Chapter Thirty #2
Marcella places a hand on my shoulder, her voice unusually soft. “Come on,” she murmurs. “Let’s find our place in line. I’d hate to end up at the very back.”
There are six examinees in our line.
That includes Gray, Marcella, and myself. The other three—two girls and one boy—identify themselves as a daughter of a merchant from the Anatolé Kingdom, a son of a king’s man for King Erasmus, and the daughter of a talented blacksmith in Erandor.
Huxley presents his essence flower first. He walks up the few stairs leading to the center of the dais and takes a knee in front of the captains.
Cupped between his hands, he extends his essence flower out to them.
Its petals are filled with a deep navy blue and trimmed in gold.
They reflect with a metallic sheen and interweave, making the multilayers look interlocked.
Thorns protrude from the short, thick stem.
“My flower,” he says.
“For the gods sake.” Kiran lifts his cheek from his fist and motions with his hand. “Stand up. We’re captains, not kings. There is no need to bow.”
Huxley rises, wisely schooling his scowl back into a neutral expression. Finlay glances sidelong at Kiran before returning his attention to Huxley .
“Name,” Finlay demands.
“Huxley Rangard, sir.”
“Lord Rangard’s son,” Finlay replies.
“Yes, Captain. I am his son and heir to his lands.”
“My father has worked closely with Lord Rangard. Speaks highly of his commitment to honor and tradition.” Finlay scans Huxley with approval. “I hope his son carries the same sentiments.”
Huxley opens his mouth to respond, but Kiran cuts him off.
“Let’s get on with it, Finlay,” he chastises, his tone sharp. “Not everyone in the Three Kingdoms cares about titles, you know. I’d rather like to get some sleep tonight instead of watching you swoon over some lord’s son.”
Finlay’s teeth clench as he hisses, “Yet one would think a member of House Sulien would show more respect for bloodlines and titles.”
Did he just say…
House Sulien?
Kiran ?
The realization slams into me. Kiran—the man who seems like he couldn’t care less for rules or tradition—is a Sulien?
… Kiran is a Sulien ?!
Which makes him…
A gods-damn Archblood. Kiran is an Archblood. Just like Finlay. I suspected he was a highborn, but…I never thought he was practically as high up as a prince.
Pieces fall into place, illuminating what I should have noticed all along. His formidable fire-wielding. The tension between him and Finlay.
Gray and I exchange stunned glances. Behind him, Marcella’s eyes widen in shock. She turns to whisper to the girl behind her whom she was speaking with earlier—a girl with warm-brown skin and hair like blackberries.
The bloodlines flood my mind in an instant.
Where Fjolla stands for regality and honor, Sulien embodies ferocity and power.
Together, they counterbalance the Dalmar bloodline—the third remaining progenitor line, defined by dominance and sovereignty.
To think, if a Dalmar were sitting among them right now, I’d be staring at the completed Triad.
But even without a Dalmar present, with Kiran beside Finlay, I’m still looking at two legacy bloodlines.
Two members of Great Houses. Two Archbloods.
I swallow audibly, the sound unnervingly loud in my ears.
Well, that at least explains why I saw Kiran in the king’s hall during The Founding celebration. Even if I still don’t understand why he looked at me the way he did.
“There has always been a rigid dichotomy between their bloodlines’ fire and ice magic,” Gray whispers to me. “Their constant clashing and bickering makes a hell of a lot more sense now.”
Indeed.
Kiran sighs quietly before boasting a wry grin. “Such pesky things, titles.”
Arden shoots both of them an unamused look. “If you both are finished. Let’s continue.”
Finlay rips his agitated glare from a still-smiling Kiran and fixes his gaze back on Huxley. “What do you know about your flower?”
“Nothing other than what I feel, Captain Fjolla. I trained extensively in the arts of magic and combat, but little on herbs and plants.”
Kiran cocks his head. “Would you like us to tell you its meaning?”
“Please,” Huxley replies.
They all slide their eyes to Nuha, and a tiny throb aches in my heart at the softness resting within Kiran’s gaze as he watches her, a look seemingly only reserved for her.
My eyes glide to Draven next, curious. As expected, he looks at her the same way he looks at everyone else—with complete neutrality.
Ever the stoic captain.
“Wouldn’t we all like to know the meaning of our essence,” she muses. “Visit my aggregate’s wing, and perhaps you will find those answers in our library.”
A flicker of annoyance flashes through Huxley’s features, but he masks it quickly. “It would be a privilege to indulge in Philator’s legendary collection of knowledge.”
Nuha’s lip curves up with amusement.
“What is your magic?” Arden asks.
“I have fortification magic.”
My brows do a little jump, and I glance back at Draven, who is leaning in his chair, pinning Huxley with a keen-eyed stare.
Huxley then goes on to explain how his magic works.
After, through a series of exchanged glances, the captains agree he may proceed onto the next test. Huxley bows at the waist before descending the stairs and heading straight for the exit.
I watch as he tosses his essence flower to the side, discarding it like some worthless piece of trash.
The next noble ascends the stairs, and the captains go through a repetitive back and forth with her. Uninterested, I take the opportunity to interrogate Gray.
“So…cousin, huh?”
Gray glances at me apologetically before releasing a deep sigh.
“He is my mother’s sister’s son. My mother…
she was raised in Erandor Kingdom with her sister before leaving for Eden to become a Gardner.
She left to forge her own path; her sister chose to marry a wealthy lord.
” He rakes a hand through his hair. “That’s all I really know.
She didn’t like to talk too much about her past. She always said her life—her real life—began when she got to Eden.
” He shrugs. “I’ve had the misfortune of crossing paths with Huxley a few times.
I used to pity him when we were younger because his mother died giving birth to him, and I think he secretly blames himself for that.
But you can only offer someone so much pity. ”
I’m not sure what to do with all the knowledge. Knowledge that, despite being raised by her, I never knew.
It’s not like Azalea originating from the Erandor Kingdom is an earth-shattering revelation or anything. It’s just…it feels difficult. To reconcile someone you’ve known all your life—someone who had a hand in shaping who you are today—has a past, a life, you know nothing about.
In some twisted way—a way I recognize is illogical and probably selfish—it makes me feel lonely. Like I’m being forced to recognize things I was perfectly content to turn a blind eye to.
I am not truly a part of the Nightenjoy family.
Azalea and Sterling are not my true parents.
My only parent is dead, the entirety of my family buried with her.
That small fissure in my chest cracks a little wider as emotion pounds a little harder. I blow out a loaded breath, shaking all the intrusive thoughts and damning feelings away. “Why weren’t the healers able to save his mother?”
Gray rubs at his jaw. “I don’t know,” he admits. “That was always the unanswerable question.”
I glance at him and catch the shift in his features. Attempting to lighten the mood, I lean into his side and ask, “So, any other arrogant and cruel family members I should know about?”
He huffs a laugh and knocks his shoulder into mine. “Gods, I hope not.”