Page 16 of Bonds of Blood
Answers, for starters, and at least some explanation for why my father had gone completely off the rails. But it would all be a waste of breath, because I already knew. With Baylor Wilde, it had always been about who had the most control, who had the most power. Seizing one of the oriels for himself was very much in line with his awful mindset.
But the question remained.
“Why, headmaster? Knowing my father, he’s trying to prove a point. Or holding the castle hostage until my mother agrees to leave with him, except where would they even go? I don’t understand. He’s putting so much at risk.”
A trail of cinders fell from Ember’s wings as he leapt from my shoulder and fluttered by my face. “You could break in, couldn’t you, headmasters? Enter the Oriel of Earth and easily make him pay for his insolence.”
Headmaster Cornelius’s mouth tightened into a flat line. “It would not be that simple, my fiery friend. No one has ever done something this outrageous at the academy. Forcing entry into the oriel might prove dangerous. Catastrophic.”
“And we understand why you are in a hurry to do so,” explained Shivers. “But in answer to your questions both: we do not know. It is clear enough that Baylor intends to set down roots, perhaps even lay siege to the castle. He has been planning for this. A summoner given free roam of an entire elemental dimension? Who knows how much power he could amass?”
Headmaster Cornelius shook his head. “Imagine if he took over the other three oriels. Gods above and below. We cannot allow it to happen.”
Belladonna pressed her thumb and forefinger against her forehead, probing, massaging. “Baylor is already gathering his forces. We must prepare the Wispwood for imminent attack. Cornelius. Shivers. I propose we send the students home.”
Shivers said nothing, a wisp of foggy breath leaving the faceless opening in their cowled robes. The wrinkles in Cornelius Butterworth’s face settled deeper. I always thought of him as a powerful wizard, never as a tired old man. It was sobering, seeing him so vulnerable.
“I don’t speak for the entire student body,” I said, forcing my spine to straighten, my shoulders to square. “But I think you’ll find it very difficult to convince them to leave. This is our home. For some of us, quite literally. We’ll defend it with our lives.”
Belladonna Praxis studied my face for some moments. It was normally so easy to tell how she felt or thought about something — disdain, dismay, all the dis- words, really — but for once I couldn’t read her expression.
“We shall speak on that later, Mr. Wilde. For now, I suggest you go to your loved ones. There is much to discuss. We’ll be sure to inform you should anything else develop. Oh, and Ember?”
He fluttered over to her outstretched hand, landing on her palm. “Yes, headmaster?”
“I was told that you made a very spirited attempt to attack the grand summoner.”
He puffed up his chest, the flames in his hair blazing brighter. “I was going to scorch his eyes out. I may be small, but I am neither a weakling, nor a fool.”
Belladonna wagged a single finger. “I would argue that it was very foolish indeed to go charging in like that. I admire the spirit of your actions. Anger can be very productive. But your very, very good friend Satchel would not appreciate you getting badly hurt.”
Ember’s flames receded as he folded his hands behind his back. He lowered his head. “Yes, headmaster. You’re right, headmaster.”
“Just something to keep in mind for the future, and that goes for you both.” She buoyed her hand up gently, nudging Ember to engage his wings and flutter back toward me. “We cannot hope to defeat Grand Summoner Baylor through anger and aggression alone. Keep your wits about you, gentlemen. Stay safe.”
We thanked the headmasters and left the Spire of Radiance, both of us uncharacteristically quiet as we returned to the library.
Bruna and Namirah were already there to help with cleanup, along with a small army of students. Quite a few of the castle imps, too. Alister Brittle sat at a table with my mother, shakily lifting a cup of tea to his lips. Ember flitted from my shoulder to join them, offering his services to keep the teapot nice and warm.
Alister’s eyes were rimmed red, but it looked as though he’d been crying happy tears. Like I told the headmasters, the students of the academy wouldn’t dream of standing idly by while something terrible happened to their home. The children of the Wispwood never shied from work that supported our community, whether that involved mundane chores or magical battle. A tree was nothing without its forest.
I greeted my friends and family with a firm clasp of the hand, a squeeze on the shoulder, not a lot of words left to exchange. What was there to say? I couldn’t even decide who among us had been most betrayed by Baylor Wilde’s return. All those sweet words, all those smiles, the promises of togetherness and family. Strange how I maintained my calmness through it all. Perhaps calm wasn’t the right word for it, either.
Numbness. That was it.
Gods, I hadn’t even considered how Baylor had never once asked about the Wilde grimoire, something he’d made such a fuss of back when he first bequeathed it to me. Maybe it was worthless. He’d kept all the best knowledge to himself. He seemed exactly the type to be so petty and stingy, demanding that I excel in the field of summoning without even giving me the right tools to start.
“Fucking bastard,” I muttered under my breath, picking up stray sheets of parchment, smoothing the creases out of the pages of a fallen book.
Numbness. Calm. I had to keep it together. We spent the rest of the day helping Mr. Brittle put the library back together, too. What else could we do? No one could reach Baylor through the oriel until the headmasters decided it was safe to proceed. Meanwhile, Satchel was in there with him, and gods only knew what Baylor was putting him through. Poor Satchel. Poor Ember.
I only knew one thing. If Baylor so much as hurt Satchel — my friend, my familiar, the smallest member of my family? I would gladly kill him myself.
9
“Look at that prick up there,”Cutler said, side-eyeing the portrait of Baylor Wilde. He stuck his fists on his hips, little belly jutting out as he glowered. “Thinks he owns the place. If he did anything to Satchel, I swear. There’ll be hell to pay.”
I picked at the plate of cake he’d teleported in especially for me. Cutler was the man. The castle imps had an undeserved reputation for being grumpy, sometimes even malicious. They were actual tiny demons who originated from the prime hells, after all.
