Opposite him, his brother Lazarus sits, picking idly at a loose thread on his sleeve. He narrows his eyes slightly when he spots me, but beyond that he remains silent.
The pair of them are eerily alike. All sharp jawlines and that long, shoulder length hair. The only real difference is Lazarus’s stubble and differing tattoos.
“Antonio,” Konstantine says, his voice a raspy whisper. “Come. Sit.”
I take the seat between them, the leather creaking under my weight. The room is silent except for the faint ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.Outside, the grounds are bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, but the shadows seem longer than they should be, darker.
“How is Ezra?” Konstantine asks, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
“He’s well,” I reply. “The sea air agrees with him. He’s thriving.”
A faint smile flickers across Konstantine’s lips, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “Good. That’s good.”
There’s a pause, heavy and expectant. I know what’s coming next.
“And Ines’s murderers?” Lazarus asks, his voice low and steady. “Have you made progress?”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “We have names now. We know who’s responsible.”
Konstantine turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “Who?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for his reaction. “It’s her family. They’re involved.”
I expect denial, outrage, disbelief. But Konstantine simply nods, his expression grim. “I always feared this,” he says quietly. “Ines, she feared them too. They tried to control her, to control me through her. When she refused to bend to their will, they must have decided she was better off dead.”
Lazarus shakes his head, muttering something I don’t catch under his breath as he gets to his feet, walking away to stare out the window as if he can see the very wolves creeping through the flowerbeds, coming to destroy us all.
“They’ve gone to ground,” I add. “All of them. But Devin is hunting them, and we’ll bring you their heads.”
Konstantine’s gaze hardens, his jaw tightening. “No,” he says, his voice cold and sharp as a blade. “I want them alive. I want to carve out their hearts one by one for what they did to her.”
I nod, understanding the depth of his rage. I would want no less if it were me in this situation. “They’ll pay for what they’ve done,” I promise.
As I rise to leave, Konstantine let’s out a deep sigh. “They never wanted me to marry her,” he says, his voice tinged with bitterness. “They had another in mind. Ines defied them in becoming my wife. That’s what this is all about.”
I pause, looking back at him. All his attention, all his focus is on her, his dead wife. Does he not realise there is far more going on than just that? Does he not understand that the very foundations upon which we have built our power have cracked?
I want to grab him, to rage, to smack the man hard enough to knock sense into him, but what would be the point?
Lazurus moves, meeting my gaze and I swear for a second I can see the same thoughts mirrored in his eyes. He’s been playing his brother’s part, pretending to be him, covering his tattoos, dressing up as Grand Master and helping us keep this ruse going.
But a house of cards can only stay standing so long.
“Get better,” I say, because that is all I can say. “The Brethren need you.”
The first sensation is not sound, but a violent lurch. My eyes fly open but for a disorienting second, there is only blackness and the painful thud of my own heart against my ribs. Rough hands are on me, dragging me by my ankles, and I realise the cage is not locked. The cage is open.
The world is a jumble of inverted shadows, the ornate legs of furniture, the distant, cold glitter of the chandelier overhead.
A high, keening broken sound fills the room, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from me.
“Shut her up,” a voice hisses. It’s a voice I’ve come to dread more than Antonio’s rage; Felice.
My heels scrape and skid on the floor as I’m pulled into the centre of the room, the heart of their gilded prison.
The hands release my ankles, and I scramble backward. My body is already trembling, a full-body palsy of primal fear. Felice steps forward, her beauty sharp and cruel in the dim light. She’s dressed in a slip of black silk, like a panther ready to toy with her prey.
“Look at her,” she sneers, her voice dripping with venomous delight. “Like a frightened little rabbit. Or more like a fat, stupid piglet.”
