Surprisingly, at no time throughout the week was Matt struck down where he stood in recompense for his blasphemous tirade against the gods. As far as he was concerned this left only two options, they either pitied him and all that had befallen him, or the gods did not exist at all. At least not with enough power to affect the mortal plane in any tangible way. Truthfully, the lack of response or punishment left him in the same, confused place he had been mired in before his prayer. Was it even possible for his question to be answered? He would find no relief or comfort from the divines.
As he had promised Sylvia, he shared his story with Anthony and Will the morning after his first lesson. Initially, the nobles had simply stared at him in confusion as if they believed he was attempting a terrible jest, or perhaps even insane. At Matt's urging they had asked their father who confirmed to his boys that the princes had informed him personally of the dragons' return. With fear and anger clear on his face, Anthony had immediately proposed that they search for the dragon Aundin in a desperate bid for vengeance and information. He was quickly dissuaded from this course of action by Will, who made it abundantly clear that he had as much hope of killing a dragon as an ant had to move a mountain. The elder son of Isaac quickly resigned himself to focus on Matt's instruction as a positive outlet for his nerves.
The bulk of the next week had been spent on the sprawling castle grounds under the tutelage of Anthony and Sylvia, spending almost every waking moment on mastering control over his newfound powers. While Anthony had initially tightened with worry at the prospect of facing dragons in combat, within an hour of resuming his lessons he was back to tossing lightning from hand to hand, sparks dancing brilliantly around his fingertips, his flare for showmanship undaunted. While his teaching style varied greatly from Nathan's, he proved an apt instructor. He did not place much stock in breathing exercises, choosing instead to teach Matt to control his powers by channeling his emotions in a healthier manner than he had first demonstrated. Matt found that if he focused on his peaceful memories he could maintain the lightning at a reasonable, consistent power, but the more his anger grew, the stronger, yet more unstable, the currents of electricity became.
After the emotionally overwhelming nature of his first lesson, Anthony and Sylvia, with much moral support from Will, had catered the lessons to be largely focused on the summoning aspect of his powers rather than using them as a weapon. Before each attempt they allowed Matt to spend as much time as he needed to clear his mind the way Nathan had instructed, and while he knew he was nowhere near as proficient in the art as the prince would have wanted, it made it much easier for him to remain in control of the little charges. Much to his delight he could now summon the lightning to his hands almost effortlessly before casting it harmlessly across the practice field. While the energy was relatively weak and not yet controlled enough to do any significant, targeted damage, he was still proud of his progression. Deep down he had been terrified that he was too old to be effectively taught and would serve as nothing but a disappointing waste of potential that the nobles would tire of and quickly discard.
While his days were spent with the heirs to Dragonfyre, Matt had seen little of the princes with whom he had traveled to the city. Whatever they, and Duke Isaac, had busied themselves with during the week they held close to the vest, but it filled their days, only allowing them the time to dine with Matt sporadically. The few times they did, the men appeared quite serious, bordering on somber, and spoke little. If Nathan had not already been traveling to the city before Matt had informed him of the dragon's return he would have assumed that their business was entirely about the preparation against their ancient foes, but clearly, something more was occupying their thoughts. Were their meetings about the rebellion? Did Isaac have some particular insight into the traitorous eastern dukes? Their silence and secretive behavior only served to raise Matt's curiosity further. He wished he had managed to overhear more of Nathan and Alexander's conversation on their first night together. How widespread did the rebellion go? How many dukes were betraying Verden? Why were they betraying Verden? There were so many questions he could not ask for fear of revealing that he had overheard the Princes talking. Not that any answers they could provide would illuminate much, he knew nothing of the nobles of Verden and even less about the inner politics between them. He doubted that the noblemen leading the rebellion could have the same complaints against the High King as the peasants he had grown up around. What could be motivating them? Was it purely a lust for more power? Or perhaps they had grown envious of the King's treasury.
How did nobles even occupy their time? He could not imagine what someone who had everything could even possibly feel fulfilled in doing.
It still felt wrong and foreign to him that he had been so readily accepted as part of the nobility. It was oddly shallow, he felt, that the mere possession of his powers had punched his ticket into the fellowship of the rich and powerful. He assuaged his unease by reminding himself that his ability to stormcry was just unrefutable proof of his parentage, and that, not usefulness, was why they accepted him. His darker thoughts were also tempered by the fact that for the first time since he had lost his family, he had people who seemed to enjoy spending time with him. Growing up, his farm had been too far removed from Clearfield for him to form any meaningful friendships. Of course, there had been other young people around his age that he had talked to during their many trips into town, but he did not see any of them often enough to consider any of them to be close. Aside from his brother, he had never had any around as often as these three nobles were these past seven days. While he did not feel he could call his new acquaintances friends just yet, they were the closest thing he had ever really had. So it was with a measure of disappointment that Matt packed his new possessions, preparing to travel with Nathan and Alexander to Stormcliff to continue his training.
A new, troubling thought crept into his mind, a question that for some strange reason had not occurred to him until now; would the princes introduce him to their father, the High King, when they reached the capital? He shuddered at the thought. As kind as the princes had treated him, especially Nathan, he had heard too many horror stories about the High King to ever be comfortable meeting him. His mood soured at the thought and he found himself brooding on if any of the fancy royal carriages the princes utilized had been built using his family's tax money. No, he was not ready to meet High King Castius just yet.
He continued to pack, lost in his musings. At the nobles' insistence, servants had brought him several pairs of clothes, all of the finest make, to bring with him on his journey. Those items alone were worth more than most of his prior possessions combined; it would have taken a year's harvest to afford such fine materials. Feeling as self-conscious as ever, he tucked the new garments into the pack that had also been provided to him by the Duke of Dragonfyre; he doubted heavily that he would ever feel as if he were free of the debt he now owed two of Verden's noble houses. Taking the strange blue dagger from the drawer of the bedside stand, he could not help but pull the blade closer to his face and once again admire the exquisite craftsmanship. It was not steel or iron, nor was it any other metal that he had ever seen. The ripples of blue along the length of the blade were not merely a coloring or design, they were a part of the metal itself, as if it ran and pooled like liquid sapphire. No man could have made a blade this fine, of that he knew; but who had? Was it elvish? Long had stories been told of the otherworldly craftsmanship of the fairer folk of Eda. Or had it been crafted by the dwarves, whose skill with metals and other, more unknown materials had been jealously guarded secrets of that proud race since time began? But neither explanation could explain why the peculiar implement had been buried in the clearing where the dragon had returned to life. Perhaps it had been the site of a fierce and ancient battle where its wielder had dropped it to be lost in the undergrowth for a century or longer. While that was more plausible than any other reason he had previously contemplated, he could not shake the feeling deep within his bones that the dagger itself was inexorably entwined with whatever magic or hereditary quirk had brought about the return of the dragons. How the object could be tied to such a process he could not fathom, but the odds of it being buried by accident, upon further reflection, had to be close to none. With one final examination of the blade, he wrapped it carefully in one of his new shirts so it would not cut the inside of the bag, causing his contents to spill upon the floor and expose the weapon that he had kept so secret for these past weeks, and placed it within his pack. He quickly buried it under the rest of his supplies, pausing only to fasten the silver leaf pendant around his neck, tucking it under his shirt to keep prying eyes from noticing the necklace. Tying the top of his pack down securely, Matt slung the entirety of his worldly belongings over his shoulder and strode out of his princely accommodations for the last time. As foolish as it might be, he hoped the stability he had felt during his week in Riftwater was just the start of his new life. No more tragedy, no more aimless travel, just a warm bed to sleep in and his newfound purpose in growing his abilities.
I wish I could have explored more of the city, he lamented. During his stay, he had been so caught up in his training that he had never gotten around to leaving the grounds of Dragonfyre Keep. Riftwater had very much intrigued him from the moment he had entered the gate, with its hustle and bustle and more people than he had ever seen in his entire life. He could traverse the city for days and still not have seen close to everything there was to discover in this metropolis. The next time he visited, as he had already sworn to the Sterlings that he would, he would be sure to spend time amongst the streets of the city, around the type of people he had spent his life around, commoners who he would always feel more kinship to than the nobility. How strangely would the people of Riftwater treat him if he encountered them while he wore the fine clothes from the castle? Perhaps the old him would have been better suited to exploring a place such as this. He felt as if he straddled two worlds now; too rough and common for the nobles to ever fully accept him, yet with his stormcrier powers and their obvious implication of noble parentage, he would never be treated the same by the rest of Verden's populace.
Moving at a slow jog, he made his way down the long spiral staircase that he had learned to take between his room on the third floor and the ground floor; he did not wish to delay the princes' departure because of his decision to put off packing until the final moments. Nodding quick acknowledgements to the servants he passed in the halls he made his way through the now empty dining chamber and hastened towards the front entrance of Dragonfyre Keep.
"Matt!" A loud, steady voice called out as he passed the throne room. Duke Isaac had not directly spoken to Matt since the day he had arrived in Riftwater, so he was taken aback when the Duke called to him so familiarly. Adjusting his course Matt entered the throne room to find it empty save for the Duke and his family.
"I would like to apologize for being remiss in my duties as host," the Duke began, waving for Matt to approach. "It has been a very...intriguing week for me, as I am sure it has been for you as well, but that does not excuse my neglect."
"Your family has treated me wonderfully during my stay," Matt answered quickly as he bowed to the Duke; he wanted to put to rest any talk of him being owed any more than he had already been gifted. The Sterlings had treated him much better than he deserved and he dared not dare insult their gifts, food, lodging, and training by insinuating any less. He offered a quick smile to Sylvia and her cousins as he straightened.
"I am pleased to hear that you enjoyed our company, I have been told that we Sterlings can be a bit of an acquired taste." The corners of his mouth wrinkled in a playful smile as he turned to wink at his niece and sons. "Anthony and Sylvia tell me that you are a most promising Stormcrier. You truly have not received any training in the past?" The Duke asked peering at Matt, his deep brown eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Never in my life have I trained until I met Prince Nathan," Matt confessed, unsure as to where the Duke's questions were leading. "I was not even aware that I possessed the gift until very recently."
The Duke studied Matt's face thoughtfully, stroking his beardless chin in deep thought, "How old are you, Matt?"
"I am seventeen," he answered swiftly.
"How did you reach such an age without your powers rearing their destructive head even a single time?" Isaac asked, partially to himself. "I remember when Anthony was a small boy sparks would crackle all around his little hands as he swung them about. Poor little guy used to get so charged up over things." The Duke chuckled heartily at his own, poor joke, turning again to look back at his eldest son. Anthony grinned as he shook his head in mock disappointment at the quality of his father's jest.
Isaac was so clearly proud of his family; it radiated from the duke every time he looked at them filling the room with familial happiness. The sweet display brought a smile to Matt's face even as it tore at his heart to realize that he would never see his own family again. Matt started slightly as Isaac turned back to face him, now clearly expecting an answer to his question.
"I am not sure my Lord. I was raised by a farmer in Klippéfell with his family since I was a baby. He was a good man and treated me as his kin. I do not even know if he knew I possessed the gift," Matt said. "I was told that he rescued me from a burning country manor, in which I was the sole survivor. If he knew any specifics beyond that, he did not tell a soul; not even the location of the destroyed manor. I believe the knowledge of where I come from was lost when he was killed."
"I do not remember hearing of any of the nobility losing a child sixteen years ago," Duke Isaac said slowly, "that would have been around the time Will was born. A couple of nobles died that year, but to my knowledge, none of them died in a fire, or had children." A strange look crossed his face, perhaps recognition, as he began to study Matt more intently. His brow lifting in what appeared to be surprise or bewilderment, he opened his mouth as if he were about to speak again.
Whatever the Duke would have said next was interrupted as the doors to the throne room flew open violently as Klaus and Anton, the two soldiers who had mistreated Matt when he had first been taken into the company of Prince Nathan, entered the throne room. Their ugly faces sneered at the occupants as they peered around the impressive room smugly, walking with the confidence of men in charge despite being the only commoners in the large hall. Distaste curdled in Matt's bones. He had never disliked anyone more than those two brutes.
"Why do you enter here?" Duke Isaac asked, his vision diverting from Matt to stare coldly at the newcomers, sounding noticeably irritated at the interruption.
Beginning to answer the command, Klaus' eyes widened slightly in surprise as he noticed Matt standing beside the nobles, "You are not supposed to be in here. Why are you not in the courtyard with the Princes?"
"You can tell your master that Matt will be with you shortly," the Duke snapped at the two soldiers, the threat of all he could unleash upon the men crackling just under his voice. Klaus and Anton ignored the direct command from the Duke, keeping their focus squarely on Matt. If their odd behavior had not induced so much unease within Matt he would have been impressed with their defiance. Did their service to the princes grant them protection from the certain death penalty that would surely accompany defying a Duke?
Matt's heart began to race in his chest, something was very wrong. A quick exchange of glances revealed equally worried expressions upon the faces of the younger Sterlings; an uneasy feeling had settled in the room, weighing down oppressively on all their shoulders.
"Leave the room now," Klaus said to Matt, continuing to target his speech solely upon the former target of his derision. "They are waiting for you at the carriages. You are not part of this."
"Part of what?" The Duke thundered, angered in equal parts by their blatant disrespect of his authority and their insistence on ignoring his words. "You are no longer welcome in this room. GUARDS!" The two men that Alexander had introduced to Matt, the highest-ranking guards in Riftwater, Captain Storic and Lieutenant Ericsson sprinted into the room at their sovereign's call, their mail clinking with every step. Several similarly armed guards followed closely at their heels. They arranged themselves in a semi-circle between the Duke's family and the two intruding soldiers. "Captain Storic, escort these men from the throne room."
"I am afraid that will not be happening," Anton said drawing his sword, "Matt, get out of the way, this does not concern you." Matt blinked in surprise, neither Klaus nor Anton had called him by his given name before, only insulting and demeaning names like 'boy'. He braved a glance at the Duke's family, hoping their reactions could give him a better clue as to what was happening To his dismay they seemed as lost as he was, meeting his gaze with a heart-wrenching combination of confusion and betrayal. He wished he could find the words to assure them that he had no part in this, but he did not even know what this confrontation had stemmed from. In the span of a heartbeat, Matt had found himself standing between two groups of very well-armed men.
"Duke Isaac Sterling, by order of the Prince, you are under arrest for conspiracy to overthrow our High King Castius Irving, colluding with enemies of Verden, and the betrayal of your oath to protect the people of Dragonfyre province," Klaus intoned grandly. Every eye in the room, including those of his personal guards, turned to the Duke.
Duke Isaac leapt from his throne, "With what proof?" He roared, his fists clenched in fury. The electricity was palpable in the air as the Duke's anger grew, crackling almost audibly as the hair on Matt's arms began to raise ominously. "I will not stand to be insulted and accused of crimes I have not committed, in my own home!"
"Captain Storic, tell your men to stand down and surrender Duke Sterling to our custody. If you do not we will be forced to execute you all immediately," Klaus demanded. He switched his gaze to the Duke's family. "We will remember you favorably to the King if you step aside now."
A charged silence gripped the room. No one spoke for several long moments as they waited for someone to break the stalemate. The Duke's family gave no indication of stepping away from his throne, their faces set and defiant. Captain Storic stared hard at his Duke, studying his master's visage, confusion covering his face as he openly sought to determine the Duke's innocence. After a protracted silence, he returned his gaze to the soldiers; his eyes steeled with determination.
"I will not step aside."
Matt's breath caught in his throat, violence was palpable in the air. Klaus and Anton were worryingly unconcerned with the fact that they were outnumbered fourteen to two, and easily outmatched. How two run-of-the-mill soldiers hoped to stand a chance against three powerful Stormcriers and a sorcerer Matt did not know, but their lack of fear scared him. Terror flooded his body as he found himself caught in the middle of a soon-to-be kinetic conflict, and he did not know which way to turn. To his left, Klaus and Anton stood with their feet together and swords still sheathed at their sides as if they had not a worry in the world. On his right stood the Sterlings, electricity crackling around them as they remained behind their defensive line of guards, who each held their weapons in hand and ready to use, led by Captain Stoic and Lieutenant Ericsson.
With unthinkable speed, Lieutenant Ericsson spun away from Klaus and Anton and in one fluid motion stabbed Duke Isaac through the chest with his sword. The Duke's eyes widened in shock and anger as the steel pierced his heart and he collapsed without a sound. Sylvia screamed and grabbed her uncle's body as he fell, arresting his fall. Anthony and Will began shouting epithets at the turncoat guard and the soldiers who had not moved swiftly enough to save him as they began to frantically examine their father for any signs of life. Anthony waved a hand throwing up a wall of wind that pushed the men several steps away from his father, buffeting them with whips of air that stung their faces, turning their cheeks red and chapped as if they had walked for an hour through a winter's storm.
Matt's mind reeled. What had he just witnessed? Klaus and Anton had called it the execution of a traitor but it felt much more like he had just witnessed a man murdered in his own home. They had provided no proof, no chance of refutation, just death. They had never wanted to capture Duke Isaac alive, Matt realized, they had antagonized and provoked at every moment of their conversation, pushing the man into a defiant stand; this had clearly been a set plan they had arranged with the lieutenant to excuse their killing.
"What are you doing?" Captain Storic shouted at his lieutenant amidst the erupting clamor, turning his sword towards his second in command.
"You are no longer fit for command Kelan," Lieutenant Ericsson said coldly. "You have thrown your lot in with the enemies of Verden, and you will be removed as swiftly as our late Duke." The other guards who had entered the room with the their two officers looked between the two men indecisively, several shifted from foot to foot in open confusion. "Do you side with the crown who has protected this land for the last century? Or this traitorous family who planned to throw away our freedoms in a bid to increase their own power?" Their gazes filled with solemnity, the men turned their swords, first one, then another, then the rest, towards their former captain and liege-lord family.
"Come Matt, it's time to leave," Anton said coldly, turning away from the corpse. "Bring the rest in chains." Before he could take more than a step, a second blast of wind from Anthony caught the soldier square in the back. He hit the stone floor face first, hard, his nose giving a sickening crunch as he landed. In seconds the room devolved into chaos. Matt could see Anthony and Sylvia blasting bolts of lightning and gusts of wind wildly at the guards, not bothering to take the time to aim, while Captain Storic engaged in combat with several of his former men, having forced himself back over Duke Isaac's prone form. A loud scream ripped from one of the guards as a bolt of lightning from one of the Sterling's, Matt believed he had seen it fly forth from Sylvia's outstretched hand, struck him square in the chest. Electricity coursed up and down his metal armor, sparking and popping as it traveled. The man twitched and screamed in horror as his muscles convulsed involuntarily; he stumbled back from the crowd and fell onto the stone floor, gyrating all the while until his body stiffened, suddenly and awkwardly, and he moved no more. Several more guards rushed into the room, fear and confusion clouding their faces as they observed the combat, clearly unsure whose side they should run to.
"Run!" Captain Storic shouted, angling himself between the Duke's family and their attackers. Anthony and Will complied with the order immediately, pulling along a defiant Sylvia who fought to remain beside her fallen uncle, shoving her towards a door in the far wall as swiftly as they could. Looking between the soldiers, as Klaus helped Anton climb back to his feet, Anton's nose smashed across his face, and his fleeing friends, every fiber of Matt's being screamed for him to leave the throne room and get as far away from the Princes' men as he could go. He had no desire to be affiliated with the Princes anymore. How had he been so blind? His whole life he had been warned to guard himself from the evils the royals perpetrated, and yet when shown a modicum of kindness he had fallen blindly in step like a loyal lap dog. Was he truly so easily bought? There was no word to describe what he had just witnessed other than murder, and he would not be party to it. Steeling his nerves he dashed after the Sterlings. Pulling open the door that had just slammed shut behind them a spike of guilt racked his conscience, forcing him to turn back towards the embattled Captain Storic. He was only in time to watch the heroic man fall to the ground in a pile beneath the blades and arms of his traitorous men who dove on top of his body like a pack of angry wolves who had finally subdued their prey. He turned away from the gruesome sight, pulling the door shut behind himself and facing the retreating family.
A bolt of lightning struck the stone wall inches from his head the second the door was closed. To his shock Sylvia's hand was extended towards him with a gaze of pure hatred in her eyes. "It's me, it's me!" He yelled, raising his hands in surrender. She must have shot as soon as she had heard someone enter the passageway behind her, he told himself as he identified himself before a second, potentially more accurate, attack could be fired in his direction.
"Do not follow us Matt!" She shouted, fighting to free herself from her cousins' grip. "My next shot will be between your eyes."
"Why are you shooting at me?" Matt protested, silently readying his powers to defend himself from future attacks. He let his gaze flit back to the door, anticipating a wave of guards to bust down the wooden portal at any moment.
"Sylvia we do not have time for this!" Anthony yelled, pulling her arm down to her side, restraining her from launching a second attack.
"You came here with them!" Sylvia yelled ignoring her cousin. "Do not try to stop us from leaving!"
"I am not with them!" Matt yelled back, "I did not know that was going to happen! I swear! I want only to come with you! I want nothing to do with them!"
"You could be their spy!" Sylvia responded glaring daggers at him. With a solid tug her arm broke free of Anthony's grasp, raising level with her chest and aiming her outstretched palm towards Matt. Lightning curved around her hand, expanding and contracting in angry flares, threatening to burst out at Matt in jagged lines of electricity. He did not wish to die like this; killed by a friend for a crime that he had no part in committing. He kept his hands raised carefully in surrender, not wishing to draw any more ire from Sylvia.
"Sylvia! Matt has not done anything, let him come!" Anthony commanded, shooting a pointed stare at his enraged cousin.
"Fine!" Sylvia snapped, lowering her hand and letting her powers fade back into the ether. "But if I find that you are working with them, I will kill you." The look in her eyes told Matt that she was not exaggerating in the slightest. Certainty crept into his mind that she was almost undoubtedly the one who had killed the soldier just moments before, frying him within his own armor. She turned and continued to run down the hallway after her cousins. Matt's heart sank, he had grown fond of the Sterling family in his time in Riftwater and now one lay dead and the others, at least Sylvia, believed that he was responsible for it. Pushing the sadness away, just as he had been forced to do after the deaths of his own family, he ran after them silently, the sound of the guards footsteps echoed loudly as they pursued the nobles.
"Where will we go?" Will asked as they ran, his breath coming in ragged bursts with each footfall.
"I have no idea," Anthony admitted, his own breathing more measured than that of his less athletically inclined brother. "The first thing we need to worry about is getting out of Riftwater without being caught, after that...we may need to find passage off Verden." Matt's heart sank even deeper in his chest. If he managed to escape with his life, the cost may be the loss of the only continent he had ever known.