There’s a rattle from inside as Luc enters his study. Mathson and Yelina linger just long enough to give me one last withering scowl, before stalking inside to greet him.
I take a moment. Breathe deeply, steep myself in the freezingair, allow it to cool my temper and settle my dread, before following them inside.
“Lucien.” All the animosity of our exchange is melted away as Yelina stretches up on tiptoe to embrace her son. “We came by to extend a personal invitation to you and Remira for dinner the day after tomorrow. To celebrate your victory.”
Luc chuckles. “The order hasn’t passed, Mom.”
“Yet.” Yelina backs away from Luc and slings a casual arm over my shoulder. Still smiling, she gives a squeeze. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough to remind me that she could. “You’ll remember what we discussed, won’t you, Remira?”
The feeling of her hand on me makes my body itchy and tight, as if I no longer fit in my skin. I want to wriggle out of it, burn it off—anything to get her to stop touching me.
I force a smile. “Couldn’t forget if I tried.”
I don’t breathe until she and Mathson say their goodbyes and finally leave.
Luc settles into the seat behind his desk, looking at me expectantly. “I assume you have notes?”
I always do. I write his speeches, arrange his haircuts, and spend all my time coaching him for this position I stole for him. “You went soft toward the end.” I slide into my role as though tugging on an oversized sweater. “Your tone was too kind, and you used her first name.”
Luc groans. “It slipped out. I felt bad for her. What was I supposed to do? Be rude?”
“We’ve talked about this.” I keep my voice even. “When you interrogate someone, you’re not Luc, you’re—”
“I know, I know. I’m Praeceptor Lucien Kyler. But that isn’t what I asked.”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “Be rude.”
“It’s not easy for me, the way it is for you.” He runs a handtiredly down his face. “She was so young. She reminded me of Aja.”
My chest burns, not from magic. Ajalique Selane. My mother.
Like Pelene, Aja was a liar. She lied constantly, but rarely alone. There were dozens of men swooping in and out of our lives and her bed, spewing lies of their own: that they loved her, that they wanted to build a better life for her—withher.
I saw through them like glass. Aja scarfed them down like warm bread.
Maybe I should be grateful for the lies. After all, they’d fueled my magic, and magic was the only thing keeping us warm in Ophera. Growing up, I’d stare at the icy peaks, begging the stars forthatlife, in one of the hulking houses built into the mountain.
I guess the stars were listening. And I guess the stars are assholes, because they shoved me into the mountainside Republic of Virdei, right into the arms of that new life my mother was always promising.
All it cost me was her.
At the sound of her name, faded memories flicker to life in my mind’s eye: Aja holding my hand and squeezing tight as my tattoo was inked into my skin; me, curled into her side, stumbling over words as she taught me to read.
Seven years later, and I still miss her every day.
“Aja is dead.” I say it harshly, but I feel myself softening.
“I know,” Luc says gently. “I’m sorry. But don’t you wish someone had been kind to her?”
More memories whirl like snowflakes in a blizzard. Aja smiling at some wide-mouthed man who talked too fast and made too many promises he never intended to keep, Aja sobbing her broken heart out in front of our empty fireplace, Ajapromising me she wasn’t shattered when they left. And theyalwaysleft.
She was the only person who loved me with no agenda, and my clearest memories of her are of a heartbroken liar.
“I don’t wish more people were kind to her.” I fold my arms and jut out my chin. “I wish someone werehonest.”
Luc flinches. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have used Ms. Harcot’s first name. Next time, I’ll do better.” He risks a peek at my face. “Are you mad?”
Yes. I force the tension from my body. “No.”
