Fawks (Dragons of Kratak Book 4)

by Ruth Anne Scott

  As I watched her move around, I noticed that she was a little slower and stiffer than I remembered. The lines around her eyes and mouth were a little deeper, and her hair was a couple shades more gray than the last time I'd seen her. It was a reminder to me that time marches on and spares no one. It made me sad to see my mother aging. It made the distance between my parents and I that much more stark, pronounced, and that much more heartbreaking to me.

  I stood up and pulled a plate out of the cabinet and set it down on the counter. I took my seat again and looked around. Not much had changed in this place over the years. My parents were creatures of habit and much preferred the known and comfortable to the new and potentially wild.

  They weren't really the adventurous types and never had been, which was yet another difference in our personalities. As much as I did love routine and the familiar, I absolutely craved different. I longed for adventure. I was willing to put myself out there and take a chance just to see what happened. It was a state of mind and a way of being that they could neither relate to nor understand.

  Growing up – and to this day, truth be told – I often wondered how I came from their genes.

  Even still, despite all of our differences and the relatively recent cooling of our familial relationship, I remembered enjoying plenty of happy times in this house. I remembered a few Christmases spent here that were among the happier times in my life. I remembered a house filled with laughter and joy.

  But as I watched my mother heating up my plate – and my father noticeably absent – I was overcome by a wave of nostalgia, mixed with sadness and longing. I wanted the closeness of our family back. I wanted that unbridled happiness and love again. I missed it and even craved it. Not having my parents fully in my corner and not having them believe in me left me feeling like I had a hole in my heart that I didn't know could ever be filled again.

  “You awake, dear?”

  My mother's voice snapped me out of my reverie. I came back down to earth and found myself looking her into her eyes – eyes that were much like my own. Hers, though, were filled with concern and something else. Something I couldn't quite place. It was a strange look, but I had no idea what she was thinking.

  I looked down at the plate that she'd put on the counter before me. Taking a deep breath, I savored the aroma. Say what you will, but there really is nothing that beats home cooking. Not the finest steak in the most expensive steak house in the world and not the most amazing plate of sushi in Tokyo. Nothing beat my mom's cooking. It was especially true of her famous spaghetti carbonara.

  The scent of the garlic bread – the garlic and cheese spread made from scratch, of course – as well as the tantalizing aroma of the pasta itself was amazing. My stomach growled in both anticipation and appreciation.

  “I haven't had this in quite a while,” I said.

  “Lucky for you, I was in a mood to make it tonight,” she replied. “Perhaps it was serendipity. It's been months and months since I've made it. It doesn't quite agree with your father's stomach anymore.”

  I gave her a smile and dug into the mound of pasta she'd piled onto my plate. The instant the food hit my mouth, I was in ecstasy. As I chewed, I felt my eyes roll back into my head involuntarily and had to physically restrain myself from making sounds better suited to the bedroom than my mother's kitchen.

  “This is amazing,” I said. “I haven't had a meal this good in I don't know how long.”

  My mother smiled. “Maybe if you came around a little more often...”

  Though she sounded like she was joking, I could see in her eyes that there was a kernel of truth to what she was saying. I could have made a million excuses about being a business owner and not having much time for myself, and they all would have been valid.

  But in that moment, in that house, overcome by a wave of nostalgia and regret, I decided that it was time to be open. Honest. If there was any chance of bridging the gap that existed between my parents and I, now was the time to actually start talking.

  “Honestly,” I started slowly, “I didn't think dad wanted me around.”

  My mother cocked her head. “Why would you think that, dear?”

  I looked at her, my expression inscrutable. “You're kidding me, right?”

  She pursed her lips and went over to the refrigerator, pouring herself a glass of wine before taking a seat at the counter next to me.

  “A little liquid fortification, huh?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “A little lubrication for the vocal cords.”

  There was something happening in that kitchen – something that hadn't happened in a long time. Maybe like me, she'd decided it was time. Maybe she'd had a glass of wine or two too many. Whatever the reason, my mother and I were having a real discussion – an open, honest dialogue. My heart swelled to the point I thought it was going to burst, and I felt the tears shimmering in my eyes.

  “Your father,” she started, “loves you. He loves you more than anything.”

  “He barely talks to me, mom,” I said. “Barely acknowledges my presence.”

  She took a sip of her wine. “That doesn't mean he doesn't love you, Paige,” she said. “That just means he doesn't know how to communicate with you. Trust me, I've known him for a lot longer than you, and that man doesn't know how to open up and talk.”

  I looked at her evenly. “He made a living doing nothing but talking.”

  She laughed slightly. “You of all people know there is a difference between speaking to a jury and speaking to those who matter the most to you.”

  That, I had to admit, was true. I could talk forever to a jury, laying out all of the facts of a case, and never feel uncomfortable in the least. Speaking to somebody I cared about was a different animal entirely, because those I cared about had feelings. And when you involved feelings, things got real, and people got hurt.

  It had taken a lot of time – and no small amount of therapy – for me to be able to at least begin to learn to open up to those I cared about. I still wasn't an expert at it, but I was a lot better than I used to be, and I was still light years ahead of where my father was.

  “I just get the feeling that he's so disappointed in me,” I said. “That I'm a failure in his eyes because I stopped practicing law and opened my club.”

  She shook her head. “He doesn't think you're a failure, sweetheart.”

  “Then what is it?” I asked. “He clearly couldn't be any less supportive – or happy, mind you – about my club.”

  She took another sip of her wine. “It's not that he's not happy, he just doesn't understand.”

  “What's to understand?” I asked. “I'm following my heart. I'm doing what makes me happy and what makes me feel whole and fulfilled.”

  She nodded. “It's not that he doesn't want you to be happy, Paige,” she said. “It's not that he doesn't want you to feel whole or fulfilled–”

  “No? Then what is it, mom?” I asked, feeling my anger beginning to surge. “Because from where I'm sitting, how he's made me feel, that's exactly what I think. That's how he's made me feel.”

  She sighed, and I saw the sadness in her face. “This is where his inability to communicate effectively comes into play.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It's not that he isn't happy for you, dear,” she said, and took a quick sip of her wine. “It's that he's a little heartbroken.”

  I looked at her, a sense of confusion sweeping through me. “What do you mean? Heartbroken about what?”

  My mother drained the last of her wine and looked back at the refrigerator as if she were considering going back for another glass. Instead, she set the glass down on the counter with a soft clink and looked at me. I had no idea what she was talking about and felt utterly confused.

  “Your father had a grand dream,” she said, “that you and he would open a law firm together. He was putting that into motion when you told us you were walking away from law to open your club. It devastated him, honey.”

  I sat b
ack, stunned and unsure of what to say. I hadn't known any of this before and wasn't quite sure how to process it all. Was that why my father had been so cold and distant from me? Not because he saw me as a failure, but because he'd had his heart broken?

  Opening a law firm with my dad. That was a new one on me. I wished he'd talked to me about it before putting any sort of plan into motion. I wished he'd given me the chance to share my own thoughts and feelings about it with him. I could have told him where my head – not to mention, my heart – were at. Maybe we could have avoided some of this. Maybe we could have avoided the rift in our relationship altogether, if only he'd talked to me.

  “He never told me any of this,” I said softly.

  “Of course he didn't,” she said. “Because he's an old fool who can't open up and speak to those who matter the most to him. He can be a prideful, stubborn, pigheaded SOB sometimes. You know this.”

  I nodded. I, especially, knew that to be true.

  “The truth is,” my mother went on, “I miss you, Paige. I miss having you around. And believe it or not, so does your father. He just doesn't know how to open his mouth and say it.”

  I sighed and took a long gulp of the wine in the glass before me. It was a lot to take in and a lot to process. Knowing that my father's upset and disappointment were not in me personally, but in the fact that he'd never realize a dream he had because I'd gone my own way changed things.

  It changed things quite a bit.

  I just didn't know what I was going to do with all of that information. I drained the last of my wine and stifled a yawn. It had been a long, emotionally exhausting few days, and I was beat. I was looking forward to crawling into bed and getting some sleep.

  “You look tired,” my mother observed.

  “I haven't been sleeping well lately.”

  “I can see that something is troubling you, Paige,” she said. “And I want to hear all about what's on your mind. But right now, I think we can both use some sleep.”

  I nodded. “I agree,” I said. “Maybe I'll be able to talk to you a little more coherently after I've slept a bit.”

  She started to grab my plate, and I put my hand on her arm, stopping her. “I got these,” I said. “Go get some sleep. Thank you for dinner.”

  She gave me a smile and gently squeezed my hand. “You get some sleep too, dear,” she said and then looked me in the eye, her expression serious. “I'm glad you're here, Paige.”

  I gave her a smile. “I am too.”

  My mother smiled at me before turning and walking off down the hall toward her bedroom. I rinsed off my plate and put it in the dishwasher. I turned and shut off the lights before walking out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the guest room where I'd be staying.

  As I passed my father's study, I saw the light on under the door, heard Vivaldi playing softly, and smelled the smoke from his pipe. I briefly considered knocking on the door and going in to talk to him. But tonight probably wasn't the right night. I needed some rest and to get my head in order before I had that conversation with him.

  Stifling another yawn, I continued on down the hallway toward the guest room to do just that.

  Chapter Seven: Baz

  “I wish the news was better, my lord,” Tarkonil said.

  “Don't call me that,” I said. “I'm nobody's lord. I'm simply Baz.”

  “I'm sorry, my lo–” he started, and then cut himself off when I raised an eyebrow at him.

  Tarkonil had arrived with the sun that morning. It had been earlier in the day than I'd been expecting, but I was glad for it. I wanted to hear what his news was. But even more than that, I wanted to get my ship repaired as quickly as possible, for I had come to an important decision. It was one that was obvious to me now, but I was just having trouble seeing it up to that point.

  It seemed that my emotions had indeed clouded my better judgment and thinking, and I couldn't allow that to continue.

  “Tarkonil has brought with him, all that is necessary to repair the ship,” Anjol said.

  “Excellent,” I replied. “And how long will the repairs take?”

  “A day or two at most,” Anjol replied. “It will take that long for my bionetic systems to regenerate.”

  I nodded my head. “Make the repairs as quickly as possible, Anjol.”

  “They will be completed with all due haste.”

  Turning back to Tarkonil, I nodded. “Thank you for making the journey and coming to my aid,” I said. “I am in your debt.”

  “You owe me nothing,” he replied. “I'm happy to assist when I can.”

  I nodded and gave him a small smile. Good men like Tarkonil were hard to come by.

  “Walk with me,” I said.

  We walked through the forest, leaving Anjol to care for the ship. I followed a trail I'd walked before through the forest. It ended at a bluff that overlooked what Anjol's research identified as the Pacific Ocean. I'd stood upon that bluff for many hours just admiring the view. Like much else I'd encountered, it was so very familiar and yet so utterly alien to me. It was breathtaking.

  We stood upon the bluff, buffeted by a cool ocean breeze. The mid-morning sun sparkled off of the ocean, turning it into a vast pool of liquid gold. Far below us, waves thundered against the rocks. It was sound that was soothing and comforting to me.

  “It is good you came when you did,” I said. “I realize now that my time here has clouded my thinking. I know now that I must continue on. I must learn to not allow myself to get so involved in the affairs of other species.”

  “I can see why you are so charmed with this planet,” Tarkonil said. “It is not without its appeal.”

  Images of Paige flashed through my mind and drew a small smile from me. But I quickly banished those thoughts. She was part of the reason that my thinking has been so clouded. Not that it was her fault. It was mine. As an explorer, it is my duty and my responsibility to remain detached and observant. I failed to do that. So if there is fault to assign, it belonged to me.

  “What is your news from Optorio?” I asked.

  Tarkonil sighed heavily. “Your brother has seized control,” he said. “He has assumed the throne and banished the regent council.”

  I nodded, not surprised by the news. “I had assumed as much,” I said. “How did this happen? Why did the Royal Guard not intervene?”

  “Your brother executed two members of the council, I'm afraid,” he replied. “After that, the rest of the council lost their taste for rule and bent their knee to him.”

  I closed my eyes and turned my face up into the sun. It was so warm, so calm, and so soothing. It was hard to quantify, but the sun just felt different here on Earth than it did on Optorio. It only added to the appeal of this world.

  “I suppose all things considered, it could have been worse,” I said. “I feared that my departure would end in civil war.”

  Tarkonil looked at me, his expression grim. “It still might, my lord,” he said. “You are not without your supporters still. And your brother is not without those opposed to him.”

  “That is no longer my fight, Tarkonil,” I said. “I abdicated my throne. I have no claim to it. I've never been fit for the throne. It's not where my heart, is and that lack of passion for it will ensure that I am a terrible ruler.”

  Tarkonil turned and looked at the horizon. “Many do not share your opinion of you,” he said, “including most of the council.”

  “The council that has bent the knee to Kapoc,” I observed.

  A rueful smile touched his lips. “Return to Optorio with me, and you will see how quickly they un-bend that knee.”

  “And bring violence and bloodshed to our people,” I said. “Civil war is not what I want for Optorio or for our people.”

  “Perhaps not, but under your brother, many will die terrible deaths regardless of your wishes.”

  I wished I could refute his words, but I knew I couldn't. Kapoc was a tyrant and a brutal despot. He would bring war and death upon the people of Op
torio. I had hoped that, between the council and the Guard, they could put him down and quell any uprisings. I had hoped that they could do what I could not – kill my brother.

  I had been wrong and foolish to believe they could. I had been selfish and cowardly, but it was not my fight. I had cast my lot and could not go back now. Mostly because I did not want to.

  “What can I do, Tarkonil?” I asked, knowing what his answer was going to be.

  “Return to Optorio,” he said, as expected. “Lead the Guard and depose your brother. Have him executed, and then you'll be free to explore whatever galaxy your heart desires.”

  “Why can a new leader not emerge without me?” I asked. “Why not you? You would make a very fine leader of the people.”

  Tarkonil shook his head and laughed, a dry and brittle sound. “I am no leader.”

  “Merely because you doubt yourself,” I replied. “You could lead Optorio far better than Kapoc and far better than me. You could do amazing things if you sat upon the throne.”

  Tarkonil gave a smile but was not swayed. “I'm no leader, Baz,” he said. “I do not aspire to be. But you – you were born and raised for the role.”

  “A role I've never wanted.”

  It was obvious that Tarkonil's real mission in coming to my aid was to convince me to return to Optorio. Perhaps the remnants of the council had ordered him to do so. And if that were the case, I was afraid that he would have to return to our home world empty handed. I had no more intention of going back to Optorio than I did of staying on Earth.

  I looked at my longtime friend and offered him a smile. “I have one final command for you, Tarkonil,” I said. “When you return to Optorio, I wish for you to inform what remains of the council that I am endorsing your claim to the throne. My desire is for you to lead our people.”

  “But there is no way–”

  I held up my hand to cut off his objections. “That is my desire,” I said. “And the final word I will say on the subject. I believe in you and your ability to lead. And believe you will lead Optorio to a prosperity it has not had in many years.”