hurt himself when the fits of violence
came over him.
“Those have been less frequent,” Edward said. “We used to thank God for
that, but now I consider it an ominous sign. I fear he is slipping away from us
and we can do nothing to stop him.”
“When did this lunacy begin?” Draconas asked.
Edward winced at the word. He looked to his wife to answer.
“Marcus was a normal child, or at least almost normal, up until the age of
five,” said Ermintrude, resolutely wiping away her tears.
“What do you mean by ‘almost normal’?”
“He would sometimes stop playing and stare at nothing for long periods of
time, wearing a rapt smile, as if he were witness to some incredibly beautiful
sight. He would say, ‘Don’t you see it, Mother? Don’t you see the colors? How
wonderful they are!’ I would look, but all I would see would be sunlight on the
stone floor or a sparrow on the window ledge. I would say I did see it, just to
please him. I think he knew I was lying, though, for his smile would fade. He
drifted in and out of this world and whatever world he sees inside his head,
until the day came a month ago when something happened to him, something
horrible.”
“It was on his birthday,” said Edward. “We wanted to make the day so happy.
. . .”
“You don’t know what this something was?” Draconas asked sharply.
Ermintrude shook her head. “He began to scream in terror and pain. He
clutched at his head, tearing his hair out by the roots so that his scalp bled.
Then he collapsed and was unconscious for many hours. When he came around, he
appeared to have no idea where he was. He seemed to have left this world
completely.”
“Before that, was he happy?”
“Yes,” Ermintrude answered, a little too promptly. “Marcus was always a
quiet child, not rambunctious, like most boys his age. He didn’t like the rough
games his brothers played. He preferred to go off by himself.”
“What about his brothers? How did they treat him?”
“They loved him as a little brother. They were kind to him and treated him
well, but they had their own interests,” said Edward. “They couldn’t always
have Marcus tagging along and, in truth, he didn’t seem disappointed that he
wasn’t included.”
Draconas noted that they both spoke of the boy in the past tense.
“People know he’s your bastard, Edward,” said Draconas bluntly. “Did adults
or children tease him, taunt him?”
Edward’s face darkened. His brows furrowed in a frown.
“No,” said Ermintrude firmly. “No one would dare.” She placed her hand on
her husband’s arm. “Marcus was my child from the moment I held him in my arms.
I loved him as I loved my natural-born children.”
Her tone faltered. “You seem to be implying that this is our fault, but I
don’t know what more we could have done! We don’t understand what is happening
to him. We thought you might.”
Draconas peered again through the iron grate. Turning away, he shook his
head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blame you. You are, in truth, blameless.
There is nothing you could have done differently. The dragon magic in his blood
is the cause of this madness.”
Edward glanced uncertainly at Ermintrude, as if he would say something, but
feared it might pain her.
She smiled at him reassuringly and pressed his hand. “Speak freely, Ned. You
do not hurt me. Especially if it can help our son.”
Edward brought her hand to his lips, kissed her palm, and kept fast hold of
her. “The boy’s mother was not like this, Draconas, and you said the dragon
magic was very strong in her.”
“The magic manifests itself differently in males and in females, or at least
so I believe,” Draconas replied. “Do you remember that false monk who attacked
us on the road to Bramfell?”
“The fellow with the wild look in his eye who pointed his finger at you and
sent you flying halfway across the road. Yes, I remember,” said Edward with an
edge in his voice. “You passed it
came over him.
“Those have been less frequent,” Edward said. “We used to thank God for
that, but now I consider it an ominous sign. I fear he is slipping away from us
and we can do nothing to stop him.”
“When did this lunacy begin?” Draconas asked.
Edward winced at the word. He looked to his wife to answer.
“Marcus was a normal child, or at least almost normal, up until the age of
five,” said Ermintrude, resolutely wiping away her tears.
“What do you mean by ‘almost normal’?”
“He would sometimes stop playing and stare at nothing for long periods of
time, wearing a rapt smile, as if he were witness to some incredibly beautiful
sight. He would say, ‘Don’t you see it, Mother? Don’t you see the colors? How
wonderful they are!’ I would look, but all I would see would be sunlight on the
stone floor or a sparrow on the window ledge. I would say I did see it, just to
please him. I think he knew I was lying, though, for his smile would fade. He
drifted in and out of this world and whatever world he sees inside his head,
until the day came a month ago when something happened to him, something
horrible.”
“It was on his birthday,” said Edward. “We wanted to make the day so happy.
. . .”
“You don’t know what this something was?” Draconas asked sharply.
Ermintrude shook her head. “He began to scream in terror and pain. He
clutched at his head, tearing his hair out by the roots so that his scalp bled.
Then he collapsed and was unconscious for many hours. When he came around, he
appeared to have no idea where he was. He seemed to have left this world
completely.”
“Before that, was he happy?”
“Yes,” Ermintrude answered, a little too promptly. “Marcus was always a
quiet child, not rambunctious, like most boys his age. He didn’t like the rough
games his brothers played. He preferred to go off by himself.”
“What about his brothers? How did they treat him?”
“They loved him as a little brother. They were kind to him and treated him
well, but they had their own interests,” said Edward. “They couldn’t always
have Marcus tagging along and, in truth, he didn’t seem disappointed that he
wasn’t included.”
Draconas noted that they both spoke of the boy in the past tense.
“People know he’s your bastard, Edward,” said Draconas bluntly. “Did adults
or children tease him, taunt him?”
Edward’s face darkened. His brows furrowed in a frown.
“No,” said Ermintrude firmly. “No one would dare.” She placed her hand on
her husband’s arm. “Marcus was my child from the moment I held him in my arms.
I loved him as I loved my natural-born children.”
Her tone faltered. “You seem to be implying that this is our fault, but I
don’t know what more we could have done! We don’t understand what is happening
to him. We thought you might.”
Draconas peered again through the iron grate. Turning away, he shook his
head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blame you. You are, in truth, blameless.
There is nothing you could have done differently. The dragon magic in his blood
is the cause of this madness.”
Edward glanced uncertainly at Ermintrude, as if he would say something, but
feared it might pain her.
She smiled at him reassuringly and pressed his hand. “Speak freely, Ned. You
do not hurt me. Especially if it can help our son.”
Edward brought her hand to his lips, kissed her palm, and kept fast hold of
her. “The boy’s mother was not like this, Draconas, and you said the dragon
magic was very strong in her.”
“The magic manifests itself differently in males and in females, or at least
so I believe,” Draconas replied. “Do you remember that false monk who attacked
us on the road to Bramfell?”
“The fellow with the wild look in his eye who pointed his finger at you and
sent you flying halfway across the road. Yes, I remember,” said Edward with an
edge in his voice. “You passed it
Similar Books
