28. Chapter Twenty-Seven
28
Nicholas
W ater would be envious of Laurent’s graceful movements. Artists strived to create masterpieces capable of capturing such a bitter stare set upon perfect features. Nicholas didn’t share those features. He took after his mother, or so he was told. The paintings hanging about the castle had a stranger who wore Nicholas’ face, only more curved and round with eyes of pale green.
Laurent caught Nicholas by the chin. He long since ceased pretending not to be fearful of his father’s touch. Laurent didn’t care about the tremble he invoked, holding tight and forcing Nicholas’ head from side to side. In his peripheral vision, he spied William’s ring in the bedsheets. Damn, he thought bitterly.
“You are spending too much time in Fearworn’s mind. You do not take my warnings seriously. I am not surprised.” Laurent enunciated each word as if he spoke to a toddler.
In a manner, Nicholas was, for he did not know Laurent’s age. Laurent probably didn’t remember, either, having lived long enough to claim he watched the first mountains form. Shades were powerful, all knew that, but High Fae who walked the lands longer than any could remember tempered seas with knowledge alone. Nicholas witnessed Laurent’s power, how other fae stepped out of his path, how they revered him, and that said enough.
“If we are to win this war, then I must remain vigilant. The generals require updates and I give them, which means I must see through Fearworn’s eyes,” Nicholas explained, choosing not to mention his own curiosities.He noted the frustration in Laurent’s gaze, the briefest flicker of ire that could settle a swelling storm.
“Every moment is a risk, which you either cannot or refuse to grasp.” Laurent laid a hand on his shoulder that promised pain. Though he closed his eyes in preparation, that pain never came. “However, Fearworn is now moments away from death, regardless of your horrendous decisions, and for that, I am a little less disappointed in you.”
He released an imprisoned breath when Laurent let go. He took a seat at Nicholas’ desk. Any who entered would think this room belonged to him. Laurent wore every space and moment as if it were his own, stitched entirely for him by lesser beings.
“Soon, our alliance with the mortals will end. We will return to the way our lives should have always been. We shall never stoop so low again,” Laurent said.
Nicholas approached the bed to sit and plucked William’s ring from the sheets. He slipped the ring into his pocket. “And how do you plan to ensure that?”
“Through you, should our work go accordingly. You will wed Evera after this mess has been cleared. The children sired will be carefully studied. Alvina is most excited about this.”
“How could children ensure we will not work with mortals again?”
Laurent gave him another disappointed stare. “I suppose you wouldn’t understand. I did not allow your betrothal because I had to. You think I’m incapable of escaping Alvina’s traps?”
“Of course not, Father.”
“She has an excellent plan with no real vision, so I am using her to my advantage. Alvina will study you, as she does anything she can get her voracious hands on. She will study the children you sire, learn if having a shade for a father affects them in any way. We may yet learn to control the power within or prevent it entirely, then there will not be another Fearworn and no unwanted alliance.”
“Allowing your son and grandchildren to be test subjects to another fae lord, would that not make you look weak?” Nicholas offered, rather than stating he wanted no part in this. He made that mistake before, after Laurent agreed to his betrothal.
As a child, he cursed his father in his own throne room. Laurent did not wait to deal out pain. He ensured everyone witnessed Nicholas’ torment. To ensure not only Nicholas’ humiliation but also remind everyone that no one, not even his children, had any right to stand against him. Nicholas didn’t have a voice. He had a father who determined everything.
“Do not feign care,” Laurent ordered, for he saw through every trick Nicholas ever crafted. “It is far more important that we never be tied to mortal whims in the future. We are above them and it should remain as such. Alvina will do her job well and just, as will you and Evera. Three children is nothing in the long span of your lives and I cannot imagine you would ever care for such things.”
Indeed. Nicholas couldn’t fathom caring for children, but he didn’t enjoy being ordered around. He hated the thought of another potential shade pressed under one’s thumb, experimented on as if they were lesser. Nicholas was not less. He was more, more than any of them. He was the slow tide creeping in. He’d overtake them when they weren’t paying attention and remind them what true power was. Or so he hoped, because no talk, no strength, nothing within him ever urged him to stand up to Laurent. He always faced the consequences and no power he threw at his father ever stuck.
He would never care for Evera, either. They were infuriated with each other the moment they learned of their parents’ plans. That hatred grew and grew, even now, as Nicholas realized being with her meant less time with another, less time with William. Would he be jealous of Nicholas’ union with Evera, regardless of there being no feelings between them? Would William worry about losing Nicholas’ affections? Nicholas bit the inside of his cheek to stave off a grin. William’s jealousy. His concern. His wanting. Oh, he would like that very much.
“What if none of our children are shades? We haven’t heard of the power being passed from one to the other. This could lead nowhere,” Nicholas said.
“There are plenty of tasks for you,” Laurent replied, reminding Nicholas of what Blair mentioned, risking his life to close the Scars. Then Laurent chuckled, unamused. “If you don’t lose yourself before then.”
Nicholas held tight to William’s ring, promising not to lose himself. Never. He wouldn’t be like Fearworn. He would cut a path through life for himself, one of his own choosing. One day.
A wild ruckus outside had Laurent and Nicholas rising. They listened to the mortals bickering and rushing outside. Laurent’s slow nod excused him. He sprinted out of the room. Shouting echoed from within the camp, then shots fired. He dashed for the noise, intrigued and eager for any excuse to leave Laurent behind. The scent of blood hung in the air, then a familiar musk.
Charmaine? Nicholas’ stomach lurched. William and Charmaine were nearly inseparable. Had things gone wrong, had he been near…
Nicholas burst into a run, hands stifling hot with power. A crowd formed around a doorway that led to the mortal’s medical bay. He shoved bodies aside to peer down the hall. Soldiers laid injured, others shouted orders about chasing one of their own.
“Catch the damn beast!” someone commanded. Mortal mages fired upon a figure. They rushed toward the wall. Nicholas followed, noticing footprints through the snow and blood. Then a shadowed silhouette leapt over the wall; Charmaine.
A gale of wind whipped past his head, a single shard of ice caught by the breeze. He recognized his father’s work, but that did not stop him from his search. He kept running until he heard William’s wild curse, once and a second time. Then William appeared and Nicholas took a strangled breath, beyond relieved to find him unharmed.
“Vandervult, what happened?” an officer bellowed, brushing past Nicholas to take hold of William’s arm.
Nicholas’ teeth gnashed, overcome with the need to tear that damn hand off if they didn’t loosen that grip. Then William’s swollen eyes caught him and he didn’t know how he felt, similar to last night, when William cried in his arms. He hated it, hated the sight, the thought, the sound, and wanted to wipe every tear away. The feelings overwhelmed him.
William’s gaze fell upon his superior. He licked his lips and, like a sealed door, stashed every emotion behind his apathetic expression. “I do not know, sir. York and Bobbett were speaking to me concerning cold symptoms, but Albie arrived and attacked them.”
“Fearworn has stumbled upon something troublesome,” said Laurent, approaching with the ice shard from earlier in his grasp. A trail of blood trickled from the tip and he ran it slowly over his tongue. Disgust painted his features, then his gaze swept over the wall, silently calculating. “He was one of the soldiers taken to the forest with you, I presume?”
“Yes.” Nicholas said no more. William hadn’t mentioned Charmaine’s symptoms, nor would he. Laurent may seek to kill her. Normally, Nicholas would agree, but his attention fell upon William again. It didn’t matter how the medic presented himself, Nicholas saw it now; the hint of sorrow settled in green eyes. William hurt. He hurt for Charmaine, the loss of her, and Nicholas had the urge to play the hero, to try and bring her back if it meant William would smile at him, if it meant he’d stop pretending to be alright.
“We will track the beast,” Laurent said, catching the attention of the superior officer speaking to William.
He recognized Laurent, swiftly standing at attention and bowing. “Lord Darkmoon,” the officer said. “I heard you were paying us a visit. Did I hear you can track our lost soldier?”
“I can. The beast will wander into Fearworn’s grasp, and we will finally know the whereabouts of his hideout. Lead me to these generals of yours.”
“Of course, this way, Lord Darkmoon.” The officer gestured for Laurent to follow and he flicked his fingers, instructing Nicholas to accompany him. Nicholas had no desire to do so. He sought to comfort William, to hold him, to twist a lie into a promise of finding Charmaine so he wouldn’t look so hurt. And maybe William wanted that, too, because he pinned Nicholas with a forlorn stare.
“Nicholas,” Laurent warned. His blood ran cold. He left William, even if all he wanted was to take his hand. Nicholas caught up to his father, who spoke in a low voice, “The mortal from your room, tell me more about him.”
His lips sealed shut. He didn’t want Laurent to know a damn thing, but his father would learn, one way or the other. Better by his own admittance than through his screams, or worse, William’s.
“William Vandervult, he is the other soldier that was taken to the woods with me. Why does he interest you?” Nicholas asked, fearful of the response.
“I am ensuring that you remember a mortal plaything is only that.”
Nicholas tried to say he would never think more of William, but the lie congealed on his tongue. He swallowed the words, terrified by his incapability of speaking them. They should be the truth. His heart sputtered as he struggled to conjure a word to describe William that would set his father’s mind at ease, or at least make him less interested.
“We agreed to spend our evenings together, but I will focus more on the task at hand,” he said instead. “Fearworn’s fall is close and I will defeat him.”
Laurent said nothing for a long moment, then nodded. “Good.”
Tension stitched itself between their reticence on the walk to the general’s meeting room. Nicholas kept his attention on Laurent, curious about what would happen next, of what he may do. He maintained a distance from his family, for good reason. They weren’t known for delicacy or care. His siblings were best at revels where they could drink, curse, and torment the days and nights away. But if any of them learned of William, if Laurent thought William meant more, then…
A door creaking open broke his focus. Laurent stepped into a large room. Two generals stood within, and the others were on their way. They introduced themselves to the Lord of Darkmoon. When the others followed, Laurent explained he could track Charmaine the way Nicholas had. Everything fell into place. Mages came with a potential way to prevent Fearworn from escaping. Charmaine could lead them directly to the bastard. The generals grew more ardent, insisting that the time to strike was now.