Delalieu manages a smile. “It’s the least I can do,” he says, and turns to go.
“Did you know her?” Lily says, her voice sharp. “As Ella?”
Delalieu freezes in place, still half turned toward the exit.
“Because if you’re Warner’s grandfather,” Lily says, “and you’ve been working under Anderson for this long—you must’ve known her.”
Slowly, very slowly, Delalieu turns to face us. He seems tense, nervous like I’ve never seen him. He says nothing, but the answer is written all over his face. The twitch in his hands.
Jesus.
“How long?” I say, anger building inside of me. “How long did you know her and say nothing?”
“I don’t— I d-don’t—”
“How long?”I say, my hand already reaching for the gun tucked in the waistband of my pants.
Delalieu takes a jerky step backward. “Please don’t,” he says, his eyes wild. “Please don’t ask this of me. I can give you aid. I can provide you with weapons andtransportation—anything you need—but I can’t— You don’t underst—”
“Coward,” Nazeera says, standing up. She looks stunning, tall and strong and steady. I love watching that girl move. Talk. Breathe. Whatever. “You watched and said nothing as Anderson tortured his own children. Didn’t you?”
“No,” Delalieu says desperately, his face flushing with emotion I’ve never seen in him before. “No, that’s not—”
Castle picks up a chair with single flick of his hand and drops it, unceremoniously, in front of Delalieu.
“Sit down,” he says, a violent, unguarded rage flashing in his eyes.
Delalieu obeys.
“How long?” I say again. “How long have you known her as Ella?”
“I— I’ve”—Delalieu hesitates, looks around—“I’ve known Ella s-since she was a child,” he says finally.
I feel the blood leave my body.
His clear, explicit confession is too much. It means too much. I sag under the weight of it—the lies, the conspiracies. I sink back into my chair and my heart splinters for Juliette, for all she’s suffered at the hands of the people meant to protect her. I can’t form the words I need to tell Delalieu he’s a spineless piece of shit. It’s Nazeera who still has the presence of mind to spear him.
Her voice is soft—lethal—when she speaks.
“You’ve known Ella since she was a child,” Nazeera says. “You’ve been here, working here, helping Anderson sinceElla was achild. That means you helped Anderson put her in the custody of abusive, adoptive parents and you stood by as they tortured her, as Anderson tortured her, over and over—”
“No,” Delalieu cries out. “I d-didn’t condone any of that. Ella was supposed to grow up in a normal home environment. She was supposed to be given nurturing parents and a stable upbringing. Those were the terms everyone agreed t—”
“Bullshit,” Nazeera says, her eyes flashing. “You know as well as I do that her adoptive parents were monsters—”
“Paris changed the terms of the agreement,” Delalieu shouts angrily.
Nazeera raises an eyebrow, unmoved.
But something seems to have loosened Delalieu’s tongue, something like fear or guilt or pent-up rage, because suddenly the words rush out of him.
“Paris went back on his word as soon as Ella was in his custody,” he says. “He thought no one would find out. Back then he and I were about the same, as far as rank went, in The Reestablishment. We often worked closely together because of our family ties, and I was, as a result, privy to the choices he made.”
Delalieu shakes his head.
“But I discovered too late that he purposely chose adoptive parents who exhibited abusive, dangerous behavior. When I confronted him about it he argued that any abuse Ella suffered at the hands of her surrogate parents wouldonly encourage her powers to manifest, and he had the statistics to support his claim. I tried to voice my concerns—I reported him; I told the council of commanders that he was hurting her,breakingher—but he made my concerns sound like the desperate histrionics of someone unwilling to do what was necessary for the cause.”
I can see the color creeping up Delalieu’s neck, his anger only barely contained.
