I shake my head violently. “She didn’t.”
“He said she was troubled. Rafe was abusive and?—”
I turn on him. “She didn’t jump.”
His gaze is full of pity. “I know you want to believe that, but?—”
“I know it’s true.” I look at the circular pattern on the white stone ground. The ghost of a rust stain still mars the center circle, like a direct hit on a bullseye.
It was my fault. For six months, I’ve been holding back the bad memories like a tide, but now they slam into me.
Rafe had beaten her within an inch of her life. Aidia came home, and her body was a war zone. I found her hiding in my closet, her ribs broken, her eyes swollen shut, her lip split, her wrist sprained.
I’d knelt in front of her and taken her teary face in my hands.“My heart.”
But she hadn’t responded, and I knew she was broken—that he’d finally pushed her too far.
It made me think of the Cove—of the shared scars of our youth.
I learned things there I never wanted to know: the look in Aidia’s eyes when she could not take anymore, the way pain breaks someone down to their basest instincts.Survive.
At seven years old, a little girl shouldn’t have to know when to step in to pull attention. She shouldn’t have to know how to become a new target so her father doesn’t kill the person she loves most in the world.
But I knew.
I knew the rhythm of that moment like a skip in a heartbeat. I knew how to focus my father’s rage on me. At seven, I’d done the math, and I knew what it meant. Eight gates to protect in Lunameade meant our father didn’t need all of us to secure his power. The only way Aidia and I could stay alive was to spread the hurt around.
And now she’s gone and I’m still here. Now the sorrow is trapped inside my chest, an angry shrike slamming against its cage, so desperate for escape it will shred itself to do it.
A sob shakes out of me. Henry wraps his arms around me, and I lose every last shred of composure. I cry so hard that I collapse against him. He sweeps me into his arms and carries me to a bench under a nearby willow.
All the hurt pours out of me, all the guilt and rage and grief that I’ve fought so hard to tuck down deep, bursting free. I cannot master myself. I sob until I’m gasping for air and my heart is pounding and my skin is crusted with salty tears.
Finally, the anguish ebbs enough that I can take a deep, shuddering breath and lean my head on Henry’s shoulder.
“It’s a beautiful spot,” he says.
I glance around the garden. It is beautiful. If she’s going to be remembered, I’m glad it’s here and not at North Hold.
“I thought you were working me,” Henry says, softly rubbing my back. “When Kellan told me, I thought you knew about my sister, so you made up a sister that could be saved to play to that wound. That’s why I was so Divine-damned angry.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I would have never sprung this on you if I realized it wasn’t a trick.”
He offers me a handkerchief and allows me a moment to compose myself.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks.
“No.”
Henry barks out a startled laugh. “Fair enough. Still, it might help.”
“Nothing will help. She’s gone,” I rasp.
“But you’ve been seeing her.”
I wipe tears from my cheeks, not nearly as horrified as I should be that I lost my composure in front of him. “How do you know?”
“Because you were talking about her in present tense.”
The mansion looms over us, and I look up at it. I’ve lost track of how many times I dreamed of burning it down. I fantasized about turning my history and pain to ash and watching the ghosts of every old hurt rise in the smoke.
