Page 195 of Onyx Cage: Volume II
Kirill stood watch outside the door, nothing in his stance giving evidence of the battle we had fought or the sleep he hadn’t recovered.
“I’ll stand watch,” I told him. “Get some rest.”
“I’m not the one who needs to sleep,” he said pointedly.
“You do to guard Rowan tomorrow,” I bit back, my tone harsher than I meant it to be.
He looked at me for a long moment before pulling out a flask, handing it out to me.
“All right. But first, custom.”
I looked at the innocuous silver, a muscle working in my jaw. I didn’t want to think about customs or the upcoming funeral rites or the body that Pavel was guarding just outside the inn.
And I sure as hell didn’t want to drink to the memory of a man who had left me with nothing but a resentful clan and a war on my hands.
More than that, I doubted seriously that Kirill did either. So I told myself it was the darkness and the stillness and the oppressive weight of my clan on my shoulders that forced more honesty from my lips than I would have normally given.
“You think he deserves that?” I challenged quietly.
How many stains were on all of our souls from the things he had forced us to do?
Kirill heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “What he deserved and what we gave him were never one in the same, but I am more concerned with what you deserve, Van. And he was still your father.”
I swallowed, pushing down memories of maps scattered across a table, patient hands guiding mine around a bow on my first hunt, the rare mix of peace and grief in his features when he showed me the painted winter sky over my mother’s cabin.
You’ll make a fine duke, my son.
Then, cruel smiles and icicle eyes and endless amounts of blood in the snow.
Still, my hand closed around the flask. I tipped it up to my lips, letting the cool vodka flood my mouth and wash away the sharp sting of the thoughts I could no longer keep at bay.
Kirill took the flask back, lifting it skyward in a toast before he took his own sip.
It felt like a betrayal to my wife, engaging in a single honorary gesture to a man who would have been happy to roast her on a spit just to see how long she screamed. This wasn’t for the pryingeyes or a show I had to put on, but in private where no one but Kirill would have been the wiser if I had refused.
But he was right. Whatever my father had deserved, it had always mattered to me to fulfill my own duties. That didn’t mean I wanted to face her just yet.
I repeated my earlier order, my tone less frigid than it had been the first time. “Rest up so you can keep her safe. I’ll sleep in the carriage tomorrow.”
His blue eyes met mine, his lips tilting at the corner. “No, you won’t.”
He turned to go, nonetheless, but not before pushing the flask back into my hands. Then he descended the stairs, leaving me truly alone with my thoughts for the first time since my father died.
Since he was murdered.
Since I was finally free of him. Free of his despicable wife. Free of the volatile orders and the endless maneuvering around them.
Free of the only parent I had left.
I took another sip from the flask, leaning my head against the wall behind me and wondering why the air suddenly felt too dry for my eyes.
I spent the next several sleepless days and nights on the road contemplating what I would tell my people. How I would explain to them that I had left with my father and their Clan Wife and come back without either.
That I was their Duke now.
Even with each detail of my homecoming planned meticulously through the word sent ahead to Taras, myshoulders still pulled taut with tension the moment we pulled into the estate.
The courtyard was crammed to the brim with soldiers, villagers, and even the lords, only parting far enough to allow our carriage through. And, of course, the wagon carrying my father’s corpse.