Deathstalker Honor (43 page)

Evie was away again at the moment. Off doing something for the clone underground that he wasn’t cleared to know about. For all their proud talk of equality and fraternity, the underground still didn’t really trust anyone who wasn’t a clone. Given how busy the underground had been keeping Evangeline, even though the rebellion was officially over, Finlay couldn’t help wondering if they were trying to keep him and Evie apart. Because he was only a human. And a damned aristo, at that. Finlay smiled briefly. It was probably even simpler than that. The underground never had approved of him, even when they turned to him for the missions no one else could do. They thought he was crazy. And of course they were quite right. No sane person would have done what they wanted, taken the risks he had, and bathed in blood till it dripped from his soul.

The problem came when the Empire finally fell, and everyone expected him to be sane all of a sudden. He could have told them it didn’t work like that. You couldn’t go through all the things Finlay had, do what he had done, lose all he had, and still be entirely rational at the end of it. The only things keeping him even borderline sane were his love for Evangeline and his friend Julian Skye. They were his anchors. They kept him . . . balanced. Without them he had only himself, and he didn’t know who that was anymore. He’d been many people in his time. The fop and dandy. The Masked Gladiator. The rebel fighter. The underground’s assassin. Evie’s love. Now all their voices clamored in his head at once, and he was lost in the bedlam.

He longed for action. For the thrill of the fight. Everything had been so simple then. You knew where you were. No shades of gray. No politics. Nothing to hold him back. Just do or fail. Win or lose. Live or die. And oh, the bloodred rush, the heart hammering in his breast, the joy at being the best there was, and oh, oh, the thrill of it all. The marvelous moment of murder. Nothing quite like it. Like an endlessly satisfying, endlessly addictive drug. Perhaps he had more in common with Valentine Wolfe than he thought.

Finlay scowled and made himself change the subject, turning his thoughts to the day’s earlier events. He’d gone to see his extremely estranged wife, Adrienne, and their two children. He still wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because they were the only part of his past life that wasn’t touched by what he’d become. Finlay closed his eyes and let his mind drift back.

 

Adrienne opened the door almost before he’d finished knocking, as though she’d been waiting for him to arrive for some time. As it happened, he was exactly on time, but Adrienne never let facts get in the way of a good row. He bowed formally to her, and she sneered back at him. Finlay stepped forward, and Adrienne moved reluctantly back just enough to let him in.

“Wipe your boots on the mat, dammit. You’re not at home now.”

Finlay nodded calmly and gave his boots a good scraping. He was working hard on making a good impression, and not killing anyone he didn’t absolutely have to. He wondered vaguely if he’d remembered to polish his boots before setting out. He tended to forget things like that unless Evie reminded him. The problem with being raised by servants . . . He smiled at Adrienne and fitted his pince-nez spectacles on the end of his nose.

“Oh, put those away, Finlay,” said Adrienne testily. “You know perfectly well there’s nothing wrong with your eyes.”

“They’re for show, not use,” Finlay explained, in the patient, rational voice he knew drove her mad. “They come with the outfit. But then, of course, you never did understand style, did you?”

“If it leads to wearing clothes like that, no. I’ve seen rainbows less colorful than that outfit. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many colors in one place before. What happened? You couldn’t decide which color, so you wore them all at once?”

“Something like that.” Once Finlay would have gone to great pains to explain exactly why he’d chosen these leggings and pointed shoes to go with this particular cutaway frock coat, and the importance of choosing just the right waistcoat to complement them, just because he knew how much it annoyed her, but he was still being on his best behavior, so he let the opportunity pass. “Still wearing basic black, Addie? It suits you. Brings out the color of your heart.”

“I’m wearing it in hope of a funeral. Yours.”

They smiled at each other, honors equal. Finlay looked ostentatiously about the narrow hall. “Where are the children, Addie? They are why I’m here.”

Adrienne scowled. “They’re in the parlor, of course, in their best clothes and on their best behavior, if they know what’s good for them. And I do wish you wouldn’t just call them the children. They do have names, you know.”

“Yes. I know. Troilus and Cressida. You chose them. How old are they now?”

“Troilus is eight. He has a lot of your looks. Cressida is seven. She takes more after me, thank God. You should know their ages; I always sent you a reminder on their birthdays. Even though I always ended up having to buy the presents myself and pretend they came from you.”

“My life was always very full,” said Finlay, knowing it sounded like an excuse even as he said it. “And for a long time there was no room in it for anyone but me. But I like to think I’ve changed since then. When Evangeline came into my life, she woke things in me I never even knew were there. She helped to make me more . . . human. To be a man, like other men, and not just a killing machine, sleepwalking through life in between bouts in the Arenas. I’m not the man I was, Addie. I’ve tried so hard to put all that behind me.”

“Nice speech,” said Adrienne. “You must have rehearsed it for ages.”

“Oh, hours,” said Finlay. “That doesn’t make it any less true. Is it so strange that a man should want to see his children? His stake in the future? The only part of him that will be left behind when he’s gone?”

“I don’t know,” said Adrienne, moved by the earnestness in his voice but determined not to show it. “This isn’t like you, Finlay. It’s an improvement, but it isn’t like you. You never gave a damn about them before. If children are suddenly so important, why don’t you and Evangeline raise some of your own?”

“We’ve discussed it,” said Finlay. “It’s a matter of finding the time. We both lead very full lives these days.”

“If it mattered enough to you, you’d make time. I did. Oh, hell, come on. Let’s get this over with. They’ve both been overexcited all day, getting ready to meet you. For God’s sake, try not to frighten them. They only know you from what they’ve seen on the news broadcasts, and most of that involved you killing people.”

“I am on my very best behavior, Addie. I promise I cleaned all the dried blood out from under my fingernails before I left.”

Adrienne looked at him dubiously, shook her head, and then led the way down the hall and into the parlor. Finlay did his best to appear calm and relaxed, even while his stomach tightened and his heart raced. He hadn’t felt this nervous while waiting to go on in the Arenas. But then, fighting was easy. It was people he’d always found difficult. And he’d never had much contact with children. He’d asked Evangeline what he should do, but she just laughed and said to treat them like little adults. That hadn’t helped much. The few things he talked about with adults all involved subjects he was pretty sure weren’t at all suitable for children. In fact, despite a hell of a lot of thought and a certain amount of practicing in front of the bathroom mirror, he still didn’t know what he was going to say to Troilus and Cressida. He was also beginning to think he should have brought some kind of present for them. He could feel small beads of sweat popping out on his forehead.

All too quickly he was there in the parlor, and Adrienne was waving him toward a small boy and girl standing almost at attention before him. They’d clearly been dressed in their best for the occasion, and cleaned and groomed to within an inch of their lives. Their solemn faces and large eyes suggested they were just as nervous as he was, which actually helped to calm him a bit. He tried to see himself in the boy’s slightly chubby face, but he had to admit he didn’t. The girl, with her frizzy gold hair, at least reminded Finlay of her mother. Adrienne coughed meaningfully, and the boy bowed formally and the girl curtsied, just a little unsteadily. Finlay nodded to them, trying hard to smile kindly. Going by the slight frowns he got in return, the smile hadn’t been that successful.

“Thank you for the presents, Father,” said Troilus, his voice breathily light but steady. “It was very kind of you.”

Finlay was thrown for a moment, and then realized Adrienne must have known he wouldn’t think of it in time, and had covered for him yet again. “Hello, Trolius, Cressida,” he said as gently as he could. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Too long.”

“We saw you on the news,” said the boy. “During the rebellion. They said you were a hero.”

“I did my duty,” said Finlay. “I was fighting for something I believed in. Something very important. When you’re older, Troilus, and come to a man’s estate, as a Campbell you’ll do the same.”

“I don’t think so,” said Troilus. “It didn’t look like anything I’d want to do. I think I’d much rather be a dancer.”

“Ah,” said Finlay. “Well, I’m sure the Empire will always need . . . dancers.” He looked to Adrienne for help.

“Ballet,” she said flatly. “He’s very good.”

“I see,” said Finlay. He tried to visualize his son and heir prancing around on a stage in tights and a tutu, and couldn’t. He turned to Cressida. “And what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I’m going to be a nun,” said the young girl solemnly. “I’m going to enter the Church and serve under Saint Beatrice.”

“I see,” said Finlay. He looked at Adrienne. “Was this your idea of a joke? Or some kind of twisted revenge? The Campbells have always been warriors! Men with blood in their veins, not milk! Who the hell is going to lead the Campbells when I’m gone, the Swan Prince here?”

“Keep your voice down!” said Adrienne. “You’re frightening the children!”

“Why not? They’re scaring the hell out of me! This is not the proper upbringing for Campbells! It’s a vicious world out there, with all kinds of people just waiting to tread all over them. And from the look of him, I doubt if Troilus has ever even held a sword in his hand!”

The two children hurried to huddle against their mother, clinging to her hands while trying to keep from crying. Adrienne glared at Finlay, her voice ice cold. “They’re my children, not yours. You lost all control over them when you left me to raise them alone. And I was damned if I’d raise them the way your father raised you. I didn’t want them to be anything like you. I wanted them to be normal.”

“I won’t always be here to protect them!”

“You never were! I kept them alive and safe, without once having to run to you. And the world they’re going to grow up in will be nothing like yours. That’s one of the things we fought the rebellion about. My children are going to follow their dreams, and to hell with the Campbell inheritance and traditions. What did it ever bring you but blood and heartbreak?”

Finlay’s hands clenched into fists as he fought to hold on to his temper. He’d been here only a few minutes, and already it was all going horribly wrong. Adrienne was as angry as he’d ever seen her, and his children were on the brink of tears. He made himself unclench his fists and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It was just . . . a bit of a shock. Why didn’t you tell me any of this, Addie?”

“Because I knew you’d react like this. I was hoping that once you’d met the children, you’d take it better. I should have known this was a bad idea. You only see the children as extensions of yourself. Someone to follow in your bloody footsteps. And what’s all this crap about them leading the Family? You’re not the Campbell; Robert is. His children will lead the Clan, if any will.”

“I could have been the Campbell if I’d wanted. My father was the previous Campbell. The position was mine by right if I’d wanted it. I just chose not to.”

“Because you didn’t want the responsibility. You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself.”

“I care about Evangeline! I’d die for her!”

“Death,” said Adrienne. “That’s all you know about, Finlay. Dying for someone is easy. Living for them is much harder. Would you change your life for Evangeline, for your children? Give up who you are, what you’ve made of yourself, for them?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Finlay.

“No, you don’t. That’s what’s so sad. I think you’d better leave now, Finlay.”

“What? ” He gaped at her. “ But . . . I only just got here. You can’t just throw me out. I didn’t mean to shout. I was upset. Don’t do this to me, Adrienne. There was so much I wanted to say. To you, to them.”

“I think you’ve said enough. It’s not for you: home, and family, and children. You wouldn’t know what to do with them. You’d break them without meaning to. You always did play too roughly, Finlay.”

“Addie . . . please. Don’t make me go. You know how much this means to me!”

“Do I? I thought I did. I hoped I did. But I don’t think I ever really knew you, Finlay. There were so many yous to choose from. But in the end I think they were all just masks, faces to show the world so they wouldn’t see the real you. So they couldn’t hurt you. Maybe Evangeline got past the masks. I don’t care enough to try anymore. I think you’re trying to die, Finlay, searching for death like a lover, and I won’t let you take the children down with you. It’s time to go, Finlay. Leave now. Please.”

And faced with his wife’s cold, implacable voice, and his childrens’ tears, and words that cut him like knives, he’d turned and left. Walked away from all the things he’d thought he wanted. He shut the front door behind him, knowing he could never return. Because there were some fights even he couldn’t win. The children weren’t his future. He didn’t have a future. He’d always known that. He’d just tried to forget it for a while, because he wanted to so very much.