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Archer studied himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door of the dreadful little room that he was refusing to think of as his home. It was very important that he not look like he was trying too hard… but it was also important that his father be led to believe that he was trying very hard indeed. The trick was in the execution. Impeccably tailored suit, yes—but he’d be leaving the jacket draped carelessly over the back of his chair at the earliest convenience. A shirt that cost more than most people’s weekly wage, sure—but with the top button carelessly undone. Rolling the sleeves up was tempting, but he’d already pushed his parents towards their limit with the fuss he’d made over the room allocation, so he’d decided to let that one lie.
At least they’d stopped harassing him about the length of his hair. That particular fight had taken decades, but after a lot of back and forth, his mother and father had seemingly accepted that he wasn’t going to be all but shaving his head every week. It was a crime against beauty, for a start. As a child, his golden curls had been the envy and admiration of everyone he met, and he’d come to enjoy the way his bright hair caught the sun when he tossed his head. Now, it was a little longer than his ears, setting off the glint of his dark honey-colored eyes. People could call it vanity all they liked. When you looked this good, it was easy to weather the jealousy of others.
A thumping on the door shook his reflection, and Archer scowled. Hard to believe that such a highly-regarded university boasted such appallingly basic rooms. Why, this was the biggest dorm in the whole cursed place—his father had made sure of that. And still, his entire room was barely the size of the master bathroom in his family’s mansion back on Isthmus. He’d immediately claimed a second room, of course, to store his possessions, and made arrangements to have a decent bed brought in to replace the atrocity that had come with the room… but what was this, wilderness camp?
“Archer! You coming to the party or what, bro?”
“I will not have my favorite word sullied by association with the stuffy ordeal we’re in for tonight, Zack,” Archer called through the door. Brisant’s dorms were organized in groups of four, for some reason, with a living space and kitchen shared between the residents of four bedrooms. He’d been torn for a while on whether to accept the roommate proposition. Sharing space with anyone at all definitely seemed beneath him… but then again, his social life was probably going to be the only saving grace of this stupid place. So he’d split the difference, insisting on taking two of the four bedrooms for himself, but graciously allowing for roommates to take the remainder. Brody and Zack seemed like decent guys, so far, but he was used to that. Most people started sucking up to him the minute they figured out who he was, and that hadn’t taken either of them long.
Roommates, he thought with a sigh as he headed for what the university was laughably calling a welcome party. How far he’d fallen. Still, part of him was glad to be finally getting this out of the way. How long had his mother and father been on his case to get his education? Two decades? Three? It had to happen sooner or later. And as much as Archer hated the idea of being stuck in one place for years on end, at least he didn’t have to keep coming up with fresh excuses as to why he needed more time before he enrolled. All he had to do was stick it out for a couple of years, skate by on the bare minimum, and then he could go back to the life he loved, the life of a traveling nomad. Nothing but him, the open road, a couple of suitcases… and the most expensive hotels money could buy, obviously. He was a traveler, not a savage.
“Woah,” Brody murmured as they came out of the labyrinthine corridors of the dorms. “I guess this is the Great Hall, huh?”
“I guess the Average Hall doesn’t sound as good,” Archer said with a scoff. Dragons were obsessed with pomp and ritual, and he could see that the school had made an effort with the decorations here, garlands of wildflowers festooning every available table and exposed rafter of the hall. But he’d seen rooms bigger than this one used as hotel lobbies. The place was already far too full, and there were what, barely a thousand dragons here? Even less? Pretty sad, overall. Maybe if he liked it here, he’d suggest that his father send them a donation, gave them a bit more space to work with…
Speaking of which. Archer shrugged off his roommates and strode purposefully through the crowds, ignoring the whispers and points that always accompanied his entrance into this kind of place. He cut an impressive figure even without taking his family’s wealth and fame into account… and at Brisant University, there wasn’t going to be a single dragon who didn’t know exactly who he was. He’d use it to his advantage later, of course. When it came to making his life more comfortable, it paid to be a skilled manipulator of people. But for now, the people he needed to focus on were his parents.
“I didn’t realize this was a pool party.”
Dammit. Archer buttoned the collar of his shirt quickly. A slight miscalculation, then… his father had had less tolerance to spare today than he’d thought. He and Archer’s mother were seated, of course, at the table at the very front of the room, elevated above the rest of the throng on a kind of low stage that didn’t really do much to distinguish it. As always, his parents wore muted colors, for all the world as though they were determined to blend in with the furniture itself. He’d never understood that impulse. Even the shades of charcoal he was wearing managed to seem flashy in comparison to his mother’s high-necked dark blue gown, his father’s impeccably tailored but incredibly discreet suit. They were the richest dragons on any known insula, and yet if you didn’t know who you were looking for, you’d overlook both of them in a heartbeat.
Of course, that was the point. Another of the constant barrage of little tests Grant was always imposing on the world around him. It was how he ran his business, how he ran his household… and how he fathered his son.
The evening dragged on interminably. Archer had held out vain hope that it might be an informal affair, a kind of mixer with drinks and nibbles and conversation… but true to form, these stuffy old dragons had insisted on a multi-course sit-down meal, broken up by the endless droning of speech after speech. Archer tuned it all out. He didn’t care about the history of the school, the reputation of its graduates, the principles of wisdom and knowledge it had been founded on… he just wanted the night to be over so his mother and father would leave. He hated the feeling of his father’s eyes on him, hated knowing he was filing away a mental list of all the errors he’d made all night. It was part of why he traveled so much. Any excuse to get away from his parents… and when your family ran the biggest transport company in the known world, travel was a welcome perk.
He did tune in briefly when a frail-looking woman barely taller than the podium itself rose to give a warning about the island’s weather. He was fascinated by the deeply ridiculous choice they’d made to build a school on perhaps the most cursed insula so far discovered. There were constant storms and extreme weather events, with students encouraged to stay inside when they struck to avoid being hit by lightning. Earthquakes were just as common. The woman brightly advised them that dust coming down from the ceiling was just fine, but if anything larger than pebbles came loose, it would be best to head for the surface. They were forbidden from swimming in their human shapes, given the treacherous nature of the ocean around the island—a riptide could snatch a dragon out to sea quicker than they’d imagine possible, and shifting couldn’t save you if you were dashed unconscious on the rocks beneath the surface. Not to mention the active volcano that was a constant, rumbling presence beneath them. Archer fought the urge to laugh as the litany of doom went on. His mother’s lips were pressed in a thin line, too.
“Don’t they have people in charge of all that?” she murmured, her voice glacial and distant.
“Yeah,” Archer agreed. His mother spoke so rarely that he always felt a strange need to encourage her when she did. “They’re meant to be the most powerful magic users in the world, right? Best of the best? And we can’t even go swimming?”
“Elemental magic experts keep the island safe for habitation, that’s all,” Archer’s father said in a low voice. “Their efforts keep the volcano from erupting, the ocean from swallowing the island, and the storms from knocking this whole building down. Your leisure time comes further down the list of priorities, I’m sorry to inform you.”
Great. Nothing like a lecture from his father to really get the school term off to a running start. Archer sighed, picking listlessly at his meal as he waited for the shriveled woman at the podium to finish carrying on about how this whole insula wanted them all dead. If it was so inhospitable, why were they even here?
“Son, I want you to look back on your time here with the same pride I do,” Archer’s father said abruptly, and he snapped out of his daze, realizing this was his father’s Important Conversation Voice. He didn’t get many of these—maybe one or two a decade, if he was lucky—and he knew from experience that any contributions from him were unwelcome. “Studying here helped shape me into the dragon I am today. Studying here built my character, tested my tenacity, my dedication to my goals. It showed me who I was, and who I could be. It’s exactly what you need if you’re to follow in my footsteps.”
Archer hid his frown. This was unusual. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had talked this way. “Follow in your footsteps?”
“Archer, you are my only son and my heir. Disappointed as I have been by your… youthful exploits… nothing will change that. I want you to do well here. I want you to apply yourself, and I want to see you grow into the man I know you can be.”
“Sure,” he said cautiously, aware that there was something else coming. “Of course, Father.”
“I met your mother here,” he added, casting his eyes carelessly across the tables. “In this very room, did you know that?”
Archer glanced at his mother, whose pale eyes were on her plate. “I knew you met at university.”
“Every family of repute has their children attend this place. Your future partner may well be in this room right now, Archer. You ought to make inquiries about a good strategic match. Having a good woman at your side can be instrumental to success—not to mention ensuring a legacy.”
How romantic, he thought sourly. But he knew better than to say that aloud, not when his father was clearly in an Imparting Wisdom kind of mood. The old man nodded, looking satisfied… or at least, as close to satisfied as he ever looked when Archer was around. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Good.” Was that an attempt at a smile? His father was trying tosmileat him. It was fascinating, if a little horrifying. “Know, son, that I will be watching your progress here closely. And if what I see pleases me… we may revisit the subject of your participation in the company.”
He was supposed to leap out of his seat with joy at that, he could tell by the lingering way his father pronounced it, by the quick glance his mother shot him along the table. He fought gamely to generate the necessary emotion, letting his jaw drop a little, widening his eyes. “Father?”
“We’ll discuss it at the end of the year,” his father said firmly. And with that, he knew, the conversation was closed. He tried to look like he was suppressing his excitement as he returned to his dinner, but what he was really feeling was much closer to dread. As a kid, he’d wanted nothing more than to inherit the family business, to rule over the enormous company like his father did. But his father had made it abundantly clear that he was too immature, too juvenile, too foolish to even consider grooming him for a mid-level role at the company, let alone to take over. Had the old man changed his mind? Or was he just tired of his playboy son embarrassing him with his inter-insularly party boy exploits? Was all this just a ruse to pin him down? That would explain why he’d brought up the idea of finding a partner. A serious partner, of course, not the series of flings and one-night stands that made up his extensive romantic history.
Well, whatever his game was, Archer knew he’d have to wait patiently for more to be revealed. He just wished he could wait somewhere a little less boring than a university.
