I dread presenting Haven to my father. If he criticizes her, I won’t be able to resist defending her, and I know how he feels about being weak. He will see her as a flaw. A distraction.
In politics, wives are used as tools to perfect one’s image. They aren’t to be cherished or adored. The Supreme Director is much like Orson Warrick, stony-hearted, cunning, and cold, except he holds far more power than Warrick.
I lead Haven towards him, my hand steady on her lower back. My father stands with a few members of the Council. When his abyss-black eyes reach mine, he waves a hand dismissing them, and they scurry like ants.
Even though the Council of the Director was established to ensure that one person didn’t run the country, and that power was distributed evenly, the truth of it is that my father rules them. Every vote turns in his favor. Every legislation is passed by his will alone.
The Council is nothing but a bunch of lazy Gifted who hang onto his words and, in return, are rewarded with wealth and land.
“Endymion,” my father says by way of greeting.
I flinch at my full name. I haven’t heard it in a long time. Not since I changed it at the Civil Center.
“Ender,” I correct.
He ignores me and turns to face Haven.
“Supreme Director,” I say formally. “May I present Haven Warrick?”
His gaze slides to her, hard and unyielding. It is the stare he uses to make people quake in their boots. It usually works, but Haven does not flinch, and I resist the urge to smile down at her.
“So,” he says. His voice is as smooth as a honed blade. “You are Warrick’s daughter.”
Haven inclines her head and presses a fist to her chest.
“Yes, sir.”
“It is a shame that you are not a Gifted, but it was to be expected when Orson coupled with a lowly Common,” he says. “Powers are often passed down through bloodlines. I expected someone stronger to stand by Ender. A woman who could provide him with Gifted offspring worthy of carrying the Vale name. An equal.”
I reach for Haven’s hand and tighten my hold. She stiffened when he insulted her mother, and I know how she reacts under pressure. That quick tongue of hers races before her mind can catch up. My father will not appreciate her smart words as I do.
“She is stronger than she looks,” I say, the edge in my voice unmistakable.
He doesn’t know. He wasn’t there on the training field, watching her spit blood into the dirt and square her shoulders to fight her opponents. He didn’t see the glint in her eyes as she fought men twice her size. Or watch her kill to survive.
She possesses the kind of courage even seasoned soldiers do not bear. She is the strongest person I know, and nobody should dare to tell her otherwise. Not when she stands by my side.
My father’s attention shifts to me. Cold and appraising. He isn’t impressed by my words or by the defiance in my eyes. He will never understand why I just defended her, because to him, emotions are a weakness.
He steps closer. Too close. I resist the urge to move Haven behind me. That would be a mistake. My father would read it as confirmation that I care. He doesn’t understand that I am protecting him from her. Haven is not the weak creature he assumes she is, and I won’t let her temper damn her. He won’t hesitate to lock her up if he thinks she is a bad influence on me. I am his only child. His legacy. His future. And he won’t fail to punish me if he thinks that I’ve lost sight of the prize.
“Standing beside my son is an honor,” he says, staring down at her. His coal-black eyes dare her to defy him. “Remember your place.”
“I’m aware,” Haven says. She surprises me next when she adds. “I know how special he is.”
His gaze drops to our joined hands, and a cold fist settles in my gut.
“Endymion, walk with me,” he says.
I release Haven’s hand with great reluctance. I can feel the guest’s eyes on us as the Supreme Director wraps an arm around my shoulder. It feels fatherly, but I can feel the grip of his fingers, sinking into my flesh like talons. It aches, but I grit my teeth and weather his touch.
“Do you remember when you received your Bind?” he asks calmly.
My eyes flick to his, surprised that he wants to speak about that day. It is a memory I’ve tucked deep in my mind. One that is covered in cobwebs and dust.
“You were always emotional,” he says in a clipped tone. “Weak.”
My mind drifts back to the first time my powers appeared. I had just turned four, and I hadn’t understood them.
