Page 100 of Caged By the Ruthless Thief

And I drop my mother’s book on the sofa table next to where he stands.

His piercing eyes stare into my soul. I’ve always stared him down, but now I let him take me in. For the second time, he smiles. “You’ve changed. That’s good. You should be more like Alder and less like me. What’s the meaning of the book? That’s why you’re here, no? Not to say hello or spend some time with your parents.” His brick wall returns.

“I would love to spend more time with you. I’m sure you have all kinds of stories of Nico and Holter.” Annabelle smiles at him, and the old barnacle smiles back. I glance at Holter. He’s beaming, his attention flicking between the two of them.

“You, I believe. These two? These two haven’t told me the truth since they started sneaking out to have seaweed gin in the portico.”

Holter laughs, and I shake my head. “You gave us the gin, and we were already both in the academy.”

“Lies. What’s with this old book? Alder has a closet full of these things.”

“This one he must’ve gotten rid of, because Eros found it in a bookstall.” Holter’s eyebrows raise.

“Alder, get rid of anything? I don’t think so.” He flips through the yellowed pages.

“Father, do you know what language this is? The translator on my block isn’t picking it up,” Holter asks.

Another smile. “Your mother was brilliant. But you know that. She had a thing for obscure languages. She was level 52.”

“Levels only go to 50, and being more than a 35 is unheard of.”

“That was Richeal. She defied everything and everyone, but you’ve heard that before.” He ran his finger over the curved letters. “Alder may know more about it.”

Holter stands. “Is Dad awake?”

“Possibly. I’ll go check.” Father hands the book to Holter and vanishes down the hallway to Alder’s bedroom.

My mind spins. The attack on Alder just doesn’t make sense. I own it as my sin. No one would want to bring him harm. He’s too kind; it’s like hurting a puppy. That’s why it’s so hard to believe it was premeditated. I always believe things are done on purpose until I can prove otherwise. This is no exception, but it’s still hard to fathom.

Annabelle looks down at her palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep it hidden.”

“It’s okay, Belle. Actually, it’s better than okay. Did you see how he lit up?” Holter wraps his arm around her, takes her hand, and kisses her palm. “Whatever happens, happens, but this?” He holds up her hand. “This, for now, has given him a moment of hope, of joy, and that’s something no one has done for a long, long time. If ever.”

Her smile sends crinkles to her eyes. I take her palm from Holter and kiss it. “It’s up to you. But yes, Holter’s right. I’ve never seen him even remotely happy. Not when I got my commission. Not when we were given an award ceremony for being the heroes of Hestertåtten.”

My stomach flips at even the thought of it. What a fucking pain in my ass. Muster didn’t even have a reaction when I came back from the chasm. That small smile was the most I’ve ever seen from him. And I get it. It’s a small way for him to see another part of his mate again. Dorians don’t care about who the genetic father is, which, for a culture as competitive as we are, is odd. I’m sure it’s discussed in the higher levels of cultural lessons—ones that I’ll never get to. There’s not enough time when there are so many more tactical levels and leadership levels to explore.

But I’m no longer a commander. My path isn’t set yet. I have many to choose from. Perhaps working on my cultural levels isn’t a waste of time.

Whatever I choose, any podlet Annabelle has Muster will consider Richeal’s grandchild, whether it is genetically related to her or not.

I take Annabelle’s hand in mine and hold it at our side. Holter has her other hand, and the book under his arm.

“He’s awake,” Father hollers down the hall.

Dad is pushing himself up in his bed when we get there, trying to get up.

“Whoa, Dad. You don’t have to stand.” Holter rushes to the side of the bed.

“I stand when I meet a mermaid.”

“You’ve met her before,” I add and tuck my wrists under my arms. I don’t like the way Dad stares at them.

“I know. But I’ll stand again. Next time. It’s a thing, podlet. It’s called manners.”

Annabelle smiles, and I’m glad she doesn’t say something likeyou don’t have to stand for me. Because that’s not how he works, either. It’s taken me a long time to figure out my dads. Or rather, for Holter to figure them out and clue me in.

Alder bows to Annabelle. She bows back, and in doing so, she lifts her hand.

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