"It's my mom," she said.
"You went to visit her?"
"Yes, but not that. Mark—Mark said he might have more information about her death." She looked up at him, her eyes troubled.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. Brynn had never been open about her family. Eliot knew that her father had left after her mother died, leaving her to stay with only her grandmother. He got the impression that she never wanted to talk about her father's side of the family. And her mother—well, her mother had died.
"What do you know about her?" Brynn asked. "I know you looked her up." Eliot frowned, and she went on. "I saw the name on your computer one night. You were looking through newspaper records."
"I was curious," he admitted. "Since she died in Hungary. You never told me how."
"What did you find?" Brynn asked.
"Nothing," Eliot said. "I looked through all the public records. There was no mention of her name." He looked up to Brynn. "I'm not saying I don't believe you. I thought perhaps she went by another name here."
"No, there's nothing in the public records," Brynn said.
"Then how would you find anything?" Eliot frowned.
"Mark says that there might be police files."
"Police files?"
Eliot held her hands tightly as she recounted her conversation with Mark. The poor girl. To lose her mother to a violent death? She did not deserve this.
"Do you really want to know what happened?" Eliot said.
"Yes," Brynn said. Her mouth was set in fierce determination, and Eliot could not help but lean forward to kiss her. Her strength was a marvel.
"Would you like me to come with you?" Eliot asked. "To find the police files?" Immediately as he spoke he regretted the offer. He had been forced to deal with the police all too often in the time before he left Hungary.
"Would you?" Brynn said. Her upturned face begged him for help.
"Perhaps... perhaps it would be better if Marta took you," Eliot said, stroking her hand with his fingers. "She has more friends in the police department. With Otto's political connections, she might be able to help you more."
"Alright," Brynn said. Eliot could tell that she was disappointed. He wanted to hug her tightly, to confess all of his hidden anxieties, but he could not. She had enough to deal with, plenty of stress from other sources, that he could not justify easing his own mental burdens onto her. And, in a deeper and more secret part of his heart, he worried that she might not believe his side of the story, or at least she would have doubts.
In Hungary he was a prince, yes, but he was also a criminal. What would she think of him?
CHAPTER SIX
Brynn
Snow covered the trees and made them silent, the sun filtering through the branches thinly to the frosted ground. The only sound in my dream was the call of a bird echoing through the forest. It faded away. I heard a branch break and turned around, but there was nothing there.
I looked down and saw my shadow, the tracks from where my shoes had marked the ground coming through the woods. Footsteps in the snow do not leave a permanent trail, I thought to myself, no more than breadcrumbs. Eliot would not be able to follow me.
A chill ran through my arms and I rubbed my finger against my palms to warm them. I looked down again and there was another shadow, bigger than mine, from something just behind me. I tried to spin around but I was frozen in place. In dreams, that is always the most frightening part—not being able to control your own body. Not being able to move a muscle, your limbs sluggish and limp, your whole being aching to move but not being able to.
As I watched the shadow grow larger, the entire forest seemed to darken. The footsteps I had left began to turn darker, and I realized that they were full of blood, blood that seeped up from the ground and overflowed, turning into a stream that ran scarlet over my feet. I felt the blood soaking into my shoes, and then I heard my mother scream.
"Help!"
It was her voice, it was the thing I remembered most clearly. Her voice that always used to tell me stories and sing me to sleep.
"Help!"
From behind me, a hand grabbed my arm, and I shrieked. My arms lashed out at the dark figure above me.
"Brynn," Eliot said. His shirt was undone, his hair tousled. His hand wrapped around my wrist, holding it gently but firmly.
"Ahhh!" I cried.
"You had a nightmare. It's okay," he said.
"Eliot? Eliot?" My thoughts were a jumble. At first my instinct was to flee away, into the woods, but then I blinked and I was back in the dim light of my room, the canopied bed over me.
"I heard you cry out," he said. "I was working in the study. Are you alright?"
I sobbed as he pulled me against his chest to soothe me. My nightshirt was soaked in sweat, and even in the summer heat I felt the chill of the snow in my dream.
"It was her," I said. "He got my mom. He got her again. And I couldn't see anything, not even who it was."
"Shhh," Eliot said, pressing kisses on top of my head. His lips were as light as sparrows. "It's okay now. I'm here. I'm with you."
"I don't want to dream again," I said. He rocked me slightly as I murmured the words against his bare chest. "I don't ever want to have those dreams. I want it all to go away."
"It will," Eliot said consolingly. "It just takes time. It will always take time for things to go back to normal."
"Let me sleep with you," I blurted out. "I mean... in your bed."
Eliot seemed taken aback.
"Of—of course," he said. "I just thought you needed your space."
"I'm scared," I said. I felt foolish, stupid. Like a small child, needing to be comforted. I hated this feeling. I wanted to be strong, like the goddesses of legend. I wanted to be independent. I didn't want to have to lean on anyone for comfort. But here I was, leaning against Eliot yet again. He was always my savior.
"Anything you want," Eliot said. He brought my hands up to his lips, kissed my fingers. "You're my princess, aren't you?"
"Yes," I whispered. "And you're my prince."
"Now don't worry about those nightmares," Eliot said. His large thumb brushed away the tears on my cheek, leaving only a damp streak. "They'll go away soon enough. But perhaps you shouldn't try to do impossible proofs before bedtime."
I forced out a small giggle.
"I doubt that's what my nightmares are about," I said. "Unless it's the ghost of Gauss haunting me."
"It could very well be," Eliot said gravely, a twinkle in his eye. "The spirit of incomplete sets."
"Of undecidable theorems," I said.
"Of proofs by contradiction," Eliot said. "A mischievous demon indeed."
I yawned. The nightmare had already faded into the corners of my mind, although the dark sense of foreboding lingered.
"But now," he said, throwing back the covers, "it's time to bring the princess back to my bed."
I squealed as he lifted me up, my feet kicking helplessly in the air. His arms held me tightly against his broad chest, and I flung my arms around his shoulders.
"Come," he said. "Come with me, princess, and I will save you from the evil monsters that lurk in the cracks of number theory."
"It doesn't look like I have any choice in the matter," I said happily, as he marched down the hallway with me in his arms.
"You always have a choice, Brynn," Eliot said. His voice was quieter, and I hugged him around the neck, placing a small kiss on his collarbone.
"Then I choose to be with my prince," I said.
He carried me through the doorway and lay me down on top of his bed. It was huge, the leather headboard embroidered with gold thread, and downy white pillows lay perfectly fluffed at the top of the bed.
"I don't sleep here often," Eliot said in response to my quizzical look.
"You must be a night demon," I teased. "You walk the night, putting terrible theorems into people's dreams."
"The horror," Eliot said, clasping one hand to his heart. "To place untrue theorems in the minds of poor mathematicians."
"Worse than that," I said. "The theorems are true, but completely unprovable."
Eliot's eyes crinkled in laughter.
"What's this?" I said, picking up the book from the end table.
"Oh, that," Eliot said. "The Little Prince. Have you ever read it?"
"No," I said. "I think I've heard of it, though."
"Everybody here reads this book when they are a child," Eliot said. He picked up the old book and turned it over in his hands, then handed it to me. The cover showed a boy standing on an asteroid or moon, a beautiful colored illustration.
"What's it about?" I asked.
"It's about a prince—"
"Like you," I said. "Is there a princess?"
"No. This prince is just a little boy, and he lives on a tiny planet that you can walk around in no time at all. It's as big as a house, maybe, no bigger."
"That's how it is on the cover," I said. I looked again at the illustration. "The gravity wouldn't be enough to keep him on there."
"Hush. It's a fairy tale."
"Oh. Well, if it's a fairy tale," I said, smiling. I tucked my feet under the blanket and lay back against the pillows. "So he's the only one on the planet?"
"He has a rose," Eliot said. "He loves her and waters her and keeps her under a glass globe at night to protect her."
"What happens to him? The little prince?" I asked.
"He leaves one day," Eliot said.
"He leaves the rose?"
"Yes. She tells him that she doesn't need the glass globe anymore and he leaves her. He leaves his home altogether, and visits a bunch of other planets, and eventually he comes to Earth. You'll have to read it, of course. I'm not doing it justice."
"It sounds like a nice book. Does he stay on Earth or go back to his rose?"
Eliot got a sad look in his eye, and he took the book out of my hands.
"I can't tell you," he said. "That would spoil the ending."
"Are you coming to bed?" I asked. I couldn't keep the note of pleading out of my voice, and I hated myself for being so needy.
"Yes," Eliot said. "Of course."
I watched him as he peeled off his shirt. The white scars crisscrossing his chest seemed to glow in the dim light. He saw me watching him and turned the light off. I heard him finish undressing while my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. By the time he came into bed I could make out his profile, nothing else. His dark hair tumbled over his face.
"You need a haircut," I said timidly. I was scared to touch him, now that he was nearly nak*d and so close to me. Foolish—we had slept together, after all, but only the one time. Since then he had given me space. More space than I needed, really. As much as I felt myself drawn toward him, the more I felt myself pull back. I could not trust anyone, not even him, or something bad would happen. A black cloud seemed to be hovering just above me, ready to strike me down at any sign of happiness.