“Oh, she’s not dead.”
Jocasta shakes her head. “I still don’t understand what that has to do with Griffin and you.”
There is no Griffin and me. There can’t be. “My mother has a tendency to destroy anything I might get attached to.”
Comprehension dawns in her blue eyes. “You won’t let Griffin claim you because you’re afraid your mother will harm him?”
Claim me? Southerners have such a different way of putting things. So basic. Primal. Deep inside me, excitement flutters to life, and something needy clenches in anticipation. I ignore it. Whatever irrational part of me craves claiming will have to learn to live without. “Friends and lovers make you weak.”
“That’s not true.”
Instant denial. But she’s never watched people she loves murdered before her eyes.
“It is. They make you vulnerable because you want to protect them, and weakness never goes unpunished.” Eleni paid with her life, and at this rate, I’ll end up just like her.
“Love isn’t weakness,” Jocasta argues. “What in the Underworld did your mother do to you?”
My laugh is brittle. “It would probably go faster to list the things she didn’t do.”
She looks at me warily. “An example, then.”
I don’t know why I’m talking like this, revealing things. Maybe the more secrets get out, the less important the remaining ones seem. “I had a puppy. It was the only living thing to ever show me affection besides my sister and my nurse. I loved them. I hated everyone else.” Except Thanos. Not that he was exactly lovable. And Ianthe wasn’t so bad.
“Mother knew I loved it. It was white with big brown spots, floppy ears, and huge round eyes, black like slabs of jet. Not quite a year after giving me the dog, she tore it from my arms, snapped its neck, and dumped it at my feet. She told me, ‘Love nothing and no one can hurt you.’ I couldn’t have been more than eight. I cried, and she beat me unconscious. When I woke up, I had one of these.” I pull up my sleeve to show her the long, silver scars.
Jocasta pales. “I saw them before but… She almost beat you to death?”
I tug my sleeve back down. “It wasn’t the first time. Or the last.”
“What happened to your nurse?”
A lump lodges in my throat. “Dead.”
“And your sister?” she asks quietly.
The lump starts choking me. A burn hits the back of my eyes.
I don’t have to answer. Jocasta’s eyes fill with tears, and she reaches out to squeeze my hand. “I’m so sorry.”
Sitting here with Griffin’s sister, I find myself teetering on a precipice—down one slope a hard shell, down the other an emotional swamp. The swamp is rising up to meet me when Kaia pushes the unlatched door open, sticking her head through the crack and saving me from getting sucked down into it.
“I thought I heard voices.” Yawning, she slips inside and closes the door behind her. She stumbles over to the bed and climbs into the middle, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “You can’t have a party without me.”
“You’re half-asleep!” Jocasta chides. “Why did you get out of bed?”
“More fun here,” she mumbles, closing her eyes.
Not really. Kaia is sound asleep in seconds. I hand Jocasta a pillow and settle back down on the opposite side of the bed.
Jocasta lies down, too, her thick black hair unbound and covering most of the pillow. “Not worried about killing us?” she asks softly.
“Griffin was right,” I mutter, annoyed. “I don’t have nightmares in his bed.”
Across Kaia’s sleeping form, I see Jocasta smile. She looks maddeningly like her older brother—smug.
“Don’t tell him!” I whisper-shout. “Swear you won’t.”
She grins and burrows under the covers. “Your secret is safe with me.”
I blow out the lamp, getting the feeling she’s talking about more than just the nightmares.
CHAPTER 20
Griffin, Carver, and Egeria are huddled over the healing center plans. There’s dust on their fingers. A breeze stirs the air. I peer around Kato’s shoulder, listening to the crackle of scrolls while the afternoon sun scorches the back of my neck. Flynn is taking a drink, and I wonder why he doesn’t offer me any water while he’s at it. He knows how hot I get. Healers and other curious Magoi watch us from under the shade of a thick ivory cloth draped over a wooden trellis. It’s crowded under their makeshift tent, and workers are busy constructing a second one.