Oilcan wished he didn’t feel so guilty for protecting himself. But if his mother’s death had taught him anything, it was that you couldn’t live your life ignoring your own heart for the sake of someone else’s happiness. He’d watched his mother die a little bit at a time for years before his father landed the killing blow. She should have fled to Elfhome, following her love of elf culture, instead of worrying about making his father unhappy. Her leaving his father wouldn’t have been as bad as his father rotting in a prison cell, knowing he’d killed the only good thing in his life.
Tinker walked beside Oilcan, occasionally bumping shoulders with him and giving him worried looks.
“Oh, oh, what’s the look for? You’re the one with the broken arm.”
Tinker bumped him a little harder and stuck out her tongue. He laughed; it made him happy that despite all the madness of her change and the war, they were fundamentally the same. He could understand Forge’s immediate obsession. In Tinker, Oilcan heard echoes of his mother’s voice and grandfather’s sharp humor. If he lost Tinker, it would be like he lost his mother and grandfather all over again. He couldn’t bear the loss.
It didn’t surprise him that Forge followed them up the steps to Sacred Heart. Oilcan wasn’t sure how to deal with the elf that reminded him of his grandfather. Would the elf obey Prince True Flame or would he steamroll over everything to drag Oilcan back to the Easternlands?
Tinker turned to glare with suspicion at their great-grandfather. “What do you want — besides the obvious? You can’t have Oilcan.”
Unstoppable force met unmovable object. If Oilcan wasn’t sandwiched between the two, it would be entertaining.
Forge stared back at Tinker, seemingly fascinated by her. “You were as human as your cousin? Before Wolf Who Rules spell-worked you?”
“Yes,” Tinker growled. “Most people thought we were brother and sister, not cousins. I won’t let you take him away. This is his home — not some huge sprawling palace with a bunch of strangers.”
Forge nodded slowly. “Forgiveness. Of course. I–I didn’t think. .” He faltered to a halt, and then sudden hope dawned on his face. “Are there more of you? They say humans are more prolific—”
“No,” Oilcan said, and then to soften it added, “Grandfather. Most of Unbounded’s descendants had only one child to carry on the bloodline. Tinker and I are the only ones left.”
“I see. Oh, well.” He smiled sadly. “It is two more than I had ever hoped for. My son disappeared so suddenly, without a word to anyone, taking no one with him and seemingly without any of his things. He left behind his brushes and paints and lute. What was missing were things a thief would take. We were afraid he’d been killed and his body buried in some shallow grave. The not knowing what had happened to him: that was the worst.”
Oilcan understood all too well. When the oni kidnapped Tinker a few weeks earlier, they made it seem as if she had crashed into the river. For weeks, he hadn’t known if she was dead or alive. He had the prophecy, though, that Tinker would be the one to stop the oni from invading. Oilcan had clung to that hope despite all the evidence. He could not imagine three hundred years of nothing. He could imagine how overwhelming the grief would be. Just the glimmer of hope would keep fresh the wounds, and every day would be a cycle of sorrow.
“Amaranth had every foot of soil within a day’s walk overturned. We dragged all the nearby lakes. She endlessly questioned everyone that might have seen him those last days. In the end, she couldn’t take not knowing what had happened to our son. She killed herself.”
To lose first your child and then your wife. Gods have pity on the male.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Oilcan said.
“We came at all haste once we heard the news about his orphan being in the war zone. We only have our sekasha with us; we left behind the rest of our households. We’ll have to send my gossamer back to fetch them.”
“You’re staying?” Tinker’s voice was full of suspicion.
“Of course we’re staying. We can’t leave you two here defenseless. We have cots and blankets on the gossamer, and while we’re here, we can build your defenses for this enclave.”
Oilcan realized that when Forge said “staying,” he meant at Sacred Heart.
The children were ecstatic at the news. They saw it as a dry run toward opening an enclave. As Forge went off to collect gear from the gossamer and send it back for his household, the kids argued over what to do to prepare.
“We should paint the dining hall!” Cattail doggedly rolled as fast as she could.
“That’s pointless. We only have one table and six chairs.” Rustle waved his paintbrush at Oilcan’s small dinette table and mismatched collection of chairs.
“They can eat in shifts.” Barley had stopped edging and was cleaning his paintbrush. “But I need to start dinner now. We need food for what — nineteen people? How many Hands did they bring? A couple days of this and we’ll end up with nothing but keva beans.”
Baby Duck was trotting in tight circles, clutching her roller. “Where will they sleep? None of the guest rooms have been painted. Shouldn’t we be working on those instead?”
That brought them all to a complete halt, and they turned to Oilcan with pleading eyes.
“For now, we’ll put them in the finished rooms on the third floor.” Oilcan hated the whole plan. He wasn’t sure if he could trust Forge, but they needed funds if they were to stay neutral, and the domana did have sekasha to keep the children safe. “Only for a day or two until we can paint the rooms on the second floor.”
“And put up window dresses and artwork,” Cattail added quietly.
“And make them nice,” Oilcan promised. He wasn’t sure where they’d get fabric for the curtains, but artwork he could handle. “Beans will be fine. They know this is a war zone. I can see if they can have supplies from Easternlands brought across. I’ll chase down another table and some more chairs.” He caught Baby Duck by the shoulders and pointed her at the nearest unfinished wall. “Go ahead and finish this coat. You’re almost done, and then you’ll have to wait for it to dry anyhow. Merry, why don’t you take over edging for Barley?”
Tinker was watching him marshal his troops with amusement. “Grandpa would be proud.”
“He’d be happier if they weren’t elves,” Oilcan murmured in English to spare the kids’ feelings. He pulled out a tablet and started a new to-do list. If he wanted Forge’s gossamer to bring back food supplies, he’d better talk to Forge immediately. “Grandpa never really trusted elves.”
“Lately, I’ve been empathizing with him,” Tinker grumbled low but back in Elvish. She kept pace with Oilcan as he headed toward the distant gossamer. Apparently she intended to keep an eye on Oilcan while the gossamer was still close enough to whisk him away. “If you read between the lines in his codex, Dufae was hiding on Earth. He never comes out and says it, but I think he found out that someone in the Stone Clan was cooperating with the Skin Clan. It might seem like a long time ago for us, but most likely, all the parties except Dufae are still alive.”
Dufae and his mother, who’d been desperately trying to figure out what had happened to her son — searching to find what had made him disappear. He wondered how Amaranth had died. Had Amaranth actually killed herself?
If she hadn’t, then two households’ worth of possible killers were about to arrive.