Chapter 5
He was ten, standing in the training room with the other younglings.
He had a small, wooden dagger on his hip– the size of a Scribe’s tool, not a sword, but it was smaller and easier for his tired arms to wield.
It’s the best thing for you, Little Prince, the queen had told him, after he’d argued and fought against it. It was too small.
It was too...him.
The others had laughed at him inside the training room. They’d called him weak, called him a nomage as he’d hefted it. One youngling in particular, a nasty boy named Brutus, had shouldered past him, using his strength to draw a pained cry from Kinlear.
“What kind of prince doesn’t know how to wield a Sacred sword?” Brutus snarled.
Soraya, a girl who’d been one of the few never to laugh at Kinlear, stepped up to handle the problem.
But Kinlear wouldn’t dare let someone else be his savior.
So, he used his cane to trip Brutus and sent him sprawling to the training room floor. Kinlear was on his chest before he could cry out for help...the tip of his dagger pressed to the hollow of the boy’s throat.
“You’re crazy,” Brutus snarled.
“I’m not crazy,” Kinlear snapped. “I simply understand that a true weapon is the absence of fear.” He’d pressed the wooden dagger in, hard enough that if it were real, it would have drawn blood.
“I am not afraid to pay penance for whatever it requires of me to silence you. Even if...” he trailed the weapon down his neck, right over his cold heart.
“...it means you crawl into an early grave with me.”
He hadn’t meant it.
At least...he didn’t think he did.
He’d only been having fun, channeling a line from a character in one of his favorite fantasy books. They always made him feel stronger, braver than he truly was. He was just about to pull away when a ball of fire suddenly knocked the dagger from his grasp.
Kinlear yelped and turned, dark curls in his eyes, to find the source of the magic.
Arawn.
Arawn, who had smoke trailing from his fingertips, and widened eyes, shocked at his own Settling.
“We do not harm our own,” Arawn said, glaring at Brutus as he scrambled out of Kinlear’s grasp. “We do not treat each other with violence. We certainly don’t lower ourselves to the standards of the darksouls. We rise to glory and honor the Five.”
The room cheered, and the moment was over as everyone surrounded Arawn, asking him about his newfound magic.
Kinlear hobbled away alone.
Unsettled.
Because deep down...he knew his brother’s words were meant for him.