Page 81 of Adam, Mine

“I killed his family. In the way of justice befitting to my people.”

“Your people are child killers?” Brogan whispered dangerously.

Elias shook his head. “Not . . . not always. There are circumstances . . . Not. I . . .” He paused. “I should not have done that. But there was no other way.”

“There are always other ways,” Brogan said resolutely.

Elias bit his tongue bitterly. “I am sorry,” he said.

Brogan let his apology stink in the air for a while.

“Tell me, from the beginning, and I will listen. And judge,” she said.

Elias closed his eyes at the frisson of pain from that.

“I . . . Okay. Okay. I’m the son of tavern keepers. I have three sisters, all unmarried, the eldest just out into society. I am my father’s only son. I . . . I do not . . . I was not appropriate for marriage. Before Victor took me, I was much weaker. I have the sugar sickness—”

“You do not,” Brogan interrupted.

Elias sat up straighter. “No, I do.”

Brogan scowled. “I would smell it on you.”

“Miss, I eat nothing but meat and pine.* Have done so for years. Except for that night,” Elias argued, he pulled the jar out of his jacket and tossed it to her. She caught it, pistol unwavering, and put it close to her nose.

“I swear to you, I have the sugar sickness. Victor poisoned me to fainting and took me then.”

Brogan appeared to accept this for the moment. “Why after years would you change your protective methods?”

Elias flushed; he hadn’t thought about being asked this. “I . . . He . . .”

Brogan took the safety off with an ominous click. Elias clenched his eyes shut.

“He gave me an engagement token,” he admitted. “A bottle of bitter wine. It was sharp, not sweet, and tasted of lemons. It was mine as a betrothed to have,” he said defensively, hating the desperation in his voice. “I did not have much. I just wanted . . . I wanted to be close to him, to be appreciative.”

Brogan raised an eyebrow. “Is that how they do it in Germany?” she said skeptically.

Elias could feel his cheeks burning. “No, Victor is . . . He’s not a child—he’s nearly eighteen—and I’ve only seen nineteen summers and will turn that age in the fall. We would have been men together after the handfasting. My parents just wanted me to be happy, and loved. It’s . . .”

God, this was embarrassing to say out loud.

“I was going to die soon anyway, it didn’t matter. . . . No one expected me to . . . I couldn’t be an heir. All I wanted was my last few years in comfort and joy, to be loved—”

“So you knew him,” Brogan probed.

Elias hung his head. “I did not. I confess I did not, but. He. He was beautiful and he said such kind things in his letter.”

Brogan waited while Elias sat there and wished he could die.

“He said . . .” Elias forced himself to spit out words he could never forget. “ ‘The fountains mingle with the river, and the rivers with the ocean. The winds of heaven mix forever with a sweet emotion. Nothing in this world is single; all things by a law divine. In one another’s being mingle; why not I with thine? See the mountains kiss high heaven and the waves clasp one another. No sister flower would be forgiven if it disdained its brother. And the sunlight clasps the earth and the moonbeams kiss the sea: What are all these kissings worth if thou kiss not me?’ ”

Brogan made a complicated face. “Percy Shelley.”

“What?”

“That’s Percy Shelley. Your lover did not write that. It was written by another man . . . an irritating one if the rumors are to be believed.”

Elias heard a roaring in his ears, and the thread began to vibrate with the wild beating of his heart. But the magic of this place stung his eyes violently, and he remembered Brogan’s warning. His anger could not happen here within these walls. He might not survive it.