Page 151 of Shadows in Bloom

“At once, Dominus,” someone replied, followed by the shuffling of feet.

“Tomorrow’s important.” His father’s gaze was focused on Fabiano, waiting, just like Astor, for him to come back to them. He would—eventually—he always did, though it was never sure how long his absent mood could take. “I need you to be the hero of the games, filius.” His gaze was on Fabiano, who was still caught up in his own thoughts and he gazed up at the sky, but his words were very meant for him. He could feel their importance humming under his skin. “I need you to show every single one of our allies that we are grateful for their presence, for sending their noble sons and daughters to Academiae Scientia, because obviously, we strive for a peaceful future, but that in an agreement as such, only one of us can rule.” His lips parted and another spell of dry coughs left his throat, only to be absorbed by the dim air. “Every ship only needs one captain,” he rumbled. “And you will be ours.”

“That’s not true. You are the Leopard of the Novarian army.”

His father smiled. “That’s right, and you are my son. Soon it will be your turn .” He gave him another squeeze, then let go of Astor’s shoulder and moved to stand in front of Fabiano. Astor did the same. Together, they flanked him as he stood there, his baby brother and the person he loved most in his life, even when Fabiano didn’t seem to know half of the time where he was, his his gaze turned upward toward the darkened sky, his mind shut off.

“Come back to us, son,” his father whispered. “We need you here. The Academy needs you here, for such fine intellectual talent is rare. The future needs you and your magnificent brain. Your brother here?—”

“I need you, frater,” Astor murmured, and the pet name fell heavy from his tongue. He didn’t usually use the word, but he knew Fabiano loved being called like that. Had once told him that it made him feel like he belonged, which was a silly thought, considering he was the centre of their existence, their love for him the web in which they’d carefully spun him, keeping him by their side.

Fabiano was Astor’s only weakness.

“Dominus?” A slave breathed, standing at a safe distance. “Everything has been set up. We can take him inside his tent, if you want.”

“Yes, I want,” said Fabiano, before anyone else could. He tipped his head and dragged his gaze toward the slave, who stood waiting knowingly of what was to come. Astor loved his brother’s voice, that sounded like the reflection of interwoven silk thread, gentle and clear. Then, graceful like a cat, Fabiano planted both hands swiftly on his and his father’s shoulders as he pushed himself between their broad frames and shifted away in a cloud of cream, fluttering garment.

They watched him go, and Astor couldn’t avoid the puffy breath that escaped his throat. Relief. His brother was back, and that meant his mind would be present tomorrow. He’d stand and cheer during the games and wish for Astor to bring back victory to house Novar, where it belonged. Where it should never have left to begin with.

Novarians loved to perform sports—riding, fending, wrestling and throwing were all popular, and over the past few years they’d set the mark high for the other nations to keep up with them. Akotans were good at throwing, and Staljordians were excellent wrestlers, but when on a horse Novarians were invincible. Astor himself was the king of jousting. Some might say he was born on a horse, spear in his hand. As a young boy he’d definitely spent more time in the Novarian army by his father’s side, than he’d done with his teacher, much to his mother’s despair. He loved the cocktail of anxiety mixed with excitement, the thrill of the game, the speed, the aim, the strike, the defence.

The victory.

Astor knew that he would win. With his baby brother by his side, he would slay dragons. Because Fabiano was the only link to a life once lived, a life once loved. A life before the war. And after tomorrow, when their father would travel back to Grerachi, Novar’s capital city, Fabiano would be the only remaining family member, his father gone, the others…gone forever.

“Father,” Astor said. “Tomorrow. I want you to make a formal request to the board to integrate the Novarian Nomos Doulos after the games finish.” Astor’s lips curled up into a cool sneer. “I want House Damaryan to know what happens to those who refuse to respect the bell.”

“Astor—“ His father started, lips pressing closed after that single word. Maybe he saw the determination in his eyes, a fusion of hatred and regret. Maybe he simply thought it was a good idea. Because seconds later, he shrugged, shaking his face when he uttered, forlorn, “Be sure to win. For the rule will apply to all nations of the Union.”

“I will.”

No one spoke after that, though neither one of them retreated. Instead, they lingered in the dark sky and a camp that was filled with its usual buzz. The soft chatter of talk by the fire, the occasional neighing from one of the horses and the scent of the cooked meat. Astor’s mouth watered. He was hungry. They hadn’t had a proper meal since this morning. Still, he didn’t want to be the one leaving now. His father was an important man, and though they spent a great deal of time together, they didn’t often have time for real talk.

Sometimes Astor missed his father even as they rode side by side.

“Five years,” Valentino finally spoke, his voice a little croaky. He cleared his dry throat, the barking sound enough to bring Astor back to the present. Around them, the light had gone from dim to dusk. How long had they been standing here? “It will be exactly five years since we were all here, in Ravenna, the lost city, and signed the treaty that united all five countries to the Union.” Their eyes met, two pairs of brilliant irises in the dark shade. “My memories start to fade, Astor. Of our lives before, of our love before when she was still with us. I can still hear her in my sleep—her smooth melody from the garden when she sang to the Gods. And they listened to her, my son, they did. Because they have given Manerium Aureume prosperity for years. We were happy.” His hand dug deeper into Astor’s shoulder as if he needed to find his balance, but Astor knew it was words his father needed to make him feel balanced. Words that reassured him of what had happened to them. But mostly, words that affirmed that his memory was legitimate, and true. His father needed to hear that they had been happy, that they had been loved by Iantha Prianos, before she sacrificed herself to the gods in exchange for peace.

“That we were, father,” Astor said, and he enfolded Valentino’s hand with his own.

His father glanced at their entwined hands and nodded. Something flashed in his blue eyes, and the mood shifted translucently. “And right when we believe that they have just signed that paper to be done with it, without ever having the intention to show their traitor faces again, here they are. They’re coming this year, filius. They?—”

A faceless enemy.

They.

“Bring my father back to his tent and tend to his needs,” Astor ordered, his hand now the one being clasped around the other man’s shoulder, holding him up.

Damaryan. The country of the mystical forest on the horizon. The betrayers. Weak and strong at the same time, they were the final piece in the broken puzzle that illustrated the disastrous outcome five years ago. An outcome that had changed all their lives forever.

Because when war had been on the doorstep of the four countries of Oniarteto, convoking hardship and hunger in a blink of an eye, it was House Novar that had fought to defend the other nations. It was House Novar that had finally brought the enemy into a deadlock, before hunting them down and away from occupied land.

Novar, the crown jewel of Oniarteto, with its rolling mountains and fertile ground, had met their unexpected enemy from the south on its own wide and dry lands. The very same lands where they stood right now. Oh yes, they had fought, their golden chariots polished, their soldiers in shining armour, swords sharp and ready to kill. They were fierce and strong, as they defended what was theirs.

Their land. Their culture. Their reputation.

There was no mistake of the power that was held by the blood-red and golden banner that stretched through the entire heart of Oniarteto, its golden coin well-known in bordering countries, its rich culture and countless influx of the finest slaves, savages that were perfectly trained by the time they left for trade.

“I’ll make them crawl,” Astor wanted to say. “I’ll make them bleed for what they’ve done.” But the words were stuck in his throat, and then a slave appeared and brought water to Valentino’s mouth, and the moment was gone.

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