Chapter 20 Blame #2
“Now,” I start again, a significant weight lifted from my shoulders. “Can we stop talking about me? I want to know more about you.”
“Truly?” Brynn asks, like this admission startles him.
“Truly. What do you know about your mother?” I ask, also diving into personal territory headfirst. Brynn tenses, and for a breath, I fear he will dodge the topic as per usual. But to my surprise, he nods slowly, as though steeling himself.
“Very little,” he says, his glowy eyes darting around to ensure no one listens in.
“She was a mortal healer. She visited Sanctuary regularly to acquire magical ingredients—she experimented mixing mortal and Sanctuarian remedies for her patients.” He glances at me, his voice dropping lower. “She was also a seer.”
“A mortal seer?” I ask, stunned.
“Yes, it’s not a fae-exclusive gift, by any means. There are histories of mortal seers recorded since the dawn of time. It’s not unheard of but, it’s rare,” he says, a palpable sadness rolling from his shoulders. I almost grab his arm, to offer comfort, but decide against it.
“Do you have any idea where she could be now?” I ask. He stares at the ground before us.
“She may be dead, for all I know,” he remarks somberly. “Mortals don’t always take kindly to gods-blessed gifts like seeing. It’s a strong possibility that they thought she was a witch.”
“Has your father offered any information?” I ask, trying not to think too hard about mortals and their superstitious propensity for burning witches at the stake.
Though… my end of our deal would be easier to fulfill if we could confirm she was dead.
I am a monster for even thinking it—shame twists my stomach into angry knots.
Brynn stiffens at my side, and for a heartbeat, I think he won’t speak anymore on the subject. But he exhales and says, “My father is… preoccupied. He does not offer any new details beyond what I already know.”
“Siblings?” I ask, perceiving an acute need to steer this conversation to lighter topics.
“I have a half-brother, yes. He’s—we don’t see eye-to-eye,” Brynn says, frowning.
Somehow, his tone toward his half-brother is even more rigid.
I glance around, racking my brain for a new topic, when he unexpectedly continues.
“My brother and I were never close. Even less so now that we’re grown.
He’s never let me forget my place. You know, as a—” He clears his throat, and I know the word he does not say is dimi.
“I was always made to feel lesser. And he’s tried to off me multiple times. ”
He points to the large scar on his chest and I gasp.
“He’s never been successful,” he says dismissively, as if attempted fratricide is the most normal thing in the world.
“I do not have siblings… is this usual? To want to murder one another?”
“For him and me? Yes,” he says. “Perhaps I can tell you about my scar another time.”
I nod, not wanting to push him.
“Lovers?” I jest instead, in a bid to pull Brynn from the depressing family talk. He smirks, his shoulders finally relaxing.
“Contrary to Jasmeen’s assumption earlier—I don’t take many lovers,” he says, not meeting my gaze. “Not that there haven’t been some stupid, drunken nights admittedly… Alas, nothing meaningful. Nothing real.”
I blush, wondering if he hears my foolish heartbeat skip over the din of riotous campers.
“So…” I start with a grin, “why are you so touchy? You seem to be the opposite of me there.”
Brynn laughs again, and I savor the sweet sound of it.
“I’ve never really thought about it—most fae are touchy, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.
But I suppose you’re right,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“Touch is a language in itself. You can say so much with touch. I know so many spoken languages and still, touch often communicates what words cannot.”
And it can be a way to hurt people. To manipulate them.
An apparent loophole for those who can’t lie with words, I think cynically, recalling his confession.
But his disembodied voice argues back in my head: just because you don’t believe it doesn’t make it a lie.
With the way he stares at me now, I want to believe him.
Goddamnit. What does it matter? This cannot end well.
We round a rowdy group of selkies and I realize we’ve walked the entire rest area back to our own campsite. Glo and Jasmeen converse by the fire, which Glo has reanimated.
Glo glances up into Brynn’s face, and a silent question passes between them.
He shakes his head infinitesimally. That leaden weight in my stomach churns.
It’s an obvious reminder that they still harbor secrets, but, so do I.
And I am too drained to dwell on it. By both the day’s revelations and journey.
I bid goodnight to Glo and Jasmeen. To Brynn, I say, “Thank you for keeping me company.”
“Goodnight, Thea,” he says, his eyes bright.
“Goodnight—” I pause for good effect and Brynn’s body tenses, his true name hanging on my lips. I give him a wicked smile and retreat into my tent. If anything, it’s a reminder—to him and to my racing heart—that I remain the one with the upper hand.