Chapter 24 #2
He noticed her shimmering gown first, admired how well he’d chosen the fabric for her, because it moved like liquid gold in the torchlight. His eyes slid up and down her slender figure, her dark hair tied up so that only a few loose curls framed her face.
Breathtaking, his betrothed.
And... she was being led onto the dance floor by another man.
And not just any man.
It was his twin brother.
He was going to be sick again. Kinlear had seethed with jealousy, with a sudden burning rage. A servant walked past, and he’d grabbed another goblet of winterwine, washing away the taste of his illness.
But it did nothing to cover up the raw emotions he’d felt.
Strange, he thought.
For...he’d never felt hatred before. Not for Arawn.
They were brothers, twins, closer than anyone else in the Citadel. Arawn had bled for him, lied for him, paid penance in his place.
But when it came to Soraya...
Somehow, Arawn’s hand closing gently over hers seemed to overshadow every ounce of Arawn’s noble past.
Kinlear had always known Arawn loved Soraya, even when they were kids. And Arawn loved her even more, now that they were in the same aerie together, flying their war eagles into a nightly dance with death. She was his Second, for the gods’ sake.
Kinlear was no fool. He had never once missed the way his twin looked at her during training exercises in the Eagle’s Nest, as she flew her mount with effortless ease. With all the determination that only his beautiful Soraya could give.
The two were together all the time.
Too much of the time.
Even more than Kinlear was with her.
And what if...
What if things happened between them, while Kinlear was ill? While he was in runic stasis – dreaming of someone else, someone with a trio of scars. A woman that was to come after Soraya, if it even came true at all.
But that night...he doubted it. That night, as he stared at Arawn and Soraya...Kinlear wondered if his Veilborne power was all just some wild, untamable thing that also lied to him. It twisted his reality, and threatened his care for his betrothed.
He needed to ignore his dreams.
He needed to refuse them, because Soraya was his now, in the present.
And Arawn had no place holding her hand like that.
Kinlear was about to limp his way towards the dance floor, to use his very best weapon – words – to chase his brother off. Let him find someone else to release his Sacred tensions with.
But as the two had reached the center of the dance floor, Arawn paused.
And passed Soraya a handkerchief.
Kinlear sucked in a breath.
She was crying.
He’d never seen Soraya cry.
He paused and watched like it was some strange, otherworldly thing, the shimmering of tears on her cheeks. Like it was a dream of its own, for Soraya was strong as iron, stronger than any blade.
She did not so easily break.
But that night?
She did look broken. She took an uneasy breath and removed her mask so she could wipe the tears from beneath her eyes.
And Arawn leaned down, said something to her, his hand on her shoulder. He left it there a bit longer than he should have. That touch...it lingered, until Kinlear could imagine the warmth she felt beneath it.
Soraya had smiled up at Arawn as she handed the handkerchief back to him. And then, for a moment...
His brother just stared down at her. His face was soft, no longer marked by the furrowed brow that was trademark with him.
He looked at Soraya as if she were an injured dove.
A beautiful, broken thing.
He’d whispered something to Soraya, who smiled sadly and shook her head.
And then Arawn had used his own hand to wipe her godsdamned tears.
So gently, he touched her. So... lovingly.
He spoke in soft, hushed words that Kinlear couldn’t hear over the dancing and the music, but then he did hear Soraya’s laugh.
It had echoed back to where he stood in the doorway, a frozen thing.
A statue...to terrified to move.
Her tears were gone. A smile took their place, but it turned into a grin, and then a joyous, surprised yelp when Arawn had suddenly spun her onto the dance floor.
They danced together until the next song began. And the next one, and the next after that.
And perhaps any other man would have stormed the floor, demanded his betrothed’s hand be given back to him – the moment was Kinlear’s to share, and Soraya’s hand was his to hold.
But that night...he didn’t.
Because all he could see was her tears again, ones that he knew were for him. He’d done that to her. He’d abandoned her. He’d left her alone, in a dress that was from him, a dress that she never would have worn if he hadn’t asked her to.
But it had all melted away as he coughed again, and pain shot through his back, his chest, his aching body. He had nothing left in his vial, and it wasn’t an option not to replace it. His leg was trembling, ready to buckle as he leaned heavily upon his cane.
But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Soraya.
From how freely she’d danced with Arawn. From how effortlessly she’d moved, in a way that she would never be able to if Kinlear were her partner. She’d be too busy trying not to trip over his cane.
Arawn had no cane. He had no vial around his neck.
The Crown Prince stood tall and towering and strong, his footsteps sure as he guided her across the dance floor. He wasn’t even breathless after he picked her up, after he spun her like she was made of air.
I could never do those things, Kinlear had thought, that night. I could never dance with her like that, never lead her like that, never—
He’d slumped against the wall, his leg screaming in pain.
Or perhaps that was his heart, as he realized a terrible truth.
I could never give her what he can.
He loved Soraya. He did. Regardless of what his dreams held...he was going to marry her on the Day of Joining, if he could live long enough to make it there.
If.
His life was full of ifs.
Not that night.
Because the tears he’d caused had been replaced by smiles, and he would be damned if he broke her again.
So, Kinlear had turned around, and left his betrothed behind.
He let her live with Arawn.
He let her live without himself and his burdens... for one perfect night.
It was two days later, when Kinlear passed out during his Demonstration with the fledglings. When he had to be put into a runic sleep, and Soraya finally found out just how burdened he was.
And tonight, as Kinlear and Arawn talked, Ezer standing between them...
He was right back in that moment again.
With a woman that belonged to him, and a brother that was utterly committed to ruining it.
Arawn pushed every godsdamned button he had.
“Not quite so healing for her,” Arawn said, as Kinlear’s memory faded and he slid back into the conversation just in time to catch his brother’s slight. “...what with the brutal injuries that Alaris must fix, time and again.”
“The Raphonminder is strong,” Kinlear replied, not missing a beat. “She can handle it.”
More than you know, Brother, he thought. Gods, what she would become later, how perfect a raphon rider she would be. How she would be capable of traveling to a place that so few Sacred would ever see.
The other side.
“May I remind you,” Arawn added as he stepped a bit closer, and Kinlear’s grip on Ezer’s hand tightened even more, “that after she is done with you, she trains here, in the darkness, with me.”
He was pushing now, and it was far too much.
If he wanted to dig at Kinlear, if he wanted to cause him pain?
Kinlear would give it right back.
“Learning how to protect yourself better than the last you took beneath your wing, I hope,” Kinlear said.
He flashed back to that last night in the infirmary, before their bond broke. You killed her! You killed her because she wasn’t meant for you!
Arawn’s nostrils flared. Kinlear could have sworn his brother’s fist curled, and he readied himself for true pain.
Tonight, he almost craved it.
“She,” Ezer said suddenly, cutting them both off as she removed her hand from Kinlear’s arm, leaving him cold, “...is standing right here. Between two brothers who refuse to forgive one another for a past that is neither of their faults. That lies with Soraya alone.”
Her name, on Ezer’s lips...
Kinlear felt like he’d been stabbed.
He saw Arawn flinch, too.
But while Arawn instantly crafted an apology, ever the pious Crown Prince...
Kinlear sunk into himself. He sunk deeper inside, until he felt like he was in someone else’s body, watching from the depths of their ruined soul.
Because the moment Arawn apologized, the moment he became gentle and princely and so perfectly godsdamned him...
Ezer turned her attention away from Kinlear.
No.
No, no, no.
Because now she was looking right at Arawn, and Arawn wasn’t just looking down at her, he was gazing, as if...
Kinlear’s stomach turned.
He’d been away for far too long with his illness. He’d written her letters and sent her gifts, but Arawn had been there in person. He’d shown up when Kinlear hadn’t. Oh, gods, Kinlear had been a fool to think his brother hadn’t stepped in during those times. It was what Arawn did.
The trainings? Damn their father for forcing it to be Arawn who kept an eye on her, because how could any woman take one look at the Crown Prince, his muscles and his magic – however broken, a pain Arawn deserved – and not fall for him?
And now that Kinlear looked at the two of them, he realized their masks were matching. Their outfits, too, almost as if they’d been designed as a perfect pair. By the gods, what had Izill done?
Kinlear’s heart dropped to his toes.
He was going to be sick.
This was the past all over again, here to haunt him.
“Forgive me,” he blurted. “I’ve suddenly discovered I have somewhere else to be. Anywhere, really.”
He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t survive watching this.
But he wouldn’t leave without making his mark. Before he spun, he leaned in. He pressed past his fears, his doubts...and left a bit of claiming from his dreams.
It was so simple, the act of kissing her cheek. It was sudden, and he surprised himself as much as he surprised her. But...it was the most he’d ever done to show her that he cared. That he felt for her so much more than he could explain.
He didn’t miss her small intake of breath when his lips touched her soft skin, nor the way she leaned into him...not away.
The future, Kinlear told himself. You are focused on the future, and one Absolution won’t change it.
No, what he’d seen in his dreams was far too strong, far too undeniable, to fizzle and die like this.
And besides.
Kinlear was the one who’d be soaring across the Expanse with her when Realmbreak came. Kinlear was the one in that cave...her hands in his hair, her teeth tugging at his lip, her fingers sliding beneath his tunic as if she couldn’t bear one more second without her body melting into his.
“Tomorrow, Raphonminder,” he whispered as he backed away. “We’ll take Six back outside and make certain we do not fail.”
He slid into the shadows, pushed himself as far as one could get from the dance floor. He paused only once to look back at them.
He couldn’t see Ezer’s face as she danced with Arawn. But he could certainly see his brother, as he dipped her low and held her steady, his face inches from hers.
Kinlear’s heart sank.
Arawn was looking down at Ezer as he had that night with Soraya, long ago.
His gaze, his touch...it was protective, caring, a softer version of Arawn that so few would ever see. When he set down his blade and his magic and was not a warrior, but the kind and noble prince beneath. A man who lived to serve others.
No, Kinlear thought. He isn’t fated for her. He isn’t meant to have her like I will.
His time would come. He knew it would, because he was Veilborne.
He trusted his dreams.
And so tonight?
Tonight...
He would let her have this dance with another man, as Soraya once did.
He would walk away, and let her experience Absolution with true abandon, because it was what Ezer deserved. Because he knew it was something she had never experienced before.
He would not be the one to clip her wings.
So Kinlear Laroux turned and left the room.
He let her live without carrying the burden of him.