"I—" Sabrel started, only to cut himself off. He was shaking, he realized, and he shook his head. Wilheim's eyes narrowed, and he stalked closer.
"What did you dream?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing. Sabrel fought to breathe and not hyperventilate because he was older and so what if he'd died?
"I died," Sabrel whispered, hoping that would make his father back off.
"How?" Wilheim pressed, and Sabrel shook his head, finally catching his breath and stilling his shaking some. This was familiar at least—Wilheim wanted details. He always wanted to know everything Sabrel saw, but there was no way Sabrel was telling him the before or after.
"I don't know," Sabrel shook his head again, wondering when he'd fallen to the floor. His blankets were spread out on the floor around him, though his pillow was still on the bed. "It hurt. Everything was dark and I couldn't see her."
"Her?" Wilheim frowned. "You were killed by a woman?"
"Yes," Sabrel replied slowly, trying to think. What other details should he add?
"When?" Wilheim finally asked, and Sabrel shrugged.
"I don't know," he murmured, wondering how much of it was true. Dreams could come true—but they had a much longer span of time that they could come from. The visions were more certain, events that would happen in the next few days. The dreams showed sometimes what could be, if events worked out correctly.
So perhaps Sabrel was going to die by Wilheim's hand soon. Or he would be in a garden with Anton, being kissed—Sabrel cut off that thought, pushing it away to think about later. Wilheim was watching him suspiciously, and Sabrel shivered again. He knew that sword—it was the sword that Wilheim had used to win the bet that had won him Sabrel's mother.
"Do you know her?" Wilheim asked finally, and Sabrel shook his head, taking a deep breath. Moving, he climbed to his feet and deposited his blankets on his bed once more.
"I only know Miriam, and it wasn't her," Sabrel replied slowly, shoving his hair out of his face and crossing his arms to ward off the chill of the bedroom.
"What else?" Wilheim asked, looking annoyed. Probably that Sabrel had woken him up with a dream that wasn't important.
"Nothing," Sabrel said, thinking. "It was quick."
"Wonderful," Wilheim grumbled, giving Sabrel a dark look. "Don't let me catch you sneaking back in here if you leave now."
"Right," Sabrel replied distantly, scooping up the dressing robe that hung on the wall by the foot of his bed. Wilheim shuttered the lantern before he'd made it halfway across the room, climbing into his bed without another word. Sabrel ignored the lack of light, more than used to leaving the room in the dark.
A moment later and he was in the hallway, making his way to the library and steadfastly not thinking about the dream. It was only a dream, after all—nothing in it was guaranteed to come true.
Sabrel waited until he'd curled up in his window seat in the library, cool though it was. It technically was summer, but the spring temperatures persisted, and he couldn't spend too long here or he'd freeze. Sabrel stared out into the dark front yard without really seeing it. His chest ached a little, and he hoped it was from the fall from his bed or the ache of not breathing properly.
Sabrel could explain away the aspects of the dream easily. Anton's display in the garden—and Sabrel blushed thinking of it, even if it was only a dream—could be explained by his subconscious latching onto the comment in his earlier vision. Anton thought he was pretty. And he'd been standing so close earlier …
The second part of the dream was simpler—Wilheim held no good will towards him, and Sabrel was contemplating betraying him. The last time he'd tried, Wilheim had threatened to 'be rid of him,' and had promised to make it painful. Sabrel sighed, shivering a little in the cool air next to the window seat.
Sabrel pressed his hand against the glass of the window again, staring dismally out into the front yard. He ached with weariness, and something more. He was tired of being still, waiting for something to happen. Wilheim was never going to let him be, or claim his debt repaid, though Sabrel had long known that.
A life for a life. Sabrel had killed his mother, so his life was Wilheim's.
Clenching his fingers into fists, Sabrel burst into movement, all but throwing himself out of the window seat. Pacing across the library to Wilheim's table, he sorted through the papers quickly. It didn't take him long to find the file Wilheim was keeping on Anton and Theo—and the name of the inn they were staying in, close by. Ostensibly one of Anton's inns, and Sabrel memorized the name of it.
It didn't take him long to gather together the rest of the information Anton would need. He'd only actually need one set of these papers to put Wilheim away, but Sabrel wasn't going to take any chances. Shoving everything together, Sabrel did his best to straighten his appearance, wishing he'd thought to grab real clothes.
He couldn't sneak back into the bedroom he shared with his father—Wilheim would likely wake, and Sabrel would be killing any chance he had of getting out of the house unnoticed. So he'd be going in his nightclothes. Sabrel took a deep breath, his nerves strung tight.
Hilsner was gone, so he wouldn't wake. Miriam was old and constantly weary after working around the house all day, so she wouldn't wake. Wilheim might notice him moving around the house a little, but he hopefully wouldn't think it out of the ordinary. Sabrel was always restless after dreams.
Leaving the library, Sabrel crept down stairs. He owned a jacket—one, for going out into the garden when it was chilly. He didn't know how to get to the inn Anton and Theo were staying at. Taking a deep breath, Sabrel shut his eyes. He couldn't wait to do this though—if he waited, Wilheim would realize something more was amiss.
Finding his jacket in the small closet at the foot of the stairs, Sabrel shrugged it on, gathering the papers up once more. Glancing upstairs, Sabrel didn't let himself think about it any further, moving slowly to the front door and letting himself out. Wilheim didn't immediately appear, furious and demanding to know where he thought he was going, so Sabrel took a step forward.
Another step, and nothing happened. Sabrel managed to make it to the end of the front lawn, jumping at every noise, his heart beating fast in his ears as he stared at the house. There were no lights on, anywhere, and Sabrel took a deep breath, turning right because that was the direction the carriage always came from. Sabrel walked without pausing, forcing himself to not look back.
*~*~*
Anton frowned at the door, standing up slowly and waving Theo back to his spot on the bed. It was late. Far too late for visitors. Anton moved to the door slowly, tugging his knife free of its sheath. Opening the door cautiously, Anton's fingers slipped, dropping the knife to the floor in his shock.
"Sabrel?" Anton asked, opening the door wider. Sabrel blinked at him, wide-eyed and pale. Anton stepped back, letting him in and trying not to think that Sabrel could be the one sent to kill them off for trying to put Wilheim away.
"What are you doing here?" Anton asked, shutting the door behind him.
"How did you know to come here?" Theo asked, and Anton's eyes widened—he hadn't told Sabrel where they were staying.
"It was in Wilheim's papers," Sabrel replied, and he waved a stack of papers bound together by a dark ribbon. His free hand was clenched, and he was shaking just enough that Anton could see it.
"Are you okay?" Anton asked, worried, and Sabrel switched from staring at Theo to staring at him. "You're shaking," Anton defended, reaching out towards Sabrel. Sabrel stumbled a step back, running into the door.
"Why are you here?" Theo asked, shooting Anton a frown, and Anton shook himself—he needed to stop being distracted by Sabrel and start focusing on what was going on.
"I had a dream," Sabrel whispered, his eyes seeking Anton's face again. "I—" Sabrel pushed away from the door, ignoring Theo as he approached Anton. He stared at Anton for a long moment, before handing him the papers. "Here."
"What?" Anton asked, glancing down and trying not to get too excited yet. Had h
e managed to get through to Sabrel earlier? Untying the ribbon, he sorted through the sheaf, skimming over the pages. The details of every illegal business transaction they were trying to get Wilheim to pay for, and a few more that Anton hadn't known Wilheim had been involved in.
Passing the papers off to Theo, Anton grinned, turning back to Sabrel. Sabrel was wearing nightclothes, Anton noted, curious but deciding he wouldn't question it. Sabrel had handed them enough to put Wilheim away for the rest of his life, after all.
"How long before he realizes?" Theo asked, and Anton pulled himself together. This wasn't over until Wilheim was in custody, after all.
"I don't know," Sabrel replied quietly, shoving his snarled hair out of his face. "He was asleep when I left."
"Alright," Theo accepted. "Anton, go watch the house. Make sure he doesn't leave. I'm going to go get the marshals to get him under lock and key."
"Okay," Anton accepted. "Sabrel—"
"Stays here," Theo decided. "It's safe enough, and we'll know where to find him."
"No," Sabrel refused quietly. "I'm going with Anton."
"No," Theo refuted immediately. "It will be safer here."
"I don't care," Sabrel snapped, straightening. Whirling, Sabrel yanked the door open and was in the hallway before Anton or Theo could move to stop him.
"I'm going after him," Anton snagged his boots, tugging one on as he stumbled from the room. Theo followed him out, still dressed from his excursion for food earlier.
"Be careful, Anton," Theo cautioned as they made their way downstairs. "It could be a trap for you."
"Then why give up Wilheim?" Anton frowned, shaking his head as he caught sight of Sabrel, pushing his way through the inn's front door and outside. "I don't think so."
"Just be careful," Theo snapped. "He gave Wilheim up, but that doesn't mean a thing as far as his motivations. Don't trust him until Wilheim's under lock and key."
"Right," Anton agreed. Theo had a point—but he wasn't going to treat Sabrel with suspicion, not after he'd handed them Wilheim on a silver platter.
Sabrel was waiting outside, on the beaten down path that was considered a road here. Theo gave him one last warning look before slipping away to go alert the marshals.
"Come on," Anton spoke up, and Sabrel nodded, crossing his arms and starting to walk towards his home. "Thank you."
Sabrel nodded shortly, picking up his pace, and Anton followed wordlessly, at a loss because Sabrel didn't seem to be quite so sure of himself away from his house, like he wasn't sure what he was doing. It was a little disconcerting, and Anton stayed close to Sabrel, hoping that he wasn't having second thoughts.
"Are you okay?" Anton asked as they passed a stumbling drunk who managed to walk into a wall.
"I don't know," Sabrel replied quietly, stealing a look at him before focusing on the path again. Anton reached out, gently setting his hand on Sabrel's shoulder in an attempt to reassure.
"It'll work out," Anton tried for his best reassuring tone. He didn't think Sabrel bought it though, and he tried to walk a little closer, to try to get across to Sabrel that he wasn't going to leave Sabrel to dangle on his own for this.
"I might die," Sabrel stated, his voice calm, and Anton nearly tripped as the words sank in. "I saw it, twice."
"You're not going to die," Anton refuted, reaching out and pulling Sabrel to a stop. "If this is going to be dangerous for you, you should go back to the inn."
"I can't," Sabrel shook his head, glancing down at where Anton's hand wrapped around his wrist. "I have to—I have to finish it. I can't let him be arrested without being there."
"Stay close to me, then," Anton ordered, refusing to let go of Sabrel. "I won't let you die."
Sabrel laughed weakly, using his free hand to pull Anton's fingers apart, replacing his wrist with his hand. Anton smiled a little, squeezing Sabrel's fingers lightly and pulling him along.
"We'll get there and he'll still be asleep," Anton reassured. "He won't know what's going on until after the marshals arrest him."
"I hope so," Sabrel murmured, clasping his hand tightly. Anton squeezed back, letting it drop as he guided Sabrel down the street.
*~*~*
"There's a light on," Sabrel observed, fighting off a shiver.
"He's probably still inside." Anton was trying to be reassuring, Sabrel could tell, but it kept falling flat.
"It's in his office," Sabrel whispered, staring through the gate at the house. It had been so hard to leave—but it would be even harder to walk back in there. "What if he's gone?"
"He's not gone," Anton denied, squeezing his hand again, and Sabrel almost managed a smile at that. Anton's hand was warm, and he hadn't let go. Sabrel almost thought the garden might be possible, if he could not be stupid.
Sabrel took a deep breath and tried to focus—maybe he could get a vision on this, after all. Wilheim was the easiest to fall into a trance for, since Sabrel had been around him for nearly all of his life.
"Sabrel?" Anton asked, but Sabrel ignored him. The most recent memories he could drudge up—in the bedroom with Wilheim demanding answers, in the office, with Wilheim demanding to know who was betraying him—
Nothing, and Sabrel hissed, frustrated and worried.
"What if he's not in there?" Sabrel asked, wrapping his fingers around the front gate's bars. "What if he tries to leave?"
"He's in there," Anton repeated. "And if he tries to leave, we stop him."
"He's going to leave, if he's in there." Sabrel shook his head, pulling his hand free and moving towards the gate. "How long before Theodore gets here with the marshals?"
"Not long," Anton replied, reaching towards him. Sabrel ducked away, not sure if he was about to do something stupid or not.
"I'll distract him," Sabrel decided, pulling the gate open silently. Anton snagged his arm before he could take another step, tugging him back.
"He'd kill you," Anton shook him a little. "It's not safe to go in."
"It's important." Sabrel jerked himself free, wincing because Anton had a strong grip and that was going to leave bruises. "I can't—it would be useless to give you the papers and not him."
"You did," Anton stressed, looking frustrated, and Sabrel shook his head, stepping towards the house. "Sabrel!" Anton hissed, moving to follow him, and Sabrel hesitated. Perhaps Anton was right and it was foolish. But what if Wilheim wasn't inside?
Anton stepped close, using Sabrel's hesitation to his advantage. Sabrel gasped, tensing as Anton dragged him back through the gate.
"Just wait," Anton whispered. Sabrel shivered because Anton was close, whispering directly into his ear, and Sabrel let his eyes slip shut. He wanted the garden, as much as he didn't want to admit it. He wanted the garden, and not the end of Wilheim's sword.
*~*~*
Anton didn't move as Theo approached, even knowing he was going to catch an annoying amount of teasing for this later. Sabrel's eyes were fixed on the half-dozen marshals surrounding his house, at least, so he didn't see Theo's smirk.
"Any problems?" Theo asked, earning a brief glance from Sabrel before his attention was secured on the house again. Anton shook his head, deciding immediately that Sabrel's attempts to get into the house weren't important.
"Good," Theo muttered, eyeing the way Anton was mostly wrapped around Sabrel's torso before turning to watch the marshals enter the house.
"Any problems on your end?" Anton asked, tightening his arms as Sabrel shivered.
"Just lazy marshals," Theo muttered, staring at the house. He lapsed into silence, and Anton didn't bother to break it, content to wait until the marshals had done their job and dragged Wilheim out.
Sabrel pulled away as one of the marshals—a captain, by the markings on his uniform—came back across, a frown marring his face.
"He's not there," the man announced, and Anton frowned.
"Did you check every room?" Theo asked, crossing his arms, and Anton wondered for half a second if Sabrel had been lying—but no, he coul
dn't think that. Not with how worried and upset Sabrel had been about Wilheim getting away.
"Every room, sir," the marshal replied, and Anton rolled his eyes. Theo had probably used some of the fake credentials Charles had set them up with before the mission.
"I want men to stay here, in case he tries to return," Theo decided, frowning. "And check through his desk and the library to see if there's any hint of where he might have gone."
"Sabrel, can you think of any place he might have gone to?" Anton asked quietly, trying to behave and not step closer than was polite. Sabrel shook his head, running a hand through his hair.
"He can't go anywhere he might have—it's all in the papers I gave you," Sabrel answered quietly, shivering again.
"Alright," Anton accepted, scrutinizing Sabrel carefully. He looked tired, though part of the dark bags under his left eye was the fading bruise from Wilheim hitting him. "Do you want to grab anything while we're here?"
Theo frowned disapprovingly, but Anton pressed on.
"Perhaps some real clothes?" Anton asked, and Theo's face softened a bit.
"Go with him," Theo muttered, turning back to the marshal captain.
"Come on," Anton smiled, pulling Sabrel forward. "We'll get your things and tomorrow we can figure out what to do with you."
"I get whatever I want, right?" Sabrel asked quietly, leading Anton into the house, and Anton wondered what Sabrel was feeling. He didn't want Sabrel to regret doing this.
"Anything you want," Anton repeated, following Sabrel up the staircase. "What do you want?"
"Only a dream or two," Sabrel murmured, quiet like he hadn't wanted Anton to hear, so Anton didn't say anything, letting Sabrel lead him down the hallway, past the doors to the library and to a large bedroom. It was a cozy enough room, and Anton stepped inside curiously, watching Sabrel cross the room, skirting around one bed—there were two, which was odd.
"Just clothes?" Anton asked as Sabrel opened the door to the wardrobe set against the far wall, and he half-turned to stare at a painting of a dark-haired woman, sitting at Wilheim's side outside—in the garden, Anton thought.
Seeing is Believing Page 22
