“I was in a state of shock after they killed my friend and his family on that hunting trip. They didn’t just kill them, either. They—”
The silence lasts seconds too long. I peek over my shoulder to see him staring at the starry sky as he remembers.
“They cut them into pieces with dirty hunting knives. My friend’s hands tossed in front of me while the other parts of him were scattered across our camping site.”
My stomach churns because I see it so clearly. And in no way can I imagine a five-year old witnessing this.
“They told me horrible things about my mother. And what a great man my birth father was. They had horrible things to say about your parents. About the Valdawell family. They made me lie in a grave I had to dig for myself if I cried for my mother. To teach me that a man should never depend on a woman.” He sighs then chuckles at that last part. “I was supposed to stay there for years…I don’t think they took in to account that DaiSzek and Uncle Warrose are complete savages who could find a snowflake in a blizzard.”
No, I suppose they didn’t. If they knew, maybe Niklaus would have been spared out of fear. Maybe he wouldn’t have been influenced to hate me so much.
“I watched DaiSzek burst through the front doors first. I remember pieces of wood exploding from the hinges as his huge form annihilated it. I remember there was no hesitation in his eyes either. He didn’t wait to investigate the scene. He didn’t give my captors a chance to run. DaiSzek…”
My eyes fill with more tears. I squeeze them shut to release the pressure.
“DaiSzek ripped their skin off and let them suffer first. I heard their screams in my head for years after that. Uncle Warrose came about thirty minutes after DaiSzek began carving out their organs.” Niklaus pauses, crossing his arms against a stiff wind. “Uncle Warrose had to carry me out of that massacre with his hand over my eyes.”
I watch a tear splash on the dirt below me. My breathing is shallow through my mouth. If I inhale through my nose, I’ll have to sniffle. Somehow, that makes me feel so weak as he shares the story I’ve been desperate to hear since I was a little girl.
“I’m glad you got to see him with his eyes open,” Niklaus rasps. And his foot touches my leg faintly.Too casual to be deliberate, but also too lingering to be accidental. If it were anyone else, I would be certain it was an accident.
He’s never been an affectionate person. In fact, he’s always been downright evil. Not even accepting a hug from Uncle Niles. He’s never enjoyed sharing affection with women either, unless it’s in bed, so I hear.
Between his body heat, Dellilian’s cuddles, and his tuxedo jacket—I drift off to sleep without being touched by the chilly midnight breeze.
And I forget that my father looked into my eyes and didn’t know who I was.
32. Eclipse at Noon
Sapphire
I am sitting in thewoods, wearing an expensive black ball gown, eating pheasant and blackberry sauce next to the man I grew up hating.
Yet I woke up this morning to a hot meal, served on a rock. Dellilian was hovering over it, politely waiting for me to wake up and grant her access to some of my food. Not shockingly, Niklaus was an asshole and didn’t make her anything to eat.
I eye him suspiciously as Dellilian and I finish off my plate. Blackberry sauce is my favorite. I eat it with most of my dinners at home. So much so, Krimson used to tease me and say my insides were just goopy blackberry sauce.
“We need to figure out your triggers for traveling,” Niklaus says, putting out the fire.
I dust off my dress and pat Dellilian on the head, smiling down at her little mouth covered in blackberry sauce.
“I know.”
“So, let’s make our way to the city and talk about it.”
Ah, so that’s why he made me breakfast.Trying to butter me up so we can figure out a way to go home. Can I really blame him though?
“We’ve traveled, what, six or seven times so far?”
I hang my head as we walk. This feels like we’re discussing the symptoms to a shameful disease I have. “Yes.”
“What’s been the trigger?” Niklaus flicks his gaze to Dellilian, dillydallying behind us. “I thought it was when you were scared. But unless you weren’t afraid of Absinthe and that bar of soap, I don’t think that’s it.”
My fingers are drawn to pat my lips as I fight those sick images that want to suck me back into the memory. The taste of that soap and acid is seared into my taste buds, like pouring vinegar into a deep, festering wound.
“Yeah. I definitely would have traveled if it meant I could have gotten away from that punishment.”
“And when Absinthe attacked you,” Niklaus adds.
