what? That demon you served?” She squared
her shoulders, a wave cresting before it
smashed into the shore. “The only thing that I
am jealous of, Lorcan, is that she is rid of
you.”
Lorcan hated that the words landed like a
blow. That he had no defenses left where she
was concerned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For all
of it, Elide.”
There, he’d said it, and laid it out before
her. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
But Elide’s face did not warm. “I don’t
care,” she said, turning on her heel. “And I
don’t care if you walk off that battlefield
tomorrow.”
Jealous. The idea of it, of being jealous of
Maeve for commanding Lorcan’s affection for
centuries. Elide limped toward the readying
party of ruks, grinding her teeth so hard her