Chapter 18
Vincentius’ office shows no hint of our attempted theft, but any sense of relief evaporates the moment he summons me a new chair.
My stomach drops as I slowly sink down into the frilly eyesore.
The legs are far too delicate and I fear that they’ll crack if I move too much.
The backrest doesn’t help either. It’s too narrow and straight. My lip curls, but I stay silent.
Vincentius stares down at me from his place behind his desk.
It’s like being faced with a deadly predator and it takes me a moment to shake the instinctual response to freeze.
I smile at him like I haven’t spent the better part of seven years hating his guts and wishing I cursed him instead of my brother.
I keep my voice light and playful, easing into this game we’re playing. “I have to admit, I’m shocked it took you so long to return after I broke into your little museum.” My teeth flash. “Getting slow in your old age?”
His eyes narrow. “I was burying the body of my guard and cleaning up the mess you left behind.” He waves a hand and a lit cigarette appears. He takes a long draw, his gaze raking me. Smoke curls past his lips. “What do you want with the Amulet of Acerabus?”
“Who said I wanted anything? Maybe it was all to piss you off for fun.”
His lips quirk. “I’m glad you haven’t changed much since I last saw you. You’re still so fearless, like Emilia.”
“And Rossana.”
“Quite. Tell me, Astoria. Why steal it?”
I attempt to ease into my chair, legs crossing at the knee. “Technically, I didn’t steal it. I bartered for it with your son.”
“And what did you promise him for it?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
The stare he nails me with has me squirming. A small part of me is still that child who desperately wanted to impress him. My lips thin, trying to hold onto my composure.
I wish I could lean back in the chair and stare coolly back at him.
But this is Vincentius. He taught me how to weave magic like I’m threading a complex tapestry.
He toasted my accomplishments at dinner, even when I surpassed his own children.
He allowed Jinx into his house when my own father banished my familiar to the grounds, declaring that she was too dangerous when all Jinx did was protect me from the unjust and brutal punishments.
More than that, this man is married to the woman who loved me like a daughter, only second to Aunt Vi.
The two women shared the task of raising their deceased friend’s daughter joyfully.
They would titter excitedly over tea about the prospect of Valen’s and my future.
And most importantly, they taught me how to bend men with a single look.
Vincentius taught me the art of magic, but Rossana taught me the art of manipulation.
My heart pangs, my throat tightening. My eyes leave the weaver before me to travel the room. This was supposed to be my family. Even after seven years and my rebuilt home with Jinx and Lucas, I’m so utterly destroyed.
He was supposed to be my father, but he’s not. He’s Vincentius Bauer the Third, the head of the Bauer family, Council of Weavers member, and he chose to take the deal the Archweaver offered him over my ascension to power.
And I needed to ascend to Archweaver back then.
Viola made it clear all my life that becoming Archweaver would mean a direct connection to the Tapestry and the power to rise above the rules of magic.
It was the solution to my Dual Threads. They would no longer war.
They would balance as Preservation and Transformation joined them; four threads, one soul, like all the other Archweavers and Heirs.
Only then would this pain within me finally end and I would no longer be seen as an abomination to be culled.
Rossana Bauer understood this need. Viola and she would whisper softly about it in dark corners, Rossana’s perfect skin creasing as she nodded.
I watched her from behind the couch, Rossana’s dark eyes meeting mine and winking, before sliding her hand over her husband’s chest to purr Viola’s plans to him.
She twisted one of the most powerful weavers alive around her finger; when she’d slide her hand over his collar, he’d shiver.
It hurt to remember the shock on Viola’s face at the naming ceremony, the flash of fear that tightened her features. Then her attention snapped to Vincentius before slowly turning a dark look to his wife beside him. Rossana’s hand covered her mouth and she turned away from us.
I always wondered if Rossana was truly as blindsided as the rest of them.
She witnessed my darkest times. Those times when I desperately needed the title of Heir.
I would sob as hot and cold roared through me and the only thing holding me together was Vincentius’ magic shivering across my skin.
Rossana’s brown eyes shone in her sheet-white face, her hands curled into claws as she held Emilia and Valen away, her magic shimmering before them and distorting their visages.
The Bauers knew I needed the title and still they abandoned me to burn.
All the betrayal, all the hurt, all the grief builds and builds until I’m about to burst. My gaze falls back on the powerful weaver in his large, leather chair with his lit cigarette and cool arrogance. I swallow through the tightness in my throat. I can hold back no longer.
My voice rasps, my eyes burning. “You ruined everything.”
Vincentius blinks and my fingers curl into fists as I focus on him with a growing intensity that lengthens the shadows. “My life. My rightful place. My future.” I shake my head. “You fucked it all up.”
He takes a slow draw from his cigarette, gaze wandering to the bookshelf. The stream of smoke blows to the ceiling with a long exhale. “I know.”
Now it’s my turn to blink. Whatever I expected, it was not that. “Why did you do it?”
Vincentius sighs, tapping the ash in an ornate tray on the corner of his desk. “The Archweaver offered me a deal to not oppose his decision. It seemed like a good one at the time.”
“What was the deal?”
His cold stare is unwavering. “One I miscalculated.”
I scoff. “Miscalculated? You didn’t even warn me!
” Hurt bleeds into my words, the shock from that night like a raw, pulsing wound in my chest. “You shouldn’t have let me go in there thinking that…
that…” I’m losing control and my vision blurs, but I won’t let my tears spill. He doesn’t deserve the sight of them.
A small flicker of shame and regret shadows his eyes. It must be quite intense to bleed through his perfect mask. “Yes. That was also a miscalculation.”
I lean forward, my magic rising with my emotions. My voice lowers dangerously. “Stop being vague and tell me. I deserve to know everything. And if you don’t, I won’t be held responsible for my reaction.”
He eyes the clouding magic thoughtfully. “Threatening me is a bold move, child.”
“I’m not a child.” My teeth bare, magic crackling. “I’m a woman scorned, and my rage will rip through your office like it did your precious sphinx.”
His eyes glint like he’s enjoying this moment, and it nearly tips me over the edge of sanity. He holds out his cigarette. “Would you like some? It might help you calm down.”
My body shudders, eyes flashing. My heart falters when he stills. What color did my eyes turn? Fear chills me.
He’s right, though I’m loath to admit it. I need to calm down. My control is slipping and if I want the answers my soul so desperately craves, I need to play the game. I cannot force Vincentius to bend. I need to sway him, which takes cunning composure.
I force my too-tight throat to swallow, force my coiled body to lean away from the desk. My voice is still strained, but a normal volume. “Why?”
He surveys me and I can see him calculating something rapidly.
The fear chills some of the burning rage within me.
Finally, he speaks. “Your father and I came to an agreement. Alasdair and Emilia would be betrothed, and Valen and you as well. Emilia would’ve made an excellent Lady Archweaver and brought Alasdair’s wild ways to heel.
” He frowns slightly. “It was a good move for Emilia at the time.”
Hurt overwhelms the surging elation of being correct. He chose Emilia over me and it plunges a knife deep in my chest. Logically, it makes sense. Emilia is his true daughter, after all.
My small, cracked “Oh” is barely audible. My vision blurring worse.
Vincentius’ expression softens, his cigarette lowering. “Oh, Tori.”
I turn away, hoping to hide the single tear that escapes. His voice is gentle. “Would it have been so terrible? Emilia would’ve moved to the Archweaver estate, and you would be here.” He offers a small smile. “Did you really want to stay at that place with Atticus and that shrew Luciana?”
The sound of Alasdair’s mother’s name sends a ripple of terror down my spine. Vincentius continues, like he doesn’t notice. “You could’ve been happy and free of them if you’d complied.” His head tilts. “Rossana misses you dearly. As do I. Don’t get me started on Valen.” He huffs a small laugh.
My throat tightens. His words are seductive, as if his focus wasn’t solely on placing his children in the best positions of power.
My teeth clench, my instincts whispering to me.
There’s something else, something he’s not saying.
If that was truly the best option, then he would’ve planned it from the beginning.
He could’ve spent years carefully molding me into the future Bauer wife.
But instead, he pushed me to be the best, pushed me to climb harder, be a leader.
Be the Archweaver. All my life, Vincentius schemed for my ascension as much as I dreamed it. As much as Viola dreamed it.
My eyes narrow. It doesn’t make sense, because it doesn’t answer all the questions, only the easy one. “And why did you want me at the Bauer estate so badly that you’d risk our relationship?” My chest tightens, suspicions taking form. “Why did my father want it?”