“Why do we let them do that to us? It’s always someone else deciding for us, keeping us from being who we really want to be. Your father, that bloodjacket… It’s all the same. I don’t know about you, but I…” he took a breath. “I’mtiredof being kept from my dream like this. It just seems unfair. I don’t think… No, Irefuseto think that it has to be that way. Right now, I just want to be free, and myself.”
Coldfire silence filled the room, and Kraghtol realized he had perhaps spoken just a little too loudly. But he had meant every word he had said.
“And what are you going to do about it? I mean, you can hardly fight all the orderkeepers at once.”
Valir’s voice was cautious yet curious. Kraghtol shrugged and immediately regretted the movement.
“I don’t know. Nothing violent. Believe it or not, I’m tired of all the violence. But I know what I will not do. I amnotgiving up on my dreams, just because one red-coated asshole wants me to. I will find a way. No one can stop me from becoming an alchemist. What about you?”
Valir squirmed.
“I… I find that admirable. I really do. You don’t cease to amaze me, Kragh. Perhaps Mrs. Hawke has an idea that could help you?”
That sentence confused Kraghtol until he remembered! The dinner invitation! To be on time, he would have to hurry. He noticed Valir had dodged his question, but didn’t press on. He was hardly in a position to hand out life advice.
“Right!” He had half put on the cloak again when he stopped.
“Thank you, Valir. I don’t know what you did, but thank you, nevertheless.”
He hesitated but gave in to the impulse.
“Perhaps you would like to come with me. I’m sure Mrs. Hawke won’t mind.”
Chapter 10
Secrets Unveiled
When Mrs. Hawke opened her door, the unexpected company Kraghtol brought did understandably surprise her. After he explained, however, that the noble knew about his true identity and could be trusted, she let the two of them in, although not without hesitation.
Truth be told, Kraghtol wasn’t entirely sure himself why he had brought Valir. It somehow seemed like the right thing to do at that moment, and although he wasn’t entirely sure how this had happened, Valir was the one person in the city who knew most about Kraghtol — only rivaled by Roderic Hawke. Perhaps it just felt good to be able to be himself in front of another person for once.
Mrs. Hawke’s house was much like herself: modest and unremarkable, but not shabby. Solid wooden furniture dominated the clean living room of the stone building, and the carpet beneath his feet had seen decades of use already. This home was nothing compared to the el Greylune mansion, and yet, Kraghtol immediately felt more welcome here, which might also be because of the delicious smell ofa garlic-heavy stew that already stood steaming on the dinner table in the middle of the room. The table was set for three, but a gray-haired man was already putting a fourth bowl on the table, which caused a pang of guilt in Kraghtol for bringing one more person for dinner. He would just have to eat less himself.
“I believe you have not yet met my husband, Torven,” Mrs. Hawke introduced, and Valir immediately nodded courtly, almost automatically. Curiously, the older man didn’t bat an eye, even when Kraghtol removed his coat, and Kraghtol wondered if he had seen a half-orc before. But perhaps his wife had just filled him in.
“Nice to meet you,” Kraghtol said and glanced at the floor, hoping not to drip too much rainwater anymore. Mrs. Hawke, who appeared way more lively here than he had ever experienced her in school, ushered them to the table and was already filling their bowls with stew. It was almost surreal considering what had happened just this morning. And Kraghtol had to address that first.
“I suppose you already know about my encounter with your son this morning?”
It was clear from their faces they didn’t, so Kraghtol immediately continued, forcing his voice to sound as little accusatory as possible.
“He came to my room this morning and brought a letter from Dean Quenning. She expelled me from the guild after consultation with him. I’m sorry, Mrs. Hawke, but I have to ask. Did you tell him?”
While the face of Kraghtol’s former teacher filled with signs of uncharacteristic anger, her husband seemed downright saddened.
“Mr. Krasen! I assure you I have done nothing of the sort. And frankly, I can’t believe why the dean — or Roderic — would do such athing. Their ignorance isinfuriating. I really thought we’d taught him —”
“Marla, it’s alright. Let’s hear the full story before judging, shall we?”
Torven’s voice was quiet and tender, but not weak, and Kraghtol detected a faint echo of long-practiced authority in it. He decided to believe them. It would have been harder if Valir hadn’t pointed out the logistical difficulties of Mrs. Hawke telling her son his secrets.
“Alright. First, my real name is not Krasen but Kragh. And I suppose it doesn’t hurt for you to hear all of it.”
For the second time today, he recapped the events that led to this point. His mind was in turmoil, and it took the entire dinner to put together the incoherent story, jumping wildly between key events he wanted to include while leaving out elements he did not want to share, like Aniriel’s role in getting his healing practice shut down.
“…And apparently, he even found the empty potion bottle I forgot in the clockwork room.”
“It really seems Fist of the Guilds Roderic Hawke knows what he’s doing.”
