All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [277]
As she related this last bit, she glared at their father.
Louis rolled his eyes and made a gesture with his hands as if to say, What exactly did you expect?
Eliot had never suspected Mitch. He’d studied and fought by an Infernal all year and hadn’t even sensed it? Eliot had known about Sealiah’s part in this, though. Jezebel had admitted as much. That little truth and trust between them had made it all the more difficult to abandon her.
But the thing that really got to Eliot was how connected it at all been. The Infernal Board had been involved? His father?
“Mephistopheles had just agreed to leave Sealiah a bit of land,” Fiona continued in a whisper. “He would have withdrawn. There could have been peace between everyone.”
There was more to this she wasn’t telling. Eliot picked up on it: how Fiona had liked Mitch . . . and how she’d been reaching out to him before Robert had struck him down. Things had been strained and awkward between Fiona and Robert before this. Now? There’d be a rift between them that’d never heal . . . because it wasn’t just Mephistopheles who had been ready to leave the battle—Fiona had been ready to go with him.
“There would have been peace?” Sealiah said with a toss of her coppery hair. “Then disaster has been averted. An ignoble death for our opponent, and all’s well that ends well.”
Eliot felt Sealiah’s power return in a tidal rush. Her connection reestablished to her lost domains . . . as well as Mephistopheles’ now-conquered lands. A crown of woven thorns snaked through her hair and blossomed.
Fiona glared daggers at the Queen, which Sealiah ignored as she turned Robert. “And our thanks to you, my Champion. You have Our favor.”
Robert nodded, accepting this “honor,” and handed Sealiah back her sword’s scabbard. All the color, however, drained from him as he took in Fiona’s pained expression.
Sealiah retrieved Saliceran from where it lay in the dirt. She flicked the blade and char sloughed off. The Damascus steel once more wept poison, and fumed where this dripped upon the earth.
Sealiah put the sword away. Eliot shuddered at the wet scraping sound as it slid back into its sheath.
“There is still much to do,” Sealiah told them, a smile spreading across her face. “There are the spoils of war. Celebrations. Honors and treasures to take!”
Fiona stood with great deliberation. She looked at them. Behind her gaze was unstoppable death. Hate rolled off her in waves.
She blinked, however, and looked away.
“You celebrate.” She turned and walked off. “I’ve lost . . . everything.”
No one followed her. No one said a thing.
Eliot knew that he should let her be. In her current emotional state, one wrong word could set her off. Better to let her cool and then they would talk.
But as much as he knew that was the logical thing to do, he couldn’t let her suffer alone. He had to stand by her side as he always had for him. Cee had always said: they were stronger together.
“Fiona,” he whispered, catching up to her. “Talk to me. Please.”
She turned and examined him. There was no hate or pain in her eyes anymore, just a long thoughtful glance. She shook her head.
Had this been his fault? Certainly part of it had. If they hadn’t come to Hell, Amanda would be alive, that’s for sure. Sealiah would’ve lost the war, though, which meant Jezebel would’ve been dead—or worse. And Mitch . . . wasn’t it better that they found out about him?
Either way, no matter what he would have done, someone lost.
And either way, one of the Infernals gained something: either Eliot helping Sealiah, or Fiona unknowingly falling in love with Mephistopheles.
“It’s not your fault,” Fiona whispered, guessing what he was thinking. “It’s theirs.” She nodded at the Queen and Louis. “The Infernals have used us from the start.”
“Yeah,” Eliot whispered back. “Maybe.”
“They are evil,” Fiona said. “We have to stop them.”
He nodded.
And yet, Eliot wondered how different the Infernals were from the League. The