And no matter how much he tried to ignore it, he couldn’t shake that uneasiness. It walked over his flesh like a living, breathing creature. Someone was definitely watching him. He turned around to scan the walls and corridor with both his eyes and his “other” senses.
Nothing. Everything appeared normal. There was nothing on this plane or in the aether. Yet the feeling persisted.
Uneasy and spooked, Kalder headed for his old rooms and wondered what he’d find there. Most likely one of his brothers had taken them over as soon as his mother had dumped his body for the sharksto feast on. Darcel or Eyson would be his first guess as to the current occupant. Out of the eleven of them, they had hated him most.
He doubted if any had given more than a passing thought to his death. Or a single thought about him since. They’d probably been relieved to see the deaths of their mother’s favorite and most hated sons within days of each other, as Muerig’s death would have made more room in her cold heart for them, and his death would have chilled her more caustic moods.
But as he turned the corner of the hall that led to their bedrooms, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Right before him stood his older brother Marcel, Darcel’s fraternal twin.
The only saving grace was that unlike Perrin, he looked nothing like their father. However, his striking resemblance to their mother wasn’t much better. In fact, it made him want to punch him all the more.
Or better yet, hack him to pieces.
Damn, I really did hate my parents.
“So it’s true. Youarealive.”
Kalder smirked at the caustic, bitter tone that was a deeper version of their mother’s voice. “Nay, brother. I’m merely a figment of your lack of imagination.”
Awkward silence fell between them as Marcel struggled to ignore his sarcasm. Which was nothing new. They’d never had much to say to one another. Kalder had spent most of his time here alone and without speaking, as he’d learned early in life that anything he said would only be used against him, and always at the worst possible time. Every one of his brothers, and in particular his mother,had a nasty tendency to take whatever he said out of context, twist it around, then relay it to a third party so as to paint him in the darkest light imaginable.
Ergo, he spoke never. It just made it easier.
Fewer bodies to hide.
Fewer punches to throw later. Verbally and physically.
Which he prepared himself to do now as Marcel raked him with a sneer that cut almost as deeply as a razor. “You shouldn’t have come back here.”
“Didn’t plan for it. Rather, happened unexpectedly.”
“Then why are you heading for private quarters when you don’t have a room anymore?”
“Am I not still part of the family?” Kalder dared him to declare his enmity the way Perrin had done earlier.
Marcel didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze went past Kalder’s shoulder to something behind his back.
Turning his head, Kalder saw Rosie and Simon approaching them with their unorthodox manners and clothing. As a former priest of the African trickster spirit Exú, Simon Dewing, who was larger than most and therefore off-putting on his best day, could be a fierce protector or one hell of a vengeful enemy, depending on his mood. It was something Kalder respected most about him. That and the fact that you always knew where you stood with him. Unlike Kalder’s siblings.
Simon didn’t play games with people. If he hated you, he walked up, tapped you on the shoulder, and announced it plainly. In your face.
Then he punched your jaw while he laughed.
He and Justinian Rosenkranz, or Rosie, as they called their ever-jovial crewmate, were a motley, unsettling pair who didn’t appear at first glance to have anything in common other than the fact that neither gave two shits what anyone thought about them.
That, too, Kalder respected.
And it was something Rosie proved as he planted his long, lanky form on Kalder’s right side and perched his ornate, twisted iron staff that was decorated with feathers and braided leather cords over his muscular shoulders. With a quirky grin that made his golden whisky-colored eyes shine, he pushed his flamboyant burgundy tricorne back on his head so that he could scratch at his dreads. “In a bit of a snit, Princeling?”
Kalder frowned. “Pardon?”
Rosie answered the question with a charming grin. “You look like you need rescuing, Princess. So your knights in shining armor are here to render aid. Shall I slap your annoyance and challenge him to a duel on your behalf? Or would you rather do it yourself and save me wrist the pain of it all?”
“Something is profoundly wrong with you. Isn’t it? Tell me truthfully, did your mother drop you on your head as an infant? Or suffocate you while you were breastfeeding?”
“Given me fashion sense and wardrobe, you’re going to ask me that with a straight face?” Rosie snorted and slid a smirk toward Simon. “And he thinksI’mthe one with a problem? Seriously?”
