Page 162 of To Touch A Silent Fury

By now all the guests were outside, probably idly wondering where the bride and groom were, drinking wine and whispering about my hair and his words. Braxthorn had a lot of damage to undo.

My voice strangled around the unshed tears as I ducked my head to the Brother. “Thank you for your help.”

The stairs were slow going; I struggled with both carrying Hanindred and ascending in an unfathomably layered dress. He was old enough now that he could probably manage to trot up the stairs himself, but I didn’t have it in me to let him go.

Theollan smiled, helpfully lifting the section of my skirt in front of my shoes. “You found your Fate.”

“I did,” I said, my cheeks flushed from the exertion. “What good it will do me is yet to be determined.”

“For what my view is worth, I think you are very brave.”

The hollow pit in my stomach and the weight of Lang’s new hatred lessened in that moment. “Thank you.” I blew out a breath, needing to talk about anything else. “I had meant to write it up for you before I escaped, my theory on my strange touch of magic, but since you are here, I will explain it to you myself.”

Theollan nodded as we stepped into the pitiful garden which had, for a time, become an extension of my cage here in Droundhaven. “As you wish, princess.”

I studied the doors and windows, finding no audience. Hanin wriggled in my grip, and reluctantly I set him down.

Immediately, he ran into the man-made pond, drinking and playing. A smile crept over my face, and I kicked off my shoes, feeling the hard-baked earth under the grass with my toes.

This was a story I hardly knew how to tell, one that had come to me in pieces, drifting in the nights since I met Hanindred, and then solidifying, rotating like a gathering ball of snow until it loomed in my mind. My conclusion was uncertain, but Theollan deserved to know it. Without his help, Banrillen may never have made me that awful offer, which led me here, alone and despised by the husband I wanted all along. And more than that, Theollan had been kind to me, and if his Fate would free him, I would do what I could to help.

Raising my chin, I began speaking it out into the world, knowing he was beside me and listening. “I was born alone, but I wasn’t supposed to be. You found my name in a ledger in the Messinvasia, scratched out, alongside another. A brother that never was.

“In the Twin Lands, as the name might suggest, the bond between blood twins is the strongest there can be. Our Founders were twins, Hanindred and Tavedwen. The Shield and the Sword. This, you know. What you don’t know, what you couldn’t know, is what Vellintris said to me the night I found her. She connected with my mind and called metwinblood. Before, I thought she was merely referencing my Twin Lands’ blood. But when Seth told me about the ledger, something changed.”

I slid my eyes over to Theollan, and he was lost in thought, already pondering towards the conclusion I myself had come to.

“I believe I was never meant to be Moontouched,” I continued. “My mother said she’d lost a child, a son who ‘should’ve been earlier, then came out blue’. I’d never understood the comment on his timing. Earlier? When is it better for a child to be early? But I think I understand it now. My brother was supposed to be born first. At the stroke of midnight on Ergreen, he was supposed to be a Brother of Eavenfold. Instead, something happened. I was born first, and I took his magic, I took his Moontouch.”

Theollan gasped, but it wasn’t surprise. It was pain. His back arched, and his eyes went wide.

I finished speaking. “At Eavenfold, it is our blood they thread to our Fate, binding us to it. That’s why I got the touch when he died. I believe I havehisblood in my veins.Twinblood.”

Theollan shuddered, his body convulsing as he fell to his knees. He gripped the dirt as I stood beside him, nervously hoping. His hair, already stark white, only gleamed brighter. He groaned through gritted teeth and raised his hands to claw at his face. I flinched at the noise, reliving the very recent burning pain.

Seconds later, he sagged, panting ragged breaths into his lungs.

I crouched down beside him. “Theollan.” He groaned. “Are you well?”

He fell back into a seated position on the grass, dazed. “Am I changed?”

His Mark was odd. I hadn’t seen one quite like it before. It was sprawling, escaping into his hairline with half loops and dotted shorter lines.

“Yes.”

He reached up, trying to feel the Mark even though it was flush with his skin just as mine was. “What is it?”

“It’s…” I trailed off, studying the loops and swirls. “It’s some kind of writing, I think.”

“Writing?”

I shrugged. “I cannot make out its meaning. I don’t think it’s the common tongue.”

Theollan crawled over to the nearby pond, where Hanindred floated and splashed. He studied himself in the rippling water, taking in his distorted reflection. “Strange, indeed. Could it be a reference to my scholarship, some token of my interest in the written word? I shall have to speak with the Threads.”

I murmured some agreement, keeping far away from the water’s edge. I didn’t want to see my Mark again just yet. The dragon’s maw closing around my head already felt too real, with Kallamont only one command away from making that a reality.

Theollan turned to me with a delight I had never seen on his sombre face. It made him look younger again, and I saw the child he used to be.