Chapter Forty-Five #2
I’m trying to seem uncertain, as if I honestly doubt my worth.
I’m channeling that part of me that does doubt it.
Not that being unable to change into a wolf makes me lesser, and I cast very well for my age.
But if this is to work, I need to start setting up a story, one where I’m exactly what she expects.
A confused girl, buffeted by trauma, holding fast to the man who showed her kindness.
A girl who doesn’t know her own worth, and therefore can be shown it. Can be wooed.
“What has he done to you?” Beryl murmurs. “What have they all done to you? That Alpha. Your father. Even your mother and aunt, dousing your light.”
I square my shoulders. “No one has done anything to me,” I say, injecting too much denial into the words. A brittle shell she can easily shatter, exposing my soft belly.
“I’m done with the werewolves,” she says. “All I want is to bring my granddaughter home.”
I blink, as if tears prickle my eyes. “But I need to know he’ll be safe. That all the werewolves will be safe. Whatever you think of him, he was kind to me. He’s a good man.”
“Perhaps, but I’m going to show you a world where good isn’t enough. I understand your concerns, though. If you come with me, you have my word that I will not come after any of the British Packs again. If they stay away—if your false husband doesn’t take you back—I will consider the debt paid.”
“I need a blood oath.”
A deep sigh, as if I’m being unreasonable, but she holds out her hand and casts a spell to split the palm open. Then I remove my little knife and do the same.
“I need you to swear that you absolve the Albion Pack of all debts to your cabal,” I say.
“Debts incurred by anyone in it, past or present. You will let the Pack rebuild, and you will not interfere with that or hurt anyone in any British Pack and absolutely will not retaliate against Bishop in any way.”
“Without secondary cause,” she adds. “If they come for you, I have cause.”
I nod. “Add that in. Also, it must be an oath on behalf of yourself and the cabal.”
She makes the promise. If I go with her and no werewolf tries to take me back, they are safe from the Levine Cabal.
“I need to speak to—” I begin.
“No.”
I fight the urge to glare and say calmly, “Julius and Ann. I was going to say Julius and Ann. I understand I can’t speak to Bishop. But Julius must convey the message. Bishop needs to know that I did this of my own free will and…” I swallow. “Not to expect me back.”
She releases only Julius. Then she steps away as he blurts, “You can’t do this, Cordelia.”
“I already did.”
Julius grips my elbow and whispers, “He will tear a hole in the world to find you.”
I meet his gaze. “Then you need to make sure he doesn’t.”
Julius growls, and I take his hand. “I know that’s a terrible burden to put on you, but you also know this is for the best.”
“He—”
“It’s done. You heard the oath. He can’t come after me.”
Another growl.
I squeeze his hand as I turn to face him, my back to Beryl. I cast a quick privacy spell. “I’m going to do something and you need to listen to what I say, and act as if I mean it.”
I snap the spell. Then I hold out the crown. “Tell Bishop that I can’t take this.”
“Don’t—”
“It’s not mine. It’s his. I need to find my own crown.”
“Damn it, Cordelia, this is going to kill—”
“It won’t.”
I push the crown into his hands and cast the privacy spell again. “Tell him I’ll be back for it.”
Julius doesn’t react to that. He knows better and only snarls and turns on his heel, snatching the crown as if I’d truly rejected it, rejected Bishop and the Pack.
“Don’t run straight to your cousin,” Beryl calls after him. “If he comes after us, the deal is off.”
Julius throws a rude gesture over his shoulder and keeps stalking away, but he does change direction, heading back toward the throne room instead.
When I turn to Ann, Beryl releases her.
“Stay safe,” I say. “I’m sorry to leave—”
“I’m going with you.”
Beryl snorts and shakes her head. “My granddaughter doesn’t need a whore for a lady’s maid.”
Ann turns on her before I can say a word. “I am not a whore,” she says coldly. “I am Cordelia’s cousin.”
“Cousin? You’re no witch.”
“She has two parents. My grandmother is her other grandmother. On her father’s side.”
“There is no place in my cabal for a werewolf’s daughter who isn’t even a lycan.”
“My grandmother was a necromancer.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me you are, too?”
“Of course I am. My grandmother was. My mother was. I am. All the women in our family are. That’s how it works. Do you not have necromancers in your cabal?”
That actually isn’t how necromancy works. Like vampirism, only some descendants inherit it regardless of their sex. A direct line of three necromancers is unheard of.
Beryl frowns, taking Ann in from head to toe. “What is your family name?”
Ann hesitates. Then she says, reluctantly, “Stockwell.”
“I mean your mother’s side, obviously.”
“I don’t know.”
“She can raise the dead,” I say. “She raised Silas without even an incantation.”
“That isn’t possible,” Beryl says.
Ann looks genuinely confused. “Why would I need an incantation? Raising the dead is a necromancy power.”
I continue to Beryl, “She summoned three ghosts to their graves without any formal ritual. She’s never even been taught rituals.”
Now Ann scowls as if we’re mocking her.
“I know how to summon,” she says, “and how to raise the dead. My mother and grandmother taught me.”
“And how do you do it?” Beryl asks.
“I concentrate. Very hard.”
Beryl stares at her and then bursts out laughing as Ann’s face reddens.
“What’s so funny?” Ann snaps.
“Why do you want to go with my granddaughter?” Beryl asks.
“Silas sent my mother and me belowstairs when my grandfather died. The Albion Pack turned us into servants and made us feel lucky that they didn’t turn us into whores.”
“She has nowhere to go,” I say. “She’s been a prisoner since she was ten.”
Beryl can’t disguise the gleam in her eye. A powerful supernatural who has no idea how powerful she is? A sheltered woman who has no experience on her own? That describes Ann, and it also describes me, and together, we’ll be bound by kinship. A package deal Beryl didn’t expect.
“Come then,” she says. “We shouldn’t tarry here, and we have a long trip ahead of us.”
She casts again, hiding us under her spell, and then herds us toward the back of the wall, where she must have found another way in.
As we go, I can’t glance toward the gates. Toward Bishop. I want to so badly, and I cannot.
He’ll understand why I had to do this.
Please let him understand.