The journal lay there silent, not even the breeze from the now-open windows disturbing its pages. Its stillness only increased the pressure we tried so hard to ignore. The clock striking from Ryker’s room didn’t help; it reminded me too much of the peace which had washed down the drain in his ridiculous crystal bath.
Evie was getting married–truly, this time. He was there.
I wasn’t.
Ryker promised she’d be safe, but we’d taken all precautions back on Sanctua Sirena, and my father had still been murdered. Tanthe Issa had ended with arrows spearing her frail body. Gods, I’d had a priest’s blood splattered on my face.
Now Evie and Ryker were alone in the Capital.
My breaths came out short, no matter how hard I tried to quiet them. Focusing on the words in front of me didn’t keep the poisoned arrows from spearing my mind.
“You were right to intervene, you know?” Dax said softly, yanking me back into the room. He looked at me with that rare seriousness he tried so hard to hide. “That day, on Sanctua Sirena. We could all sense something was wrong with Evie and Fabrian, but you were the only one who tried to stop it.”
The page in my hand flopped in the middle as my lips parted. I hadn’t known how much I needed to hear that until the knot in my stomach unclenched.
“But that was then,” he went on. “That massacre will not happen again.”
I hadn’t realized my body had betrayed my thoughts so easily.
I nodded–and kept on nodding, because the knot had moved to my throat.
“It was hard,” I said at last, voice raspy. “To have a different opinion. To be forced to go against everyone.”
“I can only imagine.” A muscle in his jaw flexed. “If it helps, you did it beautifully.”
“It does.” He drew another small smile from me. The ghost of the arrows began to fade. “You’re too perceptive for your own good.”
“Such bitter words after I tried my hardest to liven that scowl of yours.” He chuckled and nodded at the parchment in my hands. “Anything good?”
I tilted my head to the side. “Silas drank more than we knew. Only the pricey wine, too.”
“That unhealthy glow of his didn’t come from overindulging on fish and lettuce.” He scoffed. “I’m surprised he bothered to write it down.”
“Everyone even remotely connected to the First Family had to. We have Dria Vegheara to thank for that,” I mumbled, gaze racing down the lines.
“Yes, but if he was the one who emptied our vaults–or facilitated it–then he wouldn’t have wanted his name in there. Especially for frivolities.”
“Maybe those frivolities were there to distract from something else.” I bit my lower lip. “Speaking of frivolities, Bia seemed to love them.”
“Bia again?” Dax shook his head. “She barely had time to sleep. Like you said, she probably borrowed for those parents of hers and was too embarrassed to tell anyone.”
“These are all official expenses from when she went to negotiations, outside Aquila.”
“Uhm…no. There’s a special fund for every mission. Or there was. Tiny, too. Clara and I used to complain about it all the time.”
My brows rose. “So you never had to get money from the vaults?”
“Not directly. It was funneled out of them and given to us.”
“Who handled that?”
“Uncle Maksim. He handled everything about missions outside of Protectorate territories, though hehateddealing with numbers.”
I shuffled between the parchments. “Then why am I not seeing his name anywhere in here?”
“You will,” Dax said with absolute confidence–and, honestly, some reproach that I even dared to ask about the man he respected most in the world. “Uncle Maksim lives, breathes, and bleeds Protectorate. He wouldn’t have intentionally hurt the Clan for anything in this world.”
Questions still bubbled at the outskirts of my mind about this fund and why I hadn’t heard about it, but there was one undeniable truth that crumbled that grim theory. “He definitely wouldn’t have put Silas on the throne.”
