Page 241 of Alchemised

Helena’s head had grown light. “We—I didn’t know.”

His lip curled up in a snarl, but then he turned away and his voice grew thick. “She never recovered. Morrough and Bennet were short on subjects at the time. They liked to experiment together. I’d hear her screaming for hours sometimes. They’d do things to her and then reverse them, so there were no traces after.”

He shoved his hair away from his face, his throat working. “The whole summer. I couldn’t—do anything but tell her I was sorry. That I’d do it and come back for her. That I wouldn’t fail.”

He braced against the wall as if he were about to fall. The words, so furious at first, were turning into a tidal wave of grief that seemed to pour from him.

“When the Principate was dead and I brought the heart back, the High Necromancer let her out and made us leave with him before the Eternal Flame came for me. Even before that, my mother—she was never very strong. When she was pregnant, she wouldn’t listen when the doctors warned her what I’d cost her. She was always fragile after that. My father always said I had to take care of her. That I was—responsible. He used to make me swear again and again, growing up, that I’d always take care of her. I tried to make her flee. I got it all arranged but—she wouldn’t go. Not without me. Said she couldn’t leave me here.”

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I was trying to figure out if there was a way, and there were these parties they’d hold, the Undying. She said I should go, thought if I had friends, I’d be—protected. But that wasn’t why I’d been invited. They thought it would be interesting to find ways to make an injury that would last on one of us, and I was the youngest. Automatic short straw …” He blinked as if he wasn’t seeing the room anymore. “I thought she’d be in bed when I got back, but she’d waited up for me. She was by the door, and when she saw me, she started screaming. I kept trying to tell her that it would heal, but she kept saying it was all her fault, and her heart stopped, and I—couldn’t—”

His voice broke and he slid down the wall, shuddering as if he were about to split open. When he spoke again, his voice had deadened.

“After she died, I was being watched. Morrough knew I’d joined for her. I had to earn back trust before I could risk doing anything. I’m not one of your fucking idiots who thinks one moment of self-sacrifice can change everything. If I wanted my betrayal to matter, he couldn’t see it coming.”

Helena stood frozen in horror. How had no one known this?

“I am so sorry.” She felt faint with shock.

“I don’t need your false sympathy, Marino,” he snarled, but his voice was shaking.

He’d probably never told anyone what happened. His mother’s death had been dismissed by everyone. Why would a heart attack matter, when people were dying in battle.

But Helena knew the kind of torture a vivimancer could perform and fix without leaving a trace. She could imagine what that would do to a heart over time. Kaine had been carrying that guilt for years, trying to make amends as best he could, trying to exact some form of revenge for her, knowing the indescribable punishment that awaited him.

“I’m not lying,” she said. “I’m sorry. I am truly sorry for what happened to her.”

She drew closer to him. He looked so utterly broken, as if he were about to collapse into himself.

She placed a tentative hand on his arm, half expecting him to fling her across the room, but his shoulders trembled and he dropped his head onto her shoulder. She pulled him into her arms; he gripped her close and sobbed.

“I can’t—I can’t—” he kept saying over and over.

Helena didn’t know what to do. She ran her fingers through his hair and just held him.

“I can’t—I can’t do this again—” he finally gasped out. “I can’t care for someone again. I can’t take it.”

She blindly found his face, pressing her hand against his cheek, felt tears slide along her palm and down her wrist.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Kaine.” She said it again and again.

She was apologising for everything.

For the first time, Kaine Ferron was fully human to her. She’d slipped through his walls and peeled away the defensive layers of malice and cruelty, and found that there he carried a broken heart.

She could use that.

CHAPTER 48

Janua 1787

WHEN KAINE STOPPED CRYING, HELENA SAT BACK, studying him soberly.

His expression turned guarded and embittered, as if he’d wept out all his softness and once again only his venom remained.

She had him, she could feel it. She’d followed orders, done what she’d been instructed to do, but she still didn’t know how to prove that. The right way to leverage it into demonstrable loyalty.

Ilva would not lend any credence to a feeling Helena had. Caring about Helena didn’t make Kaine a dog she could command.