Birthright (The Technomage Archive, Book 1)

  Chapter Seven

  “He's dead, Ceril,” Roman said calmly. “You killed him.”

  “I gathered,” Ceril said. He hadn’t intended to sound so callous, but once he spoke, there was no taking it back.

  “You gathered? Really? You gathered that you ended another person’s life? How very astute, boy. Are you proud of yourself?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I suppose I should be thankful for that,” Roman said. “Do you have any idea what is going to happen to you now, son?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’m going to give you a choice,” Roman said.

  “A choice?” Ceril said. He raised his eyes to meet Roman's.

  “Yes, Ceril, a choice,” the older man continued. “A choice that you had damned well better think long and hard about before you give me your response.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ceril said. “I will, sir.”

  “Tell me, Ceril. Do you like it here? Really?”

  Ceril thought hard. He liked it in Ternia with Gramps. He liked being in the garden, liked being under the twin suns. He also liked being at Ennd's and rooming with Swarley. But did he like it here? He had spent an entire year in an Instance that was unfathomably far away from everyone and everything he had ever known. A year had passed, and he still wasn’t sure.

  He pursed his lips and stared at Roman.

  Yes. He did like it there. Most of the time.

  “Sometimes, sir,” Ceril finally answered.

  “Sometimes?” Roman sounded hurt. “How incredibly noncommittal of you.”

  Ceril didn’t say anything.

  “Well, I'll tell you what, Ceril. I'll make this easy for you. You have until class tomorrow to decide how much you like it here. There will be consequences for whichever you choose, though. You have until our class tomorrow morning to give me an answer. Do you have any questions?”

  “What sort of consequences, sir?” Ceril asked.

  “Harsh ones.”

  “I kind of figured that,” Ceril said.

  Roman glared. “There’s not going to be an easy way out of this, Ceril. You killed someone, and you’re going to be punished for it.”

  “But I didn’t mean to.”

  “I never said you did, but an Apprentice is dead because your Flameblade impaled him. Whether you meant to or not.”

  “He was trying…to kill me,” Ceril said. He blinked his eyes to clear away the tears that were welling up. “I just wanted him to stop pushing.”

  Roman’s voice was still stern. “What happened, Ceril?”

  Ceril told Roman everything that he could remember. The whole incident was a blur in his memory, but he did the best he could. By the end of it, Ceril was crying. “I was so scared, Roman,” he sobbed. “We were so high up, and…and…I didn’t mean to.”

  “I don’t think you did this on purpose, Ceril, but that doesn’t change the fact that Ethan Triggs is dead. You’re going to have to pay for murdering one of your peers.”

  Ceril couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He said, “I didn't murder him, sir.”

  “Didn’t you? You just told me that you retaliated and Ethan died.”

  “It wasn't murder, sir. It was an accident.”

  Roman said tersely, “I know. The issue, though, is that you did it at all. You killed Ethan. And that's murder, accidental or not.”

  “But…” Ceril started.

  Roman waved one hand for Ceril to be silent, pressed the heel of his other hand into his temple, and rubbed. Ceril understood the gestures to mean his argument had been dismissed.

  “I DIDN'T MEAN TO!” the boy yelled, and as he spoke, he felt a weight appear in his hand. Light reflected on Roman, purplish green light. When Ceril looked down and realized that he was once again holding the sword his Flameblade. Immediately, he let it go.

  The sword fell to the floor. The aura around the blade was just as bright as it had been in the headmaster's office over a year ago, when all this mess started. The glow was undimmed by the band of dried blood that made the tip of the gold blade seem like a capstone, and even dazed, Ceril noted that it was the first time he had ever seen the sword glow on its own, without him touching it.

  Roman remained stoic, but his eyes never left the sword. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but stern. “Tomorrow morning, Ceril. Decide if you want to stay here or go back to Erlon. You will be escorted back to your quarters, where you will remain for the rest of the evening. I hate to do it, but I will seal the door as a precaution. If I hear that you even try to open that door tonight, there will be hell to pay. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ceril managed to say as he stared at the sword lying at his feet.

  “I suggest you take that with you.”