Autumn Rose: A Dark Heroine Novel (26 page)

Edmund nodded, once, very gradually. “An unlikely trio. But they were best friends.”

My eyes shot up and my breath rushed out in a rasp. Eaglen I had known about, but Adalwin Mortheno?
The Athan’s leader?
I looked back down at the picture. It was easy to see that what Edmund said was true. All three were laughing and none looking directly at the camera, as Eaglen watched my grandmother and pointed toward something outside of the frame, the other two squinting in that direction, my grandmother’s hand gripping the sleeve of Adalwin’s jumper as though trying to tug him toward her. They were standing in front of a circular pond, and judging by their style of dress, the photo had been taken before my father was born.

Edmund started drumming his fingers again. “How much do you know about your grandmother’s life prior to the time you spent with her?” I shook my head. “Not much?” He hummed; more in thoughtfulness this time. “You must know that your grandfather died when your own father was twelve, yes? And are you aware that my mother and father divorced some years before that?” I hadn’t known the latter, but nodded anyway. “What about the fertility problems in your family?”

My eyes lowered down to my lap.
Yes, I know about that all right.
It was the reason I was the only Sage left in my family. Most members had been unable to have children, or had only had one or two, and generation by generation, the House of Al-Summers had withered and now teetered upon death.

“Don’t look so downcast. By the time you come to have children—if you wish to—things will be better,” he reassured, and I managed a small smile. I would
have
to have children or name an heir to prevent the duchy from dying out.

He took up the picture and began absentmindedly smoothing out the creases, smiling at its image. “What you do not know is that after her mourning period, your grandmother very seriously considered marrying my father.”

I choked on the air that I inhaled. “What?!” I shook my head. “I mean, pardon?”

His smile widened and I noticed he was looking not at me but the space above my right shoulder again. “All platonic, before you get any ideas. They both sought companionship, and your grandmother also wished to bring security to your family name. It was apparent she could have no more children, and her only heir being born human had been quite a blow, I assure you.”

I didn’t know where to look, but I found my eyes could not settle on him when deep in the pit of my stomach I felt a slight resentment as I pieced together what he was saying. “Your family are not titled. So you would have taken the Al-Summers name and your family would be heir to
my
duchy!” I glared accusingly at my lap, which clearly didn’t have any impact on him, as he chuckled.

“Your grandmother was not as silly as you. In the draft of the marriage contract she ensured that her title, lands, and fortune would all pass to your father on the event of her death, and then, upon his death, to his child, if his heir were human, or directly from her to her grandchild if said child was born Sagean. If that child inherited during his or her minority, Vincent Al-Summers would control the finances in lieu of his child until such child turned eighteen, and the Athenea would become their proxy on the council until the child turned sixteen.”

“But that is exactly the agreement we already have with the Athenea, so what was the benefit of a marriage—”

He waved a hand to silence me. “One subtle difference. One single clause.” Surveying me through eyes pinched at the corners, he waited until I had taken several breaths, edging forward on my seat with every rise of my chest. I had to hand it to him: he was a good storyteller.

“If they had married, my father and my entire family would have retained the name Mortheno, except in the case of one eventuality. If you had been born human, and you produced no heir, or a human one, the duchy of England would have passed to my father in its entirety, and I would be next in line.”

No wonder he’s so short with me. He must hate me! I ruined the chances of his family to climb!
“Y-you gold-digger!” That wasn’t what I had planned to say, but it more or less summed up my thoughts.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. I took the opportunity to switch to a seat nearer him and snatch the photo out of his hands, thinking, for one heart-stopping moment, I had torn it. I hadn’t.

His eyes snapped open and he jolted away from me in surprise, before his expression softened again. “No. None of us really wanted your title. It would have meant leaving Athenea and Canada—our home—and giving up kicking anti-Athenean backside, as your teacher so aptly put it. We are all quite old. We do not like change. But keeping one of the most powerful independent dukedoms in all the dimensions, and one of few not infiltrated by royalty, out of the hands of the Athenea was important to your grandmother, and we were willing to help her achieve that.” A smirk started to form on his lips and I saw him run his tongue across his bottom teeth. “Even if that was only until it could be returned and a young heiress could amalgamate with the Athenea on her own terms through, say . . .” He shrugged his shoulders casually and let his eyes wander around the veranda teasingly. “Marrying a young, attractive Athenean prince.”

I slapped the photo back down and crossed my arms. “Shut up, Edmund! I’m only fifteen.” All worry that I had felt the minute before faded with my flushing. They didn’t seem the type to want to become nobility, and in any case, the marriage had never occurred. Why the marriage had never happened was my next question.

He tugged his lips into a grim smile. “It was around the same time that your father started to become troublesome. Wanting to attend human university, go into banking and whatnot. Your grandmother felt marrying another Sage would only inflame the situation, and took the time to work on coaxing him back. When he married a human, we as good as started planning for my father and your grandmother to renew the agreement. But she insisted she wouldn’t give up, and remained with your parents through years of fertility treatment, and eventually ICSI and IVF. You have no idea of the sigh of relief my family and the entire kingdom breathed when you were born. No idea.” He ran a hand down his face in an even more dramatic fashion than Fallon always did when he was stressed or in shock.

I surrendered myself into the curved back of the chair, allowing everything he had informed me of up to his last few sentences—which I had already known about—to sink in. He waited for me, quite patiently, only moving when he stabbed the photo to the table with his index finger as the wind tried to carry it away.

“So, earlier, when you said you remembered me . . .” I probed.

He gave a single, slow nod. “You were four when you first came to court, and you and your grandmother stayed not in your apartments in the palace, or in one of your villas in Athenea, but with us. You spent much of the first week screaming for home and keeping us all awake. It played havoc with our shifts.”

I opened and closed my mouth, though my lips remained parted in a rueful pout of a smile. That sounded like my younger self—not that I could remember such events. I struggled to remember anything of living with my parents before starting at St. Sapphire’s around my sixth birthday. I had apparently attended preschool with Christy and Tammy until I had been driven out by angry parents, but when I strained to place their faces, I only found blank spots. This revelation was just another metallic tile in a gray mosaic.

“I seem to recall that when you attended at age eight and ten, you would often run off and hide with the Athenean children so your grandmother couldn’t take you back home. On one occasion, the queen found you, Fallon, and Chucky in a closet. You had apparently cornered them in a game of good-bye kiss chase.”

The unappealing shade of red my cheeks turned was embarrassing in itself. I clapped my hands to my face, burying my cheekbones into hollows created by my palms. He laughed.

“But why don’t I remember you featuring in any of this?” I groaned through my fingers to cut him off. It worked.

“Largely because as you got older it became important to immerse you in society. And we work in the background. It meant we saw less of the pair of you.”

“And the Athenea? Do they know about our connection?”

I opened up gaps in my fingers to watch him. His brow had lowered a fraction.

“The older generation certainly do. I suspect Fallon does not. But when we were making plans to come here last week, the concern that Alya or I might be . . .” he trailed off and his frown deepened, “. . . emotionally compromised . . .”—his gaze settled on the table after a pause— “. . . by your presence was not raised. So I can only assume those that do know have either forgotten or see it as irrelevant.”

“Emotionally compromised?”

“Yes. To modify your earlier statement: I am not just staff. I was almost your step-uncle.”

When he put it like that, the whole story took on an entirely different meaning. He wasn’t just an almost-heir. He was almost family. In the back of my mind I made a note to search Burrator’s library to see if it kept marriage records, to verify what he was saying. Because if it really was all true, then in them I had an
ally.

His eyes flickered shut and he craned his neck in the direction of the door.

“You have to go.” I reluctantly pushed the photo back toward him.

“Keep it.” He heaved himself up to his tremendous height and took a step away but then changed his mind and returned to my side. “You are not an exile, you know. There are a lot at court who would gladly see you back, especially when you are old enough to sit on the council.” Then, to my bewilderment, he leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of my head, cupping one cheek, plastered with wet, crimped hair, in his right hand. “So let go and learn to make decisions, little almost-niece.” Then he wagged his finger at me. “But first, go and get changed before you catch a chill.”

And then he was gone. As I stared at the open doors, a smile crossed my mouth and then I began laughing under my breath, silently almost. When I had first been whisked down to Devon after my grandmother had died, I had wished to the silence of the garden outside my bedroom window that some unknown, forgotten, distant,
Sagean
relation would come and restore my life and banish my grief . . . just to stop the unending loneliness. Now I was older I knew that had been a ridiculous notion, yet this . . . this was the next best thing.

And then . . .
then
I felt happy. I was at peace with the day’s events. Because without them, there would have been no explanation required of me, and no need to run, and Edmund would never have followed me.

But I refused to feel pity for the man I had killed. That I reserved solely for Nathan and the fate he had tied himself to. His doleful expression, his silent answer to my own disbelieving features; that would not leave me. That clung. It was how I knew Edmund was wrong; it was not too late for me, and I still had enough blood and fat and tissue to keep on going.

I felt pity for Nathaniel Rile, because his innocent humanity had been butchered.

Autumn

T
hings changed after that day.

I remained at Burrator until my parents returned on Thursday. By that time the security around my house had been set up, and it was Edmund who braved the sit-down with my parents to explain why there was a shield around our plot of land that would detect any “unauthorized” person, and why several members of the Athan Cu’die—who usually only concerned themselves with the Athenea and their nearest and dearest—were a matter of minutes away if we needed them. My mother had put up quite a fuss, and I admired Edmund for daring to say that had he had his way, the security would have been more intrusive. If my father had recognized this hulking giant of a man, or his family name, he never mentioned it.

I quickly fell into a comfortable pattern. During the week, I would stay with Fallon. Thursday I would return home for “family” time. By the time the weekend came around, I was back at Burrator again. It meant I missed work, but it was becoming unbearable, and in any case, my father had started slipping me money when my mother was out. I didn’t need it for the bus, because I was getting regular lifts with Fallon and Edmund, and so one Thursday I flew straight into town and bought a new pair of school shoes. They weren’t what I would usually buy: they were lace-up and had a kitten heel, and in them I felt less short. I paraded up and down the length of my room, practicing walking in them, adjusting the laces, trying them on with different outfits because they were almost too nice for school. I was torn up by nerves the first time I wore them at Kable, though I had worn plenty of heels with court dresses when I was younger. Fallon liked them.

Kable even got used to the presence of Edmund and Richard. The initial interest Gwen and others had shown in them had been transformed into hallowed awe, and Valerie was on her best behavior and never so much as whispered a single word against me or Fallon. Not in front of us, anyway.

Violet Lee, for the first time since the beginning of August, disappeared off the six o’clock news. She didn’t make the front cover of the papers. Even the early October edition of
Quaintrelle
was thin on vamperic gossip. With her absence came a lull in my visions, which I was grateful for.

It took me two weeks to realize what was happening. Quite suddenly, I noticed I was able to stomach two meals a day rather than one. Eight hours of sleep a night was more than enough, and I found I didn’t need seven nights’ worth each week; one night I even managed to stay up with Fallon and Alfie in a movie marathon. I was as energetic the next day as I was on any other. It was like I was catching up with the world, which previously had been stuck on fast-forward. Now I realized it was simply that I had been buried in sluggishness.

So when the inevitable vision of Violet Lee came, it was devastating.

I found that despite being a great deal larger than I had been as a child, I could still nestle myself into the crook of the tree in our front garden, the place I had fled to after my vision for its comfort . . . the point where the trunk split into four limbs to form a seat from which I could not fall, should I collapse again.