“Wonderful. Tell Samantha about the change in plans and have her prepare the new Drains for the water.” It was only then that he turned to me, his narrowed hatred the first acknowledgment of my presence. “I have something to deal with, first.”
“Yes, commander.” Jer’s response was firm and booming, but it might as well have been a grumble with the tunnel of my father’s stare that I had been sucked into. It was only when the door snapped shut that the gunshot of our conversation fired. My father slammed his fists into his table, sending a pile of what looked like lude photographs drifting to the floor.
“What are you doing here?” He didn’t look away, neither did I.
“I have news.” I straightened my back, my fingers still tight around the phone.
“I hope it is that the princes magic has sparked against your own, or perhaps that the Drain has been eliminated.” I tried not to flinch at his snarl, his lip curling.
“No, but this is even better, I can--”
“You mean to tell me you have been successful in neither of your tasks?” he cut me off, turning away from me to the cabinet that was tucked into the corner. The massive carved wood closet stored multiple mortal guns, most ones he had procured from neighboring countries that were ruled by other magic users than the Eternals, not that there were many left.
“I have a plan,” I spoke up, scooting to the edge of the leather chair to get his attention. He didn’t turn. “There is still time to accomplish both, but I have learned--”
“Your time expired the moment you arrived here with no success,” he said, equipping one gun after another, tucking them into the straps and pockets that lined his black armored uniform. “We have waited patiently for months and you have failed us again and again. I suggest you look at your future carefully, because it no longer lies with us.”
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I had never felt tightness in my chest like this, felt this bitter taste of failure.
He might as well have dismissed me with how fast he was moving to the door. He gripped two guns in his hands when I jumped up, the chair tumbling to the ground behind me.
“I know how to defeat the Eternals.” I was firm. Thankfully he turned, although it did not miss my notice that he cocked the larger of the guns, the electronic core in the massive weapon whirring to life.
Even with the pressure in my chest and the powerful man that was glaring at me. I was calm, standing tall before my father as he waited, eyes narrowed enough that I knew I had permission to continue.
“I had the Drains life in my hands, I was moments away from completing the task, but I was stopped.”
“You came all the way here to tell me of your defeat, you are no daughter--”
“I was stopped by a Krul,” I interrupted, taking a step forward. His nostrils flared and I quickly moved back. Now was not the time to push my luck. “A Krul who calls the rats by their true name.”
“Analine.” The curl in his lip was not a good sign, but I plowed on.
“Yes.”
The tension in my chest was reaching a breaking point, but I waited in place as he exhaled. His eyes softened, although the look was more in pity than in triumph.
What the fecking hell was going on?
I had handed him an Eternal on a fucking silver platter.
I was suddenly nervous about how he would handle the other, much more important part of my news.
“Father, Analine has given me--”
“Analine is a dead end, child.” My father’s jaw was tight, even though the guns dropped to his side. He was looking at me. He had called me child. “Analine thrives on the love and power the Goldens give her. She abhors the Drains only because they do not respect her, because they do not feed her ego. She has no interest in causes unless it ends in parades in her name. She would rather belittle children than actually act on anything. Her self-righteous efforts do not align with our cause.”
“That may have been, but it is not anymore.” I let the smile creep out.
“Your love of the Eternals has blinded you to rational thinking. She has no interest in you--”
“I don’t believe that to be true anymore,” I cut him off, my hand jutting out to stop him as he turned to leave. His dark scowl dug into me but I wasn’t about to shrink away like a wilted flower. Not that cowering in fear would do any good with those guns. “Her alignment has changed, she gave me the number of someone who might be exactly what you are looking for.”
I spoke slowly, determined to drive every point home as I held the phone out to him, the white screen displaying a name and a number.
His eyes darted to the number and back to me, the shock carefully masked as he shouldered the smaller gun and took the phone from me, still staring at the screen.
“You can’t be serious, Sia.”
“I am. Analine was quite clear of their interest.” I refused to look away from him, my magic pressing against air and skin in its excitement. He clearly didn't reciprocate.
“What if this is a trap? What if your poor attempt to redeem a failure ends in my death? Or perhaps it would be better if it ended in yours?” He jutted the phone back to me, forcing me to take it. The screen was still illuminated with the number. His message clear.
I swallowed and squared my jaw. Fine. If he needed proof that I wasn’t a pussy, so be it. Perhaps he expected me to die within minutes of making the call. Less blood on his hands and a solution to his problems, I supposed.
My jaw tightened, a humorless chuckle escaping as I pressed my thumb against the number and the echoing sound of dialing filled the office.
Once.
Twice.
My father’s grin stretched with each buzz of the phone, his victory growing as my dread swelled into a nauseating balloon.
Then the screen changed, everything going white as a voice echoed through the speaker.
“Hello. I’ve secured the line.” The deep male tone rattled through my spine. He sounded different than I expected. More mysterious. More powerful.
“Hello?” I said, unsure of what else to say. My father stepped closer, his victory fading into skeptical shock, his face as pale as the blinding light of the phone. I had never seen the screen go so bright before. Must be some weird kind of magic.
“Is this Demarco?” He spoke again, more of the tension in my muscles leaving to be replaced by sparks of excitement.
“Yes, the youngest. And the oldest,” I added with a look to my father, who still hadn’t regained any color.
God, what I would have given to smile at the old man, to laugh at his once smug grin and slap him with one of my own.
The voice on the other side of the line was doing that well enough.
“Good. I’ve been waiting for your call since Analine told me. I’ve been trying to make contact with you since that fucking Drain got put in that school. I have to say, that Cathedral was quite the show. Sent everyone into a fit over here,” he chuckled, the sound a darkness that I hadn’t even heard in my father before. It flared through me like a drug. God, I wanted more of it. Of him.
“So, tell me,” he continued after a moment. “What can I do for you?”
21
Rowan
"Check." Cail gave me a grin, his toothy smile stretched wide as he dragged his knight over the board to my king. He was two moves away from winning now, if it wasn't for my last surviving pawn it would have been checkmate, although if I knew Cail...
I didn't look away from my cousin, his smug grin stretching as I monitored the board with my magic, the power pulling a perfect replica of the board into my mind. We had been playing this game for the last half hour and up until a minute ago, I had assumed that I had been winning.
But Cail would never make a move so bold unless there was still a guarantee he would win. There. The Rook. Once my pawn was moved, presumably to take out the Knight, the Rook could sweep in and knock my King on his ass. Ending the game. I did another sweep, still not looking away
from my cousin. He had said check, not checkmate so moving my King had to be the only option. I didn't see anything that would get me in trouble.
Slowly, I reached my hand forward, dramatic flare supercharged. I tapped my pawn before moving my King back one square, just as slow and loud as he had moved the Knight. The sound of stone scraping against stone echoed off the crowded bookshelves and wood-paneled walls of his office, mixing with the crackling fire that was becoming needed as the temperature continued to drop.
"That was close," Cail said, not so much as hesitating to reach forward and grab the rook. Moving the piece in the opposite direction, he took out my Queen and perfectly aligned himself with my King. "Perhaps one of these days you will actually defeat me."
"Shit," I swore, knocking down my king for him. Once again, I had only looked ahead one move, not the two or three that was really needed in this game. It was why I never won, not against Cail. Not against anyone. I always forgot to look ahead.
"Language," Cail said with a smile, beginning to clear the pieces away, placing them gently in the stone and wood box that he treated as carefully as one would a baby.
"What the hell, Cail? Like you're one to talk," I snapped, handing him five of my pawns before leaning back in the overstuffed chair and throwing my feet up on the now empty coffee table. I checked my watch, I had fifteen minutes of bliss left. I was going to enjoy every minute of it.
"Well, I am supposed to be ruling over you or some shit, I might as well make it seem like it from time to time." Cail's smile twisted playfully as he sat back in his own chair, producing a pipe which he quickly flared to life. "You know, just as you are supposed to make it seem like you are an everyday student."
I audibly groaned, closed my eyes and laid my head back against the seat. So much for enjoying my last fifteen minutes.
"How did I know these Royal Dispatch lessons weren't just going to be getting my ass beat in chess and breathing in your second-hand smoke? Although, three months before a lecture is a record I suppose."
Cail chuckled at that, just as the air filled with the aroma of cinnamon, or whatever he had put in his pipe. From day one I had known what this ‘class’ was: the one place I could be myself. Uncle Ryland had tried to duplicate that with Rugby. It might have worked too, if it wasn’t full of slathering elitist Goldens.
Greer was the only decent person on that team.
Cail and I had never been close, mostly because for my entire life he had spent the majority of his time at the school. Now that I was at the Academy, he had provided an escape, even if it was filled with cinnamon scented air.
"It's all about proprietary, cousin." He blew out a wave of smoke, the colors twisting in the air before shattering towards the ceiling. "Appearing the way you want them to see you. We want them to remember you are a member of the royal family, so you get to come here every day for me to clobber your ass in chess." He chuckled at his own joke, but I wasn't about to join him.
That was the last thing I wanted, and the main reason I had not wanted to come to this school. So much for being able to avoid any of that.
"Is that why you are always locked in here?" I asked, gesturing to the room that I had only seen him out of maybe once or twice before. "Smoking, reading, and scaring the first years about their upcoming exam?"
"Occasionally, I lecture a student or two about how using magic in the hallways is dangerous," he said through the pipe in his mouth, the smoke still lazily drifting up to the ceiling.
"How thrilling." I threw my head back again, looking at the pressed iron plates that lined the ceiling.
It was inlaid with a pretty design, the leaves and swirls almost like something out of another world. Elegant, but marred by magic stains that made me wonder how old they were. If the swirls of black smoke were remnants of the war, or were where Cail blew off some steam after all his treacherous hallway decorum lectures.
"How are you getting along, Rowan?" Cail said after a few minutes of silence, the question tightening up my spine. I didn't shift, however, I kept looking at the ceiling. Perhaps if I stayed still for fifteen minutes I could avoid this conversation altogether.
"It's been months and I have heard nothing more from the teachers other than that you seem displeased and have missed quite a bit of school." He took another inhale as I lifted my head, arching an eyebrow at him. "Don't worry, I haven't said anything. So far everyone thinks you are weak, sick, and dying...."
I forced a cough and collapsed deeper into the chair, leaning against the arm as Cail continued to exhale plumes of purple smoke around us.
"I suppose there are worse things. Like being in a fake relationship." I was trying to keep my voice as steady and as diplomatic as possible. It wasn't working and the corners of Cail's lip twitched, holding back a smile.
“Yes, you ended that in glorious fashion, didn’t you? Although we all would have appreciated a warning.”
I didn’t want to get into it. Thinking about Sia was not what I needed right then. Not when my dreams had shifted, when I had someone else I couldn’t get out of my head...
“Have you ever felt your magic spark against another?” I refused to look at him as I asked the question, still scowling at the ceiling.
“You mean like the beginnings of a bonding. Of finding your mate?”
“Yes.” I pressed my lips together.
"Did your magic spark to Sia’s--"
Cail's question was cut off by a loud pop and a gasp. I didn't even jump at the sounds that had been a regular in my life. I expected the smell of sulfur and the wave of magic after one of my parents stuttered into Cail's office. What I hadn't expected was the overwhelming aroma of blood to flood the air, the metallic aroma drowning out the burnt cinnamon smoke from Cail’s pipe.
"Ilyan!" Cail yelled, jumping his feet as I turned in my chair, heart falling to my toes at the towering king behind me.
“Dad?” I barely recognized him. His hair was unbound, flowing halfway down his back, the ends drenched in blood. The golden ribbon that was usually bound in his hair was tied around his wrist, barely visible beneath the blood-streaked jean jacket he wore. Jacket and jeans.
I had never seen my father wear jeans; I have never seen the ribbon out of his hair. Those images alone should have been shocking, but it was the amount of blood that was dripping from him that scared me the most. It was everywhere. It absolutely covered him.
"Are you injured?" Cail asked, placing his hand against my father’s, checking him for injuries. The king didn’t move, his blue eyes digging into me, his lips pressed into a hard line. He clearly hadn't expected me there.
That's okay. I hadn't expected this either.
“Dad! Is everything okay?”
"No." I wasn’t sure if the gruff snap was in response to me or Cail as he looked away from us, already pulling a phone from his pocket. "Get Mira. Ry and Wyn should be here any minute. Jos is bringing Dramin."
Cail said nothing before he sprinted away, a shield snapping around him and smothering him from view right as the door opened and closed as though it was being pulled by a phantom. It was an old trick, but I still jumped, mostly because of the way my blood-covered father was now searching through the low cabinets of Cail's bookcases, slamming doors and throwing piles of books to the floor.
"Dad?" I asked, my voice shaking as much as my hands. I tried to reach him, to help him, to do something, but the world was shifting too fast, everything spinning.
"I'm sorry, Rowan," Ilyan said, opening up cabinet after cabinet, slamming door after door. "I didn't know you would be here. Cail usually warns us, it must have slipped his mind."
"Warns you?" I asked, still trying to process what I was seeing. "How often do you come here? How often do you come here covered in blood?"
My panic snapped into logic as I stepped behind him, his search escalating before he finally found what he was looking for. An old cracked mug. One of the brown earthen things that you could summon Black Water in.
"Why do
you need that?"
I took a bigger step back, fear on top of fear compacting against my spine.
"More lately," he said, turning to look at me. "This is not for you."
He stood on the other side of Cail's desk, the mug teetering on top of the mess of papers that usually covered the surface, pulling me into it. I took another step back, forcing myself to look from the mug, but I only found my father's blood-streaked face.
"What's going on?" I tried to keep my voice strong and steady, even though I knew that if it came down to a battle of wills, there was no way I could win against him.
He hesitated, chest heaving as he looked from the mug, to the door, to me, the pressure in the room growing with each of his ragged breaths.
"Dad? Please. You're covered in blood..."
"There has been an increase in attacks lately."
"An increase...? I didn't even know we were having attacks." Before I was able to riddle him with the million other questions that were racking my brain, the door burst open on its own, a flood of magic following the air in.
The door slammed shut, four bodies appearing out of nowhere as their shields dropped with a pop.
Mira, Cail, Wyn, and Ryland. The last two as covered in red as my dad.
"Ry!" Mira shrieked, jumping into his arms. Ryland’s hands left marks against the bright white of her shirt, streaks of crimson smearing everywhere.
"I'm fine, lecture later," Wyn said to her son, rushing past the three of them and giving me a side glance as she bolted across the room.
"We bringing him in already?" she asked, jutting a thumb in my direction. "I thought you wanted to give it a year?"
"I didn't know he would be here," My father said, now clearing the desk of papers, the harsh tone so unfamiliar that I was starting to question if I knew the man at all. "If I had we would have brought Mira to Imdalind, not the other way around."
"Hence the mug?" Wyn asked, arms folded over her chest as she stared at the thing with as much disdain as I felt.
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