Chapter Text
“What are you thinking?” Thira asked, snuggling close as Flynn drew the covers over her and pulled her into the curve of his body.
The Taggarts’ guest room was quaint, but the mattress was comfortable. Frankly, Thira could have been offered a patch of hay in a stable if it meant she would get to share it with Flynn.
They had spoken once more with his parents, but no concrete conclusions could be drawn beyond the fact that Martha and Marvin remembered Hell, and had woken up one day to something else entirely.
The children had been no help. Novik knew that the Heart of Argent was broken, but didn't seem to understand what that meant. Isabelle, visibly unsettled, had found her kitten and began to play with it, refusing to do anything else.
“I don't know what to think, just yet,” Flynn replied grimly.
“Isabelle was acting strange,” Thira said. “Do you think she knows what is going on?”
“You missed the last few weeks,” Flynn told her. “Isabelle is just…kinda funny like that. I think she's got autism.”
“Autism?”
“I ain't no doctor, but it's what we call the kids that act a little strange. Usually the quiet, intense ones that don't fit in.”
“I wonder who she got that from?”
Flynn snorted indignantly.
“Ain’t worth a hill of beans to me.”
Thira snickered.
“That doesn't translate very well,” she remarked, gently rubbing at the muscle around his breastbone.
“Translate? I'm speaking English,” Flynn blinked, intrigued.
“I'm speaking Argenta,” Thira replied. A moment passed.
“Odd.”
“Yup.”
“Anyway,” Thira said around a smile that faded quickly. “I can't tell whether or not you think that the children are somehow responsible for all of this.”
“I…really don't want them to be.” She felt him swallow hard. “What do you think about it?”
“I think they're involved, somehow,” Thira told him frankly. “But, going by instinct, I don't think it's malicious. All we know for certain is that your parents remember Hell–”
“--and the Heart of Argent is broken,” Flynn finished. His brow furrowed and his eyes flickered back and forth as he thought. Then,
“What is the Heart, exactly?” he asked.
“It's the spirit of a Wraith, parted from its body and sealed within my bloodline,” Thira said. “It reincarnates through the daughters of each generation.”
When he waited for her to continue, Thira told him the legend that Ulsamir had passed on to her.
“So the first King seduced a god, ripped her soul out, then went on a mad crusade?” The scorn on Flynn's face was visible, and his lip curled back in a sneer.
“Supposedly that's how the kingdom of the Sentinels was founded,” Thira said. “That would be King Mornax the Allfather.”
“Sounds like the type.” Flynn sniffed. “And Ahzrak’s Witch told you this? She might be bullshitting you; demons have a knack for gettin’ in your head.”
“But, she isn't a demon, and Cosmic beings can't lie,” Thira supplemented. She was glad that she remembered Ulsamir and the Cosmic Realm. However, when she tried to recall much past that point, her memories once again slipped away into aggravating mist.
Flynn rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. One arm was wrapped around Thira's shoulders and the other was folded behind his head; his fingers traced idle patterns in her arm.
Minutes passed in silence, and Thira wondered if he had fallen asleep. She knew that he didn't necessarily need sleep to function, but that he tended to doze off for a few minutes at a time if he held still for too long.
She glanced up at him and saw him still scowling intently at the ceiling.
“Any ideas, yet?” Thira asked.
“No.”
“How about thoughts?”
“You and your semantics,” Flynn chuckled. “I reckon,” he continued, carefully choosing his words. “That if I fell in love with someone deeply enough to give up my body, only to find out that they meant to trap me, use me, humiliate me in every way that matters and force me to live out the rest of my existence as a shadow, I'd be pretty broken-hearted, too.”
“That was hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago,” Thira said.
“Funny how it's the women that end up carrying the pain of lifetimes,” Flynn mused sadly, to no one in particular. “Sisters, daughters and mothers, left behind to hurt while the men find some new crusade. It don't seem fair.”
She put her arm around his waist and kissed the edge of his collarbone. He really could be sweet, when one knew how to wheedle it out of him.
Before she could open her mouth to reply, a tiny knock sounded from the door. Flynn released her, allowing them both to sit upright.
“C’mon, you two,” he called gently. “What's wrong?”
The door slowly opened, and Novik stuck his head through the gap.
“Can Isabelle sleep with you? Grandma Martha has a bunch of dolls in the other room. Isabelle thinks they're creepy,” the boy said.
“Ain't they just,” Flynn laughed softly.
Novik let out a stifled curse as his sister shoved him out of the way and briskly swept into the room from where she stood behind him. She was scowling intensely, and she had the stray kitten held close to her lips like a comfort object.
Out of an instinct Thira didn't realize she possessed, she opened her arms and caught Isabelle as the girl strode right to her mother and buried her head in Thira's shoulder. Thira hugged her tight, stroking Isabelle’s hair. The kitten didn't seem perturbed; it was purring.
“Why does Martha have so many? And why dolls, of all things?” Thira asked, glancing at a shelf in the corner where a small group of porcelain-faced baby dolls stared at nothing. The things were everywhere, arrayed in little doily-clad squadrons, just another set of knick knacks that the Taggarts thought worthy of display.
“Collecting runs in the family,” Flynn said, amused.
“I'm not scared of them,” Novik declared in a whisper. “I’m a warrior; nothing scares me. I just…can't let Isabelle go off by herself.”
“Well, we've got her now,” Flynn smiled wryly, laying a hand on Thira's shoulder. “You can run on back to bed, if you want. In Grandma's doll room. All by yourself.”
Novik didn't move.
“Unless you want to stay here, too?” Thira offered.
“I think I'm too old to sleep with my mommy and daddy just because of a bunch of creepy toys,” Novik snorted, puffing out his chest as if he was preparing to march out of the room. He remained rooted to the spot. “Like I said. I'm a warrior.”
“That one's lookin’ at you,” Flynn smirked, pointing at the shelf.
Novik flinched hard, raising his fists as his mismatched eyes went round.
“Go easy, son, I'm only playing,” Flynn laughed gently. He got up and put an arm around Novik, shepherding him towards the bed.
“That's not fuckin’ funny, Dad,” Novik growled.
“Don't let Grandma hear you cuss or she'll wash your mouth out with soap,” Flynn hushed. He held up the blanket and Novik grudgingly crawled under the sheets, crossing his arms over his chest with a furious hmph.
Flynn ruffled his hair, and Novik swatted at him.
“Mom, will you hit him, please?” The youth grumbled.
“Maybe,” Thira replied with a deliberately cryptic hum. “But, don't forget. Warriors are always calm under pressure. Never show the enemy fear.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the youth sneered, but anger was fading to relief.
“Isabelle,” Thira asked softly. “Do you want to lay down?”
A single blue eye peeked up at her from over Thira's collarbones, then glanced at the corner shelf before Isabelle burrowed closer.
“Alright, then,” Thira murmured.
Thira sighed gently, then carefully bundled the girl in her arms and rolled into bed, playfully imitating the rush of a repulsor engine as she did.
She felt Isabelle smile into her breastbone and the girl's back hitched with a barely-audible giggle. Tucked between her twin and her mother, Isabelle curled into a tight ball in Thira's arms. The kitten in her hands wiggled, its tiny body cradled carefully between Isabelle's cheek and shoulder.
Thira craned her neck to plant a kiss against Novik's forehead, then pulled on her corner of the covers.
“Are you going to lie down?” She asked Flynn, who sat on the edge of the bed, one leg on the mattress and his back against the headboard. His head was turned towards the shelf.
“I'll stay up and keep watch,” he said, reaching over to scratch the kitten's tiny head. The creature mewed in delight and purred harder.
“Wait a minute, why? You said you were playing,” Novik blurted. He moved to sit up, but Flynn gently pushed the boy back down.
“Them dolls used to scare me, too.”
“Seriously?” Novik blinked.
“Yeah,” Flynn smiled fondly. “I just got a whole scarier than them.”
“I can be scary!”
“Maybe. Maybe you'll get scarier than I ever could be. Get some shut-eye, son; I'll be scary for as long as you need me to be.”