Sage admired the way Christian stood up for Willow and protected her.
“She got what she deserved for giving me the wrong book,” Simon snarled.
Christian grabbed his tunic.
“Enough.” The voice echoed through the main room.
Simon pushed Christian’s hands away and walked across the room to the elderly man who had entered. The assembled guards moved aside as the old man hobbled in, his steps small and careful. His weathered face was framed by thinning white hair, and his sharp blue eyes focused on Christian and Simon.
Simon offered his arm for support, but the man shoved it away.
Christian’s eyes rounded at the sight of the man. His jaw clenched, and he forced out a single word, “Father,” which hung heavily in the air around them.
Sage and Willow locked surprised gazes.
“I was quite disappointed with you, Christian,” his father said. “You gave me the wrong book.”
Christian scowled. “The book?”
“The one you presented Simon with,” his father clarified impatiently.
Sage remembered that Willow had given Christian’s brother a book of prayers she had crafted instead of the book he was after. Upon meeting Simon, Sage knew how easy it must have been for Willow to deceive him.
“You really thought I would hand him the genuine book?” Christian asked, glaring at Simon.
“Ididn’t,” his father spat. “He’s a fool.”
Simon looked at the men around him uncomfortably.
“But I’m not,” his father continued. “Give me the real book.”
Christian’s gaze shifted from his brother to his father, his eyes blazing with anger.
The air felt charged with static, and Sage stiffened, her body instinctively bracing for what was to come.
His father expelled a breath. He signaled his men with a wave of his hand. “Search her.”
The air was thick with angry shouts and sudden movement. Christian put his arm protectively before Willow as he reached for his blade. Willow stepped backward. At the same time, Landyn, Raven, Sage, and Marcus all drew their weapons. The metallic sound of swords being unsheathed filled the air like a chorus of hissing snakes.
“Wait!” Willow shouted. “Stop!” She shoved her hand down the front of her armor and withdrew a small red book. “Here.” She held it out to Christian’s father, who stood stoically, weaponless before Christian’s drawn sword.
“No,” Christian said through clenched teeth.
She placed a calming hand on Christian’s arm. “It’s not worth it,” she said softly.
“He gets nothing,” Christian ordered, glowering at his father.
Willow moved up to Christian’s side. “Christian,” she said gently. “Let him have it. It means nothing to me now.”
“Brother Nicolas gave it to you.”
She grinned sadly. “It’s well.”
After a moment, Christian grimaced and lowered his sword with a mumbled curse.
Willow handed his father the book.
His father’s mouth curved into a triumphant smile as he grabbed the red book and eagerly flipped through the pages. His brow constricted, and his eyes narrowed with fury as he scanned the maps. He slammed the book shut, strands of white hair dancing around him. “This is not the book.”
