Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(81)
Her words tear open my invisible wounds, but I don’t rise to her drunken logic. Instead, I ask, “Who are your monsters, Mother?”
She smiles sadistically. “Oh, you’ll find out,” she rages. “You’ll all find out! And stop calling me ‘Mother.’ I never wanted you! I demanded artificial insemination so that I wouldn’t have to touch your father again. Did you know that? Did you know that every moment that you grew inside of me was torture? Every time I look at you, all I see is Kennet. I couldn’t wait for you to Transition so I could get rid of your pathetic face. You look just like him. An evil little spawn. I had fun planning your death. The Fusion Snuff Pulse was supposed to be the perfect cover, but I was betrayed. Dune protected you. He joined The Virtue and let you live. He’s a coward, your mentor. But now, killing you seems too kind, Roselle. No, I should keep you alive long enough for you to understand what it’s like to be married to someone you despise. Maybe I’ll have you give me an heir to raise before I cut your heart out. How does that sound?” She cackles with glee. “I have just the man in mind. I think he’d be up to the challenge, too.”
My stomach roils. I fear she means Agent Crow. “I’m sorry that you were hurt, Othala,” I reply, “but I think you know me well enough by now to see that I have no intention of ending up like you.”
“How dare you pity me, Roselle! You think you’re better than me? I’ll make sure you know what a disgusting little insect you are.”
I bury any outward sign that I’m affected by her drunken raving. Inside, though, I grieve for her and loathe her at the same time.
Othala looks back to The Virtue. “Send Roselle to me, or pay the price.” Her holographic image winks out.
The Virtue wears a stunned expression. He expected my mother to cower on her knees, begging him to spare her life. The fact that she didn’t confirms that she’s in a much stronger position than anyone imagined.
The Virtue calls for his advisory council, including Dune, Walther, Clifton, and Grisholm, along with Grisholm’s closest advisors, which includes Reykin. Most of The Virtue’s inner circle now are either Gates of Dawn or Rose Gardeners, or they’re simply the inept, privileged offspring of other members of the aristocracy. The Virtue is surrounded by his enemies, and he doesn’t even know it. I almost pity him.
As the advisors assemble, Grisholm enters with Reykin. The Virtue-Fated firstborn shows no outward sign of grief over the passing of his sister. I wonder whether he will blame me, too, or has Reykin explained what happened? I’m about to ask him when I hear a deep voice say my name from the doorway.
My heart flutters as my eyes meet Hawthorne’s. Dressed in an Exo military uniform, he’s a striking figure. I bite the inside of my cheek.
Striding directly to me, Hawthorne offers a military salute. “Firstborn Sword,” he greets me, using my new title, “as your acting first lieutenant, may I offer you my condolences for the loss of your brother?”
His formality reminds me not to show weakness. “Thank you,” I murmur, feeling my cheeks heat.
He kneels on one leg, bowing his head. “I’m here to pledge my loyalty to you as your acting right hand.” When he looks up, I nod in acknowledgment. Hawthorne rises, towering over me. “It’s essential that we discuss nominations and appointments to your Heritage Council. Do you have a private space available for this discussion?”
Reykin pushes his way between Hawthorne and me. “No one trusts soldiers from the Fate of Swords,” he says. “Especially those in the aristocracy. How can anyone be sure that your loyalties don’t lie with Othala St. Sismode?”
Both Hawthorne and I are startled by Reykin’s insinuation. “As acting first lieutenant,” Hawthorne barks in a clearly military tone, “I’m here to swear my allegiance to Roselle St. Sismode, the Firstborn Sword.” His agitation is palpable. “My loyalty is to her, first and foremost. It’s my duty to enact the protocols between the Heritage Council and the heir to the Clarity of the Fate of Swords. You will not interfere with that duty, Star, or you will be subject to our laws.”
Reykin isn’t intimidated. He goes nose to nose with Hawthorne. “She doesn’t go anywhere alone with Sword-Fates.”
“She is a Sword-Fate,” Hawthorne counters, “and she has a duty to uphold.”
“I can speak for myself,” I interrupt. “Thank you, Firstborn Winterstrom, for your concern. I’ll discuss my future council with Acting First Lieutenant Trugrave. Alone.”
I pull Reykin aside for a private word. “Reykin, you know I’m capable of handling myself with Hawthorne.”
“Never forget that he has had divided loyalties in the past,” he insists.
I want to dismiss what he’s saying, but it’s true. “I’ll keep it in mind.” To diffuse his anger, I place my hand on his heart. His rough fingers cover mine. It does something to me. My belly flutters. Surprised by my response to his touch, I pull my hand away and drop my eyes. “Thank you for your advice,” I manage.
I request a private room to meet with Hawthorne. A firstborn Exo shows us to a lounging room filled with soft, fat chairs. Coverage of the Secondborn Trials training camps plays on every screen in the room. It makes me want to scream and throw things at the walls, but I keep my frustration locked down. Hawthorne already thinks I’m a Fate traitor. I don’t want him to think I’m a raving lunatic as well.