Damn Aleissande for getting into her head. Damn Aleissande to the seventh layer of the hells.
Josie’s teeth dug into the skin next to her thumbnail as she paced across the godsawful rug in her dormitory. She could hear her father’s gentle chiding in her ear.
You’ll wear a hole through the floor.
He’d cock his brow, his amused smile only half-visible over whatever parchment he was reading.
She’d never noticed how much a fixture that was in her memories of her father until…
No. Enzo and Zuri were alive. The Bellare would have used their deaths for their cause by now.
Then why haven’t they come for you?
“Because wherever they are, they can’t,” Josie mumbled aloud, her index finger digging into the skin of her jagged cuticle.
Irritation flared at her own grumbling. She wasn’t a child. She didn’t need to mewl for her parents to come save her, no matter how desperately she wanted their comfort. She needed to stay focused.
Josie pivoted sharply, the heel of her boot twisting the rug.
This was foolish. A naive, useless waste of time—
The door clicked open, and she froze, the iron sharp on her tongue from the skin still caught between her teeth. She snapped her hand away from her mouth, her thumb tucking into her fist as she stared at Viviane.
“Still haven’t kicked the habit, I see,” Vi remarked softly as she pushed the door closed. Her eyes, clear and blue and full of that light that Josie had longed to see just months before, were soft and knowing.
Josie hated her for it.
“Don’t,” Josie muttered. “You don’t get to do that.”
Viviane angled her head. “Don’t get to do what? Act like I know you?”
“You don’t. Not anymore.”
Viviane’s gaze raked down her, taking in her fighting leathers. She glanced around the room, taking in the various weapons strewn about. “I suppose you’re right,” she allowed, sadness dragging her voice below its usual tenor timbre.
Josie wondered what Vi saw when she looked at her now. She wasn’t entirely sure she cared.
Viviane’s spine straightened, her sharp chin lifting as she faced Josie head on. “Is that why you summoned me? Is that what you wished to say to me?”
Josie swallowed against the ache in her throat as she tried to gather her thoughts. She was typically level in the face of conflict, having honed her patience in the faces of preening merchants and power-hungry diplomats. Even when she and Aidon would argue, she had found the upper hand in waiting him out. If she could remain steady, remain calm, it was only a matter of time before her unaffectedness got beneath her brother’s skin and sent his anger rising.
Now she knew exactly how it felt. Not only had Viviane’s betrayal whittled the wick of her temper into something short and easily ignited, but she was holding the match to it with her indifference.
“I want to know why,” Josie demanded.
Viviane’s lips rolled inward. “Would knowing make any difference?”
Josie loathed the hurt that radiated through her chest. Anger was better. Easier. “You would deny me—”
“I’m not denying you, Josie,” Vi interrupted gently, stepping further into the room. Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach for her but thought better of it. “I just don’t want to add to your hurt. If knowing will truly help you, then I’ll tell you everything.”
“Add to my hurt?” Josie huffed a humorless laugh. “You’ve already betrayed my family not once, but twice. You may not have lifted a sword in this coup, but you are just as responsible for it.”
Viviane’s chest rose as she inhaled. “Can we sit?” she asked, motioning toward the small table. Her continued composure in the face of Josie’s ire sent heat crawling up Josie’s cheeks. But she managed a sharp nod, the tension in her body easing slightly as she settled in the stiff chair.
Viviane sat across from her, her hands splaying flat on the wood as she stared at the surface of the table for a long moment.
Josie had always loved her hands—the way they looked holding a paintbrush, the soft, smooth feel of them on her skin, the wicked touch of her fingers between her thighs.
