Page 65 of A Betrothal So Bloody

And you took it from them, I think viciously, though I know it isn’t fair.

I am silent, never taking my eyes from them. Dante squeezes my shoulder. The two of them stare with unguarded sympathy. The door cracks open again, and the boy returns with a small bundle in his arms. He passes it to his mother, who then approaches me slowly, like I am a frightened wild animal that may strike.

“We stored some of their belongings,” she says, holding the bundle out to me. “Letters, a few pieces of jewelry.” I catch a glimpse of aged paper—a childhood art piece of mine. The curled wings of a lovingly-crafted butterfly.

When I make no move to accept the offering, Dante steps in and takes it. He stores it in one of the saddlebags, then returns to my side. I hear him say goodbye to the couple, who murmur apologetic words that fall upon me without any meaning.

I barely notice as Dante takes my shoulders and steers me to the other side of the street, into the shadow of a building where I can get a hold of myself. One of the neighbors emerges and tries to approach.

“Shall I take your horse into the stable, sir?”

Dante shoves him aside without stopping. “Fuck off.”

“Stop,” I mutter to Dante. “Stop. I’m fine.”

He stands before me, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a whisper. “You’re shaking.”

I step back, glaring at him. “I know what you’re thinking,” I hiss. “And you’re wrong. They… They probably ran into a predator on the way to the abbey. Or were killed by highwaymen. Maybe they found a more prosperous village along the way and decided to live there instead, or—or—”

Dante is silent, giving me an opportunity to go on. But I can’t. He squeezes my hand. “Or they marched up to the abbey, made their demands, and were quietly eliminated so the Order could keep its lethal weapon-in-training.” His tone is far too gentle for the words riding upon it.

A choked noise escapes me. And suddenly, I can’t draw enough breath. I snatch my hand away from Dante and start to move past him, nearly losing my footing from my weak knees.

But he insistently blocks my path, shushing me as I give a whimper of protest and try to sidestep him a second time.

I give up, sinking to my knees and burying my face in my hands. I hear his knees hit the ground in front of me, feel his hand slide up my arm and rest upon my shoulder. His grip solidifies, and he pulls me in. The embrace is awkward at first—a halting, timid thing.

And though I want to resist, I sink against him. All at once, he is around me, the sturdiness of his body grounding me as I crumble and come undone.

As a heavy sob rattles me, he rests his chin on my head and strokes my hair.

twenty-one

Rain drums on the roof, filling the spacious bedroom with a dull, comforting roar.

We’ve been lucky to stumble across lodgings that offered substantially more luxurious amenities than our last several stops. A private room cost a fortune, but of course, that hadn’t been an issue. It’s bizarre, not having to worry over resources like that. Dante spends money like he is trying to get rid of it.

I sit on the colossal ebony-framed four poster bed, knees tucked to my chest—staring at the half-penned letter in my lap like it might finish itself. I tap my quill to the page, my coded message blurring as frustrated tears sting my eyes again.

Corvus has let me believe I am easy to discard for decades. Quietly, I’d adopted it as a facet of my identity. That my value comes from what I can do, not who I am.

Snarling in my throat, I crumple the parchment and toss it aside. I can’t focus on my next assignment update. My mind is plagued with relentless images, over and over—my mother and father begging Mother Superior to release me. Threatening to find me themselves. Blades drawn.

It is a holy honor to be honed as a member of the Corvus Order, but heroism had never been able to fully numb the sting of knowing my parents’ affection had somehow expired, and the duty toward defending humanity was greater than their love for our small family.

But that had been a lie. They had fought for me. They’d loved me so much, they’d died trying to get me back.

I rub the bridge of my nose, fighting down another sob. They might’ve been just across the side of the abbey while I was sleeping in blissful ignorance.

And now, they’re gone.

I shudder, wiping away tears on the wide, flowing sleeve of my gown. A hurricane of anger shakes my very center when I think of Mother Superior. I’ve given everything for her, fawned for her praise for over a decade. Corvus is still the only home I have left, but right now, the idea of crawling back and falling in line makes me queasy.

What if Dante is right?

Not for the first time, the possibility darkens my thoughts. What if this whole assignment has been based not on their faith in me, but my ability to obey as willing bait? Fodder, not a glorious warrior destined for a tapestry of my likeness. After everything I had done to prove myself, is that really all I am to her?

I trace the scars on my palms, clenching my jaw. I’ve sacrificed fathoms of myself for people who didn’t care the same for me. People who took my only real family away from me.