Chapter 3 #2
But he’d never dare tell him that.
“The monster?” Kinlear’s voice squeaked.
Arawn nodded. “It’s your dream. Find a weapon...slay it. Be the hero.” He lifted his chin proudly, trying to play the part of a real Knight. A true soldier. “That’s what Sacred are meant to do.”
Kinlear set down his charcoal. “I suppose I’d need to fashion a blade somehow. Perhaps from a tree branch. I can’t take anything with me when I go there.”
He spoke of the nightmares, the strange forest he’d told Arawn about, as if it were real. As if he truly were going there each night.
Arawn considered, not wanting to look at Kinlear the way their mother did. As if he were losing his mind. As if...
Kinlear were a monster himself.
“Well, if you do manage a blade...target the beast’s throat,” Arawn said, and shrugged his sore shoulders. “Father says you always go for the throat. Even better, if you can remove their head.”
“As if I’d be strong enough,” Kinlear said with a sad laugh.
“You’re strong,” Arawn said. “Stop saying you aren’t.”
But he knew better than most how little Kinlear considered his own worth.
“I’m not.”
Arawn’s hands balled into fists. “You are strong, and—”
Kinlear chuckled. “I’m only teasing, Arawn.”
But he wasn’t.
Arawn knew it just as much as Kinlear did, though neither would say that truth out loud. Kinlear hated himself.
And Arawn loved him.
How could he ever feel anything else for his own twin?
It was silent again, as Kinlear focused back on his sketch. It truly did look real, which was frightening in its own sense, for they’d never seen a true darksoul in person. Only sketches of them.
“If Mother sees that...” Arawn said.
“She won’t,” Kinlear assured him. “I always burn them.”
He winced as he shifted his body. A hiss left his lips...and it was then that Arawn noticed the fresh penance mark on his wrist.
“How many have you gotten lately?” Arawn asked, as his heart sank. “Your marks.”
He’d paid penance very few times in his life, for he was quick to learn...quick to make things right with the Five. He owed his crown and his magic, whenever he Settled, to them.
But Kinlear was covered in marks.
“I...” he swallowed.
“Kinlear. How many?” Arawn asked again.
He could see them now, a few at the back of his neck, another on his opposite hand. Brand marks that had sunk deep into his skin, in the shape of the five Pillars of magic.
Arawn didn’t see Kinlear as much these days, for their father kept his schedule packed to the brim. But he’d heard the whispers about the other prince. He’d heard how often he was seen in the library, leaving the room meant for penance.
And there were others that paid, too. Older Sacred that paid frequently for stepping out of line, Sacred that pushed too far, until eventually...they were never seen again.
“It’s not like I count them,” Kinlear said now.
“You have to stop,” Arawn said. “Whatever it is that you do to break the laws. You must stop, Kinny, before...”
“Before I die?” Kinlear asked.
Arawn flinched.
He wasn’t going to say it out loud. Because even if he did...Kinlear wouldn’t listen. But suddenly he felt sick, for it was too much. He’d felt the pain only once, the first time he’d lied...and he knew the Masters had gone easy on him.
Did they hold back when it came to Kinlear?
Did they see the shadows beneath his eyes, the shallowness of his cheeks, the way his bones looked like they might break?
Did they hear his coughs each night, so loud Arawn swore it could shake the stones in their tower?
Did they see the blood smeared on his pillow, the red stains on his lips...
Did they look at Kinlear, the way Arawn did, and wonder how many days he had left to live?
He would die someday.
He would die and there wouldn’t even be a sword for Arawn to plunge into the snow for him, because Kinlear wasn’t a warrior worthy of holding such a space.
And... Arawn wasn’t certain, when his brother left, how much of his heart Kinlear would take to the grave with him.
“I do try to behave,” Kinlear said softly, as the fire crackled beside them. Arawn wanted to sidle up close to it, let it burn the sadness from his veins. “I try to please the gods.”
“Then try harder,” Arawn said.
Kinlear nodded.
But he wouldn’t.
Arawn had always known it.
Outside, the wind howled as another fresh snowstorm announced its arrival.
Arawn stood, shaken, as he realized the hour. “It’s almost time to go up.” He put his cloak back on, the white fabric settling around him as he picked up his training sword. “Are you coming?”
The sun would set soon, and they’d both be expected to stand at the cliffside above the Citadel and see their father off for the next night of war.
Kinlear stood, wincing as his leg screamed in pain. Arawn wanted to help him, but he knew Kinlear would object, as he always did. Like he needed to prove a point.
The door to the room swung open.
“We’ll be late,” the queen said as she swept inside, white robes billowing. Her crown was sharp as a knife upon her pale head. “If we don’t lea—”
Her words trailed off as she caught both boys standing there...on either side of the table that held Kinlear’s sketch.
And something inside of Arawn snapped at the fury in her gaze.
He lunged for the parchment at the same time Kinlear did, but their hands fumbled against one another. The drawing fell, almost in slow motion, where it lay face up on the ornate rug.
The darksoul claws were bold and menacing in the light of the fire. The shadows seemed to squirm, as if given life.
No, Arawn thought. No, no, no.
Because all he could see was Kinlear hobbling towards the library again, already broken. Already in pain, and it didn’t even seem like the Masters cared that they were about to make him endure more.
As if he hadn’t already paid enough.
“What is this?” their mother hissed. Her eyes hardened, narrowing to near slits. They fell, not on Arawn...but on Kinlear.
Time suddenly seemed to slow, and Arawn could picture it all unfolding before him:
He saw Kinlear’s face twisted in pain as the Masters branded him, as smoke rose from his burning skin and they reminded him, again and again, that he would never be good enough for the Citadel.
That he would always be inferior when it came to keeping their laws.
You made him broken, Arawn thought to the Five, because he knew stepping out of line was Kinlear’s way of fighting back. It was Kinlear’s way of coping, and suddenly he felt sick, dizzy with anger, as he prayed. You made him like this, and still, you continue to break him!
Because when Kinlear paid penance, his illness got worse.
And maybe it made Arawn selfish, and maybe it made him the weak one, but he suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of his brother being marked again.
I am loyal to the laws, Arawn told himself. I am loyal to the Five.
I must not make a mistake.
But...no sooner had he thought it, that a lie suddenly left his lips.
As if his heart had stepped across that line of loyalty and made the choice for him.
“I drew it, Mother,” he said.
He sucked in a breath, surprised at his own words. And it almost broke him when her eyes slid to him instead. When he felt the shame wash over him, cold as the world outside their Sacred walls.
This was what it was like to be Kinlear. But he’d already done it, already made his choice, so he kept the lie going. He gave it wings to soar.
“I am trying to better understand my enemy, Mother.” He swallowed, but it was more like a gulp. “So that when I take to the battlefield for the Five...I won’t be burdened by my fear.”
A little squeak left her lips. She turned to his brother. “Is this true, Kinlear? Do not lie to me again.”
The room was spinning.
It was too hot. It was too small in here. Kinlear inhaled, but it only made him cough, and Arawn swore he felt the pain in his own chest.
“I never tell lies, Mother,” he said, loud enough to drown out the sound of Kinlear struggling to breathe.
He couldn’t take it. He needed to get out of this room, needed to march to his penance like a soldier heading to the gallows.
He was ready for it. He wanted it now, for his lying.
“I drew it. So, I will take the penance for it.”
The queen lifted her chin.
She knew.
She had to know.
But she laid down the law anyways, as a mother always did.
“Then you will pay the penance required of you to make it right with the gods,” she said.
“You will pay it tenfold, Arawn, for a prince, a future king of Lordach, should never be so foolish to dance with the devil like this.” Her gaze slid back to Kinlear.
“Well? To the cliffside, then, to stand in his place. And not a word of this to your father.”
She turned without another glance at either one of them.
“Arawn,” Kinlear whispered.
He heard the desperation in that whisper as he followed their mother from the room.
“Arawn.”
He didn’t stop walking, didn’t turn back to look at him, because if he did, he would break.
He followed their mother, head held high...
...to pay the penance in Kinlear’s place.
It was the first time in his life he truly understood what sacrifice meant.