"Why…" she whispered, her throat tight, "why would my parents be listed in the same ledger as these charlatans and hacks?"
Lewis shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his palms together. "It confirms what the King told us yesterday," he said, his voice measured. "Your parents weren’t doing antiquarian research. They were researching how to break the curse."
"No." The word shot from her lips like an arrow. Her breath came quicker, hotter. "So, they've been lying to me? To you, to Briar, to everyone for years?"
Lewis winced, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "I wouldn’t call it lying," he hedged, "so much as leaving out a shit-ton of information."
The sting of betrayal burned behind her eyes, a pressure building in her chest, tight and suffocating. Her fingers curled into fists as a slow heat crawled up her spine, anger licking at the edges of her control.
"What else?" she demanded, her voice like a blade drawn from its sheath.
Lewis exhaled, stacking the books in a methodical row as he spoke. "School records showing a drop in enrollment. Medical logbooks documenting increased infertility. Genealogical charts where family lines just... disappear over the last two generations."
Vivienne's breath shuddered out of her. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against the table, gripping the edge as though the ground itself might give way.
Her voice turned quiet, razor-sharp. "All of this, and they couldn’t be bothered to tell me? What else have they kept from me?”
Did they delay my promotion because they couldn't stomach the idea of me finding out their piety, their superiority was all bullshit?Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out reason.
"A lifetime," she seethed, "of them picking me apart for every tiny mistake, for my weight, my hair, every godsforsaken thing, for what? So I'd be too busy hating myself to notice they were sellouts and hypocrites?" Her breath came ragged, uneven. "They held me to impossible standards while they spent decades chasing ghosts and myths?"
Her vision blurred. The pressure in her chest snapped. “Fuck that!”
The chair scraped against the floor as she shot to her feet, grabbed the nearest book, and hurled it across the room.
Lewis flinched, arms flying up in defense. "Viv!"
The book thumped against the far wall, sliding to the floor in a heap of crumpled pages.
Vivienne paced, chest heaving, guilt sinking its claws into her gut. She pressed her palms against her eyes, willing herself to steady.Great.I’m a puppet for my parents, and now I’m a book-throwing lunatic.
Lewis crossed the room, crouched, and picked up the book with careful hands. His fingers ran over the bent spine, smoothing the cover as if soothing a wounded creature.
"She didn't mean it," he murmured to the book.
Vivienne's throat closed. She couldn’t meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, Lewis," she whispered, voice fragile as glass.
"I know," he said, soft but certain, eyes fixed on the ground.
They had never been good at sitting in heavy emotions. Vivienne's instinct was to ignore the feeling, shove it aside, change the subject. Lewis always turned to humor to break the tension.
"You should also apologize to the book," he said, lips quirking into a small, lopsided smile. "You work in a library, for gods’ sake. That was uncalled for."
A breath hitched in her throat—a huff of something close to laughter.
"I'm sorry, book," she muttered.
Lewis clutched the book to his chest in mock relief. "Much better."
He motioned toward the pile of books still looming on the table. "Let’s take a break from unpacking your family’s deeply questionable history," he said. "We should probably pack for tomorrow before we get ourselves executed for procrastination."
* * *
Vivienne surveyed the open trunk,its contents a disorganized mix of necessity and hesitation. The Chancellor’s office had sent a note stating they’d be picked up at precisely 9:00 a.m. on Sunday and that was it. No guidance, no packing suggestions, no checklist.
She’d included layers for shifting climates, the two pairs of boots she owned, and a handful of hygiene essentials. But what about comfort items? Luxuries?Would they allow an extra trunk for books? If so, which ones? Languages? But which ones? Plant guides? That’s what Lewis is for. Mythology? Maybe.
She padded downstairs, running her fingers along the book spines on the living room shelves, searching for something she couldn’t quite name. Her gaze drifted to the closed door off to the side, leading to her parents' room. The door had remained shut since they’d left. Strictly off-limits. She and Briar had never been allowed inside, but another bookcase sat in there, one Vivienne thought might hold something useful.
