“From what I was told, you and Julian had decided to go for a ride, even though you were told not to do so. A storm was said to be approaching, but the two of you always enjoyed ignoring your father’s demands…” His lip twitched as if to smile. “You were close, the two of you. Brothers and best friends. Julian looked up to you, and I know how much you loved him.”
More memories returned. Julian’s smiling face, filled with laughter. Cassian’s heart soaring. Pride felt because he knew how much his younger brother admired him. Vague recollections of them riding horses together, exploring through fields and forests. And then, more pain crashing down like a tidal wave so that Cassian could hardly breathe.
“The storm came quickly, I was told. More savage and unforgiving than expected. You have never spoken about what happened, so I can only guess…”
“Guess,” Cassian hissed, clutching the table now as the memories continued to batter him.
“To put it simply, Julien was thrown from his horse while riding home with you. His neck broke on impact. You did not cause it, Your Grace. You did not want it. Sadly, and it breaks my heart to say this, you took the brunt of the blame as if you were the reason.”
“I was…” Cassian said in a whisper. “I… I killed?—”
“No, Your Grace,” Mr. Pemberton cut him off as if angry. “Perhaps your father wanted you to believe it. Perhaps youwanted it too, as if that might somehow make things better. But the storm killed Julien. The fall. You are innocent.”
Cassian shook his head as more memories flooded him.
He remembered the crushing sadness when he found his brother’s broken body. He remembered the guilt as his father screamed at him and laid blame at his feet. And he remembered the promise that he made to himself that same day as he locked himself in his room to shut out the world and the pain both.
His promise was one of social isolation. It was a promise to never allow himself to feel or care for someone other than himself. It was a promise to harden his shell and build up his walls so that nothing would ever be able to hurt him.
That is why I am this way. That was the cause of who I became. And that is the reason why I deserve to be alone…
“You may go,” Cassian said. He looked at the desk, unable to meet Mr. Pemberton’s eyes because the shame he felt was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
“Your Grace, please, you must know that?—”
“Go!” he roared and snapped his head up, fixing a snarl to his face. “Now!” More memories returned, those being the look on Mr. Pemberton’s face whenever he found himself face to face with Cassian’s wrath.
“As you say, Your Grace.” Mr. Pemberton rose slowly. “And if you need anything, do not hesitate to send for me.” He looked at Cassian a final time, pity shown clearly in his eyes.
Cassian scowled at his steward. He snarled. He wanted Mr. Pemberton to believe that the old Cassian had returned, just as he wanted that old Cassian to return, because that way, he might have been able to shut off this feeling of hurt that was crushing.
Alone now, Cassian sagged in his chair, feeling the weight of his memories falling upon him like hammering fists of relentless fury. Even with his memories returning, he could not revert so simply to that cold, detached, distant version of himself that he needed to be.
He wanted to be that man now. He needed to be that man. And the cruelest irony of all was that he might never be again.
Twenty-Five
Isolde was on her way back from the library when she noticed a light coming from one of the rooms. It was a room that featured several family portraits, positioned as if to tell a history of the Blackthorne family. The last time that she had been in that room, the only time in fact, was with Cassian on their first day together.
The rest of the manor stood in darkness, as the hour was late and most of the staff would be in bed. In fact, they ought to have ensured that all the candles were put out beforehand, including the one in that room.
She paused when she saw the light flickering through the doorway. Logic told her that the room was empty, but she thought that she could sense someone inside.
Slowly, she edged toward the room and poked her head through the doorway. What she saw, while it was a strange sight, did not surprise her nearly as much as it should have done.
Cassian stood there alone.
His gaze was fixed upwards, focused on a portrait of him and his family when he had been a teenager. Isolde remained hidden as she studied him, searching his face for a clue of what was on his mind and why he was so fixated on that portrait.
The light was dim. It was hard to make him out clearly. But the longer that she looked, the more aware she became of the crushing sadness in both his eyes and the way his shoulders were slumped as if a weight sat on them. He looked at that portrait as if to do so brought him untold amounts of pain and misery. He looked at that portrait as if to not do so might be the end of him.
Most of all, he looked at that portrait in a way that told her he was alone, while he was just as desperate not to be.
She hesitated… thinking to turn and leave him. Their last conversation echoed through her mind, and that was the reason for her decision. Cassian was so determined to cut her off, to change back to who he was, to be the monster he believed himself to be. But he wasn’t that man, and she had to believe that she, more than anyone else, could show him the way.
So, she edged into the room…
“Cassian…” she spoke softly, not wanting to frighten him.
