Porta Ille, 1446
In the gathering room of the castle, a six-year-old Rystique, who had his father’s human form but kept his mother’s magic gifts, sat on the floor by the fireplace with his legs crossed. He and Summer, a year younger, were playing together quietly, making up their own worlds in which to live for the time being. Chassity was sitting in a chair beside them, working by fire and candlelight on a quilt for her daughter. She smiled as the children laughed and squealed with gladness.
Jacob and Kayleb walked in from the kitchen, sipping on large warm mugs of human blood, which they confiscated from the local sanatoriums, having paid a fair amount of ducats for it. When they visited the hospitals they were asked many questions and had given the answer that they were traveling medical physicians and in dire need of the substance for their patients. Fortunately, the other doctors and nurses bought their story, but not without skeptical glances.
Both of the men observed the children from their own chairs and sat in silence, save for Rystique and Summer’s voices and the subtle effervesce of the fire. Jacob rested his head on his hand, which was propped up on the arm of his chair, and was growing rather sleepy-eyed thanks to the fire’s comforting flow of heat. His eyes were almost shut when he saw something red and white poking out from under his son. What was it he was sitting on? It wasn’t a pillow that was clear, but more like a bunched up clump of fabric with some kind of rusty stain.
“Rystique, stand up immediately,” he grumbled, recognizing the cloth as Shinar’s dress from the last time they were together.
Rystique was scared. His father had never raised his voice to him before and he began to tremble as he stood up. “What is it, Daddy?”
“This!” he said picking up the dress. “This is what is the matter. Where did you get this? Have you been in my room? You know you are not allowed in there!”
“But, Daddy, I wasn’t…”
“Don’t lie to me, son. How else would you have gotten hold of your mother’s dress?”
“Jacob, please settle your tone. He is only a boy,” said Chassity, trying to ease the warming conversation in Rystique’s best interest.
He glared at her. “I know that, Chassity. He is my boy and I will use whatever tone I damn well please.” She slunk back in her chair, defeated and cast Kayleb the look, telling him he had better do something before it went too far.
He understood her plea, and agreeing someone should intervene, heeded to it. “She is right, Jacob. I’m sure however he got a hold of the dress was innocent and I am sure he didn’t mean any harm.”
“Know your place! This is none of your business,” he snarled, surprising The First. Regardless of the years that had passed, Jacob continued to be extra sensitive and protective of anything that revolved around his former love. Since Shinar’s passing he had not found another woman. The pain of the loss was too near to him and he feared becoming that close to another woman especially a mortal for she would one day perish like the last.
A frightened dark haired boy, though shaking with fright, stood up to his father, not letting himself be intimidated. “I got it from Mommy. She showed me where it was and wanted me to bring it out here for you to see.”
“Hush, up child. You know that is impossible. Your mother is dead!”
“She is not!” Rystique ran out of the room sobbing. He knew the truth about his mother, having learned the facts recently, but he neglected to tell Jacob that Shinar had been visiting him late at night. She would sit on the edge of his bed and stroke his nighttime shaded hair while she talked to him or sang him lullabies to calm him and help him sleep.
