Innocence is subjective, and power always has its price--so his elders told him. Silas Blane is destined for greatness. Born into an elite family with many skeletons in the closet, he learns to harness his inherent shamanic powers and finds purpose...
I was happy to return to Silvring Hall and to resume my work and studies. Though I still needed to take daily medication against pain and infection, my strength returned quickly.
Gash had luckily missed arteries and vital organs. It was excessive blood loss which had rendered me comatose. I bore scars over the right side of my neck and shoulder, a ring of large punctures held closed with metal staples, along with three lacerations down my chest.
Mr. Forsyth and Gerald came to visit for a few days, after I'd been released from the infirmary.
Gerald paled when I took off my shirt and showed him the damage. "You're likely blemished for life," he said.
"So I've been told."
"Well, you wouldn't be the first hunter to earn such marks. At least you didn't lose something important, like an ear, or the family jewels."
I smirked and tucked my shirt back in. "My mother insists she saved my life with her magical powers, which is preposterous."
"Indeed," said Gerald. "You're alive because of Duke, and our guides. Malachai and Ulwazi were brilliant. Your father paid them handsomely for their service."
"Good. They deserved it."
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We left my room and strolled down the hall.
Father was in his office with Mr. Forsyth, discussing news over imported cigars.
"At least the trial has ended," Mr. Forsyth said. "The verdict will be delivered this afternoon. I want to see all seventeen of the bastards incarcerated for years to come, with a double sentence for that worthless valet of yours."
"Mr. Whitlock will receive his due," said Father. "And anyone who gave him a good reference will be permanently off of my staffing list."
"A wise decision." Mr. Forsyth sighed. "It pains me that this event has inadvertently associated Blane Industries with the likes of Lovejoy-Prynne. For all our efforts to set ourselves apart, and treat our workers fairly, it seems we've fallen short somehow."
Father cleared his throat. "Have no worries. I've a plan to restore good faith with the miners and unions. We'll discuss it later." His wristcom chimed, and he answered. "Blane."
Mr. Tremaine appeared on hologram, shimmering in blue and silver miniature an inch above Father's starched cuff.
"Good afternoon, Richard," Mr. Tremaine said. "How are your father and son faring?"
"Silas Jr. is well, thank you," Father replied. "The elder is still bedridden."
"I'm saddened to hear this. I'm in Belenus today, and I was hoping to speak with the old mastermind about my latest public relations proposal."
Father sat on the edge of his desk and tapped his cigar into the ornate glass ashtray he kept there. "I'd be happy to relay your information to him. Are you free within the hour?"
