The Twin Dragons: Book III in the Elementals Series

by Marisol Logan

  Andon continued to hold her for several moments, quietly playing with strands of her hair between his fingers and looking into her eyes. “I made your favorite,” he said, gesturing to the rosa in the fireplace that she had smelled when she came in.

  “I can tell,” she said. Her heart was racing, and she could feel a dizzy spell washing over her.

  “It will be fine on the fire, we can wait,” he said, in his smooth, tempting voice. “You have yet to see the whole house, the bedrooms,” he added, before gripping her by the waist and pulling her completely against his body, combining their lips again.

  Sharp pain stabbed her chest, and she cried out. She wanted him, and she wanted to leave and never have him again. Sobs caught in her throat as Andon continued his display of passion with more eagerness, mistaking her cry for one of pleasure, which it partially was. Finally, the pain was too much, piercing her between the ribs with every beat of her heart, and she pushed him away, running for the door.

  “What is wrong? Veria!” Andon called after her.

  She kept running, in the cold, sea-breezed night, through the quiet dark street. He was right behind her.

  “Veria! Stop!” he called, and she could tell he was all but caught up to her. Then his hand closed around her arm, and they both slowed to a stop.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, turning her to face him. They both fought hard to catch their breath in the chilly night air. “What is wrong?” he repeated, his face contorted with concern.

  “I can't do this anymore,” she answered, huffing and panting from her sprint down the street.

  “Do what?” he asked. “Veria, come back inside—”

  “No!” she yelled, and with it, a sob broke through her throat, and her eyes felt hot with tears. “That house...your mother's perfect house, and rosa on the fire...and...”

  “You are not making sense to me, Veria,” Andon said, carefully. “What is the matter with my house?”

  “I used to dream of this!” she cried. “Coming home, to this,” she gestured back down the cobbled street toward the house. “You, cooking me dinner—”

  “Oh, Veria...” Andon sighed as he suddenly seemed to recognize her strife.

  “And you have no idea how hard it was for me to forget about how that made me feel!” she shouted, anger bubbling up through the knot in her throat. “And you had no right to come pushing yourself back into my life, Andon. We were done! I was done with you!”

  “I know exactly how it felt, Veria. And I am not done with you, or us,” he said firmly. “Now come back in the house and get warmed up.”

  “I cannot go back in that house!” she cried. “It's too much...”

  “You have to come back in the house—”

  “I will wait out here until the carriage comes back,” Veria argued.

  “It's not coming back, Veria. I told him not to come back until the morning,” Andon admitted.

  Veria laughed, an icy laugh through the tears and the sobs. “Of course.”

  Andon sighed again, reaching his hand out for hers. “Veria, please,” he practically begged, “I am not leaving you out here.”

  “We have to stop,” she whispered.

  He stared at her in silence, taking in her face. She suspected she had hurt him, which made the whole situation even worse. He took a sharp breath in and swallowed hard. “I apologize,” he finally said. “I did push myself back into your life, but honestly, Veria, I do not think I could have avoided it. I was so angry when the King assigned you to this mission. Just sat at home, fuming, sick with it, for days. And now I know why—because, somewhere inside me, I knew then what I realize now. I am still in love with you. I have never stopped, and this—us, what we have been doing—was certain to happen, and somebody was bound to get hurt.”

  Veria took in his words through a ringing in her ears, a dizzying light-headedness, and could not have responded even if she wanted to for she feared her throat had completely closed off for good this time. She began to shiver uncontrollably in the cold sea breeze.

  “But, we could have this,” Andon added as he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her quaking shoulders. “Just say the word.” He pulled her in by the collar of his jacket and placed his forehead against hers. “I am back in your life,” he whispered, pleading. “Let me stay.”

  The pain fluttered all the way through her chest and abdomen, which flipped inside of her with a nervous lurch. She considered his plead for a brief moment, and every memory of him was accompanied by pain—either the empty, dull pain that comes when love is ripped out of a beating heart, or the stinging, hot pain of being too full of love for another person. If she stayed with him now, she would be filled with the latter, completely sick with it until something happened that separated them as it always did, and she would be empty, probably for the rest of her life.

  “We have to stop,” she repeated, practically inaudibly. Her jaw trembled, so she clenched it shut.

  Andon shifted uncomfortably, still not letting go of the jacket. “Please, Veria, please—I do not think I can go back to a life without you,” he uttered, his voice breaking.

  “You have a fiance, Andon,” she said. “What do you plan to do about that?”

  He began to shiver, as well, down to just a thin white shirt after giving her his jacket.

  “You are cold now,” she said.

  “I am not going inside without you,” he said, through chattering teeth.

  “Then I am coming back in,” she stated.

  Andon let go of the jacket, and they walked in tense silence back down the road to the teal-colored house. The warmth was even more inviting this time in contrast to the sea breeze night they were coming in from.

  “You should eat,” Andon said.

  “I am not hungry,” Veria replied.

  “I did not ask if you were hungry,” he said, firmly, “I said that you should eat. You have had a long day.”

  She sat at the table, while he ladled her a bowl, then placed it in front of her. He sat across from her, and picked at a loaf of bread, watching her to make sure she ate the soup. The candles had melted down to messy piles of wax, almost at the end of their wicks. The Rosa was delicious. It had been a long time since she had eaten any, and even longer since she had tasted Andon's recipe. She remembered that first time she had ever tasted Rosa. It was the first time she had ever seen Andon's face. She stared at it now, candlelight flickering across his sharp jaw, his eyes tired and full of sadness.

  This was it. The moment that Willis had warned her about almost two years ago: she would break Andon's heart, by not choosing him. It had to be, she thought as she saw the pain on his face. She had never understood what Willis had meant with his glimpses into the future. She just always assumed that if Andon left back then, and she let him go a year ago, the heartbreak she was foreseen to cause him would be averted. The scenario in which she did not choose him would never come to pass. But maybe the futures that Willis saw were more fixed—if he saw it, it would happen no matter what, he just did not know the exact circumstance? Or was it just that as soon as the two people in question were involved again, the same future events would resurface?

  “How is it?” Andon asked, quietly.

  “It is perfect, as usual,” she answered, matching his soft volume.

  The food sat nervously in her stomach as Veria realized the full extent of Willis' prevision, and the situation they were in now. The pain it would cause her to go back to her life after this stretch of romance with Andon would pale in comparison to the pain she would feel if they were to become further involved and attempt a life together, only to have something happen down the line. But in protecting her own heart, she was breaking his, just as hers broke two years prior, when her illusion of love was crushed to protect him.

  The fact that they were right back where they started, with the tables turned, and he had loved her all this time in between, made her sick to her stomach. She stood abruptly, intending to move away from
the food, and Andon reciprocated the movement, rising from his chair attentively.

  He stepped around the table toward her. “You should get some sleep,” he suggested. “There are two bedrooms, so we don't have to...sleep together. The carriage will be by at sunrise. I have early meetings with the Tal'lean ambassadors.”

  “Clean up?” Veria asked.

  “One might call it that,” he nodded.

  “See how much trouble I bring?” Veria joked.

  “I have known it for awhile,” he smirked.

  She sighed and laughed to herself.

  “What?” he asked.

  “As much as I generally despise the entire concept, I find myself thinking it might be easier to just forget this entire Council ever happened,” she whispered, her throat too busy holding back possible sobs to produce any volume.

  “I hope you do not mean that,” he said softly, his head dropping forward in shame. “Life will be harder with these memories, but I would not give them up. But I would do that for you...” he added, looking up at her, his dark brows furrowed, distress across his tanned face. “If that is what you wished.”

  “No...” she answered, shaking her head. “I could never. It was just a silly thought.”

  The distress did not leave his face. He continued to survey her carefully, creases across his forehead, lips tight. Veria pondered his offer further, not because she was reconsidering, but because it made her uncomfortable. It seemed like such a strange thing to say but maybe he was just used to it. Maybe people asked him for his services often. Maybe he used them more often than she knew...

  “You would never do that without someone asking, would you?” she asked, nervously, remembering Strelzar's insistence that she start journalling everything in case her memories were unknowingly stolen.

  “Sometimes the situation calls for it, Veria,” he answered firmly. “Diplomacy, strategy, sensitive information—”

  “Well outside of your line of work—”

  “I use my judgment, and I do not take these skills lightly—”

  “So you would do it! You have done it? Just taken some person's memory without them asking or knowing?” she accused.

  “It is an extremely complicated topic and one that I doubt we will ever agree on—”

  “Have you?!” she pressed.

  “Yes, of course I have!” he snapped. “But I am not going to stand here and be lectured about how I use my powers while you rack up a death toll with yours!”

  Veria winced, knowing he only knew about the deaths of the two assassins, and certainly not about the real death toll she had amassed—the two hundred killed at the border, a number that made her sick every time she thought about it.

  “This is completely different—” she started.

  “Really? We are both protecting our kingdom and ourselves,” he stated plainly. “I do not see how it is different at all—no, you know what? I am not having this argument tonight. Is this really how we want to end this? Is this what you want to remember?”

  “Not particularly, but I suppose you can just erase it from my memory, can't you?!” she spat.

  He glared at her with a blank face, his lips sealed tight as if he was restraining himself from further argument. His eyes darted across her, then around the room, and her stomach lurched. He did not want to have the argument because he was afraid he might lie, she thought...he might say something that would sound the alarm, and then she would know some truth he was hiding.

  “Andon,” she muttered. “What did you do?”

  “I said I am not having this conversation tonight,” he repeated, looking away from her.

  “I'm familiar with that line,” Veria snapped. “I have secrets, too, Andon. What did you do?”

  He was silent, and she heard him gulp loudly and nervously.

  “Me?” she asked through constricted throat, not sure what she would do once she knew the answer—not really even sure she wanted to know. “Was it....? Did you....to me?” She could only get a few words out at a time, her head too full and cloudy to provide her with any more vocabulary.

  He did not look at her and he did not respond. Her head spun and her chest went tight and she gasped for air. She stumbled forward, and his head snapped to her, reaching an arm out to catch her if necessary.

  “Do not touch me,” she warned, and she started to walk toward the door.

  “Veria, stop—” he protested, but she walked by him. “I told you it was complicated—stop!” he yelled, and grabbed her by the arm, whipping her back around to face him.

  “I said do not touch me!” she shouted.

  “I am not letting you leave!” he matched her volume. “What are you going to do, walk all the way back to the palace in the middle of the night?”

  “I can take care of myself, Andon,” she snarled. “I have done just fine without you for some time.” She ripped her arm away from him as his face fell flat and his grip released.

  “I guess that is true,” he muttered, his tone sullen and defeated. “Go, then.”

  Head still spinning from the revelation, she looked at his face one last time before turning and leaving the small, charming house. That perfect scene she had always dreamed of had turned into a complete nightmare. The walk home was chilly, but quiet, and long enough that she had plenty of time to feel betrayed and shocked and hurt and angry and violated—more time than anyone would ever want for such feelings.

  She half expected Strelzar to be sitting on the chaise lounge by her window, ready with two mugs of meade, awaiting the story of her night. And when he wasn't there, as she knew he wouldn't be, she collapsed on her bed and sobbed uncontrollably until she had completely exhausted herself, and fell asleep.

  - XV-

  Awakening to an apprentice at her door at sunrise with a message from Andon was not Veria's idea of a good morning after they had avoided each other for three solid days, two of which Willis had come to tell her she should take off while they dealt with the Tal'lean ambassadors who did not want her present, which she had spent walking the markets of Barril, shopping for gifts for her mother and Tanisca and Strelzar. She realized with a twinge of guilt and embarrassment moments later while dressing that she might have cursed at the young and frightened looking apprentice. But, the thought did not last long, before it morphed back into an overwhelming resentment for Andon and distress that his message called for a 'private meeting'.

  She arrived at the study he had been using as an office during the conference, and he hastily rose from his desk and gestured to a chair across from his. He looked more distressed than she felt, Veria thought, taking a seat in the velvet reading chair. Andon resumed his seated position, and perched a pair of reading glasses on his face, something Veria had never seen him do before, and it immediately made him look older.

  “I should have reminded you the other night that I had to conduct these meetings this week,” he said, apologetically, “as it is the final week of the conference, we generally gather closing statements from everyone for our report. I had already scheduled you with me, and I didn't think to change it—”

  “No worries,” Veria cut him off. “I am not one to hold a man's professional duties against him.”

  He filled his chest with air and sighed a long, aggravated sigh.

  “I had not planned to bring it up—”

  “Then, please, I beg you, do not—”

  “And then you come in here making backhanded comments which tells me you do want to discuss things further!” he said.

  “I assure you, I do not,” she muttered.

  “Do I at least get to explain myself?' Andon snapped, whipping the reading glasses off his face and tossing them on the desk. “Or are you really comfortable sitting in judgment over me for the rest of our lives when you have no idea what even transpired?”

  For a few moments, she was speechless, caught off guard by the reality of his statement. She had no idea what had happened—how long could she be angry at him on principle witho
ut knowing the whole truth? But, at the same time, she knew she did not want to hear it, and that was out of fear that it would make her more upset, that she was missing a memory she wanted, that it would haunt her for her life, or that she would never be able to forgive him.

  “What I have done to you is terrible,” he said quietly, lowering his head, apparently too ashamed to look her in the eyes. “Selfish. Amazingly selfish, Veria. I realize that, and I want to make it up to you. I need you to forgive me.”

  “Just tell me,” Veria whispered, still not convinced that she wanted to hear it. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, as if to steel herself against the incoming information.

  Andon sighed nervously, and then began: “The night of the Regalship announcement ceremony, at the Guyler Estate, do you remember it?” Veria nodded, and her stomach flipped when she recalled her supposed 'blackout' that she had always assumed was from drinking too much bubbly. “Well, I—we were arguing, and then we were dancing, and then...”

  He trailed off, dropping his head in shame again.

  “Was that not the night your father announced your engagement?” Veria asked.

  Andon nodded. “I took you to a bedroom, and we made love, and...when you left the room afterward, I erased the memory.”

  Veria felt her jaw grow hot and her teeth grind together. “Why, Andon? Why?” she snapped. “Did you not trust me?”

  “No, that is not it—” he shook his head.

  “Were you embarrassed, or ashamed?!” she spat, cutting him off.

  “I did not want you to have live with the guilt!” he explained, leaning toward her over the desk. “I know you, and I know you would have felt terrible regret and shame over being with me right after meeting my new fiance! And I had just spent so many words telling you how I did not want you in my life and how I could not bear to be around you, and then—that is how it should have been. It should have stayed that way so we could both move on, but I was not strong enough not to pull you back in.”

  “That was not your decision to make for me, Andon!” Veria argued, her head spinning as his story attempted to settle. “And it made no difference! We are right back to the same situation as we were that night!”