Chapter 23:
Blood Pawn : 400 New Years (Book 1)
Elara bolts up the staircase, her footsteps sharp against the wooden steps. The dim lanterns lining the walls flicker as she vanishes onto the second-floor landing.
I can hear her breath—ragged, uneven—before she slumps against the polished wood, the weight of the moment crashing down on her. The house settles into a heavy silence, thick with unspoken words and unresolved truths.
No one moves. No one calls after her.
No one has answers.
“I’ll go talk to her.” Anara’s voice cuts through the stillness, firm with determination. Her gaze sweeps over me, over Uncle Darius, filled with something unreadable—concern, hesitation, maybe even guilt.
Then, without another word, she turns and follows the path Elara took, her figure disappearing into the dim corridor above.
As her footsteps fade, Uncle Darius steps forward, his presence looming closer, his brow furrowed with something that looks too much like worry. “What happened?” His voice is quiet, cautious, but I can hear the tension beneath it. He hesitates, searching my face, then adds, “Don’t you want to know about your father?”
Something inside me clicks into place.
I exhale sharply, not out of frustration, but because I already know the answer. A strange clarity settles over me, weaving through the scattered memories, the stray remarks, the glances I was never meant to notice. My voice, when I speak, is cold steel—measured, unwavering.
“I already have a good idea of who he might be.”
Uncle Darius stills, his breath hitching just slightly.
It’s a small reaction, but enough. Enough to confirm that I’m right, that the puzzle I’ve been piecing together has only one solution.
I lift a hand, stopping him as he instinctively moves, as if to deny or deflect. My mind sharpens, tracing every loose thread back to the same place. “The Delmare family…” The name lingers on my tongue, weighted with generations of power, influence, and secrecy.
Darius’s reaction is instant.
His pupils dilate—a sharp, involuntary tell. His posture stiffens, a flicker of restraint tightening his jaw. And in that moment, I see it. The truth. The secret he’s been holding onto, guarding, protecting. He doesn’t need to say it. His silence is the confirmation I was waiting for.
“The current head of the Delmare family is Elowen Delmare.” My voice is steady now, a stark contrast to the whirlwind inside me. The weight pressing against my chest lightens, the pieces falling into place with eerie precision. “He is my father.”
The words settle between us like a final move in a game of strategy—one that I’ve already won.
I bend down, untying my boots, grounding myself in the simple action. The air feels heavier now, like the very walls of the house are holding their breath, waiting.
For a moment, Uncle Darius doesn’t move.
His face, usually so expressive, shifts between shock, concern, something like reluctant admiration. His mouth opens, as if to counter me, to deny it, but then it closes just as quickly. His defenses are shattered. He can’t lie to me.
When he finally speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “How on earth did you know?”
It’s not the question of someone who still wants to hide the truth.
It’s the question of someone who just realized I am not like the others.
I take a slow, steady breath, feeling the weight of my own words before I let them fall.
“Whenever Elara talks about our father, Mother always changes the subject or refuses to discuss him.” My voice is calm, controlled, threading through the logic like a hunter following faint tracks in the snow.
“If he were dead, she would have a photo or a memento of him—something to honor his memory. But there isn’t one.” I pause, letting that settle. “That means he’s alive.”
Uncle Darius doesn’t move, but something in his posture tightens. A flicker of recognition sparks in his eyes, quick as a match struck in the dark.
I press on. “Who could he be? An adventurer? A common man? A lover?” My voice lowers, weaving through each possibility like a blade testing for weak points in armor.
“If he were an adventurer, Mother would tell us stories about him. She’d use his name to inspire us, to keep his memory alive.” I shake my head. “But she doesn’t. So that’s unlikely.”
The wooden floor creaks faintly beneath my feet as I shift my stance. The room feels colder now, like the very walls are listening. “A common man?” I let the question hang, watching Darius’s reaction. “If that were true, he’d be here. He would have no reason to stay away, no reason to be a secret.” My lips press into a thin line. “But he isn’t.”
Darius exhales through his nose, his jaw tightening just slightly. He sees where I’m going. He just doesn’t want to believe it.
“A lover, then?” I continue, my voice quiet, cutting through the air like a knife. “If he betrayed her, she would hate me for looking like him. But she doesn’t.”
I meet Darius’s gaze, unwavering. “I see it in her eyes. The love when she looks at me—it’s not laced with resentment or pain. So it’s not that.”
The silence in the room deepens, thick and unrelenting. My mind sharpens, stripping away the last doubts.
“That leaves only one possibility: a forbidden love.” My voice is steady, each word deliberate. “But Mother was an orphan—she had no brothers, no father to oppose such a union.” I hold my breath for a second. Then, I strike the final blow.
“So who would make it forbidden?”
Darius’s throat bobs as he swallows. He knows.
“A noble,” I answer my own question, my voice edged with certainty. “A noble whose main element is water.”
The pieces are all there now, perfectly aligned. “Mother’s main element isn’t water. And Elara didn’t inherit that from her side of the family.” My voice is steady, unwavering. “It had to come from him.”
Darius’s face shifts—shock, denial, then something else. Something raw.
I take a step closer. “Today, Father Eldric mentioned him.” I watch as Darius flinches.
“He confirmed what I already suspected.” The tension in my chest coils tighter, the truth finally solidifying. “He is a noble. And he is here. In our country.”
Darius doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even breathe.
“The current head of the Delmare family is Elowen Delmare,” I say, each syllable striking like a hammer to an anvil.
My pulse thuds in my ears as I voice the truth that has lurked in the shadows for too long. “He is my father.” I let the words settle between us, then add, “Am I wrong?”
The silence is crushing. The room, once so familiar, now feels foreign, like the very foundation of this house has shifted beneath me.
Darius’s lips part, but no words come. His face is frozen, his carefully guarded walls crumbling right before my eyes.
I step into the living room, my heart pounding. The scent of herbs and woodsmoke lingers in the air, but it does nothing to calm the electricity crackling between us.
Darius follows closely behind, his movements slow, hesitant, as if weighed down by the enormity of what has just been spoken.
From the kitchen, a voice—warm, casual, utterly oblivious to the storm brewing just beyond the doorway. “What’s taking you both so long?”
Morgana steps out, wiping her hands on her apron, her expression shifting the moment she sees us.
Her gaze sharpens instantly, scanning my clenched jaw, Darius’s wide-eyed, stunned silence. The air between us is thick, unspoken truths pressing in from all sides.
Morgana’s brows draw together.
She knows something is wrong.
Before I can respond, Mother and Elara appear at the top of the stairs, their footsteps slow, hesitant, as if drawn by the weight of the silence hanging thick in the air. Their eyes scan the room, searching for the source of unease, but neither speaks right away.
Uncle Darius stands off to the side, barely inside the living room, his posture rigid, arms crossed over his chest. His expression is unreadable, but I can sense the tension radiating from him.
“What happened?” Morgana’s voice cuts through the stillness, sharp with concern. Her gaze flits between us, taking in every flicker of discomfort, every unspoken word.
“Nothing!” we all blurt out at once, the word colliding awkwardly in the space between us.
Morgana’s brows furrow, her suspicion sharpening. “Something’s wrong,” she mutters, more to herself than to us, but the certainty in her tone is undeniable.
A thick silence settles in the room, pressing in from all sides. I can hear my own heartbeat, steady and loud, as if daring the truth to break free.
Then, the front door swings open with a burst of energy, shattering the tension.
“Happy birthday, Orion! Elara!” Aria’s voice rings out, bright and jubilant, as she barrels into the house. Her arms are overloaded with gifts wrapped in crinkling paper, ribbons trailing behind her like streamers. She doesn’t stop moving—doesn’t even pause to notice the heaviness in the air—as she grabs both mine and Elara’s hands and spins us in a whirlwind of motion.
I stumble, barely catching my balance as she pulls us close, her laughter filling the space like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. The warmth of her embrace is instant, overwhelming, like she’s determined to banish whatever shadows had crept into the room before her arrival.
Then, with dramatic flair, she throws her head back and yells, “Party! Party! Party!” She jumps up and down, her excitement utterly contagious.
Elara doesn’t hesitate. “Party! Party! Party!” she echoes, matching Aria’s energy, her eyes gleaming with unrestrained joy.
I stand still for a moment, watching them with a mix of bemusement and reluctant amusement.
“What’s going on with them?” The thought flits through my mind as they keep chanting, their voices demanding participation.
Before I can protest, they both turn to me, eyes narrowed with a playful but undeniable command: Join in, or else.
I exhale sharply, shaking my head before finally giving in. A small, lopsided smile tugs at my lips. “Alright, fine,” I mutter, then take a deep breath and raise my voice.
“Party! Party! Party!”
The words feel strange at first—unnatural, foreign on my tongue. But then, laughter ripples through the room, and something shifts. The tension dissolves. The weight of unspoken truths, of lurking questions, is momentarily forgotten.
The evening unfolds in a blur of celebration.
As twilight deepens and the first stars pierce the sky, we gather in the warm glow of lantern light, the flickering flames casting golden reflections against the walls.
The scent of roasted meat and spiced cider lingers in the air, mingling with the faint hint of pine from the garlands strung across the ceiling beams. The house, despite its earlier unease, now hums with warmth and familiarity.
Uncle Darius steps forward, his usual sternness softened by something gentler—something that almost looks like pride. He hands me a long, slender box, his fingers lingering on the edges for just a second before letting go.
I lift the lid.
Inside rests a sword—its craftsmanship exquisite. The hilt gleams in the firelight, intricate engravings curling along its surface like flowing water, delicate yet strong. The weight of it in my hands is perfect, balanced, like it was meant for me.
Beside me, Elara’s eyes widen as she unwraps her own gift—a wand, smooth and polished, a faint blue aura pulsing at its core. Magic hums through it, alive and waiting.
“Use them well,” Uncle Darius says, his voice steady, but there’s something deeper in it. Something unspoken. His gaze lingers on me for just a second longer than usual before shifting away.
Aria bounces on her heels next, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she presses something small into my palm. A bracelet—simple but elegant, woven with tiny runes etched along its surface. The moment my fingers close around it, a faint warmth pulses from the markings.
“For luck,” she says with a wink. She hands Elara a matching one, and my sister takes it with a rare look of quiet gratitude.
Finally, Mother steps forward, her expression unreadable as she holds something dark and folded.
She hands me a cloak.
Black, embroidered with silver thread that catches the light, the patterns shifting as I move it. Subtle but intricate. A cloak meant for someone who walks between shadows and stars.
Elara receives one as well—hers a deep blue, the color setting off the brightness of her eyes. She strokes the fabric gently, almost reverently.
“Thank you,” we say in unison, our voices overlapping. A moment of shared understanding.
The night ends around a hearty dinner, the warmth of the fire flickering against the walls as voices rise in laughter and storytelling. Plates are passed, cups clink, and for the first time in a long while, the weight in my chest eases.
I glance at Elara across the table. She meets my gaze, and in that moment, we don’t need words.
The questions will wait.
The secrets will wait.
Tonight, just for now, we are simply a family.
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