The Renegade Son (Winter's Blight Book 2)

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The Renegade Son (Winter's Blight Book 2) Page 11

by K. C. Lannon


  “What’s odd?”

  “They are divided into sections, from forests to populated areas to the moorlands, but there’s some pages missing from the moorland section.” James felt himself pale, blood draining from his face. “I knew there were pages missing, but I hadn’t noticed which section they were from—”

  “Missing, how?”

  “Dad ripped the pages out. He found the book in my room, and he ripped these pages out. Only these pages.”

  They looked at each other.

  “You know what this means, right?” James still held the book on Unseelie creatures in his hand. He gripped the spine so tightly his knuckles went white. His mouth was terribly dry all of a sudden.

  “We don’t know anything for certain. Let’s not jump to conclusions, yeah?” Iain suggested. “Let’s just talk ourselves through it.”

  “Fine,” James muttered. “But I think there’s only one conclusion: Dad’s a liar and he’s always known about why Mum left.”

  Iain rubbed his forehead, squinting, his brain clearly struggling to come up with some excuse that would exonerate their father. “If he knew and didn’t tell us, then it was to protect us.”

  Or maybe he knew and he didn’t care. That seems more likely.

  Not bothering to hide his disbelief, James scoffed. “Why are you still defending him?”

  “I’m not,” Iain protested. “I just think it’s more complicated than you’re making it out to be. Dad’s always been unrelenting when it comes to following rules in the city, and many of those rules were put in place to protect us.”

  “Like what?” All James could think of was the ban on faery books.

  “Take curfew, for example. He always told me he didn’t want you walking home or exploring the city alone because he knew how dangerous the city could be.”

  “You said he was involved in the death of the king…,” James mentioned, confused. “Doesn’t sound like he would care much about protecting us if he was willing to do that.”

  “Plenty of criminals have families or loved ones. You can still do despicable things and be an awful person while caring about certain people,” Iain explained. “This has got nothing to do with the king or the country.”

  Over the years, James had constructed a very rigid and unchanging view of his father. His father was stern and cold, and the only thing he truly cared about was his work. Nearly every interaction had solidified this perception of him. James could think of many harsh remarks and decisions made that were not in his best interest at all. He’d even brought people like Boyd and Philip into their lives, people who had hurt them, people who had ill will toward them. To James, it didn’t seem like their father had any thought of protecting them.

  But he hadn’t known that Dad had told Iain to walk him home to keep him safe. Maybe there was more he didn’t know that would finally help him to understand his father.

  Maybe Iain’s right… James assured himself. Iain’s good at understanding people. But he found that the idea only angered him. If their father was hiding this from them, lying to them, then Mum’s leaving and being gone this long was his fault. It was all Dad’s fault.

  They spotted the girls in the distance, Deirdre’s red hair acting as a beacon. They were waiting by the wide road that led to the countryside and the beautiful hills beyond them. James picked up his pace, eager to share with the girls what had happened in the shop, when Iain halted him.

  “Listen, James,” Iain said, grabbing his shoulder. “Dad contacted me the other night through the radio. We talked a little, and I think he’s still looking out for us… in his own way.”

  James’s mouth fell open. “What do you mean?”

  “He asked about you, and he said he couldn’t turn me in.” Iain carded his hand through his hair swiftly, letting out a breath. “I know it’s complicated, but… we can at least hold on to that.”

  James nodded uncertainly, thinking that he understood. Even if they knew their father was capable of doing terrible things to their king and country, even if he was cold and impossible for James to understand, he could still know that he had at least cared about them. That was all they had left to cling to of their old life.

  “But none of that changes what happened.” Iain’s dark eyes were suddenly sharp, something like anger or determination just simmering under the surface. “I know he had something to do with the king’s death. He still wants Deirdre, and he’s still intent on framing her. That can’t happen.”

  “Right,” James agreed, just as seriously as his brother.

  After everything, that seemed to finally be something the brothers could agree on.

  Chapter Nine

  As the group walked along, Deirdre pushing Alvey in her chair, the path slowly narrowed, and they veered off onto a dirt trail closer to the wooded area, the town growing distant behind them. The air was crisp and cool, and soon Iain took off his jacket so he could enjoy the breeze. His new cookware jangled together in his pack rather jauntily, and he walked with vigor, looking at the landscape around him.

  It really is lovely out here…

  He’d been too distracted and tired to properly appreciate the view while they walked the other day. Now he wanted to soak everything in. It really was different out here than in Neo-London—the air was sweeter and cooler, and the smells were certainly nicer. Everything was impossibly green compared to Neo-London’s gray.

  Iain glanced about to check on each member of the group; it was mostly out of habit, having to keep an eye on his brother when they went out walking, but he was also concerned that Alvey’s chair would be difficult to maneuver over the rockier terrain. He was going to offer to help, but as he watched Deirdre and Alvey, he noticed they were having no trouble at all, almost as if some unseen force, like magic, propelled the chair.

  You’re going to have to get used to it, Iain mused. But that is a reasonable use for magic. That’s something understandable, using magic to help someone like Alvey get around. Practical and with a purpose. It makes sense.

  Meanwhile, James was rambling on about something. His tone made Iain pay attention as he recognized it as James’s rarely used bragging voice. “And then,” he was saying, gesturing wildly as he spoke, “this Brownie popped out from nowhere! It had this squeaky little voice—”

  Alvey interrupted. “Say, James, do you perchance have Fae ancestry?”

  Iain prepared himself, assuming he was about to have to explain like he always had to explain to ignorant gazhe that the Roma had no relation to faeries or magic at all. Even if Alvey was half elf and not a human, she was still a gazhi.

  “Uh, no.” James chuckled. “Wouldn’t you know that, seeing as how you knew that Deirdre was a faery?”

  Alvey’s voice was smug when she said, “Oh, I just assumed you were somehow related to the Brownie, considering you described his voice as little and squeaky.”

  Iain quickly coughed into the crook of his arm, trying to mask a surprised laugh. He could not believe the nerve of this girl, and he had never seen anyone get to James quite like she did. He considered stepping in but decided to let James handle it himself.

  James’s eyes bulged nearly out of his skull, and he was too stunned to speak for a moment, registering the well-crafted insult. “I-I don’t—” he stammered, his face reddening. “I—”

  Alvey just waved her hand carelessly. “My mistake,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Continue with your little story then. I assume it gets interesting eventually.”

  “Alvey.” Deirdre hissed as she leaned down toward the girl’s ear. “We talked about this!”

  Iain hid a smile at that. Deirdre had apparently scolded the girl at one point on her manners, which he found amusing and rather endearing. He couldn’t imagine it had been a very successful endeavor.

  “Anyway,” James huffed, continuing his story. “It said I was marked with dark magic and stuff. And then—oh boy—the shopkeeper was livid, because the Brownie just vanished and said it had forsaken the shop
forever. And then he wouldn’t let us buy anything. But I hassled him a little, and he let us go.”

  He really isn’t processing this… is he?

  Iain looked behind him, only to see his same wary expression on Deirdre’s face. She was looking at him, then at James. And he knew she was somehow just as worried about his brother as he was. That realization was both comforting and upsetting at once. It was nice to have someone else looking out for his brother, but it was also a confirmation that James was not dealing with things well.

  Then, like a rabbit in a thicket that had spotted something much bigger and scarier in the distance, Deirdre tensed and glanced away, her hair whipping around her face in her haste.

  Iain went back to staring out at the landscape. But he stopped in his tracks, hearing something faint. Leaves rustled in the woods to their right, but there had not been a breeze at that moment.

  Something is following us.

  That was his gut instinct and reaction, but he hurriedly dismissed it. Still, he kept an eye on the woods, regardless. There were a few minutes of silence, everyone seeming to enjoy the quiet.

  “I can push myself for a while,” Alvey said after a minute, dismissing Deirdre like one might a servant. “You keep breathing on me.”

  “Breathing on you?” Deirdre almost shrieked.

  “Yes. And your hair keeps tickling my face.”

  As Alvey pushed herself along at a slower speed, she and James fell back a little, and Deirdre picked up her pace, walking up beside Iain. Her face was pinched in concentration as if she were thinking very hard about something.

  Then he heard the rustling again. And he thought he saw a flash of something—something dark and swift and lithe. Just as soon as he spotted it, it was gone again.

  “Deirdre, did you hear that?” Iain asked her curiously, nodding to the woods.

  Deirdre met his gaze, her eyes widening. “Hear what?”

  “I just thought I saw… something in the woods.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “Like an animal.”

  Deirdre bit back a smile. “Animals are pretty common in the woods.”

  Iain felt his previous agitation fade as he realized how dumb he sounded. “Yeah,” he said, looking down, his cheeks warming. “It looked like a cat. A black cat.”

  “You and James really haven’t been out of the city much, have you?”

  After making sure his arms were not crossed, Iain nodded in agreement, smiling faintly. “We’re city boys, if that’s what you mean.”

  Deirdre giggled. “Maybe it was a cat. We had lots of stray cats in the town by the orphanage.”

  “Or maybe I’ve spent too much time in that inn, and now I’m seeing cats everywhere,” Iain offered, feigning concern. He gestured to the road ahead of them. “Or maybe it was a ghost that decided he needs a change of scenery.”

  Deirdre tilted her head, clasping her hands behind her back. “Do you believe in ghost stories?”

  “Well, kind of, yeah.” He grinned. “My mum taught us that choxane exist—unrested spirits of the dead. Sometimes they supposedly take the form of an animal, like a cat.”

  Deirdre hummed thoughtfully. “James talks about his mum a lot too.”

  “Yeah…” Iain’s throat tightened, and for a moment he was too struck by her observation to speak.

  “I hope we find her,” she said seriously. “I’d like to meet her.”

  “My mum,” Iain began slowly, “she was—she was a beautiful person. She, uh, would like you. She… liked to talk, and she was kind, and she had a really strong faith.”

  Deirdre did not respond, looking distracted. She lowered her head, her hair falling forward and hiding her face. For a long while, she said nothing, and there were only the faint sounds of their boots against the dirt path and the sounds of birds chirping.

  “Deirdre?” Iain asked softly, reaching out tentatively to touch her shoulder like he might comfort James but pulling back uncertainly. “Are you all right?”

  She looked up suddenly, startled, and asked, “Did you say something?”

  Iain just shook his head. “No— I-I’m sorry—” he stammered, unsure of what to say.

  “You’re sorry?” Deirdre quirked her eyebrow at him. “For what?”

  “I don’t know,” Iain answered lamely. Then he said, remembering what he’d asked her, “I was just wondering how you’re doing.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. I’m completely good!” She held up her hands, smiling too widely. “No more magic mishaps!”

  Iain was unconvinced and confused as to why she’d brought up her magic. There was clearly something on her mind, but it was obvious to Iain that she did not want to talk about it, which he understood. He decided to back off, thinking that was what she wanted.

  “I’m going to walk ahead,” he announced, nodding toward the path. “You could, ah, maybe check on Alvey and make sure she hasn’t bullied James further, yeah?”

  Maybe that’ll get her mind off things.

  Deirdre just nodded absently, going back to staring at the ground. She looked almost sad. Iain hesitated, thinking for a moment that he ought to ask her one more time if she was all right, but instead, he just stayed quiet and kept walking on ahead.

  Chapter Ten

  Apparently after James had finished with his story, Alvey had told him Brownies were very ordinary faeries and were encountered frequently. This naturally prompted him to list all the kinds of faeries he knew of and would like to meet; he was still finishing this list as Deirdre fell back to walk with the two of them.

  “…and I do want to meet bird faeries, but I, um, missed them when Deirdre and I ran into a faery circle a few days ago,” he was saying. “Oh, and I know they’re dangerous, but meeting a Kelpie would be cool, just once.”

  “You wish to meet both Seelies and Unseelies,” Alvey said, arching a pale eyebrow at him.

  Deirdre looked over at him, hoping for him to deny wanting to meet the latter. Especially given what she’d just learned about their dietary interests.

  Instead, he just put his hands in his pockets and said, “Well, I mean, both can use magic and everything… Seelie or Unseelie, they’re still interesting.”

  “Using magic is not so fantastic a thing.” Alvey took her hands off her chair’s wheels (and they still kept going, albeit at a slower speed) and reached forward to the small pouch underneath her seat, pulling out a leather pack. She opened it, and Deirdre and James walked closer, looking in to see a variety of small, colored crystals of all shapes and colors, glowing with a soft, almost pastel light.

  “How pretty!” Deirdre cooed, automatically reaching for them.

  Alvey slapped her hand away, hissing. “These are imbued with magic! Do not just shove your fist into them!”

  “I-I didn’t know!” Deirdre protested, shaking her stinging hand.

  As they stopped on the path, James was already firing off questions: “What do they do? What kinds of magic are there here? Do they all do the same sorts of things?”

  Sighing a bit dramatically, Alvey replied, “I daresay discussing all that would take forever. I was able to collect a great variety of magic—in secret, I might add, which very few people can do—before leaving the Summer Court. This way, I am prepared for everything.”

  “What’s going on?” Iain asked, joining them, looking over at Alvey’s bag, puzzled.

  “What do those orange ones do?” James asked, pointing at the pearl-sized, sharp-edged orange crystals, which took up almost half the bag.

  “Ah, these…” She held one up to them, grinning. “They have highly volatile Fire Magic within them, along with some Light Magic for a flare. Jade, move aside.”

  “My name is James. And why?” He stepped back anyway.

  Immediately Alvey flung the crystal right at a large stone several yards into the nearby field.

  Deirdre shrieked and ducked as the boulder exploded with a blinding flash of light, sending rubble flying everywhere and starting a
small blaze in the field.

  Letting out a foreign exclamation, Iain vaulted over the fence, taking his jacket off, clearly intent on smothering the fire before it could grow.

  Suddenly Alvey sniffed the air, then shouted after him, “Halt! The faery tracking me is in that field! Come back!”

  Iain froze, snapping his head to look at her as James gasped at her words and Deirdre demanded, “There’s a faery following you? Why didn’t you tell us? Is it good or bad?”

  “How should I know?” she protested. “I had never smelled its scent before!”

  “You smell it?” James asked incredulously, turning his head and beginning to try to sniff it out as well.

  “Where is it in the field?” Iain demanded, scanning the tall grasses. Deirdre hurried over to the fence, looking as well but was unable to see anything.

  “’Tis darting here and there—’tis approaching!”

  Deirdre climbed over the fence for a better look, and Iain fell back beside her, tensing, readying for anything—

  Then, quick as a wink, a small whirlwind of dirt kicked up around the patch of fire in the meadow, spinning furiously for just seconds, completely extinguishing the flames, then just as quickly disappearing.

  Then there was silence.

  Squaring her shoulders, Deirdre looked around alertly. “Come on out already, you sneaky faery!”

  Then something small and red darted past her and jumped on the top of the fence with a soft thump. She and Iain spun around as James let out a loud, excited gasp.

  “A Phouka!” he nearly squeaked, pointing.

  On top of the fence was a very small person with a red bushy tail, just like a red squirrel. Deirdre approached cautiously, getting a better look. It was a man about a foot high, with a shirt and trousers that appeared to be made out of a potato sack but tailored to fit him well. The shirt was sleeveless, revealing hairy little arms, and his face was quite furry as well, though definitely more human than squirrel. He had bright, intelligent eyes, and in place of human ears were long ones, a bit more like a rabbit than a squirrel.

 

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