“Why do you care? You didn’t even know we existed until today. You didn’t care enough to ask your...agents how my...our parents were doing. How can we believe that you care now?”
Valek imagined Zohav had asked the same questions in the house. “I’ve many enemies. People who wouldn’t hesitate to use my family in order to get to me. But only a handful of trusted people know where my parents live, and I’ve assigned agents to protect them just in case the information is leaked. If I didn’t care, the agents wouldn’t be here. As for not knowing about you and the twins...” Valek swallowed. “I...ordered my agents not to tell me anything because...” He gazed at the gravestones.
His father’s comments about regret over harsh words repeated in his mind. Had his avoidance really been due to his parents telling him never to return or Valek’s own fear that if they became a family again, he’d be vulnerable to the intense heartache of losing them, like the grief he’d experienced when his brothers died? Or was it just pure stubbornness? Or the fear of being rejected if he’d returned? Perhaps all three.
“Because I couldn’t handle hearing about their lives continuing on without me and my brothers.” Because it would mean they’d moved past the tragedy and grief, while he hadn’t. When he’d told his father that killing the King had been freeing, he’d lied. Everything he’d done up to this point had been a result of that day. It was as if he’d been frozen in time.
Yelena had been the only one to reach him through the ice, drilling a small opening.
“What about now? Can you handle it?”
Could he? From the hole, cracks zipped along the frozen surface, creating a pattern. If he let his family through the barrier, would he shatter? Sweat raced down his back as a burning pain bloomed around his heart.
Unable to sit still, he stood and strode to the graves. He’d told his father that he belonged among the dead. That unmarked gravestone could easily be for him. He’d let Yelena in, but it had taken eight years for him to realize just how precious she was to him. The scar on his chest seared his skin. He knelt on Vincent’s grave and traced his name with a finger. Valek leaned his hot forehead on the cold, hard granite.
This was what he had been for so long. Cold. Hard. Why was this so difficult? He’d faced assassins, rogue magicians, the Commander, criminals of all sorts, and would gladly face them all a second time rather than watch his family be destroyed again. Yet he saw the murders so clearly in his mind. He relived that day over and over and over and over. Even with all his efforts to keep Ixia safe, they remained dead. The family of his childhood was gone and would never be the same.
Could he handle it? A new family that wasn’t just him, Yelena and the baby? A fire suffused him, and then it disappeared. Cold air fanned his face. Just as Janco had said, Valek had found a family despite being surrounded by ice. Yelena and the baby of course, but also a rather unconventional one that included Ari, Janco, Leif, Opal, Devlen and a number of horses.
Could he handle it?
Yes.
The admission zipped through him, and the invisible yet ever-present weight lifted from his shoulders. Breathing easier, he straightened. Zebulon remained by the fire, watching him with a worried frown, hoping Valek didn’t go crazy and kill them all. Odd that Zebulon’s thoughts should be so clear to Valek.
As he returned to the fire, the air smelled different. He picked up a number of scents—the ashy smoke from the burning coal, the earthy aroma of leather and the sweet odor of grass from the horses. Tendrils of wind caressed his face. The strangeness continued. He recognized distant sounds and his night vision sharpened, extending his range of sight. It was as if he’d been bundled head to toe in thick furs and had flung them off.
“You okay?” Zebulon asked.
“Yes.” He focused on the flames, blocking the extra sensations. Then he addressed his brother. “The answer to your first question is also yes. I can handle it.”
“Good.” Zebulon laid another branch onto the fire. Then he met Valek’s gaze. “I’m not sure I can. I’m pissed at Father for not telling us, but if everyone knew, we’d be targets.”
“Which is why you’re not going to tell anyone. This little visit—” Valek’s hand traced a circle in the air “—is me checking that you don’t have magical powers before I drag the twins to the Castle, where they will be executed. Understand?”
“Yes. And you need to understand that just because we have the same parents doesn’t make us brothers.”
“I know. We’re strangers.” He glanced at the graves. “We haven’t ruined the laundry together or planned a prank or snuck out late at night or hidden from Father when he was furious. Those experiences are what forges a relationship.”
“Yeah, and I’m too old to hide from Father.”