Chapter 179
No one speaks as Raif’s proposition hangs in the air. Cora and I exchange a quick glance, both of us stunned by the audacity of it.
Across the table, Khale leans forward, his voice sharp with disbelief. “Even if there is no current Heir,” he says, “the Twilight’s ruling body is fiercely protective of their line. They will never agree to this.”
Raif waves a dismissive hand, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “I don’t recall you having a knack for politicking, nephew,” he says smoothly. “If you’d been a better student, you might recall that the Electa’s people aren’t warriors, they’re artists. Lovelace won’t have much choice but to agree.”
Beside me, I feel Cora stiffen, the name sparking something in her that she quickly masks. Raif notices, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as suspicion flickers across his face.
“Your dedication to defending the Twilight’s interests is… curious,” Raif muses, his gaze sliding back to Khale. “Especially over your own people’s.”
Khale’s jaw tightens. “My people abandoned me,” he says flatly, the words carrying a quiet, simmering anger.
Raif’s smirk grows, his voice dripping with condescension. “On the contrary, banishing you was merely tradition. The only reasonable solution made against my better judgment for your mother’s sake… much like inviting you to the table tonight. Don’t make me regret either.”
Khale’s shoulders settle at the mention of his mother, his posture growing pensive. The fire in his eyes dims slightly, replaced by something more restrained.
Cora, however, speaks up. “I wouldn’t be so cavalier about the Twilight’s defenses,” she says. “They will not be easily defeated.”
Raif’s smile doesn’t waver. “But they will be defeated nonetheless,” he counters smoothly, his tone almost playful. Then, as though bored with the subject, he claps his hands together. “Enough of this dreary talk. Let’s speak of more pleasant matters.” He gestures to the spread of food before us. “Eat. Enjoy.”
I glance at the table, my stomach churning. Half the dishes look like they’re still alive, wriggling faintly on their ornate platters. But I know I’m being watched, so I force myself to gather a meager plate of safe-looking options. Each bite is a struggle to swallow, my appetite nonexistent.
Between bites, Raif’s gaze lands on me. “How are you finding your accommodations?” he asks, his tone pleasant but laced with something unsettling.
I mutter, “They’re lovely.”
Cora adds, her tone measured, “The arena at the center of town was lively today.”
Kota begins to laugh, the sound low and mocking. Kelis joins in, his indulgent smirk curling up one side of his face.
Raif’s smile sharpens. “And how was your company?”
Khale looks up from his plate, his expression a mask of silent fury. Before I can answer, Cora replies coolly, “Less lively.”
Raif chuckles, lifting his cup to his lips. “For the best,” he murmurs behind the rim.
Khale’s restraint snaps. “She’s your mother, too,” he snarls, his voice low and dangerous. “How can you sit by and allow him to treat her like this?”
Kota’s smile vanishes, replaced by a glare as he leans forward. “Mind yourself, elder brother,” he warns, his tone icy.
Kelis hisses, his eyes narrowing. “It was this or the Garden,” he says darkly. “If you gave a damn about this family or this city, you’d understand that.”
Khale’s nostrils flare, and he leans forward, his voice biting. “This family had me exiled.”
Kelis’s sneer deepens. “Last I remember, you still are,” he says. “And yet here you sit at our table like the prince you pretend not to be.”
Khale’s fists clench, his knuckles white. “You were young,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “So I’ll forgive your ignorance. But you seem to recall events much differently than they were.”
Raif’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. “The point is moot.”
The table falls silent, the weight of his authority pressing down on all of us. After a moment, Kota breaks the silence. “Father?” he asks, his voice cautious.
Raif picks up a crustacean from the table, tearing off its head with practiced ease. He slurps down its brain, the sound making my stomach churn. Finally, he speaks. “The Clans have been divided for too long,” he says. “They need a strong hand to guide them in the coming days. But as you know, less civilized Enkian are prone to infighting. Self-sabotage. With so many Clans without Heirs, we will need to create a united front if we are to hold off the Sunken One.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. “Leviathan?”
All eyes turn to me, their stares heavy and oppressive. Kota’s gaze sharpens, his voice low as he asks, “You know of the Sunken One?”
I resist the urge to look to Cora for reassurance, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “In myth alone,” I reply evenly.
Kota’s expression doesn’t change, but his tone softens, as though speaking only to me. “There are many who believe that the Sunken One is rising. We prefer to err on the side of caution.”
Khale’s voice drips with derision. “So you’re going to be the one to unify the Clans, Uncle?” he asks. “And what, declare yourself Emperor?”
Raif’s smirk returns, sharper than ever. “Emperor,” he muses. “It sounds sweet to the ear, does it not? Fortunately, when my empire grows, I will need leaders I can trust to help rule it.”
Khale laughs bitterly, the sound harsh and cold. “That’s why I’m here at this table instead of in chains down in the Pit,” he says. “Because you need my help.”
Raif’s irritation flares, his expression darkening. “I don’t need anything from you, boy,” he snaps. “I am offering you absolution. An opportunity to regain your honor by swearing fealty to the rightful ruler of the Eternal Sunshine.”
Khale leans forward, fire blazing in his azure eyes. “Then let me and my brothers enter the Pit,” he challenges. “Stop this charade of yours, playing King, and allow Tangaroa to claim his Heir.”
Raif’s face flushes beet red, his fury palpable. But it’s not just Khale he’s glaring at. I catch Kota and Kelis shifting uncomfortably in their seats, their postures tense and their gazes averted. They refuse to meet their father’s eyes, their usual cocky bravado stripped away. Sheer willpower keeps me from exclaiming my surprise.
They agree with Khale. They want their father’s throne.
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