But I vowed that one day I would make him answer for every horrible thought he forced her to endure, and I would do so with nothing less than a smile on my face as he screamed in pain.
“Corvina wrote that Leonora mentioned a power artifact several times, something with the power to change the world. It was always in passing, and eventually, Corvina chalked it up to the ramblings of a madwoman. But here,” Elios said, pointing toward the bottom of the page, “she mentions overhearing an argument between your mother and father about the artifact that had her questioning the validity of its existence.”
“Corvina had been in my father’s study before,” I said, rapping my knuckles against the wood, trying to understand everything. “The dagger was on display?—”
Rowena perched atop the desk. “Yes, but you know how he was,” she offered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “He was a fan of the dramatic and made up a different story anytime we asked about anything he had on display.”
It was true, and my father had adored Corvina. He did not care about the curse or that she was fae. He only cared that she brought me happiness, and for a while, she had. But even that had been tainted by my mother’s ambition.
Elios continued. “Apparently, Leonora asked your father for the dagger, and he refused. Corvina notes that they began speaking quietly and she could not make out the words. Before your mother left, she—” he averted his gaze.
“What happened?” I asked, furrowing my brows. A sickening thought crept across my mind, and I forced it back into the darkness lingering there.
My mother and father frequently argued, particularly after he found me shivering in the deprivation chamber, forced to endure her cruelty. I was hardly allowed the luxury of privacy afterward. Not that I minded; I enjoyed the security of knowing I would never be alone.
But I grew up knowing that security would only go so far. I would never be free of my mother’s clutches, and neither would he. Not until she died.
I suspected that was why he offered a compromise to many of her demands. It was far easier than fighting her fire with gasoline.
“What happened?” I demanded. When I was met with no answer, I grabbed the journal from his hands and scanned the pages myself. I thought back to the words she had written on the first page, a note specifically for me should I ever discover her notes, but why?
The truth
-C
My father died in the days following Corvina. Though they never found who had murdered him, it was always believed Lucius Darrow played a part in his demise. My mother swore she saw him the night she found the body, and even if there was no evidence to support this claim, I had been willing to believe it.
Darrow’s beloved daughter, whom I was convinced was the only thing he ever loved in his life, had been taken from him. Following her death, he had grown increasingly unstable. I oftenawoke to threatening messages and promises of vengeance, which only added to his look of guilt.
In the end, despite an investigation by the council, Lucius had been cleared of all charges, and my father’s murder had since been unsolved.
But as the room grew silent and Elios averted his gaze, I felt the truth ring clear.
My mother had been the only one to see my father’s body, citing the scene as too gruesome to be looked upon. I fought against her, ignoring the tug on my jacket as I tried to force my way inside, to no avail. A soft voice had whispered my name, and I turned around to see Rowena standing inches behind me. Her pale blonde hair was tousled, undoubtedly pulled from sleep to the sounds of Leonora’s wailing.
Without question, I turned away and pulled Rowena into my arms. She tucked her head between my neck and shoulder, her body wracked with tears as she called out for our father. I held her for hours as she cried, consoling her as she asked to see him and why he was gone.
How could I explain what had happened when I did not understand it myself?
I felt my sister’s presence as she stepped beside me now, wrapping her arm around my trembling shoulders. Panic and anger swirled in my veins, as fresh and potent as it had been on the day I watched my father’s body be carted out of our home on a stretcher with only a thin, bloody sheet separating him from the world’s prying eyes.
“Rion,” Rowena whispered, pressing her lips to my temple.
“She killed him,” I breathed, vision blurring. Why, after knowing what she was capable of, was it surprising to think she was capable of murdering her husband in cold blood? She had frequently beaten and tortured her own flesh and blood.
I remembered the anguish on my father’s face when he had seen what I had done, how he had called for Jasper before carefully prying Corvina’s limp form from my arms. He escorted me to my ensuite, cleaning my wounds without asking me questions as the haze had set in.
He had known what had happened.
More importantly, he knewwhyit had happened.
The days separating their deaths had been a blur—countless days of questions asked and alibis provided. I hardly slept, knowing when I tried that I would again see the light fading from Corvina’s terrified eyes.
Elios reached out, placing his hand atop mine. I barely registered the touch or the words that followed. “I have to ask,” he said, pausing. “Why did you kill Corvina?”
I could not answer. What was there to say? I had lost control, unable to stop myself once I had tasted her. I had always prided myself on self-control, refusing to indulge in overconsumption like many of our kind often did.
Blood was not necessary for our survival, but the drug was akin to damnation, seeing as we hungered for the power in others’ veins.
