Perian pointed at it as Brannal crowded in behind him.
“I’d forgotten. I must have been, I don’t know, five or six? I was looking for my father, and I found him in here. He’d moved the dresser and the carpet, and there was a loose floorboard underneath. I wanted to know if there was treasure inside, but he assured me that no, it was boring adult things that wouldn’t interest me. He then asked if I wanted cake, and in good, childish fashion, I was completely distracted. But I wonder… I wonder if he actually meant for me to see it.”
Maybe it was all a coincidence, but Perian was practically quivering with excitement. And he was with Brannal, which was doubly useful, because it was the stronger man who pushed aside the dresser and then peeled up the carpet.
It took them a minute to figure out which board it was, as it wasn’t precisely loose. It had been cleverly built so that it had to slide over a little, and then it could be lifted out.
Perian’s breath caught when he saw another envelope in the small, dark hole.
“If this is another weird sentence, I’m not sure I can take it,” Perian said, swallowing around a clogged throat.
But as he pulled it out, he found that it felt thicker than the envelope in the desk. This envelope had been hidden in a place that was meant just for him.
“Let’s go out where we can see,” Brannal suggested.
They withdrew to the bedroom, and Brannal pulled him to sit on the settee by the window. Perian cuddled up next to him and then, drawing a deep breath, he broke the seal and pulled out what proved to be several closely written sheets.
My dearest Perian,
I rewrite this letter every few years, trying to take into account how old you are and how much I should tell you. We’ve been into the city now, and it is unquestionable that you have inherited some of your mother’s gifts.
“Fire and water,” Perian breathed.
This wasn’t justaletter.This wastheletter. His father had definitely known what Perian was. He hadn’t told Perian in person, but he’d planned for it.
Brannal kissed his temple.
I have always feared to tell you what may hurt you. Or perhaps I am concerned you will judge me for my choices. Let me at least lay it out here.
I love you more than I can tell you. When your mother brought you soon after you were born, it was a surprise. When she told me the truth about herself, it was a bigger surprise still. But I loved you from the moment I saw you.
Your mother was a carnalion. Please do not believe how they have been portrayed! True, they aren’t human. They do not look at the world the same way we do. Theycankill humans, certainly—but humans can kill humans, too.
It isn’t as simple as that, of course. They do not seem to feel emotions the same way we do, and some may react to what seems to us a small slight. Most, though, are reasonable—yet they possess this ability to drain energy, on the surface much as wraiths and nightmares do. Humans feel this is a threat.
I fell in love with your mother, but it was not in her nature to tie herself to me and live with only me. She was never a danger to me, though. She was fond of me, in her way, and when you came along, she chose to bring you to me and explain a little of what could happen.
She told me that traits were not always carried obviously to the child, and she counseled me to wait and see if you were like her or not. I agreed, but I wanted to ensure your safety no matter what. So I bought us a home where we would have plenty of privacy. I established a pattern of going into the city periodically for entertainment, at a place that was safe and which would be welcoming to you.
Your mother agreed that when the time came, if it was necessary, she would teach you what you needed to know. I am sorry that I lied to you about her fate. She came to visit, once or twice a year, when you were young, and I hid it from you. Her last visit was when you were about seven, and I have not seen her since. The life of a carnalion is not a safe one, and I fear that she has perished.
You are half-human and half-carnalion, Perian, made up of your mother and me. She says that you were once called children of two worlds. You can consume human food, but youalso need the energy of desire.
I should probably tell you everything. I mean to, truly. But it is a hard secret in this world of ours, Perian. Carnalions are hidden and wary. I know of no other children of two worlds. You must be careful. Always. You may need the energy of desire to survive, but you’re smart, curious, and kind. I see so much capacity in you to love.
If you’re reading this letter, it means I never did figure out how to tell you in life, for which I apologize. Please believe me when I assure you that you are, and always will be, loved. You are special. You are a child of two worlds.
I love you so much, my son,
Your Father
Brannal carefully pulled the letter out of his hands, set it to the side, and then maneuvered Perian around until they were facing one another so Perian could bury his face in Brannal’s chest and cry.
He’d assumed his last words with his father had been more than four years ago. He hadn’t thought he’d ever get answers to any of his questions—and those questions had grown exponentially when he learned about what he was—or what he’d thought he was, because his father had told him so much!
It settled something inside of him, something that had been tilted badly awry since Cormal had made that awful accusation. His father was still his father. And he’d known what Perian was, and he’d still loved him. And that meant so much to Perian.
So he was sobbing into Brannal’s chest, clutching at him like he was worried Brannal might be going somewhere, but Brannal’s strong arms were wrapped around him like they would never let him go.
