Page 230 of Beast and Remedy
“Look at me,” he demands, his voice low.
I almost deny him but slowly turn to him. Warmth spreads along my palm as Papa brings our foreheads together.
“Don’t you ever—and I meanever—assume I would execute you. I would never. I could never.”
“Because I have the magic for our kingdom?” I ask carefully, wondering if his love has always been true or too was a lie like Marian’s.
“Because you are my daughter,” he answers with conviction. “You are parts of me and parts of your mother. You are my family. You are my world. I couldnever—” His voice cracks and takes a deep breath. “I wouldneverdo any of those things. I love you as much as I love your mother. And that’ll never change. No matter what.”
“What about Marian?” I ask, unable to acknowledge his words without mentioning the other part of me.
My twin.
My sister.
My betrayer.
Papa slackens, and we sit in the pain-filled silence. My question is thick and laced with grief, heartbreak, deception, and the unknown of her well-being.
“She is in the dungeons still,” he says. “And I haven’t seen her.”
“Why?”
I fuss with the bedsheets as Papa’s lips thin. “Because I’m still putting everything together on my own terms, and your health was more pressing than hers.”
“But her infection—”
“Hegave her the cure you both made.”
I blanch. “But… the tonic isn’t made properly.”
“He knows, but he gave her the alternative to keep the infection at bay. I had Tove ask him to keep Marian stable until you were better, but there was not much left after she ruined it. And now she’s asking for you and me.”
My brows furrow. “I-I-I don’t understand. I thought Beau would have issued a sentence on her already.”
Papa sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Vi,” he says, squeezing my hand. “He passed her punishment to us, and I need you to come with me to see her.”
I scan my father’s tattered and exhausted body, understanding he is struggling with this new knowledge of Marian as much as I am.
Tackling one problem at a time, I swallow thickly and concede. “Let’s go.”
Papa bends forward to help me up, my limbs straining with each movement. I hiss when he touches one of my bandages, and he instinctively scoots back in apology.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just sore.”
He helps me once more, more cautious of where to support me. “Thekinginsisted he help heal you.”
I tighten my grip as I rise from the bed, surprised by my strength. But my heart sinks at the mention of Beau, and I solemnly ask, “H-how is he?”
My father works his jaw as if saying something nice about Beau will kill him.
“Papa.”
He rolls his eyes, muttering. “His injuries were not as bad as yours. I don’t want to—”
“He wasn’t behind Mama’s death. He never was. Why are you still mad?”
“Because!”
