by Shona Husk
“Boxes?” He didn’t need boxes. He glanced at the bookshelf and with a thought sent the books into the cupboard in the kitchen. He didn’t want Roan checking the titles.
“Hurry up. Eliza’s in a loading zone.”
Dai clenched his jaw and went downstairs. Whatever Roan did, he no doubt thought he was helping. Eliza’s car was parked out front of the building with a trailer on the back, loaded with ready-to-assemble furniture. Eliza waved from the car. Dai forced a smile and waved back. The house was about to be full of things he didn’t need.
“You left so early this morning I didn’t get a chance to talk to you.” Roan handed him a box taller than he was. “We should have this done in a couple of trips.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
“I knew you wouldn’t.” Roan thrust another box at him. “Have you bought any furniture?”
“Yes.” Did Roan think he was incapable of living in the Fixed Realm?
“Really?” Roan hefted a couple of boxes and they went inside.
“See for yourself,” Dai said as he pressed the button in the elevator.
In his apartment they put the boxes on the floor.
Roan looked at the empty shelves and shook his head as if he were gravely disappointed. “You bought bookshelves.”
“It’s furniture.” It was his house and he didn’t have to please anyone except himself.
“It’s not how it’s done. This isn’t how people live.”
“I’m not expecting company.”
“You have nowhere to eat, to sit…and what are you going to sleep on? The air mattress forever?”
Dai shrugged. Better that than the furniture Roan had bought to clutter up his house.
They made a couple more trips to the car in silence then moved the boxes into the correct rooms.
One bedroom he left empty on purpose. He didn’t want every space filled. Without speaking, they started assembling the bed. Then they moved onto the bedside tables. All the while Dai could see Roan running through the options of how best to get answers to his questions without starting a fight.
“I know this isn’t what we’re used to. I thought you could replace it when you find pieces you really like.”
Their caves in the Shadowlands were furnished with stolen items from castles, items that had become antiques. Things that couldn’t be replaced. He didn’t care what they were worth; he liked them because they were beautiful and built to last for centuries.
“I left them in the Shadowlands.” Regret was starting to creep in. If he’d expected to outlive the curse, he would’ve brought them. Then he’d be surrounded by familiar furniture. He was starting to miss the place—no, not the place, but the life he acquired there. He understood it, knew what was expected of him, and knew how to survive.
Roan frowned and put down the sheet of instructions. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“The English instructions are on the other side.”
Roan flipped over the paper, not that it mattered when the pictures were self-explanatory. “About last night.”
“I won’t crash the house again. I’ll knock first.”
“That’s not it. You looked wrecked.”
He had been wrecked and unable to take another step. “Beer and magic don’t mix.”
“You’re not going to give up the magic, are you?” Roan crossed his arms. A sure sign he wasn’t going to concede his anti-magic position.
“I can’t. It’s part of me.” Dai ripped open a bag of screws and unpacked the pieces of wood. “Watch this.”
Ignoring Roan’s scowl, Dai put together an image of the finished bedside table in his mind. As he did that, the pieces of wood began pulling themselves together like metal to a magnet. The screws fell into place. And the table formed.
His brother stood, his lips pressed tight. “Are you sure this isn’t Shadowlands magic?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I can see how things are put together.”
“So can I, but I can’t make them dance like a scene from Fantasia.”
“I can see how things are made. How they fit in the fabric which makes the world. All those texts and the knowledge. It makes sense now.”
“I knew all that study wasn’t a good idea.”
“That learning kept me alive.” The air between them shook with static. “It kept me sane and it kept me human.” He’d had a purpose and reason to live when he should’ve quit and given into the curse.
“This,” Roan pointed at the table, “isn’t human.”
“Well it sure as hell isn’t goblin. So what does it make me?”
Roan didn’t answer.
“All those people we sought help from. They could do magic. I’ve had the benefit of millennia of study.”
“Why couldn’t you break the curse? Why did you do nothing?”
Dai shook his head. How could Roan not understand? “Because I couldn’t. It wasn’t my curse to break. I could see how enmeshed you were in the Shadowlands. But I couldn’t find a way to separate you without killing you…it’s why you needed Eliza. She replaced the Shadowlands.”
Roan looked away, but not before Dai saw the uncertainty and distrust. Magic caused the curse. And while Roan had used magic in the Shadowlands, it was for survival. Dai wasn’t using magic to survive; he was using it because he could.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“So don’t use it.”
Dai laughed, his hair falling around his face as he stared at the floor. He sighed and raised his gaze. “You know better than me about the lure, the temptation.”
“What will you become?”
Dai spread his arms. “A hermit in a tower.”
“I spent too long trying to break the curse and get my men back. All so you could have a life. You don’t get to opt out.”
“You’re not my king anymore. I’m a free man.”
Roan grunted and picked up the instructions, flicked the paper once, and went back to assembling the other bedside table.
Dai went into the living room and unwrapped the plastic from a blue sofa. He sat down on a cushion and without moving he assembled the rest of the furniture. Whether it was the lack of alcohol in his system or he was getting used to manipulating the threads he didn’t know, this time his brain didn’t try to crawl out of his ears. It merely pulsed and threatened a migraine if he pushed too hard, so he worked methodically, taking his time. When he was done he blinked and cleared his sight of magic, yet the headache remained. A reminder that working magic took energy.
When Roan came out of the bedroom Dai was waiting. His brother looked around the now furnished apartment.
“You didn’t need me.”
“I’m not your baby brother anymore.”
“I suppose not.” Roan leaned against the door frame. “But you’re still my brother. You’re family.”
“I know.” They would always be brothers, but they weren’t tied by duty or curse anymore. They had to find a new way to relate to each other.
A knock on the door interrupted their awkward conversation.
“That’ll be Eliza with lunch.” Roan looked grateful for the distraction.
Dai stood, a knot forming in his gut. “I didn’t buzz her up.”
Roan reached to his side, but there was no sword to grab. And Dai had no knives handy ready for throwing.
“Don’t suppose you bought any cutlery?” Dai ginned at his brother hopefully.
“You don’t have plates either, do you?” Roan moved out of direct line of the door, his fingers curling into fists.
“Not yet.” Dai opened the door, unarmed but ready for battle.
A man in a navy blue pinstripe suit waited on the other side. He held a briefcase in one hand, yet he was no salesman. There was something about him that wasn’t right. The tattoos on Dai’s back prickled as the protection spell activated at the perceived threat. Power rippled up his back, through his shoulde
rs, and tingled at the ends of his fingers. He knew the spell worked. It saved his ass when he was goblin and attacked in the Fixed Realm. Was it strong enough to help him now, and what could he do with the power buzzing in his blood?
“Can I help you?” Dai blocked the door so the man would have to force his way in.
The man’s tongue darted over his lip. “I think I can help you, Mr. King.”
Dai didn’t move. The man didn’t blink.
“I’m here on behalf of Birch Trustees,” the man added as if that would make a difference.
“I’d figured that.” It was probably a bad idea, but Dai stepped aside and let the man into his apartment.
The man slipped past. When he saw Roan he dipped his head a fraction in a sign of respect. Word about breaking the curse must have been the talk around the office. Bet Birch had never counted on that—or having to pay out the wealth they’d amassed.
Roan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“I’ve come to make you an offer.” The man spoke to Dai. As he did his tongue kept flickering over his lip the way a snake might taste the air. “In recognition of your generous donation, Birch would like to offer you a token of appreciation.”
He opened the briefcase. Inside were neat stacks of green one-hundred-dollar bills.
The muscle in Dai’s jaw twitched as he fought to remain calm. “What donation?”
“The books.”
“I haven’t donated them,” Dai said through his teeth. The tattoos on his back warmed. He’d never used magic as a weapon, but he had no doubt he could. However using it to kill would also break one of the many vows he’d taken. He took a breath and exhaled. Calm didn’t follow.
“Yes, you have,” the man said slowly, as if his words could convince Dai that he had indeed donated the books.
An enchantment? This suited employee was trying to enchant him and muddle his mind? He almost laughed. Birch would have to do better than that.
“They are my books and I’m going to get them back.”
“I would advise against that.” His gaze didn’t waver as he stared into Dai’s eyes.
The enchantment rippled over his skin and beaded off like water. He could maim the man, which wouldn’t technically break the oath. But it would still be wrong, and he knew it. A self-defense plea wouldn’t work, as the man could stare at him all day and it would have no effect. If Birch was trying to ascertain how much magic he could use, it was probably a good idea not to show off.
He smiled, the way a wolf might at dinner. “Is that right?”
“Dai—” Roan tried to intervene.
He ignored his brother. “Why’s that?”
The man took a step back as if realizing the threat. His words tumbled out as he gave up on the enchantment. “You’re already using magic you shouldn’t be. You are marked by more than one thread. We can track you. We know what you are doing. We are watching you.” He closed the briefcase. “Been busy today, haven’t you?” His tongue swept over his lip. Then he turned and faced Roan.
“A generous gift your brother is making, wouldn’t you say?”
“He has nothing to do with my books.” Dai tried to draw the man’s attention away from Roan.
“I know, but he is here, surrounded by the remains of magic. It would be a shame for him to be implicated.” The man’s thin lips turned in a too-wide smile.
“For a bank, you’re very interested in books.” His blood was hot, fibers clouded his vision ready for him to rip the world apart and remove the man from existence. It would be so easy to do. If Birch tried to touch his brother, or Eliza, they would find out just how many sacred vows he was willing to break to protect his family.
“Magic is knowledge. Knowledge is wealth. We deal in wealth of all kinds. Take the briefcase.”
“Take the case, Dai.” Roan’s voice was low.
Dai couldn’t look at his brother without thinking betrayal. Roan should be on his side. But he wasn’t. Was he affected by the enchantment, or just hoping he’d quit using magic?
“It’s not a donation.” He forced the words out. Birch couldn’t blackmail him, and he couldn’t be bought. He would go over this lackey’s head and talk to someone else. He didn’t need all of his books, just a few that dealt with the practicalities of magic he never had to worry about in the Shadowlands.
“I see.” The man nodded.
Dai opened the door for him. The man paused and looked at Dai with his black eyes. The enchantment slid once more around him like oil on water. Then Dai realized what was odd about the man—he hadn’t blinked once.
“You are playing with forces you don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand.” He’d forgotten more about magic than this man, if that’s what he was, had ever learned.
“It doesn’t matter how far you go. We can follow.” The implied threat was clear. They knew he was traveling.
“What I do in my own house is my business.”
“Make sure it stays that way and we won’t need to talk again.” The man headed for the elevators.
Dai shut the door. Putting together the furniture had used enough magic to attract Birch’s attention. They’d sent someone to check on him like he was a bloody acolyte who didn’t know what he was doing. He knew what he was doing, sort of, but he needed practice to relearn or remember the intricacies he’d forgotten.
“Guess I’m not getting my books.” He made his words light as if he didn’t care he’d lost his life’s work. He glanced at Roan to make sure the enchantment hadn’t stuck. It hadn’t. Roan just didn’t like magic, and he didn’t understand what it was like to be powerless. He was born to be king and no one ever questioned his role. Dai, on the other hand, was Plan B, a bargaining chip. He was never surrendering anything to anyone ever again.
“What did he mean you’re marked?” Roan stood with his arms folded and his face hard.
He wasn’t going to be able to glide past with half-truths this time. Yet he tried anyway. “I have a few magical tattoos.”
Roan gave a nod. “When did you get them?”
“Researching magic and curse breaking.” Some people would only share knowledge once a certain level was achieved, so he’d studied and achieved and been marked as reward. A few had only marked his goblin skin. The powerful ones marked more than skin and had hurt worse than anything Claudius had ever meted out.
Dai pulled up his sleeve so Roan could see the Sanskrit wrapped around his forearm. It wasn’t magical but Roan wouldn’t know that. None of the masters had had a problem teaching a goblin once they realized he had a human soul—but they’d watched their gold with the eyes of a hawk. He didn’t blame them, yet once they knew he hoarded knowledge, not gold, they’d been able to freely trade ideas and systems of magic. Amongst other practitioners he’d had a degree of acceptance and respect he’d never had. Many masters of the art had tried to help. Some out of pity, some had hoped to break the curse to increase their own status. All had failed.
Roan studied the marking without touching the ink. “And the rest.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Dai shrugged and covered his arm.
“It does matter if Birch is tracking you by them.”
“Don’t make me show you.”
“Why can’t you show me? What other secrets have you hidden?”
“If I show you, you will blame yourself.” It wasn’t the tattoos he didn’t want to reveal. It was the scars underneath.
Roan frowned. “I already blame myself. I shouldn’t have left you with the responsibility to break the curse.”
“I was the obvious choice.” He could read and write Latin, he had studied a little of druid law before the Romans had invaded, and his father had refused to allow him to join. He couldn’t lose his second son when he might be needed if the first was killed. “I don’t regret any of the tattoos; I’m proud of them and everything I did to get them.”
“Then show me why Birch is targeting you.”
“Not targeting,
tracking.”
Roan raised one eyebrow. Dai wasn’t going to win the argument unless he stepped out of his apartment and into Siberia, and Roan would probably still wait for him. That trick never worked in the Shadowlands. In his heart he always knew he’d have to face the problem. Avoiding it for close to two thousand years wasn’t bad going.
Dai lifted his shirt so his brother could see the black ink and the old scars beneath. His back was worse, so he didn’t turn.
When Roan said nothing, he let the shirt fall and cover the marks. Tension thickened between them as Roan digested what he saw. It wasn’t the cuneiform text, or the glyphs on his ribs Roan saw. It was the scars made by a knife. The same wound reopened after it had barely healed. Shallow enough to do no damage to a useful slave, deep enough to draw blood and cause constant pain. They were just the ones made for fun. The ones made in anger or for punishment…he was lucky to have kept his balls after Seiran.
“You should’ve told me.” Roan forced the words out between gritted teeth. He looked ready to kill, his eyes frozen shards of ice blue.
“No, brother. I couldn’t. That knowledge killed our father. He saw the result by accident and launched the first rebellion.” Seiran had been sold and sent away, and he’d been beaten, then his father had launched into the ill-planned battle that killed him. In that battle Roan was severely wounded and became king. If Roan had known, they would have fought before they were ready, again. Staying silent and plotting revenge was all he could do. And all that kept him going.
“You’ve had centuries to tell me.”
“What difference would it have made once we were cursed?”
“I could have gone after the bastard.”
“He was dead before we had that kind of control. It doesn’t matter.” He almost believed his own words. The number of times he’d planned to kill Claudius and make him suffer. The different ways he could’ve killed him, all of them slow. And he’d never gotten the chance. He’d never got the vengeance he needed.
“I should’ve protected you.”
“No one could’ve protected me.” Every scar made him who he was. All he had to do was learn to live with himself. Easier said than done when his past still gave him nightmares and was stuck in his chest and wrapped around his heart.