Chapter 20
First [ furst ] noun
Position of prominence within each of the lines. Though each subset of Talent has criteria that vary, it is typically held by the Talent with the greatest ability, all others deferring to them in matters regarding the governance of their bent.
– Excerpt from Glynfyls: A History
“A Breaker male’s path to maturity is rife with escalating power struggles until his rung in the hierarchy is secured. Of those struggles, none is more complex than the ever-changing dynamic between father and son. A crucible for both, without mutual respect and a strong foundation of love, it is an endeavor doomed to scar.”
– Lord Grimmight, Breaker Menot,
Glynfyls
Flynn opened the door to the back bedroom, the chip he’d found secreted in that damned plaz-converter heavy in his pocket. He didn’t know what the hell was on it, but Leo wasn’t getting it. Once they were North, he’d figure it out. It wasn’t high on his list of concerns at the moment.
Kara was curled in the same position he’d left her in. Brushing back her hair, he kissed her forehead. She slept on, dead to the world. His brow furrowed. Using her talent shouldn’t leave her so exhausted. It felt wrong. Backing out of the room, he closed the door softly, deep in thought.
“Well, if that isn’t just like you, sneaking away like a thief in the night.”
Flynn flinched, schooling his face as he turned. “Lot. It’s been a while.”
An older, cleaner-cut version of himself stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen doorway. He was smaller than Flynn remembered, but the cruel twist to his mouth hadn’t changed.
His father took in the cuff, then Flynn’s face before meeting his eyes. “Cal got me up to speed. You sure know how to fuck things up.”
Flynn stood a bit straighter, a couple inches taller than the man. “So you’ve told me, repeatedly.”
Lot snorted, scowling at him. He went to open his mouth and Miriam appeared down the hall, preempting whatever he was about to spew.
“I asked you to get the boy for supper, not berate him. Get away from that door, the both of you. Kara needs her rest.”
Lot motioned for Flynn to lead the way and followed him into the dining room. A dirge oozed through his head. Goddamn, he didn’t want to do this. His father sat himself at the head of the dark wood table dominating the walnut-wainscoted room. Flynn pulled out the straight-backed chair next to Cal, as far away from the man as possible without being directly across from him. He wasn’t about to repeat that pissing match.
On the other side of the table, Jon and Miriam were seated with their backs to the window. His uncle gave him a half smile over the meal set out on the good china. The triplets were nowhere in sight. Christ, he wished he could say the same .
Miriam folded her hands in her lap. “Jon dear, would you say the Blessing?”
They all bowed their heads.
“Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. We thank you for the safe return of our boy and pray there won’t be any bloodshed beneath this roof, or out in the yard while he’s home. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”
“You forgot the barn,” Cal muttered, buttering a biscuit. Miriam gave him a look and he shrugged. Flynn spooned potatoes onto his plate, waiting for the inevitable.
It didn’t take long.
“So, now that you’ve decided to grace us with your presence, what’re your plans?” Lot sneered, reaching for the peas. “Leaving tonight? Goddamned newspapers’re already having a field day, and those derelicts at the Pony’ll be rubbing their fucking?—”
“Language!” Miriam glared. “And I’ll not have that establishment mentioned in this house, Adlothian Roald Scot. Let the boy eat, he’s thin as a rail. I doubt he’s had a decent meal the entire time he’s been gone.”
“A rail? That boy’s built like a brick shit house and twice as full of it. Leaving’s his own damned fault.”
Flynn grit his teeth, taking a biscuit. “Would Mom think so?”
Miriam slapped her fork down on the table, the plates jumping. “Don’t start! What’s done is done, and Deirdre’s twelve years buried, let the woman rest! I will have a nice dinner. Lot, you mind your vicious tongue! For heaven’s sake! If she could see the two of you!”
His father had the decency to look slightly abashed.
Flynn poured gravy over his potatoes. Asshole.
“Woman, calm down and pass me a biscuit. You know I like ’em piping.” Cal rubbed his hands together. She shot the two of them another harsh glare and handed Cal the plate. Flynn took a helping of peas, smiling at the little pieces of crisp bacon in them.
“A Binder, from the Source,” Lot muttered just loud enough to be heard.
Flynn sighed, mentally preparing himself for what was about to follow. Not a fucking chance Lot was gonna leave this alone .
He didn’t.
“Not a fucking chance you stayed sober long enough to court her properly. So, what, you get her to bind your face then weasel into her bed? What kind of a tale did you spin to get her to take your bond, or you just rough her up until she did?”
The room went silent.
Across the table, Miriam drew in a strangled breath, her eyes on the fork bending in Flynn’s fist. His jaw clenched hard enough to hear his teeth pop. This motherf—Damn it. He needed to calm the fuck down before he woke up Kara. His anger melted away thinking of her in there curled up, drooling on the pillow. He smiled and gave a little laugh.
Lot stared at him, a bite of meat dangling half-way to his mouth.
“It all happened pretty fast, binding this was an accident,” Flynn said, gesturing to his face. Everyone looked at him like he’d grown another head. Christ, he must’ve been as much of an asshole as his father before he left. It was an uncomfortable revelation.
“Well, thank the Lord for happy accidents then,” Miriam stammered out decisively. “I don’t know why you never let anyone set that break in the first place. It was a crying shame, Laughlin.”
Flynn rolled his eyes at the old argument. The rest of the table ignored her; they’d heard it all before, too.
“Her genetics are impressive,” Jon offered tentatively.
“Psh. So she’s a Perkins or a Hess. Big fucking deal. Theo’s girl?—”
“She’s a Jester.”
Lot looked at Jon like he’d just stabbed him. Cal winced around his cigarette. Christ, all that time in his study and he’d kept that bombshell squirreled away? Flynn almost felt sorry for his father.
Jon was totally oblivious and kept going. “You remember Kara, Nora’s girl by Beritram, First Breaker down at the Source.”
Now the proverbial knife was in Flynn’s chest.
He kept his eyes on his plate, masking his shock. Kara’s dad was a First? Cal hadn’t been joking when he called her a princess. Dualities breeding were rare enough, but Firsts? She was a goddamn unicorn.
Shit. Maybe it would shut Lot up. Maybe pigs would fly, too. Flynn ate some more peas. Man, he’d missed Miriam’s? —
“A goddamned Source Binder. Should’ve known you’d come back bonded to a whore.”
The room went scarlet.
Distantly, he heard his father spewing more vitriol and chairs scraping back from the table. Flynn gritted his teeth, trying to control his temper. The last time he’d been this rip-shit flashed through his mind clear enough to hear the man’s screams. His fingers itched for them to be Lot’s. He clamped it down, hard.
Goddamn it, he wouldn’t?—
Kara’s concern shocked him like an ice bath. Fuck. Flynn let out a measured breath, grasping for that blanket of calm and smothering the rage boiling beneath it. The red haze receded. He took a shaky sip of water. Fucking Lot.
The asshole smirked at him from the other end of the table. Everyone else was frozen. Cal moved first, lighting a cigarette and running a trembling hand through his hair. The rest of them went back to their meals, casting Flynn sidelong glances.
“Call my wife a whore again, and I swear to God, I’ll break your fucking face.” Flynn cracked his glass down, glaring at him.
His father returned the look, unimpressed. “She’s not your wife until she’s been Introduced. You’re doing this by the book. Especially after running through half the Houses in Glynfyls and all the whores thrice. I’m not giving you an iota to worm your way out of a proper marriage, or her for that matter, once she figures out what a dog you are. You’re gonna be respectable, damn it. No heavy drinking, fighting, or fucking anything that catches your eye. So help me God, I’ll disown you. You’ve shamed your mother’s memory enough as it is.”
Flynn took another bite of meat, having expected the ultimatum.
Lot narrowed his eyes. “So, what’re your plans, boy?”
He chewed slowly to annoy his father. That and the food was better than anything he’d eaten in years. It was petty, but he really didn’t give a shit. He scooped up some more potatoes and rolled them around his mouth until the vein in Lot’s forehead began to throb. “I haven’t given it much thought.”
“Well, there’s a surprise. Your priorities are still for shit. Must’ve been a full-time job keeping her on her back long enough to knock her up.”
“More like a hobby, but a bunch of people have been trying to kill me. It’s been a lot to multitask.”
Cal spit out his coffee and Jon snorted. His father scowled at him.
“Talent to talent, Lot. They’re a matched pair, and that bond’s a doozy.” Miriam stood, frowning. “Jon dear, would you please help me with dessert?” His uncle couldn’t leave the room fast enough.
“You got a hell of a lot of nerve, coming back like this.” Lot snarled. “By my count you’ve had eight years to figure out exactly what you plan on doing, with or without your Source princess.”
Flynn sopped up the last of the gravy off his plate with a half bite of biscuit and popped it into his mouth. Christ. Between Lot’s shit and Miriam’s nagging, it was like he’d never fucking left. He sighed, pushing back in his chair and looking at his father. Damn, he missed his beard.
“If it’s any consolation, I wasn’t planning on coming back. But here I am, with no choice but to deal with the clusterfuck I left. I’m sure as hell not in the mood to put up with your goddamned attitude on top of it, so why don’t you just tell me what the hell you want from me instead of picking a fight?”
A muscle in Lot’s jaw clenched, then all the piss and vinegar bled out of him. His shoulders slumped, and the stream of vitriol Flynn had prepared himself for never came. He looked at Cal in surprise. His grandfather raised an eyebrow back at him.
“Well, I guess you’ve gone and done the lion’s share of it without me badgering you. But I’ll be damned if she’s not Introduced respectably, Flynn. There’s too much—” Lot ran a hand through his thinning hair. “We need to do this proper. The border’s scheduled to close. We’re… I’m losing the Assembly.” His father glanced at Cal. They’d spoken about that, then. Lot threw his napkin on the table. “I won’t fight you for any of it. It’s what Deirdre wanted. All of this…it’s all what your mother wanted.”
Flynn’s mouth hung open. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear from him. Shit, from the sour cast to Lot’s face, it was the last thing he’d expected to say .
“Kara will add strength to your claim, just by virtue of who and what she is,” Jon said, coming in loaded down with thick slices of pie. “Never mind her condition. Shades need a strong voice. We’ve lost our way without your mother.”
Cal grunted and pushed his piece of pie away, taking out his pouch of tobacco and rolling up another cigarette. “Flynn always did have the ability to step in shit and come up roses.” Miriam shot him a look he ignored.
“You’ll agree to the ceremony?” Lot pressed.
Hell, yeah. Flynn nodded, trying not to seem too eager. Kara would have more time to adjust, and he’d have a reprieve before he had to come clean. Miriam set a plate down in front of him with slices of both warm apple pie and pecan. God, he loved that woman’s cooking.
“You fill Kara in on what’s she’s about to walk into?” Cal asked, striking a match.
Flynn shoveled a bite into his mouth. “Not yet.”
“Suggest you do. Girl will need some time to wrap her head around it, and it should come from you.” Miriam’s sniff was ignored. “Kara will rise to the occasion. She’s a Jester, after all.”
Flynn concentrated on chewing as his father got up and left the room. Neither of them wanted to think about what that particular House had cost them.
Titus sat at his desk watching a holo of Ielle working over Riegel. She was currently in the middle of extracting several of his teeth. The large man’s limbs spasmed, and she held up another, smiling. Lovely little piece she was turning out to be.
He flipped to the latest numbers from the breeders. Those weren’t as satisfying to view. The wild Talents that they’d managed to harvest had either insufficient abilities or were a line of little value. The last Finder was barely worth keeping, and an ugly specimen to boot. Her mediocre ability was unsurprising, considering they just mated willy-nilly up there. It only underscored the need to harvest genetics from the top echelon of the North’s Original Houses .
A smile lurked behind his glass of bourbon, the Jester situation playing into his hand.
Titus’s eyes lingered on a reel from the North flickering with the image of a highly intoxicated Laughlin Scot engaged in violent coitus. The fervor when the drawing room doors opened and the aristocracy of Glynfyls entered was priceless. So was his presumed intended fleeing in tears as he yelled vulgarities after her with a shit-eating grin. Titus smirked, watching him finish despite the crowd. He paused and zoomed in on the reprobate’s face, comparing it to the grainy still his operative had forwarded to him.
Proof of Adlothian Scot’s prodigal son returning North with his ill-gotten bride.
But where had the boy been? Scot had disappeared after the incident and, quite frankly, Titus would’ve bet on it being face down in a gutter, riddled with syphilis and a knife in his back. That gap in knowledge needed to be filled. Whatever Scot had been doing since his exodus, no doubt it’d been unsavory.
Which meant it could be exploited to feed his machinations, just as his jilted bride-to-be had been. A smile ghosted across Titus’s lips. Not a single Talent, he would have them all. He just needed to be patient. Barton was established in the city, poised to extract the girl once he was positive that she’d been bred. Then the harvest could begin.
Provided his thrall did her job. It was time to give her some additional incentive.
“Send her in.”
A drab woman in rich silks entered, shoving her fine, shoulder-length hair behind her ears. Julia had become visibly more pinched since he’d last summoned her. He vaguely recalled the dewy-eyed girl he’d taken from Glynfyls. She’d never been a beauty, but there had been a kind of innocence about her that’d been appealing. It hadn’t lasted more than a week here.
“I’ve done everything you’ve asked.” The trembling of her weak jaw made him ill.
“What you’ve done has been less than satisfactory. The stalemate at the border has gone on for far too long. My troops firing on yours was the perfect opportunity for retaliation, yet there’s been nothing out of Glynfyls.”
“Stonefist hasn’t taken direction from the Assembly since we arranged for Richard Breakspear’s death. His troops are an independent body at this point. The only sway I have is through his funding, which I’ve gutted. They’re sharing rifles for God’s sake! I’ve no idea how he’s doing what he’s doing.”
Titus steepled his fingers. Stonefist was remarkably adept at operating lean, but that was beside the point. The rabble up there should be easier to goad into action.
“And do you have an equally plausible excuse for what happened at Ryfsbane? Your shoddy Fixer allowed them to slip past.” Titus chewed a piece of ice, watched her face intently. Her hands wrung the brocade of her skirts, not meeting his eyes. There was something there.
“Did you mean for him to escape?”
Julia stiffened. “Of course not! Ells should’ve been able to fix them until your troops arrived to harvest. Laughlin’s presence in the North is only going to make things more difficult. I’ve been pushing for the incursion based on his absence. The idea that the Source could take an heir from a House as influential as the Scot’s has been a powerful argument, and if the rumors are true?—”
“They are.” Her expression was more pained than he would’ve wagered after the amount of time Otto had spent with her. The Binder needed to refresh her directives sooner than not.
She wiped her palms against her skirts and lifted that quavering chin again, this time with an air of briskness. “The measures we discussed are on the agenda for later this week. I’ve people placed at Meddleton, and the newspapers are rehashing all of the Scot’s dirty laundry.”
She was efficient, to be sure. It was too bad she was about as charismatic as wet wool.
“Good. I want Laughlin’s dubious exploits fresh in everyone’s mind. You’re to continue pressing for Adlothian’s removal as First. Once a vote of no confidence strikes the Shade’s voice from quorum, I expect you to push through a Declaration of War. Have you reminded them all of the consequences, should they fail to support you? ”
Her mouth curdled. “As far as I can without pushing them into open rebellion. Titus, this much pressure you’re having me bring to bear… Something’s going to give.”
“That, my dear, is the point.” He gestured to the sub awaiting his pleasure, smiling at Julia over the rim of this glass. She took a step back and his grin widened.
A young boy was brought from an adjoining room.
There was a strong resemblance between the two. His black hair hung lankly to his jaw, and his eyes were the same cornflower blue. Where hers had a brassy ring around the irises, his had a barely discernible haze. The other side of the coin in letting Talents breed without direction.
The boy dragged his feet over to her, then sullenly offered a hand for her to shake. Julia dropped to her knees in front of him, her face crumbling. She held out her arms and he let himself be held for a breath before squirming away and turning to Titus.
“May I go now, sir?”
Titus rested his drink on the arm of his chair. The finish was worn in a circle from the condensation on the bottom of his glass. He’d have to get a Binder in here to fix that.
“Don’t you wish to spend more time with your dam?” he asked, flicking at the polish.
“Why?”
Julia choked on a sob. Titus didn’t hide his grin. He waved his permission, and the child raced from the room. She sat back on her heels, weeping soundlessly. Titus took another sip, enjoying her misery almost as much as the vintage in his glass. He pulled up a random cull’s metrics.
“You’ll have noted that his halos haven’t increased by any measurable amount in the past several months. I don’t foresee him meeting minimum requirements.”
She rose to her feet, her face going considerably paler at his words. “He’s not even eight, surely in another few years… You must let me take him!”
“I must do nothing.” Titus shrugged. “You, on the other hand, will return to Glynfyls and keep the Assembly on track. I want my war within the next thirty days, or the child will be culled. I will not suffer to support dead weight.” He flicked the wall of holos between them.
Dismissed, she stumbled from the room. A smile slid across Titus’s face, his eyes going to the holo of Kara beside Laughlin’s reel, hoping their offspring was a girl.