They look at each other for the longest time, like they’re having a silent conversation. Then Jestin shakes his head, muttering under his breath, “How had I not realised it…?”
He drops onto the edge of the bed. Aidon stays at the foot of it, while Riven leans silently against the door frame.
Riven sighs and runs a hand through his hair, and my stomach twists at the anguish in his gaze. “Your mother never revealed the identity of your father,” Riven says quietly, voice low and raw, “because he didn’t want to leave his mate.” He says it like it should mean something, like I should have known already.
I raise a brow.
“The rumours about who your father was circulated around the palace and around my camp. Queen Barbara shut them down each time. But those who knew you and your sister saw the difference. The slightly paler skin tone, those not pointy ears, indigo hair. Even the aura you exude isn’t normal. You are a Berigander without an inch of doubt, but you are also something else.”
How did he know my sister?
“She will die, won’t she?” Jestin’s voice.
“She won’t fucking die,” growls Aidon, before I can even think about the response myself. “We talked about that. She. Won’t. Die.”
“Please, explain it,” I whine, the tremor in my fingers coming back.
Margorate sighs, her gaze dropping to my fingers. I quickly hide them beneath my thighs. She sinks into a chair. “It’s a disaster.”
What the fuck are you thinking?!
“You’re a half ghoul,” Aidon says, his beautiful scarlet eyes lack any hint of humour as he drops the revelation like some kind of a terrifying plot twist.
“Absurd,” I burst into laughter.
They remain serious.
“What the fuck? Is this your idea of a joke? Revenge for my behaviour?” I take a deep, calming breath and level him a stare. “I am not a dirty fucking ghoul.” His sense of humour is the worst ever.
“You are. It’s the only explanation for why the Argorian root has such an effect on you.” He drips the words slowly, like I’m too stupid to keep up.
“Argorian root?”
Oh my god. Itisthe Argorian root. I am... what… how…blue… wicked entity... what.
“Didn’t she tell you what she was giving you? What was the price?” Riven snaps, stepping closer to the bed.
If I weren’t in this kind of shock, I might admire the way his muscles flex with anger.
“I don’t remember…” I say it, though the final word slips out as a mumble.
“The root suppresses the entity within ghouls, putting it to sleep. But if the dose is too high, it becomes addictive. The ghouls’ power wants more, craves more. It eats your Arken power instead, then your mind, then your flesh.” Riven explains.
Wicked thing…
“Do I even have access to the Arken power?” I whisper, horrified.
“You do. You showed it today,” Aidon answers. “You can’t wield chaos when the root is in your system.”
Ghouls wield chaos, not the graceful Arken power.
“I’m a dirty mongrel…”
Anticlimactic, isn’t it? Given how many times you called me a mutt?Aidon’s smile is savage.
“How the fuck did my mother manage to snatch a ghoul? The borders are closed, the diplomatic road is closed, and evenfucking trade is non-existent. The Argos line and Beriganders don’t mingle.”
“Who is my father?”
