Page 90 of Wateredge

Leaning back against the wall, Dagmar nodded.

“When I became Chairwoman of the Rathcross Foundation, I started withdrawing from Dragons School for Girls. The former Headmistress might have been a drunk and a mess, but Orla Fenway was only a few nightcaps away from uncovering the initial, centuries-old purpose of the school. And no, despite Lark’s astuteness, it wasn’t⁠—”

“Trafficking? Mail-order brides for wealthy aristocratic men? Educated in all the right wifely ways, docile, peaceable?” Seren was vibrating with rage.

“That might have been the idea the people who began it all had, however…” Dagmar shook her head. “Therein lies the problem that my ancestors clearly underestimated. Those three qualities don’t go hand in hand, Ms. Crowhart. As Dragons has demonstrated time and again. An educated woman will rarely be docile or peaceable. That’s why I run the Foundation. That’s why I determine what is to be funded or not, which efforts my family’s money will go to, and which distractions will be thrown to the foolish and slobbering mouths of my feeble-brained brothers and cousins who believe the nonsense they preach.”

The silence after Dagmar’s outburst had a peculiar flavor. One of utter disbelief.

“You mean to say… the museum… the religious artifacts?” Ceridwen started, then stopped and just looked at Dagmar to go on.

“Zealots require symbols. Fanatics require causes. And masses need distractions, or attractions, however you want to put it.” Dagmar flicked a speck of lint off her perfect black suit. “Do you genuinely think I care that some thousand-year-old carved stone that may or may not have belonged to goat herders from some hilltop would be displayed in a museum sporting my family’s name? Do you think I care? No, but my zealot brothers do. My fanatic cousins do.”

“What do you care about, exactly?” Rhiannon asked. Dagmar’s eyes narrowed.

“Achieving my own goals, without intervention or pressure from the men who were raised to be both religious militants and devotees by a family that watched yours burn and hang. You think I wouldn’t ingratiate myself with a few local politicians to make such a museum happen?”

“What goals would those be, since apparently religion isn’t your speed?” Deryn gave Dagmar a steady look. Dagmar’s breaths were coming fast, ragged now. All eyes were on her.

When no words came for the longest time, it was Ceridwen who spoke.

“While your brothers and cousins fought for symbols, you pursued what, exactly?”

“Influence is power, Ms. Crowhart. And power is⁠—”

“All of this for money?” Ceridwen’s expression was incredulous.

“Money is the only thing that matters. And if you sell a few simpletons a fairy tale and give them something to hate, they will believe anything you tell them. They will follow you to the ends of the Earth while your power increases.”

Dagmar touched her hair and then looked Ceridwen dead in the eye.

“You know all about power, Ms. Ceridwen Crowhart.” The icy eyes did not waver. “It might not be money, it might not be influence, but it is life-changing, this freedom it brings. You have no leg to stand on to judge me.”

“We do not harm!” Ceridwen’s exclamation drew everyone’s eyes. Lark wondered how much both Judge Astor and the Headmistress understood about the power Dagmar spoke about.

“Not a single soul in this room thinks that power does not harm. Yours or mine. So tread carefully with your judgement. My cousin was nearly torn limb from limb two days ago. How’s that for “do not harm”?”

The question was uttered softly, quietly, and it slithered over the floor like a snake.

Seren’s fingers flinched in Lark’s hand.

“You can’t compare. The things he did—” Lark’s voice broke, but she refused to stay silent. Nothing that had happened at Seren’s hands two nights ago could come even close to what Dagmar and her family had done.

“I wasn’t. And I apologize if my words came out that way.” Dagmar bowed her head.

“You should apologize for many things. But just so we are all clear, the museum was… a ruse? A distraction?” Rhiannon balled her fists. “You set Crow & Cat on fire for a distraction?”

Dagmar shook her head.

“No. No arson was committed. I indeed had plans to… acquire the former Atelier, back in the day when it still belonged to Jerome Maginot, but they did not pan out.”

She shrugged, then her eyes turned shrewd.

“Of course, all of this is hypothetical. Alleged. Complete fabrication for the sake of… a good story. A good story we are all indulging in now.”

Lark sighed and looked around. All eyes were suddenly on her. Magdalene Nox cleared her throat.

“The so-called hypotheticals you’ve been sharing with us here are being recorded anyway.” She lifted a hand, revealing the voice recording app on her phone.