“I thought about it a lot,” I say. “Aidy and I were out there on that balcony for a long time. You didn’t interfere even though you know enough about this city to have every child with holy fire killed and to give women to the Breeders. Even though there is nothing in Lunameade that happens without your saying so—you allowed a man to throw both of your daughters off of a balcony in your own house after he made them nearly beat each other to death.”
“It was a warning,” my mother mumbles.
I throw my half-empty glass of wine at her, and it slams into her chest. The glass cracks and red wine seeps into her silver gown. “It was a fuckingexecution, and you did nothing. Not during. Not after. You think you’re powerful, but you let your greatest rival march into your home and kill one of your daughters, maim the other, and go unpunished.”
“What would you have us do? You know how popular he is.” Spittle flies out of my father’s mouth when he speaks. His aura is vibrant blue, but he still can’t summon his magic without me letting him.
I shake my head. “Ah, so that’s the problem. You only know how to punch down. Just answer me this—did you make Gaven stand down?”
As soon as I ask, I realize I’m afraid of the answer, or maybe I already know what it is and I’m afraid of the confirmation.
“Gaven is a practical man who always understood how easily he could be replaced. He cared enough to stay.” My father takes a labored breath. “Of course, I doubt he would have let it go on if he’d realized how far Rafe would take it. It wasn’t sanctioned for either of you.” His speech garbles. I have to move this along soon on the off-chance I used too much Stellarium Blossom.
I lean on my elbow and turn to face Kellan head-on. “Kel, I’m going to need your help with something. I thought it would be nice to test whether our parents really didn’t know that what they were doing is wrong. I thought we could give them a taste of their own medicine, but I’ll need your help.”
His gaze darts from my parents to me.
“I want you to make them whip each other and use their magic on each other,” I say. “Let’s see how they like being compelled to hurt someone else. I would say someone they love, but they both only love themselves, so this is the best I can do.”
I walk to the cabinet on the side wall and retrieve the switch I tucked there before our meal.
My mother stares at me in horror.
“Kellan, this is madness. Throw her in the Cove right now,” my father snaps.
I click my tongue. “Oh, Father, you look nervous. Are you afraid that you’ve made him your son? That he will do as you’ve done and stand by and do nothing while his family is hurt?” I turn to Kellan. “What do you think, Kel? Are you his son, or are you my brother?”
He casts one last look at our parents and snatches the switch from my hand. I brace myself because I want to believe in him, but my faith is at an all-time low.
But he rounds the table, and it’s not until my father rises from his chair that I realize Kellan already had his hooks in them.
Kellan stands behind them as my father pulls his shirt off and bends over the table as my mother unbuttons the back of her dress.
Kellan hands our mother the switch. She holds it awkwardly at first.
“Whip him,” I say.
She hesitates a moment, but then Kellan must nudge her because she brings the switch down so sharply and suddenly that I think she must have only been pretending that she didn’t know how to use it.
“Harder,” I say.
My mother brings the switch down with a deafening crack. I thought it would take more convincing, but perhaps she has her own score to settle with him.
“Again.”
I make her do it over and over, harder and harder, until she’s wheezing with the effort of breathing through the competing poisons.
“Your turn,” I say with a grin.
Kellan makes her bend over the table so the top of her dress gaps.
My father stands with great effort. His agony is clear on his face, inhis sweat-soaked hairline, and in the blood spatter all over his chair’s upholstery and the table.
Kellan places the switch in his hand. A second later, it cracks against my mother’s back. When she cries out, I feel nothing but relief.
“Harder,” I say. And the cycle starts again.
I’m divided, both viscerally aware of what’s happening as I make them torture each other and oddly disconnected. I can’t fully replicate what I’ve suffered because they don’t love each other the way I loved Aidia. But it’s enough to know that they will understand some part of my pain, even if they have both been too powerful for too long to ever understand true fear and dread.
