I didn't get a single word out before I was greeted by a haughty laugh and an annoyed scowl.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Haydn asked from where he was sitting, his legs once again hanging over the arm of his desk chair, "I thought you were confined to your room?"
That was news to me. No one had explicitly told me not to leave. Maybe he just assumed I had been locked away again because I hadn't shown my face for a week.
"Father is kindly allowing me into the rose garden today," I explained, and I crossed the room towards him with book-in-hand.
"Father is kindly allowing me," he repeated in a mocking mumble, and then: "Since when did you learn to read? What are you handing me? I don't want -"
I stopped a couple feet away from the desk, holding out his schoolbook. When he realised what it was, he jumped up from his seat; "- You! Little thief! You're the one who stole it?!"
"Do thieves usually return things they've stolen? I was just borrowing it," I sighed.
"That book belongs to the Lyceum! I could have gotten in serious trouble!"
I remembered reading that his school was a pretty strict place, but I couldn't imagine they'd expel him or punish him harshly for losing one beginner's textbook.
"Well, did you?" I asked, one hand on my hip. The heated look of annoyance on his face answered for him. I don't usually like using the 'nothing bad happened so it's fine' argument, but I guess five days of cabin fever had made me a little testy, "Exactly. So here."
Still, he didn't take it, he just stared angrily at me, clearly winding himself up for a fight. But, I was done with the conversation, so I slammed the book down on his desk and spun on my heel to leave.
"Stop, you -!" I heard the papers rustle behind me, but before I could react I felt a cold hand clamp down on my wrist.
A shiver went through me and set my heart to pounding.
I turned back around to meet his eyes.
"I could have gotten in a lot of trouble," he repeated, darkly, "with Father."
I tensed my wrist against his grip, trying to focus on what he was saying.
I had assumed that Haydn didn't care what his father thought of him. Even based on the argument I'd just heard, he behaved like he didn't care until Kenric outright threatened him. But I could see something deeper than anger flickering in his face, a fear that shone in his eyes, just like the fear I had seen in the servants that night in the kitchen.
Haydn in the novel hated the Duke, too, but he certainly wasn't afraid.
At least, that's what I thought. Things couldn't have changed already, I hadn't done anything important enough to warrant it, but I was becoming less and less sure of my knowledge from the original book with each passing day.
Had I missed some kind of clues hidden in the subtext? But, who would ever read that deeply into a silly cliche-filled romance novel?
"What does Father care if you misplace a book for a few days?" I demanded.
"He wouldn't care, if I were the one who misplaced it. But if the ghoulish little monster in our attic stole it," he snarled, "and burned it up, or tore it to shreds -?"
"Let go, Haydn," I ordered, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
"- How is the noble and proud Duke Rune supposed to explain that to the council of mages? Are you really trying to make your life harder? You don't know what he's like! What were you -"
I didn't give him a second warning.
His grip on my wrist was so tight that when I pulled him bodily over and across the desk, he moved smoothly, like it was an acrobatics routine we practised.
All of his paperwork went flying up into the air. The books clunked against the carpet and lay at odd angles, ink glugged out of bottles as their stoppers came loose. And Haydn hit the floor hard, in a heap amongst his school things.
Margo came rushing over with a gasp; "Miss, are you okay?"
I nodded grimly and cradled my wrist, which felt like it had been wrenched, but still moved and flexed normally. More painful than that was seeing the look of utter bewilderment on Haydn's face.
"I don't know what issues you're having, but don't use me as an excuse just because you have a bad reputation at the Lyceum," I muttered, my heart racing hotly in my chest, "and don't make that annoying face at me."
"You...are you out of your mi- ?"
"Why are you so surprised?" I interrupted, with an angry heat rising in my chest, "Isn't this normal? Isn't this what I usually do?"
His reply got caught in his throat, brows knitted.
"This - it's different! Now that you - I mean, If you're upset, you -"
"- It's not different. It was always like this. I've always been upset. Didn't you, or Kenric, or Father even once consider that? That maybe I was acting out for a reason?"
He just looked away with a scoff.
"So what am I supposed to do about it? Father brought you in like some mangy mutt off the doorstep. Neither him or Kenric could even look at you! I was the only one who tried to help you! The first night you showed up I even tried to teach you how to eat at the table - and you attacked me with a table knife!" His voice faltered; "Why? Why did you do that?!"
I knew why, because as soon as I opened my mouth to answer I was struck with a branching pain like a bolt of lightning in my temples; a fragmented memory that flickered on the back of my eyelids for a few brief seconds, and then was gone.
I moved toward him, stepping on and not over the book I had only just returned, splattering the cover with ink.
"Maybe I just didn't like you," I whispered down to him.
Haydn flinched like I'd hit him, and his mouth fell open in shock.
"I was abandoned in the home of strangers who couldn't stop arguing about how much they didn't want me," I continued, "so maybe I didn't like you when you slapped my hand and called me stupid for not knowing which knife to use for my meat. Maybe I didn't like you when you yanked my hair for trying to drink soup straight from the bowl, or kicked me in the shin when I wouldn't sit up straight. Did you really spend the last five years confused about my behaviour? You're the one I learned it from."
He was staring, wide-eyed, at the floor.
I glanced at Margo, who rushed over to me, and we made to leave.
"Evra!" Haydn called weakly, "then...what am I...supposed to do?"
Cold pity stopped me, but only for a second. Everyone else had been very clear how they felt about me, it was only Haydn who had masked his ignorance and disgust under the thin veneer of a false familial devotion. He was either purposely being cruel or he had been lying to himself all these years, and I couldn't decide which one was worse.
"Do whatever you want, Haydn," I muttered without looking back, "but don't pretend we're a family."
I guess that shut him up.
He didn't try to stop us as we finally left the library.
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