CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Silas was trapped.
He was glued to his seat, unable to follow through on the urge to bolt out of the room. Every instinct in him was screaming to leave, to get out while he still had the chance, but it was too late.
His parents were already fighting.
They were projected across from him, the dual chairs from their office in New York making it look as though they were sitting on a pair of thrones. Silas always felt small talking to them, even though he was taller than both of them.
“She’ll likely be able to fix the wards,” his father said. His voice was, as always, measured and calm. “We’ll need to pursue a different avenue.”
“We shouldn’t have given her a week to fix them.” His mother’s tone, by contrast, was fiery. During coven meetings, Vikrant handled all procedural elements, and then Nina would step in to give the rousing speeches that had everyone standing to applaud. Listening to his mother speak, it was hard not to get sucked in, not to give up everything he wanted in service of making her happy. But this was different—an edge to her voice that screamed danger.
“That’s policy,” Vikrant said smoothly. “We need to go by the book with this.”
As usual, the conversation was mostly between his parents, with Silas ping-ponging between the two of them like he was watching a tennis match. He had been asked to interject a whopping three times as they discussed the “Sylvia situation,” a statement his mom had uttered with enough disdain to send shivers down Silas’ spine.
“We went by the book with her thirty years ago and look where that got us,” Nina snapped. “Fuck the book.”
Silas flinched. He rarely heard his mother curse, and it sounded wrong coming out of her mouth. She was usually as gung ho about rules as his father was, but there was a difference in the way she spoke about Sylvia, those jagged edges slashing at everything around her.
He wondered what would happen if his parents really did decide to fuck the book. The spells they had access to made what they gave the covens look like child’s play. If they wanted to, they could crush Sylvia like a bug without even having to get out of their seats. But they tied themselves to rules they made, reining in their power in service of the law—laws Silas was wondering if his mother was starting to regret.
“Nina,” Vikrant chided. They turned toward each other, whispering in hushed, angry tones while Silas fiddled with the pleats on his suit pants. After a few moments, Vikrant placed a soft hand on Nina’s arm, leaning in and whispering something in her ear that immediately dissolved her angry expression into a smile. And then they separated and turned their attention back to their son, who was waiting at their beck and call, as always.
Silas tried to call up some of the conviction he’d had in Sylvia’s office to tell his parents that he didn’t want this. He wanted to go back to teaching his class, to finding other ways to contribute to the family’s legacy. But there was never any space for what Silas wanted, not when the room was so full of what Noctis needed.
“We’ll have Research write up a list of further code violations that you can search for,” Vikrant said. “Do so without warning or announcement. We don’t want to give Sylvia any longer to fix them than is contractually obligated.”
“Understood.” Silas’ voice broke slightly, dry from the time sitting here and not speaking.
“And you should try to push her buttons personally, too,” Nina added. “She’s a prideful person. You can use that.”
“I will.”
“Your room okay?” his father asked.
Silas nodded. He didn’t know what could be not okay about the room—it was the penthouse suite of a high-end hotel. His parents always booked him first-class flights, nice cars, expensive restaurants. It was their way of taking care of him, and he appreciated it. But he wished that care could extend to asking about the things that actually mattered to him.
“Yeah, it’s great. Thank you.”
“Make sure you’re eating well,” Nina said. “Red Bull is not a balanced breakfast.”
Silas grinned. “Says who?”
Nina smiled back, showcasing the dimple that matched his own. “Don’t make me get a doctor on the phone again.”
“Fine, fine. I will eat.”
“Good,” his father said. “You need to keep your strength up. Your job is really important, Silas.”
Silas knew that. He knew, more than anything, how important he was to Noctis. He’d been told that again and again, every day of his life—heir to the dynasty, the honor of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knew that he mattered to the coven. The question that haunted him was how much he mattered outside of it.
“I know.”
They said their goodbyes and then hung up. Silas slipped in his AirPods and FaceTimed Anika, not bothering with a spell.
“You have two minutes until I finish my salad,” she said by way of greeting. She held up the salad container.
