54. Henry
HENRY
T aking staff from the fort walls makes me very uneasy. We need every able body guarding the fort, especially on the three darkest days of the year, but if we want to carry out this final stage of our revenge plan, we can’t do it without some help.
We don’t have the manpower to take on the Carrenwells and every other magical family in Lunameade, but we do have strategists and the weight of rebel forces behind us. I am not the most devout person, but I prayed to the Divine when we were crossing the Drained Wood.
Leaving my parents alone at the fort without Carter or Bryce to back them up makes me very nervous. Saying goodbye to them felt so final. I’m less worried about the people of Mountain Haven and more concerned about what these evolved Drained will be up to in three days of darkness.
My parents don’t have the benefit of being Deathless like me, but I have to trust that they can handle things on their own. This isn’t a time to have my focus divided, especially when Harlow can read my agitation in my aura.
We’re staying in a luxury boarding house in the southwest quadrant of the city. It’s close enough to South Hold that we can travel there easily, but far enough away to give the illusion of independence.
It was Harlow’s idea. By not staying at her family home as soon as we arrive, we establish ourselves as a separate entity from the Carrenwells and, therefore, outside of their interest.
I button the last few buttons on my vest and slide on my jacket as I peer out the boarding house window.
Carter and Naima are sitting on the back patio.
Naima joined us for this part since she’s such an adept healer and it’s possible we will need more substantial help if things go wrong.
She, Carter, and Bryce are all staying in the boarding house as well.
The secondary benefit of staying somewhere other than Carrenwell House is that it offers them the opportunity to come and go without the Carrenwells noticing.
Naima tips her head back and laughs at something Carter says.
Watching them is like getting a front-row seat to intimacy, whether you want it or not.
It’s not the big, sweeping things. It’s a hundred small touches.
It’s the way he can tell when she wants tea and always has her favorite kinds on hand.
It’s the way she stops at our table and rests a hand on his shoulder when he’s tense.
I still remember the day he came running into the bar to meet me and Bryce and told us he could see color.
As happy as I was for him, I was also a little envious.
When I was young and carefree, I aspired to that kind of closeness, but I’ve spent years trying to cut the desire for love right out of my chest. I did not die so many times to allow myself a weakness when I’m this close to the vengeance my people deserve.
But I have starved that dream so long, it has become clawed and clever. If given even a sliver of a chance, it will take root again and grow into something unstoppable. Wanting is a dangerous thing. It is perhaps the one thing I can’t survive.
I am so aware of Harlow all the time—so attuned to her shifting moods.
I sense her agitation. She’s both relieved and restless to be back in a familiar cage.
When we rode through North Hold, she didn’t take her eyes off the windows of the manor the whole way.
I don’t blame her. She wants to see her sister, and that desperation will only grow until she’s settled this score with Rafe.
I have tried everything I can think of to drive a wedge between Harlow and her family.
The truth is that the wedge was already there, but none of what she’s learned has made her any more forthcoming about what magic her siblings or mother have.
I’d hoped we would be a little more prepared, but I wasn’t counting on her finding out I was Deathless before Dark Star Festival, and I really wasn’t expecting her to have to deal with losing Gaven so soon after that.
Instead of making her more willing to rely on me, she’s withdrawn.
I’m out of time. I have to do whatever I can to gain back her trust.
She brushes her hands over her dark dress and twists from side to side. I don’t need to see color to know it’s black. That’s the color everyone wears for Agony night.
I know she must be nervous, but I can only see the barest hints of it in her rigid posture.
I saw on her face when I told her about her father killing anyone blessed with holy fire.
She knew it was true immediately, but she still believes there’s no other way to keep her people safe.
I respect that she doesn’t play the hero, but she does have her own code.
I just don’t know how to align our goals with that code.
She steps in front of the looking glass and slides a few pins into her curled hair to hold it back from her face. Then she presses a hand to her heart and looks down. She sighs and shakes her head, clasps her hands, and softens her face into a forlorn expression.
“Are you practicing looking sad?” I almost laugh at the absurdity.
She shoots me an annoyed side-eye. “Yes, Henry. Everyone is going to be looking at me in an hour as I say a bunch of untrue things about what a great man my creepy, criminal dead husband was. I need to look sad enough that they’ll believe my grief is genuine, but not so sad that they think I haven’t found healing in my new marriage to my mountain man husband.
” She stares at her face again, shifting through several micro-expressions before she settles on one and turns to face me.
“Does this face say, ‘I’m sad my husband died, but I’m glad I found someone new to marry me and give me value according to our flawed societal ideals for women’? ”
I bite my lip. “I’m not sure it says all of that, but it looks sincere if that’s what you’re going for.”
She spins and wanders back to the mirror with a smirk on her face.
“Why are you so calm?” I ask.
She reaches over, adjusts my tie, and looks up at me with mischief in her eyes.
“I can’t afford not to be.” She smooths the front of my jacket.
“Oh, one more thing. I’m calling in that favor you promised me.
I need you to say something after the ceremony, when we’re at the reception for the high houses.
” Her voice is casual, but she won’t meet my eye.
“What do you need me to say?”
She turns away from me, looking into the mirror as she smooths her dress.
“I need you to accuse Rafe of being the one who orchestrated the Drained attack that brought down Mountain Haven. I need you to say it was his manipulation magic from Polm that turned the Drained from the city and sent them to the fort.”
The words are so stunningly untrue that it takes a moment for them to register. Just when I thought that she could not surprise me any more, she drops something so explosive, I almost lose my composure entirely.
“You want me to lie to all of your people, to cast blame on Rafe?”
She stares at me expressionlessly. “Yes.”
I am almost shaking with anger. “When I know it was your parents.”
She crosses her arms. “I don’t know that. I suspect, but I don’t know . But as much as you will loathe saying it, this is necessary. I told you that there would be a cost to your lie. A lie for a lie seems an equal bargain.”
Rage boils through my blood, but Harlow looks through me, her lips tipped into an amused smirk as she observes whatever my aura is doing in response to this request. Her assessment is sobering.
I need to control myself. This is a critical moment where I’m going to need her trust. If I slip up, she will pull away more and I won’t be able to reach her.
“This is not just a lie, Harlow. This is a betrayal of my people—of my sister’s memory.”
“Would the greater crime not be that man in charge?” she counters.
“Don’t grow a conscience now. Don’t insult me by acting like our marriage is about anything other than revenge.
Not after literally living off of me. This isn’t a request. This is an exchange.
You can respect me enough to hold up your end of this deal or you can get out and I’ll find a way to do this without you. ”
“I can’t betray Holly’s memory with a lie about who killed her. How could you ask that of me?”
She points toward the door, her eyes narrowing. “Because it’s necessary. Because vengeance isn’t neat or tidy. It requires doing ugly things. You love to play the part of a monster, but you don’t have the guts to do the dirty work. You are involved in your cause, but you aren’t committed. ”
How dare she doubt me? How dare she think that I haven’t suffered for this?
“What the fuck are you talking about? I have spent ten years committed to this. I have died repeatedly to make myself into an indestructible force, all for vengeance for my sister.”
Harlow barks out a bitter laugh. “You’ve made yourself into an indestructible force for you —to assuage your guilt. But you can’t bring Holly back with your suffering.”
The words are a gut punch. I can’t breathe, but Harlow is not finished.
“Lots of people want to be involved,” she says.
“They want to look like a hero, claim the daughter of their enemy, literally suck the life out of her. But being committed means surrendering your ego to do whatever is necessary. You of all people should know there is no dignity in revenge. There is only what you are willing to do and what you can’t stomach.
You are involved, but you’re not committed. ”
“I am,” I say.
She holds up a hand to stop me. “You’re not. You can claim you have put in your decade of loathing—that you’ve died and returned repeatedly so that you can avenge your sister—but if you can’t sacrifice your ego to tell a temporary lie, you’re not as committed as you think.”
I want to argue with her, but I know she’s right. What is one lie compared to the satisfaction of taking her father out?