could tell when I began to shy away from contact, but this time even I was fighting that impulse. I had never heard Ilyan open up before and I desperately wanted to know more. His voice was so soft that I leaned in to hear him better.
“She had blue eyes, like me, like my father. He was so proud.” It was weird to hear such a normal memory of Edmund; my brain almost fought the image of him as a normal, loving father to Ilyan.
“ He clapped me on the back and said soon it would be my turn.” Ilyan smiled, but it was a sad smile. For the first time I wondered why he wasn’t married, why he had never bonded. I opened my mouth to ask, but thought better of it. It wasn’t my place, and besides, I really wanted to hear what he had to say.
“I held this little baby in my arms and promised to protect her. To keep her safe. I guarded her as she grew, taught her, and played with her. She could beat me in a flying race before she was ten… and then my father turned. Ovailia had always been closer to my father than I was. They had gone everywhere together, had secrets I would never understand. I didn’t know what had happened until it was too late. Until I couldn’t protect her anymore. She had seen one hundred and twenty years when she came to the small chapel in France where I lived, covered in blood and begging for help. I wasn’t even sure then that I could trust her. I am still not sure.”
I squeezed his hand s, not knowing any other way to comfort him. Without thinking, I reached up to touch his face, but my hand stopped half way there and fell to my lap. Ilyan dropped my other hand and stood, turning his back to me as he dragged his hand through his hair in frustration.
“He has done it to all my siblings, Joclyn. Destroyed them. Hurt them. Ovailia was the first of many. He’s destroyed all of them, leaving me only one shattered sister that’s willing to side with me. That’s why I don’t hold out hope. Because I know what he is capable of. But, please, I don’t want to dash your hope. I never want to hurt you, never want to break your heart. If you believe, then I will believe too. Can you forgive me for dashing your hope before? For being so rude?”
I stared at him for much longer than necessary, my brain still processing this little bit of his past. For the past few months I had gotten to know Ilyan better than I had anyone else. Anyone but Ryland. I had thought I understood Ilyan, but hearing this part of his history made me realize how little I knew. There were a thousand years of him I did not know.
E ven with all of that, I knew the face he had when he was truly sorry. I knew of his goodness. And I saw both of those now.
“Yes, Ilyan, of course.” His face lit up at my words.
“Thank you, ” he replied softly before his eyes gleamed with the maniacal energy I had seen too many times before. I cringed at what I assumed was coming. In the last few months it usually accompanied our training sessions. “I have a little proposition for you.”
“Do I need to be worried ?” I asked, sliding my hand through the air in front of me to send the block and the top back to their places on the table.
“Perhaps .” Ilyan lifted his hands and the table and the nightstand moved themselves into the kitchen, the bed standing up on end in order to give us the most space possible. I groaned and leaned my head back against the glass.
“Sparring, Ilyan, really? This is how you make it up to me?” I hated sparring. I hated holding weapons that were only meant to kill. I hated hitting him with power and magical attacks, but most of all I hated being hit with them. This was punishment, not a reward. Ilyan seemed to find my response humorous; he laughed and slid his hands down in front of him, a large sword appearing from nothing.
I groaned . The use of swords was so archaic, but when battling ancients I guess it was necessary, even though they were rarely used anymore. Magic alone was more effective to use
“She had blue eyes, like me, like my father. He was so proud.” It was weird to hear such a normal memory of Edmund; my brain almost fought the image of him as a normal, loving father to Ilyan.
“ He clapped me on the back and said soon it would be my turn.” Ilyan smiled, but it was a sad smile. For the first time I wondered why he wasn’t married, why he had never bonded. I opened my mouth to ask, but thought better of it. It wasn’t my place, and besides, I really wanted to hear what he had to say.
“I held this little baby in my arms and promised to protect her. To keep her safe. I guarded her as she grew, taught her, and played with her. She could beat me in a flying race before she was ten… and then my father turned. Ovailia had always been closer to my father than I was. They had gone everywhere together, had secrets I would never understand. I didn’t know what had happened until it was too late. Until I couldn’t protect her anymore. She had seen one hundred and twenty years when she came to the small chapel in France where I lived, covered in blood and begging for help. I wasn’t even sure then that I could trust her. I am still not sure.”
I squeezed his hand s, not knowing any other way to comfort him. Without thinking, I reached up to touch his face, but my hand stopped half way there and fell to my lap. Ilyan dropped my other hand and stood, turning his back to me as he dragged his hand through his hair in frustration.
“He has done it to all my siblings, Joclyn. Destroyed them. Hurt them. Ovailia was the first of many. He’s destroyed all of them, leaving me only one shattered sister that’s willing to side with me. That’s why I don’t hold out hope. Because I know what he is capable of. But, please, I don’t want to dash your hope. I never want to hurt you, never want to break your heart. If you believe, then I will believe too. Can you forgive me for dashing your hope before? For being so rude?”
I stared at him for much longer than necessary, my brain still processing this little bit of his past. For the past few months I had gotten to know Ilyan better than I had anyone else. Anyone but Ryland. I had thought I understood Ilyan, but hearing this part of his history made me realize how little I knew. There were a thousand years of him I did not know.
E ven with all of that, I knew the face he had when he was truly sorry. I knew of his goodness. And I saw both of those now.
“Yes, Ilyan, of course.” His face lit up at my words.
“Thank you, ” he replied softly before his eyes gleamed with the maniacal energy I had seen too many times before. I cringed at what I assumed was coming. In the last few months it usually accompanied our training sessions. “I have a little proposition for you.”
“Do I need to be worried ?” I asked, sliding my hand through the air in front of me to send the block and the top back to their places on the table.
“Perhaps .” Ilyan lifted his hands and the table and the nightstand moved themselves into the kitchen, the bed standing up on end in order to give us the most space possible. I groaned and leaned my head back against the glass.
“Sparring, Ilyan, really? This is how you make it up to me?” I hated sparring. I hated holding weapons that were only meant to kill. I hated hitting him with power and magical attacks, but most of all I hated being hit with them. This was punishment, not a reward. Ilyan seemed to find my response humorous; he laughed and slid his hands down in front of him, a large sword appearing from nothing.
I groaned . The use of swords was so archaic, but when battling ancients I guess it was necessary, even though they were rarely used anymore. Magic alone was more effective to use
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