatever part I played in your suffering. I wish I’d been able to see myself better. I wish I’d seen everything better. I’m sorry.”
Lysandra blinked. “We were both young and stupid, and should have seen each other as allies. But there’s nothing to prevent us from seeing each other that way now.” Lysandra gave her a grin that was more wolfish than refined. “If you’re in, I’m in.”
That fast—that easily—the offer of friendship was tossed her way. Rowan might have been her dearest friend, her carranam, but … she missed female companionship. Deeply. Though an old panic rose up at the thought of Nehemia not being there anymore to provide it— and part of her wanted to throw the offer back in Lysandra’s face just because she wasn’t Nehemia—she forced herself to stare down that fear.
Aelin said hoarsely, “I’m in.”
Lysandra heaved a sigh. “Oh, thank the gods. Now I can talk to someone about clothes without being asked how so-and-so would approve of it, or gobble down a box of chocolates without someone telling me I’d better watch my figure—tell me you like chocolates. You do, right? I remember stealing a box from your room once when you were out killing someone. They were delicious.”
Aelin waved a hand toward the boxes of goodies on the table. “You brought chocolate—as far as I’m concerned, you’re my new favorite person.”
Lysandra chuckled, a surprisingly deep, wicked sound—probably a laugh she never let Arobynn or her clients hear. “Some night soon, I’ll sneak back in here and we can eat chocolates until we vomit.”
“We’re such refined, genteel ladies.”
“Please,” Lysandra said, waving a manicured hand, “you and I are nothing but wild beasts wearing human skins. Don’t even try to deny it.”
The courtesan had no idea how close she was to the truth. Aelin wondered how the woman would react to her other form—to the elongated canines. Somehow, she doubted Lysandra would call her a monster for it—or for the flames at her command.
Lysandra’s smile flickered. “Everything’s set for tomorrow?”
“Is that worry I detect?”
“You’re just going to waltz into the palace and think a different hair color will keep you from being noticed? You trust Arobynn that much?”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Lysandra’s shrug was the definition of nonchalance. “I happen to know a thing or two about playing different roles. How to turn eyes away when you don’t want to be seen.”
“I do know how to be stealthy, Lysandra. The plan is sound. Even if it was Arobynn’s idea.”
“What if we killed two birds with one stone?”
She might have dismissed it, might have shut her down, but there was such a wicked, feral gleam in the courtesan’s eyes.