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‘Spiro!’ Matthias pushed at the metal—it must have weighed a ton. Nothing moved. His own body was broken. Hysteria groaned inside him. ‘Spiro!’
He turned towards the front of the car and wished he hadn’t, when the sight of his parents’ mangled bodies filled his vision. He closed his eyes and prayed, then swore, then reached for Spiro with an arm that didn’t seem to want to obey his brain’s commands.
He needed to get free so he could save his brother. There was no water—the car had swerved to avoid a boulder in the middle of the road. It had flipped over into a valley and landed on its roof. But in Matthias’s dream they were always on the edge of water, and slowly it seeped into the car. Not transparent like the water that surrounded his palace, but a sludgy black, then burgundy, like blood.
Spiro died and Matthias could do little more than reach for his hand.
At fifteen, he lost everyone he’d ever loved.
It would be two hours before the rescue teams could free him. Two hours in which he stared at his brother and tried not to look towards his parents. Two hours in which his heart, though still beating, ceased to feel.
* * *
‘Matt?’ She pushed at his shoulder; it was damp with perspiration. ‘Matthias? Wake up.’
He made a noise and then sat bolt upright, so his head came close to banging hers. His eyes were wide open and when they swung to face hers they were huge and dark. The sun was not yet up but the sky had taken on a dawn tinge—gold and pink warred with silver-grey, bathing the room in a warm glow.
His breathing was rushed, but not in a good way. Not in the way hers had been the night before. He stared at her as though he was drowning and she could save him; he stared at her as though he expected her to say or do something, but she couldn’t fathom what.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked, as slowly his face assumed its normal handsome appearance. His lips closed, his eyes shuttered, his colour returned to normal.
‘I’m fine.’ He swung his powerful legs off the side of the bed and cradled his head in his hands for a moment. His back was turned to her yet again, but this time she resented that.
‘You had a bad dream.’
He made a guttural sound.
‘Want to talk about it?’
Another grunt, then he pushed to standing and strolled towards the French windows that led to the balcony.
‘I’ll take that as a no,’ she murmured, more to herself than him.
He heard though and turned back to face her. He was wearing boxer shorts, but it still took a monumental effort for Frankie to keep her attention trained on his face. ‘It’s nothing.’ He pushed the window open and stepped outside. The pale curtain billowed in after him.
Not understanding why, she followed him, knowing he was seeking privacy and that she should let him have that, knowing she had no reason to go after him. Understanding he wouldn’t welcome the intrusion but going anyway. She padded across the room, swallowing a yawn as she went, and emerging on the balcony.
He was staring at the ocean. She followed the direction of his gaze, unable to ignore the appreciative gasp that was a natural response to the sheer beauty before her. In the early morning light the sea shimmered silver and flashes of pre-dawn sunlight made the ripples appear to glisten like diamonds and topaz. The sky itself was a work of art she could never replicate—colours that didn’t appear in any manmade palette, and the combination of which, if she’d pushed them into service, would be almost garish.
‘He was only nine years old.’ Matthias surprised her by speaking. She drew her attention back to his face and something in her chest skidded to a halt. His expression was the most sombre she’d ever seen—not just on Matthias, but on any human being.
‘Who?’
He looked at her then, but as though he didn’t really see her. His expression didn’t shift. ‘My brother. Spiro.’
Liana had mentioned Spiro, and now it made sense. Her
heart broke for him.
‘He was nine when he died.’
Grief clutched at Frankie’s chest. ‘How?’
‘A car accident.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
It was the wrong thing to say. He withdrew from her visibly, shrinking into his hard-edged shell.
