“Are you so sure about that?”
I snap my mouth shut. She has a point. She may be responsible for her own financial woes, but I’m the one who killed Father.
Guilt threatens to drag me under, but I breathe deep to keep it at bay. I allow my heart to ache, to burn, but I don’t let it weaken my resolve. No matter what it costs me, I will not let Mrs. Coleman win.
She averts her gaze, eyes going unfocused. “You may think you’ve suffered,” she whispers, “but you haven’t a clue what it’s like to lose all that I’ve lost. I was made for greatness, trained for success since I was a girl. Everything I ever wanted was within my reach, but it was all ripped away, one thing after the next. I was made to be a queen. I was the wife of a king.”
I’ve heard this tale before, how she was once married to a fae king. She’s never mentioned who it was. Never explained what happened after they were married. I always shrugged it off as nonsense, especially since she would change the subject when asked to elaborate. I hold my breath, wondering if she’ll finally spill the truth.
“I was supposed to marry King Aspen,” she says, “but he preferred to start a war rather than marry me, all so he could be with his true love, that insufferable know-it-all, Evelyn Fairfield.”
I startle at this. She means Queen Evelyn—the woman Prince Franco admitted to having courted. Could Mrs. Coleman be telling the truth? Was she once engaged to King Aspen before he and Evelyn became mates?
She continues. “When that marriage alliance fell through, I was given to King Aspen’s brother, another fae king. One who claimed my hand without falter. I was a queen. Did you know that? A queen for all of a handful of days. Do you know what happened to him? He left me to fight in the war his brother started and died in his beloved’s arms—Amelie, another Fairfield harlot.”
I know who Amelie is. She’s a well-renowned dressmaker I had the pleasure of meeting last year.
“After that, I married a human,” she says. “A wealthy solicitor I thought I was truly in love with. He sired my beautiful daughters. His eyes tended to wander, and before long, he began spending more nights with his mistress than with me. When he was home, he preferred to be deep in drink, and that made him violent. I poured cyanide in his tea before he could turn that violence on our daughters.”
My blood goes cold at how casually she admits to pouring cyanide in her husband’s tea. Did she just confess…to murder?
“Then came your father.” Mention of Father has my mind going still. Her voice is soft, almost wistful. “That man was everything a good and gentle husband should be. He doted on me and my children. Almost as much as he doted on his half-fae daughter. It wasn’t long before I saw just how much he favored her, though. And she relished that attention. Every chance that little girl got, she upstaged my daughters time and time again. Always playing her piano, singing for praise. I was the only one who saw her filthy fae magic for what it was. A plague infecting our home.”
I swallow hard, my lungs feeling too tight to breathe.
She shakes her head as if to clear it, and her voice takes on a harsher quality. “It was your fault. It was all your fault.” I expect her to bring up the night I sang, but her words follow a different path. “The first time your father witnessed me striking you, he wrote us out of his will, set up new conditions. He went so far as to threaten me with divorce. I was fearful for my daughters, for our future. I was so angry at him.”
That must be what Clara was referring to when she tried to bring up the only time she saw my father upset.
My stepmother sighs, and her eyes turn down at the corners. She rubs her chest as a tear rolls down her cheek. After a few silent moments, she drags her hand back down to her side, fingers clenching. Her gaze turns steely as her eyes lock on mine. “You just had to play that night, didn’t you?”
My muscles tense.
“Your song put the devil in my heart,” she says through her teeth. “I never would have done it if it weren’t for that black magic you carry.”
A chill runs through me. Dread makes my stomach bottom out. “What did you do?”
“It’s whatyoudid, you wretched girl. You played that song. Used your filthy magic on us all.”
Memories invade my senses, and with it comes a sob that heaves from my chest.
The clatter of tableware.
Father’s lifeless eyes.
His hand clenched over his heart…
I close my eyes against the visions, but they replay over and over.
The clatter of tableware.
The clatter…
Of tableware…
Of teacups…
My eyes fly open as understanding dawns. My voice comes out barely above a whisper. “You poisoned him, didn’t you? Just like your previous husband.”
