Page 147 of Shattered Jewel
But what does it mean if she can’t look at me, either?
“Are you alright?” Elara’s words are soft, almost drowned out by the muffled threats downstairs.
Her face is still turned away from me. All I see is the soft silhouette of her profile caught in the dim light filtering through the threadbare curtains.
“What’s one more scar?” I say with a jaded curve at the corner of my mouth.
The attempt at humor falls flat, and I am ashamed for it. Closing my eyes, I recall the block of text I forced myself to memorize before seeing Elara again.
“Elara ... I was the one who broke into Maverick’s room that night. The Sovereigns, they’d just told me of my sister, that she was alive, and I remembered enough to know it was true. I had to discover what Maverick was hoarding, give them evidence so they wouldn’t track Mari down and kill her?—”
“You did what you had to.”
Elara lifts her hand, gently tracing the edges of my new bandages.
“It doesn’t justify it,” I reply, still unable to meet her eyes. “I messed up his things. I sullied his memory. I broke your heart.”
“Did you have a choice?”
“Always.”
I say it with such vehemence, I almost believe it.
“It’s not about forgiveness, Axe.”
Elara’s fingers entwine with mine, and every dark impulse within me quiets underneath her touch.
“It’s about understanding that we were all forced into corners. And when pushed into a corner, we do what we need to survive.”
I feel her gaze on me now, ever watchful, ever caring, and for once in my life, I hope she sees the truth. Not the hardened, unfeeling brute I’ve been led to believe I am, but the man underneath who, despite his hardened exterior, cares deeply for the people he’s wronged.
My silence is stretches on, but Elara’s patience is unending, her understanding infinite.
A woman, a miracle, I do not deserve.
“You’re not a monster, Axe,” she whispers, squeezing my hand gently.
A keening sound catches in my throat and I blink rapidly against a foreign sting in my eyes.
Elara’s words bring no relief. Rather, they carve deeper into my soul as a hopeless truth that’s hard to swallow—but I want to believe her.
A hesitant nod is all I have to offer as a reply.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Elara murmurs. Her thumb rubs comforting circles onto the back of my hand. “I’ve seen it in your eyes–every time you look at me, at your brothers... You’re asking yourself if there’s still redemption for a man like you.”
“Yes,” I whisper roughly.
It’s an admission that costs everything.
Elara pulls me closer until her head rests on my shoulder. “And the answer is yes.”
Her response is firm yet gentle, confident yet empathetic. It’s as assertive as she’s always been since we met, unwavering in her belief that there’s goodness in everyone.
“Killing ... it stains your soul,” I tell her.
“And you think that stain is permanent,” she counters.
She releases my hand to cup my face, turning it towards her, forcing me to look. “If that’s true, Axe, then I have blood on my hands, too, so deeply ingrained that no amount of scrubbing will ever clean them. I killed the Scourge. Violently. Viciously.” Her eyes sheen over with tears as she voices her brutal actions. “Do you think I’m undeserving of forgiveness?”