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Snow crunches below Talon’s boots as he makes his way past the mailbox and up the road leading up to the front entrance of the mansion. He tucks his chin into the scarf around his neck, nose numb as humid warm air from his mouth floats into the icy morning, gloved hands deep into the pockets of his jacket.
There was a storm late last week, and the violence of the event is evident now as he looks around at the property and notices the torn branches from trees, debris all around, all of it half buried in a solid blanket of snow that had fallen the night before and he feels somewhat guilty for disturbing. It isn’t the first time he feels this way; disturbing land and space that he never felt welcomed in, was never a part of, and it wouldn’t be the last. He only found consolation in knowing that his disturbances would be minimal, only briefly, for what was needed, and then he’d be gone.
He finally got to the steps leading up to the grand entrance, and he stepped on them carefully, both to keep silent and to gauge for ice underneath. He unlocked the door and quietly stepped through the doorway, shivering violently when he realized that it was somehow colder inside than outside. He’d have to start a fire if he didn’t want to freeze to death; his hesitation really put into perspective his priorities, and he decided he’d have to live with the consequences of wanting to survive.
The front door is closed and locked quietly, and as he turns around to face the foyer, he pauses, echoes of a long ago time slamming into his head like déjà vu.
He’d been 9, maybe 10 years old the first time he’d stepped foot in this mansion. A coat three times his size had been draped over his small frame, head barely high enough above the neck, scarf around his head and face, allowing only his eyes to see out into the world. Not that there was much to see anyway; ever since the papers had been signed and he’d hopped on that car, there had been nothing but black and white and bare.
He had been happy for a few hours to finally get out of the orphanage and adoption center and had felt safe for the first time in his life once he'd been wrapped up in an expensive coat he'd never even dreamt of borrowing. The man had been alone, but Talon hadn't thought much about it because he'd heard single parents sometimes took kids in, too. But that excitement had slowly turned to fear and acceptance the more the car drove and the more the vast emptiness of their surroundings expanded. He could be killed out here, and left out to the elements to take care of his remains and no one would bat an eye. No one would come looking; no one cares about foster children after they've been taken; the numerous times he'd inquired about taken friends only to receive vague answers and unknowns had been proof of that.
He had sunken into the leather seat, falling back on instinct to appear small and stay out of sight. People didn't target you if you didn't draw attention in the first place. His father–the real one–had taught him that once he'd been beaten black and blue when he’d been trying to get him out of his drunken stupor to play. It had been the last time he'd requested it, and for years afterwards had worked on hiding and making himself small, insignificant, staying out of sight purely for survival.
Once the snow had started and the air had gotten colder, his heart skipped a beat when Mr. Du Couteau had turned to him and spoke for the first time in hours. “Are you cold?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned a few dials on the car's ventilation controls and within a few minutes, the warmth seeped in through his worn shoes to his numb toes and up his skinny legs.
He wanted to thank him. Fear was louder in his mind so he kept his mouth closed and limited himself to bury his body deeper into the folds of the coat.
Eventually trees began to appear along with small houses and bigger buildings, all of them blanketed in snow that the locals seemed to have no problem walking in. The buildings and the people slowly faded behind their journey, but the trees remained. Then, the biggest house he'd ever seen came into view. It was bigger than the orphanage, but he knew it was a house because the man that had taken him had said so.
They had parked right in front of the entrance, where a smaller and older man had come out and gone to Mr. Du Couteau’s side, opened the door and attempted to help him out. They exchanged a few words, some laughs, and then the older man had peeked under the roof of the car at Talon. The realization that he was being watched made him feel even colder than the icy breeze that had entered the car once the driver’s door had been opened. Mr. Du Couteau said something that made the older man straighten, and then the driver’s door was closed again. They talked a little bit before moving around the vehicle to Talon’s side, and then paused for a bit. Talon could still hear them talking, but they had dropped their voices so he couldn’t hear what they were saying at all.
Then there was a soft knock on the door before it was opened and another gust of icy wind slammed into his small body, making him shiver and tremble violently. He turned to the men in anger only to see that Mr. Du Couteau was offering his hand in a clear sign that meant for him to take it so they could get into the house. Talon hesitated as he played with his options; if he stayed in the car, the chances of him being frozen to death would be higher and he’d have to quit wondering about his future. If he took the man’s hand a second time, he’d be going into a warm house, full of hope and dreams, and who knew what awaited on the other side.
He noticed that the men kept talking, exchanging tips and jokes, neither of them pressuring him to make a choice between certain death and crushing hope, but he finally made a decision when he noticed the older man shivering despite his best efforts not to. With a sigh, Talon took Du Couteau’s hand; he was shocked when it didn’t immediately close on his like a vice, instead gently and warmly curled around his smaller fingers, patient and reassuringly guiding him outside the vehicle. The older man closed the car door behind him and together they made their way up the steps.
The first noticeable thing about the mansion, Talon recalls, was the absolute bright warmth of it all as soon as he’d gone through the entrance. It contrasted the current state of the mansion, as midnight darkness would contrast midday sunlight.
He quickly moves to the living room’s fireplace and gets busy, then focuses on removing the plastic covering the nearby furniture, folding it carefully near the corner. The living room looks exactly the same as it did that night of his arrival, which is comforting as it’s likewise unsettling that it seems as if the snow that had fallen last night had not only frozen the land but also time. It feels wrong to sit on the couch but he does anyway, and memories of that night envelop him slowly as the heat from the fireplace does.
Even back then he’d been hesitant to touch anything as everything looked pristine and clean, something Talon definitely didn’t think he was. He didn’t belong here, that much was true in his mind, but he’d been brought over by Mr. Du Couteau so he tried to stick as closely to him as possible in this new world of wonder and fragile placement. One of the girl servants had attempted to take away the coat that had been graciously bestowed upon his body and Talon had gotten understandably upset about it, pulling back and away violently, hiding behind the man who’d taken his hand, and the resulting silent tenseness in the room could have been sliced by a knife.
“Not the best first impression, I reckon.”
The voice was feminine, so Talon had thought the servant girl had said it, but when he’d peeked around the man he found himself staring as two girls descended the stairs followed by a tall, blonde woman with piercing blue eyes. The girls were undoubtedly the man’s daughters as they all shared the same red hair and green eyes.
“You know it is etiquette to remove your outer coat and head wear when entering the household, Marcus,” the woman said. Her voice was gentle and even sounded expensive, but her expression bordered on offended, almost filthy.
Marcus chuckled and responded, “We’ll go through the rules eventually, Soreana. Let us handle introductions first.” He had made a movement with his arm, indicating to everyone that the conversation was moving onto the living room. Soreana, followed by the girls; Marcus waited for a few seconds before following them, with Talon close behind and the servant girl and old man bringing up the rear.
“This is the family,” Marcus said. “My wife, Soreana.”
Soreana sat in the middle of the largest couch, spine straight and tall, head held high, hands on her knees and heels together; the very picture of elegance. Talon had a hard time looking away from her; she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. It was tragic in a way that her disapproval of his presence was palpable and evident in the way her blue eyes went glacial as she eyed him, straight nose a hair away from wrinkling in disgust and her mouth curled into a smile that was clearly meant to be a warning rather than a welcome.
The girls sat beside her, the oldest one to her left and the youngest to the right. “Katarina,” Mr. Du Couteau continued, motioning to them. “Cassiopeia.”
Cassiopeia was a smaller replica of Soreana; she sat the same way, looked the same way. Her icy glare wasn’t as effective due to her age and the kindness she’d been blessed with due to her father’s genes, but the intent was predictable. Talon made a mental note to try and stay away from them at all costs.
Katarina, on the other hand, was more difficult to figure out. She eyed him with curiosity, as well as apprehension; her expression wasn’t filled with kindness nor disdain, and Talon understood that she was at a point in her life when she'd figured out her own autonomy so he felt somewhat connected to her, like an old friend he'd never really met. “Hi.”
No smile, but no awkwardness; Katarina almost spoke to him in a way that a child would speak to a strange, unpredictable animal. Talon couldn't find it in him to speak just yet but he nodded in acknowledgement to her greeting and sat across from them, right next to Mr. Du Couteau. There was a certain safety that her father represented where he'd felt at ease, especially as he and his wife talked about him and his place within the family, as well as the rules.
Too many rules. Almost three decades later and Talon still can’t remember all of them. He’d only focused on the ones that kept him off Soreana’s radar.
As he sits on the couch, he marvels at the discomfort of it. He doesn't remember the first time he sat on it because he'd been too nervous to really pay attention. Besides, being pressed so closely to Marcus’ side, the dip of his big, strong body would have been uncomfortable to sit beside anyway. All he'd cared about was warmth and stability, and Marcus had provided that literally during their chat.
Come to think of it, he'd never really sat on these couches to begin with; after the initial meeting, every time they had guests they had to entertain, Talon had given up his seat in favor of one of the girls and stood right beside Mr. Du Couteau’s right arm. He'd always tried his best to look composed and presentable, and when questioned about his affinity for standing, he'd try to smile and softly reply that his family came first and foremost, as Marcus had taught him.
In truth, however, he had always felt safer being as close as possible to Marcus. Sitting on different couches was out of the question, especially the first couple of years; he followed the man like an imprinted puppy if he could and if he couldn’t, he’d sit and wait, counting the minutes until Marcus came home.
“It’s like if daddy adopted a pet instead of a brother,” Cassiopeia had said once.
Talon had been sitting in the library, book open in front of him, trying to read what Marcus had assigned for him while Marcus himself had locked himself up in his private study for a call. Cassiopeia and Katarina had walked in soon after, intending to pull fairy tale books for the youngest to read. Katarina herself had just been bored, until her eyes had landed on the boy across the room; now she shushed her sister without success.
“Wherever daddy goes, that boy follows. Isn’t that pet-like?” Cass suckled on a lollipop as she stared at Talon, eyes filled with laughter. “He doesn’t even look like us. I don’t get why daddy had to go so far to get him; the neighbors had puppies last month.”
“We have neighbors?” Talon couldn’t help but ask. Immediately he felt ashamed; Cass finally laughed and Katarina tried her best not to. It was just that the area surrounding the mansion had been so vacant and barren it was impossible to assume they had neighbors.
“You would know that if you spent less time with our father,” Kat finally said. “All he does is keep you cooped up; that’s not healthy. Do you even know where you live?”
Talon lowered his gaze to the table where the book sat, opened and neglected; he squirmed in his seat. “I want to learn,” he’d finally said.
“Are you trying to impress him?” Cassiopeia said from a far corner, pulling out a book. “Don’t bother. He’s not one to hand out compliments. Just ask Kat; she’s never gotten one and she’s the oldest.”
Katarina’s smile tightened as she rolled her eyes, but she didn’t deny it. “You’re better off finding your own path,” she said, pain flashing in her eyes a second before she turned away and joined her sister.
Talon looks for something easy to cook in the pantry and still wonders if what Cassiopeia had said had been true. Marcus isn’t known to be loud about his accomplishments, so it kind of made sense that those near him got the same treatment. However, it was clear that he was proud, even though he never made it known with words. He knows there were times when he’d pat his shoulder a different way, smile a certain smile, take on a certain pose and Talon knew he was proud. Did Katarina and Cassiopeia never notice?
Pouring a canned soup onto a pot and heating it up on the stove, the feeling of dread takes over when he remembers that growing up, he hadn’t been exactly welcomed in the kitchen upon arrival.
Marcus had told him that if he was hungry, he could go downstairs to the kitchen and grab something to eat. He hadn’t known that he was supposed to ask for it; he had taken Marcus’ words to heart and taken food from the kitchen on the sly, risking the wrath of the cooks. Every now and then, a particular one would come after him for taking an apple or a slice of pie.
He was only ever actually caught once. The beating would have been monumental, except the older man that had welcomed Marcus and him from the very beginning had stilled the cook’s hand and said, “Do not lay a hand on him!”
“He’s a thief, Daman!” The cook had raged. “A small, useless rat of a thief!”
“That is Master Du Couteau’s boy, Reginald,” Daman had hissed. “You cannot lay a hand on him, lest you lose it.”
Daman had de-escalated the situation wonderfully, but then he’d taken Talon to Marcus’ study and reported the incident. Daman had been kind and objective, but it didn’t lessen the blow towards Reginald, who had gotten fired for clear intent of corporal punishment. Marcus had called an urgent meeting to all the servants and staff, and had made it clear that Talon was part of the family now and was to be treated as such.
Instead of feeling elevated, Talon had felt dirtier than ever for having a hand in the dismissal of a man who no doubt had been very good at his job and loyal, all for sneaking a baked potato. He never took from the kitchen again. He never went in there either. He waited patiently for the food to be served and ate when the others did. He could feel the tension from the staff trying to make him happy and satisfied, lest they lose their job as well.
It was a terrible feeling, one that he was never able to shake and even now, heating up a canned soup in a seemingly empty mansion, made him feel uneasy and unwelcomed. That was also part of the reason why Talon had stuck so closely to Marcus; if he was near the man, there was no way he’d do something he shouldn’t, and wouldn’t get anyone else in trouble for his indiscretions. Daman, for all his patience and guidance, had eventually been fired as well for attempting to protect Talon from one of Soreana’s mental breakdowns in the absence of her husband.
He had been playing hide and seek with the girls and Talon had gone looking for them in their parent’s room. Soreana had been laying on her bed, wine bottle empty and wine glass dripping onto the carpet.
Her gaze had been foggy and unfocused, even as she called for him to come towards her. Her immaculate hands adorned with expensive rings and long manicured nails had gripped his chin with surprising strength as she turned his head this way and that, blue eyes hooking onto every flaw as her full lips mumbled hatred for him to breathe. Talon stayed still and malleable for her; despite her ugly words, her beauty enchanted him to stay put; it was only in moments like this that she ever allowed him within a hair’s reach from her and as ugly as her company was, he was also greedy for it, the hope of a hug too great for him to refuse.
Talon knew why she hated the idea of him. She had tried her best to bear a son twice for her husband without success, losing all possibility for future attempts the moment Cassiopeia had come into the world. A complication during delivery had demanded the loss of Soreana’s womb in order to save her life, and would result in her utterly failing to provide a proper heir. Talon was a constant reminder to her of what she’d lost, and a glaring sign of what she had failed to provide, both as a mother and wife. Talon didn’t blame her; on the contrary, he was strangely sympathetic to it. So he tried his best to stay away from her until she allowed otherwise. He gave her her space, and dared hope for acceptance in moments like this, when drunken stupor clouded her judgment enough to summon him forth.
Growing up with an abusive father and no mother, it was easy to see why Talon craved her acceptance more than anything. And so he was good to her in any way he could. He left a room if she came in; refused to eat the stuff he knew was her favorite so she’d have more. Every now and then he’d pick out the candies from a jar that he knew she enjoyed and snuck them under her pillow. Did she know of these gestures and what they meant? It wasn’t for him to know or to find out, but he hoped.
Lowering his gaze was another one of these gestures that he had intended to gift her, and usually it had the desired effect. But not that night.
“Look at me,” she said. She slapped his cheek when he refused to, making him gasp as heat bloomed on his face. “I said, ‘look at me.’”
He raised watery eyes and met hers. Immediately, her rage turned to pain and a broken smile made its way. “Such beautiful eyes,” she whispered. “Like liquid gold.”
Talon tried his best to keep staring at her, struggling to not look away; the whole situation was outside his comfort.
“They’re not my eyes,” she continued. “Nor my husband’s. Is that why he picked you? You don’t look like any of us, and yet he treats you the best out of all of us, why?”
“Madam,” Daman’s voice came from the doorway. Both Talon and Soreana turned to him to see heavy concern on his face. “It is not ideal to be alone with the boy in your current condition,” he continues.
“Says who?” She retorts. Talon can see where Cass gets it from.
“Master Du Couteau will be home soon and he will wonder where the mark on his boy’s face — ”
“HIS boy?!”
She had charged at Daman with incredible speed and precision and dealt quite a deep scratch to his neck. Talon had tried to interfere, receiving a few scratches of his own, before Marcus had miraculously appeared to put a stop to it all.
Soreana had blamed Daman for Talon’s injuries, saying that the old man had attempted to use the boy as a shield, knowing full well that Marcus would be displeased. Daman had accepted the accusations and Talon had hesitantly hammered the last nail in the coffin by confirming Soreana’s and Daman’s statements. Daman had graciously packed his bags and gone that same night without a fight but bowing deeply to Marcus and smiling kindly to Talon.
That smile was what had prevented him from sleeping restfully that night, as well as the next and the next, until a whole month had passed. Every time he closed his eyes Talon tossed and turned in his bed as he saw that smile, remembering how Marcus had questioned how Talon felt and Talon had stayed quiet. It was that silence that made his self-hatred take root and flourish, prompting him to finally slide out of bed one night.
The mansion had been dark and quiet when he’d made his way to the library; perhaps this was the only reason he enjoyed being unable to sleep. When everyone was awake it was bustling with activity, voices, sounds, colors and lights, overwhelming sometimes, but when everyone slept it was peaceful. He’d stopped at the foot of the stairs, in front of the window and blinked, confused. He had never seen such a sight before; ribbons of light actively swimming on the dark sky.
Being sneaky was a skill he had acquired with time and he used it now to slip into the Master bedroom, making sure Soreana was asleep and locating the side of the bed where Marcus slept. He thought about calling to him but worried that Soreana would hear and wake. He settled for grabbing the blanket that covered them and slowly uncovered the man, paying more attention to the woman and keeping her undisturbed. Eventually the chill of the air made Marcus jolt awake, and then he jolted again when his eyes landed on Talon standing a few inches from him.
In retrospect, Talon was sure he’d made quite the sight so late at night with dark circles under his eyes and hair that stuck in different directions, for all intents and purposes looking like a psycho. It still didn’t stop Marcus from checking on his wife before slipping out of bed and almost carrying him outside. It was a miracle Soreana stayed asleep even with all that movement but they had been married for years and Talon was sure Marcus knew his way around her.
“What is it?” His voice was deep even as he whispered.
“There’s some weird lights outside.” Talon followed Marcus to the window and peeked outside as well. The hum of his voice and his chuckle were comforting.
“That’s right; you hail from a more southern area and you were distracted when you first came here. They’re called Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights.” They stood there for a while, side by side before Marcus chuckled again. “I have an idea.”
He led Talon back to his room and picked out a couple of things for him; sweaters, jackets, pants, socks, gloves, a scarf and a beanie. “Put these on; I’ll be right back.”
Talon did as he was told, and was just about to put the beanie on when Marcus came into his room again, dressed similarly. They made their way downstairs carefully and then slipped out through the library balcony doors; Talon marveled at the brightness of these strange lights; they were bright enough to cast shadows and make him squint, but they were softer than the sun and more colorful than the moon. Noisier too; like static white noise. It moved like a curtain of pink and purple, waves rippling together and twisting in perfect harmony.
“There are stories surrounding the aurora,” Marcus said softly. “Some say the lights tell tales of battles in the sky, between warriors and fallen angels; the lights are reflections of their spears, armor and helmets. Others think that the Grand Creator traveled to the highest point of the land and stayed there, sending us messages through fires. Each color is said to be an omen for something; blue would bring peace, yellow means good fortune and crops. Red means blood of the fallen and a nearing war; green is meant for life, large schools of fish and banquets. White is for the souls of the innocent; orange for the corrupt.”
“What about pink and purple?”
Talon gently pushes the door to his room open with his hip, careful to keep the tray and its contents balanced as he comes face to face with Marcus sitting on his bed; the worried look in his green eyes makes way for relief when he sees who comes in and visibly relaxes. Talon places the tray on the bedside table, mindful of the bottled pills and gives Marcus a cup of tea while taking one himself and sitting on the chair nearby.
It never ceases to amaze Talon how both he and Marcus can sit in the same room for hours and say absolutely nothing. Sometimes they’ll part ways in equal silence but with understanding of an unvoiced message between them. He doesn’t know when that connection happened or when they fostered it until they could glance at each other from across the room and immediately know what the other was thinking. It was eventually what had caused the total and inevitable loss of Soreana as a mother; seeing both of them connected in a way she could never achieve or become a part of.
Speaking of…
“Soreana — ”
“Doesn’t know either of us are here,” Talon interrupted. “Kat might,” he adds.
“I don’t think she cares.”
The way Marcus says it sounds like there’s some self-hatred brewing beneath the cool exterior. Talon wonders if the falling out they had years ago has finally hit him. She hadn’t taken to his teachings and instead forged her own path in life as she’d promised. She hadn’t turned into the daughter Marcus wanted her to be but she’d still turned out to be a force to be reckoned with, despite her father practically abandoning her and instead focusing on the boy he’d welcomed into his family and home.
Talon wonders if the relationship with the women in his life would be better, closer, if he’d kept a distance from Marcus but the thought disappears almost instantly; he wouldn’t have met them in the first place if it weren’t for him, so there was no need to think down that road anyway. He focuses on how Marcus sets the tea down on the bedside table and cups the bowl of soup, shivering as the warmth travels up his cold hands and to his numb body. He should work the fireplace; have Marcus take a hot bath soon, too, and get his wounded leg treated afterwards.
“Ah,” the older man chuckled, calling Talon back to the present. “See? I told you we could see them from here.”
Talon followed Marcus’ gaze and then scoffed. “Of course you’re right again, old man.” He says the words lightly but he can see the fine details of age on Marcus’ face; how the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes grow permanent, the vibrant red hair fades into a muted blonde with white streaks at the temples. His gait had changed; he complained of body pains and despite them, he still insisted on doing what he’d always done. It’s what had gotten him injured in the first place; insisting on shoveling snow without heeding the possibility of ice underneath had sent him tumbling. Talon supposes he was lucky he was there to witness it and carry him home to rule out a break and mend the gash. He doubts anyone else would have been able to convince him to stay in bed and recover.
“Well, I’ve lived in this mansion many more years than you and have seen the aurora many more times as well; consider it experience talking.”
Golden eyes roll and then join the green stare in looking at the lights dancing outside. They’re blue and purple this time. Talon recalls the conversation they had that night.
“What about pink and purple?”
Marcus thought for a bit before answering, “I believe pink means a new birth. As for purple… I can’t say I remember, but I think it meant love in its purest form.”
They look up at the sky in silence. Then Talon turns around and says, “I lied.”
Marcus lowers his gaze and focuses on the boy; doesn’t seem surprised. Maybe he didn’t hear what Talon said. So he repeats it.
“I lied.”
“About what?”
“Daman didn’t use me as a shield.”
Once again, Marcus seems unphased. Talon recognizes that he’s waiting for him to continue. So he does.
“That night… I was playing with your daughters — ” detachment here is necessary because if he’s about to lose it all then — “and I saw Soreana in your room. And I knew she wasn’t well but she asked me to come over and I did because I really wanted a mom, too.”
His voice sounds strained because it hurts to talk through the knot in his throat. He can’t believe what he’s about to do, but one thing was certain: he was a dangerous boy. He had known that when Marcus had first laid eyes on him and lit up with kindness and acceptance, when he’d stood out in the cold, waiting for him. But now that staff were getting fired left and right on his behalf, losing livelihood and reputation, it was clearer now. His own daughters had attested to his lack of acknowledgement and presence, things that Talon obtained without even trying. Best sever the ties now that it wasn’t too late for his family.
“I don’t know how, but I made her angry. Daman tried to protect me because I made her angry! I saw her scratch him and I wanted her to stop because he was just looking out for us. But then she kept going and I – I lied… to protect your wife because I thought if I did she would — ”
“Do you think Cassio would visit if we tell her where we are?”
“I took the liberty of inviting her myself. She said she’d get here later tonight. I already got a fire going in the living room to welcome her.”
“Still craving that acceptance through acts of selflessness?”
Talon scoffs again. “You told me to trust my gut when it comes to these things, parent. I’m just following your advice.”
Marcus gives a small smile that betrays how nervous he feels about meeting with his youngest for the first time in years. They both wonder what kind of woman she grew up to be and hope like hell she’s unlike all of them; beautiful but with a good head on her shoulders, and overall kinder. He takes a deep breath and focuses on the bowl of soup again as he continues to eat. Talon makes his way over to him and carefully sits down on the mattress. He’s never really been good at this, consoling people or reassuring them, but then again, none of them had been the very man who had taught him that having a solid and reliable figure of strength, kindness and acceptance made the difference between the man he was and the one he could’ve been. Marcus had given up on the journey of parenting long ago, but he still had taught Talon plenty of things through life and overall turned him into an alright person.
“She hasn’t seen you in years but it’s not for lack of trying,” he carefully says, because sometimes silence just isn’t enough between them. “I’ve been texting her for the last couple of years; it’s the only way I’ve been able to keep tabs on what Kat is doing nowadays. She misses you. They both do.”
Marcus looks away as his eyes grow watery and red, grimacing with pride and regret.
“You’ll be able to ask about what she’s done and tell her you love her. Maybe between both of us, we can convince Kat to come and see you, too.”
He had stolen the father of two girls and hurt them for it. He had vowed to do whatever Marcus asked and demanded of him, unlike his daughters. Now that Marcus tried to make amends and tried to become a father again, all Talon could do was go with it and ease the journey as much as possible. At the end of the day he was only here to do whatever the other wanted, as crazy as it sounded; leaving his ex-wife in the dark, reaching out to the very daughters he had pushed away. At least one of them was willing to reach back.
“Promise me something,” Marcus says. Talon leans forward, ready to listen. “You won’t force Kata to forgive me.”
Talon hesitates, but then nods. “I promise.”
“And you won’t sacrifice yourself in order to get it done with Cassio.”
Talon sighs, but nods again. “I promise.”
“You’re all the family I have left,” Marcus says, and swallows thickly as he leans back against the pillows, staring at the lights outside.
Talon nods a third time. A message between them passes in understanding silence: Likewise.
“It's me and you against the world.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Promise me you’ll do as I say.”
“I promise.”
“Promise me you’ll care for Kata and Cassio.”
“I promise.”
“Promise me you’ll never reach out to Soreana again.”
“I promise.”
“Promise you’ll never lie to me again.”
“I promise.”
The world may say lots of things about Talon Du Couteau, but one thing was certain: he always kept his promises.