I feel my own teeth grind in response. I probably have no right to be frustrated with him, because I understand his anger, and yet, I am. As he often is with me.
“Fine,” I relent. I’m too cold and exhausted to argue. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. But I need to get her warm and dry.”
He glances at Auren from the corner of his eyes. “Fucking storm had to hit tonight of all nights.”
My brother and I walk in tense silence through the cave. Without even trying, our strides match, our shoulders at the same height, our clothes nearly identical. When my fae nature isn’t out, we could pass for twins, a fact that I’ve used to my advantage many, many times.
Despite the fact that we always effortlessly fall into stride with one another, we always seem to step on each other’s toes.
I would die for Ryatt, and he’s given up a lot to be at my side, but most days, we’d gladly pummel each other.
Tonight is no different.
We eat up the rest of the distance, and then, we’re here, at our house in the cave, descended in blue shadows with stalagmites like standing guards.
The Grotto.
“Home sweet home,” Ryatt mutters.
Something sours in my stomach. “Yeah. Home sweet home.”
CHAPTER 5
SLADE
Age 8
“Slade!”
I look down at Ryatt, his chubby legs scrabbling as he tries and fails to climb up the tree after me. I knew he was going to try to follow me up here. But every time he sees that he can’t, he starts whining like a baby, scaring all the birds away until I come down.
“Slade!”
Knowing I can’t keep ignoring him, I roll up the sleeves of my shirt and scratch at my arms. “I’ll be back,” I tell the little nestling.
It chirps at me.
When I hear Ryatt scrabbling again below, I lean over my branch, moving aside some of the brown, dead leaves. “You can’t come up here. You’re too little.”
His face rumples with anger as he stares up at me. “Am not.”
“You are,” I tell him. “Besides, you’re not allowed to climb trees yet.”
He drops his feet to the ground again, just so he can stomp one of them in a fit. His socks are rolled down unevenly, both of them covered in grass stains. Mother always clucks her tongue when we come in with our white socks streaked with grass, but tells us that it’s the same color as our eyes, so at least it matches.
I swipe some sweat off my forehead and sigh, abandoning my tree branch so I can jump down next to him. “Happy?”
He nods. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” But now that he’s mentioned it, I’m hungry too. “Come on. I bet Cook will give us something.”
“It’s hot,” Ryatt whines.
“It’s summer, stupid,” I tell him with a snicker.
He shoots me an angry look. “I’m gonna tell.”
“No, you’re not.” I grin over at him, because Ryatt and I never tattle on each other. It’s our rule.
He shrugs.
The two of us head toward the estate. Now that I’m not under the shade of the tree anymore, I realize just how hot it really is. No wonder Ryatt’s face is all ruddy and his black hair is sticking up with sweat. I probably look the same.
I got done with my lessons earlier, and the nursemaid let Ryatt come outside for fresh air, so we’ve been out here for a while. I don’t know how long. I get distracted when I check on the bird nests.
“Let’s go to the pond!” Ryatt says out of the blue, just as we’re almost to the shrubs.
I shoot him a look. “You just said you’re starving.”
“Pond!”
“Fine,” I relent with a groan. “But just for a little. Then we’re going in to eat.”
Ryatt nods and starts racing down the hill. I run after him, pretending like he’s faster, and he laughs with a screech. We run around to the side of the estate, making it about halfway before Ryatt’s legs get tired and he has to stop.
“I’m thirsty,” he whines.
“I’ll dunk your head in the pond then.”
He scowls at me, but I laugh and nudge him right in the ribs where I know he’s ticklish. He tries to fight it for a second, but he loses in a fit of squirmy giggles.
Past the house are the stables, and just on the other side of that is the pond. We pass by the paddock where a couple of Father’s horses are standing around, grazing on the grass.
I think nothing of it at first.
Thwack.
It sounds like our stablemaster whenever he uses the riding crop on one of the horses. I hear the slap on the hindquarters, the swift whack of correction.