Page 13 of Stormhold

“I hope water is fine,” he said as he extended a crystal glass that sparkled under the faint rays of sun trickling through the colored windows.

“Water is perfect.” I took it from him, but not before the tip of my little finger brushed over his. “Thank you.” I took a sip even though my years of training advised me otherwise. Something about him made me trust him with my life rather than my heart.

Instead of taking the previous seat across the table, he took the one beside me and casually crossed his legs. He watched intently as I set the glass aside and met his eyes.

“What do you know of the Covent?” he asked, his gaze never straying.

“Only what everyone else knows,” I replied, and it was the truth. The Covent was a notoriously elusive organization that operated deep underground in the Twins. They were heathens known for wreaking violent bloodbaths all over the city, and no one questioned them, not even the Stormholds. No one knew how they had become so powerful over the past decade. But the bigger question on everyone’s mind was how the Stormholds let them become so powerful. They were even generous enough to have them take over the business in the Lowers—the disregarded part of the city where we commoners lived, where no crime was impossible.

The Covent were known for their atrocities, evoking pure fear, dressed in black, wearing pale white masks that made them look like a ghostly stalker staring out of your bedroom window late at night when they raided the Twins. And they loved to mark their crimes by leaving behind a bold white handprint, a symbol of their leader, who called himself the White Hand. And no one knew anything about him except that he was a sick psychopath who killed for fun. You can’t speak wrong, see wrong, or even act wrong in their presence, or their members won’t hesitate to put you in the grave. Rumor has it that Victor Stormhold’s long-lost twin, Kenny Stormhold, didn’t really die in the great tragic fire in the nineties and was the real face behind the Covent, but it was more of an urban legend in the city that no one could prove.

“We think they were behind September thirteenth,” Arkane said, his face giving nothing away. “But we have no way to prove it.”

I should’ve made the connection when Alan Dumfred said Gators Club. After all, it was owned by the Covent. But proof wouldn’t stop a man like Arkane Stormhold.

“You’ve enough power to put an end to them.” I frowned. And it was high time he did something because they were getting out of hand. Only last week, the Twins Daily reported an incident where they broke into the house of a Henry Collen, who allegedly stole from their coke shipment to pay for his daughter’s college tuition, and in return, he was bludgeoned to death in front of said daughter. Although they have been on the Valerian radar for a while, there wasn’t much we could do, considering their unusual advantage in the city. And with the sudden escalation, it made perfect sense for them to be behind September thirteenth.

“Only we can’t,” Arkane said instead. “We are bound by a truce.”

“Truce?” I’d never heard of such a thing. No wonder the Stormholds let the Covent walk free in their territory. But it seemed unusual for someone as powerful as they were to indulge in a local gang. Only for that local gang to grow into such power that they were bold enough to go head-to-head with the family that had been ruling this city since its existence.

“Yes,” he replied in a calm tone. “Thirty years ago, the Covent took something that belongs to us, something that belongs to the….” He paused, his observant eyes reading me before he said, “Alacteon.”

Was he testing my knowledge of the infamous legion? The family does own a few high-society clubs under that name, but it was more of a farce to deter the privileged and wealthy from digging too deep. I only came to know of Alacteon’s real existence when I overheard my Sensei mention once that the Valerians can never go against the Alacteon. Rumor has it that they were the real governing force in this world, and all the high-ranking officials and billionaire businessmen were simply their puppets. It was almost like the legion held a tight, invincible grip on this world.

“Do you know of it?” he asked.

“Not much,” I answered honestly.

“And there isn’t much I can tell you either.” A nonchalant tone, but his eyes watched me carefully. “Let’s just say the legion is like a safekeeping of every knowledge ever known in existence. Our job is to simply watch and protect that knowledge. And we don’t ever interfere until the order is broken.”

I listened, not saying anything, knowing very well that Arkane would only tell me what he wanted me to know.

“As a founding family, our duty is first and foremost to the legion,” he continued. “It’s a position we can’t lose, no matter what, and the price for a mistake would be heavy. Until we take back what’s ours, we can’t do much. Fearing Alacteon’s wrath, my father made a deal with the Covent. As long as they keep it safe, we will stay silent and let them hold their reign in the city. In return, we agreed that no lives would be lost on either end. Alacteon’s existence is important to maintain order in this world. Even if one brick falls, it will be utter chaos, and if we, Stormholds let that happen in our territory, that will be the end of our family.”

It didn’t slip my mind how he didn’t mention what it was that the Covent stole from them. It must be a very important bargaining chip if the Stormholds went to such lengths to protect it.

“So the legion has its own territories?” I asked instead. Curiosity got hold of me before I could stop myself.

Arkane paused, raising a brow. “Curious, are we?”

I flushed but maintained composure. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll indulge you this one time,” he said with a faint smile. “But I’ll be the last person you’ll have to worry about if word gets out. You’ll vanish before you even utter the word ‘help.’ The street has plenty of ears.”

I nodded, leaning forward. “I won’t tell a soul.”

An amusing glint crossed his eyes. “Six territories, and our family takes care of the East Coast. We call ourselves the Seawatchers.”

“And the others?” I asked, not even hiding my curiosity.

“I can’t say. Unlike me, they won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“So you would?” I asked, tilting my head. “Hesitate to kill me?”

The glint in his eyes deepened. “Under normal circumstances.”

I didn’t know what that meant, and I certainly didn’t want to know what the other circumstances were, so I simply nodded.