“Tarquin,” Alohilani said, “what are you doing?”
He didn’t look up from a sheaf of papers. Alohilani could recognize Mehealani’s color-coding system from over by the door. “I’m going to find them,” he said, not looking up. “I’m going to find whoever poisoned her, and kill them.”
Alohilani pursed her lips. She had left her guards outside, and so, she rolled herself across the room, her arthritic hands tensing in pain. “Put those down, Tarquin.”
“Put them down,” Alohilani said, this time sharply enough that Tarquin looked up. The papers crinkled as his grasp tightened.
“I - I can’t. She was my wife.”
“And long before she was your wife, she was my daughter,” Alohilani said. Her words were cool and calm, but Tarquin flinched anyway; he could recognize the well-controlled fury running underneath them. “You do not have the right.”
He bit out a harsh, strangled laugh. “I don’t have the right? So what am I supposed to do? Step aside, allow the police to take care of it?”
“Yes,” Alohilani said. She settled back in her wheelchair and stared up at her son-in-law. “Tarquin. They attack my family on all sides, over a political situation of which you have but a very thin grasp. Do not think I don’t understand your pain. But you knew her only for years. I had her for a lifetime.”
His face reddened. “And not even that much matters? I won’t just stand aside, Mother, I -”
“You will,” Alohilani snapped. “I know you, Tarquin. I know how you operate. But this is not your place. You are not the hero in this. I will not allow your rage to ruin everything my daughter and your wife has worked for all her life.”
His eyes narrowed sulkily, but then Tarquin looked away, his shoulders falling. Alohilani sighed.
“You will remain my son,” she told him softly, and reached out, brushed her gnarled fingers against the back of his hand. “And I will seek the revenge we all need. But now, your children need a father, not a murderer.”
He gave her a sidelong look, though his fingers hooked gently around hers. Finally, he set down the papers. “But it is acceptable to have one as a grandmother?”
“You speak as if you don’t know what your own grandmother did,” Alohilani said, amused; a small, worn smile creeped over Tarquin’s face.
“...But you will need help.”
Alohilani sighed and took her hand back, arranging them carefully in her lap. She studied Tarquin, head held high.
“Boy, do not underestimate the power of a wounded mother. They will have no escape from my reach.”
