Page 116 of A City of Flames

I know because my sister fell in love with a shifter over twenty years ago.

Where is your sister now?

She perished.

Everything Leira had said the first day I met her pointed to Brigid, and she hadn’t even known—known that she had a niece living behind castle walls.

“You’d told me she died from a dragon attack,” Freya’s voice is inaudible and the general’s face drains of color. His hands slip from Freya as he stares at her.

No answer. His chest puffs and then a faint grin sneaks onto his lips.

Something inside me ricochets off the walls of my chest, disgust and rage wanting to unleash at the general. He doesn’t have to say it, he doesn’t need to show a sign for me to understand the truth.

“You killed her,” Freya whispers, realizing it herself and speaking it for me as she steps back.

I wince at the words and Lorcan then shifts in his spot, as if he wants to come toward me. But all I want is to reach for Freya.

“I did what I had to do.” Erion’s smile vanishes and gone is the concerned father, in place is the general I’ve come to know. A man who’d kill the mother of his own child, a man who treats his daughter like she is nothing to him, a man who loathes any form of happiness.

Freya slowly shakes her head before turning and pushing past us toward the doors. Rydan and Link run out of the room, but I stay. I stay and stare at the general. He doesn’t even show a twitch of emotion, no remorse, no pain.

I walk over, as I bite out the words, “you’re disgusting.”

He lifts his chin; a condescending smile deepens at the side of his lips. “Interesting...” He flicks invisible dust off his cape. “The thief said the same earlier on. Though at least he managed a smile before I cracked a whip against his back—”

His head turns as my palm strikes him across the face, harsh and cold, forcing the walls in the grand room to echo. I do not regret it. General or not he deserves it.

For Brigid.

For Freya.

For Darius.

He doesn’t look at me nor does he lift his hand to his cheek. He inhales a sharp breath through his nose and then carefully glides his eyes to meet mine. The brown reminding me of the rich dark soils of the forests, trapping you in whatever harsh reality there is underground.

I wait for him to snap back, to order my dismissal or worse as his eyes say it all—iron-willed hatred. Yet he straightens up and says, “you’re just like your father... a disgrace.” He walks off, and without hesitation I turn to go after him, my fingers already curling into my palms, causing indents on my skin.

But Lorcan says, “I need to talk to you.”

I move in a slow circle until I’m looking at him straight on. A slit of light slashes across his eyes yet no glimmer shines in them.

Struggle grips at my heart and I let my defenses down. If he can see it, he decides not to mention it as I clear my throat, diverting my gaze to the other side of the paneled walls. “I can’t right now.”

Cedar and spices mix with the heaviness of the boardroom as he stands inches away and says quietly, “I didn’t know Freya’s mother was a witch.”

Is that supposed to make me feel differently?

My eyes flash up at him, remembering Leira’s tavern. “If you did, would you have disowned Freya just like you all do to other witches?”

His jaw flexes as he swallows. “Nara, I know that you’re mad—”

“I’m not mad, I’m—” Frustrated, confused? I sigh and my lashes flutter across my skin as I glance down. “You never told me about the Neoma blood, you were... distant with me even after you showed me my carving, you—”

“What difference would it have made if I told you?”

None at all. I would have reacted the same way.

I knew about the tree’s blood by the time Darius took me into his cottage, I wanted to tell him, I almost did but I ended up putting it off once we made it to the den. I could have prevented many things if I’d been honest with myself.

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