As soon as Marlena made her exit, Elana took her place, closing the door behind her. It felt wrong to be in her father’s study, let alone being so bold as to ask him for his time, but there was no other way to get the information that she needed. 

Gerard gave her a pointed look, bridging his hands on top of his desk. “So, have you changed your mind about attending the Academy?” he asked. 

“What?” Elana’s face twisted with confusion. 

Everyone, young and old, knew that attending the Royal Magic Academy was mandatory. The only way around it was death, so what was her father trying to imply here? She’d heard of nobles trying to skirt around it by smuggling their children beyond the Kingdom’s borders, or attempting to switch identities to send another sacrifice in their student’s stead–and but none of those stories had a happy conclusion. 

“You would rather I…?” Elana trailed off, a tight lump in her throat. This wasn’t the conversation she’d come for. Her fists tightened. “I know I don’t have magic, or half the ability that the others had. But if I’m to be removed from this family, I would rather it be on my terms, and as a result of my own lack of capability. And not from lack of trying—”

“Elana—”

“—so, I’m going,” Elana finished, swallowing the lump in her throat and ignoring the sting in her eyes. She couldn’t show her father any more weakness. He already doubted her enough. She had to push ahead.  “What’s this about sending Soren to the Academy?” she asked, fists clenched. “Is it true?”

Gerard looked at her. “Who told you that?”

Elana’s nails carved crescent moons into the meat of her palms, but her gaze remained fixed on her father. “You don’t look surprised,” she said, searching his face for answers. The duke was only marginally more expressive than the duchess—which was to say not at all—but his nonanswer spoke volumes. Antoine was right. “Did everyone but me already know?”

“Antoine must have said something to you,” the duke said with a long-suffering sigh. “It’s true. If we send you to the Royal Magic Academy, it will not be without him as your registered defender.”

Elana smiled bitterly. Even as he’d been considering ways to get her out of the Academy, he’d been making plans for Soren to get in. It was clear which of them he had more faith in. 

“Elana...” Gerard sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

“Why?” Elana asked, clenching her jaw. “He’s scarcely older than I am. He’s not even a full-fledged knight. I understand that it is each family’s right to register a special adjunct during enrollment, but why him?” 

And why wouldn’t you tell me? But she couldn’t ask that. She wasn’t ready to hear the one thing she feared most. That it was the intention of her parents to use Soren as some sort of insurance policy in the event that Elana failed—which they seemed to think was inevitable. 

Once a registered defender was enrolled to the Academy, they were every bit as entitled to the education it provided as the student they were accompanying. On the rare occasion that a registered defender outlived their charge—rare, because it was regarded as universally shameful—they did technically remain students of the Academy themselves.

For a moment, her father’s age showed. He rested his chin on his bridged hands and closed his eyes. The fine lines around his eyes and mouth, the deep grooves between his brows born from a lifetime of grief and frustration. Her father, who had always seemed so invincible to her, so larger than life, looked worn down and weary. 

“Elana, why don’t you sit?” Gerard asked, rising from his desk to gesture towards the seating area in the center of the study. “I think we’re overdue for a chat.”

Elana did so reluctantly, perching herself on the very edge of one of the velvet sofas, her spine ramrod straight. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Gerard said, nudging the refreshment trays on the coffee table her way as he settled in directly across from her. 

“I am comfortable,” Elana lied, white-knuckled hands clasped tightly in her lap. Was the answer really so complex that they both needed to be seated for this conversation? Why couldn’t he just answer her? More questions she couldn’t voice. 

“You asked why that child.” Gerard had a faraway expression she’d neither seen on him before nor knew what to make of. “Do you remember when we brought him into this house?”

“I don’t.” Of course she didn’t. Even in her earliest memories, Soren had already been a constant presence. “Is the answer relevant to my question?” 

“It is,” Gerard said, leaning back in his seat. “He’s a loyal dog, Elana. One who wouldn’t dare bite his master’s hand, or reach for things beyond his station.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with sending him to the Academy—”

“I’m not the one who holds his leash, Elana,” Gerard said, looking at her with what felt like a mixture of exasperation and pity. “You are.”

Elana stopped short, the gears in her mind grinding to screeching halt. 

“You’re the one who brought him into this house.” Gerard rubbed his forehead, sighing heavily. “It seems you truly don’t remember. I wonder whether it’s the fever or the trauma that created that block.” 

“What?” Elana blurted out with an incredulous laugh. 

Her wide-eyed stare was fixed on Gerard. He might as well have sprouted a second head or declared himself god for all of the sense he was making. Soren had been here since what felt like the dawn of time immemorial. 

What the hell was he talking about? No matter how back she turned in the pages of her memory, what he was describing was entirely foreign. Wholly nonsensical. A work of absurdist fiction. 

“Explain,” Elana said.

“If you’ve blocked those memories out, there must be a reason for it,” Gerard said, shaking his head. “Given the timing, perhaps it’s best that they remain sealed for now. I’m uncertain of what the repercussions of recollecting that time will be, but they can’t interfere with what’s ahead of you.”

“Your Grace!” Elana protested, balling her fists. “You can’t just say something like that and expect for it to not interfere—”

“All you need to know is this, Elana,” Gerard said, cutting her off. “If there’s anyone I trust to keep you safe in that barbaric place, it’s that boy.”

“Father!” Elana’s eyes blazed with furious indignation—this was the most disobedience she’d ever dared display in front of her father, it was all she could do to bite back the scathing monologue she so desperately wanted to deliver. How could he put something like this on her and expect her to be fine with it? “It’s my future, is it not? Was I not entitled to be consulted about your plans for it?”

Gerard leaned back in his seat, regarding her without saying a word. His eyes scanned her face, his dispassionate, familiar gaze boring into her own. Elana clenched her fists, her jaw tightening. How was it that no matter what tactic she took when addressing him, she was always met with stone-faced silence?

“Are my opinions and desires really so irrelevant?” she asked, her lips twisting bitterly. “You trust Soren, so I’m supposed to as well? And with my life, at that?”

More silence. 

“All that and, evidently, I don’t even deserve to have relevant information about my own life,” Elana said, with a thin, joyless smile. 

That finally prompted a response from her father, whose brows furrowed and lips thinned. Elana tensed. The displeasure on his face sent a chill down her spine. She shut her mouth abruptly, her clasped hands breaking out in a cold sweat. She’d never been so insubordinate with him before. She’d always had better self-control than this. What was wrong with her, mouthing off like this? 

She must have been out of her mind to challenge Duke Gerard de Vanquise, war hero of the empire, right hand of the King. She dropped her gaze, pulse thudding loudly in her ears. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. My emotions got the better of me. It won’t happen again.” 

But Gerard didn’t acknowledge her apology. Instead he said, “It isn’t a matter of whether you are or aren’t deserving of it. It’s whether it benefits or hinders you at such a critical junction.”

Wasn’t not knowing a hindrance in its own right? Whatever unknown thing it was that compelled her father to trust Soren with her life, was she really expected to put such blind faith in it? 

Elana kept quiet, her lips a thin white line of tension. She didn’t dare risk her father’s wrath. She may never have been on the receiving end of it, but she’d seen it many times, directed at countless servants, subordinates, and nobles. She didn’t trust that, just because she was his kin, she would be an exception to the darkness of his rage or quick-trigger of his temper. 

“You are your mother’s daughter,” Gerard said with a quietness that bordered on somber. “You’ll get a handle on these emotions and, when you’ve calmed down, you’ll see that this is for your own good. What I can give you is a promise. When you return home from the Academy this winter, once you’ve settled in,” he said, leaving the if unspoken, “I’ll tell you everything.

“For now, what you need to know is this: Undying loyalty is a rare and powerful asset, and one that can be neither bought nor sold. Few people are so lucky as to command a resource like that.” Gerard continued, “You have a powerful weapon and tool at your disposal. One that years of resources have gone into honing. 

“Your mother has worked tirelessly to arm you with all of the knowledge and strategies you need to forge your own path. With your mind, and a sharp enough sword…” Gerard trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence for Elana to grasp his meaning. 

With her mind and a sharp enough sword, it was his hope that she might have a shot at surviving the Academy. It was the closest she’d heard either of her parents come to voicing support for her, and it was enough to prompt her to raise her gaze for a brief moment. The glow of sunset streaming through the stained glass windows cast a warm light over her father’s face, highlighting the faintest glimmer of warmth in his eyes and the ghost of a bittersweet smile on his lips. 

“Had I not believed your brother’s presence could be of benefit to you—regardless of what he demonstrated in our duel—he would not still be here.”

Elana’s throat tightened. Liar. He’d all but watched her drown without lifting a finger, and he claimed to have allowed it for her sake? She wanted to believe him though. She did. 

As if reading her mind, that faint ghost of a smile bloomed into a thin, crooked one. “Antoine’s methods may be crude and cruel, but the Academy’s are far, far crueler, Elana.”