Page 52 of House of the Beast

“Alma,” said Sevelie, frustrated. “This is more than we know how to handle. This is the court’s realm of responsibility. People have died. Surely there will be other chances for you later.”

“Zander might not let you pin him down,” said Euphina. “I know in my heart that he had a hand in Ephrem’s death, but we cannot prove that Olissa Goldmercy did not take the body herself and without his knowing.”

She was right. The situation would not look good for my father, but the more I thought about it, the less certain I became that he could be held culpable.

I was indeed caught between justice and my own desires.

Telling the court meant letting them know of my own hand in the Goldmercy leader’s death.

With my uncle still unable to wake, and all the rest of the House already against me, I would never become the First Hand of the Dread Beast.

I would fail Aster.

But if I took on my uncle’s challenge and proved myself above all others as the one worthy of House Avera—then that was another matter entirely.

“If we confront my father now,” I told Sevelie, already hating myself for how she would react, “then the court will likely wish to detain me as well for my role in his plans. I’ll lose my chance at winning the title of First Hand.”

She gaped at me, seemingly at a loss for words. After a moment she gathered herself and demanded heatedly, “Why does it matter? Let Kaim have it. There are more important things at hand!”

Aster rested a hand on my shoulder, warm and steadfast. I remembered his words about the role I had to play. My only defense. Even before Sevelie, who had done so much for me, I had to hold to it. “No,” I said again. “I made a promise to my god, and I will fulfill it, no matter what.”

I was not like my cousin’s fiancée, who cared that people had gotten hurt, who had put aside her affections and called Euphina here on the chance that it would keep me safe.

I was selfish and spiteful, and I was going to use that to bring my father down, even if it meant putting myself at risk.

Whatever my father sought on the Pilgrimage, I would find it, and rip it from his hold.

I would do that and become the First Hand of the Dread Beast both.

If he sought godhood, he would find himself unable to surpass me.

I had already felt the true touch of a god inhabiting my body, and I would sooner die than let him have a taste of it.

“Fine,” said Sevelie, getting up. “I’ll tell them myself.”

I stood as well. The room grew dark. The windows dimmed. Even the fire crackling in the ornate fireplace shrank down as if in fear. I knew it was Aster’s doing—his way of helping me. Sevelie stopped in her tracks, eyes wide.

“Don’t,” I told her, putting as much warning into my voice as I knew how.

I did not want to fight her. If I were a sensible person, I would have gladly listened to her sage advice, taken strength from her support.

But I had a job to finish. My father had brought me here from my home, from a life that could have been peaceful, and taught me instead about violence.

He had raised me as a lamb for the slaughter and expected me to be perfect all the while so as not to embarrass him.

I was going to have my revenge.

“Let the court do what they want with my father later,” I said. “But first I have a duty to fulfill.”

When Sevelie looked at me, there was a fear in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. I hated that I had put it there—that I had made her afraid, maybe even proved myself to be as much of a monster as she had initially thought of me.

She tried pleading one last time. “It’s dangerous. Lord Zander has a whole retinue of Dreadguard supporting him. How are you going to stand against that by yourself?”

“My father may have men,” I said, “but I have a god at my side.”

***

IN THE END, SEVELIE RELENTED. THOUGH I HAD KNOWN THAT she would, It was not a victory I felt particularly happy about. Euphina, too, had promised not to say a thing.

“They’ll take Ephrem away,” she said grimly. I did not know if she meant to keep his presence a secret forever or what that might entail for the case we were building against my father—but that was a concern for later. For now she was content to keep him here, where he was safe.

Then she had asked if I would walk her to the door.

Surprise was not a strong enough word to describe how I felt.

But I did not want to displease her, not after we had revealed so much to her, in case she felt the vindictive urge to rat me out later.

So I had agreed, and when she stopped me in the hallway, I was already halfway prepared for whatever confrontation this might be.

“Alma,” she said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

I paused. It was the first time she had ever referred to me by name. Usually, she preferred not to refer to me at all.

“Yes?”

She took a deep breath and said, “Will you look after him?”

It didn’t take much to figure out who she was referring to. “He’s not your son anymore,” I told her, just in case it hadn’t been obvious.

Her mouth went into an unhappy line. “I know. But I want him safe and happy regardless. It hurts me to leave him, but I... do not believe he is very fond of me, at the moment. So will you do that for me?”

I supposed I owed her that, after she had come all the way here on Sevelie’s request to tell us about my father. We were not friends—but at least she did not seem to hate my guts anymore.

“Sure,” I said, unable to muster much more than that.

Euphina noticed my clipped tone, and she at least had the grace to look a bit ashamed about it. “I feel as though I must apologize. I... did not like you, Alma. I have been cruel to you, in my own way. And I have done... unforgivable things.”

It was a surprising confession to hear. Despite my irritation, I did understand why she felt the way she did about me. “You were at least never as cruel as Darantha,” I allowed.

“No,” said Euphina, shaking her head and looking away. “I have done worse. When your mother died, I... I was still very angry at Zander for bringing you to us. You have to understand.”

My heart had stopped at the mention of my mother, then began beating again with a violent rush. My hands twitched with the urge to shake her even before she could confess anything, simply for daring to bring her up. I clenched them tight, trying to calm myself. “Understand what? What did you do?”

Euphina met my gaze without flinching, though I could tell it took some effort. “She left you some of her belongings, which were then delivered to us at the Avera estate. There was a letter addressed to you. I burned it. Threw all of it into the fire.”

I felt as though someone had plucked my spirit from my own body.

Like some higher being had scooped my insides out to splatter them pathetically onto the floor, like I had been carved hollow.

My mother had left things for me—a letter, with her last words that I never got to hear.

Belongings that I might have held for comfort in the dark, lonely days that followed her death.

And Euphina had burned it all.

“I’m sorry,” she was saying. “I knew it was wrong and I did it out of nothing but malicious intent. There are no words to convey the depth of my regret. As a mother, if I had to imagine Ephrem in your situation, I—”

“Stop,” I interrupted her harshly. I did not want to hear about what motherly feelings she would have had.

In fact, I did not want to think about this anymore.

The Pilgrimage would begin in a matter of hours.

Whatever catharsis I needed, I would find it there, after I finally earned my retribution.

“I get it. You were angry. I will take care of Six.”

“Thank you,” said Euphina, and her smile would have been heartbreaking if I had any sort of feeling to spare.

“I’m not doing it for you,” I told her.

I opened the door pointedly. She looked as though she were about to say something else—but thankfully for the both of us, she simply took the hint, and left.

I closed the door behind her and then stood there, staring unseeingly at the grain in the wood, until a voice startled me out of my stupor.

“There’s really no way I can convince you?”

I turned to find Sevelie in the hallway, alone. She looked defeated, like she already knew my response.

I told it to her anyway. “No.”

Awkward silence filled the space between us. I wondered if she regretted joining me on the train that day. I had certainly filled her life with a great many complications.

“I’m sorry,” I added, a little too late. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me and appreciate your concern—but this is something I must do.”

“Who am I to deny an elder god’s will?” she said with a wry smile.

I had no good answer for her.

After a moment, she sighed. “You must think me an utter fool,” she said. “Falling for a man like that.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I did, at first.”

“And now? When I’m asking you to let go of your ambitions?”

“A fool,” I said sincerely, “but a kind one.”

She huffed a soft breath of laughter and looked down at her hands clasped before her.

“I understand,” she said, sounding tired.

“I simply hope you’ll be careful. I’ve seen what the pursuit of First Hand does to someone.

What it’s done to Kaim, and now Lord Zander.

My only wish is that when this Pilgrimage is over, and the dust has all settled, you might be able to sort out your differences without killing each other. ”

She turned to go up the stairs then, not waiting for my reply.

It likely wouldn’t have been anything she wanted to hear, anyway.

Hers was a sentiment my mother would have approved of, but not one I could see coming to pass.

Vessels of House Avera were raised in violence.

With violence, we would settle our affairs.

“Silly of her,” said Aster, watching her go with scorn.

I had to agree. But I couldn’t help a quiet longing for those silly ideals.

Maybe if we all believed in them, things would not be so complicated.