Page 81 of Odder Still
As diamond cuts diamond, it seems to pierce her. “Tavish.” Her lips dip, her brow quickly following. “I did you a disservice. If you had my tutelage, you could have been Alasdair’s equal, even his better. I never allowed you to grow to your full potential.” She steadies herself, as if that one moment of sadness is all she needs to move on. “I would like to change that.”
“Maraheem has already lost itself,” Tavish snaps. “The auroras are dying, and you hid it, even from me.”
She casts him a stern look. “Something may be amiss with the auroras, but Maraheem has not fallen yet. We still have enough ignation flowing through our walls to run this city for a millennium. We will put down this petty, little uprising like we’ve done each before it. And then, we can start afresh, with a new aurora. We can even work to turn the lower into a place where uprisings are unnecessary. Haven’t you spoken of a healthier city? Is that not the world you strive for with your charities, one where there’s no talk of revolt, no unhappy lowers?”
Tavish takes a breath, and then another, and with each, he seems to find himself. “Itwaswhat I wanted.”
My heart skips as though its beat dances between our separating paths. Despite my parasite’s warmth, our chest seems to freeze over. We stutter, not in shock, but in fear. In agony.
“This is where that future starts, with knocking down the current upheaval.” Raghnaid’s face doesn’t change, but her voice turns sparkling and bright. “Help me, as my heir. I will personally deny all charges against you with whatever force necessary. I will prepare you as I did your brother. Your great-great-grandmother may have been the Findlay who turned this city into a gem, but you could become the Findlay who finally polishes it.”
Her offer fades into silence as Tavish stands there, shoulders back and his grip on his cane loosening.
“Tavish, please.” I don’t know what I’m asking for, only know that my heart hurts. And that this is wrong, for him and for us and for me. “Tavish…”
He inhales, drawing himself into something peppered in fire. “I want a part in managing the aurora research. I will not be kept out of what’s rightfully mine, nor will I see our company ruin itself through recklessness or ignorance.”
“You have your brother’s ambition and your sister’s caution. It puts me to shame.” Raghnaid’s fingers brush the lace of her dress, absentmindedly flitting just above her heart. “You will be the first person I consult on any decisions related to the auroras.”
“Including the one behind me?”
“Including that one.”
I feel numb.
Slowly, Tavish lowers his arms. “I accept then, and I will hold you to it.”
“You would not be a child of mine if you didn’t,” Raghnaid replies. She calls behind her, and her bodyguard appears with two other black-clothed fighters I don’t recognize, each holding a pair of sparkling electric sticks. “Disarm and bind the aurora’s host. We’ll deal with it once the rebellion is quashed.”
Tavish holds up a hand. “Allow me.”
In two steps he’s at my side. I have to lower my knife to stop from nicking him. He props his cane against an end table and draws his fingers down my parasite-wrapped arm. My devastation is so stark that we can’t move, can’t resist, can’t even think as he pulls the weapon from our grip.
He smiles. “Trust me, Icando good here.”
My lungs force themselves open and closed in reply, my parasite doing the work of keeping us standing as I sob inside. Questions, demands, accusations, confessions all whip through my mind, blown on a wind too violent and shocking to pin down. The words that do finally come are bitter and black. “You could never let the stability of this life go, could you,princeling? It’s just barely enough for you, isn’t it?”
And how much can I truly blame him? This palace is his home, and he wants the normalcy of it. He wants to walk down his streets and file his paperwork and be the voice of reason in his twisted family. And as long as his voice is good and reasonable and working for the betterment of the city, then maybe he can tell himself that’s enough.
But it never will be.
I am justified. I am so very justified, my resentment scorching through me to spill from my lips. “Nowhere without gilded walls and marble floors would have suited you anyway.”
To his credit, he flinches. His hand on my wrist tightens, and his voice lowers, dark as mine. “You’re right, I imagine. I’m certainly not one to lie drunk in the grass. Or to find keys above doorframes.”
He pulls away from me in one fluid, perfect, terrible motion and strides past, moving through the room with so much purpose that he doesn’t even trip when his foot catches on the edge of a rug. And he’s gone. I’m here, and he’s gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Bright and the Bitter
Barrel smoking, fist empty, the bullet no anomaly.
Your forgiveness or not, I offer an apology.
Never were you the moon, even if I were the sea.
Caught in my gale, tossed to and fro,
