For the first time since she’d entered the king’s meeting room, she felt a twinge of doubt about the outcome of their talk. “Well, that’s what I thought too, but if there’s a chance . . . I mean, you don’t know that for sure.”
“That there are those who watch us through the eyes of hawks, searching for their precious Kindred is a story that helps keep children in line and fearful enough to behave themselves lest they be witnessed acting naughty.”
Her gaze flicked to the royal coat of arms on the wall, which bore two hawks, one golden, one black, beneath a single golden crown. It was as familiar to her as her own name and she knew it had to mean something. It was a sign she was right. “Just because you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’ve been wrong to take that stance until now.”
He didn’t look angry, just weary. His face was etched in more lines than Cleo remembered. “Cleo, I know how much you love your sister—”
“More than anything!”
“Of course. I love her too. But she is not dying. She is simply ill. And this illness, while severe, will pass if she gets enough rest. She will recover.”
Frustration twisted in her chest. “You don’t know that for sure. You have to let me go.”
“I have to do no such thing.” The king’s expression only grew more tense. “It’s unwise for you to even consider visiting that place again for any reason. Troubles have increased, not decreased, in the time that has passed since the Agallon boy’s death.”
“What kind of trouble?”
He sighed. “The kind that you need not concern yourself with, Cleo. I’ll deal with it.”
She squeezed her hands into fists. “If there’s trouble growing, then I need to leave soon or I might not get the chance later.”
“Cleo.” There was a warning growl to her father’s words now. He’d tolerated her up until now, but she knew he was tired and in no mood for anything he considered a waste of time.
But saving her sister’s life wasn’t a waste of time.
She crossed her arms over her chest and began pacing the grand room. “I mean, if I’m wrong, then I’m wrong. But I have to try. Why can’t you see that?”
The king’s lips thinned. “All I see is my sixteen-year-old daughter making up far-fetched stories so she can escape from her new fiancé’s attentions.”
She sent a look of horror at him. “You think that’s what this is about?”
“I know it’ll take a while for you to get used to this. By the time the wedding is planned, all will seem better. By then, Emilia will be well again and she can help you prepare.”
That wasn’t at all what this was all about. But since he’d brought it up...
“You didn’t make Emilia marry someone she didn’t love.”
He hissed out a long breath. “That was different.”
“Why was that different? Because she threatened to kill herself? Maybe I’ll do the exact same thing!”
The king just looked at her patiently, seemingly undisturbed by the threat. “You’d never do such that.”
“I wouldn’t? I—I could do it tonight. I could throw myself down the stairs. I could stop eating. I could...well, there are many, many ways I could end my life if I wanted to!”
He shook his head. “You wouldn’t, because you don’t really want to die. You don’t just live, Cleo. Life itself sings from your existence.” The smallest smile appeared on his lips. “I know one day when you’ve finally outgrown this tendency to be overly dramatic to gain attention, your true self will come forth. And that Cleo will be a remarkable woman—one who deserves to bear the name of a goddess.”
She glowered at him. “You don’t even believe in the goddess!”
His expression shuttered. He’d been patient with her up until now, but she’d gone too far.
Ever since her mother had died in childbirth, the king had turned his back on any kind of prayer or worship, and his subjects soon followed suit. Emilia was the only religious one left in the Bellos family.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You’re young and you speak before you think. That’s how it’s always been with you, Cleo. I expect no better.”
She ran a hand under her nose. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”