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‘No!’ he burst out, wings flaring with agitation as he jerked forward. ‘Good gods, that’s not what I was saying at all! It’s just that Thysandra is hardly known for her warm and sentimental nature, and if there’sanyoneI would consider devoted to the Mother above everything else …’
Creon scoffed under his breath.
‘Oh, don’t be a brat,’ Agenor snapped, whipping around to face him. ‘Even your wounded pride should allow you to see some reason here.’
‘Wait, what?’ I said.
‘Nothing of importance.’ His glare at Creon was a stern warning. I rarely gave much thought to their age difference – immortal was immortal, after all – and yet something in that look made it suddenly easy to imagine an already jaded Agenor sending a chubby half demon toddler to bed without dinner. ‘Old history. Thysandra didn’t come out of the whole thing in the best shape.’
I blinked at Creon, who seemed to be biting back several less-than-diplomatic rejoinders, and warily said, ‘Out ofwhatthing?’
‘Me committing the crime of being born.’ Itsoundedbored and uncaring, yet the slight twitch at his jaw told an entirely different story. ‘She never quite forgave me for it.’
‘But why would she—’
‘She used to be Achlys and Melinoë’s favourite pupil,’ Agenor interrupted, sounding like he couldn’t wait to leave this subject behind us and return to the more comfortable topic of war and looming death. ‘Then Creon was born and she was … more or less forgotten. So there’s some bad blood there.’
The golden boy.
I stared unseeingly at Creon’s scarred hands as the puzzle solved itself, pieces I hadn't even known were pieces falling together in the blink of an eye. Wasthiswhy Thysandra had decided to make a name for herself by learning to withstand demon magic – because that same magic was the one thing Creon had always refused to touch, the one playing field where she might still be able to beat him?
All that work, all that suffering, just so the Mother would see thatshewas most worthy of her doting adoration … and the Mother never had.
‘And so she’sjealousof you?’ My voice cracked a fraction. He was just a little too vivid in my mind’s eye, that small half demon boy – not yet ten summers old and already wearing the firstinked cuts in his skin, the first marks of pain and failure. ‘Would she rather have been the one tortured in the name of training?’
Naxi huffed. ‘What would you have done to get Valter and Editta’s approval?’
Fuck.
‘Below the belt,’ I managed. It stung, that question. Had I been robbed of my parents’ love not by my own insufficiency, but by the appearance of another, worthier recipient … would I have hated that innocent child with the same deep passion? I couldn’t exclude it. Not entirely. ‘But point made, I suppose.’
‘All I’m trying to say …’ Agenor rubbed his eyes, fingers stiff with exhaustion. ‘There are plenty of people at the Crimson Court who play the game for no reason other than the love of bloodshed, and then there’s Thysandra. Try to show some empathy.’
Was that scolding aimed at me? At Creon? At all of us together, just in case anyone was about to propose to torture her until she told us all she knew about the bindings?
I glanced at Creon. He met my eyes for the briefest moment, a flicker of understanding passing between us – that hedidfeel empathy, couldn’t help but feel empathy, and that he’d had just as little choice in burying all of it beneath layers and layers of cruelty and haughty indifference. Had he cared, as a child? Had he ever tried to win her friendship, young Thysandra with all that hatred in her heart, as he staggered home bleeding from the training fields?
Magic was burning under my skin, hot and red as my anger, itching to wreck the Mother’s pale, porcelain face.
‘I’m more than willing to be empathic,’ Tared was saying by the window, ‘but it doesn’t change anything about the bloody fact that we need her to open her mouth. Is there any approach we haven’t tried yet? Any bargain we could offer her that we haven’t thought of?’
A bargain.
I stared at the golden mark on the inside of my wrist and felt the floor sink out from below my feet – held Khailan’s shaking hand in mine again, smelled the stench of blackened tiles again.You wish to bargain with me.
I’d done it once. Could I do it again?
Itwouldwork. It would be so very simple – a little smooth magic, a little push in the right direction, and the secret of the bindings might be ours before the sun rose again. It would make a world of difference, that knowledge. Hell, it might just be enough to win us the war.
So perhaps the question was rather … could I affordnotto do it again?
My stomach rolled violently, remembering the sickening emptiness in those phoenix faces. On the edge of my sight, Creon was watching me with narrowed eyes – knowing, without doubt, exactly what I was thinking.
‘Em?’ he muttered.
Was that a warning in his hoarse voice? An encouragement?Stop making yourself small– but what if I wished for nothing more than to be small now?
What do you want?
