Chapter 15
DAVID
Abonfire, according to David’s inherited memories, wasn’t exactly what its name would suggest. When he plucked at Galadaine’s recollection of such nights, intoxicated images of fire, music, and sex spilled forth. Not really his scene, but Autumn wasn’t giving him a choice.
“You have to come,” she called from her bedroom, where she’d somehow accumulated more clothes and was tossing them about like a mini tornado. “You will be expected.”
Sitting on the edge of his neat bed, David rolled his eyes, knowing she’d sense it in his thoughts. “I don’t have to do anything.”
He’d already suffered through the ordeal of allowing a brownie attendant named Tulli to dress him and do some weird thing with his hair. Did he really have to subject himself to extroverted revelry as well?
“I’ll drag you,” Autumn said.
The thunks emanating from her vicinity had grown worrisome. “What are you doing in there? Did the sheer weight of the clothes create a black hole?”
She appeared at his doorway in a gilded dress, a pair of mismatched shoes in hand. “I can’t find my gold boots.”
Knowing he’d regret it, David left his bed and approached the chaos, raising an eyebrow at the dozens of shoes now tossed about like confetti. He bent to pick up the strap of a silky undergarment lying near his feet. “How do you find anything in here?”
She snatched it from him, flashing her megawatt smile. “Magic?”
As usual, ecstatic bubbles hovered inside the core of her emotions. What must it be like, to be that happy all the time?
David leaned against the doorjamb as she delved through the mess like a burrowing owl. “If I go, what do I get out of it?”
Red hair formed a curtain over her face when she shot a grin at him. “The pleasure of my company, obviously.”
“Okay, so say I go, and say that, as expected, I’m not wanted. What will we do when they start telling me to go back where I came from?”
She waved a careless hand in his direction. “They’ll all be too sloshed to notice.”
He sighed. “Fine. I will attempt to go. If you can get me through this night without anyone whispering Djiante in my vicinity, I’ll give you my virginity.”
Autumn burst into laughter. “You can’t offer me things you don’t have. Or things I don’t want. Ew!”
David pressed a hand to his heart. “How dare you?”
“Autumn!” Isobel marched their way. “What’s taking so long?”
“I think she’s trying to drown in fabric,” he said, sensing Isobel peek around his shoulder into the room.
“Aha!” Autumn emerged from the cloth graveyard, gold boot in hand.
David moved as she bounced through the door, then followed them into the main common room, where Sean sat sipping a glass of wine.
He met David’s gaze but looked away without saying anything.
The ceaseless consternation threading Sean’s emotions tasted like spiced bitters.
Worse, it was sprinkled with the tang of agonized panic, a fun little aperitif that made David ache deep in his chest.
He detoured the long way to the dining room out of mere self-preservation, but as he considered the weight Sean must’ve been buckling under, a memory crept up.
“You ever grow weary of playing their hero, brother?” Galadaine asked.
Lhynion laughed. A teasing glint lit his blue eyes. “I find playing anything different only bruises my ego.”
He shook his head at the lie. Lhynion had never been self-important, but Galadaine played into the jest nonetheless. “Careful. Ego is a wicked game.”
“None so wicked as the game of pretending I am a hero in truth.”
Galadaine chuckled. “’Tis not pretend, Lhyn.”
“Bah. All heroes fall in the end.”
So…Lhynion had resisted the veneration he received. Would Sean do the same? David shook off the memory and reached for a wine bottle.
“Wait.” Bel grabbed a dark, uncorked bottle from the countertop. “I stole this from Kywyn’s quarters. He’s a bit of a snob about this stuff.” She showed David the etchings on the glass, written in elegant Lux script. “Elderberry wine. It’s a good year.”
He shot her a wary glance. “Are you laying your weapons down?”
“I think I can manage to make nice for one night. In the name of harmony.”
In confused silence, David held out a glass for her to fill, analyzing the fluttery, exhilarated tinge to her emotions. Judging by the dark stain on her lips, she’d already been drinking. Tipsy Isobel was probably less of a dick than the sober one. Definitely less guarded.
A smile spread over her face. “Let’s toast.”
The four of them formed a circle around the table in the common room, and Isobel raised her glass. “To doing things differently this time.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Sean said. “To not repeating history.”
“And making better choices,” Autumn added.
“And exceeding expectations,” David murmured.
Sean’s blue eyes slid his way, but then the four of them were clinking glasses and drinking deeply.
The wine was complex, vaguely sweet, with a strange electric aftertaste that cascaded through his nervous system and slithered between each cell of his body.
“Whoa.” He stared at the deceptive liquid.
“Told you it was a good year,” Bel said with a sly smile. She set down her glass and slipped her fingers through Sean’s. “Come on. They’ll be waiting for you.”
With that, the two of them disappeared through the door.
David pointed after them. “Tell me that was weird.”
Autumn was staring at his half-empty glass, but she startled at his voice.
“You okay?” he asked, then downed the rest of the wine.
She started to say something, raising her hand as if to stop him, but then just sighed. “I’m fine. You’ll be drunk before we get down there.”
“Doubt it. Let’s go.”
Outside, the night was hardly dark. Between the blue-and-purple nebulae in the sky and the bonfires dotting the forest, it might as well have been midday. His vision smeared so Luster permeated everything and colors fused. The world condensed to a kaleidoscope of glitter mixed in rainbow water.
Fucking hell. He should have known Bel wouldn’t warn him the wine was trippy.
Hot hand wrapped around his, Autumn dragged him through the trees, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke.
Music that reminded David of careless touches and sweaty sex drifted over them.
Strangers dotted the woods, and each of them pelted him with hateful tension so taut, his very nerves felt stretched to their limits.
Why had he come? They didn’t want him there.
His attention caught on the throng ahead, the one surrounding Sean and Isobel.
Sean stood, face inscrutable, emotions a wreck of turmoil, while the surrounding strangers worshipped him.
They bowed. Whispered into his ear. Kissed his hands, his temples, his mouth.
Outside his circle stood his cousin, Cole, laughing with Anna Ainslan.
Huh.
“Come,” Autumn murmured near his ear. “Let’s dance.”
Her fingers interlaced with his, and in a blur of red and gold, she set her hands on his shoulders and swayed like the couples surrounding them.
The fire gilded her edges, and he held the flame of her in his hands, the same as his ancestor had many times before.
They found a rhythm to the music, a tempo that pulsed with the earth itself.
Time dissolved and the night darkened, escalating the revelry.
Autumn laughed, danced, her moves streaking red in his hazed eyes. He followed her, matching her movements, catching her waist as she leapt into his arms. He’d done this before. The memories flowed through his mind easily, years of revels shared with his brother, his lover, his best friend.
They spun, breaking apart, then whirled again.
He caught her hand.
She threw her hand around his neck.
They laughed.
The music ended. She smiled, burned. “You remember?”
He nodded.
“Do you remember what he told her? The last time they danced?”
David pulled the memory from the recesses of his brain. Rhiannon had been as smiley that night as Autumn now. They’d been at the Deva Dances, a tradition that involved a lot of music, dancing, and mind-altering substances that distorted the memory, changing the colors, the timbre of her voice.
But he remembered the conversation. “‘As always, you dance like fire.’”
She smiled and spoke Rhiannon’s words: “‘Do you know how I know you lie?’”
David shook his head as Galadaine had done.
Her grin turned mischievous. “‘Even you cannot embrace fire.’”
With a lyrical trill of violin, the music exploded to life once more, and her smile grew.
Galadaine’s emotions filtered through the memories, opening doors to a deeper understanding of the relationship he’d had with Rhiannon. “He really cared for her, didn’t he?”
Autumn nodded. “They were the best of friends. Closer than siblings.”
“He killed her.”
Her fingers gripped his. “It doesn’t matter. Me and you are destined to be confidants.”
The crowd danced. The melody swelled while the flames of the bonfire licked the sky. David and Autumn stood still among them, eyes searching.
He tilted his head. “You don’t even know me.”
“I do. They’ll say terrible things about you, David. They’ll accuse you of things you never did. But I see your mind, and you are good. I’ll spend eternity proving it if I have to.”
Staring into those trusting eyes, golden with the light of the fire, David sensed not one shred of doubt or misgiving in her ecstatic emotions. “Why?”
“I mean to do things the right way this time. These people hear your name and assume you can’t be trusted. I’ll show them they’re wrong.”
“Maybe they aren’t wrong,” he said. “Maybe I’m exactly who they think I am.”
A murderer. A manipulator. Someone weak and pliable, who would always travel the path of least resistance.
She shook her head. “I don’t think even you know who you really are.”
“I’ve hurt people.”
“Not your fault.”
“I’ve torn families apart.”
Her golden eyes turned soft. “Your own family tore you apart.”
David released her and stepped back. How much had she seen inside his mind? He wanted to put a lock on his thoughts the same way he had his emotions. He knew how to control his feelings, but he didn’t know how to stop thinking.
All he ever did was think.
She pressed her lips together and motioned toward a less crowded area. “Take a moment. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
He allowed himself two breaths to stare deep into those golden eyes, letting memories of her ancestor wash through his mind.
I love you, brother. No matter your choices.
Run, Rhiannon! They’re coming!
’Tis only you and me, now. Together til the end.
David shook himself and spun on his heel, speeding through the heavier crowds until the firelight faded to the silvery glow of Luster. It sparkled softly about him like fireflies. He breathed the stardust scent deep into his lungs.
How was he supposed to feel about this? What was the proper protocol?
He’d been forced into this place by soul-shearing pain to play the villain, and the only people who seemed willing to give him the benefit of the doubt were a woman who could read his mind and another with emotions like a hurricane, who trusted him so little that she felt compelled to use furniture as a shield between them.
David rubbed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t come. To this bonfire. To this world.
Maybe if he’d suffered long enough, that pain would have killed him.
“How do you find the revel?” asked a voice from the shadows to David’s right.
His attention jerked that way. A figure stood in a hooded cloak, his face shrouded in darkness. In one hand, he held a goblet, and he took a leisurely sip as he appraised David.
“Crowded,” David replied.
The figure chuckled. “They have much to celebrate.”
“Yes,” he said, rolling his eyes. “The return of their Savior.”
The figure shifted, and Luster gleamed against his face—unlined and sharp edged, with blue eyes the shadows seemed unable to touch. Pixie.
“There are those who celebrate your return as well,” he said.
“Really?” David opened his arms to either side. “What do I have to offer other than a tainted bloodline?”
The man studied him in silence a moment before he murmured, “Who told you your bloodline is tainted?”
Uh, everyone.
The man sighed. “Do not believe all the stories they tell you, Galadaine’s son. History is written by the winners.”
David was tempted to laugh. “You going to tell me Galadaine was the good guy?”
“No. Wars are more complicated than good versus evil. Galadaine’s Followers would argue that the Exorcism is the true evil—sacrificing lives for an unwinnable feud.”
“And enslaving humanity is the honorable course?”
With a tsk, the man said, “That was never the goal. The goal has always been, and will always be, an end to the bloodshed. The Mother does not abide strife.”
“Right.” David perched atop a giant root nearby.
The man took another drink. “We would rid this realm of famine. We would bring balance.”
David raised a brow. “And where do I fit in all that?”
“If you have even half the power that Galadaine had, then you could lead us once more. You could—”
“I have no interest in following Galadaine’s footsteps.”
The man paused, took a deep breath. “And why is that? Because you were told he was evil?” In David’s silence, the man shook his head.
“Lhynion Sidera was a great man, but Queen Falan used his death to build outrage, to consolidate her power, to feed her own greed. There are two sides to every story. Perhaps you should ask yourself which is the side of right and which you prefer to be on.”
With that, the man kissed the tip of his thumb, touched his forehead, and strode away.