“I couldn’t quite forgive Alivia then, and I still don’t know that I have yet,” he says. “The things she did, the innocent lives she ruined, they’re still there. But,” he stands, rising to his full height. Rath is a man of power, even though he has lived a life of service. “I do know that time changes people.”
He steps forward, toward me. His eyes lock on mine, and I read the sincerity in them. “It has been sixteen years since I spent time with Alivia. In the immortal perspective of this world, it is not much time, but in reality, it is quite a lot.” He reaches forward and takes my hands in his. “I am not asking you to do the same. But I want you to know, that after sixteen years, I am willing to take the time to see if Alivia has evolved into something better than she once was.”
He brings my hands up and presses one kiss to my knuckles.
I hold his eyes the entire time, trying to figure out how the hell he’s so wise.
I watch as he turns, and walks out the door.
Somewhere in the house, I hear voices. Alivia’s. Rath’s. Others I certainly don’t recognize.
I look over at my phone. Slowly, my fingers crawl over to it, pulling it into my lap.
Words. Cyrus was always very good with words.
He uses them on others. He’s used them on me countless times over the years.
He wraps me up. Draws me in. Makes me forget.
Rath’s revelation about what Cyrus did to Alivia opens my eyes once more. It reminds me that there is a reason that I am here and not in Roter Himmel with him.
My jaw clenches. My fingers roll into fists.
My blood surges hot.
My fingers wrap around a pillow on the bed, and with every ounce of strength I posses, I fling it across the room with a scream.
It hits the wall and explodes, the cotton flying everywhere.
My fingers slide into my hair, fisting. My breathing comes in and out hard, between my teeth.
I don’t know who to trust. No one tells the truth about each other. No one can paint an unbiased picture.
Alone.
Alone, alone, alone.
I feel so damn alone.
And blind.
And insecure.
And unstable.
And in a perpetual state of self-doubt.
Tears prick my eyes, but the anger makes them hot.
I breathe hard, my nostrils flaring.
I turn, feeling lost. Searching for…anything to keep me grounded.
My eyes fall on Eshan. Still in a new state of transformation.
Maybe there is one person in this world I can trust. One who unconditionally has my back and doesn’t hesitate to give it to me straight. One person who doesn’t care about my status as a Queen or eight other people.
But in a few hours he’s going to wake up as human again.
And soon I’m going to take him home, and who knows how long it will be until I see him again.
I feel my heart being shredded.
Alone.
I’m going to be alone unless I can turn a blind eye to all the wrongs that are keeping me away from…everyone.
Turning to the back of the room, I cross it. I can feel it outside, the receding of the sun. I feel that utter sense of relief, like lying down after a day of running a marathon. My senses relax. The breath comes to my lungs just a little easier.
I pull the heavy drapes away from the door.
The top half of it is glass, looking out on the darkening world.
I pull it open and step out onto a big, long veranda.
For just a moment, my breath is taken away. Beyond the veranda is a beautiful swimming pool. On the south end of the property, I see a hedge maze, meticulously manicured. Straight out, there is what I think are tombs, a short fence wrapping around them. And beyond the expanse of perfect grass, is the Mississippi River.
Lights flicker on across the water. It’s a strange feeling, being this close to a state border, with me standing in Mississippi, and just there where I can see, a whole different life in Louisiana.
I take a deep breath, practically drinking in the humidity. It’s hot. Everything about the air feels strange here. So foreign, so different.
I take a step forward, down onto the grass. Through the quiet, I wander around the pool. I stroll toward the river. But right in my way, is that little graveyard.
I read the names as I approach.
Elijah Conrath.
I do remember this name. The heir and ruler of the Conrath family. Faintly, in the back of my memory, I do remember him leaving to sail to the States, with his brother in tow.
Henry Conrath. This tomb is large. Simple but regal. There is no date of his birth or death, only his name. From everything I’ve learned, he died not long before Alivia came to claim this House.
And then there is Marlane Ryan. She was too young when she died. Only forty-one years old. I note that she died the same year I was born.
Something cracks a little in my chest.
Because I have to tie it all together.
Alivia may be an absolute stranger to me, may feel as familiar as an alien from Venus. But the reality is that she carried me inside of her for nine months. She went through an entire pregnancy and dealt with everything that came with it.
And then her mother died just months before I was born.
I have to think they were close. Alivia was living in Colorado at the time I was born, and before. Her mother would have died in Colorado, I assume. But here she is, at Alivia’s House here in Mississippi.
I don’t think she would have moved her body all this way unless they were close.
I place a hand on her tomb.
My maternal grandmother.
I look over at Henry’s as well, reaching out to touch the warm stone.
My grandfather.
And his brother, my uncle.
“If you want to keep your sanity while trying to puzzle together your family, don’t go trying to figure out anything about Henry.”
I whip around, all of my senses suddenly coming back as I pull out of my own head.
A woman walks toward me, calm, collected. She doesn’t seem scared that I’ve lowered slightly into a crouch, or that my eyes have ignited brilliant red.
Despite the fact that she is so, so human.
She’s medium height, her figure slight. Her hair is blonde. Her features are soft, open. Kind.
I’d describe her as delicate, like a flower.
But there’s a certain confidence to her walk. Like she belongs in this world, and knows how to handle herself.
She walks up, and I search her face for familiarities, for clues as to who she is.
She looks to be in her mid-thirties I’d guess.
She’s beautiful, but unassuming.
“I didn’t know him well, but sometimes reputations and legends are pretty accurate.”
“What?” I ask, startling as she speaks again.
She bears a Southern accent. And it’s kind of adorable on her.
“Henry,” she says with a little smiling, nodding her chin toward his tomb.
“Oh,” I try to recover, looking back at it awkwardly. “Surprisingly, I haven’t heard that much about him. Other than I think I heard Cyrus call him an enemy once.”
“Most people only ever see one side of Cyrus,” she says calmly. “He’s not nearly as unreasonable as some people see him as.”
My eyes narrow at this woman and her words, and words spoken over a month ago start rolling through my brain. I try to reclaim them, and the exactness they were spoken in.
“You’re Elle Ward, aren’t you?” I finally find them.
She offers another small, controlled smile. “Dawes, actually. Have been for the last ten years now.”
I nod as the conversation comes back to me. Something about a husband, and…children.
“Aster Dawes,” I say, piecing it all together. “Cyrus mentioned a ten-year-old who would be a House leader when she is old enough. And she has a younger brother.”
Elle smiles, and I see the pride of a mother in her eyes. She nods. “George. And they have a little sister too, Penny. Aster is here, but the younger two are back home in Boston with their dad.”
I didn’t realize it was happening. But as she speaks, about something sort of normal—family, I begin to relax just a bit. The tightness in my shoulders calms just a little.
“What’s your husband’s name?” I ask. “Cyrus couldn’t remember.”
She smiles, and I swear there’s a faint blush that creeps into her cheeks. “Lexington.”
I smile, holding in a small, entertained huff at such a strange name.