ARC: The Seers (7 page)

As that wasn’t the question I was expecting, it threw me a bit. “He has a speech impediment of some sort. He stutters a little.”

“Is he still here?” Cormac asked, seeming oddly interested. “Can you point him out?”

I looked back over to the corner, but Steven was gone. “No,” I said, glancing around the room to see if he’d moved, “he’s gone.”

“What did he look like?”

“Dark hair, green eyes, about my age. His name is–”

“Steven,” Cormac finished for me.

“Wait,” I said, my confusion growing, “you know him?”

Cormac nodded. “Who told you he was a staff member?”

“Well, no one. I could tell he wasn’t a Holder, so I just assumed, I guess. Isn’t he?”

“No,” Cormac shook his head a sad sigh, “Steven doesn’t work here. He is Brassal and Alva’s son.”

CHAPTER 7

“Wait… what?” I stammered, barely comprehending what I’d heard. “He’s her
son
?”

“Yes,” Cormac nodded.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said, picturing the fear in his eyes and the way he’d been treated. “And what happened to this Bastian she wanted to introduce me to, I thought that was her son?”

“He is; Bastian and Steven are brothers, twins actually. But…” he paused, looking wary, “Steven is… not well accepted amongst the Bhunaidh. You see, he was born with certain defects that they consider unacceptable for a family line as ancient and distinguished as the Blochs.”

“What, his
stutter
?” I asked, appalled. “That’s stupid, he can’t…” But something in Cormac’s eyes caused my thought to trail off. It was more than the stutter, I could see that. I could also see that he believed it was something that I was already aware of, but I was at a loss. Then I thought back to our first meeting that afternoon in the hall, and why I’d assumed he was a member of the staff in the first place. “He doesn’t have an ability.”

Cormac gave a small nod.

“How can that be?” Alex asked. “I thought both of his parents are pureblooded. Doesn’t that guarantee that any children they have would be Holders?”

“It should mean that, yes,” Cormac agreed, “but for whatever reason, for Steven it did not. Bastian was born a Porter like his father, while Steven was born an average mortal, completely without ability.” I had no idea what ability a Porter had, but at the moment I could not have cared less.

“Was it because they were twins?” Alex asked interested, while I on the other hand had fists resting in my lap that were hard as rocks.

“Could be,” Cormac mused. “There are not many instance of twins in Holder history, much less pureblooded, so that may have something to do with it, though it is far more likely that it is simply a birth defect like any other.”

“You’re telling me,” I ground out under my breath, unable to keep my cool any longer, “that they shun him like some illegitimate bastard child, all because he was born without an ability?”

“Now, my dear,” Cormac said, quickly taking my hand and trying to calm me. “It’s horrid, I know–”

“Is everything all right?” Jocelyn’s concerned voice suddenly came from over my shoulder. “Becca?”

“We were just having a conversation… about Steven,” Cormac said casually, though his eyes were still worried.

“I see,” Jocelyn said, his tone making it clear that he did in fact know exactly what was going on. “Becca,” he said calmly, “the refreshment room is just down the way, why don’t we get a drink?”

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, not in the mood for the lecture on my temper I knew was coming.

“Becca,” he said, his voice deliberate now as he offered me his arm. “You need a drink.”

I stood with a silent huff and took his arm, letting him lead me out to the opposite side of the room and through an open door into a large parlor connected to the main gallery. The room was more brightly lit than the gallery and was lined with long tables piled high with what I could only assume were some of the finest hors d’oeuvres, cheeses, and fruits the manor had to offer.

Jocelyn turned us toward the bar area that had been set up in one corner, but halfway there and with no one else nearby, I decided that I’d been silent long enough.

“Do not tell me you are going to defend them!” I whispered as loudly as I could without being overheard.

“I have no intention of defending them, but it is also not your place to condemn them.”

“What? How can you say that? This is just wrong! That woman should be–”

“Alva and Brassal provide both their sons with the highest quality of life and the best education available.”

“Right,” I whispered with a sneer, “never mind affection or love they don’t have to earn…”

“I realize that something like this is not what you are used to, but–”

“Oh my God…” I cut in, not believing what I was hearing. “You’re actually OK with this!”

Jocelyn paused, scowling at the air in front of him for a moment before discreetly pulling me over to a vacant corner of the room. “No,” he whispered forcefully once he was certain there was no one paying us any mind. “I am not OK with any of it. I think it is the most horrid thing in the world for a child to have grown up being treated like an outsider even within his own family. I cannot fathom parents having it within themselves to treat their own child so poorly and the very idea that Alva and Brassal believe that they are justified in their actions sickens me.” He paused with a breath, releasing the tension in his shoulders. “But there is nothing I can do. I have tried several times to bring Steven to St Brigid’s and give him the chance to escape his life here, but each time it was no use. Brassal and Alva will not allow it, and though Steven is of an age now to make his own decisions, he is not willing to leave against his parents’ wishes.”

“Why?” I asked, shaking my head.

“I am not sure, though I believe it is simply because that is what his parents want. Difficult as they have made things for him, I believe there is still a part of him that wishes to please them in any way he can.”

When he stopped I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” is what I finally decided on. I wasn’t sure if I was apologizing for sort of losing it, or for actually thinking he would be OK with such a horrible situation, but either way, his eyes softened and he nodded.

“Becca, please believe that I am not asking you to accept or take part in the prejudice toward Steven,” he said after a moment, “but I do need you to realize that your actions, while they will never get you into any trouble, could make things harder on him.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant at first, but then I thought about how Steven kept telling me that I wasn’t supposed to be talking to him. I’d taken it to mean that he thought I wouldn’t
want
to talk to him, but what if he’d meant that he wasn’t
allowed
to talk to me?

“Oh no…” I mouthed as I realized what I might have done. “He isn’t going to get in trouble because of me, is he? I didn’t know…” Suddenly I felt horrible, and the more horrible I felt for getting Steven in trouble, the angrier I felt toward not just his parents, but to their entire way of life. The fact that it was even possible to get someone in trouble for having a conversation with them was miles past ridiculous.

“I’m sure it will be all right,” Jocelyn said. “Just keep it in mind, and perhaps keep your distance in the future if at all possible.”

I glanced down and nodded, though it went against every single instinct I had. All I could think about was how much Steven was like Ryland. Ry had spent his life getting made fun of, picked on, or just plain avoided by everyone around him for being different. But through it all, at least Ry had had me to take care of him and protect him wherever I could. Steven didn’t seem to have anyone, and I knew it would take everything I had to fight the urge to step in and be that person for him.

I was a protector; had been all my life. If someone was hurt or needed help, then I had to step in and do whatever I could. It was just my nature. Yet now, someone within my reach was suffering and I was expected to stand by and do nothing – or worse, try to help him and inadvertently make it worse. Helplessness was not a feeling I was accustomed to, but for the moment I was prepared to embrace it. Some may have considered that defeat, but only those who are shortsighted. I, on the other hand, knew that helplessness was only a state of mind, and that there was always a way if you were patient and willing to take the time to look for it.

And I was.

“Come,” Jocelyn said with a smile, offering me his arm again. “We should return to the gallery. The welcome addresses will begin shortly.”

“Sounds like a hoot,” I said, earning me a low chuckle.

“Yes, well,” he huffed a laugh as I took his arm, “do try to keep your excitement in check.”

“I’ll do my best,” I grinned, as he led me through the refreshment room and back into the diamond-studded snake pit.

“Dear Lord,
another one
?” I grumbled quietly as the seventh speaker took the microphone and began to address the room.

The “welcome” that Jocelyn had mentioned, and that I had thought would be a quick “thanks for coming and enjoy the night” sort of thing, was turning into the wedding toast from hell. The kind of toast where the best man makes his speech then for some reason every distant relation imaginable comes out of the woodwork and wants to “say a few words,” and before you know it your dinner is cold and your champagne is flat. Though in this case, instead of quirky uncles and well-meaning second cousins talking our ears off, it was a family matriarch going on about her distinguished line, or an old man covered in medals recounting the thirty-two different wars he’d served in. And of course each person was sure to go on and on about how much being a Bhunaidh had meant to them, and how important it was that the Bhunaidh way of life be treasured, and preserved, and blah, blah, blah… And if all that weren’t bad enough, more than half the speeches were given in Gaelic. Though, if nothing else, that did at least give me a legitimate reason to stand next to Alex who would cast the translations for me to read.

Or pretend to read…

“How many more do you think?” I whispered to Alex, who was way better at faking an interest in the proceedings than I was.

He didn’t even glance my way, but a moment later smoky script appeared directly in my line of vision, “
Patience is a virtue
.”

I turned my head slowly, giving him my best “not amused” scowl, while of course his jaw was locked to keep from smiling. I turned back to the speaker as he began his monologue – in Gaelic. Great.

“Should I even bother?”
appeared in front of me, and I smiled. So he did know I’d given up on reading his translations.

“If he’s done something interesting,” I whisper.

“What qualifies as interesting?”

“You know, climbing Mount Everest, wrestling alligators, that sort of thing.” No sooner did I finish my sentence, than I watched an anthropomorphized alligator appear at the speaker’s side. It was standing up on its hind legs smiling, and had an arm wrapped around his shoulder as though they were the best of friends. “Don’t do that!” I snipped quietly, biting back a laugh.

I was seriously considering poking him in the ribs, when something across the room caught my eye. It was a young man, standing just behind that now empty patch of air where the alligator had been. I’d not noticed him before, which was odd as he was wearing a cape – an actual, honest to God
cape
– with a blood red lining and a gold chain closure that draped from his right shoulder to under his left arm, making him somewhat hard to miss. His hair was dark, and he seemed to be on the tall side, while his chest was covered with more medals and pins than I could even make out from across the room – far more than any of the other young men his age. But there was something else about him. Something I couldn’t put a name to, but that itched at my subconscious like a buried memory trying to dig its way free.

Then it occurred to me – he looked… familiar? That didn’t make any sense. Maybe he just had one of those faces. The sort of person you see and say, “I know it isn’t, but doesn’t he look like…?” But then who did he remind me of? I squinted, hoping to get a better look, but given the distance between us and the dimmed “mood lighting” of the room, I wasn’t having much luck.

I kept my eyes on cape-guy as the addresses wore on, trying to figure out what it was about him that kept nudging at my subconscious, until finally the last of the speakers wrapped up their soliloquy and Alva once again stepped up to the microphone.

“I want to thank you all again for joining us tonight at our commencement gala…”

As Alva continued to conclude the welcome, I took the opportunity to slide over next to Cormac who stood only a few feet off. “Who is that?” I asked him quietly, just behind his shoulder.

“Who, dear?” he whispered back, trying to follow my line of vision.

“The boy there,” I nodded, “in the cape.”

“Bastian Bloch, Brassal and Alva’s other son.”

“I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before…”

“Well he does look a great deal like his brother Steven, who you’ve met,” Cormac suggested.

“No…” I shook my head, “it’s not that…”
But damned if I could figure out what it was…

After what felt like half a century after they began, the welcoming addresses ended with the call for the first dance to begin from Alva followed by a round of demurely enthusiastic applause. As the crowd began to dissemble, some reassuming their seats around the room while others took to the dance floor, I watched as Bastian came forward to meet with his mother, finally getting close enough for me to have a good look at him – and my breath stopped in my throat.

It was Brian Connor.

Not “it looked like,” or “it slightly resembled.” It was. His hair was styled differently, he carried himself in a more regal manner, and obviously he was more dressed up than I’d ever seen him before, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that it was him. For exactly one semester my senior year, Brian had been in all my classes, which had been odd, as I had a completely customized schedule due to my advanced placement. At the time, I hadn’t thought much of it, but now it was clear – he’d been planted there.

Suddenly my entire perception of the people surrounding me snapped from haughty and aloof to calculating and sinister. I’d fallen in their trap just like everyone else, believing they were a bunch of self-absorbed elitists, but that ended now. These people knew far more than they let on and weren’t nearly as uninvolved and innocent as they made everyone believe. They’d known where Ryland and I were all those years.

And I was starting to get the feeling that they’d been spying on us.

My eyes darted around quickly, looking for Jocelyn who I found walking back the cluster of chairs the four of us had occupied earlier. I hurried up alongside him and took his arm, only at the last moment remembering to keep my voice down. “I need to talk to you.”

Immediately he looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Bastian, I know him.”

“Wait,” he said, placing a hand on my back and leading me away from the center of the room. “What do you mean, you know him?”

“He went to my high school, his name is Brian, or it was Brian anyway, and he was in every class I took for an entire semester.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting him to say, but the sudden calm that washed over his features would not have been at the top of my list. “Becca,” he said shaking his head, “I am certain you are mistaken.”

We reached our group of chairs a moment later and Jocelyn retook his seat in one of the large armchairs. Not willing to give up so easily, I followed him down, taking a seat on the ottoman at his knee and leaned toward him. “No,” I maintained, “it’s him, I know it is. Don’t you see what this means, they’ve been spying on us!”

“Becca, I understand that whatever trust you may have had in the Bhunaidh is gone after…” he paused, lowering his voice further, “our discussion about Steven, but that doesn’t mean there is a conspiracy or plot hiding in every corner. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but–”

“You honestly think I would make this up?” I interrupted, quickly convincing myself that the strain I felt in my chest was anger, not hurt.

“No, of course not, but I do believe you could be misremembering. You have been out of school for more than two years now. That is a long time and appearances do change – especially in young people. Besides that,” he continued discreetly, “Bastian and Steven both attend a private school in France, and I happen to know for a fact that they have not missed a single semester since they began there at age six. Trust me, whomever it is that you are thinking of, it is not Bastian.”

He seemed sure, but my gut wouldn’t let it go. “I know it doesn’t seem–”

But he stood suddenly, cutting me off this time. “We can discuss this later,” he breathed sharply, before taking my hand and bringing me up beside him. I was momentarily miffed that he would blow me off, until I turned around to see that Alva had returned to our little circle – and this time, she was not alone.