Chapter One Hundred and Forty Eight: "Am I Not Unwanted?"
Xaphile stared up at the ceiling as he lay on his back beside Adariel.
After eating dinner, everyone had turned in early, but aside from the first tentative inquiries, nobody had asked any questions about the spat between him and Ella. He assumed that his friends thought it was just the typical stuff, since they did tend to argue a lot.
But this was different.
He had almost lost total consciousness while he'd been talking with her in the baths.
It was like what happened when he got too angry and blacked out: unaware of what he was doing, and only remembering it in depth once he snapped out of it.
He swallowed hard, face flushing as he thought about what he'd done.
Then he thought about the dream of the boy inside the mirror, the faery who looked exactly like him.
Ella's bruised head throbbed in time to his heartbeat.
He had questions, but as far as he knew, only one person could answer them.
The only person who was still awake, but had conveniently made himself scarce.
Xaphile carefully detached himself from Adariel's sleeping side and sat up, running a hand across his face.
He didn't like the thought of talking to Vordt about this.
It worried him that his hypothesis might make his uncle not want him. At least, not the way he was, inside.
Plus, he had been very unhappy lately, since Vordt had practically ignored him since they'd left Calcoon. He knew it was selfish, he knew that he shouldn't, but he wanted more. He wanted to know why Vordt's approval made him feel flustered and happy, wanted to know what it would be like to have his attention for more than ten seconds at a time.
Like when they'd spent the whole day singing together back in Calcoon, like when they'd sat together in the darkness of Vordt's secret haven and talked for hours and hours.
Inch by inch, his uncle was winning a war that he wasn't even fighting.
Xaphile wasn't being defeated, but he was losing all the same.
He looked around the dark room, taking in the shapes of his friends' sleeping bodies. Moonlight filtered in through the inn window as he rose and, step by step, made his way toward the door. He took one glance back at his little brother.
His tail flicked in his sleep, mouth slightly open, beautiful eyes closed.
Xaphile sighed, then stepped into the hall, shut the door behind him, and turned, tugging his hood up as he walked.
Vordt was sitting in the farthest corner of the room, nursing a mug of something that was probably alcoholic. His footsteps faltered as his heart lurched: he stood frozen, staring at the mug, remembering how bad his father's drinking problem had been.
The way he'd acted sober had been different than when he'd been drunk.
Vordt's body twitched and his head swiveled, blue-green eyes landing on him. A thick black brow rose above the irritated skepticism that shredded across his face.
"What?" he growled, narrowing his eyes. "Come to talk with me, have you?"
Xaphile's throat was glued shut; moving his feet from their rooted position, he hesitantly walked over to the table and sat down, leaden with grief that had no cause. When he remained silent and just sat there, Vordt drew back, giving him space that he didn't want.
"What's this about?"
Xaphile merely looked at him.
Now that he was here, he didn't know how to begin.
He was afraid.
Family was a part of his heart that had once been burnt to the ground and sown with salt, but Vordt, Zelphira, and Adariel had settled into it without him noticing. This man had somehow brought back the stupid, childish dreams that Xaphile had thrown away a long, long time ago.
Dreams of being loved, cherished, by his family.
Dreams that he had thought would have to wait until he could start one of his own.
Dreams that he was now scared of losing.
Vordt's eyes scrutinized every inch of his face.
"You don't look too happy," he noticed, and to his credit he sounded genuinely perplexed. "Is there something bothering you? It's not every day that I'm able to enjoy mortal drink, so if there's nothing..."
"What would you say if I thought the person I used to be was still inside me?" Xaphile abruptly asked, swallowing his sudden anxiety down. "You know, not just as memories that fell asleep, but... but as a separate entity entirely? One that could take control of me at any time?"
Vordt raised an eyebrow, and a cold expression flitted across his face.
"I'd say do me a favor and disappear so things can go back to the way they were."
Xaphile's heart went numb and the world around him turned grey.
Vordt's eyes looked so serious that his heart plummeted.
It suddenly made sense.
This man didn't care for him, not really... he had only gone along because he was hoping that Xaphile's mind would go back to the way it was before. He couldn't gain acceptance as he was. If the person he was in this very moment ever faded away, his uncle wouldn't bat an eyelash.
The time they'd spent together was meaningless.
"You don't care for me the way I am," he said blankly. "I see."
Vordt's brow furrowed when he slowly nodded, too numb to do much else.
"What brought this strange conversation up, anyway?" he grumbled, taking a swig of the liquid in the mug. "I don't like it when people ask me questions that hold no relevance. I hope I've made that clear now."
"Earlier, with Ella," Xaphile said, staring off into space with a cold feeling in his heart, "I lost control of myself, but it wasn't really me. I've been having strange dreams lately, and... well..."
Vordt froze, eyes shifting into a hard look when Xaphile swallowed back tears. He slid out of the chair and made his way towards the stairs, vision blurring over, legs trembling, ears burning.
But he refused to cry.
Even though the truth hurt like salt in a raw wound, he knew he could and would handle it. He had survived not being good enough once already, and he could definitely do it again. Just as he was about to take the first trembling step upstairs, someone snatched his wrist.
The world spun as he was jerked around in a circle.
Two clawed arms dug into his shoulders as he was forced to stare at Vordt's hard eyes.
"You think that you and your former self are separate beings?" he asked harshly. "Is that why you asked me such a strange question?"
Xaphile stared at him through blurring vision, his heart nothing but a crushed knot.
"Basically," he said in a calm voice that did little to express how he was really feeling. "You can tell me to disappear now, if you want. I think I can handle it. The shock's already passed."
Vordt's face twitched and began to darken, lips curling and eyes squinting into something scary. He let loose a low, threatening growl and bared his teeth. It would have looked more frightening if the illusion hadn't hidden his fangs.
His eyes were full of disdain.
"Explain this to me in detail, now," he commanded lowly, shaking him. "Tell me everything."
Xaphile looked at him bleakly.
"Why?" he asked, letting out a bitter sneer. "Never mind. I wish I'd never said anything at a-"
"TELL ME!" Vordt snarled, shaking him roughly. "NOW!"
Something hot flashed over Xaphile and he flinched, cut nearly to the bone by his uncle's voice.
That heat turned bitterly cold and his vision tunneled for a few seconds.
The smell of ashes filled his nose and mouth, then faded abruptly.
"Why should I?" he heard himself asking, feeling an odd sense of muted disconnection from himself. "It's not me you care for. It never was. I'm nothing to you."
"What?" Vordt asked, and for some reason, he was suddenly looking down from above himself; he dazedly saw the way his uncle's hands tightened, could see the top of his curly hair, the way his muscled shoulders tensed. "What are you saying?!"
Xaphile could even see himself.
Just like earlier, with Ella, he saw the way his eyes stared vacantly at his uncle's.
He could see every line of his own face, but his head was muddled, confused.
His senses were thrown around.
"I did not mean what I said," Vordt's voice snarled, making his vision ripple in two ways; he could see himself, but he could see his uncle's face, too, like he was in two places at once. "I had merely assumed you were sprouting nonsense, and I am not in a welcoming mood right now."
"You said such a horrible thing," Xaphile heard himself say. "How could you?"
Momentary confusion flooded through his head.
He hadn't said a word, not really... his mouth had just moved, and his voice was too low to be his own, tight and pained with knowledge that he didn't have. Vordt abruptly let him go and jerked back, hands abruptly shaking; he stared with wide eyes at Xaphile's face.
"You..." he said slowly, carefully, alertly. "Your aura... are you Xaphile?"
His face fell; he watched with dual perspective as his arm raised to his face, clawed fingers flexing and stretching. He felt weak, strained, and he began to grow tired. So tired. His ability to see started to distort, and darkness filled the edges of his out-of-body vision.
"I am me," he said softly. "I always have been."
"It can't be," Vordt whispered, shocked. "Is that truly you? Have you come to your senses at last"
Xaphile watched with fading vision as his uncle took a step forward and reached out. But against his control, his arm snapped up and smacked the man's hands way. Vordt looked confused when he folded his arms, sneering in absolute disgust.
Xaphile was just about to fade away into darkness when a strange blue glow suffused him.
He would have gasped had he been able to. The light ensnared him, keeping him awake, keeping his vision clear, driving the darkness away. He could see himself, could see the blue aura stretching from himself all the way up to where he was now looking down.
Vordt lifted a hand and tried to touch him again.
And then, something happened that made Xaphile realize he wasn't himself anymore.
With a flash of deep blue light that matched the aura holding him in place, his body raised its hand and Vordt was lifted off his feet by his throat and slammed against the wall.
A noose made of brilliant azure luminescence held him pinned; when his hands began to shine red, the blue glow suffused it and smothered it. He was crushed against the wall of the stairs.
Like a bug in a spiderweb.
Xaphile watched as his body leaned forward, head tilting to the side.
"I should strike you down for everything you've done," Xaphile said coldly. "I do not need you or want you. I never have and never will, dear uncle."
Xaphile's heart nearly shattered in horror when Vordt's face went white.
His eyes widened, and he looked, for a moment, as if those words had genuinely hurt him.
Stop, he silently begged. Please... stop... you don't mean this... you can't... he's my family...
"I do not love you, or accept you," his mouth said coldly, then smiled in irony. "I have seen everything, dear uncle. You understand nothing. It's rather amusing to me. How does it feel knowing that the one you have been waiting for wants nothing to do with you?"
"You can't mean that," Vordt growled, pupils dilating. "You... you aren't yourself right now..."
"You are wrong," his mouth whispered, and a smile unlike him washed across his face. "I am me, as I have always been, but it is true that I am not the me you know. The me that wants you, and needs you, and loves you is the me that you have hurt, repetitively. You are a sick individual."
"I apologized for hurting him," Vordt hissed. "I made right the wrong of my actions!"
"Not all hurts are physical," he said, letting loose a bright, slightly sarcastic laugh. "I have felt every unshed tear as if it were my own. I have heard every aching wish and broken dream. I have seen your cruelty through the eyes of someone who craves love that only you can give."
"You crave love from me?" Vordt asked lowly, narrowing his eyes. "Blood kin or not, we are all but strangers to each other."
"Indeed," his mouth agreed. "It is as you say. Forgive me for not wanting you the way he does."
"What has happened to the mortal boy?" Vordt grimly asked. "Has he faded? Passed on?"
Xaphile felt a strong tug on his mind, and an itch filled his head. His eyes fluttered shut.
"We are one and the same," he whispered, and Xaphile heard his own voice filling his ears clearly all of a sudden. "Do not address us as if we are not."
"You and he are not the same. His is the soul of a mortal, yours is that of an immortal. If you are truly separate beings, eventually, he will fade... unless..."
Vordt trailed off, freezing.
"Never shall he fade while I breathe," Xaphile murmured, feeling strangely cold all over. "I swear this to you now. You know what I am planning. I can see it as clear as the night sky."
"You can't," Vordt breathed. "You cannot do it. Don't."
"It is fortnights too late to turn back," Xaphile's mouth murmured; he was inside himself again, but still had no control. "I will save this shattered soul, and together we will live, love, and find true happiness, as one. For we are the same, in body and soul."
As he spoke, the aura keeping Vordt in place vanished and he dropped to the stairs.
In an instant, Xaphile was shoved against the wall with claws digging into his shoulders.
He felt no pain. Barely even a hint of pressure.
"You aren't the same!" Vordt snarled. "He was a mortal! You aren't the same individual!"
"Ah, while that is true, it is yet untrue," Xaphile chuckled, vision clearing up. "All will be answered in time... but it is too soon. I cannot... I must..."
Xaphile trailed off.
It was like coming out of a fog.
He blinked, then blinked again, and suddenly he could hear properly, could feel his uncle's claws in his arms, could feel his knees knocking. The strange blue haze around his eyes fade and a shiver ran down his spine. Vordt was looking down at him with a snarl, eyes alight with...
Something.
Whatever it was, it wasn't nice.
"You've returned to how you were," he said lowly, letting go with a sneer. "You disgust me. Leave."
Xaphile's throat tightened.
He took in a shaking breath, curled his fingers to see if he could. He hadn't felt a presence, hadn't felt anything foreign or forced. His body had been like a ship where he couldn't move the rudder, moved by forces he didn't control.
"Vordt, that wasn't me," he said thickly. "I didn't... I didn't say any of those---"
"LEAVE!" the faery hissed, eyes flaming with rage. "NOW!"
Xaphile flinched and tore upstairs, tail whacking his uncle in the face on the way up. He scrambled down the hall towards the room, then faltered. Breathing hard, he turned, heart pounding. He felt an iciness creep through his entire body as reality began to descend.
I've developed split personality disorder, he realized. The stress and confusion and dissolution of reality must have fucked with my head so much that it gave me a psychological break.
At least, that's what the rational part of his mind wanted to believe.
He had seen, and felt, and heard... muted and strangely muffled as the experience had been, he'd recognized the feeling of his own magic keeping his soul locked in place. And yet, oddly, it hadn't been his magic at the same time. Not to mention, his shift in behavior...
Not being able to control his body.
The things he was saying.
There was no explanation aside from one.
His other self was alive inside of him, inside that internal mind-mirror, and he was willingly letting Xaphile live through him. He didn't know why, but it was the only explanation he could come up with, especially after realizing just how easily he had been forced out of himself.
He'd lost control so easily, and he'd even begun to lose consciousness.
If it hadn't been for the veil of blue that had found him, he might have actually passed out.
But those things.
Those things he'd said to Vordt.
He couldn't leave it alone.
Swallowing hard, he turned around and made his way down the hall, toward the stairs. Vordt was standing still, facing the room, both hands pressed against his face. Like the time in the forest, he was completely still, shoulders sagging.
Xaphile's heart clenched, and before he realized what he was doing, he was moving down the stairs. Vordt was so distraught that he didn't even hear him coming. He smacked into his uncle's back and wrapped him up in a tight hug from behind, ignoring how he stiffened like an iron pole.
"Listen," he said before Vordt could say anything. "I don't... hate you. I don't hate you at all. I wasn't in control. I didn't mean any of that. I don't feel that way, okay?"
"Xaphile--"
"NO!" he snapped, mouth twisting. "I... I know... that I'm... not wanted, okay? And it's cool with me, I can manage. I have friends who care about me, despite knowing how many problems I have, and... and it's okay. If you don't like me the way I am, I'll be okay, eventually."
Vordt remained frozen beneath his arms.
He didn't even so much as breathe for a solid thirty seconds.
"You truly think that I don't care for you the way you are now?"
The question came as a surprise, but Vordt's tone was low, questioning, filled with something dark, something twisted, rough, gravelly. His tone was sullen, unpleasant, slightly disbelieving. Xaphile blinked, confused immensely, and finally lowered his arms.
"I don't know," he weakly admitted. "There are times that I feel like the two of us are doing well, and there have even been times where I thought I could tell that you cared."
"Then why would you so readily believe that I don't?" Vordt hissed, fists shaking. "Why? Even were I to say such a thing in a fit of bitter moodiness, how could you believe it so readily?"
Xaphile merely looked at him, hands limp, face drawn and tired.
"Because," he said softly, closing his eyes in defeat, "I was told my whole life that I was a mistake, that I'm trash, worthless, that I never should have been born. My father told me every single day, to my face, that I am a worthless, unlovable individual."
"I am not him. Nor is Olagrell!" Vordt snarled over his shoulder. "Do you not realize this?"
"I do," Xaphile admitted, then swallowed, "but that doesn't matter."
"How can it not?!"
"Because I feel, deep down, that my father was right."
Vordt's fists stopped shaking and the base of his left ear flicked.
"Your father's words affect how you think of me," he said slowly. "I finally understand. It is because we look alike and even sound alike. You are reminded of how he treated you."
"No," Xaphile said, frowning, "It's not that, it's just... well, how could I not believe you?"
Vordt turned around, glaring. "You think so little of me?"
"I'm not even supposed to be alive right now," he finally snapped, making his uncle pause; he clenched his fists, swallowing his frustration. "I should be dead. I don't belong here. I'm pathetic, I'm always crying, I'm not brave, or courageous, anyone would be ashamed of me. I believed it because I don't think I'm someone worth loving. I'm not. I hate everything about myself."
Vordt's angry face twitched, then slackened a little.
"The shift in your aura startled me more than what was said," he said a little reluctantly, "and I admit it, I was aghast. The hostility you radiated... it was unlike you, and yet very much like you, only channeled in a different way. How can you hate everything about yourself, Xaphile?"
"I just do, always have," he said thickly, "and after what happened to Ella, I feel that way even more. But you know what the fucked up part is? When you said you'd tell me to just disappear, for a second, I felt like maybe it would be better. I was never supposed to be here."
He was unexpectedly dragged forward and crushed against Vordt's chest.
"Enough wallowing in self pity," a deep voice growled, vibrating his cheek. "I am sorry. I did not intend to hurt you. My words were a product of my own foul mood, and I did not mean them."
Xaphile's eyes stung, but the warmth emanating from his uncle was lulling.
He didn't let up from the crushing hug for even a moment.
"If I disappear," he said softly, "and don't go back to how I am... make sure that I take care of Ella, and my friends. I made promises that I want to keep."
"You won't disappear," Vordt hissed, tightening his arms. "There may be a way to prevent this from happening again."
Xaphile's ears perked up and he stiffened slightly.
"How?" he asked. "What can I do?"
Vordt pulled back and gave him a steely, yet somehow hesitant look.
"By marking each other, as kin," he said simply. "You would have to bite me, the very same way that you did the countess. And I, you."
Xaphile stared at him without blinking, heart suddenly going nuts. He didn't know how to feel since he still had nightmares about the last time Vordt had marked him; the very thought made him shiver violently, and yet, there was a part of him that was okay with it.
This time, his uncle was giving him the choice.
Actually... no.
No, that wasn't it at all.
Xaphile's eyes widened when he saw the look on Vordt's face.
The importance of a mark was significant.
it wasn't trivial.
By suggesting such a thing... Vordt was asking to solidify their relationship as family.
It was a gesture of mutual acceptance. His eyes closed, and in a silent gesture of acceptance, he pulled his hood down and dragged his hair off to the side, exposing the left side of his neck. Swallowing hard, he clenched his fists, wondering how things had taken such an odd turn.
"I'm tired," Xaphile said a little jerkily, not looking at the eyes that stared at him, "I'm tired of not ever knowing what tomorrow might bring, I'm tired of not knowing where I stand, of being scared. Before we do this, I need more than anything to know that you care about me."
"I thought I made my feelings clear," Vordt growled, scowling. "Haven't I?"
"No, you haven't," Xaphile shot back, watching out of the corner of his eye as he stiffened up. "Do you realize that you have never once told me to my face that you love me? Or even said that you have accepted me as your nephew? You haven't verbally acknowledged me at all, Vordt."
"Is that something you desire?"
"Of course," Xaphile told him, closing his eyes. "Actions can only tell a person so much. Just like words can only tell a person so much. If I ever have children of my own someday... I'd want them to know that they're loved by me. I would tell them every day, even if only once, that I love them."
"Why?"
"Because I know what it's like to want that from someone and never hear it."
Vordt's face, in that moment, looked stunned, as if he'd been hit by an epiphany.
He scowled for a few seconds, then sighed.
"A mark is something that faeries don't give to just anyone," he said quietly. "I had assumed that after spending time with us, you would have come to understand that. The first time I marked you was wrong... a truly terrible thing to do, but at the time, I believed myself to be right."
"Will this be any different than back then?"
"That depends on you," Vordt said more gently than Xaphile had ever heard. "It rests on whether you are willing to accept me. I am capable of accepting you as family, so if a mutual kinship mark is something you want, and won't be ashamed of, I will allow you to bite me in return."
Xaphile looked at him, a little hesitantly.
"I don't understand. Am I not unwanted?"
Vordt's hand slowly wrapped around the back of his head and threaded through his hair.
He lowered his face and met his eyes on equal height, still scowling, but gently now.
"You are loved by many," he said quietly, blue-green eyes swirling. "Your aunt loves you, and those mortals you treasure love you, and Adariel worships the ground you walk on."
"And... and you?"
Xaphile said it quietly, fearing the truth when Vordt's eyes closed.
"I cannot remember how to love," his uncle said, sending his heart plummeting through the floor. "I have been lost in anger, sorrow, bitterness, and hatred for too long. My heart no longer works correctly and my emotions are unbearably heavy because of my imprint. The damage it caused me and my ability to feel will never fully heal, but... unorthodox or not, I care for you."
"You do?"
"Yes. I have long since begun to see why Zelphira was keen on having me be the one to mentor you. I feel more at ease when you are around. It is easier to breathe, and watching you soothes my troubled heart more than other things that I have tried throughout the millennia."
Xaphile swallowed.
"So, you care about me?" he tentatively asked. "You don't hate me?"
"Silence, fool. If I hated you, I wouldn't be inquiring about a kinship mark," Vordt said flatly, narrowing his eyes. "For me to do this is the highest form of affection I can give. And I am not even fully certain I can do it with the way my heart and mind now work."
Xaphile merely looked at him, wide-eyed.
"Family," he said faintly, swallowing hard as the stark reality of this situation hit him. "You and I will be family. No more illusions. No more smoke and mirrors, or guessing. No more walking on eggshells. You and I will be bonded even deeper than blood, as family, for the rest of our lives."
"Obviously," Vordt snorted, giving an exaggerated nod. "Do you accept this?"
He took a deep breath, and turned his head, exposing his throat.
He nodded.
Just like that, his uncle wrapped him up in a crushing hug.
And then, he felt a sharp sting in his neck as two sharp teeth punctured his throat. He didn't move, eyes squeezed shut, as Vordt's magical energy flooded into his body and meshed with his emotions. It felt completely different than the rancid energy that had suffused him last time.
This feeling was melancholy and warm, but very uncomfortable, like the feeling of stale tears left to linger on the skin for far too long without being touched. His neck twinged and pulsed; Vordt's arms tightened around him, making it almost impossible to breathe.
He could feel his uncle's pain.
The anger beneath the prickle, the hurt, the uncertainty, the fear, and worry.
It was so familiar it almost made him laugh, but there was a sting of acidic bitterness that he didn't recognize, too, a feeling that made his anguish completely different. It was in that moment that Xaphile realized, for the first time, how alike he and Vordt really were.
They hurt the same.
But suffused over everything was a bittersweet warmth.
Just before the world whited out, he wondered something.
If our level of anguish is almost the same, and his pain came from losing my mom... does this mean that I imprinted on Ella Richardson back on Earth?
He didn't know.
Vordt suddenly pulled his teeth out and stepped back, breathing hard, and Xaphile watched as a thin drop of blood trickled down his chin. With little fanfare, he pulled the collar of Sinmir's shirt down and looked away, mouth tight.
"Exposing one's throat is a sign of the utmost trust," he hissed, eye twitching. "None of the Faust clan living in Gwyradyll Hollow have done so within the last three hundred years. I can give you no other show of trust greater than this one, aside from perhaps allowing you to touch my hair."
Xaphile nodded, then stepped forward.
He set his forehead against Vordt's chest and remained still for a moment. His neck burned and ached, and he could feel hot trickles of blood running from the punctures in his skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was running on an odd high.
"You know what?" he said, tilting his head back. "I meant it when I said that I want you to be an active part of my life. Even if you never love me."
And before he could let himself think, he just let himself feel.
He felt the yearning for family, for stability, for acceptance.
He felt the need to be closer to his uncle rise up to the surface.
And he felt gratitude, and the barest hint of love.
A black haze obscured his vision and he slowly stood on the tips of his toes. He gently grabbed his uncle's shoulders, and leaned forward, carefully biting down on the side of his neck. Vordt flinched when his teeth punctured through, but he remained still.
Xaphile closed his eyes and allowed himself to just feel.
I have a family, he told himself, a brother, an aunt, an uncle... I have friends, so many friends who have been doing so much for my sake... and there's even a girl who says she loves me, who goes to such great lengths just to make sure that I'm not sad anymore. Nearly every single one of the people that I love today made a great deal of mistakes in the beginning, but I forgave them.
His hands tightened on Vordt's shoulders, and then loosened.
He pulled his fangs out, feeling exhausted.
The exchange of energy was over.
Just before his knees buckled, he had a thought and a flood of sorrow swept through him.
My dad made mistakes, too. Maybe we could have worked things out if I hadn't killed myself.
He thought about that for a second as he fell.
Then he resigned himself.
No... never.
"Why?"
Because in his mind... the biggest mistake he ever made was me.
Xaphile didn't even realize that he'd been spoken to since he'd already passed out.