Part Three

The Wells' Family Legacy

Hunter and Wells walked out into the hallway, Hunter glancing backwards at the wreath on the door, again feeling a flash of anger at seeing Michael’s Christmas present hanging casually on it. Neither he nor Wells said anything as they walked down the stairs, the man leading the way onto the second floor. Wells stopped at one of the doors on the floor and a jolt of concern flashed through Hunter when he realized that they were standing directly in front of his actual room. Not an empty room, but the room he had lived in for the past seven years.

“This is your room, isn’t it, Hunter?” Wells asked, causing him to look away from the door and towards the man. “Or should I say…Apprentice Wright?”

The weight of his sunflower pin in his pocket increased tenfold when Wells called him by his title. The concern that had gone through him when Wells had stopped in front of his room came back, this time as full-fledged fear.

Wells knew. Wells knew exactly who he was and what he was. He was going to take away his pin, he was going to arrest Hunter, he was going to have him executed, the only punishment fit for traitors to the throne.

Wells smirked, seemingly pleased to have caught Hunter off-guard. It was the first expression of his that Hunter felt completely convinced was an actual representation of his true emotions. Wells was truly pleased and happy to have put Hunter in this position. And knowing that made him just as sick as he had felt when he saw Wells’ hand on Thomas’ shoulder.

“Don’t act so surprised, Wright,” Wells said, stepping towards Hunter. “Did you really expect me to not know who you were? I was the one who sent the letter demanding the disbandment of the Tascelan Archers. I was the one who convinced the emperor that the ban was the right move.” Anger coursed through Hunter at Wells’ admission to that. Not only did he sign the letter disbanding the archers, but he had convinced Emperor Elliott to do it? Disbanding the archers had been his idea? He had been the one to destroy Hunter’s dream of becoming an archer? “As such, one of my first actions here at court was to ensure that it had been carried out. I asked King Charles specifically for a list of all the Tascelan Archers. And right there, right below the Senior Archer, was the name of his apprentice: Hunter Wright. I knew exactly who you were the second Thomas introduced me to you.”

“Then why didn’t you arrest me then?” Hunter spat out. “I know you want to see me and all the other archers killed. So why didn’t you make that happen?”

“Because I could tell how desperate my son was for me to like you. If I had arrested you or called for your death, I would have lost all of his trust. I can’t afford to do that. At least, I couldn’t do it in front of him.”

“Well, Thomas isn’t here right now.” Hunter raised his chin defiantly, staring Wells straight in the eye. “So go ahead, arrest me. Call me a traitor. Kill me.”

Wells tilted his head, seemingly debating on whether to do as Hunter told him to do. “I don’t think I will,” he said finally. “If you were to disappear, Thomas would become suspicious. I can’t let that happen. No, I’ll let you go for now, let you live here at the castle and remain friends with him.”

Hunter narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what Wells was trying to do. Was he trying to make Hunter owe him something, perhaps giving him this favor in exchange for bringing his son to Castle Tascela? Or was this simply a good will gesture towards Thomas, trying to gain his son’s approval? And if it was truly part of the act, then what was Wells building towards? Why was he so intent on keeping up the appearance that he cared for Thomas? What was his plan?

Wells took another step, now just mere inches away from Hunter’s face. Still, Hunter didn’t back away, holding his ground and meeting Wells’ gaze head on. “And I want to make something clear, Apprentice Wright.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, yet his words were still just as intense as they were before. He said Hunter’s title with a tone of disdain, almost mocking him. “Don’t for a second mistake this as a sign that I like you. Don’t mistake this as a sign of trust. I hate you and I want nothing more than to watch you swing from a noose. I don’t trust you in the slightest. If you lay a finger on my son, I won’t hesitate to have you arrested and killed. And if you try to come at me, I will make you wish you had never been born. Do not cross me, Wright, not if you value your life.”

Silence greeted the end of his words and Hunter could feel his heart beating faster and faster as the full weight of Wells’ words hit him and as fear coursed through him. And with it came anger, anger at the man for his threats and anger at himself for letting himself be cowed.

And Hunter had never been good at curbing his anger, not when it really mattered. So, he opened his mouth and probably said the worst thing he possibly could say at that moment.

“I could say the same thing about you, Advisor Wells,” Hunter said, chuckling slightly. He kept his voice low as well, filling his voice with disdain and mockery when he said Wells’ title, just like the man himself did just mere seconds ago with his own title. “I hate you, too, and I would love to watch you and your precious empire burn to the ground. Just like how the Aspayan Empire burned my house years ago. Just like how you burned my dreams when you disbanded the Tascelan Archers. And I don’t trust you, either. How can I, when you’re hiding your true emotions from your son? When you’re lying to him about caring for him? When you have an ulterior motive behind spending time with him? As for your threats, they don’t scare me at all. I can ruin whatever you have planned just by telling Thomas what you just told me. Tell me, Advisor Wells, how do you think your son would react? Do you think he would still look at you the same way he did tonight, as if you’re the greatest person in the whole world? Or would he look at you in disgust when he finds out how you actually feel about his childhood friend? Would--”

Just then, a fist hit him on the side of his face, whipping his head to the side. He could feel a cut opening on his cheek and he tasted blood in his mouth. Before he could react to what had just happened, another fist hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Then he found himself pinned up against the wall by his throat, an arm cutting off his air supply. He choked, trying and failing to breathe, especially after the punch to his diaphragm. Fixing his eyes on his attacker, he was met with the angry face of Matheson Wells. For a brief second, he felt a flash of familiarity run through him before he quickly shoved it away, focusing on the moment at hand.

“I warned you, boy,” Wells sneered. “I told you that I could destroy you.”

Hunter gasped, his lungs begging for air. He tried to push against the arm holding him to the wall but his attempts were futile. Either the man was just too strong for him or the lack of air was making him weak.

“You think you’re special, don’t you?” Wells asked. “I found all the information I could about you when I learned that Michael was your mentor, too. A nobody orphan, a commoner, living in Castle Tascela, acting like he’s part of the court, becoming an apprentice to the Senior Archer of the Tascelan Archers last year, an officer of the Tascelan Army at just sixteen-years-old. You act like you run this place, you act like you’re better than me, that you’re so much holier than me, but let me tell you something, boy. Let me remind you of your place.”

Suddenly, Hunter remembered the knife at his side. If he could reach it, he could gain the upper hand. He reached down with his left hand, trying to hide his movements from Wells. He managed to pull it out from his sheathe and he glanced down at it, taking a moment to fix his grip on the weapon.

That one glance seemed to be a mistake as Wells followed his eyesight. He snarled, then, with the hand not holding Hunter, he reached for Hunter’s left arm, twisting it.

Hunter cried out in pain, or at least he tried to. He still had no air, causing his cry to be completely silent. He could have sworn that he felt his bones shift, though he didn’t hear a snap that signaled a broken bone. He dropped his knife, the blade clanging against the floor.

Wells smirked. “Admit it, Wright.” He leaned forward, whispering in Hunter’s ear. “I have the advantage here. I’ve won.”

His gloating words caused even more anger to flood through Hunter, anger that far outweighed his fear. And so, with as much force as he could muster, Hunter threw his head forward, trying to headbutt the man in front him.

Wells leaned to the side easily, evading Hunter’s attack and not letting up on his pressure on Hunter’s throat in the slightest. He tsked. “You don’t scare me at all, Wright. You are nothing compared to me. I am the Aspayan Hero. I am the reason the Aspayan Empire exists. I am Emperor Elliott’s right-hand man. I am the Aspayan Advisor in the Tascelan Court. You have no status. You have no position in the court. You are no longer an officer in the Tascelan Army. You are, and will always be, a nobody orphan.” Then, he tilted his head to the side, staring at Hunter before he said, “And if you think anyone cares for you, then you are deluding yourself.”

Hunter could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears, the blood rushing to his head as he flushed in anger and embarrassment. Or maybe that was simply from the arm still cutting off his air, he realized, as he felt his lungs burning from having no air. Even if he could speak, he didn’t have a single rebuttal to anything Wells had told him. Everything he said was true.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“Advisor Wells?” a voice asked. Wells turned his head to face the new person speaking, keeping his arm on Hunter’s throat. Hunter also fixed his gaze on the new person speaking, trying to get his eyes to focus on them instead of Wells. He was starting to see stars now and he was feeling more and more light-headed with each passing second. He knew that he was going to pass out--and soon.

“Soldier,” Wells greeted. Finally, Hunter’s eyes focused, finding a man with dark brown eyes in the red uniform of the Aspayan Army standing in the hallway. His mop of red hair clashed horribly with the color of his uniform and Hunter could have sworn he had seen that same color clash before. He shook that thought away quickly. That wasn’t important at that moment and, besides, there had to be plenty of Aspayan soldiers with red hair. “What can I do for you?”

The soldier hesitated, glancing at Hunter. He could’ve sworn that he saw the man pale, his eyes widening in shock when they landed upon a spot right above his right eye. With what had happened in the past few minutes, Hunter’s hair had been pushed away from it, allowing his scar to have full visibility. Before Hunter could figure out why the soldier appeared to have just seen a ghost when spotting it, the man shook himself, turning his attention back onto Wells.

“I woke up when I heard noises, sir,” he said. “I thought I would investigate and see if there was an attacker.” The soldier looked at Hunter, his gaze lingering on his scar and the cut Hunter knew that he had from Wells’ punch, before he faced the man again. “It appears I was correct to do so, sir.”

“Yes, soldier, you were.” Wells looked back at Hunter. “You can go back to your room now, soldier. We’re nearly finished.”

Again, the soldier hesitated. “Sir…”

“Now, soldier!” Wells barked. “I gave you orders and I expect you to follow them.”

“Yes, sir.” With one last glance at Hunter and the scar above his right eye, he turned on his heel, disappearing from sight.

Then, Wells opened the door to Hunter’s room, all but throwing him in. He fell to the floor, remaining on the ground as he coughed from the sudden rush of air. He brought his hand to touch his throat where Wells had pushed up against, wincing at its soreness. He took several deep breaths, grateful to finally be receiving air.

Suddenly, Wells crouched down in front of him, grabbing his chin and pulling his face towards him. Hunter didn’t for a second hide the anger in his eyes, but he hoped that the man didn’t notice his fear of him.

“I already told you this, Wright, but I still have no plans on arresting or killing you. Thomas seems to like you and I plan on using that to my advantage. If I do anything against you, he’ll turn against me.” He paused, then said, “I don’t want any of what just transpired to make it to Thomas, do you understand me?”

Gathering himself up, Hunter spat at him. Immediately, something within Wells snapped and he backhanded Hunter on the same cheek that he had punched him in. Hunter gasped as the pain of it registered with him and the cut split open further, causing more blood to fall down the side of his face. If it wasn’t already, his cheek was now bruised. Wells then placed his own knife on Hunter’s throat, right above the spot where he had put his arm just minutes ago.

“You are not going to tell Thomas what happened tonight, do you understand me?”

Hunter glared at him, causing Wells to dig the knife further into his neck, cutting into it and making Hunter hiss in pain. Still, he taunted Wells. “Go ahead,” he rasped out. The lack of air from earlier was still affecting his ability to speak. “Kill me with your knife. See if I care.”

He was being honest, his own death didn’t scare him in the slightest. And he knew that Wells wasn’t going to kill him, not when he had just admitted that he didn’t want to. So holding a knife to his neck did nothing for him. Still, that didn’t slow Hunter's rapid heartbeat at all nor did it stop his hands from shaking.

Wells cursed, then put the knife away. “Fine. But if you tell him, I’ll tell him how you really feel about me. How you hate me and how you want to see me burn. You care about him, don’t you? You’re his friend, after all. How do you think he’ll feel about your true feelings about his father?”

Hunter froze. He knew exactly how Thomas would feel. He would hate Hunter. He would push him away, just like what he did to his mother when she stated that she didn’t want him anywhere near his father.

“He won’t believe you,” Hunter said, trying to hide his fear.

Wells raised his eyebrow. “You don’t think so? Do you think he’ll believe you when you tell him about what I did? Whose word will he believe? Mine, his father, the Aspayan Hero, or yours, a nobody orphan?”

Hunter opened his mouth, about to say his childhood friend when he hesitated, thinking back on what happened just that morning.

“You lied?”

Hunter sighed. “I did and believe me when I say th--”

“I asked you point-blank if you knew about her and you said you didn’t!” Thomas yelled, stepping away from Hunter.

“I know,” Hunter said, looking mournful. “I know and I apologize for that.”

Hunter had already lied to him once. Perhaps Thomas would actually believe Wells’ words over his. And if that was true, then he could never tell Thomas about what had happened between him and his father.

Seeing his hesitation and his falling face, Wells smirked. It appeared as if he had thought he had won. And perhaps he actually did, Hunter realized, remembering the man’s words from earlier and how Hunter had failed to get the man off of him.

“So you do understand,” he said, standing up from the floor. “Like I said, I don’t trust you for a second and I don’t want to risk anything when it comes to you. As such, I’m placing you under constant surveillance. You will not leave this room without me knowing about it and I forbid you from stepping a foot outside of this castle. Do you understand?”

Hunter said nothing, staring at the ground and avoiding Wells’ gaze on him. Wells grabbed his chin again, forcing his eyesight on him. “Do you understand me, Wright?”

“Go to hell,” Hunter responded, not letting the man have the satisfaction of hearing him admit that he had won.

Wells scoffed, pushing him away from himself and then strode out the doorway. Before he closed the door, he spared one last glance at Hunter. “Damn you.” With that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving Hunter alone in the dark room.

Alone with nothing but the echoes of Wells’ threats. Alone with nothing but a voice in his head telling him that he had failed, his plan had crumbled to his ashes, his parents, Michael, and his dream of becoming a Tascelan Archer never to be avenged. Alone with nothing but the knowledge that he had enabled his friend to meet a horrible person.

“There has to be a reason as to why Matheson is looking for Thomas now and not in the years that he’s been away. Maybe there’s a darker reason.”

For Wells was surely hiding many things from Thomas. He had created an entire act about caring for Thomas, an act that Thomas fully believed in if his words from earlier were to be true. And he was doing it again here, acting like he was welcoming Hunter and was happy to have met a friend of his son. And Thomas had bought that act, seeing that his smile was wide and genuine. Hunter, however, didn’t, not in the slightest.

Not when Wells’ smile seemed so false. Not when Hunter didn’t miss the anger and the disgust the man had slipped into his expression before he could stop it. Not when the hand on Thomas’ shoulder looked more controlling than an action of love.

Yes, Braya was absolutely correct in assuming that there was an ulterior motive behind Wells wanting to meet Thomas, but Hunter couldn’t figure out what that hidden desire was.

“What if he’s--I don’t know--abusive or something?”

Just then, a fist hit him on the side of his face, whipping his head to the side. He could feel a cut opening on his cheek and he tasted blood in his mouth. Before he could react to what had just happened, another fist hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Then he found himself pinned up against the wall by his throat, an arm cutting off his air supply. He choked, trying and failing to breathe, especially after the punch to his diaphragm. Fixing his eyes on his attacker, he was met with the angry face of Matheson Wells.

Seeing how quickly the man had snapped and resorted to anger and physical violence, Hunter was beginning to feel that Braya’s theory about him being abusive was bound to prove itself true anytime now. And if that happened, Hunter would never forgive himself for allowing that to happen. For enabling Thomas to meet and have a relationship with an abusive father.

He groaned, standing up and collapsing onto his bed. His cheek was pulsating from both Wells’ punch and his slap and he felt blood from his cut drying on his face. He ignored his injuries, though, deciding to deal with it later. Hunter had more important things to deal with, mainly with the fact that both he and Thomas had to get out of here. They were in danger, especially from Wells. Hunter had gotten both of them in too far and they were beginning to drown in the situation they were in, Thomas in the honeyed words and actions of his father and Hunter in…whatever the hell had just happened between him and Wells.

The question, however, was how he and Thomas were supposed to leave. How was he going to get Thomas to agree to leave Wells? He couldn’t tell him what had happened; his friend would never believe him, not when he was a proven liar and not when Wells had promised to tell him what he himself had said. And he wasn’t about to leave Thomas alone in Castle Tascela, not when Wells had just proven that everything everyone had ever said about him was correct. Not when Hunter was pretty certain that Wells had an abusive streak to him.

Hunter sighed, closing his eyes and racking his head to try and figure out a solution. When none were forthcoming, he emptied his mind, just now realizing just how tired he was. It was well past midnight and he hadn’t slept well the night before, no when he was sleeping on the floor of Kathleen’s house. Perhaps he should go to sleep and let the sun come up to shine on all of his problems. Michael had always said that things looked better in the morning light. Maybe that would prove to be true in the morning…

And so Hunter let sleep claim him, letting his thoughts turn to why Wells’ angry face had seemed familiar to him and where he had seen the color clash between the red of the Aspayan uniform and the soldier’s hair before.