“The wine…” He cleared his throat, trying again. “That wine, at the tavern, isn’t poison. Not exactly.”
“You added something to it, that much is clear,” Julien said.
Gerard nodded. “A bit of…” He swallowed, looking queasy. “A rather large bit of valerian root. It’s a sedative. It’s not meant to kill anyone, just—”
“Render them unconscious,” Viktor jumped in. “Just long enough for you to abscond the lady in question back to Chauntilalie. I’m curious, Father. Would you have your way with her once she stirred or would she wake up already in the family way?”
“Is there any water in here?” I interrupted, my stomach churning. The combination of heat cast from the blazing fire and the cool recitation of Gerard’s crimes left me close to swooning. “I feel faint.”
“Of course,” Gerard said, motioning to ring the little bell on his desk.
“Stop,” Julien said, covering the brass bauble and sliding it neatly out of Gerard’s grasp. “It’s a bit crowded in here already, wouldn’t you say?” He glanced at me. “And you wouldn’t really drink anything that man gave you, would you?”
He had a point, I thought, swallowing miserably.
“So Mother was simply a victim of gluttony,” Viktor mused. Hetskedas if it saddened him before a snicker burst free.
Alex pressed his hand over his mouth. I saw the line of his throat contract, as if holding back his urge to retch and knew this was becoming too much for him. Dauphine’s death, Gerard’s admissions, it was all too much. He looked like a thread overwound and about to snap.
“I never meant anything to happen to her. You must believe me, Alexander.” Gerard reached across the table, trying to connect with him, but Alex’s eyes were unfocused. “I would have never hurt her.”
“But you did mean to hurt Constance,” I said, grabbing at his attention. “You murdered her.” Hot bile sloshed in my gut, threatening to come up as I remembered the gardening shears. “But I don’t understand why. I saw those babies. She gave you exactly what you wanted. She—”
“She was going to tell you. Tell everyone. Everything. The babies…they grew to full term, they made it through the births, yes, but they…they weren’t developing as they should. They were weak, fussy. Constance begged me to fix them, to save them. She loved them, she truly did, but there was nothing to be done. When they died, she said it was a sign. My experiments, my creations, were doomed to fail. She threatened to warn you, Verity. She didn’t want you to go through what she had. But I…I couldn’t let that happen.”
Gerard shrugged as if he’d been completely helpless in the situation. As if he’d only followed the most reasonable course of action. He blinked innocently, his eyes cold and without remorse.
Alex murmured something, too low to catch at first.
I reached out to him, squeezing his shoulder. “What did you say?”
Slowly, painfully, he glanced up, meeting Gerard’s gaze. “I said he’s mad.”
“I’m not,” Gerard insisted. “I know exactly what I’ve done. I understand how it looks to you, how you must think it is, but…you don’t see what I do…. You don’t understand that some sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”
“Good,” Alex repeated. “What good could possibly come out of any of this?”
“If you…if you all could just understand…” Gerard buried his face in his hands. “My father was…an intensely religious man. All my childhood, I was brought up worshipping the gods. Not just Arina—all of them. I could tell you every one of them, however old, however forgotten. I knew every Harbinger, every half-god spawn. We celebrated their festivals; we honored their ways. When he became duke, I watched Papa dismantle my grandfather’s beloved ballroom and turn it into a shrine. For…them,” he said, casting his hand into the air in a gesture that reminded me uncomfortably of Kosamaras.
Viktor shifted in his chair. “Oh poor Father, how terrible your youth must have been.” His face hardened. “We know nothing of what that must be like.”
“Dauphine told me about your sister,” I said, cutting off his theatrics. “How she was born without hands. How your father killed her because of the imperfection.”
Gerard nodded. “That was the day I stopped praying to the gods. I saw them for what they were—beings of preternatural powers, certainly, but at heart, no different than you or I. They weren’t blessed with divinity…. They were just the next step in our own evolution.” He rubbed at his chin. “The problems in our world showed me that their powers were not without limit. I knew I could improve upon that, distill that essence that makes them different from us. And then I would perfect it, create my own god. One who would fix the messes they made for us. When I met Dauphine Armella, I was certain she would be the woman to help me achieve all my goals.”
“Why?” Julien asked, head tilted.
Alex let out a soft, ragged breath. I reached out to entwine my fingers with his, happy when he didn’t pull away.
“The Armella tree is riddled with half gods and secret assignations. Her genetic makeup couldn’t have been more perfect.”
“And you loved her too, of course,” Viktor said, all but sneering.
“We did grow…terribly fond of one another,” Gerard said, twisting his lips and looking almost guilty. “And I was right. She gave birth to the three of you. When we saw how mixed the results were, I wanted to try again but Dauphine refused. The treatments had taken a toll on her body…. It was just too much for her to do again.”
“So you brought in a bit of help,” Viktor guessed snidely.
Gerard nodded. “I tried again so many times. But it never…I never could quite replicate the experiment. The women always died before the babies could be born. They weren’t strong enough.” He shook his head as his face colored in disappointment.
