“That’s not an excuse.”
“You’re right,” he agreed quietly. “It just is.”
Anger simmered in my blood and at the core of my chest, seeping into those cold, empty parts of me. “You knew long enough to have warned Malik. To tell Casteel and me. If we had known the truth, we could’ve been better prepared. We could’ve decided there was no reason to attempt to negotiate with Isbeth,” I said, and tension bracketed his mouth at the mention of her name. “If we had known, we could’ve located Malec and gotten leverage. At any point, either of you could’ve done that. But doing that would crack the foundation of Atlantia’s lies. So, I don’t remotely care how complicated and hard the situation was. Neither of you told the truth because you were both afraid of how it would affect you—how people looked upon you. Whether you would still have the support of the people if they learned that the Queen of Solis was the mistress their Queen had tried to kill. That Isbeth was never a vampry. She wasn’t the first Ascended. Atlantia was built on lies, just like Solis.”
“I…I cannot disagree with any of that,” he said, holding my gaze. “And if we could go back and do the right thing, we would. We would’ve told the truth about her.”
“Her name is Isbeth.” My fingers dug into my legs. “Not speaking her name doesn’t change that it is her.”
Valyn lowered his chin, nodding. “Nor does that make it any easier to speak her name. Or think that she is your mother. Truly, we believed that you were possibly a deity, a descendant of one of the mortals Malec had an affair with. We didn’t know what he was until you told us.” He paused. “Though I am grateful to have learned that he’s not your father. Twins. Malec and Ires. That explains why you share some of his features.”
The shock Eloana had felt when I told her that Malec was a god had been too vivid to have been fabricated. I’d wanted to ask if that knowledge would’ve changed what they would’ve done with the truth regarding Isbeth, but I didn’t. What was the point? His answer would change nothing.
“Did Eloana tell you about Isbeth and Malec’s son?” I asked, remembering what Eloana had told me.
“She did.” He dragged a hand over his chin. “And I believed her when she said that she was unaware of the child until Alastir told her.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed that. Because they had known that Alastir had located what they believed to be a descendant of Malec’s, and that their advisor—their friend—had left that child, who happened to be me, to be killed by the Craven. They had made peace with such a horrific act because they had believed Alastir was acting in the best interests of Atlantia.
I hadn’t blamed them for what Alastir had done. I still didn’t. I held them responsible for what they knew and what they chose to do with that knowledge—or not do.
“I have a lot of regret,” Valyn said roughly. “So does my wife. I don’t ask for forgiveness. Neither would Eloana.”
That was good to know because I wasn’t sure how I felt about either of them. But forgiveness was never the issue for me. That was easy. Sometimes, too easy. It was understanding and accepting why they did what they did, and I hadn’t had time to come to terms with that. “Then what is it you’re asking for?”
“Nothing.” His gaze met mine again. “I just wanted you to know the truth. I didn’t want that to go unspoken between us.”
I thought there may be another reason that went beyond clearing the air with me. He wanted me to know in case he never saw his sons again. So I would be able to tell them what he’d shared with me.
Silence stretched out, and I didn’t know what to say or do. It was Valyn who broke the quiet. “It’s almost time, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I said. “I expect to see you on the other side of this.”
The smile returned, lessening some of the deep lines. “You will.”
We left the manor then, Emil and a small horde of Crown Guards who seemed to have appeared out of thin air flanking me. Valyn reached out, clasping my shoulder briefly as we neared the armies waiting at the edge of the property, then he walked ahead.
As the soldiers became aware of my arrival, they placed their sword hands to their hearts and bowed. The pressure of their gazes, their trust, weighed down my steps. My entire body hummed, but the salty, nutty flavor of their resolve calmed my nerves. There would be no big speeches—no pomp or display of authority. They knew what to do today.