Chapter 9 #2
He marched to the fire and slumped down in the chair across from him.
Kinlear’s runed cloak was laced all the way to his neck.
He had his Scribe’s dagger in his hand, an unusual design of bone for the hilt.
He was twisting it as he stared at the flames, watching the way the firelight sparkled on the sharpest side of it.
He’d earned it in Touvre, when he was training as a Scribe.
Now...he’d done nothing with it since, though he constantly wore it.
It was as much a part of him as his cane and his gloves and his marks of penance.
“Enough of what?” Kinlear asked, yawning. Had he slept at all? He had dark circles beneath his eyes, and his hair looked unwashed.
“Soraya’s worried about you,” Arawn said. “I am, too.”
Kinlear coughed, and stared into the fire, as if he were barely listening. “Soraya worries about everyone. Hence the cat,” he said, and sighed. “Hand me that bottle? I’m running dry.”
“You’re acting like a fool,” Arawn said. “It’s a blessing that you’re alive to see another year, Kinlear. That we can continue to serve the Five together. You’ve been back for weeks, and all you’ve done is drink.”
“You sound eerily like our dear mother,” Kinlear said, and yawned as he twisted that dagger round and round. “I am not a gift. I am a curse.” He looked up at Arawn with shadowed eyes. “I am the dark angel that stands poised above my own grave.”
“Stop it,” Arawn practically growled. “Have some respect for the plans of the Five, Brother.”
“Or what?” Kinlear asked. He met Arawn’s gaze, even as the fire in the hearth blazed a bit higher. So strange, to see him older...but still battling the same demons he had as a boy. As if he’d never won the war against them. “What will the gods to do me that they have not already done?”
A cough left his lips, and he glanced at his cane, settled against the side of the chair within his reach, as if to better prove his words.
He was covered in penance marks. Absolutely covered.
And perhaps that is why Soraya wishes to save him, Arawn told himself. He couldn’t imagine what she would do if she discovered the truth of Kinlear’s condition...that it wasn’t just an annoying cough, or a strange weakness in his leg.
No, it was that he would die someday because of it...he’d been dying already, for too long, and would have been gone without Alaris’ magic...and he’d probably die sooner rather than later if he kept up the pace of this drinking.
What had Touvre done to him?
“There’s another Talon Trial soon,” Arawn said suddenly.
Because he’d been thinking of it, staying up late, trying to find a place for Kinlear to carve his name. To become more than this.
Kinlear was too smart, too clever, and he was, for better or worse, Arawn’s twin.
Once, his very best friend.
He wouldn’t stand by and watch him waste himself away like this.
“The Talon Trials?” Kinlear said, lifting a brow.
“Yes,” Arawn ground out.
It was the time when younglings entered the Eagle’s Nest and tried their best not to get shredded to pieces by the war eagle fledglings.
Once, Kinlear had dreamt of being a Rider with Arawn, long ago.
He’d always had a way with the godmounts—and with convincing anything living to do his bidding—but his father quickly squashed that dream.
Minding the war eagles could be the next best thing.
It took someone bold.
It took someone hard of heart, someone manipulative, a person clever enough and stubborn enough to look at a war eagle, a beast ten times their size, and say, “You’re going to do what I say, and if you don’t, you will pay.”
Kinlear was perfect for it.
“Irrelevant information, but thanks,” Kinlear said, as he leaned over, nearly tumbling from his chair as he went for the bottle.
“It’s the exact opposite,” Arawn said. “Because you’re going to enter it.”
Kinlear glanced up. His smile was off kilter. “My gods, Crown Prince. You learned how to make a joke while I was gone, and it only took a few years.” He laughed as he flopped back onto the chair and tilted back the bottle to take another sip.
But Arawn swiped it from his hand before he could...and threw it into the fire.
The hearth practically exploded as the flames touched the liquor.
Kinlear yelped, tumbling from his chair, but with an invocation from Arawn’s lips, the flames died down. There was nothing but embers in their place. He’d melted the glass along with it.
“That was my last from father’s stash,” Kinlear winced. “You’ve no clue how hard it was to break into his chambers while he was at war....”
Arawn closed his eyes, not even wanting to imagine how Kinlear had done it.
Not to mention, who he had a sinking suspicion Kinlear had done it with.
“You’re going to enter the Talon Trials,” Arawn said, holding his brother’s gaze.
“And I am not going to tell father about it. You’re going to live, Kinlear, and become an Eagleminder.
It’s as close to Rider as you’ll ever get.
” He took a breath, settling the heat in his lungs.
“And if you don’t...I swear to you, I will pick you up and carry you, kicking and screaming, down to the dungeons.
I will lock you in there with the rest of the useless bastards that dare to disgrace the Citadel’s halls, because I will no longer allow you, my other half, to waste away in this room.
..wallowing in self pity...and drinking yourself to a death you do not deserve.
” He felt his blue eyes narrow, his words as heated as the fire that crackled inside his veins.
“You may be dying, but you’re not dead yet, Little Brother. ”
It wasn’t even a slight. Arawn had meant it.
They were seconds apart, and yet...Kinlear was acting like a child.
“In the meantime, get off your ass and go to the library. You used to love it. Find books on Eagleminding, and learn what you must quickly. Do something of worth, Kinlear. Be remembered...” he took a deep, settling breath. “...for something more than a messy room and an empty bottle of winterwine.”
It was silent for a moment.
The ancient clock on Kinlear’s desk ticked loudly. Arawn’s skin crawled, for how long his brother considered it.
“Eagleminder, you say?” Kinlear asked. “Impossible. They only choose one winner per Trial.”
“No,” Arawn said back. “There’s a crop of four others that are going to enter. Find out who they are...and how to beat them. I’m sure you’re more than capable of achieving that.”
“Not with my legs,” Kinlear said. “I’ll be first to get picked off by the fledglings.”
They’d be starved when the hopeful Minders entered...carrying buckets of bleeding meat.
“You’re right,” Arawn said. “But you won’t need your legs. You’ll need your wit, of which you have plenty.”
“Father will murder you for suggesting this,” Kinlear said. “Why now?”
Arawn sighed, crossing his large arms. “We’re in dire need of more Minders for this crop of fledglings.
Not strong Minders, but smart Minders. The fledglings are out of control, angry at their own captive existence.
” He paused. “Even Cyrra is still as wild as the wind. And you’re the only person I can think of that gets it, Kinlear.
You’re tired of feeling like a prisoner to your own body?
Well, the war eagles are tired of life in a cage.
Teach them to fly with control. Mind them. ..and save yourself from this.”
Kinlear didn’t answer.
So Arawn left the room before he set it all on fire.
A week later, Kinlear entered the Talon Trials, as Arawn suggested.
He succeeded, as Arawn knew he would.
And for months after that?
He stopped drinking. He stopped misbehaving, and gave all of himself, instead, to learning how to help make a difference in the war.
He became so good an Eagleminder that he trained Arawn’s eagle himself, helping work out all the defiant ways that Cyrra offered, until she was ready for true war.
He helped Mind Soraya’s next, and the rest in Arawn’s aerie, until eventually. ..they took flight by night.
Until they finally got the chance to test their training against raphons, those raven-cats of nightmares that plagued the snowing sky.
Kinlear minded countless war eagles after that, until his name became praised.
Famed, even, all the way to the south.
Finally, Arawn had hope that his brother had found his place. That he’d found his purpose, and all his defiant ways would finally fade.
He felt good about pushing him.
He felt vindicated.
...until, a few months later, when Kinlear and Soraya were Matched.
Arawn had to stand there at the ceremony, to watch as they held each other’s hands, looked into each other’s eyes, and spoke vows meant to bind them for life. And even into the Ehver, next.
It was the worst day of Arawn’s life.
And as he watched Soraya kiss Kinlear, standing tall and proud with a face that looked like his?
Arawn couldn’t help but wonder, as his heart hardened inside...if it was all his fault, for helping his brother change his ways.