Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Thorne
The next morning when we hear footsteps on the staircase, we’re expecting another delivery of revolting food. However, this time we hear the heavy bolts of the door slide back and then the door itself swings open. I don’t know who to expect: the elite guard, Sir Cecil, the Empress herself.
It’s none of those people.
It’s Beaufort’s brother, Aaron, dressed in bright clothes that could rival Fly’s.
Unfortunately, Aaron doesn’t have the style to pull it off, and the effect is gaudy and distasteful, rather like the man himself.
He’s always turned my stomach, and I’ve wondered how it’s possible for the two to be related.
Where Beaufort is stoic, hard-working and occasionally arrogant, Aaron is the exact opposite.
He’s always arrogant, never stoic, and I doubt he’s done a day’s hard work in his life.
In fact, I think it must be a miracle that the man made it through the academy at all.
Then again, we’re learning the academy isn’t all it seems to be, and maybe he, like every other shadow weaver, was given a free pass.
He comes sauntering into the room now, a giant smirk on his face, clearly loving the situation in which we find ourselves.
“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,” he says, shaking his head with fake empathy.
“How the great and good have fallen. Beaufort, old chap, the apple of our mother’s eye.
” The comment makes Beaufort snort. “What in all the realm could have gone wrong?” He crosses his arms over his chest and taps his fingers against his lips as if he really is thinking.
Then suddenly he grins. “Let me see, it was that little slut from Slate. Told you she was trouble. Pretty girls always are.” He chuckles.
“Of course, you should have done what I always do, Beaufort. Don’t get attached.
Enjoy them while you can. When things get complicated…
” He makes as if he’s tossing a bag of garbage into the trash.
Dray growls and comes striding towards him with murder written across his face.
Immediately the elite guards flank Beaufort’s brother and draw their weapons.
It doesn’t deter Dray. He’s a pent-up ball of frustration.
He rarely thinks straight. He’s definitely not thinking straight now.
The guards zap him with their weapons and he goes flying across the room, hitting the wall hard and sliding down with an agonized groan.
Aaron laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.
“Why are you here, Aaron?” Beaufort says through gritted teeth. “Come simply to gloat at our position?”
“Well, definitely come to gloat, Beaufort,” he says. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years and years. You were always a mighty pain in my ass, little brother, and finally it seems I’m going to be rid of you.”
“If you think being rid of us,” Beaufort says, “is going to clear a path for you to the throne, you’re severely deluded.
The Empress would choose any one of her other children before she’d ever choose you.
And that includes Hell’s Bells. She’d put Hell’s Bells on the throne right now rather than choose you, even if she is only six years old. ”
“I think you underestimate, Beau, old boy, our mother’s admiration and affection for me. You may have powers, unrivaled powers, little brother, but you never had the stomach to do what is needed to be done, and you never will.”
“Like what?” I say quietly.
Aaron’s silver eyes slide my way. “Removing the people we need to remove in order to keep the realm safe.”
“I think we’ve done that time and time again,” I say. “I never saw you fighting at the border when the demons attacked.”
“As you well know, Thorne Cadieux, the demons aren’t our only enemies in the realm.
” He motions to the guards. There’s some kerfuffle behind them and then a young guard, only a few years older than us, pushes his way through and deposits a small stool on the straw-covered floor.
Aaron flicks up the tails of his brightly embroidered coat and sits himself down, crossing his legs and resting his piggy little hands on his knees.
On each finger glistens a ring so big the jewels could be used to cut glass.
“And as for the border,” he says, examining his fingernails as if he’s bored with this conversation already, “as I’m sure you are all quite aware, it no longer exists. ”
“What are you talking about?” Beaufort says with irritation.
Aaron looks up from his nails, each one painted a deep purple, the color of the Empress’s arms.
“Why, old boy? You destroyed it, didn’t you? You and your little friends? Just one of the many reasons you now find yourself in the position that you do.”
“What are you talking about?” Beaufort says. “The border still exists.”
“Yes, maybe the border does,” Aaron clarifies, “but the magical barrier between our two realms, the barrier our ancestors erected to protect us from the demons out there in the wastelands, has been destroyed – utterly and completely destroyed. Our troops are out at the border right now trying to hold back the hordes of demons from invading our realm.”
“You’re lying,” Beaufort says, striding towards his brother.
His brother holds out his palms and sweeps them through the air. “Am I? Why? Did you not attack the magical border with your magic?”
Beaufort hesitates. His gaze drops to the ground.
“We can only assume you’ve been working in league with the demons all along.”
“Bullshit,” Dray says, scrambling forward once again as the guards raise their weapons in his direction. “You know that’s not true. It’s Bardin. Bardin’s been working with the demons.”
“Bardin didn’t destroy the magical barrier.”
“We only made one little hole!” Dray scoffs, a comment which has Beaufort screwing up his eyes. It wasn’t deliberate, but Dray’s just provided a confession, a confession for a crime we don’t even know they had evidence we committed.
“No, Dray Eros,” Aaron says. “Not one little hole. It may have started out as one little hole. Or maybe you think that’s all the damage you did.
But you irrevocably broke the magical barrier.
The whole thing has been destroyed, has fallen, and the demons are now fighting to gain access to our realm, to our people. ”
“Then send us out there to fight,” I say, stepping forwards and tugging at the binds on my wrist. “You know we’re powerful. You know we can help.”
“Send you, traitors who are working in league with the demons?” Aaron laughs again. “Do you think we’re stupid?”
“You know we’re not working with the demons, Aaron. You know we can help. You know it was Bardin, not us.”
Aaron stands and straightens out his jacket.
“The Empress is inclined to believe that she was tricked by you, Beaufort, you and your friends, into believing that Bardin was responsible for killing students at the academy, that it was Madame Bardin who was working in league with the demons, when in fact, all along, it was you.” He jabs his finger in Beaufort’s direction.
“You’re a fool,” I say, unable to help myself. “You know this isn’t true. You know we can be the one thing that could save this realm. Keeping us locked up here is—”
“For all our safety,” Aaron interrupts. “The Empress is considering your punishment. You will remain here while she does so.”
“Are we to have no trial, then?” Beaufort asks.
“I don’t think traitors deserve justice, do you, little brother?” Aaron says, with another delighted smirk. “I think traitors deserve everything they get.”