Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER
TWENTY
“ABOUT YOUR PERSONAL concern,” Alderic said, draping an arm over the back of his chair.
They were in one of the private booths at the Kingmaker, the remnants of their lunch scattered across the table.
Lyssa hadn’t wanted to waste time eating, since they were already cutting it close as it was.
They only had about a week and a half to go before the equinox, Alderic’s personal concern to obtain—if he could ever figure one out—and a sword to forge, which would take days at best, if it didn’t crack during the quenching.
Pausing for lunch was the last thing she felt like doing right now, especially since the knot of anxiety in her stomach had obliterated her appetite anyway, but Alderic had insisted that she needed nutrients in order to regain her strength.
“Shouldn’t you be worrying about your personal concern?” Lyssa said. “It’s the only thing we have left to get, and if you don’t figure something out soon, we’re fucked.”
He studied her, his gaze unwavering. “I’m concerned that Brandy’s collar won’t be enough.”
“So you’ve said. But it’s going to have to do.” She grabbed another of the fist-sized pumpernickel rolls from the basket in the center of the table. “The photograph just isn’t feasible. I told you before, my father isn’t going to want to meet with me.”
“Maybe not,” he conceded with a tilt of his head, swilling his wineglass. “But he has agreed to meet with me, to thank me properly for paying his hospital bill—and a few outstanding debts besides.”
“What? You—”
“It was the least I could do, after that unfortunate incident at the memorial park.” His eyes glittered at the murderous expression on her face. “But all of that is water under the bridge, I am happy to report, and he should be arriving shortly.”
Lyssa pushed her chair back in alarm. “We’re meeting him now?”
The corner of Alderic’s lips curved. “What do you think we’re doing here?”
She chucked her bread roll at his head. He caught it and took a bite out of it just as there was a knock at the door.
“Mr. de Laurent, sir?” came the host’s voice from the other side. “Mr. Cadogan has arrived.”
Alderic got to his feet and opened the door of the private booth, his body blocking Lyssa’s view of the hallway.
She slid farther down in her chair and grabbed another bread roll, shredding it furiously while she tried to contend with the anger sharpening to a point inside her.
How dare Alderic arrange this meeting without asking her first?
She should punch him in the face for springing something like this on her.
She ripped another chunk from the roll, imagining it was his head.
“Mr. de Laurent,” she heard her father say, and her lip curled in disgust at the sound of his voice.
“Call me Alderic, please. It’s good to see you, Edmund. Leg feeling all right?”
“Much better, thank you. Listen, I cannot express how grateful I am for—”
“Please,” Alderic said, moving aside to give him enough room to enter the booth. He was on crutches, the leg Lyssa had slashed open wrapped up in bandages. “Have a seat. We’ve already eaten, but I could order you something, if you’d like.”
“No, thank you. I…” He froze when he saw Lyssa, the color draining from his face. His fear soothed her nerves, and she smirked.
“Hello, Father.”
Alderic said something to the host before closing the door gently. “I hope you don’t mind, I brought a guest, Edmund.”
Lyssa’s father whirled on Alderic—as best as he could on crutches, anyway. “What is she doing here? I never would have … if I had known…”
“I’m sorry for the omission,” Alderic said, gesturing toward the table. “Have a seat and I will explain.”
“She stabbed me,” he protested.
“And I would do it again,” Lyssa told him.
Alderic glared at her. “What she means to say is that she apologizes, and that since we are both in need of a favor, she will be sure to keep her temper in check for the duration of this meeting.” He managed to guide Lyssa’s father into the chair directly in front of the door.
“What favor?” her father asked. He perched on the edge of the seat, his crutches close at hand, as if ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. “What is this about?”
“We need something of your son’s.” Alderic glanced at Lyssa across the table, at the shredded dinner roll heaped on the plate in front of her. “An old toy, a photograph, a lock of hair … we were hoping you might be able to help us.”
“Is this why you paid my hospital bill? My debts? To get something of Eddie’s?” He looked at Lyssa, brows clashing together. “What do you need it for?” His tone was sharp, at once suspicious and accusatory, and she knew he was thinking of the jar full of dirt she had taken from Eddie’s grave.
“None of your business,” Lyssa snapped, and her father struggled to his feet, ready to flee the booth.
“Edmund, please,” Alderic said with a heavy sigh. “We are trying to avenge your son’s death, and we need something of his in order to do it.”
Lyssa glared at him, and he gave her a look of reproach.
Her father turned back around. “Avenge him how?”
“Magical means,” Alderic said, and Lyssa’s father didn’t ask him to elaborate—though his expression suggested he might have, had he not wanted to get out of his daughter’s reach as quickly as possible.
“I have a photograph,” he said instead, patting the breast pocket of his coat, and Lyssa imagined it folded up inside, close to his heart. “I can loan it to you, if you’re careful with it.”
Alderic winced. “I’m afraid we wouldn’t be able to return it.”
Lyssa’s father shook his head. “Then I’m sorry, but—”
“I will pay you for it, of course,” Alderic told him. “Name your price.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, without even thinking about it, “but there is nothing you could give me that would be worth losing it.”
Lyssa gaped at him. This was a man who had spent her entire childhood doing everything he could to make money, spend money, and boast about the money he had spent.
He had bought a house bigger than they could afford, furniture finer than they needed, and hosted elaborate dinner parties designed explicitly to show off his refined tastes.
If a mere photograph of his family was worth more to him now than all the riches Alderic could give him, it was a powerful item indeed.
One she knew she desperately needed for the sword.
She could take it from him. He was injured, and smaller than she was now. It wouldn’t be difficult. Or …
Or she could try Alderic’s way.
“Then don’t do it for money,” she said, before she could change her mind. “You filled my mailbox with letters, trying to get ahold of me. You told me you wanted to apologize. To talk. Let’s talk, then. In exchange for the photograph.”
Her father’s face darkened. “You stabbed me during our last conversation, Lyssa. I’m not sure I would survive this one.” He reached for the door handle.
“Baba, wait.” He froze at the sound of the name she had called him when she was little.
“I made a promise to Eddie,” she said, holding out her hand to show him the scar carved into her palm.
“A blood oath, that I would avenge his death by destroying the thing that murdered him. I need the photograph in order to do that.”
He hobbled back to his chair and sank into it, his expression haunted. “Why?”
“To make a magic sword,” she said, and he let out a strangled laugh, running his hand over his face at the absurdity of her words. “It’s the only thing that can kill it.”
“That photograph is all I have left of him.”
“And I have nothing,” she said, slamming her hand down on the table so hard it rattled the silverware. “Nothing but my promise. Are you really going to stand in my way? After all you’ve done? You owe me. Give me the photograph so that I can make this right the only way I know how.”
He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes.
“That photo kept me alive, after I left you,” he said softly.
“It reminded me that there were two very good reasons to keep going, even when throwing myself into the sea would have been easier.” When he looked up at her, his eyes were brimming with tears.
“I’m not proud of what I did. But your mother’s death …
Lyssa, it broke me. I stopped going to work.
Ended up at a pub most days, trying to find comfort in the bottom of a bottle.
I lost my job, of course. Then the investments soured.
What little we had left after paying the doctors went to the bank.
When they took the house, I decided that you and Eddie would be better off without me, for a little while. Until I got my head on straight.”
“So, you left us in a workhouse—a place no better than the debtors’ prison you fled the country to avoid,” Lyssa snapped, curling her hands into fists.
She’d had no idea why everything went to shit so quickly after her mother died, but the truth wasn’t any easier to bear.
Her father had always been a fighter—had taught her to be a fighter—and yet when things were hardest, he just …
stopped trying, and let it all fall apart.
That felt more like a betrayal than even his leaving her had.
“As if her death didn’t break us, too. As if we didn’t need you more than ever.
” She clenched her teeth, refusing to cry in front of him.
“Did the sea air cure your heartache, Father? I hear it’s good for that sort of thing. ”