Icarus; The Kindred (A Paranormal Romance) (26 page)

"I should have told you," I say.

"I said that I never intended to fall in love with you, as if it happened recently. You even told me once that I never loved you, th—"

"In the journal. I know, I read it. Nico grabbed it from your estate."

"You were wrong and I was lying." His lower lip quivers and he rubs his hand over his mouth with his eyes closed until he regains his composure. "But had I been the friend that you deserved instead of a pompous ass, you wouldn't have … "

I am reminded of Jacelynd's words from my dream—what he said about how Tristan had acted at the dinner table that night.
He took your hand, kissed your cheek. He wants more than your blood. Even a fool can see that.

"We should have said—"

"No, listen to me. I should have told you how I felt. You would have known that your blood, then, meant absolutely nothing to me, that none of that mattered. But I didn't. Jacelynd can tell you that you had every right to fear my father and what our House did to those who crossed us. I should have told you.

"And now … I can't explain. I wanted a world where Lucan didn't have to hide who and what he is. This was not what I intended. I knew the Rebellion wasn't in charge of the Death Dealers, but I never suspected it had the power to take out the safe havens or that someone as evil as Iris was leading the Rebellion. I might not see things your way, but I wouldn't have done the things Iris has done."

"I see that now," Quinn says suddenly. He steps out of the hallway to my right. "Sorry, I don't have it in me to leave the three of you together in the same room without supervision after the super-charged conversation we just had. And Tristan, just so we're clear, Jacelynd may have the graciousness to forgive you, and you may not be as heinous as my dear cousin, but I still hate your guts. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have to worry about how to save my best friend's soul, his son's or Jessi's."

Okay, that Full House moment was nice while it lasted.
"It's late," I say. "Let's leave things where they are while we're ahead."

Trinity mulls this over for a second, then reaches his hand out to Jacelynd. "I'm not going to insult you by asking for your forgiveness, but—"

Jacelynd takes his hand and grips it hard without releasing it right away. "We all need forgiveness, Tristan. It isn't just you."

Quinn coughs "bullshit" behind me and I elbow him in the ribs. Jace and Trinity don't hear him. Quinn leans in and whispers, "Blood is thicker than water, so I really hope you're not expecting Blake and me to crumble this easily."

I turn to face him, drowning out Jacelynd and Trinity. "You think this is easy for him?" I ask quietly.

"Isn't it?" he responds. "Sure as shit looks it."

"You've obviously never had to truly forgive someone."

I
open my eyes to sight of dancing and the sounds of laughter and merriment. I'm in the shadows, leaning against a moist stone wall. The dress I'm wearing is a gift from my aunt. I'm sad that she can't be here. My mother, however, is here and is likely wherever my father's brother is.

My father was so tenderhearted and considerate. He died when my sister and I were young, which left us both to Mother's machinations.

"Tristan is looking for you." I turn to see Iris. She hands me something wrapped in a napkin. It's a small bit of cake and some berries.

"Let him look a little harder, then."

"You shouldn't taunt him," she says through a mouthful of food. "It isn't proper, considering your relationship."

"You've been spending too much time with Aunt Isabelle. Our
relationship
doesn't exist at the moment. And you shouldn't talk with your mouth full."

She brushes the crumbs from her hands and finishes swallowing. Then says, "You know very well what I mean. Besides, have you seen him lately? I bet you will want to reconsider that
nonexistent
relationship."

"No, I haven't, but he couldn't have changed that much in just a few years."

Iris grabs my hand and drags me down a shaded corridor until we are overlooking a courtyard just beyond a tall archway. There, beside an obviously miserable Quinn, stands Tristan. He weighs more now than he did and he's a bit taller, his shoulders are broader and he seems much older than he really is.

"Meet my eyes and tell me he isn't handsome," Iris says.

"You know I would never lie to you." I turn to sit in the open archway, my back turned to the courtyard. "Still, his regard hardly makes up for his arrogance. He might very well be handsome, but he likely knows it."

"You've met someone else, haven't you?" she asks sadly. It's absurd how badly she wants me to get married and have children.

"No, but that hasn't stopped me from hoping he's out there." Iris doesn't understand, and nothing I say could possibly explain how I know that the other half of my soul is out there somewhere. And despite the fact that I once thought it was, it isn't Lord Tristan.

Iris tucks an unruly strand of blond hair behind my ear, then pats my cheek. "You should have worn your hair up tonight. You know she hates it when you look so careless." Iris means our mother.

"I'll tell you a secret, then." I laugh when she tilts her head as if I'm actually going to say something worth hearing. "I don't just
look
careless."

"She doesn't have to care," Tristan says. I feel the warmth from his body as he sits behind me, one leg partially stretched out to my right with his foot flat on the stone of the archway. "The kind of beauty Lady Jesca has is effortless."

I roll my eyes at Iris, who grins and squeezes my hand before leaving me alone with him.

"I've been looking for y … "

I turn around and Tristan loses his tongue. "Ah, Lord Tristan. The tables have turned, have they? I seem to recall chasing you for a good many years."

"Where is that little girl who used to entertain me with her far-fetched stories of winged guardians and demons? This surely cannot be her." He pulls free the strand of hair that Iris tucked so neatly behind my ear. He toys with it as he continues, "I wonder, is she in there somewhere?"

"Where is the mean-spirited boy who used to poke fun at me while in the company of his esteemed friends but couldn't make it to our house fast enough after they'd left him?"

"Dance with me," he says with far too much excitement for my taste.

"I hate dancing. No."

"Come, it won't kill you." He takes my hand and starts to lead me through the crowd.

"Maybe not, but why risk it?"

He whisks me to his side to the tune of a ballad. "If you look faint, I'll have mercy on you and we'll leave. Shall we call it a deal?"

"Still incorrigible, I see."

"Still stubborn, too, and I'm willing to bet I'm still faster than you on foot."

"I imagine so, the stubbornness I mean. I wouldn't wager much on a foot race with me. My speed is unmatched these days."

"Save for your wit. But it's always given your feet a run for their money."

"True," I laugh.

"So why were you hiding from me?" he asks.

"I wasn't hiding."

He tightens the arm that's around my waist. "I know you better than you think I do. You were hiding. What I want to know is why."

We turn and spin, which separates us for a few breaths, then I'm right next to him again. "It wasn't you I was hiding from."

His bright blue eyes soften. "That's why you didn't want to dance, isn't it?"

I spare a wayward glance at where my mother is scowling at me from her seat. I can tell by the way her stare has frosted over that she doesn't approve of my apparel or hairstyle. "You could say that."

After the song has ended, Tristan guides me through a back hall and takes me to a small indoor garden that I have never seen before. There are torches on the walls, but the ceiling appears to be glass and I gather then that clouds are covering the full moon.

"I'm sorry." Tristan takes a seat next to me on a stone bench. The torchlight flickers across his features and lends him an air of authority that I'm not used to seeing. "I forgot how cold she can be at times. But it won't be much longer until you're free of her meddling." Though we've been betrothed as long as I can remember, we've never openly spoken of it before. He touches my arm and I'm not certain how I feel about the contact.

"You don't even know me anymore, Tristan. It's been what, three years or more since we've even been in the same room?"

He takes my hand in his and I notice how warm his skin is, how strong his hold. "You haven't changed. You've grown into a woman, certainly, but you're still the fierce little blonde who gave me far more credit for being a decent Kindred than I ever deserved. I'm not entering into this union lightly."

By "this union," he means the combined powers of
his
house and
my
blood and the thought makes me sick.

"Jesca, I want a better world for more than just the two of us. I want a better world for all Kindred. We shouldn't have to hide our existence from mankind. And we certainly shouldn't be at war with our
own
kind."

For a moment, he sounds so apart from his brothers and how the House of Thorn usually quantifies our shadowed world. Perhaps I've misjudged him.

"Then spend time with me," I say. "Better yet, spend time with those Kindred who don't stand to do your house any favors. I saw you with Quinn and I know he's asked you to go hunting more than once."

"I can't. It isn't that I don't want to, but as the eldest, I am under certain obligations. There are things I have to do in the next couple of years that are simply part of being who I am. I'm sure Quinn and the others understand."

"Assumptions don't get you far with those who don't know who you really are, Tristan. The House of Slate—"

"You're treading unsteady ground and you know it. My father hates the King and those he oppresses."

"I see that in addition to making assumptions about those loyal to you, you've made assumptions about those who stand to do you harm as well. Have you ever spoken to him, to the King and his Queen? I've heard about nothing but fairness and equality from their subjects. Have you bothered to see for yourself if what your father says of Nuada is true?"

"We're in talks of treaty," he says simply.

"That means nothing to me. Have you seen for yourself?"

"I don't need to. I trust my father. Don't you?"

Does he mean what he's saying? I once knew him … well. I could read his expressions, his sighs and certainly his body language. But he is no longer a lanky, awkward boy. A man sits beside me and I'm suddenly struck by the sheer power he wields by the simple use of his last name. He's no longer
just
Tristan. He's Lord Tristan of the House of Thorn. This saddens me.

"You're sad … at such a simple question," he says. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"Have you ever wondered what the future holds for immortals like us? Where we'll be hundreds of years from now, when the politics of right now are far,
far
away? What about when thousands of years have passed?"

"Sometimes," he admits. "But I have faith in something greater than myself. I have faith in what our kind can bring to the mortal world. Our unnatural abilities, strengths, even our weaknesses may serve as tools against mortal diseases, ailments and shortcomings. That righteousness, that absolute truth, has the ability to bring true peace to every living being on Earth. I won't give that up for momentary gain." He squeezes my hand tighter. "Where is this coming from?"

"Nuada has no interest in this righteousness you speak of? This peace?"

"Doubtful. If he had his way, we would hide in caves for all eternity. Ask your mother, she hates the House of Slate. You still haven't answered my question."

"I'm simply trying to find the boy I knew in the man you have become. That's all. And believe me, I'm well aware of how my mother feels about Nuada's court. But it sounds like you know something that I don't."

He shrugs. "Our parents are thousands of years old. That's a long time for things to fester. Something happened between your two houses. I don't know what, exactly, only that it changed the course of events and set the current disdainful climate. My father knows more, but he's never burdened me with the details."

Iris, being the gentle soul that she is, has always been the good daughter. She minds her manners, does what is asked of her and doesn't aggravate Mother with questions. I, on the other hand, have always questioned and challenged everything. I've grown up hearing my mother talk about the King and how big a coward he is for hiding like he does. Yet something in my gut tells me that it isn't hiding so much as remaining true to our roots. I love the Dayworld, but the reticence and tradition of our ancestry is something I can appreciate.

"You've been spending more time with your father lately, I hear."

Tristan nods once. "It's time for me to become more active in my father's political dealings. Why do you say it like that?"

"You speak of peace and righteousness this night. Guard that optimism, Tristan, because as you pointed out, our elders have lived beyond the point of mortal poignancy. Their views and opinions are shaded by thousands of years' worth of internal struggles. They don't see things clearly anymore." I am somewhat proud of myself for being so brazen. Something changes in Tristan's expression—a slight trace of amusement finds its way through the austerity. "What?"