Read Online The Young Dread by Arwen Elys Dayton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Arwen Elys Dayton
Ads: Link
could already feel himself bracing for the coming confrontation with Briac. He watched Quin go, her dark hair swinging, her body graceful—but not the slow grace of the Young Dread. Quin was full of life.
Quin glanced back at John as she ran from the woods and through the high grass of the commons. He was still standing where she’d left him at the edge of the meadow, in the shadow of a large elm tree. His eyes were following her, but his gaze had retreated within himself, as though he were thinking about something entirely other than her as he watched her go.
John’s eyes were deep. That was how Quin had always thought of them. When he was with her, they would flash with humor and love, but at other times they were desolate and hungry, as though searching for something far away and out of reach.
It was his eyes that had first drawn her to him. Though John had only been twelve when he’d come to the estate, Briac had made him stay in a separate cottage out in the woods, all alone. Quin and Shinobu would visit him there often, intrigued by having another child on the estate, especially one so worldly, who lived in London and had been to many other places besides.
John had seemed wary of their company at first, and his look warned them away. He’d spoken very little of anything personal, but eventually, Quin had decided the storms in his blue eyes were not anger or fear of betrayal, as she’d at first thought, but simple loneliness. They’d begun to spend more time with each other, and she’d seen his look slowly change to something almost like happiness.
Now, moving across the commons, she could still feel the press of his lips on hers, his arms at the small of her back. She stole a final look as she neared her cottage, but he was gone.
A few minutes later she’d climbed through a window in the back wall of her parents’ house. Crouching inside the pantry, which shared a wall with the cottage sitting room, she could hear the visitor from the aircar deep in conversation with Briac.
“There can be a disappearance,” Briac was saying. “In which case, searches may go on indefinitely. That can be good and it can be bad.”
Silently Quin pressed her ear against the narrow pantry door, which allowed her to hear better and see a small slice of the room through a crack between the door and the jamb.
Her father was sitting in the old leather armchair, beneath the rows of ancient crossbows strung along the ceiling, and next to the display chest decorated with carvings of rams—the symbol of Quin’s family—and filled with knives. He was speaking to the visitor, a man in his twenties, who was warming his hands by a cheerful fire in the hearth.
The visitor wore clothes that appeared expensive, though Quin knew she was not a good judge of clothing styles. In her fifteen years of life, she’d spent almost no time off the estate.
“There can also be a clear-cut finish with no trail to follow,” Briac continued, one hand running through the dark hair that Quin had inherited from him. Her father’s head was still untouched by gray. He was not yet forty years old, as trim and strong as he’d been as a young man, though to Quin he’d always been an ageless, all-powerful presence, like the sky or the land. “It depends on what you need,” he was telling the visitor. “We create a circumstance to serve your purpose. Do you know what you need?”
Briac was doing his best to appear friendly and polite to this visitor. Quin found the effect unsettling. She was used to her father’s face and words being hard. He often frightened her. She accepted his demeanor as a necessity of her training: he was preparing her for a life that would be harsh, but it was harsh in service of something good. To be a Seeker was to be one of the chosen few who could step
between
and change things.
The visitor began to respond to Briac’s question, speaking so softly that Quin could not make out the words. The man was very intent, but
Quin glanced back at John as she ran from the woods and through the high grass of the commons. He was still standing where she’d left him at the edge of the meadow, in the shadow of a large elm tree. His eyes were following her, but his gaze had retreated within himself, as though he were thinking about something entirely other than her as he watched her go.
John’s eyes were deep. That was how Quin had always thought of them. When he was with her, they would flash with humor and love, but at other times they were desolate and hungry, as though searching for something far away and out of reach.
It was his eyes that had first drawn her to him. Though John had only been twelve when he’d come to the estate, Briac had made him stay in a separate cottage out in the woods, all alone. Quin and Shinobu would visit him there often, intrigued by having another child on the estate, especially one so worldly, who lived in London and had been to many other places besides.
John had seemed wary of their company at first, and his look warned them away. He’d spoken very little of anything personal, but eventually, Quin had decided the storms in his blue eyes were not anger or fear of betrayal, as she’d at first thought, but simple loneliness. They’d begun to spend more time with each other, and she’d seen his look slowly change to something almost like happiness.
Now, moving across the commons, she could still feel the press of his lips on hers, his arms at the small of her back. She stole a final look as she neared her cottage, but he was gone.
A few minutes later she’d climbed through a window in the back wall of her parents’ house. Crouching inside the pantry, which shared a wall with the cottage sitting room, she could hear the visitor from the aircar deep in conversation with Briac.
“There can be a disappearance,” Briac was saying. “In which case, searches may go on indefinitely. That can be good and it can be bad.”
Silently Quin pressed her ear against the narrow pantry door, which allowed her to hear better and see a small slice of the room through a crack between the door and the jamb.
Her father was sitting in the old leather armchair, beneath the rows of ancient crossbows strung along the ceiling, and next to the display chest decorated with carvings of rams—the symbol of Quin’s family—and filled with knives. He was speaking to the visitor, a man in his twenties, who was warming his hands by a cheerful fire in the hearth.
The visitor wore clothes that appeared expensive, though Quin knew she was not a good judge of clothing styles. In her fifteen years of life, she’d spent almost no time off the estate.
“There can also be a clear-cut finish with no trail to follow,” Briac continued, one hand running through the dark hair that Quin had inherited from him. Her father’s head was still untouched by gray. He was not yet forty years old, as trim and strong as he’d been as a young man, though to Quin he’d always been an ageless, all-powerful presence, like the sky or the land. “It depends on what you need,” he was telling the visitor. “We create a circumstance to serve your purpose. Do you know what you need?”
Briac was doing his best to appear friendly and polite to this visitor. Quin found the effect unsettling. She was used to her father’s face and words being hard. He often frightened her. She accepted his demeanor as a necessity of her training: he was preparing her for a life that would be harsh, but it was harsh in service of something good. To be a Seeker was to be one of the chosen few who could step
between
and change things.
The visitor began to respond to Briac’s question, speaking so softly that Quin could not make out the words. The man was very intent, but
Similar Books
