Isbeth was quiet for a moment. “Still, I would’ve done anything to prevent what happened to her.”
“And you think you played no role in that?” I challenged.
“It was not I who left the safety of the capital and Wayfair. It was not I who stole her away.” Her jaw clenched, jutting out in a godsdamn familiar way. “If Coralena hadn’t betrayed me—betrayed her—Penellaphe never would’ve known that kind of pain.”
Disbelief battled with disgust. “And yet you still betrayed her, sending her to Masadonia? To Duke Teerman, who—”
“Don’t.” She stiffened once more.
She didn’t want to hear this? Too bad. “Teerman routinely abused her. He let others do the same. Made quite a sport of it.”
Isbeth flinched.
She actually flinched.
My lips peeled back over my fangs. “That is on you. You don’t get to blame anyone else for that and relieve yourself of guilt. Each time he touched her, he hurt her. That’s on you.”
She drew in a deep breath, straightening. “I didn’t know. If I had, I would’ve cut his stomach open and fed him his own entrails until he choked on them.”
Now that, I didn’t doubt.
Because I’d seen her do it to a mortal before.
Her tightly sealed lips trembled as she stared down at me. “You killed him?”
A savage rush of satisfaction hit me. “Yeah, I did.”
“Did you make it hurt?”
“What do you think?”
“You did.” She turned away, drifting toward the wall as the two Handmaidens returned, silently taking up their posts by the door. “Good.”
A dry laugh left me. “And I’ll do the same to you.”
She sent me a small smile over her shoulder. “I’ve always been impressed by your resilience, Casteel. I imagine you got that from your mother.”
Acid pooled in my mouth. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”
“Just so you know…” she said with a shrug. A moment passed before she continued. “I didn’t hate your mother at first. She loved Malec, but he loved me. I didn’t envy her. I pitied her.”
“I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear that.”
“Doubtful,” she murmured, righting a candle that had tilted. Her fingers drifted through the flame, causing it to ripple wildly. “I do hate her now, though.”
I couldn’t care less.
“With every fiber of my being.” Smoke wafted from the flame she’d touched, turning a dark, thick black that brushed against the damp stone, staining it.
That wasn’t even remotely normal. “What in the hell are you?”
“I am nothing more than a myth. A cautionary tale once told to Atlantian children to make sure they didn’t steal what they didn’t deserve,” she said, looking over her shoulder at me.
“Are you a lamaea?”
Isbeth laughed. “Cute response, but I thought you were smarter than that.” She drifted to another candle, straightening it, as well. “I may be no god by your standards and beliefs, but I am no less powerful than one. So, how am I not just that? A god?”
Something tugged at my memories—something I was sure Kieran’s father had once said when we were younger. When the wolven Kieran loved was dying, and he’d prayed to gods he knew were sleeping to save her. When he prayed to anything that could be listening. Jasper had warned him that…something that wasn’t a god could answer.
That a false god could reply.
“Demis,” I whispered hoarsely, my eyes widening. “You’re a demis. A false god.”
One side of Isbeth’s lips curled up, but it was the golden Rev who spoke. “Well, apparently, he is rather clever.”
“At times,” she said with a shrug.
Holy shit. I’d believed that the demis were as much a myth as the lamaea. “Is that what you’ve always been? A poor imitation of the real thing, hell-bent on destroying the lives of the desperate?”
“That’s a rather offensive assumption. But, no. A demis is not born but made when a god commits the forbidden act of Ascending a mortal who was not Chosen.”
I had no idea what she meant by a mortal that was Chosen, and I didn’t get a chance to question that because she asked, “What do you know about Malec?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the golden Rev’s head tilt. “Where is my brother?” I demanded instead.
“Around.” Isbeth faced me, clasping her hands together. They were free of jewels except for the Atlantian ring.
“I want to see him.”
A faint grin appeared. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Why?”
She inched toward me. “You haven’t earned it, Casteel.”
The acid spread, hitting my veins. “Hate to disappoint you, but we’re not playing that game again.”
Isbeth pouted. “But I loved that game. So did Malik. Admittedly, he was much better at it than you ever were.”
Fury pounded through every inch of my body. I launched off the floor as the rage was given sound. I didn’t make it very far. The bonds at my throat jerked my head back as the shackles on my ankles and wrists clamped down, yanking me against the wall. The Handmaidens stepped forward.
Isbeth held up a hand, waving them back. “Did that make you feel better?”
“Why don’t you get close?” I growled, chest rising and falling as the band at my throat slowly loosened. “That will make me feel better.”
“I’m sure it would, but you see, I have plans which require me to keep my throat intact and my head still on my shoulders,” she replied, smoothing a hand over the chest of her gown.
“Plans can always change.”
Isbeth smirked. “But this plan also requires you to remain alive.” She watched me. “You don’t believe that, do you? If I wanted you dead, you’d already be that.”
My eyes narrowed on her as she tipped her chin in a curt nod. The golden Rev stepped out into the hall, returning quickly with a burlap sack. The stench of death and decay immediately hit me. Every part of my being focused on the bag the Rev carried. I didn’t know what was in there, but I knew it was something that used to be alive. My heart started pounding.
“It appears that my once amicable and charming daughter has grown quite the…violent streak with a knack for showmanship,” Isbeth remarked as the Rev knelt, untying the sack. “Penellaphe sent me a message.”
My lips parted as the golden Rev carefully tipped the sack, and a…godsdamn head rolled out. I immediately recognized the blond hair and square jaw.
King Jalara.
Holy fuck.
“As you can see, it was a very interesting message,” Isbeth stated blandly.
I couldn’t believe I was staring at the Blood King’s head. A slow smile spread across my face. I laughed—deep and hard. Gods, Poppy was…damn, she was vicious in the most magnificent way, and I could not wait to show her just how much I approved of it. “That’s…gods, that’s my Queen.”
Surprise widened the golden Rev’s eyes, but I laughed until my empty stomach cramped. Until tears stung my eyes.
“I’m glad you find this entertaining,” Isbeth remarked coolly.