Chapter 34 #2
It was perhaps too much to expect that Kassenor would be pleased by the sudden attentiveness of his sons—especially now that they knew about his illness.
The sitting area in his bedroom was kept comfortably dim, with only a little sunlight filtered through thick brocade curtains.
A tea tray sat on the table between them, silver and quietly steaming, its contents largely untouched.
By the time greetings had been exchanged and the room settled into an uneasy quiet, their father was already shifting restlessly in his seat.
“You’re treating me like I’m on death’s door,” Kassenor muttered, glancing at the envelope Ark still held just out of reach. “Give me that. I have important matters to see to.”
“You’ve only just woken up,” Ark replied, tone even, though he kept his grip firm. “The council documents can wait.”
Kassenor’s gaze sharpened. “I’m not dead yet.”
“No,” came Delphyne’s voice from the wingback chair beside the fireplace, “and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
She rose, crossed the room, and plucked the envelope from Ark’s fingers without a glance. Her footsteps muffled on the rug, she opened the lacquered cabinet drawer and tucked the letter away.
“Even if the Council is desperate,” she said, shutting the drawer with finality, “they can wait another day. Or two.”
“Delphyne—”
“You’re not ready.” Her voice carried that terrifying calm that always preceded something immovable. “I won’t have our sons running about this house as if you’re halfway to the grave. Nor will I let you work yourself back into it.”
His father opened his mouth—to argue, likely—then closed it again. His mother rarely raised her voice; she didn’t need to. Her presence filled the room like a rising tide: impossible to stop.
Kassenor settled back with a quiet huff.
Earlier that day, when Ark had returned from the train station with Oromon, their mother had stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, eyes narrowed against the winter sun. A silver lock of hair had come loose from her chignon. Her mouth had twitched, almost into a smile.
‘You’ve gotten broader,’ she’d said to Oromon, eyeing him like she might challenge him to a spar, if only she could find the time. ‘What have you been feeding yourself?’
Oromon had grinned. ‘Meat. Bread. The heavy lifting also helps.’
That had been it. No rushing down the stairs. No embrace. But the tremble in her fingers as she patted Oromon’s arm hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nor had the way Kassenor’s eyes softened, just for a flicker, when they brought his youngest son to his bedside—though the old demon tried to scowl through it.
Oromon stood blocking the cabinet, feet planted wide, arms folded across his broad chest. “You’re not doing anything today. If those papers were urgent, they’d have sent an envoy, not a courier.”
Kassenor glanced between them—his two sons and the woman who’d matched him blow for blow in council and in life—jaw set, shoulders taut.
And he didn’t argue further.
Ark leaned back in his chair, a perverse humour tickling his chest. This was their rhythm: his father bristling with pride, his mother wielding hers like a sword, and the rest of them orbiting the wreckage they’d shaped into something functional.
And despite everything—the old arguments, the silence, the awkwardness they still couldn’t get over—they were here, together.
He glanced at the empty seat across from him.
Not for the first time since returning, he let himself picture her there—tucked against the armrest, legs drawn up, red curls catching the light like copper threads.
She would have understood the brittle tension, the kind of love that spoke in barbed retorts and sidelong glances.
She would have smiled—amused, unafraid—and maybe even dared to ease it.
Cassia had a way of fitting into spaces not made for her, filling them until they felt warm and lived in. She would have offered his father something spiced and unfamiliar, softened his mother’s arched brow with a confection invented just for her, and gone on talking as if she belonged.
And she would have, quicker than anyone thought possible.
A polite knock interrupted his thoughts.
Orlen stepped in, a silver-edged envelope balanced on one gloved hand.
“A missive for you, my lord,” he said to Ark with a slight bow. “Marked for your eyes alone.”
Ark accepted it without comment. The wax seal—obsidian black, pressed with that blasted magpie crest—tightened his scalp before he even cracked it open.
Arkenoth,
I find myself in legal possession of a certain property you have a vested interest in. Some things are best discussed without intermediaries. I am having a small gathering this afternoon. Come, and we can talk.
Alderrath
Ark crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fire.
“Alderrath,” Oromon muttered, lounging in the corner but no less alert. He hadn’t even needed to see the seal.
His mother observed him from the settee. “From the look on your face, he’s not inviting you to a neighbourly tea.”
His jaw flexed. “It’s about Starlight Orphanage. He’s acquired it. Legally. Which means the children are in his hands now.”
Kassenor studied him from his chair, eyes sharp. “What’s your investment in this?”
Ark met his father’s gaze. “I spent years resenting the weight of our name. I saw the legacy you built and called it a cage. But she—Cassia—carries a weight just as heavy for children who have no name at all. I was too blind to see it, and too selfish to care.”
Delphyne’s voice came low. “And now?”
“I won’t be blind anymore. Alderrath is using Starlight as leverage against Cassia. Against me. I don’t intend to let him get away with it.”
She gave his father a look, and he didn’t miss the slightly arched brow. She turned to him. “Do you know what he wants in return?”
“Yes, but I’ll hear it from him directly. Whatever he’s planning, it is time to beat him in his own game.”
Oromon pushed up from his seat. “You want backup?”
Ark’s mouth quirked. “Thanks. But I need to face this alone.”
Delphyne stood as well, approaching him. “You’ve spent years running from your name, your title, your place at the table. You called it freedom. I called it waste.” She held his gaze. “But now you have something worth fighting for. Stop evading what you are and use it.”
Before, those words would’ve grated. Now, they landed differently.
For years, he had treated the Varil name as a burden—a cage of expectations and obligations he wanted no part of.
He had built Aegis & Ash in secret, solved problems without the family crest, without the council seat, without any of it. He had told himself that was freedom.
Now, with his father’s confession still echoing and Cassia’s faith in him still burning, he saw it clearly: the answer wasn’t choice. It was balance. Both doors open. Both powers flowing. No more halves.
“I will.”
Without another word, he turned for the door. The shadows at his feet deepened, stretching toward the threshold, already knowing where he was going.