by Kallysten
“I know.” Vivien’s mommy started to turn away from the fireplace. “I am not asking you to. But—”
Right then, the boys ran down the hallway, still laughing as they reached Vivien. Everyone in the room looked toward the entrance, and Vivien—
—opened her eyes.
She blinked several times, staring at the ceiling without truly seeing it. She had blown the candles out before getting into bed, but the fire still burned in the fireplace, casting light throughout the room. She tried to cling to the dream, tried to remember details, but already it was fading.
Had it been an actual memory, or a construction from her tired mind, tidbits woven together from everything Brad had told her? She had been going to her mother in the dream, but she hadn’t seen her face. She’d never been able to remember what her mother looked like, or her father, something that had troubled her all throughout her childhood. Anabel had had no picture to show her.
Was the memory gone for good, or was it only waiting to be triggered? Would she remember more if she entered that room from her dream?
There was only one way to find out, and no better time than the present.
She sat up and slipped out of bed. Brad had said he and Aedan weren’t far, she reminded herself as she crept toward the door. She’d have to be very quiet.
She cracked the door open, barely enough to peek out; when she didn’t see anyone—in truth, she’d almost expected one of them to stand guard by her door—she stepped into the hallway, still as quiet as possible.
The stone floors felt icy under Vivien’s bare feet, and she found herself tiptoeing down the hallway. Her mind supplied the image of a carpet running down the corridor, browns and reds woven in intricate, spiral-like patterns, the fibers soft and plush when she wiggled her toes; for the life of her, she couldn’t have said if it was wishful thinking brought on by the cold stones or a memory coming back to the surface.
She paused at the end of the hallway, looking both left and right as she oriented herself, and finally went left as she followed the path her dream-self had taken toward the staircase. She kept one hand on the wooden railing as she descended the steps, soon reaching the landing. She could almost hear children’s laughter in her mind again. She held her breath when she reached the archway in front of which she had stood. In the dream, a fire had been roaring in a large fireplace, illuminating the room; now the hearth was dark, like the rest of the room, so that Vivien could only barely make out the shapes of the furniture strewn about.
She turned back to the hallway and went past the corner again before she found one of the few long candles attached to the wall that provided light in the hallway. She tugged it free of its holder and took it into the sitting room. With the candle raised in front of her and her steps more cautious now, she went to the fireplace. Crouching down, she touched the candle to the pile of straw, small wood and logs that only seemed to be waiting for a flame. The straw caught fire at once and burned fast. Thin, pale flames leapt up toward the wood, dry and already crackling. Vivien blew on the flames, and soon the wood itself was burning, flames dancing around the logs as they licked the wood.
Vivien nodded to herself, satisfied. She might be a child of the electric age, but she wasn’t completely inept because of it, either. Now if she could only find more candles...
She turned from the fireplace, and her gaze swept the room. On the low table next to the wall, a tall, thin shape looked like it might be a candle. As she took one step forward, the flames leaped behind her, casting a flare of brighter light through the room and illuminating the figure standing immobile past the entrance. Startled, Vivien gasped and dropped the candle. It rolled onto the stone floor, breaking in two, the flame dying off.
“You scared me!”
She hated that she couldn’t tell whether it was Aedan or Brad standing there. When he answered, however, inclining his head in a small bow, Aedan gave himself away.
“My apologies, Dame Vivien. It was not my intention to frighten you.”
“Then don’t lurk in the dark,” she muttered, starting toward the table again and the tall candle in its center.
Before she reached the table, Aedan was already there, bowing once more as he picked up the candle.
“My apologies,” he said again. “But please understand that by definition my role is to be there without being noticed.”
She bit her lip rather than tell him she didn’t want his protection. As much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t deny that she needed it. She just didn’t need him to shadow her now.
She watched him walk over to the fireplace. He touched the candle to the flames to light it, like she had meant to do. Without a word, his steps completely silent, he went from candle to candle until the room was lit almost as brightly as it had been by the sunlight in Vivien’s dream. He then returned to where she was standing, setting the candle back on the table.
“I was about to do that,” she said, annoyed that yet again she had to be grateful to him when she hadn’t asked anything. “You didn’t have to.”
Another of those small bows; Aedan would have to get rid of that habit. It was already getting old.
“When you learn to control the Quickening, lighting candles will require no more than a thought.”
“So why did you do it by hand?” she asked, all but biting out the words. “Don’t you have magic like your brother does?”
Aedan’s eyes, already so pale, flashed to a dull, metallic gray.
“Bradan told me about what the Otherworlders call magic.” His words carried the razor-sharp precision of hammered steel. “The Quickening is no illusion, no trick to amuse children. It sings with the very life of Foh’Ran.” He leaned in closer to Vivien, and his gaze bore straight to the core of her. “Do not diminish it by calling it ‘magic.’”
The force of his words took Vivien by surprise, and it was all she could do not to take a step back and away from him. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her. Before either of them could move or look away, one sharp word filled the room.
“Aedan!”
At the same time, Vivien and Aedan both turned to see Brad walk in. His shirt was untucked over his pants, his feet bare, and hair in disarray as though he had dressed in a hurry. A part of Vivien, the same part that had nursed a crush on him for such a long time, approved of this fresh-out-of-bed look, and she couldn’t help but stare at him. She didn’t need to worry he’d notice: his entire attention was focused on Aedan, the same frown furrowing their brows like a mirror image.
They had acted together so far, sometimes without needing to say a word, but maybe she was about to see them clash. The thought was not entirely unpleasant. Someone needed to take Aedan down a notch.
* * * *
Bradan had had a long day, made even longer by his extended use of the Quickening in the Otherworld. It was always a strain to channel there, as though the world itself knew the Quickening didn’t belong and tried to deny its existence. He had been grateful to rest for a few hours and entrust Vivien’s safety to Aedan. Waking up with a jump when he felt Aedan’s anger flash to life, however, was not a pleasant end to his sleep.
Over the years they had spent apart, their link had dulled, and Bradan couldn’t pinpoint the reason for his brother’s anger, when once he would have known immediately what had caused it. He dressed in a hurry, with images of the shields being breached—of Vivien being taken—swirling through his mind. When he rushed toward Aedan, however, he soon discovered that, if anyone was confronting her, it was Aedan himself.
Aedan was looking into her face and berating her about something—about what didn’t matter to Bradan, not when his brother was forgetting his place.
“Aedan!”
They both looked at him as he stepped into the room. Bradan wished he had been alone with his brother; Vivien hardly needed to hear him argue with Aedan. She didn’t look like she wanted to go anywhere, however, and instead stood there, her arms crossed, an expectant look on her features.
“You forget who you’re talking to,” Bradan said, trying to keep his tone mild.
“How could I forget who she is,” Aedan shot back, “when she doesn’t know it herself?”
Bradan came closer, troubled by the doubts he could hear in his brother’s voice. They had both taken their vow when they were still little more than children, but a lot more time had passed for Aedan in Foh’Ran. Had he grown tired of waiting for Vivien’s return? Was he disappointed in her, somehow? Had they been alone, Bradan would have asked—and he would ask later without fail.
“She’ll remember,” he said, as much for Aedan as for Vivien. “Give her time.”
“Do we have time?” Aedan asked, but it was a rhetorical question. He stepped away from Vivien, retreating to stand with his back to the wall.
Bradan could feel his brother’s anger fade into weariness. They definitely needed to talk. He turned to Vivien again and tried not to let his eyes drift downward. Her oversized t-shirt covered her down to her thighs, but her bare legs had never seemed as long as they did at that moment.
“It’s late,” he said quietly. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
Vivien’s expression was mutinous. “I had a dream,” she said, almost sounding wary. “Well, I wasn’t sure if it was a dream or a memory. But I saw this place in my dream, and people in here, and I was a kid so I’m thinking, memory. I wanted to check it out.”
Bradan had to keep a tight rein on himself not to turn to Aedan and say, “See? She does remember.” Instead, he smiled at Vivien. “You can explore the rest of the house in the morning. Maybe you’ll remember more.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts, and heat flashed through Bradan. Was she wearing anything under her nightshirt? It looked awfully thin. Distracted, he missed what she was saying entirely, and could only guess she had asked a question when she gave him a hopeful look.
“I’m sorry, what...”
“Look behind you,” Aedan said. “Above the fireplace.”
Vivien threw a quick frown at Aedan before turning around and looking up. From her portrait, Dame Eleoren looked down at them all, stern and regal. Vivien took a step forward, then another. A long moment passed before she asked, “That’s...that’s my mother?”
The longing in her words was palpable.
“It was Dame Eleoren, yes.” Bradan almost asked whether Vivien remembered her at all, but caught himself in time. Clearly she didn’t, and there was no need to prod that wound.
“She was standing right here in my dream.” She had reached the fireplace and rested both hands on the mantel, her head still tilted back toward the portrait on the wall. After a few more seconds, she turned around and looked over the room, her eyebrows knitted as though she were trying to remember.
“What about my father?” she asked. “Is there a portrait of him somewhere?”
Bradan winced. This was not a topic he had looked forward to exploring, at least not quite yet.
“I...I don’t know who your father is.” At her confused expression, he added, “Only Dame Eleoren knew, and if she told anyone, I never heard of it.”
She looked again toward the corner of the room and the empty armchair there. “But... He called her...”
She stopped abruptly and approached the armchair. She stood in front of it for a little while before sitting down.
“There was a man,” she started again, her gaze back on Bradan. “In my dream, I mean. I was playing, and I ran to this room, and my m...mother was there, and a man was in this chair, and the way he talked to her, they sounded close. Really close.”
Bradan came closer to her, crouching down at her feet so he wouldn’t tower over her.
“This was the queen’s private library,” he said, indicating the side walls and its shelves, overflowing with books. “Only people the queen trusted were allowed here. If this man was in here, in her chair, it had to be her husband. Lord Stefen.”
He knew what she would ask before she even opened her mouth, but he waited until she had voiced the question.
“So...she was married, but he wasn’t my father?”
“She needed an heir.” Even knowing he’d have to explain this didn’t make it any easier to find the words. “She knew when she married Lord Stefen that he wouldn’t be able to give her a child.”
“So she cheated on him?” Vivien blurted out.
Irritation flashed through the bond Bradan shared with his brother, and he knew he had better answer before Aedan did.
“Vivien, you need to understand something. Things on Foh’Ran are different from the way they are on Earth. People here don’t equate love and monogamy. She probably told him about her affair, or affairs. If he had some too, he probably told her about them as well. It didn’t mean they loved each other any less or that they weren’t happy together.”
As closely as he observed her, Bradan couldn’t tell what she thought of it all. Did she believe him? Could she comprehend that customs on Foh’Ran were different from what they were like in the Otherworld? Could she accept it? The last thing he wanted was for her to have a bad opinion of her mother.
He expected her to ask more questions about it, but after a few seconds she said, “There were more people here in my dream. A woman and a man. I think... I think she was called Merel?”
The same pang of pain that rang through Bradan was echoed through his bond with Aedan.
“Our mother,” Bradan said, choking a little on the words. “Your nanny.”
She nodded once. “And your father?”
“His name was Lasdan,” Aedan chimed in when Bradan didn’t answer right away. “He was one of Dame Eleoren’s QuickSilver guards.”
Another nod. “He was there too,” Vivien murmured. Her eyes became a little unfocused as her eyebrows pulled together. Was she trying to remember more of her dream—more of her life before the Otherworld?
“Vivien...” Bradan touched her hand lightly, drawing her attention back to him. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you get back to bed? We can talk more tomorrow.”
She still looked absentminded, but when Bradan stood and offered her his hand, she took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He accompanied her back upstairs, Aedan following on their heels. Bradan didn’t look forward to answering Vivien’s next questions, nor did he look forward to talking to Aedan in private. Maybe in the morning after a good night’s sleep, things wouldn’t look so complicated; and maybe he’d have forgotten what Vivien looked like in her nightclothes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fights
Bradan’s heartbeat filled their childhood bedroom and ticked the hours away. To Aedan, it was one of the most soothing sounds he knew.
As years passed, he’d taken human lovers, but their heartbeats had been no more than noise, irritating when he tried to sleep. His brother’s heartbeat was different, almost as though it were Aedan’s own. He’d missed that heartbeat and presence over the years; Bradan had visited, but never often enough. To him, it had been days, maybe a couple of weeks between each visit. To Aedan, it had often been months hiding the core of who he was from the guards around him, the king, and even his Maker.
Now that he was back in this house with his brother at his side—now that he had betrayed the king and shown his true colors—he wouldn’t have to lie anymore about who he was or what he wanted. So why was he having such a hard time finding sleep?
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Bradan’s voice, rising from the bed on the other side of the room, was barely any louder than his heartbeat.
“It’s still early,” Aedan muttered. “You should sleep some more. You were exhausted.”
“So were you.” The sheets rustled softly as Bradan sat up. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
Sliding both hands behind his head, Aedan kept his eyes on the ceiling and smiled. From anyone else, he’d have taken the accusation as an insult, even if it were true. From Bradan,
it felt almost comforting: it was proof that someone knew him, inside and out. He’d missed being near someone who could see through his masks.
Muted light suddenly bathed the room; Bradan had channeled to light the candle on his night table.
“I don’t need as much sleep as you do,” he reminded Bradan.
“Aedan.”
One word and it was like they’d shared an entire conversation. Sighing softly, Aedan sat up and shifted sideways to lean back against the wall, mirroring Bradan’s position across the room.
“They were my friends,” he murmured.
A beat passed before Bradan said, “The guards you killed in the Otherworld.”
Aedan didn’t try to hide his wince. He’d become a vampire to be the best fighter he could be—the best killer. He’d spent decades in the king’s guard, and killed whenever he needed to in order to protect Rhuinn. But he’d never known his adversaries before, not like he had known Dack and Sensh. The look on Sensh’s face, just before he had crumbled to ashes, when Aedan had slid his knife home...
“I thought...” He sighed again. “I don’t know. I always imagined there’d be a day when I’d quit the guard. Tell everyone why. I didn’t expect the king to wake up one morning and decide he wanted her brought to him. We didn’t even know he knew where she was. He never told anyone, not even Ciara. Within ten minutes of him making up his mind, she’d assembled a team and...” His throat tightened but he pushed the words out anyway. “I wish I could have told them why I betrayed them.”
The only bright point in all of this was that Ciara had remained behind. If she had come along, Aedan didn’t know what he would have done. On the one hand, he couldn’t imagine killing her, but on the other, he had sworn to protect Dame Vivien long before Ciara had made him what he was.
“I’m sorry,” Bradan said.
Aedan inclined his head, and for a moment they were silent. The candle flame wavered a little, but the ambient light grew as the drapes failed to block sunlight completely.