Page 14 of Anathema
Her brow kicked up. “Like poison in his drink. A little Snake’s Tooth over the course of a couple months ought to do it.”
“What?” I stared back at her, searching for any trace of humor in her eyes, and found nothing. Nothing but apathy. “Are you mad?”
“I’d sooner watch him choke and bleed from his throat, than imagine you in his bed.” She stared off, a slight smirk playing on her lips, as if she were imagining such a thing right then.
“No. I’ll not put either of us in danger.” I paced, my mind spinning with thoughts. So many thoughts. We couldn’t run. We couldn’t change Agatha’s mind–the woman valued coin more than sentiment. More than life, it seemed. Any resistance would only get us punished, or banished, if the governor saw fit, and if he opted to show mercy, the alternative of becoming a Red Veil was about as clement as a blade stabbed in my throat.
Or tongue, as it were.
I taunted my head with the possibility of marriage and what it would mean for me. I’d hold higher rank than Agatha, as a married woman. The community would be forced to respect me. Acknowledge me. “He owns mines in Lyveria and Sawtooth. He’s exceptionally wealthy.” I could hardly believe those words had fallen from my lips, but they rang true, nonetheless.
“What are you saying?” Her lips twisted with repulsion. “You’re actually going to consider this? Foxglove Parish has plenty of fine young suitors?—”
“Who wouldn’t spare me a glance. Think for a moment, Aleysia. As a married woman, wife of a wealthy man, I’ll have rights. I can secure guardianship for you. Make you my ward.”
With a snort, she rolled her eyes. “Guardianship as my younger sister. How ridiculous. And why would I want to live in Mr. Moros’s home?”
Swallowing a gulp, I leveled my gaze. “Because she plans to sell you, as well.”
She pinned me with an incredulous stare and gave a slow shake of her head. “No. Uncle Riftyn would never allow it.”
“Uncle Riftyn?” That she would’ve even considered him as a possible solution, a savior, made me want to slap some sense into her. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“He cares for both of us.” Chin angled high, she busied herself, straightening the sheet on her bed that they’d undoubtedly crumpled with their tryst earlier. “Perhaps the only one in this house who does. He will speak to Agatha on our behalf. She adores him. She’ll listen to him.”
My frustration stewed, her ignorance grinding at my patience. “You’re delusional, if you think Agatha will entertain such a request. Or anything else involving you and her son.”
She whipped around, eyes narrowed on me. “What are you implying?”
“Stop toying with me. I see the way he flirts with you. Touches you. I’m certain it wasn’t coincidence I stumbled upon the two of you alone up here.”
While her right eye flickered, as it normally did in heated arguments, there was a spark of worry there. A kernel of doubt hidden beneath all that denial. “You’re the one who sounds mad now.”
Head tipped back, I groaned. “I’m your sister. I’m the only family you’ve got left. No lies, Aleysia. He may not be our uncle by blood, but he is a relation, and Agatha would sooner watch you suffer than risk her reputation.”
Brows tipped, she sat on the bed and chewed on her fingernail, the worry finally chipping away at her. It hadn’t been my intention to throw her into the same preoccupations that plagued my head, but I certainly wasn’t willing to entertain her fantasies that Uncle Riftyn would have anything to do with this. “Then, what do we do? I can’t survive the solitude and silence and celibacy of a Red Veil. The very thought of such a life … it would be absolute hell.” Her hand shook as she gnawed away at her nail.
Sighing, I sat down beside her and gently tugged her finger from her mouth. “We do as I said. I’ll secure my place, and I will have the authority to request that you live with us.”
Eyes closed, she huffed and shook her head. “I can’t …. I can’t let you do this. I don’t want to do this.”
I gave her arm a squeeze, drawing her eyes to mine. “She told me she would find someone suitable to breaking you, Aleysia. I can’t watch that happen. I won’t. Mr. Moros is respected. Perhaps he’s kind.”
It seemed as if I were watching all stages of trauma and grief flash across her face, and the way she stared off almost looked like she’d lost hope. “When is all of this supposed to happen?”
“Marriage? I’m not sure. I’m to join him for lunch tomorrow, though.”
Frowning, she stared down at the floor. “How are you so resigned to this? I would be crawling out of my skin right now.”
“It seems I don’t have a choice.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ZEVANDER
Afrigid wind beat against the hard leather mask covering the lower half of Zevander’s face, as he made his way down the dark and empty street toward Black Salt Tavern. Even that far from the Citadel, he made a point to disguise his identity.
Whispers reached his keen ears. Villagers who both loathed and feared him, breathing their words of faith into the air as he passed. Ridiculous prayers that faded like mist in his wake. The cursed Lord of Eidolon. A demon, they called him. Better that they knew him for the curse than the killings he carried out at the king’s behest.