Saving the Immortal

Chapter Thirty: The One Who Stayed

I had not expected a visitor so late that evening, the palace long settled into its usual quiet, the fire burned down to embers by the time the soft knock came at my chamber door.

I opened it to find Bram standing there, still dressed as he had been that afternoon, though something anxious now shadowed his features that had been entirely absent during our morning of archery.

"Bram," I said, surprised. "It is rather late for a visit."

"I know," he said, glancing back down the corridor with visible unease. "I should not be here. If my mother knew—" He stopped himself, then looked at me directly. "Might I come in? Only for a moment. I wanted to speak with you properly, without anyone else listening."

I stepped aside to let him enter, closing the door quietly behind him, and gestured toward the chairs near the dying fire.

We sat together in the low light, and for a while he said nothing at all, simply staring into the embers with the particular restlessness of someone gathering courage for words he was not entirely certain he should speak.

"I wanted to thank you," he said finally. "For this morning. No one has ever taught me so patiently before."

"You are welcome," I said gently. "Though I suspect that is not the only thing troubling you tonight."

He glanced at me, something surprised in his expression, as though he had not expected to be read so easily.

"I wanted to talk about Uncle Ruselon," he admitted finally.

"Go on," I said.

"I have never known anyone quite like him," Bram said, the words coming faster now, as though some dam had finally broken. "Everyone makes such cruel sport of him — my father, my uncles, even my own mother, though she says less of it aloud. But I have always liked him. I love him, truly, more than I have ever told anyone."

"Why do you love him," I asked softly.

"Because he is kind," Bram said simply. "When no one else bothers to be. When I was younger, before I understood what everyone said about him, he would sit with me for hours, teaching me things my own father never had patience for. He never once raised his voice at me, not even when I was foolish or clumsy or asked too many questions. He has always been gentle with me, Ivy, whatever the rest of this family says he truly is."

I felt something warm settle in my chest at that, an echo of everything I had come to understand about Ruselon myself.

"But my parents," Bram continued, his voice quieter now, carrying real hurt beneath it, "have always told me to stay away from him. They say his blood is dangerous, that spending too much time in his company will corrupt me somehow, though I have never once seen him do anything to justify such fear."

"That must be difficult," I said, "loving someone your own parents insist you should fear."

"It is more than difficult," Bram said. "It is exhausting, Ivy. I want him to be a proper part of this family. I want to sit with him at meals without my father making cruel jokes at his expense. I want to visit him openly, rather than sneaking away whenever I can manage it, always looking over my shoulder for fear of being caught."

"Do you sneak away to see him often," I asked.

"As often as I am able," he admitted. "Though it grows harder as I get older. My father watches more closely now, and Uncle Ruselon himself often discourages it, worried what might happen to me if my parents discovered the visits."

"He worries for your sake, then," I said. "Even while denying himself the comfort of your company."

"That is precisely the sort of thing he does," Bram said, something almost frustrated in his voice now. "He is always thinking of everyone else's safety before his own happiness. It is not fair, Ivy. He deserves better than what this family has ever given him."

"I agree entirely," I said quietly.

Bram looked at me then, something searching in his young expression.

"You truly care for him," he said. "Not simply because you were made to marry him. I can see it, the way you speak of him."

"I do care for him," I said, surprising myself slightly with how readily the admission came. "More than I expected to, given how this marriage began."

Something like relief crossed Bram's face at that.

"Please," he said, his voice dropping lower now, "do not tell anyone I came to see you tonight. If my mother learns of it, she will be furious. She already dislikes that I spent the morning in your company, teaching me archery rather than whatever more suitable lesson she believes I should be receiving instead. If she learns I came here in secret, at night, simply to speak of Uncle Ruselon—"

"I will say nothing," I promised. "You have my word, Bram."

"Thank you," he said, genuine relief flooding his features now.

He rose to leave, then paused at the door, looking back at me with an expression considerably older than his fifteen years.

"I hope," he said quietly, "that when Uncle Ruselon returns from this war, you will help him understand that not everyone in this family sees him the way my father and uncles do. Some of us have always known better."

"I will tell him," I said. "I promise you that as well."

He offered a small, grateful smile, and slipped out into the dark corridor as quietly as he had arrived, leaving me alone once more with the dying fire and a heart considerably fuller than it had been before his visit.