Page 180 of Between Despair and Hope

“What are their real names?”

“The Scar is named Jesmine, and the Scythe is named Penelope.”

“Penelope.” I retorted, dubious.

“I didn’t name her.” He shrugged. “Are you ready?”

“As I suppose I’ll ever be.”

When we walked through the room, both women stood, their vast height difference far more noticeable. The Scar—Jesmine—wasn’t as tall as I thought, perhaps a hand shorter than me.

“Your Majesties,” they said in unison on a bow, only offering the faintest hint of an accent.

Rain nodded, and I dipped my head, still becoming accustomed to the genuflections.

“Your Highnesses,” his voice rumbled, and I echoed, feeling uncomfortable before shaking it off. They knew who I was. They knew I didn’t know what I was doing. Faking it to make things better wouldn’t earn me any favors with them. I attempted normalcy and projected warmth. I had held no ill will toward Keeva until she broke my bones and tried to kill me. Perhaps the two of us could salvage whatever alliances Nythyr and Vesta had once hoped for—with kindness alone.

“Jesmine, Penelope, thank you for coming to celebrate the coronation,” I offered, nodding toward each of them and Rain’s grip on my hip squeezed. Confused at the look on the Scar’s face, I continued. “Has your stay been comfortable? I’m sorry the festivities were postponed; that was my fault.”

“He didn’t prepare you properly,” she said, a rueful smile curving the side of her mouth left untouched by injury. “I am not the Scar. She is.” The shorter woman who wore the injury nodded toward the taller one, and my stomach tightened. “She is the reason for this though,” she added, tracing a fingertip across the old wound.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to off—”

“My sister,Penelope, is a bitch,“ the taller woman, the real Scar, I supposed, said, a smile on her face showing extraordinarily white teeth. Almost too white. Unsettling. “Don’t mind her.”

“I apologize,” Rain said, pulling me against him and looking down at me. “That was my fault. I forget sometimes how little you’ve been privy to these last years. Surely, the two of you understand? She’s been away for a time.”

“We’ve heard enough,” the shorter woman, Penelope, said. “You are the one who outshone Keeva.”

“Our condolences,” Rain swept in, putting on airs of royal grandeur, smoothing over the situation at hand. I’d heard stories, but seeing him work his charm was amazing. No playfulness or mischief or crooked smile graced his features. Only a polished royal stood beside me. “I do fear it was my fault she met her end.” My body tightened in response to his words, and he squeezed my hand before he continued. “She was eager to leave because of me. The weather wasn’t good for it, not with the autumn squalls Seyma’s Gulf gets. I’d have insisted she stay if I’d have known what would happen.”

“Our sister was always a hard one to deter when her mind was made up,” Jesmine said before nodding to the table between us. “Let us sit?”

As Rain and I sat down across from the two of them, I’d noticed their hearts had traded beats. Jesmine, who had paced and seemed nervous, had a slower beat while Penelope, who had been slow and calm, was now jittery, her leg bouncing beneath the table.

“Did you kill her?” Penelope blurted, just as we pulled our chairs in. My jaw dropped, and Rain swore.

“What in the gods—” he began before Jesmine cut him off, nostrils flaring.

“Divine hell, Pen. Are you trying to get us all killed? They kill us, Mother kills them all. Shit!”

“It just doesn’t make any sense. Keeva wasn’t in line anymore, not with marrying him. None of the others—” The small blonde woman shrieked when her sister slammed a hand down on the table between them.

“Shut the fuck up, Penny.”

“Alright, what’s going on?” Rain demanded. There was something more to all of this, and I didn’t know if it would work out in our—my—favor or not.

Jesmine dropped her head in both hands, elbows on the table in front of her. The two eldest daughters of Nereza, Queen of Nythyr, Mother of the Nine, were supposed to be formidable, but they were doing little to convince us of such.

“Who killed our sister?” Jesmine said, staring down at the table. Penelope crossed her arms and hardened her features.

“Your sister drowned at sea when her—” Rain began, quiet tone doing little to hide his aggravation.

“We know she never boarded that ship.” Jesmine lifted her gaze to mine, and I swore I saw fear in her eyes. “We just need to know if it was one of you or one of our sisters.”

Chapter 46

Lavenia

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