Page 150 of To Catch A Rogue
Sudden surprises were his weakness.
And right now, it was clear Balfour wasn't thinking as fast on his feet as usual.
"Why did you want him dead?" Obsidian asked. "I thought the pair of you were allies."
"Sergey forgets himself," Balfour murmured. "He began to think he was in control, now he'd married an imperial princess."
Power. It all came down to power.
"And so you had him killed," he said, as if he hadn't pulled the trigger himself. "I assume you mean to supplant him with some other puppet." He paused, as if a thought had occurred. "Or perhaps you intend to replace him yourself."
Balfour waved away the idea. "No. I much prefer to be the powerbehindthe throne. It gives one more flexibility."
"And prevents some of the knives being aimed in your direction."
"That too."
"What now?" Obsidian asked. "I did as commanded."
"And I promised you proof of your heritage if you succeeded." There was a sheet of silk draped over something rectangular on the top of the desk. Balfour whisked the silk away with the kind of flourish reserved for showmen.
Inside the frame, behind the glass, was a faded splash of color.
A painting of themarque du sangof the Grigoriev bloodline.
"Blue bloodsheal exceptionally well," Balfour murmured. "It was too dangerous to leave it upon your back, and it's not as if you remember the incident."
Not a scroll of parchment.
Not a painting.
It was skin, flayed so exquisitely well he could barely see the incision marks.
Obsidian froze.
"It was the cost of allowing you to live," Balfour continued. "Sergey wanted you dead. You were a threat to his power, you see, but I convinced him otherwise. It was the price of my silence for his role in the Grigoriev murders. In return, I had themarqueremoved and gifted it to Sergey to hang in his study so he would trust me. Without it, there was no proof of who you were and you could be made to vanish within the halls of Falkirk Asylum while I ruled the realm."
The gorge rose in Obsidian's throat. Seeing that scroll of skin made his ears ring and his head start to ache. His headaches had been increasing in recent weeks as his memories returned and he broke through Dr. Richter's conditioning inch by inch, but this one was like an ice pick driven directly into his eye.
He could almost, almost hear himself screaming as hands held him down.
Obsidian pushed away from the desk, swallowing hard. He couldn't afford to lose control. Not now.
Gemma was relying upon him.
The Rogues were relying upon him.
"You son of a bitch," he said hoarsely. "You're a monster. Both of you are monsters. You were involved in Falkirk from the start."
It was the scene of his nightmares, the place where thedhampirhad been forged in a series of ruthless experiments—and finally in the fires that had helped them escape.
He'd always thought Balfour had found them afterwards.
He'd never expected the spymaster to be manipulating them from the start.
"Of course I was. Quietly. I knew several of the dukes using the asylum to test a cure for the craving virus, and the prince consort was interested in their results. I am a realist. And I never allow an opportunity to slip through my fingers." The chair squeaked as Balfour relaxed back into it. "Sergey couldn't see it at the time, but having you in my hand created a leash around his throat. My agent, Marina, travelled with you to England, where you were interred in Falkirk Asylum. It was deemed the safest place for you. I couldn't trust that Sergey wouldn't renege on his word and have you killed, so it was imperative he had no idea where you were."
Every single event in his life from the age of fifteen had been manipulated by this man.
