Page 6 of Tomb of Ancients
“She is very much alive,” Khent assured me with a smirk. “Concerned—and talkative—but alive. She went to find a carriage to take us home.”
“We should keep her away from me,” I said, sullen. “Just to be sure.”
“She will not like that at all. I thought she was going to faint when you collapsed,” Mary added. “But we will make some excuse, and hopefully we can avoid being seen on the way out. Are you strong enough to stand?”
“I’m sure our host is delighted,” I muttered and nodded. “More gossip.” Releasing their hands, I swung my legs around to stand, placing the cloth on a tray beside the sofa. “I wish I could tell her the truth. All of it. These damn secrets are more trouble than they’re worth, but the poor thing would never believe it all—”
“I would never believe what?”
All three of us froze, then looked to find Justine watching us from the open door. I gazed around at the narrow, cozy library, the walls covered floor to ceiling in well-maintained and dusted volumes. Justine was holding a small wine decanter and took a few bold steps into the room, setting her jaw.
“And I resent that, being called ‘poor thing’—I am capable of understanding a great deal. So what are all these strange and terrible secrets?”
“Ey, now is not the time for—”
But Justine interrupted Khent, shaking her head and striding toward us. “Don’t do that. I will not be discarded so easily. Am I not your sister?”
“Half sister,” I corrected her gently, standing.
Justine met me halfway, then went to a decorative table near the sofa, where a neat set of brandy cups had been set out. Later, the men attending the ball might retire to that library to enjoy a cigar, but Justine made use of the serving set, retrieving two small crystal cups. She poured us both a bit of wine and handed me a glass, then pushed her own against it.
“To the truth,” she said. “And to courage, which means I must ask: Was our father a criminal?”
Behind us, Khent vented a high whistle.
“In a sense...” I drank the wine, hoping the burn of it down my throat would indeed inspire courage. “How to even begin?”
Should I even begin?
But Justine’s huge brown eyes were imploring, and when I looked at her, at what I might have been had I been born to kinder circumstances, I couldn’t help butwantto trust her. Had I not come with the express purpose of trying to forge a sisterly connection? If that connection mattered, then so did protecting her. I trailed away from her, back toward the sofa.
“’Tis so bad you cannot even meet my eye?”
“Mary,” I murmured, ignoring Justine for the moment. “If anything goes wrong... can you shield her from me?”
With a slight nod, Mary crossed to stand between us. When I reached a safe distance, I turned back and spun the cup with both hands nervously. Justine fidgeted and then quickly poured herself another glass.
“I suppose you believe in God?”
Her eyes blew wider at that. “Oh! What an unusual question. Yes, of course I do.”
“That will make this difficult.”
“Good heavens, can it really be so awful?” Justine yelped. “Then he was not a godly person?”
I almost had to laugh at that. “He was tremendously powerful, like something out of a fairy story. He could command beasts and insects, and he ruled over a kingdom of fantastical creatures.” And there I glanced first at Mary and then Khent. “Wonderful creatures. And he could change his form at will, becoming anyone or anything.”
Is that how you describe me? Pathetic.
Cringing, I shook my head and willed him to be silent. The threat of another headache pulsed at the base of my neck, and I wondered if that was his attempt to keep me from sharing the truth with Justine. What did it matter now? He was locked away in my head, and she was his daughter, which gave her a right to the full story.
Justine lingered over that information for a long moment, unblinking. She had gone dangerously pale. “Surely you jest! How could such a thing be true?”
“It’s true, Justine. I did not come all this way to tell you lies.”
“I do dearly want to trust you, half sister, but f-fairy tales,” she stammered, shaking her head. She went quiet again, then slowly said, “I... believe my governess told me stories of such things. Little oddlings that scurried through the woods, stealing babies and shiny things, turning into tomcats or birds to fool people.”
“Just so,” I told her. “But all those wild tales for children are true. I’m one of those things, too. I can change my own visage.” The details of how did not seem relevant, and Justine already looked very pale.
