Page 14

Unlatching the clasp, Areanel placed the pendant on the curiously shaped imprint. There was a bright blue glow before the flash fizzled out. A sudden click followed, and the drawer swung open.

‘Well, that was strange,’ Percival mumbled.

Glancing into the drawer, Areanel found an array of papers—some torn in half, burnt at the edges or folded at odd angles. Reaching into the drawer, she noticed something underneath. Pulling out the papers, she let them fall onto the floor until her hand could grip the base of what felt like a box and frowned. As she pulled out the strange object, Areanel noted the emblem—a dragon in mid-flight—carved into its centre. Ivan’s emblem.

‘What is this?’

The box’s strangeness alarmed Areanel. She had never felt power like this before. There was that same unnatural otherness she sensed when they were in Vennedove—a pulse, steady and growing, came from within. An itching sensation overcame her, like the box was begging her to open it and take a look inside.

‘What is what?’ Percival questioned, trying to peer over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed to thin slits. ‘That looks a lot like Ivan’s emblem, right?’

Did he seriously just ask that? How dense could he be? ‘Percy,’ she huffed. ‘You said it yourself. This is Ivan’s study. So, it only makes sense that it’s his.’ She threw an unamused look over her shoulder.

‘Oh. Shut up!’ He pushed her shoulder, forcing her to stumble into the cabinet where she hit her hip against it. She hissed at him, but he ignored her.

Areanel smoothed her hand over the top of the box, fingers grazing the intricate indentations. It was terrifying and yet beautiful all at once. She traced Ivan’s emblem with the tip of a finger from the dragon’s outstretched bat-like wings to where its spiked club of a tail pointed down to the latch positioned at the bottom. The ticking of a clock sounded in Areanel’s ears, loud and repetitive. Anticipation bubbled within her as her finger slid the latch away from where it was secure against a bolt.

‘What? No!’ Percival ripped the box away from her grasp. ‘Clearly, we were not meant to find this—or it would not be in the most obsolete place in the castle.’ He gestured between the cabinet and the box now in his hand, and Areanel gave him an impassive look. What could he be so scared of? Ivan had probably left it in there so none of them snooped. Not because it was dangerous!

‘Oh, Percy! Stop being such a coward and let me open it. It could hold some answers,’ Areanel replied incredulously. When Percival did not move, Areanel continued. ‘Technically, I did have a key.’

With a roll of his eyes, Percival gave up with an exasperated sigh and shoved the box into her hands. The corner hit her chest sharp and dug into her skin. ‘Fine,’ he huffed, hot breath hitting her face. ‘But I want it noted that I was the one who insisted we put it back, and when something strange happens it will be your fault.’

With a shake of her head, Areanel placed the box on the table with a light thud as Percival continued to voice his worries. ‘Alright, say it is the answer, and we find something helpful, what do we do then?’

‘Well, I called a council meeting. I think we should gather evidence. If the clans are really the rebels or at least in league with them, then we will finally have the upper hand to deal with them once and for all. We’ll present any findings to the court. If not, then we will find the Chieftain of Vennedove and interrogate him.’

‘That’s a terrible idea. Father will not allow it.’

Like a shadow, he peered over her shoulder as she unlatched and lifted the lid of the wooden box. Inside sat a leather-bound journal and an obsidian dragon scale.

Areanel took out the leather-bound journal, gently stroking the delicate fraying edge of the spine. A bittersweet flavour, like something sweet tinged with sadness, coated the roof of her mouth. Memories of hurried scribbled words and the sound of scratching against paper were like a whirlpool in her mind. This was her brother’s journal—Ivan was rarely seen without it, constantly jotting down his thoughts and feelings.

Not having the courage to open the journal and see the only remnants of her eldest brother, she gently placed the forgotten book back in the box.

Then, Areanel turned her attention to the dragon scale and plucked it from the ornate box, placing it in her palm—but it was far too large. Sharp and cold, the obsidian scale seemed to switch from jet black to purple in the glint of the candlelit room. Her mind raced; this scale did not resemble what she remembered of Ivan’s bonded.

‘Does that belong to Valduin?’ Percival’s fingers were cold against her skin as he reached forward to inspect the scale for himself. ‘It seems larger, and the colour is…’

‘Wrong,’ Areanel finished his sentence for him. The deep purple hue was wrong. Valduin, Ivan’s bonded, had been like the dead of night—the complete absence of colour. Pitch-black.

Percival cleared his throat. ‘Maybe it seems wrong because Ivan is dead.’ But Areanel heard the slight break in his voice. He was trying to hide his emotions again. Didn’t he know he could never hide from her?

‘Ivan was powerful.’ Picking up the closest candle, Areanel held the burning flame inches away from the scale, examining it. Warm wax slithered down the length of the candle, landing on her fingertips, but Areanel did not feel as it converged around her fingers, too focused on the way the scale’s hue changed from black to purple and back again whenever she moved the light. ‘More powerful than any of us.’ Her words felt like they echoed in the tiny room. ‘Valduin was a testament to that. A dragon!’ Areanel let out an incredulous gasped chuckle. ‘His bonded was a gods-damned dragon.’ Her hand slammed down hard against the wooden table, making the objects on it shake and clatter, some tumbling to the floor with a thud.

‘Rea—’

‘He’s gone, Percy.’ Areanel swatted his hand away when she saw him reach a comforting hand towards her. ‘He’s gone,’ she hissed through gritted teeth. ‘He was the heir. He was meant to be the next king, and now he—’ Her breath shuddered as a wave of grief crashed through her. ‘It didn’t matter how much power he had. If he could manipulate fire, whether he rode a dragon. In the end, he died. Alone and in agony.’

Percival placed the dragon scale down. It made a slight tinkling noise as it touched the wood. Strong, lean arms wrapped around her shoulders; a hand came to rest on the back on her head as she was pulled into a hard chest. Percival rested his chin on the top of her head, his hand tenderly stroking her hair, leaving a soothing path in his wake. ‘You can’t keep blaming yourself, sissy,’ Percival’s voice softened—a gentle feather against the weight of remorse pulling her down. ‘What happened to Ivan wasn’t your fault.’

‘And what about what happened to you?’ Areanel pulled away from him, and his arms stiffened around her, tensing at the mere mention of his past. ‘Don’t you blame me?’ The words were heavy like a blanket, punctuated by the way she shoved at his chest with every word. ‘You should hate me.’

Tears pricked at her eyes. Her vision blurred as she watched the mask of indifference slowly mould across her brother’s features. He blinked rapidly until nothing remained on his face. No emotion. No reaction. Cold. Calm. Collected.

His arms dropped from where they had been holding her shoulders. The reassuring weight and soothing warmth completely gone. All that was left was a piercing bitterness. The taste of ash filled her mouth as the air between them turned dour.

Through wet lashes and silver-lined eyes, Areanel quietly followed Percival’s deft movements. ‘I do not hate you,’ Percival spoke without looking at her. She studied the side of his face, but the mask remained. Cold. Calm.