My brother is so often calm and collected. Unless it comes to defending our parents. My mom always says those are the moments she can see the avenging alter in him. Dessin always showed his anger and ill-intent through cool, cutting words and an indifferent expression.
“War is war. There are no shortcuts.” Niklaus sounds like he’s on the verge of smiling. Krimson can hear it too.
“You’re right. Far be it for the Demechnef family to have enough balls to fight a war themselves. Let the Valdawell family continue to do the heavy lifting,” Krimson replies with a cruel smirk.
A chair screeches behind us. Niklaus is on his feet, but neither of us turn to look.
“Conveniently leaving out moments of history for debate, I see. Or have you forgotten that Aurick Demechnef died in that war.”
A thought sparks behind Krimson’s punishing gaze. “Someone had to pay for the sins of the Demechnef dynasty, didn’t they?”
Oof. Cold, Krim.Fucking cold.
Hey, I’m just happy I’m not the one doing the fighting this time.
Niklaus remains standing, somehow keeping his composure. Keeping his loud, violent silence.
“I suppose you’re right. Considering he and Vlademur Demechnef are the reason we even had great, supernatural warriors to win this war, why shouldn’t he be punished for such a heroic war plan?” Sarcasm. Heavy, condescending sarcasm. “Because once again, without Mind Phantoms, there wouldn’t have been a great war to begin with. There would have been genocide of our country. But go on, Krimson. Continue telling me how the good of two outweighs the good of the many.”
An icy fire roars under my brother’s flesh. But he keeps it contained. He always does.
“You know, your own father was a victim of Mind Phantoms. So was your grandfather,” Krimson breathes. The killing blow.
I turn around to see Niklaus’s face, because right now…my interest is peaked. His furtive ocean eyes make a single sweep in my direction. It’s quick but lands like a crashing avalanche over my body. The pang from its landing hits my stomach. What I see in his heavy stare isn’t cruelty or coldness. It’s a deeply embedded burden. The same discomfort I’ve seen in Niklaus since he was a little boy.
He covers it well.
Ultimately, he shifts his gaze back to my brother.
And that look morphs back to rigid spite.
“Niles Offborth is not my father. I’m a Demechnef. And he is nothing more than an asylum patient who should have never been released.”
Oh, yeah.
He’s a dead man.
The burst of rage is a flaming drug that turns my muscles into unfeeling iron. I rise from my seat slowly, snatching my textbook before Krimson has a chance to stop me. Without a word, I spin around and launch the heavy book at his face. It makes perfect contact with a loud thump followed by his deep, erupting snarl.
The classroom chuckles, gasps, and whispers.
Before he can retaliate, I make my way for the exit, turn on my heels and give him a glance of uncaring steel. “I hope you die alone, just like your father.”
I wait outside in theglittering snow for my brother to get out of class. The small park is just outside of the Emerald Savant Estate. The central fountain is frozen, the stone walkway is covered in ice. But I don’t move from this black iron bench. Even if it is named after my father.
My toes are numb, and my nose is the color of a cherry, but I refuse to show my face in there after throwing the book.
An angry chuckle ripples through my lungs, and I smirk back at the memory of his red face.I threw a book at him. Ha!
“Can we talk?”
My smile is peeled off my face.
The traitor stands to my left, shivering in her plush, white coat and blush-pink mittens.
“Can I get buried alive first?” I say without blinking.
“Sapphire,” Mabel Rose says critically.
