Page 38 of The Lies We Conjure
I did know Ursula was expecting death. I didn’t know she would be murdered.
“Evander, how can you ask him that?” Winter’s voice tears through my thoughts and the air, a warning shot of anger threaded into each syllable. “Our grandmother is dead—murdered—and your first move as patriarch to the Elemental Line is to accuse Auden of beingin on it? What in the absolute fuck?”
Every ounce of restraint has been wrung out of Evander from this long and terrible night. A familiar sparring partner is never a reason to hold back. He doesn’t.
“I’m doing what Ursula would expect from us at this moment—”
“By interrogating Auden like Ursula whispered in his ear that she planned to be offed at her own dinner party?” Winter thrusts a hand in the general direction of the belly of Hegemony Manor and the residential wings that make up the second floor. Tears spark again in her azure eyes. “By one of her guests? One of the High Families? Are you serious right now?”
“Win, I know you’re upset—”
“Of course I’m upset!” Winter explodes, and the tears break free, spilling onto her reddening cheeks. “Do not try to mollify my feelings, Evander Hegemony. That’s not leadership, that’s dismissal. I’m not a fucking robot.”
His hands raise like a white flag. “I’m sorry, that was the wrong thing to say.”
“Yeah, it was.” Winter sniffs and blots at the wetness on her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
Evander sighs, sinks back in Ursula’s chair, and drags a hand down his face. Then, he changes his mind and leans forward, pressing his palms flat on the desk, as if grounding himself. “I’m not saying Auden was part of Ursula’s murder, I’m just starting my questioning with what he knew as executor that we did not—including the information that he’d been named executor, a fact that he kept from us—”
“At Ursula’s discretion.” My tone is flat. Evander is digging—he’ll find nothing but bare earth. “It was technically a request, but we all know that her requests were orders. I obeyed.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “And you didn’t think that was suspect?”
“Jesus, Evander,” Winter curses. Her slim fingers fist the hair at her temples as if she’s about to yank it out at the root. “The woman’s vanity spells were top-tier but lest you forget, Ursula was ninety-nine years old. Of course she planned to die, she was a High Sorcerer, not immortal—don’t give Ursula shit for being prepared but not wanting to worry us. Don’t give Auden shit about being her executor. You were the heir, Evander, you couldn’t be the executor too.” She pauses. “It was going to be either of us, and he’s older. It makes sense.”
Evander’s head tilts as he stares at me.
“But I wasn’t the heir, was I?”
If he wants a wrestling match, he’ll get one. He’s bigger and older, but that’s never mattered when it comes to words, or to actual wrestling, because I’ve always been quicker.
“You are the heir. To our family. To the Elemental Line and all the thousands of witches who practice within it. Patriarch.” With each new word, the cords in Evander’s thick neck seem to tighten. I keep going. “If you’re implying that I knew Ursula’s will would change in regard to the title of High Sorcerer if she was murdered, no, I did not.”
Evander rubs a thumb along his jaw, the light scraping soundof the pad against stubble the undertone for his unblinking assessment of my expression. “You’re the executor, how—”
“Hey, hi, over here.” Winter waves a hand. “Before you dial in and cost us ten more precious minutes by interrogating Auden more, understand that I tossed you the perfect opening to ask ifIhave a role too.” She pointedly fishes her own key out from behind the ribbon choker at her throat. “Liaison of the Lines.”
Evander squints at her. “Liaison? Really? We haven’t had one since…”
“Since my mother. Yes,” she answers. Unlike my role as executor, the role of liaison had been absorbed into Ursula’s own duties when Aunt Lana passed—a role that made the High Sorcerer’s life easier but wasn’t a necessity like heir or executor. Important, but a matter of delegation in the scheme of things.
And Ursula had delegated the role to Winter.
“Perhaps,” I say, “we should start by asking what we all knew—”
Evander smirks, but not in the kind way he did at Kaysa when he thought no one was looking only hours ago. “Oh, so you’ve come up with an answer for me now?”
“No, a question. For you.”
I wait to see what he’ll do with that. If he’ll use my own aborted questioning as a shield, or if he’ll let me move forward as a means to prove he has nothing to hide.
Bulldozer in a three-piece suit, he does exactly what I think he will. Evander crosses his arms over his barrel chest, a shield disguised as outward intimidation. “Fine. Shoot.”
“What happened when you left the solarium to question Ursula?”
Winter freezes. “Wait, when was this? After I went to greet the guests?”
“Yes,” I answer because Evander doesn’t. “When you left to greet the Blackgates, Evander announced he was instead going ‘to the source.’”
