Blue Flames

Chapter 59

"What's that?" I asked my father.

We stood atop a hill, looking over an expanse of land. It could be called a plain if not for the rolling hills all around it.

Trees dotted the surface of the hills, but steered clear of the plain itself. It was as if someone had plucked a clearing from the middle of the forest and tucked it amidst these hills.

A small cottage rose in the middle. Ivy clung to the brown walls, covering the two windows, and hinting at a long period of neglect. What was once flower beds around the cottage were now patches of earth overgrown with weed and bushes.

"This is your mother's house."

I startled, not expecting his words. My father looked at the cottage with an impassive face. But his throat bobbed as he swallowed. Before I could ask any questions, he spurred his horse down the hill.

As we got closer, the cottage door distinguished itself from the walls. It wasn't covered with Ivy. In fact, it looked like it was being used regularly.

We dismounted. Noah went around the cottage, sniffing. The ground crunched under my boots, dry grass and rocky dirt. The walls of the cottage were not brown, but an assortment of gray, brown and reddish stones that looked weathered with age.

"Come," my father said, producing a key. He unlocked the door. Charles stood by the horses.

"Excuse me, your highness," Irene said, walking past my father. He raised his brows and let her through.

She went inside, checking the house for threats.

"Very thorough, aren't they?" my father said. "Whatever his faults, Arthur does take your safety seriously."

Too seriously, if he asked me. Irene walked out after a few minutes, her eyes looked slightly paler than their usual dark brown. I frowned. She gave a subtle shake of her hand. What was that about?

My father and I went inside.

It was one big space, with two doors. A kitchenette on one side, its counter stretching the length of one wall. There were no appliances, nothing but a sink and a tap. The living area consisted of two couches covered with white sheets. A reddish brown rug that had seen better days, and a gloomy fireplace. The air smelled musty, and the one window provided a meager amount of light due the ivy.

I touched the walls, the rough texture of stone tickled my fingers. So this was where my mother had lived. It was very sparse and utilitarian. Maybe it was because someone removed all unnecessary objects.

"Your mother lived here on her own several years before I met her." He removed one of the white sheets off a couch, and set it aside on the other.

"In the middle of nowhere?" I asked, taking a seat.

"There's a village a few minutes south," he said. "But your mother valued her solitude. She didn't care much for other people's company, safe for a number of very close friends and myself."

"What about her family?"

"She was from the south of the country. Her parents died when she was a child, in a vampire attack. She moved here a decade or so before I met her."

He leaned his hand on the fireplace mantle and stared at the dead hearth. Quiet blanketed us for minutes, my father lost in his memories. I didn't want to interrupt.

"I had stopped by the nearby village, looking for an old copy of a spell book. She worked at the library there. She was small, with her dark hair and eyes and her pale skin, she looked like a little pixie." He smiled, his eyes warming from within. "She kept mostly to herself. People went out of their way to accomodate me. She just stepped out of everyone's way with her head down and continued organizing books in one corner of the library. But she was an expert on spell books, so the owner called her and ordered her to see to my needs. I could tell she was miffed."