She nodded slowly, fingers running along the seam of the linen sheet. “Crowther talked so much about the long term and making sure you didn’t lose interest, and how I had to keep it secret, that no one could know. I thought they trusted me.” She was quiet for a moment. “Ilva told me just before the solstice. You probably realised.”
She took his silence for confirmation.
There was a pause as she remembered something. “Kaine, I don’t think your father’s dead.”
Kaine looked at her sharply. “What?”
“When we rescued Luc, there was a lich. He told Sebastian that he was Atreus. He was guarding the door to the room Luc was in.”
“No,” Kaine said, his voice shaking. “No. He died. If he were still alive, he would have come back. For my mother.”
His pupils had shrunken into sharp points of black, the denial stark.
“He was a lich,” she said as gently as she could. “Would he have wanted her to see him like that?”
He started to speak several times as if to protest but then stopped. “What happened?”
“Soren and Sebastian killed him. He was between us and Luc. We didn’t have time to find the talisman, though. You didn’t know he was Undying?”
He shook his head. “I thought he was arrested before all that began.” He drew a scoffing breath, his expression growing bitter. “So in the end, he didn’t even manage to die for her.”
“Your mother?”
He nodded slowly. “It was all because of her. I know what people said about them, about why he married her, but he—adored her. She was life itself to him. When I was born and she was sick, he grew obsessed with keeping her well, not allowing visitors or any potential disease near her. Morrough claimed he could cure her, that she’d live forever.”
“He must not know what happened after he was arrested,” Helena said.
There was a strained look in Kaine’s eyes. “Likely not.”
“If he knew, do you think—?”
Kaine shook his head. “I’m sure he’d blame me. He always did.” There was a pause, and he looked over at her. “Speaking of dying, or rather, not dying … would you mind telling me why I haven’t?”
Helena suddenly found the thread count of the sheets fascinating.
“It was a failed experiment. Bennet spent weeks trying to heal it, and everything he did made it worse. When it was finally deemed a failure, he tried to scrap my body, but the array was pulling so much energy from the talisman, he couldn’t touch it. He assumed that eventually the energy would run out, or my body would incinerate around it, so they sent me home, because they didn’t want the potential fallout to contaminate the new lab.
“Since my miraculous recovery, Bennet’s tried to repeat the experiment. Every subject has died, slowly and terribly, and Bennet cannot find any explanation for why I alone survived. You are the only person who has never questioned my survival, and I would like to know why.”
There was a long pause. Helena cleared her throat. “I had this amulet of the Holdfasts’. A holy relic, you could say. Ilva gave it to me when I became a healer, and it helped.”
“Helped?” The scepticism in his voice was heavy.
“I could—work longer.” She avoided his eyes. “I didn’t get tired or—burn out when I had it. When you were injured, you’d deteriorated so much that the array was using more energy and resources than you had. I thought since it had helped me maybe it would work for you, too, give you enough strength to recover.”
His eyebrows rose. “What kind of relic would have the power to do that?”
She coughed. She should probably lie, given that telling the truth was possibly treason.
But she couldn’t think of a lie to tell. She’d already committed treason anyway.
“The Stone of the Heavens,” she said. “I didn’t know that’s what it was, and it’s not—really what the stories said. It was something made by the Necromancer, but Orion ended up with it, and people just assumed it was heaven-sent.”
“And they gave it to you?” Kaine’s eyes were narrowed.
“Apparently, it—chose me. It doesn’t work for most people.”
Kaine had his hands on his hips. “And that’s how you healed me?”
She gave a tight nod. “That’s how I healed you.”
He was silent for a long time. She couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t tell if he believed her.
“Where is it now?”
“Gone,” she said, averting her eyes. “It’s gone now.”
He sighed. “Well, I suppose it makes sense they wouldn’t let you keep it, if I’m what you used it on.”
She forced a self-deprecating smile. It was probably best he thought that. “Ilva wasn’t pleased.”
“I imagine not. Were there any other repercussions?”
“Well, I was supposed t—” She swallowed. “—to kill you, but I got out of that. So I guess it all worked out in the end.”
She managed another smile, but he did not return it.
His expression had gone cold and empty. “This is your idea of things working out?”
Her face fell, and just as suddenly it was all back: the reality of all that existed between them. That he would have preferred it if she’d killed him; that that was what he’d wanted. Instead she was sitting on his bed, smiling over how it had worked out so nicely for everyone else now that she had him on a leash.
“No, no, of course not. Sorry.”
She drew back, turning, trying to find her clothes.
“What are you doing?” Kaine leaned forward and caught her by the ankle before she was halfway across the bed.
“I think I should go now,” she muttered, her throat tight, trying to slip free.
“Why?”
Her heart was in her throat. “I know you didn’t want any of this; I didn’t mean to act like it was all fine.”
His expression hardened, and he dragged her back across the bed.
She tried desperately to get free. “Can I—at least put my clothes on before you get angry? Please.”
He stared at her. “I wasn’t talking about me. I was talking about you.”
“Me?” She was confused enough that she stopped struggling.
“Yes. You. The Resistance has latched on to you like a parasite, and you think it’s all worked out because they’re kind enough to keep you alive while they eat you?”
“It’s not like that,” she said sharply.
“Six years in a war hospital. How many people have you saved for them? I doubt you know. But was that enough for them? No. The moment there was another advantage to gain, they sold you for the ports. I’ve seen workhorses treated better; they would have turned you into glue once you weren’t good for anything else.” He sneered. “But I suppose that’s how it’s always been. It’s only the war stallions like the Bayards who are retired to the countryside.”
“Shut up,” she said, kicking sharply and freeing herself. Her face was hot with anger. “You think I don’t know I’m expendable? When you see fit to remind me of it at every turn? Well, you don’t have any right to be angry about that, when you’re just as much a part of it as any of them. You knew what was happening, and that I didn’t, and you still chose to be as cruel as you were. At least Ilva and Crowther manipulated me for a reason.” She looked away from him. “When were you even that kind?”
He was silent. She looked away.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.
She gave a mirthless laugh. “Yes, you’ve apologised before, but you don’t change, so it doesn’t really mean anything.”
“You’re right.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed his face into his hands. “I’m sorry for that, too. I never meant for any of it to go so far. I knew the mission you’d been sent with, and I was sure I’d be immune, but realising it was all real for you—when it would work, and I’d find myself falling for the trap I’d chosen—I’d do whatever it took to make you stop. It hadn’t occurred to me that they wouldn’t tell you.”