Page 89 of Wateredge

“Ms. Rathcross, either state your business, or get the hell out of my family’s faces. As has been so eloquently put by my sisters, you’ve done enough. Alternatively, for the past ten years, have done absolutely not a damn thing to prevent what happened two days ago.”

“Three centuries.”

The first words Dagmar said were like nails on a chalkboard. Her normally low, cultured, slightly bored voice was nowhere to be found. Instead, it held notes of rust and brokenness.

Seren lifted an eyebrow and exchanged a look with Ceridwen. From the corner of her eye, Lark could see Headmistress Nox reach for her large purse, a thick stack of papers peeking out from inside.

“An extemporization on that timeline might be appropriate, Ms. Rathcross,” the Headmistress said.

Dagmar nodded, the movement jerky, like a marionette with torn strings.

“Our families crossed paths for the first time during the Salem Trials.” Dagmar scanned the room, her watery eyes seemingly taking in everyone and no one in particular. “My ancestors were on the commission⁠—”

“You mean you were witnesses for the prosecution, which might as well have made you executioners, since none of the ones hanged were actual witches?” Rhiannon’s tone held so much contempt that it hung in the air of the room, suddenly suffocating them all.

Dagmar pursed her lips, then nodded again, this time the motion small, almost imperceptible.

“I will not go into details.”

“Oh, of course, why would you? Innocent people died, your family’s actions killed them, then you took their money to build the abomination you call a Foundation. Let’s all just carry on.” Deryn would’ve jumped up again if not for Paloma’s hand on her thigh.

“Would you rather I detail ancient history, Ms. Crowhart, or tell you how and why my family made it to Dragons and why I am ending the association between the island and the Foundation once and for all?”

Deryn narrowed her eyes but stayed quiet. It was Seren who spoke, and Lark felt her heart beat faster.

“I think coming here, today of all days, under these circumstances, and dictating the terms of whatever disclosure you’re about to attempt to try and clear your guilty conscience is rather presumptuous, Ms. Rathcross. Unless it’s not the conscience talking at all and only damage control?”

When Dagmar remained silent but lowered her eyes, Seren smirked, and Lark exhaled.

“Then maybe you should not be here—” Lark was out of her chair and in front of Dagmar before anyone could stop her. Still, Dagmar’s next words did.

“I also came to ask for forgiveness from you.”

Lark swayed, and Seren’s hands, instantly warm on her shoulders, steadied her.

“Say your piece, Rathcross. No more conditions, no more obfuscation. We don’t have much time.” Seren drew Lark back toward the row of worn-out chairs and gently pushed her into one.

Dagmar looked briefly at Headmistress Nox, at the papers in her hands, and lifted her chin a notch, a gesture that was surely meant to be defiant but in the end was simply empty vanity. Lark saw the exhaustion and the fear behind the ice-cold eyes.

“I’m sure that in the past few months, my family’s association with the school has become known to you. I’ve had it confirmed that some of the people I’ve formerly employed have breached their NDAs to deliver information to a certain someone on the island who could pay them enough even in the event of a lawsuit.”

She slid her eyes from Rhiannon to Headmistress Nox to Paloma, and Lark instantly knew what she meant. The slow trickle of information that either Headmistress Nox or Rhiannon was able to obtain had a financial backing of the mayor herself.

Dagmar said nothing for a moment, just watching the women who looked back at her, faces open and unrepentant. She went on.

“As it is, you know that my family no longer has a vested interest in Dragons School for Girls.”

“Yes, because it no longer runs by your rules, has not run by them, in fact, for the last twenty years. The previous Headmistress, for all her faults, wasn’t of your choosing, and you couldn’t steer that ship with her in the mix. And without the majority of the Board, you couldn’t control her. And then I was recruited, and what was left of your dreams of once again getting your claws on the school evaporated entirely. The only question is why in the world you needed the school in the first place.”

The Headmistress crossed her arms and waited as Dagmar’s throat worked.

As the eyes that she had always thought were chips of ice turned into a muddy, watery mess with unshed crocodile tears, Lark finally understood. Magnus, his brothers, the entire darn—no, damn; no more hiding behind half-spoken words, and if she wanted to curse out loud, nobody could stop her anymore—fucking parish in bumfuck Louisiana, away from the cluttered rooms and prying eyes of their Boston and New York society friends were given free reign to⁠—

“Because there are only so fucking many little girls in county parishes on the bayou, aren’t there, Cousin Dagmar? Have you all been streamlining the process since the inception of the colonies? A veritable conveyor belt assembly of trophy wives for the rich and perverted?” Lark all but shouted.

The older woman recoiled as if she had been shot. Seren’s hand on Lark’s tightened almost painfully before letting go. Headmistress Nox’s gasp was loud, splitting the room, splitting the time into before and after Lark’s words.

“No…” Magdalene’s dual-colored eyes closed in denial as the monstrous truth settled on all of them.