Chapter 33 | Portrait

         Aire and her entourage crept through the stone corridors of Valherin with ease. Having a spirit on hand made Aire feel like she was back in Irial and that there was someone watching her back – someone reliable. The Bloodbound made no sound, so effortlessly quiet that for half a second, she could forget that he was there at all. For all his silence, he could have been a spirit too.

Gaela drifted ahead, through dark stone and into the untread places of Valherin. She would appear ahead at the corners, beckoning Aire forward.

The Bloodbound drifted closer, his arm brushing hers. "What do you expect to discover?"

"Proof."

"Ah yes. A one-word answer. Thank you."

"Do you have to be so cutting?"

"Absolutely."

She shouldered him, then scowled. "You could have the good grace to at least move a little."

"I am not here to spare your brittle feelings."

"Do all Bloodbounds attend classes on how to be as irritating as possible?" Aire slowed as Gaela appeared ahead once more. She motioned for them to quicken, and Aire hurried forward, rounding the corner. The black glass street of the central line of Valherin was clear. The night was quiet and outside the great eye, the dark sky was overcast.

"There are two Aether soldiers patrolling near where the banquet was held. That gives us at least three minutes to clear the street and reach the Pretender's home." Aire said absently, a hand braced against the wall. Her skin against the cold stone was nearly enough to bring the mountain to her, an awareness of the earth surrounding her pounding down through her bones.

"Your spirit is telling you this?" He paused at her shoulder, peering out.

She ignored him. What else could it be? Unless she had magically developed an ability to see through the stone? Though, with how unpredictable her Wield was, she wouldn't be surprised if it worked that way.

Aire and the Bloodbound passed under shadow, cautious and careful even as Gaela beckoned Aire forward. As she crept, she could feel the thrill burning inside of her. She missed it. Her old job. To walk in the night when most were still asleep – when the world was quiet, but she and her spirits were wide awake.

The Pretender's house – Eimile's house – was dark and ominous, set into the wall like the mountain was absorbing it back into itself. The great eye of Valherin gazed down as Aire circled to the edge of the house's face, searching for a second way in. There was no side-lane to slip down with how the house stuck into the mountain. "There are no guards?"

"Why should she need guards when they are holed away in the mountains?" Bloodbound Roark tipped his head back, mouth flat as he surveyed the front of the manor-house. "And yet, anyone with a title should have a guard. It is too easy for a malicious soul to steal away into their bedroom even with a guard. She shouldn't let the barrier of the forest, nor the mountain lull her into a false sense of safety."

"And I would bet that you are the malicious soul?"

He looked down at her from the corner of his eye. "I am just following you, sweet one."

"Your insistence on calling me that reminds me of a child who doesn't know when the humour has faded from a joke." She nudged his shoulder, a half-smile rising unknown. "It is quite sad to see actually."

His smile was brief like the flash of a falling star, but when it was there, it was blazing and beautiful. Dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth, like ripples in a pond. And just like the bright, blazing light of a falling star, it was gone too soon. Lost somewhere in the dark wild. In that moment, Aire was stricken by the strangest idea that they had done this before. Stood shoulder by shoulder, her elbow digging into his ribs and her tone cutting. That smile – that smile.

A moment where she felt cold wind in her unbound hair and the taste of salt on her lips. It was a faint; foggy feeling and it passed as quickly as she felt it. She had lived this moment before. Or not this moment, but one eerily similar. She could not tear her gaze from him and the unfamiliar lines of his face. He caught her looking but did not point it out.

"How do you propose we get inside?" He asked, looking back to the house.

"She is not there." Aire forced herself to look away, to squash down the feeling of wind in her hair or of herself untethered, unbothered by anything. Gaela's head peeked out of the door. "Or at least, I think that is what Gaela is telling me."

"How convenient for us." He drawled.

"We should take luck whenever it comes."

"Luck is another word for hope. Both are foolish." He prowled to the front of the building, noiseless. It was moments like that which reminded her that he wasn't just a man. Only those marked by magic, those specially chosen by the Danann, the great Sidhe, or shape-changers could be marked by how they moved. Unearthly stillness, un-natural grace. Whatever changes had been wrought upon him had given him the fluid grace he possessed. For a moment, she felt only pity for him. For the Bloodbound who was once a Wielder.

"Everyone here is under her spell." Aire approached the front door, where Gaela's mutilated face peered out through the shut door. "What does a woman who controls an entire haven have to fear?"

She tried the handle. The door eased open on oiled hinges. The entrance hallway was simple, devoid of any artifacts or personal items. A pair of woven slippers discarded by the door, were the only thing that spoke of an owner. The Bloodbound stepped in a second after her, his chest brushing against her back as he eased by her. He scanned the hallway, eyes dark and intent. He listened, his head tilting to observe the door as she clicked it shut behind them.

"I can hear no one."

"No one is here." Aire said brazenly. "Gaela has told me so."

"Forgive me for not trusting the word of a soul I cannot see."

Gaela scowled at him, turning swiftly on her heel, and drifting down the hallway. Aire stared after her. "You will not be easily forgiven for that comment, Bloodbound."

He made a noise in the back of his throat and headed down the hall. Even though Aire was sure there was no one inside the house now, the Bloodbound still checked each crevice and peered inside each room, stilling so he could listen to the silent house. Aire could breathe in the silence of the house, feeling the weight of the stone around her. It was a comforting weight now, like the tight bind of a loved ones' hug. The house was large, but cold. The Pretender – Eimile – had left no markings of herself in the house. The entrance hall had been empty, but the grand dining room had minor statues, some to the old gods, some relics long lost. Aire drifted a hand over a circlet of silver and moonstone, feeling her skin tighten. It could have been her mother's, or her grandmother's. Or even an heirloom given to Ríona.

She turned away, following the Bloodbound into the next room. He had stopped at the doorway, a hand rising as if to stop her. She stepped around him, examining the room quickly. Gaela was standing to the side of the room, half her body embedded in the wall. Looking for hidden rooms. In a place like Valherin, there would be many.

Aire examined the room. Only a sitting room. A set of couches faced each other, with a low table between them. An uneaten bowl of porridge sat on the table, cold and hard. An ornate fireplace dominated the opposite wall, craved from dark stone. The snarling head of a wolfhound protruded at either side of the mantel, maws curled and dark teeth vicious. The hearth was cold, though the ashes of the last fire still darkened it.

Above the fireplace, was a large portrait. The edges of the frame were damaged by what looked like fire and parts of the image was sullied by water damage. Aire's breathing hollowed, her throat tightening.

A great King and Queen with hair like moonlight. The Queen cradling her newest child in her arms, the last of the brood. Aire swayed, feeling as if her skin was going to split. Six children, all with hair of silver moonlight. The twins, with wicked grins. Croía, sitting on the King's lap with a tight hold on his first two fingers. Her breathing rattled, her lungs squeezing tight.

A warm hand encircled her elbow, steadying her.

"Aire," He murmured.

His voice barely reached her. She couldn't look at the likeness of Éalaire Aryshalin, at the sadness she knew she would find there in those painted eyes. How her eight-year-old self could not comprehend a loss greater than being Wieldless. How she knew that she had been the one to burn the frame, ashamed of her failure. The twins had been the one to find her, flame in hand. They had been the ones to take the blame, banned from the stables for a month and from attending the beloved Samhain festival. Then Ríona, the weight of her hand resting on Éalaire's shoulder. Squeezing tight. Lending strength where she could. Ríona stared out, strong and resolute. Yet, a secret half-smile on her face. The wild, brave future High-Queen of Cearna. Moonlit hair braided over her shoulder, a circlet of moonstone in her hair.

Aire turned away swiftly, stalking into the hall.

"Aire," the Bloodbound called after her.

Too much roiled inside of her. Too much. For the years lost, memories unmade. For the keen sense of failure rammed inside her chest, after years being told that Cearna was her duty. A land she was to love more than anything or anyone else; and she did. She loved the great green fields that spread out around her as her horse thundered over the land. The rolling hills where fairies built their tiny homes. The moody, grey clouds that often darkened the blue skies, the boom of thunder and the shriek of laughter as they danced in the rain. The great sea beyond the palace walls and the meadow of wild-flowers on the cliff-side where she escaped to on the days she needed the quiet.

"Don't –," the words choked her. Don't. Don't.

Their painted faces burned her eyes. That was all they would be now. Painted faces and blurred memories.

"Aire," He repeated, his voice softer.

She turned on him, desperate for anything other than grief. "Do not come to me with that soft, pitying tone Bloodbound."

"Your grief, I understand. Your guilt, I do not."

"I don't expect you to."

He did not flinch. Gaela lingered in the hall, watching them with soft eyes. Aire was grateful for a heartbeat that she could not speak.

"Living when they did not isn't your fault, Aire." So softly spoken from a creature that wrought such violence. He stood there, a shadow in the hallway with only the gleam of those un-natural eyes to illuminate him.

"I ran."

"You were just a girl."

"I was old enough to defend my home." When the world had quietened, when the roaring had eased inside her head after she had run and hid deep in the countryside, she realised the depth of her actions. Blood had darkened her family's home; invaders had destroyed all she knew, and she had done nothing. She had been just a girl, but her hatred for Kaelara and those Crimson soldiers had been nothing compared to her own loathing. She had kept walking but some days she wished she had just continued to lie there and give her flesh and bones to the wilds of Cearna. Let the wild, wicked wolves feast on her flesh. Let the creatures of the dark suck the marrow from her bones. At least she would have given something of worth to Cearna.

"You would have died alongside them all. And Cearna would have no hope today."

Her eyes flashed, her teeth baring. "Each of them was stronger, braver and more worthy than I." Even little Éibhear who babbled to the wind by his third Samhain; the autumn wind carrying a flurry of red and orange leaves around him, kissing his cheeks and making him laugh. His Wield would have been mighty.

"Because you did not have a Wield. You do now."

It was too much. The memories. His soft tone. "Are you jealous that I have a Wield now, Bloodbound and you do not?"

His eyes darkened just a fraction. That terrible guilt returned in a wave. "I – that was too far."

"Yes." He stared past her, fingers curling into his hands. He breathed out and met her gaze. "Your guilt will consume you. Drown you. No one can return to the past or change what has happened. The Danann would never allow such a Wield. Your choice as a girl should not haunt you for life. It was not your fault."

'It was not my fault,' she thought haltingly. "I ran."

"Because you had to. Retreat in the face of certain defeat is not a dishonourable act."

"That is a Vespith way of thinking." Her lip curled. "Retreating in fear is cowardly."

"It was not a battle, Aire. It was a massacre." His jaw set. "You will waste your life blaming yourself and stewing in that guilt instead of finding a way to unbind yourself from the past. You are not chained by the events of that day. You are free."

He had pushed too far. Aire's eyes flashed with temper, but she just bit it down. Voice cold, she declared, "I am going to continue searching."

"As you wish."

Making her way upstairs, Aire did what she did best. She swallowed whatever poisoned her insides – swallowed it down deep to where she knew it festered. It was easier down there, even if every time it rose again, it hurt more. Anger was easier – it was warm and quick, enough to lighten the hollow corners of her soul. The upstairs bore no marked importance either. Just a bathing room with a tin bath with a crumpled pair of clothes thrown over the rim. The mirror gleamed bright, catching a reflection of her sheathed head and a harsh frown that sharpened her face and sun-touched skin from her weeks on the road.

"There is no time for vanity," the Bloodbound called as he passed the door. "This Eimile could return at any moment."

"This is not vanity." Aire scowled. "I do not like how hollow I look after what you and yours put me through."

"I would not consider those vapid Crimsons to be mine." He did not turn back to her.

"You are a Bloodbound. You stand high on the ladder above them."

"I am a Bloodbound and yet, I have not killed you. Every instinct should scream at me to bind you tight, to kill you and yet, I am only inclined towards one."

"To kill or to bind?" Aire slowed in the stone corridor.

His grin was wicked as he glanced back at her, standing on the threshold of another room. "Take a guess."

Heat warmed her bones, pooling in her belly. As he stepped into the room and out of her line of sight, she closed her eyes briefly. Wrong. This was wrong. Even easy conversation with him was beyond the scope of morality. Even as she told herself that, he was the first thing she saw when she stepped into the room.

Long, lithe, and as still as stone as he scanned the room. She wasn't immune to the call of a handsome man, but that word was too weak for him. He was beautiful, yet harsh. Like the dark rise of a storm-weathered cliff, sharp angles, and unbowed shoulders.

'It is an itch you haven't scratched in a long while,' she scolded herself, tearing her gaze from him. Aevran had always been open in his sexuality, unabashed in his crafting his identity and that confidence had torn away any ideas of frigidness as she grew. She had only two rules. Do not touch my hair. Do not expect me to return.

The room was just a bedroom. A grand postered bed with the pelt of a great brown bear cast over it. There was a line of wardrobes against one wall jammed with all manner of clothes as Aire glanced inside. Leather buataisí and silken slippers. Woollen bríste, tunics dyed in blues, yellows and greens. A grand window overlooked the street, with a glimpse of the mountain's great eye. The curtains hung heavy and thick, covering over a dip in the wall that was perfect to hide something in.

"Very...ordinary for a villainous false Queen." Aire commented. Her voice was low, raspy despite her best effort to ignore the Bloodbound standing in the centre of the room. She felt his gaze rest on her, unmoving. Her cheeks warmed, her chest tightening. She should have killed him in the forest – damn nuisance.

"Do you expect her to have heads hanging from the walls or human skin for blankets?"

"Are you describing your bedroom?" Aire arched a brow at him.

"I threw out my human skins. They were no good during the winter months."

"Disgusting."

"You asked."

A sound rasped from her throat, a laugh. And yet, it was wrong still. Her frustration followed quickly, accompanied by a trail of magic. Flowers – mauve carnations – beautiful and delicate wound up his strong legs in mere seconds. The petals opened wide, splotches of colour against his dark clothes.

He reached up, plucking the carnation that appeared just behind his ear. He held the stem gently, examining it closely. "A carnation?"

"Count your blessings that it was not a vine of thorns again."

He met her gaze. "I do not mind being bound by you."

"Again, disgusting."

A wry smile warmed his face, those silver eyes alighting with amusement. "And yet, in Vespith, dark carnations are given to those we wish to seduce."

The flowers wilted with Aire's jerk of surprise. "Stop fooling with me. We came here to do something."

"Stop trying to seduce me then, sweet one." The carnation in the Bloodbound's hand had not died, so he tucked it back over his ear. Deciding not to argue with him, Aire turned to face the room. Carefully, she opened the presses of Eimile's bedside locker. There was nothing of note inside, save for a sheathed dagger and the scraped remains of an old children's book. She knocked on the walls, a hand spread against the stone.

"You are looking for a hidden room?"

"All the new estates in Irial were built by the same architect. It was easy to figure out his pattern. He was a fan of hiding safes behind portraits and hidden rooms behind bookcases or wardrobes." She ran her finger around the rim of stone, but it was immoveable.

"Clever," the Bloodbound purred.

"There are some that would argue that point." Aire moved along the wall. "If I was clever, I would have seen Aev-, the betrayal far sooner. If I was clever, I would be able to figure out my Wield, and you."

"I am not hard to figure out, sweet one."

"You keep as much secrets as me."

"Is that why you won't look at me now? Because of all my secrets?"

"Do you desire the weight of my gaze so much Bloodbound, that a second without it seems like I have never looked upon you before?"

"Look at me."

"I do not answer to you." Even still, she wanted to look upon him.

"I promise your eyes will not melt in your skull. Look at me, Aire. Remember me." There was an edge of a plea in his voice, something deep and sad.

She looked, eyes tracing the harsh lines of his face. By the gods, he was beautiful. But not familiar. "I do not remember you. Roark is a common Vespith name. Why don't you just tell me who you are?"

"Because I never forgot you. Even when I thought you had perished. Even when they shredded my mind and scalded my veins with Eoban. I remembered you and yours. I never forgot you, but you have no memory of me."

"I am sure I do!" She turned on him, moving to stand before him. "But whatever memory I have of you cannot slot into who I know to be you now! Why can't you understand that?"

The Bloodbound did not respond. Instead, his nostrils flared, and he grew deathly still, head tilting to the side as he listened. His jaw tensed. "She is coming." 

Welcome back to Aire's world! 

I am back from my holidays and determined to write as much as I can. Japan was fantastic! I loved every minute of it -  I survived the heat. 

Tell me your thoughts, theories and conspiracies.

Why do you think Aire is so determined to blame herself for her family's massacre?  Or do you think she is to blame?  

Is she wrong to find the Bloodbound attractive? 

Until next time, SaoiMarie.