Chapter Ten
Saoirse went above and beyond, hiring every tutor she could find. Some lived in Nàdair, while others traveled from cities in the south. Of course, it was all under the guise that they’d be training her.
Many balked when they walked into the room and found Rion waiting, but Saoirse always assured them their lives weren’t in danger. Some had outright refused, while others only agreed after being offered three times their normal salary.
Rion drilled them with questions and implemented their advice with lethal efficiency. Saoirse spared him often and hired others to do the same. She’d had to reprimand a few who had made attempts on his life, but Rion never retaliated. If anything, it made the training more valuable.
And just as she’d promised, Rion accompanied Saoirse on every mission. Alec hated it, if his raised voice was anything to go by, but Saoirse always told her elder brother the same thing: Either Rion went or she didn’t.
Despite enjoying traveling the country at his sister’s side, Rion noticed that some had started to resent her. They whispered behind her back and often avoided her altogether.
Saoirse noticed it too, but whenever Rion mentioned it, she’d just shrug it off.
His presence was hurting her, just like Caol always promised it would.
Even Alec was growing tired of his presence in the throne room. His brother glared relentlessly. He was their High Lord. He bent and bowed to no one. Except Saoirse. His only remaining family. The only one that counted, anyway.
Months flew by. While they were out on missions, Rion learned from Saoirse. Learned from others, too, and was often at the receiving end of disdain when he offered better strategies. Their missions were always successful, much to the council’s chagrin. They hoped he’d fail, if only to get rid of him once and for all.
When he turned sixteen, Saoirse made him a cinnamon dessert for his birthday. It was a poor attempt, but they both ate the doughy pastry and laughed endlessly at her failure. She’d also purchased him a new set of throwing knives.
Roaming the palace halls was . . . strange. Alec attempted to keep him locked in his room, but he hadn’t listened and no one dared to force him. He found himself fortunate that there’d only been one attempt on his life, aside from the tutors. He’d been in a side garden and his magic had blocked a rogue arrow. He’d never found the one responsible.
Rion knew he should be happy. He was thankful, really. He was back home, no longer in isolation, but he couldn’t keep relying on Saoirse to protect him. He was old enough now and it was time for a change.
Rion gathered himself. He’d been preparing his speech for a week. Steadying his magic, Rion pushed open the double doors that led to the throne room. He’d waited until Alec’s morning meeting had adjourned.
A tall, lanky male lingered, whispering to Alec in hushed tones. A noble who didn’t care for Rion in the slightest. Not that he was alone. The male looked up and his face paled. He bowed to his High Lord, gathered a stack of papers, then rushed from the room.
Alec glared at Rion, then shifted that glare to the magic swirling at Rion’s feet. Rion was doing his best not to appear threatening, but he couldn’t risk putting his magic away completely. First, because almost everyone in the palace wanted him dead. And second, because he needed a constant flow of it to take the edge off.
One of the teachers Saoirse had hired hypothesized that Rion had too much magic coursing through his body, which led to it seeking an escape beyond his control. They’d advised him to keep it in constant use which, theoretically, would diminish the strain.
To his surprise, it had worked. The teacher had also mentioned that time would help. As he aged, his body’s ability to harness magic would grow with him. She was probably the only one who’d given his predicament any honest thought.
“What do you want?” Alec barked. Rion’s hands clenched and unclenched. Alec stared him down, impatiently tapping his fingers on the arm of his throne. Short brown hair hung over light brown eyes. Gods, he looked so much like their father it was ridiculous.
Rion paused before the first step, just like he was supposed to, but unlike others, he didn’t bow. He couldn’t risk exposing himself like that lest Alec decide to damn the consequences of Saoirse’s wrath and be rid of him for good.
“I request permission to take a solo mission.”
“Denied.”
Rion hadn’t expected him to accept right off. “I’m sixteen and I’ve passed every required test.” Most didn’t take solo missions until their animal shifts appeared, but a shift was just one thing on a long list that the gods denied him. “I’m just as capable as any other warrior, I don’t see any reason why—”
“You know damn well why ,” Alec growled.
Rion clenched his fists and his sand responded by jerking in an agitated pattern. One guard drew his sword.
“You can’t keep me locked up here.”
“You’re only here because of Saoirse. You’re a walking abomination that should have been killed the moment your cursed magic appeared. If things had happened the way they were supposed to, then Caol and Father would—”
“Alec,” Saoirse’s harsh voice echoed through the main hall. Alec’s angry gaze shifted to her. His jaw flexed. “That’s enough.” Saoirse turned to him, her eyes full of worry. “I told you I’d discuss it with him.”
“I’m done waiting. I’m not a child anymore.” He didn’t need his sister fighting his battles. He’d already waited two weeks.
“She did,” Alec confirmed. “And I’m telling you the same thing I told her: No.”
“He’s just as capable as any other warrior.”
“It’s not about his strength,” Alec shot back. “What happens when the Fae in distant territories refuse to listen to him? Who’s to say he won’t just kill them like he seems to do everyone else?”
Rion bit back the bitterness rising in his throat. “I’ll follow whatever protocol you set forth.”
“And I’m just supposed to believe you?”
“You’d know if I was lying.”
“We’re having an issue in the south,” Saoirse interrupted. “Send him to deal with it.”
“That,” Alec emphasized, “is a sensitive topic not to be discussed outside our war meetings.”
“He’s family,” she declared. “Whether you want to accept it or not. He’s not going to do anything to jeopardize our family name.”
“He already did.”
Saoirse’s lips parted and she quickly glanced at Rion before looking away. Rion didn’t balk at Alec’s accusation. If Caol had been right about anything, it was in accusing Rion of shouldering the responsible for their father’s death.
“Caol was my teacher, too,” Rion said. He could have sworn pain flashed across Alec’s face. “He taught me everything from strategy to negotiations. I’m just as well-versed as you and Saoirse.” Probably more so, given all the years spent with Caol one on one.
Alec pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at the arm of the throne for a long minute. He heaved a defeated sigh and rubbed his eyes. “You can go,” he finally said. “But Saoirse is going with you and I’m sending a team to evaluate. Once their report returns, I’ll make a decision.”
“But—”
Alec cut her off. “He’s young. Regardless of tests, I’m evaluating and I’ll make my decision afterward.” Saoirse closed her mouth and nodded. “Gather your team and meet me in the war room in two hours. We have a lot to discuss.”