Page 73 of Tempest Blazing
The words hit their mark. I didn't flinch—years of training had beaten that reflex out of me—but the air around my fingertips began to prickle faintly with static. Heat and pressure building beneath my skin like a storm waiting to break. I slipped my hands beneath the table, hiding the telltale shimmer of elemental magic struggling against my control.
Kali hadn't touched her food. She sat perfectly still, fork held loosely in her fingers, eyes fixed on her plate. Mason ate withmechanical efficiency, but I caught the way his gaze kept drifting to his sister, protective and worried.
"Of course," Silvius continued, his tone shifting with the subtle malice of a predator circling wounded prey, "some traumas run too deep to ever truly be tamed. Especially in children raised like animals." His pale eyes fixed on Kali with clinical interest. "She may look civilized now, but underneath? She's a liability. You'd do better to keep her hidden during the Trials. No one wants a Rider with a broken pet."
The words dropped into the silence like stones into still water. I watched Kali's hands begin to tremble—just slightly, the fork shaking against her plate—before she caught herself. Her breathing changed, shallow and controlled, and for one terrible moment I saw her bite the inside of her cheek hard enough that I knew she was tasting blood.
Mason's fork paused midway to his mouth. The muscle in his jaw twitched once.
Kali's chair scraped back suddenly, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the formal silence. Her face had gone pale beneath her dark skin, but her expression remained carefully blank—a mask I recognized because I wore one just like it.
She didn't speak. Didn't scream or cry or defend herself. She just stood with the kind of dignity that made my chest ache, and walked out.
Mason rose slowly, every movement deliberate and controlled. His massive frame unfolded from the chair like a mountain coming to life, and for a moment I thought he might say something that would shatter the careful peace of this house. His nostrils flared once—the only sign of the rage I knew was burning in his chest.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice flat as winter stone. And then he followed his sister without looking back, leaving me alone with my father and the weight of everything unsaid.
The dining room felt cavernous without them. The chandeliers seemed dimmer, the crystal duller. Even the food had lost what little appeal it might have held.
"She's weak," Silvius continued as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just driven a traumatized child from the room with casual cruelty. He cut another piece of meat, chewed thoughtfully. "You coddle the broken, and then you wonder why they fail."
I stared down at my plate, counting my breaths. One. Two. Three. The elemental magic in my chest writhed like a living thing, demanding release. Fire wanted to burn. Air wanted to howl. Earth wanted to crack the foundation of this house until it crumbled to dust.
Four. Five. Six.
"She's not weak." The words slipped out before I could stop them, low and even but carrying the weight of absolute conviction.
The silence that followed felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. Silvius set down his fork with deliberate care, dabbed his mouth with his linen napkin, and leaned back in his chair. His pale eyes found mine, cold as arctic ice.
"Interesting," he said, voice deceptively mild. "Tell me, Kane—this sudden compassion for strays and broken things. Where do you suppose it comes from?"
The question was a trap. Everything with Silvius was a trap. I kept my expression neutral, hands still hidden beneath the table where sparks danced between my fingers.
"I merely observed that survival often requires more strength than comfort," I said carefully.
"Survival." He rolled the word around his mouth like wine, tasting its edges. "Yes, you've always been fascinated by survivors, haven't you? The scrappy ones who claw their way up from nothing." His smile was sharp as winter. "Like your little human friend."
My blood turned to ice in my veins. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" Silvius rose from his chair with predatory grace, circling the table like a shark sensing blood. "Tess Morgan. Scholarship student. No family connections, no Guild backing, no inherent magic to speak of. And yet somehow she's caught the attention of my son."
The magic in my chest coiled tighter, pressure building behind my ribs. "She's a classmate. Nothing more."
"Nothing more," he repeated, voice dripping with false understanding. "Of course. Just as Mason's attachment to his sister is 'nothing more' than duty. Just as your sudden interest in defending the defenseless is 'nothing more' than philosophical curiosity."
He paused behind my chair, and I felt the weight of his presence like a storm front moving in. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the force of absolute authority.
"Let me be clear, Kane. The Ellesar name has survived for centuries because we understand that sentiment is weakness. Attachment is vulnerability. And vulnerability..." He placed one hand on my shoulder, fingers digging in just shy of painful. "Vulnerability gets people killed."
I forced myself to remain still, even as every instinct screamed at me to throw off his touch. "I understand, Father."
"Do you?" His grip tightened fractionally. "Because from where I sit, it appears my son has developed some very dangerous habits. Defending broken children. Befriending powerless humans. Making himself vulnerable to those who would use his... softer feelings... against him."
The threat hung in the air between us, unspoken but crystal clear. My throat felt tight, but I managed to keep my voice steady. "My feelings are under control."
"Are they?" He released my shoulder and moved to stand in front of me, pale eyes boring into mine. "Because if I were an enemy of House Ellesar—if I wanted to destroy everything we've built—do you know what I would do?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Because I already knew.
