Page 66 of Unseen Eye
Then a wild thought hits me. “Oh my gods,” I lean forward, gripping my chair. “You don’t think Kendry could actually be my father, do you?”
Callon’s eyebrows rise, but before he can respond, I blurt out, “Actually, no, that’s ridiculous. We look nothing alike. You and Drystan have similar features, but Kendry and I were always a mismatched pair. And to be blunt, I’d like to think he wouldn’t lie about that. It seems too dramatic, even for him.”
Callon tries to jump in, but I keep going, another idea spinning out. “But he must’ve known I had an affinity, right? If he was trying to suppress it, that means he had some inkling. But how could he have known if he never saw it himself? I think I’d remember if I’d made light appear.”
Before I can ramble any further, Callon raises a hand and with a flick of his wrist, an invisible gag forms around my mouth, halting my stream of questions. My eyes widen, and I give him my best death glare, which only makes him laugh. After a beat, he releases the gag.
“Before we dive into yet another rabbit hole of questions,” he says, leaning forward and taking a drink, his gaze intense, “let me try to answer at least a few.”
I rest my head on my hands, exaggerating a dramatic sigh.
“I doubt Kendry was your father,” he says with a wry smile. “Granted, I never met him, so I can’t say for certain. But you don’t always resemble your parents. Take me and my father, for instance—sometimes genetics have a twisted sense of humor. Besides, plenty of people have left here for the human realms, especially if they’re protecting someone. Safer, simpler, out of the limelight.” He pauses, thoughtful. “A perfect hiding place.”
He shifts, sighing theatrically. “And as for your affinity—well, he probably suspected you’d have one, but couldn’t be sure what. Affinities usually emerge in adolescence, and unless he had a psychic ability of his own, he wouldn’t have known the specifics.” He raises an eyebrow, as if daring me. “Psychic affinities are incredibly rare. Rarer than mine.”
“Rarer than yours?” I challenge, a grin creeping up.
“Yes,” he replies, not missing a beat.
I let my gaze linger for a moment, then shift the subject. “Speaking of fathers, what’s the deal with yours? I’ve been here a month and haven’t seen or heard him. I’m grateful, trust me, but I figured he’d be like Baron—demanding proof of my worth,or something.”
This question prompts Callon to drain his glass. He takes a deep breath before answering. “My father is… an interesting man. For someone with the only recorded invincibility affinity, he refuses to use it.” He pauses, eyes clouding over with something darker. “When my mother was alive, he was different. He actually cared about people, took action. But when she died, something in him died with her.”
He pours himself another glass, and begins to swirl it, a flicker of bitterness in his eyes. “When I killed Eamon, my father’s only response was to lecture me. He said I was reckless, that I needed to act with my head, not my emotions. Killing Eamon seemed like a mere technicality to him—expected, but somehow unsatisfactory. As if no amount of skill or restraint would ever be enough for him.”
My heart tightens. “What did he want from you?”
“Perfection, maybe,” Callon says, his tone hollow. “Or something he thinks I’ll never be. Whatever warmth he had went with her. Now he’s just… cold, distant, calculating.”
I frown, recalling Drystan’s presence in Astermiri. “He didn’t seem cold to you either time.”
Callon blinks, his face unreadable. “My father and I have an understanding when other courts are involved. We both know how to play the game—and we do it well. But there’s a difference: his act is real; mine’s an act that I hate to admit is getting easier.” He glances down, jaw tight. “To be blunt, as you put it, I don’t think he cares much for you. He barely cares about me. He probably enjoys having you here only because he knows it irritates Baron.” He finishes what wine he has left. “Honestly, I was shocked he fought that night. I haven’t seen him pick up a sword in years.
My heart aches for him, and before I can think better of it, I reach out, covering his hand with mine. “Callon… you’re nothinglike your father. You care, even when it’s inconvenient or risky.”
He looks down at our hands, his expression shifting to something quieter, more open—a side of him I’ve started to see more often, yet it still catches me off guard.
Then door bursts open with a dramatic flair.
“About time you came back,” Izzy begins, “thanks for the heads-up, jackass.” Her eyes scanning everything with practiced precision. She smirks when she notices me pulling my hand away from Callon’s.
“Thanks for waiting!” Theo calls out, stumbling in behind her, catching his breath.
“Learn to keep up,” she shoots back, barely sparing him a glance. She takes Callon’s wine glass, pouring herself a generous amount. “Did you two have a good day?” Her gaze sharpens as it lands on me, and I struggle to keep a straight face.
“Yes, Mother,” Callon replies smoothly, his voice laced with playful defiance.
“Funny, I don’t remember signing your permission slip,” she retorts, raising an eyebrow.
“What can I say,” he says with a shrug, “I forged it.”
I laugh, enjoying the sibling-like ribbing between them, full of teasing and banter but laced with unmistakable trust.
Izzy laughs, genuinely amused. Theo plops down beside me and grabs one of Kendry’s storybooks, flipping through the pages with a thoughtful expression. “I remember this one,” he says.
I smile, peering over his shoulder. “It’s the one about the young knight who saved the village from the shadow beasts.”
Theo turns his focus to me, his playful tone softening. “Are you okay, Eva?”
