31. Gemini
31
GEMINI
T he meeting started five minutes ago, but I don’t rush Veil as we walk through the high-arched corridor of Mount Pravitia. There’s a raging thunderstorm outside, the rain thrashing against the stained-glass windows, cloaking us in heavy shadows even though it’s mid-afternoon.
I can feel Veil’s heart pound in her chest as if it were my own. Her energy is wild and unsettled. I relish it. Would bathe in it. I know the reason for her apprehension is partly about meeting the rest of the heirs, but her energy has shifted since her little performance at Animus last night.
And I’m not talking about her contortionist routine. I knew her time had finally come the second I saw her storm through the backstage corridor, thirsty for blood.
Oh, what a sight she was.
Before reaching the boardroom, I turn to Veil and grab her gently by the shoulders. She lifts her chin to meet my gaze. Her brown eyes shimmer as she watches me. She’s breathtaking. Especially in the yellow corset I chose for her.
We both know she’s not my prisoner anymore, but she still let me dress her this morning. It makes me want to lock her up all over again and never leave the house.
“Who are you?” I ask her seriously.
Her eyes bounce from side to side, as if studying me, before she answers softly, “Veil Vulturine.”
I grin proudly and nod before pulling her into a short but passionate kiss. “It’s showtime,” I declare with a mischievous wink.
With Veil’s hand in mine, we walk in. The boardroom is hushed. It’s the kind of silence that means something, the air charged with every single atom of the words not yet spoken. Five sets of eyes stare back at us, and the entire affair makes me want to burst into a wild, senseless laugh.
Mercy sits at the head of the long quartz table, next to Wolfgang, her hands clasped tightly on the table. She’s dressed in her usual all black, her plunging neckline revealing a small chained necklace that I’ve never seen before. A quick look at Wolfgang, and I find a similar necklace tucked under the collar of his suit jacket.
Belladonna sits to their right. She narrows her eyes when she sees me, her loose curls a shock of red against the cream of her pantsuit. I don’t linger long on her accusatory glare, smiling at Constantine and Aleksandr, who have chosen seats on the other side of the table.
“You know better than to bring one of your zealots to a meeting, Gemini,” Mercy snaps.
“Who, Veil?” I ask innocently as I lift her hand to my lips. My skin is buzzing with anticipation. I flash her a bright smile and tsk teasingly. “That’s no way to address the seventh heir of Pravitia, love.”
The following silence is as thick and cold as a block of ice. There’s not a sound, except for Constantine snickering into her pink lace gloves and Aleksandr quietly shushing her.
“What did you just say?” Wolfgang says with a threatening curl of his lip.
I sigh, as if bored when I’m anything but. “I said , Veil Vulturine is not one of my zealots.”
I pull out a chair and gesture for my doll to sit. She does as I said, her movements slightly unsure, but nonetheless unshaken.
“She is the servant of the god of thievery.”
I take my seat beside Veil just as Wolfgang tries to stand up, but fumbles with his chair and nearly falls down. He tries to ignore his misstep by kicking the leg of the chair and leaning his palms menacingly on the table. I’m barely concealing my chuckle when he glares and points a finger at me.
“God of what ?”
Mercy places a hand on Wolfgang’s arm, and his head immediately tilts downward to look at her. Her face is stony and impassive as they share a quick, wordless conversation, and Wolfgang eventually sits back down, peeved. He drags a palm over his beard before crossing his arms.
Under the table, Veil’s leg is bouncing up and down, but her expression is cool and collected. I place my hand over her thigh and squeeze. She stops.
Mercy doesn’t speak. She appears to be trying to intimidate me with silence, as if I were bothered by any of this. She should know better; this is what I live for.
I can feel my god snickering alongside me.
She continues to throw metaphorical daggers at me, and by the look of her severe brow, I’m sure she’s envisioning lodging her real dagger into my neck. Wolfgang is sporting a similar expression, now wringing his hands together compulsively as he stares.
I smile.
They glare.
Somewhere to my left, Belladonna clears her throat.
I turn impatient and let out a long sigh.
As soon as I open my mouth, Mercy hisses, “Explain yourself.” I start to speak, but she lifts a manicured finger. “Not you. Her .”
I turn to Veil, and by the look on her face, she seems taken aback by the sudden shift of attention; then she blinks, and it’s gone. It’s replaced by a poised expression that has me grinning from ear to ear.
“I was just as blindsided as you are now,” she finally says.
“Do not presume you know how I am feeling ,” Mercy spits.
“Mercy,” I interject, my tone now a lot graver.
Her gaze cuts to mine. I know Mercy all too well; she’s boiling with rage even if her exterior appears as calm as still waters. Slowly, she leans back into her chair just as a flash of lightning illuminates the room. The thunder soon follows.
I give Veil’s knee a pat, signaling her to continue. She breathes in deeply and rests her folded hands on the table. She takes the time to look at all six of us before returning her full attention to the ruling heirs.
“I didn’t know I was the servant of the god of thievery until it was revealed to me two weeks ago.”
“By whom?” Wolfgang grits out slowly, seemingly trying to appear as calm as Mercy, but the bulging vein in his neck is giving him away.
“The Oracle,” I reply.
I hear Aleksandr curse, but I keep my eyes on Mercy, whose eyes have widened in disbelief.
“You spoke with the Oracle?” Mercy asks.
I shrug and nod with nonchalance. “I needed my suspicions confirmed.”
“How could you keep something like this from me?” Mercy seems to realize her small slip. Her green eyes slide to Wolfgang and then back to me. “From us.”
I tilt my head to the side and give her a droll look as I casually drum my fingers on the table. “You’ve been busy, love.” I flick my hand dismissively. “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”
“Gemini told me last night,” Constantine pipes in, just as comfortable in chaos as I am. “He also told half of his circus before fucking Veil against a wall.”
Aleksandr rubs his brow in exasperation beside her, his face almost as red as his tracksuit. Wolfgang, on the other hand, blanches upon hearing this, his eyes practically bulging out of his head.
“Dimwitted twit!” he snaps. “You announced it to a handful of plebeians first before even speaking to us? This is sensitive information.”
“Apologies,” I say with a smirk. “It was in the heat of the moment.” Then, just to rouse them further, I add, “Belladonna also knew.”
She flashes me an appalled look, the apple of her cheeks turning bright red. “You swore me to secrecy, you two-faced buffoon!”
Constantine falls into another fit of giggles, and Aleksandr groans into his hand.
“Silence.” Mercy’s voice is like the crack of a whip, and silence returns.
Her eyes meet mine, piercing gaze imploring me to be serious. A lifetime of friendship has me listening to her wordless command.
“What did the Oracle say exactly?” Mercy asks.
“ Damnatio memoriae ,” I respond.
“From what I understand, my family was banished centuries ago. I only came back to Pravitia a few months ago,” Veil adds.
Wolfgang’s eyes narrow, studying Veil. “Why, and from where?”
“I’m not quite sure,” she says with a sheepish shrug. “And I was born in Corutio. I never left the city before I was … called here.”
“Called?” Mercy repeats.
Veil sneaks a glance my way before answering, “It’s the only way I can explain the feeling.”
“The Oracle says it’s due to the new epoch.” I wave two fingers between Mercy and Wolfgang. “It seems this new epoch is full of surprises.”
“Like a reset?” Aleksandr muses.
“Maybe,” I respond as I lean toward Veil, draping my arm over the back of her chair. “The Oracle was quite vague about it all.”
Mercy tracks my movements, staying quiet for a beat before addressing Veil directly, “Why do you look familiar?”
I puff out a small laugh, and Veil flashes me a warning look, which only makes me laugh even harder. She ignores me and turns back to Mercy and Wolfgang.
“I was his sacrifice at the Feast of Fools.” Veil quickly clears her throat before adding, “He let me go.”
This time, everyone’s reaction is stunned silence.
“You never killed your sacrifice?” Constantine says, bewildered, and I think she’s more offended by the lack of spilled blood than me keeping this from her.
“Lucky I didn’t, is it not?” I respond flippantly.
“How could this be?” Mercy mutters under her breath just as Wolfgang says, “We need to make this official.”
I roll my eyes. “How? With another one of your puff pieces?”
“Stop acting like an ingrate little troll and take this seriously,” Mercy snaps. “She will need an official public appearance whether you like it or not.”
“Whatever it takes,” Veil says beside me, and pride blooms in my chest.
“Her family sigil,” Wolfgang says.
Mercy finishes his thought. “She’ll need it tattooed.” Then she looks at Veil up and down, seemingly cataloging her tattoos. “Is your back bare?”
Veil nods. “It is.”
“Interesting,” Mercy says under her breath, and then she changes the subject entirely. “What is the nature of your relationship?”
I don’t allow Veil the time to answer. “She is the future mother of my heirs.”
As expected, Veil appears to choke on the weight of my words, but Mercy just scoffs and clenches her jaw.
“It’s, uh … romantic in nature,” Veil says, her voice cracking as she tries to be helpful and answer their questions seriously.
“They certainly did look romantic last night,” Constantine quips, sending us heart eyes our way.
Wolfgang ignores her and says, “However serious this fling is, you cemented your fate with the stunt you pulled last night. She’s not just another rube to discard; she’s an heir . From now on, you’re a couple.”
I push out a dry chuckle and raise Veil’s hand to my lips while longingly staring at her. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, my dear Wolfie.” I disregard his insulted hiss at the nickname, my gaze continuing to bore into Veil as her cheeks pinken with my steadfast attention. “My fate was always Veil Vulturine.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“We’re getting married,” Mercy blurts out.
This time, I’m the one left in shock—but evidently not surprised. There are happy gasps and muttering of congratulations around the table as my mouth falls open and my attention shifts to an awkward Mercy. Wolfgang, on the other hand, is puffing his chest, looking very pleased with himself.
Mercy waves us off. “All I meant was, our wedding can be your first appearance as an official couple — in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” I repeat, tonguing my cheek. “Someone is in a hurry.”
Mercy flashes me an irritated look, and I laugh, clasping my hands on the back of my head.
“If you say so, your magnificence,” I say. “And what about the circus?”
“What about the circus?” Wolfgang volleys back.
I nod toward Veil with a flick of my chin. “She’s my new act at Animus.”
Mercy groans. “Of course she is.”
Wolfgang studies us both, as if calculating some kind of secret Vainglory Media formula, and nods. “Just keep your tomfoolery contained to your neighborhood until then.”