Page 6 of A Crown of Tears and Treason
Again.
Allie was right. Fabrian was truly a beast.
Even dressed in his finest emerald green suit, with those damn snakeskin lapels, he stood in front of the altar and the many elaborate vases surrounding it, to signify abundance in our new lives. His squinted, rheumy eyes were mean, with too much cruelty behind them. But his vices were catching up, he already had the kind of pallor reserved for men who were lucky enough to see their fiftieth year.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t live that long.
A life with him would be nothing short of tragic. But if I had to crawl my way to the altar, I would.
I hadn’t done much with my short life, but I’d accomplish this, even if it would probably kill me. My mother had always said my Vegheara blood made me too stubborn for my own good. She was right. I was going to use all that bullheadedness for the one thing that mattered in my life.
My family.
A dreadful image flashed in my brain.
My parents’ eyes staring accusingly at me. As if they were trying to warn me beyond the grave.
It took every ounce of self control I had to not freeze and keep walking.
I couldn’t think about my parents or my terrible mistake that got them killed. I had to make sure I wouldn’t repeat it.
Allie stood next to the altar, my official representative. She stared daggers at Fabrian as only someone who’d grown up Clan could.
Clan life meant violence. Strength. Cunning. Everything I was not. It had taken me half a day to realize my cousins had been talking about the latest assassination and not a guy named Pierce. Who pierces an eyeball to kill someone, anyway?
“She seems a bit dull for a Clan heiress, don’t you think?” another voice mumbled. “Something about that hair...”
My mother’s cruel jokes whispered in my ear. About how they’d squirelled me away from everyone because my hair was a dull shade of chestnut.
The only hope I had right now was that Fabrian wouldn’t be as awful as The Dragon. Everyone feared the crown prince of the Blood Brotherhood for a reason, after all.
“Yes, quite plain. And so…small,” another voice chimed in, not even bothering to whisper this time.
The rest of my cousins stood on the Protectorate side of the garden, next to my uncle Alaric, the current leader of the Clan. He’d welcomed me back with open arms and too many meals, as if he could undo the years of starvation. He had a good heart, my uncle.
Perhaps too good for leading a Clan, a part of me whispered. The part grandpa Constantine had raised.
I clenched my jaw. I was in no position to judge anyone.
My cousins stood tall and proud, radiating power, the pride of the Protectorate first family. There was less than ayear difference between us, but they looked so much more experienced and stronger. Grandpa Constantine had told his sons he wanted grandbabies and heirs, and they’d delivered.
Allie had come first, in the spring, a new hope for the Clan. I had joined her in the summer, after a torturous labor of fourteen hours, as my mother used to remind me.
Daxon “Dax” and Damara “Dara” were the first to give me their blessings, as was tradition. Their birth had surprised everyone in the fall and they’d quickly plumped up on the copious crops. With their bronze skin and long, dark hair, they looked almost identical; but their eyes gave them away. Dax had a shade of blue that could make the waves of Marea Luminara jealous, while Dara had been blessed with gray ones. When I was little, people used to say he’d stolen all the color in the clear sky, leaving her with the light.
Dax pulled me into a cautious hug, whispering in my ear. “If you’re having second thoughts, I can get him right after the ceremony, dagger to the heart. I know of ways to make someone disappear that you can’t even imagine.”
That’s why he was the best-kept secret in the Protectorate and proud of it.
I patted him on the back and laughed awkwardly, before Dara circled her arms around me.
“Uncle Maksim and I left a boat in the grotto,” she muttered in that calm, measured way of hers. “I have a little exploding rune, I can distract everyone while you run.”
Clarissa “Clara” was the last to embrace me, her many golden bracelets clinking. The youngest, she’d come as a miracle at the end of winter. Her midwife used to say her golden hair was a blessing, to bring the sun in the harsh, cold months. “I’ll negotiate the absolute best divorce in Clan history for you. You say the word and I’m there with my pen.”
My cousins truly were gems. I wouldn’t let Fabrian extinguish their shine.
I reluctantly left their embrace and stepped in front of the altar, biting my tongue until I tasted blood. The priest was the most gilded of all, his saintly hat rising at least three feet in the air. Fabrian gave me a rehearsed, jagged smile that didn’t reach his cold eyes. The calculated gaze of a Clan heir who had sacrificed his own brothers to reach the throne, according to the whispers around Aquila. A shiver sprinted down my spine and I struggled to breathe.
