Page 8 of Bonds of Blood
“So that was why you left,” I muttered.
“In part. Yes. I wanted to find a cure for your mother. I thought that a short while in the Wispwell would be enough to restore her health. I did sneak in once or twice over the years to check on her, to see if I could lure her out of the waters. It never worked.”
“And you never thought to check in on me,” I asked. “You never thought to drop by and say ‘Hi, Son, I’m still alive.’” I could hear the roughness in my own voice. I was allowed this, just this once, to misbehave and rebel and play the role of a bratty son, a needy child. Once every few years. I deserved that much.
“I was too ashamed,” Father said, his voice hoarse. “It was humiliating enough that I couldn’t find a solution for your mother’s illness. I was supposed to be a grand summoner, someone our community looked up to. And yet I had failed my own spouse. I had failed you.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed tight. “I don’t expect this of you, Son. But I hope some day that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”
I placed my hand on the back of his, relishing its warmth, its roughness — its reality. What more did I have to be angry for? My parents were both alive, and that was all that mattered. Alive. Breathing. Beautiful.
Often I wondered if I would look more like this man in the future, if the relative softness of who I was as a person would someday harden over. Would I meet him halfway? Looking at Baylor Wilde, would Sylvain see a glimpse of who his little human might become, if that little human could be lucky enough to live that long?
Perhaps, in the end, I had my own path to forge.
“It’s all right, Father. Forgive you? I think I already have.”
Gods, it was worth it just to see my father smile, his eyes and his teeth burning bright in the sunlight of the oriel.
Trees crashed in the distance, birds squawking as more of them took to the sky, alarmed by the din and danger of battle. Baylor slung his arm across my shoulders and laughed again.
“Once more you are making me question my methodology. Look how your underlings fight for you, all in the interest of harvesting more of this essence.”
I smiled at him. “They’re not my underlings, Father. They’re my friends. And look, it’s an easy enough way to make an honest living. Or a modest living. I’m pretty sure I meant both.”
He nodded. “Ah, yes. Not so different from how I started out back in the day.”
I blinked at him hard. Somehow I’d never taken the time to imagine Father as a student, as someone who might have needed some spare gold for one reason or another.
“Some things change, Lochlann. And some stay the same. The oriels are as exciting as they’ve ever been. The price of the Blood of the Earth may have fluctuated, but it’s still the best place to go for a quick bit of scratch, hey? Also the easiest and safest.” He made a face, his nose wrinkling. “Better this dimension than the Oriel of Fire. Nobody bloody goes to the Oriel of Fire. That Heart of the Flame fetches a good price, but at what cost?”
“That’s exactly what I thought! Well, rather, that’s exactly what Dr. Fang taught me.”
“You see, Lochlann? We’re not so different, after all. I’ve only been home a day and I’ve already learned quite a bit from you. Perhaps we have plenty more to teach each other.”
I smiled up at him, even as the ground trembled, even as the screams of another dying guardian filled the air. Like father, like son. Plenty more to learn, indeed. I was looking forward to every last lesson.
5
I slippedinto one of the chairs at our little breakfast table, my shoulders slouched as I rested my elbows on the surface. I hadn’t felt so relaxed in such a long time. A little rest after a long day out at the oriels with my father. I stared out of my bedchamber windows, grinning like a fool. Had the glass always been so crystal clear? Was the sun always this warm and golden on this side of the castle?
“This is the closest my life has come to being complete, you know? Actually complete. Or maybe I just mean my family. No, it’s not just that. There’s you, of course, and my friends, and there’s Satchel, too. Everything just feels right, Sylvain.”
No answer, only quiet. Unusual, especially for someone who loved the sound of his own voice so much. Not that I blamed him. Sylvain could do awful things to me with his voice alone. But this was the suspicious sort of silence, a numbness of sound that almost struck me as deliberate. I drummed my fingers on the table, still waiting for a response.
“Sylvain? Are you even listening?”
His voice came from the back of the room, slightly muffled for a second, accompanied by some grunting. “Yes, yes. Of course I’m listening, little human. You’re very happy indeed that your family is all together now, whether they’re your family by blood or by — confound it! Why won’t this damn thing fit?”
“Sylvain? Are you trying to fuck something back there?” I rose cautiously from the table, circling around it to head to the part of my chambers closer to the bathroom and the dresser. “I told you I wasn’t the jealous type, but you have to warn me if you’re trying to put your dick in a pumpkin. Again. I’ve heard it’s such a mess, and — oh.”
I blinked. He blinked back. Standing in front of my dresser was the love of my life, a pile of rumpled clothes at his feet. The Prince of the Autumn Court stared guiltily at me as he fumbled with a very sloppily buttoned shirt.
“Sylvain!”
“Look. I can explain.”
I gestured at the little heaps of shirts, some turned inside out from the effort of removing them, others hopelessly stretched after being forcibly jammed onto his far-too-muscular frame.
“Exactly how are you going to explain the fact that you’re trying to pour your big, beefy body into my clothes? There’s no way you would fit in any of these.”
