Ordhan strove to regain his wits and composure. He drew himself up and straightened his shoulders, a mask as expressionless as the tranquil slipping into place. If even Constans could tell he was disturbed, he had reacted much too strongly. It had been a simple request, with no apparent reason for him to be upset. He did not want Constans to believe that he had done wrong in asking for the favor.
"I am, I apologize," he replied, forcing his voice to mimic his usual calm tone, though he was anything but calm beneath. "I met your older brothers when I was a boy. I did not realize you were related.
It was common knowledge that the two youngest Ledaal children were mages. It was not unheard of for noble families to bear mage children. What was unheard of was for them to be unapologetic about it. Bearing a child tainted by the sin of magic was a shame to any family, even more so for nobility. Most bore the embarrassment in hushed shame; some, such as Ordhan's own father, went so far as to cover it up. The Ledaals were different. The siblings' names were never mentioned--who would care to know the name of a mage?--but their lack of proper sheepishness was well-known.
Ordhan had wondered if they were like him, brothers bereft, not about to turn their faces from family they had loved. Perhaps Ordhan was not alone in the secret heresy of thinking it all wrong. The thought had always been a comfort. No longer. Though his face was still once more, fears raged rampant beneath. Ever since he had first met Constans and learned the reasons behind the young man's quiet nature, dread so treacherous he could not bear to give it thought had begun to weave itself together in the back of his mind. A few times it threatened to press forward, but he would always shove it back with equal force; now, it could not be denied.
He knew why the Lukaer and Mathieu had not exiled their brothers from mind and heart, though the long, twisted years separated him from the memory. There was no mistaking the brotherly affection in even the solemn Lukaer's eyes as he grinned at his little brother's mirth. The child he had been had seen it and knew that even if he seemed unfriendly at first, the other boy was a Good Person, because he loved his brother. And now another brother stood before him and he could no longer lie to himself: whatever person Constans had been before, he was no longer; Ordhan may consider this one friend, but the thought what the others would think if they knew was like a knife in his stomach.
And, selfish as it was, the oft-ignored fear that he may discover himself to bear the same pain one day roared up in all its hellish strength. The thought of such a fate befalling Eileen made his heart wither like a scorched leaf.