Chapter Thirty-One. When a Threat Is Made, and Answered
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
WHEN A THREAT IS MADE, AND ANSWERED
JAMES
I expect a slap like the dozens he’s doled out, but my father’s hand cracks against my jaw with such shocking force I’m sure he punched me. I fall to the ground, shooting even more pain into my shoulder.
The dragon closest to me growls. Farren is by my side in an instant, her hand on my back, helping me sit up. “James,” she inhales in shock.
I blink and try to focus on her rather than the pain. One of Dad’s rings must’ve cut my cheek, because my hand comes back slick red. I should be scared. Scared like when he broke my arm. Instead, anger wells up inside me, spilling over like my own blood.
As I stand, he tries to slam me back down with his words. “Ditters told me how you pine after this girl. I knew you might break my rule, but never did I think you’d betray me in this way. Betray our entire way of life.”
Of course, that’s what this all comes back to, the one rule. Me, forsaking the bloodline by liking someone he thinks beneath me. One day I hope I can tell my parents of Walsh’s real status, just to see them squirm, to question everything they know. I spit blood. “Our way of life?”
“There are rules set in place. Hierarchy. One must pay their dues to move up the ladder.”
“Or what? Crafters you didn’t approve of can craft silver? Can become better than you?”
“So young and foolish. The system is set in place. I didn’t create it. But I follow it for the good of our society.”
Good of our society? My father isn’t one for explanations or long speeches so maybe I was just uninformed of how exactly he would defend his beliefs. But I should have tested him if he’s justifying the unfairness of crafter classification and dragon treatment with an uninspired “good of society.”
“Farren, let’s go.” I march toward the open training field, toward Bex, Hort, and Dr. Walsh. I take Farren’s hand in mine to ensure she’s with me. She squeezes back and jogs a step to keep up.
My father follows, his own steps heavy in the dirt. Dragons alongside us pace, riled up like a storm brews on the horizon. All my emotions thunder.
The light to the tournament grounds lies just in front of us.
I’m so focused on escape, the rounded cave-like entrance, that I notice the moment it begins closing.
The silver-plated gate slides downward with a clanging whoosh and we drown in darkness.
A dragon’s yellow glowing eyes become the only light.
Farren gasps beside me. Her other hand not in mine clasps my bicep.
Now I’m scared. Scared for Farren. Before he broke my bones, I assumed our paternal connection saved me from physical abuse.
But for Farren? He doesn’t even use her name.
“You two aren’t going anywhere.” Behind us, my father’s voice sounds even colder—or maybe that’s the pitch-black gloom enhancing his menace. He always felt more powerful in the dark.
“James,” Farren whispers. It’s concern as much as question.
“Help me craft open the gate,” I answer.
“You aren’t opening that—” My father starts.
I throw everything I have in lifting the silver metal frame. Farren could do this by herself. Even with my father crafting the door in place. So together it’s easy. With a screech we tear the bolted hinges at the bottom and break into sunlight.
The door slamming closed must have caught everyone’s attention, for an audience awaits us. Dr. Walsh stands mere feet away. Rohan just beyond with Bex and Hort, forgotten.
But it’s my mom my eyes focus on. “Mom?”
One look at me, my cheek, and I can tell she knows.
Understanding screws her face up in hurt.
Her eyes shoot over my shoulder. “John?” It’s lifted into a question, but then again, the cold pain infused in the one syllable tells everyone it’s more an accusation.
Mom charges toward him, shaking her head like she can’t bear to say the next thing.
Then the words tumble out. “You said it would never happen again.”
“He’s broken the law. Taught the girl silver-crafting.”
“Broken the—? I don’t care. I don’t care. You hurt our baby.”
My father pulls back an arm like he’s going to silence her the same way he silences me.
On instinct I craft. Pull silver from the torn-apart door and encase his arm, willing him into stillness.
One flick of his free hand and the metal cracks open as if I wrapped him up in tin foil.
I try to fight for control. But years of experience and muscle mass beat me.
The silver carves away from his arm like he’s wrenching open a present.
“You dare try to craft against me, restrain me?”
He’s angry, but at least his anger is on me. My fists clench. My heart races. I’m about to fight my father. Before either of us can move, though, Mom steps in front of me. Then Dr. Walsh steps in front of her. He cuts the tension with a calm “What exactly is the problem here?”
“Patrick,” Dad spits. “I’m sure you’re in on it, too, or allowed it to happen. Either way I’ll take your license. I’ll see you never touch another dragon in Forsen again, no, all of Toulin. I’ll have you arrested for not stopping this madness.”
“Afraid I am going to need a little more explanation.”
“He thinks I stole Hort’s silver to learn bronze-crafting and silver-crafting,” Farren interjects.
“When in reality, I taught her. Willingly.” I emphasize the last word.
Luckily, it seems Farren’s dad understands the gist of our lies, of our problem here.
Because while not as bad as exposing the idea of Nity or her gold, this falsehood has thrown my father into a rampage.
My father would lose business, Farren had said weeks ago.
And without business, we could lose the sanctuary. Worst-case? We’re arrested.
My father just threatened all three in the same breath.
“Ah. I see. But you have no proof we’ve done anything illegal.”
“Your daughter crafted bronze with ease. Helped open that gate with ease. No one can master upper metals without time, practice, and access to a dragon. My dragon.”
“You’re not my only client with silver dragons, John.
Farren works closely with me, bonds with dragons easily, studies hard.
Sooner or later she would have learned.” Dr. Walsh steps closer to my father.
I never realized he is taller, leaner and older, of course, but taller.
“You think you control every dragon or crafter in this town, but you don’t. And you never will.”
“This isn’t about control. It’s about the law. Your daughter breaking it.”
“She hasn’t. I taught her how to craft,” I try once again.
“You.” He points at me. “You, I will deal with later.”
“James is coming with me. He’s under my charge this summer,” Dr. Walsh says with composed authority. I’ve never been so happy to be under someone else’s charge.
“Let him go,” Mom cries. “Let him go.”
“This was the plan all along, wasn’t it, Aine? Take my son away from me?”
“I’m your son, now?” I gesture to my face. The throbbing tells me it’s swollen, at least red if not purple. “I’m your son?”
“You are my son and you will stay here. And accept your punishment for what you have done.”
Dr. Walsh nods for me to follow him to the car. “We’re leaving.”
“You are not leaving. Your daughter will be metal tested and charged.”
Dr. Walsh turns. “If you charge her with anything, if you come so much as near my family, I’ll have you arrested.” When my father opens his mouth, Dr. Walsh continues. “I know how James really broke his arm. I know everything about how you treat your child, your family.”
A tortured gasp escapes Mom before she clutches a hand over her mouth. If Farren’s dad was guessing, then my mom’s reaction more than verifies the speculation. Determination sets in her features. “Let them go,” she says, steadfast.
I want to urge my mother to come with us, to flee. While he’s never raised a hand against her, I’m afraid today that may change.
“I’ll be fine, James. Go.”
My father watches as my eyes connect to Hort. I just need to get him into the trailer.
“Hort and Bex stay here,” my father says. He knows he’s got me. That within that one statement he’s won at least something. Minutes ago, while Farren was in the stalls, Dr. Walsh had convinced my father we could house Bex for a week or two at the sanctuary in order to be with Hort and recuperate.
And now—
No, I can’t leave Hort here for Colm Ditters, or whoever my father thinks suitable to ride and train him to further injury, to descale and hurt. Maybe outright kill in order to teach me a lesson.
“If it’s not clear, you’re fired, Patrick,” my father continues with a sneer.
Dr. Walsh steps forward. He’s going to object and fight for these dragons like he fought for me.
“Hort’s too big for regulation racing,” Dr. Walsh says instead.
“His wingspan measured in at forty-five hands this morning. I suspect Bex will recover knowing Hort is alive and well. But if Hort is to stay, his corrected proportions need to be edited in your directories before the next race and his sleeping quarters to be modified immediately.”
We all turn, trying to parse out Hort’s height and width on sight.
And I see it. Hort’s a head taller than Bex, it’s why he looked so odd trying to squeeze himself under his mother.
In the last weeks, in the correct housing at the Walsh barn, he’s grown.
I didn’t notice in the large expanse of the sanctuary.
His stall in the barn still appeared oversized compared to how he lived before.
“You’ll need to increase his space by at least an extra five feet in all dimensions,” Farren inputs. Rohan’s mouth falls open, demonstrating how difficult a task that is to complete in only hours.
“Fail to amend Hort’s measurements and quarters and I’ll have to report you to the racing committee,” Dr. Walsh finishes. “Test me, and we’ll see who loses their license first.”
“Rules are in place for the good of society,” I add, knowing in this moment we’ve won.
My father’s face goes red as he stares me down. “What have you done?”
Dr. Walsh steps forward again. “Nothing illegal, I assure you. You know as well as I that some children just outgrow their parents.”