Wielder Of The Dragon Flame

Chapter 33

Malachar leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes moving from Gregor to Helena to Marcus and back again. 

"Pack your things. Whatever you have here, whatever you need, gather it. I'm taking you with me. All three of you."

"My lord?"

 Gregor's voice was barely a whisper, disbelieving. 

"I don't... what do you mean?"

"I mean." 

Malachar said patiently.

 "That I'm hiring you. All of you. The Black Flame Clan could use people with your skills, your experience, your dedication. Gregor, my household could benefit from a butler of your caliber. Helena, Marcus,my kitchens have been... uninspired lately. I could use cooks who actually understand flame-based cuisine preparation."

He held up a hand before they could protest or question.

 "I'll pay fair wages,actually, I'll pay better than fair. You'll have proper quarters, proper treatment, proper respect. And..." 

He paused, letting this sink in.

 "And you'll be free to send as many letters to Asta as you want, without anyone intercepting them or questioning why.”

Helena broke first. Her hands came up to cover her face, and her shoulders began shaking with sobs she could no longer contain. Marcus reached over to grip her shoulder, his own eyes bright with moisture. 

Gregor just stared at Malachar with an expression that suggested he was seeing a miracle he'd stopped believing was possible.

"Thank you." 

Gregor managed, his voice thick with emotion. 

"Thank you, Lord Malachar. We... we can never repay such kindness. You have no idea what this means to us."

"Actually."

 Malachar said dryly, 

"I have some ideas. Your master,Lord Ignatius,was a very good friend of mine. One of the few men I genuinely respected in this empire. We trained together as young men, fought beside each other in border conflicts, shared more bottles of wine than I can count while discussing philosophy and politics until dawn." 

His expression softened slightly, something almost like sorrow crossing his face. 

"When he died... when all this happened to his family... I should have done more. Should have intervened sooner. This is me correcting that mistake, at least partially."

He stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and all three of them scrambled to their feet as well, years of trained deference overriding their current circumstances.

"Pack quickly." 

Malachar instructed. 

"I'll wait outside. My carriage has room for all of you and whatever belongings you have. We leave within the hour."

He turned toward the door, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder at Gregor.

 "And Gregor? I'm going to see Asta myself. Tomorrow, perhaps the day after. I'll make sure he knows what happened to you, that your absence wasn't by choice. I'll make sure he understands he still has people who care about him, who believe in him."

Gregor's eyes went wide. 

"You would do that? Visit him in the labor quarters? My lord, that's... the scandal, the questions it would raise..."

"Let them question."

 Malachar said flatly. 

"I've never particularly cared what people thought of my actions. And Asta Xavier deserves to know the truth about what his brother has done."

He walked to the door, pulled it open, and stepped out into the cool evening air. Behind him, he could hear movement,the sounds of people gathering their few possessions with trembling, grateful hands, packing up the remnants of their lives to start over somewhere new, somewhere better.

Malachar stood just outside the bungalow, one hand resting on the doorframe, his face turned up toward the darkening sky. Stars were fully visible now, scattered across the heavens like sparks from a celestial forge. 

Somewhere out there, in the labor quarters, Asta Xavier was probably sleeping, exhausted from whatever brutal work he'd been assigned, still believing himself alone and abandoned.

But things were about to change. Malachar would make sure of that.

His hand slowly closed into a fist, the knuckles going white with the pressure. When he spoke, his voice was low, meant only for himself, barely more than a growl rumbling in his chest.

"Cassian won't know what will hit him soon."

The words hung in the air like a promise or a threat. In the Xavier mansion, Cassian was probably still working the crowd, still building his alliances, still playing the gracious new leader, completely unaware that he'd just made a very dangerous enemy.

Because Malachar wasn't just taking Gregor, Helena, and Marcus away from Cassian's cruelty. He was removing three potential witnesses to whatever else the new Xavier clan leader might be planning. 

Three people who knew the family's secrets, who understood its history, who could potentially confirm or deny suspicions about what really happened the night Asta's mother died.

And more than that, Malachar was now personally invested. He'd made a promise to look after these people, which meant he'd made a promise to look after Asta too, whether the boy knew it or not.

If Asta ever did awaken his flame and Malachar's instincts, honed over decades of political maneuvering and power struggles, told him it was more "when" than "if" he would have an ally. A powerful ally. One who controlled resources, had connections throughout the empire, and who wasn't afraid to stand against anyone, even other major clans.

Cassian had made a critical mistake tonight. He'd shown his hand too clearly, revealed his fear too openly. And now someone was watching, waiting, preparing to act when the moment was right.

Inside the bungalow, Malachar could hear Gregor's voice, choked with emotion, explaining to the others what to pack, what to prioritize, moving with an energy that suggested years had just fallen off his shoulders. 

Helena was laughing and crying at the same time, her relief so profound it had broken through her exhausted despair.

 Marcus was moving quickly, efficiently, his injury forgotten in his urgency to leave before this miracle could somehow be revoked.

They would have a better life now. Safety, security, dignity restored. And through them, Malachar would have a direct line to Asta, a way to monitor the boy's situation, to intervene if necessary, to ensure that when,not if, when,the Dragon Flame finally awakened, its vessel would have support.

Malachar's lips curved into a cold smile as he stared up at the stars. He thought about Cassian's smirking face, his confident declarations, his casual dismissal of the brother he'd so thoroughly destroyed.

The game was changing. The board was being reset. And Cassian Xavier, for all his planning and manipulation, had no idea that he'd just lost three very important pieces while simultaneously creating an enemy who played the long game better than almost anyone in the empire.

In the distance, barely audible over the sounds of the evening, Malachar could hear music and laughter still drifting from the Xavier mansion's great hall. The celebration continued, oblivious to the shift that had just occurred in the shadows.

Malachar's smile widened slightly, though it never reached his dark eyes.

Let them celebrate. Let Cassian bask in his moment of triumph. Let him believe he'd secured his position, eliminated all threats, arranged everything perfectly.

Because when the Dragon Flame finally woke and every instinct Malachar possessed screamed that it would,the fire that resulted would burn away all those carefully laid plans like morning mist under a harsh sun.

And Malachar intended to be there to watch it happen.