It was Ceridwen who broke the silence.
“You’re here to ask us to keep your dirty little secret?”
“Yes.”
Well, at least he’s honest.
“And I’m here to say thank you. To Rhiannon. For saving my daughter. I also won’t be challenging Margaux’s will.”
“Are you scared that we will report you?” Seren was the epitome of calm.
“No. You can report me, even after all is said and done, but the chances of me being prosecuted are nonexistent. My bigamy is not current. And I’m both a widower and a divorcé. Still, I wouldn’t want to give Paloma Allende more ammunition. She will no doubt feast on my connection to the factions wanting to swing the mayoralty and the town’s council further toward our natural roots.”
He kept his tone neutral, but Pru wanted to gag at his implication and his confidence of impunity.
“Natural roots?” She tried to speak quietly but felt the anger and the power in her rise to the bait. If it was bait, she could no longer recognize her own father.
“I’m not here to debate God’s world order, Prudence. The book bans will continue; all that filth will be removed from the shelves. You can’t stop the will of the people. The council will do its job with or without me. However, I’m here to say thank you to Rhiannon. To apologize for everything that happened. Look,I’m grateful to her. If she cannot find it in her to forgive me for Margaux, then so be it.”
He turned to go, but Pru couldn’t stop herself.
“Just for Margaux? What about the dead crow? The ugly note, the bloody picture… What about the harassment she had to endure at your hands for the past two months?”
Her father’s face contorted in a grimace. His mouth went slack, and his eyebrows rose almost comically.
Ceridwen was the one who stepped forward, her voice low and dangerous. “That’s quite an expression of shock there, Fowler. Are you going to tell us you had nothing to do with any of that? That you didn’t mean to drive Rhiannon out of the Atelier earlier than the terms of Margaux’s will established, thus being the next man up to inherit once you present your still valid marriage certificate?”
He gaped like a fish pulled out of the water.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about?—”
“Bullshit!” Deryn shook off her twin’s hand and nearly got in his face.
It was almost farcical, the entire scene out of some badly written novel, and yet Pru could see the truth in his wide, horrified eyes.
“I don’t think he’s lying. Why would he? He confessed to worse things. Margaux, the Atelier, the radicalization of the Council...”
The Crowharts all turned to her at the same time, and she wanted to laugh.
“Prudence?” Ceridwen sounded incredulous. “Are you sure?”
“I am.”
Her father extended his hand. “If you don’t believe me, I can prove I hadn’t done what you’re accusing me of. Give me the dates and the times. I worked almost around the clock these past months. I can prove I came nowhere near Rhiannon?—”
“Or the Atelier? Did you know about the conditions of the will?”
“I’ve never entered the Atelier since she hurt me all those years ago. And yes, I knew the conditions. She presented the will as proof of ownership. But I swear I never did any of those things.”
He looked at Pru, tears visible in his eyes. She had no empathy left where he was concerned, and so she watched him lift his hand in an awkward wave and close the door behind himself quietly, his limp even more pronounced than before.
The ticking of the grandfather clock was the only sound to be heard in the room for a long moment before Victoria broke the silence.
“Well, this is the worst news, then, girls.”
Ceridwen cradled her cast in her other hand and finally took a seat next to Victoria on the sofa, then spoke softly, her usual calm infusing her words.
“If he didn’t do it, then there is someone out there who hates Rhiannon even more than Fowler. No offense, Pru.”
