9. Amelie #3
“Fern, can you please get the poor boy a new cast?” I sweetly asked our host. The old one became smoke on the wind as a new one perfectly splinted his broken wrist and fingers.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kiaran shouted up to the ceiling. She opened and closed her shutters in Kiaran’s room. They were falling apart. Looking around finally, I noticed the attic was the only part of the house that hadn’t been completely redone.
Holes riddled the floors, the walls were filthy and there were spots that opened to the outdoors, letting in a draft. Kiaran’s bed was a tattered cot on the floor, and the chest that I assumed held his clothes had a lid that wasn’t even connected at the hinges anymore.
“Fern, we’re better than this. Would you please clean up Kiaran’s room? I promise he’ll be nicer to you if you do,” I asked in a singsongy voice.
“She won’t do it. I’ve been pleading with her for ages to fix up the place. My magic doesn’t work on the structure. She’s a prickly one.”
Not allowing him to speak ill of her, Fern ripped the rug out from under Kiaran and he went falling right on his ass. Relenting, he laid all the way back on the dirty floor and covered his face.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
I wasn’t sure if he knew it, but he had more of an attitude problem than I did. I knew Fern thought so, too.
Moments later, the whole attic roared in a gust of wind.
The small cot molted into a four poster king size frame with a new plush mattress and black silk sheets, topped with a puffy quilt laid over top.
Two tables on either side. The chest was now a massive wardrobe with the doors spread open, exposing two racks of black, cream, and white tunics and pants.
The many rugs were now one large rug that covered the entire attic.
This one was nicer than any of the ones on the main level.
It had an intricate design and a thick border framing it in.
Vibrant colors splashed around it, tying in the rest of the room.
I knew Fern was nicer to me than she was to Kiaran, so I could only assume she pulled the most exquisite furniture out simply to show him what she could’ve done for him all this time.
Kiaran propped himself up on his forearms and scoffed. His eyes moved inch by inch through the room. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there were tears forming in his fierce eyes.
“Well, she really showed you, huh?”
Kiaran didn’t say a word. He took in his new room with an intensity I hadn’t yet seen.
“Kiaran?”
He peeled his eyes away from the bed and looked up at me.
He was stunned, like he couldn’t speak or even breath.
Kneeling down, I pressed a palm to his cheek.
He never left my gaze, but he pulled his knees in and rested his arms around them.
Grabbing the other cheek to cup his face, I studied his watery, crystalline eyes. “Are you okay?”
“This was my room,” he said in a pained voice. His breath was shaky as a lone tear betrayed him.
“It’s still your room, Fern just made it nice for you.” I brushed my thumb over his sharp cheek.
Kiaran stood and walked over to the bed. He ran his hand over the luxurious quilt, then opened the table sitting next to the bed. He pulled a small frame out. Not wanting to invade his space, I shuffled to the side to see what he was looking at.
“This was my room.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Kiaran turned and showed me what was in the frame he’d taken out.
It was a painting of a little boy with dark, curly hair and mischief in his blue eyes, and a little girl with the same hair but sunshine written on her features, happy as could be.
With them, two parents. The father held the little boy’s shoulders proudly, showing the world his greatest creation.
The mother was holding her daughter on her hip.
She beamed for the artist. The mother watched her little girl, as if looking in a mirror.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the matriarch of the family. She reminded me of the figure from my dreams. The one who’d take my hand and bring me to my prince.
“Back home. These are all things from my room.” He took in his newly updated room, like it might vanish if he blinked. He looked so small again, the same way he did when he outed his mistakes a few nights ago.
I took my turn at a second glance around the room. This was so far from Fern’s taste in clothes and furniture. Everything looked so expensive and fancy. My curiosity about his past grew by mountains now, especially since it looked a lot like the rooms in the Palace I often visited in my dreams.
Kiaran traced a finger over the little girl’s smiling face.
I understood now that it was a picture of his family.
Of little him, his little sister, and his parents.
The people he hadn’t seen or spoken to in two centuries.
My heart broke for him. I only knew a fraction of how it felt to no longer have family, but that little bit of understanding still made my heart ache for him.
Walking over to him, I laced my arm through the crook of his elbow and leaned into him.
I wasn’t short at 5’6, but Kiaran still felt like a tower.
He had to be at least 6’3. I wasn’t sure if my small presence would make a difference, but Ethel holding my hand today gave me comfort so I figured I’d try.
Without a second thought, he turned and wrapped both of his strong arms around me. Pressing one hand to the back of my head and bringing my cheek to his heart, the other secured around my lower back, the painting hanging on my hip in his hand.
He let out a shaky breath and let go of the embrace. As soon as his touch was gone, I missed it. I told myself it meant nothing, just a warm soul to hold in this moment, but my heart knew I was lying.
“I haven’t been able to remember my sister’s face. It’s been so long.” He sat on the edge of the bed, running a finger over the photo. “Every time I tried to remember them, they were faceless. Like melted clay. I…”—his voice cracked—“I miss them.”
That did it.
Apparently, I’d been harboring my own tears and his words just set the sails.
“Are you okay?” he asked as I took a seat next to him. His face unreadable. Too many emotions for one to take a dominant place.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?”
He took my hand in his good one. “I will be. This is just a lot to take in all at once. I accepted long ago that I might never see them again. This quilt?” He gestured back to the beautiful blanket covering his bed.
“My grandmother gifted it to me when I finished fundamentals. She passed not long after that. I only had a few years with it before they sent me away.”
I nodded, wanting to allow him the space to voice anything he needed to right now. He didn’t take it but he squeezed my hand. I squeezed back in solidarity.
“I don’t want to impose, I’m going to go freshen up. Do you want me to bring you up a plate for dinner?” I stood, unlacing our fingers that had apparently linked in a much more intimate way than intended.
“No, thank you.” He smiled at me as I walked for the stairs.
“I’m sorry for breaking your hand. I swear I thought I was going crazy, so I was going to have you check for a fever.
I met a woman in the…” I cut myself off.
This moment was not about me. “Never mind, I’ll tell you about it later.
You won’t be lieve it.” I laughed off the tension of the room and started down the stairs.
“Amelie,” he called, “next time you want me to touch you, just ask. Preferably inside these walls.” I blushed at the thought and then batted it away, knowing that was not how he meant it.
“That is how I meant it.”