Shattered Truth

I watch in horror as Bandit drops to the ground, blood staining her side. Pain wracks my being, and my vision keeps going blurry from the gash on my head.

"Why are you doing this?" I demand of my mother. She slaps me across the face.

"Shut up, you wretched bastard child!" she hisses at me. "I should have slit your throat the day your father brought you home. As if bringing the daughter of his little dragon whore could possibly make up for the stillborn. And now I come to find out, he couldn't keep his hands to himself and knocked that bitch up with another child! I can't wait to be rid of the two of you, and I can't wait to watch Isaac suffer."

My tired body can barely process what she's saying. Her face and tone are so cruel, so full of loathing and disdain it's almost like she's stabbed her knife into me again. My world tilts and spins.

"I'm sorry daddy loved someone else. And I'm sorry your baby died. But why didn't you just leave him? Why are you doing all this?" I plead. I haven't called my father "daddy" since I was six years old.

"You stupid girl. I didn't care about that baby; I knew it was Isaac's. I'm the one who killed the horrid thing. And I also don't care that he was smitten with some Driat. Ours was a marriage of convenience. My entire plan was to take Isaac's fortune and join the Daggyrmir power with the Granagde House."

"You're a rancid bitch and I hope you burn in Hell!" Bandit cries from the floor. Her face is contorted in pain. I can hear Bruce fighting in the hall, but it sounds like he's on the losing side. I feel like my mind is shattering; the pain, my mother, Bandit...it's all too much. I can feel an overwhelming pressure building inside me; rushing through my very veins.

I hear startled cries from the hallway, and then suddenly Edgar, Sebastian, Kingsley, and Father.

"Philippa!" Father says. His gray eyes are like chips of ice in his normally smiling face.

"Hello, Isaac," Mother (no, not Mother I remind myself groggily) says sweetly, bringing her dagger close to my face again.

"How does it feel to see your precious brats dying right on front of you?"

"It feels like I'm going to snap your worthless neck, you whore." Father strides into the room and Moth-Philippa's smug smile slips slightly. Father is usually a gentle person; she clearly didn't expect him to retaliate.

"You've ruined my life enough times, Philippa," Father continues. I see Sebastian kneeling beside Bandit behind him. Kingsley and Edgar are in the doorway, fending off any other guards or Granagde trying to get inside to aid Philippa.

"I only stayed with you because you threatened Leandra's family, and because I used to think Charles was mine. Did you really think, after twenty-two years, that I wouldn't have figured out that you were having an affair with Gregory? Or that I didn't realize long ago that Charles and Cecily couldn't possibly be my children? Really, Philippa, you and your pompous lover are not as clever as you think you are."

"Well it doesn't matter now anyway!" Philippa shrieks. "Your precious daughters are as good as dead; the House of Daggyrmir is finished!"

"If that raving psychotic tramp thinks I'm dying, then she better think again!" I have to admire Bandit's spunk. My blood is pounding in my ears. And then I realize the pounding is coming from outside the building.

"We need to get out of here," Father says.

"No one is going anywhere," Philippa snarls. "I'm going to kill this filthy mongrel. I'm going to cut her skin off piece by piece and listen to her scream-" and then my father does the most extraordinary thing. He punches Philippa hard in the face. She stumbles back, tripping over her red dress. A sharp crack fills the air as her nose breaks and her knife clatters to the floor.

"Let's see if that piece of shit manwhore of yours wants you so bad with a crooked nose." And then he spits on her. Philippa stares up at him in shock and fear. My father makes quick work of my bonds and eases me gently out of the chair. I can barely walk.

"Daddy," I gasp. "Something's happening..."

"I know, my darling. That's why we need to go now," he tells me gently. Sebastian has Bandit cradled in his arms, and it looks like he made a makeshift bandage out of his cape. Father starts for the door; it appears that Edgar and Kingsley made easy work of the Granagde House and guards. I lean into Father as a silvery haze forms at the edges of my vision.

But Philippa is not as easily defeated as anyone assumed. She slams into Father from behind, and I tumble from his arms, slamming into the hard stone floor. Pain explodes in my brain and dots dance before my eyes. I watch, as though in a dream, as Philippa surrounds Father with her wind powers, creating a wall between him and the others. I push myself shakily up off the floor. Father tries to tackle Philippa, but she creates a cyclone around herself, pushing him back. Then she starts drawing the air away from him, choking him. I crawl across the floor, hoping she doesn't notice me. I can tell that the others, on the other side of the howling wall of wind, are shouting, but I can't hear them.

My weak fingers grab the handle of Philippa's fallen dagger. I use the chair to pull myself to my feet, all my muscles protesting. I drag myself toward Philippa. Her wall is only blocking Father and the others; her back is unprotected.

"Say hello to your dead son for me!" Philippa mocks as Father hits his knees on the floor, grabbing at his throat.

"Tell him yourself," I breathe out. She turns in surprise. I'm just fast enough. I plunge the dagger into her chest. Philippa stares at the blood spurting from her chest in shock.

I gather my strength. "That was for my brother," I whisper to her. I twist the knife sharply, drawing a scream from Philippas. "That's for my father. This is for my sister," I yank the knife free and plunge it into her stomach. "And this, is for my mother. Rot in hell, you fucking bitch." I rip the blade free and slash it across Philippa's throat. She gurgles faintly as the blood spills out of her throat. The wind ceases, and I drop the knife, marveling at the blood staining my hand. I sway on my feet and strong arms wrap around me.

"We have to get out of here, now," Father says raggedly, drawing deep breaths. "Giselle's powers are out of control with everything that's happened. And in her condition she'll never be able to stop it."

"What about Bruce? Where's Bruce?" Bandit shouts. Everyone's faces are fuzzy, and their voices sound slow and distorted. I feel like I'm underwater; I can hear ocean waves, smell the salt, feel water lapping against my skin. No; lapping inside my skin.

"I'm here, I'm here. Don't insult me by assuming those hot headed punks could take me out." Bruce limps up the hall, sweaty and bloody, but very much alive. My father presses me tight against his chest as everyone runs. I'm vaguely aware of dead bodies littered all through the house. The six of us burst out the front door and are met with shrieking winds and a pouring rain.

"It's coming!" Father shouts, the wind ripping his voice away, as if it doesn't want him to speak. "Get to the manor!" We race down the street and a white-hot pain unlike anything I've ever imagined rips through me. I scream into the darkness as the cyclone of water I created rips across the shore and slams into the Granagde Manor, swirling and shrieking until nothing remains of the once grand building.