Disclaimer: I do not own the Kane Chronicles.
Author's Note: Yeah, I meant to update sooner, but darn procrastination. Concerning my next update, I honestly don't how long it will take me because I'm going to be busy this next week with stuff like tonight we're apparently going to my grandma's house for a party (I hear there's going to be a pig roast, which disgusts my darling mother greatly) and Driver's Training is coming up...so less time to do this. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and that life is going well for you.
Asya vaguely reminded him of that princess who had been confined to a tower while he watched her sitting there at her vanity as she brushed stubborn knotted tangles out of her naturally straight golden locks made wavy from the tight braids she always wore. Like that princess in the fairytale she was trapped and isolated from the world, but instead of it being a witch as her captor it was the mister who was forbidding her from leaving the grounds and on the bad days her room. More often than not the mister had business up in Seattle, so the duty of seeing that she stayed put was often left to his oversight. He hadn't truly realized the necessity of this duty until one autumn day late last year. He had gone to fetch her a cup of tea, an absence of only several minutes, yet when he went to check on her she had gone missing. That afternoon the mister and him scoured the woods behind for hours until they came upon her in a quiet clearing. She had been crying. Something about a princess and a god, was all he was able to understand amid her nonsensical babbling.
The miss wasn't dressed for the day yet, and the rich black silk robe lazily hung off her thin shoulders, much too thin now that he thought about it, revealing the puffy sleeves of the crisp white nightgown she wore. Absentmindly she was stroking the sleek black and white spotted pelt of one of the many cats the mister kept. Said they make up for the family he lost, like Asya did, except she wouldn't be around as long his feline companions. Once Alex asked what he meant by that and smirking the mister had blatantly remarked that she don't ever last anywhere long. That's just how it's always been, hard to break old habits, son.
"Sweet Caoimhe," she softly whined, "isn't waiting so very dreadful?" As if waiting for the cat to respond she allowed the creature a moment of thought before soon concluding the cat had no comment to make. A weary sigh and the miss was continuing on with her thought, sneering more and more the further on she went,"Alas, my darling, there is nothing I can do... but continue in this loathsome waiting. Horrible stupid selfish girl, just you wait foolish child. Look at what you have made of me; all I am is a meek child born only to sorrow and pain. When it's you who should be being punished so. Twas you, princess, that was the one to break the rules. Before you I was happy. He..."
At his entering his foot chanced an unintended meeting with the floorboard that was always creaking. Blonde curls snapped towards him at the sudden sound of the floorboard's disturbance, her wide eyes cautiously studying his person. The miss's startled reclusive expression instantly morphed backed into her approachable laughing smile. "Good morning, Alexander," her kind voice was touched by the same beauty that was found in the haven of the gardens she cherished so.
His lips curved upwards into a goofy grin. Clarity held grip of her behind those beguiling blue irises today. Asya was the mister's adopted daughter, as he had learned when he asked her why it was the mister called her daughter yet she called him uncle. They had came to Seattle in the months following the flu's wake. Good people, they had kindly taken him in and given him this job, though he was only just a lad. Sixteen years this summer. The miss had only fourteen to her due.
"I brought up your breakfast, Miss Asya," he stated, lifting the silver tray he held. Poached eggs, three orange slices, and two chocolates wrapped up in gold foil wrappers, all on their own separate china plate. The plates unfailingly plain like her room, white except for a silver border.
"Leave it on my desk, and Alex, take a chocolate for yourself," she gently ordered. Miss, had always been the kind sort, at times distant but never intentionally cruel in her speech and action. He knew she liked chocolates, and so one day thinking he'd get to glimpse her lovely smile he started placing two on her breakfast tray every morn. Not only had she smiled but also shyly she had murmured something about how so very sweet he was. From that day to this present one, she always told him to take one for himself. Explaining to him once that everyone ought to have at least one thing that brightens their day, and in reply he always would say that he didn't need chocolate to do that; her smile was just as capable. Nonetheless Asya would jovially chuckle, telling him to take the chocolate anyway, and he always did. Though, her smiles were still sweeter by far, and as he was starting to learn, her kisses sweeter than even those smiles.
He made to exit, pausing at door's frame. Turning back to look at her he hesitantly murmured, "Asya?" In truth her first name was actually Anastasiya. He didn't know the surname she had been born with, at some point in recent history she had taken the mister's, Volkom. Wolf , rumors theorized about the mister. Alex doubted them, but he knew the townspeople were deadlocked in their beliefs, and he himself couldn't dismiss all the odd things that seemed to happen around the mansion. Like last week one of the gents that be doing business with the mister, Alex almost swore they were speaking another language, he had heard the name of a country, Egypt, come up among what to him could only sound like gibberish . But what the mister did and who he talked to, that was none of his business so he didn't waste his time pondering over it all. With Asya and the mister it was easier not to question things, safer too. These men, they weren't the good sort. The looks and feelings he got from them, not quite human. Not ruthless exactly though, nor soft either. But they were patient, like they had all the time in the world and sometimes he caught himself thinking that maybe they did. Maybe time was a joke to them, a plaything easily toyed with and of no great consequence. They came from Chicago mostly. Speaking in solemn whispers and plotting looks they had all of the characteristics of those in preparation for something big. That was the feeling he had got since he first started here, that something big was happening or going to happen, and Asya, she was part of it, the big something. How though? She was a fragile thing with a scrambled mind. What role could she play? Asking that led him to thinking about her just in general, and he always found himself asking the question of who was she. Really, who was she before she came here? Where had she called home? Whom did she love? Her parents, her friends, her neighbors...who were they? Did she think about them a lot? Or had she done her best to forget them to the past?
"Yes, Alex?" her soft voice ventured, bringing his focus back to the girl currently in front of him. She was standing now, and was closer. Close enough he could count the number of rings on the chain around her neck before it disappeared beneath the fabric of her nightgown's collar. Caoimhe had fled from the presence of her master's ward.
"What happened to your family?" It was a daring question to ask and one he himself had no right asking for as it was he himself no longer had a family to speak of. The Spanish flu had taken his mother and four younger sisters while his pa had died of a family illness before even the war. Likewise pa's siblings had all died young and before the war while his grandmother passed in the December of 1917 from a heart attack. The Volkoms were all he had nowadays. He lived in their house, in a guest room they provided, and ate the food that their money bought from the grocer's. Though, he missed his own family, he was content here with Asya.
Asya morosely frowned. Her frowns made him frown, for beautiful creatures like Aysa ought to not be knowing sorrow. "They're all dead, Alex. My mother died birthing my stillborn sister while father was shot fighting in the war. As for darling Leonid, boy, he was so small, it wasn't a surprise that after the flu claimed him he passed less than a week later." Tears dripped from the corners of her stunning pale blue eyes. Eyes that he lost himself in if he didn't keep in check.
He sincerely bowed his head. "I'm sorry for asking, miss."
She attempted a smile, but it was a broken thing. "It's alright, Alex. I don't mind you're asking." He knew she didn't, but he minded the pain the memories gave her.
Since he had already asked a question out of his bounds it couldn't hurt him for to ask another. "Miss Asya, mind my asking, but do you ever think you would marry me?" It was an indignant question to ask…but he loved her. He'd been in love with her for a while now. Those stolen moments, just him and her, they were the highlight of his days.
She wistfully smiled. "Alexander," she softly began. She solemnly nodded, her honey sweet voice saying, "Of course, Alex, when that day comes. I would marry you because I know I'd be happy, you'd take care of me and our future children, and I believe I could be a good wife to you." Biting her lip nervously and her eyes no longer able to keep contact with his, she continued, "However, regretfully I'm afraid I wouldn't love you. Now see, I really would like to, but another owns my heart. It shall always be his, no matter how he wounds it."
Alex frowned, he never would hurt her, only protect her. How was it she could she love someone who was hurting her when she had him? "Who?" he anxiously inquired, though, Alex already knew who. His was the face that she was always sketching, especially on her less lucid days. Yes, she never left the house and Alex was the only boy who she could possibly interact with, but this was the boy connected to the nightmares. How, Alex wasn't exactly sure, but the boy had a role in it all the same Alex had concluded.
"Don't worry, Alexander. My hand is yours in this life if Vadim wills it so," Aysa distantly remarked as if trying to make amends somehow. Yes, he wanted to marry her, but he also wanted her to love him and forget this boy.
"But your heart?" Alex asked, quickly realizing he had spoken out of place.
Her blue eyes met his with a fierceness he had never glimpsed in her gaze before. "I've lived hundreds of lives and died hundreds of deaths because I love him. If eternity is how long I must wait for him to find me and break this damned curse then that is how long I will wait for him. Oh, I live, but I take no joy in it without him. Yes, when Vadim gives my hand to you I will marry you gladly, and I am sorry, I truly am, but I will never truly love you. I just can't, for if I stop loving him everything I've suffered has been for nothing. Can't you understand that I am his and he is mine, even if it is he can not remember me? They've torn us apart, but..." She crumbled to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Rocking back and forth while frenzied tears ran their course. Between choked sobs she weakly ordered, "Please go, I wish be left alone." Though he wished to sit down beside her and hold her until the tears had lapsed he had a feeling he couldn't comfort her in this, this was beyond him.
Aysa's eyes flew open. Where was she? This bed she was laying, it was not her own. The classical paintings on the gold patterned wallpaper, they were not of her husband's picking. Where was he? Where was Alex? He had promised he'd never abandon her. Where was their baby boy, Davis? This carpeted floor that her feet sunk down into was not right. Their bedroom's floor was hard-wood. The luscious gardens street below resplendent in dawn's warm rays beyond the black shutters were not the overgrown rose bushes and wildflowers that were supposed to be there.
From her place at the window she didn't even turn when behind her a door opened and a man entered carrying a tray. Asya heard him setting the tray upon the writing desk pushed up against the east wall and the whoosh of an aging chair's cushions as he sat. In utter puzzlement she turned around to view her companion. His skin was tan, he wore linen robes, and had a goatee.
"Morning, Simone," he purred. French, the accent and words were distinctly French. She knew French?
"Who?" she asked, speaking English, though her voice was not her own. It was the rasp of some French girl's. Who was this Simone? Wait... was she Simone?
The man laughed, realizing his error and switching to English for her comfort. "Who are you today, my dear?"
The girl's blue eyes narrowed before she proudly declaimed, "I'm Aysa Volkom. Where is my husband and son?
The Frenchman watched her curiously like she was some animal confined to a cage within a zoo. It was then that she noticed he was scribbling away in a journal. Who was Simone? Was she some test subject of French scientists? This was probably just another nightmare, she'd probably wake up in Alex's arms in a cold sweat and he would kiss her forehead and gently whisper into her ear that everything was okay and that it had been only a dream. The cotton, Egyptian cotton she noted recoiling at its touch, of the blanket was too soft against the tips of her fingers for it to be a creation of her imagination as she sat at the edge of the bed.
"Husband?" the man amusedly inquired, taking into consideration the young age of the girl before him.
"Of course, my Alex. He has lovely eyes and is so very kind. He's tall and he's…."The images of her final moments flashed before her eyes. Her leaving their bed as she wandered out into the night, heading to the clearing where her old acquaintance waited. That wretched prince, why was it always him? After his countless futile attempts he should've figured out by now that she would never let it fall into his pitiful clutches, and even if she had he couldn't do anything with it. The fool needed her, otherwise it was just another golden trinket of his bygone civilization. Completely useless without her, its keeper. "I died," she unblinkingly declared.
The Frenchman nodded, commenting, "That's usually what you say."
"What happened to them?" the crazed thing desperately inquired with wide eyes and trembling frame.
Truly Michel Desjardins felt pity for the child. So many years to hold, it was no wonder the creature had gone mad. "Tell me the names and I'll look into it." And he did. Both husband and son dead in their twenties due to a family illness. He didn't find it in him to tell the girl, she was already pained enough. As he expected it came that one day her pain was simply too much, but she held on long enough to whisper her last sentiments to him. Her last words to the world as Simone were quite ominous: "The waiting, it's nearly over. I'll be with him again, soon." Though, he had no proof, something in his French gut allowed Michel to understand that when she said him she hadn't meant Alex.
"Zia," Carter urgently called.
Blinking the hopes of sleep from her eyes his pregnant wife irritably pushed herself up into a sitting position in the bed he was supposed to be occupying with her at this late hour of the night. Instead he had decided to go through Simone's interviews once more, it was becoming another of his obsessions. She loved him, truly, but this...ugh, he should be sleeping. Simone was dead, her reincarnation, not so much, but not so dire that it couldn't wait until morning. "Yes, Carter?" she grouchily returned.
"It says here that one of Simone's previous incarnations went by Aysa Volkom, later Aysa Stone," Carter excitably reported.
Okay that was new, but well it clearly hadn't been important enough to tackle twenty years ago so why was it worthy of keeping her from sleep's lovely embrace? Thus Zia frowned, sharply asking, "And the importance, dear?"
Carter smugly smiled. Zia raised a brow, obviously he thought this could be important. "Desjardins did a little research, which he was kind enough to include in Simone's file. She lived in Seattle during the twenties and died in 1932 as a cold case with no body found or murderer caught. That's not even the interesting part. She was married to a man by the name of Alexander Stone. Who she had a son with, Davis, who had three children. Only one was a boy and that boy had five children, all boys and all dead by ten, except for one who lived to be thirty-four, the same year his only child was born. A son who little more than twenty-two years ago had a son we all knew as Walt."
Zia's mouth fell open. "What?" she exclaimed. "But...Walt?"
Carter nodded understanding her apphrension, "Yeah, he was the great-great-grandson of one of Simone's previous lives. If that isn't a message I don't know what would be, but then again…"
"It could also be coincidence," Zia suggested, voicing her husband's fears and her best hopes. Coincidence meant Walt was still the guy they had known, not tainted by association with Asya's people. Asya Stone, Walter Stone. It was definitely curious, and Zia had to admit she was terribly curious to know if in fact Simone's reincarnation had sought out her relation.
Carter nervously gulped. "Which is why I think we ought to visit Walt's mother."