Vaspar remained unbothered. He narrowed his vision in a way that made me feel like he had another cruelty yet to give. “Ah, yes. That pesky sun.”
Dread crept over me.
“Would be a shame to be caught in it…”
My teeth pressed together, ready for his verbal strike to land.
“Any final words you want me to share with the commander before I leave him to greet the dawn?”
There it was.
My breath caught. Not at the prospect of Dommik’s impending death, but that he was still alive. Somewhere. Somewhere in this Hive he still drew breath.
Succumbing to the temptation of hope felt far too dangerous, but it was there, shining and vying for my attention.
“I’ll tell him myself.”
Vaspar let out another eerie cackle. “Oh, you simple, stupid woman. When will you see? There’s no hope here. No hope of escape. Or life. The faster you come to terms with that, the easier this death will be on you.”
With that, he turned on his heel, his head held high as if he’d won. We listened to the gentle tapping of his boots on stone.
“Is it true?” Lydia squeaked.
“Darling—” Cova moved to comfort her adopted daughter.
“No. I’m askingher.” The fire in Lydia’s eyes transformed her into my twin at that age. All hair and rebellion.
I placed my hands over my heart and my navel as I softly assured her, “This isn’t how we wanted you to find out.”
“When had you planned on telling me?” She stood abruptly, her fierce gaze still locked on me.
“We hadn’t really?—”
“We didn’t know?—”
Our fumbled words collided in a mess of vague and unfinished explanations.
Lydia’s eyes widened. “You—you weren’t planning on telling me. Ever. Were you?”
I let out a heavy exhale and looked at my sister. The truth was Cova and I had never spoken about it or agreed. It had been our father’s ruling we honored.
“This will ruin our family! You’re never to speak of this!”His booming words echoed through my memory as if he hadn’t spoken them to me fifteen years ago, but was here with us in this subterranean prison.
Cova hadn’t carried or birthed her. But Covawasher mother. She’d earned the right to call herself Lydia’s mother. And who would I be to take that from her, or even try to share it, when I had been nothing more than a distant aunt?
“No,” I admitted.
Lydia scoffed and she looked to Cova as tears welled in her eyes, begging the same question.
Cova looked to the floor. A rare moment of defeat for my impenetrable sister. I couldn’t imagine the hurt and betrayal she must have felt at that moment. A lifetime of love, shattered.
My sister gently shook her head.
Lydia turned away, wiping tears attempting to escape down her flushed cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I said, because I was unsure what else I could say that could appropriately sum up the depth of remorse for the way this information unfolded to her.
It should have been delicate. Private. Not tossed about as a piece in Vaspar’s twisted mind games.
