AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Bullshit,” I shout, interrupting him. “We always have a choice. Well, some of us do, anyway. I didn’t choose to grow up with no parents, but you did. You made the choice for me.” He makes a strangled sound, and I’m not proud of the pleasure I take in knowing he’s hurting, too.
“Do-Acacia, please. I didn’t want to leave you, but our duty is always to our Legacy. That has to come first.”
A thought so heinous, I don’t know where it stems from, hits me. “Is that why you killed mom? Did she…” I gulp. “Did she not put the Legacy first?”
Anger flashes across his features as he crosses his arms over his chest and straightens to his full height. “I’ve done a great many evil things in my time, I’ll never deny that,” Dad says, and there’s a hint of finality in his tone. “But I did not kill Gemma. I loved her too much to ever hurt her.”
I stumble as my body tries to simultaneously take a step back from the vehemence of his words, while also wanting to move closer and demand he elaborate.
“But you chased after her,” I say on a gasp. “You wanted her to come back home…” I trail off and shake my head as I remember the letters she left behind.
After I read them, I even wondered if my dad really killed her, or if someone else did. Maybe it’s stupid, but I believe him. It’s not his words that are convincing me, and I’ve not suddenly decided he’s trustworthy. But… his face… the way it’s contorted in agony and anger, I don’t think he’s faking it.
“Who killed her?” I ask, my tone frosty. “Tell me who killed my mom.”
Rather than answering, Dad wants us to move into the living room. At first I decline, but when he points out we still have a lot to discuss, I concede, since I still want answers. When he sits down next to me, I childishly get up and pick the seat opposite him.
I’m not at all prepared for the guilt gnawing at me when he looks crestfallen. He’s my dad, though, so how can Inotfeel bad? I’m practically drowning in my mixed emotions, and I don’t know how to navigate the onslaught without losing myself in the process—especially not when I don’t know why he’s suddenly out in the open, instead of hiding in the shadows as he’s done for years.
“You know, your mom didn’t want this life for you.” He sounds deep in thought and has a glazed look in his eyes as he looks out the floor-to-ceiling windows and across the ocean. “Her deepest wish was for someone else to take your place. She knew it couldn’t be, though. Despite being a girl, out of everyone, you’re the Drákon with the best claim. A direct descendant of the Leader, with no legitimate siblings to challenge you.”
I inhale sharply. His choice of words… is he saying that… I already know that Gus’ claim isn’t as strong as mine, not if I really wanted to gun for the position. The way he says it, though, it almost sounds like there are more of us—Drákons. Not just the one my mom found… but…more.He didn’t sayasibling, he clearly used the plural version of the word.
“Are you saying there are more Drákons?” I ask, arching my eyebrow.
When he fidgets under my glare, I get the distinct feeling he didn’t mean to word it the way he did. And in my experience, that means he’s given too much of the truth.
Just how many Drákons are there in this vast world?
Despite my best attempts, my dad remains tightlipped. He isn’t giving me any more info about potential relatives. While it fuels my self-righteous anger again, it’s unsurprising.
“Nikolaos told me about your mom’s letters. It’s stupid, but I had forgotten all about their existence. That’s my mistake and oversight, one I’ve corrected.” He pauses and mutters something to himself. Unfortunately, it’s too low for me to hear. “You want answers, Acacia. I can’t and won’t fault you for that. We did too, which became our downfall.”
“W-what?” I stutter.
“Listen to me. I can’t and won’t give you all the answers you want. But instead of worrying about what I’m not telling you, consider why.” When I open my mouth to tell him he has no right to keep anything from me, he holds up his hand. “Curiosity killed the cat, and it’s killed more than one Drákon. Answers aren’t always the way forward. Even if you don’t trust me, trustthat.Trust that I’m trying to stop you from repeating mine and your mom’s mistakes.”
I lean back in the chair and pull my legs up, wrapping my arms around them as I mull his words over in my head. I want all the answers, of course I do. Yet, I can’t make myself completely discard his warning. The thing is, to a certain extent he’s right. When will it be enough? If he explains what he and Mom did, I’ll want to know why. Each answer I seek will breed at least five new questions. So, when will enough be enough?
The one thing I know to be true is that answers always come at a price. To get answers from my uncle, I had to become his Protégé. To get answers about Kai, I had to be claimed. I’d do well to never forget the toll I’ve paid for the knowledge I’ve gained.
“Okay,” I concede, my unhappiness bleeding into the four letters. “I don’t like it, but I know you’re right.” I tip my chin up as I finally make eye contact with my dad.
The relieved look on his face is almost comical, but the heaviness in the depth of his gaze isn’t.
“Do you know who the last Drákon is?” I ask. “The one from Mom’s letters?”
He slowly nods. “Yes,” he says. Just as I’m about to ask who it is, he adds, “And no. There can never be alastdragon. But yes, I know who your mom was referencing.”
My eyes widen when he gives me the name I hadn’t expected, yet feel like I should have known. It’s… it’s so fucking perfect I don’t even know what to do with the knowledge. I feel frozen in my chair as different scenarios of the past, present, and future run through my mind. It’s as though Hecate herself has placed me in front of a maze of crossroads, and I don’t know what to do or say.
As my dad opens his mouth to say something, my phone rings again. Rather than answering Liam’s call, I mute the device. All three of them have called and texted countless times, and I know I have to reply at some point. I just can’t right now. I’m not ready to leave yet.
“Is it one of your men calling?” Dad asks. The look he gives me is hopeful, like he thinks we’re going to talk about my love life.
Shaking my head, I say, “You don’t get to ask me about my life. For years, it’s been enough for you to watch from the shadows, so you haven’t earned anything more.”
Again, I feel a stabbing sense of guilt wash over me as my dad deflates. The drooped shoulders and pain in his eyes wash away any remnants of hope.
