35. Books & Elixir #2
“What was that about?” Wilder asked, taking the glass from his father.
“We’ll discuss it later.”
Lyra looked on curiously as Wilder took a sip from the crystal glass.
Aine tutted, “Now that’s one thing you don’t want to partake in.”
“What is it?”
“It’s an elvish liquor,” Oberon replied. “And you don’t know you don’t like it until you try.”
He poured her a tiny splash and slid it over to her. Wilder watched with an amused expression, trying to decide if she was going to spit it in his father’s face or cough like she was drying out.
In a move that surprised them, she sipped it and then paused, before draining what was left with a grin.
“Now that is heavenly,” she breathed.
Wilder stared with a bemused expression.
“May I have another?”
Oberon obliged, but stood, gesturing for Wilder to follow him. “If you’ll excuse us, ladies. We have matters to discuss.”
Lyra sipped her glass and stayed seated. Aine must have taken pity on her, for she began speaking as soon as Wilder stepped away. “So tell me, dear, what is Atlantis truly like?”
He followed his father to his office, through the stacks of books on art, history, and philosophy.
His father’s office had always been a flurry of activity, depending on the mood he was in.
He remembered a time when his father was obsessed with mortal art, a time before that he wanted to know about every creature that lived in their realm.
It wasn’t as chaotic as it had been as of late.
A small pile of books on Badenvaria history and genealogy texts on Merfolk were on the edge of his desk, and hinted at his current interests.
Wilder took a seat in the distinguished leather chair behind the carved mahogany desk and gripped the glass in his fist. He didn’t know what this meeting was about.
But if he had to guess, it would be about her.
“What did the message say?” Wilder nodded towards the slip of paper his father tucked into a desk drawer.
“You were ambushed after you took her?” His father’s deep voice rumbled across the desk.
“That is correct.” Wilder leaned back in the much smaller chair and twisted his glass between his hands.
“Wulvers?”
“As I’m sure you’ve already read Ridge’s and Maelys’ report, why is there a need to question me as well?”
“Because you can distinguish between their clans, and they can not. So who was it? Igneous or Matthias?”
Wilder sighed. “It was both clans. They seemed to be working together.”
Oberon nodded and studied his son, looking for what, Wilder did not know.
“How did they know where we would be?”
Oberon gave him a flat look before taking a sip, choosing not to answer.
“Who gave you the information on Lyra? You didn’t answer her, so I’m betting it was one of her people?”
Again, his father did not answer him.
“I know it was not one of mine. So it had to have been whoever you hatched this little plan with. We need to find out if we have a traitor in our midst.”
The king slammed his empty glass on the desk. “You do not give me orders. And I will do nothing of the sort. They probably caught her scent and followed her in. There is no traitor.”
But Wilder had ensured Lyra’s scent was covered. After the humans came across her so quickly, she had not only slept beside him, but he had wrapped her in his cloak and ridden beside her.
Something about his father’s demeanor told Wilder everything he needed to know.
His father was hiding something, something big.
“What was the cost?”
“I am the king. I certainly will not answer to someone who does not hold their duty in the highest regard.”
Wilder didn’t look away from his father’s glare, no matter the intensity.
“I have more than proven myself as a dutiful and loyal servant to the crown. And I will have no part in this—find someone else to train her.”
Wilder stood, discarding his still full glass on the desk and storming out.
After everything they had gone through to restore their relationship as father and son, now he dared to speak to him that way. Ordering him about as if they were in a room full of courtiers.
This had been the exact reason he never wanted to become king. That power and responsibility distorted you. Twisted your values and good nature into something corrupt and unrecognizable. What he had seen it do to his father.
He reached the dining table to find Lyra and his mother gone. But he heard their soft voices and followed them to the stacks on the other side of the room.
“I’ve read this one a dozen times in the last century,” his mother said. “It’s the story about Ophelia and how she vanquished the dragon, Turig. Have you read it?”
He peered around the stacks, not wanting to interrupt them and curious as to what Lyra was like when he wasn’t around.
“She? Stories about heroines were forbidden,” Lyra replied.
His mother sighed and pressed the book into her hands. “Keep it, then. I want you to have it.”
Lyra shook her head. A few strands of her auburn hair had fallen from the updo and brushed against her back. “I couldn’t. It’s one of your favorites.”
“I insist. Besides, I can always get another, and you need it.”
Lyra smiled at his mother, and it was a genuine, beautiful smile.
“Lyra, I’m to escort you back to your room,” Wilder interrupted.
“Stop by the library first,” Aine reiterated, smiling at Lyra before turning to Wilder. Her smile dropped away when she saw him. No doubt, noticing the rigid shoulders and clenched jaw.
“Good night, Mother,” he said before she could press him further.