Chapter 32
The hall is empty ahead of me, my brother’s guards nowhere to be found. I’m not sure if he has them doing some devious task that he doesn’t want me to know about, or if Stella is right and my brother has grown strong enough that he doesn’t need them.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Orrin found an artifact to intensify his strength. It would, however, be inconvenient for me should he decide to get violent. I’m not bad in a fight, but if magic is involved, it won’t matter how skilled I am.
My tentative steps freeze altogether as I come to the library doors. Which are open.
I didn’t think that locking the doors would keep Orrin out, but I hoped he would be too busy to bother breaking in. I should have known better.
My movements are silent as I step inside, ready for whatever Orrin will throw at me. My research has been moved to my room, and Stella’s painting has been covered with tapestries. But Orrin has been in this room before.
He knows how it usually looks.
“I knew you were lying,” he says, standing before the uncovered mural, his back to me as he studies the wall. “Jareth told me that you were quite aggressive when he came here looking for her. He thought it was normal for you to behave so abrupt, but as your brother, I knew better.”
“Did you?” I ask, glancing over to see Narcissus standing on the table, his back arched as he hisses at Orrin. The image makes me smile. Smart cat. “I’ll admit that you knew me well four years ago. But you don’t know a thing about who I am now.”
Orrin laughs, the sound warped by bitterness. “You think you’ve grown so much, little brother. But you’ve just gone soft.”
“And you’ve grown hard. Tell me, when did that happen?” I ask, trying to pinpoint the moment when I first lost my brother. “You’ve always been clever and mischievous, but you used to be loving too, and you were never violent. What happened to you?”
He turns, and though his expression is cold, there’s a desperation in his eyes that I don’t quite understand. “Funny,” he says. “In the ten years that I’ve been this way, you’ve never asked that question.”
The words feel like an accusation, and I recoil. He’s right. I didn’t ask.
I didn’t care so long as his behavior didn’t negatively affect me. I was selfish and cruel and apathetic. It’s a wonder Stella ever managed to love me.
“I wasn’t a good brother,” I admit readily. “I didn’t even notice how different you were until…” My throat becomes thick at the memory of my father’s death. It’s something I don’t revisit often, and something that Orrin and I have never discussed together.
“Until I killed Father?” he prompts, completely unbothered. “You might as well say the words out loud. It’s not as if he’s alive to be offended by them.”
I take a step toward him, my fists clenched at my sides. I want to feel his skin break under my knuckles, to see him just as bloody and bruised as he’s made my soul. To damage him the way he did Stella.
But as I move closer, he doesn’t raise a fist. He doesn’t grab his knife. He just stands there, hands clasped in front of him.
“Do it,” he says, unbothered. “Beat me. Kill me. Get your vengeance. Just remember that if I’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too, brother. We’re in this together. In life and death.”
But something about the look in his eyes gives me pause. I don’t know if it’s only now appeared or if I was just too self-obsessed to notice it all these years. But my brother—the monster who oppressed the love of my life and killed my father—looks sad.
Not regretful or repentant, but just…lost. Like a little boy who’s found himself in the dark and is desperate for a nightlight to guide him out.
“Orrin?” I whisper, reaching out to touch him.
In a flash, the sadness disappears, and he shoves me, his face twisting in anger. “Do it!” he shouts. “Kill me!”
“No.” Feeling sure of my decision, I pull the parchment from my pocket, turning to set it and the quill on the table. “I want you to sign this. It’s reassurance that once I leave with you, you won’t hurt my staff or Stella.”
Orrin laughs dryly, looking bemused that I want something for someone other than myself. “Excuse me? You have the opportunity to repay me for everything I did to you, and instead you want me to sign a cease fire?”
“Yes.”
His expression becomes stiff, unreadable. But there’s a flash of hope in his eyes. “Why?”
“Because you’re my brother, and at some point, you became this,” I wave my hand at him, “And I didn’t notice. That’s my fault. But I’m going to make it right, which starts by going back to Roburry with you. I’ll be your duke, I’ll follow your orders, but you have to promise that these people will remain safe.”
Orrin is skeptical as he walks to the table and reads the simple contract I’ve written. His lips smile, but his eyes don’t.
“She has to be punished for her insubordination,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.
“And she will be. If you choose not to punish her now, she’ll spend the next few years always on edge, wondering when you’ll decide to do it. And isn’t her drawn out anxiety a better punishment than being beaten quickly?”
He grunts, considering my words. “Now that I think about it, I might go ahead and give her to you. She will still be indentured to me, but she could make a useful duchess. She has the necessary skills to ferret out secrets and plant misinformation. Being your wife would just give her better access.” He glances at me. “And it would give you proper motivation to behave.”
I school my features not to give away how disgusted I am by the notion that he wants to offer Stella to me like a horse.
“All I care about is that she’s safe,” I say calmly, keeping my features placid. “If I get to be with her, that’s more than I could hope for.”
Orrin’s blue eyes narrow at the parchment, and he snatches up the quill. “I won’t sign this and give you the impression that you’ve bested me.”
I don’t react, knowing that Stella is still within his grasp should he choose to go after her now. Don’t give him anything.
“Instead, when I sign this,” he says, pointing the quill at me, “See it as a show of good faith. This is a gift to you, dear Brother. I’m doing this out of generosity.” Then he bends over the parchment and signs his name on the bottom.
The moment he completes it, his body goes still. Slowly, his eyes turn to mine. But they don’t look angry. Instead, I see relief there, despite the hard set to his face.
“Orrin?” I whisper, moving closer.
His hand flies up so fast I don’t see it coming, but before he can latch it around my throat, he freezes. “What did you do?”