by Toni Kerr
Why do I have to put up with this again? Her words stung like little daggers to his heart. I would never tolerate this much hovering under normal circumstances.
It was good they could talk without anyone hearing, but she still needed practice in speaking mentally without drawing attention to the fact. Tristan nodded at whatever Eric was saying, something about making hidden drawers in cabinets, and passed his water bottle to Landon for a refill from the dispenser they’d set up.
Dorian continued glaring at him, but to anyone else it would look like she was furious for something he may or may not have done. As usual.
You’re the one who was dating him to begin with, said Tristan, so stop making it seem like you weren’t already seeing him. You just have to keep it the same.
This isn’t the same. This is ridiculous.
Look, Dorian. I would love nothing more than see you punch Philip in the face. But he just wants everyone to know that he is your boyfriend, not me.
Like anyone cares. This is so embarrassing. I can’t believe Eric won’t step in.
Tristan glanced at Eric, Dorian’s uncle. The man sat on the edge of his seat, so animated in describing his invention—some sort of retractable living space—he was completely shut off from everything else. Alvi and Victor unloaded more campfire-kabobs from a cooler, with thin slices of dark meat and big chunks of vegetables.
He gradually made his way back to Philip. The kid wasn’t bad looking, and he seemed comfortable enough with himself, but he lacked sincerity and was trying way too hard.
“What are you looking at?” asked Philip, struggling to keep his posture relaxed.
They both made a show of sizing each other up.
“Nothing,” Tristan finally said, then looked at the fire so it wouldn’t sound as sarcastic as he’d meant.
“Your shoulder looks pretty bad. Sure you shouldn’t be in the hospital or something?”
Tristan glanced down at his throbbing shoulder, normally covered by a T-shirt, and shrugged. It did look bad on the surface, like a severe burn that wouldn’t quite heal, but the firelight made it look ten times worse than it was.
Everyone surrounding the campfire took the opportunity to stare openly at the ugly wound.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Tristan finally said. Though the wound had spread several inches over his chest since the last time he’d looked. “In fact, I’d forgotten it was there.”
“It does look worse,” said Dorian. “I’m not getting very far—”
“It’s fine,” Tristan said, cutting her off. The last thing he needed was for everyone to know he needed a cure for something, though Philip was probably the only one out of the loop. He spread his wings slightly to soak up heat from the flames, feeling the warmth in his body almost instantly. Philip couldn’t stop gawking. “What now?”
“You’re like the devil’s spawn—”
Dorian elbowed Philip in the ribs and his breath came out in a whoosh.
“Maybe I am.” Tristan held back a smile until the corners of his lips twitched. Philip paled. “Get a grip, would you? I’m not the devil’s spawn and you know it.”
Philip pulled Dorian closer. Wary, but also defiant. Possessive. Tristan frowned, puzzled. Was he starting to get a feel for emotions like Landon?
He contemplated that for a moment, glancing at each person to get an emotional read, detecting nothing. Maybe they were his feelings, and not Philip’s. He pulled his wings in tighter to his back, but the chair made it awkward.
Don’t worry— Tristan thought to Dorian. He’s not hugging you for personal reasons. Looks more like a possession thing. You belong to him and he wants me to know it.
“Knock it off, would you?” Dorian glared at Philip, who pulled away with a scolded puppy look. I don’t belong to anyone!
“Sorry,” Philip mumbled. He straightened in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap.
Part of him felt awful for pushing the right buttons, setting Dorian off like that. But he couldn’t help it. If I left, he’d leave you alone. But I don’t really want to leave. Didn’t dare was more like it, with Philip acting the way he was. Especially when Dorian had implied they were just friends.
We’ll I am not an object for your amusement.
Do I look amused to you? Tristan tried to relax. What do you see in him?
Nothing really. We’ve been friends for a very long time and a relationship was sort of expected, I suppose.
Gram didn’t like him. Neither does Oliver. Neither do you for that matter.
Dorian shrugged. I get bored out here by myself, and he’s fun to be around when he’s not trying to put on a show like this. I guess it’s kind of cruel when I say it like that.
Well, don’t break up with him right away if you can help it. He could be useful for keeping Oliver busy, especially if he was encouraged to get on Oliver’s good side.
He’s already on Oliver’s good side.
Ha! Philip’s just the lesser of two evils in Oliver’s mind. If he can keep you from seeing me, he’s worth his weight in gold.
You wish, devil spawn.
The words stung. I’m not trying to be funny, Dorian.
I know. She sighed and rubbed her bare arms. I’m sorry.
“Are you getting cold?” Philip asked, taking off his sweatshirt and wrapping it around her shoulders. He flexed his chest muscles a few times and Tristan almost laughed aloud.
Dorian giggled quietly, which seemed to make Philip feel forgiven. See? He can be thoughtful sometimes.
Tristan leaned back in his chair and pretended to rest his eyes. You can’t possibly believe he’s interested in keeping you warm, can you? What if she was right about being treated like an object? A prize? They barely got along when they did see each other, which was only on rare occasions, and neither of them seemed willing to change. Or compromise. He just couldn’t stand the thought of Philip being the one.
Yes, I can. You make it sound like I mean nothing to him, and while I might not like him the same way, I know he values me more than you seem to think. I would even say he loves me in his own way. He’s just confused about being that serious.
A flame of anger pulsed in his belly. Landon and Victor stopped talking and stared at him, Landon discreetly shook his head. Philip beamed with pride, finally getting a reaction out of him. Tristan pretended to cover a yawn. “It’s getting pretty late.”
“Late? It’s barely midnight,” said Philip. “The clubs are just getting started.”
I’ll make a bet with you, thought Tristan. If I win, you get to punch him.
Sounds interesting. What happens if you lose?
If I lose, I’ll leave. Philip will feel like he won his stupid conquest game, and then he’ll leave you alone. Either way, you don’t have to put yourself in this position. We don’t need Philip; Donovan can handle Oliver when the time comes.
Oliver and Donovan don’t get along, if you recall.
I don’t think Oliver would support what we’re doing, and until I can get a better idea, I’d rather he didn’t know. So I don’t care if they get along or not.
I see what happened, she thought. Philip gave me his sweatshirt and you don’t have one to give. Is that what it is? Are you playing the same games he is?
Don’t you get it? Though she did hit a painful spot—he hadn’t considered what he’d be able to wear, now that he had wings. He was becoming less human all the time, even in the way he thought. And with Dorian, he’d become as protective and overbearing as Oliver, or a very loyal guard dog. But could they date? Was it even fair to ask the question? It was easier to buy more time and not ask to begin with. I’m not making moves to win you right now. And if you were seriously cold, I’d wrap my wings around you—shirts are overrated.
She busted into laughter and squirmed out of Philip’s arms. They’re going to catch on about us talking to each other if we keep it up. So what’s the bet?
I’ll bet that if I stare at your ear, he’ll kiss it.
Then we’ll see if he respects you enough to listen. If he does give you some space, I won’t object if you let him live.
Tristan, I don’t want to choose—
I know, but like you said, you’re bored and he keeps you entertained. Besides, I’ve got my hands full with things I can’t even begin to comprehend, so I can’t be here for you as much as he can. And having someone around is important too. I wouldn’t ask you to give that up.
They stared at each other across the fire, until Philip became uncomfortable.
You ready?
Yeah. And I’m sorry about the shirt comment. I wasn’t thinking. How are you going to wear a shirt? Or be seen in public?
I don’t know, haven’t really gotten that far yet. I guess I just won’t.
It shouldn’t be too bad. How often do you go to the city anyway?
Exactly. Never. I mean, who needs to, right?
Dorian smiled into the firelight and pulled her long hair back behind her ear. Tristan followed the curve of her ear to her jaw. I give. You were right, I’m just trying to make him look worse than he is. It’s a stupid guy thing and I can’t even step in when you dump him. Tristan stood. “I’m going to get going. Thanks, Victor. The food was great. Nice to see you again, Eric. Good luck with—” he’d been trying to keep an ear open to other conversations but drew a blank, “your work. Cabinets, right?”
Eric nodded.
“I’ll see you guys in the morning.” He only glanced at Landon, who probably knew more than anyone in regards to the emotional scheme of things. “Philip.” He didn’t dare pretend they were friends and walked away.
Dawn seeped into the sky at Tristan’s back. He sat with his knees pulled into his chest, at the top of the mountain above the cliff house where he’d spent the summer. All but the brightest stars had faded from the sky. How was he supposed to know Dorian didn’t know about the immortality thing? How would the topic ever come up in normal conversation?
A shift in the air to his left caught his attention, and within a second, Donovan stood in his typical black slacks and white dress shirt.
“You’ve marked the island well. I wasn’t sure if you would.”
Tristan diverted his attention back to the dark lake. “She’ll kill me when she finds out.”
“Highly unlikely, but someday she’ll appreciate what you’ve done.”
“I doubt it. Besides, I’m just claiming the island, not her. She can do what she wants.”
“Very well, if that’s what you believe.”
Tristan raked his hands through his hair. “We don’t even like each other.”
Donovan shrugged. “The tree?”
“Yes, he’s on board. He’s been waiting for something like this to happen. All but annuals and grasses are forbidden to grow in his meadow, to keep it clear and sacred, including his own offspring.”
“Does he suggest a certain season for optimal results?”
“No. But standard magic is weakest during the new moon.”
“All right then. I suggest you get some food; our meeting is in two hours. Do you need assistance in getting back?”
“No, I’m fine.” Tristan closed his eyes, exhaustion gobbling his strength. “Do you think we’re supposed to release them when the magic is weak, or when it’s strong?”
“Perhaps somewhere between.”
“Right. Good idea.” How could the night catch up with him so fast? He’d slept most the day, as far as he knew. He’d eaten well. He’d had plenty of water.... He couldn’t be that nocturnal, could he? Maybe he’d pushed himself too hard with flying around the entire island, stopping and starting so often.
His wings hung from his back like curtains of iron, blanketing the surrounding rocks. He tried to lift them off the ground, for their own safety, and couldn’t. “Donovan, I—” Queasy waves rolled in his stomach. His shoulder burned more than usual, but he was so tried, it hardly mattered. “I do need...not as fine.” The words scrambled and he wasn’t even sure he’d said them out loud.
29
INNER SQUAD
A DAMP CLOTH with the scent of spring covered his left shoulder, while he lay with his knees pulled up toward his chest on a narrow cot. Thin white fabric draped as walls around him and a chocolate-brown rug covered white tile. His wings were stiff, pulled in tight behind him.
Quiet arguments about how much longer they should let him sleep drifted through the fabric.
“I’m awake,” Tristan whispered. If Donovan was out there, he’d hear.
Welcome back, Tristan, said Samara, just before Donovan, followed by Landon and Pink, threw open a flap in one of the walls.
“Victor has a table of food prepared,” said Donovan, entering the tent. “You can eat and drink, then we must go.”
Tristan straightened his legs and tried to stretch his back. “What about the meeting?”
“We had it without you.”
“Oh. Good. I guess.” He pushed himself up to sit and waited for the dizziness to pass.
“You’re going to have to strengthen your heart if you don’t wish to give up the wings.”
“Give them up? That’d be like cutting off my ears, or my feet. You can’t expect me to cut off a limb.”
“No. But your heart will have issues keeping that much blood circulating. Whether you’re immortal or not, your organs still need oxygen to function.”
“Fine. I’ll keep it in mind.” His heart would strengthen enough if he could fly every day to build up endurance. He accepted a glass of orange juice from Landon. “How long did I sleep?”
“Almost twelve hours.”
“I didn’t have issues staying awake in the desert during the day.”
“Perhaps you just needed to crash after a long night, after a long week.”
“I guess. Where’s the staff? I can’t even remember when I had it last.”
“It’s in the corner. Your energy hasn’t been spiking like it was.”
“The council did something when I was there—a negotiation or something.”
Donovan closed his eyes and shook his head. “Why me?”
“Their theory is as good as any other,” said Tristan, “and close enough to what we thought. So the deal is, the energies I absorbed need to be patient and I’ll restore them as soon as I can. They’re apparently feeling ignored, and push to be recognized when I relax. And I relax when I’m not starving.”
“Is it something you can communicate with?” asked Landon.
Tristan shrugged. “It’s just what the council said. They wanted to observe me without all the debilitating factors, because Jacques said no one could be judged fairly in the conditions I was in. So they took away my shoulder pain, all the powers I took in, and all of you.” Tristan cringed, unable to remember how much truth he’d told them the first time around. “So I could make decisions without consequence to my wellbeing, since you guys pretty much control everything.”
“We do not.” Landon sounded so offended, Tristan regretted speaking at all. “We’ve let you choose most everything—”
“I realize that, but what would I do if you threw me out? I’d have no idea how to do any of this by myself.”
“What else did they say?” asked Donovan.
“Lots of things.” Tristan accepted the staff from Landon and waited a long moment before using it to haul himself to his feet, curling his toes into the soft rug. What he should do is learn to keep his mouth shut. “We talked for hours, but time is confusing there.”
Tristan left the tent, hoping to end the conversation, feeling less lethargic with each step. Samara’s grove of birch trees was gone, replaced by a circular, dome-topped, marble structure. Large square windows, crisscrossed with ornate iron bars, spanned between curving pillars, and at the top, stained-glass starred outward from the peak.
The falcon perched at the top of an enormous tree, bare of all leaves and small branches. “Well done, Samara!” Tristan beamed u
p at the bird, who was too busy preening his feathers to notice him. Tristan’s smile faltered. “It’s not him. How can that be? Where—?” He glanced at Donovan.
“I too found the lack of recognition and interest a possible indicator.”
Tristan fell into the nearest chair and rubbed at his cheeks. “I didn’t save the wrong bird. Did I?” His chest ached with losing Jacques yet again. “They promised. Didn’t they? I found the falcon, they set us both free.”
“Did you commit to saving Jacques or the falcon?” asked Donovan.
“They’re one in the same, aren’t they?” He refused to be caught in a riddle of words when it was Jacques’ life they were talking about. “Is this what they meant by ‘sacrifice’?”
“I don’t know,” said Donovan. “Maybe ‘free’ means something different for Jacques, and he was free to continue on his way, spiritually.”
“They said we’d both be sent home.”
“Your homes could be in different locations.”
Tristan clenched his jaw and felt a roar build in the pit of his soul. A baseball bat appeared in his hand and the food on the table vanished, replaced by ceramic bowls and glass decorations. “What is this for?”
“Protect his face and vitals, nothing else,” said Donovan.
Tristan gripped the bat, unsure if he really wanted to go berserk on a pile of dishes.
“Go ahead,” said Donovan. “Let off some steam.”
Tristan took careful breaths, eyeing the tallest stack of pottery. He swung the bat and shards of clay ricocheted off piles of cheap glassware. He brought the bat down harder on a stack of plates, pouring his anger in with it.
Glasses and dishes exploded with each strike, though he avoided the figurines and animal statues. Samara seemed to notice and replaced them with other things to destroy; giant cement spheres and stacks of flat glass. His wrists ached and his wings took a lot of shrapnel. Finally, the weight of the bat was too much to lift and he let it clank to ground, covered with jagged layers of rubble.
Adrenalin slowed and the dizzy won out. His stomach growled with hunger. He glanced at the small crowd on the other side of a thick glass wall—Donovan, Landon, Victor, Alvi, Pink, and half a dozen others he barely recognized. “That’s it,” he said quietly, for Samara’s sake. “I’m done.”
