Page 149 of Queen of Nothing

The bedchamber tilts around me.

The air is rushing against me from all angles, disorientating, as I try to push up from the chaise. But my legs give out, and I land back down with a choked breath.

“What?” My own voice is muffled to me, distant, like it comes from the other end of a ballroom. “What does that mean? What does that mean?”

Vaguely, I’m aware of Oliver’s hands on my shoulders, like he’s pushing me back down onto the chaise, and holding me there.

Father’s words bounce around the echo, so far away, “You were born strong. So strong, Olivia. You were glowing with power. But Oliver was dull and poorly—”

“I’m so sorry, Liv.” Oliver’s rushed words warp around me, his face, too. “It’s the way it has to be. It’s the way this world works.”

Father dips into my watery vision, abandoning the armchair, and all of a sudden, I blink tears that roll down my cheeks and slip over my lips, and Father is there, next to me on the chaise.

He steals my hand, the bandaged one, and holds it carefully.

“The son cannot be the weak one,” he says. “The heir cannot be ailing.”

“Please understand,” Oliver’s hand tightens on mine, and he reaches for my face, wipes away the tears that fall numbly, “there was no other way. The ritual had to be done. Father had no choice. They had to syphon your power—into me. It was the only way.”

I can hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears.

It dizzies me.

“We didn’t intend to drain all of it,” Father’s urgent whisper hisses around my spinning head, “but rituals can be unpredictable. We stopped before you could become sickly, but it wasn’t soon enough. The magic was gone from your blood.”

And into Oliver’s.

I was strong.

I was…

I was the alchemist child.

Oh.

My.

Gods.

The room spins, violent.

I wrench my hands out of theirs and, dazed, stagger off the chaise.

My feet ache through the disorientation swirling in my head.

“You’re not a krum,” Oliver’s pleading voice comes from somewhere behind me.

I stagger, aimless, until a coil of nausea purses my mouth.

I almost think it’s better being a krum.

I came to terms with that over time.

I grieved my witchiness, my deadblood status, and accepted that, for whatever, ridiculous unfathomable reason, my parents adopted a krum and passed her off as a deadblood.

I never thought about this…

This violation.