Page 104 of The Sin of Saints (Benevolence & Blood)

Chapter 38

Then

The world was silent around me as I sprinted back to Inkwell. I didn’t hear the waves or the clopping of horse hooves or the shouts of vendors. I only heard the whoosh of my breath in and out of my lungs and the steady beat of my feet on the ground. Da’s cloak was bundled under my arm.

Tyrak, waiting outside as always, saw me round the corner and opened the door for me as I burst into the house. Castemont was in the kitchen, his eyes scanning the heaving, disheveled woman in front of him.

“Petra, are you hurt?” I shook my head, unable to form my mouth around the words. “What–” I fanned the cloak open and he stopped, his eyes going wide. “Is that…”

I nodded, nausea bubbling in my gut. “His cloak.” My voice cracked.

His face was unreadable, his jaw clenched, lips a thin line. “Where did you find it?”

But the answer didn’t come. I choked on the realization, the confirmation that he hadn’t fallen, that it hadn’t been an accident, he hadn’t jumped either. I had known the truth, it was buried deep in my bones, but I so desperately wanted to pretend it wasn't so, to give myself closure, even if that closure was built on a lie. All I could do was shake my head, my mouth opening and closing as the tears began to roll. The cloak fell to a heap on the ground. Before I knew it, I was folded in Castemont’s arms, his chin resting atop my head as I shattered.

My mother came down the stairs then, her eyes flicking from our embrace to the crumpled fabric on the floor, her head shaking slightly. “It can’t be,” she whispered. She gathered the fabric, holding it in front of her before finding the hem, coming to the same conclusion I had.

She crumbled along with me, Castemont’s arms wrapping easily around both of us as the pain of my father’s death grew new roots in my soul.

???

The three of us sat on the overstuffed leather sofa, the fire Castemont built in the hearth casting the cottage in a warm glow. I had opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words.

I wanted to tell Ma that I told her so, that I knew his death hadn’t been an accident or premeditated on his part. I wanted to scream at her for denying it, for moving on with her life so quickly. “So...suicide?” she whispered into the room that had been silent save for the crackle of burning logs.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” Castemont murmured, a hand on her knee.

“It wasn’t suicide,” I blurted. They both turned to me, puzzled. I shook my head, sorting through the night of his death and the days after and what was happening now. “How did his cloak end up in the cave?”

“Maybe that was where he…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

I continued shaking my head. “No, because I’ve been to that cave since he died. More than once. I would have seen it.”

“You must have missed it,” Castemont said, his voice coated with unnerving calm.

“No. I didn’t. I would have seen it,” I repeated.I would have seen it.

I hadn’t been prepared for the haphazard stitches across this wound to be ripped open again. I hadn’t come to terms with his manner of death, but when the cloak was still missing, it was easier to pretend that maybe ithad beena fall. Finding his cloak, and finding it in a place where it had been placed purposely…the wound was not only ripped open but widened and doused in whiskey.

“He jumped, Petra,” Castemont whispered.

My breath began to quicken, my lungs not able to hold enough air. “No, he didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” Castemont continued. My mother’s cries began again, and he moved to hold her against him. How could she accept this? My father wouldnothave ended his own life. Not a fucking chance. But even if he had, how did the cloak turn up in the caveall this time later?Who had put it there? It made absolutely no sense.

Silently I rose, collected my own cloak and walked out the door.

“My Lady, may I be of any assistance?” Tyrak called as I descended the porch steps.

I pivoted to face him, staring up at him from the bottom step. He was handsome, like Castemont, but more rugged, his edges rougher. His cropped black hair was thick, pushed back from his olive face. “Tyrak…” I started, unsure of what I was going to say. “Is he a good man?”

Tyrak gave a small smile. “You’re asking me if I think the Lord I’ve sworn fealty to is a good man?” I nodded. “Don’t you think I’d be a bit biased?”

This was the longest conversation I’d ever had with Tyrak. I narrowed my eyes at his words. “I know your answer will be biased. But I have no one else to ask, no one else who would know.” I walked up the steps to stand before him, my voice low. “I have a rather large decision to make. One that will change my life, and my mother’s life, forever. I’m sure he’s told you.” He looked down at me, his dark, hooded eyes neutral. “I’m lowborn. You know this. I know nothing about royal life, nothing about what’s expected of me. I am terrified to my core, Tyrak, to make the wrong decision. Your answer will stay between us, but your answer will decide my fate. I need to know. Is Castemont a good man?”

He stayed stone-faced, but I saw a muscle in his jaw feather as he thought. He turned to the front door, behind which my mother and Castemont sat. My mother and my potential step-father, the man she loved. He faced me again, his dark eyes alight and his brows furrowed.

“Lord Castemont is one of the most well-respected Lords in Eserene. He didn’t earn that status without reason.” I nodded, my eyes still on his, fully aware that he didn’t directly answer the question.

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