23. Leah #2
“Used to be a huge businessman in Aphelion,” Rowan murmurs to me. “Then he sold up everything and moved to Luminis to get into politics.”
And of course, I remember Rowan’s brother, Roryn, who is easy to spot in his gold Brigade armor. I briefly wonder if he ever takes it off; Rowan won’t if he makes it to the Brigade, so probably not.
We’ve been there almost half an hour when Garion emerges from a side chamber with a few more friends. I approach him, my stomach tying itself in knots.
“General, sir, may I have a word with you?” I ask.
“Leah!” he says, sounding about as pleased as Garion, in all his seriousness, probably can. “It’s a shame you couldn’t have been more punctual,” he says, looking down his nose at me. “But I’m glad you’re here at last.”
Ustarne, Daela, and Roryn all float over, and Rowan’s at my elbow.
“I’ve heard good things about your conduct in the trial yesterday,” Garion continues, performing for our audience. “Apparently, General Sawler was most impressed.”
I stare at him. If he knows about what went on in the battle, then surely he’s heard about Filippa. I glance at Rowan, who gives me an uncomfortable look in return, but says nothing. I can feel suspicions growing, and those suspicions are making me pretty fucking angry.
“That’s actually why I need to have a word with you, General. In private, if you don’t mind.” I manage to hold on to my temper enough to sound polite, but I still say it pointedly enough that Garion hears the warning in it.
“Very well,” he says, slowly stepping aside to gesture to the chamber he just came out of. “I won’t be a moment, ladies and gentleman,” he says to his friends.
“All right then, what is it?” he asks as soon as the door is closed.
“You’ve heard about the second trial, sir,” I say, setting down my drink and crossing my arms.
“Yes,” he says, still impatient. “I thought that was clear.”
“Then maybe you’ve heard that Filippa didn’t come back from Strata.”
I wait for a moment of shock, perhaps some denial. And maybe, just maybe, the twist of sadness on his features.
There’s nothing.
“Yes, I heard,” he says, his voice impatient, like he’s annoyed that I’m wasting his time with information he already knows.
I drop my arms, astounded. “Is that all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say? It was inevitable.” He shoves his arms behind his back, clasping one hand in the other, like he’s about to inspect a regiment.
“The girl was never going to make it through the trials. At least she had the sense to die on the battlefield where at least we can claim for her the glory of defending her realm in death. Better that than embarrassing us all by failing the trials.”
My blood is boiling, and I’m struggling to see anything but red. What a selfish, heartless bastard. Power moves beneath my skin—not the buzz of my lightning, but the dark, hungry prickle of my shadow magic, whispering to be unleashed.
I credit years of suffering my stepmother’s abuse to the way I manage to maintain my composure.
I clear my throat and push my hands behind my back to hide the way they’re shaking with rage. Then I level a cold, hard stare at my grandfather.
“No one saw Filippa go down, so really she is missing, presumed dead, but it’s not confirmed.” My voice is at least steadier than my hands. “So personally, I hope she’s still out there in Strata, perhaps healing from some injury, and she’ll come back to us.”
Garion looks at me with a mix between frustration and disdain.
“That’s a pretty dream, Leah, but the sooner you accept your cousin’s passing, the better.
You need to focus on what lies ahead. You did well in the second trial—it’s known that you helped save the western flank.
The Illidore name is in people’s mouths.
Be proud of that, and start preparing for what the next trial will bring. ”
The Illidore name. Of course that’s all he cares about.
I won’t tell Garion that Filippa’s alive, I decide. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve her as a granddaughter. And if nothing else, I can anticipate the look on his stupid face when she comes back from Strata, alive and well.
“Now, let us stop being rude and return to the party,” he says, pivoting on his heel and making for the door.
“It was Filippa,” I say as his hand lands on the doorknob.
“What?”
“It was Filippa who saved the western flank,” I say, my voice hard as steel. “She picked up on what the demons were up to. Because she’s smart and observant. She can spot a pattern a mile off and is great with strategy too. Which you’d realize if you’d gotten to know her.”
His eyes narrow.
“Might I remind you, Leah, that you have been in Aradis for barely the blink of an eye. Do not be so arrogant as to claim you know this family better than I do.” He sighs, as if putting up with me is too much of a trial to bear.
“The battle was a hard one yesterday, so I understand you’re emotional, but you must get yourself under control. ”
I swallow down the urge to scoff, because if he understood exactly how controlled I’m being right now, he’d hand over one of his shiny medals.
“Fine,” I say, grinding the word out between my teeth, because it’s better than the stream of curses I want to hurl at him right now.
“And if anyone asks about the western flank, you stick to what General Sawler told me about your contribution. It’s inappropriate to contradict a superior.”
Then he opens the door and strides out, leaving me with my rage.
The emotion simmers inside me as I stand there, motionless, afraid that moving would make it all boil over.
I know I need to go back out there to play Garion’s games.
He’s the one who got me into the trials, who gave me Swiftwing.
I doubt I’d have survived yesterday without the blade helping me, and he could take it away at any moment.
But I’m still too tense, locked in my anger like it’s a vise. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I reach out and brush against another consciousness across the void.
“Leah?” Syrus slides into my mind, a note of concern in his voice. “Is everything all right? Where are you?”
“At some stupid political ass-kissing dinner Garion made me come to.”
I sense him shifting beneath my skin, feeling his way through my body.
“Something has made you very angry, I can feel it. Tell me.”
And his soft but firm demand unspools it all from inside me. I finally tell him what I was too exhausted and wrung out to tell him last night—about finding Filippa on the plains, leaving her in Strata with Hodges, about Garion not giving a single flying fuck that his granddaughter never came back.
“And now I have to go back out there and pretend to be the proud little soldier, and let him show me off to all his friends, when all I want to do is kick him in the throat.”
I finish, waiting for him to point out that I’m only suffering from the consequences of my own choices. I decided to come to Aradis and tie myself to the ephilium—do I really get to complain about them now?
Instead, he’s silent for a moment, then he runs a gentle caress across my mind.
“I know a little something about being chosen by a powerful man who expected me to be his pawn,” he says.
Right. Of course. He knows this feeling from when Ajax trapped Syrus into being his heir.
“It’s hard,” Syrus continues. “But as long as you have to endure it, just remember: he doesn’t own you. You’re still your own person, and you’re only pretending to play by his rules while it serves you. The moment it doesn’t, he’ll realize exactly how wrong he was to believe he controlled you.”
I exhale, closing my eyes briefly, letting the reassurance wash over me.
“Thank you. That helps,” I say, opening my eyes again.
“I can stay with you,” he offers. “If that will help too.”
I waver, because it would help, but once again, it’s not fair, asking him to do this for me. Keeping me from dying is one thing, but this emotional support—kind words and sympathetic advice—shouldn’t come from someone you’re not supposed to be involved with.
“You’re not doing anything important?” I ask pathetically, because I’m too weak to say no.
“Only if you think watching Viz read and waiting for Aster to come back from flirting with the guards constitutes pressing business,” he says wryly. “Let me stay. Being in your head is far less boring.”
I smile at the teasing compliment. It’s easier to bear than tenderness.
“All right. But just remember, don’t talk so much that I get distracted. I don’t want to end up looking like a crazy person listening to voices in her head.”
“So you find me distracting?” he purrs, intrigued.
“Syrus,” I say with warning.
He huffs out a sigh. “Very well. I’ll behave.”
I don’t pay much attention to dinner after that.
I speak when spoken to, keeping my responses polite but brief, feeling Garion watching me from the end of the table with a cold, calculating gaze.
When it becomes clear I’m not going to be very entertaining, the other guests stop addressing me much, and I’m allowed to sit back and observe.
What I see is a complicated web of hierarchies.
People defer to each other or assert authority along pre-established lines I clearly don’t understand.
But I can safely assume a lot of it has to do with bloodlines, military prowess, and family status.
There’s lots of people with Aphelion links here, but some big names from Luminis too.
Garion seems to share an uneasy leadership of the Aphelion group with Ustarne.
Mostly equals, but occasionally jostling each other to be seen as the dominant one.
I also notice that Rowan clearly adores his brother Roryn, looking up to him in a way I’ve never seen him do with the cadets or even the instructors at the academy. When Roryn brags to Garion about Rowan being the top of all his classes at school, Rowan practically levitates with pride.
Syrus shifts restlessly as I listen in.
“Not a word,” I murmur to him.