Warner 26 #2
“My apologies,” Castle says to Hugo. “I meant nothing by the tense usage. We don’t know anything about Sebastian’s father.”
Hugo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “It’s hard to know where to begin with Alastair. The Rivers family has a long legacy—”
“Wait.” I sharpen. “Sebastian’s father is Alastair Rivers?”
Hugo’s gaze returns to mine. “Of course, sir. I assumed you would know him. We were all—we were all contemporaries.”
My confusion transforms to shock.
“Who is he?” Castle asks.
“He was CCR,” I hear myself say.
Castle goes rigid, his astonishment matching my own.
“What?”
“Yes.” Hugo blinks. “That’s how we met. Alastair was CCR of—”
“Sector 47,” we say at the same time.
I lean back against the wall. Dumbfounded.
I’d written off Sebastian as an inconvenience.
We’d taken out a number of Ark soldiers the night of the attacks; Sebastian hadn’t stood out to me in any way save his special interest in Rosabelle, which she insisted we could use to our advantage.
I assumed him too inexperienced to be of note; too young to have achieved high rank or authority. Of course, I hadn’t known his lineage.
Sebastian might prove to be a greater problem than I realized.
In the midst of so much chaos, I thought him the least of my concerns.
I had more questions about the spy network embedded in the capital and the surveillance apparatus underpinning the Ark than I did about the emotional complications in Rosabelle’s personal life.
In fact, I’d been happy to delegate Sebastian to Rosabelle.
Now I’m seeing the ramifications of this mistake.
Never did I assume I’d have anything in common with our most recent prisoner—or that once upon a time, we might’ve been something like neighbors.
Alastair Lucas Rivers.
Sebastian and Rosabelle would’ve been too young to register on my radar all those years ago; I have no memory of meeting anyone’s children in social situations. But their fathers—
“You knew him?” Castle asks.
I meet his probing gaze. “In a manner of speaking. He hated me.”
Castle almost smiles. “Is that unusual?”
“No.” I shoot him a sardonic look. “But he really hated me. No one thought I deserved the job, but Rivers”—I take a breath—“Rivers was old blood. Ancient blood. He seemed to take it personally.”
Castle frowns. “In what way?”
It’s Hugo who answers Castle this time.
“The Rivers family has always been powerful,” he says.
“Old money. Older bloodlines. It was privately known that Alastair was being groomed to become supreme commander of North America. He was sure the position was all but his before it was given to—” Hugo falters, his eyes flickering in my direction. “To an outsider—”
“To my father,” I say quietly. “The infamous upstart.”
A brief silence.
Castle’s stupefaction.
Hugo’s nerves.
My own slow release of surprise.
“I’d always known it was controversial to give the position to my father,” I say. “But I’d never known who he was up against at the time.”
“Yes.” Hugo shifts uncomfortably. “Paris Anderson’s ascent surprised everyone. People liked to say he got the job only because of his—because of his close relationship with Max Sommers.”
At that, Castle’s anxiety escalates—and so does mine.
Maximillian and Evie Sommers.
Ella’s parents.
I avert my eyes, fighting to keep my anger at bay.
Evie was the supreme commander of Oceania.
Her husband, Max, had been my father’s lifelong friend.
It was Max who orchestrated my parents’ loveless marriage, encouraging my father to marry a wealthy socialite for the opportunities her connections might afford him.
It was Max who pushed, always, for my father’s political advancement.
It was Max who advocated to release Ella into my father’s care.
Max and Evie never wanted the spotlight for themselves; they preferred to be puppet masters.
They enjoyed watching their experiments come to life.
“Alastair always reserved a special kind of animosity toward your father,” Hugo says, disturbing me from my reverie. “And he never fully recovered from the slight. It’s perhaps worth noting, however, that both—both candidates were subject matter experts on systems of torture and control.”
My fists clench.
Caged memories tremble against the bars of their prisons in my mind.
“The Alastair I knew was a dark soul,” Hugo goes on, his eyes pinging around the room. “A dark soul. Dark ambitions.” His eyes settle on me. “Your father, perhaps more so. I’m certain Alastair would’ve had a strong influence on Sebastian, not unlike your father had on y—”
Too late, Hugo cuts himself off.
I feel the heat of Castle’s anger before I register Hugo’s jolt of fear, then mortification.
His mouth closes as he cuts his eyes to the wall. A soft flush has moved up his neck.
“Not unlike my father had on me,” I finish for him.
Hugo shakes his head, keeping his eyes averted.
His voice goes thin. “I didn’t— I only— Sebastian is Alastair’s only child, you understand.
His only legacy. I imagine Alastair has made quite a name for himself on the Ark.
It would’ve been—would’ve been a powerful match,” he adds, a perfect non sequitur.
“The two of them have been betrothed since birth, practically.”
“What?” Castle looks at me, confused. “Who?”
“Sebastian and Rosabelle,” I explain. “The match was arranged by their parents.”
Castle sits back. “She’s engaged?”
“Technically.”
“Oh, not technical at all,” says Hugo, shaking his head again. “Not technical at all. The contracts are binding. This is how many families build their legacies. Neither child has much of a choice in the matter.”
Castle’s energy goes dark. “Does everyone know about this?” he asks, emphasis on the word everyone.
I know he’s thinking of James.
“Yes,” I tell him, tensing.
“It was a high-profile betrothal,” says Hugo, frowning into the distance, his voice fading out. “My—my wife saw the potential in aligning our families, especially given Sebastian’s devotion to Rosabelle.”
“His devotion?” I repeat, surprised.
The bloodied, broken mess of Rosabelle’s face rises to the surface of my mind.