Page 91 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
His voice is a cold slap.
I straighten, meeting his eyes.
“They’re more loyal than any man you ever hired,” I say. “And you know it.”
The ghost of a smile touches his lips, then vanishes. “You could have come back alone. But you chose to drag that filth with you. Why?”
He asks as if he doesn’t know. But the gleam in his eye says otherwise. He wants to see what kind of girl he’s bred, if I’ll bare my teeth or curl under his heel.
“They’re not filth. They’re my brothers,” I say, my voice steady. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
He shrugs, an indolent, carelessly motion.
“I want to know why you did it.”
“Why?” He stands, descending the dais with the deliberate grace of a man who’s never lost. “Because I could, Raisa. Because power is the only thing that matters, and you were the most powerful thing I ever created. They nearly destroyed you.” His eyes bore into mine, his hatred for them seething just below the surface. “They had to be punished for that.”
“Punished?” I say. “You call it punishment to turn children into monsters? You’re insane.”
My father sighs, the sound full of exasperation. “I needed an heir, not a flock of mongrel monsters. They were a means to an end.” His lips curl. “You are the end.”
The words hit harder than I want to admit. “So the boys you raised in our halls, the ones who called you father, were nothing to you?”
“Of course not,” he snaps, and for a moment, there’s real heat in his voice. “They were the Queen’s idea, her little charity project. But they served their purpose, I suppose. They made her happy. I should have killed them the night they put your birth at risk, but I suppose I let sentiment get the better of me.”
I stare at him in shock and horror. How can he so casually call what he did to them sentiment? They were just children, just innocent little boys! They deserved his forgiveness and compassion. Instead, he gave them lies and a curse so ugly they still suffer for it.
I’m not sure he’s capable of compassion or forgiveness. I’m not sure he’s even human enough to know what either of thoseeven are. There are monsters in this world, but they aren’t my brothers. They aren’t me. The real monster is this man, who calls himself a king but deserves a chain in hell.
He fixes me with the full weight of his gaze, and I see a splinter of fear, quickly buried beneath layers of scorn.
“And you,” he says, his voice flat, “you never could see them for what they were. Even now. You run off into the forest, consorting with the beasts I made as if they’re you’re equals. If that’s not proof of my point, what is?”
My hands shake. I clench them into fists, my nails biting into my palms. “They protected me. They loved me in ways you never could. All you ever gave me were lies and the cold loneliness of the tower.”
“I kept you alive, girl,” he snaps. “I made you everything you are. I created a legacy out of your blood. Without me, you’d be another grave in the family crypt, forgotten and unmourned.”
I want to lunge at him. I want to claw the smugness from his face, but I hold back. I remember the bodies outside, the blood that already stains this day. I can’t lash out now and let it be for nothing, not until I get my answers.
Instead, I force myself to look around. The guards stare straight ahead, eyes glazed with the blankness of the condemned. Every one of them is waiting for the order to die or to kill. I wonder if they’re even human anymore, or if my father’s magic has hollowed them out like pumpkins.
“You talk about legacy,” I say, my voice raw. “But all you’ve left behind is a trail of curses and corpses. The boys you broke aren’t the monsters. You are.”
His lips curl, baring the faintest edge of teeth. “Do you want to be like them, Raisa? Do you want to squander your birthright and crawl in the mud with them?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “If the choice is between them and your throne, I choose them every time.” My voice is steady, but my heart is a hive of anger and rage. “I spit on your throne.”
My father throws his head back and laughs, a cold, hollow sound that echoes off the stone. It’s not the brittle mirthless bark I remember from my childhood, but something deep enough to make my skin crawl.
“Do you really think this was ever about the throne, Raisa? The throne is wood, and velvet, and gold. I could have ruled from a hovel and still made the world kneel.”
He looks me over like I’m a wolf he’s raised and now needs to slaughter. “It’s never been about the seat. It’s about the power that keeps it warm. Magic, girl.Magicis the true legacy, the real power. And I forged it into your bones and blood like an artist.”
“I was just, what? An experiment? A pawn?”
He tilts his head, almost pitying. “You’re the strongbox. The lock. The key. You think I would gamble all of this—“ he gestures at the world, or maybe just his own rotten piece of it— “on a fragile little thing like love? Grow up.”
He never loved me. He isn’t capable of it. And even though I knew it, I feel sick. Not just in my stomach, but in my bones, in every part of me that ever wanted to be his daughter.
