Red-Headed Stepchild

Page 37

Briallen smiled, seeming unperturbed by my interruption. “Patience, child.”
I nodded and sat back in my chair, trying to put a lid on the questions bubbling at the tip of my tongue. Adam placed a warm hand on my arm. The sight of his golden skin resting on my own pale forearm reassured me.
“Where was I?” Briallen said. “Oh, yes, so even though the terms were quite unusual, I agreed. Of course, the money made a difference, but more than that I was curious. As far as I knew, I would be witness to the first mixed-blood birth in many centuries. The thought of being part of this historic event exhilarated me even as it frightened me.”
“Why were you frightened?” Adam asked.
She shrugged a rounded shoulder. “In addition to the obvious political implications, I was terrified the child might die. Or what if the melding of the two species resulted in deformities? In those days, before the dark races began to rely on modern medicine, many of my colleagues lost their lives due to a belief the midwife had somehow hexed the child.”
I leaned forward, completely engrossed. She had a knack for storytelling, and I wondered idly if it was a distinctly faery trait or a personal one.
“Phoebe arrived a week later, accompanied by Lavinia, your grandmother,” she said, nodding at me, “as well as a maid, whom your mother would use for feedings. Your grandmother left quickly, as if she could barely stand the sight of her daughter. Phoebe seemed heartbroken, but whether this was from your grandmother’s quick departure or the sad circumstances that brought her to my door, I cannot say.”
“What did she look like?” Adam asked, voicing the question in my own head.
Briallen smiled wistfully. “She was a vampire princess in every sense. Her hair was the color of fresh-picked strawberries, and it fell in soft curls around her face. Her skin was pale as milkweed down, with a sprinkling of freckles over her nose. She had fawn eyes, bright with intelligence. The only imperfection I could detect that first day was the swollen circles under her eyes, indicating many recently shed tears. However, on that first day she had steel in her spine, as if daring me to judge her. I did not.
“She spoke as little as possible for the first few weeks. She’d sleep all day, in the little room just through that door.” She pointed to a roughly carved door to the right of the fire. “At night, she would take long walks through the forest, refusing any offers of company. Every so often, she allowed me to examine her. I tried to talk to her about innocent subjects, like the weather or her favorite flowers, but she remained closed. Until one day.
“The maid and I were chatting in front of the fire about herbal remedies, when the door crashed open and Phoebe rushed in. She talked so fast, we could not understand her. I tried to calm her, worried she might make herself sick. That’s when she told me she’d felt the babe’s first kick. For the first time since she’d come, I was blessed with a smile. It was as if that little flutter had opened something inside her. From then on, she made more effort to discuss the pregnancy. She knew very little about the process and confided a great deal of worry about what was to come. We had long talks about her symptoms and concerns. She even started inviting me with her on her walks. We’d talk about the life growing inside her within the comforting womb of the forest, which seemed to relax her somewhat.
“One night, we walked in companionable silence under the towering redwoods, so tall you could barely see the underside of the first branches in the dark. By this time, I quite enjoyed our nightly excursions. Phoebe had a keen intellect and could talk about a variety of subjects with great authority—literature, history, the Great Mother—but never the one subject I sensed she longed to talk about most. Until that night under the redwoods. ‘I suppose you’ve been wondering about the father,’ she said. I confessed to a certain curiosity, but told her she need not discuss him if the subject was too painful.
“Your mother sat on a lichen-covered log, her hair glistening in the moonlight. If I had not known better, I would have guessed her to be a wood sprite, she looked so at home in the setting. I waited patiently, knowing she would open up to me when she was ready. She started slowly, choosing her words carefully. ‘His name was Tristan,’ she said. ‘He is dead.’
“I couldn’t help my gasp at her admission. She didn’t seem to hear it, lost as she was in her own memories. Sadness embraced her like an aura. Over the next hour, she told me how they had fought their forbidden attraction and how ultimately they were helpless against it. She said she knew it was wrong, yet she loved him. It was obvious to me, she spoke not of adolescent love, that fleeting emotion fueled by hormones. No, Phoebe’s love for her mage was real, the kind that stands the test of time and even death.”
I felt Adam’s eyes on me. Turning to look at him, I was suddenly aware of a curious wetness on my cheeks. “You okay?” he asked.
“Oh dear,” the faery said before I could answer. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, child.”
I swiped my hands over my cheeks. “I’m fine. Please go on.”
“You’re sure?” Adam said. At some point, his hand had moved from my arm to grasp my hand. Now his grip tightened reassuringly. I nodded for Briallen to continue.
“Do you know the story of his death?” Briallen asked gently.
“Yes, he was found dead not long after my mother found out she was pregnant. The murderer was never caught.”
Briallen sat up straighter. “Who told you this?”
“My grandmother. Why?”
“My child, I’m sorry but your mother told quite a different tale. According to Phoebe, your father disappeared and was assumed dead. No one ever found his body.”
I frowned, wondering if the old woman’s memory wasn’t as reliable as I’d thought. “But that can’t be right. Why would they assume he was dead if they never found his body.”
Adam cleared his throat and shifted. I glanced at him, but he didn’t meet my eyes.
“Phoebe told me they discovered blood in his rooms,” Briallen said.
“Perhaps my grandmother was trying to spare her feelings?” I guessed.
The faery frowned, seeming unconvinced, yet said, “Perhaps. I’m afraid that’s one mystery we cannot solve this evening. Regardless of how your father disappeared, it was obvious Phoebe was heartbroken. And who could blame her? The entire ordeal smacked of a Greek tragedy. However, I was glad for one thing. Phoebe obviously needed to talk about what had happened and what would happen. She had no one else to turn to, so I was happy to be her confidante. During my monthly reports to the Dominae and Hekate Council, I left out these revelations and reported simply on her glowing health and growing girth.
“In fact, at some point, I realized her stomach was expanding at an abnormal rate. In those days, we didn’t have fancy machines to see inside the belly, but I knew without a doubt the reason.”
Adam’s hand tightened on mine. I sent him an annoyed look for the distraction, but something in his gaze stopped me. I started to question the concerned anticipation in his expression, but Briallen, lost in her story, continued.
“Phoebe was about seven months along when I told her the good news. Twins!”
I jumped out of my seat before I knew what I was doing. “What?” My veins felt filled with liquid caffeine.
Briallen pulled back, confusion and shock on her own face. “I—you mean, you did not know? How is that possible?”
I rounded on Adam. “What do you take me for? Who is this woman?”
He held up a placating hand. “Sabina,” he said, his voice mellow, like one would use to soothe a wild animal.
“Don’t ‘Sabina’ me! What are you playing at? How much did you pay her to tell these lies?”
Briallen rose and approached me slowly with her hands held out in a pleading gesture. “I am so sorry. I thought you knew.”
Adam stood slowly, ignoring the old woman in favor of watching me warily. I couldn’t blame him, I certainly felt capable of extreme violence at that moment. “She’s telling the truth,” he said simply.
My body hurtled toward Adam like a bullet, my speed giving me the advantage. I managed to slam him into the wall before he reacted. I wasn’t thinking. The need to inflict pain outweighed logic.
“Sabina, stop!” Briallen’s plea was lost in a volley of grunts as Adam and I grappled. A table fell over, sending a basket of herbs crashing to the floor. I punched and kicked and hissed my anger at the mage. Soon, I realized he wasn’t fighting back, just warding off blows.
“Fight me, dammit!” I slapped him across the face, the resulting crack sounded unnaturally loud in the small space.
“No.” Adam got a hand free and waved it, muttering something under his breath. I lunged again, but this time, a weird tingling sensation spread through my limbs. I was paralyzed from the neck down. I was too shocked by the sudden loss of movement to speak.
“Now,” Adam panted, “You’re going to listen.” He bent down and righted the table before speaking again.
“Sabina, I know—” He paused. “I know you must hate me right now. But I swear upon my life Briallen’s telling the truth.”
I shook my head and closed my eyes, trying to block him out. I wanted to run—to flee from him and the truth he was forcing on me. But I couldn’t move.
“Her name is Maisie.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him for the first time. He looked as bad as I felt. Dark circles of worry weighed down his eyes, and his cheeks were covered in tiny scratches. I noted these things only obliquely. What I focused on was the utter sincerity and regret in his eyes.
“How do you know this?” My voice sounded foreign to me, vulnerable.
He looked down at his hands. “She sent me to find you.”
“Why?”
He looked up, meeting my eyes. “She wants to meet you.”
“No, why didn’t I know about her?”
Briallen’s voice cut in. “After your poor mother died only a few minutes after you were born, Lavinia and Ameritat decided the only way to keep the peace was for you to be separated. It was agreed that you should never know about each other to prevent further upheaval within the races.”