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"Thurlow is acceptable. All know me by that name, this time. I inserted records into the Alliance data banks so they'd recognize me and send me to you. I send the Alliance what they need, without giving them anything important," Thurlow said. "Solar Red and Black Mist moles are hidden in the Alliance too, you know."
"That's so wonderful to hear," I muttered. "And you still haven't explained what the worst thing was—what you said before."
"Yes, the worst part of all this," Thurlow smiled crookedly. "Love has a way of twisting your heart, did you know that? I didn't—not until now. Sometimes I wonder if this isn't part of my punishment—sending me to watch out for you, when they knew I'd love you. Knowing, more than likely, that once you learned who I was before, that loving me back would be the most impossible of things. I watch you with Gavin or Gardevik or any of the others, and I want to weep because for me that will never come. I cannot feel jealousy—that is impossible. Therefore, I have to hope. A hopeless hope."
"Well, if you think for even one minute that I have anything left in me right now, then you are very wrong," I said to him. "Where were you when I was little and needing that love?"
"I didn't bother to check on you," he lowered his eyes. "I thought you'd be unremarkable. I thought Griffin had found your mother because she might be the one capable, somehow, of having his child. I wasn't thinking."
"So. An unremarkable child. That's rich," I muttered. "Is any child unremarkable? Should they be?"
"I am learning," Thurlow looked at me again. "I beg you to be patient and not to close the door on me because of past mistakes. I also beg you not to reveal to the others who I am. Kiarra and Adam have no reason to treat me with anything other than contempt."
"Yeah." Thorsten had interfered, pretty much, with their daughter Anna Kay, while she was still in the womb. Placed a M’Fiyah with an unborn child. He'd manipulated it, instead of allowing those involved to choose. That was forbidden and he'd done it anyway. That act had damaged Anna Kay and sent her off in a bad direction when she reached adulthood.
Dragon, too, might have a few words for Thorsten—Anna Kay had been intended for him. The whole thing had turned out very badly, and Anna Kay died before she turned fifty. Bad blood and bad history. My twins had explained that story to me months ago—how Anna Kay developed jealousy and tried to kill Grace. It was a sad story for everyone involved.
"As I said, I have had to work my way back to this time. There are other obstacles to overcome." He had that right—I was one of them. "This will be a challenge for me, I know," Thurlow went on. "But I beg you not to be cruel."
"Why would I do that?" I snapped. "If I treated you like shit, I'd be you." I misted away.
* * *
"I have a memory now that I didn't have before." Griffin paced in front of Merrill's desk. They'd been as close as brothers for nearly two thousand years. Each of them had been on both sides of that desk many times.
"What memory? How?" Merrill wasn't sure he understood.
"Of Lissa. Only this was when I was still vampire and Kyler was seven years old on Cemdris," Griffin turned troubled eyes to Merrill. "Lissa, Cleo and Kyler had come, no doubt to see Ardith, my daughter. But they came looking for me, afterward."
"And Lissa said something."
"Yes."
"What did she say?" Merrill lifted the letter opener that Lissa had given him three centuries before—a replica of a Roman sword. He'd placed it in stasis; otherwise, it would have been worn thin from handling long ago.
"She told me I was no different from my mother."
"What did you say to that?"
"Nothing—I hadn't even seen her at that time. I thought she might have been slightly insane, but hitting upon a truth that I hadn't recognized before. I am my mother's son. When the child has outgrown their usefulness to me, I walk away in favor of the next one. Until they become useful again, as in Lissa's case. She was angry with me for bringing her into the world to serve my purposes—what I'd made her for. When she didn't show any signs of forgiveness quickly and Amara became pregnant, well, that was the time to dump my unforgiving daughter, wasn't it?"
"Brother," Merrill sighed, "it is one thing to choose sacrifice for yourself. It is something completely different to sacrifice others. I could not have sacrificed my children. If I'd treated Franklin or Jeffrey that way, I would have no hope of ever winning their trust again. I think Lissa will be watching you from now on, expecting the next betrayal."
"I know. I have been thinking a great deal about my mother in the past few hours. I expected the same from her, after a while. She drove every bit of love I had for her away with mistreatment and betrayal, culminating in what I thought to be the worst of all of it—when she drove me away from camp at age sixteen. That is nothing compared to what I've put Lissa through. She's right—I'm no different from Narissa."
"I believe you love your son." Merrill watched Griffin, who came to stand next to the window, staring over the moonlit lawn outside.
"I do." Griffin sighed. "I didn't see him. Never thought to Look. Lissa gave him to us, albeit unintentionally. My other children and grandchildren have been female. This is my son."
"So, you think you'll find it more difficult to mistreat your son than it has been to mistreat your daughters and granddaughters?" Merrill knew there was a sadness in Kyler that might never go away.
"I manipulated their births, so things would go as I planned. Wyatt wasn't planned."
"That's the difference? That's the excuse you use?" Merrill hadn't called Griffin out on this before, but he failed to understand things the way they were now.
"Lissa won't ever trust me. I've seen to that."
"That's an excuse to be cruel?"
"No, not an excuse, period."
"Well, your daughter and granddaughters went into to the past. I think it's time we did the same." Merrill rose from his chair behind the desk.
"Where are we going?"
"To see Lissa," Merrill said, and bent time and folded space.
"Oh, no." Griffin didn't want to see this, but it was where Merrill had taken him. A small figure lay in a hospital bed in intensive care, her head swathed in bandages and casts on both arms that lay upon the bed. A breathing tube had been inserted and the visible portion of the face was a mass of black and purple.
