The Duke’s Reborn Daughter Sometimes Chooses Violence.

There was more to tell. Cordelia must have seen it in my face, because she settled back against the bookshelf and waited. She had learned, in the span of a single morning, that I would talk when I was ready and not before. I was grateful for that. “On the expedition,” I said, “your father sent an assassin to kill me.” Cordelia went still. “I know you suspected,” I said quietly. “You warned me at the gate after all. I only understood your warning after it had happened.”

“The assassin was bound by a Magical Contract,” I continued. “He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t give us names, even after-” I paused. “We tried to make him talk at first. It didn’t work.”

“Magical Contracts always hold,” Cordelia murmured. “The expensive ones, anyway.”

“I cut that Contract,” I said. “With Vaelin, I mean. It’s…a bit hard to explain, and I’m not sure I understand it myself, but the Godblade’s original power is Severance. I used it to sever the Contract, and then the man talked. After we…you know….” I was quiet for a moment.

Cordelia nodded slowly. She was quiet for a time. “You knew the man would be under a Magical Contract, didn’t you? When you first…tried to make him talk?”

“Yes,” I said. I had to force the word out.

Cordelia nodded slowly. The distance between us was little, but I saw her shift towards me, just a fraction. Towards, not away from. “He did try to kill a fourteen year old girl,” she murmured. She said nothing more.

“You can break Magical Contracts,” she said after a time. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

She stared at me. Her lips parted and then closed. Her ring did not turn, but I saw her fingers twitch toward it before she caught herself. In a world built on oaths and bonds and contracts enforced by magic, the ability to sever any of them was more than a weapon. I had no doubt at all that she thought of everything I had, in half the time.

“There’s one more thing,” I said. “About my father.” This was not something I had not planned to say. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to keep it in. Cordelia tilted her head. She had drawn her legs up beneath her at some point, tucking them to one side. She had not moved away since the conversation began. If anything, the distance between us had quietly shrunk, inch by inch. “My father is dying,” I said, “His body is in a kind of…stasis, I do not know if he will die, but I would not be surprised if it happens. Eventually.”

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia said. The words were simple.

“I think I can save him now,” I said. “With Vaelin. No, I’m pretty sure I can.”

Cordelia’s brow creased. “Then why haven’t you?”

There it was. The question I had been circling and hadn’t faced.

“Because of something I found in Indri Manor,” I said. “There was…a portrait there. It showed a woman alongside my father. She was supposed to be my mother.” I paused. “She can’t be my mother. We look nothing alike.”

It was a very strange way to explain this, and yet it was the only way I had, without telling her I came from another world. The real Esra would have said this differently, yet that felt like one lie too far. I did not understand the difference myself, only that there was one. Everything I had and everything I’d built was all Esra, and yet I wasn’t really her, was I? I was Ellaine, a dirty girl, forever locked in a-

I shook my head violently. Cordelia was very quiet. I whispered. “There’s too much I don’t know, and when I think about it…it hurts.” My throat closed and I took a deep breath. “I guess that’s why I haven’t.”

It was an ugly admission. Cordelia had once said she was fine with her marriage, because it served the good of her family. I wondered what she’d think of something like this. There was no reason for me to say any of this, and yet I wanted to know.

Cordelia did not say anything for a long time. I wondered if perhaps this was one dark truth too far. Then she reached over and took my hand. Her fingers were cool and bare. She had not put her gloves back on. Her grip was light and her thumb rested against my knuckle. My pulse hammered and I ignored it. “You will face it when you’re ready,” Cordelia said. “And if you’re not ready, that is not a failure. It is just time you haven’t spent yet.”

I squeezed her hand and she squeezed mine back. We stayed like that, sitting there, side by side and with our shoulders touching. Her hand in mind. Cordelia’s thumb moved against my knuckle. Hers was a small, absent motion. I did not think she was aware she was doing it.

”There’s still something else,” she said softly. ”Isn’t there?” I tried not to tense, though I must have anyway. She no doubt felt it. “Something underneath,” she continued and her voice was careful. “You’ve told me so much, and yet…there is something else. Underneath everything…there’s something you haven’t said.” Cordelia said it with absolute certainty, as if I was a puzzle, and there was only one missing piece left.

My throat was tight. “Yes,” I whispered.

Cordelia turned to look at me. We were very close. Close enough that I could see the faint pulse at her throat, and the way her lashes caught the light. She searched my face. Whatever she found there made her expression soften. “This is what you couldn’t talk about,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

I nodded. My voice would not come. Cordelia squeezed my hand. She smiled, and it was small and warm. “Someday, then,” she said. “Okay?”

Something inside of me both cracked and mended at the same time. I nodded again, slower. Cordelia’s smile stayed. She looked at our joined hands, and then at my face. Her gaze was now searching. It made me both want to look away and stay exactly where I was at the same time.

“Is this the reason?” she asked. “This thing underneath. Is this why you’re so…fixated on me?”

The word fixated made my face warm. I opened my mouth and closed it. “Maybe,” I finally said. “Part of it, I guess? There are…similarities. Things I recognized in you before I understood why.” Cordelia’s expression flickered and a shadow passed behind her eyes. She was not hurt, exactly. I saw it and I hated that I’d caused it. “But that’s not the only reason,” I said quickly, far too quickly. “It’s not- that’s not-”

I was doing this badly. My words were tripping over each other. I took a breath that didn’t help and tried again. “You are the only person I have ever met who makes me feel like an idiot and grateful for it at the same time. You see things I miss. You think in ways I can’t. And…and you’re really funny when you let yourself be-”

I stopped. My face was very warm and Cordelia was staring at me and I had forgotten what point I was trying to make. “I don’t know how to say it any better,” I said lamely. “I uh…was a shut in and all that.”

Cordelia’s cheeks had color in them. The kind that powder could not create and composure could not hide. She looked down at our hands. “I am funny sometimes, aren’t I?” she asked softly.

I laughed and it came out unsteady, and maybe a little wet, and I did not care at all. Cordelia laughed too. Hers was quieter than mine. She did not cover her mouth.

“Someday,” I said. “I promise. I’ll tell you everything.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, and her fingers tightened around mine.

Then, she told me about what was inside her. Cordelia told me about the dinner. She had been only eight years old. Her father had hosted a reception for a visiting Lord from the Eastern Province. It was an important affair.

Young Cordelia had been seated at the children’s table. She was supposed to be quiet. She was supposed to eat her food and smile at the other children and not speak unless spoken to.

The visiting Lord Marlowe had been holding court at the main table. He’d been discussing trade routes with Cordelia’s father and the conversation had turned to the grain tariffs between the Eastern and Western Provinces. The Lord had cited a figure. A specific number. The number was wrong.

Cordelia had known it was wrong because she had read her father’s trade ledgers that morning. She read everything she could find in her father’s study, whenever she had the chance. She had corrected the Lord. She had said, from the children’s table that the number was wrong, and she had supplied the correct one.

The Lord had laughed. The other guests had murmured and smiled. A few had looked at Julian Greenward with expressions of mild amusement. What a precocious child., they’d said.

Julian had smiled too. He had smiled through the rest of the evening. That night, everything changed.

Cordelia told me this part carefully. Her voice did not shake. Her hands did not tremble.

Her father had brought her to his study, and he had been calm. He had explained, very simply, that she had embarrassed a powerful man. That a great Lord’s pride had been wounded by a child, and wounded pride was the most dangerous thing in the world.

He did not need a stupid daughter, he had told her. He needed a brilliant daughter who knew when to be silent. The lessons started the next morning. The craft of being looked at without ever being seen. Her mother had overseen most of it. Cordelia had been eight.

When she finished, the reading room was very quiet. The morning light had moved past us and was now climbing the far wall. We had been here for a long time.

I squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. Neither of us spoke for a while.

I thought about a girl correcting a Lord at a dinner table because she had read a number in a ledger and it was wrong. I thought about another girl, a lifetime away, who had been punished for passing a test her mother had desperately wanted her to fail.

“You were brave,” I said instead. “You were eight, and you were brave.” Far braver than I, until it was too late.

Cordelia’s fingers tightened around mine. She didn’t speak. She leaned her head to the side until it rested against my shoulder.

It was a small weight. I held very still, afraid that if I moved, she would pull away. She did not pull away.

The morning was nearly gone when I finally spoke again. “I need your help,” I said.

Cordelia lifted her head from my shoulder. She looked at me and her eyes were clear. “Help saving you, I mean,” I clarified. “From your father and from Alexander.”

Cordelia’s expression did not change, but something shifted behind her eyes. I pressed on.

“I have thought about this,” I said. “I do have all of the pieces. Even with his guards, there should be a way to kill him, without anyone ever knowing.” It was a little more complicated than that, but I could make it happen. I said it flatly, because it was true, and I would never lie to Cordelia. “Your father would be harder, but not impossible.”

Cordelia stared at me. Her face was unreadable. “Would you really do that?” she asked. Her voice was very quiet.

“Yes,” I said. “If it’s what you wanted. If you asked.”

The silence that followed was long. Cordelia looked at me and I held her gaze. Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I don’t know if I want that,” she said slowly. “I don’t know if I’m…the kind of person who wants that.” She paused. “But I am grateful,” she whispered, “that you would.”

She looked away from me and out at the window. When she spoke again, her voice had changed. It was still quiet. “Killing my father is a nice thought, but it would only complicate things,” she said. “He has his finger in so many things, and killing him would throw everything into chaos. It might ruin Aelheim. He hasn’t formally named me his heir yet, but I will inherit eventually. I’m not sure what will happen in the time that might take.” She paused and looked at me. “Would you still do it?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t think you would want me to…and I don’t think I would want to either.”

Cordelia smiled, and it was a beautiful smile. “Good. I would not want that.” Then, she tilted her head. “Killing Alexander is another comforting thought, but it wouldn’t help. Duke Bulwark has seven sons. He’d just send the next one. How many can you kill, before they just raze Aelheim to the ground? That is, assuming the Crown itself doesn’t get involved immediately?”

“I know,” I said. “I’ve thought about all of this.”

Cordelia looked at me again. “If you are serious,” she said, “then you need to be willing to do something more than just killing.”

“What?”

“You have to win. Utterly and completely, from every single angle. Killing is easy,” Cordelia continued. “Anyone with enough power can destroy things, but destruction does not build anything.” Her eyes were bright. “You need to outgrow him, until the day comes when removing him is a formality.” She looked at me steadily. “Can you do that?”

“Not alone. He knows too many things that I don’t, and that I don’t have time to learn,” I said honestly. “I can’t….” I took a deep breath. “Not without you.”

Cordelia was quiet for a long time. Her thumb pressed against my knuckle. I could see her weighing it. The cost of what I was asking. I waited. I would not demand this from her. I would ask, always, and accept whatever answer came. The silence still made my insides twist.

Cordelia’s gaze moved from the window to the bookshelf. She looked at the room -her small, secret room that was exactly the right size for two.

Then she looked at me. “Yes,” she said. “Defiance, huh?” She smiled, and the word sounded different coming from her than it did me. “Fine then. Let me tell you where to start.”

Her fingers laced through mine.