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"Why my illustrious father, Anders Drake."
I’m not surprised, yet completely taken aback. The Drake name pings a dormant memory within that won’t fully form. The fact Aelia still has to work with her father after he handed her over to the Guild sends white-hot rage coursing through me. It’s bad enough she was sold. Then to continue to see the man who didn’t care whether she lived or died? To have that man be her father is despicable. I mentally add his name to the list of people I plan on killing before this whole thing is over.
I won’t make Aelia any promises. She’s barely starting to trust me and I’m not willing to jeopardize that tentative bond between us. Perhaps later I can give her the opportunity to do it herself. It’s the only solace I have for now.
Twelve
Aelia
Dante doesn't understand. I can tell he's not putting two and two together. He probably thinks I'm lying. As soon as I mentioned my father's name, his entire demeanor changed. Combine that with his statement about Merrick and I'm not entirely sure he's been truthful with me. In fact, I know he hasn't. I don't expect him to be. He doesn't know if I'm a spy or not, playing the part of a damsel in distress just waiting for a white knight to come and save her.
I take a deep breath, hoping to at least explain who my father is. "He's the one who—"
"I know who he is. Just...stop talking."
He paces away, running his fingers through his hair. I shuffle back another step as the cool spring air wraps around me, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Rubbing my palms up and down my arms, I suck in a deep breath, steeling myself to walk away from him. A couple weeks isn't enough to get attached to someone. That'd be ridiculous. So why does it feel like I'm leaving the last of my hope splattered across the stone at his feet?
Just as I turn to flee, his feet scuffle against the ground, then his fingers tangle with mine. I freeze, staring at the door. Even though half of me is screaming at me to pull away—run as fast as I can—the other half wants to hear his explanation. I want him to talk me out of running.
"He sold you."
It's a statement, not a question, but I answer him anyway. "I was almost nineteen."
"How did you..."
He doesn't finish, probably wondering what the hell to even ask. I've never had this conversation with anyone. No one cared enough to ask or they already knew. I tug, slowly spinning around to face him, wrapping my arms around my middle. The devastation on his face is almost too much to bear. He's going to have to wipe away his emotions if he wants the story. Maybe I shouldn't even tell him.
"What dealings do you have with Judge Merrick?"
He scowls, gripping the back of his neck. "Dealings was the wrong word. I just know who he is. I've dealt with his fucked up way of doing things in the courtroom."
"And Anders?" I hold my breath, hoping he's never heard of my father.
He stomps away, then back toward me. I don't know what's going through his head, but his erratic behavior puts me on edge. I set my hand on the handle behind me, keeping my gaze fixed on him. Do I think he's going to attack me? No. But I'm also not sure what he's going to tell me, and I'd rather have an exit.
"Listen, this is a bigger conversation than we have time for. Jenkins told me you had some tasks you had to take care of tonight."
I rear back, smacking my head on the metal. Rubbing the bump already forming, I wince. Dante's fingers slide into my hair, his face inches from mine. My body tenses when he brushes the wound and his touch becomes a whisper. His other hand skims from my shoulder to my neck before cupping my cheek.
"You okay?" he whispers.
"I'm fine. I just forgot." My eyes fall closed, and I lean into his palm as his heat wraps around me.
"Forgot what?"
"When I'm with you, I forget everything else. Even when we're talking about them, I feel like I'm not—"
I swallow hard, wondering if I should take the leap. Voicing my inner thoughts isn't something I'm used to. When my father brought me to the Guild, I screamed until I was hoarse. I ran multiple times, never fully succeeding in my escape attempts. I spent the better part of a year fighting tooth and nail to break free.
It wasn't until he told me my brother was dead that I stopped fighting. What was the point of running when I no longer had someone to run to? My brother was the only reason I had any hope, and it died with him.
"Not alone," he finishes, resting his forehead against mine.
"I have to go dance."
I try to force my body to move, but there's nowhere to go. He's so close, blocking out everything else. Giving in to whatever I'm feeling will only end in heartbreak. He doesn't understand who I am, who I've tried to hide from this twisted world.
Even if he succeeds and we both make it out alive, I'm too broken. I've tried to deny it, ignore every sign that points to my fractured reality, but after a decade of holding the shadows at bay, I'm tired.
