“I know,” he responded. “And in the end, you will have failed at both.”

“Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” I hissed, trying to cling to my hate when all I felt was the bubbling of guilt rising in my throat.

“Tempting,” he said. “But the fact of the matter is, to kill you before she died would be mercy. And I want you to suffer.”

Chapter 31

Pénélope

I knew he was with me without opening my eyes. Might have known, even without the bond, because Marc’s presence was always a comfort to me. A light in the darkness helping me find my way when otherwise I’d be lost. That hadn’t changed.

And it never would.

“You came back.” I hadn’t intended to whisper, but my words were no louder than an exhalation.

He straightened where he sat next to me on the bed, expression full of the alarm that was reflected in my heart. “Did you think I wouldn’t? Pénélope–”

I squeezed his hand, forestalling him. “I didn’t.”

But his movement allowed me to see beyond to where Tristan stood in the shadows of the corner, shoulders slumped and hands shoved in his pockets as though he were cold. I met his gaze, and he nodded once, the air around him shimmering with magic, blocking away sound.

“He won’t leave,” Marc muttered.

“Good.” I coughed, my throat painfully dry. “You’ll need him.”

“I don’t–” He broke off, shaking his head with irritation that he could not deny that truth. It was no small relief for me, because I didn’t think I could stand to know that I’d broken their friendship and their camaraderie beyond repair. Still, the irritation couldn’t hide the poisonous weight of his guilt that twisted through my skull. I said, “You’ve spoken with my father.”

His chin jerked up and down.

“And he has done the same to you as he has to me: made you feel culpable. Made you feel regret.”

“Yes.”

I hadn’t believed it possible to hate my father more. I’d been wrong. Our child was dead, and as though it were not enough that my death was certain and Marc’s nearly so, my father had felt the need to poison what was good. To make us regret all that we had done. To make us feel guilty for each other’s fate. “Damn him,” I whispered. “He twists the truth into the worst sort of lies.”

“But it isn’t a lie.” Marc’s voice cracked. “He never intended for you to die. If anything… if anything, he intended for you to force me to live if I got caught.”

Somehow, I’d known that. My father bet on certain things, and while he might have banked his plans on Marc bonding me to save me, he wouldn’t have counted on the twist of fate that saw me pregnant. “In a way,” I said, “that would’ve been worse. For you to have had to choose between my life and Tristan’s. Between my life and your cause.”