“What are you doing here, Cosmo?” Father asks.
“I have questions, Father,” I say, thinking quickly. “Last night, before all the madness. What was all that with François? He can transmogrify objects? Why don’t I have that skill? After all, I’ve been given dark energy too.”
He shifts and frowns. “The boy’s talent came out suddenly after his ascension. He has an innate power. Janine Hart thinks it was because his conduit was unusual. The child was a simpleton, so calm throughout the proceedings. That helped, apparently.”
I narrow my eyes.
Father reads my expression as frustration. “I agree. That the son of Thomas Crankshawe has a fully innate power before myself is almost intolerable. But the Harts have a plan. We must both be patient.”
“What plan?”
“The details don’t matter to you,” he says. “Tell me what abilities youhavemanifested since your ascension.”
Uh, what the fuck do I say? “I’m sure they pale in comparison compared to yours, Father.”
Tyrus flicks his fingers, a small jet of gray flames emerges from the tips. I immediately recognize it as dragon fire. Makes sense. Can I do that?
“This, and I’m physically much stronger than before,” he says. “But it is not enough. Now you.”
“The same, Father, though my flames are not as impressive.” I focus on my dragon for a moment, then also flick flames from my fingers. They are as golden as my scales.
His mouth hardens into a line. “When the next cycle happens, I will assure that you and I receive the first and most potent dosing.”
“Cycle? I don’t understand.”
“Several years ago, the Conclave discovered a void that vents dark energy every few weeks. For years our scientists have been working to harness it. We have success now, yes, but I want more. So much more.”
The library door opens, and Father and I both turn to look at the newcomers.
Alistair Singleton-Smith and Thomas Crankshawe enter.
"You look a little rough around the edges, Cosmo," Singleton-Smith sneers, eyes running over my face.
He’s not wrong. I haven’t managed a moment of sleep since Friday night and it’s now Sunday lunch time.
I shrug. “Long night.”
Thomas Crankshawe lets out a derisive snort. “And it will be another big night, tonight, young man,” he says. “Think you can hang with the big boys?”
My eyes flit to my parent. He watches me impassively.
Thomas Crankshawe has always been a condescending asswipe, but now I’m Conclave, I’m pretty sure I don’t have to take it. I’m a Drakeward, after all.
Squaring my shoulders, I settle into character. “It seems to me that the ‘big boys’ are the ones who take responsibility during a crisis.” I flick my eyes to Alistair Singleton-Smith. “While I was escorting my fiancée and future mother-in-law to safety, I saw you scuttle for the exit while the women were still screaming, Thomas. Not exactly Conclave behavior.”
Thomas Crankshawe turns a stroke-giving shade of purple. “Ridiculous! I was…was searching for your daughter, Tyrus. How is little Aurora today?”
“She will be well enough, though her attitude is not pleasing to me,” Father replies, looking pissed.
Oh, Rory. What did you do now?
“She does seem like an extremely hard filly to break.” Crankshawe strokes his moustache. “Though it does not dissuade me from moving forward with our…merger.
Merger. I feel sick to my stomach.
“Are we really gathered to talk about our children?” Singleton-Smith sighs, annoyed.
Father narrows his eyes. “Of course not. And I believe our guests have arrived.”
