Chapter 35
Topp Blatz had found himself in some strange and unfortunate places in his life. Much like today, it was usually completely and entirely his own fault. He was made for direct confrontation, not hiding in cabinets half his size. Yet here he was, feigning he had any skill at this sort of thing.
The blinding pain in his knee felt like it might be an indicator that he definitely did not possess any skill for subterfuge. To be fair, it had only been a few days since catapulting out of Elysia’s window, and his body still hadn’t entirely forgiven him for that little stunt. Shifting his already contorted frame, he tried to pretend the ache in his knee was not trying to murder him. One false move and he would be found out, so he bit down on the pain, refusing to so much as breathe wrong.
He’d been waiting in his father’s office when he heard not only the king coming but also Terrin. He would say that Terrin reminded him of a weasel, but he’d rehabilitated a weasel once, and that would be rude to vermin everywhere. Terrin was King Blatz’s favorite sort of advisor. He had no wife or husband or lover of any sort, no kids—he had nothing.
Nothing but ambition and his king.
And by the gods, did Topp hate the miserable man. Anyone with their nose that far up his father’s ass ought to be made a snack for a pig. Or just needed a good punch to face. Either would be fine, so long as he didn’t have to listen to Terrin snivel anymore.
Topp tried to adjust his shoulder against the confines of the cabinet only to find his arm now dead and numb to the point that he couldn’t even tell if it had moved at all. He gave an inaudible sigh. Throwing yourself into a cabinet in order to eavesdrop on someone was downright uncomfortable. He much preferred intimidating people into confessing what he needed to know.
Except his father was the one person his tricks would never work on. Never had, never would. That was the problem with family. Anyone who's seen you butt-ass naked, waving your cloth diaper in the air as you run through the castle halls, is never going to see you quite the same as anyone else, even when you are a grown man.
His arm throbbed painfully as it decided to come back to life. He didn’t know how Elysia did this sort of thing all the time. She was rather bendy. The thought almost helped him forget the shooting pain spreading from his knee to his thigh. Almost.
Hearing his own name tossed out amongst the rubbish they’d been blathering on about, he tilted his head to peer out the small crack between the door and the framing.
Money. Killing off that irritating group of vigilante magic users.
“Was surprised Topp led that charge, Your Grace.”
His father edged his response with the appropriate amount of derision. “You question my son’s loyalty, even now?”
Topp focused on keeping his breathing both silent and steady—hearing them speak of the dead rebels triggered him to retreat into himself, but that wasn’t an option at the moment. He needed to listen even if he’d rather disappear than hear about his failures. Years of hiding and studying other culture’s magic as he traveled—and what had he accomplished? Nothing.
All he had to his name was a long list of people who never made it home.
The pressure on the corners of his mind increased, demanding he block it all out like he normally did. How else was he supposed to survive? No one could be responsible for such atrocities and actually function like a normal human. He’d recognized the shift in himself over the last decade. He used to laugh and joke more readily than most. Now he found himself ready to swing a fist at the slightest provocation. Hiding it was a full-time job—not to mention the fact that he was just as guilty as any of them.
It was his own fault that Elysia didn’t trust him. The thought of allowing someone in far enough to see how fucked up he really was inside—it was unbearable. And beyond that, he was obsessed. Obsessed with righting these wrongs. With finally figuring out how and why magic had left Kava.
“Do you really think he will be able to continue your good work? He acts as though it’s beneath him rather than the most important work he will ever complete.”
Topp peered through the crack in between the cabinet doors.
The king popped the crystal stopper out of his favorite decanter. While everyone else in Kava drank cheap gin, he kept a steady supply of imported whiskey for himself. He held the intricate bottle for a moment before pouring out two tumblers and handing one off to his advisor.
His father’s eyes sat heavy on his advisor, clearly not appreciating the open critique of his heir. “Topp may push to see how far he can wander, but at the end of the day, beyond whatever fanciful notions he may hold, he knows exactly what I am willing to do to maintain what we have created in Kava.”
The king took a small, burning sip of whiskey and stared straight through to where Topp hid behind thin wooden doors. “Rooting out magic, killing it at the source. I have foot soldiers for such brutality. I don’t need my heir out there, hands bloody. I need him right here.” The king made a fist, squeezing his hand tight. “My son knows what his end will be if he can’t fulfill what is demanded of a Blatz.”
The king set his whiskey down, now staring blatantly at the cabinet. Terrin glanced over his shoulder nervously before his eyes darted back to his king.
“No one knows this story, Terrin, but I think it's time I tell someone.”
The king took a seat behind his desk while Terrin stood there sweating, looking torn between the intelligent response of anxiety and the fact that the king sharing his secrets was all the man had ever dreamed of for years.
“I made a promise after my wife died—that no one would ever die from the inhuman curse of magic ever again.” The king’s voice shifted from the benevolent caring ruler to one of iron and blood. “I did what was necessary to free our people from the affliction of magic and false gods, and it is my most sacred duty to maintain this freedom.”
Taking a small drink, he continued. “My father was a hard man, an angry man. He had an affinity for air magic, and he liked to use that magic against my mother. Inevitably, there came a day where he went too far.” The king’s jaw worked and he crossed his arms. “Without my mother around, I became his target. As you can imagine, I am intimately familiar with the dangers of magic, but it wasn’t until it killed my wife that I did something about it.”
Terrin stuttered. “I thought, I thought that was a riding accident, Your Grace.”
The king nodded, looking out the window into the gray before switching on the lights behind him. Warm-toned bulbs fixed to the wall behind his desk like modern sconces came to life, reviving the office from Relaclave’s natural gloom.
“We’d argued that day. She thought I was losing perspective regarding magic. Went for a ride to clear her head, and some fool’s fire magic spooked the horse.”
Inside the cabinet, Topp froze, hanging onto every word. He knew he’d been caught, but there was nothing he could do except listen. His father was finally revealing what he had been afraid of all along. The monster was not outside of him. It had raised him and ran through his blood.
His eyes latched onto Terrin. The advisor was going to wish he had never entered this room. If there was one thing dating Elysia Parker had taught Topp, it was that all secrets came at a price—some much steeper than others.
The story wasn’t finished though.
“My daughter knew how her mother died, and yet even after all I did to secure a safe, magicless future for our people, she carried on flaunting her curse like she was above the law of this land. She could have ruined everything. I had to stop her—for the good of the Crown. Topp has never caused such problems. He burns with questions, but he’s obedient. He knows his place is supporting the Crown.” The king’s gaze drilled into the cabinet. “Or maybe he just knows that if he wants the Parker girl to stay alive, then he’ll do as he’s damn well told. Besides, there’s nothing he could do to bring magic back, anyway. I saw to that.”
Topp’s chest heaved. His father was right—he had burned. Burned for years as he questioned the deaths of his mother, his sister, and how magic left this land. Burned as he questioned if it was he who was insane or everyone else who saw a saint and hero when they looked at his father. Burned as he tried again and again to find answers to questions that no one but his own flesh and blood could resolve.
He wanted to bellow so loudly it would shake the castle’s very foundation. Wanted to free the magic that pushed against his skin, hot and electric.
The air within the cabinet began to tremble and even shimmer as light danced along its current. He tried to disconnect from it all. The pain, the anger. The part of him that screamed for vengeance against his own blood. But it was no use. His magic knew two very simple things. His father had killed his sister. And Kava’s king needed to die.
The cabinet exploded as Topp’s magic surged out, searching for its target. Bits and shards of wood flew everywhere with dust falling in a cloud. But Topp was right behind his magic. Launching himself across the room without a thought other than the target that filled his sight.
And then everything stopped.
It was as if his magic had been ripped from the room. Like his power had been cut off at the knees. All the oxygen had disappeared, and he had no fire to burn.
He fell helpless to the floor, his body making the softest of thuds against his father’s richly woven rug.
Sweat ran along Topp’s brow, his body contorting into an unnatural shape. Head lolling, he stared brazenly into his father’s eyes and found them cold. His words were choked. “What… What are you doing?”
His father’s fist was closed and his voice strangely even. “I am doing exactly as I said. I am keeping you. Right. Here.”
He squeezed his fist and Topp felt the last of his magic deflate as if it never existed. Even though he’d only lived with its remnants, his body felt stripped to its bones and powerless. All his muscles flexed and tensed, fighting against this invasion. Whatever his father was doing was unnatural, and his body was unlikely to remain conscious much longer if he didn’t stop. Heartbeat erratic and vision faltering, his breath turned shallow.
He laughed openly, coming out from behind his desk. “Did you really think I didn’t know? That I’d spend my whole life hunting your kind and wouldn’t see it in my own son? You’ve hidden it well enough all these years and that’s what you will continue to do.”
He crouched down on the rug, knees coming close to Topp’s face. “I’ve no desire to sire a new heir. Your mother was it for me, and her son will take my throne.”
Topp’s nostrils flared. Words wouldn’t come, but he knew his father could see exactly what he thought of this.
The king smiled. He stood, looking down at his son. “You’ll come around. Even if not for yourself, then for Elysia’s sake. All it takes is one accusation, one whisper of magic, and a person’s life is mine to turn to dust. You wouldn’t want that, now would you? You may have grown harder over these last years, but somehow I doubt you have the balls to let her die.”
Even if Topp had the voice to speak, he wouldn’t have been able to—his father, executioner of the masses, didn’t think he was capable of allowing someone he loved to die. But he had become someone who did such things. And he had no idea where that left him.
“You will continue as before, but with shall we say, renewed fervor? And you will ensure Elysia is at the Raven Ball. Both of your behavior has been unfortunate as of late, but I’m sure you’ll see to it that she gets in line.” He paused. “Or don’t. But you know what happens then, don’t you?”
His father turned to Terrin. He spoke regretfully. “I am sorry about this.”
He closed his opposite fist now, his power striking out and stealing the only magic this man had: his life. A gray pallor overcame the king’s loyal advisor. Knees giving out, he toppled down, his face an inch from Topp’s own, his glassy eyes no longer seeing anything at all.
The king walked casually from the room, whiskey glass dangling between his fingers. “Clean up the mess, will you?”
His father’s magic released him, and Topp fell onto his back, chest quaking and magic darting feverishly back through him like all the candles in a room coming alight.
Physically he would be fine, his body would slowly return to its natural stasis. But what his father revealed had caused a permanent fracture that would likely never heal. It was one thing to question and long for answers. It was another to have your roots ripped out from beneath you, leaving you with only ashes and death to sustain you. No matter his suspicions, it turned out the final moment of truth was still painful.
The image of his sister filled his mind. Gray eyes that matched his father’s, a thick smattering of freckles softening her delicate face. He so rarely allowed himself to think of her—she may have motivated his search, but think of her, he did not. Because to see her face was excruciating. He’d even had all of her paintings removed from the castle. But right now, she was all he could see. Her wood-brown hair and gray eyes stared into his soul, and he knew what she would have wanted.
Revenge .
It had always been about answers. Where did the magic go? How did his family actually die? What would it take to restore his home?
Tomorrow he might care about Kava again. But tonight, he was a brother and a son, and he wanted nothing more than to make the man he called father feel his pain.
The inner turmoil he’d long felt about his father had been put to rest today. In its place was the newly ignited need to shear the life of Garrison Blatz from fate’s tapestry.
He had no idea what his father had done to secure a future in which magic didn’t exist in Kava. All he needed to know was that his sister was gone, and it was because of him. Topp sat up, rubbing his hands roughly against his face.
He knew what fear and hate could do, and he saw it in his father now. Somehow, his father’s past had driven him mad. Because it was madness to wipe a land of its natural magic. It was madness to cut down your own daughter. And it was madness to wield the magic of the gods while cursing their name.
Over the years, he’d seen behind his father’s mask often enough to wonder if Garrison Blatz was really a hero after all. But he’d still felt guilt over his questions about his sister’s death. Because what kind of father could possibly kill his own daughter? His suspicions left him feeling like a terrible, ungrateful son. On the days his father looked at him with happiness and pride in his eyes, the guilt was almost incapacitating. He would look around his kingdom—at all the people who parroted Garrison’s words and cheered for the man who saved them from the destruction of the Fall, and convince himself once more that he must be the one who was wrong.
Garrison Blatz was a good man who spoke the truth. Magic was a curse, and the undead gods did not hear nor care.
But if magic was a curse, then Topp Blatz was the ultimate sin. He couldn’t have stopped the magic in himself if he’d wanted to—throughout his life he’d lurched between feeling dirty and ashamed back to angry and searching over and over and over.
In his guilt, he’d stop all his efforts for a few weeks, but then the anger and questions would return, and his big sister would whisper in his ear, show up on the pages of a book, or in the love of the animals he cared for, and then he’d be back in the thick of it, trying to find answers.
And now, at long last, he knew the truth.
His father may wear many faces: benevolent king, loving father, wise counselor, but beneath them there was only one truth, one face, and it was one of decay. Only a soul who had already lost itself could kill their own daughter. Could rip the very essence out of an entire people and send countless faces to the gallows.
Topp stood, feeling calm in his resolution. He took hold of the dead weight that was his father’s advisor. Throwing the man over his shoulder, he exited his father’s office.
There would be no pleasing his father. There would be no falling in line. Revenge was the only sustenance for his spirit now.
He would solve the riddle of Kava’s decay, and he would rid his kingdom of the plague that was his father.
Topp set off at a brisk pace through the castle halls with his father’s fresh kill swinging behind him like yesterday’s rabbit. He hummed an old song that his sister had always sung.
Death be a fog, but death also be a newfound sight, and Topp felt like he had never seen more clearly in his life.