Whether it’s hell tithes, or mischief, or a way to prevent magical inbreeding. The point is, no one really catches on in most cases.”
“Right.” Adin sipped his coffee. “And no one has considered the possibility that the entire genesis of these tales is a way for superstitious or hyper-religious people to explain away children with illnesses or birth defects or autism.”
Boaz’s mouth dropped open. “You have studied this.”
“Of course I have. I’m a professor of literature, and I vet old documents and manuscripts all the time. Fairytales are some of the most profound and interesting things people have ever written. So yes. I know about changelings.”
“All right, all right.” Boaz winked at Bran. “I told you there would be puffery involved.”
Adin sputtered, “I beg your—”
“The point is, even Bran can’t tell you what he is, because he doesn’t know.”
Adin digested this. “How the hell can you not know what you are?”
Bran held absolutely still for a single second, then burst into tears and ran from the room. Adin heard the nearly obscene clank of his manacles as he slammed the connecting door between their rooms.
“If you can be any more insensitive, this might be a good time, Adin. After all, I don’t completely despise you yet and even though Santos never liked you in the first place he could probably like you less.” Boaz got up and then removed the tray from the bed. He reached out and pulled Adin’s half-finished coffee from his hand.
“ Boaz .”
“Think about it,” Boaz ordered Adin sternly. “Think about how you know who you are and then come down for breakfast.”
Adin recalled the memories Bran had sifted through. He thought of his mother and father and their stories of their parents. If he didn’t have those memories…if he didn’t remember his parents, he’d have no idea what he was either.
Adin froze. “ Boaz .”
“Did the light go on there for you, Professor Thoughtless?” Boaz could be at least as impatient as Donte. “There is folklore suggesting that a changeling child becomes a human child over a period of time. It’s a process. At some point, the child in the process of becoming is neither one thing nor another. Santos speculates that if the process is interrupted, someone like Bran might be… Well. Certainly he’d be outside the norm.”
Adin frowned. “How far outside?”
Boaz measured his words more carefully than Adin had ever seen him do, “Entirely new. Entirely other. He’s not anything .”
“Boaz. Of course he’s something. He eats. He stirred my bathwater. He cried.”
“He stirred your bathwater ?”
“It’s a long story. The point is he’s corporeal. He’s very much a human boy.”
“Yes.” Boaz chewed his lip thoughtfully.
“He couldn’t be held in chains if he weren’t.”
“Santos speculates that iron weakens him.”
“It’s all conjecture?” Adin entertained the idea that he’d purchased some sort of magical being with memory divining powers. Christ. “Perfect.”
Boaz shrugged. “Breakfast is nearly ready. I’m making eggs.”
“Quelle surprise.”
Once the door slammed behind Boaz, Adin cursed and ran his hands through his hair. He knew he should get up and put on clothes, clean his teeth, and leave. He should take his luggage and go back to the hotel and leave all the magical machinations to Boaz and his gang of merry monsters, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave without saying good-bye to Bran.
Then, if Boaz could get his money back as Santos promised, Adin could turn his back and walk away.
Maybe.
He dressed quickly and entered Bran’s room where he found the entity in question facedown on the bed. Oddly enough, it reminded him of the many times after his parents died—when he and Deana had been forced to deal with the grief of a sudden shocking loss—he’d found Deana exactly like this. It felt so familiar, sitting on the side of the bed and placing a comforting hand on
“Right.” Adin sipped his coffee. “And no one has considered the possibility that the entire genesis of these tales is a way for superstitious or hyper-religious people to explain away children with illnesses or birth defects or autism.”
Boaz’s mouth dropped open. “You have studied this.”
“Of course I have. I’m a professor of literature, and I vet old documents and manuscripts all the time. Fairytales are some of the most profound and interesting things people have ever written. So yes. I know about changelings.”
“All right, all right.” Boaz winked at Bran. “I told you there would be puffery involved.”
Adin sputtered, “I beg your—”
“The point is, even Bran can’t tell you what he is, because he doesn’t know.”
Adin digested this. “How the hell can you not know what you are?”
Bran held absolutely still for a single second, then burst into tears and ran from the room. Adin heard the nearly obscene clank of his manacles as he slammed the connecting door between their rooms.
“If you can be any more insensitive, this might be a good time, Adin. After all, I don’t completely despise you yet and even though Santos never liked you in the first place he could probably like you less.” Boaz got up and then removed the tray from the bed. He reached out and pulled Adin’s half-finished coffee from his hand.
“ Boaz .”
“Think about it,” Boaz ordered Adin sternly. “Think about how you know who you are and then come down for breakfast.”
Adin recalled the memories Bran had sifted through. He thought of his mother and father and their stories of their parents. If he didn’t have those memories…if he didn’t remember his parents, he’d have no idea what he was either.
Adin froze. “ Boaz .”
“Did the light go on there for you, Professor Thoughtless?” Boaz could be at least as impatient as Donte. “There is folklore suggesting that a changeling child becomes a human child over a period of time. It’s a process. At some point, the child in the process of becoming is neither one thing nor another. Santos speculates that if the process is interrupted, someone like Bran might be… Well. Certainly he’d be outside the norm.”
Adin frowned. “How far outside?”
Boaz measured his words more carefully than Adin had ever seen him do, “Entirely new. Entirely other. He’s not anything .”
“Boaz. Of course he’s something. He eats. He stirred my bathwater. He cried.”
“He stirred your bathwater ?”
“It’s a long story. The point is he’s corporeal. He’s very much a human boy.”
“Yes.” Boaz chewed his lip thoughtfully.
“He couldn’t be held in chains if he weren’t.”
“Santos speculates that iron weakens him.”
“It’s all conjecture?” Adin entertained the idea that he’d purchased some sort of magical being with memory divining powers. Christ. “Perfect.”
Boaz shrugged. “Breakfast is nearly ready. I’m making eggs.”
“Quelle surprise.”
Once the door slammed behind Boaz, Adin cursed and ran his hands through his hair. He knew he should get up and put on clothes, clean his teeth, and leave. He should take his luggage and go back to the hotel and leave all the magical machinations to Boaz and his gang of merry monsters, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave without saying good-bye to Bran.
Then, if Boaz could get his money back as Santos promised, Adin could turn his back and walk away.
Maybe.
He dressed quickly and entered Bran’s room where he found the entity in question facedown on the bed. Oddly enough, it reminded him of the many times after his parents died—when he and Deana had been forced to deal with the grief of a sudden shocking loss—he’d found Deana exactly like this. It felt so familiar, sitting on the side of the bed and placing a comforting hand on
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