4 Change of heart

"How nice of you to finally join us!" Fafir said with a painfully fake smile etched over her beautiful features. Even he had to admit she was beautiful, considered the fairest and finest girl in the clan. It was a wonder she hadn't been married away to one of the highland kingdoms yet. She could most certainly charm the breeches off any of those snotty princes.

Iota only grunted in response.

His family sat around a pointlessly ornate table on pointlessly ornate chairs, with plates of excessive amounts of food—from stir-fried vegetables to glistening shellfish to even roasted slabs of meat, in front of them. Many of the dishes looked like they had not even been touched. It would be thrown out or given to the beggars, for even his whole family could not finish all of it. While the men below their estate scraped by with stale bread and foraged roots, the Ashvans ate only the best.

Noa was engrossed in hacking away at a plate of boiled shellfish, not even sparing Iota a glance.

"And so where have you been?" his mother asked with a single brow raised. Like always, she was seated at the head of the table. Her eyes wandered to his belt and the sling hanging off it. "I thought I told you no more playing in the forest."

His face turned to stone. "I don't play in the forest, Mother. I'm doing my part for the family."

Noa snickered, his mouth full of shellfish meat. He glanced up at Iota. "If you wanted to do your part for the family," he said, waving a shellfish claw at him, "then maybe you shouldn't skip your tutorial sessions."

If his mother wasn't angry before, she was definitely fuming now. "Is this true?" she asked, her voice falling to below a whisper. "Did you really skip your lessons today, Iota Ashvan?"

Iota shot Noa a cold glare, his fists clenched, he nodded. "I did," he said, his voice terse and clipped. "I believe I am suited for other tasks."

"He believes he's suited for other tasks," Noa repeated mockingly.

"You believe," his mother said, reaching for a goblet beside her plate, "you are suited for other tasks?"

Iota nodded stiffly. "I can do more good for the clan out in the fields or in the forest," he explained.

Fafir sighed and looked away. Sigur shook her head like she was disappointed by his answer. And Noa burst out laughing. "Come closer," his mother demanded, beckoning him forward with a wag of one slender finger. "What is your surname?"

"Ashvan."

"That's right!" she snapped, anger setting over her cold face. "You are an Ashvan! Not some peasant boy! You are my son, the son of Lady Myra Ashvan, not the son of a common plebian wench. You aren't a laborer, Iota. you're supposed to be greater."

Iota set his jaw. He glared at his mother, and she glared right back. "What if I don't want to be greater?" he said softly. "I don't need to be watched over or to be called Young Lord. What if I just want to be ordinary?"

Noa stopped laughing. He looked at their mother, and then back to Iota.

She sighed. "You are an Ashvan. You are not destined to be ordinary. I imagine you've been spending more time with Verda. Is he the one filling your head with all this nonsense?"

He frowned. "Verda has nothing to do with this."

She clicked her tongue in response. "That man has got everything to do with this. He's a bad influence on you. If I was the head of this clan, I'd have sent that big oaf away a long time ago."

Iota snorted. The gall of this woman. It wasn't like she raised him. "At least he has an influence on me," he said, nearly spitting the words out. "You've done absolutely nothing for me at all!"

His mother recoiled in shock, for once at a loss of words.

Noa grimaced. "Don't push it," he warned with a dangerously low tone. "I wouldn't want to hurt you."

Iota sneered. "I don't think you could," he said coldly. "Younger Brother."

"Want to put it to the test?" Noa spat back equally as cold.

"Sure," Iota said, balling up his fists. "Outside in the training yard. I'll enjoy butchering-"

Before Iota could even react to what was happening, a giant fist slammed into his face. Everything went black. The force behind the punch lifted him off the floor and into the door, breaking his fall. When he opened his eyes, he saw his mother standing behind the table, her fist flung out. His face numb from the blow, Iota could taste warm metallic blood on his lips. His shirt must be a mess. A shame, he thought, it was a good shirt.

Everyone looked at her, shocked. She had called upon her varya and struck Iota with a battle technique. Sigur looked horrified. She knew just how powerful varya was and what it could do to an untrained person. Fafir even had a small frown on her lips. She rarely frowned, causes wrinkles, she had said.

It was Noa's reaction that surprised him. What was the emotion in his eyes? Concern? Shock? For the first time, Noa looked at him with a soft expression.

"Mother," Sigur said, nearly whispering. "I do believe that was over-excessive, even if he was acting an ass."

His mother looked lost like even she couldn't believe what she had done. "You- you shouldn't have talked to your younger brother that way," she said shakily. "You're supposed to protect him, Iota."

Fafir sighed, lifting her hands to examine her nails. "Come now, Mother, you can't possibly use that as an excuse when people come asking why his face looks like a giant bruise."

"Hush now," his mother snapped, taking a seat back down. "Come sit, Iota, a growing boy needs to eat," she said, a little less shaky, but artificial sweetness dripped from her words. It was like she was talking down to a toddler. "Hurry now."

Iota stood up, wincing at the pain sprouting in his back. He'd have to get that looked at later. "I should go see Granny Yue," he said absent-mindedly. "She should have something for bruising."

"No!" his mother screeched. She took a deep breath. "No," she said much softer. "No need for all that, come just sit and eat."

Iota obliged her reluctantly. He took up a seat between Noa and Sigur, with Fafir sitting across from him.

Noa handed him a hand cloth with a sympathetic look. "Sorry," he said, albeit even that came out as forced. "I shouldn't have provoked you."

"It's alright," Iota said, dabbing at his nose and the area under it. "I got a little hot-headed too."

His mother clapped her dainty hands together. "See? How hard was that?" she asked, but not in a questioning tone. "Brothers shouldn't fight amongst themselves."

From the corner of his eye, Iota swore he could see Fafir roll her eyes.

He dropped his gaze back down to the cloth, nearly entirely red in his blood. No matter how hard he wiped or dabbed, the blood refused to cease flowing.

"Here, let me see that," Sigur said from the side, turning and placing her hands over his nose, cupping the air around it. "This should help." A warm feeling, like a soothing wind, embraced the soreness. Soon enough, feeling returned to his lower face. "Better?"

It still stung a little, he admitted. But at the very least, the bleeding stopped, and the soreness was behind him.

He still had trouble wrapping his mind around it. He hadn't even been able to see what happened, much less react to it. One second he was standing. Then he wasn't. He had never put too much attention on varya power; Iota hadn't shown much promise in it. But he could only begin to imagine the possibilities if he mastered it to the level of his mother.

Even a bear wouldn't stand a chance against him. He'd be king of the forest then, unfettered and free to go where he chose.

Dinner continued in strained silence, except for the sound of utensils scraping on dishes. Iota had picked out a plate of craved up ham and some fruit to go along with it. His dinner sat in front of him, virtually untouched.

He noticed everyone ate with much less enthusiasm than before. His mother hadn't even given her plate a second glance. Instead, her gaze was focused solely on him. Half the room staring at you made for awkward eating, Iota decided. He pushed his plate away and stood up.

"I think I've had enough," he said cautiously, tossing a worried glance at his mother. She only nodded. "I'll be retiring for the night."

None bothered to stop him as he inched out of the room. Free from the oppressive atmosphere of the dining room, he quickly dashed into his own suite of rooms. From now on, he'd eat with the guards, no matter what his mother said.

He rubbed his nose thoughtfully, but he had to admit his eyes had been opened considerably. He had always measured strength by the weight behind someone's sword arm or how accurately they could nail a target with a bow. But what good were sword skills if he could swat them out of the air as his mother had done to him. What good would a bow be if they weren't even allowed to draw it. From now on, he decided, no more skipping tutorials. He'd even sit through the painfully dull geography lessons if that meant being taught how to weave varya.

A silly thought flashed in his mind briefly: what if he could get Sigur to teach him? He quickly brushed such musings away. She would be tied up with her own training, and he could already imagine how smug she'd be if he came to her for tutoring.

He quickly racked his brain for when the next session would be. How foolish he had been to skip it for a fruitless trip to the woods. Suddenly, his mother's earlier words didn't feel so insulting anymore.

Iota knew he would be starting his training late. He didn't even know the first thing about Varya. While his peers were weaving under the watchful eye of tutors, he had always been more focused on the great outdoors. Skipping a lesson to play in the forest should have been a one-time event. Instead, it became the norm for him.

"Do you require anything, Young Lord?"

Iota nearly jumped out of his skin. He quickly spun to see Ivar standing behind him with a wet towel. He bowed his head and handed him the towel respectfully, asking no questions. Iota wondered how much the clan was paying him. Whatever it was, clearly, it was not enough. The man always looked as if even a light breeze could knock him down.

"Thank you," Iota said, gratefully grabbing the towel and wiping his face. "Say, do you know when the next tutorial session should be?"

Ivar scratched at his wrinkled chin. "I believe it is in two days, held immediately after the rising of the sun."

For the first time in a long hour, Iota smiled.