Chapter 12
Marcella asked to see me three days later.
No wedding gown.
No jewelry.
No White Table.
Just my sister.
We met in the old garden where Elena recorded her final message.
Marcella looked toward the fountain.
“I used to sit here with her.”
“I know.”
“She hated roses.”
“I know.”
“She pretended to like them because Mother loved them.”
That sounded like Elena.
For a while, Marcella talked about small things.
Then she finally reached the large one.
“I did not want her dead.”
“I believe you.”
She looked surprised.
Maybe she wanted me to accuse her of murder because murder was easier to defend against than truth.
“You still blame me.”
“Yes.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You can’t have both.”
“I can.”
Intent and consequence can exist in the same room.
Marcella arranged fear.
Thomas created danger.
Elena died.
Then Marcella lied.
Year after year.
That final choice belonged to her completely.
“Why didn’t you tell me after the crash?”
She looked down.
“Because you would have known why Thomas followed her.”
“And?”
“You would have destroyed the White Table.”
There.
Even after Elena died, Marcella protected the structure.
My wife’s death had not changed her enough.
Only exposure did.
Marcella whispered:
“I thought if the wedding happened, everything Father wanted would finally be secure.”
“You sacrificed your own wedding to a dead man’s design.”
She flinched.
Good.
Not because I wanted pain.
Because she needed to hear the whole sentence.
“What happens to me?” she asked.
“No Bellandi command.”
Her eyes closed.
“No council access. No Vivia.”
That opened them.
“Nico.”
“No.”
“I’m her aunt.”
“You slapped her because she wore her mother’s dress.”
“I panicked.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“And Vivia does not become responsible for whether your panic improves.”
That ended the argument.
Marcella could change.
May you like
Or not.
But my daughter would not be used as the testing ground.
