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Please understand, there are no coincidences when it comes to fate. Our families were destined to cross paths. We are tied together, your family and mine, the Dálaighs and the Brovs. Just like the O’Briens and the O’Farrells were.
Like the roots of The Weeping Tree, our fates have been intertwined for years. Hate and fear feeding violence and revenge. My brother, and Arden’s father, Michael, will be another victim of this bitter war. He too will be murdered by The Collector, a year before your father burns me alive. I know that because I’ve seen it.
There is a blade with a handle made of his skin that you display in your home. This is proof of how far our families are willing to go for revenge. That act of violence brought to life three brothers-in-arms who are much like yourselves. Tortured souls bound together by death, violence, and hate.
You know them as the Deana-dhe.
The three men exchange looks, and for the first time since arriving here, I see a brief flickering of fear in their eyes. The Deana-dhe are men whispered about in private rooms. They’re the shadows in the corner of your eye, the assassins who move like ghosts, unseen, feared, violent. They’re both real and imagined. They’re the gatherers of secrets and deal in lies and half-truths. They’re the monsters who slay monsters. They’re stuff made of legends, and unbeknownst to The Masks, are the men I’ve run from.
Jakub clears his throat. “Read,” he demands.
It pains me to know how much blood has been spilled, how many people hurt, and how many lives snuffed out, and for what gain?
I still don’t have the answer to that question.
What I do know is that Fate has played her part well, and she has plans that even I cannot see beyond.
“What does she mean, see beyond?” Konrad snaps, ripping the letter out of Leon’s hold. He reads on silently, his face paling. “This can’t be true…”
“What can’t be?” Leon asks, taking back the letter and reading out loud once more.
I am what you call, a seer. I can look into the future, but my daughter’s life is unclear beyond this night, the night you read this letter.
Unclear, butcrucially, not over.
I have questioned myself many times over the years about my role in your destiny with my precious daughter. I have battled with my need to protect her. I’ve made mistakes, changing our names, hiding from my very own family and taking aid from Christy’s father—a man who I never should’ve fallen in love with—in the hope that he would save us both. But I should’ve known that Fate always catches up with those who run from her, punishing them for it.
Do my actions make me a bad mother, knowing that I’ve kept so many things from Christy? That I’ve hidden part of her true family from her? I don’t know the answer to that. What I do know is that fate is written in the very marrow of our bones, and the cells in our blood, and no matter how much we might try to change our path, we will always end up at the same destination. Always.
Leon’s head snaps back up as he glares at me. “What kind of game is this, Thirteen?”
No game, I write quickly, shaking my head.I didn’t write this letter.
“Bullshit!” Jakub snarls. “Did the Deana-dhe put you up to this?”
No. They are enemies of my father. I havenothingto do with them.
“But they’re not your mother’s enemies!” he throws back. “The Dálaighs are close to the O’Briens.”
My mother is long dead,I point out.My father has kept me away from them all. You know that.I swallow hard, willing him to believe me.
“And yet here you are delivering a letter from a Dálaigh,” Konrad points out, prying the letter from Leon’s hold and continuing to read, but not before giving me a look. A look that tells me that my position here has become tenuous.
Leon made a choice to save my daughter from the fire. Your father killed Star just like he warned Leon he would. The day he shot her dead was the day you became The Masks. You did it to protect your hearts from the true monster, your father.
Every action has a reaction. Every decision has a consequence.
Whether I like it or not, whether you accept it or not, Christy was meant to come into your lives, as you were meant to come into hers.
That cannot be unwritten, and nothing I could’ve done would have changed that fact.
Nothing.
Still, I write this letter in the hope that somehow the truth of your connection will ensure her future. I suppose this is my last attempt at trying to protect her.
But how do you ask three soulless men to allow your child to live?
Pleading won’t help.
