He glances at me, just a quick look out of the corner of his eye that is fraught with impatience. “Are you really that naïve?”
My spine stiffens. “It’s not naïve to spend some time thinking things through instead of jumping to conclusions.”
“I’ve been doing nothing but thinking things through since the moment I realized the ACW was after you, so don’t lecture me in that prissy tone, Xandra.”
It’s the sharpest tone he’s ever used with me. Not to mention, it’s completely offensive. “I’m not prissy.”
He snorts. “Of course not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you need to start seeing the world how it is instead of how you want it to be.” He starts ticking things off on his fingers. “The ACW soulbound us the day you were born. They did so because they wanted to one, limit our magic and two, give me a reason to kill you. When that didn’t work, they hired the job out to a sociopath of epic proportions, who not only tortured and killed four unsuspecting women, he nearly did the same to you—after you had already lived through the torment of his attacks on the other victims. And then they tried to frame me for the murders. What in the name of the goddess makes you think that they wouldn’t try to kill your father if it was in their best interests?”
“I totally believe they would. I’m just not sure what those best interests are.”
“Think about it, Xandra. Your parents are extremely influential in who gets appointed to the Council. If someone takes out your dad, your mom will be crippled with grief. She won’t be in any position to worry about Council appointees. Or, goddess forbid, they kill her, too, and leave your brother—a completely untried king—in charge of the Ipswitch throne. You kill off a few ACW members, get the ear of the grief-stricken queen or shell-shocked new king, and it isn’t that hard to control who gets the new seats. And if you control that . . .”
With those last words, everything slides into place. Court espionage isn’t my thing, but once someone draws me a map, it’s hard not to figure out which direction things are going. “If you control that,” I continue where Declan left off, “then you control the way the laws are made and interpreted by the Council. You control everything.”
He nods. “Exactly.”
“Jesus. That’s diabolical.”
“Maybe. But it’s also brilliant.”
I stare at him, shocked. “You sound like you approve.”
“Of course I don’t approve. But if that’s what they’re going for, then the plan is genius.”
I still don’t like the appreciation I hear in his voice. Oh, I know he’s not wishing ill on my parents or anything like that, but there’s that dark part of him again. Able to think like a monster. Able, maybe, even to admire that monster. It’s more than a little disturbing.
Still, I mull his words over for long seconds, trying my best to poke holes in his theory. But in a terrible, awful way, it makes perfect sense. Especially the bloodletting. If one of the less powerful Council members is behind this, there’s a lot of dark magic that can be done with the blood of people as powerful as Alride and Mei. Dark magic that could kill my father, maybe even kill my mother if she isn’t prepared for it.
I’m still not sure where Shelby’s blood fits in, but as Declan’s ideas rattle around in my head—and click—I know that there must be a way. There must be something she could give that no one else could. I just don’t know what that is yet.
“I need to call my mother. And Donovan.”
“They already know.”
I gape at him. “How is that even possible?”
“I talked to Donovan about my theory when he called this morning, while you were in the bathroom packing your toiletries He was already halfway there himself, so I guarantee he’s already talked it over with your mother.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me about it?” My voice is about three octaves higher than usual, but I can’t help it. I am damn sick of Declan only sharing what he thinks I need to know. “You talk to my brother, whom you don’t even like, but you don’t tell me?”
“I’m telling you about it now, aren’t I?”
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to haul off and punch him. Then, because I’m not sure even that’s enough, I say, “Stop the car.”
“What?” He looks at me like I’m insane.
“Stop the fucking car.”
When he still doesn’t so much as slow down, I yell, “I swear to the goddess, stop the damn car or it’s over between us.”