Riss was already sitting at the table when Kyren returned home.
That alone was enough to tell him the evening would be unpleasant.
His father rarely sat without doing something.
After guard duty he usually cleaned weapons, checked leather straps for tears or disappeared somewhere until everyone else had gone to sleep.
Tonight he sat with both forearms resting on the table, staring at the empty bowl in front of him as though it had personally offended him.
The light of the hanging moss-lamps caught the exhaustion beneath his eyes.
His clothes still smelled of the outer forest: damp leather, sweat, woodsmoke and the bitter resin the border guards rubbed over their skin to confuse predators.
Kyren stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
For an instant he considered turning around.
“Sit.” Riss had not looked at him.
Kyren looked toward the doorway instead.
Outside, the forest had begun to darken.
Somewhere beyond those trees Arkin was probably already gathering whatever he considered necessary for escaping Delasai.
Aiko would be panicking.
Or packing.
Probably both.
“I ate earlier.” “I didn’t ask if you were hungry.” Kyren remained standing.
Riss finally raised his head.
“Sit.” Kyren pulled out a chair.
The wood scraped against the floor.
Riss’s eyes narrowed at the sound.
Kyren sat more carefully.
Neither spoke for several seconds.
From another room came the clatter of pottery.
Eria was preparing the evening meal.
Darcelle’s lute sounded faintly from the upper floor, the same short sequence of notes repeated again and again while she tried to correct something that only she could hear.
Riss tapped two fingers against the table.
“How much longer?” Eria answered from the other room.
“Almost done.” Riss exhaled through his nose.
Kyren watched him.
He knew that rhythm too.
The silence before Riss became angry was worse than the anger itself.
Anger had direction.
Silence required guessing.
Riss turned toward him.
“You’ll be twelve soon.” Kyren said nothing.
“Did you hear me?” “I know how old I am.” “Then perhaps you can start acting like it.” Kyren looked at the table.
A split ran down its centre where someone had repaired the wood years earlier with hardened sap.
He followed the line instead of looking at Riss.
“What did I do?” “That’s exactly the problem.” “What is?” “Nothing.” Kyren frowned.
Riss leaned back.
“Every day you disappear.
Every day you climb trees, run around with Arkin, that purple-haired girl, whoever else happens to tolerate you—” Kyren’s eyes lifted.
“Aiko.” “I know her name.” “Didn’t sound like it.” Riss’s jaw tightened.
Kyren immediately regretted speaking, though he would rather have swallowed his tongue than admit it.
Riss continued.
“You spend all day outside and come home expecting food to appear in front of you.” “I help.” “When?” “With Eria.” “Moving plates isn’t work.” “Carrying supplies?” “Work for children.” Kyren stared at him.
“You just said I’m a child.” “I said you are nearly twelve.” “Which is a child.” “Not forever.” Kyren almost laughed.
Forest elves were not considered fully adult until around a hundred.
He decided pointing that out would not improve the evening.
Riss folded his arms.
“Two months.” “What?” “You have two months.” Kyren finally looked directly at him.
“For what?” “To discover your talent.” “My talent.” “Yes.” “And if I don’t have one?” Riss’s expression hardened.
“Everyone has something.” “Yrhin’s talent is hitting elves who can’t hit him back.” “Enough.” “He’s very experienced.” “Kyren.” The warning was unmistakable.
Kyren looked away.
Riss continued more quietly.
“Two months to find what you’re suited for.
Archery.
Tracking.
Nature magic.
Guard work.
Something useful.
Then you start training seriously.” Kyren felt the memory records beneath his clothes.
He had hidden them there temporarily after separating from Aiko.
They seemed suddenly heavy against his side.
Two months.
Arkin wanted to leave tonight.
The absurdity almost made him smile.
Riss misread the expression.
“Something funny?” “No.” “Then wipe that look off your face.” Kyren’s smile disappeared.
“You always talk like you were never young.” Silence.
Riss leaned forward.
“What did you say?” Kyren could have stopped.
He knew it.
Instead he heard Arkin’s voice from earlier.
If you stay only because you’re guilty, they still control where you live.
“You talk like you came out of a tree already angry and carrying a spear.” Riss’s chair moved backward.
Kyren’s stomach tightened.
“You think this is funny?” “I didn’t say—” “Do you know what I was doing when I was your age?” “Probably being told you were nearly twelve.” Riss slammed his palm against the table.
Darcelle’s lute stopped upstairs.
Kyren flinched despite himself.
Riss saw it.
Something changed in his expression for half a heartbeat.
Then anger covered it again.
“You’re spoiled.” Kyren stared at him.
“Spoiled?” “Yes.” “I sleep in a tent my legs don’t fit inside.” “You have a roof.” “Sometimes.” “You eat.” “Usually.” “Because I provide it.” There it was.
The sentence Kyren had heard too many times.
I feed you.
Therefore everything after it was supposed to become permissible.
“So?” Kyren asked.
Riss’s eyes narrowed.
“So?” “You keep saying that like I’m supposed to thank you every time you don’t let me starve.” Riss stood.
“You ungrateful little—” “Enough.” The voice came from the doorway.
Soft.
Trembling slightly.
Eria stood there carrying a wooden tray.
Steam rose from a bowl of soup.
Beside it were rice, several pieces of bread and a cup of dark beer meant for Riss.
Her eyes moved between them.
“Dinner is ready.” Riss stared at her.
“Stay out of this.” Eria placed the tray on the table.
“He’s a child.” “You always defend him.” “Someone should.” Kyren looked at her.
Eria immediately knew she had gone too far.
Riss’s face emptied of expression.
That was worse.
“What did you say?” Eria swallowed.
“I said he is still a child.” “As long as he lives under my roof, he follows my rules.” “Then give him rules instead of waiting until you’re angry enough to invent them.” Kyren slowly lowered his hands beneath the table.
He wanted Eria to stop.
He also wanted her to continue.
Riss looked at the food.
“Soup.” Eria nodded.
“It was ready a moment ago.” Riss picked up the spoon.
He tasted it.
His expression did not change.
He placed the spoon down.
Eria watched him.
“Is something wrong?” Riss stood.
He walked around the table.
Kyren rose at the same time.
“Dad.” Riss ignored him.
He stopped in front of Eria.
“Cold.” “It isn’t—” The slap sounded sharper than Kyren expected.
Eria’s head turned sideways.
The tray rattled.
Kyren froze.
For an instant the room became as silent as the lake had been the night Roselle found him.
Eria touched her cheek.
Riss’s breathing had become heavier.
“Again,” he said.
“Every time.” Eria looked back at him.
Her eyes had filled but no tear fell.
“It isn’t cold.” Riss struck the bowl from the table.
Soup spilled across the floor.
“Don’t tell me what I tasted.” Kyren’s chair fell behind him.
“Stop.” Riss turned.
“Sit down.” “No.” “Kyren.” “I said stop.” The words came out more quietly than Kyren intended.
He felt something move beneath his skin.
Not magic exactly.
A pressure.
The same strange awareness he sometimes felt when insects gathered nearby.
Eria noticed his eyes.
“Kyren.” He looked at her.
She shook her head once.
Don’t.
Riss stepped toward him.
“You want to make this about you?” Kyren’s fists tightened.
He remembered being tied to the tree.
The first strike.
The tenth.
Adults explaining that pain would make him strong.
Roselle kneeling beside him afterward, washing blood from his mouth.
If he hit Riss now, the village would not care who started it.
They never had.
Kyren slowly unclenched his hands.
“No.” Riss pointed toward the stairs.
“Then go.” Kyren did not move.
“Go!” He turned.
Each step toward the stairs felt like defeat.
Halfway there he heard Eria say something too quietly to understand.
Riss answered louder.
Another argument began.
Kyren continued upward.
He entered his room.
Closed the door.
Waited.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
Then he opened the window.
The tree wall outside had grown rough enough to climb.
Kyren swung one leg over the frame.
Voices continued downstairs.
If he intervened, both would eventually turn on him.
Riss would accuse him of disrespect.
Eria would tell him he had made things worse.
The elders would hear.
Someone would decide that a punishment was necessary.
Kyren had learned this pattern years ago.
He lowered himself onto a branch and slipped away from the dwelling.
Nobody called after him.
At the edge of the path sat a stray dog.
Thin ribs showed beneath dirty fur.
One ear had been torn long ago and healed crooked.
Kyren stopped.
The dog watched him without moving.
“You again.” Its tail struck the ground once.
Kyren looked back toward the house.
Through the open lower window he could still hear voices.
He reached inside the small cloth pouch tied at his waist and removed a piece of bread he had taken earlier.
The dog rose cautiously.
“Don’t make me regret this.” He placed the food on the earth.
The dog sniffed it.
Kyren sat on his heels.
“You have the right idea, you know.” The animal began eating.
“No family meetings.
No elders.
Nobody telling you that suffering builds character.” The dog looked at him while chewing.
“Although you probably have fleas.” It returned to the bread.
Across the path, through the trees, Kyren saw a family sitting outside a larger dwelling.
Two adults.
Three children.
They were laughing about something.
One child climbed onto the father’s back and covered his eyes.
The father pretended to stumble.
Kyren watched for several seconds.
Something bitter formed in his chest.
He looked away.
The market path lay in the opposite direction.
Even at this hour one stall remained open, its owner shouting prices at elves who were no longer there.
Kyren almost laughed.
Something brushed against his boot.
A folded piece of paper.
He frowned.
There had been nothing there a moment earlier.
Kyren picked it up.
A heart had been drawn on one corner in green pigment.
The handwriting was hurried.
We’re going to Lyren Lis.
We’ll wait at the entrance to the Green Path.