The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #1)(95)

“And how were you sure it was Janelle?”

“I could scent her soap on his nightclothes, his hair, his skin. The doggen was too discreet to mention any of that. Too discreet to mention the broken neck, too.” Her grandfather looked over, his eyes sharp. “Just so that we’re clear, I have no love for the glymera. They are a useless drain on species resources. Except I had to protect you and Posie. Janelle was fulminating in her madness, on the cusp, but not quite there. It was my only chance. I knew the aristocrats would not hesitate to seize the assets in the event it was murder, and that they would therefore act precipitously on my information. They did so. I lied to her to get her to go unto the Council. I told her she was due a proper inheritance from the old male she had killed. That the notice of allegation had been a mistake. She was less smart than she was aggressive. She believed me.”

He shook his head. “Or perhaps, as I had discounted her deviancy, she disregarded the risk to her freedom because I was her close relation. Or . . . maybe she was just overconfident. As with the posed body, which she assumed people would take at face value, she might well have thought she would be believed. I do not know. What I was sure about, however, was that I had to keep you and Posie safe. Once she had the taste of death, she was going to hunger for it, and she might well have started at home.”

Nyx ran her hands over the chipped and worn surface of the workstation, at which her grandfather had spent hours. “You did the right thing.”

“I couldn’t bear the risk that she’d hurt either of the two of you. You both are, and always have been, all I have left to live for.”

Shifting her eyes over to him, she tried not to look so shocked. “Do you really feel like that?”

Her grandfather puffed on that pipe. When his stare finally met her own, there were unshed tears in his eyes. “I have always felt this way. I lost my daughter. My shellan. My parents. The friends I had, the cousins I used to know. My life has long been winding down, and there has been much mourning for me. You and Posie? You have brought me such joy. Posie with her warmth, you with your brave nature. You two are everything that keeps me going.”

Her grandfather cleared his throat. “And I am so proud of you, Nyxanlis. For following your destiny. And I am proud of Posie for learning her own strength these last few nights. Both of you have changed, and now I can go in peace.”

“What?” Nyx gasped. “Are you ill—”

“No, no.” He motioned with his hand dismissively, as if he were wiping away the words. “I am fine. But when it is my time to go unto the Fade, I now know you and Posie can take care of yourselves. You will be fine without me, and that gives me great relief.”

Nyx choked up. “Oh, grandfather.”

When he opened his arms, she rushed across and threw herself against him. As he hugged her close, she grabbed on hard.

“I love you, grandpapa,” she said hoarsely.

“And I, you, my Nyx. You have made me so proud. Always.”

They stayed as they were, and she breathed deep, smelling the scent of fresh pine shavings and the perfume of the varnish and the smoke from the pipe. She didn’t want to cry, and she didn’t.

She was afraid once she opened the floodgates, there would be no stemming the course of the emotional release. And they had work to do.

Nyx was the one who stepped back, though she had waited her entire life for just this moment. In response, her grandfather nodded once, and she knew that he was going to put his emotions in the vault again and lock it all down tight. But she understood now why someone would do that. And just because you couldn’t see something did not mean it didn’t exist.

It was like the stars behind a cloud cover.

Like Jack beneath the earth.

“I’m ready,” she said.

Her grandfather nodded and motioned her toward a table in the far corner. The surface was covered by a coarse Army blanket, and what was beneath the heavy weight of that felt made things bumpy.

“I have what we need.” Drawing the blanket back, he revealed seven handguns, two rifles, a broadsword, five holsters of clips, and—

“Are those hand grenades?” Nyx asked as she breathed in and smelled gun oil.

“Pull the pin and you have fifteen seconds to throw and run.”

“Good.”

As he put down the gray cloth bundle that he’d kept under his arm, and began to gather weapons himself, she picked up a nine millimeter, checked that there were bullets in the clip and the safety was on, and tucked the gun into the back of her jeans.

“Here, put this on.” Her grandfather held forward an empty holster. “And pull out your shirt to hide it all.”

She did as he suggested while he cross-chested a setup that included two of the three projectiles, two of the handguns, and most of the ammunition.

“Are you leaving that sword?” she asked as she picked up one of the rifles.

Her grandfather stared at the weapon with a sad longing that was more properly reserved for leaving a cherished pet home alone for five weeks.

“Yes,” he said. “But I think the grenades are going to be fun.”

“Fun?” Nyx had to smile. “I thought you were a craftsman.”

“I am.” He picked up the cloth bundle again and put it back under his arm. “But I’ve been other things, too.”