CHAPTER 90: CHAPTER NINETY

The air in the room seemed to vanish. The silence was shattered not by words, but by the sudden, violent movement of Rowan Hamilton.

Ines stared at her brother. His face, usually so kind, usually so full of brotherly affection, was twisted into a mask of pure, red rage. He looked at her—at her disheveled hair, her swollen lips, her hand in Carcel’s—and then his eyes snapped to his best friend.

"Ro... Ro... Rowan," Ines stammered, her voice a tiny, terrified squeak. She took a step back, her legs hitting the side of a table.

Rowan did not hear her. He did not see her fear. He saw only the man he had trusted with his life, the man he had trusted with his family, standing in a bedroom with his ruined sister.

Rowan moved.

He launched himself across the room. It was a blur of motion, a release of years of friendship turning into instant hatred.

"CARCEL!!!"

The scream tore from Rowan’s throat, raw and primal.

Rowan’s fist connected with Carcel’s jaw.

Crack.

The sound of bone hitting bone was sickeningly loud in the quiet room. Carcel didn’t block it. He didn’t dodge. He took the blow full force.

The impact sent Carcel stumbling back. He hit the wardrobe door with a heavy thud, then slid down, falling to the floor. He didn’t try to get up. He lay there, dazed, a trickle of blood already starting to flow from his cut lip.

Rowan didn’t stop. The first punch hadn’t satisfied the fire in his chest. It had only stoked it.

Rowan fell upon him. He got on top of Carcel, straddling his chest, pinning him to the floorboards. He grabbed Carcel by the collar of his open shirt, yanking him up, and then punched him again. And again. And again.

"How dare you!" Rowan roared, his voice shaking the walls. "How dare you touch my sister!"

His fist slammed into Carcel’s cheek.

"Carcel, I trusted you!" Rowan screamed, tears of rage pricking his eyes. "I trusted you with everything! You were my brother!"

Another punch. Carcel’s head snapped back against the wood of the wardrobe.

"You betrayed me! You of all people! Anyone else, Carcel, anyone else I could have killed! But you! How could you!"

Rowan’s breathing was ragged, a harsh, sawing sound. "YOU BETRAYED ME!"

Carcel just lay there. He didn’t raise his hands to defend himself. He didn’t try to push Rowan off. He felt the pain—the sharp sting in his jaw, the throbbing in his eye, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth—but he welcomed it.

I deserve it, his mind rang, a dull, repetitive bell. Hit me again. I deserve every bit of this. I broke your trust. I touched her. I ruined her.

He looked up at his friend’s contorted face, and he saw the heartbreak there. That hurt more than the fists.

Ines stood frozen for a second, watching the nightmare unfold. Her brother was beating the man she loved. The sound of the punches snapped her out of her shock.

She screamed.

"Rowan! Stop!"

She rushed forward. She didn’t care about her bare feet or her loose dress. She threw herself at her brother’s back.

She grabbed the back of his shirt, her small hands pulling at the fabric with all her strength.

"Rowan, stop it! You will kill him!" she sobbed, her voice hysterical. "Please! Stop!"

She tugged and pulled, but Rowan was a large man, and in his rage, he was immovable. He raised his fist again, ready to deliver another blow to Carcel’s already bruising face.

"I will kill him!" Rowan snarled, not looking back at her. "He deserves to die!"

"No! No!" Ines cried.

She let go of his shirt and grabbed his arm, the one raised to strike. She hung onto it, using her whole weight to drag it down.

"Rowan," she hiccuped, the tears streaming down her face, blinding her. "Please... Please stop. Look at him! He isn’t fighting back!"

Hearing her voice, so close, so broken, something in Rowan flickered. The red haze cleared just a fraction. He froze, his fist hovering in the air.

He looked down.

He saw Carcel. His friend was bleeding. His eye was swelling shut. Carcel was looking up at him, not with anger, but with a profound, deep sadness.

Rowan’s grip on Carcel’s collar loosened slightly. He turned his head.

He saw Ines. She was on her knees beside them, clutching his arm. Her face was wet with tears, her nose red, her eyes wide with terror. She looked so small. So scared. And she was scared of him.

"Rowan," she whispered, shaking. "Please."

The silence stretched, heavy and terrible. The only sound was the ragged breathing of the three people on the floor.

Carcel coughed. A wet, painful sound. He turned his head to the side and spat a mouthful of blood onto the carpet.

He looked up at Rowan.

"I’m sorry," Carcel whispered.

His voice was shaking. It was weak. It was the voice of a man who knew he had no defense.

"I am so sorry, Rowan."

It was the wrong thing to say.

The apology didn’t soothe Rowan. It ignited him. It confirmed everything. It was an admission of guilt. It was an admission that he had taken Ines, used her, and broken the sacred trust between them.

Rowan’s eyes hardened again. The rage returned, colder and sharper this time.

"Sorry?" Rowan hissed. "You are sorry? You ruin her, and you say you are sorry?"

He tightened his grip on Carcel’s collar again. He raised his fist higher, shaking off Ines’s weak hold. He was going to finish this. He was going to hurt him.

"I don’t want your apology!" Rowan yelled. "I want your blood!"

He swung his fist down.

Ines saw it coming. She saw the intent in her brother’s eyes.

She didn’t think. She didn’t reason. She moved.

She threw herself forward.

She laid her body across Carcel’s chest, putting herself directly between the two men. She shielded Carcel’s face with her own head, burying her face in his neck.

Rowan gasped. He tried to stop his punch, pulling back at the last second, his fist grazing Ines’s shoulder instead of smashing into Carcel’s face.

"Ines!" Rowan shouted, shocked. "Move! Get away from him!"

Ines did not move. She clung to Carcel, her arms wrapped tight around his neck, protecting him. She lifted her head and looked straight into her brother’s furious eyes.

"IT WAS ME!" she screamed.

The words rang out in the room, louder than the fighting, louder than the sobbing.

Rowan froze. He stared at her, his hand still raised in a half-fist. "What?"

Ines took a deep breath. She was shaking, but her voice was clear. She had to say it.

"It was me," she said again, amidst her tears. "I asked him. I begged him."

Rowan looked confused. He looked down at Carcel, who was trying to gently push Ines away, trying to protect her from Rowan’s anger.

"Ines, stop," Carcel rasped. "Don’t..."

"No!" Ines shouted over him. She looked at Rowan. "I asked him to teach me! I went to him. I wrote a list of questions. I asked him to show me!"

She swallowed a sob. "I asked him to teach me about the affairs between a man and a woman!"

She gripped Carcel’s shirt.

"He tried to say no! He tried to leave! He tried to stop it! But I... I wouldn’t let him. I insisted. I used our friendship. I forced him to help me!"

It was a lie, and it wasn’t. Carcel had participated first but stopped because of guilt. And she had been the one to strike the match.

"So if you want to hit someone," she cried, her hazel eyes blazing with a fierce, protective light, "hit me! Because I am the one who started it! I am the one who seduced him!"

Rowan stared at his sister.

He looked at her face—flushed, tear-streaked, defiant. He looked at the way she was protecting Carcel with her own body.

He looked at Carcel, who was looking at Ines with an expression of pure agony and love.

The rage in Rowan seemed to drain away, leaving him empty and cold. His fist, which had been ready to strike, lost its tension.

It dropped to his side.

He sat back on his heels, his weight coming off Carcel. He looked like a man who had just been told the world was flat.

He looked at his little sister. The sister he had tried to protect from the sun, from the cold, from books, from life.

"Ines," he whispered, his voice hollow and stunned. "You... you asked him to?"