Page 82 of Empress of Ruin
“Don’t be,” he says, smooth confidence shining through. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
“You don’t know that,” I say, gaze lingering on his collarbone, where an angry red scar is raised. Not too long ago, Silas tried to send an assassin after him. The Eyes are dangerous, and this long-standing rivalry between him and Silas will end up with one of them dead tomorrow. And if Killian dies, what happens to me? Even if I get out of the country safely…I don’t want to go on without him.
He climbs into bed beside me, laying down flat on his back. I cuddle into him immediately, slinging a leg over his and hiding my face in his shoulder. He smiles into my hair.
“It’ll be fine because I refuse to lose this. I refuse to loseyou. Cain will come through.”
And if he doesn’t, Carter will come through. But if neither of them do… it’s up in the air. It comes down to how Spencer votes, and he sounds like ever the bureaucrat. He’s by the book; Killian bent the book’s rules.
“Shouldn’t have Cain already come through?” I ask quietly.
“His deadline is 12am,” Killian says. “I have something he very badly needs. He’ll do what he has to.”
I glance at the clock on the night stand, swallowing hard.
It’s 11:30pm.
For the next half hour, I watch the clock tick by in silence, trickling down minute by minute. I thought Killian fell asleep, but when 12am strikes, he gets out of bed.
“Stay here,” he says when I move to get up with him. “Rest. I’m just going to check my computer in my office.”
I wait with tense muscles and bated breath until he comes back ten minutes later, a grim expression on his face.
“And?” I prod.
He swallows hard. “He got a bank account, but it belongs to a series of shell corps owned by a Russian Oligarch.”
I frown. “A… Russian oligarch tried to have you killed?”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t do business with Russians. Someone asked him to do this on their behalf. It’d take Cain’s man at least a few more days to get through that man’s security, dig into his activity to find out who asked him to have me killed.”
“Oh,” I say quietly. So, basically, he has nothing. No real defense at the tribunal tomorrow.
“You know who did business with the Russians on behalf of the U.S. Government for some time?” Killian asks.
I meet his eyes, breath catching as it clicks into place.
“Spencer?”
“Spencer,” he nods. Lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Janus. The two-facedfuck.”
My eyes sting with oncoming tears. “So… that’s three votes against you. If Spencer was the one who sent the assassin…”
“Unless I can flip Ryan last minute.” Killian straightens. “I’ll be working through the night, I’m afraid. See if I can somehow stall the judges tomorrow with this information.”
I think we both know the chances of that working when he has a count of potentially three out of five judges against him.
He leaves the room; I lower my head into the pillow and weep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lyra
The morning air tastes like impending demise. It smells like darkness, rain, tar, andloss.It’s storming beyond the apartment; I see as much when I float from the bedroom to the terrace somewhere at around 5am, before the sun rises. My attempt to get Killian to join me is fruitless; he’s locked up in his office, talking on the phone, trying to change the outcome that’s already been decided for him.
My tears dried up a few hours ago, when I cried out everything I had been trapping in my body since the day I ran. Now, all that’s left is a horrible hollowness. It slowly grows bigger and bigger as I sit on the sofa, watching the downpour of rain fall to the city.
The atmosphere has brightened enough to tell me the sun has risen by the time I hear the patio door slide open again. It’s still a dark grey outside, but no longer the pitch black of night.
