33 - Rhodney

  The axe head sang on its way down.

  Thwock!

  The wood split in two. Riven sighed, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and placed another log on the chopping block. Thwock! This time, two pairs of small feet scampered up close. Hands snatched up the wood he had just chopped to carry to the wood pile beside the kitchen door.

  “Hey, that’s my piece!”

  “No, that’s mine. Let go!”

  “I saw it first!”

  “Well, I grabbed it first!”

  As the argument unfolded, Riven rolled his eyes, dropped the axe, and swept the two boys off their feet. The little gremlins giggled, the sound as clear as church bells on a bright summer’s day.

  “Come here, you little scamps!” he growled.

  “Uncle Riven, no!” they screeched joyously.

  Their voices devolved into more ferocious giggles as Riven collapsed to the ground with them firmly in his grip, fingers moving to tickle their sensitive underarms. He was merciless. Another laugh bubbled up from his own chest, ringing out loud and hardy as the two boys writhed, protesting. Happiness. Joy. The air was full with it.

  “Daniel! Ian! Where are you?” sang out another voice.

  “Mother! Help us, help us!” Ian called back, laughing.

  A bright voice chuckled as Vanessa stepped into the yard. Riven finally let the boys go, watching as they scampered to their mother’s side, clutching her skirts and hiding behind her. She looked down at them, clicking her tongue in mild disapproval.

  “Look at the state of you,” she said in mock horror. “What will your tutor think when you arrive at your lessons?”

  The boys wrinkled their noses.

  “Mother!” Daniel protested. “Do we have to do our lessons today?”

  “Yeah! We want to help Uncle Riven more! He’s making us good and strong!” Ian added eagerly.

  Vanessa smiled down at them, taking Ian by the chin and brushing away a stray spot of dirt on his cheek.

  “Yes, you must go,” she said patiently. “You must because it’s not enough to just be good and strong. You must be good, strong, clever boys so you can one day be good, strong, clever men.”

  “If we ever grow up,” Ian mumbled impishly beneath his breath.

  Vanessa stilled, her expression freezing. Riven felt his smile disappear.

  “Ian,” he said quickly, voice rough, but Vanessa held up a hand.

  “It’s okay,” she said, smiling despite the pain in her eyes. She crouched down in front of her youngest and took him by both arms. “Ian, I don’t ever want you talking like that again.”

  “But grandmother says the war-”

  “I know what your grandmother says, but I also know that this family is good and strong,” Vanessa interjected. “Besides, we have Uncle Riven to watch out for us, no? What could possibly happen with him around?”

  Riven smiled wanly. “Of course. No one’s getting past me. Not ever. Not to you guys.”

  He took a deep breath, ruffled their hair despite their protests, and gave them a hard look.

  “Now, no more talk of skipping lessons,” he said. “Off you go. If you study hard, you might be cleverer than me one day. Might,” he added with a wink.

  They protested only once more, like baby birds begging for attention. Riven growled once more and playfully kicked at them. They dodged him before scrambling inside the manor.

  “Silly Ian!” Riven could hear Daniel scolding his younger brother. “Of course we’ll grow up. We have to become knights like Uncle Riven and Uncle Rhodney, remember?”

  “Right!” Ian said brightly.

  For a moment, silence fell between Riven and Vanessa. Then, Riven quickly turned away, throat feeling full. He reached down to pick up his axe again. The weight of it helped ground him in the moment even as his mind threatened to desert him.

  “Are you alright?” Vanessa asked quietly.

  “Fine,” he answered.

  Too quickly.

  Vanessa noticed. She always did.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Riven only grunted. “It’s fine. I’m glad they’re remembering him. We both know after losing their father so young, Rhodney became…someone important…”

  He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Vanessa sighed patiently and came up beside him, laying a hand on his arm. He flinched.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “Don’t be.”

  “We both lost a brother.”

  “But I’m not the one who saw it happen,” she said quietly.

  Riven’s hands shook. He looked down at his boots, jaw tight. She was right, but that didn’t make it feel any better. In fact, it almost made it worse. The stench of mana. The tang of almost-fire, earth. And the screams around him. And the warmth of blood as the magic drew back across his throat -

  Riven cleared his throat quickly and shrugged off her hand.

  “I want to finish this before I leave,” he said. “Make sure you have enough.”

  He placed another log on the chopping block, the movement stiff and firm. Vanessa stepped back, lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t say no, didn’t say ‘the servants can do that.’ He would have almost preferred that to what she did say instead.

  “She’s getting worse, you know.”

  Thwock! The axe split the log in two pieces. Riven took the larger one and placed it back on the block, every movement deliberate. The rough wood dug into the callouses of his hands.

  “I know,” he said quietly.

  He stepped back and swung down again. Harder.

  Thwock!

  “If she’s saying things like that to the boys,” Vanessa probed.

  “I know,” Riven said again, kicking the pieces out of the way and picking out another large log.

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  “Riven-”

  Thwock!

  “I know, Nessa, I know,” Riven growled lightly, dragging the axe towards him and letting the head sink into the dirt once more.

  He turned to her, leaning on the axe handle. He didn’t quite yell. It didn’t feel right to yell. But his voice was tired, firm.

  “I’m sorry she said that to the boys. I’ll handle it,” he said to her. “I promise. But there have been more bad days than good lately. Ever since Rhod-” he stopped abruptly, unable to say his name out loud. Swallowing hard, he continued, “He was the only one who could handle her, really.”

  Vanessa was quiet for a long moment as she stared down at her hands, playing with her wedding band. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but unyielding.

  “You need to speak to her, Riven. Before the boys hear something they can’t unhear.”

  He avoided her eyes.

  “I don’t want to keep them away from their grandmother,” she said. “But if she keeps talking like that, I will. I can’t lose them, Riven. Not to that kind of talk. And if you won’t talk to her…” she trailed off, letting the rest hang in the space between them.

  Riven hesitated, fists clenched around the axe handle. He slowly released his grip, taking a deep breath and nodded.

  “Alright,” he said weakly. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Before you leave?” she asked.

  “Before I leave,” Riven nodded.

  Vanessa smiled. She came up to his side and kissed his cheek affectionately.

  “Thank you, Riven. I know you have done so much for us. I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t important.”

  He managed to smile at her this time. She squeezed his arm reassuringly one more time before turning and disappearing into the house herself.

  Then, he was alone.

  He dropped his axe. It thudded into the dirt as he collapsed against the chopping block. He dropped his head in his hands and sighed.

  Later that evening, Riven went to find his mother. She didn’t often leave her rooms these days except for moments when she fancied a walk in the garden. But even those moments were getting fewer and farther between with her failing health.

  He stood at her door longer than he should have. The hall was quiet, save for the quiet murmur of servants’ voices as they passed nearby. The light was dim, the small flames flickering feebly in their wall sconces. A distant scent of lavender and sage wafted briefly from behind the closed door. It awakened more memories Riven fought to keep stuffed down.

  They were too painful to remember right now.

  He knocked.

  “Come in,” answered a voice.

  Pleased. Frail.

  Riven turned the handle and stepped inside. The caretaker, an older motherly figure in a simple uniform, came to her feet upon seeing him enter.

  “Young master!” she said brightly. “Come in, come in! My lady, your son has come to see you.”

  She placed a hand on the shoulder of the woman who sat in the second chair. She faced the window, humming softly to herself as the sun dipped into the horizon. The canvas filled with sunset hues as her brush moved swiftly in broad, neat strokes. At the announcement of Riven’s arrival, however, she paused and looked up, eyes wide with delight.

  “Oh, how wonderful!” she said, eyes dancing beneath her graying hair. “Where is he?”

  The caretaker smiled sweetly and pointed behind her towards Riven. Riven stepped forward.

  “Hello, mother,” he said tentatively.

  His mother stood slowly from her stool with the help of her caretaker and came to give Riven a hug. Riven accepted it with hesitation at first, but his arms gradually tightened around her as she squeezed him.

  “I’ll let you talk,” the caretaker smiled.

  Then, she left. Eliza Hawthorne, Riven’s once imperious mother, stepped back, eyes twinkling with mischief as she took in her son.

  “I haven’t seen you in quite some time. You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you.”

  Riven blushed. “Not on purpose. But there’s things to be done around here. You know. People to take care of.”

  “Yes, yes. Too busy to visit your poor old mother while she’s cooped up inside with all her terrible aches and pains. I tell you, getting old is no fun.”

  She laughed brightly as she stepped over to the canvas and picked up her brush once more. Riven felt a tightness in his chest. She’d hadn’t been so lucid in quite some time. Today must have been a good day. He felt guilty for ruining it, but the look on Vanessa’s face before walking away still haunted him. He sighed and stepped up beside his mother, watching as her brush strokes shaped the curve of the sun in bright yellows and oranges, the colors running together on the canvas.

  “Mother,” he said quietly. “We need to talk about what you said to the boys.”

  She waved a hand vaguely, still smiling. “Oh, I know. I know. I shouldn’t have snapped at Riven. Or Theo. You were only playing, weren’t you? But it’s hard. It’s hard, when your father’s gone so often. I worry.”

  The breath left his lungs completely. So, not a good day. A bad one.

  “Mother,” he tried again. “I’m not talking about Riven and Theo. I’m talking about Daniel and Ian. You can’t talk like that around them. They don’t understand. It frightens them.”

  Her brush paused and she turned to look at him curiously.

  “Daniel and Ian?” she echoed softly, like she was tasting the names for the first time. A moment passed. Then, a little frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know any Daniel and Ian, dear. Are they new boys from the village?”

  Riven’s heart sank. He forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, Mother. They’re... just some boys in the household. I’ll take care of it.”

  She nodded, satisfied with that, and turned back to her painting. “That’s good. You always did take care of things, Rhodney. Just like your father. Steady hands. You keep this house upright, you know.”

  Riven’s breath hitched in his chest. The name landed like a knife. But he said nothing.

  “You and your brother used to fight something awful,” she continued, voice light and dreamy. “But you were thick as thieves in the end. I always knew you’d grow into good men.” Her voice softened, as if falling into memory. “He’d follow me anywhere. You used to say that. ‘Riven will follow me straight into hell, if I asked.’” She chuckled. “And I said, ‘Don’t you dare ask, then.’ But I suppose you did, didn’t you? Both of you.”

  Riven couldn’t breathe. His hands clenched behind his back.

  “I miss him,” she said, voice now quiet. “Your brother. I keep looking down the path, thinking he’ll come through the gate. But the gate stays empty. I still set two cups at breakfast, sometimes. Silly, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Riven whispered. “Not silly.”

  Eliza smiled again. A soft, faraway thing. “You’re a good boy, Rhodney.”

  He swallowed hard and took a step back. “I should let you finish your painting. You’re doing beautifully.”

  She didn’t look at him this time. Just nodded gently, dipping her brush into another color.

  Riven turned and left the room quietly. He closed the door behind him, leaning his forehead against the wood for just a second—just enough to collect himself.

  The caretaker was seated in the hallway, knitting something in her lap. She rose as soon as he stepped out.

  “How was she?” she began.

  “You’re supposed to be watching her,” Riven said sharply.

  She blinked. “Sir?”

  “She told the boys they wouldn’t grow up. That the war would take them too,” he snapped. “That is your job to prevent. You’re meant to monitor what she says. To shield them from that.”

  Her hands clasped, fingers white at the knuckles. “I—I know, sir. But sometimes she’s so quick. And when she’s lucid, I don’t want to confuse her or upset her further—”

  “She doesn’t get to damage them just because she’s hurting,” Riven cut in. “If I hear she’s said anything like that again, I will personally replace you.”

  The woman bowed her head. “Yes, young master.”

  He didn’t wait for her to say anything else. He turned and walked down the hallway, the weight of his mother’s voice still tangled somewhere deep in his chest. His steps were firm. Harsh.

  He shouldn’t have come home.

  He knew it the second he stepped foot out of his mother’s room. The quiet was too loud, the air too thick and heavy. Garrick had insisted they needed rest - him, Bran, Edain. Said they’d earned it. Deserved it.

  Deserved it.

  Riven dragged a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck as he moved through the corridor. He could still smell the paint on her brush, her lavender and sage candles.

  Rhodney, she called him, her voice echoing in his mind.

  His brother’s name. Not his. He clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

  Vanessa was waiting for him just around the bend, worry creasing her brow.

  “How did it—”

  “It’s handled!” he barked, sharper than he meant to be.

  She flinched, but he didn’t stop. He stormed past her, shoulders rigid as he brushed past her.

  “Riven,” she said, but he ignored her.

  He didn’t trust himself to answer. His boots struck hard against the stone until he reached his chamber door. He shoved it open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind him.

  Blessed silence.

  But only on the outside. His heart thundered in his ears, every breath filling his lungs like the wind in a storm. His chest heaved with emotion.

  He shouldn’t have come home, shouldn’t have let himself hope for a better day. For the days they used to be. Happiness. Joy. They had once filled these halls. Even in the angry moments, he remembered the love. Now there was only grief. Forgetfulness.

  For a moment, Daniel and Ian’s bright faces flickered in his mind’s eye, and he faltered.

  No. It wasn’t stupid to come home. It wasn’t pointless.

  But it hurt. God, it hurt. It felt like a deep hole had torn itself open within his chest, gnawing at the edges of something too raw, too wounded. It felt like grief. Like guilt. Like rage without a target.

  He couldn’t stay here. He would return to the tower tomorrow.

  At least there, he had something he could hit.