Chapter 5 Cayden
Cayden
I restlessly shifted my feet on the thick, damp grass and scowled at the collection of people slowly trickling into Crown Square.
The sky switched between gray and blue; the clouds moving fast as if they had better places to be.
I studied the Architect’s obsession with excess.
Vines and flowers climbed up the walls of the oldest buildings in the castle, surrounding an overly groomed courtyard.
A few statues drew my gaze. All of it served no point but vanity.
Much like the people I’d met so far: impulsive, high-strung, and unwilling to put the good of all above themselves.
My Prophet had warned me that the world beyond our compound would hold none of the joy I’d known in the first quarter of my life within his walls. Light, he said, shone only on the men he blessed with his ancient hands.
A dark cloud blotted out the Sun God’s rays, and I shivered.
My Prophet let me leave, saying my time away would only strengthen my belief. And I wanted it to. More than anything, I wanted the love of the Sun God back in my heart. It would heal me if I could find it again.
I pressed the almost invisible white rune tattooed on my wrist. It was one of forty-six covering my skin in the same ink. However, it was the only one I hadn’t designed myself. My Prophet inked it on me by hand, connecting me directly to him. It had been silent since I left, since…
I squeezed my eyes shut before the memories could come back. I’d spent my life believing in every ideal my Prophet preached. Our Sun God watched over us, guided our destiny, and loved us like his own children. Well, the Sun God hadn’t had enough love for my daughter. No one had. Not even me.
I opened my eyes and calmed myself. At least temporarily, I was in a new place, away from the memories. It was what I needed. I couldn’t change the past; I could only look toward the future and try to understand why God had cursed me.
More trainees drifted into Crown Square, but none came close.
An almost perfect ring of empty space formed around me.
Most looked my age or younger, though a few faces bore the hard lines of time.
One broad-nosed man had streaks of gray in his flat orange hair.
In my family, no one trained past sixteen, but the Architect accepted anyone who passed his test.
I couldn’t tell if it was desperation or if he truly believed his own propaganda.
I ran my fingers across the smooth surface of the fist-sized cube my peers called a Talkbox, TB for short, hanging off my belt.
The same communication devices connecting us to his family hung off the hips of everyone else as well.
One side of it held a rune that would alert the Architect when one of his devices left his territory.
“It doesn’t mean you can’t leave,” Hope had explained. “But the device itself is priceless. Please check in with us so we understand the situation, or, if you don’t want us in your business, leave it with me.”
I was skeptical, as anyone in their right mind would be. The devices were clearly a means of control. I found myself rubbing my Prophet’s permanent tattoo on my wrist again and forced my thoughts away from my family and our faith.
There were about twenty here now. A single man, at least five years younger than me, with a metallic shimmer to his gold hair, met my gaze and nodded, the youngest Abernathy.
Gold and emeralds sparkled over the same uniform I wore.
I inclined my head in return, not surprised to see him in his ally’s castle.
My gaze slid past two women. One appeared to be in her early twenties, and the other well into her forties.
Both were accompanied by, I assumed, their brothers.
Like me, they dressed in cream tunics, though they kept theirs tightly laced.
I hated seeing them outside their homes, even with their brothers to watch them.
Women never left my compound. They shouldn’t. They were too valuable.
My TB buzzed, along with everyone else's. Some people reached for the cubes; others ignored them. I was the former. A message in white, tinted with the hint of blue, filled one side.
Greige
Train is delayed by 30 minutes, adjust accordingly.
I had no idea what that meant.
I flipped the TB to the time side: Ten-o-three. This placement was now starting late.
“How does this family function?” I said to no one in particular.
Men shifted uncomfortably. One visibly edged farther from me. A weird sense of loneliness and power collided in my chest.
“Very carefully,” a light voice answered, stepping up to my side.
The runt I’d overheard asking about the tremors at the Happy Rooster smiled up at me.
He still didn’t wear a uniform. The same loose set of faded jeans and a bright yellow hooded sweatshirt covered him from head to toe.
I spotted at least two more sweaters under the yellow one.
The guy was too dense to heat himself, apparently.
“Like you actually know,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
The man giggled like a girl before tapping his temple. “Well, on some level, I do.”
I scowled at the dimwit. Our brief conversation yesterday left me astounded by its stupidity.
Combined with his display of wealth, it made me think of my mother’s collection of decorative birds.
The yellow fit perfectly. Short with a delicate build, he must be the runt of one of the prominent families, possibly a cast-off of the Westwaters.
Though with the hint of red hair I saw poking out of his hood, he was more likely a McDonald, except the McDonalds hated the Architect.
I doubted they’d send a dead dog here. I searched my knowledge of the families.
The hair wasn’t right, but the Tates had old blood, which could explain his eyes.
My gaze dropped to his sturdy hiking boots of plastic and synthetics.
The Tates had lost their fortune. They couldn’t afford his sweater, much less the rest of his outfit.
He might have stolen everything. The thought made me recoil. There was no need to steal in my compound. Everyone had everything they needed to survive.
The sun came out from behind a cloud, and the statue of a unicorn twinkled.
Everything they needed to survive.
A wave of anger hit me hard.
My gaze locked with the runt’s standing a good foot below me.
I forced raw power into the tattoos covering my body, turning them from subtle white to deep glowing forest green.
They radiated through my cream tunic as my magic charged the air around me.
The man should feel my strength. Whatever dregs of control he’d lucked into would pale in comparison.
The runt grinned as if completely unaffected by my display. “Beautiful. Forest green is my favorite color.”
What the fuck? My family was powerful, and I was the most powerful born in the last three generations. A direct son of my Prophet. That should have scared the piss out of this little guy.
“Why are you standing next to me?” I ground out.
The runt’s hand disappeared into his hood and came back out. “I had a little circle of people avoiding me, too, so I figured I’d join yours.” He sighed. “I think that Moore woman spread a bunch of rumors about me.”
I grunted. I’d not heard any, but I wouldn’t have, would I?
My eyebrow twitched. I suddenly didn’t know who I was angry at anymore.
“Welcome to your first practical placement,” the proctor said, finally gracing us with his presence.
I turned toward the sound of his voice and found a large man with thinning yellow hair, which looked glued to his head, addressing us. A set of simple brown robes hung over his exceptionally round stomach.
“My name is Winston, just Winston. No title, please. We’re here to sculpt you into productive members of our family,” he said, a smile stretching across his face, pride practically radiating from him.
“These placements gauge your skills and help guide you toward your future in the family. We’re not judging.
Every job needs to be done. Try to have fun. ”
A wave of whispers rolled through the group. He rested his hand on his stomach and waited, his eyes narrowing slightly until the noise died down.
“Now, I’m splitting you into pairs and one group of three.” He pointed at the runt and the man to my left, then brought his hands together until they centered on me.
"I guess I’m one of the lucky three,” the runt said, still smiling.
I refused to acknowledge him. The other man’s long, cyan-blue hair bounced along his back as he stepped around me to put the runt between us.
Coward. A few inches shorter than me and lanky, I didn’t recognize him from one of the main families, but his well-made tweed and leather jacket over his uniform showed above-average wealth.
I needed to play nice here. Like negotiating trade deals, I didn’t have to make friends, but I couldn't alienate people I could use in the future.
“Good.” Winston clapped, and white squares of magic and metal, the length and width of my forearm, appeared on easels behind him. I wrinkled my nose. Wundarboards. Basic reflections of will. I definitely wasn’t showing off with that.
“Take a moment to get to know your new brothers and sisters.” Winston smiled and spread his hands. “Life’s about people, not the jobs we prepare you for.”
I cracked my neck and turned to my two partners. The short runt looked up at each of us, forcing a bit of light to shine on his pale, freckled complexion. He wasn’t worth my time. I looked over his head, not offering the newest man my hand. “Cayden Lawson.”
“Seth Silver.” The man didn’t offer his either. He jerked his chin up. “I’m here from The Dales, Harrogate. You might know of it?”
“I have. Lovely area.” I kept my tone polite.