The Book Eaters(76)
The child would have missed all its developmental milestones, by not showing emotion or personality or making attempts to communicate. All the things Devon had taken such joy in with her own children would never belong to that woman. Ten minutes to ruin a whole chain of lives.
Cai had never called her “Mum” again, not since that day, and Devon hadn’t pushed the issue. She understood perfectly. Biologically she was his parent and always would be, but emotionally they had become something closer to partners in crime; mutual abusers locked in codependency.
Either way, mother felt like a title she no longer deserved to hear from anyone.
“This was our doing, these events. We were the catalysts,” Hester said finally. “Our decision to leave must have shuttered the knights. Triggered the killings of any living dragon children.”
“I am not responsible for the actions of others,” Killock said frostily, running a thumb along the line of his jaw. “I’m not really sure what you’d have had me do, Hes.”
“Given the other Families the secret of making Redemption, like you promised, for a start. Maybe—”
Killock cleared his throat. His sister flushed and made a show of straightening her blouse. Devon listened to them with faint astonishment. Had the freeing of other mind eaters been the original goal behind Killock’s coup? And if so, why hadn’t he done as he’d promised? Something had gone wrong there.
“According to what you’ve told us, you and your son spent what, two years on the run?” Mani said, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “Do the Families care so much for a woman with no fertility, and a child who they cannot feed?”
“Good question.” Killock angled himself away from his sister.
“The Families care nothing for me, and the knights at present are mostly defunct.” She was acutely aware of walking a knife edge. Too much of the wrong emphasis, and she’d arouse their suspicion—their well-founded fear that, in fact, the knights were seeking the Ravenscars. “The ones who hunt me do so because it’s personal. One of the knights is a brother of mine.”
“Your brother is a knight?” Hester put her sketch pad on the table and leaned forward in her chair. “The men in the station—”
“You didn’t kill him,” Devon said, and couldn’t help but sound rueful. “More’s the pity. He is high up in what remains of the knights. They’re acting alone, without the Families’ support.”
“And the two years?” Killock prompted. “That is a long time in the wilderness, so to speak. Why wait so long to seek us out?”
“I didn’t wait, it just took me a long time to actually figure out what had happened to the Ravenscars. You’re not easy to track down! Even the Families couldn’t find you. And I wasn’t exactly well educated on inter-manor politics.”
“A minefield, that,” Mani murmured, pen still scratching.
“Living hard, learning to kill for your son, frantically hunting down any sign of our chemical suppliers, all while running from an old enemy.” Killock traced an idle pattern on the arm of his chair, his nail catching on loose threads. “That is a lot to endure, Devon of Fairweather Manor. Someone else might well have abandoned their child and taken the chance to seize their own freedom.”
“I don’t need freedom for myself. Only for Cai.” She hadn’t forgotten Salem, but this wasn’t the time or place to discuss her daughter. “If I can make his life better, then I’ll be happy.”
“Optimistic, though I can’t fault you that.” He leaned back in the chair, which creaked with strain. “Anything else you wish to share of your adventures, Devon? That is an invitation, to be clear, and not a demand.”
Anything else? Well. She could tell them about the relief that alcohol brought as the months had dragged on; about the guilt-ridden dreams, and the compass with Salem’s picture that weighed heavier than chains. About all those nights standing over her son’s sleeping form as she thought about smothering him, then stopping herself. About the discarded victims she’d carried, one by one by one to a slew of homeless shelters over the months.
But if Devon talked about any of that, then she’d have to talk about how you really could get used to anything, with enough time and motivation; how her crimes swiftly dwindled from horrific and extraordinary to a facet of her everyday reality.
She had worked out at some point that this was how the Easterbrooks conducted their trafficking without breaking a sweat; how the patriarchs overlooked the suffering and servitude of the mother-brides they destroyed; how humans could continue to exist in an infrastructure of misery. Trauma became routine, and cruelty mundane. Just life, innit.
Likewise, her obscenely selfish love had become a guiding light. She no longer cared for anyone but her kids, and Jarrow. Herself she had concern for, but only as a means of helping Cai. For love, she would wield Ramsey Knight like a weapon to cut herself free from the Families and not look back. As long as it preserved her son.
None of that was anything Killock needed to know, however.
“Only one thing to add,” Devon said, because she didn’t want to leave the silence hanging. “We share the same sin and the same anger. I would bet my left arm that you will never, in your lifetime, meet anyone else who understands what you’ve been through as well as Cai and I will understand. We may not be born under the same roof, but we are family of a kind. Don’t you think?”