The night held the heat of summer and the slight chill of fall as the two seasons fought for supremacy in the early days of September. Dalton leaned forwards on the edge of his chair with his forehead on the handle of his cane. A breeze swept across the back deck, ruffling his thick blond hair, bringing the scent of rain as it did. It had been a cloudy day but had managed not to rain so far, at least not here. 

Behind him the glass patio door slid open. Dalton glanced ahead, out into the yard of his childhood home. There was a time when he thought he would leave this place behind him. He swore he would break free from it and escape the clutches of his father after what had happened, and for a while he did. Life intervened however, and now here he was on the cusp of a new destiny, one he had promised to avoid. He wondered if fate was like a funnel. You could swirl around the opening as long as you could but as soon as you missed a step you would fall right in anyway. Did that make resistance futile, or did it make resistance the only thing that mattered?

“Dalton.” It was his older sister. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?” 

She stepped into his peripheral vision. Strands of her blond hair flickered across her blue eyes. They looked alike, and Dalton knew that many people mistook them for siblings instead of stepsiblings. 

“Father wants to speak with you. He’s ready now.” Cassandra spoke softly but with authority. 

“Okay, just give me a second.” Dalton stretched his left leg out with a groan. It was very stiff. His mind must have wandered further then he thought, leaving his body behind to atrophy. 

Cassandra waited patiently while Dalton massaged his leg. After a minute he started to struggle to his feet. Cassandra offered her arm and he used it to steady himself. 

“I’ll be fine after a couple steps.” Dalton said.

True to his word he let go of her arm by the time they crossed the threshold of the house. They walked through the spacious living area down one of the hallways towards the dining room. His sister walked with him all the way to the small elevator just outside the kitchen. 

“Thanks,” Dalton said. 

“Try to be peaceful. He is in pain tonight.” Cassandra said. 

The doors slid shut. Dalton pressed number three and waited for the elevator to ascend and bring him closer to a conversation he did not want to have. He promised that he would not get angry, or sarcastic or insulting during the exchange. His father had gone through great effort to get Dalton into the Academy of the Eternal Courts, a privilege typically reserved for those who were not exiled. But his distrust and dislike for his father ran deep. He had told so many lies to Dalton over the course of his twenty-year life that key moments in his past still remained in a fog. 

The elevator dinged. Dalton stepped out and walked with the assistance of his cane towards the double door at the end of the hall. The live-in nurse opened the door when he knocked and stepped aside with a small smile of acknowledgement. She closed the door behind her when she left. Medical equipment hovered around the edge of the large bed like a protective hedge, trying with only limited success to fend off death itself. 

Roman Lochlan, exiled Scion of the Winter Court, pulled the oxygen mask away from his nose when Dalton approached. 

“Thank you for coming, Dalton.” He said as if Dalton had a choice. 

“Yes father.”

“I wanted to talk with you before your first day of classes.” Dalton waited for him to continue. “I remember my first day. I remember being nervous and excited. I remember my life stretching out in front of me as far as I could see.” He sighed. “I wish I could stay and experience it with you all over again.”

Dalton was surprised. His father rarely spoke with any kind of sentiment or intimacy. 

“I wish you could too.” Dalton was not sure if it was a lie or not.

“There will be a lot of pressure on you. Many of the teachers don’t think you should be there, and some will think that the exile should be passed on to you and Cassandra after my death. You must prove your loyalty to the Courts by being the best of the students. I know you didn’t want all this. I know that you didn’t want to manage our household, but Cassandra should not have to bear that burden alone.”

His father had always been perceptive. Dalton saw the strain of his father’s illness in Cassandra’s haunted eyes and heard it in her curt conversation. She was worried, worried no doubt about many things. Unlike Dalton she had always respected, if not loved their father, and he knew the weight of the Lochlan Household was too heavy for her alone. It was one of the main reasons he had agreed to go to the Academy, and his father knew it. 

“I know, father.”

“Yes, but what you don’t know is that I never wanted you to stay. I knew you hated it here, even hated me.”

“Father-“

“And I did want you to have a different life. One that could make you forget what happened here.”

Nothing could ever do that, but Dalton felt emotions twist inside him. 

“But there is no going back. I need you to promise me that you will always look after Cassandra, no matter what.”

Sunken blue eyes bored into him.

“I promise.”

“Good. Thank you son. There will be a lot to do once the exile is lifted and we rejoin the Winter Court.” Roman cleared his throat painfully. “Make sure you use any members of the household to help with your learning. If you need clarity don’t embarrass yourself in class with your ignorance, just wait until you can ask one of us. Don’t show off how much you already know. Many of the other students won’t know anything about the Courts or sigils at all and you do not want them to resent you. Keep your sigil a secret from the others as long as possible, and use this opportunity to develop a second sigil.”

Dalton had heard all this advice once before, several weeks ago, but he still listened attentively.

Roman stopped talking as he struggled to breathe. He slipped his oxygen mask back into place for a couple of deep breaths.  

“That’s enough for tonight Dalton. At the end of the week I’ll summon you again and we can talk some more.”

“Yes father.”

“And send the nurse back in.”

“Yes father.”

He walked slowly back to the elevator. Six months is what the doctors had said, and that was two months ago. Dalton wondered when his father would tell some of his secrets. There were some he could not afford to take to the grave, some he would have to tell Cassandra at the very least. Later, when Roman had less time Dalton would ask him the one question that had haunted him all his adult life. He said it out loud in the quiet of the elevator.

“Who killed my mother?”