Page 63 of Blood Currents
“By fire,” he whispered.“What have I done?”
“You’ve been a grieving husband who trusted the wrong people,” I said, sitting down across from him.“The question is: What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t…” He rubbed his face with both hands.“I don’t know how to process this.If Helena was really trying to make peace with vampires, if her death was orchestrated by people I’ve worked with for years…”
“Then you have a choice,” I said.“You can keep being their puppet, or you can help us finish what Mother started.”
“Us?”
“The other heirs.We know about the conspiracy.We have evidence.And we’re going to expose it, with or without your help.”
Father was quiet for a long moment, staring at the evidence spread across his desk.“This vampire who provided the information—you trust him?”
“Yes,” I said simply.
“And if I agree to help you?If I accept that everything I’ve believed about Helena’s death is wrong?”
“Then we work together to take down the people who killed her.”My fire flickered blue, responding to the complex mix of grief and hope and determination coursing through me.“We make sure no one else dies for trying to forge peace.”
He nodded slowly and then reached for his pen.“What do you need me to do?”
The relief that flooded through me was so intense it was almost painful.“For now?Nothing that would arouse suspicion.But when the time comes to present this evidence publicly…”
“I’ll stand with you,” he said firmly.“I’ll stand with Helena’s memory and the peace she died trying to create.”
I gathered up the evidence, leaving him with copies of the most crucial documents.“Father?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.For all of it.For doubting her memory, for letting hatred define me, for not questioning your version of events sooner.”
His smile was sad but genuine.“She would have been proud of who you’ve become, Cyrus.And she would have been proud that you’re finally asking the right questions.”
I made it back to the academy through a portal but barely managed to reach the royal common room before the emotional weight of everything crashed down on me.Learning the truth about my mother’s death, confronting my father with evidence that shattered eighteen years of carefully constructed lies, watching him break down as he realized how thoroughly he’d been manipulated…
It was too much.
Marigold found me sitting by the windows, staring out at nothing, my hands shaking with residual adrenaline.
“How did it go?”she asked softly, settling beside me on the couch.
“He believed me,” I said, my voice rough.“Eventually.But watching him realize what really happened to my mother, seeing him understand how the council used his grief…” I trailed off, not sure how to put the devastation into words.
“That must have been awful.”
“It was necessary.”I looked at her, taking in her concerned expression, the way she’d positioned herself close enough to offer comfort but far enough away to give me space.“But it was also awful, yes.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, her presence grounding me in a way I desperately needed.The grief was still there—would probably always be there—but it felt different now.Cleaner, somehow.No longer twisted by years of misdirected hatred.
“Mari,” I said, the word coming out rougher than I’d intended.
She turned to face me fully, and I saw my own need reflected in her dark eyes.The same desperate hunger for connection that had been building between us for weeks was no longer held back by careful distance or political considerations.
“I know,” she said softly.
And when I kissed her this time—desperate and grateful and finally, finally honest—it felt like coming home.
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