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 tohimwhen 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 toknowif 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 stayoutof 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 hadneverchosen 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. Onlyshecould get away with addressing Arawn like that. Her hair was tied up in a bun, fully grey, though if she were anomage...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 wasalwaysright, 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 tohearhim.
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 peopleandthe 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.
