Chapter 16 - Ashby

Ashby sat, staring at the remains of Perry’s abandoned sandwich. Roanna had fetched him a few minutes ago, had said she needed his help with Brooke. Now Ashby sat alone in the large kitchen, attempting to stave his irritation at being ignored so blatantly.

After Portos transported them to the middle of a placid meadow, they had walked through a patch of thick trees to find a large, old stone house. Roanna led the way, walking briskly and guiding Perry as he carried an unconscious Brooke in his arms. There was no conversation, even though the situation certainly seemed to warrant it. However, Uncle Bernard and Portos’s furtively evaded all his questions. Their eyes darted around the meadow as if expecting someone to ambush them from the tall grass. Ashby had followed in silence, his head swimming with questions about Sam’s well-being and their sudden retreat from Brooke’s front lawn.

After they walked into the expansive stone structure, Roanna had called for help and a couple of people had come running from the depths of the house to help.

One disappeared in an instant, off to ready a room and fetch water. The other, followed by Roanna, carried Brooke away, leaving Uncle Bernard, Portos, Perry and Ashby standing in the middle of a large foyer, surrounded by nothing else but the mismatched, though classy furniture that occupied the space.

“Good Lord,” Portos exclaimed, letting out a heavy breath.

“Portos, please,” Uncle Bernard said, “could you find Mirante and give her a report. I will see the boys to the kitchen. They may be hungry after all the commotion.”

Ashby stared at Uncle Bernard, still unable to get over his steady command and presence. This was not the man Ashby had known all his childhood. He walked erect, not hunched over. His gaze was full of purpose and focus, not lost in the distance. He looked years younger, stronger and determined. He was scarcely the same person.

Portos nodded and turned to walk away, his Sorcerer’s robe fanning around him as he left without a word.

“Come, boys, follow me.” Uncle Bernard walked with firm steps and led them down a long hall. They passed several rooms, some with closed doors, others open to anyone who may walk by and see the people who were busy at work inside.

“What is this place?” Perry asked. “And how did you recover from your, um, ailment?”

Uncle Bernard let out an unamused laugh. “Ailment! I see Danata has managed to still keep you in the dark.”

Perry rubbed the back of his neck, looking chagrined. “Well, she did tell Ashby something about broken vinculums and Sam’s abilities . . .”

“Did she?” Uncle Bernard crossed a wide, arched doorway and stopped in front of a cabinet.

“I wasn’t too inclined to believe it, but . . .” Perry shrugged.

Ashby stood next to Perry as Uncle Bernard opened one of the glass-paneled doors, pulled out a bottle of Scotch and a small glass, and poured himself a drink. In one quick jerk, he pressed it to his lips and tipped his head back.

He cleared his throat and let out a loud breath. “What a day, eh?”

“What is going on, Uncle?” Ashby finally found his voice. “What are you—?”

“I know you must have a million questions,” Uncle Bernard interrupted, “and we’ll answer all of them. But I would rather wait until Roanna can join us.”

Ashby took a step forward, ready to press him further. He had to know now. If he waited any longer, he would choke on his own anxiety.

“Uncle,” he began.

Setting his glass down on an adjacent counter, Uncle Bernard also took a step forward and came to stand at arm’s length. He put a hand on Ashby’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Patience, nephew. All in good time. Right now, I must join Portos. I will be back as soon as I can. Please, don’t go anywhere. Promise?” He gave Perry a pointed look. Perry put his hands up as if to say that wasn’t up to him. “Ashby, will you stay put?”

“Of course.” Where in bloody hell would he go? Not home, not yet, anyway.

Satisfied, Uncle Bernard headed out of the kitchen, leaving them behind.

“Wait!” Ashby exclaimed. “I need to find Sam. I have to talk to Brooke. I . . . I—”

Uncle Bernard stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I know, Ashby. We will help you. I promise.” He smiled reassuringly. “You boys were good to me all these years. I haven’t forgotten.”

Ashby called out again, but Uncle Bernard left them anyway. Perry had huffed with cool resignation and ambled to the refrigerator to find something to eat. For his part, Ashby had collapsed on a chair, unable to eat anything even as his stomach growled and his throat worked from thirst.

Now, he looked at his watch, yet again. Ten minutes had passed since Perry had been taken to see Brooke.

A particular thought kept coming back to him: Sam was his cousin. He pushed the knowledge away yet again.

Damn it to hell!

Wasn’t his situation complicated enough already?

I can’t wait any longer!

He stood to leave, a frustrated growl caught in his throat. He’d barely taken his first step when a sound made him stop and turn. There was a door in the back of the kitchen, one he hadn’t noticed before.

A young couple walked in, chatting animatedly with each other.

“I can take her. I assure you,” the girl was saying.

She was a Morphid, tall and slender. Her dark brown hair was tied in a long braid that draped over her shoulder. Her skin was tan, the color of cinnamon, and her eyes green and piercing. The boy who accompanied her looked a lot like her, which made Ashby suppose they were related. They seemed to be the same age as him, about eighteen.

The boy noticed Ashby first. He came to a halt and closed his mouth, blocking whatever words he’d been about to say. Noticing his reaction, the girl stopped too and followed his gaze.

“Who are you?” the boy asked in an unwelcoming tone.

Ashby had nothing to hide, but the hostile attitude put him off. He was at a loss for words, and didn’t know just how welcome he’d be if he introduced himself. So he simply stared at them.

The girl cocked her head to one side and looked Ashby up and down.

“What are you? Mute?” the boy pressed.

“Don’t be rude, little brother,” the girl said. She walked further into the kitchen. “I’m Calisto. It means ‘most beautiful.’” She tipped a half smile. “This is my brother, Joao. It means ‘God is gracious,’ which is true, but tells you nothing about this one. I wonder what’s a good name for ‘weak one’ or ‘fuzzy bearded.’”

“Ha. Ha.” Joao walked to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. He threw one to his sister. She caught it in midair.

Ashby watched them more closely. There was a ruddy glow to their cheeks, and sweat peppered their foreheads, as if they’d just come from an intense workout. Their resemblance wasn’t strong, but they shared the same skin color and intense green eyes. Ashby assumed Calisto was older since she’d called Joao “little brother,” though there was nothing little about him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a certain wildness to his demeanor.

Calisto took a sip of water and raised both eyebrows at Ashby. She was waiting for his side of the introduction, but he wasn’t sure telling these strangers his name was a good idea. Not until he knew what this place was and who these people were.

“I wonder what’s a good name for ‘impolite’ or ‘ill-mannered,’” Joao mused.

Calisto pursed her lips and regarded Ashby with interest. “He looks familiar,” she said, talking as if he weren’t there.

Tired of standing there for inspection, Ashby rekindled his decision to leave and look for Portos or his Uncle. “Sorry, I was just leaving.” He knew he was being rude, but he had no time for empty civilities.

“Wait,” Calisto said, taking a step forward. “Aren’t you the Regent’s son?”

Mid-step, Ashby hesitated for a split second, then decided it was best to press forward and act like he hadn’t heard the question.

“Ashby Rothblade,” Calisto said his name as if she’d just discovered a mass murderer. “I met you once.”

This time, Ashby stopped and angled his shoulders in Calisto’s direction. Her eyebrows were knitted over her crystalline eyes. From the looks of it, that first impression of him had been as bad as the second one. He was about to excuse himself again, but Joao cut him off.

“What the bloody hell is he doing here?” He set his drink down so forcefully that water jumped out of the bottle and splashed onto the floor.

Clearly, Ashby was persona non grata in this place.

“Joao,” Calisto said as a warning, shaking her head.

It seemed the bloke was rash, just like someone else Ashby knew. He cringed at the memory of Greg and all he’d stolen from him.

“He didn’t just happen to stumble into our kitchen, none of them do,” Calisto told her brother with a sigh, then to Ashby, “Who brought you here, to our house?”

“Your house?” Ashby asked dumbly.

“Yes, our house, mate!” Joao said. “We have enough random people popping in and out of here as it is. Now we also have to put up with the likes of you?”

“It’s Mother’s decision,” Calisto said in a tired tone. This clearly was not a new conversation.

“We live here, too. Why doesn’t she take them elsewhere? There are other places.”

“Maybe you should hold your tongue, Joao.” Calisto gave Ashby a sideways glance as if to suggest enough had already been said.

“I came with Portos and my uncle.” Ashby spoke calmly, though it took great effort to keep his composure. “I wouldn’t say I’m here against my will, but I certainly didn’t expect to be taken to a place where my presence is of . . . displeasure to anyone. I would very gladly be on my way once I can find my friends.”

“Friends? So there are more?” Joao cursed under his breath. “I don’t know about you, Cal, but I’m going to talk to Mãe about this, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll call Pai.”

Joao had just taken his first step forward when Portos came into the kitchen, followed by Uncle Bernard and a woman Ashby had never seen. The newcomer wore a form-fitting gray jumper and looked to be in her late forties. Her gaze immediately landed on Ashby, and it was certainly not friendly. Something else that didn’t escape him: the intense green color of her eyes that, by now, was starting to feel more familiar and unmistakable than he would have liked.

“I see you’ve met my son and daughter,” she said in a moderate Portuguese accent. “My name is Luana Mirante. Welcome to my home.”