Chapter 11 Caelum Twelve Years Old
Caelum: Twelve Years Old
Ten Years Ago
Victoria Station, London
“You will find these boys on the train,” his father instructed him. He handed Caelum a piece of parchment with three photographs clipped to the front.
Caelum nodded wordlessly.
He looked at the piece of paper.
He memorized the names and the faces he saw, then rolled it all up and stuffed it into a pocket in his coat.
His father stared between his eyes. “I am trusting you. But you know better than most that trust is earned, not free. I would not be so foolish as to think that anything you do there will escape my notice.”
Caelum nodded a second time, his mouth hard.
“You know what is expected of you.” His father continued to stare at him coldly.
“Do not be a little fool, Caelum. Do not delude yourself with childish notions. None of these…” He stared around the platform, a sneer curling his lip.
“…People are your friends. Nor should you want them to be. Silly, womanish attachments breed weakness. Vulnerabilities others will exploit. I will not hesitate to impart that lesson as often as necessary, whelp.”
Caelum understood.
He understood so well he scarcely pretended to listen to the words.
His father noticed.
Malefic couldn’t hit him here, not really hit him, not in front of so many other Magicals, particularly since a goodly number, at least those with children, were likely there for the same reason.
None of the commoners sent their children to Briarwood Wyrm Middle Academy.
It would be the wealthier, better-bred Magicals, the ones his father worked alongside as colleagues, as peers, who sent their children to the Cambridge school.
Malefic leaned down, putting his face in Caelum’s.
He gripped the back of his neck, what might look like a loving, protective grip to anyone not watching closely enough. He gripped so tightly Caelum gasped.
The fingers holding him were like cold iron.
“Do not nod at me like my words bore you, Caelum,” Malefic purred.
“Remember who you are. Remember the importance of your life… the preciousness of the gifts you were given. The future of our entire civilization depends on you, so do not waste a single moment in childish foolishness. You are not like them. You will never be like them.”
Caelum felt the pain reach his chest.
He met his father’s gaze, but only for a whisper.
“Yes, sir.”
“I do this for you, Caelum,” his father murmured.
“But I also do it because this great work of ours is my responsibility, too. If I have to, I will bleed you until you take our mutual commitments seriously. I will not hesitate to lock you up and school you away from the prying eyes of the world until you respect the immense honor you have been given.”
His father’s mouth moved closer to his ear.
“And if I cannot bleed you directly while you are there, rest assured, I can reach others who will stand happily in your stead. Should you choose to neglect your responsibilities.”
Caelum felt the blood leave his face.
“I don’t only mean your mother, Caelum,” he hissed, softer.
Caelum knew that, too.
He had spent every day of his life with the Lord of the Black Tower, day in and day out as his father’s pet project.
The nuances of his father’s threats no longer escaped him.
They had developed their own language between them, he and Malefic, where every vague reference, every menacing note, every lilt of syllable and deadened stare held a very precise and mutually understood meaning.
If he approached anyone in the wrong way…
anyone… his father would take it out on that person, well before he took it out on Caelum himself.
If he told someone something he shouldn’t, his father would summarily remove the threat to himself, and to his “work,” even if the listener didn’t understand what they’d heard.
Whoever was stupid enough to fall too closely within Caelum’s orbit would suffer for it, and Caelum couldn’t even warn them. Whoever he was stupid enough to let near him, risked they wouldn’t survive that contact, no matter how accidental, nor how innocent.
“Remember the firefoxes, Caelum,” his father breathed, as if the message hadn’t already struck home. “Remember our first lesson on this, on the dangers of developing fondnesses for inferior, filthy, distracting things.”
Caelum’s jaw tightened.
His own voice came out cold, dismissive.
“Of course, father.” He made his words as lazy and irritated and indifferent as the older mage’s.
“And I am not ‘bored.’ I simply don’t understand why you’d think I would even need this particular lecture.
I couldn’t give two fucks about making friends.
I know full well that’s not why I’m here.
I know my role. I’m not likely to forget it. ”
His father met his gaze.
After a slight frown, he nodded, once, showing a faint approval.
His voice grew even lower.
“Control your magic,” he warned, soft as a breath. “One fucking instance, Caelum––”
“I’m not a fool, father,” Caelum drawled.
His father’s silver eyes blazed briefly.
He seemed to reconsider then, and let the insolence slide.
“You’d better not be.” Malefic’s voice grew colder still.
“Believe me, that will get back to me, too. You will never darken the doors of any school again. Any school, Caelum. Anywhere. Not only Briarwood. You will not leave the the Black Tower. Not as a child, not as a man. Not until you can be proven trustworthy on every level.”
Caelum swallowed.
He fought to hide it, but he guessed his father saw that, too.
That particular threat hit its mark.
The thought of being locked away in his father’s castle, year after year, with no one but Rolf and his father and sporadic glimpses of visitors and guests, the occasional quick hug and ruffle of hair from his mother when she could get away with it, a snuck meal from a gremlin or one of the drakai––
“I know better,” he said only, his voice subdued.
“Let’s hope,” his father clipped.
Before Caelum could think of a response, or at least a way to get his father to back off, a booming, craggy voice made the elder Bones stiffen.
“Malefic!”
Caelum’s father released his neck at once.
He straightened and turned with a superior yet marginally-friendly smile aimed towards the older, gray-haired mage who’d called out to him.
Caelum fought the urge to reach back, to rub his bruising neck, to feel the imprints left behind by his father’s fingers. He knew better than to do that, too.
His father was already speaking to the older mage, a male with violet eyes and a craggy yet strangely handsome face who looked vaguely familiar to Caelum from his glimpses of visitors through the Black Tower’s spelled, one-way windows.
“This is him?” the strange mage’s voice asked. “The mysterious Bones heir?”
Caelum looked up.
He met those violet eyes directly, above the rough beard, and strangely perfect lips. Despite the smile on his face, those eyes surveyed him critically, with a savage scrutiny that caused Caelum to remove himself without thought.
He shut down, making his face and eyes empty.
“Doesn’t look sick to me,” the man grunted.
“What’d you say was wrong with him again, Malefic?
” The older mage gave Caelum’s father another of those wry smiles before aiming his birdlike stare back at Caelum.
“Other than the misfortune of being your little miniature, eh? No one would question he’s your son, at least, apart from the hair––”
The man started to reach for him, but Caelum’s father used his cane to block his hand.
“Now, now, Borogh. No touching.”
Malefic lowered his cane only after the other man lowered his arm.
The elder Bones made a show of looking around the train platform. As he did, he moved a few steps to his right until he stood in front of Caelum, making it harder for the other mage to see him, and harder for Caelum to see the other mage.
“Is little Greythorne Junior to be on the train, then?” Malefic asked with a sniff. “He’s starting at Briarwood this year as well, correct?”
The mage his father called “Borogh” grunted, and finally took a step back.
“Yes.” A scowl touched those well-formed lips as he glanced around.
“Little bleeder’s already scurried onto the train.
Ran off with his little friends, that Warrington girl who lives next door, and a few other rats birthed by lesser nobles.
They’ve been making a mess of my gardens all summer.
Not to mention what they’ve done to the carpets and the library. ”
Caelum felt his hands tighten.
The thought of running around with other kids, making messes without getting fingers broken for it, having free rein in the gardens––
“Does your son play any games?” Borogh Greythorne asked. “I never saw you at the Underage Magical Grounds at the Heath.”
His voice held a barely-disguised curiosity as he went back to staring at Caelum.
When Malefic didn’t answer, Greythorne shrugged.
“Alaric won’t fight, not even with arrows,” he said contemptuously.
“Won’t play Ravenhook, neither… whines about hurting the cute little animals.
” His father scoffed. “He’s not bad at Scaredy-Cat, though,” he added thoughtfully.
“Tyke’s got a real knack for conjuring, even dark spirits.
It’s damned unnerving at times, if you want the truth. ”
Malefic aimed a bare glance at Caelum.
“He’ll train in Skyhunt when he’s old enough,” Malefic sniffed. “For now, he will likely stick to offensive and defensive magics, not childish games.”
“He’s a fighter, then?” Greythorne asked appreciatively, assessing Caelum anew. “Auric boxing? Or just combat spells?”
“His auric skills are… passable.”
For once, his father had told someone something about him was actually true. Caelum did plan to focus mostly on fighting magic, both spells and auric. And he wanted to play Skyhunt. He couldn’t wait to be old enough to try out for the team.