Page 103 of Between Wrath and Mercy

“And you never told her.” Another statement.

“Correct.”

“Why not?” Ismene’s careful tilt of her head made me feel like prey. I knew Ismene and Cyran probably weren't in full power of their divinity, yet Ismene’s calm and watchful stare reminded me of a cat waiting out a mouse.

“Her father and I couldn’t agree on telling her. I’d always thought we were protecting her, but I planned to tell her after she returned from her trip in Mira, regardless of his wishes.” Cyran and Ismene shared a glance to which Ismene nodded. Realization raced over me, a cool shock to my system.

“You’re like me, aren’t you?” She gave me a curt nod before folding her hands in her lap.

“She’s the best harrower in Folterra.” Cyran gave his sister a smile that had her rolling her eyes.

“Harrower?” The term was unfamiliar to me.

“Is that not what you call it in Vesta? Someone who can communicate with the heart?” Cyran cocked his head at the same angle as his sister, and I almost laughed. Different mothers, perhaps, but raised the same.

“I’ve never called it anything. I've never met another. Until now, I suppose.”

“Why did you send Faxon to me? What did you do to him?” It was my turn to ask some questions, and I made sure I listened to them just as Ismene listened to me.

“That’s a question for your daughter.” Cyran’s brows furrowed as he spoke. “And I let my seer help mindbreak him. He deserved it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imean, I have a mindbreaker, and I let a seer join in on the fun as a special treat.”

“I can’t help but be curious as to what exactly he did, although I’m sure it was warranted.”

“On that, we can agree. How is he? I’m sure as much of a delight in madness as he was in sanity?”

“He’s dead.” Cyran and Ismene’s brows both shot up as their eyes met.

“By whose hand?” Ismene stared at me, mouth agape.

“My own. It was mercy after what you did to him, but I’d have done it either way.”

“The effects might have worn off eventually.”

“Doubtful. And the result would have been the same. Faxon was dead the minute he sold his daughter.” I spat out the words, forgetting about minding my tongue.

“You killed him?” Her voice was quiet, laced with a certain hardness I wouldn’t have expected. I glanced up at the door I’d appeared in and saw Elora standing there. I took her in, the long, white dress she wore flowed off her, and she was barefoot. Angry, red marks marred her wrists, likely from some sort of restraint—obsidian perhaps—but her pallor was healthy. She seemed cared for, well-rested. I watched as a single tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. Angry. Her hair was unrestrained, the tight curls flowing down to her waist. She was beautiful, and it made me heartsick that it wasn’t truly her standing in front of me. Cyran jumped to his feet, looking between the two of us as I rose as well.

“I told you to stay—” Cyran started to whisper to her, but I cut him off.

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you. Your father betrayed us, Elora. I’m sorry.”

“He was no father of mine.” Elora’s jaw jutted out, tears forming at her lashes, and I could tell she was fighting to keep them at bay. Cyran took a few steps toward her, reaching out his hand before she turned away from him, back to me. I stood, making my way around the table, wanting nothing more than to fold my daughter into my arms, to let her cry into my chest and pet her, playing with her hair as I did it.

“Stop, Mama. Don’t.” I froze, terrified by the confirmation of my fears coming true. She couldn't understand. “Papa—Faxon—told me everything was going to be fine, that he was keeping me safe. But then, a few days ago, he told me I meant nothing to him because I am an extension of you. What did you do to him, Mama?”

My jaw dropped. He hated me that much? He was that embittered by my lack of love for him that he'd do this to her? The fact she used his name hit a sore spot. I didn't blame her, not one bit, but I knew it was a wound within her that probably festered.

“Nothing. I didn’t do anything to him. I—I didn’t love him, but I didn’t do anything.”

“We’ve heard rumors.” Prince Cyran turned to face me, arms crossed.

“Prince Rainier called off his betrothal.” Ismene supplied, body language matching her brother.

“Yes.” I nodded, pulling the cloak around myself closer, fully aware of every touch of the fabric underneath it, the shirt belonging to the man in question. I didn't like where this conversation seemed to be headed.

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