Chapter 11
Milo had belonged to my father first.
I forgot that sometimes.
The bird was nearly thirty.
Old enough to have heard conversations before Ruby, before my leadership, before my mother died.
Victor stared at him.
“No.”
Milo puffed his feathers.
Then, in my father’s voice:
“Victor gets the chair until Julian is ready.”
Victor stood.
His hands shook.
Celia closed her eyes from across the adjoining room.
That reaction told me she had heard the original conversation.
“You knew.”
She said nothing.
Victor turned toward her.
“You knew.”
Finally she answered.
“Yes.”
His face changed.
Not anger.
Collapse.
All those years.
A promise.
Edited by memory because the adults around him let him remember only the half that made him useful later.
I looked at Celia.
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
“Your father changed his mind often.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You kept the version that made Victor easier to control.”
Silence.
Dominic laughed from the other room.
Not kindness.
Contempt.
“Victor always heard what he wanted.”
Victor turned.
Dominic continued.
“You thought your father respected you because he gave you responsibility. He respected Julian because Julian didn’t need the promise.”
That was cruel.
Also partly true.
Victor moved toward him.
I stepped between them.
“No.”
He stared at me.
“Move.”
“No.”
“He used me.”
“Yes.”
“So did Dad.”
“Yes.”
His face twisted.
“And you still get everything.”
That was the real wound.
Not Dominic.
Not Celia.
Not even our father.
Me.
I looked at him.
“I got the chair.”
He said nothing.
“I lost Mom too.”
His jaw tightened.
“I lived under Dad too.”
Silence.
“You think being chosen meant I escaped him?”
Victor looked away.
I continued.
“He left me an organization filled with men waiting to see whether I would become him.”
That landed differently.
Because he had been one of them.
Ruby climbed down from the couch and walked toward us carrying half a piece of toast.
“Uncle Victor.”
He froze.
She held it out.
“Want?”
His face broke.
He crouched slowly.
“No, sweetheart.”
She shrugged and ate it herself.
Simple.
No judgment.
Victor watched her.
Then looked at me.
“I almost helped them take her.”
“Yes.”
No softening.
He nodded.
May you like
“I know.”
That was the first moment I believed he might eventually become something other than useful resentment.
