Chapter Twenty-Five. When You Must Obey
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
WHEN YOU MUST OBEY
JAMES
The deal was my idea. My idea. And yet, I’m literally the worst at keeping up with the facade.
Farren needs something and I jump before thinking how that would look.
Crafting metal for a wedding is the most obvious expression of affection there is.
I’m guessing my father crafted my mother’s jewelry for their ceremony.
He should be the one still buying or crafting my mom’s headpieces, shawls, or corsets for every event, but I’ve done it so many times now that I’ve forgotten the more intimate and romantic implication.
Mom, even when she hugs me in thanks, is always focused on how creating them advances my fine-detail skills in crafting.
It’s become just another task to improve myself.
No matter my excuse, this is a huge oversight on my part. A hundred years ago and that statement would have implied a proposal.
As soon as Jeffrey and I are a literal wall of fabrics away from the girls, Jeffrey turns on me with a spark in his eyes. “Ask Farren to be your date to the wedding.”
I knew he suspected my feelings and yet, still I’m startled. “What?”
“I know you like her. Shelly and I are trying to help you.”
“It’s not like that.”
He straightens. “Okay, tell me to my face you don’t like her.”
“I don’t—”
“You’re not that good of a liar, James.” He smiles. “I couldn’t exactly read you at first. But I know one thing.” He points at me. “You, my friend, like—”
I push his finger down. “Okay. Okay. Can you not be so loud about it?”
His grin grows brighter. “Not many people think of me as loud,” he laughs.
True. I’d thought Jeffrey a quiet man, with his laugh the only thing loud about him, but that was at the beginning.
I’ve since learned he’s like a lighthouse, waiting for someone to shine his light on.
I’ve been caught in the beam of attention and with the way he looks happy for me, it might not be a bad thing.
“Farren’s not mean-spirited. The worst thing she’ll say is no. I could even—”
“You can’t tell her,” I interrupt, realizing that’s on the table of possibilities.
“I wouldn’t. Not until you did.”
“Which isn’t going to happen.”
He folds his arms. “Shelly and I are confused on that. Why not?”
“For one, she’s out of my league.”
“James.” He shakes his head like I imagine an older brother might giving advice to his sibling. “Farren is out of everyone’s league.”
“I know, but no one knows that. My parents don’t know that,” I stress.
The realization dawns across his face. “And they would have a problem.”
“So much of a problem that they would look into the Walshes closely. Too closely.”
“Nity,” he says, so softly it’s a whisper.
“The hatchlings,” I add. Nity might be able to fly, escape. Zilar, Electrum, and Oria can’t yet.
He blows out a breath. “Damn. Sorry, kid.”
“You’re also forgetting that I already know Farren’s feelings. She doesn’t like me.” I don’t use the word hate because I believe I’ve been elevated from can’t stand to tolerable. Maybe even, dare I say, a friend.
He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure about—”
Farren suddenly appears, tumbling toward us, still wearing that gorgeous dress. My body goes rigid. What did she hear?
“James,” she calls. Not Murphy. James, said flat and frantic. “Your father is here.”
It’s the last thing I expect. The rush of nerves discussing Farren cools instantly. It almost feels like thinking about my happiness conjured his presence because not a moment later he’s turning the corner, approaching us. Dark suit as always, silver threaded.
While always fashionable, my father in a clothing shop is not only rare, it’s unprecedented. He has a personal shopper and crafter for himself. Like I practically confessed earlier to Farren and the rest, he doesn’t do gifts. I still don’t dare to ask why he’s here.
I don’t expect he’ll ask me either. In fact, I don’t expect much of anything from him.
So, when he looks at me and says, “Mr. Whimbley spotted you in town. Said your cast was off. You didn’t tell me,” I’m not surprised he only focuses on my body and what it can do as his “champion.” My mom’s concealment of this truth is blown to bits in one instance.
I didn’t even try to hide my arm, so used to the cast’s absence.
“Only recently,” I lie.
“That’s good news. There’s a tournament in three days. You’ll compete.”
“I haven’t been training all summer,” I exclaim. Farren, in my peripheral, shakes her head, the slightest sign of disagreement. Jeffrey seems confused but stays silent.
“Important investors and metal buyers will be in attendance. As well as a Revers scout. Therefore, you’ll race.
” My father evaluates me, trying to diagnose if I’m not ready or if I’m lying to him.
I can’t tell which. After all these years, I still can’t predict when he’ll stab me with a cold threat or slice me with a heated smack.
We’re in public so the latter is unlikely.
Yet, I wouldn’t have even spoken back to him a year ago.
I’d nod or say yes, sir. Excuses weren’t to be tolerated.
Another reason he’s being so forceful now.
It doesn’t matter if I haven’t been training, if it’s at all unsafe.
I’ve learned the hard way how little my father thinks of my safety.
“We’d recommend Hort not compete for at least another month,” Farren says, so fearless in the face of my father and she knows, in some small regard, what he’s capable of. I gave her a more complete picture of John Murphy the night I revealed how I broke my arm.
“We?” My father looks at her and I swear he doesn’t even recognize Farren out of the context of the Walsh Sanctuary.
“My father and I.” From what I know, the Walshes have never lied about a medical evaluation before, so my father has no reason to think otherwise. A full smile almost breaks across my face. Farren, you saint for getting Hort out of this. My hidden grin falls at my father’s next words.
“Ride another dragon. Show we can train more than one champion. I don’t need Hort tournament ready until the start of the season. But you’ll be there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In fact, ride Bex. She’s become aggressive to the trainers, won’t eat.
I need to know if she’s still useful to us and you’ve proven you can craft her into obedience if necessary.
” He turns his sights to Farren. “Any problems with that?” He asks just to quiet us.
And we stay silent because neither of us can cite a problem without giving away what happened.
“And if I can’t prove her usefulness?” I ask.
My father’s eyes narrow. “You already know what happens to things I find useless.”
I’m nauseous at the insinuation. But his words aren’t a threat, they’re a promise. And I don’t pretend he’s only discussing Bex. My arm throbs remembering his grip, the force of his crafting encasing me.
“Do you need a spotter?” Farren interjects.
“You can spot,” he answers flatly. Even he has to recognize the girl who saved my life while I followed his instructions to bail out of the sky. God, I wonder how much he hates that she’s a good rider without being trained at the tracks, that she’s the one who saved me.
“Thank you, sir.”
His cold gaze fixes on me. “I’ll see you in two days’ time, then.” He glances Farren’s way before turning to leave. “And you … Try not to be needed.”