Page 145 of A Curse of Hope and Shadows: Part I
She nodded, only because she wasn’t sure she had the strength to remain standing. Dimitri escorted her back to the chaise and pulled up a chair, sitting far too far away from her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She gave something like another nod, her throat tight. “As well as can be expected. You?” She gestured to the bruises on his face, wanting to reach out and touch them, soothe that broken lip with a kiss…
And to murder the father that had doubtless inflicted them.
Dimitri shrugged it off. “This is nothing.”
She looked down at her lap. “I read my mother’s journals,” she said. “Finally. Our mothers knew each other, it turns out. They were friends. We… we used to play together as children.”
A faint flicker of a smile appeared on his face, and quickly vanished. “I don’t remember.”
“Me neither, but… it was a long time ago.” She took another deep shuddering breath. “My mother wrote about the night your mother died.”
Dimitri’s face paled. She knew at once that she could not, would not tell him about the awful truth of it—what was done to his mother—but there were things he had to know.
“I know what her last words were,” she continued. “And you… you heard them, didn’t you?”
Dimitri swallowed. “I did.”
“And you think they were directed at you, don’t you?”
“Who else would they have been directed at?”
“Your father.”
He looked up sharply. “No. No—she loved him.”
“She lovedyou,” Adeline insisted. “And even if she did love your father, she realised in that moment what sort of person he was. Before that… she was begging him to look after you. She said that you were all the good she left in the world.”
Two tears slid down Dimitri’s cheeks, and Adeline fought the urge to run to him.
“She buried your sister,” she went on. “Didn’t burn her. Took her to a spot in the woods where she used to walk with her. Gave her a name.Lilibeth.Your mother told her it was what she would have called a daughter.”
Dimitri’s breath shuddered. “I didn’t even know it was a girl.”
Adeline wondered if anyone had ever checked, apart from her mother, if anyone had asked, or treated her like she had never existed simply because she never drew breath.
“I had to tell you,” she said. “I had to let you know that your mother never, ever thought you were anything but wonderful. That she loved you to the end.”
She stood up, a hand hovering over his shoulder. She reached out gingerly, and he latched onto that touch, crushing her hand beneath his. It was impossible to move away, even more so when he bolted from the chair and threw himself at her waist.
She sunk to the floor with him.
“I’m sorry,” he wept.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I’m sorry that I keep relying on you. I’m sorry that you never get to be the one to rage and cry. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you last night. I’m sorry you didn’t want me there. I’m sorry you had to run. I’m sorry about my father—”
She stiffened. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“It was my idea. My stupid idea—”
“It was a lovely idea, ruined by a horrible man.” She seized his face, fingers brushing over the wounds. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him from doing this.”
He took her hands, tugging them away and holding them against his chest. “These will heal,” he said. “Will you?”
