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“A business that might one day be yours,” he reminded his son. “And it is my money that is paying for you to go to this…mages training.” He spit the words out as if they were rotten. Remis stilled sensing the direction this conversation was going—nowhere good, though that’s how most talks with his father went.
Whether his father wanted to admit it or not this country ran on more than money, it ran on magic. Even Artemis Lexmore needed it for his business in some capacity. With this schooling and his natural-born talent, Remis could use magic to become anything he’d like. All of the best blacksmiths had a mage on staff if they were not one themselves. All naval crews were captained by mages, and even a couple of the warlords had a mage in their employ. Yet his father was of an older generation, an outdated way of thinking, so to open his mind would challenge the fragile reality he’d created. It was mages who stepped up to do the work and better the country when witches were hunted to near extinction.
“I want a Lexmore to be the next great merchant of Augustine,” he continued. “We have the capabilities, the drive, and the blood. We will stomp out anyone who tries for it. Including the Maines.”
Remis could feel the heat of his father’s gaze on him now. Something too akin to nervousness fluttered in the lower half of his stomach. He looked up through the strands of sweeping brown hair that played before his eyes.
How far might the blood of a merchant family trickle down? Remis was sure he didn’t have much of it running in his veins at all. The politics of business were painfully uninteresting. His father may expect him to take over the business one day, but that day was far enough away he could pretend it didn’t exist at all.
“You will make the finest merchant Augustine has ever seen, Father.” He attempted another small smile. With his father trying for new enterprises, he’d be away, leaving Remis to build upon his own dream separate from the crushing weight of the family business. This should all feel like a relief but so far he was only beginning to feel sick.
Remis dreamt of a world where he might venture out on his own and no longer stand under the daily control of his father’s cruel hand. It was so close he could taste it. “Will you ride for the capital after dragonis season?”
It was his father’s turn to grin. “No, my son. This is a task for you.”
And Remis’ heart leapt with joy only to have it tumble into the acid of his stomach.
“You can’t be serious.” He clutched the arms of the chair, the leather squeaking as he leaned forward.
“Deadly. And you’ll leave immediately. Tonight is the best.”
Today? So soon? No ordinary man made it far from the city during dragonis season when the beasts came down from their mountainous homes and searched for their meals at the edges of many cities.
Augustine was home to two dragon breeds. The dragonis and the bold wings. Both were deadly. Bold wing dragons were trained and ridden by scale riders. The dragonis, though, were smaller, ganglier, and wholly untamable. Did his father truly think he could accomplish something so dangerous?
“Why not send a crosser? Why me?” Remis stood, and his father leaned forward with a sneer. At least a crosser, who made travel during this season their profession, stood a chance at survival.
“A crosser can’t negotiate business on my behalf.”
“No.” Remis took a step closer. “I won’t—” His head snapped to the side. Heat blistered his skin, warmth trickling down his cheek where the back of his father’s ring-adorned hand had met his face.
“You will do as you're told, or I will rip this to shreds.” Artemis held the paper up for Remis to see. Upon first glance, it was simply a contract but when he looked closer the realization settled on him. The paperwork required from his father for his admittance into the mages' school. What Artemis held was the entirety of Remis’ dreams. Without this training, he’d never go further than elemental magic conjured in fleeting amounts from nature. He’d be nothing. Another no one with an inkling of a gift never built to prosper. Remis would be what his father truly wanted—trapped within the family business.
He swallowed back the anger that flooded him and tasted the blood on his lip. “What of the dragonis?” Remis asked, his voice a husky shell of what it should be.
“Surely, you and your abilities can get past them.”
Hardly anyone got past the dragonis. Riding through their territory that separated Augustine from the capital during this season was a death sentence. Perhaps his father never meant to send him to become a mage after all. Because there would be no way to survive this. Not even with the hint of a gift he had.
Artemis slid the paper back onto his desk, smirking down at his son. “Ready your things and say your goodbyes. A carriage will be waiting with your provisions by dusk.”
He stared back at his father for several minutes, holding his stare. Artemis’ eyes were a dark shade of brown that bordered on black, the same eyes Remis had also been born with. In the depths of his gaze there was no kindness, not even the spark of love a father might feel for his son. There was nothing. An emptiness claimed his father. One that Remis was sure was born out of greed. How could one hold any amount of love inside of him when the want for wealth was all that consumed him?
He turned from his father without another word. What else could he say? Artemis was not known for being a man who negotiated with those below him. His commands were law in this house and his son was a slave to it all.
Time was already slipping from his hands. There were only hours for him to prepare for an impossible journey. A thousand different tasks came to mind, though most would do little to help him survive.
The itch on his palm grew more demanding by the moment. His steps echoed down the corridor as he scratched at it until the skin became raw. When a bead of blood formed, he stared down to find the shape of an eye cut into his palm.
Fear clogged his throat and took up the room in his chest that was meant for his heart and lungs. He blinked several times. This couldn’t be real.
A myth. A curse. A magical branding. Another way for his life to come to an end.
2
Meira
The last of Meira’s dreams slipped away as she hurtled toward consciousness. Air rushed into her lungs as if she’d been submerged below water and only now was able to break the surface. Her throat ached. Every surface of her mouth was dry, her tongue rough against her palate, and the metallic taste of blood lingered on her cracked lips.
