Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

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Текущая страница: 40 (всего у книги 48 страниц)

She licks her dark, bitten lips and presses her hands to her cheeks. I can’t wait for everyone to take one look at her and know she’s just been fucked by her new husband on her way to mourn the old one.

That thought is quickly banished by the realization that I am on my way to betraying not only my sister’s sacrifice, but the sacrifice of all of the people who died to protect the fort that day. Ten years of strategizing for this chance at vengeance, and all I have to do is risk the plan we’ve built with a lie that will exonerate the very man responsible for all of our suffering.

I’m no longer just involved. Now I’m committed.

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55HENRY

The roads into Lunameade’s central square are lined with jars that hold flickering candles. It gives the illusion of a bright star exploding out from the Blood Well at the circular city center.

I suppose that’s the idea. I’m just not used to such elaborate decorations to go with the ritual.

What the fort has always lacked in extravagance, they’ve made up for in enthusiasm, but I have to admit that the lighting and the flowers strewn about the square give an eerie, ethereal quality to the solemn procession of people gathering around the mourning pyre.

Beside me, Harlow’s veiled head is bowed in deference as we climb the stairs of the ceremony stage that’s been constructed over the Blood Well. She looks haunting but lovely.

From the dais, I have a clear view of the pulsing crowd and the tall, conical mourning pyre, made of wood and huge bouquets of dried flowers, a good twenty feet in front of us. Mourners take turns securely tucking their letters to loved ones between the sticks before retreating to the edge of the crowd.

Security is present but not as robust as I expected. Several city guards stand around the pyre, watching the mourners move around it. Two men stand at the corners of the stage, their heads bowed in reverence.

“Who are they?” I ask Harlow.

“They’re blessed by Stellaria. They’ll help control the blaze,” she says, keeping her eyes cast down on the missive in her hand.

A figure darts up the stairs on the other side of the stage, and I start to push Harlow behind me until I see that it’s Kellan Carrenwell.

His face is clean-shaven, and his dark, wavy hair is still damp. Like he rushed to get here the moment he stepped out of the bath.

“Low,” he says, pulling her into a hug and kissing her cheek through her veil. “Good to see you. Sorry I cut it so close.”

She pulls back and looks past him. “What are you doing here? Where are Mother and Father?”

Kellan turns to face us so his back is to the crowd. “Slight change of plans. There’s a heavy Drained presence around both the North Hold and South Hold gates, so our parents are staying put to keep an eye on things. Rafe is doing the same up north. They want us to carry on with the ceremony without them. I will take on Father’s role—you will do the family mourning speech, Low.” He points to me. “And you will do your part at the afterparty.”

I bristle. I don’t like being told what to do by any Carrenwell, but I steady myself because I can feel Harlow’s frustration that Rafe is probably using this as yet another excuse to keep her sister from coming to a family event.

The crowd stirs restlessly in the cold night air. By now, the square is packed with so many people, they spill into the side streets. The stream of people coming forward to tuck their messages into the pyre has slowed to a trickle.

“Ready?” Kellan asks, smoothing his hands down his dark wool coat.

Harlow nods.

Kellan steps to the front of the stage and lifts his hands, and the crowd quiets. “People of Lunameade.”

As soon as he speaks, I understand why the stage is constructed this way. There are long, curved cutouts in the stone ground that extend from this central point in the square. Originally, I thought they were some kind of water drainage system, but they’re designed for acoustics, to help carry your voice to a large crowd if you stand in the right place.

Kellan continues. “We, the Carrenwell Family, welcome you to night one of Dark Star Festival. It is with heavy hearts that we come here to honor those we have lost over the past year. If you haven’t already done so, please place your mourning letters in the pyre or pass them to the front so they can be placed for you.” He pauses for a moment as the crowd shifts, passing the remaining letters forward.

Once all of the messages have been put into the pyre, he lifts his hands again. “Thank you for coming here tonight. I know your hearts are heavy, but tonight we offer our grief up to the Divine in exchange for peace. This ceremony is not just a remembrance of those we have lost, but also a reminder of the miraculous power of the Divine. I’m happy to introduce my youngest sister, Harlow, who will play the part of Stellaria for this year’s Dark Star Festival.”

He steps aside as the crowd applauds. Harlow hands me her cloak and moves forward to take her place.

It was so bright back in our room, I didn’t notice, but the fabric that looked black in full light shimmers with silvery sparkles in the candlelight. She looks ethereal, like her gown has been sewn directly from the night sky. The fabric must be enchanted by someone with a blessing from Stellaria.

She takes a breath and speaks in a loud, clear voice. “My late husband, Marc Beckley, was a pillar of this community. He would have been our next mayor had Asher not called him home so soon.” She brings her hand to her chest, toying with the star pendant on her necklace. Then, she looks down. Murmurs of encouragement rise through the crowd, and she presses a hand to her heart and lifts her chin.

All her practice in front of the mirror paid off. She’s very believable.

She waves a hand in thanks to the crowd. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Marc and how much he cared for the people of this city. We could have benefited from such a servant leader as mayor. I honor his memory by continuing to love and protect this city as my family has done for generations. I ask Divine Asher to deliver his soul and all the souls of our departed loved ones safely beyond the veil.”

Her conviction reminds me of the speech she delivered at her first dinner in Mountain Haven. She can be quite a compelling liar when she wants to be, but something about this speech, about the ache in her voice, doesn’t feel fake. Her grief is real, even if Marc is not the true subject of it. Hearing how much she wants her sister back makes me feel the slightest bit better about betraying Holly’s memory.

Harlow raises her hands to the sky. “Divine deliver them.”

The crowd raises their hands toward the dark sky and repeats, “Divine deliver them.”

She turns and descends the stairs, rounding the edge of the stage and tucking her letter into the pyre. One of the men who is charged with managing the fire steps forward and hands Harlow a white candle. She curls her other hand around the flame protectively as she walks toward the pyre and raises her free hand into the sky in a fist.

“I am Divine Stellaria. I have been robbed of my love, and in my agony, I’ve made the world dark and it will remain that way until we are reunited. I am the light and the dark between stars. I share my radiance with all those who share my agony, with those who know what it is to grieve,” she says as she bends to light the pyre.

She moves clockwise around it, lighting what I realize are eight points, one to align with each city gate. The pyre isn’t a cone shape like I thought. The base is a star.

Because my family was always in charge of the celebrations back in Mountain Haven, I only went to two Dark Star Festivals in Lunameade—the last one with Holly and the other before the fort fell, when I was twenty-three years old. The memory returns to me now—me, Carter, and Bryce drinking, gambling, and fucking our way through the three-day festival without a care in the world.

I didn’t notice details like this back then, but I remember watching the woman who played Stellaria—who must have been one of Harlow’s older sisters—call to the crowd and light the pyre. The sight was fascinating then, but it’s arresting now, watching my wife finish lighting the bonfire.

The crowd watches her with the same rapt attention, as struck by her grief and conviction as I am.

Harlow turns and shields her candle from the wind as she makes her way toward the crowd. A woman at the edge of the crowd holds out her own candle, lighting it off of Harlow’s. She lights several more candles along the perimeters and those people turn and light the one next to and behind them.

Slowly, the glowing candlelight spreads through the crowd.

Harlow walks up the stairs and crosses to the center of the stage. “Go in peace to honor those you have lost,” she says, lifting her hands. “Divine deliver us.”

The crowd lifts their hands and repeats after her, then turns and begins to process back toward their homes and parties, a chorus of mourning sounds breaking as they disperse.

She stays there for a long time with her gaze fixed on the bonfire. When the crowd has dwindled to a few stragglers, she finally turns to face me and Kellan.

“How did I do?” she asks.

I don’t know where to even begin because her grief felt so palpable, but Kellan saves me from having to speak.

He places a hand on her shoulder. “Low, you did great, but I thought you would say more at the beginning since our parents couldn’t make it.”

She frowns, and even through her veil I can see the doubt creeping into her eyes. “Was it not⁠—”

“It was perfect,” I interrupt, casting an irritated look at Kellan as I pull her into a hug. “You were perfect.”

I don’t even realize that hugging isn’t a thing we do until she goes rigid in my arms. Kellan watches the exchange with raised eyebrows.

Harlow extricates herself and snatches her cloak from me. “It was just a performance, Henry. I’m glad you found it moving.” She smiles as she says it, but something in her tone rings false. “Let’s get going. They will be expecting us at the party at home.”

She brushes by me, seemingly unaffected. It’s almost enough for me to fall for it. But when she crosses in front of the still-blazing pyre, I swear I catch the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes.

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56HENRY

Whatever I saw on Harlow’s face earlier must have been an illusion of her veil. Now that the party has begun, she’s smiling, her posture relaxed as she sips a glass of wine and listens to two young women from the high houses of Lunameade telling her a story about the rivalry between two seamstresses in the city.

Naima and Carter are sitting by a heating stone, rolling their eyes as Bryce holds court with several young women. I can’t hear what he’s saying over the many conversations on the patio, but I can tell by the way he’s gesticulating that he must be regaling them with what is likely an unnecessarily overblown tale of his heroism in the Drained Wood.

A group of fiddlers plays soft music, less for dancing than for atmosphere. Harrick and Liza Carrenwell sit at the other end of the patio, calling out requests to the musicians. I know that they’re really keeping their distance so that their influence seems far from what I’m going to say tonight.

The party is beautiful, but my gaze keeps sliding to Harlow in her starlight dress. It shimmers in the truly absurd amount of light flickering from candles on every tabletop. I’m trying not to look at her at all because I can’t think straight with her in that dress, especially with the fresh memory of fucking her in it.

I take a long swig of my whiskey and turn my full attention back to the group I’ve worked my way into. I can’t for the life of me remember the names of the people I’m speaking to or which gate their families guard, but I can always pick the biggest gossips at a party. They’re receptive in ways that not everyone is, and they ask the exact right questions to lead to the answers they want you to give.

Back at the fort, I’ve been called closed-off, broody, and intensely introverted, but really, I’m always watching. When you don’t speak up as much, people tend to fill the silence out of sheer nervousness. Being quiet means that I get to observe everyone, and they sometimes forget I’m even there. It’s what has kept my family alert and aware of any threats growing inside the fort walls, but it’s come in handy here in this new environment as well.

Harlow keeps glancing over at me, clearly surprised by my sudden switch from quiet brooding to life of the party.

It’s easier to be charming when I’m playing a part. I liked parties enough when I was younger, when Holly was alive and there was no pressure on me to fill the void she left behind.

Being here in Lunameade brings enough distance that I can slip back into that old pattern. If I want to sway these people to my side, they need to think I’m one of them. A woman named Annie, introduced herself right away and she’s eager to keep me talking.

“So, you two seem to know everyone, but I swear I still can’t even keep my in-laws straight,” I say.

Annie laughs softly. “The Carrenwells are probably the easiest to track because of the eyes. No other family has all those shades of purple.”

“Ah, but I can’t see color. So I’m at a loss there.”

Her jaw drops. “Can’t see color?”

I shake my head. “After I nearly died when the fort fell. My body recovered, but my vision never returned to color. I see the world in black and white.”

She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth, as she smacks her husband’s arm. “Patrick, can you imagine? That sounds like such a headache.”

Patrick whistles low. “I can’t. Surely it affects your night vision.”

“Don’t make him feel bad,” she chides, squeezing my arm. “I’m sorry. I’m just so fascinated that you had a brush with the veil and came back changed.”

“The stranger thing is that it happened to all of us who almost died that day. We all recovered, but our vision lost its color. Except…” I nod to Carter. “My friend Carter over there. He got his back when he fell in love with his wife.”

I can tell immediately this is the right thing to say because all of the women in the group sigh.

Annie presses a hand to her heart. “You’re kidding.”

“I couldn’t make it up,” I say. “It’s happened to a few of our men.”

“But not you?” Annie asks, glancing at Harlow. “She does normally seem a bit reserved, but tonight she was magnificent at the ceremony. I can see the appeal.”

I’m trying not to think about how appealing my wife is or how I can still smell her perfume all over me.

I sigh. “It’s still early, but I’m hopeful my full vision will return as we get to know each other better.” Each lie begets the next lie. Like any exercise, it gets easier the more I practice. I’m slowly leading them right to where I want them.

A blonde woman in our circle presses a hand to her heart. “She really is a beautiful girl. A shame that you can’t see her in full color.”

Annie nods in agreement. “You’re so right, Colleen. All of those Carrenwell women have the dark hair and pale skin and the high cheekbones.”

“Truthfully, I’ve never worried about what I’m missing,” I say. “Even in a black and white world, Harlow is striking.”

Perhaps I’m laying it on a little thick, but all of the women look moved.

“I am glad you survived. I can’t imagine what an ordeal you’ve been through,” Colleen says solemnly.

Several more people wander into our group. It’s slowly growing thanks to the morbid curiosity of these ghouls.

They want me to talk about it more, and I stuff down my disgust. “Well, not everyone was so lucky. So many of my people—of our people died defending our walls that day. The fort is set up similarly to the city. We have fallback points the same way you do here, but instead of being divided into quadrants, we’re set up in levels, one through six.”

They all nod along with rapt attention, and I know I have them. I just need Rafe to show. It’s stupid to let my emotions get involved, but between Harlow’s justifiable loathing of the man and the fact that he tried to frame me at a rebel meeting, I don’t mind setting him up as much as I expected.

I continue the story, leaving out any details critical to our strategic defense and playing up the emotional aspect. When I finally get to Holly’s death, half of the women have glassy eyes, their hands over their mouths or hearts in shock and sympathy. Sharing my sister’s last moments for the purpose of manipulation makes me feel sick to my stomach, but I think of Harlow’s words and force myself to be committed to this vengeance.

I shake my head. “Listen to me, going on and on and completely ruining the mood. I’m sorry. I fear I’m living up to the reputation of mountain men having no manners.”

“Nonsense,” Colleen says, grabbing my hand. “This is exactly what Agony night is about. It’s about sharing memories to share the burden of our collective grief. Your sister sounds like a very brave woman.”

I swallow hard. The sudden shift from contrived storytelling to real sympathy throws me. “Thank you for listening. The more people who know what we have been through—who know the stories of the people we love—the more their memories live on. It makes me miss her a little less.”

I hear a chorus of greetings on the far side of the patio.

Rafe has finally arrived. If I were a true believer, I would see this timing as Divine. He shakes hands as he enters the party, but I notice it’s all men who greet him. The women of the high houses seem to shrink away.

Annie tracks my gaze and sighs. “I guess we have to go welcome the mayor with the rest of them.”

“You’ll find no welcome for him from me,” I say just loud enough to cut through the din of conversations. Several people outside of our group turn to see what I’m talking about.

Harlow is directly in my line of sight. She pauses her conversation and gives me the barest hint of a nod.

I wave a hand in dismissal. “Look, I have been living in the woods a long time and I know things are different here. There are political games to be played and that man has made himself indispensable in this community. I don’t want to speak out of turn.”

As Annie grabs my shoulder, I can feel Harlow’s eyes on us. I have no idea if it’s amusement or jealousy, but I hope it’s the latter.

“You must speak your truth tonight, especially after sharing that story. For Holly,” Annie says.

The group around us nods. I try to ignore the way the reminder that I’m doing this for my sister and betraying her at the same time feels like a blade slid between my ribs.

I take a bracing breath. My dread is no longer manufactured. “I told you how we’d never seen a horde of Drained that big. They were so coordinated and advanced compared to what we had seen in the past, like the ones who just attacked North Hold last week.”

They all nod and lean in closer. I’ve got them on the hook—it just takes the slightest tug to haul them in. This is the trickiest part.

Lowering my voice, I lean toward them. “When the Drained showed up, the blessed in our ranks sensed the distinct feeling of Polm’s influence.”

Colleen gasps. “You think that someone compelled them to attack the fort all at once?”

I cast a narrow-eyed glare at Rafe. “I know exactly who did. Rafe saw us coming and going through North Hold more frequently, and I think he sensed his standing with the Carrenwells was falling behind my family. With Holly set as heir of Mountain Haven, I would be free to move anywhere to marry into any family, and we all know the Carrenwells decide which families hold the gates. North Hold would be an obvious choice given our relationship with the Carrenwells at the time and our knowledge of the road north to Mountain Haven.”

I see my implication hit the group of them. I feel like a puppet master pulling strings. It’s easier than I thought to muddle my sister’s memory by mixing lies into her story—to speak words that make me feel sick. I know that Harlow’s right. There is no dignity in revenge. There’s only what I will do and what I won’t.

Once I remember that, the lie is easy. Because it’s not a lie I’m telling to anyone who matters, and it’s certainly not something I believe. I have always known who my enemy is, and one way or another, Harrick Carrenwell is going to pay for his sins. This lie is just another tool to bring me to the end game of this plan. When I really think about it, there’s something very satisfying about him thinking he’s getting what he wants, right before I rip it all away from him.

Colleen clicks her tongue, her eyes lit with anger. “This makes more sense than I care to admit. We already know discreet violence is a method he likes. How many times did we see that wife of his in long-sleeved dresses out of season?”

“I saw her fixing the glamour around a black eye once in the ladies’ washroom at a North Hold party—back when he used to throw parties up there,” Annie says, shaking her head. “It’s a wonder he’s still mayor.”

“It’s the common people,” I say. “It’s easy to see the sway he has on them—of course, that could just be that manipulation magic at work.”

The revelation dawns on their faces in a wave. I’m just planting seeds, but I can tell they’re taking root already.

“I can’t believe I’ve never even considered it,” Patrick says. “He could be doing it to any of us who don’t have Polm’s blessing.”

I step closer to and drop my voice lower. “This is why I didn’t want to say anything. We should all be very careful with him and very skeptical. We have it on good authority that Rafe sent the horde away. While it might have been done for the sake of the city, he could have just sent them off into the forest. He didn’t have to direct them at the fort. Anyone who can do that is powerful, and that kind of power would make them unstoppable. I would like to hold him accountable when the moment presents itself. Do you think—” I look down and blow out a breath. “No. I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“Couldn’t ask what?” Patrick asks.

I look up and meet their eyes one by one. “I know things are different in the city and you all survive on alliances with other houses. But if the moment came when I could finally hold him accountable—would you stand behind me, given all you know personally? I have tried to make peace with this knowledge for ten years. I have offered it up to the Seven Divine. But I couldn’t rest knowing he might be here doing the same or worse in Lunameade. It’s clear he’ll do anything to hold on to power, but after the breach at North Hold last week, I couldn’t hold my tongue anymore.” I wave a hand. “Maybe it’s just my old memories coming to haunt me, but it feels frighteningly familiar.”

Their faces are grave, and while I know I’m lying about the subject matter, I am confident about the implications I’m making. Rafe is dangerous, and if they didn’t know it before, they do now—and everyone will be better off for it.

Annie and Colleen are both already nodding.

Patrick steps closer. “You have my support,” he says as he claps me on the back. “If there’s one thing we loathe in this circle, it’s a grifter. I think we’ve all seen hints of it over the years, but this brought all these puzzle pieces together. You can count on our support for whatever you need.”

The rest of the group murmurs their agreement.

I shake my head. “I couldn’t ask that of you, considering the risk and his history of violence.”

I glance in Rafe’s direction. He’s speaking with Liza and Harrick, but he seems to have noticed our larger group.

Colleen pats my arm. “We protect our people here.”

I press a fist over my heart and nod solemnly. “Thank you, but we should probably spread out so he doesn’t get suspicious. I don’t want to pull his attention again,” I whisper. “And please, be discreet about who you share all of this with. Only those you trust. I wouldn’t want this to cause a scene during the festival.”

They all nod, and I know I’ve just ensured that these rumors will spread like wildfire. They turn and split off into smaller groups, wandering toward the refreshments.

When I turn, Kellan Carrenwell is watching me intently.

I am completely fucked. I did not mean to do all of that in front of him, but he’s looking at me like he knows exactly what I am—a liar through and through.

He waits for my audience to wander away, murmuring their own suspicions amongst their small group. By tomorrow morning, those suspicions and my story will be all over town. A wave of nausea rolls through me as Kellan saunters over.

“I couldn’t figure it out before. Everyone has hooks eventually. Even Low.” He shakes his head and laughs. “But not you. Because you’re twice-blessed. You hide Polm’s blessing well, under the purple of Elvodeen—the problem is I just watched you work that crowd and your orange was sneaking through.”

I’ve worked so hard to hide this part of myself, to always make sure that I’m using my healing magic at the same time I use any manipulation magic so that Harlow won’t see. Several times, I was afraid she did, especially once I realized Gaven had sensed it. Certainly, if he could sense it, she would see it. But somehow she still hasn’t noticed. The moment that I tell her, she will stop trusting me. Weathering that kind of fallout when I need her on my side for this next critical part of the plan would ruin everything.

“Have you used it on Harlow?” Kellan asks.

“Not how you’re thinking,” I say.

He frowns. “She’s a tough hook. I’m quite blessed by Polm, and at this point, I don’t need to know someone intimately. Even strangers are easy for me. But Harlow is my sister, and it’s been years since I could snag her enough to compel her. If you got to her, it’s because she trusts you—that is a rare thing.” He sighs and looks back at the party. “You need to tell her how and when. Whatever your reason may be.”

I wait for Kellan to say more. It’s more unnerving that he doesn’t. But Kellan is the captain of the city guard and a seasoned interrogator. This is probably part of the play.

“Don’t look so shocked. You know as well as I do part of this gift is understanding who will abuse it.” He crosses his arms and sighs. “I looked into what you said about the well water.”

“And?”

“And you were right. Thank you. It’s going to make a big difference for the men who guard our gates.” He rubs the back of his neck and casts a glance behind him.

Harlow is speaking with his wife, Libby, across the courtyard, the two of them with their heads bent close together over their steaming cups of mulled wine.

“I also looked into some old records and found the log entry of you and your father meeting with mine, but what was discussed was conveniently left out.” Kellan shakes his head. “I’m sorry. If I had known what you shared, so much would be different now.” He sounds so genuine, but it’s hard to believe anything he says when I’m waiting for him to rat me out to his sister.

I thought I was prepared for city politics, but everyone here has an angle. Kellan could be working me.

He looks at Harlow and Libby again. “Harlow seems calm—almost happy. Can’t say I’ve ever seen that.”

“Happy might be a stretch.” I try to sound light, but I am braced for a fight.

Kellan smirks. “Tonight is hard for her. I think there was some old stuff coming up and there are some things you should know.” He looks out at the party. “That storytelling you did was impressive. Very compelling stuff. But this is a tale better shared in private.” He nods toward the garden entrance at the end of the stone patio. “Walk with me? I want to show you something in the garden.”

I know I’m probably about to be thrown in some Carrenwell dungeon, but when I look across the patio, Harlow is smiling at me. I gesture to Kellan to let her know where I’m going so at least someone I almost trust knows who I’m with.

I follow Kellan into the dark garden, not because I trust that he won’t try to kill me, but because I’m confident it won’t work.

It took every semblance of self-control not to show Kellan my fury as he pulled apart Harlow’s sob story piece by piece. He was so earnest—so concerned for the sister that very much does not need his protection.

My wife is such a talented storyteller.

“I can’t believe I fell for her stories when I knew she was a liar,” I say.

I have been fuming ever since I left the Carrenwell House garden after my talk with Kellan.

Fresh off of lying to half the high magical houses in the city to convince them to blame someone else for the Carrenwells’ sins, I found out what an unbelievable sucker I’ve been, and I’m livid.

I knock back the glass of whiskey in my hand and immediately hold it out to Carter for a refill.

The burning ache of humiliation in my chest hasn’t abated since I left the Carrenwell gardens an hour ago. When I came straight to Carter’s room, he read my emotional temperature quickly and summoned Naima and Bryce for backup.

They sat me down at the table in the room, and Carter has been monitoring my liquor intake as they listen to me rant.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk this much,” Naima says, playing with the belt of her robe.

Carter smirks at her. “Consider yourself lucky.”

I ignore their jabs, the seething anger too much for me to hold in. “I told her about Holly and she used that to manipulate me. She lied to me about what she wants out of this, and if I don’t know her motivation, I don’t know how to trust her. I poured my heart out⁠—”

“To get her to share with you,” Carter reminds me.

“I told her about the worst thing that ever happened to me,” I say. “I told her about losing Holly, and she offered me the one thing she knew I wouldn’t be able to resist—a sister who could be saved. She played on my sympathies.”

“Like you played on hers,” Naima says. “You’re just mad you got outplayed.”

I am mad I got outplayed. But I’m furious I got outplayed by someone who understood how to hit me in the place where it hurts most. I grossly miscalculated when I showed her so much of myself early on.

Can I really blame her for using it against me when I was such a fucking sap?

“You know I’m always the first to gloat, Hen,” Bryce says, leaning forward to pat me on the shoulder. “But this is a time I really don’t want to say I told you so. You deserve better. Especially when it comes to Holly.”