Pursing my lips, I felt my own anger tighten until I thought I would scream. “Then why did he do it?” I said from between clenched teeth. “Why did he risk it? Even if he had been bound to Piscary, he could have just quit the I.S.,” I said, gesturing at nothing. “Or been transferred to another part of the country.” People were occasionally bound by accident, and when the cover-up failed, there were ways to avoid being sued. It happened to I.S. employees just like everyone else, and there were options involving large sums of money and generous moving packages.

Trent wasn’t saying anything. This was like playing twenty questions with a dog. “He knew the risk, and he took it anyway?” I prompted, and Trent sighed.

His hands unclenched, and he flexed them, gazing at the stark white pressure points standing in contrast to the red. “My father risked immediate treatment because being bound to Piscary compromised his position as…” He hesitated, his angular face twisting in an old anger. “It compromised his political power. Your father begged me to let him do the same, not for power but for you, your brother, and your mother.”

I stared at Trent as his words and face became harsh.

“My father risked his life to maintain power,” he said bitterly. “Your dad did it for love.”

It still didn’t explain why, though. The jealousy in Trent’s gaze gave me pause, and I watched him stare into the garden his parents had created, lost in memory. “At least your father waited until he knew there was no other option,” he said. “Waited until he was sure.”

His voice was breathy, trailing off into nothing. Tense, I asked, “Sure of what?”

In a soft rustling of silk and linen, Trent turned. His youthful face was hard with hatred. Both our dads had died, but he was clearly jealous that mine had risked death for love. His jaw clenched, and apparently intending to hurt me, he said, “He waited until he was sure that Piscary had infected him with enough virus to turn him.”

I took a breath and held it. Confusion blanked my thoughts. “But witches can’t be turned,” I said, nauseated. “Just like elves.”

Trent sneered at me, acting for once as he wanted instead of hiding behind the facade he comforted himself with. “No,” he said nastily. “They can’t.”