An Immortal Descent

The proceeding silence thickened to the consistency of clotted cream, and in a matter of seconds the room seemed to have grown smaller, with significantly less air. Had I finally crossed one line too many? I held my ground, refusing to retrace the offending steps.

 

A full minute passed. Four bells clanged above deck, and a multitude of sailors padded across the ceiling. The silence deepened in the cabin. I wanted her to yell or laugh, or say something bitingly sarcastic. Anything would have been better than nothing.

 

Justine adjusted her seat on the mattress. I peeked through my lashes to see that she had tucked her legs beneath the folds of her skirts. Setting my shoulders, I braced myself for the inevitable.

 

“That’s an interesting question,” she said, more matter-of-factly than I ever expected. “And one I’ve spent many hours trying to answer since Henry first disappeared from England.” She paused for a moment, her eyes glazed in thought.

 

I reminded myself to breathe.

 

“Lord Fitzalan caught my fancy more than any other man in the past three hundred years. I felt his absence immensely this past spring, and when he returned to London in the fall, I had hoped to resume our relationship where it had so abruptly left off.” She laughed, though the sound held no mirth. “He is a rarity amongst humans, and I know a score of ladies who would poison your cup if they thought it would give them half a chance to secure him.” Scooping up the kerchief, she started to weave it through her fingers. “By every account, I should have lost my heart in its entirety. But no, I don’t believe I truly loved him. Not yet anyway.”

 

“Oh, thank heavens!” I said, making no effort to conceal my relief. “I thought this might stand as a permanent wedge between us.”

 

By her serious expression, the relief was entirely one-sided. “There’s no denying that I was angry and hurt by the loss of his affections. But make no mistake, Selah, in the end your pain will be infinitely greater because you do love him.” Her gaze turned thoughtful, and maybe a bit mischievous. “Is there any chance you could transfer your feelings to Lord Stroud? He’s quite madly in love with you, and the similar bloodline would simplify everything.”

 

Absolutely...if I had never met Henry.

 

My stare turned stern. “No, I can’t, so you might as well explain what you mean about my pain being greater.”

 

Justine sighed, and the kerchief disappeared into the center of her palm. “I feared Cate hadn’t told you yet. For the life of me, I don’t understand why she strings you along like some fragile child who may wilt in the sun.” The kerchief reappeared. Disappeared again. “But truth is power, and you’ve the right to know, no matter how difficult that knowledge may be to bear.”

 

A warning rang in my head. I needed to plead a headache, or sudden fatigue—any excuse to keep her from voicing what I already suspected. In a heartbeat, the bridge I had so diligently ignored spanned the dark chasm of ignorance, beckoning me over. I could turn away, continue to ignore it, but for how much longer?

 

Justine watched me closely, as though in search of a sign that I was indeed ready for the truth.

 

My chin crept up. “The right to know what?”

 

“The reason Sophie’s husband died when our family has been given Brigid’s second gift.” Ominous undertones laced her soft voice.

 

Each of Brigid’s descendants received their first gift, or unique skill, at birth. The second gift—a gift of longevity—came much later and only to a select few. Cate had been the first in our line to have mortality’s hold loosened, yet still being part human, she would have continued to age and eventually die if not for her rare healing abilities. This blessing extended to her direct descendants and their families, which had left me puzzled when I’d learned of my aunt Sophie’s recent widowhood after forty years in a loving marriage.

 

“I asked Cate about his death, but she never answered.”

 

“Of course she didn’t,” Justine scoffed. “Because then you would have known that Sophie’s husband was fully human and therefore lacked the Tuatha Dé blood needed to extend life.”

 

Fully human...like Henry.

 

An odd tingling sensation prickled my scalp, seeped into the tips of my fingers and toes. Converging in my chest, it seemed to pull every bit of warmth from my body. Cold didn’t replace it, nor anything else for that matter. I felt nothing, turned numb throughout.

 

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