“We don’t want to hurt her,” Izolda continues. “We only want to meet her. To speak with her. To?—”
“Mestyla’s not here,” the Countess repeats.
A soft thud on the ceiling jerks our attention upward. While Izolda sucks in air, I check the Countess’s expression only to find confusion, quickly followed by blistering irritation.
“Would you mind telling your snooping friend not to break anything in my study?” she snaps.
Izolda’s face warms with a blush. “We came here in peace. Truly.”
“Could’ve fooled me…” The Countess hefts out a sigh that reduces the tautness of her features. “Your sister didn’t come in peace.”
“Which sister?” she asks.
“Your twin.”
The bakery box plummets from Izolda’s fingers. “Ksenia ca-came here?”
“Yes. About a fortnight ago. She rang my doorbell. Apparently, one of her friends mentioned Svyato’s daughter had vanished the night Svyato met his end and his boss was worried. Ksenia took it upon herself to locate the girl. I told Mestyla to stay hidden and to wrap her hair and ears. Which led us to fight. Which led to her defying me. The instant Ksenia laid eyes on Mestyla, she realized the girl wasn’t Svyato’s.”
“She’s not?” I breathe out.
“Her ears are pointed, Miss Ríhbiadh.” She must assume this detail of Mestyla’s anatomy is unknown to me because her tone isn’t condescending.
“There are cases of half-bloods being born with tapered ears,” I argue.
“Yes, I’ve heard, but Svyato isn’t the girl’s father. Olena confessed this to me the night she stumbled onto my doorstep with the babe. Mestyla was barely-formed, forced into the world by a mother so committed to her cause that she refused to encumber herself with a child.”
Izolda’s whimper carries me to her side. I slide my arm around her waist and hold her, conscious of how upsetting this must be for a woman who yearns for children of her own.
“Olena mentioned that Alyona didn’t even know that she was pregnant until the day she delivered, so no one was aware of the babe, not even Mestyla’s true father.”
“How’s that possible?” Elio asks at the same time as I ask, “Who’s her true father?”
“I don’t know, Miss Ríhbiadh. As for how no one knew about the babe…pregnancy denial. Alyona was certain she couldn’t procreate after Vladimir commanded his son to plunge his blade into her womb as punishment for colluding with Regio.” The Countess’s tone softens as she adds, “Olena told me the poor boy wept when he had to remove the unborn babe she’d made with that Dante-buffoon.”
The babe who, if born, would’ve prolonged Mimi’s curse…
My first impression of the Countess improves slightly at her spot-on description of the Faerie prince my mother made king.
“It was unfair that the horrific task befell Kostya,” Izolda croaks, tears tripping over her freckles.
“Yes, it was. Your father should’ve given the responsibility to Salom. That brute wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at endinga life, much less one of Alyona’s making. Anyway, we cannot change the past, can we? Now, where was I?”
“Olena brought you the babe…” Elio reminds her.
“Ah, yes. I arranged for a closed adoption with a half-blood family from a neighboring eastern province—two wonderful educators of young minds. The day they arrived to pick Mestyla up, Olena changed her mind and ran off with her. Since Olena was far beyond the age of procreating, she passed the infant off as her brother’s. And then your wretched sister Alyona got Olena to help her out a second time. After Salom killed my dear friend…”
She takes a breath, slender nostrils flaring with emotion.
“After…I visited Svyato, intent on taking the child, but the stubborn man refused. I didn’t fight him for guardianship, because he loved Mestyla deeply and had just lost his sister, but I did take care of them both, seeing to her education and his personal welfare. A few years ago, I learned that Svyato had gotten into bed with the wrong people.” The Countess peers to the side, toward a window that gives onto her sprawling grounds.
“Who?” I keep my voice low, afraid to break the spell of her trust.
“Revolutionaries intent on abolishing the monarchy. The ones your radicalized twin is so very fond of. All this to say, I’m profoundly worried that Mestyla’s mind is being filled with politics and puffery. She’s sweet but trusting.” The Countess glides off the last step and walks toward us. “Tootrusting.”
When she’d stood on the upper floor, she’d seemed like some fearsome giant. Amongst us, the middle-aged Faerie appears tiny. Perhaps the reason she wears her hair gathered so high? I push the inane thought aside.
“To think I wrote to your brother to warn him to get the girl out,” she murmurs.
