Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KIRAN
“Hello, Kiran. Good of you to join me.”
Kiran strolls into one of Castaria’s many private lounges, shocked to find Audwin Fjolla, Finlay’s unpleasant and terribly pompous father, sitting perched atop a sprawling blue chair—the finest chair in the room, as it so happens.
Meaning he is the one who summoned Kiran from his personal chambers.
Interesting. But also particularly annoying, considering the muscular company currently warming his bed, awaiting his—hopefully—timely return.
Company he is hoping will also escort him to Erandor’s upcoming Winter Solstice ball when he asks.
Though he supposes he shouldn’t be thinking about that at the moment.
“Audwin,” Kiran drawls mildly, taking the seat in front of him. The hearth beside them is lit, crackling and popping in the following silence as Audwin and Kiran regard each other through the dim yellow light.
They never have been the best of friends.
Kiran folds one leg over the other, smiling a politician’s smile. “What a surprise it is to see your pale face here at Bathara. Hopefully your unexpected presence within the Borderless Region is due to a desire to finally see your son?”
Audwin smiles tightly. “A natural assumption.”
Kiran leans back in his chair. “What other reason is there for you to be within these walls, then?” He pinches his chin between his fingers with a theatric flare. “Better yet… Why summon me instead of him? To what do I owe the honor?”
Audwin bites down on his growing scowl. “We need to talk,” he says tersely.
Talk.
Kiran nearly laughs at Audwin’s approach.
Though Kiran must admit he thought he would be afforded a bit more time to strategize with Draven first—who still has not even returned from his own aggregate’s mission—or at least tell him the information he uncovered before broaching the subject.
Because what Kiran found out during his interrogation with the skull trader?
The knowledge he received in that damp, mildewed cellar? It is a weapon.
So until Kiran is able to speak with Draven about all he’s uncovered, he will play his hand as he must.
And he always has been quite good at playing cards.
Kiran twirls a lazy hand in the air. “That’s all the Heads of the Great Houses seem to want to do these days.
Talk, talk, talk.” He sighs. “The trouble is, I’m all talked out.
Now, I only just returned from a rather grueling mission yesterday, and I find myself exhausted and in need of a bit more rest, so if you’ll excuse me.
” He rises, but before he makes it halfway across the room, Audwin stops him.
“How interesting,” he hums, his tone taking a drastic shift—as if he, somehow, has just gained the upper hand. “That mission in Ninmere is exactly what I wish to talk about.” Kiran turns slowly to study Audwin, who is smiling like a cat. “Now, sit.”
He pushes his tongue into his cheek before gliding it along the grooves of his teeth. Still, he does as Audwin requests and sits back down. “How do you know about Ninmere?”
Audwin snorts, leaning back in his chair.
“Everyone in the bloody Three Kingdoms already knows about the mission you headed. Sterling Nightenjoy’s son has made quite the name for himself because of it.
Genius, really. Save the ships then give coin to the fisherman’s family whose ship burned.
He’ll have the backing of the people for quite some time because of that decision. ”
“I don’t think that’s where Nightenjoy’s head was at when he made his choice,” Kiran counters.
“You don’t think?” Audwin asks, ignoring Kiran’s dry, pointed tone entirely. “Why else do it, then?”
Kiran sucks on a tooth, annoyance bubbling up and into his chest. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to say anything before Audwin speaks again.
“Lion of the Heart,” he says slowly, as if trying out the taste of the words. He pauses, tilting his head as if giving the nickname genuine consideration. “Has a nice ring to it, actually. If only my worthless son could have made such a name for himself in as little time as Sterling’s son has.”
Kiran grinds his teeth. “Get to the point, Audwin. I’m sure you’re not here just to swoon over another man’s son.”
The corner of his lip hooks up. “No, I am not.” There is a brief passing silence as Audwin watches Kiran, seeming to look for something within his gaze.
Yet Kiran offers him nothing. The curve wedged into the corner of Audwin’s mouth deepens.
“Why have you been investigating an underground uprising?”
The question enters the space between them so bluntly—so dryly—Kiran only blinks, slightly taken aback by it. “Pardon?”
“You have been tracking the movements of a forming uprising, have you not? Currently, they move stealthily. Within the shadows, gathering followers and supplies.”
An uneasy feeling turns in Kiran’s stomach. “Gathering followers and supplies for what cause?” he asks carefully.
Audwin smiles. “Exactly the reason I have requested an audience with you. That is precisely what I’d like to know.”
“And why do you assume I’ve found the answer to that question?”
“Because I know you have.” He says it so smoothly. So matter-of-factly.
It ignites a quiet anger within Kiran.
“See, I have it on good authority that you captured and interrogated a former Skull Trader. And no ordinary Skull Trader, mind you. No, you captured the great Livinthuis Noxtus.”
“Who?” Kiran coos, inspecting his nails as he attempts to keep his face a mask of cool indifference.
Audwin scoffs, shaking his head. “Don’t play dumb with me, boy.
I have been trained far more extensively than you could ever imagine.
You think I am cruel? You think I treat Finlay harshly?
” He snorts, the sound nothing short of resentful.
“You should have met my own father. But you know what? His brutality made sure I was strong. Capable. And now I am grateful for it, because it turned me into the man I am today.”
“Unpleasant?” Kiran drawls with boredom, keeping his eyes intentionally on his nail beds.
“Powerful,” Audwin grits back. “Now, start speaking with me truthfully. Tell me everything you know. Every single detail, down to the smallest of descriptions. The smallest motivations.”
Kiran hums, contemplating. “You mean details such as where this uprising is pulling their ideologies from? Or better yet, whom?”
A heavy stillness overtakes the air. Audwin leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, peaking his fingers in front of his lips.
His features are much harsher than Finlay’s, though the colors filling in their details are one and the same.
Bright, aqua-colored eyes. Pure white hair brushing against his broad shoulders, small braids tugging one side of it back past his ear.
A sneer that permanently taints otherwise nicely defined lips.
The man before Kiran is everything Finlay strives to be.
Yet he is also everything wrong with that which they’ve built around themselves.
And no matter how hard Finlay tries to pretend he is just like his father, he isn’t.
He never has been. It is the very reason he was forced to face the wrath of Audwin Fjolla time and time again.
Was forced to suffer the cruel bite of rejection as Audwin spit in his son’s face and told him he was worthless to him.
What child wants to hear that? No matter how twisted their parents are, a child still wants nothing more than to receive their love, and Finlay was denied any part of the feeling once his mother died.
It is why he has spent the following years of his life trying to mold himself into his father’s image.
Be everything Audwin is and wants Finlay to be.
It is because for once in his gods-damn life—though Finlay will never openly admit it to himself or anyone else, for that matter—Kiran knows Finlay just wants to feel loved.
Which is why at the end of the day, even when Kiran hates Finlay with a burning ferocity, he still loves him with an unending dedication which will never waver.
Despite the many decisions Finlay incorrectly made, despite the numerous occasions he let Kiran down greater than words can convey, Kiran still loves his brother far deeper than he will ever truly accept.
Audwin clears his throat, snapping him from his wandering thoughts. “Details surrounding the foundations on which this uprising is built is precisely the sort of information I’d like you to share with me.”
“And why should I?”
Audwin huffs a condescending laugh and leans back in his chair, keeping the tips of his fingers pressed together.
“Because I think you’ll find it in your best interest.” He reaches into the inside pocket of his lavish white and arctic-blue doublet and pulls out a rolled scroll sealed with black wax.
Without removing his eyes from Kiran, he reaches out, passing off the item.
Kiran recognizes the seal encrusted into the wax instantly; it’s unmistakable who it belongs to.
“What is this?” he asks, a pointed sharpness punctuating his words.
“It’s for you,” Audwin replies smoothly. “I was instructed to give it to you before we begin the next part of our discussion.”
A feeling of unease winds in his chest as Kiran breaks the wax seal and unrolls the scroll, reading the contents awaiting him inside.
His heart drops into his stomach.
He has lost his game of cards.
A filthy grin twirls Audwin’s lips. “Ready to talk now?”