Page 179 of Ashen Torment

“Have you spoken to someone?” I ask, lowering my tone. “You have already made your moves, haven’t you?”

“I have made considerations. Nothing is decided. But there are contacts. Families with whom such an alliance would be... useful.”

“Families.”

“Yes. And young ladies. Educated. Sober. Discreet. With a clean lineage and a manageable reputation. People who know the value of silence.”

“You want to sell me.”

“I want to protect what is ours.”

My fist curls slowly. I take a step forward.

“Let me be clear, Grandfather,” I say, over-enunciating every word, “you will never decide such things for me. Nikogdá. Never.”

Another step toward him, looking him in the eye.

“As you said, I am not my father.”

He scrutinizes me undeterred, without lowering his gaze. His face betrays neither surprise nor threat.

“If I desire to take a wife,” I proceed, my fists tightening at my sides, “I will be the one to decide how, when, and who.”

A flash crosses my mind: indigo-blue eyes that set me aflame.

I breathe more heavily, my chest thumping beneath my waistcoat.

“And if I do not desire it, so it shall be, and you will have no say in the matter.”

He sneers, amused.

“You can clothe yourself in grace all you like, Dorian, but your mother’s blood does not lie. Brutality flows in you, and sooner or later, it will gain the upper hand.”

“You should not fear my brutality, Grandfather. You should fear the day I stop concealing it.”

“And then there is this obsession of yours.”

I furrow my brow slightly.

“Lucien. Your father’s death. Your mother. Those nightly vigils, the archives consulted in secret...”

I bring my hands behind my back.

“You are digging graves, Dorian. Not truths.”

I remain silent.

“Your father is dead. Your mother as well. Nothing will change. Not even if you come to know every detail. Not even if you persuade yourself that there was some fault.”

My fingers press against each other. My skin feels tight.

“Lucien is leading you down a path that yields no result.”

My breath grows shorter. I feel the pulse in my temples steady, obstinate. My jaw sets.

What the hell do you think I am looking for? A culprit?

No. Just a reason. One that makes it all look less like a mistake.