Sebastian and I sat in stunned silence, both of us lost in the mental image of Casimir—Casimir—answering to “Simmy.” Sebastian had called him Casi since his toddler days, and Koa and Zane used Cas more often than not, but for my most serious son to have such a silly appellation?
Inconceivable.
“You asked why Arabesque chose your father.” I cleared my throat after a moment, manfully pushing past it. “Six years ago, she tried conquering the South American Court. Used Boraro mercenaries as shock troops. Gathered them from her early stomping grounds in Brazil.”
“The alliance between jaguar shifters and São Paulo’s night cartels proved unexpectedly robust.” Sebastian’s dossier crinkled as he extracted a photo of a stone villa swallowed by Argentinian jungle. He tapped the cratered remains of a blood-soaked driveway. “The Matriarch of the South gutted Arabesque’s forces. She limped away, desperate for somewhere to regroup.”
“No one saw hide nor hair of her until five years ago,” I added. “When our spies caught whispers of a woman matching her description at a witches’ conference in Grand Rapids.”
“That’s where Papa met her,” she whispered.
“I believe the Bell homestead provided the perfect sanctuary for Arabesque to hide and recover from her failure.” I gentled my tone, wishing to soften the blow of my next words. “Its remote location and your father’s trusting nature made it an ideal choice.”
“Why stay so long, though?Five yearson a backwater farm for someone like her? ”
“What does a spider do,” I murmured, “when winter comes?”
“Spins a thicker web.” Her gray eyes suddenly glinted with inner fire. “She hid in plain sight. Used us like bandagesas she healed and regrouped.”
Ice slid down my spine. How many times had Zane worn that same quiet outrage before learning to bury it under smirks and jibes?
“Five years seems extreme, but it wasn’t wasted, was it?” Sebastian tilted his head as he stared at her. “I know the whisperbindwon’t allow you to confirm it, but she siphoned from you and your father, stole lunar and earth magic, and I’d wager my future crown that it was more than once. Makes me wonder what she’s building.”
“Nothing good,” I admitted. “Ifshe stored it, that is. Perhaps she sold it to fund something. Or used it to bolster some work we don’t yet know about.”
“If only our little dove here could—”
“Don’t call me that!” Her shoulders curled inward. The motion made her collar gape, revealing collarbones sharp enough to flay skin. “Someone… else once called me… that. I have nightmares… He’s… Please…”
“I beg your forgiveness.” Sebastian nearly fell out of his seat in his hurry to move to her side and cradle her small hand between both of his. “Sanguine mortis, I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
“I know.” She straightened her spine and flashed a smile meant to comforthim, whenshewas the wounded one.
In a way, she reminded me of a winter-stripped sapling. Slender to the point of transparency, yet with roots clenched stubbornly around bedrock.
A rare treasure was Serafina Cimmerian.
A servant appeared at the doorway, interrupting the awkward moment to announce dinner. Standing, I offered Seri my arm, half-expecting her to hesitate. Instead, she rested her fingertips on my sleeve with the unthinking trust of a child gripping a parent’s hand.
“I’ve been remiss in expressing my gratitude,” I said as I matched my stride to her smaller steps. “For loving my sons when I…” My throat tightened around the confession.When I could not.
“They make it easy.” Her cheeks flushed poppy-red.
“Do they?” The words escaped sharper than intended. Koa’s glacial silences, Zane’s barbed sneers, and Casimir’s clinical detachment were hardly the traits of approachable men.
“Koko reads me poetry, Zane plays the piano and sings for me, and Simmy cleans my shoes every morning.”
A laugh startled out of me. How like Casimir to turn fastidiousness into devotion.
“You’ve tamed monsters, my dear.”
“Not tamed.Seen. Isn’t that all anyone wants?” She smiled with devastating innocence, and her quiet courage pricked my skin. “You’ll keep trying with them, won’t you? Seeing them as your sons, not your weapons?”
It wasn’t a plea, but a command, the steel in her voice unmistakable, and Sebastian choked on a guffaw behind us.
“Youdorealize I could have you executed for that tone,” I ventured, simply curious to see her response.
“You won’t.” Her shrug was the definition of artless. “They’d never forgive you.”
