Eleanor (18 page)

 
“Eleanor, are you asleep?” he asked quietly.

“No.”
 

“I’ve been rather difficult, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” she agreed, her eyes still closed.

“Coming here has brought up memories I’ve tried very hard to bury, but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. I forget sometimes that you’re not a warrior, that you didn’t ask for any of this. If I’d had the time to tell you the whole truth at the beginning, I’m sure you would have rejected my offer. I will try harder to remember that in future.”

Eleanor considered his words – they sounded like an apology. Amelia had said apologising was not something he did, but Amelia was wrong. He did apologise, he just seemed to have an aversion to the word ‘sorry’. Thankfully he sounded more at peace with himself; maybe his demons had not bitten as hard as he had thought they would. If she had known the truth at the beginning, would she have rejected him? At the time… probably, but now? She actually liked the thought that she might be able to make a difference to the lives of the people of this world, to help them. Perhaps here she could find forgiveness, make up for her mistakes.

“Eleanor, say something.”

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. She snorted.
 

“
Now
you want me to talk?” she huffed, holding his gaze for a moment and steeling herself. “OK, why did you choose me?” It was a question that had been wandering through her mind for a while, but she had never had the courage to ask, fearing what the response might be – fearing how much he knew. He blinked, confused by the complete change in conversation topic.

“I mean, there must have been hundreds, if not thousands of people dying in my world at that point, so why me?” she added.

“You don’t remember why you died?”

“Yes, I do,” Eleanor whispered softly, the shame, regret and guilt suddenly released from where she had hidden it. “A man robbed the jewellery store I worked in and he shot me, twice,” she said, wondering if Conlan would add what she had chosen not to say.

“Did anyone else get shot?” he prompted her gently.

Forcing her brain to drag up the memories, Eleanor thought back. “Yes, he shot Elaine, the manager.”

Conlan nodded. “In the first instance I didn’t choose you at all. I selected Elaine, but as I watched the events, waiting for Elaine’s defences to drop so that I could talk to her, I saw you. The man with the gun was threatening one of your colleagues and he was going to kill her. You stepped in front and took the bullets. Amelia, Will, Freddie, they all died heroes’ deaths trying to save lives, but that was their job, what they choose to do. You did something far beyond what was expected of you. I moved into your mind; you were accepting of your choice, your death, because your colleague had children and you decided her life was more important than your own. You were too young, too inexperienced and your mind too confusingly complex, but that didn’t matter because you were the one I wanted.”

Eleanor stared at him, processing his words. Did he know the real reason she had felt her life was so unimportant? Had he seen in her mind how disgusted she had been with herself, how guilty she had felt at her role in the robbery? If he had, he was choosing not to mention it. Eleanor doubted his honour would allow him to associate with her had he known the truth, so perhaps her dark secret was safe after all. He was looking at her, a frown furrowed between his eyes. She was staring at him, saying nothing, arousing suspicion. Comment was required.

“Why was I too young? I’m nineteen,” she said finally.
 

Conlan chuckled. “Everything I’ve just said, and that’s the part you pick up on?”
 

Eleanor nodded, it was the only part that had made no sense. He chose her because she was willing to give her life for another, but what her age had to do with anything was beyond her.

“What I’m asking you to do is not easy or safe, and if we don’t succeed we will die ugly, painful deaths. You are too young to get thrown into this,” he said quietly.

“Your mother died when you were a child – you were too young for that. Life doesn’t wait until you’re ready, life just does and sometimes you have to find the strength to run and catch up.”
 

He smiled at her. Added to the heady smell of the flowers, the afternoon heat and the intensity of his gaze, it was all a little too much and made her feel positively dizzy. She closed her eyes again.

“You’re tired. We have a while to wait, so why don’t you sleep?” he offered. Eleanor nodded, laying her head back against the cushions.
He doesn’t know
. Feeling safe and comfortable she relaxed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“Eleanor?”

The voice called her awake – his voice, the soft growl emphasising the ‘r’ on the end of her name. There was a light hand on her shoulder, shaking her. She opened her eyes. She must have moved in her sleep, because she was now lying on her side on the sofa, her head resting on Conlan’s thigh, his arm draped over her shoulder.
 

“It’s time,” he whispered.

She nodded sleepily and sat up; her stomach rumbled briefly. She tried to ignore it by focusing on getting her eyes accustomed to the limited light. The gazebo and garden were wrapped in shadow, the sky darkening, air chilly and damp. The heavy floral scent was different now, still intoxicating but threatening, and for some reason it made her think of death. Shrugging off this irrational thought and shivering slightly, she got up and followed Conlan. They made their way carefully along the path towards the garden door. Eleanor could see the house as a square of deeper shadow, spotted occasionally by windows, yellow light shining cheerily from them. In front of them, leading up to the house, was a finely manicured garden, its flowers neatly arranged in rows and patterns, small box trees and square little hedges separating them. In the centre, with paths leading from it in all directions, was a perfectly round pool, its water a rippling oily black. It was ordered, symmetrical and tidy, but it was not nearly as beautiful or inspiring as the walled garden had been.

“I prefer your mother’s garden,” Eleanor said softly.

“Me too,” Conlan agreed.

Moving towards the house, there was a paved patio area which sat between the garden and the house. Eleanor noticed several glass doors that opened out onto it from darkened rooms. Conlan was moving towards the last set of glass doors at the far end of the house, the only ones that had light spilling from them. As they moved closer, Conlan pressed himself against the wall of the house and peaked through the glass. He pulled his small knife from his boot and slipped it gently between the doors, wiggling it slightly until there was a soft click.

“You’ve done that before,” Eleanor whispered accusingly.

Conlan grinned at her, replacing his knife. The door opened into a warm, well-lit room. Book shelves lined the walls, filled with row upon row of regimented texts. There were several ceiling-to-floor windows, metallic thread in their curtains’ rich pattern catching the light. On the right-hand wall was an imposing marble fireplace that dominated the room, a fire blazing within it and a dark-brown leather sofa resplendent in front of it. Behind the sofa, a substantial desk faced the fireplace, its dark wood polished to a shine; papers, books and writing implements were arranged neatly across its red leather surface. Above the fireplace was the large, gilt-framed painting of a very beautiful woman, her brown hair falling in ringlets around her delicate oval face, the lack of a smile giving the impression that she was concentrating, her green eyes gazing intently at the world. Even if she had not noticed Conlan purposely avoiding looking at it, Eleanor would have known that this was his mother.

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“This is my grandfather’s study, he comes here to work alone for a few hours after dinner every night; we need to wait for him.”

“What if someone else comes in?”

“We’re going to hide.”

“Where?” Eleanor asked, looking round a room that seemed to offer no opportunity for concealment.

Conlan walked to the shelves behind the desk, opposite the fire, and running his finger lightly along the spines of the books he found the one he wanted and pulled. There was a click and the shelves swung outwards into the room, revealing a small cupboard behind. There would be just enough room to hide them both. He stepped inside and Eleanor followed him. He pulled the door closed.

“How do you know we can get out?” Eleanor asked as the dark closed in around her.

“I used to hide in this cupboard as a child, there’s a catch on the inside.”

“Did you spend a lot of time with your grandfather as a child?” Eleanor asked, wondering what it was like to grow up in such splendour.

 
“My mother and I came to live here just before my brother was born. I was two.”

“But not your father?”

“No, my mother came here to get away from my father.”

“Why?”

Eleanor felt his body tense and recognised she was stepping into memories she should avoid. “Forget I asked,” she said quickly, trying another line of questioning. “What’s your brother like?”

“Cruel, cunning, malicious... he takes after my father,” Conlan said, a hard edge in his voice.

Sensing another sore point, Eleanor tried a different question. “What about your grandfather?”
 

“We used to be very close, especially after my mother died; unfortunately my father came to take us away. The law was on his side as the surviving parent and my grandfather had to let us go. I’ve not seen him since.”

“How old were you?”

“Eight.”

“Are you nervous about meeting him now?”

“No, he’s a good man. I’d have come back to see him sooner, but the need has never outweighed the risk.”

“Risk?”

 
“My father would expect me to return here at some point, so he will have placed spies among the servants. If I was found here, my grandfather would be executed for treason.”

“Your father can do that?” Eleanor asked horrified.

“My father’s a Lord of Mydren, so he can pretty much do as he pleases – and he usually does.”
 

Eleanor stared into the dark, open mouthed at this information.
 

Suddenly the comment ‘spoilt rich boy with daddy issues’ made sense. “Your father is one of the Lords of Mydren, the ones that want to hunt us down and kill us, and you’re only mentioning this
now
?”

“It’s not something I’m particularly proud of.”

“But the others know, right?”

“Yes.”

“And nobody told me?” Eleanor asked, a little hurt.

“Would it really have changed anything?” Conlan asked.

“No, I guess not,” Eleanor conceded. “But it does make me wonder just how many other secrets you’re hiding.”

“Many.”
 

“Not helpful; now I’m going to be thinking about what you’re
not
telling me, every time you do bother to give me some clue as to what’s going on!”

“Eleanor, I can’t help it that you’re incurably nosey,” he said mildly.

Irritated she struggled to keep her voice quiet. “You don’t get it. I don’t like not knowing the whole picture, it makes all my conclusions suspect. Things have a way of being interconnected, and if I don’t have all the information I make mistakes. As the Avatar of Earth, as you are well aware, my mistakes could kill.”

“I don’t see how knowing who my father is would have affected you attacking me with Will’s energy or nearly blowing my head off with your own,” Conlan commented.

“No, neither do I,” Eleanor agreed reluctantly. “But some other information you’re currently withholding from me could have.”

This thought pushed them into silence. At least she now knew why they were hiding in a cupboard. She was still deep in thought about what he had told her, trying to ignore the rumblings of hunger in her stomach, when she heard voices in the study. They were too muffled to make out, but it sounded like two men having a conversation. She strained to listen, but all went quiet. They waited a few more minutes, then Conlan released the catch and opened the cupboard door. There was a man stood facing the fire, staring at the picture above it. Conlan said something softly in his growling language. The man whipped round, the startled look on his face turning to joy. He said something back, Conlan walked round the desk and they hugged each other roughly. Eleanor could see the family resemblance immediately. Conlan’s grandfather was a tall, slightly portly, handsome man; the lines on his face spoke of great joy and deep suffering. Steel-grey hair gave him an air of gravitas that was immediately destroyed by his wide, slightly mischievous grin and the sparkling delight in his eyes. Conlan said something else, nodding slightly in Eleanor’s direction. The older man stared at her, and his eyes held the same fanatical zeal she had once seen in Conlan’s. He walked towards her. Eleanor held out a hand for him to shake, but he grasped it and pulled her into a bear hug, crushing her to his broad chest and showering kisses down on the top of her head. Not wanting to offend him, Eleanor tolerated the manhandling until the desire to breathe became too strong and she tried to push him away politely, her predicament not helped by Conlan’s laughter behind them. The old man let her go and started talking at her, his excitement and awe writ large on his face.

“What’s he saying?” Eleanor asked.

“He’s introducing himself,” Conlan said.

“Really? He must have a very long name.”
 

Conlan laughed again. “His name is Gregor Baydon. Right now he’s listing his lineage, just in case you wanted to know who his great-great-great-grandfather was. He’s spent his entire life wanting to meet an Avatar; I think he’s a little overexcited.”

“Baydon, like the city?”

Conlan nodded. “My ancestors built this city – my mother’s family have lived here for hundreds of years.”

“If he’s spent his entire life wanting to meet me, do you think he might be persuaded to give me something to eat?” Eleanor asked, feeling starvation squeeze her stomach again.