Aten
“Fucking forget about it, Ten. Come on.”
“Come on, what? Huh?” I stare Calix down. He might think he’s got the advantage now, but he doesn’t. I’ll fucking make sure of that, despite his strength.
I tip the cup of ale to my lips and gulp down the contents. We’re done for tonight.
“Wait up, Ten. I didn’t mean it,” Calix calls after me, but I’m in a piss poor mood. I have been ever since my Transference. No matter what I do, it always comes back to that night. And I doubt I’ll be over it for a while.
I stood before The Chamber members, all my friends, and all my family, waiting for my father. I’d been waiting for that night for as long as I could remember—everyone in Kirrasia waits for their night. We’ve all witnessed countless others before our own—living at Court meant that it was a common event to attend a Transference Ceremony.
It signified so much.
Coming of age. Coming into your power. Finding your Order and your place in our world.
Yet he sold me out.
So, no. I won’t fucking forget about it.
I rub the leather cuff on my left wrist, something I often do now, still adjusting to the feel of it against my skin. I’d better get used to it soon because it won’t ever come off unless I want to pay the consequences. The leather is soft, flexing with my movements, like a second skin, and wrapped around the centre is the purple-hued stone, bound in more leather and silver, woven between the stone and the cuff, ensuring its safekeeping and its connection to me.
Only every time I rub it—every time I look down at it—it spears me in the heart all over again because it wasn’t meant to be purple.
Another reminder.
The only saving grace is that I no longer have to stay under the same roof as him, so I weave through the rest of the Element district and out, past the Naturals and breathe a fucking sigh of relief.
The shadow of The Tower seems to follow me, even at night, but I ignore the itch on the back of my neck and head back to my apartment in the training residence. It’s probably a little generous to call it an apartment. A room. Lavishly decorated with all the fine things I’d have expected from living within the quarters of The Chamber all my life, a little luxury to comfort us through training, like fine linens will help when we’re drawing blood.
I slam the door and shove my head back against it as I take another deep breath before snapping out of my mood and moving to sit on the bed in the middle of the room.
Bed, wardrobe, desk, chair, and washroom. The extent of my living space—all our living spaces for the duration of our time as a trainee.
It was meant to be easy. It fucking wasn’t.
My father should have transferred his magic to me, solidifying my own and relinquishing his position as head of the Warrior Order. If he had, he’d have been asked to stay and advise as a Custodian of our Order, and with time, I’d take his place.
But he’d been too… selfish. He didn’t want to relinquish anything. Instead, choosing to maintain his position and so wither and fade slowly over time, which is the consequence Aslendrix bestows on anyone who chooses to keep their power. Her own cruel way of ensuring the balance. Nobody should ever have too much power for too long, according to our histories and the explanation we all live by. To my father, this was a better option than seeing me thrive.
Every night since starting my training, I arrive at the same ugly truth. The same ugly position. He was too churlish to grant me what most give freely.
Like Mother gave freely.
Frustration pulses, and I try to quash it, but it’s so fucking hard. It’s eating me from the inside.
The creek of my door snaps my attention forward.
“Knock, knock. You know, arriving home late and choosing to slam doors isn’t very considerate, Ten.”
Crimson.
“I’m not in the mood. How about we leave this for tomorrow? Goodnight.”
“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. I’m much better company than my brother, after all.” She stalks further into the room, uninvited, but then, when had that ever stopped her from going after something she wanted?
“Tomorrow,” I growl, feeling defensive and more than a little pissed. “Zuns!” My mother never liked me using that particular expletive around the house, but there’s no reason to hold my tongue now.
My wrist pulses, and I can feel the blocks coming down around my mind. I can sense my power breathing to life inside of me, along with my annoyance.
