Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Jaron came home to find Casca and Malkira in the living room, engrossed in the flickering images on the TV screen. He paused in the doorway, still wondering what his brother was doing here. Malkira's house wasn't a long way from their parents' house, but Casca had never dropped in unannounced before.

"Cas, shouldn't you be at home?" Jaron asked as he sank onto the couch beside his brother. "What's going on?"

Casca huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm never going back there," he declared, his gaze still fixed on the screen.

Jaron raised an eyebrow. "You can't mean that," Jaron said, but even as he spoke the words, he understood where Casca was coming from. As his little brother turned into a teenager, he was developing a mind of his own, and Mom and Dad weren't happy about it.

Casca turned to face Jaron, his expression stormy. "Why not? You left."

Jaron grimaced. "It's different for me," he tried to explain. "I was already an adult when I moved out, and my relationship with Mom and Dad is… complicated."

"How's it complicated?" Casca asked. "Because you can't breathe fire?"

Jaron winced. They didn't usually talk about this.

"You and your brother are each unique," Malkira said, resting a soothing hand on Casca's shoulder. "And you each have your own unique relationship with your parents."

That was a good way to put it. Jaron didn't want to be pressed to explain that their parents wouldn't let Casca out of their grasp as easily as they'd let Jaron go because they still had high hopes for Casca. He was a bright kid and a ridiculously strong firebreather. He was sociable and people liked him.

"Tell me what happened to make you come here today," Jaron prompted.

Casca's jaw tightened, and he glanced away, his fingers drumming a rapid rhythm on his knees. Jaron recognized that look, the bottled-up frustration just beneath the surface.

"I told them that I want to become a doctor and go help people in poorer countries like the Fringes."

Jaron's heart sank as he absorbed Casca's words. Their parents felt like they had a legacy to uphold, and it didn't include their offspring straying from the traditional paths of power and prestige that they so adored. Healers, especially those who worked in the forgotten corners of the world, were a far cry from the image his parents curated.

"They believe dragons don't have any business in healing," Jaron murmured. "They've always said that's a fae's calling."

Casca nodded energetically. "Exactly! But there are dragon doctors!"

Jaron looked into his brother's eyes, seeing the same fiery determination that had pushed him to join the Mortal Rights Task Force—an act of rebellion against their parents' ideology.

He'd hoped it would be a few more years before Casca decided he didn't want to be the golden son.

"Mom and Dad want you to inherit the business," he said carefully.

Casca scrunched up his nose. "But jewelry is boring," he said, even as the several gold bracelets he wore dangled from his wrist.

"Our parents take pride in it."

Casca huffed again. "Fei can have it, then."

"Maybe you two can discuss that when he's a little older," Jaron advised. "For now, you need to keep your head down. Just focus on school and make sure you get good grades so you can be a doctor in the end. Mom and Dad can't stop you when you're old enough."

"I wish I was old enough now." Casca sighed. "I don't want to pretend. I also don't want them to be disappointed in me."

"You're not disappointing anyone by being true to who you are," Jaron reassured him. "You're just disappointing their expectations of who they think you should be."

Jaron watched his Casca wrestle with that concept.

Maybe it was a little much for him to process right now.

"You'll be fine," Jaron said. "And you can always come hang out here when it gets too much at home."

Casca glanced up, a sliver of hope flickering in his eyes. "Really?" A moment later, though, he remembered that he wanted to be a tough teenager and looked away. "I mean, I know."

Jaron suppressed a laugh. "All right. How about we have some spicy hot chocolate?" That had always been his little brother's favorite drink.

"Sounds great," Casca said.

Jaron smiled at him and made his way to the kitchen, passing Malkira.

"You handled that well," she said softly to him. "I need to fetch some herbs from the market before it closes," she announced in a louder voice.

Jaron caught her gaze and understood—she was giving them space.

"Thanks," he whispered back.

In the kitchen, Jaron warmed milk on the stove and added in chunks of dark chocolate along with a pinch of cayenne pepper and cinnamon, enjoying the smell of the chocolate as it melted into the milk. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

When he was done, he and Casca settled in front of the TV with their mugs, the rich aroma of chocolate filling the air between them as they picked out an action movie from the streaming service.

Jaron sipped at his drink and leaned back against the cushions.

As the warmth of the chocolate spread through his body, Jaron's mind drifted to Keegan. Had the vampire foreseen that Jaron would spend the evening watching movies with his little brother? Was that why he'd said Jaron wouldn't be back?

Had he guessed that Jaron would always choose to be there for his siblings?

Maybe he'd seen it.

That seemed likely.

Just as Jaron felt the tension in his chest beginning to unravel, a loud banging on the door shattered the peaceful moment.

Of course.

Jaron didn't have to be a seer to know who that was.

Steeling himself, he set his mug down and went to open the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" his mother demanded before he could even utter a greeting.

"I'm taking care of my brother," Jaron replied evenly.

"You're filling his head with your silly ideas!" Her voice rose like thunder, accusing him of leading Casca astray just as he'd strayed himself.

Jaron stood firm in the doorway. "He came here because he needed someone who would listen."

"Listen?" His mother let out a sharp laugh. "Like you're not the one who made him want to be a doctor in the first place."

Jaron gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to lash out in return. He wasn't going to lose his cool now. "It wasn't my idea, but even if it was, it's not a bad thing to be a doctor. You can't force Casca to take over the family business just because that is what you want for him."

She glared at him. "I let you get away with a lot, Jaron Tymera. I looked the other way when you decided that you didn't want to wear our jewelry and I didn't stop you from joining that ridiculous task force you work for, but I won't let you put Casca within reach of this 'woman' you live with." The way she said the word suggested that she wanted to call Malkira something far worse than a woman.

She'd always hated Malkira for some reason, and she'd hated that Jaron had chosen to live with the witch.

Jaron's hackles rose. "There's nothing wrong with Malkira."

His mother waved his words aside like an annoying mosquito. "Oh please, everyone knows she hates dragons and you've been turning into less of one with every month you spend living with her as if you're suddenly ashamed of your heritage when you should be proud. She's filling you with her hate, corrupting you!"

"Shut up," Jaron burst out. "Malkira's been more of a mother to me than you ever were!"

His mother flinched as if he'd struck her, and he knew he'd gone too far.

"All I'm trying to say is that she loves me," he said quickly. "For who I am."

The proud dragoness who had birthed him looked at him for a long moment. "And who is that, Jaron? A dragon who can't breathe fire? Who's given up on even trying? A son who turns his back on his family's legacy? Is that who you want to be?"

Jaron didn't have the words to respond to that adequately.

"I'm sorry that I'm not the son you wanted," he said quietly, and then, for a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Finally, his mother pushed past him. "Casca?" she called. "It's time to go home."

Jaron watched helplessly as his mother grabbed Casca's arm, pulling him towards the door. Casca shot Jaron a pleading look. He obviously didn't want to go, but his teenage bravado had left him, and he didn't dare speak up against their mother's wrath.

"Let's go," their mother snapped coldly. "We'll discuss this further at home."

Casca hung his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he allowed himself to be dragged away.

Jaron wished there was something he could do, but for now, there wasn't. Even if he'd tried to stop her from taking Casca, she was rich and powerful, and the authorities would be here to take his underage brother home within the hour.

As the door slammed shut behind them, Jaron let out a frustrated growl, his fists clenching at his sides.

Huffing, he stalked back to the couch and snatched up his mug of hot chocolate, taking a long swig of the now-lukewarm liquid. It did little to soothe his frayed nerves as he sank back into the cushions, his mind racing with thoughts of Casca and their mother's stubborn refusal to see beyond her own expectations.

Minutes ticked by as Jaron stared blankly at the TV screen, not really seeing the movie that still played. His phone buzzed beside him, and he glanced down to see a text from his mother. His stomach twisted with dread as he opened the message, finding a link to an old news article.

Frowning, Jaron clicked on the link, his confusion growing as he scanned the headline: "Local Witch Implicated in Deadly Disease Outbreak." The article detailed accusations against Malkira, claiming she had been involved in the creation of a potent disease that had escaped from a magical research facility where she worked at the time.

The virus had come to be known as the scarlet curse.

Jaron's blood ran cold.

He'd heard of that disease, of course. Every citizen of this kingdom had. It was the disease that had befallen their late king, as well as his son, their current ruler.

But Malkira couldn't have had anything to do with it.

She'd always been kind and nurturing to him. Not the sort of person who'd spend her time inventing deadly diseases—nor the sort of person who'd unleash those diseases on the public.

Jaron scanned the article without taking in much of the information.

The key part was that Malkira hadn't been prosecuted. She hadn't been found guilty of anything.

His mother was just grasping at straws, bringing old rumors back to life in order to make Malkira look bad.

Even as Jaron set the phone aside, though, the story wouldn't leave his head.

And this was the real reason Jaron didn't wind up going to visit Keegan that evening. He waited for Malkira to come home so he could ask her about the news article, hoping she wouldn't feel insulted by his curiosity.

When Malkira finally returned home, her arms laden with bags of herbs and ingredients, Jaron approached her cautiously. "Hey, can we talk for a minute?"

Malkira set her bags down on the kitchen counter and turned to face him, her brow furrowed with concern. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

Jaron hesitated, unsure of how to broach the subject. "My mom sent me an article," he began, his voice trailing off as he tried to find the right words. "It was about you and some kind of disease outbreak a long time ago." He hesitated. "The scarlet curse?"

Malkira's face paled, but she gestured at the kitchen table. "Take a seat."

Jaron swallowed and did as he was told. He'd almost wanted her to deny all accusations outright, but maybe it was better to have a proper talk about this.

"I had hoped that was all in the past," she said in a soft voice as she sat with him.

Jaron's heart sank at her reaction. "So it's true?"

He didn't want it to be, damn it.

He didn't want the witch who'd cared so much about him to be a bad person. He also didn't want his mom to be 'right.'

Malkira shook her head. "Not the way the story went around in the media," she said. "I was working at a research facility, yes, but I had nothing to do with the creation of that disease. When I found out what they were doing, I tried to stop them, but it was too late."

Jaron listened as Malkira explained how she'd tried to convince her higher-ups that the experiments they were doing were too dangerous, but that the damage had already been done. The disease had escaped, and all dragonkind had suffered the consequences.

Was that why his mom claimed Malkira hated dragons?

"Why did the article make it sound like it was your fault?" Jaron asked with a growing sense of injustice.

"Because I was nobody," Malkira said simply. "It was easy for them to shift the blame onto me. They tried, at least. I was never prosecuted because there was no evidence against me." She sighed. "But the rumors persisted, and my reputation was ruined. That's why I left my old town and came here, to start over."

Jaron felt terrible for dragging her right back into the past she'd tried to leave behind. "I'm so sorry," he said softly. "I had no idea."

Malkira squeezed his hand, a sad smile on her face. "It's not your fault. I should have told you, I suppose, but I didn't want you to think less of me."

Jaron shook his head. "I could never think less of you. You've been like a mother to me, and I know you would never do anything to hurt anyone."

Malkira's smile faltered. "Thank you, Jaron," she whispered. "That means more to me than you know."

Jaron reassured her again.

He wasn't going to listen to his mother's poison.

What did she know?