Perfect Shadows

chapter 24

The years passed as years will, and the time came when we were ready to return to England. On the evening before we were to leave Paris, Geoffrey clipped the stitches that held the lids of my right eye closed. He had noted a growing fullness behind the formerly slack lid, and resolved to investigate. Jehan stood by with a basin and soft cloths, then bathed my eye with warm herb-scented water. As the lids parted, Geoffrey gave a soft sigh of satisfaction. The eyeball was regenerating, he told me, though when I viewed it in the mirror, the pupil was as yet smoky and dull and the iris a startling milky blue. I saw the light of the candle as no more than a soft ball of furry gold, but it was light, and I was seeing it with my right eye.

“It is very likely that you will fully regain your sight in time,” Geoffrey told me. “But for now, Christopher, you should continue to wear the patch most of the time, but try to exercise the eye for a time every night.” The scar across the lid, though its angry color had faded, was still ragged and puckered, and I was vain enough to desire hiding such a blemish.

I watched Richard avert his eyes from it that same evening, as he read to me, though he seemed unable to keep himself from casting sidelong glances at it, try as he might to force his gaze away.

“If you will fetch me the patch from the table, Richard, I will cover it up,” I said testily, unable to bear it any longer. Richard brought the patch, and as he handed it over he asked how it had happened, the words coming reluctantly as if both against his will and beyond his control. “I was held down, and it was done with a twelve-penny dagger. That is when I died, Richard, before I became the monster that I am.” Richard paled, then blushed a furious crimson.

“I was wrong, my lord, to speak so that night, and I pray you might forget my foolishness and my ingratitude,” he said stiffly, then relaxed a little when I smiled.

“I do forgive it, Richard, even if I do not forget it. I won’t bring it up again,” I said. Richard nodded solemnly and went to fetch some wine.

He had never quite healed from the horrors of confinement and assault, and indeed seemed truly comfortable only with me. We had fallen into the easy relationship that one sometimes finds between siblings when their relative ages have a sufficient disparity.

Rózsa had helped him a great deal, the threat of her sex blunted by the boy’s clothing that she habitually wore. She had coaxed him into talking of his ordeal, easing his pain thereby. I had thought that she might take the boy as a lover, but she had not, saying that he was not yet ready for such a step, and might never be. To the surprise of all, Rhys’s not the least, she had set about seducing the handsome stableman, quelling his fears of her vampirism, and setting him truly at ease with us for the first time since he and his family had joined the household.

I forced my gaze back to the book in my lap, but my thoughts wandered, and when Richard came back with the wine to mull at the fire, I studied the changes the years had made in my companion. Richard had reached his full height at five feet and nine inches, but he hadn’t yet filled out, retaining the leggy coltishness of adolescence, and though the delicate bones of his face had lost some of their androgyny he retained an almost startling beauty.

Finding my thoughts veering relentlessly towards Richard again, I snorted and closed the book. Startled at the sound Richard looked up from the hearth and smiled shyly. Unable to stop myself, I reached a hand out to touch that impossibly black hair, watching the purple highlights following my fingers, then reluctantly pulled my hand away. Richard caught it in both of his, holding it a moment, then, shamefaced, letting go. “I am sorry, Richard,” I said softly, but Richard interrupted, his voice hoarse and close to tears.

“No, I am sorry,” he said, turning his face away. “I know what you want, and I—I do dream about you, sometimes, but I am frightened. No,” he stopped me, “I know about Rhys and Lady Rózsa, and I know that you would not hurt me, that you do not harm Jehan when he—when you—couple,” he drew a shuddering breath, and went on. “The dreams always change, you see, and then it’s not beautiful, it’s ugly, and you are cruel and laughing—” I gathered the distressed young man to me, murmuring against the heavy hair.

“I will never harm you, Richard, nor even touch you without your consent. I can do something about the dreams, however, and I will, if you will trust me. Look at me,” I added, turning his wet face towards mine.