Jadren shrugged philosophically, gazing into that middle distance as if none of it mattered to him. Maybe it didn’t. “You, yourself, pointed out that we might trudge all the way to House Phel to find it sunk back into the swamps from whence it came, Phel and his minions all dead, remanded to the Convocation, or scattered to the wind.” He flashed her an unpleasant smile. “Could be you’re already the last surviving heir to the uncertain House Phel legacy.”
Though she had considered the possibility that House Phel’s enemies might destroy the house itself, it hadn’t occurred to Selly that everyone could die. It was so… barbaric. “Do you really think they’d kill everyone?”
Apparently unaffected, Jadren shrugged cheerfully. “No, not everyone. Certainly not Nic, as she’s the valuable playing piece here. Not only as the most powerful familiar in the Convocation, but as Lord Elal’s precious first child. He may have publicly disowned her for her reprehensible disobedience, but that’s a standard high-house tactic. Elal has to demonstrate that he doesn’t support his daughter defying the Convocation. That doesn’t change that she’s his flesh and blood, and a young and healthy bearer of valuable magic-baby-making eggs. Any wizard who bonded Nic would have a hold on Elal, which is priceless.”
“But everyone else would be killed,” she persisted.
Grimacing, he tipped his head back and forth, weighing the possibilities, then finished in a sharp nod. “Most likely. It would be Sammael’s safest bet to cover their tracks, especially if they can contrive to make it seem like they were simply defending themselves against a crazed attack. Given that ragtag collection of misfits and outcasts Phel has assembled, that story would be an easy sell.”
“That makes you a misfit, too, you realize,” she pointed out, struggling to control her anger at how easily he spoke of everyone she cared about dying.
“Oh, I realize that, popp—Seliah.” He glanced over, all jaunty carelessness fled, his expression stark. “Believe me, I know exactly what I am. Though outcast is probably more accurate. Assessing the possibility of an outcome as likely does not mean that I like it. Savvy the difference?”
“Don’t you care at all what happens to them?” she demanded instead of answering.
“Yes, I care,” he answered somberly. “If I survive the gangrene that will inevitably set in once I walk my feet into rotten stumps only to find House Phel gone, it will be back to House El-Adrel for me. For the record: I do not like that prospect, however probable it may be.”
“But you’re a wizard,” she pointed out. “Top of the ranking system. That gives you the freedom to go anywhere and be anything.”
His black gaze snapped to hers in patent astonishment before he burst out laughing. He laughed so loudly, a flock of blackbirds exploded from a nearby tree, caroling in alarm. He laughed so long and hard that he clutched his belly, lurching in staggering steps to keep up with her increasingly furious stride. By the time he wound down, he had tears running down his cheeks and he was so out of breath he couldn’t even gasp out the words of whatever he was trying to say as he pointed a finger at her, waggling it.
Finally, utterly fed up, she stopped, planting her feet in the dirt and her fists on her hips. “Fine. I’m ignorant. Is that what you find so fucking funny?”
Face red, Jadren wiped the tears away, then abruptly sobered, giving her a hard and slicingly black look. “You know nothing about me, little familiar. Don’t ever presume to.”
Taken aback by the abrupt change—or was it a change? Now she wondered if the laughter had been an elaborate fake—she felt her face prickle with an embarrassed flush. “I apologize.”
Without acknowledging that, he began walking again, ignoring her as if she’d never existed and he’d always walked alone. Through the numbness of being caught so awkwardly flat-footed, she began to nurture the glimmer of an idea. Perhaps that metaphor explained Jadren more than she realized at first. Jadren was a tightly wound ball of defensiveness, all spines and cutting remarks that ensured he continued to walk alone. Maybe he hadn’t chosen that for himself to begin with, but he certainly chose it now—and she’d do well to remember it.
His stony silence didn’t bother her, but some mischievous urge in her nevertheless prodded her to poke at him. Besides, he’d agreed to teach her and the trek may as well be put to good use. “May I ask a question?” she ventured.
“You just did.” The retort was delivered without inflection or any other acknowledgment of her existence.
“To resume my ad hoc education,” she clarified.
He released an exaggerated sigh of long suffering. “Fine. Can’t be more mind-numbing than looking at endless rows of trees.”
“So, a wizard can bond a familiar without the familiar’s consent.”
“That’s a comment, not a question.”
“I’m checking my understanding first.”
“Such a diligent schoolgirl. Correct. ‘Consent’ isn’t a concept generally applied to familiars. It’s not necessary for a familiar to be enthusiastic about serving their wizard—though it’s arguably easier for the wizard and more pleasant for the familiar if that’s the case—they need only obey.” He slid her a grimly amused glance at last. “The consequences for not playing nicely with wizards is all on the familiar, as you’ve learned. A lesson I doubt needs repeating.”
She couldn’t help shuddering at the thought of sinking into that morass of stagnant madness again. She wouldn’t survive it a second time, she felt sure. “Why haven’t you bonded me then?” she made herself ask.
She might’ve thought he hadn’t heard the question, except his face took on a pinched, pained expression. “What makes you think I’d want to?” he finally asked.
Her turn to tick off points on her fingers, not that she took any petty pleasure in the turnabout. “I’m a powerful, unbonded familiar. You have no familiar. Wizards need familiars in order to be more powerful. You clearly would like to be more powerful. I may be the last surviving heir to the House Phel legacy, which may be uncertain, but is still better than nothing. If you bonded me, you would be my wizard, which means you could take over House Phel.” She waggled her five fingers at him, maybe enjoying the triumph a little bit.
He snorted inelegantly. “More likely you’d come with me to House El-Adrel. Nobody wants to live in a swamp at the ass-end of nowhere.”
“You do,” she pointed out.
“No,” he corrected carefully, sliding her one of those enigmatic looks. “I was instructed to do so. There’s a difference. I had no choice in the matter.”
She chewed that over, really wanting to ask more, certain he’d only slice her to ribbons for her temerity.
