Chapter Thirty-Five

Pettrila flared her nostrils aroundan aching inhalation. Her lungs hurt, her breath like frost.

The Soothsayer handed the diary back to the D'Amberville girl. "Isn't that true?" he prompted.

The girl's throat worked for a moment. "Yes, ma'am. ?tefan was forced to write that letter you speak of because Pettrila's life was in danger. The person who actually conspired to harm her people confronted ?tefan and threatened to put Pettrila on one of the ships scheduled to sink if ?tefan didn't end the relationship. ?tefan agreed for the sake of her safety, but also because he secretly planned to come after her. He was imprisoned after he'd written the letter, though, and…" Lines of sorrow marred the girl's smooth brow. "Many pages of his diary are filled with such regret that he didn't make it to the guns on the Constan?a jetty sooner in order to save more of the ships in Pettrila's armada."

Pettrila took a swift step back, the backs of her legs bumping her chair. We were rescued. I know not by whom, but whoever 'twas, they manned the cannons on the jetty and fired relentlessly at the Russian frigates, sending our enemy limping away. She curled a fist into her blouse. That had been ?tefan?

"My great-great grandfather was utterly heartbroken when Pettrila's ship sank." The girl swallowed. "That's the truth, ma'am, you can read it for yourself in his diary."

Pettrila peeled her fingers out of her blouse, forcing herself to present an outward calm. "If ?tefan was on the jetty, he must have seen that two ships survived. Why wouldn't he have considered that Pettrila was on one of them?"

"He knew which ship she was supposed to be on, and watched it sink with his own eyes." The girl ran her fingers along the spine of the old diary. "My great-great grandfather had spies within the Russian camp, and he'd been told about the deal struck between one of Pettrila's own people and General Nikolai Pavlovich Kridener. He didn't find out in time to stop it, unfortunately. The general handed over a large sum of money to the betrayer in exchange for information about the escaping armada, but as a part of the deal, the general was supposed to let two ships survive: the Lady Revenge and the Randy Saint." Josie released a sigh. "But Kridener wanted all of Pettrila's people killed, so he reneged and tried to sink the entire fleet."

Pettrila took another stilted step backward, knocking her chair sideways as images of that fateful evening swept over her. She pressed her eyes closed, remembering Grigore's rage when they'd missed sailing on the Lady Revenge…and his reluctance to board the Tempest. He must have known it would be sunk.

Pettrila's eyes burned strangely when she opened them again. "Grigore Nichita is the name of the betrayer, isn't it?"

The girl visibly startled. "Yes, ma'am. How did you know?"

Someone in the gallery gasped.

After that, nothing. Silence descended on the garage, a silence so complete that Pettrila could hear the slow drip-drip of oil from one of the minivans, the huffing expulsion of air through a vent. The noises sounded thunderous…same as the sound in her memory of Grigore yelling, "Bloody betrayer," after the Lady Revenge had taken a fatal hit, not cursing ?tefan, as she'd originally thought, but rather the Russian general who'd broken his word.

"Why?" Pettrila ironed all but the smallest rasp from her voice. "Why would Grigore betray his own people, do you know this, child?"

"For power," the girl answered in a voice weighted with compassion. "He knew that his people would keep to the old ways of aristocracy in their new life, and he wanted the throne. Pettrila had the closest blood ties to royalty; marrying her would earn him the powerful seat he wanted. The deal he struck with the Russian general was insurance; he was securing his position by removing other rivals. He made certain that important families would be on the ships slated for sinking: Cantacuzino, Brancoveanu, the House of Mihnea—"

A sharp growl erupted from Roth.

Pettrila met Roth's eyes: Roth Mihnea, their leader…instead of a Rázóczi.

Roth's jaw rippled with tension. "The survivors of the armada," he said in a roughened voice, "blamed Pettrila for leading ?tefan Drago? to them. They thought him to be a real Varcolac Van?tor."

Pettrila held Roth's gaze. At the top of her vision, she could see her eyelashes quivering. She was shaking.

"The royal seat went to the Mihneas. My family." A shadow crossed Roth's face. "Unfairly, it would seem. Drago? did arrange that armada in good faith. All of the people who escaped Romania that night owe him, and Pettrila, their lives."

Pettrila turned her eyes away, more memories sleeting over her. "By the stars, I never knew why Grigore was so upset the night I…Pettrila was stripped of her title. She and Grigore fought savagely, and by the end of it, he swore that if nothing else, he'd have a son from her."

"Wait," the D'Amberville girl interrupted, her lips parting. "Are you saying that Pettrila ended up with Grigore Nichita?"

Pettrila's lungs compressed around a bitter laugh. "I'm afraid so, child. The weak-willed woman let Grigore manipulate her into thinking that ?tefan was the true betrayer." A heaviness settled over her heart. She hadn't believed in ?tefan, doubting a love that had been real. Her nostrils quivered, emotions she usually kept in merciless check threatening to rise beyond her control. Such a bleak, demoralizing landscape of regret and lost opportunities in her life.

"What happened?" the D'Amberville girl asked softly.

Pettrila's lips threatened to tremble, but she ruthlessly firmed them. "Out of that unhappy marriage, Pettrila proceeded to give Grigore only daughters, four precious girls he wanted nothing to do with. They were…killed in a cave collapse." She set a hand to her breast. Her breath wasn't coming correctly. "In that tragedy, she and Grigore turned to each other in shared grief, remarkably, and found peace for a time. Many years later, when Grigore wanted more children, Pettrila agreed, and she gave her husband a son at last."

She felt her lips constrict, heard her voice harden. "Grigore all but took the child from her, turning their son against her in their marital battles, never giving her a chance with the boy who…who…" From the side of Pettrila's vision, she saw Devid bow his head, his lips stiff and bloodless, his throat working rhythmically. She couldn't bring herself to look at him directly, though. What would she show her son in her eyes, on her face? All the ways she'd failed to be his mother? How she'd given up even trying? How she'd let bitterness and regret rule the decisions she'd made about her life and her children?

She glanced down, focusing on a blotch on the garage floor. "Grigore became greedy," she went on thickly. "He wanted to try for another son, but Pettrila refused and…" She paused and blinked, that strange burn back in her eyes. "The next time I went into my fertile period, he drugged me into a deep sleep."

Devid exhaled, a staccato burst of air. Over in the gallery, someone was crying softly. Luvera.

The D'Amberville girl gave Pettrila a strange look.

Indeed… Pettrila had just spoken of herself in the first person. She didn't care anymore. "When I awoke, Grigore was sprawled next to me in bed in his hibernation state. I knew what he'd done, and I'd never hated him more." He'd made a victim out of her for the first time in her life. In all her years, through every hardship, she'd always managed to keep a piece of her dignity intact. Until her own husband had done the unthinkable. "It broke me." She crossed her arms, cupping her elbows. "I couldn't come back from it. I could hardly look upon my daughter, knowing how she'd been conceived, nor my son, as he—"

Luvera choked softly on her next sob.

Pettrila stared hard at the air vent, watching two stringy strands of dust wave from the slats. She'd wrapped herself in a protective shell, hating everyone—humans for what ?tefan had done to her, her husband for his offense—and had never come back. For over fifty years. Emotion roiled in her chest. "And now I find out ?tefan loved me in truth. Loved me! Grigore knew it and stole that from me, the despicable cur. And for what? Power," she clamped her teeth around the word. "I could have had love, damn his soul. Love!" Her chest heaved, her eyes burning so painfully now that…good night, she was crying.

She lowered her head, concentrating on breathing slowly and steadily. Everyone in this damnable garage was staring at her, standing here naked before them, all of the ugly secrets of her past exposed.

"Here." The D'Amberville girl held out the diary to Pettrila. "Take this. Please. I have it memorized, anyway, and I think you should read it for yourself."

Pettrila made herself stop crying, wiping away her tears before she looked up. She didn't reach out to take the book, though. "No. Thank you." Reading it would only submerge her more deeply into the agony of all that she'd never had.

The girl bit her bottom lip. "It doesn't have to be too late to feel ?tefan's love for Pettrila, ma'am."

And that decided her. Because it was true; no matter how painful Pettrila's losses, she could salvage some love in the last years of her life. She drew herself up, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt. "Very well." She accepted the book. "Thank you, child." She traced the weathered cracks in the leather with her fingers. ?tefan had held this diary in his hands, had written in it of his deep affection for her. Because he'd loved me. He'd never wavered in his feelings, never betrayed her. Sweet stars, if only she'd known that, she could have endured anything. Even if she'd ended up with Grigore through ghastly circumstances, she could have borne it by simply holding ?tefan's love in her heart to buoy her. But living a life without love had been—

A breath caught in her throat. Heat crept into her cheeks. She looked at her son.

Devid's silver eyes were ravaged with pain, his face ragged and worn. So many dreadful things he'd learned about his hero today.

For the first time in a long time, her heart reached out to him. She stared intently at his face, making herself see past Grigore's image for once and find her son. She traced the angular cheekbones, the strong jaw, the noble, Pure-bred nose. How could she have ever thought Devid's thickly lashed silver eyes were like Grigore's? Her son's were so much more lively and warm, even now in his pain. She remembered gazing into those eyes when he'd been just a wriggly newborn in her arms, her heart overflowing.

She looked down at ?tefan's diary again, then strode to the sacrificial area. "You are quite a handsome man," she murmured. "I never realized."

Devid's eyes flared wide for a heartbeat, then his stony regard slipped back in place.

She rearranged the pearls at her throat. "The Tribunal regards us with such reproof," she said in an undertone.

He stared at her for an arrested moment.

"But then I suppose they are rightfully furious, since Grigore attempted to kill them all," she said.

"Our breed," Devid said rigidly, "is on the verge of extinction because of my father." He paused, his jaw working as if he was chewing on his next words. "On top of that, the things he did to you… I honestly don't know how to think about it." He glanced aside. "You've been such a horrific tyrant for so long," he said bluntly, "I've always thought you were the one to blame."

She took an extra moment to answer, her voice hoarse. "Perhaps it's time to stop all the blaming." She turned toward the Tribunal and raised her voice to be heard. "I hereby refuse Josie D'Amberville as the person to erase the Nichita blood-debt. By the law of Dantur? Pravil?, this negates my plea." She turned back to face Devid. "Go bond with that girl of your heart, son. Go, and have love in this life." She clutched ?tefan's diary to her breast. "Trust me when I tell you, it's quite a wretched experience to live without it."