Page 3 of The Call of Crimson
That was two days ago. I think. I haven’t really slept, but judging by the number of meals left at my door, two days feels right.
I see no one, speak to no one.
I simply exist.
The soft patter of rain against my window is the only thing keeping me grounded as my mind drifts to memories of her.
“Come on, Breyla. It is time to meet your uncle,” Mother called from the doorway.
I had known Father’s younger brother was coming to live at the palace for weeks. Father said it was because he required more training than Grandpa or Grandma could give him. I didn’t really care why. I only cared that their attention would be on him instead of me.
“I do not wish to meet my uncle,” I said with a pout.
“And I do not care what you wish. You are eight and will do as you’re told for once.” An exasperated sigh left my mother’s lips as she took in the state of me. “Are there twigs in your hair?”
“Probably,” I said, fingers feeling through the tangled mess of red curls.
“But why are there twigs in your hair?” she asked, trying to pick them out and comb out my tangles.
I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off. “You know what? I don’t want to know. This has Elijah’s name written all over it. Let’s just get them out so your uncle doesn’t think you’re a heathen the first time he meets you.” Her tone shifted from frustrated to playful as she tickled my sides and made me giggle.
“But I am a heathen!” I protested as my giggling subsided.
“Yes, but we don’t have to let him know that,” she teased, pulling me into a hug as she combed out the last of the tangles.
“Mother, is Aurelius going to stay here for a while?” I asked nervously.
“Yes. He needs your father’s help and training.”
“But what about me?”
My eyes cast downward, insecurity filling me. What if I weren’t as powerful as Aurelius when my powers manifested? Would they still care about me?
Her face softened. “Aurelius being here changes nothing for you. You will always be our number one priority, my love.”
I try to smile at the memory, but I can’t will the muscles in my cheeks to obey.
A knock rattles my door, but I don’t bother to respond. A few moments pass before I feel the brush of a familiar Gift press gently against my mental barriers.
“Go away, Elijah.”
Again, his Gift nudges me. I sigh, knowing he won’t leave me alone. He could break down the door if he wished, but he would choose to be persistent to the point of annoyance first.
With a resigned sigh, I drop the barrier and let him in.
“Open the door, B.” His voice is somber, but hopeful. This is the first I’ve let anyone in since my mother died.
He’s standing just outside the door, speaking out loud so I’ll hear. We can’t communicate telepathically through his Gift, but I can see and hear what he does when we’re connected. As much as I want solitude, his presence in my mind is a soothing balm to my aching soul.
Still seated by the window, I use magic to unlock the door. The handle turns, the door slowly creaking open. It clicks shut behind him, and his cinnamon chocolate scent invades my space, wrapping me in a blanket of familiarity.
“Have you eaten?” His voice is closer than I expected—he’s right behind me.
“You know the answer to that question.” I turn to look him over.
His dark blond curls are loose, hanging down past his shoulders, tangled and unkempt. Dark circles frame his warm brown eyes that take in my appearance. He nods—not in acceptance but understanding.
“When was the last time you slept?”
