Authors: Nicole Williams
I grabbed hold of Patrick’s hands, an expression of mock reluctance greeting him, and smiled wryly. “You may have seen my waltz a couple nights ago and are under the assumption I can dance, but the dance lessons my parents paid for me to take as a clumsy twelve-year-old only included the waltz, and I’m afraid I’ve got two left feet when it comes to anything else,” I admitted to Patrick, not really caring how many times I stepped on his feet—more caring about the fool I’d make of myself in front of everyone else.
Nathanial and Abigail continued their flawless dance across the uneven dance floor, continuing to set a bar I’d never come close to.
“Watch and learn.” Patrick pulled me towards him, having reached our designated spot from where to commence the dreaded dance to come.
He attempted to lead me to the left, and I went right. He tried pushing me backwards, but I went forward—crunching one of his feet for what would be the first of many to come if he continued to feel the need to make a fool of me in front of his family. I heard the snicker of two Hayward brothers when Patrick winced from the first onslaught of my clumsy feet.
“Gosh . . . haven’t you ever heard you’re suppose to let the man lead?” Patrick complained loudly enough for all to hear.
I burst into laughter when I realized the thirty or so seconds we’d been “dancing”,
we hadn’t moved from the spot we’d started—his movements being thwarted by my opposing movements.
Cora’s voice faded from song when she joined in with my roaring laughter.
“It’s all in the leading.” The voice that could summon a million separate physical and emotional reactions in my body, murmured softly beside us, as I noticed a companionless guitar leaning up against the bench beside Joseph.
William nudged against Patrick, attempting to break his hold on me, and when he stubbornly refused to relinquish, I slipped my hands from his, and placed them to where they naturally fit—where they’d been created to fit.
“Never send a boy in to do a man’s job.” William winked at me, while a dejected Patrick made his way back to the trio of musicians.
William’s eyes sparked, and I surrendered to him while he led me around the lamp-lit, grassy ball room. Despite the absence of the formal wear, the impressive symphony, and the extravagant gold and crystal around us—this dance was on a whole different level than our first. There was a sensuality and intimacy clinging to our skin, and in this defined dance—where William led an impossible partner to look semi-graceful in front of the family he loved—I allowed myself to believe everything would be alright.
We were so obviously meant to be together, how could anyone—having seen us together—deny it? Charles seemed amiable enough towards me, and the Council would surely take into consideration their Chancellor’s opinion and grant us the Unity we both yearned for. I allowed myself to hope for that happy ending I’d doubted life had in store for me.
Patrick’s room was conveniently located between the two of ours, and perhaps Charles didn’t realize, or want to recognize, that every member of his family had been privy to William and I sharing a room only one week past; and Patrick would be the least likely one to stop a future account of this happening.
Cora and Joseph had retired to their own home several acres away, as had Nathanial and Abigail, after the music and dancing had continued hours after the first cover of darkness. I was alone in the house with the three remaining single Hayward men, and when I’d asked William earlier this evening why his father had never been United in his Immortal life after their mother had been killed in their Mortal lives, William answered me simply.
“There is only one other created for you. Once they’re gone, what would be the use in pretending?”
I understood his explanation completely.
I heard Patrick settle into his bed a room away from me with an overemphasized yawn. “Goodnight, Bryn.” He knocked on the adjoining wall. “Sweet dreams. I’m sure William will understand when it’s me you dream of tonight and not him, after our lovely dance this evening.”
I didn’t get sucked into his ploys and remained silent, although I heard a loud pound on the wall farther down from me—probably William’s warning to his younger brother to shut up.
With the momentary bantering ceased, and all the lights out, I had nothing left to focus on but the images of William running through my mind, and as each beautiful image played through, I swore I heard with increasing sensitivity, the regulated breathing of him two rooms down. It was like a dark form of torture—or a test of willpower—tempting me to tear through the two doors and twenty or so feet keeping us apart.
I heard him shift in bed, and sigh deeply, and that was it . . . I couldn’t take it anymore. I was either going to fling myself through my door and tear into his room throwing myself on him in the same second, or fly out the large open window in my room and run. Run like I had that day at John’s estate. The smarter, more rational self within me decided upon my fate.
I’d run.
I was still in the jeans and sweater Abigail had lent me—probably begrudgingly, after Patrick and William arrived with me in tow, wearing nothing but a silk nightgown. I leapt through the window, and rocked back on my heels, preparing to throw myself into the mercy of the growing energy in my legs. It was a soft, rolling noise that distracted my attention and drew my eyes to the stable.
I jogged to the stable, depleting some of the infinite stores of energy in my legs, and walked through the open door and down the long row of stalls. I found her several stalls in, resting in the billows of straw below her. She raised her head to look at me when I slid the gate open and walked inside, but remained lounging in the straw so I decided to join her. She lowered her head after a few seconds and seemed perfectly content to have me beside her—new and unwelcome guest as I was—comforting her with my caresses.
I’d started to lull into the beginnings of sleep, when two sets of heavy footsteps entered the stable. I debated upon standing up and calling out a greeting, but didn’t have time to act upon it before one of them spoke.
“You have me alone now, Father. Just what is so important you have to say to me in such private conditions?”
I gasped silently when I heard the voice I loved most.
“You know what this is about, William.” Charles’s voice remained calm. “This is about her.”
“What about her?” he said, and from the tone, I knew his jaw was clenched.
“We all know what you two want . . . your hopes of being United—”
“Our hopes?” William asked with incredulousness. “What do you mean by
hopes
? That it’s merely nothing but that—a hope and nothing more?”
“When Nathanial reported back to me what gift he believed Bryn to possess, I was worried—”
What gift?
I thought to myself. I didn’t think one had manifested yet, and while I thought I’d be relieved—after my apprehensions I would be the one mutant Immortal not bequeathed with a gift—I felt a knot forming in my stomach instead, at what this gift could be. From the gravity in Charles’s voice, I guessed it was less than ideal.
“And after you and Patrick’s account as to what happened to the Councilmen when they were trying to take her life—”
“What are you
saying
?” William’s shouted. I could practically feel his body quivering from his anger.
“If what you say is true, and she was able to cripple—if not nearly kill—seven, senior Immortals.” Charles breathed in heavily before continuing, “She is the strongest Taker in known existence.”
“You can’t be sure she’s a Taker, and certainly not sure of how powerful she is if so!” William’s response was instant, not allowing a second of stillness for me to process what was being said.
Charles paused for a moment, perhaps hoping the temporary silence would cool the anger firing from his son. “Then how else do you explain all the evidence pointing in this direction?”
William didn’t have an immediate answer to this, as he had so instantly before. He sighed with what sounded like great angst. “So what if you’re saying is correct . . . and she is a Taker? What bearing does it have on us being together?”
“What do you mean, what bearing does it have on you two being together?” Charles asked, sounding flabbergasted. “With her unheard of ability to take life, and your equally impressive ability to give life, can you really imagine the Council granting you two a Betrothal?”
I sucked in a long breath, trying to cling to the escaping dream drifting away. I didn’t acknowledge or ponder anything else of what I’d heard, other than what Charles had just said in so many words—William and I would not receive the blessing of a Betrothal from his Council.
“How can you be so sure?” William’s voice returned in all its prior fierceness.
“When the Council learned of your newest gift, they were uneasy to say the least. The Immortal way has always centered upon keeping the careful line of balance in everything we do. Having an Immortal that can give life so easily and without consultation worried them that this balance could be thrown off. But, they are quite familiar with you and well aware of your commitment to our ways . . . and then there are the prophecies—”
“Enough with the talks of prophecies thousands of years old, coming from the mouths of desperate men!” William seethed.
“Whether you believe in the prophecies or not my son, you cannot deny that many others do, and the faith they have in you to do your duty—”
“Enough!” William roared, making the rafters above shake in opposition. “We are not talking about my
supposed
higher calling tonight, we are talking about Bryn, and my request to be United with her. Will you petition the Council to grant us a Betrothal?” William’s voice shook with the anger he was repressing, but a hint of desperation lay heavy in his words.
Deafening silence ensued. I thought the tension heavy air would suffocate me.
“No William, I will not petition them. They’re terrified of her. The whole Immortal world has been talking of her unheard of power and everyone’s incredibly anxious that Bryn could take their very life from them with the snap of her fingers.”
“She would never do that, she’s got nothing but goodness in her. How can you not see that? How can you not believe me?” William continued, almost begging now.
I choked up for the hundredth time during the exchange when I heard the heaviness pouring from William’s mouth. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and comfort him, but could not interrupt the outpouring of information coming at me.
“Father, please,” William whispered, pausing for a moment. “I know . . . despite everything, you still love me and want the best for me. Can you really, after all these years and all that I’ve been through, deny me this one request? Now that—against all odds—I’ve found her, and beyond some miracle, she loves me, too. Can you really deny your son that?”
Charles sighed heavily, as only a father can who is torn between their child’s wants and their superior knowledge of knowing what is right for them.
“Yes, I can,” Charles answered simply, strongly.
William cried out, “How can you do this to us? Why won’t you present my request before the Council? All we need are three more votes—”
“No, William!” Charles’ voice grew.
“Why?”
“Because as your father, I say no—and as Chancellor of your Council, I say no as well!” Charles strong words shook the stable, and I understood where William’s own fierceness had been learned.
“You will not bless me as a father in my request for a Betrothal, nor will you as a member of my Council?” William asked, with a mixture of disbelief and defeat in his voice.
“I will not on either account. She is too powerful and unpredictable, and you have a far higher calling and purpose destined for you than loving some woman. She can stay at one of your brother’s places until I can find a place for her to be transferred to. She is too much of a temptation for you.”
“If you try to separate us, we will leave,” William swore, his voice shaking from his emotion. “I won’t let you take her away from me.”
“Do you really think by running from your Alliance that you would be immune to Immortal code?” Charles asked. “You would both be susceptible to the punishment of our kind if you chose to defy our codes.”
“No one would be able to find us,” William responded instantly.
“Not
everyone,
William.”
“What are you saying, Father . . . that you would use your gift against us?” To accompany the anger in William’s voice, there was sadness.
“I would,” Charles said with finality. “I will not let this girl bring any more trouble or destruction upon you.”
The only reply was a set of feet pounding down the stable’s wide hall and exiting through the door from where the two had entered.
“William!” Charles called after his son, before following after him, leaving me alone with the flood of tears running down my face onto the buckskin colored coat beneath me. With William gone, and my desire to comfort him assuaged, the gravity of what just transpired fell heavy upon me, crushing my lungs.