The Darkest of Dreams

by Emigh Cannaday

  “I can’t be back from the dead because I was never dead to begin with,” Finn pointed out. He stretched his legs until his feet were closer to the fire, trying to think of a way to help his niece understand the complexity of what had happened. “I’ll take her for a sleigh ride the next time it’s sunny out. That ought to convince her.”

  “And we’ll keep the conversation nice and simple,” Anthea said. “We’ll tell her the same thing that we were told…that there was a mistake.”

  “It’s a hell of a mistake,” said Ambrose. He was stroking his grey beard, yet even he couldn’t stop smiling at the sight of his son alive and well. “How many more people did you say are coming down from Lennadon?”

  “An Imperial medical examiner is bringing a forensic team to exhume the body after the holidays,” he said and sipped on his eggnog. He took a bite of potato and onion casserole and chewed thoughtfully before adding, “I don’t think they’ve properly anticipated how frozen the ground is. Yes, we’re further south, but we’re in the foothills of the mountains. It’ll take hours just to clear off all the snow from the family plot, and probably a day or two of digging up the dirt.”

  “It won’t take so long if we all help,” Runa piped up, and glanced towards Justinian and Nikola.

  “You should stay inside where it’s warm,” Nikola advised while patting Hilda’s hand. “I could probably do most of the work by myself.”

  “And then you would be exhausted,” Hilda replied.

  “We’re not supposed to touch anything until the examiner arrives,” Finn said in between bites of potato casserole and squash soufflé. “Cyril couldn’t stress it enough—we have to make sure everything is done by the book if there’s any chance of reducing Talvi’s sentence. We can’t have anyone disturbing the grave until the team is here.”

  “That’s all fine and dandy, but I’m still going to help however I can,” Nikola added.

  “As will I,” Justinian added, not to be outdone by his little brother. “I can help clear the snow.”

  “You have to wait until the examiner arrives,” Hilda warned. “We mustn’t make things any worse for Talvi. It’s already bad enough as it is.” Justinian sighed, although he didn’t press the argument any further.

  “Never in all my years have I imagined this is how we’d spend our Yule…by digging up graves,” Sariel said while shifting Aidan in her arms. Finn nearly choked on his food when he looked closer at what she’d been holding.

  “I thought that was a blanket in your lap!” he sputtered. “Sariel, congratulations! Same to you, Justinian. Forgive me for not noticing earlier! My gods, I feel like a buffoon.”

  A warm smile spread across Sariel’s face as she rose from her chair and brought the blanket and its contents closer to Finn.

  “You’ve been a bit overwhelmed, and rightly so,” she said. “He only just woke up, so now you can meet him properly.”

  Althea took Finn’s plate while Sariel handed over the black-haired baby.

  “What’s his name?”

  “His name’s Aidan. He’s two months old tomorrow.”

  “Aidan…I like that name quite a bit,” he hummed. Sariel and Justinian exchanged grins. Then the baby reached out for his nose. “My gods, he’s chubby—look at these fat little fingers…and those fat little cheeks…and those big blue eyes…crystal blue just like his parents.” He turned toward Justinian, who hadn’t stopped beaming all night. “How are you getting on with being a new father?”

  Justinian waved a dismissive hand at the question.

  “He’s taken to it like a duck to water,” Sariel grinned. “I’ve only changed four nappies since the day Aidan was born.”

  “Perhaps that’s an exaggeration,” Justinian said, trying to be modest. Sariel shook her head.

  “You’ve been so incredibly helpful,” she told him. Then she turned back to Finn. “So has your family. They already had all of the paraphernalia we could ever need…nappies and outfits and hats and socks.”

  “We’ve gone through a lot of socks,” Justinian said with an emphatic nod. “He kicks them right off.”

  “Well now, little chap—do you get that from your mother or your father?” Finn asked Aidan. The little boy smiled back at him and kicked both of his chubby legs.

  “Probably from Sariel,” Justinian chortled. “She kicks me all night. Luckily we’ve taken the room beside Yuri’s chamber, and the bed is large enough that I can roll over whenever she does it. I couldn’t do that back at the cave.”

  Finn took one last lingering look at the little boy before handing him back to Sariel.

  “I never thought you would ever leave that place. Then again, I didn’t think you’d ever marry another man or have another child.” He continued to look at Sariel in disbelief. “You’ve done more in the past year than I’ve done in my entire life.”

  “One day it will be your turn, and when that day comes, everything will happen much too fast,” she said, and returned to her seat. Finn took back his plate, but his eyes remained fixated on Aidan, who was still smiling and trying to kick off his tiny socks. Eventually, he gave a wistful sigh and then grabbed ahold of his fork again.

  “Time will tell.”

  By the end of the next day, the Marinossian household had started to settle into a new routine. Now that Finn was willing, able, and eager to help with the chores, it left more free time for everyone else to indulge in leisurely hobbies. But none of them were interested in solitude pleasures like reading or needlepoint like they had recently been. Instead, they tried to find things to do as a large group, like decorating cookies and playing games of cards and charades. The pensive, moody and short-tempered elven man that had slipped out of the house months ago had returned as the one they all knew and adored. Finn’s mind was clear, his heart was much less troubled, and although he felt bad for Talvi being locked away in prison, he was downright delighted to learn that Annika had given his horse to his cousin, and that Heron had left on an assignment for an undetermined length of time. No more mending fences in the freezing cold snow or pouring rain. No more having to deal with Ghassan’s mischievous antics at the neighboring farms. The discovery of his absence had lifted Finn’s spirits more than he’d expected.

  It also had lifted his spirits when Asbjorn had insisted on a mandatory visit to the Tortoise and the Hare.

  “The villagers are going to storm up to the house and break down the front door once they find out that you’re alive,” he’d argued. “Might as well make an official appearance down at the pub. Hopefully it’ll be enough to keep everyone from poking around here when the medical examiner arrives.”

  Being that it was the Yule holiday season and lots of villagers had family visiting from out of town, the Tortoise and the Hare was filled with familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. Pine boughs and garlands decorated the stone walls, and countless clusters of mistletoe hung from the rafters from long red ribbons. Just like when he’d arrived home, the moment that Finn walked through the door he was met with gasps of disbelief, squeals of joy, and then was promptly swarmed with affectionate hugs. Within a matter of minutes, the pub was bursting at the seams, and it got to a point where every time the door opened to let another person squeeze through it, the cold air wasn’t a curse, but a relief. So many rounds of drinks had been ordered in his honor that the two bartenders Dorsey and Spedding had given up trying to keep track. The first chance that Finn had to escape the crowd and belly up to the bar, the two of them grabbed ahold of him and dragged him to lie across the top of it. They cracked their inappropriate jokes and poured one shot after another into his laughing mouth until he felt a hand tugging on his pant leg.

  A youthful elven girl was jumping up and down from the other side of the bar. It was Hannelore, one of his former students. The minute that Finn climbed off the bar top she threw her arms around him.

  “You’re a bit young to be in here by yourself, young lady,” he scolded with a sheepish grin. “Your father’s not going to be ha
ppy to hear that you’ve become a bar fly.”

  “I’m in no such danger! I’m with my Aunt Eleanor, although I can’t believe I convinced her to leave the house,” she laughed, and let him go before wiping away a tear of happiness. “She’s such an old fuddy-duddy. When I heard you were alive and right over at the pub across the square, I begged Father to let me see for myself. He told me I could only come over if my aunt came with me, and I could only stay as long as it took to drink a half-pint of cider. I don’t care! I’ll drink it one drop at a time if I must! I’m so happy the rumors were true!” She hugged him again and then took a step back. “Were you really in a monastery? Are you a monk now? Does that mean you’re not supposed to be drinking?”

  “It was purely for a mental holiday. I never took any religious vows,” he said with a grin, and raised his glass. “Shall I fetch you that half-pint?”

  Hannelore glanced around the pub and shook her head.

  “No, Aunt Eleanor already promised me that she would. She loves to spoil me rotten since she lives alone and I’m her only niece. Every year she makes a double batch of rosewater and almond macarons just for me. Nobody else likes them nearly as much as I do.”

  “That’s because nobody likes rosewater macarons besides old grey-haired spinsters!”

  Finn scanned the crowded room for an old fuddy-duddy of a woman who didn’t look like she enjoyed leaving the house, preferably holding a half pint of cider meant for her niece. Nobody matching that description stood out to him. Everyone who was at the Tortoise and the Hare that night definitely wanted to be there.

  “Is your aunt in town for the holidays?” he asked politely. Hannelore toyed with her long dark braid and grinned.

  “No. Aunt Eleanor moved in with us after she was hired by the school,” she replied. “She’s been teaching history and geography and helping out in the library.”

  Finn raised an eyebrow in surprise, interest and then disappointment….all in that very same order.

  “History and geography and working in the library? But those were my jobs,” he protested.

  “You were dead,” Hannelore reminded him with a straight face. “Now that you’re not, perhaps you can teach another astronomy course?”

  “There’s not much demand for that,” he said, and tried to mask his frustration by taking a prolonged drink of his ale.

  “Ah, there you are,” called out a warm and musical female voice. A moderately tall elven woman with lively hazel eyes and long, wavy chestnut hair stepped up to the two of them. Her clothes were simple and elegant, appearing well-made and practical as opposed to being expensive or flashy. She held a half-pint of cider in one hand and a full pint in the other. To Hannelore’s surprise, she gave her the full pint and kept the smaller glass for herself, then pressed a finger against her lips. “Don’t tell your father.”

  “This is my aunt!” Hannelore blurted out. Finn frowned in confusion as he looked at the woman in disbelief.

  “You’re old Aunt Eleanor?”

  “Is that what my niece is calling me?”

  “You’re twice my age!” Hannelore cried. “That makes you old! You’re almost as old as Finn!”

  “Three-hundred and fifty is not old, my dear,” Eleanor said. “One day you’ll change your tune. Just wait until you’re my age.”

  “I will wait,” Hannelore laughed. “In fact, I’ll wait about a hundred and seventy more years, thank you very much!”

  “You’ll have to forgive me for staring,” Finn said while giving the woman a skeptical once-over. “You don’t look anything like how your niece painted you.”

  Eleanor cast him an equally skeptical once-over.

  “I think I’ll leave the painting to Parisian portrait artists. I read in the paper that you’re quite a collector of abstract figurative art.”

  Hannelore couldn’t have looked any more embarrassed than she did at that moment. The only one who felt worse was Finn.

  “Not particularly,” he stammered. “I prefer books to fine art.” Hannelore nudged her aunt and motioned to another teenage girl who was waving her hands at them from across the room.

  “Is it alright if I go talk to Zara?”

  Eleanor’s eyes narrowed with curiosity.

  “Who are those older boys with her?”

  “Those are her cousins,” Hannelore said, and rolled her eyes. “And her older sister is with them, too. Please, can I go?”

  “Fine,” her aunt said in a begrudging tone. “Don’t make me regret it.”

  “I won’t! I promise!” Hannelore darted off to join her friends, leaving an awkward silence between her favorite professor and her favorite aunt. They appeared to be the only two adults in the crowded pub who weren’t talking or laughing.

  “I heard that you took over my position at the school,” said Finn. “I’ve been teaching there off and on for over a hundred years.”

  “So I gathered from the students and during my interviews,” Eleanor replied more out of courtesy than anything else. “I can’t say that I’m surprised, given the number of things you left behind in your office. I’ve been meaning to box it up and bring it back to your family, but I’ve been extraordinarily busy these past few months. I was hired on full time in a bit of a hurry, so I’m afraid I haven’t made it a priority.”

  “That’s understandable,” he replied. “I can stop by with some crates and collect my things tomorrow after lunch.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” she said, then took a delicate sip of her cider. She glanced around the pub to catch a glimpse of her niece while seeming to be through speaking to Finn.

  “I’m surprised they wanted someone full time,” he said. He was still recovering from the thought that he wouldn’t occupy the office that he’d worked out of over the past century.

  “I think they wanted to incorporate more stability into their curriculum and less influence by instructors with the last name Marinossian,” she said coolly. “I was told you had some rough patches here and there regarding your attendance…the last year in particular. Of course, being dead didn’t do you any favors.”

  Desperate for a shred of comic relief, even at his expense, Finn let out a soft laugh.

  “I expect you’re right. Well, congratulations are in order,” he said, and touched his glass to hers. “If you have any questions I’d be happy to help. My family’s house isn’t far from here. I could always drop by and see how you’re getting on.” She gave him a reserved, somewhat forced smile.

  “Thank you. If I need a demonstration of how to lie on a bar and swallow mouthfuls of liquor as if my throat’s caught fire, I’ll be the very first to let you know.”

  “That was only—I mean—that’s not the sort of thing I’m known for around here,” he tried to explain. He felt his neck and his cheeks blush bright red, and he found himself regretting the indulgences from earlier that night. “When it comes to wild antics at the local pub, that’s really my brother’s forte, not mine.” Eleanor was already shaking her long brown waves of hair. She lifted a lofty brow at him and pursed her lips.

  “Yes, I’ve heard what your brother is known for around here. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that we never crossed paths…not that I think for one second that our paths would’ve actually crossed. If they had, I daresay I’d have gone running in the opposite direction.”

  Maybe it was the mouthfuls of liquid courage that he’d swallowed before being introduced, but Finn couldn’t help grinning at her answer.

  “I’m inclined to agree with you. I think you’re very fortunate to not have met him. Especially when there’s this much mistletoe hanging from the rafters. He’d be tempted to use it to his every advantage.”

  A pair of hazel eyes darted upwards, and as luck would have it, a sprig of mistletoe was hanging above the two of them. Eleanor scrunched her nose at the white berries as if she’d been the butt of a joke, then she took a step to one side. Instead of leaning in for an obligatory kiss like Talvi might’ve done, Finn was content
to keep his lips shut. He only parted them to take another long drink of his beer.

  “Listen, I realize that I’m new in the village, but I can’t tell you how many kind souls have warned me not to mess with a Marinossian,” said Eleanor. She placed her free hand on her hip and put a no-nonsense expression on her face. “I’m a professor and a librarian. My job is to know things and look out for my students’ best interest. I know what you’re known for around here, too. I always read the paper from cover to cover and I read every word that was printed about your trial. However you’re involved with your brother’s wife is your personal business, but I draw the line at associating with opiate users who bash in their brother’s faces with bottles of champansko.”

  “That wasn’t me! I never laid a finger on him!” Finn protested. “Do you honestly believe that my family would let me stay in a house full of small children if I were that violent?”

  “I don’t know you, and I don’t know your family,” Eleanor said, and crossed her arms over her chest. “All I know is a bit of town gossip and what the papers have said, and I don’t want my students around that influence. Nor do I want my niece around that influence. I hope you can understand why I don’t need or want you dropping by the school once you’ve collected your things.”

  Finn swallowed hard as he fought back tears of anger and shame. He’d read the same articles that everyone else had…including transcripts of his brother’s trial that blew the lid off of some of his family’s darker moments. All of those skeletons in the closet had been exposed to explain the body in the ground, although it didn’t make anyone’s lives easier afterward. He knew that there would be repercussions for all that had happened in the past few months. He’d been a fool to think that the opinions of a tavern full of inebriated locals who’d known him since birth could outweigh the harsher judgments that came from the rest of the world, including the newest employee at the school he used to teach at. He considered telling Eleanor the more complicated side of the story, that there was a reason why things were they way they were, and why they had turned out the way they had. Then again, she didn’t seem interested in knowing any more about him than she already did. Her one-dimensional sketch of him had already been drawn. There wasn’t any point in asking her to erase it. She couldn’t even if he asked her to. That was the trouble with first impressions—you only had one chance to get them right.