Page 26 of Twisted Ties
“Rhianna Blackwaters.”
I stumble backward as if he’s punched me right in the gut. His brow furrows.
“You know her?”
Nausea swims in my stomach and my vision swoops in and out of focus. I inhale, forcing oxygen into my lungs, restraining my arms to my sides. Because if I didn’t, I’d blow the fucking bastard apart.
Rhianna Blackwaters.
He can’t be serious! He can’t be!
“Of course I know her,” I snap, “she’s in my school, in my goddamn house, Azlan.” I glare at him, trying to spy the hint that this is a joke, that he’s teasing me somehow, like he used to. If he knows, if he suspects, has he chosen to taunt me like this? Or is this the fathers’ doing? A way to wheedle the truth from me? “Her?” I spit.
My cousin takes a menacing step towards me. “Yes, her.”
“Have you lost your mind? She’s a nobody, a nothing.”
“She’s everything,” he says, his words rumbling through the air.
“She’s trouble,” I take a step towards him. “What do you know about her? Are you sure you know everything?” My gaze flicks around his face.
His frown grows darker. “I know someone attacked in the forest, Tristan. Someone who couldn’t be seen.”
I match his gaze. Apart from Spencer, he’s the only one who knows. The only one I ever told. The one who advised me to keep it hidden.
“The girl is mentally deranged and a liar. Whatever she told you–”
“Stay away from her,” he snaps, turning his back on me and marching up the steps.
My fingers twitch by my sides. Darkness and rage swirl inside me, begging to be released onto him. I want to burn his flesh. I want to break every bone. I want to grind him into ash.
She doesn’t belong to him.
I stumble back a second time, clutching my stomach. What the hell is wrong with me?
I let out an angry snarl and then I chase up the stairs, following my cousin.
Our fathers may have allowed my cousin some rope, but that will end today. There is no way in hell they will let this stand. They will snap that rope back faster than a rabbit in a snare. The girl will disappear from all our lives.Allour lives.
Azlan’s already disappeared down the long dark hallway of the house as I jog through the doors. I pace quickly after him, passing the ancient portraits of family members, most of them men, most dressed in stuffy old outfits. Most were warlocks who ruled these lands before the Republic was installed and the authorities took control. Some were even Chancellors themselves. Our family name is ubiquitous with power. It’s only a matter of time until we rule like we used to.
When I open the door into the dining room, I find I am the last to join.
My father and my uncle sit at opposite ends of the table. My father’s sister cowers on her chair, beside her weedy husband, and my mother and Azlan’s younger sister flank their sides. I take a seat beside Azlan, unable to look at him, and wait for whatever this is to begin.
My father – the older brother, the one who has always been in charge – signals with a nod of his head to my uncle.
“We have been waiting for you, Azlan,” my uncle says.
Azlan stares straight ahead. As usual these days, he has nothing to say.
“Did you not think it of utmost importance that you inform us of your circumstances?” my uncle continues.
Azlan remains silent.
“We had to learn this second hand, boy!” my father spits and I see he is as angry as I am, the wooden arms of his chair splitting under his grip.
He rules this family with an iron fist – something I suspect would have been the case despite birth order. He is more cunning, more calculating, more ruthless, more powerful, than his younger brother or sister.
