1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of Air: Book #5, Chronicles of Marsdenfel

Year 232 of the Bynding - The Realm of Salles, Autumn - post 2

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A/N: I can feel my legs! :-D

Er. Yeah. The tactile sensation  decided to go on walkabout for a few weeks. It was erratic about what parts vacationed, too, both for sensation and where the lack of sensation was. (A warm ankle, in front of a space heater, is really disconcerting when that same leg's foot and leg cannot tell the space heater is there. Especially when the back of the leg could sometimes feel the air flow but not the heat. And then some minutes later, it would change into something comparably odd. Or tingle. Or just hurt.)

Between that and some other things going on, I've been not that great, but I'm headed toward better. I finally figured out an herb blend that mutes the pain and such, so I can focus better. How're y'all? :-)

— • — • — • — • —

Aidan comes to be a regular feature in the room where I now live. Almost overnight, his mother's appearance goes from acceptable to perfectly consistent with the local old school nobility from before Jarvis conquered the realm.

Mataine doesn't speak of why, precisely, she's stepped onto that role so thoroughly, but I recognize preparation to manipulation others' memories in how she changes her attire, her bearing, even her speech. My cousin Tully does the same thing. It's why she's how she's survived as long as she has.

One evening, Aidan is playing knucklebones with Lallie when she comes to pick him up. She waits for the game to finish.

"Where have you sent Henrik?" I ask quietly.

She goes completely still, telling me more than I should probably know about what she and her husband are doing. "Officially, he's been sent off to be schooled by the lumens," she says blandly, but her composure cracks, and furrows enter her brow. "Unofficially, he— He's—"

Her voice splinters. She turns and stares at the fire.

I remember Aidan saying that his brother had tried to make him sleep, remember that Onlé—poor Onlé—had stopped Henrik, and can guess about how that turned out. "As long as people believe he lives, they won't target Aidan as the crown heir."

Mataine lets out a long breath. Seconds tick by, and then she looks at me. "We could have been very good friends."

"Perhaps," I murmur, thinking she would get along far better with Tully. I watch Lallie as she takes her turn with intentional clumsiness, so as to avoid discouraging the young boy she's playing with, letting him have a chance to win. "But you should stop bringing him. Darnell knows I'm in Salles, now."

She gives a sharp shake to her head. "We don't know..."

She's educated enough to remember that I can know such things.

"I'm elfin," I remind her quietly. "We dream true. I've seen my half-brother." I look to the fire, myself, and swallow. "He's made more gryphons. They search for me."

I don't know how that magic is possible, but from tidbits I picked up from Tully's mid-nightmare muttering, it's something dark and twisted and tortuous. As if people being trapped in grotesque forms determined by their owners isn't horrible enough.

Some his new gryphons are still children, themselves.

Mataine glances around, likely wondering how my wards wll hold against something as unnatural as a gryphon, and settles her attention on her son. "Aidan."

The boy looks up and stops the game immediately, not even asking for permission to finish that round.

His mother and I both suppress sighs.

Aidan fetches his winter wrappings and brings them to Mataine.

She shakes her head to herself as she helps him into them. "We won't come again, then."

The boy stiffens, then turns to me. "No more sad lady? I be good!"

"You have been good, Aidan." Mataine drops her courtly façade to let her son see the regret she feels. "It's not you. There's a very bad man trying to hurt her, and we have to keep you safe."

"Who keep you safe?"

I manage a tired smile and open my mouth to answer.

"And baby?"

My mouth stays open as I process Aidan's question about my daughter's safety. Tears prick my eyes—with Henrik dead, this sweet boy will inherit the betrothal to Carling, and she'll destroy him. "That's for us adults to worry about."

The condescending words stick to my tongue, especially after his obvious comprehension that something's wrong, something's dangerous, and she and I are both at risk, even if he doesn't yet understand what the danger is.

Indeed, Aidan frowns, but he doesn't protest further. He studies me, looks up at his mother, then lunges to hug me. He clings so tight that I fear whatever his other caregivers might do to him.

Indeed, Mataine's attention narrows on the back of her son's head, and muscles twitch in her cheek.

"It's not your fault," I say quietly—whatever is wrong with this family, with this boy's carers, I know that much. "You can't do anything about it. Focus on what you can fix."

Saying that to a child his age feels...awkward, but his embrace tightens, and I can almost believe he understands. Almost.

He's going to need to remember that.

As I return his hug, I reach into my magic—magic I can use but Mataine cannot or does not, and therefore she can't tell what I'm doing. Doing this is rude—cruel, even—but...he's already advanced for his age. He needs this.

I find a solid spot in his magic and knot what I've told him into it. He'll forget it, but his magic will remember. He'll stumble upon this memory, someday, and find it oddly clear for his age.

Mother did the same for me, from infancy. I suspect she realized my father would be the death of her long before he destroyed us.

I let go and nudge him back. "You behave for your mother and father. They love you."

He still looks more worried for me than for himself.

"Aidan," Mataine says, giving her goodbye to me with a glance. "Time to leave."

They go down the stairs, floorboards creaking. As Lallie puts more wood on the fire, I hear the door shut behind the princess consort and the crown prince.

Disquiet fills me, and though I have no faery blood, I suddenly know I'll never see him again.

I turn away from the girl who trusts me, somehow, though I've given her no cause for it. It wouldn't do for her to see me cry. "Go take some time to yourself."

"I be fine."

I sigh. "I'd like some time alone."

She stirs the fire behind me and sets the poker back in place. "Yes, Majesty. I'll fetch supper."

"Thank you."

I manage to keep the tears from spilling until after the door shuts behind her, too.