Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
It wasn’t until the following night that Draven and his mother were sitting at the Brooksley’s long, splintered table.
After Atlas had reiterated his offer to write to the innkeeper, Draven had mentioned his mother was feeling under the weather, and that he had wanted to give her a full day’s rest before asking her to leave their room.
For some odd reason, that had seemed to strike a chord of worry in Atlas, so Draven had to make it a point to mention it wasn’t anything too serious, and that his mother usually felt better the following day if all went well.
“This…affliction,” he had asked, a tentative cadence cradling his words. “She suffers from it often?”
Draven had swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, not wanting to say too much. “More often than she should,” he had answered truthfully.
Atlas hadn’t asked any further questions after that, instead instructing him to simply inform the innkeeper whenever they would like to join them for dinner.
He said he would see to it that everything was prepared to receive their company when they were ready.
To Draven’s surprise, when he had returned that night to the inn and informed his mother of all that had happened, she had seemed rather excited by the prospect.
Certainly more onboard for joining the Brooksleys for dinner than Draven had been expecting.
So, the following morning, he went to the innkeeper and requested she write to Atlas, just as he had been instructed to do.
The old lady had studied Draven long enough to make him squirm beneath her wrinkly gaze.
Yet she hadn’t asked him any questions, instead hobbling to the backroom, mumbling incoherent words under her breath as she went.
When she had returned, she had given Draven a good, hard look and said, “It is done.”
Draven had extended his thanks and took a step in the other direction when the old lady had stopped him.
“Dear boy,” she had called out.
Draven had turned slowly back around. “Yes?”
“Atlas Brooksley is one of the good ones. No, actually,” she had said with passionate earnest, shaking her head, “he is one of the great ones. One of the best men I have ever known.” Her lips had curved up in a way that had been nearly conspiratorial—though Draven hadn’t the slightest clue why.
All he had been able to focus on was all the more wrinkles it revealed on her crone-like face.
“He had a fantastic mother to turn out the way he did, and though I know you might find it strange of this old hag to say, I can tell you look out for your mother in a similar way he looked out for his.”
Draven had blinked at her, confused as to why she had been telling him this.
The corners of her lips had twitched, as if she read those exact thoughts in Draven’s expression.
She had rounded the wooden desk, her cane clacking on the floor as she slowly walked over to him.
Once she had reached him, she had planted both palms on the knob of her cane and leaned forward.
“Can I share a personal belief with you?”
Draven had offered a nod as his response.
“I believe behind every great man, there was an even greater woman. And I do not define greatness by acts of opportunity or accomplishments. I define it by the resolve of one’s heart and their moral constitution.
You…” She had made a show of eyeing Draven.
“You have the potential to be great, if you allow yourself to be.”
Now, as Draven sat at the Brooksley’s dinner table, he couldn’t help but turn the innkeeper’s words over in his head.
It was not the first time he had been told he was destined for greatness.
As the Dalmar Heir, he was constantly being placated, fed compliment after compliment on a silver spoon.
A fact of which he never liked. He never knew what he truly earned.
Which accomplishments warranted celebration and which were a mere result of bearing his Great House’s name.
Draven hated feeling like the entirety of his identity was built upon pre-laid stones.
Perhaps that was why something about the old crone’s words struck a chord within him.
Maybe he liked the way she said what she did.
You have the potential to be great, if you allow yourself to be.
Though, he still found himself unsure of what exactly she meant by that.
How does one allow themselves to be great?
“Draven?” his mother said, pinching his arm from the seat beside his.
He snapped from his thoughts. “Yes?”
“Were you listening?”
He glanced around the table, attempting to gather any hints or clues as to what, exactly, he was supposed to be listening to.
Yet all he found was a sea of eyes watching him.
It was at that moment he realized how different Rhea truly looked from Suzumi and her father, who were framed by an earthy palette, whereas she seemed cut from a midnight sky.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Rhea looked like her mother.
“Sorry,” Draven mumbled. “Could you repeat the question?”
“You don’t even know who asked the question,” Rhea said pointedly.
Draven gritted down on his teeth, wondering if this was simply always her demeanor, or if she had some quarrel with him.
“Rhea,” Suzumi reprimanded. “They are guests at our dinner table. Mind your manners.”
Rhea opened her mouth, some smart retort visibly hot on her tongue, but Atlas cut her off.
“Girls,” he pleaded, rubbing two fingers between his eyes. “Please behave yourselves in front of our company.”
Rhea scrunched her nose at him. “You told us to always be ourselves, regardless of who was around. This is me being myself.”
“Yes,” Atlas agreed, albeit a bit tentatively. “But that wasn’t to say you should throw your manners out the window.”
“But…” Rhea began, a crease forming between her brows. “These are my manners.”
Atlas sighed, and Suzumi giggled.
“You have to admire how transparent she is,” Suzumi said to her father. “Her true heart is always on her sleeve.”
Atlas’s entire palm was now pressed against his forehead. “Yes, that it is.”
A soft, melodic laughter leaked into the room. The sound made Draven go still.
His mother pressed her hand against her chest as she laughed and laughed, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said through breaths. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I just… you girls are such a joy to watch.”
Draven’s heart swelled in his chest at such a rare sight. His mother never laughed like this anymore.
Rhea, with heavily furrowed brows, looked over to Suzumi. “Does that mean she’s laughing at us?” she grumbled. There was a loud thump from under the table, and Rhea hissed, “Ouch.”
Suzumi shot her a sharp look. “Shh.”
Draven watched Rhea a beat longer before glancing over at Atlas.
His elbow was propped up onto the table—teetering dangerously close to his bowl of rabbit stew—and he was resting his cheek lazily upon his closed fist. He watched Draven’s mother in her fit of laughter, a soft smile sweeping along the length of his lips.
Draven studied Atlas, noticing the warmth and admiration in his gaze. Suzumi seemed to notice it too, for one moment she was glancing between her father and Draven’s mother, and the next she was giving him an exasperated look, silently trying to tell him something.
Draven shot her a confused look back, mouthing, “What?”
Suzumi rolled her eyes. “Father,” she chirped, drawing her father’s attention away from Draven’s mother.
“Yes?” he practically hummed, seeming to snap out of some drunken daze.
“If it’s alright with you, I was wondering if Draven, Rhea, and I can be excused from dinner? Rhea and I would love to show him around the rest of the bookshop. Maybe even take him to the roof, if that’s okay.”
Rhea cocked her nod, oblivious to whatever her sister was plotting. “We would?”
There was that thumping beneath the table again, and Rhea’s face twisted with annoyance as she growled and folded her arms across her chest.
“Oh,” he replied. “I…well…” If Draven wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn there was a slight flush appearing in Atlas’s cheeks.
“I suppose that question would be better directed at the boy’s mother.
” He turned from his daughter, his warm eyes landing on her.
“I don’t want you to feel like the girls are forcing your hand.
You both have been wonderful company this evening, and I’m glad we were able to repay Draven’s heroic kindness.
” He glanced at Draven quickly, offering him an amused smile paired with a wink.
It was like he knew Draven was about to protest the word choice.
“I don’t want either of you to feel like you need to stay longer than you are comfortable. If it’s time for you to go, I’m happy to escort the two of you back to Strigthorpe.”
Draven looked to his mother, whose eyes lingered on Atlas for a heartbeat longer before finding Draven. “What would you like to do?”
“Me?” Draven pointed at himself for whatever silly reason.
“Yes,” his mother replied through another laugh. “You.”
“I, well… I…” Draven glanced around the dinner table.
He looked at Atlas first, who was watching him with a pleasant, unassuming expression.
Then, he glanced at Rhea next, whose curiosity brimmed from her like boiling water from a too-small pot.
He looked at Suzumi last. She was the only one who held any sort of indicating expression, and hers seemed to say, If you don’t say yes, I’ll punch you in the gut.
Still, Draven didn’t need the threat. He knew his true feelings the moment he felt the warmth hitting his body as he glanced around the dinner table.
As he thought of the way Atlas and his daughters made his mother laugh.
As he recognized the threat of an impending cold when he thought of already saying goodbye to them.
“I think I’d very much like to stay, if you’re fine with it.”