Page 30 of Black Onyx
“Huh, well. I’m already enrolled, and as far as a team goes,” he looks back at me and motions to the spelled display case that holds the spear, “Farren, Darlin’, would you mind?”
I sigh heavily and flick my hand, dissipating the spell and unlocking the case. I told the Headteacher only two of my gifts. The other two I decided to keep to myself for obvious reasons, they’re rare, and I shouldn’t have more than two gifts. My Void gift is fairly self-explanatory, but my other gift is even rarer. I’ve only found the term in a few ancient textbooks. I’m what’s known as a weaver. It was my last gift to show up and my most complicated, I have barely scratched the surface of how it works, but from the textbooks, it seems that I can create and blend my own spells, hence the weaver part. Which probably explains why I can cast spells without the help of words. I haven’t explored that side of the gift, but I have explored the reverse. I can also pull the complex threads of a spell apart and dissipate it. Some are too strong for me, like the spell my father used to make my wounds last, but the spell guarding the case was surprisingly easy to dissipate, almost as if it wanted Killian to take the spear. It wouldn’t surprise me; the fates are clearly at play here, especially if Kill’s been given a vision.
“Thank you,” he smiles, knowing full well that he’s dropped me in hot water as everyone stares at me in shock, including the Headmaster.
Killian strides over to the case and opens it up, reaching in and grasping a hold of the spear. As it did with me, it instantly glows brightly before it dims as it reveals a name.
“So?” Storm asks, apprehension flashing in his eyes briefly.
“Looks like I’m on your team, brother,” Killian replies, turning the spear to show the Headmaster and the rest of us.
I never really doubted that he would be, if I’m honest.
The Headmaster starts to stutter but panics when Killian just grins and throws the spear at him to catch. It's an ancient and priceless artefact, and even I hold my breath as I wait for him to catch it. He smirks as the Headmaster fumbles with the spear and then turns on his heel and leaves, all of us following him, not wanting to stick around for the explosive rant that’s likely to come out of the Headmaster’s mouth next.
We are soon clear of the room and walking the hallways, passing a few students who study us all curiously until their eyes land on Kill and then the rest of us are promptly forgotten. The son of the king reappearing after an apparently long disappearance is a big deal. At least, I imagine it is for some of the students. For the rest, they’re probably just as enthralled by his rugged looks as I am.
“What the hell was that?” Rival asks, his gaze moving to me.
Before I can answer though, Kill interrupts.
“He shouldn’t have insulted her,” he answers with a shrug, deliberately misunderstanding that the question was for him.
“Not that. I was seconds away from doing it myself,” Rival replies, shocking the hell out of me.
It was only yesterday that they all wanted me gone.
“I was talking about what Farren did,” he continues.
“Not here,” Kill replies, seriously looking around at all the other students in the halls and making the others frown.
“Good point,” Rival reluctantly replies as he speeds up, trying to get to our room quicker.
“You know the news of your return will have made it to father by dinner time,” Storm points out, glancing at Killian.
He tenses at the mention of his father, and I fucking hate it. His father may be the king, but he rivals my own in his cruelty. At least there was always some tiny shred of hope that I could get out, Killian and I guess Storm, too, had no fucking chance. No one would be willing to go against the king. Except for me, of course, but I’m biding my time, and that’s just a vague notion at the moment, not even an idea. It’s there though, hovering in the back of my mind, ready to turn into a possibility as soon as I give it enough attention. For now, it can stay where it is.
“I know, but we can do nothing about it.” His face is stern as he looks at Storm, “unlike when I left, he will find me incredibly difficult to control. I have no problem using my unique set of skills to defend those I care about or myself.”
“Careful brother, it only takes one wrong person to hear you speak like that,” Storm cautions, worry coating his every word.
“I am aware,” Kill replies simply.
We unlock the door to our rooms and all spread out around the living room. Rival is practically bouncing in his seat, and I raise my eyebrow at him in curiosity.
“I can’t hold it in any longer. What the hell was that, Farren?”
I grin at his complete lack of patience before deciding to put him out of his misery, “I’m a Weaver.”
“No fucking way!” He exclaims while the others look between us, confused.
“Never heard of it,” Storm grumbles, crossing his tattooed arms over his barrel chest and staring at me unwaveringly.
“Me neither,” Loki adds.
“Why wasn’t it listed as one of your gifts?” Mayhem asks before his eyes widen as he realises something, and he continues without giving me the chance to answer, “wait, you have four gifts?”
“Erm yeah,” I reply somewhat meekly. I’m not used to admitting it out loud.
