“You’re just scared,” Arawn said. “Stop giving the monster attention. You only dream of what frightens you in the daytime, right? Well. Maybe you’re afraid of the war.”
He didn’t want to saydying,but he meant it.
He sensed Kinlear knew it, too.
“I’m notscared,” Kinlear said.
“Kinny.” Arawn lifted a pale brow. “Don’t lie. Not to me.”
“Fine,” Kinlear huffed. “I’m alittlescared.”
Terrorwas more like it.
“So, why don’t you kill it?” Arawn asked.
It was what he would do, if he shared the same dreams. But his weren’t of monsters. Instead, he dreamt of an archway in a golden room, and a glowing purple light. He dreamt of sword-shaped windows and a Sacred Diadem on his head. He dreamt that it never took the shape of any sort of pillared magic. He dreamt of falling in battle, not beside the Sacred, but by thenomages.As if he never had a pillar to begin with.
And sometimes, his dreams only held his father’s disappointed expression. His mother’s absence.
Sometimes...it wasKinlearthat Arawn had to sacrifice to the gods’ Veil.
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 werereal.As if he trulyweregoing 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 youalwaysgo 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. “Youarestrong, 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 trulydidlook real, which was frightening in its own sense, for they’d never seen a true darksoul in person. Only sketches of them.
