Abaddon's Gift

Chapter Fifty-Five

Theon spent far too long convincing himself to go to the winter formal. He misjudged the timing and arrived between the first and second years. Everyone present thought he did it on purpose, so he went with it. A servant immediately brought him a scotch, which would remain in Theon's hand throughout the night. Through a bit of a trick of the eye, he altered the level of scotch in the glass.

Whenever the others turned away, the level changed. Any misguided spy would assume that Theon got drunk, though the servants would know better. They would bring another scotch, see the still full glass, and turn away with the new one. Another little quirk and...

Well, the formal dances were never well watched.

To any observers, it would seem that the glass taken away was empty.

When Naena entered a hushed thrall over the room.

Theon noted the black colour, the beading, the swoop of the back. The woman held herself like a powerful mage's mistress might. Assured, confident, nose just a little in the air as if demanding someone say something about her presence. Her arms and back were bereft of ink. The skin was nearly flawless besides the angry-looking scar from the demon's bite and a mark almost like she had been struck by a projectile spell.

Naena had never mentioned the scar before, but Theon quietly filed it away for future reference.

Most students were pressured into inking their sleeves when they were not yet ready to understand the burden of tattooing.

The most damning piece of her costume was the subtle spell that held the bodice up. Carefully crafted to hide the signature of the maker but also protected against all but the most skilled spells.

Pan craftsmanship.

Dealing in textiles certainly had its advantages, but Theon could hardly believe that Naena thought he could afford a dress like that. Their encounter very nearly turned awkward when she thanked him for the dress. He had recovered as smoothly as he hoped possible.

He made inquiries, sent letters, called in favours. Still, no one could tell him who requisitioned the dress. Such information could only lead him to the conclusion that either Naena magicked up the dress herself... or the lord, or heir, of the Pan family requested it and then threatened execution on anyone who uttered a word.

Obviously, every eye in the room was on her.

When she danced with the merchant lord, there were many envious comments. Whispers from young men who both wanted her attention as well as demanded it.

When Maeno took her to the floor to dance, Theon felt a delight.

Hope.

Rising so quickly that it threatened to overwhelm Theon as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He knew then that he needed to take his leave before someone saw his weakness.

He made his way out of the university. Ahead of the crowd, Theon stepped into the teleportation office and was immediately taken to Greywood Manor. He strode into the manor...

And to the family shouting welcomes.

Startled, he took a step back and looked over them, acutely aware that he had just interrupted some sort of tradition. Clearly they had laid in wait for Graydon's return.

And then from the back, he heard the damning words.

"Holy shit, he actually showed up this time?"

It was a hushed whisper, a curse meant to be said under breath, but in that dead stillness of the Pan family home, every one of them heard it.

Luk reached up and brushed at his bottom lip with his thumb as he smiled just a little.