Page 62 of The Lost Art of Revealing Hidden Truths (The Lost Arts #3)

Epilogue

One month later

W hy does this drawer not work!” Brannal said with frustration.

Perian looked up and couldn’t help but laugh at the look of pure frustration on Brannal’s face as he sat at Perian’s father’s desk in the study.

They’d settled in together with remarkable ease, given it was utterly unlike the life they’d lived together to this point. But there were still moments of annoyance.

With a grin, Perian said, “My father always used to joke that should be a false drawer.”

“Why would there be a false drawer on the right-hand side exactly where it would be handy to put supplies?”

“Because my father was left-handed. He always used the other side,” Perian said with a shrug. “He said he’d leave it like that because he didn’t need it, and I could fix it when I started using it.”

Brannal stared at him. “Your father told you that you could fix it when you started using it?”

“Yes,” Perian agreed, confused since this was a straightforward concept.

“But you haven’t.”

Perian shook his head. “I don’t use the desk that often, and I’m used to using the drawer on the left.”

Brannal stared at him for a moment. “What if he put something in the one on the right for you to find after he was gone?”

Perian sucked in a sharp breath. “Brannal, if nothing’s in there, I’m going to be so disappointed.”

Brannal made a face. “Sorry. The idea just popped into my head.”

“No, no, it’s a good idea,” Perian said, jumping up to come round to that side of the desk, trying to shake away his sudden nerves. “We have to check now.”

Brannal ended up being the one to un-jam the drawer, using a swirl of wind that shot it into his hand with such force that it was lucky he didn’t break something.

Perian had tried really hard not to actually expect anything, which meant that he wavered a little when he looked down inside the drawer and saw the letter at the bottom of it that was addressed to him in his father’s hand.

The tears welled up immediately. “Oh, Brannal.”

He didn’t know what the letter would say, but it almost didn’t matter. It was there, and it was from his father, and it felt like the man was speaking to him from the grave.

“Do you want some privacy?” Brannal asked.

But Perian shook his head, swallowing thickly.

Brannal pulled him into his lap, wrapping his arms around him and supporting him, which was exactly what he needed.

He pulled the letter out and broke the seal with fingers that trembled a little. His heart fell when he saw that there was only one sentence on it.

When you were a child.

Perian blinked at it. “What?”

He flipped the paper over, but that proved to be all it said. He looked at both sides several times.

“I don’t understand. Why would he go to so much trouble to write me that ?”

“Why, indeed? ”

He twisted to look at Brannal’s expression. He didn’t sound nearly as bewildered as Perian.

“What if you’d sold the desk?” Brannal asked.

“I wouldn’t sell the desk,” he immediately protested. “It’s my father’s.”

“What if you got a professional in to open the stuck drawer?” he pursued. “Or one of the staff unstuck it while cleaning?”

“What if?” Perian asked, still puzzled by where he was going with this.

“Think about what could be in that letter, dear heart. He wouldn’t want anyone else to read it, would he?”

“Ooh,” Perian breathed. That made a lot of sense. He held up the note. “But then, what’s this?”

“ That ,” Brannal said, “is meant to be something only you can decipher. So even if someone else found it, it wouldn’t matter.”

Perian waved it. “But it doesn’t matter if I can’t figure it out! What about when I was a child?”

“He’s trying to get you to remember something about your childhood.”

Perian shot him a look, and Brannal cleared his throat. “Sorry. You probably figured that part out.”

Perian slumped back against him. “Yeah, I figured out that much. I just… I spent my whole life here, Brannal. My entire childhood. That doesn’t narrow it down at all.”

“All right,” Brannal said, straightening a little in the chair and bringing Perian with him.

“Clearly, your father wanted to keep you safe, so the clue is somewhat obscure. But he set this up, so we have to believe that he wanted to communicate with you, and that a letter is likely hidden—somewhere more secure than a stuck drawer on the desk. Is there somewhere that you hid things as a child?”

“No, I—”

Perian cut off abruptly as a sudden memory from long ago struck him. He sprang to his feet and darted out of the room, Brannal hurrying after him.

He raced upstairs, rushing down the hallway to his father’s bedroom. It was the largest bedroom in the house, but Perian hadn’t been able to bear the thought of moving into it after his father died. He’d tidied things up and put away many of his father’s things, but it was still his father’s room .

He headed into the closet, a smaller room off the bedroom where his father had hung some of his clothes. Others were folded in the dresser at the back of the space.

Perian pointed at it as Brannal crowded in behind him.

“I’d forgotten. I must have been, I don’t know, five or six?

I was looking for my father, and I found him in here.

He’d moved the dresser and the carpet, and there was a loose floorboard underneath.

I wanted to know if there was treasure inside, but he assured me that no, it was boring adult things that wouldn’t interest me.

He then asked if I wanted cake, and in good, childish fashion, I was completely distracted.

But I wonder… I wonder if he actually meant for me to see it. ”

Maybe it was all a coincidence, but Perian was practically quivering with excitement. And he was with Brannal, which was doubly useful, because it was the stronger man who pushed aside the dresser and then peeled up the carpet.

It took them a minute to figure out which board it was, as it wasn’t precisely loose. It had been cleverly built so that it had to slide over a little, and then it could be lifted out.

Perian’s breath caught when he saw another envelope in the small, dark hole.

“If this is another weird sentence, I’m not sure I can take it,” Perian said, swallowing around a clogged throat.

But as he pulled it out, he found that it felt thicker than the envelope in the desk. This envelope had been hidden in a place that was meant just for him.

“Let’s go out where we can see,” Brannal suggested.

They withdrew to the bedroom, and Brannal pulled him to sit on the settee by the window. Perian cuddled up next to him and then, drawing a deep breath, he broke the seal and pulled out what proved to be several closely written sheets.

My dearest Perian,

I rewrite this letter every few years, trying to take into account how old you are and how much I should tell you. We’ve been into the city now, and it is unquestionable that you have inherited some of your mother’s gifts.

“Fire and water,” Perian breathed.

This wasn’t just a letter. This was the letter. His father had definitely known what Perian was. He hadn’t told Perian in person, but he’d planned for it.

Brannal kissed his temple.

I have always feared to tell you what may hurt you. Or perhaps I am concerned you will judge me for my choices. Let me at least lay it out here.

I love you more than I can tell you. When your mother brought you soon after you were born, it was a surprise. When she told me the truth about herself, it was a bigger surprise still. But I loved you from the moment I saw you.

Your mother was a carnalion. Please do not believe how they have been portrayed! True, they aren’t human. They do not look at the world the same way we do. They can kill humans, certainly—but humans can kill humans, too.

It isn’t as simple as that, of course. They do not seem to feel emotions the same way we do, and some may react to what seems to us a small slight.

Most, though, are reasonable—yet they possess this ability to drain energy, on the surface much as wraiths and nightmares do. Humans feel this is a threat.

I fell in love with your mother, but it was not in her nature to tie herself to me and live with only me. She was never a danger to me, though. She was fond of me, in her way, and when you came along, she chose to bring you to me and explain a little of what could happen.

She told me that traits were not always carried obviously to the child, and she counseled me to wait and see if you were like her or not.

I agreed, but I wanted to ensure your safety no matter what.

So I bought us a home where we would have plenty of privacy.

I established a pattern of going into the city periodically for entertainment, at a place that was safe and which would be welcoming to you.

Your mother agreed that when the time came, if it was necessary, she would teach you what you needed to know.

I am sorry that I lied to you about her fate.

She came to visit, once or twice a year, when you were young, and I hid it from you.

Her last visit was when you were about seven, and I have not seen her since.

The life of a carnalion is not a safe one, and I fear that she has perished.

You are half-human and half-carnalion, Perian, made up of your mother and me. She says that you were once called children of two worlds. You can consume human food, but you also need the energy of desire.

I should probably tell you everything. I mean to, truly.

But it is a hard secret in this world of ours, Perian.

Carnalions are hidden and wary. I know of no other children of two worlds.

You must be careful. Always. You may need the energy of desire to survive, but you’re smart, curious, and kind. I see so much capacity in you to love.

If you’re reading this letter, it means I never did figure out how to tell you in life, for which I apologize. Please believe me when I assure you that you are, and always will be, loved. You are special. You are a child of two worlds.