“Harlow—you look very nice.” His compliment is forced. I wish he wouldn’t bother.
A mild pain still presses against my temples, and though it’s abated since last night, the anxiety of meeting my new spouse isn’t helping. The pain comes and goes, but stress makes it worse. I reach to rub away the ache, and my father tracks the movement.
“You’re not having an episode, are you?” It’s an accusation—like Iwantthe Havenwoods to see that I’m defective.
“I’m not. It’s nothing.”
He nods, appeased by the instinct to hide my weakness. “Today, we will sign the official marriage contract. We’re going to ask that they stay with us two weeks before we send you off. We’ll use that time to try to get to the bottom of what they want before you go. They were non-negotiable on the wedding being at Fallen—” He stops and clears his throat. “Mountain Haven.” He shakes his head. “I still can’t get used to calling it by the old name, but we need to be sure we don’t accidentally call it Fallen Hold in front of them. They might consider it disrespectful.”
It’s a relief that I’m not being completely thrown to the wolves. It also gives me a few more days to fulfill what’s outstanding of my Poison Vixen duties.
“And what happens once they know my magic?” I ask. “Once I’m married to a stranger and stuck in the fort with a forest of vampires between me and home.”
The fear hits me for the first time, a great sucking terror that swells from behind my sternum with the imploding gravity of a dying star. I’m leaving this cage to betrappedsomewhere smaller.
“We will have an escape route in place for you. You have my word,”my mother says. There’s such certainty in her voice, like she thinks her words have weight—like she hasn’t broken promises before. “We will keep you updated every step of the way. Your only job for now is to play nice with your fiancé and get him to like you. Let him believe your loyalty to him is above reproach. It shouldn’t be hard for you to fake disdain for us. I know you find our methods distasteful. You may as well use that to win him over. Use whatever you must to entice him, but it’s in your best interest if his loyalty to you is more compelling than what he holds for his family.”
My father’s aura is swirling. There’s something he’s not saying.
“Understood, but it would be helpful if I know exactly what I was looking for,” I say.
He shifts, bringing his hands to his hips. “We need to know how they’ve truly survived all this time and if they have anything to do with Rochelli.”
I gasp. “You think they’ve been stirring up trouble with the rebels?”
“We haven’t been able to rule it out, and it would make sense for them to rally the unblessed. We have magic, but there are twice as many magic-less citizens in Lunameade as those of us blessed by the Divine.”
Rochelli is the name of the man who has been stoking the simmering rebellion among the common people who resent the blood tithe they have to pay to the Blood Well. Kellan and the city watch have been looking for him for months. There have been whispers of the rebel for years, but it’s only in the past year that he’s been a constant threat.
How quickly the people forget who keeps them safe. For all my parents’ flaws, they take the security of our people very seriously. Maintaining our wall and the magic that turns the hordes of Drained away requires an enormous expenditure of power. My father has carried on the Carrenwell line and that duty since his father died years ago. He bathes in our Family Well weekly so he can continue to do it, and I’ve seen how spent he is when he returns from securing our defenses. Usually, he can’t even walk into the house on his own. He needs my mother and Able to help him stumble down the stairs to the basement well so he can restore himself. Then he sleeps for a full day.
It’s only his incessant need to be seen strictly when he’s strong that keeps the people from understanding the cost. As if they are sacrificing everything and my family gives them nothing back. What are a fewounces of blood dripped from their palms into the Blood Well twice a month compared to a lifetime of safety within these walls? My parents didn’t create the tithes. They are a sacred ritual given to our ancestors by the Divine.
It’s not as if I don’t feel trapped here sometimes. It’s not as if our world is perfect. But I know for certain it’s better than what lies beyond the walls. It’s better than an army of drained ones who wouldn’t hesitate to suck them dry of every last drop of blood for the temporary high of feeling alive again.
“We’ve heard rumors that one of the Havenwoods is blessed by the Divine of Endings,” my mother says.
“With what kind of power?” I ask.
My father shakes his head. “We don’t know, but the rebels have also chosen Asher as their Divine patron. It could be a coincidence, but it’s worth investigating.”
“So, make my husband like me and find out what he knows about the rebellion discreetly. I can do that.” I fold my hands and summon all my anger to bolster my courage. “If I do this, I want my freedom when I’m done. I want to take the tunnel key and the help of my siblings to take it out of the city. I think I’ve earned some peace, have I not?”
The question is directed at my mother, but my father holds up a hand to silence her agreement.
He’s always doing this—stepping in when my mother has things in hand, looking for a chance to fight with me.
“You think you’re so much better than us.” My father spits out the words like they taste bitter.
“No, I don’t.”
“You do—with your attitude and your endless sneaking around. You think you know something we don’t.” He gives my mother an expectant look.
Her gaze drops to the floor. “You can be a bit rough with us?—”
“I don’t think I’m better than you,” I say. “I think we’ve been speaking your language my entire life and neither of you have bothered to learn mine. I’ve been forcing myself into a family system that doesn’t fit me, but the two of you have only ever seen me as a problem to solve, rather than a person to try and understand. Not once have you asked me to collaborate. You’ve commanded me around. The reason you think I’mbetter than you is because I’ve ceased begging you to care. You won’t or can’t give what I want and I’ve learned to stop wanting it altogether. The two of you have nothing to offer me but grief and weakness.”
My mother looks stricken, but my father’s face is beet-red.
