His smile is gentle. “Hold on to that grit, for oftentimes, that’s what saves us. As for why I don’t carry her away . . . I misspoke. It isn’t that shecannotleave; it’s that shewill not. You may not believe this, but that woman cares immensely about you.”
Definitely difficult to imagine. It isn’t as though we’ve had much time to bond. And yes, blood may tie us to people biologically, but if my upbringing has taught me anything, it’s that biology does not dictate to whom we give our hearts.
I stand up and stick out my hand. “Hand me your blade.”
“How did that work out for you last time?”
“It worked out better for me than it did for Dargento and Dante.” I add a brazen smile as I recall the dagger poking from the king’s face.
Justus sighs, but a faint smile creeps along the taut edges of his lips. “He full Nebban powder now.” I take it Justus has reverted to speaking in Shabbin. “So attack must wait.”
In other words, his body won’t allow the iron blade to slip through. “How long?”
“A day. Two. When scent returns normal, Meriam will give lesson in vault, and I will lock inside.”
My claustrophobia kicks in at the idea of being locked inside an armored safe with Dante. I try to reassure myself that Meriam will be there, too.Probably. Unless—
“All four of us, Fallon,” Justus murmurs.
I rub the side of my neck, attempting to iron out the chaotic beats of my heart. “How did Dante know about the dagger?”
“Lastra catch Vance slipping from king’s chamber.”
“You mean . . . Dottore Vanche?”
Justus tilts his head to the side, which sends a few loose tendrils cascading over his shoulder. He seems to be waiting. For what, I’ve no—
Wait. Does he mean . . . Oh my Gods. “Do you mean Vance as intheVance?”
Justus’s eyes dance with the flickering glow of the fire burning in the sconces, clearly getting a kick out of my discomfiture. “Yes, Fallon.”
“As in the notorious rebel leader?”
He smiles and adds four words that level my brain and leave me gaping harder than the day Phoebus brought me into the Acolti vault. “As in my son.”
Twenty-Six
His son? My—my uncle? Well,sort ofuncle.
How could Nonna not have told me?
“But his ears . . .?”
Justus’s eyes hold an amused glint. “His mother isn’t Ceres.”
I thought I’d reached the limit of my jaw’s extension, but apparently, my mandibles are mighty flexible.
Cauldron, my uncle is an infamous insurgent.
My mind suddenly fills with his face, with his wounded neck, and I correct myself:was, notis. I’m glad my shock could offer Justus a reprieve from his mourning, but how he must be hurting.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Justus. I wish I could’ve saved him, but—but you and Meriam refuse to teach me anything useful.”
“He alive, Fallon. He long road ahead, but he alive.”
My lids lift so high that the ends of my lashes jab my brow bone. My mind is officially blown. “You’re just bursting with revelations.”
His wary smile softens the hard lines of his face.
