How the hells was she so strong?
How had she hidden that power without it tearing out her insides?
Cason knew it would have killed him. Keeping lightning from sparking was challenging enough, but his fire? He’d been itching after just a day of not using it in the desert.
He swallowed and resumed his counting, this time focusing on the cobblestone path through the garden. The red stones, the blue, thepurple. He snarled and stopped counting.
None of it mattered. She was out of his life, and the sooner he let her go permanently, the better.
That was why he was here, standing outside Lord Remont’s home, choosing one poison over another. Forced towait, which was just another cruel game. He knew damn well the movements in the house were deliberately slow. Testing his already failing patience because he knewCasonwas the one who needed something from him.
Whatdidhe need, though? What was he going to find here except more pain?
Cason was still not prepared when the door opened. Broad shoulders filled the doorway, the crimson and gold embellishments on his uniform nearly blinding in the sunlight. Tanned skin barely looked weathered to reveal his age, but the hair was more telling. Gray peppered the light brown color, cropped shorter than Cason’s blonde. Yet all the features were the same as they’d always been.
He motioned for the soldier at the gate to unlock the doors.
Barely on steady feet, Cason strode across the path of fifty-four stepping stones and stared up at the man and his sharp blue eyes.
“Cason,” the deep voice rumbled.
Cason dipped his chin slightly. “Hello, father.”
52
Unorganized Disaster
Thierry Valkip’s office in Rooke was a simplified replica of the one in Ciethy, minus the trophies and extensive maps detailing Anfroy’s military operations. The desk was identical cherry wood with three drawers and a circular stain where the man always set his coffee. The rug was round, always round, with the same dizzying patterns of gold and crimson swirls interlaced in a large, hideous spiral. Even the bookshelves were a near perfect match to the library the man kept in Anfroy. Organized in a pattern that made perfect sense to Thierry’s mind.
In other words, a careless, unorganized disaster, just like the rest of this place.
Cason remembered the obsession his mother had with tidying his father’s office. She claimed that before they were married, she couldn’t take two steps into the man’s quarters without stepping on some loose item of clothing or discarded book. Thierry had sighed, brushing a strand of her golden hair off her cheek.
“You told me that all great generals took pride in their space, and that if their office was a mess, so too were their strategies,” he’d said, kissing her cheek with a smile. “I think my clean room lasted all of two days before I gave up. My mind thrives in disorganization. Sifting through the mess is how the best ideas are formed and new patterns are discovered.”
Disorganization was also how he missed the obvious warnings and patterns that the Veil Worshippers were using in Valisea before he’d stationed Dimia outside of Oyria.
That smile hadn’t brightened Thierry’s face since Dimia died, and it sure as hells wasn’t present now. Besides leading Cason to the office, the man hadn’t acknowledged him since. He’d just returned to his desk and whatever he was reading while leaving Cason to explore the room.
Cason bit back his grimace at the layer of dust on the shelves and the glimmer of it in the air, as if this place hadn’t been cleaned… ever. There was even a horrifying odor coming from the long couch and oversized armchairs. Liquor and something else that Cason refused to identify for fear of making himself sick. Clearly no sun-blessed perception magic wielders had been in here to tell the general how disgusting it was.
Other than inheriting his father’s magic and stoic personality, Cason had never had much in common with the man. He’d always taken after his mother. The obsessive cleanliness, counting, and even her manners. The only differences were her sparkling personality and ability to not be bothered by others who feared her strong fire magic.
No one cared about a king with such powerful, destructive magic. They saw it as a signal of strength against the other kingdoms. But that magic in a highly decorated soldier who hadn’t passed the Elite training, had married a Severinian, and produced ataintedson who struggled with control? That was a recipe for hate.
Sometimes Cason didn’t understand how she wasn’t affected by their glares.
She and Brela would have gotten along. They probably would have delighted in some of the pranks Brela played on anyone who looked at them with disgust.
Except that his mother would have wrapped Brela in flames the second she discovered her shadow-cursed magic. It’s whatheshould have done.
But Brela had saved him.
She had saved him so many times, and it still didn’t make sense why.
Cason groaned as he lifted his arm to push a book back onto the shelf. His whole body hurt, and he focused on the pain. He embraced it. Physical pain was a better distraction to his emotional turmoil.
His father cleared his throat. “I’m surprised the Prince didn’t come with you. I heard you were both in Rooke. Where is he?”
