Wil gripped Dallin’s arms in both hands. “How—?”
“Understand?”
Understanding didn’t really seem to be the point. Not even a little bit. Trust. That blind faith Dallin so despised. And here he was, asking for it, demanding it, and he didn’t even seem to know it. And here Wil was, wanting to hand it over.
I will do whatever it takes. I want you to survive, Wil.
Do I look like I don’t know what I’m doing?
Just trust me. I won’t let anything happen.
Wil sank deeper into the embrace.
Trust and faith and give and take, and closing his eyes, following blind and believing without thought that his Guardian wouldn’t let him fall. That it was all right to be weak sometimes, because there was another there to be strong, to balance you, propping you up in your moment of frailty, not waiting to tear out your throat the minute you bared it. There was a strange sort of strength in that, one Wil could give back, because it didn’t have to define him, and “weak” didn’t have to mean “not strong.”
Wil twisted his neck, and laid a soft kiss to Dallin’s throat. “I understand.”
He let Dallin support him as he leaned back and watched the falls. Watched the brown, sunlit ghost of a gangly, towheaded little boy plunge from the top of the Stair, laughing and shouting, and splash down, long arms and legs flailing, into indigo froth.
Wil closed his eyes, breathed in the day, and wished with all his heart it never had to end.
2
WIL, DALLIN decided grimly, had already made up his mind. Accepted the end as if he knew what was coming and was perfectly all right with it. Sad, perhaps, a bit frightened, but not so much that he’d look for or accept another answer.
It was like holding on to someone who was already dead.
Dallin suppressed a shudder, took Wil by the shoulders, and pushed him upright. The chill hit right away, where Wil’s warmth had swathed him a second ago, but Dallin didn’t pull Wil back, though he almost wanted to. Instead he patted at Wil’s shoulders, and pulled away.
Wil wasn’t done looking yet, lost in the sight and sound of the falls, so Dallin merely withdrew, paced slowly back to the cliffside wall, and leaned his back to it. He stared at his boots.
It was very strange being back here, seeing things he’d forgotten existed, placing his feet on soil he’d walked before. The land itself vibrated through him, wanting to feel familiar, but somehow he couldn’t let it. Like running into an old lover with whom things had ended badly and pretending you didn’t recognize him, and after enough denials you might even start to believe it yourself. Walking away and feeling their eyes between your shoulder blades, accusing—You remember, we both know it, what are you so afraid of?
Ridiculous. Dallin had never done such a thing in his life, hadn’t had enough real relationships that would afford the circumstance.
Have you ever loved?
His jaw tightened, and he scuffed his boot over shiny-damp granite.
What difference did it make? As if it were some sort of failure, as if he had any control over it whatsoever.
If he had even a semblance of control…. He’d what? Refuse it? Make it go away? Pretend it wasn’t true until he believed it? Six weeks ago Dallin might’ve thought that possible, but now?
“You look tired.”
Wil’s voice was loud, to be heard over the rush of the water, but not loud enough that it should have startled Dallin as it did. Dallin cut his glance up, saw Wil’s look of concern, and pulled his eyes quickly away again.
“Do I?”
“I should’ve noticed before.” Wil seemed strangely hesitant all of a sudden, considering he’d been trying to plow Dallin under with unwanted memories only moments ago.
Dallin cast his gaze up to the top of the falls. “You only just woke yourself a few hours ago.”
“Which is why I should have considered that you’ve not been taking the time to look after yourself.” Dallin wouldn’t look at him, but he could almost feel Wil’s gaze go doubtful. “Have you been sleeping?”
The derisive snort whiffled from Dallin before he could stop it. He choked it back. Sleeping was a relative term these days.
“Yes, I’ve been sleeping.” The lie came too easily. Dallin pulled up a smile to cover it and tried to make it sly. “Although I’ll admit I’ve been wishing I had something better to do at night to occupy myself, but since you were unavailable….” He waggled his eyebrows.
Wil twisted something that might have been a smirk. “Perhaps we can remedy that tonight.” He took a step, right up close so his arm brushed Dallin’s. Even through the thickness of both coats, the touch thrilled through like it had that first night. “I think I’d like to have you by the river.” Wil murmured it low and right next to Dallin’s ear, so the heat of Wil’s breath seeped down Dallin’s collar. “We’ll make a few memories of our own it won’t hurt you to remember, shall we?”
It was as though Wil had just taken him and tripped him into the water. Somehow Dallin managed to keep the smile, though he couldn’t come up with a single bloody thing to say. And anyway, his mouth didn’t seem to be working, so what was the point? What the hell was wrong with him? And why did whatever it was feel so much like fear?
“Dreams?”
Dallin snapped his glance up, narrowed it. “Sorry?”
Wil shrugged. “I recognize the look.” He slipped a cold fingertip along the hollow of Dallin’s left eye. “A few more days, and it’ll look like someone blacked both your eyes. And you have a constant look about you, like you might draw on the next person who blinks too quickly.” He tilted his head. “Want to tell me?”
“It’s fine.” Dallin tried to make his voice casual, but he only sounded tired, even to himself. He shook his head. “Same old thing, nothing new, and nothing to worry yourself about.”
Everything about Wil went still. “Nothing to worry my pretty head over?”
“That isn’t what I meant. I was only—”
“It doesn’t matter what you were doing, it matters what you weren’t doing—and what you weren’t doing was being honest.” Wil’s mouth twisted, his gaze steely. “You’re keeping something from me. And by the way you’re trying to back yourself through that slab of stone, it appears to be something important.”
“Wil, they’re only dreams. They don’t—”
“There is no such thing as only dreams. Haven’t you been paying attention at all?”
Fucking hell. When had Dallin lost control over his own life, his proprietorship over his own thoughts and feelings, so damned completely? Two choices were possible right now, the way he saw it—fight over it, or give just enough to make it seem as though he was giving in. And he really wasn’t up to a fight. With effort, he kept back a heavy sigh.
“It’s only the one from… I think it was that first night in Chester. Or maybe the second. I can’t remember. Like I said, nothing new.”
“The one with the Watcher?”
“No, the one with Calder.”
Wil’s frown went hard, with a touch of fire beneath it.
Dallin realized his mistake right away. Shit. Why hadn’t he said it was the one with the Watcher? Wil had just handed him an out, and Dallin had been too caught up in the half-formed lie to snatch it.
“You never told me about that one.”
“No?” Dallin turned his gaze past Wil and back up to the water. “I expect there were other things more pressing at the time.”
“Mm.” Wil followed Dallin’s gaze. “And now?”
Dallin rolled his eyes. “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you—I’ve not been keeping any great secrets from you. It just hasn’t come up, that’s all.”
Another lie. Bloody damn, he was getting good at them.
Then again, no, he apparently wasn’t, because Wil turned back to peer at Dallin closely, measuring. He was silent for quite a while before he nodded.
“I really want to know.”
Of course he
did. Wil really wanted to know everything, except for the things he didn’t want to know, and Dallin was supposed to know how to tell the difference, and he was also supposed to not mind when Wil wanted to know things Dallin didn’t want to tell him.
Which wasn’t entirely fair, nor entirely honest, but Dallin really was fairly exhausted, and it was all he could do to keep everything that was going on in his head in some sort of order. Holding back this place from burrowing its way into Wil before he was ready for it, trying to listen to what Lind wanted to tell him—accept the things he wanted to know and block the ones he didn’t—wrapping his mind around the fact that he could actually hear the land speak to him, and he had a feeling he could speak back if he wanted to, and it would hear him too.
Too unnerving, all of it, and almost too much to keep track of. And now Wil wanted a dissection of a dream Dallin didn’t want to tell him about, after Dallin had spent all morning arguing with three old men over things as dire as Wil’s very life and as unimportant as how many barrels of mead and beer would be needed for the damned celebration Dallin didn’t want but they were planning anyway for when they finally made it up into Lind proper. And now Dallin had to make a trip down to the Bounds and use up more time they didn’t have to deal with Commonwealth troops, when what he really wanted to do was hide here, watch the falls all day, watch Wil’s face as he watched them, and not bloody talk.
What a fucking day.
Dallin gave Wil a level look. “It’s nothing. A lot of nonsensical rubbish, really, but it’s been coming almost every night, and yes, it bothers me. Everything about Calder bothers me, so I don’t imagine I should be surprised he’s a pain in the arse in my dreams as well.” He sighed, a bit overdramatic, probably, but no less heartfelt. He waved his hand. “It’s in that alley, and there’s fire everywhere. I know you’re there because I can hear you yelling at me to get up, but I can’t see you.” His teeth clenched. “That bloody stumpy little gate guard is there, but as usual he turns into one of the—” He cleared his throat. “He turns into one of the children.”
Wil’s expression went immediately from suspicion to sympathy. “Burnt?”
Dallin nodded. “And then Calder shows up, holding this stupid little gold figure shaped like a frog in his hand, only it’s not really gold. It’s alive, and it keeps staring at me, blinking its freaky bulging eyes at me, and Calder says—”
He stopped himself just in time, and turned his gaze back to the water. “Calder says things I can’t remember, and then I’m in a boat in the middle of a gunfight.”
He risked a glance sideways, saw the narrowed gaze, the slight pinch of the mouth. Wil wasn’t buying the lie for a second.
“What does Calder say?”
He says you’ve been betrayed all your life, and implies I should be ashamed for planning to betray you further. Except I have nothing even resembling a real plan, and even if I did, it isn’t real betrayal, because if I do what I think I have to do, I’m following orders from the Father Himself. How am I supposed to do otherwise? Just because you’ve made me promise—
He cut that one off and shrugged, annoyed. “What does Calder ever say but rot and nonsense? I told you, I don’t remember.”
Wil was quiet for a moment, staring at him. Dallin stared back, keeping his face blank and his gaze steady.
Eventually Wil looked away. “The frog is magic. Magic untapped and unknown.” He shot a sardonic glance at Dallin, then looked away again. “But I expect you knew that.”
Dallin frowned. “No, I didn’t.” Though he thought perhaps Wil was saying he should have known it, but that didn’t seem entirely fair either. “You’re the one who knows these things. Why d’you think I should?”
“Mm.”
And that was it, all Wil had to offer, as though they both knew what it was supposed to mean and Wil had no intention of dignifying the question with a response—and had every right to be angry that Dallin wouldn’t admit it. Except Dallin really didn’t know what it was supposed to mean, and damn it, how the hell had it gone from what it had been fifteen minutes ago to this?
“Look, Wil, I’m not trying to be difficult.” Yes, he was—he just didn’t want Wil to know he was being difficult. “It’s all rather chaotic, and I really don’t remember—”
“The gunfight is fairly self-explanatory,” Wil cut in, terse. “Attack and counterattack.” He slipped a wry glance up and over. “Typical when a person who likes to control everything around him suddenly can’t anymore.” It was all Dallin could do not to growl. Fortunately, Wil didn’t allow an opportunity for response. “The boat isn’t terribly significant—it’s the state of the water. I assume it’s somewhat… unsettled?” When Dallin frowned a bit and nodded, Wil merely shrugged. “So are you. P’raps if you’d admit you have emotions, it would calm down the next time.”
The curt delivery and vague suggestion of a verbal slap surprised Dallin. “Hold on. That’s hardly fair. How did this get to be about—?”
“Now, if you’ll tell me what Calder says to you in the dream,” Wil overrode him, “decent sleep might be a possibility tonight.” He turned a bit of a glare on Dallin, sagging somewhat when he caught whatever pathetic expression of bewilderment he found. He shook his head and laid his hand on Dallin’s arm. “I’m only trying to help. I’ve been fairly useless at just about everything else, and I’ll admit it’s a bit unsettling that you won’t let me in when you expect nothing but complete and total submission to your will from me.”
That made Dallin’s head jerk back. “Submission? Are you joking?” Perhaps the fairness of this conversation had been tipped in Dallin’s favor since it started, but that one was not only unimaginably wrong but completely below the belt. “When have I ever asked you to submit to anything? When have I ever done anything besides—?”
“Besides make proclamations about what I do and do not need to know and expect me to trust and believe you?” Wil held up a hand when Dallin’s mouth dropped open. “I do trust and believe you, don’t misunderstand. But you’re expecting of me what you seem to despise in others. And I’m willing to go along with it—up to a point. But I reserve the right to determine exactly where that point is.”
“And keeping the things in my head to myself is somehow going beyond that point?” Real anger was sparking in Dallin’s gut and searing down his spine. No one had a right to what Wil was implying, no one. “It’s a bloody dream, Wil, and what Calder says in it means no more than anything he blathers at me while I’m awake.”
“So you do remember.”
“Oh, fucking hell.”
An interrogation tactic Dallin had used himself more times than he could remember, and he’d just fallen right into it. Where the hell was Hunter with those horses, and why was he otherwise underfoot constantly but notably not bumbling into conversations he didn’t need to know about when Dallin really needed a diversion?
“Listen, I can’t do this right now.” Dallin tried to make his voice apologetic, contrite. “You’re right, I’m very tired, and I haven’t been sleeping well, and… and I’m sorry, but sometimes I really do know what’s best.” Bloody damn, his head was pounding, and the sound of the falls was abruptly filled with too damned much noise. Dallin sucked in a long breath, pushed it out on a weary sigh, and made himself meet Wil’s angry gaze squarely. “Please. It’s best, Wil. Just trust me and don’t ask me anymore.”
Wil’s expression had gone incredibly hard. “How very noble of you,” he said slowly, “to decide what’s best for everyone else.”
Dallin held back a growl. “It isn’t like that. I—”
“You know what?” Wil shook his head and puffed out a dour snort. “Fuck off.”
Dallin watched him turn, striding off too quickly and carelessly on the slick rock, which was too bloody typical and only made a bitter laugh rise to the back of Dallin’s throat. He was tempted to follow after—and who knew, maybe Wil wanted him to—but Dallin truly didn’t have the energy to catch up to the pace, nor t
he will to further the argument. He couldn’t win it, not when Wil was so bent on being unreasonable about it. Dallin would give Wil some time to cool down, think about it, perhaps try to look at it from Dallin’s point of view… which, all right, would probably be a lot more possible if Dallin actually filled Wil in on his point of view.
He shook his head, keeping a watchful eye until Wil had safely navigated the terrain. When he disappeared around the bend in the Stair, Dallin let his head fall back to rest against damp stone and closed his eyes.
It couldn’t have been thirty seconds later that Hunter’s whistle pierced through the hum of the falls. Dallin could have cheerfully choked him.
NOT THAT Dallin had really expected the peaceful mood of the morning to last. Wil was too damned changeable, which was one of the more interesting facets of his jagged edges. Still, it had been nice while it lasted, and Dallin missed it already. Right at the moment, he suspected he was getting the silent treatment, though he pretended not to notice. It was probably only driving Wil’s temper up further. Having dropped back to chat with Calder—most likely more to annoy Dallin than from any real affinity—Wil was making himself easy to pretend to ignore.
Anyway, Dallin had bigger things on his mind right now. Wil would come around. He had to. He just didn’t know it yet. Which was, of course, Dallin’s fault.
“…as it has always been,” Calder was saying. Pontificating, in point of fact, but he wasn’t doing it at Dallin, so Dallin only allowed an eye-roll instead of the growl that was threatening. “Lind could not have survived as it has, else. Her power depends on her people lending her the strength of their belief. Outlanders could only contaminate that strength, winnow it away, and dilute it.”
“Well, yes,” Wil agreed, “but belief does not depend on ignorance.” His voice rose. “If a question is asked, it should be answered truthfully, and the inquisitor allowed to make of the answer what he will, not what another thinks he should know.”
Beloved Son Page 5
