Page 156 of Queen of Nothing

“My mother is not as strong as she once was.” Father is unapologetic in his accusation of her. “Now, of course, you can set the record straight.”

“Grandmother didn’t help me.” I shake my head. “No one in the family did.”

His shoulders relax. “Then who did?”

Silence strikes me.

Her name thrums in my mind, Sofía, Sofía, Sofía—but the word doesn’t touch my tongue.

To give her up would be to give up all the other rogues in her care and under the protection of her shields.

That’s no easy thing to do.

Father sighs and, pushing up from the chair, comes to sit on the edge of my bed. He faces me, the shadows of the thicker curtains blocking the light from illuminating his face.

But his face is soft. His eyes are kind.

And his tone is understanding, “Now that you are back, I hope your mother will recover. I placed further hope on your union with Dray Sinclair—that the wedding ritual between you both would appease the gods and repent for your sin against them, and your mother would be well again.”

“My sin?”

“You understand.” Father smiles, and it’s sincere. “You understand me just fine, Olivia.”

To repent, to apologise to the gods, to be welcomed back into their embrace, their shadows, is to give up the shield witch.

Sofía is damn good at what she does.

I don’t know how many rogues she protects out there, or how many are flooding the halls of Hell House now.

I just know that I hesitate.

“Serena will be left alone,” Father promises me. “She was given wealth enough to sustain her and her child for the rest of their lives—and she can live in anonymity. It is a trade we have made willingly, mostly due to Marco’s disgust with his daughter. He could not bring himself to wish her home. But your family never stopped searching for you.”

My mouth tucks inwards, and the familiar slick tremble of tears is climbing up my throat.

“We will never let you go, Olivia. We love you, and you are a part of our family. But the gods own us all.”

The waves of tears roll over me.

“In your repentance, if you offer this to us, the gods will be more forgiving—and perhaps both your mother and mine will return to their proper conditions. You have the power,” he touches my chin and lures my wet gaze to his, “to make them better again.”

Then his hand leaves my cheek.

I hide my face in my own palms.

“Sometimes the gods test us,” Father’s voice follows me into my hiding spot, and I hear his words over my own shuddering tears. “In that situation, our loyalties were tested. Would we choose our children or the coven—the coven that serves the gods?

“The gods expect our absolute obedience and commitment. We all bow to them. I cannot afford to shield you anymore from this. The sacrifices will no longer be bagged and wrapped for your sensibilities, Olivia. You will see them.”

My throat thickens.

My face twists against my palms.

“But don’t you see, daughter?” Father’s voice is soft, it is warm and inviting. “We would not have been punished if you did not matter. Grandmother would not be ill, your mother would not be ill, if the gods did not love you. And you matter to us, Olivia. You are loved, even when you feel that you are not. But it is time that we let you grow up.”

My fingers slide down my face, along my tear-streaked cheeks, and I choke on a hitched breath.

Father is comforting.