Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DRAVEN
Draven paces in front of a sprawling oak bookshelf littered with dusty spines.
After his far too brief reunion with Rhea, Master Cahlmon approached him before his class began and informed him his father would like “a word” with him before he departs back for Talderine.
Draven nearly snarled in the aging man’s face at the information, but he knew that would get him nowhere.
Plus, as it so happens, Draven has many words he wishes to have with his poor excuse of a father.
Starting with what the fuck Rhea is doing here.
Her presence at Bathara… Him daring to jeopardize her safety like this…
It goes against every fundamental principle of their arrangement.
And by the gods, Draven is going to make sure the man knows it.
Though he needs to get his anger in check before his father arrives.
If he doesn’t, he’ll get nowhere. There is nothing his father loathes more than an emotional argument. Hell, emotions at all, really.
The door swings open—cobwebs and dust flurries stirring in the air from the conjured brush of wind—and his father strolls in, his jet-black hair neatly tied back and that skin-crawling, placid expression painted on his face.
On the outside, Tynan Dalmar is a civilized, sharp-minded, high-class member of society. But on the inside, a dirty-blooded, sinister monster lurks. A beast who relishes in feasting on human elements—on how far one must go before the animal overrides the man.
“Draven.” His father hums his name like the opening notes to a song.
Draven hates the fucking melody.
“Tynan.” He keeps his voice carefully neutral, not wanting to lose the battle before it has even begun.
With measured steps, Tynan strides deeper into the room and pulls out the tufted gray chair resting at the base of a decadently crafted walnut desk.
He rests himself gently in the heart of it, swiping a finger against the rich, deep-brown wood, gathering dust to his fingertip.
“Really,” he says through a frown. “You think Bathara would have better upkeep.”
Draven fights the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he musters the most uninterested voice he can manage, keeping his face a perfect mask of indifference. “This is an abandoned study in a nearly abandoned area of the Main Hall.”
Tynan inspects his now gray-tinted fingertip. “And why is it abandoned?”
“Because the academy expanded and now has better classrooms and study areas than when originally built.” Draven feels his patience thinning already.
“And what about all the priceless knowledge resting within the rooms? Was it merely forgotten?”
Draven counts to three in his head before answering, giving himself a small buffer to check his tone. “A question far better suited for the captain over the Philator aggregate, seeing as they are the ones who typically deal in knowledge and are the keepers of our Grand Library.”
“You make a valid point.” He drops his hand, reorienting himself.
“I imagine you have questions for me. A few words you’d like to remove from your chest, perhaps?
” He props his elbows on the desk, interlocking his fingers in front of his chin.
“I’ll give you one minute to say whatever it is you’d like to say, however you’d like to say it. ”
Without wasting a second, Draven strides straight for the desk, slamming his palms down onto the surface.
“What the fuck is Rhea doing here? Our arrangement is for you to keep Rhea safe and cared for, which keeps me on your gods-damn leash. Her being here right now goes against everything. Especially now that first-years can be dispatched on missions with their aggregates.” With each word spewing from his lips, Draven feels his anger elevating—as if some unseen force is holding a burning matchstick to his blood.
“And how could you let her reveal the strength of her magic like that? You know kings kill for magic breakers with even a fraction of her power. Not to mention, you did a damn good job of making her one of the best combat fighters I’ve seen in a long gods-damn time.
Which was made very fucking clear as she sparred against Finlay. ”
“So what is your problem, exactly?” The polish in his smooth voice makes Draven curl his upper lip.
“While at Bathara, kings cannot reach her. And from my vantage point, all I am seeing is someone perfectly capable of becoming quite a formidable Jurafen, who shows great promise with their abilities. I certainly am not seeing a wielder in need of protection or coddling.”
“It’s not about that,” Draven snarls. “I know Rhea doesn’t need my protection in a fight. I know she is powerful and capable. But—”
Tynan cocks his head with interest. “But what?”
“But this life isn’t meant for her. It never was.” A sudden tightness appears in Draven’s chest, and he presses his lips into a thin line to keep the emotion from showing on his face.
There is so much more he could add to those words.
So many dreams and aspirations he could stand here and throw in his father’s face, making sure he remembers that he is the one who stole those lights from her sky.
Yet his father doesn’t deserve to know those parts of her.
He isn’t worthy of being offered a glimpse into the materials comprising Rhea’s heart—the wishes fueling the beats of it.
Plus, he would only be giving Tynan another toy to play with should he offer up that information.
Draven rubs his fingers across his forehead and drops his voice.
“How did she end up here, Tynan? Did she choose this, or did you force her? And don’t you dare insult me by attempting to insinuate this happened because of the new conscription; I know enough to be certain you could have shielded her from being conscripted if you tried. ”
Tynan’s expression remains unchanged. “Perhaps you should simply ask her that question yourself.”
Draven’s eyes flash with rage. “And would she even be capable of giving me her honest answer?”
With a fully-formed smile now present on his lips, Tynan leans back in the tufted chair, keeping his fingers clasped together and resting them on his chest. He remains like that, watching Draven with quiet amusement in his eyes.
And Draven waits. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Thirty. Still, Tynan provides him with no answer.
He jerks his chin away and scoffs.
“Is it so hard to believe she may have wanted this?” Tynan challenges, his voice a hollow attempt at sincerity.
“The girl has spent a decade at House Dalmar, isolated and scrutinized. Finlay, Kiran, and yourself have been gone for many years now. Has the thought never occurred to you that she may have grown lonely? It’s not easy, constantly wearing a mask in a world you know you do not belong in.
Sure, the mask covers you from the outside.
But what about what remains within? Those pesky, intrinsic feelings can never truly be concealed—all things surface eventually. You know that.”
“And whose fault is it that she has been subjected to such a life?” Draven growls between clenched teeth.
“Fault bears no meaning on the topic. Though, I find it worth mentioning that the burden of fault tends to change when the scope of time is broadened.” Tynan lifts a hand, rubbing his thumb in a circle against his index finger.
“Gaze one day into the past, perhaps the fault is my own. Gaze six months into the past, perhaps the fault isn’t mine in the slightest. Interesting, isn’t it?
The way human nature determines where faults lie. ”
“Do not spew your nonsense to me right now. I have no patience for it.”
Tynan chuckles, leaning forward to creak a wooden desk drawer open to peer inside. “That’s quite alright. Besides, I’m done speaking on the matter anyways. I’ve already given you more time to speak than I offered.”
“Then get to the real reason you summoned me here,” Draven demands, piecing his mask back together and attempting to dull the sharpness in his words.
“You know, Draven,” Tynan drawls with a measured smirk tipping his lips, ignoring his request completely as he continues rummaging through another drawer.
“Even though offers are given, they shouldn’t always be accepted.
For example, I offered you a test to speak freely, and you took it.
As a result, you’ve shown the entirety of your hand, and now you have no leverage.
” He releases a dramatic sigh. “I’d have thought I taught you better, but evidently not. ”
“I don’t care about your sick perversions with human behavior right now.
In fact, I don’t care much about anything you have to say unless it’s telling me what the hell you’ve summoned me for, or informing me of the concrete security measures in place for Rhea’s safety.
Otherwise, that fucking collar you’ve relished in having around my neck all this time?
It’s gone. And you can curl your lip at me and make all the snide remarks you want, but at the end of the day, without Rhea holding me back, you know as well as I do that a storm even you can’t stop will be unleashed. I don’t need leverage; I have power.”
Tynan watches him with a soft smile painted on his lips.
“And what is true power? Is it a display of might? Is it the magic I passed along to you, running through your veins?” He straightens in his chair, his eyes sharpening as they slowly come alive with intrigue.
“See, boy, I think information is true power. Not magic. Not skill with weaponry or all the strength in the world. But knowledge. With it, the bearer of such facts needn’t even lift a finger; those who seek what they know will do all the work for them.
Destroying your enemies and conquering your goals without having to lift a finger by leveraging the contents of your mind—that is the superior power. ”