by Casey Odell
“Beautiful, isn’t she?”
She jumped slightly at Farron’s voice. She was almost getting used to him sneaking up on her. Almost. Not that she enjoyed it any more than she had in the past.
He stepped up next to her, hands on hips as he looked up at the portrait. “Too bad she is not my mother.” He grinned. “I hear she is much more pleasant.”
It was a good thing they hadn’t reached the City of Flowers then, though it would have been interesting to see where Farron had gotten his confidence from. “Is there a painting of your mother anywhere?” she asked. He rarely, if ever, talked of his mother, and she was curious what a woman that could capture a king’s attention looked like.
“It would be quite scandalous if they hung a portrait of the King’s mistress in the palace for all the world to see.” He raised an eyebrow, amusement shining in his eyes. “I’m sure the queen would have had his head.”
She sighed. Oh well. She figured she’d ask.
“That,” he nodded to the painted woman, “is my brother’s mother. The lady Selah of Lorn Hesaan.”
“Where is she now?”
He shrugged. “Back in Lorn, I suppose, with her family. I hear that after the king died— well, let’s just say that she lost a part of herself as well.”
Claire turned toward Farron. “Have you ever met her?”
He glanced sideways at her. “Why, my lady, I don’t think she even knows I exist. And I think both my father and my brother would like to keep it that way.” He let out a deep breath. “I’m not bothered by it, though. I have enough enemies the way it is.”
How sad, she thought. But then again, if her husband had ever fathered a son with another woman, she didn’t know if she would want to know either. She looked back at the painting. “How old was he, when he died?” He’d have to be quite along in years if he was around for the Great War.
“I’m not really sure,” he admitted, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Some say he was two hundred, and there are those that say he was born at the beginning of time. But I hardly think that’s true.”
She spun towards Farron. “How long does your kind live?” The thought never really occurred to her before.
Farron looked hesitant to answer. “For… awhile.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So you could be an old man for all I know. There’s really no way to tell with that hair of yours.”
“And would that bother you, my lady?”
“How old are you, anyway?” He never did tell her. For all she knew, he could be as old as his father was.
He leaned down and gave her braid a light tug. “I didn’t fight in the Great War if that’s your worry, Claire.”
She knocked his hand away, exasperated.
“I can’t give away all of my secrets,” he teased. “I hear women like mystery.”
A flush crept up to her cheeks. She’d said as much back in Lendon when she was trying to convince Aeron to act more like Farron, all moody and sulking. If his hearing was that good, how much had he heard over their journey? She hoped dearly that it was just coincidence.
“Do you miss him?” she asked, changing the subject. “Your father, I mean.”
“I didn’t know him well enough to miss him.”
“Doesn’t that make you sad?”
He looked back up at the painting, at the father that looked so much like him but knew so little about. “I suppose it does.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice softening.
He shrugged again. “Don’t be.”
After a few moments, she asked, “Do you ever wish it was you who was the king instead of your brother?”
“King Farron,” he said with a wistful, considering look. “It has a rather nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” He turned to her, a smirk forming on his mouth.
She sighed again, her hands on her hips. She couldn’t imagine what that would do to his ego. They’d need to build a separate palace just to house it. “You certainly have the arrogance of a king.”
“I think that’s what you like about me.”
“You even assume that I like you,” she teased.
Farron laughed. “The only thing that can match my arrogance is your pride.” He nodded towards the throne room. “I don’t envy him. The responsibility, the stresses he has, it’s not a burden that I would like to carry.”
“Even with a harem full of women?” She gave him a skeptical look.
A shudder went through him. “All those women together. Surely they would plot against me.”
“And that scares you?”
“A scorned woman is a truly frightening thing.” He looked her up and down. “I suppose even you could be scary if you really tried at it.”
Not this again. “Just you wait.” She turned away and started to walk down the hall. “When I get my powers I will wipe that grin right off your face.” She passed underneath the massive unmoving gear that jutted out from the ceiling. “Why doesn’t this work?” she asked, pointing up, assuming he had followed along.
The doors to the outside were again propped open to let fresh air in. Two guards stood at the gate across the yard. She stepped out under a gray sky, down the steps, and turned to look up at the face of the clock. Farron meandered out to join her.
“Because that’s when the magic vanished,” he revealed, circling behind her. “When it stopped, so did the clock. My brother keeps it that way as a reminder. As a kind of memorial, I suppose, for what we lost.”
Both of the metal hands pointed straight up. Either at mid-day or at midnight, was when it happened. Did that have any significance? But before she could ruminate on that idea more, she felt Farron take her hand in his.
“Come on,” he said softly into her ear as he tugged on her hand.
Claire turned towards him. “What?”
He took a step backward, towards the gate, her hand still in his. “It’s just right there, Claire.” His face turned serious.
She glanced past him at the entrance and two guards. They made no move, but surely they were watching. Her pulse picked up slightly. “Farron, no.” She took a step back, her arm stretched between them.
“I can take care of them if that’s what troubles you.” He nodded back to the two men.
Silent, she shook her head. The men were fully armed and armored. Farron didn’t have a knife on him. That she knew of, anyway. And even if he did manage to dispose of the guards, they wouldn’t be the only ones to come after them.
“Then why?” He looked hurt.
“I won’t stop you if you want to. They probably wouldn’t either.”
“I could just throw you over my shoulder, you know.”
She glared at him, the embarrassment of that night in Lendon surfacing again. “You wouldn’t.”
He grinned. He would.
She took a step back and twisted her hand out of his grip.
“They are growing impatient, the Council and my brother. Day by day, I can feel them circling closer and closer to you.” His face turned solemn. “I can’t protect you here, Claire.”
“I don’t need you to.” There probably wasn’t much he could do anyway. But she didn’t want to tell him that. Her words had already stung him. He had tried to hide it, but she saw the slight flinch.
“Why won’t you tell me?” His eyes grew hard, his mask slipping into place.
She looked down to hide her face. What could she say? He knew why. Or at least he should know the reasons why she didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. It just seemed too dangerous— for him mostly. It wasn’t her that they would kill. The Syndicate, the Council, Lord Byron, the forest elves. She was sure even Razi would love to have the chance to fight Farron again.
“Fine,” he said, his voice cold as ice. He stepped around her and started back towards the palace. “If you ever decide to change your mind, come and find me then.”
His footsteps faded away, into the depths of the lonely dim hallways.
Claire jus
t stood there, facing the gate and the guards. Freedom. It was so close. Just on the other side. But it wasn’t anything physical keeping her there. It was fear.
Two days later she found Farron in Lianna’s garden, aiming an arrow at a makeshift straw target several paces away. He had been the one to avoid her this time. He was upset, that she could tell. And hurt. It seemed that he was taking her hesitance to leave rather personally.
The sky was dimming, the air cooling and the first stars were beginning to shine, two tiny pinpricks against darkening blue.
She had meant to find him sooner. But she was at a loss for words, and had spent the past hour or so pacing back and forth in her room. He hadn’t come to her like she’d expected him to. Like she’d wanted him to. He was a stubborn one.
He didn’t look up at her when she stepped out onto the grass, just aimed an arrow in that slow, methodical way, not so much practice than as a way to relieve his mind. His attire matched his aura, gray on black.
Claire had opted for a more cheerful color scheme, deciding to wear the white wrap around dress Lianna had gotten for her with a silk purple sash tied around her waist. It couldn’t hurt to look good.
She stopped to watch him for several quiet moments as he loosed and nocked another arrow, searching for the words to say. Her hands wrung together, her palms sweaty. Why was this so hard? Because it meant that she had to admit how she felt about him. Finally, she took a deep breath and said: “It’s because I’m afraid.”
He loosed the arrow, and the thunk of it burying into the hay target sounded throughout the courtyard. He turned to look at her then, lowering the bow. His eyes swept down her body and a hint of a smile touched his lips. “You look very nice, Claire.” He turned back and nocked another arrow, aiming carefully.
Her mouth fell open. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“I did.” The arrow flew through the air, stabbing the hay next to the last one. “But the Claire I thought I knew wouldn’t be.”
“I’ve never been brave, you know that.”
“You are, though,” he said as he chose another wooden shaft from the quiver propped up at his feet. “Or at least you tried to be. You didn’t just give up.”
“Why are you acting like this?” Her fists balled tightly, her hesitance now almost forgotten.
“Like what, my lady?” He aimed.
“Like a child!”
He loosed the arrow, but it missed the target completely. He whirled on her. “I am not.”
“You are!” She felt anger start to rise inside her. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m scared. That it is you I fear for. And you won’t even look at me.”
His brow furrowed, he lowered his bow slowly. “What?” He sounded almost confused.
“You want to know why I don’t want to leave. That is why. Not because I don’t want to. If I were to run away with you, it is you that they would hurt. You that they would kill. I do not want your blood on my hands.”
A shocked expression crossed his face. Then he grinned. “Why Claire, I didn’t know you cared.”
She put her hands on her hips. He was trying to get her to say it. To admit that she had feelings for him. But she wouldn’t. Not yet. The thought of actually having them for him still terrified her.
He set his bow down on the grass and stepped over a low shrub to her, took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. “Don’t think that that hasn’t occurred to me, Claire. I knew what I was getting myself into when I took you away from Aeron and Lord Byron. This is the last place I wanted you to end up in.” His expression was a little sad. “I even started to think it was just me that you didn’t want to leave with.”
“Fare—”
“I know that you have never been fond of me, Claire.”
“That’s not true.” She squeezed his hand. The look on his face nearly broke her heart. She never knew how soft he actually was on the inside. What Lianna had done to him must have hurt him more than she’d thought. And perhaps seeing her again only opened the wound anew.
“I just thought that—”
Before he could finish, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him down, kissing him suddenly. And hopefully putting some of his fears to rest.
He tensed, and then slowly relaxed, giving in.
“Don’t,” she said, drawing back. “Do not think that I don’t care about you.”
“Is this a confession, my lady?” He still leaned down close to her, a slight smirk beginning to show on his face.
Heat crept up to her face. Perhaps it was, though she hated to admit it.
“Make of it what you will.” She took a step back, suddenly embarrassed by his closeness. “But that is the main reason why I don’t wish to leave.”
He straightened with an eyebrow raised inquiringly. “What are the others?”
“If I stay, then I can learn how to use my powers.”
He nodded, though he didn’t seem happy about it. “I see.”
“And if I’m here, then no one else can get their hands on me. That Lord Byron, he frightens me. And the Syndicate. Besides…” She smiled up at him. “It’s not so bad here.” If only Mother was here as well, she added silently.
“If that is your wish, Claire.” He touched her chin lightly, tipping her face up. “I don’t like it, though.”
“I know,” she agreed. “I don’t like it much either.”
His lips brushed against her forehead, and his hand found the back of her neck, squeezing gently.
Claire closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She was always surprised at how gentle he could be, considering his proficiency at fighting. It had felt good to get some her thoughts out in the open. Even if he didn’t agree with her reasons, at least he had listened. And in the end, accepted them.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“I shall add it to the list.”
She hit him lightly in the stomach. “I’m being serious here.”
He just laughed.
“I take it all back,” she muttered, crossing her arms.
“I think my lady would miss me sorely if I had left.”
It wouldn’t have been so maddening if it weren’t true. “Say,” she said, suddenly remembering something. “You know how to read old Elvish, don’t you?” He had when they’d come across the abandoned Haven along their journey if she recalled correctly.
The question took him aback, his expression sobering up quickly. “A little. Why do you ask?”
“There’s a library, I heard, somewhere in the palace. Do you know of it?”
He looked down in thought. “I think so. It’s small, though.”
“Supposedly there are scrolls there. And books, findings on magic and what I am. Maybe there could be some clue as to what happened. Why I have this thing in the first place.” She held her arm up, the mark dark on her skin. “Maybe, I could learn more about the Great War, as well. That is, if you’d want to…”
He stared at her for a moment. A slight look of shock was on his face.
What had she said this time?
“Why, my lady, are you actually asking for my help?”
“Yes,” she admitted, embarrassment rising again.
“Are you saying that you actually want to spend time with me?” His grin was growing by the second.
“Perhaps...”
“My, my, this list is getting longer and longer.”
Already she was regretting her decision to ask him.
“And this one?” Claire asked as she drew a finger down the scar on Farron’s back. It stretched diagonally from his shoulder blade all the way down to his waist, faded and smooth with time.
He lay face down on the bed, head resting on his arms, a sheet covering the lower half of his body. Silver light streamed in from the balcony. Claire sat on her knees next to him as she traced the light line on his skin. She wore one of the silk slips with the thin straps, and goose pimples sprung up whenever a breeze wafted in. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders in long waves.
Thirteen. That was how many scars she had counted, asking their origins as she went. Some he had told of, while others he was hesitant. Most he’d gotten on his missions over the years, the others in the forest or on his travels. When he did tell her a tale, however, the details were sparse, the story always short.
“That one,” he said, voice languid. “That was my first one.”
“Is that it?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate.
“My lady is very determined to pry the lid off my past, isn’t she?” He chuckled lightly.
Determined, yes. Successful— well, not quite so much. Bit by bit, he had started to open up. But he was still reluctant to reveal too much. Perhaps he was afraid to scare her away still. Or maybe he was scared to dig up old memories.
“I have to know about this one,” she said, running a finger back down the scar. The curiosity was getting to her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep unless she heard what he had done to earn such a large wound. “It’s the biggest one.”
“Yes, yes.” He rested a cheek on a pillow. “It happened on my first mission for the king, my brother. I’d just come to the palace and he wanted to see what I could do. So, he sent me to, uh, deal with an outlaw in the Klenorah Forest, near Dorini, who’d been attacking and stealing from travelers.”
“You fought an outlaw?” she asked, shocked. “By yourself? Didn’t he have a band of men?” Even she knew outlaws usually traveled in gangs. At least they did in the stories Mother had told her when she was a child.
“He did, it turned out. I never said it was easy.”
“You must have been pretty brave to do such a thing.”
“Young and foolish, more like.” Amusement laced his voice.
Or that. Claire smiled.
“I had never expected that a ragtag group of men would have had any sort of training. My brother had forgotten to mention that many of them were ex-soldiers. Outnumbered and outmatched, you can guess how that went. Let’s just say that I was much more careful from then on when they sent me on a mission.”
“So did you defeat the outlaw leader?”
He shifted a little. “Yes, but barely. Afterward, I somehow found my way to Maria at the Haven. She has been healing me ever since. I used to send her extra donations anonymously, but she always knew it was from me.”