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“You can heal her, right?” The hope in Wryn’s voice doesn’t escape Markoff, who gently shakes his head.
“I’ve done what I can. The rest is not up to me.” He putters off, leaving the three of us seated in his living room.
Wryn stands, and I grab her wrist. We haven’t touched, and the sensation of her skin beneath my fingertips is foreign and yet familiar. She lingers, her head turned, but not quite looking at me. I tug, and she sits on my lap. I can’t help myself as I wrap my arms around her.
I think I need the comfort as much as she does. Her body tenses, then relaxes, molding against me. A tiny noise escapes her throat, a cross between a groan and a whimper, as her back shudders. I pull her in tighter, my fingers digging into her clothing-covered flesh.
Her hand reaches around my neck, anchoring herself to me as we sit, meshed together.
“It’s going to be okay, Little Bird,” I murmur into her hair so lightly that I don’t know if she even hears it.
She doesn’t respond. What else is there to say?
After a few more moments, she untangles herself from me and stands again. “I’m going to sit with Ruby,” she announces, still not looking at me. She doesn’t wait for an answer before heading to that dark prison cell of a room, leaving me alone with my sister.
“You shot Grandfather,” Lilliana says, her light, airy voice casting the statement in a conflicting tone. It doesn’t sound accusing, but more like she’s announcing that it’s going to rain or that she had toast for breakfast. “If you hadn’t, he would have killed you.”
“Yes,” I agree.
She’s seen too much, and she knows too much for her age. I hate that I wasn’t a better protector. That I didn’t keep her from the worst parts of our lives.
“I’m sorry you saw it.”
“Me too,” she says, quiet and subdued. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
I wince at her words as they cut right through me.
“We left Mother behind.”
Your mother, I think, but I don’t say it. There’s no reason to.
“She made her choices. She should have never taken you away from me.”
“She did what she thought was best.”
“Isn’t that what everyone does? What they think is best. It wasn’t best for you.”
“No. She wanted me to marry an old man,” Lilliana says, and my head whips toward her. Her nose is wrinkled in disgust. “Then, Francesca returned.”
“She was going to marry you off to Bertolli?”
“I wouldn’t have done it,” she says, chin lifted in defiance.
“Sometimes, you don’t have a choice.”
“But you said we make our choices.”
“I said your mother made her choice. Then tried to make more for you. The same for Viktor. He might have loved you in his own way, but if he was willing to let you be joined to that ancient pig of a man—” I stop, not wanting to rant in front of my sister even though the words are itching to escape. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
Lilliana doesn’t react, merely watches me with that disconcerting way she has. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m free,” she finally says.
We sit in comfortable silence after that. Her no doubt conflicted in her happiness and me not conflicted at all for what I did. It’s made life better for all of us. I’m sure, eventually, there will be hell to pay, but for now, Viktor is gone.
I lean my head back against the chair I’m occupying, taking the tension out of my neck. I reach up to rub it and shut my eyes.
I must have fallen asleep, as I’m jerked awake by the sounds of screaming. It’s disorienting, being sleep-deprived and then being wrenched so suddenly from the one thing your body craved. I jump up, grabbing the back of the chair as I stumble a few steps, the room spinning around me. My stomach lurches as nausea roils through me, and I fight to keep the puke at bay.
The screaming continues. Markoff rushes past me, into the depths of the room I don’t want to enter. But it’s Wryn inside, causing all the noise. Lilliana is standing frozen outside the door, her back pressed into the wall. Her wide eyes meet mine, the color drained from her face. She shakes her head, but I push past her.
