Chapter 12 #2
“Yes, yes, you’ll all want to have your ledgers out.” He gestures to the rest of us to mimic Evie. “This is quite important news.”
Suddenly she’s gone from reprimanded to rewarded and she practically glows.
“As we are all aware, King Lochlain has ordered his most trusted generals to ensure the welfare of his country. This world rests on the backs of our riders and their mounts.” Clark’s voice gets louder.
“They are the ones sacrificing themselves for the peace of the kingdom and all those dwelling within our borders.”
“Like he’s telling us anything new.” The young man on Evie’s right leans in close to whisper overly loud in her ear.
Like it’s going to impress her.
Astrid shifts, two seats down from me. I glance at the movement, and she catches my eyes, rolling hers up into the stray silver hairs crisscrossing her forehead.
Evie only holds two delicate fingers to her lips to tell the boy to politely mind and keep his thoughts to his splinter-witted self.
And I can’t stop thinking about Morgan and the way she looked. The shapeless gray dress with the choking collar does nothing for her skin tone but she’s somehow more beautiful for it. Like no matter how the world tries to hide her, she rises from despair’s ashes.
“Word from the capital has been promising indeed,” Clark drones with the insistent hiss of an angry beehive. “Word validated by the General’s right hand, our very own Tristan Ryson.”
My mind fills with the memory of his blade flashing against the slender length of her throat. She still hadn’t backed down when he drew blood.
Tristan puffs up in his seat, his arms looped behind his head. He stretches his long legs until his boots knock the legs of the chair in front of him. The girl there makes moon eyes at my cousin.
Astrid clears her throat, and the girl faces forward immediately.
Pay attention, Kieran. Mozi sounds off in my head. This may be important.
The dragon version of a cleared throat is a lot more grating. I sit up, paying attention.
Like Professor Clark knows something I don’t, I reply.
You never know.
His cryptic tone nudges something in my head.
Astrid lifts her hand and cuts through the thick air. “Is this news recent, Professor Clark?”
“Of course.” He stares down his nose at her, superior in every way.
If only he knew the truth.
I chose Astrid as my right hand on the basis of our past and her strength. She’s the sort of stubborn grump who incites lesser people to keep their distance and inspires respect in those strong enough to stand up to her command.
Her silvery locks are tucked back from her ears, showing the smooth velvety stretch of unblemished cheekbones, her chocolate skin stretched tight over bones. She is a predator in human form—
And she could give two wyvern droppings about Evie or the way the young men in the class gravitate toward her like dying planets around a buttery sun. Not to mention our professor who circles more important people like a carrion crow waiting for the exact right moment to feast.
Clark glances up into the rafters, composing his speech in his head before saying, “We’ve covered at length the history leading up to King Lochlain taking the throne.
We have also detailed General Ryson’s rise to power and his strategies in the recent skirmishes.
I’ve made my thoughts on the subject known. ”
Clark chuckles under his breath.
Yes, I’ve heard all about his thoughts. I shift forward slightly, sliding my hands under the desk to hide the way my fingers tighten on my quill.
In fact, Clark had pulled me to the side when I first got to DragonSpear to try to make nice, as he called it. He’d wanted to introduce himself to both me and my cousin, to make his stance known on my father’s policies, and to get on our good side.
It really boils down to a desire to get the information out of me whether I want to give it or not.
He’s way too interested in what my father is doing, thinks it’s his right to know, since he’s in a position of authority.
I’m just Roman’s son.
It’s nothing important, not like the position Tristan holds. I’m only out there on the front lines because I happened to be born to the wrong person. An accident.
Nothing special.
“There have been some impressive moves lately.” Clark steeples his fingers in front of him.
“Oh yes. Some great moves. General Roman Ryson is marching our progress forward. He raided the village of Fallkirk only weeks ago, crushing the budding resistance there, and moved on Onassis in the last few days. Word has reached us of his victory.”
I sit up straighter and lose my grip, pen clattering to the floor. Cold slides through my veins. He what?
No word came from my father except for the letter he’d sent a few days ago, berating me for my failure.
Tristan is already watching me when I turn in his direction. His lips pry away from his teeth in a wide, annoying smile. He’d known. How could he not have known?
But he hadn’t been called into battle either, and it’s a small consolation on my part. Minuscule, really.
Frustration rises instantly.
Clark flashes me a brief look of triumph before he swivels his gaze across the rest of the enraptured student body made up entirely of nobles.
A growing surprise knots at the base of my spine and lodges there.
“The most recent attack boasted a powerful victory for our forces,” Clark continues. “The General replenished the supplies for his troops and crushed another uprising.”
It’s a nice way of saying that a lot of people died. Because where else would he get the supplies from?
Why in the scorched Void hadn’t I been told about this?
Astrid’s hand is in the air fast enough to sound like a whip crack. “Do we know why he targeted Onassis?”
I bend to grab my quill and work my sneer into some semblance of neutrality. Apathy is the name of the game especially when it comes to Clark and his obsession. He’ll sniff out any irregularities and report back, if only to gain favor.
“As far as I’m aware, it was another group of radicals who took offense to the rising taxes and did not want to part with their currency,” Clark replies.
In other words, he has no idea.
Neither does Tristan, although he does his best to pin his superiority in place. The lines on his forehead give him away.
My fingers clench around the quill hard enough to send ink spurting across the page if I’m not careful. The slender body cracks and I force myself to pry each finger free and take a soothing breath to the bottom of my lungs.
It doesn’t help.
The knots are still there, and Clark’s voice is a drone of things I don’t want to hear. On one hand, it’s a blessing not to have to see the destruction myself. But on the other hand, I’ll have to live with the guilt nipping at the heels of my relief.
Those people are dead whether I’m there to watch it happen or not.
Would I have been able to do something? Make a difference?
There was no one there to help save those people whom my father is likely to burn for simply existing.
A soft groan sounds, and I turn to watch Astrid’s throat bob. She catches my gaze, her golden eyes burning with the same kind of fire I’d recognized in Morgan’s when I first saw her.
Dragon’s teeth.
My knee bobs uncontrollably.
Mozi uncurls in my head, stretching, his claws unsheathed. You okay?
He’s close now. Up in the aerie.
Were you aware that my father has razed the village of Onassis recently? Because that’s the important information Clark wanted to convey, the smug thorn.
But I know Mozi isn’t. His silence speaks more than his words.
It’s time, Kieran. You can’t keep putting it off. His distress is a flash of sensation before he tamps down on the emotion, and I do the same. We must act. We can’t do this without you.
My jaw clenches hard enough to send a muscle at my cheek twitching.
I’ve got to figure out a plan going forward, who to trust, and who to scatter to the winds. I have the start of a rebellion mostly thanks to Astrid but how do I find more people who may be on my side?
The violence needs to stop.
If Roman and Omram are left unchecked, there won’t be a kingdom left.
My mind returns again to Morgan, to the fiery maid who looks as though she alone will split the enemy in two.
I’ve got to move fast. Every move is a risk, and I have so much to lose.
The needs of the few versus the needs of the world, Mozi reminds me solemnly. As long as your father is perched in a position of power, then people will continue to suffer. This goes much deeper than him, however. He is merely the face.
The reminder is an insult because I understand it better than he thinks. The risk is worth it.
The risk has to be worth it, otherwise this is all for nothing, and the dead become nothing more than fuel for an endlessly hungry war machine.