Page 3 of Where We Belong

“I’ve almost perfected it now,” I say, reaching for the tantalising pasta in front of me. “The arrowheads require a little refinement but upon completion, I shall be able to imbue them with a flame. They will explode upon impact.”

His thick eyebrows shoot up, gleaming with obvious approval, inflating my sense of pride. With a flick of his wrist, he summons it.

“Why not see if Ms. Eira can help you with your imperfections?” he says, running his fingers over the sharp edges. My face burns as the sting of emasculation pops the bubble of pride I had claimed. I squeeze my eyes together, banishing the unwanted feeling from the corners of my vision. “She’s busy. Also, I can do it myself. I only require more time to work on it. It is a hobby anyhow, nothing too serious.”

With an idle turn of his hand, the weapon drifts through the air, resting beside me again. His cutlery clinks against the plate.

“I have no doubt you can do it, boy. But perhaps you lack a little focus these days.”

I disregard his not-so-subtle segue and ignore the way he peers at me over his rectangular spectacles. My attention is firmly fixed on my plate, though my appetite fades. The King, however, does not relent.

“You are distracted by those wretched creatures, especially the yellow one. With everything still unstable, you cannot be seen yearning for the beasts keeping us here. Reports came in this morning, they took three children from the City, Aiden. Three. In one day. We haven’t seen an escalation like this in—”

“I know.” I stab at my pasta, gritting my teeth when the fork grates the bottom of the plate.

His voice is muffled through a mouthful, but I can just about make out, “Very good.”

“Has there been progress with the hostage?” I immediately regret changing the subject when something like mourning shadows his face. He looks wistfully at the glass dome overhead.

“Eight months, Aiden, eight months, and we still cannot find him. I know this land as I know my own heart, and I do not know where they have taken him.”

I lean into him, placing my hand over his clenched fist, and though his knuckles steady beneath my touch, his smile cannot mask the grief in his eyes. If only our people could see him. Really see him. He is undeserving of the uncertainty he receives.

“He will be found,” I say, attempting to soften my voice, though it seldom works. “He is, above all, a fighter.”

“Do you hate him still?”

I jerk back, the heat now rumbling in my chest making the answer clear. “Well—he—” Fool. I should have kept to the mermaid.

“I cannot pretend to know what has transpired between you both, but your disdain has been clear over the years,” he huffs. “But I must have him back. I owe it to his parents to give everything for his safety. If it is folly, then I am a fool. Yet I still hope. I have every faith in Captain Kaed. His strategies and perseverance have never failed this Kingdom. I trust him.”

His knife creaks in his hand, the metal beginning to bend. Flexing my fingers under the table, I consider reaching for him again. I am unable to. Bitterness binds me.

“You still trust your Captains strategies even though it has been eight months searching, to no avail?”

“I do. Perhaps it is hope where there should be reason.” A sad chuckle slips from his lips, “Oh dear.” He holds the shapeless knife up to the light for inspection, “Would you?”

The metal yields like clay in my hands. The kinks smoothing beneath the small puffs of blistering steam shooting from my pores. He is humouring me; it is the most basic magic taught to those with Obsidian Holds’ powers. Still, I indulge him. I do enjoy his praise.

“Beautiful. Thank you.”

My heart swells. I offer the smile I practice in the mirror each morning. “If there is anything I can do to aid the rescue efforts, then allow me.” An empty offer, ground through my teeth.

“Actually, my boy. There is.”

Chapter 3

Ashley

My mind, it wrestled, it war’d, it raged,

it tried to reconcile,

It’s got to be past 1 p.m. when I finally roll out of bed.

“Faaaackk me,” I groan into my pillow, burying my face in the fabric and dragging the duvet over my head to block out the beachfront chaos. Laughs and shrieks crash through the open windows, drilling against my already pounding head. The salty smell of the sea a bit too strong today. Drinking alone last night probably wasn’t the greatest idea. But I lost my job, so I figured it was excusable. Though I don’t remember drinking as much as this headache suggests. Then again, isn’t that what makes it fun? My feet kick the air in a hungover tantrum.

“Ouch!”