The Future They Chose for Her

Seven days were missing from Julian DeRose's life.

That fact refused to become less absurd no matter how many times he repeated it.

He had fallen beneath Fort Giden bleeding, broken and certain he was about to die. Then there had been a woman in the dark, a black sword, a voice offering life without bothering to explain the price.

After that—

sunlight.

His mother crying.

Geen staring at him as though a corpse had learned to speak.

Seven days.

And not a single wound remained.

Julian stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, one hand holding his shirt above his ribs.

His reflection looked exhausted but undeniably alive. Black hair fell untidily over his forehead, his dark eyes carried the aftermath of too little sleep, and dried bruising from Lazarell should have been accompanied by far worse damage after Fort Giden.

Instead, his skin was whole.

Except for the mark.

A black pattern spread over the center of his chest just above the sternum. It was too deliberate to be a scar and too deeply embedded to resemble ink. Thin geometric lines branched outward like roots beneath the skin before converging around a darker central shape.

Julian pressed two fingers against it.

Warm.

Not fever-warm.

Alive-warm.

His hand withdrew.

"That's reassuring."

The room, naturally, offered no answer.

Julian lowered his shirt and turned.

His bedroom had always been the least impressive part of DeRose Manor, mostly because he preferred it that way. A heavy oak wardrobe stood opposite the bed. Books, minor artifacts and potion bottles occupied shelves without any coherent organizing principle. His writing desk sat beside the narrow window, covered in ink stains, loose paper and sketches produced during hours in which sleep had refused to cooperate.

Everything was where it belonged.

Except the sword.

Julian had checked beneath the bed.

Inside the wardrobe.

Behind the desk.

Inside a chest he had not opened in months.

Nothing.

He remembered holding the Black Sword outside Fort Giden. Remembered Geen seeing it. Remembered its weight vanishing when shadow swallowed the weapon before it could touch the ground.

That last part remained difficult to explain without sounding insane.

A knock came from the corridor.

"Julian?"

Jeane.

He pulled his shirt down completely.

"Awake."

"You need to dress properly and come downstairs."

Julian looked at his current clothes.

"That sounded judgmental."

"We have guests."

That was worse.

"How important?"

His mother's pause answered before she did.

"Important enough that your father has been awake since before dawn."

Julian closed his eyes.

"Wonderful."

"And Julian?"

"Yes?"

"Don't antagonize anyone."

He looked at the black mark hidden beneath his shirt.

"No promises."

"Julian."

"Fine."

Her footsteps moved away.

Julian looked once more toward the mirror.

For a fraction of a second, he thought the darkness behind his reflection moved.

He turned immediately.

Nothing stood behind him.

When he looked back, the mirror showed only himself.

"Fantastic."

◆ ◆ ◆

A stranger was leaving the manor when Julian reached the upper landing.

The man stood tall beneath an expensive gray coat, a silver insignia fastened to one shoulder. He carried the particular kind of confidence possessed by people who could ruin lives with signatures instead of swords.

Jeane stood opposite him near the main doors.

"Minister Digrow," she said, maintaining the flawless courtesy of a woman visibly running out of patience, "Antonius will return to the hall shortly. Surely another few minutes—"

"I have already given your husband more time than my schedule allowed, Lady DeRose."

Tanatelus Digrow adjusted one glove.

"The Ministry of Control does not stop functioning because a noble house experiences an unusual incident."

His gaze lifted.

It found Julian on the stairs.

The man's eyes rested on him for a second too long.

Julian disliked him immediately.

Tanatelus inclined his head with precisely enough courtesy to make the gesture insulting.

"Young DeRose."

Julian descended another step.

"Minister."

A silence followed.

Tanatelus's attention dropped briefly toward Julian's chest.

The mark was covered.

There was no reason for the man to look there.

And yet he did.

Then Tanatelus turned toward Jeane.

"My office will send another inquiry."

Jeane's expression remained smooth.

"Naturally."

"I recommend Lord DeRose answer the next one."

"He will."

Tanatelus looked once more at Julian before stepping through the doors.

"Let us hope Fort Giden produced fewer complications than the preliminary reports suggest."

The doors closed behind him.

Julian remained halfway down the staircase.

Jeane did not move for several seconds.

Then she exhaled.

"Charming."

"Mother."

"No."

"I haven't asked anything."

"And yet the answer is still no."

Julian reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Ministry of Control. Fort Giden. 'Unusual incident.' That sounded remarkably like my business."

"It is your father's business."

"Which happened to my body."

Jeane looked at him then.

There was concern beneath the discipline.

Too much of it.

"Not here."

That quieted him.

She straightened his collar on instinct.

"Go to the dining room. Your brothers are already there."

"Who's visiting?"

Jeane's hand stopped for barely a moment.

"The Makindens."

Julian stared.

"Mirai's family?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

His mother looked toward the closed dining-room doors.

"You'll hear it from your father."

Nothing about that sentence promised a pleasant meal.

◆ ◆ ◆

Three members of House Makinden sat at the DeRose table.

Julian recognized Mirai first.

He always did.

Her silver-white hair had been arranged carefully over one shoulder, every strand immaculate. She wore formal Paladin white and gold rather than Lazarell uniform, the restrained embroidery emphasizing exactly how much effort had gone into making her look effortless.

Her green eyes were lowered toward the table.

That was wrong.

Mirai usually occupied formal spaces beautifully. She had been trained for them since childhood. Straight back, controlled smile, perfect hands, perfect voice.

Today she looked like someone had arranged her in the chair and told her not to move.

Beside her sat Dantalia Makinden.

The resemblance between mother and daughter existed more in discipline than features. Dantalia carried the refined elegance of a woman who had survived aristocracy by learning every rule before anyone could use one against her. Her clothing was pale and carefully restrained, her posture flawless, her expression so controlled that Julian could not decide whether she was calm or simply very good at appearing so.

Josin Makinden sat opposite them.

He was impossible to mistake for anyone but Mirai's father.

Tall even while seated, light-haired, green-eyed and rigidly composed, Josin carried military authority without needing armor. Blue fabric replaced the expected Paladin white, which somehow made him look more important rather than less.

Every time he looked at someone, Julian had the uncomfortable impression that a value was being assigned.

Geen sat near Mirai.

Of course he did.

Juny occupied the far end of the table with his sketchbook hidden partly beneath a napkin, apparently attempting to draw without being caught.

Julian almost envied him.

Geen noticed Julian first.

"He's alive."

Julian pulled out a chair.

"Disappointing?"

"Surprising."

"You should try sounding happier. We're related."

Geen's mouth twitched.

Not quite a smile.

Antonius entered behind Julian with Jeane at his side.

The room changed immediately.

"Now that everyone is present," Antonius said, "we can proceed."

Julian remained standing.

Mirai looked up.

Their eyes met.

Whatever Julian had been preparing to say died before reaching his mouth.

She looked miserable.

Not embarrassed.

Not shy.

Miserable.

"Mirai?"

Her lips parted.

"Julian, I—"

"Sit," Antonius said.

Julian slowly obeyed.

Josin folded his hands over the table.

"Your son remains refreshingly informal."

"Julian remains many things," Antonius replied.

Julian glanced at his father.

That could have meant anything.

Antonius placed a document at the center of the table.

Heavy paper.

Two seals.

Black and silver for DeRose.

White and gold for Makinden.

Julian's stomach tightened.

"House Makinden and House DeRose have cooperated for generations," Antonius began. "But cooperation is temporary by nature. Interests change. Leadership changes. Agreements weaken."

Josin continued without looking away from Julian.

"Houses endure when interests become blood."

Julian hated the sentence before he understood it.

Geen's posture remained perfect beside Mirai.

Mirai did not move.

Antonius placed two fingers over the document.

"The agreement drafted between our houses ten years ago will now be formally announced."

Julian looked from his father to Josin.

Then to Mirai.

Her hands were clasped tightly beneath the edge of the table.

Too tightly.

Josin smiled.

"My daughter, Mirai Makinden, will marry Geen DeRose following their graduation."

The room did not change.

That was the strange part.

The candles still burned.

Silverware still reflected light.

Juny's pencil remained frozen above paper.

Someone in the service corridor dropped something far away.

The entire world should have moved.

Instead, only Julian did.

His chair scraped backward.

"Excuse me?"

Josin's expression barely shifted.

"The announcement was quite clear."

Julian looked at Mirai.

She could not meet his eyes anymore.

"Mirai."

Antonius's voice hardened.

"Julian."

He ignored him.

"Did you know?"

Mirai swallowed.

"Yes."

That single word hurt far more than Julian had expected.

"How long?"

She looked toward her father.

Josin answered instead.

"The arrangement has existed since childhood."

Julian's gaze snapped to him.

"I asked her."

A colder silence settled over the table.

Josin's eyes narrowed.

"Mind your tone."

"No."

"Julian," Jeane said quietly.

But something had already broken loose inside him.

It would have been easier if it were only jealousy.

Jealousy could be dismissed as selfishness. Julian could have hated himself for it and moved on.

What enraged him was the table.

The document.

The seals.

The way everyone discussed Mirai's future while Mirai herself sat almost completely silent.

He looked at Geen.

"And you're fine with this?"

Geen held his stare.

For the first time that evening, something beneath the polished surface showed.

Not triumph.

Weariness.

"Whether I'm fine with it has never been the question."

Julian paused.

That was not the answer he expected.

Geen rested one hand near the document.

"This was decided before either of us was old enough to understand what a political marriage was."

"Then say no."

A humorless expression touched Geen's face.

"That's very easy for someone nobody built a house around."

The words were cruel.

They were also not entirely aimed at Julian.

Julian looked back at Mirai.

"Are you fine with it?"

Her fingers tightened.

She opened her mouth.

Josin spoke first.

"Mirai understands duty."

Julian turned slowly toward him.

"I didn't ask what she understands."

Josin's expression lost its smile.

"Young man—"

"I asked what she wants."

"Enough."

Antonius's voice was quiet.

No one mistook that quiet for softness.

Julian stood completely now.

He looked at his father.

"Did you ever plan to tell me?"

"Tell you?" Antonius asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

The question struck with surgical precision.

Julian stared at him.

Antonius did not look angry.

That made it worse.

"This agreement concerns the succession of two houses. You have no role in it."

There it was.

The old truth in a new shape.

Not important enough to inform.

Not powerful enough to consult.

Not useful enough to matter until someone needed a torch carried into Fort Giden.

Julian laughed once.

It sounded ugly.

"Of course."

"Julian," Mirai whispered.

He looked at her.

Her eyes were wet.

She had held herself together through the entire announcement, but the mask had begun to crack.

"I'm sorry."

That almost destroyed him.

Mirai was the person being traded.

And she was apologizing to him.

Julian's anger abruptly lost its direction.

"You don't owe me an apology."

Geen's face hardened at the wording.

Josin's did more.

Julian no longer cared.

Mirai blinked.

"Julian—"

He stepped away from the table.

"Enjoy the alliance."

"Sit down," Antonius ordered.

Julian continued toward the door.

"Julian."

His father's voice followed him.

He stopped at the threshold but did not turn.

Josin spoke behind him.

"Your son takes other people's obligations very personally."

Antonius answered.

"Julian takes most things personally."

The old Julian would have responded.

He would have thrown some useless sentence back into the room and made sure everyone knew how angry he was.

Instead, he left.

That frightened him more.

◆ ◆ ◆

He remembered Mirai at nine years old.

Not in white.

Not in gold.

Covered in mud.

They had built a fortress beside a garden wall after rainfall turned half the grounds into brown sludge. Mirai had insisted the structure needed a second tower. Julian had insisted towers were useless if the walls could be kicked apart.

She kicked his wall apart to prove him right.

They had spent the afternoon rebuilding it.

No contracts.

No Paladin ceremony.

No DeRose hierarchy.

Just two filthy children arguing over mud.

Julian sat on the floor beside his bedroom door now, eighteen years old, and hated how easily that memory hurt.

He had spent years convincing himself that distance from Mirai was sensible.

She was Makinden.

He was defective DeRose.

She had a future made of ceremony and expectations; he barely possessed one at all.

Creating distance had been easier than admitting he wanted something the world had no intention of giving him.

But seeing the contract made one thing painfully clear.

Mirai had not been given her future either.

Someone else had simply chosen it first.

Julian pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"Pathetic."

A woman's voice answered from inside his skull.

"Not the word I would use."

Julian's hands dropped.

The room was empty.

His pulse accelerated.

"You."

A soft laugh moved through his thoughts.

"You remember."

Julian got to his feet.

"Show yourself."

"No."

"What did you do to me?"

"To you?"

The correction sounded amused.

Julian clenched his fists.

"Fort Giden. The sword. This mark."

He pulled at his collar, exposing part of the black pattern.

"What is it?"

The room remained silent.

Then:

"A beginning."

Julian's jaw tightened.

"Stop speaking in riddles."

"You humans are always so impatient immediately after cheating death."

"Who are you?"

Something dark shifted across the mirror.

Julian turned toward it.

His own reflection remained there.

But for half a second, red eyes seemed to exist behind his shoulder.

"You are grieving," the woman said.

"Answer the question."

"Something that was never yours."

Julian's expression changed.

"Mirai isn't a thing."

The laughter stopped.

Interesting.

He could feel the attention behind the voice sharpen.

"No," she said. "She isn't."

Julian stared at the mirror.

"Then don't speak about her like one."

A pause.

Then the woman laughed again, quieter this time.

"Oh. You may actually be entertaining."

Pressure suddenly built behind Julian's eyes.

He staggered.

One hand struck the desk for balance.

"What—"

Pain tore through his head.

Not like a normal headache. This felt invasive, as though something were pushing against a door inside his mind and testing the hinges.

Julian grabbed his temples.

"Get out."

"We are well beyond that."

The room blurred.

"Get out of my head."

"Your head?"

The voice moved close enough to feel like breath against his ear.

"Darling, you invited me in."

The floor rushed upward.

Darkness took him before he could answer.

◆ ◆ ◆

Moonlight filled the room when Julian woke.

His cheek rested against the floorboards.

His head hurt.

The black mark beneath his shirt felt hot.

For several seconds he simply lay there, attempting to determine whether collapsing alone in one's bedroom after arguing with a disembodied woman qualified as a new low.

Probably.

Then memory returned.

The dinner.

Mirai.

He pushed himself up.

"Shit."

Julian stumbled into the corridor and descended the stairs far too quickly.

He almost collided with Juny near the bottom.

His younger brother held a cup in one hand and his sketchbook in the other.

"You're awake."

"Where are they?"

Juny blinked.

"Who?"

"The Makindens."

"Oh."

Juny glanced toward the entrance.

"They left hours ago."

Julian's stomach dropped.

"Mirai too?"

"She's a Makinden."

"Juny."

"Yes. Mirai too."

Julian looked toward the front doors.

Empty.

Of course.

Juny studied him.

"You've been strange all day."

"Useful observation."

"Stranger than normal."

"Thank you."

Juny took a sip.

"Was it because she's marrying Geen?"

Julian closed his eyes.

"Please don't."

"I was just asking."

"I know."

Juny's face softened.

That was somehow harder to tolerate than curiosity.

"She didn't look happy."

Julian opened his eyes.

"No."

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

Then Juny raised his sketchbook.

"I drew Father with antlers."

Julian stared.

"Why?"

"He looked too serious."

For the first time since dinner, a genuine laugh escaped Julian.

Small.

Barely there.

But real.

"Good."

Juny smiled and wandered toward the kitchen.

Julian remained in the hall.

The manor had returned to its usual silence.

Antonius would be in his office.

Jeane somewhere nearby, repairing the social damage men called strategy.

Geen probably training.

Mirai gone.

And something nameless lived behind Julian's thoughts.

He returned upstairs.

Before entering his room, he paused.

The mark beneath his shirt pulsed once.

Something in the darkness laughed.

Tomorrow, Lazarell would decide what kind of future Julian deserved.

Apparently, everyone wanted a vote.