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“Because obviously Hedeon’s parents don’t want to be known!” Ares cries, throwing up his hands in disgust. “Look, I’m sorry, Hedeon. I know you want to know where you came from, but you could really fuck up this woman’s life if she hasn’t told her parents or her husband . . . if it’s even her at all! You could accuse someone based off what, a guess? The fact that you both have blue eyes? A lot of people have blue eyes.”
Hedeon’s look of disappointment is heart-wrenching. At the same time, there’s truth in what Ares is saying—when you dig up a grave, you’re sure to find bones.
Cat is frowning, arms crossed over her chest. I’m not sure if she’s annoyed that Ares is poking holes in her theory, or if she doesn’t like him dissuading Hedeon.
Hedeon can’t stop staring at the photograph.
“How is she related to Ilsa Markov?” he asks Cat.
“Ilsa’s grandfather and Evalina’s father were brothers. And guess what Evalina’s father’s name was?” Cat says, throwing a triumphant glance at Ares.
“What?” Ares says dully.
“Hedeon Markov,” Cat replies, in the tone of a slamming book.
Ares shrugs like that doesn’t prove anything, but Hedeon and I both gape at Cat, suitably impressed.
Cat says, “I could see a girl, forced to give away her baby, wanting him to have a family name, since he wouldn’t have her surname.”
The silence in the annex is profound, all of us pondering if this could possibly be a coincidence.
At last, Ares says to Hedeon, “Well . . . what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know . . .” Hedeon replies.
He looks stunned, and almost dreamy.
“Just . . . be careful,” Ares says desperately. “Think about it first.”
Ares and I leave Cat and Hedeon in the annex.
As we walk north toward our respective dorms, Ares seems strained and distracted.
I can’t help but wonder why he’s so concerned about Evalina Markov.
“Don’t you think Hedeon has a right to contact his parents?” I ask Ares.
Ares turns on me, already agitated before the words have even left my mouth.
“Nix, you know what these old mafia families are like. Especially one or two generations back. This woman is married, with her own children. If Hedeon’s her son, he’d be the oldest of all of them. Do you know what a mess that makes?”
“The truth isn’t messy,” I tell him. “It’s just the truth.”
Ares shakes his head at me.
“The truth isalwaysmessy,” he says. “That’s why legends are lies. In real life, there’s no perfect narrative where the good guys and the bad guys all get what they deserve, and everything works out in the end . . .”
I can feel my face getting hot.
My father’s stories always have the ring of legend to them. A clean narrative arc, and a moral at the end . . . usually my father getting his just reward for being particularly brave or particularly cunning . . .
His stories mean everything to me. Especially the ones about my mother.
“Something can be true,anda good story!” I cry. “Maybe Hedeon’s mom would love for him to call her up, maybe she’s been waiting . . .”
“Waiting for what?” Ares shouts back at me. “If this woman gave her baby away, she knew where he was the whole time. If she wanted to contact him, she would have done it.”
We’re standing at the junction point where Ares is supposed to go east to the Octagon Tower, and me west to the Solar. Yet we’re standing here, both way too upset over something quite different than what we’re shouting into each other’s faces.
