Page 48 of Blood Currents
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, injecting just the right note of concern.“Is there anything I can do to help?”
His eyes fixed on me with predatory interest.“Your recent insights regarding Miss Grimley’s… attachments… have proven valuable.We believe she may know more about Keane’s whereabouts than she’s admitted.”
My throat closed.They thought Marigold was hiding Keane.And I’d given them that suspicion with my careful reports about her emotional state.
“What would you like me to do?”I heard myself ask, the question automatic.
“Continue monitoring her activities,” Mother said.“Report any suspicious behavior, any indication that she’s been in contact with Keane or those harboring him.”
“Of course,” the words spilled out before I could stop them.“I understand the importance of the mission.”
The words tasted like ash.I was volunteering to spy on the woman I loved for the people who’d tortured her friend.And the worst part?Some deep, trained part of me still felt proud when they approved of my cooperation.
The meeting continued for another thirty minutes.Protocols, expectations, contingency plans.I responded perfectly, the ideal heir demonstrating intelligent cooperation.
When they finally dismissed me, I barely made it to my room before the magnitude of my failure crashed down on me.
I sank into the chair by my window, staring out at the manicured gardens where I’d learned to perform as a child.Echo perched nearby, her scales a worried gray that matched my mood.
What’s the point?
The question cut through everything else.What was the point of all my careful protection if they were targeting Marigold’s friends anyway?What was the point of maintaining my cover if it just gave them better intelligence to use against her?
I thought about the way she’d looked at me after hearing about the dinner—not with anger but with something worse.Disappointment.Like she’d expected better and I’d proven her wrong.
She was pulling away from me, trusting Cyrus more because he could be honest with her.And meanwhile, my parents were moving against her friends because my reports hadn’t satisfied them.
Every sacrifice I’d made to protect her had been pointless.Worse than pointless, they had enabled them.
I pulled out my cell phone, my hands shaking slightly.Tomorrow, I had to find an excuse to slip away and help search for Levon—another deception to add to the pile.
But maybe… maybe it was time to stop deceiving everyone.
Maybe it was time to choose Marigold over my parents’ approval.To choose truth over performance, even if it meant losing the only identity I’d ever known.
The thought terrified me more than anything else.Without their validation, without the role of perfect heir, what was I?Who was I?
But looking at Echo’s worried gray scales, thinking about Marigold’s fading trust and her friends being targeted, I wondered if the real question was different.
What was I becoming by continuing to play this game?And was protecting my parents’ approval really worth watching everything I actually cared about burn?
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure I knew the answer.
23
Marigold
The familiar scent of chocolateand sugar hit me the moment I walked through the front door of our tiny apartment.Mom had been baking—chocolate chip cookies, my favorite—and the warmth of home wrapped around me like a hug I hadn’t realized I desperately needed.
But the apartment felt smaller somehow.Same faded couch, same chipped mug on the counter, same water stain on the ceiling that the landlord had never fixed.Maybe I’d just outgrown it.Or maybe I’d changed too much to fit into this space anymore.
“Mari!”Mom emerged from the kitchen, flour dusting her silvery-blonde hair and the brightest smile I’d seen in months lighting up her face.She pulled me into her arms, and for a moment I let myself be just her daughter again.Not an heir, not a necromancer, not someone carrying impossible secrets.
Just Marigold Brook, home for Christmas.
“Let me look at you,” she said, holding me at arm’s length.Her brown eyes—so much like mine—scanned my face with the thoroughness only mothers possessed.“You’re too thin.And these shadows under your eyes…” She paused, noticing the small movement beneath my scarf.“And what is that?”
Scout poked his tiny skull out, eye sockets tilting toward her with what I’d learned to recognize as curiosity.
