“You were a message,” he responds. “Aprop.”
It’s telling that the words no longer stir any emotion in me. My childhood was isolated, but I didn’t know any better. As a teenager, I decided if I couldn’t have affection, any sort of attention would do, and fought to get any scrap of it I could.
In my twenties, it shifted to the need for acceptance. The rush of hearing I’d done a good job spurred me to do the things in my life I regret the most, all for the sake of the man who conceived a child to be wielded as another tool of power.
It wasn’t until I made it to Ljómur and faced the consequences of my actions that it hit me.
So much pain caused by my hands.
Blood, torture, and death, all for the approval of a parent who didn’t understand the meaning of love. He’d put me down in an instant, without a second thought, if I was interfering with his plans.
Tools can be broken, after all, and are meant to be discarded when they’re no longer useful.
“Were you responsible for destroying my research, Xenesis?” he asks, leaning in as his cloudy eyes swirl with intention.
Magic pulls at my insides, softly seducing me to answer his questions. It makes me feel like I want to, like it’s my choiceto share, but Father doesn’t understand I’ve spent a lifetime learning to fight the pull of his power. I can’t give up my cards when I have so few to play, so I let my face go slack.
A mask to disarm, indeed.
“I played a part in it, yes,” I answer.
His lips pull into a tight line. “Why?”
“Because it was wrong.” His brow lifts ever so slightly, but I recognize how he’s struggling to maintain his control. “You put those people in there like animals, Father. No better than experimental rats in their cages, and for what? To lock your boogeyman on the other side?”
“Watch yourself.” He enunciates the words with a daggered edge.
A smirk lifts onto my lips—an infuriating one that does its job, if the spasm in his jaw muscle is any indication. “Do your little friends realize what a coward you are? Have they figured out you did all of this to hide?”
“Do not speak of things you know nothing about,” he snarls as the veins in his forehead swell.
“Oh, I know plenty. I heard you and Mother talking about the rebel queen—”
“Don’t call her a fucking queen,” he snaps, shoving the table forward until it slams into my gut, forcing a grunt and a rush of air from my mouth. “She was no threat to me. A deserter with illusions of grandeur, and I!”
He stands and looms over me, fury contorting his face into something awful as he jabs a finger into his chest.
“I am aking.”
“You were,” I say as my eye drags down his imposing frame.
Broad shoulders where mine are narrower, a chest that heaves in his barely controlled anger, and hands capable of so much destruction.
“Youwerea king,” I agree, throwing all my contempt into my voice, “but look at you now. Playing dress-up in your big, important uniform. Trying to hide how desperate you are to make others obey your command, but they don’t listen, do they? No one followsyou.”
A palm meets my cheek, snapping my head to the side with a harsh crack, and a satisfied smile spreads across my mouth.
“You’re nothing,” I snarl as I face him again.
“I will have my answers.” He leans in and grips my chin, his fingers digging into my flesh. “You destroyed what I spent the past seventy years building, and you did it for areason. Tell me where you’ve been.”
Breath shudders out of my nose in a shaky exhale as I fight the compulsion. “A village,” I finally answer.
“Where?”
“In a forest,” I choke out. “You know the one… with trees and… and houses.”
“Where, Xenesis?!”
