Page 60 of Antiletum
But like I said last night, probably best to get it all out in the open now.
“You really want to live in the house that your parents didn’t even tell you about? That they bought after selling their estate andantiletumfields to Parliament with the intention of finally being able to pretend you don’t exist?”
Joy bursts within me, remembering that Parliament’s money bought them nothing. What a tragedy—theantiletumfields went upin flames and the particular growers who made that field fertile are now dead.
I really do impress even myself sometimes.
Delaney smiles cruelly. “And how exactly would you know this, Valledyn?”
All that pretty blue sprinkled in her eyes has transformed from summer springs to icy chips.
Magnificent.
As always, my pathetic little heart stutters when she says my name. The witch. It just sounds so good coming from her pouty mouth. Like an incantation. Or a prayer.
“I know because it wasn’t poor, enraged citizens that killed your despicable parents and razed their fields. It wasme,” I offer her the confession she longs for. Happily. Proudly. “And it’s one of the best decisions I have ever made. Should have done it sooner.”
Though I’m pretty sure Delaney came to such conclusions already, hearing it confirmed has angry tears wavering in her eyes. She throws her parasol at me. I duck before it can skewer my chest.
“As good of a decision as killing Rainah?” Delaney screams.
Shattering glass answers her question.
“What?” Selise asks quietly at the same time a quiet “Fuck” releases from Mallin.
“You knew?” Selise demands her husband, furious. Their ensuing conversation—surely starting another marital spat—is drowned out by the rushing in my ears.
“Better,” I tell Delaney passionately. “I almost wish I hadn’t burned them alive just to bring them back and kill them all over again. You don’t want to know what they had planned for you.”
“I think I should go,” Alaric announces with uncertainty, worried he’s about to be roped into this fight.
Delaney swallows hard, fighting off tears. My gaze slides to the column of her throat, tracking the movement. Wondering how that flexing flesh will feel under my tongue. Or my palm. “I’m sure it would have been better than what your father did to you,” she says with menace.
Now, that sounds like an accusation. One I am not a fan of. Not at all.
I laugh, anger rising in my chest, prepared to fiercely defend the most important man in my life while my heart aches fiercely for him. Because of him. “And what exactly did my father do to me, Delaney?”
“Spare me, Val. I already know it wasn’t your own scheme to raise Heartstones.”
“You have no idea what you are talking about.”
The wound she pokes at is raw—only just opened when I found the letter from Parliament to my father. Him not telling me…
I’ve wondered too many days since if I’ve been so blinded by my own motivations that I’ve allowed myself to be nothing more than used. That he never cared at all.
Can’t say I don’t deserve Delaney’s clawing, but it still fucking hurts.
My weak response is the confirmation she’s looking for. “How convenient. Your father having a necromancer son for him to radicalize and see things through.”
“My father gave me everything.”
“He forged you into a fucking weapon!”
“I was always going to be exactly what I am, Delaney. He gave meeverything!” I repeat on a scream.
I can’t breathe.
“So you might be willing to be his puppet. And look at you now, Val.” My wife gestures towards me scathingly. “Congratulations onmaking your father proud at the expense of everyone in my life. You have a lot to say about how my parents failed me. But what about yours? My parents hid my necromancy to protect me. Your father exploited you.”
