Then he gasped. It was all too clear now, and he couldn’t believe he brushed it off so easily… Or rather, forgot.
I am such a fool! And he leaped up, owl swooping backward with a swoosh and flutter of feathers. Then he bolted the few strides to the door and slid around the left corner for the entryway. It was just a few paces away.
But then his feet stumbled to a stop before he even made it into the small, rarely used space, gaze landing on his only obstacle – the door and what laid beyond it.
Curses! He twisted, chest beginning to rise and fall in a panic, and looked down the hallway at the two closed doors and his own open one on the right. Portraits lined the wall on his left. This can’t be happening! He grabbed his head with that, a heat rushing to it through his spine, and let his fingers run among the locks and muss his ponytail further. This cannot be happening!
Nicholas materialized before him again, the nightmare one riddled with arrows and bleeding out.
He shook his head violently, lids slamming shut and scrunching as tight as possible.
Now Nicholas was running, stumbling. Trees and snow were all around.
“Noooo!” he screamed, fumbling sideways himself and into the wall. His hands grasped what they could there, but he collapsed. “Nicholas!” And he curled up, the cold structure of his empty home his safe place… and prison. Then he let himself sob until every inch of his body ached. Until he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand even if he tried.
It was all over now. His beloved wife was gone, his daughter was gone, and now…
“Oh my Nicholas,” he mumbled and choked. “My poor baby boy.”
“Father,” a distant voice drifted over. It was much too far away to identify as either male or female, and it brought with it an icy chill that raised the hairs on his arms. “Don’t cry.”
He swiped his face up along his trousers, catching the tears as his leg hairs rose next, and found himself looking through the hallway into the kitchen. A window splayed a dim light across the floor, in the exact spot he recalled seeing his son last. Horrible words had been spoken there.
“Everything will be all right,” the voice continued.
Brida, he told himself. He had never heard voices before, not even Seraphina’s. As Nicholas still lived, Brida made sense. So he gulped, licked his lips, and curled in tighter as he dropped his head along the wall.
Then that icy chill swept across his cheek and drifted to his shoulder. It gave an odd squeeze, and then his muscles jerked in a type of shiver.
His eyes immediately went back to the kitchen, that lit up spot where Nicholas had last stood hungover. The first spot Nicholas stood when caught heading for the sitting room window. He could almost see him now, turning to look at him accusingly.
I see, he nodded, reaching for Brida’s hand even though he knew it wasn’t there. That he most likely imagined his daughter’s presence and the icy chill. Then he shifted to see the front door. I will take your brother’s lead from here.
Never Existed (Isaiah)
Isaiah inhaled slowly, eyes closed and hand on his son’s door, and turned the knob. Then he opened his lids and clutched his travel bag to his chest and pushed. His gaze landed on Nicholas’ wardrobe immediately.
I am not intruding. I am just getting his things.
He strode forward, the room seeming hollow, and noted that both wardrobe doors were ajar. He stepped up to them, unbelieving he was doing this, and creaked open the first door. He did the same with the other.
There he was taken by surprise. A small row of white shirts hung on the left. There looked to be three total. Two grey shirts hung four inches away. A few inches further and he was staring at two dark blue tunics. There were many empty hangers. One pair of trousers laid folded on the wardrobe floor.
He stole a second to blink, but then in one swipe snagged all the hanging garments and shoved them into the bag, sending hangers flying into the wood. Then he snatched the trousers.
From there he turned, the nightstand his next destination as he knew his son kept his most precious things there. He had spied him slipping one particular item in and out of it, and that item could definitely not be left behind.
But his feet hesitated upon his eyes landing on the small piece of furniture.
Just breathe. Once more he inhaled, nerves picking up a tremble, and made the short journey across. In normal situations, getting caught going this direction would get Nicholas all upset. Then he exhaled as he glanced to the door for that very thing to happen. Only he stopped before the nightstand with no such luck, so he reached down, took the small knob, and pulled the top drawer open.
Nothing.
He must have taken Seraphina’s dagger with him.
He reclosed the drawer and went for the second.
Nothing.
His forehead scrunched. That made no sense.
He straightened and scanned the room, looking for anything else that might catch his eye as something important.
Except there was nothing else in the room. His desk stood bare by the door. The shelves lining the walls were empty of books and knick-knacks. Not a single plant sat anywhere. His son literally possessed nothing but a bed, a blanket, a lumpy pillow, some clothes, and Seraphina’s dagger.
He lifted the bag he held once more and peeked inside. His son’s clothes mostly blended in with his. It was just the grey shirts and dark blue tunics that stood out. I don’t even remember buying those. That got him to reach inside and lift a tunic. The rough material and style indicated it was the kind the shelter handed out monthly and not the kind that could be found at any middle-class or upper-class shop or seamstress.
The tunic slipped from his fingers as he grabbed a grey shirt. It was a shelter style as well. That made his heartrate pick up. Nothing about that sat well with him, so he sought out a white shirt frantically and pulled it out into the light.
His heart skipped a beat. This is mine.
He shoved the garment back in and dug around even more frantically. But again he found another of his shirts, this one with a patched spot where he recalled snagging and tearing the sleeve. He also recalled asking Nicholas to toss it as the material was wearing out.
“Nicholas has been taking my old clothes?” he blurted aloud.
He dropped the shirt, thinking of the one pair of trousers and how his son most likely left in the only other pair.
“I never bought you clothes? That can’t be. I clearly remember going shopping with you and Brida.” He looked across into the empty wardrobe with that thought. “I never gave you anything at all,” his voice echoed, heart ripping open at the same time. “I can’t believe I never gave you anything. Why didn’t you…”
His feet fumbled backward, the room spun, and he stepped out of the space that made it as if Nicholas had never existed. Stepped out of it and into the hallway, where he heard the ghost of his son laugh. He could just picture the smile that went with the laughter and the deep hug that was always saved for Brida.
But that bedchamber said his son didn’t exist.
Oh gods. I feel ill. And he grasped the doorframe and rotated away until he was facing the hallway and the portraits on the wall. Except Brida’s door drew his attention like a shining beacon. That doll of hers was already waving at him through it with a smile he didn’t deserve.
That was when his feet carried him the next few steps over without a second thought and he reached out and opened the door.
There was the doll. Right where he had last seen it on the bed. Its red hair, white skin, green clothes were the most vibrant of anything he had ever laid eyes on. It even had green eyes that seemed to watch him as he stood there.
“My brother, Erendriel, gave me this when I was a baby,” came Seraphina’s voice from an old memory. “I would like Brida to have it.”
“I can’t leave the doll,” his voice echoed as he spoke his next thought aloud as well. “Nicholas would never forgive me for that.�
� And he made his way across for the first time in nine months, taking each step so slow the room grew larger and larger.
There was the wardrobe on his left, garments sticking out of the door. The vanity sat overloaded with brushes and knick-knacks in the corner on the far wall. A desk he recalled was behind him, storybooks piled all over it. Then there was the nightstand, which held a music box. The dead flowers he had neglected to care for was visible on the window ledge.
Finally, he came up to the bed and his fingers wrapped around the doll. He picked it up, taking in the mess of sheets and blankets, and looked it in the face even though it held no resemblance to Seraphina or Brida. From his understanding, Erendriel was half god, so the doll was made to the likeness of one that was also elven.
“I gave more to you than I ever gave your brother.” He felt his heart rip asunder at those words. “I am horrible to have shown you more love and yet still manage to have my son love me in return. To fear for me. I don’t deserve any of it.”
And he brought the doll to his chest and turned back to the door and the hallway where he half expected to see both Nicholas and Brida staring at him.
Prized Possessions (Brida)
Brida drifted over to her old bedchamber as her father resumed speaking to himself. She could hear him despite his low voice and the wall that separated them.
“I gave more to you than I ever gave your brother. I am horrible to have shown you more love and yet still manage to have my son love me in return. To fear for me. I don’t deserve any of it.”
She peeked around the frame, not having seen her room since the day of the incident in the flower shop, and caught her father just as he turned away from the bed with her doll close to his chest. Fresh tears were forming, and he looked ashen.
“Nicholas never cared for things, father,” she answered as she tried to make eye contact with him. He appeared to be looking at her, yet not at her. “He once told me his most prized possessions were us.”
Her father stepped toward the door, forcing her aside, and turned left for his own room without closing hers or Nicholas’.
She went ahead and trailed behind him, wishing there was something she could do. Wishing she hadn’t tried to touch her father. Something told her that whatever happened next would be because she failed to restrain herself.
Dinner Guest (Isaiah)
A round of knocking filled the house. Isaiah’s heart leaped into his throat, using his lungs as the launch pad, and he jolted from his nap and shot up. He immediately looked left, to his door that stood wide open, and noted the dark hallway. But no one was there, and it had gone silent again.
A sigh escaped. It had all been a part of a dream, though he couldn’t recall one, and he glanced about his room. The dark grey evening of the world outside his window had bathed everything around him in a ghostly color.
Then the distinct sound of his front door opening met his ears, and his heart stuttered to a near stop.
“Master Isaiah?” called out Cedric from the other end of the house.
Isaiah snatched the travel bag he had placed at the foot of the bed and leaped to his feet. With all the planning, he had forgotten about the young guard who had decided to eat breakfast and dinner with him.
Boot treads across the hard floor echoed over from there. “Master Isaiah, are you awake?”
There was no time left. Isaiah spun around. He had his bed, the trunk, the wardrobe… His eyes caught the ever-dark place near the toes of his boots.
It will just have to do.
“Master Isai…”
He threw it under, his entire frame twisting with the motion, and lost his balance. Every inch of him hit the floor with a thud.
“Master Isaiah!”
Those boots were now running, and then arms slipped under the pits of his arms just as he got his hands and knees under him.
Up he went. Cedric was mighty strong for someone out of shape.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” he feigned brushing dust off his shirt, straightened a nonexistent crease.
“I had dinner brought over again,” Cedric sidetracked.
Isaiah glanced up, scrunching his face intentionally to appear interested, and spotted the small sack as the young guard raised it up.
Then Cedric frowned. “It’s honestly not much this time. Mother was short funds today. Business at the bakery was slow.”
His eyes widened, and he paused midway into straightening his shirt. “Cedric, you…”
The young guard raised a hand. “Mother wanted to make sure you were eating. I told her you were struggling, so she packed a small loaf and some cheese. It was all she could spare. She even told me to leave it all for you as I am gaining weight.” And he looked down and patted his belly. “Not good for a guard to be overweight.”
Isaiah shook his head, but then gestured to his bed. “Well you must thank her for me. I am sure I would starve without her.”
Cedric chuckled, and then they both sat on the edge of the mattress. “I wouldn’t allowed that, Master Isaiah. Nicholas would never forgive me.”
Those words snagged him, and he twisted to where he had placed Brida’s doll. It now stared at him like it knew a secret.
“Here.”
There was a crunch, the clear sound of bread separating, and he turned just in time to catch Cedric stuffing cheese into the two separated pieces.
“Eat.”
I definitely don’t deserve Nicholas, he thought as he took the offering. His own best friend is caring for me in his name, and I have yet to do anything for him. And he took a bite, seeing his son in the young man at his side. But that changes tonight.
Unexpected Help (Isaiah)
Night descended across every room of the house as Isaiah walked Cedric to the front door, and for the first time that he could recall he was nervous. He saw it in the way his hands sweated as he reached for the knob and pulled it open to allow the moonlight through.
If Nicholas can do this, I can do this.
“See you tomorrow, then,” Cedric spoke as he stepped out into the snow and glowing night to reclaim his normal post. “My mother will try to bring by stew in the morning.”
Isaiah hesitated. He never planned to lie to anyone, and he was a terrible liar. “I will be looking forward to that.”
An angry grunt responded, and Isaiah glanced sideways at Brome. The older guard was by the garden gate, leaning his frame against it.
That might be a problem. The gate was his only way out other than the front door.
“Just so you know,” Brome spoke up. “I sent a boy up to Soto requesting a replacement for you.”
Cedric laughed.
“I warned you to not fraternize with him. Now you will pay.”
“Well,” Isaiah intruded, thinking his next words carefully. “I will miss your company if you leave.”
“And I will miss yours.”
He closed the door.
Now it was time to set his plans into motion. He ventured straight for the hallway, going over each step in his mind. The problem of Brome was the only kink he found at the moment, and there was no way to determine what to do about it until he was in position.
He ventured into the hallway at last, Brida’s and Nicholas’ chambers sitting open to let small traces of moonlight spill across the path ahead. Then he strode back into his own room to spot the travel bag sticking out a bit from under the bed. His coat hung from the knob at the foot.
Cedric’s laughter came back, Brome’s remark.
Is that another kink?
He stepped over and claimed his sack, dragging it out as he snatched his coat. Then he grabbed Brida’s doll from its spot on the pillow and caught how its green eyes continued to watch him.
No. He put the doll carefully into the inside pocket of his coat and slipped on the garment. Cedric wouldn’t turn me in if he knew of my plans. He would have brought it up if he noticed.
With that all done, he ventured out for the last time and turned toward the kitchen again. He didn’t look back or around at the things he would never see again, until he came out in the sitting room where all his books lined the walls. It was impossible in this part of the house not to note his favorite titles despite his efforts.
Can’t take any of you, he apologized mentally.
He slid in behind the furniture below the window, flipped the lock without hesitation, and shoved the piece open. The cold night air smacked his cheeks immediately, and it felt far colder than it had moments ago at the front door.
All right. No going back.
He tossed his bag out, sending the sound of untouched snow into the air. It was just soft enough to be heard by no one else. Then he gripped the ledge and lifted himself up and out.
It was his boots that made a louder thump when he hit the ground.
“What was that?” came Brome’s startled voice.
Isaiah froze, waiting to see what happened next to decide what to do.
“Probably a cat,” Cedric answered.
“Big cat,” Brome responded.
Isaiah inhaled carefully as he stepped silently through the soft snow, exhaling just as carefully, and prowled his way along the wall. Every breath was visible before him in the night air, puffing and dancing away. Then he turned along the fence, moving much slower as Brome was just beyond.
“So how is he doing in there?” came Brome’s voice again.
Isaiah halted. Listened.
“How is who doing?” Cedric answered.
“The man. Isaiah.”
Cedric snorted, “Why do you care?”
Isaiah sucked in his breath this time and held it as he dared to move closer to the gate.
“I am not heartless. I just don’t think we should be fraternizing with the prisoner.”
Silence, and Isaiah heard his boots crunch into snow that was a bit harder than the rest.
Rogue Beyond the Wall Page 13
