Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was two months until Draven’s father was sent away on business by the king, and Draven and his mother were able to return to Príth.
Two months of placating. Two months of pointless tongue lashings and falling short of impossible measures.
Two months of feeling like a stranger in their own home.
Now that Draven knew what a home could feel like, he realized how hollow Tylderon was.
Sure, his ancestral home was built with the sturdiest walls and filled with the most lavish possessions, but that did little to hide how empty the castle truly was.
It was a cold shell, containing nothing of real value whatsoever.
Tylderon was not a home.
But as he and his mother trotted across cobblestone streets on horseback—the distantly familiar sweet scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the air while a cool breeze kissed his skin and warm chatter rang out around them—he saw the modest bricked building, whose stone walls were lined with an abundance of crooked shelves housing books upon books.
The integrity of the bookshop’s structure itself was probably questionable and, outside of a few rare books he was sure Atlas had hoarded somewhere inside, there was nothing of worth within those walls.
Yet that nearing bookshop in front of him was more valuable than any trove of jewels or ancestral castle. And as they drew closer to it, his chest filled with a fluttering warmth.
Because there, in front of him—there was his home. The Polished Bookery.
Rhea and Suzumi raced out from the bookshop once the horses were a stone toss away.
They scrambled outside, their eyes wide with joy and surprise.
Rhea jumped up and down, waving her arms excitedly over her head.
Suzumi stood with her hands clutching each elbow, a wide grin stretched across her face.
Draven glanced at his mother, who was pulling back on the reins of her horse.
Through the shadows of the hood still covering her face, he saw her smile, and then nod.
Firecrackers were popping in his chest as he smiled back and dismounted his horse, taking care to tie her up before he got lost in his excitement.
It was no more than three seconds after finishing his task that he was tackled to the ground.
“You’re back!” Rhea squealed. “You’rebackyou’rebackyou’rebackyou’rebackyou’reback!”
Draven sat up, propping his elbows up behind him, and laughed at Rhea. Just like when they first met, she was sprawled on top of him, her nose nearly pressed to his. Bright blue eyes stared back at him, eager and jubilant.
“You’re finally back!” she exclaimed again.
“So we’ve established,” he said through a laugh.
Her grin widened, then faltered. Rhea slapped Draven’s arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“What took you so long?” she pouted, brows lowered.
“Rhea,” Suzumi drawled from behind her, stepping toward them. “I’m sure this was the earliest he could return.”
This only made Rhea study him with ferocious vigor. “But he—” She was cut off by the sight of Atlas, who stumbled hurriedly out of the bookshop in a daze.
He stopped only a few steps away from the juniper door, righting himself.
His eyes found Draven’s mother within an instant, and Draven couldn’t help but follow his gaze.
Her hood was pulled back, revealing her neatly done hair.
Normally, his mother would throw it back in a casual braid or plait it for travel, but before they left, he noticed the way she allowed her lady’s maids to accentuate the curls in her hair and weave tiny braids along the crown of her head, putting some substance in the strands to make it stay in place.
He even noticed the way she pulled out a small scented balm from her pouch as they neared Príth—something he had never seen her do during their travels before.
Atlas took a step toward her. And then another. Her bottom lip quivered—just slightly—as he neared her. He stilled, seeming cautious. It was like watching a rider approach their spooked horse. Tender, yet careful.
It was only moments after that Draven’s mother launched herself into Atlas’s arms, tucking her head neatly into the crook of his neck.
His hands immediately wrapped around her waist, drawing her as close as his body would physically allow.
He nuzzled into her, kissing her gently on the temple.
Then, he simply held her while she embraced him, clutching at the fabric of his fraying tunic with whitened knuckles, neither of them uttering a single sentence.
Draven could have imagined it, but he swore he saw his mother visibly sag as Atlas held her, as if she could finally exist without some hidden weight debilitating her.
Rhea—finally removing herself from Draven—drew her knees into her chest, folded her arms atop them, and rested her head. She sighed theatrically. “I love love.”
Draven blinked.
Love?
As if gaining some new form of sight, he viewed the scene before him through entirely different eyes.
The way his mother’s fingertips curled into Atlas’s skin.
How Atlas had slid one hand up to cradle the back of her head while his other remained planted firmly along her spine.
She drew back from him—just enough to meet his eyes. They were glassy.
“I missed you,” she breathed, so low Draven almost didn’t catch the words.
“I have missed you more than you could ever know,” he murmured back, cupping her cheek and gliding a thumb reverently across her skin. “More than I would miss my books, even.”
His mother laughed, a solitary tear slipping from her eye. “You have ink on your face,” she pointed out through her smile.
“Perhaps now would be a good time to tell you that I also got ink on yours.”
Now, they both chuckled. Until the noise died in their throats, and something unspoken passed between their stares.
Atlas pulled her against his chest again, holding her so tightly. So tenderly. “You’re safe,” he murmured. “You are safe now.”
Something swelled in Draven’s chest, so large and knotted and layered, he was sure it would take him days to unravel its meaning. Still, he watched Atlas and his mother, one emotion becoming clear in his web of tangled knots—awe.
So this was the true face of love.
“They’ve been writing to each other nonstop since you left,” Rhea said from beside him.
“They have?” Draven asked, glancing at her.
She nodded emphatically. “Mhm. Everyday, back and forth.”
His eyes fell to his exposed palms. “I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t?” Rhea seemed genuinely surprised by that.
“It was probably for his own protection,” Suzumi supplied, sitting down on the other side of Draven. “You know who his father is—what he’s capable of.”
“Zumi,” Rhea gaped, admonished.
She shrugged. “We don’t need to pretend like we don’t know who or what they are anymore, Rhea. Look at those two.”
Everyone turned their eyes. Draven’s mother and Atlas were temporarily lost in a world of their own, whispering to each other, only to pause so Atlas could kiss her palm or she could wipe another smudge of ink from his face.
“I don’t think there are secrets between us anymore,” Suzumi mused quietly.
“None whatsoever?”
The tone in Rhea’s question had Draven looking over to her, a wrinkle in his brow. “Why’d you say it like that?”
Ignoring him, Rhea looked over to Suzumi, as if seeking permission for something. She nodded, and Rhea let out a quiet sigh. “I have to show you something. It…appeared while you were away.”
“Alright,” Draven drawled, his brows now heavily furrowed.
She hesitated only a second longer before wiggling her arm free of her loose-fitted sweater. She draped the now empty sleeve over her shoulder, keeping the rest of the cloth carefully in place to cover her torso and chest.
Draven’s eyes widened at the mark twisting along her left arm, draping down from her shoulder, stopping near the middle of her forearm. A series of charcoal lines ebbed and flowed around a hollowed out circle, as if the center of the shape repelled the layered markings from ever touching it.
At first, he didn’t recognize the mark—a feat that would have probably had one of his tutors hitting him upside the head with a book. But then, slowly, it came to him.
“You’re a Nullifier,” he said with no small amount of astonishment.
She nodded, chewing at her bottom lip. Rhea slid her arm back into her sweater and folded her hands in her lap after. Her eyes were locked to the ground.
Suzumi explained in her sister’s place. “Our father was able to identify the mark through one of his books. We were hoping you would be able to confirm it for us once you returned, which…” A deep sigh. “You just did. So, thanks for that.”
Draven was momentarily paralyzed by his shock.
Nullifiers were incredibly rare. They were also incredibly useful.
Magic-breakers, as some called them. Their magic was that they were able to nullify any and all other magic.
Typically, Nullifiers found themselves serving kings directly, whether in the king’s guard or in a special guardian position created specifically for those with the magic type.
Regardless, they were always recruited into something, and they were always expected to report their magic. Especially in Erandor.
Draven studied Rhea—she was uncharacteristically quiet. Catching his attention, she glanced up at him through watering eyes. “I don’t want to be taken away,” she nearly whimpered. “I don’t want to leave Príth and everyone with it.”
For whatever reason, at those words, the story Suzumi had told Draven about her grandfather attempting to take them back to House Akechi rang through his head.
Had he somehow known one of their magics would be special?
House Akechi’s bloodline is known to produce exceptional terrain wielders, but did something make him believe one of his granddaughters would be different?
Draven shook his head against the thoughts. It was probably nothing more than Lord Akechi wanting control over the lives of those who carried his blood, and he was merely looking too far into it.
He raked a hand through his tangled hair—he, unlike his mother, had not prepared his wavy locks for the travel ahead. “I won’t let them take you anywhere,” he assured her. “You’ll keep your wielder’s mark hidden, and I will teach you how to control your magic myself.”
“Wow,” Suzumi drawled, clearly attempting to lighten the mood. “Magic lessons from the Dalmar Heir himself.” She nudged her sister in the side with her elbow. “Most could only dream of being so lucky.”
A tiny pit hollowed out in his stomach. “Please don’t refer to me as that. I’m just Draven, remember?”
“Oh right,” Suzumi said, looking apologetic. She laced her fingers through Draven’s, then squeezed his hand.
He squeezed back, the sinking pit closing nearly just as quick as it had opened.
Rhea smiled, the weight and tension easing from her shoulders. Then, she flung herself across their laps, giggling. “I have magic now,” she said. “And I’m going to be trained. How cool is that, Zumi?”
“So cool,” she agreed through her own laughter.
“The coolest,” Atlas chimed in, watching them through crinkled eyes. He glanced at Draven’s mother, whose smile at seeing the three of them piled together contained the depth of a diamond. Eyes now twinkling, Atlas turned back to them. “Shall we celebrate with dinner?”
Rhea bounced upright, digging her elbow into Draven’s thigh as she propped herself back up. He had to fight against his wince. “Oh! Can I cook? Or can I help you cook? You know I love helping you in the kitchen—father, pleaseee!”
Atlas laughed at his whining, jubilant youngest daughter. “You can certainly help,” he replied, escorting her back inside while Draven’s mother lingered.
She watched Draven with a curious expression in her eyes.
As he rose from the ground and approached her, he saw the need in her gaze.
The desire to know if he was okay with what he had just witnessed.
If Draven had to guess, her intentions had not been to display her affections so openly.
Yet something in his heart warmed at knowing she was so overcome by emotions—positive, for once—that she couldn’t help herself.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Draven lifted his hand, stopping her before she attempted to offer him any sort of rambling explanation he was not owed in the slightest. He smiled at her. “I’m happy to be back.”
It felt like the simplest thing to say. It also felt like the right thing to say. Because offering her words like you have my approval seemed terribly selfish and, frankly, Draven felt like it wasn’t his place to say such a thing—even if, to a degree, it was the exact thing she was searching for.
“Are you? I—” She stopped, placing her hands on her hips and looking away. Slowly, she drew in a breath and gathered herself. “I won’t justify what I’m doing, but I do need to know, Draven, if you are at all uncomfortable with this, I—”
“—No,” he said, again not letting her finish. “I mean what I said, mother. I am happy. For you. For Atlas. Even for me.” He dropped his voice into a low murmur. “Truthfully, I’m just happy to be back home.”
Emotion rippled in his mother’s expression as she smiled at him. “Alright,” she replied, her voice feather soft. “Well then, shall we join in on this rumored celebratory dinner and feel happy together?”
Draven laughed, nodding, and she turned to head inside the bookshop. As he followed her, he caught a moving shadow in his peripheral.
Suzumi slipped beside him, leaning close to whisper, “I’m glad you’re back, too, Just Draven.”
She laced her fingers through his, and at that, the warmth invading Draven’s cheeks suddenly matched the warmth flooding his heart.