Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
CLAYTON
He knew it wasn’t real. He knew that the disjointed events flowing past him at breakneck speed were all an illusion, but the emotions were so real they cut to the bone.
The last thing Clayton had ever wanted was a speed run through all the shitty highlights of his life. The first time around was more than enough, but his origin? That was another story.
He had parents. Real, biological parents who had loved him. Who, in theory, still loved him, though he had no proof they would still want him grown and fucked up as he was now. He’d long ago left the cute stage, and if he had magic, it was well beyond his control.
He’d grown far from the adorable, beloved toddler who’d helped his family fight to stay together. Clayton couldn’t even keep his own ragtag band of misfits together, and his parents? They were one of the coolest couples he’d ever met.
Out of all the things he’d imagined his parents to be—and he’d imagined everything under the sun—powerful, fae royalty had never made it onto the list.
If Clayton hadn’t seen it himself, he never would have believed he could be related to Elena and Naerith.
Mal did, though. On Clayton’s second time through his life, he was able to catch all the details about Mal he’d missed.
The fond looks behind Clayton’s back, the laser focus on Clayton whenever he was in the room, and the way reality around them shimmered and fluctuated while he was getting Clayton off.
Using the eyes of love rather than incredulous frustration, Clayton easily saw how utterly obsessed Mal was with him.
Thank the gods for that. It gave Clayton full permission to be equally obsessed right back.
He’d realized it as soon as Mal had come onto the scene of the retelling.
Clayton barely paid any attention to anything else.
Every minute detail about his monster was greedily consumed so Clayton could learn more about him.
He couldn’t even be mad at Mal for not telling Clayton about his parents because it was easy to see the moment Mal realized the truth about Elena and Naerith. He saw the moment where Mal had considered telling them all and then changed his mind shortly after.
Something about Clayton’s full acceptance of Mal had allowed him to take in every detail about Mal’s microexpressions and let him interpret them into a language only he could understand.
He could tell Mal liked Naerith and Elena, that he liked every member of Clayton’s found family (the ones who lived on his boat, at least), and that he wanted Marshall to die more than almost anything else in the world.
Mal wanted Clayton more than anything, and he wanted Marshall to die the second most.
That… that was going to be a problem for later, Clayton decided.
Once Clayton concluded pondering the second go-round of his life, he realized he was standing in an endless void.
“Is that it? Or was there something I’m still supposed to do?” Clayton called out. Now that he was at the end, he was able to remember that he’d been sucked into another zone and separated from his companions.
What he’d just gone through had clearly been the work of some form of sentient creature, and Clayton had never met one he couldn’t communicate with, so why not try?
A vague humanoid outline formed out of the swirling mist of the void.
“Hello,” Clayton said politely. It never hurt to be polite in an opening encounter.
The figure nodded to him and gestured to his right.
The mist parted, and Naerith and Elena appeared.
They were holding one another tightly while crying and consoling one another.
The moment they laid eyes on Clayton, they froze.
Clayton, being the polite, polished young man he was, took their lead and froze up as well.
They all stared at one another, Clayton from sheer terror of rejection and the unknown, while his parents seemed to vacillate between shock and grief.
Elena was the first to break the stalemate and race toward Clayton, arms outstretched. She slammed into him and held him close, pressing her face into his neck as she sobbed, “My boy, my precious baby…” over and over again.
Naerith joined them but didn’t throw himself at Clayton. His expression was a mixture of rage and helplessness, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. His hands hovered over his wife’s shaking form, and he couldn’t meet Clayton’s eyes.
Clayton patted Elena awkwardly and realized she’d had to bend over a considerable amount to cry into his neck. He hadn’t noticed until now just how much taller Naerith and Elena were than he was.
“I’m not short,” Clayton announced to the pair.
Elena gave a startled hiccough and pulled away enough to gaze at him in bewilderment.
Clayton cleared his throat and continued. “For a human, I mean. I’m slightly above average, but you’re both far taller than I am.”
“That’s true,” Naerith agreed slowly, and Clayton was certain the man was considering whether or not Clayton’s weird life had caused him to grow up stupid.
Elena, however, brushed tears away and gave a watery laugh.
“Fae are generally taller than humans, but my grandfather is short, so you probably take after him. Human traits pop up in our family tree from time to time.” Her expression wobbled a bit, and for a terrifying moment, Clayton was afraid she was going to start crying again, but she held firm and gave him a weak smile.
“My human ancestry is further back than Elena’s,” Naerith said, voice rough from repressed emotion. His uncomfortable expression told Clayton he had no idea what any of them were supposed to do, but that if they were all trying, then he would too. “So we don’t have many human traits on my side.”
“You both likely had recessive genes with human traits that combined into me.” Clayton was about to go off on a massive tangent about genetics—something he only knew about because he was a magicless freak in the Other, and studying science was his attempt to find some magic of his own.
He stopped himself before he could get lost, because it wasn’t the time or the place.
Not only did they have a misty stranger floating next to them, hanging on their every word, but they were on a mission.
“Listen, I’m going to save us all some time here.
I know I must be a huge disappointment to you two.
You were looking for your baby, but instead you got me, and it’s obvious that I’m no prize. ”
Both Naerith and Elena looked stricken, but Clayton plowed on, not allowing them to interrupt. “I don’t expect anything from either of you. I never have.”
It was a tiny lie. When he was small, Clayton constantly fantasized about what his real parents were like and what his life would be like when they finally returned for him.
As he got older, those fantasies faded, and Clayton realized they were nothing but silly stories he’d crafted to help cope with his emotions.
If he wanted more from Elena and Naerith, then it was only normal. He would get over it.
“I won’t hold it against you if you want to forget all about this and have another kid. All I ask is that you help me get my family back, and then we can go our separate ways. After that, I promise to never bother you again.”
“What the...?” Naerith was livid, and Elena was pale and shaking. “We’re the ones who fucked up and lost you, and you think we’ll just forget you and move on?”
“I don’t want another child, Carwyn.” Elena’s tears had dried, and her expression was fierce like a woman about to go into battle.
“You’re my child. I’ve missed out on every possible thing a mother could miss.
Even if you ordered me to leave you alone, I wouldn’t. I can’t. Please don’t ask this of me.”
“You’re stuck with us, son,” Naerith said gruffly. “We lost you. That’s on us, and we can’t change that, but we’re here now. Please don’t push us away.”
“You actually want to stay? With me?” Clayton’s vision went blurry, and he touched a wet cheek. “But I’m not a cute little magic fae baby. I’m seriously fucked up. Like, no joke. It’s literally dangerous to be around me.”
Elea reached out hesitantly to touch his wet cheek and wiped his tears away.
“That’s because you were a fae child forced to grow up in the Real.
Similar to how Marshall couldn’t use his power here, our magic in the Real is broken and unpredictable.
Vis’s and Astraea’s little spat doesn’t help matters either.
Have you had any bad luck since you left the Real and returned home? ”
Clayton shivered at the phrase returned home. He wasn’t ready to open that box yet, so he focused on answering Elena. “Actually, no. I don’t think I have.” He’d even managed to use some sort of magic to throw Marshall across a field, now that he thought of it.
Naerith tapped his chin thoughtfully. “What I saw of your life was blurry because it went by so quickly, but I did see the fight between you and the men who tried to take Tomanthus and Merribelle. Your uncle has the same talent. We call it probability magic. It’s the ability to sway things in your favor when you need it.
Your uncle has never been able to do what you did, though.
It’s usually a subtle magic, but the way you used it in combat was impressive. ”
Naerith thought Clayton was impressive? The idea of anyone thinking him to be impressive was a stretch, but his super cool dad? Clayton’s brain released a lifetime’s worth of happy chemicals at the very idea.
Clayton rubbed the back of his neck furiously and stammered, “Y-yeah, that was pretty cool, I guess.”