Mirth 1, Chapter 2, Part 2

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Mirth 1, Chapter 1, Part 1

Mirth 1, Chapter 1, Part 2

Mirth 1, Chapter 2, Part 1

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MIRTH

I leave the twins to sleep, trying to drag the feeling of the heavy, contented comfort that cloaks their room into my own bed.

Unsuccessfully.

I toss and turn. Then I force myself to lay utterly still. But even though I’m exhausted — mind, body, and soul — the utter silence presses in on me, slowly but exponentially suffocating me.

I’m moving, tugging on a sweater, riding pants, and boots before I even make the decision. I brought Armin’s prize race stallion with me on the trip from London. I can’t keep a horse near me at the apartments and I also can’t bring myself to visit the stables to visit and ride Perseus regularly. He needs more than simple exercise, and I can’t give it to him.

Outbidding pretty much every noble and business mogul with a sideline in breeding for his services, my father recently installed a new head trainer and horse breeder in the castle stables. Perseus deserves to be babied, raced, and yes, put out to stud. I’ve arranged for the mare and the two younglings that Armin purchased before his death to be transported here as well. Granting permission to enter the grounds, even just the stables, is a stupidly arduous task. So it was actually easier to simply bring Perseus with me.

Now, I need to run. Now, I need to burn off this excess, this useless energy already building under my skin again, threading through my veins. I already know that I’ll be facing my father tomorrow. He’ll only give me until midmorning at most. And I can’t meltdown in front of him. I can’t weather more of those stiff necked nods, those pointed, soul searing purple-eyed gazes unless I get this grief, and anger, completely under control.

But I’m not a fast enough runner, or fit enough, to get as far as I already know I need to go, far enough to sleep a couple of hours at least. I need to get away from the castle itself so that the pressure of sleeping over the intersection point doesn’t feel as if I’m constantly on the verge of coming out of my skin.

It’s never been, never felt, this intense before. Not even when … not even at fifteen … in the aftermath of kissing —

I shove the thought away, mostly because it lends too much credence to my father’s unflattering assessment, and pointed assertions, about my abilities being tied to my emotional and mental state. Or rather, my lack of true ability.

I sweep my unruly mess of hair back into a high ponytail that’s doomed to fail the moment I get on Perseus’s back and we make a break for the nearest trail.

The fucked up chosen mate matching event my father is proposing absolutely cannot happen on these grounds. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue, because my father doesn’t invite relative strangers to his seat of power. But I’m concerned his need to protect what is his — namely me — will sway his resolve to minimize the contact others have with the intersection point.

The early morning is dark, with tiny flakes of snow filtering down from the cloud shrouded, starless sky. Not even a hint of the pending sunrise tinges the horizon as I slip out a side door. I immediately dart across the short yard to half-jog down the narrow stone stairway that twists down from the cliff on which the massive castle is perched.

The few castle guards, both mages and shifters, patrolling the various ramparts and posted in the towers ignore me. Not that I look back.

My breath comes out in chilled puffs.

Tiny mage lights trigger as I descend, situated at ankle height so not to comprise my sight. If I were a null, without the ability to actively wield essence, I’d be stumbling around in the dark.

Despite my light sensitivity, I’ve never been much of a fan of the dark. Though curling up on a winter’s eve next to a fire with a book, sipping a hot chocolate, and reading by candlelight is a hazy memory …

Or an even more unrequited dream.

Before that stupid kiss. Before he shoved me away, pain etched across his face as if I … as if my touch was … is …

I need to tear up that stupid list the moment I get back. I wasn’t thinking … I’m still not certain I moved the pen of my own volition. I never would have rationally chosen to put his name on it.

He belongs to Armin more than me, anyway.

Belonged.

Past-tense.

And I can’t remember the last time I actually managed to maintain any level of rationality, not even for a full day. Was it the day before I felt my chest crack open and soul sunder? While I attended some fucking charity event, commenting on the pretty fucking flowers and smiling at children, even as I wondered why my chest was hurting and my texts were going unanswered? Assuming the entire time that Armin had gone on a bender or was romancing someone new for the weekend instead of checking in with me? A rare but occasional occurrence when he needed … when he needed to run — just as I now practically ran, tripping down the stone stairs, through the early snowy morning.

Was I even still rational as I raced to [extreme skiing location] to identify my brother? Before I found him so … empty, and still. So silent.

Armin. Armin was even more trapped than I am. 

Or rather more trapped than I used to be.

Because my father never would have forced Armin to choose bond mates only six months after my death. Armin would have been granted more time.

My heart pounds almost painfully against my ribcage, my face completely flushed, as I finally reach the lower valley. Or at least the first of many lower valleys. A tiny town is situated across the next valley down. The airport is situated on the next. And so forth.

The castle stables, barns, fields, greenhouses, and gardens — all still winter fallow — stretch out across this wide ledge. Enough soil has been cultivated here to sustain the castle’s need for produce and fruit year round. Sheep, goats, and cows occupy farther fields. And there is a smaller chicken coop that services the staff quarters beyond the stables. For the staff who don’t live in the castle itself.

I don’t care about, or really see, any of that, continuing my now heart punishing jog to the stables. I easily disengage the alarm on the side door with a casual swipe of my hand across the palm reader — it reads my essence, which useless as it is, is still impossible to truly mimic.

I’m hit by a tension-melting warmth along with the scent of hay, feed, and horses as I yank open the door. Clean, but still musky. I slow my pace, gently shutting the door behind me. I pad through the now comforting dark, helped along by the intermittent washes of moonlight filtering through the high windows as well as some low yellow-tinted lighting that triggers as I traverse the space.

Perseus is waiting in his stall, flicking his dark brown ears thoughtfully at my approach. He has an intricate starburst of white in the center of his forehead.

I don’t pause to think about how little he and I know each other. I’ve ridden him a few times in the last six months, but not in the deep dark of the night.

Riding any horse at night is ridiculous, let alone a still half wild stallion.

But I don’t think about it.

Instead, I just think about the freedom I’ll find astride him. I anticipate molding myself to his big body, borrowing the power of his back, of his legs, until I too feel whole and capable. Even if just for those few moments.

I’ve never been thrown.

My essence — that tiny bit I passively allow myself to wield, at least — might be near worthless when compared to the power my father commands. But it means that, without even trying, when I open his pen, Perseus follows me out of the stables and into the night.

I guide him to the nearest ring, so I can step back to grab the most basic tack I can manage safely.

Perseus tosses his head at the sight of the saddle, dancing away from me playfully. Though his big ears flick and flick again. I set the saddle down over the rail, settling on just using a bridle. But Perseus tosses his head and shies sideways as I slip into the ring while holding it.

I pause, turning my back on him and gazing up at the cloud shrouded half moon overhead. I never know whether it is waxing or waning unless I look it up. Never forced myself to cement the difference in my head. I left my phone in my rooms though, so I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.

I breathe, willing myself to focus on nothing more than the frozen ground underfoot and the crisp air filling my lungs. I’m lightly sweaty from my jog, and cooling fast. Normally I hate being cold but I embrace the numbness slowly being forced upon me.

Perseus huffs into the hair at my neck, nosing the back of my head gently. I reach up and gently caress his long, broad nose.

I don’t try to set the bit in yet. I just loosely loop the reins over his neck. That won’t give me much control even when I get sorted, but I can ride bareback. Then using his mane for handholds, I twist around in a fluid motion that I’ve been able to do — with horses twice as tall as me — since I was seven. I get a leg over his shoulders. Feeling the muscles of his back reacting, shifting, bunching under me, I shift my handholds so I can get fully upright.

I don’t make it.

Perseus bucks, viciously and without warning, nearly throwing me.

I try to compensate.

But, tossing his head hard enough to rip free of my hold, leaving handfuls of his gorgeous dark mane twined through my fingers, he lunges forward for the fence.

I’m half hanging off him, barely holding on.

He’s going to drive me into the fucking fence.

I’ve got time to throw myself free.

I might even have time to tuck my face into his neck, so he only manages to swipe my leg against the rail.

But I don’t.

No matter how stupid it is to come out at night and ride a horse who barely knows me, the fact that he doesn’t accept me just reflects how my essence has twisted and — 

Someone shouts from the direction of the stables, loud enough to startle Perseus off course.

Then rough hands are hauling me off the horse’s back. My hair is more than half out of my ponytail, falling in my face. My sweater bunched in those unrelenting hands while a blisteringly delivered litany of Old Gaelic curses box my ears.

– Mirth 1, Chapter 2, Part 2