Requiem of the Soul (The Society Trilogy 1)

That was the day I’d endured both their hate and Sister Mary Anthony’s punishment at my response to the girls, and when I’d gotten home, I’d burst into my dad’s study to tell him I was finished. I didn’t care what he said. I wasn’t ever going back to that place.

I hadn’t realized he’d had company. In fact, I’d been so focused I hadn’t seen Santiago sitting there until my dad pushed me away—something he did in front of others even though when it was just the two of us, he could be warm. I remember the look on his face. Like he’d been embarrassed by me. Ashamed of me.

And I remember how I’d pulled my hair out of its required bun to hide my eye before Santiago saw it.

That was the first time I’d seen the man who had stolen all my dad’s attention and sometimes his affection too. I understood why, even at thirteen. The De La Rosa family could elevate us. And as much as it hurt, I knew even then this was the most important thing to my father, even over his children.

“Why would Santiago De La Rosa choose me? What aren’t you telling me, Abel?”

Abel studies me. “Why would he lower himself, you mean? A high and mighty Sovereign Son taking a peasant for a wife?”

“You know that’s a form of classism, don’t you? This whole caste system you’ve got going. And if I’m a peasant in their eyes, then what does that make y—”

His hand wraps around my throat, and he has my back to the wall before I can finish my sentence. Rage burns inside his eyes as he cuts off my windpipe.

I clutch at his forearm, digging my nails into his flesh.

“Abel!”

My brother’s head snaps to the top of the stairs. He loosens his hold enough that I can turn my head to look to where my mother is standing, tying her cream-colored silk robe around herself.

Her gaze flicks to me, then back to him. “She’s not yours to punish. If you leave a mark, you don’t know what he’ll do.”

Not don’t hurt her. Only fear of the consequences of being found out.

I’m not sure what surprises me more—the fact she is intervening or the fact Abel seems to listen to her. He hates her. And even as she hides it, I know some part of her is afraid of him.

Abel returns his gaze to me. He squeezes his hand again and brings his face to within an inch of mine.

“You think you can get a rise out of me?” He releases me, then steps back just enough to look me over. “You’ll be put in your place tomorrow. And I’ll not only deliver you, but I’ll happily stand by and watch.”

I swallow hard, my hand around my throat. He hates me. I know this. But his tone, the look in his eyes, terrifies me.

Abel turns and climbs the stairs, leaving my bags where they are. He passes my mother without a word and disappears into his room.

I remain where I am and look up at her. Still beautiful, even being woken up in the middle of the night. Still as cold as ever.

“You’ve been here two minutes, and already, you’re causing trouble,” she says.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mom,” I say, bending to pick up my bags. I’m anxious to get to my room now and away from her. I clutch the railing and climb the stairs as I try to steady my heart and the trembling of my hands.

She folds her arms across her chest and watches me as I make my way down the hall to my old room. I open the door and am about to step inside when she calls my name.

“Ivy.”

Stopping, I turn with one hand on the doorknob.

“Do not shame us.”

4

Ivy

I drift in and out of sleep. My old bed feels foreign, too small tucked up against the wall, the deep pink gauze draping it too childish. I reach out a hand and touch it, remembering how I used to like it. Used to pretend I was a princess in a tower.

The wind whistles in from the window I opened to air out the room. The curtain billows, filtering the light coming in from the lamp in the garden. I watch the shadows that dance on the far wall and remember how I would do that when I was little too. I see ominous figures there, the branches of the tree outside making for an eerie gathering as my eyes close again.

I don’t know if I drift off for a minute or an hour, but when I wake again, rain is hammering the window. I need to close it, or Mom will be angry. Water damage. Like she cares about the house.

I rub my face and untangle myself from the blankets to sit up. I’m momentarily dizzy, but that’s always the case when I first sit up, so I just close my eyes until the wave passes. But then I hear an unfamiliar rustle, followed by the window giving way as it’s pushed closed.