Chapter 36

coming undone

Knuckles rapped so softly against Finn’s bedroom door that he almost didn’t hear them at all. They knocked again, this time a little louder, and were followed up with a male voice adding, “It’s me.”

“Come in.”

With both trepidation and hesitation, the door pushed open just wide enough for Asbjorn to slip through before he shut it again. At the other end of the large patterned rug, Finn sat slouched at his desk with his feet propped up on one corner, a large book in his lap, and no intention of getting up.

“Why’d you leave your door unlocked?” Asbjorn asked, and turned the deadbolt behind him. Finn didn’t bother trying to hide his disgusted sneer. Even though the room was dark with the hazy hues of dusk, his malicious expression pierced straight through the room.

“Because I’m waiting for Talvi to burst through it, naturally.” He moistened the tip of his finger against his tongue and leisurely turned the page. “Any moment now, and he’ll come charging into my chambers to have it out with me for the last time. And I do mean the last time. When he and I meet again, I’ll be waiting…and I’ll be ready.” He looked almost pleased at the thought. Asbjorn frowned as he crossed the carpet and ventured further into the room.

“I’m not so certain he’s going to confront you.” He ran his fingers through his blonde curls and looked at Finn with sheer bewilderment. “He said all he wanted was to rinse off and retire early for the night. He and Merriweather plan to leave with Annika first thing in the morning. He’s taking her back to America and he plans to stay there indefinitely.”

“What do you mean when you say indefinitely?” Finn demanded. He swung his legs down to the floor and sat up straight in his chair, then roughly cast his book aside. “He can’t take her away indefinitely! She ought to stay here! Did you and Father not tell him anything?”

Asbjorn didn’t even try to hide how disturbed he felt.

“On the contrary, we told him everything. The wounds from the vampires, her extensive convalescence in your chambers, her terrible nightmares, your father’s theory of what transpired in Paris…even the bit about your request to the High Court of Korvaaminens.”

“And? What happened? What did he say?”

“Not much at all,” said Asbjorn. Trying to dodge the daggers cast from Finn’s incredulous stare, he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and then shifted back again. “See here…I’m just as surprised as you are. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about him has changed.”

Finn’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Are you certain it’s really my brother whom you spoke with downstairs and not someone impersonating him? I was under the impression that there’s at least one doppelgänger wreaking havoc upon this family. Isn’t that the scheme that we agreed upon?”

“Oh, it’s Talvi alright…without question,” Asbjorn assured him before jamming his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “We questioned him about obscure things that only the family would know. He told us about that grey filly of his that fell through the ice all those decades ago, and he knows that Marinossian is your grandmother’s surname, not your grandfather’s.”

“Then what do you mean when you say that he’s not himself?”

Asbjorn’s typical jolly grin had been twisted into a painful grimace for so long that his face was starting to hurt. There was a foreign look in his eyes that didn’t sit well with either of the elven men.

“Well, I didn’t breathe a word about those paintings of yours, but the thing is…it’s like he already knew! I can’t tell if he’s simply in shock or denial about learning the extent of things between you and his wife. I think you should consider leaving…if only to be on the safe side. At least until he’s out of Sivita, if not the Empire. You know what they say about the proper way to serve revenge.”

“Revenge is best served by living well,” came Finn’s lofty reply. Asbjorn shook his head.

“Perhaps for you, but hot-tempered lads like Talvi serve their revenge ice cold! If that’s what he has in mind for you, I have no doubt that his vengeance would be as cold as the frozen lake that his poor filly drowned in.”

Insulted by the very idea, Finn slowly rose to his feet and crossed his arms.

“I’m not slinking away like a thief in the night,” he said, taking a few steps closer to Asbjorn. “I intend to stay put until things are made right between us, whether it be decided by force or by law.”

“Would you stop and listen to yourself?” Asbjorn implored. “You’ve let your mind be consumed by this unhealthy obsession! You think that you’re in control of it, but you’ve got it all wrong. Your obsession is controlling you! You haven’t overcome anything since dancing with Mistress Morphine…all you’ve done is trade one addiction for another. Why, look at you—you’re breaking out in a sweat at the mere thought that this time tomorrow Annika will be long gone, and so will your fix.”

“I’m warm because it’s the middle of summer!” Finn snarled, and came to stand right in front of his brother-in-law. But rather than back away in fear, Asbjorn shook his head.

“No. The atmosphere in here is quite pleasant, save for your demeanor. You’re sweating because inside that thick head of yours, you’re going through withdrawal. I can tell that much. I’ve seen it before. You get nasty with everyone who means anything to you, and you stop listening to reason altogether. You’re completely strung out on your new mistress, and it does you no good to wallow in a fantasy that will never come true. Don’t leave to avoid an altercation with your brother. Leave to clear your bloody head! Your entire room smells of nothing but books and Annika…and oil paint.” His entire body was shaking as Finn’s expression grew more and more livid, but he was past the point of caring if he offended or angered his longtime friend. “The drought is over, Finn,” he went on. “You know what you have to do. You promised me that you would burn those damned paintings as soon as the right opportunity presented itself. Perhaps you can’t bring yourself to do it, but I certainly can. I’m not leaving your chambers until I have them in my possession.”

“I’m not giving them up,” Finn said with a resolute glare. He watched as Asbjorn walked over to the bed and got down on his hands and knees to look underneath it. Finding nothing, he went to the tall armoire and flung open the doors, then rummaged through Finn’s clothes. Still coming up empty-handed, he peered behind the furniture, behind the curtains, but found nothing. It was only when he approached the wall of books that Finn broke his rigid stance.

“They aren’t there.”

“Of course they are. If I know anything about you, then you’ll have wanted to keep them very nearby…and very accessible.” Asbjorn slowly walked along the wall, studying every row and every column that held the thousands of titles collected over the years. He pushed the ladder aside on its tracks, watching it roll down the length of the wall until it came to a stop at the last book shelf. His relentless blue eyes settled on a ledge that stood at shoulder-height. Unlike the others, this shelf had been dusted off within the past couple of days. One arm started to reach for a handful of books, but before he could grasp them, a pair of strong, warm hands had grabbed ahold of him. He struggled to free himself, yet Finn’s iron-like grip continued to push him away from the shelves and towards the desk. Before Asbjorn could duck out of the way, a fist struck him against the ear, then came back to hit him squarely in the nose. He brought one of his knees up to his chest and kicked against his assailant, propelling him backwards.

“You can beat me to a bloody pulp, but I’m not leaving without those paintings!” he challenged as Finn descended on him. With his hands still curled into tight fists, Finn’s shoulders dropped in sudden defeat. As he caught his breath and relaxed his hands, his remorseful eyes began to burn.

“Dear gods…” he stammered, trying desperately to blink the tears away. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re not well,” Asbjorn replied, tossing his disheveled curls out of his face. Instead of being outraged at the assault, he examined his nose to make sure it wasn’t broken and then smoothed out his rumpled shirt. “Finny, we’re going to be friends until the day we die. Some of those years are going to be crammed so full of joy that it’s going to spill into the years that follow after them…and some of those years are going to be marked by tragedy and misfortune and all the trouble that comes along with it.” He returned to the shelf gathered a handful of books into one arm, nodding when he saw a familiar cardboard tube resting behind them. The smell of oil paint was thick and pungent, but he didn’t say a word. He simply continued to load up his arm with books before bringing the pile over to the desk and going back for more. “Whenever I’ve been weak, I always knew I could lean on you,” he explained as he removed another handful of books and set them on the floor. Then he coaxed the tube of paintings out of the shelf and peered inside to make sure they were still there. “I’ve leaned on you for support so many times that I never thought I’d ever be able to return the favor. Now that time has come, and it’s your turn to lean on me for a change. You can’t see it now, but you will one day. Of that you can be sure.”