A Composition of Scars (Cadence of the Fallen)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The pain didn’t want to let go, even though Draven was ready to let go of the pain.

Still, he did not relent in his sprint to meet his brothers.

He knew Finlay would be annoyed at his late arrival.

Knew that he and Kiran had something planned for him—though what that something was, Draven couldn’t be sure.

All he could do was run like hell, nurse the pain clinging to him like a second skin, and try to be a little less behind schedule.

He rounded the corner leading to the training courtyard just in time to see Finlay throw a dagger at the stuffed dummy propped up on a stick. It landed right between the button eyes. At Draven’s arrival, he spared only a quick glance over his shoulder.

“You’re late,” he said.

Draven stuffed his hands into his pockets and strolled lazily to the armory. “I had things to do,” he countered, reaching for two sparring swords. Without warning, he turned and threw the other to Finlay, who caught it by the hilt.

“Well, whatever things you were doing shouldn’t impede your ability to be on time,” Finlay grumbled back.

“Leave him alone, Fin. Can’t you see his lip is split and his eye is swollen?” Kiran sat propped against a tree, one knee bent while his other leg was extended casually. He lowered the book covering his face and glanced at Finlay with a curve wedged in his brow.

Finlay slid his turquoise eyes to Draven. His features hardened instantly. “Did he hit you again?”

Draven masked his wince and looked away. “I’m fine. It’s just leftover from our sparring session.” He hated the way he wanted to bury his face—to shield it away so his brothers wouldn’t see the marks his father left on him that morning. Thankfully, they couldn’t see the worst of it.

Today’s training had been very intense, and Draven hadn’t risen to his father’s measure. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Finlay blew out a breath, bouncing his gaze between Draven and the sword. “At least he cares enough to train you,” he offered. “My father wants nothing to do with me. He won’t even look at me. I’d take getting hit by him over being treated like an unwanted outcast.”

“That’s enough of that.” Kiran snapped the book shut, resting it gently on the ground before rising.

He strode over, stopping between them. “Now, are we going to stand around with play swords in our hands discussing men who don’t deserve our attention, or are we going to do something actually fun to celebrate Draven’s birthday? ”

“It’s just a birthday,” Finlay muttered.

Draven shot him a pointed look.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like being the youngest,” Kiran countered through a smirk.

“I’m only younger by a few months,” Finlay retorted, arms folding over his chest.

Kiran shrugged. “Which changes nothing. Draven turned fourteen today. You are still thirteen. And I, myself, am soon to be seventeen. You know what that means?” Though the question was clearly meant to be rhetorical and taunting, he still paused for dramatic effect.

“It means you, dear Finlay, remain the youngest as I so astutely pointed out.”

“I act the most mature,” he grumbled.

Kiran frowned, pointing at Finlay’s mouth. “Says the one with the pouted lip.”

Finlay sneered; Kiran grinned wider.

“We probably shouldn’t do anything,” Draven inserted, ignoring his brothers’ bickering entirely. He was more focused on not wanting to cause any issues for his mother.

She was able to prevent anything bad from happening the last time the three of them skipped training, helping tame his father’s wrath, but it was not without consequence. Draven didn’t want to risk it a second time.

“Nonsense,” Kiran started, clapping him on the shoulder. “I have the perfect plan this time.”

Draven rolled his eyes up to the cloudless sky and sighed. “You say that every time.”

“We should absolutely not be in here.” Finlay turned, hissing the words over his shoulder.

“Relax,” Kiran cooed. “It’s all going to be fine. We’ll only be in here a few minutes longer.”

“You know,” Draven retorted. “Just because you say it’ll be fine doesn’t make it true.”

Kiran’s mischievous smirk was his only reply.

The three of them crawled further away from the shadows stretching across the upper balcony, inching forward to catch a glimpse of the ongoing council meeting below.

“I hear the daughter of this alleged merchant is rumored to be the most beautiful on the continent,” Finlay whispered.

“They all say that,” Draven replied, his tone flat.

“I’m more interested in catching a look at the brother,” Kiran drawled.

They reached the edge of the balcony and peeked over, remaining on their bellies to stay hidden.

Below them was the large and unnecessarily ornate table carved exclusively from anthracite.

Around the table rested lavish chairs filled with lavish men who cared more for their coffers than they did for their people.

It always churned Draven’s stomach—how heartless and hollow they all could be.

“You ask an astronomical price, Kalierian,” said a familiar, icy voice.

Both Draven and Kiran glanced at Finlay hesitantly. They were all unaware he was going to be here. Hell, not even Draven knew he was present on his family’s grounds.

“Ah, but that is the beauty of being the only person to possess what I do, now isn’t it?”

Audwin Fjolla, Finlay’s father, braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward, the movement shifting his stark white hair into his pale face. “Perhaps. But if you have no interested buyers because of your price, there is little beauty in that.”

The coppered skin, dark-haired man grinned. “There’s always a buyer.”

Audwin scowled before jerking his chin away.

“What my father means to say is we know the value of what we are selling. And we know that should word get out about what we have, a buyer will present themselves in due time.” A younger woman, probably no more than twenty, leaned back in her chair.

The daughter of the merchant Finlay was raving about, Draven guessed.

Merchants of their stature typically come from Lydith, but based on her accent, Draven suspected they must be from Zavir—a city of thieves and drunkards.

“A commendable feature, understanding true value.” Draven’s father peaked his fingers and pressed them to his lips. “Perhaps you would be amenable to taking a short break before continuing further with these negotiations?”

Kalierian glanced at Draven’s father, his gaze sharpening. “Of course,” he said, inclining his head.

“Shit,” Kiran whispered. “Time to go.”

Kiran and Finlay began scooting backwards, yet Draven remained, watching the odd stare between his father and that man. There was something there. Draven was sure of it. He wanted to watch a little longer, but a strong hand yanked him backward.

“I’m perfectly capable of moving myself,” Draven grumbled at Kiran as he righted himself, leaving their stakeout position behind.

“Yet you remained frozen like a statue,” Kiran countered, smooth as silk.

“There was a reason for that.”

Kiran watched him a moment longer. “There always is.”