Page 3 of Between Wrath and Mercy

“Under duress,” I forced a smile. “I’d better get going; I have to help her pack. Let me know how Gertie does.”

“I will. Let me know howyoudo.”

I rolled my eyes at her and went out the back door.

Onmywayhome,I stopped and gathered some brun root in a small grove of oak trees near the house. After bringing it inside, I set it on the hutch within the kitchen, bumping a drawer shut with my hip as I did it. The squeak of the wood on wood and the stick of the drawer told me I needed to rub wax where the wood met. I glanced around the room—the whole thing needed updating. The hutch held my nicer dinnerware Nana had sent me from Ravemont, and I kept the piece of furniture in good condition, but everything else had fallen into disrepair. The shelving holding my copper pots and pans was bowed in the middle, the white paint was peeling from the paneled wall in places, and the hearth had some loose bricks which drove me crazy. It functioned though, and that was what mattered. When Elora came into the room, she took one sniff and eyed the brun root I’d brought and groaned.

“Do I have to? It stinks so bad.” She had a point, but I wasn’t about to agree with her.

“Do you want to go tomorrow or not?” I retorted. I watched eyes the color of my own roll so far back in her head that I was genuinely concerned they might get stuck. I watched her for a moment as she stood on the other side of the table from me. She’d grown so tall; she was nearly as tall as me. Since Faxon wasn’t much taller, I figured she was done growing or close to it.

“Fine, but I’m going to complain the whole time.”

“I expect nothing less,” I stuck my tongue out at her. She stared at the brun root for a few moments, arms crossed, before she peered up at me and heaved a sigh.

“Thank you, Mama, for letting me go. I know you hate the idea.”

“I just worry, Elora. You know why.”

Because you are so like her.

Because she is gone, and you are not.

Because being favored by the gods is not any sort of blessing.

“I won’t go near the temple, Mama. I promise. I’ll stay in the room and read when Papa is busy. This is good practice.” My heart ached. Conduits generally came into their full divinity between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two, girls sooner than boys, and she had every intention to go explore Vesta when it happened. And I had no true desire to lock her up in a tower or put her to sleep for a hundred years, no matter how much I might want to. She needed a chance to live and grow. I wanted that for her. I wanted her to live—for my sister who never got the chance, for myself who had only lived for the two of them, and most of all for her. She’d be able to protect herself once her divinity reached maturity; she wouldn’t need me anymore.

“Absolutely do not go near the temple. If you see any novices on the street, turn around and go a different way. You promised me, so you better keep your promise.” I realized my voice was stern. I hated being strict with her, but it was purely to keep her safe.

“I will. Do you want me to pick up anything for you while we’re there? I want to go to that bookstore and pick out something new. Papa has horrible taste.” She giggled, gesturing toward the small stack of books that sat between the two armchairs by the window. He brought her a book back anytime he went, but sometimes I wondered if he just walked in and bought the first thing he saw.

“No, honey. I don’t need anything. Thank you.” She walked past me toward the hall, and I gently tugged on her braid as she went. She smiled and flounced up the stairs.

I’dbeeninbedfor over an hour when Faxon stumbled up the stairs. He didn’t bother skipping the creaking board at the top step. It had squeaked as long as I could remember, and since it was right outside Elora’s bedroom, I’d made it a habit to step over it early on, trying not to wake her. The habit stuck. I’d gone up early, not feeling well after using my abilities on Gertie. The toll from using my divinity would often leave me fatigued, and in some circumstances, I’d end up with terrible headaches. I’d had worse, but the light ache behind my eyes was enough to send me crawling into bed. I listened to the man in the hall bump into the wall, sounding like he caught his hip on the corner closet. Faxon drank most nights, rarely in excess, though tonight seemed to be an exception. I wondered why since he had such an early start in the morning. As I heard him, my body tensed, and I considered trying to slip into the bathroom before he came in and wait him out until I heard his snores on the other side of the door. But when I noticed his steps dragged more than usual, I figured he’d fall asleep the minute he laid down, so I stayed put.

He crawled into the bed next to me, reeking of alcohol. Ever since his delusions of grandeur were interrupted by the exceedingly real threat of having the Beloved for a daughter, he’d sunk further into the cup. When he married me, he and my father both had dreams Faxon would run the estate one day. Before Lucia had died, we’d both told Father I would be perfectly capable of running Ravemont with or without Faxon. Lucia argued with Father more boisterously than I ever had. She’d even tried to guilt him, arguing that without any of us performing the bonding ritual, she’d outlive us all. Our parents would both die sooner rather than later, and I’d age and wrinkle while she sat on the throne for hundreds of years, leaving her alone with no one but Prince Rainier at her side. She wanted me in the capital with her, in Astana, looking for a conduit to perform the ritual with so I could be by her side always.

But then she died first. Our parents had tossed me off to Faxon within the week. I didn’t particularly care anymore that he was mortal and I’d never perform the ritual. I didn’t want to live too long anyway, not without Lucia.

I was lying on my side, facing away from Faxon, when his body slammed into the bed, and I felt his warmth as he sidled closer to me. I froze. The drunker he was, the more likely he was to pursue intimacy with me, and that was not something I cared to argue. Again. I tucked my hands between my thighs and squeezed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t badger you tonight, though I should,” he slurred, hot breath into my ear.

“And why should you?” I snapped back at him.

“Because you’re my wife.”

“And that gives you the right to use me as you please?”

“Careful, hen. I said I wasn’t badgering,” he hiccupped.

My marriage with Faxon was a loveless one. He wanted Ravemont, and he’d gone through me to get it. Fifteen years my senior, and lacking any especially attractive qualities, he’d never interested me. Though living in isolation to protect Elora wasn’t what I’d wanted, I couldn’t help feeling mollified he didn’t get his way. I allowed him my body in those early months. A large part of me was disgusted he’d been able to look at me then, given the state I was in, and find any bit of arousal. But he did. And when Elora had been born, I’d decided I would not allow him to father any more children with me. Since her birth was extremely difficult on me, and Elora was my priority, I didn’t want to risk another child. To have another to worry about. Knowing full well he’d never consistently take the precautionary tonic, I decided I would no longer allow him to touch me. In the beginning, he was irate, screaming at me and throwing things whenever I denied him, but he never forcibly took what I wasn’t willing to give. I wasn’t sure if it was one of the last shreds of honor the man had or if it was a well-founded fear of what I would do to him if he attempted.

For what it was worth, it was only when he was drunk that he pushed the boundaries. When Mairin took on her role as healer, I convinced her to tell Faxon what he needed to hear. I wasn’t sure what she said, perhaps that another pregnancy would kill me, or something like it. Whatever she insinuated worked, and he left me alone, for the most part, barely bothering to guilt trip me anymore. When he was drunk enough I felt fear, I’d lock myself in the bathroom or sleep with Elora. As time went on, it began to happen less and less, making me wonder if he had a woman in town. I didn’t care if he’d found other outlets for his release. It kept him off me.

He moved over to his side of the bed, and snoring followed shortly after. I rolled onto my back and looked over at him. He wasn’t the worst of men, necessarily. I knew countless other women who had husbands who intentionally hurt them every time they drank, significantly worse than the fingerprints Faxon left on my arms. And he never did it sober or in front of Elora. That wasn’t the case for a lot of the women in town. He was decent to Elora, and he helped protect her. He taught her to fish and helped support her passions. He was a good father, but he’d never be more than that in my eyes. To me, he simply existed. Another body occupying space in my home. I’d been served to him on a platter with Ravemont Estate, and he’d eagerly taken my father up on the prospect. I’d had no choice in the matter, especially after Lucia’s death.

Don’t marry him, Em.

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