Aunt Mabel resumed eating, then said, almost casually, “Do you know her mother?”
The room tightened.
My fingers curled around my fork.
Cassian didn’t answer immediately.
“I know of her,” he said.
I felt my pulse jump. “What does that mean?”
“It means what it says,” he replied evenly.
Aunt Mabel set her fork down again. “You know of her because of hunting.”
Cassian’s gaze held hers. “Partly.”
My heart kicked once.
“This is what you meant,” I said, voice quieter, “when you told me she was closer to all this than I think.”
Cassian didn’t deny it.
Aunt Mabel’s gaze softened toward me, just slightly. “Your mother’s always been good at standing near fires without smelling like smoke,” she said.
My throat tightened.
“That’s not fair,” I said automatically.
“Isn’t it?” Aunt Mabel countered, gentle but unyielding. “She’s not a villain, Lia. She’s a woman who wanted two contradictory things.”
The sentence landed like a weight.
I glanced at Cassian. He didn’t look pleased. He looked alert. Like he was tracking terrain again.
“What do you want with her?” Aunt Mabel asked him directly.
My fork froze halfway to my mouth.
Cassian didn’t rush. He swallowed, set his own fork down, and looked at my aunt as if she had earned his full attention.
“I want her to continue choosing,” he said.
“That’s vague,” I snapped.
Aunt Mabel tilted her head. “Do you intend to keep her here, in New York?”
“No.”
“Do you intend to follow her back to Charleston?”
A beat.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
I hadn’t known that. Not explicitly.
