Page 29 of Blood Currents
A scream coiled in my throat, but I swallowed it whole.
I reached for my wine again, more for the distraction than the taste.Around me, silver clinked against porcelain.My mother offered some clinical observation about magical attunement curves, and my father nodded along like she’d just delivered scripture.Alstone dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and then carved another perfect slice of meat—surgical, efficient.The conversation moved like clockwork: polite, polished, and quietly monstrous.
They were talking about Keane like he was a research subject.Like breaking him had been a step forward.Like turning pain into precision was just another method in their arsenal.
I smiled where I was meant to.I nodded on cue.
But inside, something was tearing.
And when Marigold’s name came up—casually, as if by accident—I felt something crack inside my chest.
“The Grimley girl,” Lady Crescott mused, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.“Such an… interesting addition to the academy.”
They were circling, waiting to see how I’d play her.I had seconds to choose.
If I defended her, they’d target her.If I hesitated, they’d know she mattered.
“Interesting is one word for it,” I heard myself say, my voice carrying exactly the right note of amused disdain.“Though I suppose her compassion for young Alstone could be seen as… idealistic.”
The wordidealisticdripped with subtle contempt, suggesting naivety, foolishness, weakness.I was throwing her to the wolves with a smile, packaging her greatest strength as a flaw to be pitied.
They nodded approval.Mother’s expression showed satisfied pride.Father’s eyes held the warmth that only appeared when I proved my worth as their heir.
And something inside me withered.
“Perhaps someone should… monitor… such idealistic tendencies,” I continued, the suggestion wrapped in silk but sharp as steel.“Ensure they don’t lead to unfortunate complications.”
Monitor.Watch.Control.Report back to the very people who wanted to break her the way they’d broken Keane.The words tasted like poison, but they smiled and nodded and told me how mature my thinking was becoming.
When the evening finally wound toward its conclusion, Alstone rose from his chair with liquid grace.He paused beside me, one pale hand resting briefly on my shoulder like a benediction.
“Perfect answers, Elio,” he said, his voice pitched for my ears alone.“Almost too perfect.My nephew lied well too—until attachments made him weak.”
The threat was velvet-wrapped steel.The warning was crystal clear:Love is weakness.Weakness will be punished.
I met his gaze with polished composure, letting nothing show on my face but respectful attention.“Thank you, sir.I appreciate the guidance.”
He squeezed my shoulder once—not hard enough to hurt but firmly enough to remind me of his strength—and glided away into the night.
The other guests departed in a rustle of expensive fabric and murmured pleasantries.The servants cleared the table with mechanical efficiency, removing all evidence of the evening’s performance.Within an hour, the stage was struck, the props removed, the theater dark.
Only then did I allow myself to escape.
Back in my suite at the academy, I made it three steps past the threshold before my legs gave out.I collapsed onto the edge of my bed, the carefully pressed suit suddenly feeling like chains, the cufflinks like shackles around my wrists.
The tremors started small—just a flutter in my fingers—but spread through my body like ripples in poisoned water.
“She’ll never forgive me,” I whispered to the empty room.
Echo crawled onto my knee, her scales flickering between concerned blues and grays.
I’d condemned Keane with clinical precision.Dismissed Marigold’s compassion as naive weakness.Volunteered to spy on the girl whose trust I’d been desperately earning.
And I’d done it because the alternative was unthinkable.
“They would have targeted her directly,” I explained to Echo, needing to hear the justification aloud.“Mother was already collecting information on her family, her weaknesses, her vulnerabilities.If I hadn’t volunteered to monitor her…”
The words died in my throat.The truth was, I’d made a calculation—a terrible, necessary calculation.By positioning myself as their willing spy, I could control what information reached my parents.I could protect her in ways she’d never know about, never thank me for.
