What did she expect? After all, Jack was only eight. It was a huge burden to put on him. She shouldn't have done it in the first place. When she had pictured Declan tracking Jack through the woods, the idea of him setting traps and lures had never entered her mind. "Boys and knives," Rose murmured. "Irresistible attraction."
"We never grow out of it."
He certainly didn't, considering how many swords and knives he dragged around with him. Dad's entire room was full of blades.
In the soft light of the afternoon, Declan's features gained a new tint. His eyes looked into the distance. He seemed to be wrestling with his thoughts. The harsh line of his mouth relaxed. His gaze lost its aggression. Sitting like this, he seemed almost approachable. The urge to touch him returned. It was natural, she told herself. He was so handsome, and she had no life. But just because she felt the irrational desire to kiss him didn't mean she had to follow through with it.
The last time he let the blueblood persona slip, he was reasonable. Maybe if she told him a little more about them, he would understand and leave them in peace.
"You seem to like Jack," she said carefully, testing the waters.
"He tried his best," he said. "Tell me, why didn't he change shapes when the hounds were after him on the lawn? The survival instinct should've driven him to become a lynx in the face of danger."
Rose looked into her cup. "It might be different in the Weird, but when changelings shift in the Edge, it's almost like a seizure. They fall down and convulse. It's frightening, and it can last up to a minute. If he had changed shapes, the creatures would've torn him apart before he had a chance to finish. It took us a long time to teach him not to go cat every time he got scared. Did you see the bracelet he wears?"
"Yes."
"I taught him that so long as the bracelet stays on, he knows not to change shapes. It's not actually magic, or anything. Just conditioning."
"That must've taken a lot of work." His voice betrayed respect.
"It did."
Declan hesitated, mulling something over. Something was clearly eating at him.
"In the Weird, the changeling children are segregated and taken to special schools until they become adults," he said finally.
She glanced at him. "You exile children?"
Declan grimaced. "It's not exactly like that. There are specialized trainers, who oversee their education . . ." He fell silent. "Yes," he said with a measure of resignation. "We exile changeling children. It's common wisdom that it's better for them."
"I can see how people would think that."
His thick eyebrows crept up. "I didn't expect you to agree with that."
"Some changelings are born human. Jack was born a kitten. We knew something was wrong when he was in the womb, because my mother felt claws, and when Grandma did her spells, all the tests kept pointing to the forest. We couldn't take my mother to the hospital, because my parents were afraid Jack would die without magic, and my dad had to pay a huge bribe to the midwife from the Broken, so we could get him the proper documents. When Jack was born, he wouldn't nurse. My mother would pump her breast milk, and we had to feed it to him out of a bottle. It took him three days to change into a human, and when he finally did, he was still blind for almost a month. He looked odd as a baby. I thought he was deformed."
She swallowed the last of her tea. "Even now, with Jack, it's . . . it's hard. He has moments when he stops understanding what's being said. He hears the words and knows what they mean, but they just don't penetrate. He doesn't always comprehend why people react the way they do. And he fights like a maniac. Older kids are terrified of him. Every time my phone rings and it's the school, I get panicky, because I always think he must've hurt someone. So yes, I can see how some people might find it too much. Ordinary human kids are hard enough as it is. Don't get me wrong, I would never give Jack up. Never. They'd have to pry him from my dead fingers. But I always wonder, what if I'm doing things wrong?"
"He's one of the most socialized changelings I have ever seen," Declan said. "He goes to a regular school. He plays. He's smart and can be reasoned with, and he shows empathy for other people. He talked about protecting George. I don't think you understand how remarkable that is."
She glanced at him. "He's just a little boy, Declan. You talk like he isn't human."
Declan's face looked haunted. "I have a friend," he said. "We were soldiers together."
Not only was he a blueblood, but he was also a soldier. An officer, no doubt. No wonder he thought ordering people around was the only way to communicate. "How long were you in the military?"
"Ten years," Declan said.
"That's a long time," she said.
"I thought it was better suited to me than being a peer," he said.
"Why?" she wondered.
"I wasn't responsible for anyone but myself," he said. "It was simple that way."
So not an officer then. "Were you happy?"
"I was content," Declan said. "I was good at killing, and I was praised and rewarded for doing it well. It felt like the right place for me at the time."
"I thought you were all about balls and etiquette and womanizing," she needled him.
The look she got back was deadly serious. "You have an odd view of the life of a peer. Mostly it's work. Lots and lots of work and lots of responsibility. At that time in my life, I didn't want it. I still don't, but now I have no choice."
His voice was bitter and hollow. Rose looked away, not sure what to do with herself. "Tell me about your friend."
"He's a changeling," Declan said. "A predator like Jack. There are few paths a changeling can take in our society, especially if they aren't born into a family of means. My friend was born poor. He was abandoned by his mother at birth and given to the Citadel, Adrianglia's premier military school. Changelings born into wealthy families are taught a certain way so one day they can reenter society."
"And your friend wasn't?" she guessed.
Declan shook his head. "He was a ward of the realm, and the realm never meant for him to live with other people. They made him into a killer. He was raised to have no emotions, only strict control and strict punishment when he failed. He told me that he grew up in a bare room, twelve feet by ten feet, which he shared with another boy. He was allowed no personal possessions except his clothes, a toothbrush, a comb, and a towel."