But his father’s words—welcome home, son—didn’t match that sentiment. However, the knife in his mother’s hand clearly did.
He knelt next to Vincent’s grave. Running his fingers over the cold stone, Valek envisioned Vincent’s face. Grief surged through him. Valek wondered for the millionth time how his life would have been different if his brothers had lived. An idyllic scene with all of them older, married with children, gathered around the huge dining room table, laughing, teasing, complaining, arguing. His mother spoiling the grandchildren, his father teaching the next generation how to tan and dye leather.
Then the questions would start. Would the King’s family still be ruling Ixia? Would the monarch’s corruption make that homey scene impossible? Would he have been content to work in his father’s tannery? Would he be a different person?
And the most important question: Would he have met Yelena? The answer to that one was no. When he focused on her and their baby, then all this didn’t hurt so much. It still smoldered deep inside him, and he still wished his brothers hadn’t been killed. But the promise of having a family again pushed him past all the heartache and grief. Motivated him to find a way to get Ixia and Sitia back on good terms, so his future of laughter, teasing, debates and love would be...not quite assured, but would have much better odds.
“Thought I’d find you here,” his father said.
Valek straightened and wiped the dirt from his knees.
“I think of those boys every day.” His father tucked his hands into his pockets. Staring at the gravestones, he rocked on his heels. “Those soldiers that were killed about two years later...were they the ones?”
“Yes.”
Father lifted his head. “And that Captain who died in the woods?”
“He ordered his men to pick a family to use as an example of what happens when you don’t pay your taxes to the King.”
“And you lodged a complaint with the King?”
“Everyone knows I assassinated him. Why are you asking?”
“Rumors can’t be trusted.”
Valek waited.
“I want to hear it from you.”
“That I’m a killer, like Mother said? Yes. I am. I personally delivered my complaint to the King, Queen and the entire royal family.”
“How did it feel? Once you finished...complaining.”
“Satisfying and freeing. But by then, it wasn’t all about revenge. I’d seen the rot and the deaths the King and his family were responsible for. I agreed with the Commander’s vision for Ixia. He’d never murder a child because his parents couldn’t afford to pay taxes.”
“True. And my taxes were reduced after the takeover.”
“Is that why you had more children?” Valek couldn’t resist asking.
“No. We were devastated and lonely. Our house had been full of four energetic and boisterous boys and then...all gone. So quiet. Your mother didn’t think she’d conceive, but Zeb was born four years after the takeover, then the twins three years later.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “When their magic started causing problems, I’d thought you’d show up and...”
“Here I am.”
“Later than expected, and not before we thought we lost them, too.”
Dark shadows of grief haunted his expression. More than any one person should be asked to bear. But that was the problem with grief. No one ever asked for it. It arrived with its bags already packed for an extended stay. It settled into your best guest room and demanded to be waited on all day long, and when it finally shuffled out the door, it left behind permanent scratches on your furniture.
Valek wished to ease his father’s pain. “They’ll be...safer in Sitia. I’ll make sure they learn how to protect themselves.”
“Thank you. Come inside and get something to eat.”
“No thanks. I belong here with the dead.” Valek pointed to the unmarked gravestone. “Mother would agree.”
“That’s not yours. It’s for that damn dog Mooch. The twins were so upset when he died. Made me dig a grave and buy a stone. Never did get around to carving his name in it. And do you know what’s really galling?”
Amused, Valek shook his head.
“Out of the dozen dogs we’ve had, that damn dog hated me. Bit me three times, and I couldn’t do nothing about it or they’d get upset.”
“Which explains why it remains unmarked.”
He laughed a deep chuckle. “You always were a quick study of people. I’m sure it helps with your job.”
“It does.”
His father scuffed his boots in the dirt. “I’ve thought about you every day, too, wondering if you’d ever come home.” A pause. “If you hadn’t run into the twins, would you have returned?”
“You made it quite clear—”
“And you’ve never said something in anger that you regretted later? Never uttered the wrong thing when you were out of your mind with grief?”