Chapter 9
Rain rubbed at his temples as he stalked into his bedroom, still reeling from what he had just experienced.
He snatched the T-shirt draped over the back of his chair and yanked it over his head, already moving toward the door.
His time in the meditation chamber had stretched far longer than expected, making him late for dinner with his family.
It was officially time to face his father.
At least one thing eased the dread twisting in his gut: the familiar flutter of energy dancing around him confirming that his powers had returned.
A welcome relief. Attending dinner without the ability to sense his father’s true intentions would have been unbearable.
Even so, anxiety coiled in his stomach, the vision still burning at the forefront of his mind.
He wanted desperately to dismiss it as cryptic nonsense, but his intuition refused to let it go.
If his abilities hadn’t snapped back into place exactly as the voice had promised, he would have chalked the whole thing up to a bizarre hallucination.
It would be far easier to believe Neel had been a little too heavy-handed with the mugwort than to accept he’d just had a prophetic encounter.
He even considered the possibility that he’d simply fallen asleep instead of reaching a higher state of consciousness.
But something or someone had helped restore his power.
And not just restore it. He felt invigorated, his energy centre thrumming with vitality.
Normally, it took weeks, sometimes months, to recover from an episode like this.
When Elder Isarion had said meditation would aid his recovery, Rain assumed it meant weeks of daily practice, slowly coaxing his nervous system back into balance.
He had not expected anything remotely like this.
A warning would have been nice. He wasn’t entirely sure how the Elder’s gift manifested, as a master of the heavens, able to commune with higher forces but Rain couldn’t help but wonder whether he had just touched the same source Isarion spoke to.
He sighed, quickening his pace through the marbled halls toward the small family dining room.
None of it made sense, and he didn’t have the luxury of time to unravel it.
Phaeday dinners were a family obligation; attendance was non-negotiable.
Every other night of the week, the King and Queen entertained guests; dinners Rain avoided whenever possible.
He would rather starve than endure those performances.
But Phaedays were reserved for their children, and there was no escaping them.
As he neared the hall, Rain sensed the four familiar signatures of his family even before his father’s deep voice carried down the corridor.
Feeling them all in relatively good spirits eased the butterflies in his stomach.
A wave of gratitude washed over him, for the first time in his life, he truly appreciated the presence of his powers.
Funny that losing them was what it took to realise how essential they were to him.
The bifold doors had been left open, offering a clear view of the set table and his father seated at the head.
Rain stepped inside, slowing as he approached his place on the right, beside Snow.
All eyes turned toward him as he slumped into his leather-studded chair.
Snow shot him a sympathetic look, her energy betraying exactly what she expected—that he was about to get an earful
“How nice of you to join us,” the King quipped. Rain rolled his eyes unable to conceal his irritation.
“Yay, Rain! Join us — now food!” Navy squealed, bouncing in her seat. He shot her a warm smile, sending a gentle pulse of affection toward her, energetically shaping the air into a soft embrace. Her face lit up as the energy hug wrapped around her.
“Come now, sit nicely,” their mother fussed, smoothing the three yr olds hair.
The twins exchanged a glance, a flicker of jealousy passing between them.
Neither would ever admit it, but watching their mother dote on their little sister was bittersweet.
She had never been that way with them. Neither parent had.
Only after Navy’s birth had Phaeday dinners become mandatory; before that, the twins had eaten alone in their quarters.
These dinners felt less like family bonding and more like a weekly inspection now that they were old enough to forge their own paths.
“How are you feeling, boy?” his father asked. “I have heard it’s been quite the week for you.”
“Fantastic.” Rain kept his tone as neutral as possible, though sarcasm threatened to bleed through. He reached for the knife before him, idly tapping it against the hardwood. His father’s jaw ticked, evidently displeased but his aura revealed a deliberate effort to remain composed.
“I’ve been waiting very patiently for you to come see me. Isn’t that nice of me, Oliv?” the King said, glancing at his wife for validation. “Your mother and I understand you need your pamper time to recover after your mass murders.”
Rain’s head tilted instinctively at the bite in his father’s words, eyes narrowing. But he held his tongue. This was the King in a good mood after all.
“Where is our food?!” Azrien barked suddenly, startling a server carrying a silver jug of water.
She nearly dropped it, placing it hastily on the buffet before scurrying out.
“Who do I have to kill around here to get dinner on time? Anyway, as I was saying...your murderous hobby couldn’t have come at a better moment.
I’m proud of you, my son.” The air frosted at the insinuations behind the king words.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Rain straightened, fingers tightening around the knife.
“Nothing, nothing.” A glint of delight shone through the king's eyes as he swatted his fingers through the air. “Calm down, boy. No need for your frazzled nerves to ruin a perfectly good meal.”
Gods, this man was insufferable.
Rain imagined flicking the knife like a dart straight into his father’s smug skull—but something cool touched his arm, pulling him back from the dark thoughts.
Snow’s palm rested on his forearm as she smoothly interjected, aware of how easily their father provoked him.
To everyone else, it would look like she was stabilising his powers.
But Rain wasn’t struggling. Every bitter emotion was entirely his own.
“Father was explaining,” Snow said lightly, “that King Drazier is rumoured to be searching for an heir. He planned to host a masquerade ball at weeks end in Burgundy to begin the season.”
“And your little stunt made him so paranoid he cancelled the entire affair!” the King bellowed, slamming his palm against the table as he laughed.
“Of course, he’ll adjust his plans. He still needs an heir.
He’s probably trying to marry off those mysterious daughters of his to some unfortunate chump more powerful than him.
Shouldn’t be hard, that smoke-puffing bastard has the strength of a damp matchstick.
And those females are probably as ugly as toads.
Why else hide them away from the public eye? ”
He chuffed to himself as servers filed in, plating dishes with efficient precision. A male server poured wine into Rain’s glass; Rain murmured a quiet thanks before taking a long sip. Nervous energy skittered through the room—typical when mortals were in the presence of the King.
“As it stands, Rain,” his father continued, “they believe your little independent attack was a planned intrusion gone wrong. They think you were acting as our not-so-secret weapon to wipe out their lineage. I couldn’t be prouder.
We’re showing them that my heir is someone to be feared.
I’ve never been happier in my eighty-three years than I am to admit I was wrong about you. ”
Rain shivered at that revelation. The King dug into his meal, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth, eyes locked on Rain with a twisted smirk. Pride radiated from him in thick, oily, suffocating tendrils, making Rain feel unclean.
“You will be every bit the ruthless leader you need to be,” the King added, dabbing his lips.
Rain’s stomach lurched. It took everything he had to maintain a neutral expression and nod, refusing to give his father the satisfaction of seeing him rattled again.
He mimicked his mother and sisters, focusing on his food or rather, pushing it around his plate.
His appetite had vanished, but rearranging vegetables was a welcome distraction.
“So, tell us, son,” the King drawled. “What were you doing in Carminia? Not a single guard knew where you were. Why is that?”
Rain’s knife squeaked against the porcelain as irritation flared. He wasn’t about to reveal anything; not about Jay and certainly not about his frequent excursions into Carminia.
“I like to explore our beautiful city,” he replied, emphasising beautiful.
“I must have ventured too far. I don’t know why the guards didn’t see me leave, perhaps they weren’t paying attention.
Might be wise to station some at the border to prevent future confusion.
I’d hate for our citizens to wander across unknowingly. ”
He matched his father’s energy with ease. Manipulation wasn’t his gift, but sarcasm certainly was.
“You expect me to believe you simply wandered too far?”
“Yes. Why would I lie to you?” Rain challenged with a sickeningly sweet smile on his lips.
“You—with the ability to sense a shift in energy better than any empath in recorded history—got lost and carelessly stumbled into enemy territory?”
“You of all people know how little control I have over my powers. Stranger things have happened.”