“No, I still haven’t seen her,” I say.
My mother nods encouragingly. “That’s okay. We knew it would take some time to get Harlow to share such a big family secret. Just keep working on it.”
“How was the city?” my father asks. “Any change post-attack?”
“The people are tense and the mayor is using it to gain traction,” I say. “He’s been visiting the families of those jailed for protesting second blood tithes. The unblessed see him as their champion. When he speaks, they’re entranced, and he’s constantly throwing digs at the Carrenwells.”
“That’s a good thing,” my father says.
I frown. “I’m not sure it is. I don’t think he’s someone we can control. We all know the type. He’s just another Harrick, only worse.”
“No one is worse,” my father grumbles.
“Imagine Harrick with a blessing from Polm.”
My father bristles.
“Exactly,” I say. “He’s the last person who should have a manipulation blessing, but he does. And from the looks of it, he’s very, very good at using it.”
My parents look at each other, a silent conversation passing in a glance.
“Also, I think Rafe set me up to be caught at a rebel bar,” I say. “I can’t say for certain, but his butler directed me that I would find him at a specific bar in town. I waited for him for two hours, but he didn’t show. When I went to leave, I ran into Kellan Carrenwell and a bunch of his city guards who had been tipped off about a rebel meeting at the bar.”
My father curses and leans back in his chair.
I take a deep breath and continue. “That brings me to my second problem. The Drained breach was at the North Hold gates, which are not only the closest to us, but when the Drained got in, they didn’t just kill people. They also took some women from the pleasure district. So the Breeders are a problem in the city, too.”
My mother presses her hand to her heart. She looks strong today, but her magic takes so much out of her, even long after she’s wielded it. I’m worried this conversation is too taxing.
My father seems to notice her shift in demeanor as well. He gives me a meaningful look. “If that’s all?—”
“It’s not, actually.” I look at my father. “I tried to give you the space to be honest with me earlier. I know it wasn’t Gaven’s handwriting in that letter. It was yours. I fumbled it into the fire and risked all the progress I’ve made with Harlow to cover for you.” I blow out a breath, trying to calm the rising frustration churning through my blood. “I agreed to this ten-year plan for revenge because you said lasting change takes time. I’velet you keep me in the dark, and I’ve played my part. But you put this plan in peril. You should at the very least disguise your handwriting if you’re going to communicate with rebels, but especially if you’re going to pretend to be their leader. Tell me right now what’s going on.”
He holds up a hand. “You know that’s not how this works. We agreed to let you know everything youneedto know.”
I point to my mother. “If it wasn’t for Kellan Carrenwell, we could have lost her when the rebels attacked our engagement party. I can’t fathom why you would allow that.”
“That was a few rogue idiots,” my father huffs. “It shouldn’t have happened. We’re too close to risk compromising things now. You don’t know?—”
“Philip.” My mother places a hand on his shoulder. “Henry makes a good point. If we don’t let him in on a little bit more, he could very well work against us by accident.”
I want to turn away. I’m ashamed that my ten-year commitment to revenge is faltering—not because I want it any less, but because I’m actually concerned about how it will affect the woman who has already suffered more than I know.
Under my mother’s careful assessment, I feel suddenly nervous. “You like her—your wife.”
“I don’t.”
“You do,” she says firmly. “And I don’t just mean you liked bedding her. I mean you actually like her. Not admitting it doesn’t make it untrue. It only makes your inability to recognize your own feelings a liability.”
I know she’s right, and I’m embarrassed to be scolded.
My father scrubs a hand down his face, but she just pats his shoulder.
“Yes. I like her. She takes tremendous pleasure in antagonizing me, but she?—”
I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what it is about her. Of course, she’s smart and darkly funny, but it’s something more than that. She should not trust me, yet the other night she finally did—and not just out of necessity. I have no doubt she could have found her own way out of that dining room. She certainly could have told me to leave afterward. But she let me help, and that alone is a sign of the progress I’ve made.
“She understands how to taunt you. She makes you feel known,” my mother says.
