Page 127 of Twisted Ties
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Tristan
Two summonsfrom my father in as many weeks is not a good sign. But it’s not something I can refuse either.
I arrive well after dinner, not wanting to endure a silent meal with my mother and father, her sadness and his temper crackling in the air and affecting my mood.
No, I arrive when I know my mother will have already retired to her room long ago, to drown herself in pills.
My father’s long-serving butler opens the doors as I climb the steps and leads me silently into my father’s chamber.
What have his sources told him this time? Am I in for a beating? Or is it something else? My father’s role on the Council has been to oversee the authorities’ ongoing battles with the gangs that rule most of the wastelands, and to keep a watchful eye on the border to the West. The authoritieshave been trying to undermine the tyrant who’s ruled the lands to the West for the last two decades. But he is powerful, well-entrenched and slowly trying to encroach on our lands too. In fact, his tentacles already stretch into our lands – underground dealings, illegal tradings, criminal activities.
Is that what my father wishes to discuss?
The butler knocks on the door and when my father calls, “Enter” holds the door back for me, shutting it ominously behind me as I stride through.
“Tristan,” my father says.
He’s dressed in old-fashioned dueling robes, a long thin sword in his hand. The man he pays to spar with him stands waiting, his sword hanging limp by his side. My father motions his head to the man who bows and swiftly exits the room.
My father flips off the wire mask that protects his face.
“You’re late.”
“I had training.”
“Ahh, yes.” He examines me with his cold, soulless eyes. Calculating, ruthless eyes. “The big game this weekend. You are prepared?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good, I’m expecting you to crush Aropia.”
“We intend to.”
My father smiles, but it’s the smile of a snake, no warmth in it at all. His smiles used to scare me shitless. They used to turn my blood cold and my tongue to stone. It’s been too many years of cold smiles, though, now they brush over me like a light summer’s breeze.
I decide to cut to the chase. The less time I can spend in this place the better. Definitely before my mother hears of my visit and appears, high as a kite and provoking my father’s temper.
“You wanted to see me, Sir.”
“I did.” He spins the sword in his hand, enjoying making me wait. Then hangs it alongside the other weapons on the rack on the wall. “There was a werebeast attack at the school.”
I keep my features neutral, blank, a skill I’ve perfected over the years. “There was. On Friday night.”
“The school hasn’t informed parents of this.”
“I believe the principal considers the matter dealt with.”
“How was it possible for a werebeast to enter the school grounds?”
I concentrate on maintaining that blank, passive expression. “I don’t know.”
“You’re head of your house, Tristan,” he scoffs. “Surely the principal has been keeping you informed?”
“She hasn’t told me anything, Sir.”
He narrows those eyes of his. “Was anyone hurt?”
