Page 143 of A Touch of Poison
Orpha had already tried to get him to talk the messy way.
Granted, things could get messier, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d talk.
But I had another way, potentially.
After I ensured Kat was safe and we received a report confirming the last of the Horrors had been dealt with, I apologised to Faolán for how I’d spoken earlier. I was about to march headlong into a quagmire of guilt—I needed to get forgiveness where I could. He shrugged and clapped me on the shoulder in wordless acceptance.
That was one of the comforting things about Faolán. Simple and straightforward where so much of my life was…not.
With a heavy step, I set off for a small house on a side street and steeled myself to face the last person in Tenebris who wanted to see me… who just so happened to be the only one who could help.
I knocked. There was no answer.
Of course not. He probably knew it was me.
“Let me in,” I called, knocking again.
Nothing.
“I’m not going until you do.”
I could hear the sigh in my head a moment before he opened the door.
Chest tight, I faced my father.
Stone-faced, jaw set, he stood in the doorway. “What the hells are you doing here?”
Oh good, so it was going to be as friendly as usual. I pulled myself tight and straight, masked with professional detachment. “It’s for the security of the realm. I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
“Of course it is. What else could the Serpent of Tenebris possibly be interested in?” His smile wrinkled his nose, sardonic and sneering.
“I’m not discussing this on the street.”
“And I’m not discussing this at all—not with you.”
But when he went to close the door, he found my foot in the way.
“Three minutes. Let me in. Let me talk. And then tell me to fuck off.”
He exhaled through his nose as he stepped back. “Two minutes.”
I gritted my teeth as a dozen familiar scents and sights hit me. I couldn’t let myself focus on them. I wasn’t his son—not right now… maybe not anymore. If I allowed myself to see the books on military tactics that had beenBaba’sor his carved deer on the shelf, I would be that boy in the stables again. Their scrawny child who adored them for teaching him, for laughing at his jokes, and for the simple fact that they loved him.
And the Serpent of Tenebris couldn’t afford to adore anyone.
So I screwed my eyes shut and turned as he closed the door. Arms folded, he raised his eyebrows. “‘The security of the realm’—is that how you describe what you did to your father?”
His hurt hurt me, as painful as the slice that father had delivered across my chest and belly—an injury I’d been lucky to survive.
“I’m not going to get into another cyclical conversation with you,Athair.”
His jaw flexed and I thought he was going to tell me not to call him that, but his gaze flicked over to the orrery on the mantelpiece. “A minute and a half.”
Had he looked this cold as he’d led those families to the Horrors in Innesol? Or had his dismay shown? He’d always been the one to express his emotions, whereBabahid everything behind a stoic mask.
Athair’sface dropped. “Innesol. You went there. You… you saw.” Back bowing as if all his vitriol turned inward, he spun on his heel, and once again, his pain wounded me.
“You were in an impossible situation with only terrible choices.” I wasn’t sure if I was telling him that or myself. “It meant you survived long enough for you andBabato—”
