Chapter 6
Six
Vox
T he girl from the Ninth Line was a distraction. I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly it was about her that riled me so badly, but every time she was in my presence, my blood burned hot with irritation.
Like right now, in the weekly briefing from the headmaster of the college, Master Proxius, my skin itched as my eyes burned into the side of her face. She wasn’t doing anything, per se. No, her disinterest in me bordered on disrespect.
My brothers would roll their eyes at the fact that I was riled by a person not showing me the due amount of respect and awe. It was vain and ridiculous to feel this way, especially as I’d spent the better part of my childhood trying to avoid the crowds of people who were desperate to make a connection with an Heir of the First Line.
I growled at myself and focused on Proxius’s welcome speech. “This year, we’ve had one of the highest enrollment numbers ever in Boellium’s esteemed history. Thirty-seven students from across all eleven eligible Lines have begun training to protect Ebrus far into the future…”
Blah blah, so on and so forth.
I’d once asked my parents why we had the conscription laws when we were never actually at war, and my father had merely given me that disappointed look he was so fond of when it came to me. It had been my mother who explained that the conscription rules made sure the people felt connected to the safety of Ebrus, and it also kept the other Lines from getting too unruly. Because mounting a coup was all fun and games until you were facing your nephew across the military fronts.
We also weren’t stupid enough to think we were the only civilisation out there, with First Line astronomers creating countless books about planets and moons beyond stars. It was good to be always ready for an attack, because as soon as you let down your guard, that was when the enemy emerged. Or something like that.
Proxius continued. “And for the first time in quite a few decades, four out of the eleven eligible Lines sent us their best and brightest, with Heirs from the Lines themselves within our college walls. The First, Third, Sixth and Ninth Lines have all sent direct descendants, and we appreciate their Lines’ sacrifice.”
All eyes turned to me, and I transformed my face into what I considered my political mask: bored, superior, and more powerful than they could even comprehend. Not necessarily untrue on any front.
Besides, it was hardly a sacrifice. There was no way I’d ever see a battlefront. At the very worst, I’d be in the commander’s tent, pretending to be helpful while they organized battle strategies.
I looked over at Hayle Taeme. I doubted he’d see much battle time either, but the Third Line weren’t known for strategy—more for their ability to fight. Barely more than beasts, that was what my mother had always muttered whenever we were forced to receive them at the palace. My cool, aloof mother would think that; she held herself apart from everyone, even her children. The sheer level of physical affection the Third Line showed each other would be enough to turn her stomach in disgust.
Hayle Taeme was a cocky son of a bitch, but my opinion differed to that of my parents. They thought the Third Line were basically rabid, but I’d seen the scheming that Hayle Taeme had done here at Boellium, and he wasn’t fluttering around blindly like a dog in heat. No, he had almost as many spies and informants as I did, and if rumor was to be believed, maybe untold more.
Those hounds of his were more self aware than any street dog I’d ever seen. They watched me with intelligent eyes, and I knew whatever connection they had with Taeme, they were an extension of the threat the Third Line Heir posed to me.
Edgar Marlee was the sixth son of the Baron of the Sixth Line, who had weak mental abilities, but strong alliances with the First Line. Father called them our walking library, with their eidetic memories. However, politically, it made them a threat to the First Line, because while they had almost no physical abilities to rise up against us, they remembered everything and were not easily bamboozled.
It also made them fundamentally boring. They were very black and white; things were historically accurate or they were plain wrong. The Sixth Line played politics very poorly, which was a blessing for the rest of us.
And then there was the Ninth Line. My sources told me her name was Avalon Halhed, the youngest daughter of the Baron of the Ninth Line, who, until she came to Boellium, had never left her home in Rewill.
My sources also told me that there was some kind of animosity between the girl and her father, and despite appearances, there was no love lost. Given the way she had no respect for her betters, I was unsurprised that her father didn’t have a lot of affection for his daughter.
The Ninth Line had very low-level psy-abilities, a touch of foresight, but usually only within a few minutes of the future, and only one possible outcome. Nothing that a bit of self-awareness and the ability to read a situation couldn’t already divine.
But that was the way of it in Ebrus. The further you got from the First Line, the less powerful you were.
No, the Heir to the Ninth Line was little better than the Twelfth, who had no abilities to speak of at all. Not even luck. What they did do was procreate at an alarming, obviously unsustainable rate. Without the benefit of true magic, they had little to trade, and everything they had was achieved with backbreaking labor.
Avalon Halhed’s words from last night were coming back to haunt me. Not the thing about Hayle Taeme; I was definitely the more dominant Heir both in and out of the bedroom, of that I had no doubt. No, it was what she’d said about me being willfully blind to the suffering of the people we ruled.
My father believed in a hands-off style of leadership. He let the Lines govern themselves, leaving their fates in their own hands, as long as they never attempted to rise against his ultimate rule and they paid their taxes promptly. But last night, while I couldn’t sleep, I wondered if their fates really were in their own hands. The Line with the least amount of power had basically been banished to the farthest outreaches of Ebrus, to a climate with long, harsh summers, followed by dry, cold winters.
When my ancestors had been dishing out land to the other Lines, they’d done it strategically. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And of course, we’d given ourselves the prime real estate, because that was the boon of the victor. So those least able to withstand the harsh environment had been sent to the worst possible land, because they had no power to stand against us, and we’d stood idly by for decades as they starved under the guise of not interfering.
I looked at the Twelfth Line students now, and told myself that I would take more time to get to know the Lower Lines. Not that I would ever rule Ebrus, but I would advise my brother; we could try and make life better for those weaker than us. Maybe set up a taskforce of weather manipulators to go to Eelrood, the seat of power for the Twelfth Line, and aid in the growth of the crops. Any alternative was better than sending whole generations of children to Boellium just to prevent their starvation.
Avalon Halhed’s spine was ramrod straight, like she could feel my eyes on her, and I sent down a tendril of air to wrap around her body, squeezing her tightly. The sound of her gasp echoed around the room, but she swallowed it down before anyone but those directly around her could pinpoint the exact location of the sound.
It was hard to keep the smirk from my face, but as she turned slowly to look at me over her shoulder, the fire in her eyes would have singed me if she’d had any form of elemental power.
I stared back, haughty and unaffected by her disdain. She needed to be reminded of who was the one in a position of power here, and of her place in the hierarchy of not just Boellium, but Ebrus as a whole. She was so far down the Lines of power that she wouldn’t even be allowed to be my mistress, let alone be anyone in a position of authority.
Not that I’d want her as a mistress. She was far too plain. Like a length of coarsely woven cotton in a world filled with bedazzled silk.
The feeling of eyes on me prickled against my awareness, and I acknowledged that I’d spent too long looking at Avalon. Turning toward the glare burning my skin, I was unsurprised to see the wild eyes of Hayle Taeme on me. If anyone could match me in power, it was Taeme, but even he fell below me. Maybe I should teach him a lesson too, show him that while he might be powerful, he fell short of my own strength.
His eyes held mine, a silent battle of wills with the droning voice of Master Proxius going through the upcoming events of the college. I didn’t care. It would be the same as last year, and probably the year before that. No, this was far more important.
Neither of us would yield, but Taeme tilted his head down to the front of the auditorium. At the girl? Was he actually fucking her?
Whatever was between them, his meaning was clear. Stay the fuck away from Avalon Halhed. I felt the corner of my lip curl. His interest had just made her a thousand times more interesting.
Game on, fucker.