Caelum knew that, too.
He had spent every day of his life with the Lord of the Black Tower, day in and day out as his father’s pet project. The nuances of his father’s threats no longer escaped him. They had developed their own language between them, he and Malefic, where every vague reference, every menacing note, every lilt of syllable and deadened stare held a very precise and mutually understood meaning.
If he approached anyone in the wrong way… anyone… his father would take it out on that person, well before he took it out on Caelum himself. If he told someone something he shouldn’t, his father would summarily remove the threat to himself, and to his “work,” even if the listener didn’t understand what they’d heard.
Whoever was stupid enough to fall too closely within Caelum’s orbit would suffer for it, and Caelum couldn’t even warn them. Whoever he was stupid enough to let near him, risked they wouldn’t survive that contact, no matter how accidental, nor how innocent.
“Remember the firefoxes, Caelum,” his father breathed, as if the message hadn’t already struck home. “Remember our first lesson on this, on the dangers of developing fondnesses for inferior, filthy, distractingthings.”
Caelum’s jaw tightened.
His own voice came out cold, dismissive.
“Of course, father.” He made his words as lazy and irritated and indifferent as the older mage’s. “And I am not ‘bored.’ I simply don’t understand why you’d think I would evenneedthis particular lecture. I couldn’t give two fucks about making friends. I know full well that’s not why I’m here. I know my role. I’m not likely to forget it.”
His father met his gaze.
After a slight frown, he nodded, once, showing a faint approval.
His voice grew even lower.
“Control your magic,” he warned, soft as a breath. “One fucking instance, Caelum––”
“I’m not a fool, father,” Caelum drawled.
His father’s silver eyes blazed briefly.
He seemed to reconsider then, and let the insolence slide.
“You’d better not be.” Malefic’s voice grew colder still. “Believe me, that will get back to me, too. You will never darken the doors of any school again.Anyschool, Caelum. Anywhere. Not only Briarwood. You will not leave the the Black Tower. Not as a child, not as a man. Not until you can be proven trustworthy on every level.”
Caelum swallowed.
He fought to hide it, but he guessed his father saw that, too.
That particular threat hit its mark.
The thought of being locked away in his father’s castle, year after year, with no one but Rolf and his father and sporadic glimpses of visitors and guests, the occasional quick hug and ruffle of hair from his mother when she could get away with it, a snuck meal from a gremlin or one of the drakai––
“I know better,” he said only, his voice subdued.
“Let’s hope,” his father clipped.
Before Caelum could think of a response, or at least a way to get his father to back off, a booming, craggy voice made the elder Bones stiffen.
“Malefic!”
Caelum’s father released his neck at once.
He straightened and turned with a superior yet marginally-friendly smile aimed towards the older, gray-haired mage who’d called out to him.
Caelum fought the urge to reach back, to rub his bruising neck, to feel the imprints left behind by his father’s fingers. He knew better than to do that, too.
His father was already speaking to the older mage, a male with violet eyes and a craggy yet strangely handsome face who looked vaguely familiar to Caelum from his glimpses of visitors through the Black Tower’s spelled, one-way windows.
“This is him?” the strange mage’s voice asked. “The mysterious Bones heir?”
Caelum looked up.
