A/N: Sorry it took a while to get this up guys - I had written about 4,000 words at one point and then just thought 'naaaah' and started it again. It turned out a lot different from what I had in mind.

But yeah! Got the entire plotline sorted. Decided it would be too long for one story and so have split it up and changed the title of this bit because I've done a bit of a U-turn and the themes have changed :D

OK - chapter dedication - I don't usually do this, but this chapter has to go to my good friend, fellow fanfic writer and RP partner-in-crime: StuffsRockInnit, who beta-read this incidentally (THANK YOU SOOOO DAMN MUCH). It's her birthday today - so don't forget to go spam her inbox! And, um, have a chapter XP? Oh and some virtual pizza ^_^ - LOL we never really made it to Pizza Express in the end...

If you haven't already - I'd advise you all to go check out Disturbia, it's a seriously good fic that really deserves more love...

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, you guys are just awesome beyond words. I dunno what I'd do without your support. I'll shuup now and let you reeeead. Enjoy!

~L2~

In the evenings before he'd gone to sleep, Lorlen's mother let her son choose one book from the library to let her read to him. He was not allowed to read it himself - if he wanted to do that, she would turn off the lights and he would have to go to sleep straight away.

Lorlen didn't like the dark, it was big and dark and it shifted, moved and creaked like a living animal that stalked him during the day and waited for him to fall asleep before leaping on him and ripping him to shreds; like the limek did to the yeel that time he'd looked out of the window. He wanted his mother to stay with him until the creatures went away; so he always chose a book for her to read.

One book in particular was his favorite. It was expensive looking, though quite small, and the gilt decorations on the front cover were gold, glistening like water in the candlelight. It didn't have a title; but Lorlen knew that his mother was pleased whenever he chose it.

It was an old legend, originally from Lan - and it told the story of a man who built himself wings out of wax and feathers. He taught himself, and his son, for whom he also built a set of wings, how to fly by watching the birds that surrounded the island they had been imprisoned on.

Wings.

"Like an angel?" Lorlen had asked, imagining the two people held aloft, wings pearly white speckled with brown and grey, iridescent in the afternoon sunlight. His mother had smiled and nodded, going onto explain that they had believed that the wings would grant them the freedom they had been denied for so long.

But when they finally took to the skies, though the father had warned his son about the dangers of flying too close to the sea and too high in the sky, the boy had been 'corrupted' by his thoughts of freedom and liberty and soared too high, too close to the sun; causing the wax holding the feathers together to melt. The wings fell apart, feather by feather stripped away – and the boy hurtled back through the clouds, plunging towards the undulating blackness of the sea below.

And there had been no-one there to catch him.

Lorlen hadn't understood it at all, still upset from the shock of an unhappy ending.

Why hadn't the boy listened to his father? Why had he not paid attention? Had he not realized that the wings were melting?

"Freedom is a dangerous thing, Lorlen." She'd told him, "Most people see freedom as a direct path to happiness; and there are those who will do anything to know what it feels like…the desire to know corrupts their judgment, makes them think irrationally about their situation in life and what their priorities are.

"It overwhelms everything: duty, honor, love…they throw their entire futures away, not realizing that the further away they stray, the higher they climb, and the more feathers begin to fall. And so - the only way to be free forever, to keep your wings - is to stay put."

She'd planted a kiss on the top of his head and wished him goodnight.

He hadn't been able to sleep.

A couple of hours after Lorlen left Imardin, the man stood outside the door to the young Healer's new rooms lowered the purple hood of his Alchemist's robes, which had been up despite being indoors.

The magician was frozen to the spot, unable to remember a time he had felt so jittery, so 'on edge'; his half hidden hands shaking in fear and anticipation. His heart fluttered in his chest and he licked his lips, anxiety robbing his throat of moisture.

He didn't have to do this now, he told himself – he could quite easily come back tomorrow; after Lorlen had settled in a bit, had some time to sleep on everything that had happened today. Graduation Days were always rather emotional occasions after all, and he imagined it would be especially so for Lorlen with Akkarin leaving for Elyne...

But...

A lump swelled in the magician's throat. He had waited for this day for so long - before that lesson two years ago, before the secret euphoria and pride of the Initiation Ceremony. Oh so long; he had almost forgotten. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that this was it. The concept simply wouldn't fit.

It was almost funny how simply being there made the Alchemist feel like he was cheating on his wife, his children; his entire family – and perhaps in a way he was. They knew nothing of Lorlen, with the exception of his older brother, and...well, the other had made it clear from the start that he wanted nothing to do with this.

A cold sweat trickled down the side of his face as he pressed a hand against the door, preparing to scan the room for life-signs. He closed his eyes-

"Excuse me, my Lord."

A woman's voice disrupted his thoughts and he started, turning to face his addressor. His eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Lady Yilara."

The Head of Healing Studies stared at the man for a few moments, her expression unreadable.

Her stance told him she was not amused in the slightest; and the Alchemist briefly wondered if the Healer was a previously unforeseen obstacle standing between himself and Lorlen.

For her sake, he severely hoped not.

Yilara inclined her head, trying to match a name or even a House to this stranger's face. He seemed...familiar...Damn, she thought as his name remained elusive. She'd have to ask Rothen.

"If I may be so bold as to ask – are you looking for the Healer Lord Lorlen?"

She watched the Alchemist's reaction carefully, already feeling a little uneasy; there was something about this man she just didn't like. Perhaps it was the way he hovered around the door of a teenager, a young man she'd grown rather fond of, like he wasn't supposed to be there. Or maybe it was the guilt, the panic that flashed across his gaze when she'd called out to him?

Call it a woman's or even a mother's instinct, but Yilara was of the opinion that this magician, whoever he was, would not benefit Lorlen with his presence right now. If ever.

The Alchemist straightened, his face morphing back into one of polite indifference with a subtle arrogance that whispered of inbred superiority through high social rankings. "Yes, indeed I am. I was told these were his new living quarters?"

Yilara fought not to narrow her eyes. Don't play with me. "You are unexpectedly well informed – the transfer was completed only a few hours ago."

The man smiled easily and for some reason that made the Healer angrier. "I was directed here by a friend of his, Terrell, I believe. I have important business I wish to discuss with Lorlen alone."

Yilara's tone was cool as she replied. "I'm afraid you've just missed him – Lord Lorlen left the Guild in a carriage a couple of hours ago." She couldn't deny that the dejected look on his face didn't give her a sense of inner triumph.

"I see..."

"If you want, you can leave your name and House and I'll pass on your details to him when he returns...?"

The Alchemist frowned and looked at Lorlen's door, trailing his fingertips down the wooden surface almost longingly. "No, don't trouble yourself, my lady – I shall simply return another time." He smiled at her. "Thank you for your assistance."

Purple robes brushed the floor as he bowed shortly and strode off towards the staircase that led back outside. Yilara watched him go, two chips of blue ice pinned onto the back of his robes as she soundlessly followed him down the stairs at a distance.

She wouldn't let him go without at least a House name.

The Alchemist climbed into an unusually large carriage that seemed to dwarf those belonging to the students still saying their goodbyes, white paint spotless and metal wheels gleaming as if brand new. The door shut firmly and the vehicle trundled off across the University Pathway whilst Yilara looked for the House incal.

There.

She sucked in a quick breath, her eyes widening. That was the incal of House Sarron; a notoriously powerful House both magically and politically, based in Imardin.

It was an old family, ancient - one of the few surviving birth lines that remained from the times of the Guild's formation. They were formidable allies and dangerous enemies to have, but they kept mostly to themselves nowadays; most members were now beyond child-bearing age and the line was dying out...

Yilara looked back at Lorlen's door, feeling very uneasy all of a sudden. They seemed to know quite a bit about the young Healer's life already, despite the fact that the Alchemist was clearly not in Lorlen's age group or (most likely) social circle, and the Healer felt herself shiver at the prospect that such people might even be keeping tabs on the young man without him realising...

The Alchemist had even said he would return at a later date – whatever business he had with Lorlen was not, apparently, the type to be brushed off lightly.

She found herself feeling genuinely worried for young man.

Lorlen...

The amber liquid was thick and tangy against his tongue as he emptied the glass, holding back a grimace at the aftertaste. That stuff was vile – he'd already decided that after the second or third glass, but he was now on his sixth, chugging back the alcohol more for the sake of staying awake than because he was enjoying himself.

Akkarin took another glass from a passing servant holding a tray of the stuff and almost took two instead of one; but he had a feeling Mother had cottoned onto what he was doing. He couldn't care less really if he got utterly drunk off his face, this party was boring anyway, but it seemed that she did. Though it was supposed to be his celebration party, she had been the one to organise it –choosing the decor, the outfit requirements, the food and drink, who to put on the guest list - and frankly, it showed.

The man leading the conversation he was 'listening' to barked in laughter, threw back his head, placing a hand over his stomach to suppress the laughing pains; and Akkarin instinctively tried to down some more alcohol - but his mother was there first, her skeletal hand gripping his wrist as talon like nails dug into the veins in his pale underarms and Akkarin gasped loudly as his knees almost buckled, hands flying to his mouth as he pretended to cough when the attention was focussed on him. Lady Delvon removed the glass from his hand and placed it out of reach. She looked concerned as she patted his back.

"Are you okay, Akkarin?"

The Warrior coughed again and wiped the moisture from his eyes. "Yes, Mother – I think the drink just went down the wrong pipe." he replied in a strangled voice, smiling ruefully and the group around them chuckled in amusement.

What a stunning double act we make, Mother. We should've been actors.

She smiled fondly at him and he grinned shyly back, his face flushed from the coughing and what looked like embarrassment but felt like frustration and anger. Sometimes he almost hated her; hated her for hating him so much. What was it he had done to her to warrant such hostility?

It was getting to the point where he didn't even care anymore.

He told himself it was her who had the problem anyway, she was the bad parent – normal mothers would have just asked their children to cut back on the drinking when entertaining guests.

The conversation afterwards seemed to gravitate around him; questions about his time at the Guild, how his studies had gone, what would do during his time abroad and why he'd chosen to investigate ancient magic in particular.

They'd asked him about Laria too, someone asking how the marriage preparations were going; and everyone around them had broken out in laughter at the way Akkarin went bright red, his eyes blank and owlish like those of a lost child. Young love, they thought.

This time next year, I'll be a married man, Akkarin thought. His stomach suddenly felt very heavy.

All thoughts were erased by the sound of the bell ringing out through the noise, light yet clear like fresh air in a stuffy prison cell. Or an overcrowded mansion hall.

Members of his family just didn't do small gatherings.

Akkarin's father stood on a stage and addressed the crowd. He didn't give any little starting jokes to make the guests laugh like most people did, and whilst Akkarin himself had no opinion on that, Lorlen had said it was one of things that he liked about his father, the lack of false pretence. It was strange then that Lorlen and he were such good friends.

He drew his mind away the topic of his best friend and focussed instead on his father's speech.

The Warrior was no stranger to the older man's speeches – he'd snuck out of his room as a child when his parents had guests over and listened, watched his father's face and general demeanour as he spoke, pyjama clad legs dangling through the gaps in the second floor banisters. Nothing ever seemed to faze his father; he never lost control of his words or emotions. If anyone ever asked a tricky question, he would give this quiet little smile and answer brilliantly or give a retort that effectively silenced the opposition. Those on his father's side would cheer loudly and Akkarin would smile at his father in awe.

Some called him aloof, cold; even arrogant. But he had thought his father was amazing; the best father in the world, ever. He'd wanted to be just like him when he grew up.

"...And here he is now, all grown up."

Akkarin looked up at him and saw a hint of a smile pulling at the other's lips. He hadn't been able to keep that silent promise – he wasn't like his father at all.

Did I disappoint you in the end, father- for not being who you wanted me to be? For not being you?

"Come here."

The warrior was already moving through the crowd before he'd even comprehended his father's request, and Akkarin felt wary of the power this man still had over him all these years later. He stood on the stage next to Lord Delvon, and a tinge of stage fright made his heart stutter as everyone's gaze fixed on him.

Lord Delvon smiled dryly.

"I'm not going to lie, Akkarin - raising you was not easy," the guests burst into laughter and the Warrior bowed his head in embarrassment, "You're too optimistic, too impulsive, too loud, infuriatingly stubborn and hard-headed and your curiosity will be the death of you, but -" the nobleman smiled crookedly, "we're getting there, I think."

A smirk appeared on Akkarin's face, wanting to both disappear through the floor and laugh at his own humiliation.

"And so a toast," Lord Delvon raised his glass, "to Lord Akkarin – a reckless fool and a scoundrel he may be, but he's my son – and I couldn't have asked for a better one."

"To Lord Akkarin!" the crowd echoed.

The nobleman took a sip of his drink, and he was all but smothered by his son as Akkarin barrelled into his father's chest and hid his face in older man's shoulder.

A chorus of 'aww' followed and the guests began to cheer and applaud loudly. Lord Delvon's face melted from one of shock into one of wry fondness as he put down the glass and, in a rare display of affection, hugged his son back, chuckling quietly as he shook his head at the other's antics.

Lady Delvon watched from the sidelines, her expression carefully neutral. She neither clapped nor cheered.

Akkarin stayed with his father for some time after the speech had officially ended, listening to the man partake in conversations and discussions made interesting for the sole reason that it was him arguing about it. Lord Delvon hadn't changed at all; still able to tip a discussion in his favour with a few simple words, able to dismantle any argument thrown at him with an ease that left Akkarin feeling almost intimidated - and he felt a swell of pride that such a person was his father. He felt like that little kid again, so eager to impress, so easy to please.

It was already well into the evening when the nobleman extracted himself from the Warrior, explaining he had important business to attend to; the two men parting ways with a quick but warm embrace, and Akkarin felt the loss almost immediately as he watched his idol slip from his sight amidst the other guests.

There was a quiet but firm command for him to follow and Akkarin looked up to see his mother by his side, her arm linking with his as she guided him purposefully through the crowd, determination etched across her features. He frowned and looked away, not wanting to know what scheme she was up to as he let himself be dragged along.

His eyes ghosted across the faces of those they passed, looking for anyone his age looked that familiar.

Laria was not there, her father saying she felt unwell, though Akkarin was sure she'd been fine when they'd parted that morning...

A couple of his classmates were here somewhere, but not the ones he spoke to on a regular basis. There was no Terrell, no Yikmo nor Patulia nor Heslan or even Vitriell. He reminded himself that he had seen them all at yesterday's party, but still – their absences were harder to ignore when he was surrounded by so many strangers.

There was no Lorlen either.

Unlike the Warrior's mother, his father had actually encouraged Akkarin to invite his friend over during Guild holidays; despite being known then as a member of House Rassil – of whom few had ever even heard of (Lorlen got his title changed during their Fourth Year). His father had once told Akkarin: 'Your conscience gave up trying to keep you in check – it's a wonder that a boy with such common sense hasn't realised it's a lost cause by now.'

Lady Delvon hadn't warmed up to him until after she'd found out about his relation to House Sarron. She turned cold again when it turned out that Lorlen didn't know anything about the House or the people in it.

"Akkarin, there is someone I would like you to meet."

The Warrior was dragged back from his thoughts by his mother's change in tone.

A middle aged man stood before them, surrounded by two others Akkarin faintly recognised, all three dressed in dark velvets and other expensive materials though the outfits themselves were rather simple; almost understated. The man in question was tall, slim and imposing, with hair dark and relatively short, contrasting with the startling paleness of his skin and-

And the mouth-drying chilliness of his piercing grey eyes. There was no sense of warmth or comfort anywhere in those eyes, like a barren wasteland that the sun seemed to neither rose nor set over. Akkarin had never met someone so unnerving in his life.

"This is Lord Tagin, Head of House Sarron."

Tagin...?

...That was the name Akkarin had reserved Lorlen's new rooms under that very afternoon. The Warrior felt an unpleasant shudder rack his bones, shock and disbelief warring on his face. Impossible, he told himself.

It had to be some kind of sick joke.

"It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Lord Akkarin."

Lord Tagin's voice was low and subdued as bowed respectfully at the young magician, and the Warrior spotted faint freckles on the man's face. Akkarin had a brief, vivid memory of Lorlen lying asleep by his side, of brushing back his friend's long hair with trembling hands to see those freckles-Dusted across his cheeks and his nose.

Just like Lord Tagin.

His chest seized. This man was somehow related, very closely, to Lorlen – through his father'sside...

Akkarin gulped quietly, feeling very unsettled all of a sudden. His friend had grown up knowing only his mother's family, because his father had died when he was very young. When Lorlen expressed a wish to find his father's relatives, not long after he had changed his title to match theirs, Akkarin had whole-heartedly encouraged his friend to do so. They had tracked down the Tagin residence to an address in the Inner Circle , and Lorlen went to see them alone, despite Akkarin's vehement protests.

His friend never told him what had happened that day. And by looking at this man before him, Akkarin was starting to understand why.

"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lord Tagin."

The nobleman nodded in approval, and Akkarin couldn't help but feel he was being weighed up and measured somehow. The Houses of Sarron and Velan had been rivals as long as could remember – the two most powerful Houses under the King; and though there was a temporary truce between them at the moment, the alliance was fragile at occurred to him then that if Lord Tagin ever found out about the aftermath of yesterday's party, it could trigger an inter-house war the likes of which had never been heard of.

Akkarin felt a little queasy.

Lord Tagin spent a few minutes congratulating him on his graduation, asking him about the Guild and his future plans, those piercing eyes never once leaving his face - and the Warrior felt like a bug being tortured under magnifying glass. He learned that Lord Tagin had been the eldest of six children, four of whom had been magicians, but that one magician sibling had died at some point, and Akkarin felt a stagnant dread churn in his stomach. Lorlen's father, also a member of Family Tagin, had, apparently, been an Alchemist.

The nobleman had, surprisingly, been very interested by the news that Akkarin was leaving to research ancient magic – the interest not so much shown in the words the other used, but in the way his face seemed to thaw a little, the way those eyes seemed to glint strangely every now and again...

He told Akkarin that Lady Delvon had mentioned in passing that he planned on visiting the Great Library in Elyne, and that he himself had contacts in the Elyne Court that, in turn, had access to the Library's secret archives – contacts he would be willing to share if the young Warrior so wished, no strings attached.

Lord Tagin's smile was thin and humourless as Akkarin expressed his utmost gratitude and consent for the noble to send a letter to Elyne arranging details for when the ship docked in Capia; and it was somewhere around that point that the Warrior acknowledged that Lord Tagin wasn't all that bad really, once you started talking about something he found interesting. He was very intimidating and terrifying to be in the same room with, but Akkarin felt himself begin to relax more as the conversation continued, and sensed that perhaps Lord Tagin felt more at ease too.

"It is strange that we found you here when we did tonight, Lord Tagin," Lady Delvon said at some point later on, "as Akkarin and I were just talking of a novice from your House who graduated with him yesterday..."

The Warrior felt himself frown at the route the conversation was taking; Lorlen didn't know the House of Sarron, not really – his only link to them had died when he was still an infant; and he'd had no contact with them at all until perhaps just over a year ago. The Warrior didn't even know if Lorlen's father had been on good terms with his family; though Akkarin couldn't imagine they'd have been pleased by his choice of wife... Lorlen said he didn't even know what his father's name was; his mother had refused to tell him...

But it was too late - Lord Tagin's curiosity had already been peaked. "Indeed?"

Akkarin damned his mother for looking so smug and triumphant.

"Yes, I believe the young man's name was Lorlen."

The instant the words left his mother's lips, Akkarin knew it had been a bad move.

Lord Tagin flinched, one eye twitching in what might have been his attempt to hold back a wince; and it was unnerving to see such an apparently calm person in pain. The Warrior looked back at his mother, to find a satisfied curl to the corner of her lips.

She'd planned this; she'd known that Lorlen was a touchy subject and used it against him – despite everything he'd done to help me on my research.

In that moment, Akkarin was ashamed to call her his mother.

The distressed noble quickly corrected himself and his gaze swung back to the young magician, silver orbs pinning the Warrior in place as though daring him to move without his say-so. "Is that so...and what did Lord Akkarin think of this 'Lord Lorlen'?"

Their eyes locked and the Akkarin felt like he was suffocating. "H-He is my best friend at the Guild, my Lord. I found him to be intelligent, generous and selfless if a little withdrawn at times. I believe I will greatly miss his conversation on my travels." Perhaps almost as much as you'll miss his bed, Lord Akkarin, a traitorous voice sneered in the back of his head.

Sarron's Head of House nodded once more, though he looked unusually sad.

"I am pleased to hear it. However, I regret to say that this young man is not a member of my family."

Lady Delvon's smirk all but vanished. Akkarin looked shocked, uncertainty following in its wake.

"...excuse me?"

"There was once a Lord Lorlen in my family, but he...passed away some time ago." Lord Tagin's eyes seemed to soften.

The deceased relative, Akkarin realised, his name had been Lorlen, too.

That explained everything – why his friend's mother hadn't told her son what his father's name had been, why Lord Tagin looked so unhappy at the name 'Lorlen', and how his mother had known that bringing up Akkarin's friend would wound the noble so badly.

But...not a member of his family? Akkarin looked confused. What...?

Lady Delvon was tense, an expressionless mask barely covering her bubbling rage, frustration and fear of having her plan suddenly backfire.

"Tell me," the Sarron noble continued "The young man you speak of; is he of, ah, humble origins?"

The Warrior blinked, his eyebrows furrowed at the sudden change of the tone and topic, the light-hearted mood of discussing black magic now all but a distant memory. "Well...yes, he lived with his mother in the countryside-", he answered cautiously.

"And was she a magician?"

"No, but-"

Lord Tagin had the nerve to chuckle good-heartedly and shake his head, almost as though he found the situation amusing, and Akkarin took back what he thought before about the nobleman being an okay kind of person, resentment worming its way back into his thoughts. He shook his head to clear it, irritation at his confusion making his head hurt.

Something was not right here.

He knew his friend Lorlen was a member of this House – Akkarin had gone with him to the main administration office in the Inner Circle when Lorlen had changed his official title back to 'House of Sarron' during their Fourth Year - in fact, it was Akkarin who had encouraged his friend to do it; not only to improve his reputation in the Guild (sad but true) - but because Sarron was Lorlen's house by default - his parents had been married, and so he would've inherited his father's House at birth. Lorlen had only changed it to Rassil out of loyalty his mother and her family, the family that took care of him.

As Head of House Sarron, Lord Tagin, or his Deputy at least, would have been informed of Lorlen's title change. If Lorlen truly didn't belong in that House, someone would have done something about it.

"Then I believe I see what has happened here. Your friend, this 'Lorlen', wanted to be friends with you, Lord Akkarin – a member of a highly distinguished House – and in order to make himself seem on your level of social status, he chose the name of a family and a House, perhaps mentioned in passing by one of his relatives, and took on a persona that was pleasing to both you and himself."

Akkarin had never been so angry in his life.

"Do you mean to imply...that my best friend has been lying to me about who he is for the last five years?"

Lord Tagin looked almost sympathetic.

"Lord Akkarin, did Lorlen ever tell you the names of those members of my House to whom he claims relation?"

The Warrior's hands clenched into fists by his sides, head bowed in grudging defeat, the words tasting of acid in his mouth.

"No. He said the relative, his father, died when he was very young. His mother never told him."

There was a short pause in the conversation.

"My dear boy," Lord Tagin began his tone quiet yet not unkind.

It was one of the few times the man had sounded friendly, but Akkarin knew what that tone meant.

Lord Tagin's evaluation of him was complete, the game was officially over – he had been weighed, he had been measured.

And he had been found wanting.

"I know of every individual in every family of my House over the last three generations; it is part of my duty as Head of House. And I can tell you this – there have been no deaths in my family during this young man's lifetime. What he told you was a lie."

The finality in Lord Tagin's voice left Akkarin speechless. What could he do – deny it? It made no difference. Lorlen told him he hadn't owned a birth certificate before one was created for him in Imardin so he could enter the Guild; and according to that, his title had been under House Rassil. Technically speaking, it was possible that everything Lorlen had told him about his connections to House Sarron had been false...

"Does it really matter? His name is Lorlen and he is Akkarin's best friend – powerful background or not." a new voice said.

A calloused hand rested on the Warrior's shoulder and the young magician turned to see his father by his side, glaring coldly at the other noble. Akkarin felt his face harden in resolve.

Father's right. It is possible that Lorlen was lying. But it's not likely. I know Lorlen – this man doesn't. My friend wouldn't do something like that.

Lord Tagin smiled blandly at Lord Delvon.

"Kerrin."

Lady Delvon bristled at the casual way this man stated her husband's first name. For non-magicians, first names were only ever used by the individual's family or close friends. This man was neither.

"Nekran." Lord Delvon answered calmly, but his grip on his son's shoulder was tight. "I had thought you above slandering members of your own Family for the sake hurting children."

Akkarin scowled at being called a child, but remained silent.

Lord Tagin looked murderous. "That imposter is NOT part of my family!" he seethed and Akkarin had to lock his limbs to keep himself from bolting. His father remained unaffected and sighed impatiently as though dealing with a difficult child.

"Say what you will, Nekran – but please throw your strop elsewhere; it's rude to upset those kind enough to invite you into their home."

The Head of House Sarron regarded the family before him with an unreadable expression. He bowed shortly to them. "As you wish. Goodbye Lady Delvon, Lord Akkarin. I wish you luck on your travels and I apologise for any discomfort I caused you."

He turned and disappeared into the crowd without waiting for a reply, his two companions following close behind. Akkarin let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Lady Delvon looked at her son in genuine concern and opened her mouth to say something when her husband gave their son a gentle shake.

"Are you OK, son?"

The Warrior looked at his father and smiled weakly as he nodded. They both missed the flash of hatred that passed through Lady Delvon's eyes. Lord Delvon sighed deeply and looked at his wife. "Will you be OK here alone for a little while – I believe I owe Akkarin an explanation."

"Yes, of course."

The noble smiled at her in gratitude and kissed her, before leading their son away through the crowd towards one of the lockable side rooms.

They stepped inside and at once Akkarin was struck by how much quieter it was in comparison to the adjoining hall. Lord Delvon closed the door behind them and locked it securely. He pulled out two chairs from the large oval table that dominated the room, gesturing for Akkarin to sit down.

"I think it's time I told you about the relationship between Lorlen, his parents and Lord Nekran. Whether or not you tell Lorlen what I am about to say is entirely your own choice – but perhaps when I am done, you will understand why I never told either of you before..."

The late summer evening breeze was relatively warm across his face as he walked down the steps towards the awaiting white carriage. His pace was slow and unhurried, a lazy yet satisfied smirk painted on his face. All things considered, that had gone rather well; it had been a surprisingly amusing way of passing the evening.

Aralina was the same as always, vicious, cruel and beautiful, but disappointingly sentimental when it came to her son, not that it seemed her beloved child realised, still too busy worshipping her husband to pay any attention to her.

He chuckled to himself. Foolish woman.

She was wastedon that family - a family with no link jewellery at all it seemed; not a blue gem in sight.

He'd have thought Kerrin at least would own one, being Deputy Head of House Velan; but maybe the man's older brother was hoarding them all to himself. Perhaps the Head of House Velan hadn't told anyone about them or what they did...

Or maybe there were none left in that House anymore.

Interesting.

He'd been so sure Akkarin would get one upon his Graduation from the Guild...His own gem squatted on the silver band around his finger, a sinister light-consuming black in the late evening darkness.

- Brother!

Lord Nekran raised his eyebrows at the mental communication. He'd told his Deputy never to contact him this way unless the problem was of vital importance. He didn't want people to find out he'd his magic Controlled without going to the Guild...

- Feyran.

His little brother seemed anxious and worried about something.

- What's wrong?

His brother's tone was accusatory and suspicious as he replied.

- You never told me you were actually goingto the Velan's celebration party...

The older noble deadpanned.

- Oh dear. It must have slipped my mind. Heaven forbid I fail to inform my younger brother of everything I do in my free time.

- I'm your deputy – if I'd have known, I'd have gone with you - if only to keep up appearances.

- I assumed you were busy stalking men half your age.

Nekran could feel his brother bristle in anger across the link.

- It's not like that!

- And yet you sound like an unfaithful husband trying to justify himself anyway.

Nekran was brushed the topic aside, feeling himself getting agitated - they had had this conversation before; and he had nothing left to say on this matter.

- Feyran, why did you contact me this way? You know how dangerous it is, so I'm guessing it's something important. Get to the point.

The waves of guilt and desperation reached him before his brother's words did.

- He's...he's not here, brother.

The noble's eyes flashed violently, all the muscles tightening in his face.

- THAT'S why you risked contacting me? Go find him yourself! And don't contact me again.

- But Nekran-

- That imposter has NOTHING to do with me; he's not-

- 'Not your family', I know, but he's mine. Did you see him there? Did Akkarin say anything about him?

- How could I look for a man I've never seen before? This is pointless. I'm heading back to Imardin in the morning; I'll see you at home.

He closed the mental link on his Deputy before the other had a chance to reply and stepped into the carriage, scowling into the darkness of the adjacent seat as the vehicle pulled away.

Stupid brat.

Nekran wished the man had never been born.

The party ended not long after Akkarin and his father re-emerged; the alcohol had almost finished, the food had all been eaten. Everyone was exhausted. Kerrin's eyes met those of his wife as he guided their dazed son back into the mansion hall, and she frowned in concern at her only child, weaving through the crowd towards them. She put a hand on his cheek and turned his face to look at her.

"Are you OK?"

Akkarin looked almost frightened at the sight of his mother being so affectionate and he flinched away from her; he had enough to take in as it was already, he couldn't deal with the problems he had with his mother right now. She blinked, looking as though she had been forcefully struck across the face. Her long nails bit into Akkarin's cheek by accident, drawing blood, and he winced, turning his face away from her as the skin stitched itself back together. Her body tensed as if preparing to scream or hit him before she turned around and stormed off.

"Aralina!"

Lord Delvon took a step after her, but then stopped and turned back to Akkarin, looking conflicted. The Warrior smiled weakly at his father.

"I'll be fine."

The nobleman paused and nodded his thanks before taking off after his wife. Akkarin regarded the empty space his father had occupied with a blank stare. He needed to go sleep. Not caring at all about the guests, the young magician headed for the nearest staircase and headed for his bedroom on the second floor.

The door seemed to open silently against the backdrop of idle chatter coming from the hall below and he allowed himself a minute to bathe in the silence of his room, his back sliding down the wood as he crumpled to the ground, resting his head on his knee.

What a day. To think, everything that happened since Lorlen's first kiss – it all happened on one day. Today.

Akkarin tried to laugh but the sound came out strangled, hoarse and bitter. Ah, Lorlen...

The Warrior shook his head sadly. He'd learnt more about his dear friend today than he had in five years. More in the last hour than even he probably knows about himself.

And to think, Akkarin had vowed to make himself forget about him after that morning by – how had he put it – 'cutting out the cravings'?

Some success he was having.

The magician rested his head against the door. Lorlen's parents had quite the back-story. And their fair amount of wardrobe skeletons. One is particular sprang to mind and Akkarin twitched. He probably should tell Lorlen that at least...

His gaze dropped back to the floor. But of course, that would mean he'd have to contact his friend in the first place...

I can't do that.

His answer came automatically, without him even having to think about it; and in his opinion – that spoke volumes. If he contacted Lorlen now, so soon afterwards, his friend would want answers. Answers Akkarin wasn't prepared to give. Answers he didn't even know himself. The Warrior groaned as he ran a hand over his face. Oh this is such a mess!

He slapped the hand down on his knee and got to his feet. There was no use thinking about this now. He was tired and his head still hurt from everything else that had happened.

He'd...he'd deal with this in the morning.

Akkarin stretched and unbuttoned his formal jacket, pulling off his shirt as he stripped and got into bed, clothes strewn all over the floor. Everything could wait until morning.

The young magician moaned as he relaxed into thick reber wool mattress. He hadn't realised he'd miss his own bed so much. And to think – tomorrow morning he'd leave it, his room , his entire country for a small boat and the promise of a new start, a chance to escape...to be free...

Freedom.

He snorted quietly, but smiled nevertheless. It almost sounded too good to be true.