2. Chapter Two
Innocence was never in the cards for me. First, I killed my mother within seconds of my first breath. Second, I robbed my father of his wife; my brother of his mother. The former revels in daily reminders, stewing shame in my soul like a pungent witches' brew.
Fynn, my older brother, has never blamed me. At least, I don’t think so. Maybe he does; maybe he doesn’t. I’ve learned in my brief life that a person’s insides rarely match their outsides.
Every smile you see holds lives you’ll never know. The good; the bad; everything in-between. Secrets locked behind teeth that refuse to part and share the truth.
A long time ago, I learned the power of toothy smiles. They are the perfect mask, and when you can make others smile? The perfect distraction.
Today is a great example.
My grin hides the wince every time I sit down. Each joke is carefully curated to distract from the way I favor my right leg. A bright laugh smothers the deep dread of the upcoming endless days of torture.
As of this afternoon, I graduated from intermediate education. All of my classmates brag about their high education classes and trade schools they’ll be attending. Leaving home to see the world.
Whenever they ask what the future holds for me, it takes willpower not to beg them all to see my lack of future.
I never have. Father will never let that happen.
Instead, I lied about an acceptance to Drunin Prep, focusing on graduating with a degree in Weathology.
To do something with this power that slithers under my skin, unshed and unexplored.
Maybe help grow crops or encourage our skies to be safer for fliers.
After today, those lies stop. I’ll disappear into oblivion. Fynn’s too busy being a Dragxi to notice the fading. He hates Father just as much as me — the only difference is that I’m fairly certain Fynn was never Father’s plaything.
“Trinte, are you even listening?”
Quilen’s voice interrupts my thoughts. Shaking my head, I look at my friend. They’re holding out a piece of paper — their diploma.
“What?”
Quilen raises the piece of paper, then motions to my lap. “Your diploma. Are you sending it to Drunin Prep?”
I shrug, looking at the diploma resting on my legs. It might as well be a napkin used to blot out my future. “I think you can send in a copy.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll send in a duplicate, so the original doesn’t get lost,” I lie smoothly. “But I’d call them to double check.”
They nod, tucking the diploma back into a manila envelope. “Good idea. I’ll let you know what I learn.”
“Okay, thanks.” I scan the crowd of excited students, most holding their diplomas as trophies. For the umpteenth time, I wonder how many of them hide secrets. What is it like for them at home? Did they kill their mother too? Does their father abuse them in revenge? Does anyone else suffer as I do?
Who would I be if I’d been born into a normal family? What opportunities would’ve appeared? Would my smile be genuine?
What’s it like to be truly happy?
“Well, I’m headed home,” Quilen announces. Shoving the diploma into the backpack, they sling it over a shoulder. “See you tonight at the graduation bash?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” I won’t.
Pretending there’s somewhere else to be, I follow them out of the auditorium, giving other friends smiles and hugs. I hate hugging people, but it’s a socially required behavior. People become unreasonably hurt if they’re denied an attempted hug. Sometimes, I want to scream, I get touched enough!
But I don’t think anyone would hear me.
After one last hug with Quilen, I drag my feed toward the nearest launch pad. Pausing at a trash can, I throw my backpack inside, diploma and all.
Once at the launch pad, I shift and take to the skies. Father will expect me home in twenty minutes — I plan on milking every second of freedom.
For ten of those minutes, I pretend this Dragon form is the only one I know. How it used to be before the formation of the melting pot called Gondora. Where Dragons turned mountains into glass or fought in talon-to-talon combat.
Each minute ticks down like a threat. Inside my chest, the Fyre rages, desperate to be loosed as an offering to Fortuna.
The thought of my goddess forces a scoff out of my long throat. What has she ever done for me? What protection has she delivered? She doesn’t deserve an offering.
With exactly one minute to spare, I land in front of the house. Shifting back, I stare at my prison. It’s made of gray stone, with bare shrubs in the front. Father keeps the shutters painted a dark red to match his scales. Keeping the pretense, I suppose.
Each step pounds my heart faster. Dread is a weighted blanket on my energy, making each step heavier than the last.
Pausing in front of the door, my hand trembles as I press down on the handle. It squeals as it swings open, revealing a dark hallway. The scent of my father is everywhere.
He’s everywhere. In the air … under my skin.
Silent as a phantom, I step inside and close the door, leaving it unlocked for a quick escape.
“Trinte?”
His voice pebbles my scales and dries my mouth.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Yeah. It’s me.”
“Come here. I’m in the bedroom.”
Sweat beads on my forehead. Each step is made with weakened knees. Why is this my future? Why has it been my past?
Why am I not brave enough to tell someone?
Because no one would believe me.
Fortuna’s acolyte, Racidious Gleanscale? The man responsible for thousands of coral donations to the local churches? Volunteering at events to feed families and providing job opportunities through his construction company?
He’s ensured no one would believe me.
Father stands in front of a mirror, examining the tailored suit hugging his muscles. His amber eyes flicked to where I’ve paused at the door frame. Maybe he just has a question. A chore directive.
“How was the last day of school?”
The lump in my throat is difficult to work around. “It was fine.”
“Where’s your diploma?”
“They’ll be mailing them out soon.”
He nods once, already losing interest. His long, maroon fingers work at a green tie. “No more school, huh?”
“No.”
His eyes meet mine in the reflection. “Do you plan on taking up space around here, or will you be getting a job?”
It’s a bad idea, but I ask anyway. “Am I allowed to have a job?”
Father sneers. “You’re almost an adult now, Trinte. You’re expected to work.”
My tail spasms with coiling anxiety. “Can I move out?”
Pursing his lips, he loops the silk fabric, tightening the tie around his thick neck. “Of course not. You belong here with me.”
“If I’m almost an adult, why can’t I leave?”
Father turns around slowly. My gaze locks onto his movements, analyzing every twitch. Anticipating what the future holds. “No. You can’t leave. And why’s that?”
“Because I killed my mother,” I respond, monotone.
“Because you killed your mother,” he affirms. He steps forward; my heart thunders. Another step; my muscles tighten, staving off the shakes. “You took her life, so you’ll spend the rest of yours atoning.”
His eyes flick to the floor. A silent directive. My fists clench. He notices; a venomous smile spreads across his broad face. “Is today one of those days you’re going to try to fight back?”
Grinding my teeth, I shake my head. Dizzy from the speed of my breath, I command a knee to bend. Then the other.
Why am I doing this? Why can’t I stop this? Why don’t I leave?
Father’s belt jingles softly as he unbuckles it. The sound makes me flinch. Why am I on my knees again?
Is this truly what my future holds?
Father undoes the buttons on his pants. Thoughts race through my mind, faster than I can grab them. Two words repeat; a familiar mantra too often ignored.
Get up.
Get up.
Get up.
Father slides his pants down, already drunk on the power he holds. The forced submission of his youngest son. The son who's never strong enough to just get the fuck up.
Get up.
Get up.
Get up.
“Well?” Father raises an eyebrow, looking down at where he strokes. “Are you going to do your daily atonement or not?”
My body sways, struggling to balance on my bruised knees. Instinct rages, demanding that I both fight and flee. The decision is too hard, so I freeze. Staring into the future.
Get up.
Get up.
Get up.
“Trinte? Need I remind you what happens when you refuse?”
I can’t keep doing this. I’d rather be dead. Death would be a relief.
Decision made, I lift my chin with a stony glare. “I won’t.”
Father sighs. In a flash, his hand is on my forehead. Blinding electricity seizes me, spasming my body into submission. There’s nothing but white. Air rips out of my lungs as I scream, curling into myself.
Then it’s over. Father steps back, leaving me in the fetal position. Waiting for me to collect myself after shoving lightning into me. “Are you ready?”
Hugging myself, gasping, I rasp out, “No.”
His brown leather shoe, shined to a fault, slams into my face. That’s a first — he normally keeps the bruises hidden. But without school, it’s a free-for-all, I guess.
Blood fills my mouth. I cough, spewing some onto his shoe. I should feel something, but all that exists is numb stubbornness.
“Fuck,” he snarls. “Your mouth is no good now. Get on the bed.”
My pulse roars in my ears, muffling his words. “No.”
Those shoes march closer. I choke on blood as he lifts me by the nape.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” Father snarls, snatching my hair to yank my head back. Darkness widens his pupils, like a predator seeking prey in the dark of night. “But you’re going to do your job. One way or another.”
With every ounce of hate I can muster, I spit warm blood onto his face.
He rears back, letting out a hair-raising growl. Tossing me to the ground, I’m barely able to land on my hands before he’s on top of me. Wrestling me to the floor. Pressing my body down. Ripping at my clothes.
Something new inside me rattles. When he rips at my pants, that new something cracks. His hand comes to the back of my head, smashing my face into the carpet. My insides explode. After years of not embracing my powers, at his directive, I lose control.
The scent of burned fabric fills the air as my skin heats. He hisses, but doesn’t let up. One of his thighs presses against the juncture of mine. I roar as he clamps a hand around my tail and yanks it up.
Energy explodes from me. Smoke and electricity fill the air as I turn into a ball of lightning. Clothing sizzles, becoming ashes in the wind. One of his claws presses into my eye socket, wrenching my head back with it. Blinding white light and pain like I’ve never felt consume my senses.
“Submit!” he screams, digging his claw into my eyeball further. “I’ll tear out your fucking eye. Don’t think I won’t.”
His words roll off like water off Seraphim feathers. He tries to electrocute me again, but I’m able to ignore it. To use the pain as fuel. Digging deep into myself, I connect to my Fyre. It greets me with a greedy embrace.
Without a second thought, I shift, pushing through the agony and sacrificing my eye in the name of revenge.
The house explodes. Father flies backward as my Dragon form ruins our home. Shards of stone fling into the sky. Fresh air fills my nostrils. Father scrambles out of the rubble. My Dragon feels satisfied to see fear widen his eyes.
Lunging forward, I snap my jaws, eager to bite him in half. He barely escapes my razor-sharp fangs.
Father doesn’t hesitate; he shifts, turning into a maroon Dragon almost double my size. I pounce, ripping into the delicate membrane of the ruby red wings. With only one eye, I don’t see his maw opening, only feel it when it clamps down around my jugular.
He shakes my head like a toy. Today is the day I’ll die; there’s nothing scary about that fact.
But I’ll be damned if I make it easy.
Flaring my wings, I lash out with my spiked tail. It lands in his thigh. He releases my throat with a roar. Before he can recognize what’s about to happen, I whirl and lunge again, using momentum from my wings to double the impact.
Our scaled bodies slam together; I rip through anything my claws touch. My fangs sink into flesh and shred whatever’s nearest. He does the same, but I barely feel it.
A mighty, bone rattling roar slashes through our battle. Magyck stronger than mine stops us in our tracks. Dropping his wing from my maw, I scramble off my father. The haze of bloodlust overwhelms the senses, but the magenta Dragon slamming into the ground halts it.
Still snarling at my father, I take a step back, then another. He does the same; those amber eyes never leave my face.
Aunt Teale shifts, marching toward us with a fury I’ve never seen from her. Her arms spread wide; she slaps her hands together, separating us with the brute force of wind.
“What the ever loving goddesses fucking goddesses is going on here?” she screams. To me, she raises a shaking finger. “Shift. Now.”
I have no choice but to obey. Instantly, I’m in my bi-pedal form, curled up into myself, holding my eye. Or what’s left of it. The remaining chunks lay in my palm, an exterior symbol of my internal horror at it all.
To my father, she snarls, “You shift too. Now.”
Father hesitates. As his twin, Aunt Teale holds no magyckal sway. But as the matriarch apparent, she holds hierarchical power.
When he shifts, I’m pleased to see, with my one good eye, the torn chunks of flesh missing from his limbs. The skin is already stitching itself back together. We stare at one another with unadulterated hatred.
Aunt Teale rushes to me, all fury lost. Collapsing to her knees, she scans my body frantically. At the torn clothes. My missing eye. The bruises now revealed. Blood leaking out of my mouth.
“What happened?” she breathed, hands going to touch my wounds.
“Don’t touch me,” I choke out. “Don’t.”
Her hands snatch back like I’d burned them. Fury pinches her features. Slowly turning her head toward Father, she hisses, “What have you done?”
Father says nothing. I say nothing.
Within an hour, my brother is there. Devastated, Fynn immediately assumes responsibility for my care. Aunt Teale appears disturbed by my refusal to speak, but she can’t compel me to share what’s been done to me.
I’m still considered a child under Gondoran law, and since neither of us will admit what happened, Father’s allowed to return to the rubble of our former house with a few fines.
The next few weeks sweep by in a blur. My left eye’s lost for good.
I’m provided with an enchanted orb in its place.
Resembling gold starbursts on fire, it allows me to see different temperatures.
This ability translates to perceiving the shapes of anything with a heat signature.
I’ll never be able to see the world as before, but it’s fitting for this new chapter of my life.