A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

“His mother was . . . different like him, and his three siblings.”

I already knew Weston had two sisters as well as a brother. Princess Fallon and Rowena. They came up in the gossip rags too, but not as often as Weston. He was always in the spotlight, and I wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t aggravate me.

“Titan looks down on those who have magic—it’s considered a weakness, and it’s banned the same as here. Weston’s mother lied to her pledged about who she was . . . and when it became known she had magic, her life as a Titan was void. I was speaking to a trusted servant in passing, and I let the truth slip. I’d known it for years, and it just became common knowledge that I didn’t think before I spoke. It was the early morn; his mother was executed before lunch.”

I swallowed, my throat feeling thick at the bitterness yet remorse in his voice.

“In Titan, children aren’t allowed to be close to their parents. They live in the barracks as soon as they’re off milk and until they’re fifteen when they test out to be sworn in as a Titan. But even so, Sasha, she would go see them in the barracks, bring them things, trinkets they hid underneath their pallets. Mostly knives and other killing devices,” he laughed, “they were still Titans, well . . . even worse.”

I listened, so entranced hearing about Weston’s past. I felt like I could read books about him and never grow bored.

“My family was invited to her execution like it was a celebration, and I sat there, not being able to see what I’d done. I murdered her, but I couldn’t watch her die. I glanced across the colosseum and Weston stood there, only ten years old wearing the thin rags Titan children wear to understand rank and humility, with his hair cropped to his scalp. His father stood behind him with a hand on his shoulder, another guard on his other side. But he didn’t move—he was a child, there was nothing he could have done. He watched. He fucking watched the executioner’s blade sever his mother’s head from her neck. I understand why he did it. So every time the image played in his head, the rage would fester like a disease. Maybe it was his reminder never to trust anyone again.”

I swallowed, my chest feeling heavy.

“When the Titan Council petitioned to execute the children too because they could have magic in their veins, Warrick stopped it. Not out of a sense of fatherhood, I thought, but because he knew he’d have the strongest sons in Titan. The magic was appealing to him when it served him a purpose.”

I cleared my throat, the sound loud in the quiet hull. “And then?”

“I was prepared for Weston to kill me. I was going to let him. I decided it was what I deserved, but you know what he did? He walked past me, not even giving me a second look. For some reason, that hurt worse than if he’d stabbed me. And that’s exactly why he did it. Even then he knew people better than most.

“Though, it took not only a week before he snapped. He beat the life out of me at a formal dinner while our fathers watched. I let him, I didn’t fight back. My mother sighed and got up from the table, taking her wine into the other room. His siblings were silent, but I could tell by each of their heavy stares, they were glad someone was finally going to kill me. And when he grabbed the knife, I was prepared to die. I deserved it; I knew I did. No one was going to stop it, not even my own father. I had shamed him by not fighting back. To this day, I still think he remembers it.

“Weston didn’t kill me, of course. He stabbed the knife next to my head and left the room. The following years, we ignored each other. When we were fifteen, and he’d been sworn in, I came to train in Titan for a few years. We got into fights over stupid things. Training. Women. Anything we could find to argue or beat the shit out of each other about.”

I paused. “No offense, but how could you even measure up to Weston?”

He finally glanced up at me as if the story he’d been telling was written on the floor. “He gets his strength with his age, and at that time we were equally matched. He can best me now. It’s been five years since I’ve learned that much.” A small smile played on his lips, and I wondered just what he did to learn that, because he had instigated it—and had enjoyed it—that much was clear.

“And yet you still egg him on?”

“Just because I can’t win, doesn’t mean that I don’t like to try.” His smile turned sly. “Besides, learning dishonest methods to best him has served me well.”

“You mean cheat,” I supplied.

“If you can’t beat ‘um, cheat ‘um,” he replied.

That’s not how the saying went, and he knew it with the playful glint in his eyes.

“I understand why he hates you,” I said hesitantly, “but why do you hate him?”

“That’d be because he ruined my sister, and refused to pledg

e her,” he said darkly.

I faltered.

“He knew our customs, and he knew what he was doing. It was all to get back at me.”

“And you mean ruin . . . by?” I was hoping it was like Alger, and holding hands could be cause for ruin . . . Yea, because I could see Weston holding some woman’s hand . . . not.

“I mean he fucked her and refused to pledge her.”

I flinched. And . . . I was suddenly done with this conversation. “Why did you lock me up, Maxim? We could have had this talk over tea.”

“One, you’re a criminal who’s been messing with trade. Two, you’re a fucking witch. And don’t think I’ve forgotten you lying to me when I asked you before at my camp. And three, because I fucking can.”

A frown pulled on my lips at his sudden mood change. “You were so agreeable before.”