Page 79 of This Cruel Fate

He stared back at her, as if daring her to pick a fight. “I did see him and I hated him. Both can be true.”

She didn’t hate Silas, and she never saw him. How cruel.

“Look, Xolia.” Atlas broke eye contact with her and inched closer to Peter, who hadn’t so much as flinched at their arrival. “You can’t be vice chancellor. You need to step aside.”

“What are you saying?” Xolia clenched her jaw. This was hardly the time or place for this conversation.

Atlas sighed—no, deflated. His shoulders sagged, and pure exhaustion radiated from him. Gone was his mask of neutral impassiveness. He was broken. “You didn’t know Silas like I did, and what he wanted, what he was planning. . .It. . .I won’t let it happen. I can’t.”

His words crushed Xolia more than his actions ever had. “What do you mean? I knew him longer than you did.”

“What does that matter?”

“I. . .it—” Xolia stuttered over herself. What did it matter? Of course it mattered. It did. It had to. Silas was hers. He had loved her. . .but he favored Atlas more. You know it’s true. She couldn’t handle this, not when Peter was dying.

“And you, Xolia, you’re more like him than anyone I know. You act like him, Sel, you even think like him. If you knew what he was truly like, you wouldn’t try so hard to act like him,” Atlas said. He faced her with wide eyes. His hands were splayed, palms up; he was truly pleading with her. “It scares me. I can’t let you finish what he started. I won’t let it happen.”

The room door opened, and Atlas’s entourage entered, followed by Emily. “Sorry, Vice Chancellor, the elevator malfunctioned,” one of the men said. They flanked Atlas to surround him while Emily placed herself right behind Xolia.

While the men on Atlas’s team were professionals, not even they could stop themselves from peeking at the scar on Xolia’s neck, now visible with her coat slightly unbuttoned. It burned against her skin with each glance and side-eyed stare. All she wanted to do was to scratch at it until it fell away from her skin, to prove it wasn’t part of her, not really.

“I think Peter needs to rest,” Xolia said. She needed to get away from Atlas’s words and the sight of an unresponsive Peter. She stopped in front of Atlas. “I’m not backing down. Peter wants me by his side. I want to help Ris. I’ve come too far to stop.”

She stared, trying to convey the severity of her words to him. Atlas’s jaw clicked, but he didn’t say anything in response.

Xolia left the hospital room, Emily trailing close behind her. As Emily was hitting the ground-floor button inside the elevator, Atlas rounded out of the room. “I’m not done talking, Xolia.”

She scoffed. Atlas opened a hospital room close to the elevator, and Xolia didn’t stop to consider her actions before preventing the elevator doors from closing and following him inside. Emily stepped out and started to follow her, but Xolia stopped her. “It’ll be fine, just wait out here.”

Emily didn’t need to speak for Xolia to pick up on her apprehension. Xolia gave a slight shake of her head, a silent plea for her not to speak. Xolia’s stomach fluttered when Atlas closed the door behind him. She hadn’t been alone with him since the night at the museum. At least with Peter in the hospital bed, there was still another person with them.

Unable to fight off the incessant need to scratch at the scar, Xolia relented and scratched at the raised skin. Atlas watched unabashedly, which only made Xolia feel more ashamed and all that did was make the scar itch more.

“I would really like to go home and try and forget about today,” Xolia said and forced her hand back down to her side. Images of Peter’s still body flashed through her mind.

“Xolia.” The vestiges of Atlas’s neutral mask slipped away. “Step aside.”

“Tell me why.”

A strained puff of air escaped Atlas, and he paced the length of the room. His Oxfords slapped against the white hospital tiles. “Silas was cruel to you. We all knew it. Everyone in the barracks. Except for you. No matter how many times he berated you or told you not to manipulate blood, you loved him.”

A lump formed in Xolia’s throat. She was loyal, and that was commendable. The way Atlas put it, she sounded weak. Pathetic.

“He was going to kill Peter, you know.” Atlas stopped his pacing to level her with a piercing stare. “Peter is so trusting; he wouldn’t have seen it coming.”

Bile rose in Xolia’s throat. “What are you talking about?”

“He told me he was going to do it. If we had killed Peter, humans wouldn’t have stood a chance. We could’ve re-established the monarchy.” A tear slipped down Atlas’s cheek. Xolia couldn’t stand it. Who was this in front of her? She hated Atlas, and Atlas hated her. They didn’t cry in front of each other. “If he had done that, you know what he was going to do to you?”

Xolia couldn’t respond. She couldn’t do anything more than listen to him in horror.

“He would have followed the old ways. He was so disgusted by you, Xolia.”

She shook her head. That couldn’t be true.

“He hated you but knew he wouldn’t have won the war without you. You were useful, but once the war was over?” He scoffed. “Silas was going to kill you. Any variant that was able to manipulate blood was killed in the old days. Did the church tell you that? Did the priests tell you the first Selermine commanded all four elements and killed someone like you?”

“You’re lying,” Xolia insisted, but the words were weak against her tongue.

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