Chapter 48. Reunion

As Everly approached her father's receiving room, she wondered if this was what trepidation felt like.

Ordinary people placed in situations such as this would undoubtedly feel all sorts of intense, conflicting emotions. Anger, anticipation, nervousness, perhaps even regret. But Everly didn't consider herself ordinary in the slightest, which was why her own reaction surprised her.

Her father had never bothered trying to form any sort of emotional attachment with her. She'd never even seen him before. At the time, she couldn't have cared less, but now that the moment had arrived for their first face-to-face meeting, she didn't quite know what to expect, or even how she'd react. It was…unsettling?

The idea that she could be unsettled by anyone was infuriating. It was Everly who unsettled other people and not the other way around. She was no victim of circumstances; she was the circumstance that created victims! Loads of them! She wasn't nervous at all!

"Feeling nervous, runaway?" snickered Sir Kelton as he guided her down the hall of the manor.

"I just said I wasn't!" snapped Everly irritably.

"Huh? You didn't say anything!" said the knight in confusion.

"If you're too ignorant to read the signs, then stick to being a background character," Everly said archly.

Sir Kelton had no idea what that meant. Perhaps fear of her looming punishment was making the girl a bit unhinged. It made sense. To a certain extent, he even felt bad for her.

After all, no one grew up wanting to be forced into lifelong servitude to their betters, but the laws that governed Winstead had made the kingdom strong and prosperous for centuries. Her bondage would contribute to a far greater good. She'd realize that in time and perhaps even feel grateful for having a part to play.

But first, they were going to have to break that haughty pride she exuded. Sir Kelton looked forward to that.

He couldn't stand arrogant women.

The count's receiving room was a splendid-looking place filled with tastefully selected lavish furniture and art. Carefully arranged platters of fruit and cheese with some mulled wine had been placed there as well. Sir Kelton found this slightly confusing.

A receiving room was a place normally reserved for visiting nobility or other notable guests. Sir Kelton found himself wondering why he'd been directed to bring the girl here. Normally, handing over a runaway would have consisted of releasing the girl into the custody of the count's personal jailor so that she could languish in his cells for a bit.

If he didn't know any better, he'd think the count was trying to make this brat feel welcome.

Suddenly a door opened, and an extremely handsome man wearing nothing but silken undergarments, an open robe that showed off his chiseled physique, with a pair of dark spectacles whose tinted lenses covered his eyes, stepped into the room.

His mussy hair was the exact shade of burned gold as the girl's.

The man paused to stare at her. She stared back.

They stood that way for a bit.

"Ah," he finally said. "How unexpected. Didn't think I'd have company until later."

"How much later?" she asked innocently.

"Much later," he replied. Two women walked into the room, each wearing garments so scant that they left very little to the imagination. One of them wrapped her arms around the man's waist, while the other reached for a bit of cheese and nibbled it in a…suggestive manner.

"Well, damn," the girl said appreciatively as she gave each of the women a once-over.

"Hey! Mine," the man said defensively as he spread his arms wide to cover his…friends.

"I'm just looking," the girl pouted. "No harm in looking, right?"

"Just so long as we keep things that way," the older man said. He then turned to his companions and whispered to them. One giggled and turned to leave, but not before licking one of his ears. She then took the other woman by the hand and they both left. A few moments later the door reopened, and a shirt and pair of slacks were thrown in.

With no apparent embarrassment, the other man dressed himself, while he and the girl continued to look curiously at each other.

Sir Kelton continued to stare in bewilderment.

That whole exchange had felt a bit awkward. Okay, more than a bit. Far more. However, he was quick to regain his senses and quickly dropped to one knee. "Your Excellency! I've brought the girl to you as requested. The runaway mentioned in my missive?"

Kelton turned to the girl, angered by her audacity in continuing to stand in the presence of Count Marcis Van Belsar, the ruler of Belsar County and one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. "Girl! On your knees! Do you even realize who it is you dare stand before?"

"I kind of have an idea, yeah?" the girl replied dryly.

Marcis waved his hand dismissively toward Sir Kelton and said, "Okay. All right. I'll take it from here. Good job, Colton, you may leave."

"It's…ahem! It's Kelton, Excellency."

"Huh?" Marcis asked.

"My name is Kelton, Excellency. Not Colton," Sir Kelton said. "Uh, people get it wrong all the time, I just thought I'd…you know, in case you have need of me later, I just thought I'd let you know the correct pronunciation of my name…"

"Oh," Marcis said with a nod. "Well, how about that? That would be genuinely embarrassing if I were someone who gave a damn what your name is, wouldn't it, Connie?"

"Uh, Kelton, sir…?"

"Why, so it is! Get out," Marcis said as he pulled back a chair at the table and sat in it. As he began greedily devouring mouthfuls of fruit, he suddenly said, "Oh, thank you for your service by the way. Will you be staying long?"

"Uh, yes, yes, Excellency, if you'll permit it," Sir Kelton quickly stammered. "My men are here from the Godwell Dukedom to offer our sincerest condolences to you and your lady wife for the loss of your son and heir—"

"Sir, please don't mention Aiden while I'm eating," Marcis interrupted him. "That was a standing rule in this household even when he was alive. Something about that boy puts me off my appetite, always has. Just another reason not to like the little shit."

"Sir!" said Sir Kelton, his expression aghast at the words the count chose. "Lord Aiden was your son!"

"From my perspective, that feels less like an obvious fact and more like an accusation," Marcis said grimly. "My wife, Countess Anne, is away at the moment conducting some undoubtedly grave and important Godwell business, despite the last name she now bears. If you insist on dispensing sympathy to her, you and your men may stay however long you like. See my Steward, Kelser about lodging."

"We are grateful, Count Van Belsar," Sir Kelton said with a stiff bow. "And what would you have us do with this girl in the meanwhile? Shall I escort her to your cells?"

"Hmm. Tempting…" Marcis said contemplatively.

"Hey!" Everly said.

Marcis sighed. "No, no dungeons for this one. Pull her a seat at my table, please."

"Sir?" Kelton asked, confused once more.

"That's my daughter, you fool," Marcis grumbled as he reached for another grape. "Can't you see the resemblance?"

Everly happily preened at the confused knight. "Don't forget the shackles," she added.

=======

"So. Everly. What brings you by, kid?" Marcis asked his child after his servants entered the room, bringing with them two heaping plates of eggs, bacon, and seared steak which they placed before father and daughter before discreetly making their exit.

Everly said nothing. Instead, she continued to stare at her father. She'd had many ideas about what he would look like, how he would act, and how she'd react accordingly. Today he'd defied those expectations effortlessly, leaving her feeling somewhat confused. He was also an enormous eater, and she hadn't been prepared for that at all. She was used to being the biggest eater in the room, but his appetite clearly dwarfed hers.

"Hey," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "It's too late to pretend you're mute. I asked you what brought you by, today. You weren't really trying to escape into Oldstead, were you? That would have been a mistake if you had. That place sucks."

"Oldstead…sucks?" Everly asked him, surprised at his turn of phrase.

"That's a bit of terminology I once heard a drifter use as he passed through on a pilgrimage throughout the kingdom," Marcis said. "He was upset by how the town guards treated him for being a stranger in those parts. He said their behavior sucked. I at once grasped his meaning and adopted its usage into my own vocabulary."

"Why?" Everly asked.

"Because so many things do in fact…suck. Taxes suck. Work sucks. Marriage sucks. Kids especially suck. Now, before I decide whether or not to add you to the massive collection of nouns that I regard as being suckful, I insist you answer my question. Were you really seeking shelter in Oldstead?"

"Nooo," Everly admitted. "I was just passing by. I was going to participate in the summer campaign."

"Participate in what way?" Marcis wondered.

"I'm going to fight, duh!" Everly replied. "I'm freakishly strong."

"You consider yourself a warrior?" Marcis said.

"Tch, I'm a veritable goddess of death, daddy," Everly answered without humility.

"Oh. Cool."

"Cool?"

"Yes. Another pilgrim phrase I acquired in my youth. It denotes my approval. If I think something is cool, I'll label it as such. You being a fighter? I think that's very cool. Although, I'm surprised your mother permits it."

"I don't need anyone's permission to do anything," Everly said with a slight crease on her brow.

"Is that a fact?" her father asked her in a slightly chilly tone.

"It is," Everly said, matching his stare without flinching.

"Well, good," Marcis said, as he resumed cutting into his steak. "They say it's better to beg for forgiveness instead of permission. I hate doing either and I despise those that do. Life is so…pointless. And boring. Do whatever you want. Fuck the consequences. Find what you enjoy and stick with it. This kingdom sucks."

Everly was stunned. "Uhhh?"

"What?" Marcis said as he leaned back in his chair. "What? Were you expecting some useful tidbit of practical advice that would make life seem more navigable? It isn't navigable, Everly. It's stupid. Man is a cursed beast who desperately seeks order and meaning in this wild patch of chaotic randomness we call existence. It isn't there. We want it to be, but it isn't. There are no rules except the rules we create for others to follow in order to make our own lives easier. That's it. That's all there is."

"Sir, this is a Wendy's," Everly said quietly.

"If that's so, then where's the beef?" her father sneered.

"Oh, fuck," Everly said.

"Fuck yeah, you mean," her father smirked.

"You've never met a traveling drifter dropping American slang before, have you?" Everly asked him.

"I actually have," the count said as he tapped a finger against his own temple. "I pulled the information directly out of his mind and absorbed it. I've done so dozens of times. It's addictive. I know for a fact that there are worlds other than this one and that for some reason, people who come from those worlds are occasionally reborn here. I know all kinds of interesting things because of that."

"Then you know what I am," Everly said.

"Yep. You're a murdering psychopath," the count said nonchalantly. "Eh, comes with being a Van Belsar."

"I'm not a psychopath," Everly said defensively. "I have strict rules that govern my behavior!"

"Yeah, okay, Dexter," her father said mockingly.

"Don't compare me to fictional people!" Everly shouted.

"Isn't that what you like to do yourself?" Marcis asked her. "What would Kang the Conqueror do in such-and-such situations? Maybe I should be like Maleficent and poison a spindle needle? Time to be like Krang and Cruuuush some turrrrrrtles! Fiction is your guiding path in life, my black-winged little angel. I'm not judging you for it. I'm amused by it."

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?" Everly asked him darkly.

"Hardly! You're a lot stronger than I am," the count chortled. "Besides, fathers and daughters shouldn't fight. It'd tear my heart out if you hated me. Just like poor little What's her name? You know who I mean. Anne's little grand-get. Farrah? Funnel cake? Something like that."

"Stop," Everly said. "Stop doing that. Stop mocking her."

"It makes you angry, doesn't it?" Marcis asked her. "I can tell. Your father is like a fat boy after a long day of school, Everly. I'm an emotional eater."

Everly leaped over the table, her hands extended towards Marcis' throat. She was going to throttle this smug bastard to death, punish him with oblivion for daring to bring up her recent troubles, just so he could laugh at her over them.

But before she could reach him, his hand swept outwards and sent her sailing backward until she smashed painfully into a wall.

"Okay," Marcis said as he blew on his hand and shook it gingerly. "I was kind of being a dick. That's on me. God, that hurt! Listen, I've been wanting you to visit for years, but now that you're finally doing it, it's only because you're in the middle of some weird scheme. You didn't even give me a hug! And don't think I didn't notice you checking out my ladies earlier. Kid, that's a no-fly zone if ever there was one. Don't poach from your old man! It's uncalled for!"

"How do you know all this," Everly asked as she dusted herself off. "How do you know I…killed her?"

"The same way I know you killed your brother," Marcis said. He then pushed away his plate of food. "I don't want that anymore, you stepped on it."

"DAD!" Everly yelled.

Marcis sighed. "It's my elemental gift, silly. Like you and your sister, I use spirit magic. It manifested differently from yours, though. Gave me two uncommon abilities. I can empower myself with the emotions of others, which I've just demonstrated for you. I literally eat negative feelings. It's…quite enjoyable. It makes me strong and fast to degrees that are impossible for ordinary people to comprehend."

Marcis held up a butter knife. He placed it upside down in the center of the table. Then he lightly tapped it with his pinky. It shot through the table with a sound like a bullet being fired and embedded itself onto the floor below.

"Anger, fear, jealousy, you know, all those girly emotions. They pump me up like you wouldn't believe," he said to her smugly.

"What's your other gift?" Everly demanded.

"It's a seeecret," he said playfully.

"I really will kill you, this time," she warned him.

"Okay! Fine! Jeez," he said. "It's called psychometry. To put it simply, I can take information from anything I touch. Anything or anyone. That includes bodies. Like poor little Fenneth. Everly: you might attack me again upon hearing this, but I really can't stop myself from saying it. Fenneth liked you. That's why she reacted so negatively to your behavior. You really disappointed her."

Marcis tensed, expecting another violent reaction from his daughter. Instead, she stood there unblinking for a long moment. Then she sat on a couch and slumped dejectedly.

"Fuck," she said miserably.

She was surprised a few moments later when her father sat beside her and threw an arm carelessly around her shoulder.

"Yeah. It sucks, right?" he asked her. "You have power. And power separates us from conventional morality in a way that others can't understand. I understand your feelings very well. I didn't want to be a Count, you know."

"Really?" Everly asked him.

"Really. I liked traveling. Seeing the land. It's my passion in life. But my older brother didn't believe me when I assured him that I was no threat to his inheritance. I had to kill him because he intended to kill me. Then I had to kill my father because he intended to avenge his favorite son. Then I had to kill my uncles when they disputed my claims. My gifts made me too powerful for them to defeat, but they also left me incapable of being merciful. Because I always know when someone's lying. And in the circles of power in which I dally, everyone always lies. You can't spare nobles, Everly. They're jackals waiting for an opportunity to pounce. Trust me."

"Why don't you care that I killed Aiden?" asked Everly.

"Because I held him the moment he was born. And it was a happy, joyous moment," Marcis said quietly. "And then my gift activated and told me who he really was. What he was capable of. Aiden had a mind that crawled, Everly. He was diseased in ways I cannot describe. I would have thrown him from a window if not for Anne. I warned her what he was, but she believed she could change his nature. Nothing can change our natures, daughter. You did the world a favor, even if that wasn't your intent."

"Does anyone else know what I've done?"

"I told Anne it was the work of an old enemy. She's out there now, on the eastern continent, preparing to avenge our boy."

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"You're the only kid I've got who takes after me. As if I'd give you to the fucking Godwells. You're my reflection, Everly. Besides…I'm not just comforting you. Now that I've touched you, I see exactly how enormous your potential is."

"What does that mean?"

"I wasn't joking when I said I hated this world, my brilliant little angel. And I think a girl like you is exactly what this sad little kingdom needs to once more become an interesting place to live. This world will be a million times better with you in it. Bet me!"

Everly turned to stare at her father. He was so handsome. Beautiful, really. The kind of beauty they once sculpted statues of during the middle-ages. And his smile was welcoming and endearing. But it also seemed so hollow. She reached forth slowly and carefully removed his glasses from his face and was unsurprised to see that his irises were colored an icy blue that seemed to shine vividly even in the brightness of day.

"Dad, are you a bad person?" Everly asked him.

"Not as much as I'd like to be. But I'm working on it. And I'm only going to get worse as I age," he promised her. Then he kissed her on the forehead. "I'm really glad you came home, Everly."

"I'm not staying for long," she said.

"Of course, not," he chided her. "You're starting school next month."

"Seriously?" Everly asked in surprise.