Page 35 of House of Pawns
“I didn’t think so,” I say, my voice lowering. The back of my eyes sting. So instead of staying and fighting, instead of justifying myself like I feel I have to do, I leave the library.
I find Anna standing in the entryway of the ballroom. “You okay?” she asks.
“Fine,” I growl as I motion for her to follow me. “Let’s go.”
We walk to the garage and climb in the Jeep, the back of it heavily weighted down. I set the insulated bag in my lap and Anna drives. She wears a set of sunglasses that are more like goggles. Because it’s only five-thirty and the sun shines behind the gray cloud cover.
Anna doesn’t question me. She doesn’t tell me that this is either unwise or too much, or to prepare for retaliation.
She doesn’t say anything at all. And for that I am thankful.
The vegetation around the road grows thicker as we turn off from town and head south. The road becomes roughand uneven. And finally, we turn off into the swamps that lead to the False House.
Curses. Jasmine began to tell me about them once, but I don’t know much about them. At one time, this land was a thriving plantation. Now it’s muck. The Hanging Tree in town is completely dead, but before my Uncle and his House members were hung in it, it was beautiful and full.
Who controls these curses? Individuals with terrifying power? The universe? Karma?
I wish I understood it.
I vow to ask the King when he arrives.
I can only hope that the daylight will protect Anna and I as we park in front of the House. We both climb out and I open the back hatch for Anna. From it, she hefts a huge headstone made from the finest marble. With no strain at all, she carries it to the edge of the circular driveway and sets it where it will be in full view from the front porch.
The positioning mirrors what they did with my mother.
I retrieve another box from the car and walk back to the porch. From it, I pull an intricate mobile. Like the kind you’d hang above an infant’s crib. But mine is far more sinister.
At the very top, just below the string I attach to the roof of the porch with a nail, is a crown, one—alone. It’s a replica of the family crown Rath presented me with after Ian was killed. The raven stands out, bold and strong, brilliant gold.
Beneath it hang five other crowns, one representing each Ian, Samuel, Lillian, Anna, and Nial.
The next tier holds four more crowns, and dangling in the center of each of them is a single blood bag. Gifts for Markov, Christian, Cameron, and Trinity.
And hanging at the very bottom, lonely and beneath all theothers, is the last crown. It’s painted flat black, to match Jasmine Veltora’s black, obviously dead, heart. Suspended just inside the circle of the crown, is another tiny black crown for Micah.
I step back to the stairs, admiring my work.
It’s a beautiful, complicated sight.
But the true crown is the one I turn around to face. The headstone Anna placed in plain view.
In Memory of Alexander Veltora.
Samuel has many connections. Samuel is old. Samuel knows many stories.
I did not expect him to be so valuable when he walked into my home. I expected nothing more than a man who would make perverted comments and try to catch a view down my shirt.
I did not expect such a weapon.
I did not expect his valuable information.
Something dark and strange has begun taking over my insides ever since Jasmine left my mother on my front drive. Something strong and aggressive.
And I don’t have the desire to fight it, I’ve found.
Anna makes a motion with her hand that it’s time to leave. We walk back to the car, having not said a single word this entire time.
We don’t say a single one on our way back to the House either.
