Chapter 12
Arawn saw red after that.
He stormed out of the Aviary, down the cliffside, and into the Citadel, but his father was nowhere to be found...and the Masters?
They were mysteriously busy, even though he knew they’d all just returned, as he had, from the war.
He couldn’t believe they’d had a meeting without him. He hadn’t been allowed to miss one in nearly twenty years of his life.
It felt like cowardice.
His blood practically sizzled because of it, and as he passed through the courtyard, snow dancing down around him, he wondered...
If his father was finally weakening.
He knew Arawn was stronger, knew that he was growing to become the Crown Prince the Masters always wanted him to be, loyal to the gods in all his ways.
..and sometimes, on occasion, their gazes slid to him when they were making difficult decisions.
It was just like his father to know that his heart would still be loyal to Kinlear.
Even after all the time they’d spent apart.
Arawn would have said something, anything, to the get the Masters not to vote on this.
But they’d done it without him.
So, he sprinted all the way across the Citadel, not stopping even when Soraya appeared behind him, shouting his name. She’d followed, as she always did.
“Wait!” she yelled. “Arawn!”
But he had to get there first. He had to know if Kinlear was...
Just face it, you coward! he told himself, as he reached his tower.
He had to know if his brother was dead.
Because if he was, then he needed to see it before Soraya did.
He burst through the door to their tower, up the curving stairwell, and though he knew he was to stay out of the room when Kinlear was being tended to...
He practically broke the door down, dust raining upon his broad shoulders as the very stones seemed to tremble in his wake.
He paused when he saw Alaris seated at Kinlear’s bedside, hard at work on healing him. As best she could, at least, to help him regain his strength.
Kinlear was sound asleep, his freckled face pale, his cheeks bony and thin, as if he’d lost weight in just the few days he’d been asleep.
Stasis runes glowed all over his skin, next to countless penance marks that had long ago been branded into him.
He looked like the gods’ pincushion. Arawn winced.
..wondering why, despite it all...Kinlear had never chosen to obey.
Not once, in all his days.
Alaris’ wrinkled hands were outstretched as a pale white light emanated from them, pushing her magic beneath his skin. Towards the illness in his blood and bones...as if it could make a true difference.
But like the runes, her magic would fade from him. Like the tonic, it would leave his system soon enough, and then he’d spiral again.
As he always did.
Someday, it would be his last.
“He’s alive, child,” Alaris said, without turning around.
Only she could get away with addressing Arawn like that.
Her hair was tied up in a bun, fully grey, though if she were a nomage.
..she likely would only have had mere strands of it mixed in, for her age.
But as a Sacred, she looked old enough to be a grandmother, kind and wrinkled.
“You might as well slow your pace, take a deep breath, and dive into the conversation. I can practically hear the sizzling of your magic.”
She was right.
She was always right, somehow, for Alaris was one of the wisest women he’d ever met. There was a reason she alone got to attend to the Laroux family – and every other Sacred in the Citadel. Not that Alaris could change his father’s decision, for she was only one vote among many.
But he still needed her to hear him.
Alaris was always the softest of the Masters.
She was the only one who’d ever truly seen reason, who had a heart for her people and the gods. She kept both in a delicate balance. And perhaps that was because she dealt with those that were always on the verge of death.
Alaris knew desperation.
And that was exactly what Arawn felt now, as he looked at Kinlear.
At least they’d cleaned the blood from his face.
The last time Arawn saw him, lifeless on the dirt floor of the Eagle’s Nest..
.he’d had blood smeared across his cheek, his earlobe, and crusted in the strands of his dark hair.
He’d coughed up so much blood when the illness struck, it was a wonder he didn’t drown in it.
“Is he...” Arawn swallowed. “Is he going to...”
“He will not die today,” Alaris said, finishing the question in his head.
She was braver than him.
Because though Kinlear had changed, though he’d been an utter mess since he’d returned to the Citadel...
He was still Arawn’s twin. Still a part of him, even though he’d taken Soraya.
She was silent, just barely whispering an invocation, as Arawn considered how to ask Alaris his next question.
“Spit it out,” she said.
He sighed.
“You can’t take it away from him.” He stepped closer, until he sat right at the edge of Kinlear’s bed.
The same place he used to sit when they were children, and Kinlear woke up screaming.
When Arawn held his hands and waited until his brother felt safe again.
Sometimes...he longed to go back to those days.
Before his Settling. Before he’d met Soraya.
When they were just kids...and it was the two of them against the world, dreaming of something more.
His next words were soft. His voice was almost pained.
“It will kill him, Alaris. It will suck the life from his veins...what little there is left, if you take Eagleminding away from him.”
More silence.
“It’s done. The king has convened with the others. A vote has been taken...”
“Without me,” Arawn growled.
She held up a hand. “You are not king yet, Crown Prince.”
And in that phrase...she reminded him of his place.
“There’s nothing more I can do.” Her eyes were tired.
Her shoulders were heavy. Even her hair had begun to fall from the knot atop her head.
“My job is to heal his body. My gifting...to be used to help raise him back up. And as much as I care for the boy, for I met him the very same second you did...it is not my job to look after his heart. For even I must admit, he’s a danger to himself if we can’t tell when the illness will strike again. Eagleminding is no longer for him.”
It was an effort to hold his tongue.
To respect her as he knew he should.
“If he spooks one of the Eagles again, it could be detrimental. She cleared her throat again, her voice so tired. She’d have to rest after this, even though she was a truly powerful Sacred. “Two of the younglings nearly died when the fledgling broke out of the pen.”
“But they didn’t die,” Arawn growled. “And if they had? This is war. We lose soldiers every day.”
“Not Sacred younglings, training to be Riders, who seem to be born far less these days,” Alaris said. “I won’t tell your father you said such a heartless thing.”
“I meant it,” Arawn said. “He needs this.” His voice turned a little desperate. “We need him.”
Alaris paused her work. “The vote is done. He’s finished.”
Arawn stood from the bed. He needed to move. He looked to the hearth, and swore the flames rose higher, turned a bit brighter, inside of it. “He deserves more than this, Alaris.”
“Hmm,” was all she said, as she grabbed Kinlear’s lifeless hand. And held it gently in hers, the way their mother never did.
“He deserves to live,” Arawn said. “Until he dies.”
“That day is not today,” Alaris said. She offered him a sad smile.
“Now you’ve wallowed, you’ve said your piece, and I have patiently listened.
Go back to your training. You’re a First Rider now, Arawn.
Act like one. And for the love of the gods, my boy.
..” A deep, forceful sigh. “Do try to keep his Matched away from this room. I don’t have the energy today to deal with her wrath. ”
Arawn shrugged. “It’s a little too late for that,” he said now, as he backed away. “She followed me up here.”
He could have sworn Alaris let out a growl beneath her breath.
He paused beside the door, turning back to glance over his shoulder. And it pained him to say his next words, but he did them anyways.
“Please...don’t keep her away from him. She needs to see him like this. She needs to know what the future truly holds. So that when it happens...because it will happen...she’s ready for it.”
He opened the door and found Soraya there. Breathless, with sweat beading on her temples and darksoul blood still splattered all over her face.
The fire had gone out in her eyes. She still looked cold. He took her hand, without reserve, and squeezed it. Bloodstains and all. “He’s alright,” Arawn said. “But someday, Soraya...”
She shook her head. “Don’t.”
He paused.
“Don’t say it.” She snarled. “This isn’t where he’s meant to be. He’s meant to be somewhere else, somewhere better.”
“Touvre?” Arawn asked. “They can’t heal him there, it’s—”
“The gods damn you, Arawn, not Touvre!” Soraya hissed. She shook her head, and another tear slid down her cheek. “You don’t see. You don’t understand...”
Her voice trailed off as she took a shuddering breath. The kind that came from crying far too many tears.
And then she moved past him, into the room, without another word.
Alaris dismissed herself, placing a gentle hand to Arawn’s cheek as she left.
And Arawn should have followed or gone back to his own room...but he stayed in the hallway instead. Because Alaris had left the door cracked open, just enough that Arawn could see the way Soraya crawled into the bed beside Kinlear.
She laid next to him, her head on his chest, as if she’d done it a hundred times.
And when she looked at him, her hand gently resting on his face?
She had never looked at Arawn like that.
Not once, in all their days.
He knew he should go. He knew he should leave her to lay with him, to understand the truth and process it. But he couldn’t tear himself away.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. That strange book was still in her hand. She held it against his chest, right over his beating heart. “I swear to you, Kinlear Laroux. I will find a way to save you from your fate. No matter what it takes.”
And Arawn should have seen it then, in the set of her jaw, the way she’d hissed the words like a promise.
He should have seen it.
But he didn’t.
He didn’t.
Two days later...Soraya would die for that promise.
And the fault was all his.