18. Chapter 18
Logan
King Ulric had failed exactly twice in his life.
The day he’d forced my existence upon my mother.
And the moment he made the mistake of speaking about my wife.
“The exarch happened to tell me in passing that your wife has gone to see him a few times.” He reached into a glass jar across his table, bringing a colourful bit of comfit to his rotten teeth.
“That old, charming prig must have left quite the impression on her.”
“She went once. Accompanied by my men.”
When he’d called me here after four days of slaying and burning the sick that had eaten through an entire neighbourhood of humans, I knew he’d bring her up. He knew to bring her up only when I was exhausted, sleepless, drained.
He leisurely chewed, sputtering his words all over. “You’re sure? It wasn’t what I was told.”
“It would be to your advantage to shut the fuck up when it comes to my wife. I won’t allow you to slander her. I’m not my father.”
The stale, musk-filled silence echoed across his dim study for a stretch of a time.
He huffed, dropping a half-eaten comfit back in the glass container. “Edmund Duncan was a good man. But he is not your father.”
“He’ll be the only father I will ever know.”
The pale man turned a few shades too red as he leaned forward in his armchair and stared up at me. “You know what is expected of you. Luella is sick. She will not succeed my throne. You’re the only heir I have who is anywhere close to decent in taking my place.”
His bastards littered the grounds of every street corner in Mortdale, but his one obsession had been my mother. And only I was here to be subjected to it.
“A true shame. She would have been twice the king you are.”
“Logan!” he bellowed, his lips turning purple as he huffed for a few breaths of air. “As my bastard, they will kill you if I am thrown off this throne! They will hunt down all my bastards until my bloodline is eradicated. Starting with you!”
“I am Edmund Duncan’s son. They have no reason to kill me.
” For years, he’d submitted parental claims over me to the parliament, and every single time, they’d accepted my submission of denial.
My father had been a well-loved, smart man who’d known Ulric’s twisted mind too well.
He’d spent years studying it, planning for his inevitable death as soon as I’d been born because he’d known the only thing standing between Ulric and I was him.
And he’d still refused to step down, to let go of his claim, to let go of me.
His face turned mauve as he coughed into a napkin, struggling to regain his colour. That was what lifetimes of inflicting horror and pain and terror on others did to you. It rotted you from the inside.
He pointed a bloody finger at me. “You will have no choice.”
“I am Edmund Duncans’s son,” I repeated.
His swollen hand hit his desk, sending papers flying everywhere. “Logan!”
“Born thirty-seven years ago this December first by the name of Logan Edmund Duncan. My mother was Agatha Duncan, daughter of the Earl of Galahad and his wife Morgana. My father was Edmund Duncan, son of the Duke of Darkheim and his wife Cecilia, whom you all killed. I had two brothers; their names were Heath and James Duncan, both killed by you. And a sister I couldn’t protect—her name was Cassandra,” I said, trying to let her name shatter in my throat.
“I. Am. Logan Duncan. My father is Edmund Duncan.”
He coughed again and purple blood dripped down his neck, soaking the white neckline of his shirt.
“For what you did to my mother,” I said, throwing a cigarette butt to his feet.
“I should have killed you a long time ago. Had it not been for my father, I wouldn’t have hesitated a moment.
It was his dying wish that I lived and died as his son.
If I killed you, they’d all know how I came into this world.
Of the violence that birthed me. The violence that might as well have killed my mother. ”
I looked nothing like him, but I could have sworn every time she’d looked at my face, she’d seen him.
My mother had been a soft-hearted woman.
She’d borne nine months of the sickness growing in her stomach, gone through twelve hours of birthing pains to bring her greatest agony to life.
If only she’d had the heart to cut the roots of the evil cancer that had plagued her when she’d had the chance.
Maybe…maybe she would still be alive today.
Maybe my brothers and sister would have grown up with a mother.
A sane, loving mother who wouldn’t have hated them too for loving me.
He coughed onto a napkin, folding it to wipe the dark blood on his lip.
I sighed, shaking my handkerchief and opening my fists to wipe the blood on my palm. “Watching you suffering and helpless will have to do.”
He’d shrunk back into a shadow of a person, crippled by fear yet tempted—still tempted.
Luella was waiting just outside her father’s study.
She leaned against her cane, struggling to stand upright.
Her thin red hair was gathered in a braid thrown over her shoulder to cover her sunken flesh, and her skin had become so transparent you could see the blue veins on her face and the fingerprint bruises left by her carers all over her bony arms. Like me, she looked nothing like the man who’d sired her.
And I was thankful for it. “You never come to see me anymore.”
A pang of guilt struck me right through the ribs. “You should be in bed, Lu.”
When she’d found out about me through her drunken father, she’d persistently hunted me down, seeking a connection.
At the time, her happiness about this whole ordeal had been vile and disgusting.
She’d sickened me. But I’d soon realised that she and I weren’t too different.
Just two mistakes of the same man who loved to abuse his power.
The only difference was, my father had never allowed Ulric to subject his abuse to me.
And Lu—my Lu—I’d almost broken the oath I’d given to my father when I’d found out what he’d done to her.
“Everyone’s just waiting for me to die. It’s sort of tiring seeing them sigh and moan when I open my eyes. I wish they could know it is not my choice to wake up. How come they don’t realise that my father will drag my corpse to the throne if he has to in order to save that seat for you?”
She didn’t like closeness, skin touching skin, but she let me pull her in a hug. “You will not die, Lu.”
“Everyone has to die someday.” She smiled up at me, and despite the weakness in her eyes, she fought hard to hold it steady for me—to comfort me. “How’s Piper? You’ve stopped bringing her around these days. I miss her company.”
“She’s good.”
She was far too weak to hide the sorrow in her eyes. “You’ll bring Willow to see me before I die, won’t you?” Her smile turned shy. “I’ve been snooping around. They tell me she’s quite the character.”
Lu would love her. As everyone did. Willow made it easy.
“She’s lovely,” I said, taking a photograph from my chest pocket—the one I’d stolen that first night when I’d bargained her off Agnes’s hands.
Her smile waned and her pale blue eyes took on a strange shine as she took the photograph in her hands. “Lovely,” she whispered to herself. “I don’t think you’ve ever used that word before.”
Two stray tears fell down her sunken cheeks.
“Sorry,” she apologised, handing me the photo back and quickly wiping her eyes with a shaky, small hand. She’d never grown into her body—a body that had only caused her pain. “I’m just so alone these days, and I always love talking to you. She really is lovely.”
“I’ll take you to bed.”
She shook her head. “I want to walk a little while I can.” She put a hand to my arm, trying to push me away. “Go home. Go to them. They must miss you.”
“You look tired,” Arthur finally said as we reached the estate.
“You want to talk about how I look?”
Four days on the road with no rest had done a number on us all, but especially on him.
“Fuck you, I’m rugged. Women and men are into that.”
Henry chuckled. “Bloodwhores are into anything with clattery pockets.”
Arthur didn’t seem to want to quit it because he kept on asking, “You haven’t been to see Irena in a while.”
“He swapped the menu a few weeks back,” Henry said, smirking at me. “His tastes seem to be maturing. He’s taking it stale in a bottle like a poor fucker.” He hit my shoulder as he passed by me and murmured under his breath, “I bet he’s dying to dig his teeth into his little witch.”
Arthur stopped me. “What’s he talking about?”
I shut the front door on his face, sagging with some relief as I stepped into the foyer and smelled the sweet violet incense burning in the air.
“Sire,” Christof said, following me into my study. “She hasn’t come out at all in the four days you’ve been away. Not had anything to eat. Only water. Piper has been camping by her door every day after her lessons. She’s worried. We all are.”
Fuck.
I stormed up the stairs, not even deigning to knock. She was huddled on top of the blanket she’d laid under the bed. She looked resigned, mellow.
Had I broken her already? Had I waited too long to send her away?
I didn’t know why I thought this would be different. It was bound to happen. Maybe I should have given in to the doctor’s request. Maybe I’d been too selfish.
“Please, go away,” she quietly said, burying her face in the pillow.
She startled when I pulled the corner of the blanket, dragging her out from under the bed. Her hands pushed and kicked weakly against my chest. “Leave me here, please.” She screamed when I threw her over my shoulder and climbed down to the dining room.
“Christof, bring some toast and tea.” Pulling her onto my lap, I grabbed her face and turned her attention to me.
“You said you wanted to get angry at me. Get angry. You said you wanted to do it all. Do it all. Do you not want to do it anymore?” I brushed my thumb over her wet, pale lashes. “Quit on me so soon?
“I’m not angry at you.”
“You should be.”