A Legacy Divided

by Holley Trent

  “And April’s?”

  “One blue eye. One darker one that’ll probably be brown. We’ll see. Hard to tell with newborns sometimes.”

  “I’m certain this one will have brown eyes. Can’t get much darker than mine.” She pressed a hand to the underside of her belly and swiped her thumb across the curve.

  “They could be blue.”

  Jody had no idea of what color Lora’s father’s eyes had been, but Jody’s were blue. It wouldn’t be unusual if his child’s were.

  The look on her face indicated how dubious she thought that was, but of course she would find that possibility highly questionable. She didn’t know that baby was his.

  He wasn’t sure yet how to tell her. Already, she was wary of him. Her memories deceived her, and he didn’t know how to fix that. He had to try, though.

  “I—”

  Faye sent breakfast down then, giving him a perfect excuse to end the conversation and try it again later after he’d screwed his head on straight.

  “Oatmeal,” he said, pushing the door all the way up. “With coffee, eggs, bacon, and a banana.” He tossed the fruit from one hand to the other. “Why the hell is it cold?”

  Lora held her hand out for it. “So I don’t throw up from the scent. Please stop fondling my fruit. I’d prefer if you didn’t touch things I have to put into my mouth.”

  “I see,” he said an undertone as he heaved the heavy tray out of the lift.

  She had no idea of what sort of things he’d touched that she’d happily put into her mouth. Or why he was smiling as he set down that tray.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Norseton

  Asher

  Asher leaned against the table’s edge in the little apartment over the bakery and glanced at the clock. Nearly three in the afternoon, and he hadn’t had a wink of sleep in at least a day.

  He didn’t mind, really. He liked being helpful to people, but he’d only recently started getting into a routine at the mansion and was riddled with guilt at having fallen out of it so soon. Keith had gone home, refusing Asher’s aid in favor of Vic’s, so Asher had stayed put to see what he could do for Mallory and Marty. At least, that was what he’d told himself at first.

  He didn’t want to leave Mallory there. She could certainly take care of herself and had done so for a long time, but he didn’t see why she should have to. He’d already needled Vic into going home to get some sleep. Asher couldn’t very well leave the Petersens on their own yet.

  Especially not Mallory. She needed to be cared for, even if she didn’t realize it. He was glad to do the job. He was used to being the carer.

  Elliott was on his knees, forearms pressed against the back of the sofa, peering out the window at Norseton’s business area. He was full of questions, jumping from one to the next. He was barely taking a breath between them. His sisters hardly had time to answer before he moved on to the next one.

  “Do you think I look like him?” he asked.

  Mallory’s mouth parted, then closed. Her cheeks burned pink with probable mortification. Fortunately, Elliott didn’t see her. He was looking at Marty, whose smile looked more like a cringe than a grin. Marty wasn’t much of a smiler in general, but Elliott wouldn’t have known that yet.

  The sisters were probably hoping he’d move along to the next subject like he’d done with every other question.

  But that time, he didn’t.

  Mallory cleared her throat and tucked the tag of her brother’s T-shirt beneath his collar. “Um. Well, you resemble him.”

  He nodded brusquely and looked out the window again. “I didn’t look much like my mother.”

  “You say didn’t?” Asher said, hoping to take some heat off the sisters. “You want to tell us some more about that? You said last night that she’d been…” There was no polite way to say killed, so Asher let the sentence trail off.

  Elliott went deathly still then, except for the fists clenching at his sides.

  Too far, Asher.

  Perhaps he’d overstepped. Perhaps Elliott hadn’t been ready.

  Mallory would be upset with him for interfering.

  “Mom died in rehab a few years back,” Elliott said in a voice almost too small to hear.

  He knew he shouldn’t have interfered, but Asher couldn’t help being how he was. If someone hurt, he comforted them. “Oh, I’m so, so sorry to hear that.” Asher pushed away from the table and joined the trio at the sofa. He laid a hand on Elliott’s shoulder and gave it a consoling squeeze. “No child should have to have such a terrible thing happen to his parent.”

  “Especially when they weren’t even supposed to be there. She was there because…”

  It was like the words ran away from him. Elliott sat with his mouth open, fists still clenched, eyes bright with tears.

  He had a story they all needed to hear, but he needed to be able to tell it in the proper order.

  He wasn’t quite ready yet.

  “No. Trust me. I understand.” Asher gave Mallory a may-I? look and gestured to the bit of seat between her and her brother.

  “Go ahead,” she whispered.

  He sat between them and held on to Mallory’s wrist. He didn’t know why he did, only that doing so was reflexive and proper somehow. He needed her close. “My father was treated horribly by our queen. I was supposed to be her next victim but I ran before she could apprehend me.”

  He’d left the realm with borrowed magic and had hoped that none of Rhiannon’s royal guards would ever find him again. He’d been scared shitless when Lachlann had turned up. Lach had been one of Rhiannon’s longest-tenured guards, but he’d taken one look at Asher in the mansion, nodded, and stayed on the discreet path he’d taken behind Ótama.

  Shrugging, Asher toyed with the laces on Mallory’s shoe. Like Elliott, she was on her knees on the sofa and facing the window. “I suppose that makes me a coward—that I didn’t stay and fight it out like so many others, but at the time, I thought I was doing the only thing I could.”

  “You’re alive. That counts for something. Who cares what anybody thinks?”

  Asher let out a dry chuckle and looped his fingers around Mallory’s ankle. Again, he didn’t know why he did. She’d been kind about his seizure of her wrist, but the touch hadn’t quite seemed enough for him. He wanted more. “I care sometimes, but I’m trying to take a page out of Keith’s book and stop that.”

  “For goodness’ sake, don’t emulate Keith.” Mallory gave his hair a pluck. “Of all people, you’d choose the surliest asshole here to be like?”

  “He’s my friend, and I respect him.”

  “You can respect him without wanting to be like him. Just be Asher.”

  He nudged the side of her thigh with his shoulder, pondering her words. Did she like him as he was? In that “friend” way?

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured. To Elliott, he said, “Looking like your father isn’t necessarily a bad thing, you know. I can say that because I’m not related to you.”

  “So we have to believe you, hmm?” Mallory asked.

  “You should.”

  He might have been the slightest bit disingenuous. While Mallory did have some of her father’s attributes, they were made more feminine by her mother’s sweet softness. He was quite fond of her ever-doting mother and liked that she resembled her. Both she and Marty would age into an even more profound beauty if his guess was on target.

  Mallory laughed and rubbed her eyes. “You’re not clones, Elliott, but there’s no use denying there’s a resemblance. It’s in the eyes, I think.”

  Hearing her tired exhalation, Asher gave her ankle a gentle squeeze. “Are you in need of a bed?”

  “Very much in need, but since I’ve gone this long, I might as well stay up until bedtime.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Marty said. “Go home and take a nap. Or at the very least, go take a brisk walk and have an early dinner. I’ll hang out with Elliott.”

  Mallory grimaced. Before she could ope
n her mouth to argue, he took her hand and pulled her off the sofa. She needed caring for. “Come on. I’m sure Darius is skulking around nearby, anyway, so you can take a little break, my dear. I’m sure your kids are dying to hear all about their uncle.”

  “Oh, we didn’t tell the kids!” Marty gasped, evidently aghast at him.

  Keys in one hand and Mallory’s wrist in the other, Asher stopped by the door. “Why not?”

  Mallory shrugged. “Because they don’t know how to keep secrets.”

  Marty patted Elliott’s shoulder and quickly amended, “Not that you’re some dirty secret to us. We just worry they’ll make some benign comment to someone who’ll relay it to someone else, who’ll come into contact with our father.”

  “Oh,” Elliott said sullenly.

  “We know the situation is weird and messy,” Mallory said. “Things will shake out in time. We just have to figure out the best way to go about it. We’re kind of in new territory here.”

  “I guess things couldn’t possibly be worse for me than they were before. At least people here know that…I’m not crazy.”

  Marty dropped a hand onto his shoulder and gave it a bracing rub. “Funny how confident you become when you don’t have to wonder about that, isn’t it?”

  Asher led Mallory out, locked the door behind them, and wrapped her arm around his as he guided her toward the stairs. “Perhaps call your mother and check in on the children, and then if you want a few hours of sleep, you’re welcome to use my room. The mansion’s a bit closer than your place, hmm?”

  As they trudged down the steps, Mallory laughed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the inside of your room. I’ve walked past the door countless times but never thought to peek inside.”

  “You’re welcome to peek inside whenever you’d like, whether I’m there or not.”

  “Do you not crave privacy?”

  “Not in the way you probably do.”

  “Because you’re fae?”

  Grunting, he shouldered the door open slowly and peeked out to ensure no bakery guests were lingering too close to the portal. He didn’t want to accidentally bean one of them. The path was clear, so he opened the door the rest of the way and nudged Mallory out.

  “Perhaps,” he responded as he waited for the door to click shut behind them. Mrs. Holst was on approach, probably eager to dish. To Mallory, he whispered, “But I don’t have any secrets from you. There’s nothing I’d refuse you.”

  She raised a brow. “You’re getting goofy. Are you sure you don’t need the sleep more than I do?”

  Goofy?

  Grimacing, he turned to Mrs. Holst, who looked over her shoulder at the bakery staff behind the counter. They were doing only a half-good job of feigning disinterest. Then she looked to Mallory.

  “He okay?” she asked.

  “For now. I feel bad about squashing his freedom for the next little bit, but none of us want our father getting suspicious too soon.”

  “Definitely not. How old is he? Did you ask?”

  “Yes. I’m sure my mother will be thrilled to learn that her ex was not a two-timer, but a three-timer. Elliott is a whopping six months older than me.”

  “As if she needed more reasons to hate him.”

  Mallory shrugged and relaxed her grip around Asher’s arm. “More fuel for the fire. She’s trolling the hell out of him right now. I’d never thought she was so petty. She actually sits in the park gazebo at the times of day when she knows he’s walking to work. She sits there, sips coffee, and stares at him.”

  Mrs. Holst emitted an evil-sounding chortle.

  There was no secret she hated Dan and always had. Now she had a vested interest in Marty’s comfort in the community. Marty was attached both psychically and romantically to Mrs. Holst’s son Chris. Afótama mothers tended to be exceedingly protective over their children’s fated matches because they were still so rare.

  “When’s she going back to work?” Asher asked Mallory, rubbing her back.

  “Next week. It’s been nice having her visit, but it’ll probably be best if she heads back to Florida until the shit finishes hitting the fan here. Who the hell knows what’ll happen if Dan’s wife figures out what’s going on before he does?”

  “You mark my words.” Mrs. Holst adjusted her glasses and peered at the duo over the top of them. “She’s gonna flip on him to save her own hide. She’s not gonna get out of the mess scot-free, but she’s not gonna let him throw her under the bus.”

  “Hmm.” Asher clucked his tongue contemplatively and took Mallory’s hand. “Seems as though we should be circling the wagon around her and making her an agent in bringing him down.”

  “Huh.” Mallory twined her fingers between his, a pleasant, affectionate grip that made Asher reflexively lift her hand and kiss the back of it.

  “Silly,” she whispered and laughed quietly.

  “Why?” he asked.

  He’d only done it because it seemed natural. He didn’t understand her reaction.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she started pulling him gently toward the shop door. “Not a bad idea,” she said to Mrs. Holst.

  “If you want to do it,” Mrs. Holst called after them, “let me know. I’ll be happy to be the one to break it to her. We may not be friends, but she knows I shoot straight. Always have.”

  “I’ll talk to the folks at the mansion and will let you know what they think. Thanks.”

  “Yep. Who’s outside being the psychic buffer now? Nadia?”

  Mallory looked both ways out the door. She must have spotted the man in the wheelchair at the same time Asher did. She gasped right as he spotted him rolling up the sidewalk.

  “Uh, no,” she called back to Mrs. Holst. “Keith’s back.”

  “Well, tell him to come in. He doesn’t have to sit outside.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  Asher rolled his eyes as they approached the scowling man. He’d backed up near the bench in front of the bakery and put on his wheelchair brakes.

  So stubborn.

  The previous evening, Asher had offered to carry him upstairs since there was no ramp or elevator in the building, but he’d refused, choosing instead to wait outside.

  Keith’s gaze fell to Asher and Mallory’s clasped hands and when he raised it again, his pale blue eyes were icy with hatred.

  Get over it.

  Keith was a man who could have anything he wanted. He was clan royalty. He had money, power, magic, a family that actually gave a damn about him, and he could probably have any woman in Norseton. There were probably scads who’d put up with his surly constitution solely for the fact that he was easy on the eyes. Being a descendant of Ótama was icing on his cake. He shouldn’t have taken issue with Asher having even the tiniest smidgen of good fortune.

  “Keith, Mrs. Holst said to go inside,” Mallory said. “There’s no point of you sitting out here on the street when you could be more comfortable inside the bakery.”

  Keith looked toward the door, shaking his head slowly. “I won’t be here long. Just until my grandmother is done strategizing with my uncle and aunt. She’ll come personally. She wants to speak with Elliott before the day passes.”

  “Alone?” Mallory asked. “I know her and know she has good intentions, but he’s never been around her before. I’m afraid of him feeling steamrolled by her magic.”

  “No. The conversation doesn’t have to be the two of them alone.”

  “I’ll be back then. Call me when she gets here.”

  Asher squeezed her hand. “Marty is here, and Erin will be back soon. Let one of them sit with him. They’ll make sure he’s comfortable.”

  “Still, I think if all three of us are here, he’ll—”

  “Just go,” Keith said, rubbing his eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t need to snap at me,” Mallory said.

  “This conversation is getting wearying,” Keith muttered.

  “I suspect that has more to do with a particular par
ticipant in the discussion than with the subject matter.”

  Asher pulled her off the curb and with a hand pressed to the small of her back, guided her across the street. “Haven’t you learned by now not to argue with him? It gets you nowhere and you’ll want to strangle him, and gods know you can’t strangle the Afótama prince. That’s a surefire way to land yourself an expulsion.”

  “I think Jody and Tess would come to my defense. They know their brother is an asshole. How did you put up with him for so long?”

  Asher shrugged and slid his arm around her shoulders. He liked having her close, liked when her hip brushed against his leg as she walked. Liked for there to be no ambiguity about their association.

  “I guess he’s not the worst of the worst, you know?” he said. Furrowing his brow, he pondered if he’d tidied up his room before they’d left for their search for Elliott. Asher didn’t have many possessions, but his laundry sometimes got out of control. He was still getting used to having spare clothing.

  “So, you’re telling me that him not being the worst you’ve ever encountered justifies his behavior?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  After they’d passed the reception desk in the mansion and waved to the wolf on duty, Asher said, “I’d never dismiss his boorish behavior so readily, especially when it’s directed at you. You don’t deserve it.”

  “No one deserves it.”

  “I agree. But the thing is, to me, Keith is predictable. I know a lot about how he got to be the way he is, so it’s harder for me to be offended by the way he lashes out. Right now, I’m just pushing him to get the anger out of his system in productive ways. The work is slow going, but I’d never give up on a friend.”

  At Mrs. Carbone’s wave from the mansion kitchen, they stepped inside. The smell of fried chicken and buttered things made Asher expel a wanton sigh. Human foods were amazing compared to the often-bland fare peasants like him had been subjected to in the fairy realm.

  “You guys hungry?” Mrs. Carbone shook the oil out of the fryer basket full of breaded drumsticks. “I’m getting a head start on dinner. Got so many mouths to feed I like to get everything done up and then keep it warm in the oven.”