Lifting his hand, he ran light fingertips along the edge of my face, sweeping across my skin. I held in my gasp, my heart skipping a beat. “Some things will never change.”
“Promise?”
Our gazes locked. “Always.”
A loud shout rose through the trees and he sighed. “I knew it would be too brief.”
Impulsively I clutched at his hand—desperate to save the moment. “Be the man you want to be, Tristram, don’t let others tell you the role you should fill.”
Catching my hand, he lifted it to his mouth and planted a tender kiss on my palm. Unspoken words stalled between us, but the shouts became a cry. A sharp curse left his mouth as he rolled and jumped to his feet. “Something’s wrong,” he said.
My stomach chilled, as if it were held within an ice fist and I nodded. My attention was pulled by the river flowing at our feet. Bending, with no reasoning behind my actions, I pushed my hand into the cold waters. It flowed around my arm. The necklace at my throat warmed and thrummed.
“Mae, what are you doing?” Tristram stepped closer, but for the first time in my existence he was at the very edge of my vision, not the centre.
A steeling strength ran from my hands along every limb of my body. I closed my lashes as an indescribable force pulsed deep with me. When I opened my eyes, it was as if my eyes were seeing for the first time. Every shaft of light, every blade of grass, every leaf on the trees, moved within my vision. I could have counted them all if I’d wanted.
My head whirled, and I stumbled, my body pitching for the water. Tristram’s iron hard arm came around my stomach.
“Mae, what’s wrong, are you ill?” His face was etched with worry, but all I could see was every tiny speck of his skin, every golden fibrous hair, every fleck of slate within his onyx eyes, even a faint birthmark I’d never noticed before. I could see everything. Everything.
“Something’s changed.” I gasped, drawing greedily at the morning air and my chest tightened and constricted. Using a control, I didn’t know I possessed, I stopped myself from covering my eyes.
“What? Mae, talk to me. You're scaring me. You are in a swoon.”
I shook my head and pushed away. His face crumpled momentarily with hurt. “I’m fine. Let’s get back.” How could I tell him I could suddenly see? That before the world had been drab and nondescript, but now it was alive with colour and sparkles. That the air moved and shifted every particle and individual element.
My fingers shook, and I reached for the secret birthing mark on his skin, my legs quivered, and I steeled myself up straight, holding my touch back from his face. My breath caught. I needed to speak to my father. Deep within the very centre of my being, I sensed a shift and change. Alarm bells set a warning off in my brain and I had to force myself not to run from Tristram. “Come, let’s go back.” I held one hand for his, willing the tremors to stop.
His gaze narrowed. The connection between us had never allowed for lies. Around us motes of lazy dust cascaded a waterfall of rainbow hues.
He spun as crashing footsteps fell through the trees nearest us. Hand on the hilt of the knife in his belt he pushed me behind him.
“It’s okay, it’s Alana and Deacon.” The fall of my sister’s footstep rang familiarly in my ear.
Tristram twisted a little towards me, his confused gaze meeting mine. “How do you know?”
How did I know? They weren’t through the bushes yet. They crashed through moments after I announced their arrival. I shrugged at him, my eyes widening, but thankfully we didn’t have the opportunity to discuss it.
Their faces made my stomach drop to my feet. My already shaking hands slicked with sweat. “Tristram, it’s your father and Eernid.”
“What? Are they home?” Tristram stepped forward, his face flooding with relief. His shoulders which had been tight and high for weeks relaxing. He let go of the knife in his belt, his hands swinging free.
“No.” Deacon stepped up and clasped his hand on Tristram’s shoulder. “They are dead.”
Him and I, we stared at one another. Our faces the mirror image of shock. Everything froze around us, apart from within the depths of his gaze I watched a droplet of water form and disperse against his golden lashes. The only tear he would shed.
10
I watched Phil from across the history classroom. I’d forced myself to come back to school, to find the right class I was supposed to be in. It seemed ironic it was history. I struggled to stay awake, drifting in and out of daydreams and sleep—the unusually warm room wasn’t helping. The heating in this place was messed up and my eyes kept falling closed. The dreams chased me and one minute I was in history, the next I was sitting with my feet in a river. Every so often I grabbed at the gem hidden under my white shirt. I was sure the ancient chain would break at any moment; I still couldn’t believe I’d found it. I wanted to tell Phil that her parents were right, that there was something here, but we were separated by three rows of half-asleep students. My knee stung, and my kneecap ached with that soft tissue bruise that meant the pain never stopped.
I drummed my free hand on the desk in a bid to stay awake. I’d go for a run around the building if it meant not falling back to sleep and seeing where the dreams took me next. Seared in my memory, the vision of that single tear sparkling on his lashes was startlingly clear. The teacher scraped his chalk across the board and I coughed and tried to focus on the present.
Prince wasn’t in history—for that I could only
