Chapter 62
Chapter
Sixty-Two
I tried to kill my fathe r.
Hours had passed, and the same six words ricocheted inside my skull, drowning out the sounds around me—the crackling fire, the quiet whispers between Luther and my mother, the chirps and howls of the forest creatures lurking in the night. All of it dimmed in the echoes of that one horrifying thought.
I tried to kill my father .
No—Andrei was my father. This man was something else. Something powerful and unnatural. Something terrifying.
Something just like me.
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself as a shudder rolled down my spine. Luther jumped up and grabbed the spelled Montios cloak, draping it over my shoulders, then stoked the fire until its heat seared against my skin.
But it wasn’t the cold making my hands tremble.
He crouched at my side. “How can I help?” he said softly.
“You’ve done enough,” I rasped.
After being spotted by the man—by my sire— my mother and I had gone into matching states of shock. We’d both stared dumbly as Luther hauled us back down the hill. He’d thrown my mother onto her saddle and pulled me into his, leaving my horse behind as he took both reins and launched into an urgent retreat.
The Guardians must have seen us coming from the mountains, because a group of them were waiting for us at the pass. Rather than fight, Luther changed course for Sophos, pushing our horses to a punishing pace until the day faded to black. Just shy of the border, he’d found an overhang tucked into a hill where the three of us waited in tense silence, jumping at every rustle and snapped twig. When the moon rose high with no sign of pursuit, he’d set up our camp for the night.
He had singlehandedly saved our lives. Meanwhile, I couldn’t string together more than that one singular thought.
I tried to kill my father .
I gazed into the flames. “He wanted me to find him,” I mumbled. “So why hasn’t he followed us?”
It was our only reassurance of safety. Though I still felt a faint trace of his power, it was clear he was nowhere nearby. The Guardians might still be on the hunt, but for whatever reason, he was not.
“It’s for the best. At least until we know what he wants.”
“I tried to kill him, Luther. He’s my father, and I almost...” My voice dropped away as another tremor rattled through me.
“You didn’t know.”
“But I do know now. And it doesn’t change what I have to do.”
Concern carved deep on his brow. He squeezed my hand, his desperate urge to ease my pain evident in his grip. “Tell me what you need.”
My gaze lifted to my mother, pale and shivering, on the other side of the fire.
“The truth,” I breathed.
Her watery eyes rose to mine. She’d barely spoken since we’d fled, the weight of this revelation hitting her just as hard.
Luther stood. “It’s going to be a cold night. I’ll go gather some more firewood.”
I threw him a grateful look for what he was really offering—the privacy he knew my mother would require before she would give me any answers. His focus dwelled on me for a moment, an invisible caress against my cheek, then he left.
I shrugged off the cloak, preferring the way the sharp frost nipped at my skin and cut through my daze. I walked to my mother’s side, setting it on her instead, then took a seat beside her on a fallen log.
“I need to know everything, Mother.” I’d been aiming for stubborn resolve, but it came out like a pathetic plea instead. “I know you were only trying to protect me, but these secrets are more dangerous than the truth.”
She nodded stiffly but didn’t speak.
My voice softened. “I won’t tell anyone else, if that’s what worries you. Not even Luther.”
A frown flickered over her face. “How did you two become so close?”
“He and I...” I winced. “This isn’t about Luther. It’s about us . And it’s time you told me the truth about who I am.”
“Your heart is what makes you who you are, Diem. Not Ophiucae. All he did is give you his blood.”
Ophiucae.
For so long, my birth father had been no more than a missing word in my story. Like the names of the Old Gods in the mortal books, his name had been burned off the pages of my life in the hopes that I might forget he was ever there.
But now he had a name. He had a face .
And our story was still being written.
“Please, Mother,” I begged. “Aren’t you tired of carrying this alone?”
My words struck a chord, and a deep, soul-weary sigh rushed out of her lips. “Yes, I am.”
She shifted on the log until our shoulders were square, then took my hands. Her chin lifted as she summoned strength to her voice. “You know I served many years in the army before you were born.”
I nodded. “That’s where you trained as a healer.”
“Yes... and no.” Her brows pinched. “I wasn’t just a healer, Diem. I was a spy.”
My back straightened. “What do you mean, a spy? ”
“They recruited me very young. I wanted to do something important with my life, and they convinced me I could do that by serving the Crowns. For a poor mortal girl, it felt like the chance of a lifetime.”
I hadn’t thought it was possible to have even more questions. “Who did you spy on?”
“The Guardians, mostly. Occasionally they would send me to a powerful Descended with a fetish for mortal women, or a well-connected family who needed a mortal healer for their children, but even when I was spying on Descended, it always seemed to lead back to the rebels in the end.”
“You broke the healer’s vow?” I asked, unable to hide my scorn. Perhaps I had no right to judge her after what I’d done at House Benette, but so much of my shame from that day had come from a fear that, when I broke my vow, I’d really betrayed her . “You taught me that nothing is more sacred than that oath.”
“It is sacred,” she insisted.
“But you still broke it. When you were the palace healer, you spied on Luther and his family, didn’t you?”
She stiffened. “I never spied on a patient. And healers also vow to save as many lives as we can. What I did at the palace was in service of that.”
“So we pick and choose which vows to keep?” I knew I was being unfair, but it was a bitter wound to see her lack of remorse for her choices after months of agonizing over mine.
“I may have made mistakes, Diem, but I’ve always done what I believed was right at the time. In this world, right and wrong are not always so easily distinguished.”
I swung away from her and rubbed at my face. When I offered nothing else, she sighed and tentatively went on.
“I was good at being a spy, and I earned the notice of the Fortos King. But I was also building relationships in the Guardians, and I began to agree with their ideals. One day, I broke down and told the Guardians the truth. The leader at the time asked me to use my position in the army to spy for them instead—and I accepted. I kept them ahead of the army’s movements and passed along false information to waste the King’s time.”
“He would have killed you if he’d caught you.”
She huffed a laugh. “Hardly a day has gone by where I have not done something to risk my own life. I tried to discourage you from turning out the same.” She gave me a sad smile. “I fear you may have inherited that quality nevertheless, my brave little warrior.”
I pushed the heels of my palms against my brow. So much of this made perfect sense in hindsight. She and I had similar natures, with our stubborn, fiery spirits and our passion for doing good. But it also made no sense at all. Auralie Bellator wasn’t a spy . She was a wife and mother—and when she’d become those things, she’d left excitement behind. She lived a quiet, simple life.
And yet she hadn’t. And as much as I wanted to blame her lies for concealing it, a nagging thought wondered if my own prejudices weren’t partly at fault. Perhaps I’d seen in her what I’d expected to see—what society had told me to see—instead of the complex, nuanced woman she truly was.
“One day,” she continued, “the Fortos King approached me for a mission of the highest secrecy. He’d heard rumors that rebels had found a way onto Coeur?le. He wanted me to hide alone there for one year to find out what they were doing. I knew from my Guardian connections the rumors were false, but I couldn’t turn it down without raising suspicion. And it was a priceless opportunity—no mortal had been allowed on the island in centuries.”
“Why a year? And why send a mortal?”
“At first, I thought it was a loophole in his authority—perhaps he could deploy mortal soldiers more freely than Descended. But he smuggled me to the island on Forging Day when he was coming for the annual ritual, and he retrieved me a year later the same way. He also ordered me to stay hidden from the army ships patrolling from the sea. He didn’t want anyone knowing I was there, even the other Crowns.” Her expression turned grave. “Then he gave me a godstone knife to take with me, and I realized he suspected a Crown was helping the rebels. He hoped I’d catch them in the act and kill them.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand. What does any of this have to do with my birth father?”
“When I got to the island, I began exploring, and I stumbled on a hidden door near the Temple. It was nearly invisible, grown over with weeds.” Her eyes wandered. “To this day, I’m not sure why I did what I did next. So much might have been different...”
“What did you do?”
“I called out and asked if anyone was inside. It was completely foolish. This was the most secure place in Emarion, and the door looked like it hadn’t been opened in generations. Even if someone had once been there, surely they wouldn’t still be alive.” Her gaze snapped to mine. “But then a voice answered back .”
“Someone else was on the island?”
“I couldn’t believe it, either. He sounded so scared. When I told him I was mortal, he began weeping. He claimed he’d been imprisoned for helping the rebels and left there to die, but he’d managed to survive on rodents and rainwater. He begged me to help him escape.”
“And you did?” I asked incredulously.
“What else could I do? I couldn’t just walk away. The door was made of godstone, but the hinges were rusted iron, and I was able to break them open.” Her stare went glassy as she lost herself in the memory. “The man I found barely looked human. He was frail and thin, and his skin was grey. Not pale, but grey —like his body had been drained of its color. He claimed it was from going so long without seeing the sun. I should have known then there was more to the story.
“He was locked with a godstone chain. Nothing I did could break it open, but I had a year ahead of me to keep trying. In the meantime, I brought him fresh food and water and kept him company. Ophiucae was unlike anyone I’d ever met. The simplest stories would fascinate him, and he spoke of his dreams to change our world for the better. He was charming, and I was... lonely.”
“You developed feelings for him,” I guessed.
Her cheeks flushed a guilty pink. “I fell fast and hard. With no way to make the contraceptive tonic, I tried to resist, but he was so eager...” Her eyes closed. “Within a few weeks, we were making love. Soon after that, I became pregnant.”
I stood and walked to the fire, gazing into the flames. So this was how I came into the world. Not as a summer romance or a drunken fling, but a tryst in an underground prison between an army spy and a man so dangerous the Crowns had locked him up where they thought he’d never be found.
“Did... did he...” I swallowed hard. “Was he happy about the pregnancy?”
“You cannot imagine how happy. It was all Ophiucae seemed to think about. He would lay for hours with his head against my belly, listening for your heartbeat or feeling for your kicks. He said he’d been dreaming of you for years.”
My heart swelled, and for once, I ignored my guilt and embraced it. He had wanted me. He had loved me. What person didn’t want to know that their birth was a precious, desired thing?
I turned back to her, frowning at her somber tone. “Why do you sound like that was a problem?”
She was silent for a moment. “His personality changed. He became obsessed with revenge. He spoke of killing off the Descended and installing himself as king. And he became very possessive. When I left the cell, he would make me vow on your life that I would come back. He was paranoid that I might leave, no matter how much I reassured him. Near the end of the pregnancy...” She flinched and looked at me, the pain of the memories stark on her face. “Are you sure you want to know this, Diem?”
“I need to know, Mother. Even if it hurts.”
Her head hung low. “One day, I tried to go outside, and Ophiucae became violent. He threw me against a wall and said I wasn’t to leave his sight until you were born, but I was able to get away. For weeks, I slept out in the cold, listening to him plead for me to come back. He apologized and said his captivity had made him unwell. He swore that he loved me and would never do it again... I was pregnant and alone. I didn’t know what to do.
“The stress of it sent me into early labor. I was afraid of him, but I was more scared of what might happen if I tried giving birth on my own. When a blood sun rose at dawn, it felt like a sign that if I made the wrong choice, I might lose you forever. I prayed to the Old Gods to protect us both, then I went back down to his cell and told him you were coming. Ophiucae became just like his old self again. He made no demands, and he did everything I asked. When you finally made your appearance, he was overjoyed. I believed he’d really changed.”
My throat strained with the burn of emotion, a stray tear breaking free. I wanted to stop the story here and let that be my only truth—a man who was flawed, but willing to grow. A man who had loved us.
“But he hadn’t changed, had he?” I whispered.
She looked anguished. “When I’d healed enough to walk again, he insisted I leave to get some fresh air. I thought he was trying to earn back my trust. I left you asleep and went outside, but as soon as I walked away, a feeling in my gut told me something was wrong. I crept back down to the cell, and I saw Ophiucae standing over you with my godstone knife.” She shuddered, squeezing her eyes closed. “I’ll never forget seeing the tip of that blade over your tiny heart. If I’d been one minute later...”
Her voice choked up. I returned to her side, pulling her close, and she swiped at her tears.
“The rest is a blur. He gave me some absurd story about needing your blood to unlock his chains. I refused, and we fought, and I managed to steal back the blade. He tried to grab you, and I panicked, and I—I stabbed him in the heart.” Her head sank. “I took you and ran, and I never went back. When the time came to leave, I lied to the King and claimed I hadn’t known I was pregnant when the mission began.”
I barely heard her, my thoughts caught on one detail. “Ophiucae wanted my blood?”
“He said he wanted me to pour it on a rock and break some curse. All of it was nonsense, utter madness.”
“It wasn’t,” I breathed. “I think he was right.” We both pulled back, and my wide, stunned eyes mirrored hers. “There’s a stone in the Kindred’s Temple where the Crowns shed their blood for every ritual. When my blood touched it at my coronation, something went wrong. The stone broke, and—”
“The tremor just before the bombs went off,” she said, her face lighting up with realization—then darkening with horror. “All those months I thought I was alone... by the Flames, Ophiucae was there the whole time.”
“He must have escaped during the attack.” I blew out a long breath. “No wonder he hates the Descended.”
I didn’t say it aloud, but a part of me was darkly sympathetic. If someone had buried me alive, I might come out on the other side with a thirst for vengeance, too.
“Who else knew what happened?” I asked.
“No one. Not even Andrei.”
“Did he know you were a spy?”
“If so, he never acknowledged it. We’d both done things in the army we couldn’t discuss. We had an understanding to leave it behind in Fortos.” A heavy sorrow dragged on her features. “We were focused on our future together, not our past apart.”
I bristled. “I met Cordellia in Arboros. She said you never told him about the Guardians, either.”
“I’m sure he had his suspicions,” she said slowly. “But we never—”
“He was your husband, Mother. How could you lie to him about something so important?”
My tone was harsh, and she flinched at its bite. “You see it as a lie, I see it as unconditional trust. Andrei knew there were things I couldn’t tell him, and he chose to love me anyway. I pray you find that in your own partner someday.”
Luther’s face surfaced in my thoughts. My heart ached to let him wrap me in his arms and shoulder this burden at my side. But I couldn’t—I’d have to keep all of this from him to honor my promise of secrecy to her.
And I knew he would accept it. No questions, no argument. He would simply trust me. Love me.
“What about me and Teller?” I shot back. “You put us both at risk. Didn’t we deserve to know?”
“Diem, dear, you didn’t want to know. There were times I slipped up, and I was sure you’d figure it out. I was prepared to tell you everything, if you asked, but you never did.”
“That’s not true. I always asked where you were going, what you were doing—”
“—and when I gave you an easy answer, you took it, even when it made no sense. You were happy with your life, and you didn’t want it to change, so you looked away. As for your brother... he’s always idolized you. He knew if there was something to worry about, you’d tell him. And since you never pushed, neither did he.”
I scoffed. “So this is my fault?”
She reached for me and flinched when I jerked back. “I take responsibility for the choices I made. You have to do the same for yours. If you look back at our lives, if you truly look, I think you’ll see my secrets weren’t as secret from you as you wish to believe.”
I shoved to my feet, my temper boiling beyond its limit. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I did see it and look the other way. But it was only because I trusted you. I believed my own mother loved me too much for my worst fears to be true. That was my real mistake.”
“Diem,” she begged, “please—”
I walked away before she could finish, winding into the forest and leaving her staring at my back.