Seeing is Believing (30 page)

Sabrel's smile widened, and he let his eyes slip shut. The sun was too bright, of course, so even though the garden was peaceful and relaxing and he hadn't gotten a proper amount of sleep last night, he wasn't falling asleep.

He hadn't been dozing for long when a soft chuckle woke him completely. The grass had muffled the sound of footsteps approaching, and Sabrel didn't bother to move as a shadow abruptly cut off the sunlight falling on his face.

"How did I know you'd be out here?" Anton asked, a smile curving his lips as he stared down at Sabrel. Sabrel opened his eyes, squinting against the halo of light that the sun cast about Anton.

"Hmm," Sabrel murmured thoughtfully, smiling slowly at the look on Anton's face. He knew that look. Anton laughed, dropping to his knees carelessly before sprawling out next to Sabrel. "You're going to get scolded for grass stains."

"So?" Anton grinned, leaning over him, and Sabrel laughed a bit into Anton's mouth as he was kissed softly. Letting his eyes slip shut again, Sabrel lazily kissed back, reaching up to slide one hand into Anton's hair as Anton's hand slid across his stomach slowly.

"Mmm, so the maids will scold you," Sabrel replied, his lips brushing against Anton's as he spoke. Anton kissed him again, sending tingles across his skin.

"I can live with that." Anton's lips curved briefly, and Sabrel didn't bother to reply, tugging at Anton's hair gently to get another kiss from him. Anton laughed softly, but complied to the unspoken command, finally kissing Sabrel properly.

Sabrel kissed back desperately, suddenly driven to taste all he could of Anton. Anton seemed just as desperate, his hands slipping under Sabrel's shirt—

And then a rough hand latched onto Sabrel's wrist and yanked hard. Sabrel tumbled away, somehow on his feet when he'd been sprawled in the peaceful garden moments before.

"Did you really think you could get away with double-crossing me?" Wilheim thundered, his face red. Sabrel opened his mouth to protest because he wouldn't—only he didn't have time as Wilheim lunged, propelling the sword he held straight through Sabrel's chest.

Sabrel stared down, gasping out short little breaths as pain shot through him. Blood ran down his hand, and he clutched at the sword's blade, doing nothing more than slicing open his fingers and palms.

"Wait for me," a soft voice whispered in Sabrel's ear, and Sabrel thought it might've been Anton's but everything hurt now and he couldn't tell—

*~*~*

Sabrel gasped, curling slightly as he tried to not think. His body tingled, like there really had been pain coursing through every inch of it and it had only gone away when he woke. He didn't understand, it didn't make sense—

"What did you dream?" Wilheim demanded, and Sabrel winced as Wilheim opened the shutter on the night lantern he kept at his bedside.

"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 he 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."