40. Into the Web
~ VOSKI ~
Sweat dripped from my brow as I crept through the House of Ashford, instincts shrieking. The ghosts of this house haunted me tonight.
‘You are not alone,’ Kham reminded me.
I swallowed, and nodded as I slipped into the room, closing the door quietly behind me. It took a moment to find the courage to turn and face this space.
This had been my father’s office until his death. Now, it was my mother’s den.
In my peripheral vision, I would have sworn a black figure slipped behind the curtains that draped from the double-height window that stood over the gardens.
But I didn’t turn. There was no point. The true specters of this place wouldn’t reveal themselves, and the ones my mind made up faded into air when I faced them.
I swallowed hard and pushed away from the door, creeping silently across the room, mentally cataloguing everything I was there to do, not allowing myself to think. Only do.
Unstop the wine carafe on the side table below the window.
Pour half a goblet of wine, and allow the wine to drip down its side so it would leave a circle in its wake when it was placed on the table alongside the settee.
Take a sip, leaving lip marks on its side.
Leave the resulting red wine residue from the goblet’s stem on my fingers, and wipe it impatiently on the thigh of my trousers.
Place the cup down—once, just to the left. The next time, closer to the chair. And a third, crossing the two.
Were those shadowy fingers gathering the velvet drape away from the glass panes, or merely the blood-red, silk rope my mother was so fond of? The memory sucked me back across years…
A white, feminine hand grabbing the curtain tie, yanking it loose from its hook so the heavy fabric fell to cover half the sunlight, and cast me in shadow where I knelt on the parquet floor.
“Please. Don’t, I’ll—”
The blow glanced off my temple and I cried out—leaving space for the cord to be shoved between my teeth, looped over my tongue, and tied.
I despised the taste of silk and dust and dried blood—
Flinching from the memory, my heart racing, I slipped across the slick floor to the desk and reached for the first of the drawers with shaking hands.
People are often stupid and forgetful. Locks were often forgotten, or poorly secured. I had hope.
But, of course, while Mother was many things, stupid was not one of them.
The tiniest thunk sounded as I tugged each drawer handle to test whether it would open. None did.
Sink to my knees below the level of the desk.
Draw the two pins out of my pocket, praying I had enough light.
Use them swiftly, effectively without scratching the brass surfaces on the long, thin, central drawer.
Snick.
Snick.
Snick…
The bare whisper of something deeper in the mechanism of the drawer falling into place, then a click, and the drawer eased open a hair on well-oiled rollers.
Heart pounding, I slipped the tools back into my pocket and reached for the handle again—just as my instincts prickled.
Moments later, slumped on the settee, legs crossed, one elbow bent to rest on the arm, I sipped at the wine.
My head screamed alarm as my mother entered, wrapped in a midnight-blue robe that looked black in the moonlight, which was the only light in this office, until her candle cast a sickening, flickering glow across the walls and turned my shadow into a cackling nightmare as I held the goblet to my lips.
Neither of us spoke as she crossed the room slowly, no doubt scanning it for any sign of disruption or search, before taking a seat in the thick chair my father always favored, a few feet across from me.
“Trouble sleeping?”
“This house screams of its dead,” I muttered without meeting her eyes, uncertain I’d yet regained control of the fear in mine.
“I told you not to carry that. You were a child.”
Rage crackled through me and I shot her a dark glare. “It screams of your dead.”
She shrugged. “Why the office?” she flapped an elegant hand at the air, indicating the room.
“Because it’s the only place I can be certain your simpering servants won’t follow.”
She huffed, then pushed out of her chair and walked to the side table to pour herself wine, before settling again.
I ignored her, keeping my eyes fixed on the window to my left and sipping at the wine as if it had offended me.
“Have you considered returning in truth?” she asked quietly. Almost uncertainly. The hackles on my neck rose.
“Not even once.”
She sighed. “You know all of these problems would be solved if you simply accepted your destiny and grasped what—”
“And an entirely new raft of problems would follow.” I turned from the window to stare at her, no deception required for the dark look I fixed on her.
“No, Mother, I will not return as heir until the day you die. I told you that. I meant it then, and I mean it now. I don’t make empty threats—remember? ”
I could feel the shadows in the walls behind me. The temperature in the room seemed to drop in direct correlation to the rising heat of my rage.
Mother’s lips tightened, those small, white lines bracketing her mouth. “Then why are you here?”
“I told you, Grace is—”
“The girl is a girl. An empty-headed noble. I don’t care how adept she’s become at murder, or whatever else you’ve taught her. We both know her power is thin. Empty compared to your inheritance. If you would only embrace it.”
“Except she’s not empty,” I said quietly, then took another sip from my wine, and this time I smiled behind it.
Her eyes narrowed warily. Then her expression cleared. Setting her goblet aside she leaned forward, elbows on her knees and locked eyes with me. “I never wanted you to go.”
“Stings like a bitch when you don’t get your own way, doesn’t it?”
“Stop toying with me. You came because you of all of them understand the power I hold. I’m telling you, I recognize yours as well. And you are wasting it.”
“So sorry to disappoint—”
“Stop pretending indifference, Vane! We both know it’s an act!” she snapped, and for a split second, I was a child again, cowering under the disapproval of my mother.
But only for a fraction of a second.
Then I blinked, set aside my own wine, and matched her posture, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, my jaw just as tight as her.
“If my indifference is an act, it is only to cover my contempt.”
“Dear gods, I offer to aid you, to help you reach your true potential, and you sneer? You’re as obstinate as your fath—”
“Compare me to him once more and watch me walk out that door and never return.”
She scoffed. “And still a petulant child, as well? You come to me for help, and threaten to walk away merely because I remind you of the truth?”
I almost choked on the sheer size of my incredulity.
“Truth, Mother? Truth?” Her audacity left me breathless.
“If you suddenly want to play in the shallows of truth, then dip your toe in this: I am no longer a vessel of potential. I am everything you ever wanted, and feared. And unless you help me, you will never see me—or my son—again. Because I will find her. I will retrieve her. And I will use every ounce of my potential to hide him from your web.”
Her eyes widened and she straightened, her expression awed. “You did offer the bloodline vow? Son, why do you—?”
“You will not regain control of me, Mother. I am bridleless. And I’m never handing you a bit for my mouth again. Trust me, I remember every one. And I detest the flavor.”
—salt from my tears on my tongue mingling with the silk and dust and dried blood—
I shot to my feet to cover the flinch and stalked for the door, but she leaped up to rush ahead of me in that eerily swift way she had.
I stopped in my tracks when she appeared in front of me, staring down at her, as she craned her head back, mouth slightly open, and her eyes alight with zealous light.
“Don’t leave. Don’t run. We can do this, Vane.
I taunted you. I’m sorry. It’s a habit—I will attempt to stifle the urge. But you know me.”
“Yes, I do,” I said coldly.
She patted my chest, smoothing my lapels.
I wanted to recoil from her touch, but I had her so close.
So, instead, I stood there stiffly, watching her flutter, her cheeks beginning to pink.
But my instincts jangled. Sometimes it was difficult to discern the difference between her excitement, and her self-satisfaction.
“I know why you’re back. I do. I just wanted you to admit it. But unlike your father, I am able to put my pride aside for the greater good.”
I almost coughed. “Oh?”
“Perhaps I have been too hard on you. Those years before you left were difficult, I know.”
I gave her a flat look.
She smiled and brushed off my jacket with one hand. “I know it. All of it—the death of the king. The upheaval. The men in hiding. All of it.”
I could barely breathe. “You’re too late, Mother. I told you, I already uncovered—”
“And your instincts have served you again. You were right to come to me. I will help. I only wish we could work together. Why would you deny a freely offered gift? You know I hold far more in my hands than your precious queen. You know I want to see you raised up. You know that.”
“Do I?”
She tilted her head and her lips thinned. “No one has offered you more. No one has tried to place more at your feet, or loved you more than—”
I caught her wrist as she lifted her hand to comb her fingers through my hair as she used to do when I was child. My heart flinched, but I never dropped her gaze. Let her see the cold fury in my eyes.
“You tied strings to a child so you could make a king dance.” I leaned closer and stage whispered. “While we’re speaking truths, it would behoove you to remember, I’m no longer twelve. I can now say with some authority, that isn’t love.”
The light in her eyes never died, but her face went tight.
“And pinning a woman and a child between the horns of two bulls is? My big, grown up boy—man that you are, are you even capable of love? You’ve destroyed every person you ever held dear, Vane.
Do you really trust yourself to carry a helpless woman and child alone? ”
Shrieking, chittering, chaotic terror squeezed the air from my lungs.
She felt me stiffen, and pressed her advantage, leaning closer, dropping her voice to give us intimacy. “You’ve done well—so well!—to get this far without me. But you were returned to me for a reason. We both know it.”
“I don’t need your—”
“Vane, please. I want to help you. This house speaks of the dead that I put in the ground for you. Let me help you take everything that belongs to you, and become everything you should be.”
I shuddered. She tugged her wrist slowly from my grip, and slid her fingers into my hair, pushing it back from my eyes.
My stomach churned. But she was enthralled, so I let her continue.
“It’s been hard carrying that by yourself. You don’t have to do it anymore,” she whispered.
When she’d cleared the hair from over my eyes, I stared at her, searching her as if I yearned for answers only she knew. And she smiled.
“Vane—”
“No.” I spat the word and jerked from her touch, darting aside when she reached for me. “No!”
But I let the quaver of unease underline my conviction.
Let her hear a question in my tone as I fled her presence.
Let her believe she’d shaken my resolve.
Let her believe I was afraid.
That last part, at least, was true.