Chapter 14
DRAKE STARED DOWN at the ripped tunic in his hands. He fought for calm, but there was no mistaking that the stains near the top were blood. Not a huge splotch, so it didn’t bring on panic, but still . . .
He tilted his head, looking up toward the loft. Silence. Which was suspicious in itself.
“Nyx! Lux! Both of you. Down here. Now.”
He heard a whispered oath no child should be speaking. He’d address that later.
Two sets of footsteps—very slow footsteps—echoed down the stairs. He stood with his arms folded as the two scamps came to a halt before him. They stood, as always, side by side, touching, as if neither of them felt complete without contact with the other. They were staring down at the floor, avoiding looking at him. And yet he felt relieved to see there were no wounds obviously needing a healer’s attention, despite the blood on the garment he held.
It was like looking at two versions of the same picture, alike yet different. Nyx, thin, almost gangly with his most recent growth spurt, which put him nearly to Drake’s shoulder. And also made the bloody tunic his. Lux, still smaller but no less of a threat because of it; her power was in the head beneath that hair so like her mother’s, red with spirited fire.
It struck him in that moment that soon Lux would change, that the transition from girl to woman would begin. Perhaps it already had, and he’d been too distracted—or oblivious—to realize it.
His stomach knotted. He’d done a horrible job with Eirlys, not understanding at all what was happening until it was too late. Had it not been for Kye, who had walked this motherless path before Eirlys, and her generosity in providing a refuge for the young woman struggling to adapt to the changes that were overtaking her, he knew his little sister would not be even half the woman she was well on her way to becoming.
He didn’t want to think where he himself would have been without Kye. It was bad enough to realize where he was now, and that he would be without her forever, having long ago lost her love and respect. And the only way to regain it was to do something he could not do. It did not matter what he wanted. Nor did it matter how much it hurt to want what he could not have.
“What’s wrong?” Lux demanded.
He only then realized she had at last lifted her head to look at him. Fear glowed in her eyes, more than just fear of whatever misdeed he’d caught them in this time. She was, he realized, afraid he had bad news. And that they knew enough to fear that at their young age made his stomach knot even more.
He took in a breath to steady himself. Held up the stained tunic. “Explanation, please.”
The two exchanged glances. If the situation had been more serious, he might have separated them for their stories, for they always backed each other up when together. Whoever spoke first, that was the version that stood, for neither of them would ever contradict the other. At least, not in his presence.
“It’s a tunic,” Lux said, her overly sweet tone telling him she knew perfectly well that wasn’t the right answer, and also making him wonder if all females were born with the knack for that tone that any male would be wise to recognize as warning.
He issued a warning of his own. “Do not. Explain the blood.”
“Blood?” they chorused innocently.
“Do you wish to shed more?” he countered, his voice as ominous as he could make it.
“We didn’t shed that,” Nyx said. Lux groaned as he indirectly answered the question.
“Who did? And why were you close enough that they bled on you?”
Again the exchange of glances. If they ever progressed to the point of actually communicating without speaking, which he wouldn’t put past them, he would never keep up with them.
Finally, Lux shrugged, as if giving in. Nyx, as usual followed her lead. “It is Vank Kerrold’s blood,” he offered.
Drake blinked. “Jepson’s nephew?”
Lux rolled her eyes skyward as he stated the obvious. The boy, a couple of years older than the twins, was a mirror image of his insufferable uncle. Except he was worse in the way only a teenaged bully could be.
“And how,” he said carefully, “did Vank Kerrold’s blood get on your clothing?”
Nyx sighed. “I punched him.”
It was all Drake could do to quash the grin that threatened. Dear Eos, was he supposed to punish the boy for doing to Vank Kerrold what he himself had done to his uncle at almost the same age? Especially when more than likely he deserved it, and more?
“Why?” he asked.
Nyx went silent. He lowered his gaze to the floor and kept it there.
“Nyx?” he prodded.
When the boy stayed silent, Lux finally spoke up.
“He called you a coward—”
“So I called his uncle a traitor,” Nyx finished.
“He swung—” They were in the familiar rhythm now.
“She tripped him—”
“And he punched him.”
Succinct, he thought, even as his stomach knotted all over again. Would that some adults could report a situation with the same brevity and conciseness.
“You don’t need to defend me,” he said to the boy, his voice harsh.
Nyx’s chin came up. “You won’t.”
“And besides, his uncle is a traitor,” Lux said vehemently.
“Yes,” Drake agreed, fighting for calm. “But should you take that out on him? Unless you want others to blame you for . . . my being your brother?”
Eos, he hated this. Nyx only shrugged, and lowered his gaze again. But Lux continued to stare at him.
“Sometimes,” she said finally, “I just don’t understand you.”
“Sometimes, little one, neither do I.” He sighed. “Just try not to draw any more blood, please?”
Realizing they were getting off easily, they turned as one and dashed toward the back door.
“Wait.”
They skidded to a stop but didn’t turn back.
“If I hear that word out of either of you again, the next blood you see will be from working your fingers to the bone scrubbing the taproom floor.”
The glances they exchanged then were of pure horror, and he thought that might just keep them in line for at least an afternoon.
Unless something too tempting to resist cropped up.