Blood Ties

Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The room was uncomfortably, stiflingly bare. Layla paced the floor empty-handed, having forgone her knives hours earlier in favor of her stringed instrument, which she had promptly smashed against the wall in a fit of rage. Turbulent thoughts rolled through her mind unmercifully, each one either too logical or too fantastic for her taste. Would they trust her after this? Would they listen to one such as her? No, impossible, for she had killed so many and her hands were so bloody. So would they instead convert Jake to their side? Would they teach him to hate her and fear her as they did? She could not bear such a thought; no, Jake was too loyal, too kind, he wouldn't-

With an inaudible huff, Layla's fist flew into the wall, leaving a splintering dent in the wood and actual blood running down her fingers. She inspected her wounded hand, her eyes narrowed. She murmured, "Would anyone in their right mind trust a woman with blood on her hands?" For a moment, she pondered, before breaking into an artificial laugh. Her fist lit with a magical glow as the skin was healed. Shaking out her hand, she started all over, pacing, thinking, and worrying.

Someone pushed her door open just as she turned her back, and hope leapt into her heart. She turned, something like a smile finding its way onto her face. Then she saw who the visitor truly was and schooled her features, cursing herself for being so naïve.

"Hello, daughter," Grace greeted, smiling pleasantly. "Your eyes looked a good bit like your father's just then." The words were commonplace; her voice was cheery. But Layla could hear the underlying, murderous edge to those words and for a moment felt afraid.

Smirking, she clasped her hands behind her back, wishing she hadn't tossed her knives so long ago. "Mother."

Grace glanced at her smirking lips with a hint of satisfaction in her gaze. She strode into the room with confidence and planted herself on Layla's bed comfortably. "We're a few days out from Ignis now. Excited?"

"Should I be?" Layla replied, trying to mirror her mother's body language.

Grace quirked an eyebrow, appearing bemused at the question. "Why, yes! Your wish comes true."

"It's not an exciting wish," her daughter remarked plainly.

Grace let out a delighted laugh, nodding. "True enough, love. Mine is so much grander than yours, isn't it?"

Layla did not respond, fidgeting a bit underneath the queen's level stare. A moment passed before Grace stood abruptly, her hand on Layla's shoulder before she could react. Her nails dug into Layla's skin, making her flinch.

"Where is your slave boy, daughter?" She asked in a low voice, her teeth grating together with barely controlled rage.

Layla stiffened, panic rising within her chest. "What?"

"You heard me, Layla, where is the boy?" Grace voice rose to a scream, her fingers clenching tighter into her skin. "He is always with you, always tagging along. Where is he?"

"Where do you think, Mother?" Layla glared her down, her eyes locked onto her mother's. "You need Marco for your plan. Marco tried to kill himself. J- the slave is his brother. You're welcome."

Grace's grip did not lessen; instead it became ever tighter. "Oh really? I thought I already told you: if he were to die I would not care. He is not essential to my plan at all. If I didn't know better, darling..." She leaned close, her pale face inches from Layla's, her eyes boring into hers. "I'd say you cared."

"Have you ever known me to be the caring type, Mother?" Layla smiled a tight-lipped smirk, tilting her head backwards to escape that steady glare.

Her mother grinned back at her. "Only once, in fact." Her free hand reached towards Layla's face, her fingers inches away from the scar she had inflicted. She blinked and found herself on the ground, her arm held in an awkward position and her daughter's knee between her shoulder blades.