Take the Key and Lock Her Up (Embassy Row #3)(78)

She’s ready to give mine.

“You’ve won,” I say. “You’re the princess and I’m here. I took your deal. In a few years, Amelia’s heirs will sit on the throne.”

“No!” Ann shouts. “If you had taken my deal, you wouldn’t be here, trying to find your mother’s precious proof! And now … well, Amelia’s heirs will sit on the throne someday. But not yours.”

“I don’t think Jamie’d be good at bearing children,” I say, even though it’s not funny. “He doesn’t have the hips for it.”

“Oh, Gracie. Did you think you’re the only female descendant? I’ll find the next one in line. And then … You did this to yourself, Grace. I wanted it to work! But no. You had to dig and dig. You’re just like your mother. Neither one of you could ever leave well enough alone.”

“It’s not going to be easy to find another girl desperate enough to go along with your scheme, you know. Or do you already have someone in mind?”

I don’t really care about the answer. I just have to keep her talking.

Dominic will be here soon.

Dominic will find me.

Dominic will save me because he couldn’t save my mother and the Scarred Man isn’t the type to fail twice.

But then sparks fly from the torch in her hand, igniting a trickle of lamp fuel that trails across the floor. Flames flare to life and smoke fills the room, and I’m no longer in a palace. I’m on a deserted street.

I’m listening to my mother yell, “Grace, no!”

The fire pops and cracks as the old, dry wood of the shelves catches and flares to life. And a part of me knows that this is what I want, isn’t it? For the proof to disappear? For there to never be anything that ties any member of my family to this place ever again?

It would save Jamie.

It would save his children and grandchildren and …

But the palace is hundreds of years old, ancient and weathered, and it has natural gas running through almost every room.

Maybe the fire wouldn’t spread and grow and consume all it touches.

But maybe not.

The fire hasn’t reached the bodies, and so far it’s still contained. It’s not too late. Yet.

“Ann, stop!” I shout. “Listen.”

“I am through listening to you, Grace Blakely.”

“Lighting a fire here is suicide.”

Behind me, I can hear shelves spark and crack. Cases of wine crash and shatter on the stone floor, and the smell of the lamp oil fills my lungs. It’s seeped into the cloth around the bodies and the wood of the old trap door. It’s covering my hands and pooling at my feet.

“The heir has to return,” Ann says. She sounds like Karina. Like me.

Then there are noises on the stairs—footsteps and running and—

I know the moment when Ann hears him. She jerks her head toward the stairs, and for the second time in my life, I see the Scarred Man through the smoke. He’s strong and fast, and I’m not the only one determined to change how the story ends this time.

But he doesn’t know that Ann’s down here. He probably can’t see her or the gun, and this my chance, so I leap up and rush toward her.

Ann’s hand is outstretched. There’s a scream—a cry full of terror, and I realize too late it’s coming from me.

“No!” I yell, and throw myself across the room, but it’s too late, and Ann’s firing. Bullets slam into Dominic’s chest, and he drops to the ground.

His gun crashes, then slides across the floor, and the truth hits me: It’s far too late for anyone to save me.

The lamps are sparking, and I know the moment the second pool of oil on the floor catches. There’s a great whoosh as the fire grows and spreads.

The smoke is rising, filling the room, and I know I could turn and run for the stairs. I could make it to fresh air and freedom.

I could save myself. But some things aren’t worth saving.

I’ve spent months chasing freedom, and now it lies before me, just a few feet away, cold and dormant on the floor.

What I want is to be free of this place and this world and this curse that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

What I need is revenge.

Before me stands the woman who ordered my mother’s death, who chased my brother and bargained with my future.

I reach for the gun.

I see the Scarred Man through the smoke, rising from the ashes. And I hear my name.

“Grace, no!”

It’s my mother’s voice, and I know what this is: my chance to do it differently.

To go back and let it burn.

Ann is walking to the grave. There’s a torch in her hand, and even through the smoke I know it’s almost over. She just has to drop that torch into the pool of oil that surrounds the bodies, and the DNA will be gone. The proof. The lifelong mission that doomed my mother.

But my mother’s not dead because of those bodies. She’s dead because of the woman who stands over them, and so I close my eyes for a moment. I try to block out the smell of smoke and the color of fire and the voice that keeps shouting, “Grace, stop! Grace, no!”

I squeeze my eyes closed and I hear the shot. I smell the smoke, and I know that I can’t end it. That it’s too late and I’m too lost. I’ve done it. I know. I’m in a room with a two-hundred-year-old secret, letting history repeat itself.