“We. We did it.”
The Bandits commenced celebrating loudly over the comms as the authorities began systematically processing, recording, moving elements, and shooting us incomprehensible looks.
I saw Julian Dare enter, his eyes glittering with, I didn't know what, as he looked around. He looked at Axer and tilted his head. Axer tilted his head back, then nodded to an area of the Basement that Julian immediately headed for. I wondered why he wasn't going with his uncle, but then saw the conversation he was eavesdropping on.
Stuart and Constantine were having a low, tense argument in one corner while Axer remained near—alert to everything that was happening with the Leandreds and with me. Guard Rock jogged over to stand on Axer's boot, obviously deeming it the best guard spot.
Axer flicked a finger at me and suddenly I could feel the boys' connection and hear the conversation between Constantine and his father as if they were standing next to us.
“This will go a long way to rehabilitating your name, Constantine. But Stavros will blame this facility on Mussolgranz—magic knows how he survived and has stayed hidden—working in secret.”
“Stavros won't be able to hold that argument for long.”
“He doesn't need long. He has the Crelussa containers. He is hiding them legally, and it will take days—maybe weeks—to retrieve them,” Stuart said grimly.
“Then you have plenty to work on. As do I,” Constantine said. “I'm not coming with you.”
“At the very minimum then, it shouldn't be hard for you to leave Alexand... You forgave him,” Stuart said in a nearly disbelieving tone, looking at something on Constantine, some tie or magic that was visible to him.
“That is none of your business,” Constantine said coldly.
I could see the anguish in Stuart Leandred's eyes. The desperation to be forgiven as well. To have his son back. But how did you forgive the unforgivable? What was involved in mending a relationship that was irreparably broken?
The despair on Stuart's face made me look away, unwilling to witness it.
“You... If you stay with them, you'll be dragged down with them,” Stuart said. “You will be destroyed.”
“Then there will be a lot more goodwill for you to do around the layer,” Constantine said, unfazed. “Sad and tragically. All will benefit from your benevolence and sorrow once more.”
I remembered what Constantine had told me about his parents. That Sashia had made Stuart want to be a better person—that he had changed from a greedy industrialist into a philanthropist. That change of heart had tripled again in the wake of her death, his psychotic break, and the destruction of his son. Like fixing the world might give him the clemency that he sought—trying to gain through the world what his son would never allow.
“You know that is not what I want,” Stuart said tightly. “I did all I could for you. After... After I destroyed the son I had.” He closed his eyes. “I will never be able to take back my actions or grief, and I deserve all the hate you give. But I will to protect you now as I have tried to in the past six years, as I should have always protected you.”
“You loved mother more than you loved me.” Constantine said it distantly. “I always knew that.”
Stuart looked down at his hands. “I've only ever been capable of loving one thing. Power, greed, your mother, then you. All consuming. And the emotion consumes me before the next target takes hold. It was only after—” He broke off; looked at the ground. “After my grievous actions that I took the steps to become other.”
“You are saying that there's hope for me. That I might love more than one thing?”
“You already do,” Stuart said with an edge of wistfulness as he looked at the connections streaming around Constantine. “You already broke the first part of the cycle. You are in charge of your choices. As I am—now after so much work.” He shifted. “Leandreds are masters of all minds but their own, until they choose, or are forced to a choice. You have shifted naturally. It took me the aid of mind healers to do so.”
I stared at him and a lot of loose pieces abruptly made sense. How Stuart Leandred had gone from what was essentially a crime boss, or the nearest thing to it twenty years ago, to a powerful benevolent statesman who the people loved. Like Olivia had said, Constantine wasn't a sudden, rare mage. He had inherited Mind Magic abilities from his father—who could craft himself into whatever he wanted people to see.
If Stuart's focus had shifted completely to Constantine's mother and all her causes—she had been extremely beloved in high society, philanthropic circles—then he would have crafted himself into all that she desired.
And when she died... When someone died and they were all that you placed your emotional stability on...
Christian's death was still devastating, when I allowed myself to dwell on it. But though I'd put most of my energy into my brother's basket growing up, I'd always made it a point to know myself. To be in tune with inner Ren. And I'd had my parents, even though I'd felt isolated right after Christian's death—we were a tight knit family who just needed time.
“I remember well your abrupt switch from torturer to loving caregiver,” Constantine bit out. “I would have rather you stayed consistent.”
“Would you?”
“I do not forgive you.”
“No.” Stuart leaned tiredly on a decorative cane. “I seek no forgiveness from you. Only the chance to improve your lot.”
“Buying favors, losing negative transcripts, and keeping me from expulsion. Yes.”
“It was the only thing I could do. Now, I can do more.”
“For a time, I had hoped I might find the end of your wire. Then it became more of a chore,” Constantine said jadedly.
“Would that you had been less aware, perhaps.” His eyes shifted to me. “Or maybe, it is just a good thing that events fell as they did.”
Constantine smiled sharply. “So glad an Origin Mage fell from the sky?”
“No.” He looked at me. “Just that she did.”
The charged silence that followed made me itch at the elbow.
Constantine's lips firmed and a Molotov cocktail of emotions swirled within him.
“I've hated you for so long...”
Axer stepped toward him, but Constantine held out a hand to him without looking.
“Anger is what I lived on,” Constantine said. “Anger and bitterness. It's in my blood, I suppose.” His mouth crooked unpleasantly. “But so is intelligence. Why haven't you already gotten rid of Stavros?”