Tension leaked from the room, though the air was still thick with hostility that kept David on guard. Before he could decide whetherhe wanted to be agreeable or put up a fight, a warm—no, hot—hand slipped into his own, driving happiness straight to the core of him. Shock froze him as the redhead dominated his field of vision, grinning wide. “I’m Autumn,” she said. “And you’re sitting next to me.”
David pried his hand from hers. The strange joy faded. What the hell?—
The seven of them scattered around a large wooden table piled high with food, and Kywyn—after introducing himself as Sean’sfather, of all people—proceeded to tell David a bizarre story. Something about creatures called Indies and a dying realm that was supposed to be immortal.
When it was done, David blinked at Kywyn, unimpressed. “So these immortals. Luxorians? Whatever. The full-blooded ones. Why don’t they fight these Indies?”
“Most Luxorians don’t look human. They wouldn’t blend in. Welavaniéhave human looks and immortal strengths. We serve as the realm’s stewards in Viterra. It’s our birthright.”
David pressed his lips together, unclear why no one else saw the problem. “Our birthright is that we fight in honor of beings who look too weird to do it themselves?”
Autumn burst into laughter. “He has a fair point.”
“He sounds like Galadaine,” said the girl who hated him. Isobel, he’d learned. Isobel the hater.
“Who?” David asked, though the name sparked in his head, an instant familiarity.
Isobel smirked. “Why don’t you tell him the rest of the story, Kywyn?”
He winced. “Bel, I don’t think?—”
Her eyes cut his way. “Tell him, Ky. He wants to know. Who’s Galadaine?”
Others shifted at the table. Sean had his jaw tight, arms crossed, gaze trained on a basket of bread.
Kywyn sighed. “I’d really prefer to have your mother here for this conversation.”
Taken aback, David glanced at Bree. Wait, no. Blaire. “My mother?”
Beside him, Blaire’s expression turned contrite. “Xandra is not your birth mother, David.”
Given the number of life-altering bombs dropped that morning, David shouldn’t have been surprised, but his heart didn’t quite understand, and it kicked up to a strange, painful rhythm.
Alex Berkeley was not his mother. Maybe it should have been a relief to know that the woman who’d never loved him hadn’t actually birthed him, but instead, existential dread swallowed him whole.
He froze it all, hiding behind the practiced apathy. “Then who is?”
“Your mother is of noble birth. She is the descendent of one of the Sovereigns I mentioned before,” Kywyn said. “She traveled to sylph lands some time ago, but a messenger will be sent to retrieve her.”
Tingles spread along David’s spine. “She’s—a Sovereign?”
“For now,” he said, voice gentle. “But you’re of age. Tradition states heirs be crowned on their twentieth year. Now that you’re home, you will be coronated. We…we thought you were dead, David.”
David’s voice came out raspy, and he hated that show of weakness more than he hated this story. “Fantastic. So, now that I’ve risen from the dead, I have to wear a crown?”
Kywyn swallowed and said nothing.
“If I’m an heir to the supposed throne of this place, then why wasn’t I raised here?”
Loaded glances exchanged between Kywyn and Bree-Blaire, but Kywyn was the one to speak. “Your mother believed it too dangerous to raise you here. She sent you away under the care of her friend, Xandra, but we’ve received no news of your welfare in almost two decades. The Council forbade her to leave and check on you.”
A bitter taste saturated David’s tongue. He’d beenabandonedtohis psychopath father by an absent mother. What could have been more dangerous in this place than the life he was subjected to there?
A hot hand touched his once more, and David pulled away from the happiness it spread, shooting a warning look at Autumn. Why was her skin like ecstatic fire? Disarming, that joy was. Annoyingly so.
“You’ve learned the purpose of the Exorcism and how it started,” she said. “Would you like to hear the story of why it failed?”
Something tugged at David’s thoughts, some forgotten memory, the details elusive and impalpable but painful nonetheless. “I probably don’t want to hear it,” he said, “but sure. Torture me with it anyway.”
