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“She’s not going to tell us anything,” Nathan says.
Theresa glances at the clock again. “Of course not, I think she’s stalling for time.”
The clock strikes twelve.
“She asked me to, as a friend. Isadora said to give her a half hour and then give you this.” She reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out a piece of Isadora’s stationery.
Nathan takes it from her and dismisses her. We read the note together.
My darling husbands,
I know that you love and want to protect me from my mother, but you can’t. No one can. I have to deal with my mother alone. Know that I love you both with all my heart, and you’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. Please understand this is something that I have to do alone, not just for myself but for my father. I love you always.
Yours,
Isadora.
Nathan throws the note down into the fireplace and growls. We both know immediately where Isadora’s gone. I see my own worry reflected in his eyes at the thought of Isadora confronting someone as dangerous and treacherous as Ileana alone. Nathan and I race to pool house as quickly as we can hoping we’re not too late.
Chapter Twenty-One
Isadora
My blue dress drags across the white marble tiles of the corridor leading to the pool room. The hallway seems shorter now, though I know it hasn’t changed. I haven’t been here since the night my father died. I had to come here tonight. I have to face my mother. I can’t let Nathan and Vincent fight a battle that’s mine. I’m not going to stand idly by while my mother has them killed so she can have more power.
Over the years I’ve tried to convince myself that it wasn’t true. That I was a child half-awake from my nightmare, and what I’d seen was my imagination. I didn’t want to believe that the mother, who dried my tears at my father’s funeral, could have been the cause of his death. For twenty long years I tried to lie to myself. What else could I do? I had no proof; I was a child, but I’m not a child now. I step into the pool room, the white marble glowing blue illuminated only by the underwater light of the pool.
“Isadora,” my mother says, smiling as she steps out of the pool, dripping water on the white tiles. It may as well be blood. “I’m surprised to see you here. I’d think two husbands would keep you more than busy,” she laughs. I just walk toward her until we’re standing face to face.
“I needed to be alone,” I say
“Oh they’re not fighting, are they?” she asks, turning to pick up a towel and dry her hair. “I’d hoped that marrying you would help them get along,” she says, looking at me over her shoulder.
The lie, the false concern in her voice, causes something in me to snap. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?
“What?” my mother questions, feigning innocence. “I’d like what?”
“For my husbands to be fighting, of course.” I let the bitterness I feel creep into my voice.
“What are you talking about, Isadora?” she asks with exasperation.
I can’t believe the audacity, as if I’m not sick of her lies, her schemes, her betrayals; as if I’m not sick to death of her. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I say. “I’m sure you hope they’re fighting each other right now. I know you hope they’re killing each other.”
“Isadora, don’t be childish. Why would I want that?”
“It would save you the cost of Alex Richter, if one of them killed the other. I do believe Alex is quite expensive.” I watch my mother’s eyes grow cold and her mask of sweetness fall, replaced in an instant by the face I saw twenty years ago.
She steps toward me. “How did you find out about that?”
“That’s not important,” I say, “but it’s true isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she admits. At least she doesn’t try to lie. “Isadora, this entire region could be ours. Think what we could do. You’re smarter and more compassionate as ruler than the two of them could ever be. A schemer and a warmonger, they’ll tear the nations apart. I only want what’s best for everyone.”
“You only want what’s best for you!” I spit back. “You and I both know you’d never let me rule.”
“You’re not fit to rule, Isadora. To be a ruler takes strength, takes cunning. It takes a killer instinct that you’ll never have. You’re a silly child, and if you get in my way you’ll end up-”
“Like my father,” I interject. I watch as her eyes go wide and fill with a level of hatred I’ve never seen. I wonder if my own eyes look the same way. “Oh, I know.” I feel twenty years of rage unfold. “I remember the way you held him under the water. He was your husband! He was my father! Didn’t you love him?” I’m screaming now, all my anger pouring out of me. “How could you?”
