61. Ellowyn
Chapter 61
Ellowyn
S ilverware clinked against plates and glasses were set on the table with heavy thunks throughout dinner, creating a strange melody of sorts that was only occasionally disrupted by the clearing of a throat.
It was, by far, the most uncomfortable dinner I’d ever eaten.
The food was delicious, but I couldn’t taste any of it—too preoccupied with the tension in the room and my father’s ominous warning bouncing around in my head. I tried my best to still my nervous tells, keeping my mother’s teaching at the forefront of my mind, but inevitably one or two slipped through.
More than once throughout dinner, my mother glared at me from across the table as I bounced my leg. After enough murderous looks from her, I stopped glancing in her direction and took as long as I could to finish each course. At least that way I had something to occupy my hands and my mind. Even if it was something as trivial as moving the soup spoon from the bowl to my lips.
My father sat at the head of the table as usual, with Lord d’Refan on the opposite end, staring a hole through my father’s head the entire night. Mother sat to Father’s left, while Peytor occupied his right. I sat directly next to Peytor and across from Matteo, Finian between Lord d’Refan and his father. Fay sat next to me, the General on her other side.
Fay’s nervous tells were much more obvious than my own, and she constantly fiddled with her dress and silverware. More than once, she grabbed the wrong utensil for the dish placed in front of us and, after a few derisive noises from Mother, I silently helped her by picking up the proper fork or spoon before the course was even placed.
The look Fay shot me was of pure relief, and I offered her a small smile out of the corner of my mouth, much to Mother’s disappointment.
The minutes dragged on, feeling more like hours, as we continued our empty song of dinner. Eventually, I simply couldn’t take the iciness anymore, my need to dissipate the tension and bring all of this to a head, too great.
“W-” I started, but stopped to clear my throat, “what are the markings on your arms, Fay?” I asked quietly, turning my attention to the woman directly next to me. She seemed like the safest bet to start a conversation with, aside from Peytor or Finian, but their guard was up, hackles raised, and I doubted any conversation I started with them would be carried.
Fay startled at the question and promptly dropped her spoon on the floor. Her face turned a deep shade of red and she instantly bent to retrieve it, bumping her head on the table on her way back up. She let out a soft curse and rubbed the spot as she emerged, curls cascading into her face. I covered a laugh with my hand, not wanting to embarrass her further, but distinctly appreciating the sudden evaporation of tension.
The General put a hand on her right arm and whispered something in her ear. If possible, she turned an even deeper shade of red before setting the spoon back on the table. Instantly, a servant was there to replace it and Fay muttered a quiet “thank you” as they disappeared.
“I’m sorry, what was the question?” she finally asked me once she had her emotions back under control.
I smiled softly. “Your markings.” I gestured to the black symbols that snaked along her forearms and spattered her hands and knuckles. “What are they for?”
“Oh. They’re runes for various purposes. Some are for protection or to recover from an illness—those uses burn out quickly and I have to re-scribe them often, which is why there are many that are the same.” She pointed to a few markings that, sure enough, were the same design. “Others, I don’t know what they mean. I’m figuring it out as I go.” She shrugged her shoulders before picking up the new spoon again.
I frowned at the same time Peytor asked, “What do you mean, you don’t know what they mean?”
The earlier melody of dinner was silent now, as we all waited for Fay’s answer. She was intriguing and completely not what we were used to seeing in Hestin, or the North, for that matter.
She shrugged again. “Just that. Sometimes I read something in a book and I quickly etch it into my skin. Other times I have a dream and wake with the design in my head and the urge to mark it. Others were inked by my mentor and I’ve yet to puzzle through them. Nothing has hurt me so far.” She absently traced a few runes on her skin as she spoke.
The table was silent as we processed her words and looked at the tattoos on her skin. I’d seen the Bonding Ceremonies more times than I could count working with the acolytes, but her marks seemed so different than the ones I was used to seeing.
“Fay is a Rune Master. Perhaps the only one left in Elyria,” the General spoke for the first time tonight. His voice held notes of respect and even reverence, but there was an undertone of scorn there as well. “She discovered this new Bond ,” he practically spat the word, “from a book she’s reading and somehow knew it would work.”
Fay flinched slightly at his words and avoided his gaze, choosing to look at her plate instead.
There’s a history there.
“Did it work? The Bond?” Finian asked this time.
“We wouldn’t be here if it didn’t, boy,” Lord d’Refan rumbled, easing back into his chair, suddenly in command of the room and the conversation.
My father set down his utensils and wiped his short beard with his napkin before easing back in his chair as well, eyes trained on Lord d’Refan. “And why are you here, Lord d’Refan? Your letter hinted at some cure to Mage Sickness, but we have few of those in the city. At least in the upper class. There are whisperings of it in the working class, but something tells me you’re not concerned so much about them.”
I involuntarily flinched at my father’s words. No one really cared about the working class, as long as they continued to serve and dig in the mines to unearth crystals for them to use.
“Not mincing words tonight I see,” Lord d’Refan said.
My father sighed deeply before responding, his words laced with exhaustion. “No, Lord d’Refan. I think it’s best suited for both of us if we don’t dance around the subject or play games.”
Lord d’Refan was quiet for a moment. “Games, hmm? Is that what you call rescuing and hiding a Keeper in your own home?” His words were quiet, coated in danger and retribution.
The table went still. “Out,” my father commanded, the servants rushing to fulfill his command.
“We thought we could use him . . .” my father started before Lord d’Refan cut him off with a harsh laugh.
“Careful, Lord . Don’t forget who I am and the powers I possess. Not to mention you are allied to me ,” Lord d’Refan hissed. My father gave a curt nod of his head.
“Yes. We rescued a Keeper from the Borderlands a few months ago. Just before Ellowyn’s ceremony.”
“Why.” It wasn’t a question.
“There were . . . whisperings about her. We wanted to be certain.” My face paled and I whirled my head to face my father, my hair whipping back and hitting Fay in the face. She sputtered and pawed it from her mouth, which would have been funny if the situation were different.
I started to open my mouth but felt a kick under the table. Peytor caught my gaze and gave me an imperceptible shake of his head.
Keep quiet. Don’t draw attention to yourself. What you say and how you act will impact everything .
My stomach dropped to my knees as pieces of the puzzle started to come together. The information I knew was only the basis of a whole other realm of secrets my family and Lord d’Refan were keeping from me.
My gut churned and white-hot anger rose in my throat as I realized the depth to which I was lied to. I smelled the distinct smell of acrid smoke and found my Destruction Magic pooling in my palms. I hadn’t trained with it, barely touched it since Awakening, yet it was almost as easy as breathing to pull on it .
The General’s eyes widened slightly, and he shot me a look from across the table with an imperceptible shake of his head.
I took a few deep, calming breaths, forcing the magic back down into its box. Now wasn’t the time to unleash, not until I got the answers I needed at least. I shook my head, my magic and its accompanying smell dissipating as I dragged myself back into the conversation.
“And?” Lord d’Refan ground out, his eyes fixed on my father.
“No resolute confirmation as usual. At least none we could ascertain.” His voice was resigned, almost sad.
Lord d’Refan vibrated with such an intensity that Finian shrank back from him.
“Pity. Fortunately, I intercepted this Keeper you saved. It seems that he was on his way somewhere west, rather quickly I might add.” My father and mother both paled a bit at Lord d’Refan’s words. “He is in my care now, and I assure you I will be able to . . . find the answers we both seek.” His smile was predatory and not comforting in the slightest.
“So you’re quite lucky, really, that you were searching for the same answers I so desperately crave. It’s the only thing that’s currently saving your treasonous heads. You did the hard part for me, finding this Keeper in the Borderlands and smuggling him here. I suppose I owe a thank you.”
My father’s eyebrows hit his hairline before he quickly schooled his features.
“But I still question your . . . loyalty. Which is disappointing, really. I thought we had an understanding, Lord d’Aelius.”
My father blanched again, and I was certain this dinner was aging him before my eyes.
“We do, Lord d’Refan. How can we . . . prove this to you once more?” My father was grasping at straws, and my mother kept shooting glances toward me.
Here it comes. He’ll ask for me. For whatever secrets I hold that my parents have kept from me .
My heart beat out of my chest, and I was certain my pulse was visible across the room. The tension ratcheted up again, and Lord d’Refan took his time answering, choosing to take another bite from his now cold meal and a long pull from his glass before settling once more in his chair.
I could literally see the sweat beading on my father’s forehead, and Matteo kept flicking his eyes from my father to Lord d’Refan, trying to assess the threat and what he could do to help.
“As you know, we’re here to Bond Vessels to those who have Mage Sickness. Fay will be performing as many of these Bonds as she can tomorrow. Everyone else will come back to Vespera with us so she may continue her work at a later time. I have supplied the Mages with the sickness, but I am severely lacking in Vessels.” His words hung in the air as we all waited with bated breath for the axe to fall.
“You will supply me these Vessels in whatever capacity I demand. This includes, but is not limited to, your son.”
It was like the room simultaneously exploded in sound while everyone also let out a relieved breath.
As far as requests go, it wasn’t as malicious or diabolical as I originally anticipated.
Unless there’s more . . .
“You can’t do that!”
“I’m the heir, I can’t be Bonded to someone not of station.”
“He needs to be here, in Hestin!”
Voices collided, the men of Hestin shouting over each other at Lord d’Refan. Everyone except my father.
“Silence!” he roared, slamming his fist on the table. Instantly the noise died, and everyone found their seats once more. I never heard Father yell.
“Peytor, you will Bond tomorrow. End of discussion. We will figure out how to continue your education while you’re in Vespera with your new Bonded.” Peytor said nothing as he glared daggers at our father. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly before he responded.
“Understood,” he gritted between his teeth, and Finian’s face turned white.
“Thank you for being so generous, Lord d’Refan,” my father said with a bow. “If that is all, I will dismiss my family so they can rest. Tomorrow is going to be an . . . emotional day for everyone.” Lord d’Refan said nothing in return, just stared unblinkingly at my father over his whiskey glass. When he didn’t respond, my father swallowed deeply before continuing. “Lord d’Refan, I have the same rooms prepared for you and your guests as last time. I will have a servant escort you there immediately.”
Father snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared from one of the doors, waiting for further instruction. He rose from his seat and shot a look at everyone at the table, and we quickly followed, offering bows and curtsies coupled with murmured “goodnights” to those present.
Lord d’Refan said nothing as we rose and strode quickly to the door, but I could feel his eyes again.
Something wasn’t sitting right, and I had the distinct feeling that this was not the last of his demands. Not by far.