Page 42 of Avaritia

Why else would he be coming here to check on her? It would be far more logical that the captain and his assassin mate perform welfare checks. Verity would be far more comfortable speaking to Astrid than she was speaking to Damen.

“That must have been a difficult time for you,” Verity murmured.

I grunted, not wishing to elaborate any further. There had been no place for me in my father’s court, or what would eventually become Allerick’s court. No one felt it was a loss that I’d lost another place in the succession to Damen—Allerick had grown up with him, already trusted him, and it was a net benefit to everyone that the monarch had an heir they could rely on. I’d been raised here, alone, and no amount of forced proximity could establish that trust between Allerick and me.

“And you’ve lived here ever since?” Verity asked. I hummed in agreement, fitting together the pieces I needed for the necklace.

“This was originally the home of the court. Later it became the monarch’s private residence for many centuries. Their place to go when they wished to escape the scrutiny of court. By the time Allerick was born, my father had changed his mind on where the heir should live, but when I was young, he felt strongly that I should be raised here. This property was given to me for my and my mother’s use, with our own staff. Thus far, no one has taken it away from me.”

That didn’t mean it would never happen, but Allerick seemed inclined to let me keep it so far.

“How come your mom doesn’t live here anymore?” Verity asked, a soft smile crossing her face. “I like your mom.”

“She likes you too,” I mumbled, not entirely sure how I felt about that. Mother had wanted me to find someone because she felt like I was lonely, which was an absurd concept. I wasn’t lonely. I was fine on my own. “She inherited her own family seat and lives there now. What did your parents think of you coming to the shadow realm?”

Verity made a sound of surprise. “They’re dead, didn’t I tell you?”

“No.” My chest felt strange. “I would have remembered that.”

Verity shrugged, looking down at the bench. “It was a long time ago. I was young.”

A strange emotion I wasn’t used to feeling for anyone other than myself sat heavily in my chest. Sorrow, perhaps.

“That only dulls the pain, it doesn’t extinguish it,” I said quietly, thinking of my own father’s death at the hands of a Hunter in the human realm five years earlier. Our relationship had been strained for the latter part of his life as he focused all of his attentions on Allerick, and to a lesser degree, Damen. I was too old to feel as though I was being replaced, but perhaps feelings weren’t always logical.

I missed him. And I was angry at him. It was an ongoing struggle to reconcile the two.

“No, it doesn’t.” Verity looked wistful. “I’ve been thinking of my parents a lot lately. Probably because it’s always raining here. Whenever it rained, my ma would make pannekoek, with cinnamon and sugar. I’ve been really craving them lately.” She shook her head slightly, almost as though she was exasperated with herself.

Verity seemed to have far more patience for everyone except herself. It was very strange, as she was far more tolerable than most everyone else I’d ever encountered.

“Who cared for you as a child?”

“Everyone and no one. The Hunters have their own version of foster care. I guess because they can’t ship children who can see monsters other humans can’t see out into the general population. Or they could, but we’d be institutionalized pretty quickly. I was usually placed with a family who had similarly aged kids for a while—sometimes weeks, sometimes a couple of years—and I’d stay until I got inconvenient, I guess. No one treated me badly or anything, but I don’t think they volunteered to look after me necessarily. The Council just expected them to, and they made the best of it.”

“You had no other relatives who could take you?” I asked, an indignant sort of rage crawling up my spine at the idea of a young Verity being dumped on apathetic caregivers, never able to form true attachments with any of them.

“My parents were immigrants. They worked horribly long hours, and then were expected to take on particularly punishing Hunter shifts”—she shot me an apologetic look—“since they were new to the community, and I guessed the Council wanted them to prove themselves. I suppose their reasoning could have been more sinister, I’m not sure. The Council certainly didn’t want me to return to South Africa. I don’t know if my family back there fought for me or not, but even if they did, the Hunters Council has money and resources that no individual can match.” She shrugged uncomfortably again.

“I dislike that you had an unhappy childhood,” I said, frustrated at how powerless the knowledge made me feel. I wanted to go back in time somehow and change things. Give Verity a childhood full of joy and color and an absurd number of pink blankets like she deserved.

“It wasn’t too bad, honestly. Or perhaps, I just don’t know any different. In some ways, I’m sort of grateful for it? When the Hunters kicked me out, and I lost my entire support network and everyone I cared about, part of the reason I was able to get through it with my delightful charm and sense of humor intact was because I knew I’d already survived something much worse, and I’d come out the other side of that okay. I wasn’t going to let them have the satisfaction of breaking me.” Verity smiled, all teeth and cunning. “I will live my absolute best life out of spite.”

“Good. You did well not to let them break you. Only let your enemies see the weaknesses you want them to see.”

Verity laughed. “Surely, I shouldn’t let them see any weakness?”

“The greatest lesson my mother ever taught me is that there is unlimited potential in perception. To be underestimated is to have a powerful, invisible weapon at your disposal.”

Verity was quiet as I worked, staring contemplatively at nothing. Undoubtedly, she thought I was mad, just like everyone else in the realm did. And I was, a little.

There was power in that perception, too.

“Here,” I said gruffly once the metal had cooled, holding up the long chain between my claws. Hanging at the bottom of the chain was a circular filigree cage that had once housed an expensive jewel of my mother’s. Verity moved closer and I showed her how the cage clicked open around the middle, gesturing for her to set the orb inside it. Her clawless, agile fingers were much better suited to such a delicate task.

Perhaps I could demand she assist in my workshop from time to time? She was my captive after all.

Though, as she closed the necklace with an awestruck look on her face and held still while I lowered it over her head, she didn’t feel like my captive. If anything, I felt like the one who was ensnared. It wasn’t as constricting as I expected the sensation to be.

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