Alaric had gone the color of ash.

“That box,” he said, and his voice cracked on it, “was stolen.

Stolen from my private vault.”

“It was retrieved,” Cosima said, without heat, “from my mother’s estate.

The estate you locked me away from while you bled her legacy dry.” She let the room hold that for a moment.

“You kept me from her things because you knew what she’d left in them.