“Well, I certainly don’t know his intentions. My memory of meeting him is almost a blank. I remember him saying you could go home anytime, though. What did he mean by that? And what’s with you and him anyway?”

“There is nothing with me and him,” Flanagan says, averting his eyes.

Yeah, right.

“Why would he call his place your home? He must have meant something.”

Chair scrapes wood as Flanagan rises. “Have you finished? We need to leave now.”

“Wait a minute.” My question has clearly hit a nerve. “Why the sudden rush to leave?”

“We need to be going. We’re already late.”

“Late for what?”

“Your test. Every new Channeler is tested before we start their training. I wasn’t going to bother. I know how strong you are, but the head trainer advised we follow protocol. We will have time later for more questions.” He stalks away into his bedroom.

“I want to know what’s with you and Alexei,” I say to his back. There’s something he’s hiding. I can’t help wanting to know what it is.

He stops to slip off his shirt. “Your boots are in the closet. Put them on, please.”

I shuffle round to face the lawn, sit back in the chair, and drum my fingers on the table edge.

“Michael.” Flanagan’s growl deepens his voice.

Humming a random tune, I stare up at the blue sky.

Flanagan lets out a harsh breath. Without turning, he says, “I was a Blood Servant. For nearly a hundred years, I lived with Alexei at Dvamira Castle. It was a very long time ago.”

“No way.” That’s a shock. Flanagan seems so upright. Invincible.

“I would like you to move, please.”

I walk inside to face him, to look straight into his stern regard. “Did you get them back?”

He briefly closes his eyes. “No.”

“The Goddess’s favor didn’t work, then?”

Flanagan answers with a monotone inflection to his voice. “It worked. I rescued my daughters. But they’d been with the Anlu’kyr for nearly thirty years.” He pauses, his expression strained. “I had to take them back to Alexei.”

“Why?”

He meets my gaze, his eyes two pools of gray water. “I don’t speak of this. It was many years ago, Michael. I’ve already told you more than most people.”

I’m desperate to know more, but not wanting to push, I just rest my hand on his shoulder and squeeze.

He clasps my wrist, and after a long out-breath, he says, “In those days, we had no means with which to treat blood addiction. They sickened and almost died. The prince promised me their welfare if I served him. I stayed nearly a hundred years.”

I’m speechless. What must it be like to rescue your daughters, only to have to take them back? Guilt stirs for demanding answers.