Ireland
When Victor reached Brogan’s home, he nearly missed it. It blended so well into the hills. The only reason his eyes caught the glass of a window reflecting the sunshine was because he was looking for it.
Brogan’s house was built into a side of grass and covered with weeds. He didn’t have a small farm like Willem or a gate to the property, just a wooden door, fully green with moss, and a bell by the knocker.
Victor looked around, then shrugged and tied his horse to the door handle. The nearest tree was about fifty feet away.
He rang the bell, then stood back a few paces, in case Brogan was in the same mood that Ayan had been.
After a moment, the door pushed open.
Brogan was . . . particular looking. It took Victor a few moments of silence and staring to realize that Brogan was a woman. A bearded woman but a woman nonetheless.
She was looking back at him, expressionless. Not even curious the way Bradley had been or full of pity like Willem.
“My sincerest apologies for bothering you,” Victor started. “Can I ask a minute of your time?”
“You missed him by a week,” Brogan replied instead. Brogan’s voice was deep and rough, but still it was a woman’s voice.
Victor didn’t know what to say.
Brogan looked over at Victor’s horse. She was a red mare, a bit old but had been very kind with him. Not bucking even when it had taken him longer than most to climb to the saddle.
Brogan reached over and patted her nose gently.
“You can have her if you like,” Victor said.
“How will you get back?”
Victor sighed. “I will ride her and then pay to have her ridden back to you.”
Brogan snorted like that was a silly idea, then waved him into her house.
“You don’t think far past your nose, do you?” she scoffed.
Victor didn’t reply. He didn’t feel like he had a right to.
Brogan’s house was brighter inside than he thought someone living under a mountain could manage.
There were many windows, twice as many as a normal house, and the sunshine filtered through in beautiful golden rays.
The walls inside were whitewashed and the floors had been rubbed hard with oil.
They were dirt like Willem’s but much better quality. Almost passing for stone.
The ceilings were low, but Brogan wasn’t tall, so that issue was more of a problem for Victor.
To his surprise, she led him into a bedroom and began stripping the bed. She shook out the sheets and dressed the bed in new ones while Victor stood in the doorway, watching awkwardly.
“Take your rest. When you wake, we will eat and talk,” she said.
She pushed past him and shut the door firmly behind herself, brokering no argument on the subject.
Victor coughed hard. He winced, rubbing his ribs, and collapsed into the sheets while still dressed.
He wasn’t the sort of person who liked to sleep during the daytime, but he didn’t have that choice anymore.
He needed rest, craved it like water. Craved it like someone who would likely lie down one day and never get back up.
When they had been younger, Elizabeth had fallen ill with fever. She described it as drowning in the warmest ocean with one half of her covered in ice. With the light above him spinning and the rims of his eyes aching, he had to concede that she was right.
Victor rubbed his face against the bed and thought of her. She wouldn’t want him like this. He thought, with desire, about how cool her hand would feel on his face. How soft lying in her lap would be.
But he couldn’t sink into that fantasy fully because now he understood that he didn’t deserve it. Or her, rather.
Victor thought for the very first time, what she would think of the image of him standing with a cat lifeless in his hands during the earliest days of his experimentation. Thought of her love for kittens and his eyes grew prickly again. He didn’t have enough water inside to cry.
He wanted to get up out of this bed and lie down on the floor. But even the warmth of the sun would feel like too much of a gift.
Victor let the talisman slip out of his mouth. He weakly tried to push Elias the feeling of the comfort of this place, the nameless ache in his chest.
He didn’t get anything back.