I returned to the house and met one of our human housekeepers in the foyer. A middle-aged woman with a jittery manner, she dusted the furniture to a flawless polish every evening. When she saw me, she scurried to her feet and curtsied.
"Good evening, sir." Her voice shook, as if she thought I'd scold her. She was a new hire, hailing from a traditional, more strict aristocratic household.
I nodded and continued on my way to Father's study. My parents encouraged the staff to interact with us. We treated them with dignity, and they served us well in return.
As I strode down the main hall, I passed the veranda doors leading to the grand pool area. The splashing beyond meant Castor was still swimming. My brother had beaten me the last time we raced a lap. His boundless energy was an asset in sports. He still couldn't surpass me in rowing, though he swore he would one day. I always gave him a playful cuff for such ambition. The twerp would never best me.
I peered into the entrance parlor and found Juno chattering in the corner. Mother wasn't there. She was likely still in the garden, planning the new Sanctuary.
Juno flapped and cocked a bright black eye toward me. "Senever, I see!"
Juno's sensitivity to shamanic talent astounded me. She nibbled my fingertip, looking for a treat. I offered her a slice of tangerine from the feed dish and stroked her shiny black feathers. Fruit in her beak, the bird hopped back to the perch.
Hjungstlen, a spirit-bound animal--how I missed Duke, the closest I'd ever had to such a companion. His devotion was so true that he'd given his life for mine. Someday, I'd get another dog. I had no time for one while attending prep school. Perhaps I'd find a puppy after graduation. The thought cheered me somewhat as I continued down the hall.
The tall mahogany doors to Father's study were open. Inside, Father hunched over his desk with a display monocle over one eye, his cigar dwindling in tense fingers. He looked up and ground the cigar into a silver ashtray.
"You look troubled, son." He removed the monocle and set it aside. "I'm sorry for being so overbearing earlier. I'm concerned for your safety."
"I understand. Thank you for granting me this last term."
He smiled. "I know it means a lot to you. And I have no doubt you'll excel, as always." He rose from his chair. "It's an unsettling night on all counts. Have you heard the latest news about Miles Prynne?"
"A friend just called and told me."
"How swift word travels, then. His death is tragic, and much too timely." He walked to the elongated window and stared out. The silver patches at his temples peppered through all of his hair, now. He seemed older than his forty-four years, vulnerable and tired.
"What do you mean by timely?" I asked, stepping toward him.
"There's too much uncertainty surrounding his death. Too much controversy. Some factions insist he was unfairly treated by the trade commissioners. On the other hand, militants like the Fist Of Heaven picket the Assembly as we speak, demanding thorough inspections of all off-world commerce. They say Mr. Prynne was no martyr, but a criminal."
I drew a sharp breath. "What do you believe?"
He folded his hands behind his back. "Whether Mr. Prynne was innocent or not, his death is a catalyst. We'll see as the case unfolds. Above all, I believe one thing--the Pruessian Empire must be stopped. The colonies should strengthen sanctions against Hir Kaezer and unite with a common purpose. There's no middle ground in this. We must plan carefully, but it'll be no easy task."
I straightened my posture, meeting his gaze. "I'll help however I can."
"That's my boy." He slapped a hand against my shoulder. "You're a Blane, through and through."
***
Mr. Prynne's death shocked the Net. News and gossip columns babbled about things which didn't matter, mingled fact with opinion, and wove tangents out of the Prynne family's loss.
Father was right. Members of the Fist Of Heaven shouted outside the trade commission headquarters on the liberal habitat known as the Vestal Coil. At the same time, the council of commissioners raved about the Pruessian threat, or to the opposite--for each sovereign colony's right to trade with the Kaezer if it served their economic interests.
The known worlds reeled after the surrender of Sahajia, one of the largest territories ever to fall under Pruessian control. Only five free nations remained. Thankfully, Amerixca was among them.
Hir Kaezer showed no sign of relenting. I remembered the great leader's inaugural speech in Moskloberg, when I was eight. He'd sworn to liberate all nations from his notion of tyranny. Undoubtedly, he planned to keep this promise and conquer all in his way. Pruessian forces hovered near all independent borders.
I prayed to Fenvolvna, asking her to protect Amerixca before I returned to Chamberlayne. More than anything, I wanted to be near Tamsin. Everything else could be replaced at a colonial campus. I'd miss Reuben and Gerald, but I could visit them anytime on interim. Chamberlayne was the only place Tamsin and I could be together at present. Messages and the occasional holo-call weren't enough. I wanted her in my arms, as much as I could have her, even if it was only for a while.
When I transferred to a colonial school, I'd have to find another way to meet with her. No reason to worry about it now. I'd scale that obstacle when it came. Nothing would keep me from her--not Father's rules, not the imposed distance between Earth and Belenus, nor the wrath of the Pruessians.
***
Silence dropped like a bomb over the dining room. Castor and and I froze, while our parents glared at each other over a generous platter of apple-marinated pork roast and candlelit china.
"Why the undue concern, dear? I'd assumed you supported humanitarian causes." Mother sipped her wine with two snobbish fingers raised. She set her glass down with a flourish and tilted her head. The arched black plumes on her headband fluttered.
Father broke etiquette by setting his elbows on the table. "The Sahajian borders aren't reinforced yet. Don't you remember what happened the last time you served in such a volatile zone?"
"I'm not afraid. I'll go where I'm needed." Her face loomed pale and immovable, framed against the black and sapphire feathers of her gown's upright collar. "More Unfortunates than ever before are flooding into the shelters. There aren't enough hands to help, and I can't sit by and watch them suffer. You know this by now."
Spots of red stained Father's angled cheekbones. "First Silas, and now you. I can't forbid you from going, but I don't approve." He clenched a fist. "Don't go, Octavia."
A long, cold stare passed between them. Mother looked away first. "I can't help it. I must go and aid them. I know you're distressed after losing Highveld, but please understand my dilemma." She reached for Father's hand.
He snatched it away. "None of you listen to me anymore. I might as well be a mute painting on the wall, for all the heed I get lately."
When Father finished his main course, he hurried out of the dining room, throwing his napkin to the floor. Mother glanced about, then left through the opposite door. The footmen cleared our plates with their usual finesse.
Castor said nothing and walked out after Mother.
After dinner, I was eager for a distraction. I lounged in the Aegyptus-themed drawing room to watch holo-vision. Castor huddled beside me on the scroll-backed sofa. He hugged his knees to his chin, his sullen blue eyes locked to the flickering display.
I swiped a finger in mid-air, browsing the Net channels. News, gossip, the latest jazz performances from Earth--the endless, blathering heads on the hologram and my brother's sulking annoyed me.
"Several hundred channels of drudgery." I smirked. "If there's anything you want to watch, pipsqueak, feel free to change it."
Castor sighed and switched to the GMG network. The familiar, jazzy raucous of the Society News Hour theme bounced through the room. Mr. Salinger Reid's grin sparkled amid the rapid cut of images and credits.
I set my glass of hot tea onto the hieroglyphed entertainment table. "Will you go with Mother for the new mission project?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm staying so I can learn your job." He shrugged. "I promised to fill in for you, and I meant it."
Fill in for me--how amusing. He could never fill my position. He'd only sustain it to satisfy Father. "I assume your training begins in the morning."
"I guess so. Father said I can go to the office tomorrow, if I want. I sort of want to stay home, but I need to learn as much as I can before you go back."
"Suit yourself. No one's forcing you."
He pouted, the annoying habit which had once made him childish. Now, approaching his awkward transition into adolescence, the draw of his lips resembled Father's sternest expression. "Do you really want me to do this, Silas?"
I blinked at the odd question. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I'll never be as good as you at business. I might mess things up." The muscles in his throat tightened as he swallowed. "I don't want you to be mad at me. I just want to help. But sometimes, I think you only see me as a pest. Like I should go disappear into space somewhere."
I stiffened, observing the heavy droop of his shoulders, the furtive dart of his eyes. In the Otherworld, the predatory senses of my wolf-self focused. What was he up to--playing the victim to gain my approval, or wheedling a sly yet passive jab to discover what I thought of him? Maybe I'd been wrong all these years, and he was more subtle than I'd assumed. Or maybe he'd learned a thing or two about manipulation from Mother and I. Either way, I closed my spiritual jaws upon him to coax submission. The most effective method to sway my brother was kindness, feigned or otherwise.
I smiled. "You'll do fine. The knack for business runs in our family. Look at how successful Father is, and Grandfather before him. And don't forget Uncle Holten, awarded Executive Of The Year more than once for his management of Jaster Construction. You've got it, too. You just have to believe it."
"I hope I can." He gripped my arm. "Please teach me how to do things right. I want Father to be proud of me. Like he is of you. He always takes you places, and shows you everything about Blane Industries. But he doesn't think I can do business. I want to show him I can. Maybe then I can go with you to all the important meetings and trips, and Father won't be disappointed with me anymore."
I inhaled sharply. So, that was it. He felt left out, ignored, like he wasn't enough. Part of his offer to carry my job was a ploy to win Father's respect. Clever runt. He had a streak of Jaster shrewdness in him, after all.
"Of course I'll teach you. We're brothers. We take care of each other, don't we?"
He laughed. "Right-o." He rarely hugged me anymore, growing too mature for such affection. Instead, he scooted closer to me on the sofa.
We settled into silence and watched the news for a while. Salinger Reid prattled about a famous heiress and her string of obsessive suitors.
My thoughts wandered. How far would Father accept Castor into the business? With another to compete against me, I'd have to carefully secure my future goals. I would be CEO one day, as Father had promised. I'd tolerate Castor, as long as he stayed out of my way. If he tried to outshine me, I'd claw him down a notch or two.
The crisp tap of heels against the floor tiles heralded Mother's arrival. She sauntered into the parlor, her head high. She still wore her dinner attire, a knee-length evening cape embroidered with interlocking triangles flowing behind her. She sat beside Castor and brushed a floppy brown strand of hair from his face.
"My two sweet boys." Her voice purred. "How lovely to find you enjoying each other's company. You don't spend nearly enough time together."
I forced a grin.
Castor pulled his bare feet onto the sofa and cuddled against Mother. "I like having Silas home. Even though we lost Highveld, we're all together now. This is what I always wanted. Except for one thing." His voice cracked. "Why do you and Father still fight? Do you love him at all?"
A thin line creased her forehead, and she laced her hands across her lap. "You're old enough to understand, now. I've made terrible mistakes in the past and lost myself to a sort of madness. Your father stopped me from making an even worse decision by force, and so I was angry at him for a time. But he's a good husband, kind to me when I wasn't so kind to him." Her dark, kohl-smudged eyes flicked toward me, then back to Castor. "Your father and I are very different people. He values the principles of society far more than I do. My ways are wild to him, often reckless. We clash in our opposite views of how things should be." She kissed Castor's forehead, leaving an arc of lipstick on his skin. "Love is a strange and treacherous game, my darling. It leads us blind through peril and pleasure, sin and grace. It's the greatest prize, and the greatest agony. I hope you have an easier game of it than I did."
Castor frowned. "That makes sense. Kind of. Love shouldn't make people fight. When I get married, I'll never fight with my wife. I'll make her happy, no matter what."
Mother hugged him. "I know you will. You're the gentlest gentleman l know, and Silas is my guiding light."
Her smile seemed distant as she looked at me.
Perhaps Castor hadn't noticed, but I did--Mother hadn't said that she loved Father. I knew of Father's feelings for her, as he'd told me, but Mother's true devotion remained a mystery.
Castor seemed satisfied, regardless. He yawned, stretched out, and laid his head on Mother's lap.
She stroked his cheek and sang a quiet lullaby.
"Quiet, little birds, the moon rises high,
"The sun fades to rest, the shadows are nigh,
"'The wolves wail their song,
"The fawn lays to sleep,
"Stars shine pale eyes through the dark and the deep."
Castor soon fell asleep, one hand resting in Mother's.
She smiled. "That song always comforts him. I'd have sung it for you, too, if I'd been a better mother. Sometimes I wonder if you've truly forgiven me."
I reached for my tea cup. "I don't blame you for anything. We've made a new start. It's enough."
We looked into each other's eyes. Blood connected us, power wove our fates together, but our bond still trembled now and then beneath uncertain newness.
The holo-display flashed a bold prompt. Mr. Reid's dramatic voice dipped low and somber. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Society News Hour always brings you the most sought-after perspectives from across the worlds. We find the best, the latest, to keep you informed and entertained. Our next interview goes beyond all that. We have tonight Mrs. Amelia Prynne, and her eldest son, Vance, here to elaborate on their family's recent loss."
Mother clucked her tongue. "GMG shouldn't broadcast such a thing so soon. They ought to leave that poor family alone. Let them mourn in peace."
I leaned forward for a better view.
On the hologram, Mrs. Prynne glowered in a high-backed chair. Proper in a tailored jacket and skirt, her hair was piled into high, elaborate rolls. She raised her chin, expression cold, her ankles crossed in propriety.
Vance hunched in a smaller chair beside his mother. Jacket unbuttoned, hair loose and unset, his gaze downcast.
Salinger Reid shook Mrs. Prynne's hand, but Vance refused the greeting. "GMG welcomes you. We're grateful to have you with us tonight."
"Thank you, Mr. Reid," she answered, unwavering in her poise. "I want the worlds to know the truth about my late husband."
Vance flung himself back in his chair, a crazed look on his face. "The truth...won't this be another circus?"
Mrs. Prynne snapped her head toward her son. "Don't make a fool of yourself, Vance."
Salinger Reid gave a nervous laugh and extended his brass microphone to Mrs. Prynne. "Let's hear it, madame. This is a time of trial and grief for your family, and there's much speculation as to your husband's motives. What drove him to such a terrible end?"
"My husband was unwell for many years." Mrs. Prynne smoothed her skirt, ignoring Vance's delirious grin. "We sought help for him, but he was overcome in spite of our efforts. His condition compelled him to abnormal behavior, filled him with greed. It drove him to..." She paused, flung a hand out to the camera. "To this." She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
Mr. Reid shook his head and patted her hand. "There, there. It takes much courage to admit, I'm sure."
The microphone passed to Vance.
Vance shoved it aside. "Get away. I've had enough."
Mrs. Prynne and Mr. Reid stared at him, silent.
"I didn't ask to be here." Vance looked straight into the camera. "I didn't ask for any of this. My father's dead. My family disgraced. It's all a lie. He wasn't mad, and you know it, Mother. I saw it. We both did, for all those years. How many? Just say it, right now, on live holo-vision. You wanted everyone to know the truth. Well, you aren't telling it, so I will."
Mrs. Prynne cried, shook her head, and reached for the microphone.
Vance stood before the camera and turned his back to her. "My father offed himself to protect us. His family. He was protecting something."
Mrs. Prynne gasped. "How dare you openly say..."
His voice lashed at her. "You really want the worlds to know the truth? Dragging me here, on live broadcast, to help you lie some more? I won't. You're a whore and a traitor. Go on, pretend you're innocent. Father told me before they arrested him. About your affair with Irving Lovejoy. About Grandfather meeting with the Kaezer."
Mrs. Lovejoy cried out and raised her hands to her throat.
"Look everyone, I'm the son of treason. Look at everything that's wrong with the colonies. We should all just surrender to the Kaezer and stop pretending we care about freedom."
Mr. Reid waved to someone off-camera. Two security robots marched forward.
"We're all liars." Vance threw his head back and sneered. " You hypocrites can rot in Hell." He picked up his chair and threw it toward the camera. Salinger Reid shouted, and the image tilted and jerked. The robots seized Vance and all cut to black.
"Guardians have mercy," Mother said, raising a hand to her throat. "What a terrible spot that was."
"Indeed." I gulped. An affair between Mrs. Prynne and Irving Lovejoy--did Tamsin know of this?
"That's enough to exhaust me for the night." Mother covered a yawn. "Castor has the right idea."
Her efforts to rouse Castor were in vain. He muttered and flung an arm over his face, but he didn't wake. She hailed our valet on her wristcom. Within minutes, the dutiful fellow arrived and carried my brother to bed.
"My flight leaves early tomorrow," Mother said. "I'll be back from the mission in three days, in time for our sanctuary dedication. The next gathering of The Order is a week from tonight. After that, everything changes. You'll see."
I couldn't bring myself to smile, still disturbed by Vance's outburst. All I could manage was a good night kiss on Mother's cheek.
She strode down the hall to her own room, and not to Father's. So, she was avoiding his company tonight. I wasn't surprised. They were likely still bitter after their quarrel at dinner. Such was the nature of things in my family.
Once I'd retired to my bedroom, I opened the windows and paced. My thoughts churned, preventing sleep. I wanted to message Tamsin and talk about Vance's revelation, but I couldn't. It was wisest to let her contact me, as she kept monitoring apps on her inboxes to watch for the safest times--when her relatives were least likely to be eavesdropping.
I sighed and tossed on my bed for a good while. Sleep finally claimed me as the dome lights turned on, flashing the stale blaze of a false sunrise.