Page 85 of Break Her Heart
He nodded. “I was an accident. After Carrow took over Malachi’s body, he got attached to a servant. She was quiet, obedient, exactly what he wanted. So he married her, thought she could play the part in his twisted little fantasy. For a while, she did.”
“Lavina said she was marked.”
He sighed. “Not by Carrow. He had another vampire mark her because he wanted to feed from her but had seen what could happen and didn’t want any of the side effects. He locked up the other vampire to keep him from trying to find her after she was marked, but it didn’t stop my mother from trying to get him out. She dreamt of him. Not dying by his hand but living a happy life with him. That was when Carrow decided to turn her.”
Everyone had always been a pawn in Carrow’s game.
And it was all so confusing. It always was. Carrow was a leech that attached himself to others and forced control. Augustsaid he was not his father. Maybe it wasn’t his body, but it was his soul when August was conceived. It was easier to believe if I didn’t think about it too hard.
“So you never got to know Malachi?”
He shook his head. “At first, I thought Carrow was my father. And in his own sick way, he was…goodto me. Which only made things worse with my siblings. They went through the loss of our father. They had to watch Carrow wear his face. I didn’t. I was a child when they were already adults—and they made me pay for it. Locked me in cells when no one was watching. Starved me. Made me feed off dead animals. All except Benedict. He kept his distance.”
My stomach twisted. “How old were you when that stopped?”
“I was thirteen. I threw Corwin through a wall and had my hand in Lavina’s chest, ready to rip her heart out, but Carrow stopped me. I shouldn’t have been able to do that with them having hundreds of years on me. They should have been stronger than me. After that, my siblings kept their distance. And Carrow… he changed. I think he started to fear me.”
August’s voice dropped lower. “Then, one night, a servant spilled wine on me during dinner. I told him he would’ve been better off jumping off the balcony.”
“And he did?”
“Yes. He ran straight for the railing. That’s when I realized what I could do—what compulsion was.”
“Gods,” I breathed.
He nodded slowly. “And then Carrow grew obsessed. He saw how different I was. Declared me his heir. I think because I was conceived after he took over my father’s body… itchangedsomething. It made me something else. After that, there was no loving father. He only saw me as his next body. And when Carrow is obsessed, he turns wicked. Finding anything thatbrought me joy and taking it away just to try to break me. When he ran out of things, he took my mother away.”
“Did he kill her?”
“I think so. I looked for her for years.”
I wrapped my arm tighter around him. “I’m sorry.”
“But none of it broke me. It only made my hatred grow more. And because of that little bit of fear he had for me, he let me be for centuries. Until he found you.”
Memories flashed through my mind. My parents hanging. They were caught in the midst of all of it because of me. All because of what I meant to August.
We had to stop Carrow.
26
Bronwen
“What is this one called?”
Out of the five tomes I’d flipped through today, I’d found drawings of a dozen or so swords, knives, and other blades that could’ve been it. Some Benedict had marked for further research. Others he’d dismissed with a shake of his head, like he could tell by instinct that they weren’t the one. I didn’t blame him. One of the entries said the blade was used to slice food and enchant it so that anyone who ate it would fall in love with you. Definitely not what we were looking for.
August leaned closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, his eyes scanning the page in silence. His brow furrowed as he concentrated on the language I couldn’t understand.
“Blade of Aros,” he read aloud.
The drawing showed a dark hilt with twisted, swirling designs, and a stone embedded in the center—black, with the faintest shimmer, like it was holding something back.
“Forged by the greatest bladesmith of his time with the help of a necromancing faerie,” he read. “They created a stone that held the souls of every creature it was wielded on. Gifting the stone its souls, it gifts the holder the ability to lead armies of the dead under absolute control. But the balance is still not there—so every time the person summons an army, a price must be paid.”
“That sounds promising,” I muttered, glancing up at Benedict as he leaned in to take a look.
“It does,” he said. “But I’ve never seen that one. And I’m not convinced it could actually transfer a soul.”
