Something thick lodged itself in my throat, but I couldn’t cry. Iwouldn’tcry when she was already so distraught.
She pulled back to look at me and ran soothing hands over my hair and down my face, carefully tracing the scar across my jawbone. The new one, left by my father’s ring in some of our last days together.
I flinched when she touched it, hating that thick white line every time I looked in the mirror. It was a blatant reminder of everything I’d faced—of every way he’d hurt me. One I couldn’t avoid. Oneeveryone’s eyes went to the second they looked at me and the world became a crushing weight on my chest.
“Did he…” Her voice trailed off.
My heart sped like it was going to leap out of my throat. My voice was rough when I spoke. “I don’t—I can’t?—”
“Shh, shh. We don’t have to talk about it.” She stretched up to kiss my forehead like I was a child again. “You’re safe,” she whispered against my skin, reassuring us both:You’re alive.
I wasn’t sure what she already knew, but I was certain from the tears lining her cheeks that a piece of her had assumed I was dead—there was a dim light of relief in her eyes.
“Let’s sit,” she said. “Let’s talk.”
I followed her across the stone floor; my footsteps softened as we stepped onto the thick carpet in front of the hearth. We settled on one of the three settees in the sitting area. Why were these even here? This room was meant for sequestering prisoners. But the gray velvet couches matched the linens on the bed and the curtains hanging from its posts. A dining table was laid with gold-etched dishware, a pitcher of wine in the center.
“Mali?” my mother asked, blue eyes hollow.
The flames warmed my back, siphoning out the chill I hadn’t noticed. Bracing my forearms on my knees, I sagged forward, indulging the heat, head hanging limply between my shoulders.
“I stayed a night in Turren on my journey here, and the rumors—they’re horrific.” She rubbed a hand in circles between my shoulder blades. I prayed she couldn’t feel the raised edges of my scars through the fabric.
But she could—I knew she could. Yet, she soothed me anyway.
Why was she the one comforting me? I was the one who had caused the hurt in her eyes; my disappearance had done that. As my father had told me again and again, this was all my fault.
And it was only about to get worse when I shattered my mother’s world. Lately, it seemed like breaking others was the sole purpose of my existence.
“He—” I couldn’t bear to say his name. “Father and Kakias—they were working together.” Forcing the words out was difficult. Eachtasted burnt against my tongue, but I kept going. Partly because my mother deserved the truth, partly because I needed to admit it.
When I finished explaining everything, I met her gaze. Silent tears streaked down her cheeks, giving life to her pain in thin rivers that wanted to drown me.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m so sorry.” Why in the fucking Angels did I have to be the one to do this? Hadn’t I suffered enough? Perhaps Damien enjoyed my pain.
“No, Mali, it’s all right.” She looked at the ceiling until her tears slowed. “I already knew some of it, but hearing you say it. Hearing what he did to you…It’s all so much more real than before.”
My heart skipped a beat at her confession. “What did you know?”
“I knew of your father’s…loyalties.” She leaned against the cushions, one hand toying with the tassels on the nearest pillow.
I pushed up from the couch, a fire roaring to life in my chest. “You knew about Kakias? And their son? Did you know what they were planning, as well?” Had she been aware I signed that Spirit-damned treaty? Was she unsurprised when I didn’t return from the Undertaking?
“Malakai, shh.” She held out a hand to me. “Take a seat, and I’ll explain.”
I remained standing, the crackling in the hearth accenting my panting breaths, but she clearly wasn’t going to elaborate until I listened. So I took a seat, staring at the flames instead of her, trying to process it all.
“To answer your questions—no. I didn’t know any of those things. But women are rather smart, if you have not learned that yet. I always felt your father didn’t love me as he claimed.”
“But you were his partner. You—you—” The tattoo on my chest throbbed, and my head whipped to her. “How did you promise your lives to each other with the Bind if he wasn’t loyal?”
“Darling,” she began in her most soothing tone. “It was a false tattoo.”
“What?”
“It’s why I always suspected he was lying.” She lifted her hand for me to see the plain band of black ink looped twice around her wrist, oddly impersonal for a Bind. “I never felt the connection one shouldfeel within it.” Her eyes flickered to my chest, to the star beneath my linen shirt. “I never wanted to admit it to anyone, but I always thought there was something wrong. I only recently realized your father must have had the imbued ink switched with regular dye so no lasting promises would be made between us.”
“Why wouldn’t you say anything?” I flopped back against the cushions.
