“A part of me did wonder, sometimes…” He lifted his head, his voice hoarse. “She looks so like Locke when she’s angry. Or excited. Something in her eyes…” He cleared his throat. “And I’ll thank you not to turn your judgment on me, Odile. Your hands are dirty, the same as mine.”
“I did what you ordered me to,” Odile said, outraged. “That is all I have ever done. When Locke murdered hundreds, you ordered me to keep my mouth shut and follow your lead, so I did. When that woman turned up here, pregnant, I handled it, just as you ordered me to. And seventeen years later, when you sent that child to me like a lamb to the slaughter, I delivered her east of the Wall, just as you ordered me to.”
“No.” Wren breathed, the word soft and silent and heavy with pain. Everything she’d heard up until now, all of it seemed to coalesce in this one final, terrible truth.
“And what of it?” he snapped, the words shattering what little faith Wren had left. “I was doing my part to ensure the future of my house—something you would both benefit from. Without an enemy east of the Wall, without the undead on our doorstep, our position in the Dominions is precarious. Rather than fade back into obscurity, we are simply giving our enemies the tools they need to dig their own graves.”
“They rise up, and in swoops the House of Bone, coming to the rescue once again?” Odile said, lip curled in disdain.
“It worked before, didn’t it? I just wish I’d thought of it myself. Wren was only ever meant to be a temporary hostage to ensure the House of Bone followed through with its end of the bargain and didn’t reveal the regent’s activities to the king. I knew she’d be fine. She’s been in scrapes before. She’s tough. Resilient.”
“She’s your child, your responsibility, whatever her blood.”
“And she’s been raised as such. She knows how important it is to honor our house. To ensure its future. And she will be its future—whatever her blood.”
Those words should have comforted her, but Wren felt sick. Was it better to be the daughter of a murderer or the daughter of a coward?
“And what price will you make her pay next? What else will she have to give?”
He looked away. “Perhaps it’s time she met her mother.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly, in fact. I had no idea Ravenna was involved in all this. From what Wren has told me, she was the one to push for Wren’s kidnapping, and the regent simply complied in order to seal their own side bargain. She wants Wren. I can use that. I think that together, Wren and I could dissuade her from this course. Make her see reason. I can offer her a home and a position.”
“You want to make her your wife?” Odile asked incredulously. “You sound like a damned fool. Not everyone can be bought with a title.”
“So you say,” Vance said, unaffected by her words.
“You don’t want a bride… You want that power for yourself, don’t you?” Odile asked, and Vance lifted a shoulder indifferently. “You want to do what your brother did, but better. It’s just like when you were kids, always trying to be faster, stronger, more than him. It’s how you were with Ravenna… You didn’t want her until you saw that Locke did. Don’t deny it.” He didn’t. Odile laughed humorlessly. “You thought standing in his shadow was cold while he was alive, but standing in the shadow of his martyrdom is colder, isn’t it?”
Vance’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You have no idea what it’s like to be in my position. To do everything you can your entire life and still constantly come up short, measured against a standard that is impossible to meet—because it doesn’t exist.”
“You’re right, I don’t… but I suspect Wren does.”
His face was wiped temporarily blank. Had he truly never seen it? Seen that exactly what his mother did to him, he did to Wren?
“So let’s be done with the false narrative. Let’s finish this.”
Vance wavered—then shook his head. “We’re smarter now. More prepared. It’s a tool—”
“You will be the tool, Vance, and Ravenna will use you as she sees fit. It will ruin you, that magic, just as it ruined Locke. This is exactly what she wanted to happen during the Uprising. She wanted us to destroy ourselves, and you’re only too eager to oblige. Except this time, instead of sacrificing your brother, you’ll endanger your daughter. She has already drawn upon it and somehow come away unscathed. Do not risk it again.”
“I will do what I must. For the good of my house.”
Odile sighed heavily. “I thought as much. It’s a good thing I already contacted Lady-Smith Svetlana.”
He stilled. “You’ve spoken to my mother?”
“She’s on her way. When she arrives, we can decide together what is best for our house.”
“What did you tell her?” he demanded, getting to his feet. “What did you say about Ravenna? About Wren?”
“Nothing… yet, but I will. She has to know about Locke and the Uprising, about the iron revenants… even your deal with the regent, Vance. She has to know what we’re up against. That well must be destroyed.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I really wish you hadn’t done that, Odile,” he said, his voice weary. “Now you leave me no choice.”
There was a flash as her father withdrew a dagger from the inside of his jacket, gleaming and bright. Not made of bone, as Wren would have expected, but made of steel with a gold filigree handle.
“It seems I must be the one to clean up the mess—again,” he continued, staring down at the blade. “It will be a pity to lose a war hero.” Odile’s entire body tensed, and dread coiled in Wren’s gut. “Then again, as you’ve pointed out—if my brother is anything to go by, you’ll be remembered as a martyr instead.”
Odile leapt to her feet, but Vance was faster. He was a trained valkyr, after all. She’d only just made it out of her chair before he crossed the space between them and plunged the dagger into her chest.
FORTY
Wren watched in horror as Odile struggled, fruitless, before slumping back into her chair.
Leaving the knife embedded, Vance hastily wiped any sign of blood from his appearance, scrubbing at his hands until they were raw. He took a deep, shuddering breath, collecting himself. Then he drained the contents of his cup, placed it on the sideboard, and pocketed Wren’s ring, hiding the evidence that he’d ever been here.
Wren caught his expression as he moved for the door, a grim resolve settling on his features. Had he looked the same, she wondered, when he’d murdered that messenger in the Bonewood? And when he’d turned his back on her mother? He hadn’t loved Ravenna. He’d loved the idea of having her when his brother wanted her. It was beyond pathetic.
As soon as his footsteps had faded away, Wren shoved the door open and rushed to Odile’s side.
Wren thought she was already gone, but the woman flinched at Wren’s wary touch on her shoulder. She took a wet, rattling breath and tried to speak around the knife in her chest.
Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her eyes widened in panic and she scrabbled at her neck. Wren thought she was trying to lower the collar of her robes—to better breathe, maybe?—but then her trembling fingers latched on to a thin chain hanging around her throat. She tugged fitfully, and Wren helped, withdrawing the necklace until a key appeared dangling at the bottom.