Until the darkness came, and the Masters left for another night of war. Until it was just him and his mother and father...
Until he felt so weak, he could barely even speak.
He recited them now with just a breath.
A whisper.
They echoed in him and through him... until he swore his very soul clung to the steps he would have to take. Until they were etched upon his heart.
“He’s done,” his mother said, when the sun rose, and Arawn was nearly ready to topple. The sounds of war had settled beyond the room. “Let him rest, Draybor. Let him sleep.”
His father agreed, but offered no hand to help him up.
Arawn’s knees were weak, his feet aching as if they were full of pins and needles. He could barely walk as his mother led him from the throne room, away from the Veil...where he finally felt like he could breathe.
He collapsed when he made it outside, into the cold and the snow. He hadn’t eaten all day, so a servant carried him back up to his tower, where they fed him hot soup, and denied all his requests for a cinnamon roll.
He fell asleep dreaming of the Veil.
Wishing his birthday had never come for him at all.
When he woke, hours later, his knees bruised and his back aching...
He was terrified of the future. Terrified to even get out of bed, until he rolled over and saw what awaited him on thenightstand.
A plate stacked high with cinnamon rolls, and a note scribbled on torn parchment.
Don’t tell Mother.
From, Kinlear.
Arawn left not a single crumb on the plate.
Then he left his room behind, donned a fresh white cloak, and went to his lessons early, ever the loyal Crown Prince.
2
He was eight now, seated in the open-air temple in the center of the Citadel, as he and his father prayed to the Five. It was their daily routine, a step he’d never once been allowed to skip. Not that he wanted to.
He loved his gods. He had to stay loyal to them, stay constantly connected to them, if he was to rule someday in his father’s place.
And besides.
If he messed up or missed, he’d pay penance like Kinlear.
Time and again, his twin brother slipped up. Perhaps it was from his illness, that Kinlear did not seem to fear paying penance. Perhaps he was just used to the pain. But from white lies to stolen treats from the kitchen, from cruel faces at their father’s back, to speaking about strange things,monstrousthings that were forbidden...
Kinlear paid often, and Arawn wanted no part of it.
But because he was Sacred... he owed it to his gods to always tell the truth. And the truth was, Arawn hadquestions.
It was just like he’d been warned about when he was a smaller boy. To step out of line was to risk his crown and his eternal place in the Ehver. So why, when he saw the way other younglings played andlaughed andloved...
Why did Arawn want to be among them? No crown on his head, no kingdom on his shoulders... no future sacrifice to be made.
Why was he the only one set apart?
He was on an island, far from the other Sacred.
