Chapter 18 #2
Did Draven even fully realize what he was doing by giving up his titles?
By renouncing the Dalmar name? He understood how difficult it was to bear their titles and the responsibilities accompanying them at times, but it was still theirs to claim.
They couldn’t just run away from it—there was no honor in that.
Not to mention the shame he would bring to his House and father.
The shame that would inevitably befall him and his mother.
Seeming to sense the turmoil in Finlay, Tynan struck like a viper smelling blood.
“You’ve always been reasonable, Finlay,” he mused, shifting his tone into something that almost sounded like paternal approval.
“Far more reasonable than both my son and Kiran. You know your duties as a Great House Heir, and you take them seriously. Which is an admirable quality.” He paused, pursing his lips as if drifting into deep thought.
“I should impress upon your father how adequate and noble you truly are. Implore him to reconsider your…precarious…position at House Fjolla. Perhaps even reason with him to accept you once more, as I, myself, have found you worthy of being accepted. You know Audwin values my opinion greatly.”
Though Finlay was fully aware of what Tynan was doing, despite himself, he still couldn’t tamp down the swirl of hope and excitement that blossomed in his chest at the words. At the mere mention of it being a possibility that his father might accept him again. Might welcome him back home.
It was what he wanted more than anything. Anything.
“Finlay,” Kiran warned in a quiet, breathless voice. “Don’t.”
Tynan pressed further, a merciless predator.
“Though I suppose the opposite could happen as well. If you do not show me your worth—instead proving to be inadequate at fulfilling your noble responsibilities—then perhaps I may have to inform him you are beyond saving. Beyond redemption. Instead of contradicting his decision, I may have to validate it.”
Finlay’s breathing quickened, and the weight of the world felt like it was pressing against him.
Tynan would do it. If Finlay didn’t give him the information he wanted, he would ruin Finlay’s life forever. Ruin any chance he had at redeeming himself and showing he wasn’t worthless. That he had honor and integrity.
That he wasn’t a murderer.
“Fin,” Kiran hissed between gritted teeth, low enough so only he could hear. “We swore an oath.”
Through wide, pleading eyes, Finlay looked at him. “But my father…”
“Your father is a pompous asshole who discarded you as if you were nothing more than a piece of garbage. I am your brother. Draven is your brother. And we? We are your family. Remember your promise. Remember the thumbprints.”
Finlay’s chest was caving in on itself. Somewhere, in a distant thought in the back of his head, he wondered what life was like for normal thirteen-year-olds. Did they, too, face the weight of decisions such as this one?
“Finlay,” Tynan said in a voice that sounded equal parts question and demand.
He couldn’t breathe. Finlay couldn’t breathe.
He could not face a reality where Tynan sabotaged any chance he had at fixing his relationship with his father.
Not with all the guilt he carried for his mother’s death.
Not while he worked so hard every day to be an exceptional heir.
He’d spent years becoming the most desirable version of himself.
A version his father could be proud of. And he was just supposed to…
what? Give that up so Draven could make a terrible decision?
Then again, was Finlay really going to betray his brother and make a terrible one in turn?
One thing was certain—he knew whatever decisions were made next, neither of them had a happy ending. Not for him. Not for Draven. Not even for Tynan. Nobody won.
Nobody ever truly won.
Finlay stared blankly at the floor, mute. Was he shutting down? Fracturing at his seams? Yes, perhaps that was it—he was finally as broken as he had always felt, the weight of expectations and failures crushing him to splintered bits and pieces.
Kiran took his silence as an opportunity to try again. “I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said to Tynan, “but we don’t know where they are.”
Tynan didn’t even acknowledge Kiran. Instead, he kept his eyes glued to him. “Finlay,” he said once more, again using that layered tone.
“I…they…”
Kiran subtly reached for Finlay’s hand. “Do not do this,” he begged in a hushed voice. “Do not betray our brother. Fin, we promised.”
Finlay looked at him through lowered brows. He seemed so torn up over this. Like it was physically hurting him, with the downward curve of his lips and the indent wedged firmly between his drawn brows.
But Kiran knew nothing of true pain. With his loving father and doting mother and sister who would kill for him.
He was able to float through life like it was all some game because he was afforded that privilege.
Yes, Kiran could stand on the side of good right now, but it was only because he did not understand what it was like to cherish and to lose something.
Good acts were easy to commit when all one’s ever known was good.
Righteousness and morality were easy to display when one had never known adversity.
Put a stray dog in the corner with a domesticated puppy, and the stray animal will win every time.
Not because the puppy is inferior, but because the stray knows what it takes to survive.
It knows what it stands to lose, and it knows the desperate weight of what it stands to gain. The domesticated puppy does not.
“They—”
Kiran cut him off, foregoing any illusion of secrecy. “If you do this, Finlay, I will never forgive you. Never.”
It hurt more than Finlay would have liked, but his alternatives would have hurt him more.
He shut his eyes and released a shuddering breath. “They are in Príth at some bookshop specializing in rare knowledge.”
“Finlay,” Kiran exclaimed, so many emotions encasing his name. Disappointment. Grief. Anger. Admonishment. Disbelief. And the worst of all—
Hatred.
He set his jaw and spoke without meeting Kiran’s coldening gaze. “I’m sorry.”
He meant it.
Tynan clapped his hands together, a genuinely satisfied smile pulling at his lips.
“Thank you—that information will save me so much time.” He rose from his desk and made for the door, hands clasped neatly behind his back.
Before he exited the room, he turned to glance at Kiran and Finlay over his shoulder.
“Oh, and if either of you tip off my son about my inquiry, I will know, and I will make sure everyone involved regrets that choice.” He held them in his gaze, a terrifying promise brimming in his eyes.
He meant it.
“Now,” he chirped, as if he hadn’t just threatened them. “If you both will excuse me, it appears I have a bookshop to visit.”