Page 54 of Blinding Light

They stared at each other. “It’s about respect,” Cyprian snarled.

“No, it’s about money.”

“Your father is asking about the future.”

“That’s what I mean. Money.” Moargan shrugged.

Someone cleared their throat and when he looked up, he found that everyone was staring at him, making him wish he could hide behind the couch. What the hell had gotten into him? His chest thrummed vividly. “I apologize.”

Helianth tried to hide his smile in his glass, but his violet eyes danced with amusement.

“You mentioned that you came here for your biological family?” Kylix deadpanned.

“Yes. I was fostered and grew up in Tulniri. I have come here to find my parents.”

“And? Have you found them yet?” Kylix asked.

“No. I…I—” Cyprian turned to Moargan.

“I took the chip on which he stored all his research,” he said, visibly unfazed.

“Ouch,” someone let out.

“Why?” Milanov crinkled his eyebrows.

Moargan shrugged. “I used it as leverage. I needed answers from Cyprian. It worked.” He got up and headed for the liquor cabinet to fill up their glasses, and Cyprian couldn’t help but admire his self-assured swagger.

“I would like him to give me the chip back,” Cyprian weakly commented. Perhaps his father would tell Moargan to act like an adult. “I spent so long researching, and the road that led tohere was a challenging one.” He swallowed away the sudden emotions.

Milanov stood and walked toward the fireplace, where Zimeon stood. “We found another one, old friend. And my son has claimed him as his.”

His right hand nodded thoughtfully. “I had to see him for myself. Not many of them survived on that dark, dark day.”

“Aviel.” The Imperial nodded. “Show Cyprian.”

Aviel’s lips curled up into a dark grin, aurelian eyes flashing as he gazed at Cyprian.

Silence followed.

Then Aviel’s eyes started to swirl like liquid gold, and the study turned a few degrees warmer, faster and faster, until a ball of fire shot out and skidded to a halt against the cool stone of the fireplace. Another one followed, and another one and Cyprian’s gaze flew from those brilliant eyes to the fire Aviel shot.

“That’s—” His voice faded, the words already forgotten.

Dariux.

The word echoed through his mind even before Milanov voiced it after the black-haired lunatic finished his show with a smirk and a bow.

“Aviel is Dariux, Cyprian. He’s an Essential, part of the elite,” the Imperial said. “He is part of us. The question is—” He lingered, his amethyst eyes searching Cyprian’s face. He felt Moargan’s fingers tighten around his shoulder. “Are you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not, sir. I can’t shoot fire with my eyes. I was simply given up.”

But they didn’t hear him. Too many words were spoken, soft and foreign, between Milanov and Zimeon. Aviel chimed in, his voice void of its usual irony.

He’d been thrown away.

The thoughts burned his gut. He’d come to hate them.

“Just look at those eyes,” Zimeon had switched back to the common tongue. “That’s all the proof we need.”

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