Redamancy Read online

  “Somehow that isn’t very reassuring,” Khouri muttered, pushing at Sorin’s shoulder a little.

  “Well, it is what it is,” Sorin returned. “You can take it or leave it—”

  The door opened before Sorin could finish, putting him face to face with bright blue eyes, tousled hair, and—most importantly—his youngest sister’s scowl. She had clearly been in bed. Her hair was a mess of blond locks thrown together in a loose bun, her nightgown and shawl off center as if hastily put on. Sorin quickly smiled, waving his hand like he hadn’t knocked on her door in the middle of the night whilst soaking wet and in the company of a Drow.

  “Evenin’,” he greeted. “Long time no see.”

  He should have expected the fist that swung towards his face.

  “You asshole!” Mastha hissed, hitting Sorin in the shoulder when he ducked back in an ill-fated dodge. Khouri yelped; Sorin had backed into him, nearly sending him to the ground. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here? This late at night even!”

  “So much for a loving welcome home,” Sorin snarled, snagging her wrist before she could swing at him again. “What ever happened to ‘you’re always welcome to visit’?”

  Mastha jerked her hand back and scowled like a bear disturbed in the middle of winter. “Do you have any idea how big of an asshole you are?” she asked, gesturing at him angrily. “Coming here like this, waking me up.” Her eyes cut to Sorin’s shoulder, specifically to the person hiding behind it. “And you even brought someone with you. What’s this then? Some bounty hunter friend? Do you even have friends?” Sorin rolled his eyes and moved aside, startling Khouri as he was put in direct line of sight with Mastha. “This is my partner,” he said, figuring it was easier to say that than anything else. “Khouri, this is my little sister, Mastha. Ignore the claws and fangs. Usually, she isn’t this bitchy— Ow!”

  Sorin rubbed at his bruised arm and glared at Mastha, her fist still raised. Khouri, on the other hand, stiffened and immediately put on his cutest smile. The effect was lessened a bit by his haggard state, but really, Sorin couldn’t complain. “Um, hello!” he said, his hands locking behind his back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Khouri. Khouri Lucifin.”

  Mastha gave him a once over and then looked at Sorin critically. “Awfully polite, isn’t he?” she said like an accusation. “What’s he doing with a rude asshole like you?”

  Sorin rolled his eyes. “Are you really going to do this right now? Just let us inside already. It’s freezing out here,” he grumbled, noticing how Khouri was already beginning to shiver. Maybe messing around in the water this late at night hadn’t been a good idea. Knowing Khouri, he’d be chilled before they even had a chance to change clothes.

  Mastha crossed her arms and gave him a scathing glare. For a minute, it looked like she might really let them freeze to death on the porch. Before Sorin could really lowered himself to begging, Khouri sneezed.

  Khouri went stock still as all eyes fell to him. Mastha looked at him with eagle-sharp eyes. Sorin swallowed, waiting for the verdict. If Khouri sensed it, he couldn’t tell; Khouri held himself pitifully and sniffled, and Mastha gave a put upon sigh. Sorin smothered his grin with a cough as she stepped aside and gestured them in with a sharp jerk of her head.

  “Don’t track mud in here,” she muttered as she led the way inside. “Heddi just mopped, and I don’t need to hear it from her when she has to do it all over again tomorrow just because no- good Uncle Sorin decided to stop by out of the blue.”

  Sorin snorted out a laugh. He didn’t pay her grumbling much mind, too busy taking the place in after years of absence on his part. The house hadn’t changed much inside either.

  Walking through the halls, he knew instinctively where to avoid stepping to keep the squeaky floorboards from protesting the late-night traffic. The wall next to the kitchen still bore the marks of the height chart his mother had drawn atop the old wood. Faded were the marks from his childhood, but the fresh ones told another story, one that was still growing.

  “Where are the kids at?” he asked quietly, mindful of the thin walls this place had. Khouri kept close to his side, trying his best to look around without appearing nosy.

  “Asleep, obviously,” Mastha muttered, leading them up the stairs. She looked over her shoulder, giving him a look that was so patently Mastha that it took him back twenty years in the blink of an eye. “Just like I was before I heard you pounding on the door like an idiot.”

  “We’re sorry about that,” Khouri murmured quietly, and Sorin had to stifle a laugh when he quickly ducked behind him the moment Mastha tried to give him the same look she gave Sorin. “I told him it was late…”

  “Don’t go selling me out just to save your own skin. The kids wouldn’t have minded it that much.” He reached for the railing and started up the steps. Khouri couldn’t very well hide behind him like this, but once they reached the landing he disappeared once more behind Sorin’s back. Mastha seemed a bit disgruntled by that; her eyes were narrowed, intent as they attempted to peer around him to take in the stranger standing on her landing. Sorin intercepted her gaze easily enough.

  “But, I’m glad they didn’t wake up too,” he said, knowing if the kids had Mastha would never let him hear the end of it.

  Putting them back to bed would take the rest of the night. “Is Yula still sleeping in your room, or did you give her the spare?”

  “No, she’s still with me,” she sighed, crossing her arms. “The nightmares she has are too bad to put her in her own just yet. Lucky for you, it means I have a spare. Your friend can have the guest room,” Mastha muttered, assessing the doors carefully. “Sorin, you can settle him in and go sleep downstairs. I’ll dig out the spare bedding tomorrow for you. You can make do with whatever’s down there for tonight.”

  Khouri clutched Sorin’s sleeve in a death-grip, prompting Sorin to cough. It wasn’t very subtle. Mastha pinned him with a look instantly, a look that Sorin studiously avoided. “Ah, well,” he began, wishing Khouri was bigger so he could hide behind him for a change. “That won’t be necessary. We can share a room. No need to put you out like that.”

  Mastha’s eyes flicked from Khouri to Sorin, from the grip of Khouri’s hand to the way Sorin avoided her gaze. When they narrowed, Sorin swallowed audibly.

  “Is that so.”

  It wasn’t a question. Sorin forced a smile, sweating a little as Khouri tried all the harder to hide. God, this was embarrassing. “Yeah. So. The guest room, right? That’s right over here, Khouri,” he said, dragging Khouri out from behind him. He took him by the wrist and pushed past Mastha’s stony figure towards the room in question.

  “Um, Sorin, is it really okay?” Khouri whispered, glancing over his shoulder as he was pushed in front of the door.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, opening the door for him. He nudged Khouri inside with a hand against his lower back. “It’s fine.”

  Khouri didn’t look convinced. The late hour and the wet clothes kept him from arguing for the moment. He entered the guest room with his bag clutched in his hand. Sorin was a bit struck by the oddness of it; this was his childhood home after all. Seeing Khouri here, framed in the doorway of a room that had used to be his sister’s… It was strange. Maybe even jarring. Worlds were colliding, and here he was dripping seawater and being chewed out by Mastha.

  A hand reached past Sorin’s shoulder and closed the door in Sorin’s face before he could take a step towards it. Sorin froze when he felt a glare settled between his shoulders. He let out a sigh, hoping Khouri had the foresight not to protest being shut in while Mastha gave Sorin a long-deserved dressing down.

  “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to look me in the eye when you pull shit like this?” his sister delivered icily. Sorin turned slowly, wincing at the tone in her voice. It was too late to run and certainly too late to hide. Taking what came next with grace was all he could do, and then hopefully she would let him be.

&nbs
p; “What’s on your mind?” he asked, putting his back to the door. Mastha had her hands on her hips. He wished she wouldn’t do that. “You look like Mom when you stand like that, you know.” Mastha rolled her eyes, not helping dissuade the comparison one bit. “Don’t bring Mom into things,” she whispered harshly as if trying to keep her voice down. “I can’t even imagine what she would say to you right now. Seriously, Sorin. You haven’t come back here in years, and when you finally show your face, you’ve got some… some Drow with you?”

  Sorin grimaced. He knew for a fact no one around these parts had seen Drow before, and only a handful had ever heard tell of the less savory parts of their reputations. He hadn’t expected Mastha’s tolerance to be so low. “Don’t be like that. Khouri is a decent person, and he’s—”

  “He’s half your age, Sorin!”

  Oh. Well, the insinuations of that were better than the alternative at least. Sorin swallowed, wondering suddenly if Khouri could hear all of this through the door he was no doubt pressed against, head against the wood. Knowing those damn ears of his, he probably could.

  “He’s actually twice my age,” he said ruefully, snorting when Mastha balked. “I know, right? Don’t let him fool you; he’s not as innocent as he looks. And I wrote you, remember? I told you I was planning a visit.”

  “You’ve done that before and never shown up,” she muttered, crossing her arms in a way that reminded Sorin painfully of their father this time. Mastha stayed too close to home; everything was bleeding into her, and being in this house didn’t help things one bit. “Can’t even remember the last time you came through on a visit.” She eyed him closely, a grin tugging the corner of her lips. “You got old, Sorrie.”

  And there it was. Sorin dragged his hands down his face, unable to hide his own smile when he put them on his hips. “You’re calling me old? Look at you,” he teased, nodding his head at her rumpled nightgown and messy hair. “Add a few more gray hairs and I won’t be able to tell you from Gran.”

  Her scowl was all Mastha through and through. She pulled back a hand and gently punched Sorin in the shoulder, her glare softening when he laughed and pulled her into a hug. Sorin held her close and refused to let go when she quickly squawked about the wet state of his clothes and the saltwater soaking through her own. It’d been years since he’d been back here, but right now, it felt like only yesterday.

  “Get off! Get off!” she huffed, finally managing to weasel her way out of his arms. She looked at the damp front of her nightgown and glowered at Sorin, fighting against the smile he could see forming on her lips. “Best you forget any dreams you’ve got of this being a vacation; I’m going to make you pay me back for all of this.”

  “The usual, right?” he guessed, leaning against the door at his back.

  The smile she showed him was absolutely demonic. “The usual? Oh, Sorrie, it’s been years since you’ve visited,” she said with glee. “You have no idea how many things need fixed around here, and you can bet your ass you’re going to fix them all before you even think of leaving again.” She jabbed his chest with her finger just to further emphasize her point.

  The thought of the roof’s poor state filtered through his mind, and Sorin sighed, resigning himself to his fate. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, pushing her hand away. “Fair enough.”

  “Good. Glad we have that settled.” She looked him up and down and then eyed his pack. “Best you get to bed then. If you’re late to breakfast, I’ll let the kids loose on you.”

  Sorin paled and grabbed his bag by the strap. “I don’t need a repeat of last time, Mastha,” he mumbled, recalling how much it hurt to have a six year old jump on his chest. It hadn’t been one of his better wake-up calls. “I’ll have us up and out before you unleash the brats on us.”

  “See that you do,” she said, watching him turn and reach for the door. Just before he could open it more than an inch, Mastha reached around him and slammed it shut once more.

  “One more thing,” Mastha began, her voice going low and quiet in his ear. “Don’t you even think about fooling around under this roof. The walls are thin, I’m the one cleaning the sheets, and I do not need a repeat of what happened the last time you had someone over. Mom might have believed you then, but I’m not that gullible.”

  Sorin felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck. He was a bit surprised it didn’t evaporate instantly from the burning heat assaulting his face and ears. “That won’t be an issue,” he lied, praying to God and back that Khouri wasn’t listening to this part.

  Mastha moved away, letting go of the door. “Good,” she said cheerfully, leaving him be as she went back to her room down the hall. “Don’t stay up too late. Breakfast might wait, but the kids definitely won’t.”

  Sorin waited until she disappeared through her own door before bothering to enter the guest room. As far as threats went, he knew that one to be as serious as they came.

  The guest room looked the same as it had the last time he had visited home, the most notable difference being Khouri standing in the middle of it. The bed rested against a far wall, heaped high with comforters and spare pillows, all handmade by his mother, his grandmother, and Mastha over the years. Against the opposite wall was the simple dresser he’d built ten years before, a wash basin and hand towel resting on top. Sorin set down his backpack and moved to the far closet, hiding his ax away from sight.

  “You should put your knives and poisons in here too,” he said, turning to look at the Drow who hadn’t bothered moving since he came in. “The kids love to play with things they probably shouldn’t.”

  Khouri blinked and then stared at the floor, nodding his head as he began unfastening his thigh sheaths from his belt. He handed them to Sorin wordlessly and then passed him his bag as well.

  Sorin raised a brow but took it regardless. “You gonna let me mess up your vials?” he asked, taking care to cushion them in the closet with some spare towel Mastha had shoved in the corner. “You’re being awfully quiet, brat. It’s making me nervous.”

  “Sorry,” Khouri whispered, and when Sorin finished with the weapons, he turned back just in time to see Khouri shaking.

  “Why didn’t you change?” Sorin muttered. He crossed the room and rubbed his hands against Khouri’s chilled arms.

  Goose-flesh covered every inch of him. Sorin guided him towards the bed and began unbuttoning Khouri’s clothes himself when Khouri let out a soft sneeze. “You’re going to get sick if you don’t take care of yourself.” He sat on the edge of the bed when prompted, his hands folded limply in his lap. Khouri looked at the floor and let Sorin tug off his shirt. “Are you in trouble because of me?”

  “No, I’m not in trouble.” Sorin tossed the shirt over a chair in the corner and knelt on the ground next, untying Khouri’s boots and putting them aside as well. “Come on; all of it comes off. You’re not getting the bed wet just because you feel weird.”

  “I don’t feel weird,” he mumbled, lifting his hips dutifully as Sorin undressed him. It left him mostly naked on the bed, shivering like a cat caught in the rain. “I want her to like me. If she’s mad at you for bringing me, that’s…”

  Sorin sighed and made quick work of his own damp clothes. He pulled his bag close and pulled out one of his shirts, tossing it at Khouri. “I promise you that none of that mood is because of you,” he delivered, swapping out his wet pants for the ones he usually slept in. Khouri slowly tugged the shirt over his head, dwarfed as he ever was in Sorin’s things.

  Khouri looked worried. Almost as if he wasn’t sure if he were welcome. Sorin sighed, pulling him down onto the bed and against his chest. “It’s not your fault,” he promised, rolling them over so Khouri was against the sheets. “I just pissed her off with coming here so late without warning. She’ll get over it. She’s got three kids; she’s used to surprises.”

  For a minute, he didn’t look convinced. “Siblings… are weird,” Khouri decided, resting his head on Sorin’s shoulder. “And you have two of
them?”

  “Yeah. Mastha and Neana. They’re the worst sometimes,” he sighed, kissing Khouri’s cheek. “But I still put up with them, and they like me enough to give me a hard time about my habits.” Sorin pulled a familiar quilt over them both, tucking Khouri under his chin until he stopped shivering. When he nuzzled Khouri’s hair, he smelled the sea.

  “I’m glad they care about you,” Khouri murmured. His slender thigh pressed between Sorin’s legs, hooking over his hip until he was on Sorin more than the mattress. He rested his chin on Sorin’s sternum and smiled gently, beautiful in the dark of the room. “It’s nice to hear. It’s strange... but nice.”

  Sorin smiled back at him. He stroked Khouri’s cheek and kissed it too for good measure. Khouri wrinkled his nose and yawned tiredly. His jaw clicked, and Sorin settled into the pillows, his own eyes heavy from the long trip here. “Strange but nice sums it up pretty well,” he said, noting how narrow the bed was. They’d have a fun time sleeping side by side in it.

  Sorin cracked a smile. His childhood bed had been similar, but he hadn’t let that stop him from sharing it anyway.

  “Sorin?”

  He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes. He cracked one open, looking at Khouri’s face hovering just a few inches from his own. “Yeah?”

  Khouri bit his bottom lip, smiling a small, teasing smile. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he said. He laid his head down, his cheek against Sorin’s heart. “For showing me the sea.”

  The scent of seawater was heavy in the shadows between them. If Sorin closed his eyes, he could just hear the siren’s song of the waves welcoming him home. It was a song that he knew in his bones, deep in the marrow. It had always been there. Since he was born probably, and Sorin let out a breath, holding Khouri around the small of his back. It was the same as it had been then, but Khouri made it feel infinitely different.

  Sorin was content to leave it at that and not wonder why. He closed his eyes and held Khouri close, kissing the top of his head. “Get some sleep, brat,” he murmured, giving in to the call of sleep all too easily.