Finn has a seat

Osh had betrayed him again. Finn had known this meeting would happen eventually, and if Osh had told him that now was the time, he would have come downstairs just as docilely.

But Osh had preferred to lie.

Finn was too stunned by the sight of the man across the room to notice the one who sat near the door. It was not until the latter rose to greet him that Finn understood that Osh had not lied – not quite. Here was the “interesting young man” who wanted to meet him. Nevertheless he still felt betrayed.

“Good afternoon.” The interesting young man bowed, and he gracefully shook the hand that Finn gracelessly stuck out. “My name is Sebastien Maloisel, but my friends call me Bastien, and I hope you will.”

“My name is Vin. Finn,” he corrected, since he was speaking English.

Finn glanced behind Sebastien and saw those familiar brown eyes staring off into the fire. The man had made no move to rise, either.

“My friend Sir Egelric is here to see his cousin Flann,” Sebastien explained quickly.

“Oh… he’s my… she’s my cousin also.”

“Would that not be because he’s your father?” Sebastien smiled.

Finn felt his face grow hot. He could only hope his flush would not be visible from across the room.

“Yes, he is,” he said quickly. His voice had briefly reverted to that of a ten-​​year-​​old, as it always did lately at the worst possible moments. He cleared his throat and added gravely, “However, I only met him five days ago.”

“You must be wondering very much about him,” Sebastien said.

Finn glanced back into the corner again, guiltily. His father’s body was settled comfortably into the chair, quiet and relaxed, and though it was plain he was listening intently, the gaze of his eyes was still soft and turned aside. He sat just as one would sit to reassure a timid wolf or dog. Perhaps his father had a way with canines too.

“My cousins have told me some things…” Finn mumbled.

“God help me, then,” his father chuckled. “Those girls aren’t known for putting things delicately.”

“They like you, however,” Finn said, out of fairness.

“And I like the ‘however’,” his father smiled. At last he looked up.

Finn did not believe that his father had come merely to see Flann. He must have known – or at least hoped – that Finn would be there. Flann was only an excuse. However, it did not seem to be a lie – not quite.

Now, though, Finn would be obliged to acknowledge him.

“Good afternoon – father,” he squeaked in his ten-year-old’s voice.

He had not thought the word would slip out so easily, but neither had he thought it would affect him so much.

With Cat and Flann, Finn had consented to speak of him in English as “my father” and in his Gaelic lessons even as “m’athair”. The insulating irreality of the foreign words protected him from any feeling of disloyalty to the elf who had raised him and loved him – and who had kidnapped him and lied to him.

But now he was saying it in front of his father – saying it to his father. Now it became very real.

Finn’s heart was pounding and his legs were aquiver – waiting for any sudden movement to send him scampering away. He was terrified his father would jump up and run to kiss him or cuddle him.

But his father moved nothing more than his mouth and head to say, “Good afternoon, Finn. I’m glad to see you.”

“Why don’t we sit ourselves?” Sebastien proposed. “I shall tell you about my father, and you shall see, no matter what terrible stories your cousins told you about your father, my father was infinitely worse.”

“He was?” Finn asked hopefully. A terrible father – who was not one’s own – seemed a very interesting character.

“Abominable.”

Sebastien returned to his chair and crossed his legs delicately beneath his extravagant robe. He seemed more gracefully elven than the big man who sat sprawled in the chair in the corner. However, Finn had to admit that he often found the elegant posture of elves a bother to maintain. The permission to sprawl was one of the advantages of being a man.

“Have a seat,” his father said, nodding at the couch.

Finn could not. He could not simply sit on the couch between them, like any boy, and have an ordinary conversation. He could not.

Instead he crept warily into the room, watching both strangers out of the corner of his eye, and sat on the rug before the fire. He was at an equal distance from the foot of either, and far enough away that neither could touch him without rising. He would have time enough to flee if they tried.

He sat facing Sebastien, for his father’s excuse for coming also gave Finn an excuse to avert his eyes. But he was listening intently.