Coveted

by Tara K. Young

  Chapter 27

  Soul-deep happiness proved to be a good sleeping agent. I had fallen asleep gazing at the perfection of the sky. I found myself back in the bed the next morning, snuggled into Bran's side. There was a loud clack from the hallway.

  "Bran," I whispered.

  "I heard it." His voice was a low growl. He was out of bed and reaching behind the headboard a breath later. Within another heartbeat, he had pulled out a short sword and was in the hallway.

  I held my breath, not daring to call out.

  I jumped and yelped when Bran screamed, " Damn you, Graham! I nearly took your head off!"

  "Like that would have done anything," came a deep voice.

  "What are you doing here?" Bran's irritation was palpable even from a room away.

  "Came to report in," Graham said as if that were obvious.

  There was a percussive sound. I assumed one of them had wacked the other.

  "You couldn't have come by later?" Bran demanded.

  "You don't want to know what's been going on then?"

  Bran heaved a sigh.

  I could not tell what followed. They walked down the hall towards Bran's library. If I had any clothes nearby, I would have gone to investigate. My nakedness kept me tethered to the sheets on the bed.

  A few minutes later, Bran came back into the room. As he stowed the sword behind the headboard, he said, "I'll be back. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen." He barely looked at me as he then opened a drawer of the dresser and pulled out a t-shirt and jeans.

  "Is everything alright?" I asked, clutching the sheets to my chest, feeling very much like I might vomit on them.

  He was already zipping up his jeans. He looked up and forced a smile. "Fine. I won't be long. I'll try to head by your place and get you some clothes while I'm at it." He slipped his shirt on and walked over to me. Putting his hands down on the edge of the bed, he leaned in to brush my lips with his. "See you soon."

  "Bye," I whispered as I watched him walk away. I had proved a pitiful interrogator.

  When the house was silent again, I got up and started pulling open drawers in the dresser looking for anything I could wear. I was not going to remain naked and alone the entire time he was gone. I settled upon one of Bran's white t-shirts. There was no hope any of his pants would stay up but the shirt fell to my mid-thigh, making pants unnecessary anyway.

  I walked out to the open kitchen just off the living room. Finding orange juice in the fridge, I poured a glass and sipped at it. My dress still lay crumpled upon the floor by the piano. I walked over and picked it up. It was now a pile of unrecognizable chunks of fabric. Too bad. I probably never would have found a better dress again. With a sigh, I sat down on the piano bench. The euphoria of the previous night battled with the confusion of the moment.

  I assumed whatever Bran was taking care of involved Alistair but could not figure out why he had not just said so... unless it was dangerous. That was ridiculous. He was immortal. Maybe it was an errand for Morrigan. I swallowed hard at the thought. I would rather not mentally explore that possibility too deeply. What kind of plans would she have for me?

  Maybe that was why Alistair wanted me to remember so badly. Could I remember without the stone? I tightly closed my eyes and thought about Bran and Alistair. I tried to imagine landscapes and events, as if I had been there, as if I had felt the stone castle and smelled the air of the Scottish lochs. Every time I thought I might be getting something, it fizzled into nothing. After several more attempts and quite some time, I had gained...

  A headache. Absolutely nothing else had come. Not even the slightest hint of a dream. No amount of positive thinking could transform imagination into memories.

  I rubbed my forehead and took another sip of juice. Bran would likely say Alistair's request was just to sow doubt in my mind. If I dwelled on my lack of memories, he would succeed. I needed to distract myself. I decided to check out what Bran had in his library collection.

  Cracked and crumbling leather-bound spines lined the shelves. Few had anything written on them, of those that did, there were surprisingly few in English. I was not sure why this surprised me. His weapons collection had indicated the extent of his travels.

  I wished I could speak all these languages. My finger stopped on a spine in Russian Cyrillic. Why couldn't I? I would have the time. I could learn as many languages as I wanted. Bran and I could explore the world without any of the limitations a mortal would have. Tickly prickles flooded through me. There were so many possibilities. Until they were exhausted, and then...

  I pushed the thoughts aside. All the reasons I had hesitated were trying to remount a counter attack. I refused to give in. My mind had been made up. I had promised Bran. It was too late now. But was I making a huge mistake?

  I walked to the chair at the desk and flopped into it. I had no clue what to think. People had committed horrible atrocities to gain immortality; Bran being one of them. It was something usually coveted but all I could see was the permanence, the inability to go back if I had made a mistake. With a crude sigh, I gave up. I sat staring at the dark wood desk, which looked as old as half the books in the room. The varnish on the cracked surface faded in blotchy patches. The top lock-drawer sat askew and slightly ajar.

  I pushed on it with my finger but it wouldn't close. I tried jostling it to loosen it but it was caught on something. I bent forward to examine it. It looked like it hadn't been closed properly when locked and the hook of the lock was now embedded into the wrong part of the wood.

  I checked the other drawers for a ruler or letter opener. All I could find was a long, black wooden box. There was a knotwork raven carved into the top. I opened it in case it held something useful. I was unsurprised to find a dagger instead. I stared at it. The handle was bound with black leather. The silver blade itself was not flat but shaped like a long talon.

  It would work. I reached for it and hesitated. Had this one been used? I berated myself. I was obsessing over things that I had learned long ago. I picked it up. I tried to ignore how strange it felt to hold. I used the tip to force the hook down just enough to pull the drawer free. With the hook loose, it gave way more easily than expected and I nearly dropped the dagger in the process. Then I almost dropped it again. In the drawer was the stone.

  I set the dagger down on the desk as I stared at the silver inlay. Bran had it. He had kept it from me.

  The room needed a window, anything to let the air move. I wanted to walk back to the bedroom and hide under the blankets. I wanted to forget what I had just found. How hard would it be to keep a secret for eternity? Apparently it was not difficult for Bran.

  I was going to vomit. Alistair was right. I needed to remember. I knew far too little. With a clenched jaw, I reached into the drawer and wrapped my hands around the stone.

  It was hot, too hot to be running, too humid to be doing anything other than sleeping in the shade. But I was running. My legs ached as if my bones were made of distressed wood. They would soon splinter under the excessive force of my repeated steps. I would have slowed if the man holding my hand weren't ensuring I kept pace with him.

  Metal on metal rang out behind us. Shouts followed. I tried to look back but was tugged forward by my companion. I didn't duck in time and the branch of a sapling scraped across my face. The searing trail it had left behind only distracted me for a moment.

  The trees ahead of us began to thin. I did not want to leave the forest but the fighting behind us hadn't stopped. We kept running.

  The sun blinded me as we entered a clearing. We were back in the shade a moment later on the other side. Each breath ripped more of my lungs up my throat. I began to cough every few steps.

  "Just a little farther," my companion said over his shoulder.

  It wasn't a little farther. We would never stop so quickly, not so close to the death that was happening. I knew he was lying but I wanted to believe him. I repeated it to myself over and over.

  My coughing was becoming to
o much to manage, not to mention the fact that it would give us away. I tried to stifle it. I pressed my lips together and covered them with my free hand but the convulsions were too powerful. My chest expelled a debilitating fit. I tripped. Before I could fall, my companion's arm was under mine, holding me up as we kept running.

  "Everything will be ok. You can do it, Em," he said as he continued to half-drag me through the forest.

  "I... need to... stop," I begged.

  "Just a little farther," he repeated.

  "Now," I begged.

  He stopped and looked down at me. My wheezing was becoming more ragged. He knelt down with his back to me. "Grab on," he said.

  I did as instructed, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and doing my best to wrap my legs around his waist. He lifted me up, hooking his arms around my knees, before taking off again.

  Soon, his breath was coming in ragged gasps as well. "Just a little farther."

  This time, he was telling the truth. We emerged from the trees onto a dirt road and up ahead were several timber and plaster buildings. A whittler sat in a doorway of one as he shaved down his latest piece. A woman was carry laden buckets back from the well. The sun caught the edges of her hair, giving her a celestial glow. The sound of a hammer on metal came from one of the farther structures.

  My companion set me down and took my hand. Together, we walked up to the whittler. I looked up at my companion as we walked. The sun made his brown hair look golden. His face shimmered with sweat but his expression was calm. He was good at hiding when he had to be. I was grateful to him and that gratefulness only strengthened the love I felt for him. Guilt washed over me. The impure love that could never be all that he deserved. It was because of me we were running now.

  The whittler's mouth fell open as he took us in. "Lord Rheda," he said on a breath before bowing his head.

  "Is Ansel here?" my companion asked.

  The whittler nodded. He gestured with his knife to the building at the end of the street.

  My companion nodded a thank you before leading me there. As we approached, I realized it was the source of the clanking. There was no front wall to hide the fire and the bellows or the large man who looked like a grizzly bear hammering an iron rod.

  "Ansel," Lord Rheda said. Despite the clanking, he did not raise his voice and yet the man stopped and looked up. He straightened as he took us in. "My lord." His eyes twitched to me and back to my companion. "It has happened then?"

  Lord Rheda nodded.

  "Pig!" Ansel shouted. A moment later, a very dirty, round, young man walked around the corner to join us. "It's time for that errand," Ansel barked at him.

  Pig nodded and walked back the way he came. Moments later, he was hitching a cart up to a horse. Lord Rheda took my hand and helped me into the back.

  When he did not follow, I stared at him.

  He shook his head. "No, love." His jaw tensed but he did not take his eyes away from mine. "Die an old woman."

  My breath stopped before restarting at triple speed. I shook my head as I fell to my knees. I tried to reach for him but he stepped back. "No," he repeated. "In the next life."

  I shook my head again. "This life. Now! Don't leave me!"

  "We've done this too many times," he said with a sigh. "This time I will rid you of him. Next time, we will be free."

  Fear, guilt, hatred. I couldn't choose which I felt strongest. "He is too strong! He takes everything from me. No one can fight him."

  Rheda stepped forward and lifted his hand to caress my cheek. I grabbed it and held it against my skin with as firm a grip I could manage. As if that would make any difference. When he chose to withdraw it, he would.

  "You could face him," Rheda whispered.

  My fingers fell from his. Where had the heat gone? "No..."

  "If you face him, we can stay together," he said.

  I had to look away. "You know why I can't..."

  "I know that you have to," he insisted.

  We stared at each other. There had never been another life in which his green eyes had been this beautiful. I doubted they would ever be that beautiful again and he was insisting this be the last time I gaze upon them.

  He sighed. "I will understand if you pick him," he said. "I know why you have to. Don't keep running for me."

  "I'm not running for you! He terrifies me! He won't leave me alone."

  The wind chattered through the leaves of willow arched above us. Several starlings took flight from its branches.

  He looked down at the space between us. "You know why that is."

  "And I hate it! It can't be true. There has to be another way to get rid of him." I grabbed for him but he stepped back. He refused to look at me.

  "Pig," he barked. "Time to go."

  When had Pig finished securing the horse? The cart lurched hard and rattled forward.

  "No! This isn't the answer!" I pleaded. "We can find another way."

  Rheda said nothing.

  "Please," I begged.

  "Love will be for our next life." He turned his back to me.

  Everything in my body constricted with acid as I watched him run back the way we had come. He unsheathed his sword as he left the hamlet behind.

  He would die and the pain of that knowledge was too much. I hated myself too much. I let the stone fall with a thunk onto the desk but the words of Michael echoed in my heart. Love will be for our next life.

  It had been such an odd phrase he had said. Those words had not been of the Michael I knew. I had assumed emotion. Now, I understood.

  "What did you see?" Bran's voice was soft and had come from across the room but I startled. My eyes flew open to take him in. He was leaning against the door frame. His posture might have indicated ease but his face was too intense. I could feel his apprehension.

  I did not know what to say. In my hesitation, his eyes flicked down to the desk and back up to my face.

  I looked down at the stone. It was resting next to the dagger. He said nothing, simply waited. It was up to me. I kept my eyes on the blade as I spoke. Looking at its silver point was easier than looking at him. "You lied to me. You took the stone from Michael, that's why he didn't have it anymore."

  "I didn't take anything from him," he insisted.

  It was the shock of his denial that made me look up. I wished I hadn't. His eyes, even conflicted as they were, were still beautiful. The ache in my chest was gaining ground. "Then how did you get it?"

  He did not blink or flinch and he did not let me look away. "He gave it to me."

  Typical. Michael hadn't changed. He'd reasoned it was what was best. "Why?" I asked anyway.

  "You'll have to ask him but he made me promise not to tell you."

  "So your loyalty to Michael is stronger than your loyalty to me?"

  "Maybe he wanted to protect you."

  I slammed my hands down on the desk. The dagger and the stone bounced. "I am so sick of everyone wanting to protect me! You all keep using it as an excuse to lie to me." I stood up so fast the chair fell backward and banged against the floor.

  Bran was no longer leaning against the door frame. He stepped into the room. I grabbed the dagger and held the point towards him. I needn't have followed that with, "Stay away from me," for he had stopped, his eyes focused on the blade. There was a fear from him I had never felt before. I couldn't understand why. I hadn't pointed it as a legitimate threat. He was immortal. What could I possibly do to threaten his body?

  "Lucina, just calm down," he said quietly, never taking his eyes from the blade. "We can talk about this."

  "I don't want to talk about this. I want to remember why the hell I ever ran from you when all my soul wants to do is jump you and be with you forever. I want to know why you scare me so much and why I don't seem to care. I want to understand and the only way that will happen is if I remember." I gestured in a flail to the stone. "And the only way I seem to be able to do that is with this and you kept it from me! You've lied to me. You've killed peopl
e to get to me. Each blade in that room speaks of the hundreds you have killed. One hundred died for payment, payment! You've chased me even when I obviously did not want you to. Why?"

  He blinked back at me.

  "Why, Bran?"

  He still said nothing. Regret. That's all I knew of him.

  "You've ruined every life I've had," I growled. "And the only way I can figure out why is with this stone." I looked down at it. "But you know, what? I'm done. Keep it. I don't need to remember to know you lied and this is all wrong." I headed for the door, keeping the blade aimed at him as I did. "It seems there is no point in me saying this but don't follow me. If I change my mind, I'll find you."

  "Please, no!" His eyes had left the blade. His shock locked onto me. "Please, Lucina. I can't. It has been so long. I can't take this anymore. I have to be with you. I need you."

  "Goodbye, Bran."

  His loss, my loss, they both shrieked and ripped at me. My insides were a mutilated mulch but I swallowed my pain. I headed for the front door.

  He could easily have followed me. He did not. I dropped the dagger at the door and walked from the house, barefoot and clad only in the overly large t-shirt.