Callan and I showed our tickets. “Is there a particular carriage you recommend for the best views?” he asked.
“Left side for the sea on the way down. Right side on the way up.” He shrugged. “Simple.”
We waited our turn for passport control and I tried to keep my nerves at bay.
“Passes,” the vampire guard said, snapping his fingers.
Callan produced two slips of paper seemingly out of thin air. The guard inspected them before handing them back.
The vampire tipped his hat. “Have a good trip, Mr. Lincoln. Ms. Washington.”
“Lincoln and Washington?” I whispered as we headed toward the train.
He shrugged. “As a lover of history, I’m sure you can appreciate the choices.”
“Wait a minute. Lincoln was the fake name you used when I first met you.”
He grinned. “Like I said, do you think I don’t have the means to travel in secret?”
I had more questions about these passes, but now wasn’t the time.
He started to board and I placed a hand on his arm to stop him.
“This is first class.”
“I’m aware. What’s the problem?”
“My ticket is not first class. If you intend to accompany me, you’ll have to forgo it. Will you survive the lack of legroom?”
His jaw set. “I’ll manage.”
We found two seats facing forward. I placed my bag on the overhead shelf and made myself comfortable.
“Have you ever traveled this light before?” I asked. He had absolutely nothing with him except his wallet. Then again, he probably carried enough money on him to remedy the lack of clothing and supplies.
“Only once,” he said.
The train surged forward and my hands moved instinctively to the sides of the seat to brace myself. The move didn’t go unnoticed.
“First time?” Callan’s lips were touched by a faint smile.
I glowered at him. “No.”
This was going to be a more stressful journey than I anticipated.
“Why did Maeron want to send his goons to follow me?”
“Why do you think? He desperately wants to know what the werewolves have you doing.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to explain to my client that a royal vampire insisted on joining me on assignment.”
He leaned closer and whispered, “It’ll be our little secret.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do? A bottle of wine to finish? A shop to ceremonially open?”
He burst into laughter. “Your idea of my daily life is quite divorced from reality, I assure you.”
I turned to gaze out the window and watch the city roll by. Dingy gray buildings pressed against each other like sardines in a tin.
“Tell me about those fake passes,” I said. “How often do you sneak across a border with a woman that you carry them on you?”
Callan regarded me intently and I got the sense he was deciding how truthful he wanted to be.
“They’re intended for emergency use only. One is for me and one is for Davina.”
Wow. Not the answer I expected.
“What kind of emergency do you anticipate that involves you and the princess sneaking into another territory?”
The hard set of his jaw relaxed. “During the war, I witnessed families desperate to cross the border together just to get away from the atrocities.” He shook his head. “Without passes, they were trapped.” He paused and glanced away. “I never wanted that to happen to me.”
“Then you became a hostage.” You didn’t get more trapped than that.
“That was different. That was for the sake of peace. A show of good faith on the part of House Duncan.” He lowered his voice. “But if another House were ever to invade, I want to make certain I have the means to escape undetected. Once Davina was old enough to travel, I made sure to obtain a pass for her as well. I wouldn’t leave without her.”
It was obvious how much he cared for her and was completely at odds with his fierce reputation.
“You would flee rather than fight?” That admission also seemed at odds with his reputation.
“Depends on who’s invading and why. I like to keep all my options open. Preparation is the key to success.”
“Do you really think there’s a chance another House will invade?”
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “If it happened once, it can happen again.”
“If we fail to learn from history, we’re doomed to repeat it. My mother said that all the time.”
His eyes remained closed. “Your mother was a wise woman.”
“Is part of the reason you’d prefer to flee because of what you witnessed during the war?” I knew it was a potentially inflammatory question, but I was curious about his view of events. It had to be incredibly hard, being the son of the invading king forced to participate in an attack. And only twelve years old to boot.
“The Battle of Birmingham was the worst day of my life,” Callan admitted.
The vampire in the seat across the aisle turned to look at us. “Mine too. My parents were killed there.” His fangs elongated. “Filthy little Highland bastard. I don’t know why we spend tax money on keeping that monster alive. King Casek should’ve executed him on sight.”
Beside me, I felt Callan tense and instinctively placed a hand on his thigh to calm him. The gesture was more intimate than I intended. His muscle tightened beneath my hand and I couldn’t tell whether he was angry that I attempted to keep him in check or—something else.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I told him.
“Yeah, well. It was war, wasn’t it? Everybody lost someone, not as catastrophic as the Great Eruption though.” He stared straight ahead at the seat in front of him. “Now there was a time of absolute terror.”
He went back to reading the book on his lap. Callan seemed to relax and I moved my hand back to my side. The last thing we needed was a fight to break out on a moving train and our identities discovered.
I turned my attention to the passing landscape, not that I could see very much of it in the gloaming.
Callan leaned closer. “If you want a stunning view, you should see Scotland.”
I kept my gaze on the window. “Do you miss it?”
“The land and sea, very much. I spent many a night in the wild, not something I’m afforded in Britannia City.”
“Your father liked to camp?”
He grunted. “Certainly not. I was accompanied by staff and my cousin.”
“Are you two still in contact?”
The vampire hesitated. “He died during the invasion. Fought by my side until…”
And suddenly I understood. “Birmingham.” I turned to look at him. “That’s why you…you…”
He heaved a sigh. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I accept responsibility for it.”
“You were grieving.”
“The reason doesn’t matter.” He turned away. No wonder he didn’t like talking about it. He wasn’t proud of his youthful accomplishment. Of his immense power. Of his legacy.
He was ashamed.
I was so enthralled by his story that I failed to notice the signals my body was sending. “I need the restroom. I’ll be right back.”