ravaged hearts

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE,

RAVAGED HEARTS | CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  WHEN BLINDFOLDED, THE only sense you could truly rely on was sound, unless you were going through the sewers, which Io could only assume was not the way to her father's den. So she listened carefully to the sound of birds, to the sound of the material under her foot. Every time she passed by what felt like a flock of birds she made sure to give a bit of a struggle. They might just pass it onto Louis. That was one of her only ways out right now.

  The end of the street turned out to be a five minute walk, though it might be because they paused every few seconds since it was awfully inconvenient to bring around a blindfolded girl in broad daylight, even if the neighbourhood did seem quite vacant at the hour.

  She felt the turn, heard the creakings of an opening metal gate and the steps beneath her turned from brick into unsmooth stone. She sucked in a quiet breath. This was it. All her life seemed to come down to this. All these years of pain and anguish and abandonment was because of this man. The same man who gave her her life. Who so, so, so clearly saw it as a mistake.

  She wanted to make him pay. Huan wo wu gu de mu qin yi ge gong dao. She wanted justice for her mother, Dominique Min. Who'd done nothing to deserve her fate.

  Knocks. The door opened. There was silence.

  Then, a man's voice, hoarse, slightly in awe, slightly fearful, in power all the same, speaking in Saian: "And you must be Iolanthe Mi. Welcome home, daughter."

  -♡-

  "THE LAST TIME I saw you you were two." She felt herself being led towards the centre of a room, lowered into a chair, bound by rope. A moment later, the blindfold was removed from her head.

  She hadn't seen him since she was barely a babe, and she'd been too young to remember his face properly. How old was he now? Fifty? It was obvious in the lines on his face. He was no longer the dashing rake of his youth. The wickedness was visible now, clearly written and displayed. Time had taken a toll on him, as had aging. His clothes were old and ragged but still clearly marked with poshness of the upper class. He wore western clothes rather than Saian robes, a white silk shirt with black trousers. Hair once black had turned grey, though still neatly trimmed, and his eyes were cold and hard–that hadn't changed.

  He said then, "You have your mother's eyes."

  "She's my mother," Io snapped, "I take after her. It's only natural."

  "You have my chin." He sounded like some connoisseur inspecting art. She hated the feeling of being on display.

  "I wish I fucking didn't."

  "Do not be crude," he chided. Io was then abruptly aware that Seo and Voronin were still in the room. The prince turned to them. "Leave us. I wish to speak to my daughter alone."

  "Your Highness—"

  "You would deny an old man a few moments of privacy with his long lost daughter?" the prince commanded. Years hadn't taken away the natural air of commandery usual of a royal child. Voronin and Seo took a step back, lowering their heads.

  "Of course, Your Highness."

  And just like that they were alone in the parlour. Io met her father's eyes. "They say you wanted to see me."

  "Is it that shocking? For a father to wish to see their child?"

  "If you wanted to see me," Io said, acid in her voice, "maybe you shouldn't have killed my mother. Maybe you should have taken me in and accepted me as your bloody child in the first place."