The truth.
He gave it easily to his brother, as his brother so often gave it to him.
Kinlear frowned as he focused back on his drawing, as if he had to get the monster’s claws just right. The charcoal smudged against his left palm like shadows. He shivered, even though the room was sweltering.
Arawn removed his cloak and folded it carefully over the back of the chair, not wanting to wrinkle it.
“What are you working on now?” he asked, as he approached. “Not another drawing, Kinny. They’re awful.”
Kinlear looked up at him. “Rude.”
“Not rude. Honest,” Arawn said, as he sat down on the chair across from him, getting sweat on the cushions. Not that Kinlear minded. His room looked like a magical tornado had overtaken it, one that had tossed his books and his runed cloaks and trays of food about in haphazard piles. Arawn’s room across the hall was constantly clean. Sparkling, with all of his belongings lined up in perfect formation... and it wasn’t even because of the servants. He always double-checked their work. “As any good Sacred should be. It’s not good to draw them. It’s not even good totalkabout them. You risk...a seed of darkness, seeping into your soul.”
He'd overheard their mother say the very same thing, just a few weeks ago. Arawn was studying the laws in his room and had pretended not to hear as the king and queen stood outside his doorway, speaking in hushed whispers about Kinlear. They were worried about him, for he paid penance far too often.
And he spoke of strange things, dark things, that plagued his sleeping mind.
A monster in the shadows.
He claimed it hunted him, that it killed him each night in his dreams.
“I’m still dreaming of it,” Kinlear said softly, as he sensed Arawnstudying him. “No matter how hard I pray before sleep. The monster always comes for me. Why don’t they take it away?”
Arawn frowned. “The gods do what they please. Maybe they’re trying to teach you something.”
Kinlear huffed out a laugh. “I don’t need any more lessons ondying.”
The fire crackled, sending embers dancing into the hearth. And outside the window, the wintry wind howled like a shadow wolf on the hunt.
“I wish you wouldn’t talk about it,” Arawn said.
Hehatedthe illness that plagued his brother...and he knew it was wrong to hate. It felt like a stain on his own soul, causing anger that no Sacred was supposed to feel. It made him swing harder against his opponents during training sessions. It made him want toscreamwhen he thought of how much pain Kinlear was in.
When he imagined that someday...Kinlear would die.
And Arawn would be left to rule this kingdom alone.
But Kinlear only shrugged. “It doesn’t make it not real.”
“I can stilltryto,” Arawn said, his hands curling into fists. “I’llalwaystry to save you.”
They locked gazes.
He didn’t want to live in a world without his twin. They were born together. They were supposed die together, too, when they were old and wrinkled and grey.
To see it happen any other way...
He wouldn’t let it.
He couldn’t.
And maybe that was why Kinlear woke up so often, screaming in the middle of the night. Ripping at his clothing, as if he felt a knife in his own chest. Maybe it was because in his own way...he didn’t want to leave Arawn behind, either.
It’s not real!Arawn would tell him. Night after night, as the fire burned down to embers and tears ran down Kinlear’s shadowed face.There’s no monster, Kinlear! Wake up!
And then Arawn would hold his brother’s hands, for he’d alwaysbeen stronger than him. And there he’d sit, balanced on the edge of the bed, until Kinlear’s body settled. Until he fell back asleep with Arawn as his guard, though there was nothing Arawn could do to protect him from any sort of monsterwithin.
He stared at the darksoul image now, wanting to destroy it.
