He pressed his lips together. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
How was she supposed to know that? She’d hated him for so long it had become second nature, but even then, even when he’d proved Celestine true by stabbing her in the back, a part of Sera had longed for her papa. The man she had worshipped. Now, the chance to repair their broken relationship had landed by her feet. All she had to do was grasp it, but she didn’t know how.
She couldn’t think straight, not with a whirlpool of emotion splashing about her. How long until it pulled her under? How long until Aelland suffered because of this?
Aelland was suffering already.
Aelland would suffer tenfold, come tomorrow.
She threw her hands wide. “I don’t even know how to talk to you. One moment I want my papa, the next I want to punch you in the face.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve already said that.” She stood and stomped past him.
His hands clasped around her arms. “Seraphine, stop.” He rested his forehead on her crown. “I hate that this is happening to you. I’m here if you need—”
She spun and buried her face in his chest. He smelled like childhood dreams, like family, like home. His arms locked around her, and for once she was safe.
He caressed the back of her head. “Let it out, my love. Let it all go.”
“Papa—” She sobbed.
He rocked from side to side and sang to her. The princess and her cat had always been her favourite song as a child—the reason for Kida’s name.
The thought of Kida brought a new wave of tears. “My cat no longer comes home.”
“She’s fine,” Laroche said. “She sleeps here.”
Sera frowned up at him. “She does?”
“Well, she still comes for her late-night cookie, then she stays. She sleeps in my arm.”
“What do you mean she still comes for a cookie?”
He flashed a smile. “She’s been coming to me at night for years, Seraphine. We share a cookie on the chaise, I scratch her belly, then she goes home to you. Except for the last few nights, as I said.”
She gaped.
“You really didn’t know.”
The image of Laroche and Kida snuggled close, eating a cookie was almost too much. Did they plot murder together? Did he confess his sins to Kida? He’d always been soft, even when Sera hadn’t realised. “Well. Ah, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And, just so you know, you can punch me in the face at any time. Or talk. We can learn how to do that together.”
Sera pulled away. “You want me to come here?”
His eyebrows drew together. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” He tilted his head. “Seraphine, tell me what you’re not saying. We can only go forward if we communicate.”
Did she dare tell him her greatest concern? The most irrational worry of all? She shook her head.
He took her face in his hands and wiped away her tears. “Then I’ll talk. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, call you whatever you want me to call you. I’ll kill if you want me to kill, or hold you if you want me to hold you. Any time of the day or night. I still advise most strongly that we leave—right now, in fact—but if you decide to stay, I’ll ride this sinking ship into the abyss with you. Partially. Before it all goes to hell, I promise you, I will take you away from here, kicking and screaming.”
“Because I’m your mission.”
He smiled. “Because you’re my daughter, and I love you.”
“After everything?”
“No matter what happened in the past, what happens now, what happens in the future—you are my daughter, and I love you.”
“Even now that you know?”
“Know what, my girl?” He hesitated, then sighed. “About her? Your sister. You’re concerned I’d abandon you, because she is my blood.”
Sera swallowed, then nodded.
He lowered his head, so their faces were level. “My heart has room for two. Blood or not, Seraphine Laroche, you are my daughter. Nothing could ever change the fact.”
“Swear it.”
That sly twinkle she’d adored entered his eyes. “I’d swear it on my life, but my life is worthless.”
Her breath hitched. “Then swear it on hers.”
“You are mine, little flame. Forever. I swear it on my life, on hers, on all of them.”
Sera smiled. “I still want to punch you.”
“Do it.”
They sat together on the chaise, close but not touching.
“May I ask one thing about your sister?” He glanced at her sidelong.
She sniffed. “Anything. You’re still going to love me after.”
“I am.” He took her hand and squeezed. “Is she safe?”
Safe. Of all the things he could have asked, it would be the one thing that could still rip their family apart. Could she tell him how she doubted Frank?
But they could only go forward if they communicated, as he’d said earlier. “When Cara learned from Intelligence that Frank might be alive, she wanted to find him. She’s always worshipped him. Then, when the riot broke out, she was in the slums with Pointy, who convinced her to leave Aelland. So, they’ve gone to Mordoux to find Frank, and are planning to ask him to help us.”
“All right.”
“Is she safe? I mean, she could be? Who knows if there’s still war out there? Maybe Pointy took her someplace he knows they’ll be all right. An Intelligence base or an old Du Pont duchy. Knowing him, that’s exactly what he would do—seek out his family. If that’s what they end up doing, sure, she’s safe.”
“But?”
Sera shivered. “But maybe they found Frank.” She pulled away her hand and held herself, half-recoiling. “And that’s the problem. I have this feeling…I just don’t know if I trust him.”
Instead of the anger she’d feared in his eyes, Laroche nodded, and his mouth flattened into a grim line. “You’re afraid Frank has been left to Celestine’s ministrations for too long, and that his former temper has been moulded into something darker. You’re afraid he’s become like her. That he might manipulate your sister. Or worse.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly? That is a distinct possibility. Celestine was a specialist in the field of coercion. Back in her glory days, she was acclaimed for it. Brainwashing, they’d called it. There was a running joke that she could convince chickens they were fish, then have them drown themselves. And like it.”
Sera gaped. “You’re agreeing with me. About your only son, the golden boy of the family.”
“It pains me, but I’ve had the same concern for years.”
“So.” She swallowed. Communication. “Why didn’t you go after him? You knew Celestine had taken him. Why did you stay?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Because you’re my daughter, and I love you.” He raised both hands. “You have this idea that you’re my mission, and though that’s true, you’re also my child. I’d do anything for you.
“As for Frank, Intelligence says Celestine abducted him, but like you, he’s my child. I know him. He was twenty-six years old when she abducted him. Likely with the promise of power and riches beyond what he could gather in Aelland. He followed her out willingly—I don’t doubt that. Meanwhile, you were a girl of eighteen and scared half to death of your would-be husband, whom I wasn’t planning to allow within touching distance of you.” He made a strangling noise. “Not that my plan meant anything.
“Look, my girl. I hate admitting this, but Frank and I never truly bonded, not like I did with you. When he was small, I was focused on my missions, and was away constantly. He was his mother’s son. I was a stranger to Frank, no better than an uncle who called now and then. And when his mother died? Everything went to hell. He didn’t know me well enough to trust me with his heartache, but Celestine had always been there for him. Perhaps that’s exactly why she has so much sway with him—she was his mother’s replacement. The minute he walked out of Aelland with that witch, he was lost
to me. But you? I could save you.”
The concerns spinning in Sera’s head came to a jerking halt in a radius around a single thought. He’d chosen her over his own son. Chosen her. What a sacrifice for someone who wasn’t blood. But maybe blood really didn’t hold that much power over him. Maybe he’d been sincere when he’d said he had space in his heart for Cara and Sera both.
“I was never a good father,” he said. “I should’ve been there for Frank and shouldn’t have become the monster in your life. I hope one day you’ll believe how sorry I am. I hope we can one day be as a father and daughter should.”
He was trying to fix what he’d broken, unlike Victor, who only tried while it suited him. Laroche had sworn he loved her, that he’d always be her father. Maybe it was time Sera also admitted how she felt. She cupped his cheek in her palm, her stomach tumbling. “I love you, too, Papa.”
His eyes filled, and his voice cracked. “I don’t deserve it, but… Thank you.”
Chapter 16
Cara entered the tunnel for the sixth night and closed the painting behind her.
The first part of the way was easy. She took thirty steps to the front, seventy steps to the left, passed the first three tunnels that split to the left, then turned into the fourth. Fifty steps down that tunnel, then into the first right-splitting way. She was somewhere on the ground floor.
She now knew how to open four varieties of doors and had learned how to find and open listening holes. While there were no listening holes to her suite, someone who wanted to listen in could press their ear to the painting, as the wooden backing wasn’t thick enough to soundproof the room.
These ground-floor passages carried more traffic than those on the other floors. The low sounds of shoes on stone were more pronounced and were followed by fewer echoes. She’d almost been caught the day prior, when someone had come from ahead, and she’d had to duck into a side passage to escape them. The darkness had swallowed her, and the other person had passed without pause.
That nobody had found her was a blessing.
With her right hand on the wall and her left stretched out in front of her, Cara entered the first passage that split off from her current position. The map in her mind grew larger, and the space it filled overlapped and bled together with fatigue and too many unattended emotions.
During the day, she pretended to be comatose, but during the night, and any other opportunity without Malak in her face, Cara explored the tunnels. The same exhaustion that had settled in her bones in their time in the slums had once again come to visit. This time, however, she had to control those tics that might have comforted her before. No twiddling thumbs. No fidgeting. No stress cleaning.
Only study was left—if exploring the passages counted as study.
The path led to a dead end. She searched for listening holes and opened the first one she found. A sliver of light leaked in from the other side, but the room remained quiet. Some of the listening holes were disguised as fabric treated to look like cement between stones. Others opened behind tapestries or paintings. When this much light entered the passages, the cement-resembling fabric was usually in play.
Cara slid the cover to the opening back in place and had almost completely closed it when the door opened, and footsteps entered the room. She paused.
“I want this added to her food,” Frank said.
Cara’s heart turned to steam. Did they suspect her? Could they? She’d been so careful, but what if that hadn’t been enough?
“Three drops per meal,” Frank said. “And make sure you hide the taste. Salt should work.”
“Of course, majesty. Except she no longer eats in the castle,” a woman said. Probably a cook or serving staff, if Frank wanted her to do something to someone’s food. “She moved out.”
Cara’s muscles slackened. If this she didn’t eat in the castle, it was someone else. Which meant they were drugging another person without their knowledge. But who, and why? Besides Cara and this mystery woman, were there others?
“Which is why I brought this to you and not someone else.” Frank’s voice was low and gruff. “I don’t care what you have to do, but get it in her food. This is of the utmost importance. Do you understand?”
Oh, Frank. How far he had fallen. Her big brother had been destroyed and replaced with something sinister. Had he lost all his humanity?
“Of course, majesty,” the woman said.
A door opened and closed, and the serving woman remained behind, muttering to herself.
Cara shut the listening hole and went back up the passage. What could she do about this? She had no idea who they were drugging; she’d been stuck in that room for two weeks. What if this other woman was in danger? What if—
A shuffling sounded ahead in the passage. Cara gave a step back, but a hand clamped around her outstretched wrist. Caught.
Her breath raced and her knees threatened to collapse beneath her. Ashes, what now?
By the size of the hand and power in the grip, this was either a man or one of those massive Dvaran women, who’d have no knowledge of the passages. A man, then. Could he make out her features? The pitch-black swallowed him, so maybe she was lucky, and he couldn’t tell who she was.
“Identification,” the man whispered.
So, he couldn’t identify her. Good. A spark of hope flared in her mind. All had not been lost—not yet. Invisible, invisible, invisible.
“Who are you?” Not a whisper this time, and the question echoed in the dark. Every other person in these tunnels would have heard it by now.
But it wasn’t a problem, she had the map in her brain and could make it out of here. Breathe, Cara. Don’t panic.
Her stomach gave a little quiver. After the attack in the valley, Varda had yelled at her to fight back. This was the opportunity for her to do just that.
The man yanked her closer, and she used the motion to slam her shoulder into his gut, then guessed at where his groin would be and smashed her knee between his legs. By some grace, her estimation was right, and he released her as he doubled over with a grunt.
Cara ran. No matter the sound of her slapping heels, she just had to get away. But the dark constricted, and ashes, what happened if she ran out of map?
“Intruder!” His words wobbled with pain. “In the passages!”
Chaos erupted in the tunnels, and many other running feet created a symphony of echoes. With so many sounds and the commotion, maybe she should hide for a moment? Wait until the chaos died down. It wouldn’t do to be discovered again.
She sneaked into one of the dead ends on the way to her room and listened for passing bodies. The echoes effectively cut her off from another sense. Blind and deaf. Still, she couldn’t give up yet, and she closed her eyes to concentrate.
Someone entered the passage.
Cara crouched low, then crawled out on her hands and knees. The air stirred against her cheek as the searcher stepped past her but didn’t stop. Had she made it? She crawled until she reached the intersection that led to the first floor, then stood slowly.
A second hand grabbed at her, but she sidestepped and flew along the tunnel. Did she follow the way to her suite and risk giving away her identity, or spend more time in the tunnels in the hope that nobody would learn who she was? Either way, she risked discovery.
Once the passage split, Cara ducked into the tunnel leading deeper into the maze. A sickening crack echoed as her pursuer smashed full speed into a wall. She paused. The pursuer was silent. Unconscious? Dead? Salamander’s spit, not that. Either way, she couldn’t stop.
She kept going, trailing her hand on the wall. She dared not run in passages she hadn’t yet mapped.
Behind her, the sounds grew closer again, and she picked up speed, cautiously. Toe, heel, toe heel, toe-heel, toe-heel. The passage split off and she went left, only to enter a dead end. She patted around until she located a switch. A doorway, then. What choice did she have but to risk the room on the other side?
Blood whooshed in
her ears, and her fingers quivered as she slid open the door. The room was empty. She stepped inside then shut the door as fast as she dared. It wouldn’t do to slam it and create a booming in the passages.
A single bed stood against the wall, and an oak armoire on ball-and-claw feet took up all the space against the opposite wall. The back of the room opened to a closed door that likely led to a bathroom, next to a kitchenette with a brass kettle and a basin full of cooking utensils. Vegetable peels filled a plate by the basin. On the small stovetop sat a steaming pot of soup? Stew? The aroma was of cooking vegetables, either way, as though the peels hadn’t made that clear. A half-full teacup and an upside-down open novel waited on a round side table next to a worn-in viridian-upholstered chair.
Judging by the way things had been left, the inhabitant of this place had stepped out quickly, but was coming back any moment. Cara had to get out of there before they did. She turned to open the doorway, but the echoes in the passages grew so loud that it sounded as if—
Ashes, someone was coming.
Her heart expanded. Cara scrambled into the armoire, dove between the hanging clothes, and managed to shut the door just as the tell-tale click sounded from the hidden doorway.
The inside of the armoire smelled of snuff and sweat, pungent enough that Cara pinched her nostrils between her fingers and breathed through her mouth. A sliver of light shone on her from the outside; the door buckled in the centre and allowed her a view of the room. But ashes, if she could see out, the intruder could see in. She manoeuvred between the hard things underneath her—shoes?—without making a noise, but there was no room. Instead, she reached up for one of the garments hanging above and pulled a sleeve over her face.
Didn’t this bring back pleasant memories? Hidden in a cupboard while danger lurked just outside the door.
A strange noise entered the room with whomever had come from the passages. Steam? A scraping, like something being dragged or rolling over the stones. The click sounded again as the door to the passages closed.
“I hope he didn’t pass out in the bloody hall.”
A Trial of Sparks & Kindling (Fall of the Mantle Book 2) Page 13