Page 18

18

FATHER AND SON

H e adjusted his collar for the third time, fingers fumbling with pearl buttons that once felt natural.

“Stop fidgeting,” Diana said from her post by the door. “You look fine.”

“I look like I'm playing dress-up,” Silas muttered, but forced his hands to his sides.

Nathaniel watched from an armchair, sharp-eyed and composed. “The clothing makes a statement. You blend noble tradition with guardian elements. See how the embroidery mimics forest patterns? Subtle but significant.”

Silas glanced down at the delicate silver threading along his cuffs. What he'd dismissed as decoration actually formed protective runes, nearly invisible unless you knew to look. Trust Diana to think of everything.

“Your father will notice,” Nathaniel continued. “He notices everything.”

“That's what worries me.” Silas touched the hidden pocket where Thorne's crystal rested against his heart.

Diana checked the hallway clock. “It's time.”

The walk to his father's chambers stretched endlessly. Servants paused in their duties to watch him pass, whispers following like autumn leaves. Some faces showed recognition and hope, others suspicion or fear. The boy who'd been exiled had returned changed, trailing rumors of magic and rebellion.

Memories ambushed him at every turn. That alcove where he'd hidden from tutors. The window seat where his mother read him stories before she died. The precise spot where his father had informed him of his banishment to Thornhaven, voice cold as winter stone.

Two guards flanked the king's door, their expressions carefully neutral. They'd watched Silas grow up, had probably placed bets on how long this meeting would last.

“His Majesty awaits,” the senior guard announced formally, though his eyes held a flicker of warmth.

The door opened silently on well-oiled hinges. Silas stepped through alone, leaving Diana and his past in the corridor.

King Thomas sat upright in a high-backed chair near the windows, morning light illuminating the silver in his hair. Not the bed-ridden invalid Silas had imagined, but a man fighting to reclaim his strength. Bandages peeked from beneath his formal robes, the only visible sign of his ordeal.

“You've changed.” His father's voice carried the same frost Silas remembered.

“So have you.” The words escaped before Silas could stop them.

Thomas's expression hardened. “Superficial wounds. Nothing more.”

They studied each other across a gulf of months and misunderstandings. Thomas gestured to a chair positioned precisely five feet from his own—distance maintained, boundaries established.

As Silas sat, the door opened again. Lady Evangeline swept in, her presence filling the room like expensive perfume. She'd aged gracefully, silver hair arranged in elaborate braids, but her eyes remained sharp as ever.

“At last,” she said, positioning herself between them with practiced ease. “The king and his heir in the same room.”

The term 'heir' hung awkwardly in the air. Silas hadn't felt like anyone's heir since the day he'd been sent away.

“Grandmother,” he acknowledged, accepting her brief embrace.

“You look changed,” she said, studying him. “The forest has marked you.”

Thomas shifted in his chair. “Let's not pretend this is a social call.”

“No,” Silas agreed. “Let's not.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken accusations. Silas had rehearsed this moment countless times, but now the words stuck in his throat. How did you ask your father about decades of lies?

“How long have you known?” The question finally burst free. “About the Eldergrove's magic? About our family's connection to the guardians?”

Thomas's expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the chair arm. “Since before you were born.”

Silas gripped the chair arms, knuckles white.

“The crown has always known,” Thomas continued, voice dispassionate as if discussing trade policy. “Each ruler passes the knowledge to their heir, along with the burden of deciding what to do with it.”

“And you decided to persecute them. To deny magic existed while hunting those who wielded it.”

“I decided to protect what was mine.” Steel entered Thomas's voice. “You have no idea what pressures we faced. Other nations threatened war if magical influences grew too strong. Noble houses demanded pure human rule. The church preached about divine order.”

“So you lied. To everyone. To me.”

“Yes.” No apology, just cold fact.

Lady Evangeline placed a restraining hand on Silas's shoulder. “There were considerations beyond your understanding, Silas. Decisions made before your birth that could not be easily unmade.”

“I didn't create this system,” Thomas said, eyes fixed on Silas with the same calculating assessment he'd always used. “I inherited it, just as you would have.”

The comparison sparked anger in Silas's chest. “You chose to send me away. I didn't choose any of this.”

“Your choices forced my hand,” Thomas replied, unmoved. “Exposed corruption. Challenged authority. Rejected your position. What did you expect? Praise?”

“I expected honesty! From my father, if not my king.”

“The two cannot be separated. Not for us.” Thomas's expression hardened further. “You would have learned that, had you followed the path laid for you.”

Silas stood abruptly, needing distance. He paced to the window, looking out over gardens he'd once played in. Everything seemed smaller now, constrained by walls and tradition.

“Why summon me now?” he asked without turning. “Why speak of any of this?”

Thomas was silent so long that Silas thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice carried something unfamiliar—not warmth, but perhaps less ice.

“Sebastian...” Thomas paused, seemingly searching for words. “Sebastian proved that isolation creates vulnerabilities. The shadow corruption exploits division.”

“A tactical reassessment, then.” Silas turned back, searching his father's face for any hint of deeper meaning. He found calculation, exhaustion, and something unreadable behind the careful mask.

“Call it what you will,” Thomas replied. “Facts remain. Your... connection with the guardian provided resistance that traditional forces could not.”

“You mean we survived when your armies failed.”

A muscle twitched in Thomas's jaw. “Results speak for themselves. The situation requires... adaptation.”

Lady Evangeline stepped forward. “What your father means, beneath his pride, is that you've demonstrated an effective approach. One worth exploring further.”

“Is that what he means?” Silas fixed his gaze on Thomas. “Or is he just seeking another weapon against Sebastian? The same Sebastian you worked with before he turned against you, the same man you conspired with to try to separate me from Thorne.”

A muscle in Thomas's jaw tightened, but he didn't deny the accusation. “You're right to question my motives,” he admitted after a moment. “Sebastian and I... we made choices I now regret. But does it matter? Our objectives align for now.”

“For now,” Silas repeated. “Until they don't.”

“Such is politics.” Thomas gestured to the bandages beneath his robes. “The shadow corruption lingers in these wounds, fighting the healers' efforts. I can barely stand for more than an hour. It gives one... perspective.”

The admission surprised Silas, not for its content but for the rare glimpse of vulnerability. “And Nathaniel? He's here, in the palace. The man you exiled decades ago.”

Thomas's expression closed immediately. “A necessary concession. His knowledge of corruption could prove useful.”

“He saved our lives. Multiple times.”

“So I'm told.”

Lady Evangeline intervened. “Nathaniel has requested an audience this afternoon. After nearly twenty years, surely you can spare him an hour, Thomas.”

“Has he?” Thomas's voice carried an edge. “Still presumptuous after all these years.”

“Still family,” Silas countered. “Despite everything you did to him.”

The door opened before Thomas could respond. Nathaniel entered, moving slowly but with dignity. He'd dressed formally, every inch the noble despite years of exile.

“Brother,” he addressed Thomas, using the familial term deliberately.

Thomas stiffened, his mask slipping to reveal raw anger. “Nathaniel. You weren't scheduled until later.”

“Forgive the intrusion. I heard raised voices and thought...” Nathaniel spread his hands. “Old habits. I always tried to mediate your arguments with father.”

“Those days are long past.”

“Are they?” Nathaniel moved closer, studying Thomas with a physician's eye. “The corruption still fights you.”

“State your business,” Thomas demanded.

“My business is the same as it's always been. Protecting this family from itself.” Nathaniel's voice hardened. “You exiled me for practicing healing magic. Called it corruption, deviation from natural order. Now that same magic keeps your son alive.”

“Circumstances change. Principles remain.”

“Principles?” Nathaniel laughed bitterly. “Is that what we're calling it now?”

He turned to Silas. “Has he told you why he really banished me? The actual reason, not the official charges?”

Silas looked between them. “No.”

“I fell in love with a guardian,” Nathaniel said simply. “A healer from the Northern Grove. We planned to marry, to bridge our worlds. Thomas feared the political implications.”

“You threatened the stability of the realm,” Thomas argued, voice tight.

“I threatened your control. Your perfect vision of separation.” Nathaniel's laugh was bitter. “And now your son bonds with the Eldergrove's guardian himself. Irony has such sharp teeth.”

“Enough,” Lady Evangeline commanded. “This solves nothing. We face greater threats than old grievances.”

“Do we?” Nathaniel challenged. “Or do old grievances create new threats? Sebastian didn't emerge from nowhere. He grew from the seeds we planted. Division. Fear. Denial of truth.”

Thomas shifted uncomfortably. “What would you have me do? Public apology? Formal pardon?”

“I would have you learn,” Nathaniel said quietly. “Admit your mistakes so Silas doesn't repeat them. Break the cycle that's poisoned our family for generations.”

Silence stretched between them. Silas watched his father struggle with pride and calculation.

“Sebastian's power grows,” Thomas finally said, avoiding the personal challenge entirely. “The corruption spreads. We need unified defenses.” He looked at Silas. “Your... abilities with the guardian offer tactical advantages we cannot ignore.”

Not acceptance, Silas realized. Just pragmatism.

“That's your answer?” Nathaniel's voice carried disappointment. “More tactics? More calculation?”

“It's the only answer that matters,” Thomas replied. “Results, not sentiment.”

Lady Evangeline sighed. “This is a beginning, Nathaniel. Expecting more immediately is unrealistic.”

They spent the next hour in tense negotiation. Nathaniel pushed for specific protections for magic users. Thomas deflected with concerns about security and control. Silas found himself mediating between them, drawing on both perspectives.

Through it all, Silas felt Thorne's presence. His partner battled corruption in the Eldergrove while Silas fought political battles here. Different wars, same enemy.

“There's one more thing,” Thomas said as negotiations wound down. “Your relationship with the guardian.”

Silas tensed. “What about it?”

Thomas's expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts. “It complicates matters. A foreign entity with influence over the crown heir creates... vulnerabilities.”

“Thorne isn't a 'foreign entity.' He's my partner. And he's shown more loyalty to this kingdom than many who were born here.”

Thomas studied him carefully. “I've lived long enough to know that loyalty shifts with circumstances. But I acknowledge his... contributions to our defense.”

Coming from Thomas, it was as close to acceptance as Silas could expect. Not approval, barely tolerance, but a crack in the wall of rejection.

The meeting ended without warmth but with grudging cooperation. No embraces or declarations of faith, but perhaps a foundation for something less hostile. As Silas rose to leave, Thomas spoke once more.

“Weekly councils. You'll attend.”

Silas paused. “In what capacity?”

“As my son. As someone with... unique perspectives on our current threat.” Thomas's voice remained neutral, giving nothing away. “Sebastian's actions necessitate reorganization of our defenses. Your experience could prove useful.”

Not heir apparent. Not yet. But no longer exiled and forgotten. It was a small step, measured in millimeters rather than miles.

“I'll be there,” Silas said.

* * *

Alone in his chambers afterward, Silas collapsed onto the bed. His mind spun with revelations and implications. Through their bond, he shared everything with Thorne, feeling his partner's mixture of caution and guarded hope.

He concedes nothing willingly, Thorne's thoughts whispered across the distance. Watch for hidden motives.

Everything he does has multiple purposes, Silas sent back. But the shadow corruption has genuinely frightened him. That fear might be our opening.

Fear makes dangerous allies, Thorne replied. Be wary of what he might sacrifice to preserve his power.

A knock interrupted their communion. Nathaniel entered, moving carefully but with purpose.

“Well?” he asked.

Silas recounted the meeting, watching his uncle's reactions closely. Nathaniel nodded at key points, as if confirming suspicions.

“Your father believes himself pragmatic above all else,” Nathaniel said when Silas finished. “He fears becoming his grandfather, yet follows the same patterns. King Aldric was... brutal in his suppression of magic. Thomas saw the damage that caused, but chose a different kind of suppression.”

“Grandfather killed magic users?”

“Hunted them like animals. Thomas chose denial over destruction, thinking it kinder. Neither path led anywhere good.”

“And now?”

“Now we use his fear of Sebastian to create space for change. Small steps, carefully taken.” Nathaniel's expression grew serious. “Don't expect warmth or approval, Silas. Thomas doesn't know how to give those things anymore. But he respects power and results. Give him those, and he'll grant you influence, if not affection.”

“Will you speak with him again?”

“I must. Not for his sake or mine, but for the kingdom's.” Nathaniel gripped Silas's shoulder. “You're building bridges between worlds. We need to ensure Thomas doesn't burn them from his end.”

“How do I get him to truly listen, not just calculate?”

Nathaniel smiled wryly. “That, nephew, may be beyond any of us. But your grandmother still has influence over him. She sees what's at stake better than he can.”

Diana arrived with documents requiring attention. News of potential cooperation between crown and forest spirits had already spread through court circles, generating speculation and concern in equal measure.

“We need to control the narrative,” she explained, spreading papers across Silas's desk. “Present this as strategic alliance, not fundamental change. Your father will retreat if he feels pushed too quickly.”

They worked through the afternoon, crafting statements that balanced traditional language with necessary evolution. Silas found himself drawing on both his noble education and guardian experiences, bridging worlds with words.

As sunset painted the sky in flames, Silas stood on his balcony. The city spread below, lights beginning to twinkle in growing darkness. Though, he felt the ongoing battle for the Eldergrove. His partner channeled enormous power, pushing back corruption at great personal cost.

Rest, Silas urged. You can't save everything alone.

Says the man who just negotiated with the immovable mountain himself, Thorne replied, exhaustion coloring his thoughts.

We're quite a pair.

The best.

Love flowed between them, sustaining both through their separate trials. Silas closed his eyes, letting the sensation wash over him. When he opened them, Diana stood in the doorway.

“The council convenes tomorrow,” she reported. “Your father wants you to present potential areas of cooperation between human forces and forest guardians.”

“Testing me publicly.”

“Giving you opportunity to demonstrate value,” she countered. “Take it for what it is.”

“Any advice?”

Diana considered. “Don't try to be what he wants. Show him what he needs—a bridge between worlds. And remember that half the council fears magic while the other half secretly uses it.”

“And if they reject cooperation entirely?”

“Then we remind them what happens when Sebastian wins.” Her expression hardened. “I've prepared contingencies.”

Of course she had. Silas felt a rush of gratitude for her friendship and foresight.

Night deepened around them. Somewhere in the palace, his father calculated advantages and risks. In the forest, Thorne battled darkness that threatened both their worlds. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, Silas allowed himself a moment of cautious determination.

They'd taken the first tentative step. Everything else would follow, one careful negotiation at a time.