When he had realized what was going to happen to his sister-in-law, he had grabbed his brother, drawing blood, but Ben one-handedly struck him down with a blow to his solar plexus that had him gasping, and his father, who had stepped in to assist, snarled, “Don’t interfere—unless you want to join her. Remember, boy, what happened last time.”
“Iremember. But she wasn’t a sparrow.”
“Sparrows are loyal,” his father retorted coldly. “Remember, this is the price of betrayal, Caledon. Your great-grandfather and grand-uncle knew this. Ben is doing what needs to be done.”
What needs to be done. A spasm tore across his bruised chest and he let out a rough gasp.
He made it sound so inevitable.
Odessa stepped out from the direction of the library, the scent of her cigarettes still clinging to her clothes. She stopped and looked at him carefully, her pale fingers feathering over her skirt as she straightened out the wrinkles. “What’s got your panties in a twist?” she asked. “Did one of your clients get charged with contempt again?”
“Noelle,” he said.
“What about her?”
“She’s dead.”
“Dead! What do you m—” Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Ben?Benkilled her? But why? It’s not even the festival yet. Shemarriedhim.”
“I suppose she didn’t care for the idea of being asparrow.”
“Are you sure he did it on purpose?”
“Oh yes,” he said, with a bitter laugh. “I didn’t think of that. I suppose she could have just fallen on one of Gideon’s needles and sleepwalked herself to the fucking furnace.”
His voice rose, along with his shoulders, as he straightened from his careless slouch.
“Of course he did it on purpose.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Odessa picked at her cuticles. “But I don’t see what it has to do with you. She wasn’tyourwife.”
“She was my sister. And yours.”
“No,” Odessa corrected him firmly. “She was a sparrow.”
“And apparently not even that.”
“It’s Ben’s mess to clean. He brought this on his own head.” Bored of the pretense, she dropped her hand to her side. “Stay out of it,” she advised.
Cal heard Ben return later, announcing himself with a loud slam of the door that shook the fury right back into his wearied bones. Every loud footstep slammed out a rhythm that sounded an awful lot like a confession:your fault, your fault, your fault.
But his sister was wrong, he thought. His brother was the heir, and many Cullraven heirs had been excused for culling their wives. It was in their blood.
Hewould be blamed, no doubt, for not throwing his lot in with the family. They would bring up his past displays of weakness, laid out like the worm-eaten fruit of a blighted tree. His family’s favorite whipping boy, trotted out an example to the others.
Cullraven blood rotted the blood of the wilting, after all.
After an unsuccessful attempt at rest, he went to the library to cool himself off. But Ben was already there, nursing an amber glass of scotch from one of his mother’s beveled crystal glasses. The bottle beside him was already half-empty and his eyes, as they lifted blearily to his, were bloodshot with indulgence.
“Come to gloat? Or perhaps say, I told you so?” Ben gestured with his glass, a mockery of a toast. “Have fucking at it. You’ll never get a better shot.”
“I came here to be alone,” said Cal coldly.
Ben topped his glass off, sloppily. “So did I. And I was here first.”
Anger yielded to disgust as he watched his brother douse his miseries in drink. He recalled another night, with a different girl. The deer they’d slain in front of him.
(“Weakness of the heart is an abscess of the soul, Caledon. Right now, you are not worthy to even bear his name.”)
