Page 14 of Roma Queen
“Then it’s onlyrightthat it’s here. Because I’m not going anywhere,” Zara says. Her voice is clean and loud. Dripping with defiance. Her words echo around the gathering hall, repeat themselves on a loop, and Shelta turns grey.
“You’re just likeher,” she says. “Too headstrong. Too brash. Too strong-willed and stubborn. Kezia never knew when to keep her mouth shut.”
I’ve allowed Zara to handle the situation, to say everything she needs to say to Shelta, but now I can’t help myself. Ihaveto speak. “So you don’t deny that my aunt is alive, then? That she isn’t fucking dead?”
She stares me down with cool, hard eyes. Her lips, pressed together into a tight, thin line, do not part.
“Wonderful. How the fuck could you lie to us all for so long? Or…” I huff out a breath. It sounds like laughter, but it’s not. Far from it. It’s frustration. Anger. Disbelief. “Or maybe not. Maybe you didn’t lie to everyone else. You just lied tome, right, Mom?”
“Don’t be such a martyr,” my mother hisses. “You were too curious as a child, Pasha. Incessant questions, all the time. Never ending questions. You were infuriating. If you knew Kezia was alive, you’d have wanted to know where she was. Why she wasn’t traveling with us anymore. Why I didn’t want any dealings with the woman. What happened between us. Why didn’t she visit us. On and on and on. It would have been too much to take. So, yes. I told you she was dead. And for all intents and purposes, I was telling you the truth. Your auntisdead. Dead to the Rivin clan. She was permanently banished. If you’d done what you were told, you would never have known any different.”
“Can you actuallyhearyourself right now? You’re trying to blame me for upsetting the balance, when you’re the one who’s been lying to me for my entire fucking life! You need help. Professionalhelp. Jesus fucking Christ!”
Shelta is cast out of marble. Immoveable. A rigid, unfeeling creature.
She doesn’t move a muscle as she says, “We could do this all day, but let’s face it. I’m sure we all have better things to be doing. And the light’s fading. You’d better set off now if you want to reach the parking lot before nightfall. Say what you came here to say and leave. Both of you.”
A slick, oily blackness rises up my throat—tastes like revenge. Tastes like just deserts. Sadly, it also tastes like bitter betrayal. The acerbic tang of it bites at my tongue as I slowly shake my head. She’s right. Iwasan inquisitive child. I had a lot of questions about the world and a burning desire to learn everything there was to know about people. Not much has changed since then, either. I still have questions. So, so many.
Where did things go wrong for my mother? What happened to her to make her so heartless? Was she just born this way, or did she transform into this lying, ruthless, calculating bitch over time? I scour my memory, trying to remember a single moment in my youth where she might have softened. Shown a little kindness. Smiled, even. But…I’m come up blank. Fuck. Talk about depressing. “Like Zara said, she’s not going anywhere. And neither am I. We’re staying here for the night. You should be happy, Shelta. I’m giving you want you wanted. I’ll be king, if the people will have me.”
A victorious light flares to life inside my mother’s eyes. Sheishappy now, because she thinks I’m giving in. She is sadly mistaken, though.
“Things are going to change around here,” I say flatly. “Everythingis going to change, Mother.”
Her spark of triumph gutters out. “What does that mean?”
“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”
Shelta’s mouth opens. She closes it again, so quick and so hard that I hear her teeth cracking together from across the gathering hall. “You hate me then. You must, if you’re willing to throw this in my face so blatantly. If you’re planning on taking everything from me.”
I look at her. Really look at her. When I was a child, she was such a force to be reckoned with. So strong. So powerful. Now I see that she was never strong. She was justangrierthan everyone else. And the power she radiated, inspiring everyone around her to bow down to her will and her desires, obeying her in everything? That power was never truly hers. It was merely borrowed, and now she can feel it slipping away from her, disappearing into the ether.
I tut under my breath as I take Zara’s hand and lead her from the gathering hall. “I don’t hate you,” I say over my shoulder. “I fuckingpityyou, Shelta. There’s a world of difference.”
Seven
ZARA
As soon asthe door to the gathering hall closes, I grab hold of Pasha’s hand and clench hold of it, using him as an anchor. I need something to keep me rooted to the ground. To keep me sane. I’ve never been so angry in all my life. In the past, I’ve had to deal with plenty of shit that’s driven me to the point of seeing red, but that exchange with Shelta…I’ve never had to face such a hostile, terrible…just plainbadperson before. I doubt many people have. The pure wrath fizzing away inside my head is making it hard to breathe properly.
“I know,” Pasha says grimly under his breath. “She’s a law unto herself. I can’t fucking believe she lied about Kezia. And she didn’t seem to give a shit that Lazlo has her right now. Hey, are you okay? You’re looking a little…squirly.”
He turns to me, all concern, his free hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair back out of my eyes; I want to throw myself into his arms, bury my face into his shirt and fucking scream until all the anger has poured out of me, but I can’t. It would be inappropriate as fuck, since we seem to have attracted a crowd during the time we were inside with the clan’s fortune-teller.
I nearly jump out of my skin when I glance over Pasha’s shoulder and notice the throng of people there, all watching, waiting, whispering to one another behind their hands or directly into each other’s ears. Old women; gnarled, ancient old men; women with heavily kohled eyes, bouncing babies on their hips; men in waistcoats, sweatshirts, t-shirts; football jerseys; a handful of young, teenaged boys, clustered together, watching Pasha with excited grins on their faces: it seems as though everyone has come out to witness the return of the prodigal son. Shrieking children run through the crowd, laughing and tugging at each other’s clothes as they chase one another, oblivious to the tension that has fallen over the camp.
I can feel it, thick as honey but nowhere near as pleasant: these people are conflicted. It’s very obvious that they’re happy to see Pasha again, but me? Hmm, not so much. Pasha throws a glance over his shoulder and stiffens when he sees his family, his people, all hovering around a large fire that someone must have lit while we were inside. “Ah, fuck,” he hissed under his breath. “I was hoping this wasn’t going to be a…thing.”
The people separate, clearing a narrow pathway, and a man emerges, dressed head to toe in black. It’s Patrin. His expression is dark and unwelcoming to say the least. Bastard looks like he just swallowed a bee and it’s stinging his insides all the way down his throat. When he reaches the front of the group, he nods to Pasha, and I can tell he’s doing his best to avoid looking at me. “Didn’t know we were allowed to bring friends over now,” he says. He’s adopted a jesting, light tone, but I’m no fool. The shadow of annoyance in his voice when he speaks is enough to darken the entire camp.
Pashatsks. “You guys can bring whoever you want wherever you want. You’re adults, right?”
With measured, slow movements, Patrin fold his arms across his chest, his face unreadable. “This place has been a Rivin family haven for a long time, Pash. I hope you have a good reason for bringing an outsider here.”
The man next to me, a dark-haired angel with eyes the color of a cold Scandinavian sky, rolls back his shoulders and takes a step down from the porch that wraps around the gathering room, bringing him closer to the crowd. “I do,” he says. Even though they are not particularly loud, those two words carry across the entire camp.
The children have stopped shrieking. All hints of laughter are gone.
