Page 137 of House of Lilith

“Nothing,” I say with a sigh. “That’s the problem. He was weak and he let his government keep taking advantage of the people until the people rebelled.”

At that, she looks away, pensively. “Children,” she says, this bitterness in her voice.

For a second, I just look at her. But then it pops into my head, the way she spoke about my generation. And it occurs to me, a way to get her to talk, and it makes my blood rush around a little.

“Yeah, children,” I echo, trying to match her tone.

And I hesitate a little, but then I force myself to ask, “But I mean, it was easier in your day, right?” I make a point of drawling the following words, “So much less complicated.”

It works like a fucking charm. I watch her push herself off the floor, come to tower over me and shoot me such a nasty look. “What’re you even talking about, girl?”

I get up as well, glad she’s reacting in whatever way, but still a little anxious.

“You wouldn’t know complicated if it bit you on the fucking neck. You know who my ancestor was?” she demands.

I shake my head for no.

“Vasilisa the Wise herself,” she drawls, getting more worked up by the second. “And I don’t mean the Vasilisayouknow about.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my eyebrows pulling down.

She lets out an angry yet amused laugh. “Little girl with a doll running to Baba Yaga so her evil stepmother and stepsisters wouldn’t freeze to death? Returning with fire in random skulls?”

She scoffs. “Come on.”

It only makes my frown grow deeper, but she’s not waiting for a reaction.

She’s getting in my face, continuing through gritted teeth and with fire in her eyes, “How about aqueen,with impeccable instinct, who went to war with hostile neighboring lands, unleashed tremendous power within herself and returned with her enemies' heads in her bags?”

What the…

“That’swho I’m descended from,” she concludes with a sharp nod. Then she lets out a bitter little scoff. “And still, all they wanted me to do was lounge around drawing rooms, doingnothingall day long.”

She throws me a disgusted little look. “Whileyou, you get to go to the fucking Academy, the oneIpractically built for you, and you dare bitch about it all being complicated?”

But my mind doesn’t linger on her words, it lingers on the look she threw me. And how similar it felt to the one I came here all mad about.

“I guess we’re done for today,” I finally say. And without another word, I turn on my heel and grab the doorknob.

“I guess we are,” I hear her spit out as I open the door and walk out, slamming it behind me.

And as I walk over to one of the rookery windows, I guess there’s a part of me wondering why my reaction to this isn’t stronger.

But then there’s a part of me that knows very well why it isn’t.

Because there’s another memory that’s surfacing, one that has never surfaced before, simply because I never let it.

In it, I’m fifteen and I’m in the Cathedral, standing by Father’s coffin with the rest of the family, sobbing inconsolably. And there’s this moment where they come, some people I never fully register, and they want to take him away. And I move to throw myself onto the coffin to stop them, when I feel a sharp tug at my waist and I find an arm wrapping itself around me, pulling me back into line with the others.

And I feel her come to stand next to me. My mother.

It surprises me, but it also makes me feel warm around the heart. And I turn to look at her, my face all sticky with tears, but the expression that I find on hers makes the warmth turn into ice.

“Anastasya,” she whispers through gritted teeth, “for crying out loud. Won’t you take it down a notch?”

And the look in her eyes, it’s the same look, or the same sort of look my brother gave me today, the look telling me I’m a burden, the look telling me I’m simply too much, whatever I do and however I do it.

But now, it’s no longer making me angry. It’s simply making me feel… all alone.

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