Page 28 of Unbroken
Her words seemed to penetrate the alcoholic haze gripping Ambrose. “No. No, that can’t be right.” He turned to Grandfather. “You-you were a monster hunter, like me. That’s what you said.”
“It’s the truth. In that I killed anything that stood between me and my goals.” The words were directed at Ambrose, but his gaze went to Ves. “Like you, I would do anything for those of my blood. Supra alia familia, isn’t that the Endicott motto?”
A mix of anger and pain clogged Ves’s throat. Because Grandfather believed every word. In his view, he’d sacrificed everything for his grandsons, and they’d thrown it all back in his face.
“But you didn’t…” Ambrose trailed off.
Grandfather turned back to Ambrose, a swift change overtaking his face. The affability slid away, his smile showing the cruel edge that had doubtless been lurking within all along. “Whatever you once were, my friend, all you are now is a drunken fool. I did exactly as the Endicotts did—slaughtered my way into the possession of every arcane tome, every scrap of knowledge and sorcery I could find. Then I raised my daughter to be an even greater sorcerer than myself.
“But unlike your clan, I didn’t spurn the gifts of those you call ‘monsters’—the ones of this world or of the Outside. I met with the Man in the Woods, I danced around the Black Stone in Stregoicavar, and I howled alongside ghuls in the tunnels beneath Cairo. And when Lenore proposed to bear two Dark Young to aid in sweeping away this world and ushering in a new one, I gladly helped birth her offspring.” His eyes cut to Ves again. “My precious grandsons.”
“I…” Ambrose began, but couldn’t seem to think how to continue. He looked utterly devasted by the betrayal. Ves knew exactly how he felt.
Grandfather rose to his feet, then bowed to Irene. “Please, my dear, don’t take any of this to mean I disapprove of your happy union. We may have been on opposing sides before, but I’ve always held the greatest respect for the Endicotts.” He glanced briefly at Ambrose. “Most of them, anyway. I certainly hope life in America hasn’t softened all of your minds.”
He left the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. The constriction around Ves’s lungs seemed to ease; he could breathe freely again.
Irene sighed. “Come on, Cousin Ambrose. We’re driving you home.”
“You…you won’t tell Rupert about this, will you?” He swallowed hard.
“You know I will.”
“Hattie is going to kill me!”
She turned her back on him. “She might. I suggest you beg Rupert for mercy, because Hattie doesn’t have any.”
“I could use the power of the Book of Breath to compel him,” Sebastian suggested to Rupert. “I know he’s a sorcerer, but given how drunk he was, I can’t imagine his willpower would hold.”
After returning Ambrose to the Endicott estate, Irene had left Sebastian and Ves in the small room where they’d talked to Rupert the night of the birthday party. Dinner preparations were apparently interrupted, as a harried-looking maid brought them each a plate of curried chicken and rice, apologized for the lack of formality, and departed with alacrity. About an hour later, a footman came and fetched them to the basement room they now stood in.
Tall candelabra shed flickering light on the scene. The family crest hung on each wall, but otherwise the stones were barren. The only furniture was a single throne-like chair of heavy wood, in which Rupert sat. Irene stood beside his chair, her lips pressed tightly together.
At Sebastian’s suggestion, Rupert turned to him. His dark face was neutral, hiding his thoughts.
“I’m certain that won’t be necessary,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “If I change my mind, I will let you know.”
Ves stood with his arms wrapped around himself, clearly miserable. Any encounter with his dreadful mother and grandfather upset him, and rightly so. Sebastian wanted to embrace him, but this didn’t seem the time or place.
The door opened, and Hattie came inside, followed by Ambrose. He seemed to have sobered up a bit, or at least was walking straight. Two men Sebastian vaguely recalled from previous visits flanked him, their expressions grim.
“Got some coffee in him,” Hattie said. She wore a dagger at each hip, and her right hand rested lightly on one. “Cleaned him up a bit, too, so he doesn’t reek like a distillery.”
“Thank you, Hattie,” Rupert said. She came to stand by his chair, on the other side from Irene. The two guards took up position to either side of the door, leaving Ambrose standing alone.
No doubt clinging to the shreds of his pride, Ambrose straightened his shoulders and said, “Seeker, please, I?—”
Rupert held up a hand, and he fell silent. “Ambrose Endicott. You’ve been sharing information about the family with our enemies.”
“I swear to you, I didn’t know.” Ambrose looked around, eyes squinted blearily—it would take more than coffee to sober him up completely. “The whole family should be here, shouldn’t they?”
“This isn’t a trial.” Rupert’s full lips turned down, as if at something unpleasant. “That will come later. You can make your case before the family then. For now, you will answer my questions and hold nothing back.”
Ambrose’s shoulders sagged. “As you wish.”
“How did you meet Ora Rune?”
“I…I started to leave the estate about a month ago. To meet new people, you know.”
