Castor lifted a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth. “Baked this morning.”
They made a meal of the bread, fresh butter, dried apples, and the last of the crumbly cheese Bell’s mother had bought at market. He knew his parents wouldn’t mind; the past two years had seen Castor come and go from the house on a regular basis.
If his parents knew the truth of their relationship, however, it would be quite a different matter.
Castor helped clear the table. “You know, I haven’t seen you in a couple days. I’d hoped for another sort of greeting.”
“Such as?”
Castor wrapped his arms around him. Bell returned the embrace, leaning in until they were cheek to cheek.
“I missed you,” Castor whispered.
“It hasn’t been that long.”
“You’re so cruel. It’s been ages.”
“A generation.”
“A century.”
“An olympiad.”
“A beelenium.”
They turned their heads and kissed. Bell felt Castor’s smile against his own. He kissed him again and again until those lips softened and parted.
A small voice called down the stairs.
“Abigail heard you,” Bell said, a bit breathless.
“I want to see her.”
Castor was quite popular with Abigail. He made her laugh and usually brought small treats, like a sweetmeat or a game. Castor plucked the sorry flower from the table and bounded up the stairs, Bell following at a slower pace.
“For you, my lady.” Castor knelt, presenting the wilted daisy to Abigail. She giggled and took the flower with a faint blush.
“I thought that was mine,” Bell complained.
Castor raised his dark eyebrows. “You didn’t appreciate it nearly enough. Now, if you’d had that reaction, I would have reconsidered.”
“Stop teasing my brother,” Abigail scolded. “Tell me a story instead.”
“If you insist.” Castor sat on the bed and Bell dragged over the stool. “How about the story of the three little pigs?”
“No.”
“Rumpelstiltskin?”
“No! One I haven’t heard before.”
“Hmm.” Castor rubbed his chin. Bell noticed that Castor sometimes had a vague shadow of stubble along his jaw and just under his nose. It made his upper lip feel prickly when they kissed, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he rather liked it.
“How about I make up a story?” Castor gestured to Bell on the stool. “We both will.”
Abigail clapped her hands in delight. “Yes!”
Their eyes met, each waiting for the other to start. Castor’s eyes crinkled in amusement.
“There was once a boy …” he began.
“Who received a royal summons,” Bell continued.
“To see the princess of another country.”
“But that country was at war.”
“So he became a soldier.”
“And fought for whichever side needed him most.”
“He tried to make it to the princess.”
“Because she waited for him always in a tower of the castle.”
“And she couldn’t leave.”
“For fear that he would never find her.”
“But there was a battle in the very field that lay before the castle.”
“And in that battle was the boy.”
“A sword pierced him, and he fell to the ground, injured and bleeding.”
“The princess saw, and feared for his life.”
“She didn’t want to leave the tower, but she knew now that she must.”
“She dressed as a soldier and fought in the boy’s stead.”
“She stood over him, swinging her sword at anyone who came near.”
“And when their side won, she dragged him into the castle to be healed.”
“When the boy woke, he saw the princess splattered with blood, and looking more beautiful than he had ever imagined.”
“The princess kissed him, and they were very happy.”
The boys sat smiling at each other, Abigail almost forgotten until she cleared her throat. “And? Did they get married?”
“I suppose so,” Castor said. “If you want them to.”
“I want them to.”
“Then they did.”
Abigail said she liked the story very much. Castor tried to wheedle her into telling one of her own, but she fell into a coughing fit. Bell hurried to get her a cup of water. By the time he returned, her face was red with the strain. He stood staring at his sister’s emaciated frame, taking in her hollow cheeks and thinning hair. Castor rubbed her arm and asked if she was all right. But all Bell could do was think about when they’d believed she was getting better, that maybe her body was becoming stronger.
All lies.
He walked to the dresser on his side of the room and, opening the top drawer, searched for a new handkerchief for her. There were no clean ones. He closed his eyes tight and held onto the dresser’s surface.
When he opened his eyes again, he caught his own face in the chipped mirror. Blue eyes, as blue as his sister’s, stared back at him. A few freckles stubbornly clung to his pale nose. His brown hair was getting shaggy in the back; his mother would insist on cutting it soon.
Something moved in the mirror. Bell did not turn, instead watching Castor’s reflection as it came closer.
“Come back,” Castor whispered. “She needs to see you.”
“But I can’t see her. Not like this. Not anymore.” Bell’s eyes filled with tears, distorting their reflections.
Castor touched his arm. “She relies on you so much. You have to be strong for her. And I promise I’ll help in any way I can.” Bell watched as Mirror Castor leaned their heads together, arms encircling his body.
“I’ll always look after her,” Castor whispered. “I promise, Colton.”
The world came roaring back, bringing a fresh wave of pain with it. Colton doubled over, choking on a scream. His side was on fire, his chest wound too tight. The cogs at his back flared, sensing his distress, and the pinprick of Enfield in his mind grew more distant than ever.
He rubbed at his chest with small, panicked moans. They echoed off the metal floor, surrounding him with the sound of his own fear. He didn’t worry about anyone hearing him. In that moment, the enormity of the world was forgotten, and he was the only thing in existence.
Slowly, he sat up and leaned against the hull. He covered his eyes with a shaking hand, then his mouth, then his chest again.
He had wondered. Had tried to evade the thought—it had seemed too impossible, too absurd—but he couldn’t ignore it any longer, staring him in the face the same way he’d stared at his own reflection.
They weren’t dreams. They weren’t memories of someone else’s life.
They were his memories.
Akash’s hands were steady on the controls as he guided the Silver Hawk through the air. He had graciously offered Daphne the copilot seat, while Lieutenant Crosby and his soldiers sat in the back.
Daphne was grateful. She loved the open space between earth and sky, a space that felt honest, true. She would have gladly lived the rest of her life in the clouds, close to the sun.
“You look as though you’re enjoying yourself,” Akash commented.
“It’s been a long time since I could relax on an aircraft. The last two times I was trying to keep Danny calm.”