Kneel! The Fallen Hero Has Returned!

Chapter 7: The Family That Threw Me Away

"Tell Young Master Cross that the Vale family is ready to cooperate. We only ask that he consider investing in our businesses."

Gideon Vale's voice drifted through the carved doors of the meeting hall, the voice of a man who had practiced his smile in a mirror. Ronan waited in the corridor outside in his wheelchair, his head bowed and a blanket over his knees.

Beside him, Old Bram wrung his cap in his hands. "Young Master, you shouldn't be here. They won't let you in."

"They have to," Ronan whispered, in his most pitiful voice. "I'm a Vale. This is my family."

Three years ago, this same family had packed his belongings into a single trunk and sent him to the smallest room in the Whitmore guest wing. His father had not even come to say goodbye.

Now that same father was begging.

"The Cross family doesn't invest in names," a polite voice answered from inside. It belonged to a man Ronan had never met, probably one of Damon's envoys. "We invest in strength."

"We have strength!" Gideon said quickly. "My younger son Ellis awakened at the Third Rank last spring. He's one of the most promising young warriors in the city."

"Father, you're making me blush," Ellis drawled.

Ronan's eyes narrowed. His little brother had been twelve when Ronan left for the war, a skinny boy who followed him around the yard and begged to carry his sword.

"And your elder son?" the envoy asked. "A war hero, wasn't he?"

The room went quiet for a heartbeat. "He is no longer part of the family's affairs," Gideon said stiffly.

"Dead weight for three years," Ellis added with a careless laugh. "Father says we shouldn't even talk about him."

Ronan nodded to himself. Nobody in that room had said a word about the war, or the core, or the city he had saved. He drew a slow breath and gave the doors a trembling push.

"Bram, please," he whispered. "Open it."

The doors swung wide, and the whole room turned to look.

Gideon sat at the head, three elders in formal robes sat beside him, with Ellis lounging in a chair and one boot propped on the table. At the far end sat a man in a Cross family sash, holding a teacup halfway to his mouth.

"R-Ronan?" Gideon shot to his feet. "What are you doing here? Who let you in?"

"F-Father." Ronan clasped his hands on the blanket and bowed his head as low as his chair allowed. "Please forgive me. I only wanted to see you. I heard the family was in trouble, and I thought I might help."

"Help?" Ellis burst out laughing, and several cousins chuckled. "Brother, you can't even help yourself. Look at you, you're covered in bruises. Did you fall out of bed again?"

"The testing hall was an embarrassment," Elder Marcus snapped, pounding his cane on the floor. He was a tall, stern man who had once taught Ronan swordsmanship. "You broke a three-hundred-year-old relic, and the family had to pay for it! Do you know what that cost?"

"I'm s-sorry," Ronan whispered. "I didn't mean to. I couldn't control it."

"You never could." Marcus pointed his cane at the floor. "Now get out of that chair and kneel. Apologize to your father and to our guest."

Ronan blinked up at him with wide, wet eyes. "Elder Marcus, I can't. My legs..."

"Then we will help you."

Marcus nodded to two servants. They strode forward, grabbed Ronan under the arms, and dragged him out of the chair. He lay there for a moment, humiliated, while the cousins snickered.

"Kneel," a servant growled, hauling him up by the collar. "Properly."

"I, I can't," Ronan gasped. "They won't hold..."

"Then hold him like this." The servant clamped a hand around the back of his neck and pushed his head toward the floor. Ronan went down like a puppet, his forehead pressed to the floor

"Look at that," Ellis crowed. "The great Ronan Vale. Say sorry, brother. Say it loud, so the guest can hear."

Ronan stayed still for three slow breaths. He thought about the hot summer night he had lain on his floor for hours, too weak to lift himself.

Then he pressed his forehead harder against the wood, and his voice cracked, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a burden. I'm sorry I'm still alive."

The room fell quiet. Gideon's mouth tightened, and something flickered behind his eyes, there and gone. Elder Marcus looked away. Even the envoy set down his cup.

"Enough," Gideon muttered. "Take him out. Quickly."

"Father, wait!" Ellis protested. "I want to hear more!"

"I said take him out!"

The servants lifted Ronan roughly, dumped him back into his chair, and shoved it toward the door. As the chair rolled past the table, Ronan's trembling hand brushed the underside of the wood. Something small and round slid off his fingertips and clung to the surface, a tiny blue crystal.

Nash had called it a listening stone. It would record every word spoken in the room for a week, and it would tell Ronan exactly what the Vale family and the Cross family planned to do with their investment.

*Keep laughing,* he thought, staring at his lap with wet eyes. *Let every word out.*

The servants tossed him into the corridor, and the doors slammed behind him. Old Bram rushed up, weeping, and wiped the blood from his chin.

"Oh, Young Master, those cruel people, I'll never forgive them..."

"It's all right, Bram," Ronan murmured. "Let's go home."

As Bram turned the chair, a hand shot out from behind a pillar and pressed something into Ronan's coat pocket. Ronan twisted around, but the figure was already gone, only a flash of gray hair.

*Father?*

He waited until Bram wheeled him around the corner, then pulled the paper from his pocket and unfolded it with shaking fingers.

*Leave the Whitmore house tonight. Do not eat anything Seren gives you. Forgive me, Ronan. I thought I was protecting you.*