41. Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Caelan
I passed the ride back to Havard in quiet contemplation. Despite my fury, which roared with a blazing flame, I had not enjoyed kicking Eave—damn it, Raven— like a dog before my father’s court. The pain I liked was of my choosing. I’d put on that show to save her life and it worked. Now I was saddled with a companion who bore the name of the greatest Traitor in Havardian history. I had to keep her in line—and publicly—or else I was sure to fall alongside her.
Still, I could not call the Hunt a failure. My father had applauded both my altaya magic and my dominance of Raven. I’d shown what I could do before all of court. If I could tread carefully through the maze ahead, I might just end up avoiding those green robes I hated so much.
The traveling court broke for an elaborate lunch. Leaving Raven out of sight with Baris, I strode openly towards the mews wagon. The eyes of the court were on me, but I no longer had to hide. I greeted Selim with a respectful nod in front of dozens of watching eyes and asked him loudly about Arbaaz.
Selim's response was stiffly formal. I invented a question about feed as an excuse to pull him over to a supply wagon where we could speak more freely.
“You disapprove,” I said softly over hay and bags of seeds.
“Of course.”
“But my father embraced me.”
“And your brother? Has he embraced you?”
I pursed my lips. “I’m sick of being afraid of Amon.”
“Being tired of something does not mean the need for it is gone.”
“The need for it is gone. I’m a grown man. I can fight. I’m an altayr. And a prince, as he is. What can he do to me?”
Selim looked pitying. It was not an expression I was used to. “And me?” he said, very softly. “Have you thought of what he can do to me?”
I was ashamed to admit I’d given it no thought at all. “Why would he do anything to you?”
“I hid your secret. I trained you and did not reveal you to the emperor. Some might call that treason.”
I was astonished. “To serve a prince is no treason.”
“But to keep such a secret from the emperor?”
I felt unsettled. “If they ask me, I’ll deny you knew anything.”
Selim had a way, even now, of looking at me like I was still just a boy. “Anyone with half a mind will see you’re lying. How could you spend the necessary time with your bird without my knowledge? No, my prince. You have shared a secret that belonged to us both.”
Shame flared, followed by anger. “You suggest the secret was not mine to share?”
“Of course it was. You’re the altayr. You’re the prince.”
We fell into silence. I was sorry to think that Selim might be right. I didn’t want him to be.
“My prince, have you ever heard of the Januar people?”
“No.”
“I thought not. Not important enough for the history books. They’re no more now, except for a small group of my kin. Once we were all over the Flesh, but now we hardly fill the side of a small hill called Mount Farther in the northern part of the territory.”
“What happened?”
“The Januar people were excellent farmers, skilled falconers, and hard-working laborers. We dedicated our lives to the land and its creatures. It made us highly valued by the Lords of the Flesh. But our reputation grew beyond our ability to protect ourselves. We commanded the highest rates of pay and enjoyed privileges that made others jealous. Do you see, Prince Caelan? We grew too powerful.” He smiled sadly. “Powerful in a small man’s way, of course. Powerful but still peasants.”
“What happened?” I asked again.
“The jealous convinced the Lord of the Flesh that we had grander ambitions. This was several generations ago, now. He burned our homes and took back the money he’d paid us. He drove us up into the Pestern Mountains. Those who wouldn’t go were killed.
“Some say it instilled in the remaining Januars an ability to sense danger. To feel an incoming shift in the wind. I came to the capital as a young man because I felt just such an instinct. I found out later that my village was burned to the ground in a raid that very moon-cycle.”
“A raid in the Flesh?” The Flesh did not share a border with Los; I could not imagine who raided it.
“Oh, yes. Your father’s close friend, Lord Fakoury, liked to do little raids sometimes.”
“Of his own people?”
“We’re not his people. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Prince Caelan. As soon as they see you as a danger to them, you’re nothing but kindling.”
"I'd thought better of Junaid than that," I admitted. "I'll tell you something I've told no one else, Selim. Junaid tried to kill me in the Borderlands. He turned on me and I don't know why. But even after that, I believed he was a good man who made a mistake that I'm trying, and so far failing, to understand. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there are no good men."
"There are good men." Selim's eyes scanned constantly, as always. “My family survived the raid and they’re still there, on Mount Farther. If you ever need a door sure to open to you, you know where to find them.”
The generous offer left me cold.
“Do you think I'll need them?”
“You might. You have just become more dangerous, Prince Caelan. Watch out you don’t become kindling.”
Amon caught me as I was leaving the supply train. His assessing eyes scanned Selim and dismissed him. He slapped my back, faux-friendly. “Come, brother. Let’s spar.”
It had been cycles since Amon and I sparred. I couldn’t see the point anymore; I was too much better and the practice only served to humiliate him. After the shame of his failed lion hunt and my triumph, he couldn’t crave more. So what was he up to?
“I need to check—”
“You don’t need to check anything,” Amon said, steering me with a hand on my back to a patch of grass where some soldiers had gathered to stretch their limbs after a morning spent in the saddle. Two fighting men were encircled by a group of others who cheered and jeered and placed bets. Aagha was one of the fighters, which explained why he wasn’t acting as Amon’s shadow.
Aagha was shirtless and coated in a sheen of sweat. His pale skin was reddened from exertion and the flyaway wisps of his thinning hair stood on end. I’d seen Aagha fight many times and knew his style. He preferred to attack rather than defend, but unlike Amon’s attacks, Aagha’s were controlled. His focus in a fight was complete. His eyes didn’t leave his opponent; they watched for openings in his guard. When he found one, he pressed it hard.
The man across from him—a young soldier who’d just completed his first Borderlands raid—overextended his arm. Aagha saw the opening. Not even a blink passed before Aagha’s scimitar was pressed against the pit of the young man’s arm, above his armor.
The man’s eyes grew wide as the blade cut. Blood seeped from the wound. There were no wooden practice blades among men.
“Yield,” Aagha demanded. There was no doubt in anyone watching that Aagha would kill the young man if he didn’t speak the word. But the young soldier had pride. He raised his chin, defiant, unwilling to cower. I tried to recall his name, for I liked to see such courage.
Emre. That was it. I hoped Emre wasn’t about to die.
But the kid was smart as well as courageous. “I yield,” he said loudly. He managed to sound good-humored, giving the impression that it was no real loss at all.
Aagha released him and coins changed hands amongst the watchers. Many looked disappointed that there had been no bloodshed, but their faces perked up when Amon stepped forward. They parted eagerly to let him into the center of their circle. He locked eyes with each of them as he passed them. The few I knew to be good men shifted nervously on their feet, their eyes slipping to me as if to ask what they should do. It wasn’t right for them to bet on a fight between princes, nor could they intervene if a match between Amon and I got out of hand. I tilted my head to send them away; the smaller the crowd, the better.
Those who stayed quieted. Amon was like an actor on a stage. A nervous buzzing began in my blood and Selim’s voice whispered a warning in my mind. But hadn’t I just said I was done being afraid?
“Come on, Cael. It’s just you and me. No bird, no beasts. Just your sword against mine.”
Had Amon convinced himself that I’d only been able to best that lion and save his life because I’d used Arbaaz? Did he really think he could beat me in a one-on-one fight? If so, he was wrong. But I did not think it was wise to prove this to him in front of an audience.
“I don’t fight for coin,” I said. I thought it might sound clever, but none of the men laughed.
“Good thing you’re not going to win any.” Amon whipped his scimitar from its scabbard. It rang like a bell as it scraped free.
I sighed. I could think of no more excuses. I stepped forward into the circle.
Amon wasted no time, stepping into an attack before I’d even drawn my blade. I ducked and spun as I drew. By his second lunge, I had my sword out and was ready to meet him.
I had the advantages of reach and strength, but I didn’t want to embarrass him with a quick and definitive defeat. So I stayed on the defensive, letting him attack me. I studied his movements.
It had been awhile since I’d fought him, but Amon's style hadn’t changed much. He overextended regularly, counting on his speed to save him from the consequences. His footwork was sloppy. He tried to distract with wild motions and feints, but a calm opponent could see past such distractions.
“Fight me, you coward,” Amon hissed as I dodged yet another attack. Color was rising in his face while I was not yet breathing heavily.
“I’ve no wish to fight you,” I said truthfully.
“Yet here we are.”
His words brought me back to the glass island where Junaid had drawn his last breath. I'd no wish to fight him either, and yet he’d ended up dead in my arms. Why did people keep pushing me? Why couldn’t they just leave me alone?
Because they thought me weak. If I wanted to stop this, I must show them the consequences of toying with me. I had beaten Amon in the prairie and I’d beat him again now. There was no going back.
The next time Amon overextended, I feigned right and swept behind him to the left. I slammed my sword against his back, sending him sprawling. By the time he rolled over, his back in the grass, the tip of my blade was a fingerspan from his eye.
“Yield,” I said in a dead voice.
Fury and hurt flared in Amon’s eyes before he bounded to his feet. “Again.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “Fine,” I said through gritted teeth.
I didn’t waste time. I attacked hard and fast with a warrior’s well-practiced strength. It was all Amon could do to block me as my scimitar swung again and again.
My focus narrowed. There was only me and him. His failing strength. His tripping feet. The barrage of my blade. A grin found its way onto my face. I couldn’t help it—I loved the feel of a fight. The way my blood pounded and the colors of the world looked brighter.
But Amon never could fight fair.
“Perhaps you’ll give me a scar today, brother,” he said. He breathed so heavily that the words were hardly more than exhalations. Like a waking nightmare, the memories surfaced, vivid and crisp, as if they happened yesterday.
It was the morning after the Night of a Thousand Torches, the night Marcus Rosa and his army stormed the palace. I’d admitted to Amon how afraid I was when I stared out the window at that sea of fire. I still trusted him enough to follow him when he said he knew a place where the fire of our enemies could never touch me. There were no torches and no corpses. Just comforting darkness. Did I want to see it?
The eagerness and gratitude I’d felt were a part of the memory. I’d followed Amon into the underworld, into the corner of it he’d taken for himself.
He’d said there would be no corpses, but the scent of rot was everywhere. Rat carcasses and the bones of larger animals were piled up in corners. Did he kill them himself? Poison them? I wanted to gag. I asked to turn back, but Amon only smirked and walked on. I was more afraid to stop following him and be left alone than I was to continue.
It wasn’t until I saw the cage that I tried to bolt, but he’d barred the door behind me by then. He was twice my age. It would be cycles before I met Selim and began my training in the yards. I was thin and dedicated to the study of history. When we fought, Amon won. Amon stripped my clothes off. I shivered and tried to hide myself.
The cage was small. Probably it had held one of the dogs that now rotted in the hallway. I hugged my knees and cried. I wanted my mother, but when I told Amon this, he only laughed.
He squatted down outside the cage, leering at me. “Answer my questions and I’ll let you out, Cael. It’s easy. Like a game.”
It didn’t feel like a game but I sniffled and said I’d play. There was no other choice; I was trapped. Would my father care enough to try to find me?
“Why does our father love you more than me?”
The question baffled me. “He doesn’t.”
“Oh, but he does.”
I shook my head. My father hardly paid me any attention.
“You’re not doing very well at answering,” Amon said. “I think you’ll have to stay in there.”
“No!”
Amon shrugged as if my fate were beyond his control.
“You’re just like him. Everybody says so,” I said.
“Yes. So why does he favor you?”
“He doesn’t!” The bars were cold and I was so scrunched up. Amon’s face in the torchlight—there were torches, even though he’d said there wouldn’t be—was like a monster’s.
“Do you want to know what I heard, little brother?” He waited until I begged him to tell me. “I heard Father say that all those men were here for you. They wanted to take you away from him. He killed them all for you. Can you imagine? Thousands dead for your whiny little ass. You’re that important to him.” He studied me as if he thought he could see the reason for this imprinted on my skin.
I said I didn’t know. I was sorry. Just let me out.
But Amon rose and circled around to a table behind me. I couldn’t see what was on it. I jumped when his cold hand touched my shoulder, but I couldn’t move away.
The monster that was my brother leaned over to whisper in my ear. “They say that Havards are special because of our blood. We are altayrs, we are god-slayers, we are the Father’s favorites. That is what it means to be a Dragonslayer.”
I knew this already, though I felt none of it myself.
Amon removed his hand and replaced it with a blade. Its metal was even colder than his skin. I felt its sharpness immediately as he dug it into my shoulder.
I begged him and he only laughed.
“Let’s see what your special blood looks like,” he said. The blade twisted and I screamed.
The pain that blossomed then was like nothing I’d felt before or since. It felt like heat and ice, acid on flesh, sharp and yet abrasive. He dug the blade through layers of skin, down to my muscle, and then began to carve.
My skin parted from my body. My blood gushed down my back and the scent of iron filled my nose. The room began to spin and I closed my eyes. The only sounds were my screams and his laugh.
“Nothing belongs to you,” Amon said in my ear right before I passed out. He’d carved a chunk of my skin clean off. He tossed it into the cage to rest on my naked leg. Others would join it later. “Not even our blood. Not even our name. You’re nothing, little brother. Don’t ever try to be more.”
The flame of memory flared and went out as quickly as it had come. The thick scar tissue that began on my shoulder blade and crawled down to the small of my back itched and every muscle in my body felt tight.
Amon grinned. He pressed his attack. I had no doubt he fought to maim. This was no sparring session. Amon had called me here to put me in my place and he would do so, one way or another.
My blood simmered as fury took hold of me and the tension flooded out of my limbs. My eyes locked on Amon. My focus narrowed. I made no attempt to hide a lifetime of hatred.
I launched a fresh attack.
I was no longer that little boy, cold and alone.
My blade swept faster and faster through the air. Amon’s blade flew from his hand and I did not stop my attack. He ducked and dodged, dancing around the circle.
“Let’s see what your special blood looks like,” I hissed.
For the first time in my life, I saw Amon look afraid. Then a frown creased his forehead and his eyes locked on mine like an eagle during the hunt. He stopped moving. The warning buzz I’d felt in my blood before the fight grew louder but I ignored it. I swept the flat of my blade behind Amon’s legs and brought him down. He fell on his back and just lay there, looking up at me.
He did not look enraged or afraid anymore, only puzzled. Then something seemed to dawn on him and his eyes grew wide before his expression closed down. This face, I knew well. He was scheming. But whatever had passed through his mind was invisible to me.
I stood above him, huffing in deep breaths. I glanced up at the bright sky, wishing for stars to count. But Jupe’s light did well enough to remind me I was not trapped in a cage. I was on open land. I was free.
“A good fight,” Amon said, his voice deliberately cheery. The rage I’d expected was nowhere to be seen.
“Was it?” I turned away, offering him no help rising.
He scampered up and followed me from the circle, ignoring the whispering of the betting men who’d watched us.
“Yes. It’s been too long since we fought. It’s natural for brothers to, don't you think?"
I spun back to him, my fury at the memory he’d dredged up overriding the wisdom that Selim would caution. “Be warned, Amon. If you fight me again, I’ll win again.”
The men in the circle stared and listened.
A grin pulled Amon’s lips tight and exposed his teeth. “That depends on the arena. Tell me, do you think Tanead would think it was natural for brothers to fight as we do?"
The change of direction threw me. "How should I know how demons are with their brothers?"
Amon shrugged. His eyes flashed. "I'll ask him when I next see him, shall I? I should ask about his family; it's only polite."
The hairs on my arms stood up. I had a bad feeling about all of this, but I was too angry to listen to it. "That's why you do the torturing. Because I couldn't care less about Tanead's family." I spat the words and stormed away as a self-satisfied smile carved up Amon's face. Yes, he was definitely alluding to something I didn't know, and I'd better find out what if I didn't want him to use it to pay me back for the humiliations I'd heaped on him in the last few days. Damn it, we weren't even back at court yet and already my head spun.