Enthralled
Omen dragged a hand down his face, down the stubble of his beard and felt frustrated. He looked it as well. He raised exhausted eyes to his son who continued to gaze to the water, buried in the blooms that had been, for centuries, a luxury, even to their kind. “What are you doing, son? You are my heir, you are the successor. You’re far greater than any other in our lineage—”
“—save for you—?”
“What are you doing? Why are you so enthralled to the Blackwaters’ son? Why must you go through these lengths to convince us to give them allegiance when we have been at each others throats for so long?”
The smile Maren produced seemed as bitter as any other he had given his father in the days when he claimed he was “fine,” after the days he would wake screaming, tortured by the voices that assaulted him with the psychic gifts he’d never asked for.
“Enthralled?” he echoed.
“Isn’t that the word?” Omen asked.
Maren smiled sadly at the waters. “Enthralled. Do you think he notices? That I’m so compelled?”
- The First Book of Blackwater
