“What is it?” I asked, my eyes still on the young one.
“Your anger will rival your father’s if I speak my mind.”
With a sharp look, I diverted my attention to the Gyorian who had been my right hand for many years. He rarely hesitated to speak openly to me, meaning there was just one topic he wished to broach.
“There will be no talk of Kael,” I said, leaving no room in my tone for discussion of my brother. My twin. The only shield against an increasingly angry king who had once been a loving father but whose bitterness and hate for the humans who killed his wife—or so he believed—had turned him into the ruthless ruler he’d become.
Dren fell silent once again.
The young one’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
Try once more.
Instead, she sank to her knees. It would be years until she understood that all that was needed to make flowers bloom where there were none was there already within. She had but to learn to harness it. To block out all other thoughts and, most especially, doubts.
Stand up.
Like most Elydorians, the thought of having my own babe to raise, to teach, to nourish, was but a dream. One that I’d given up on long ago. Were she mine, I’d spend my days attempting to show her that the light within her only faded if she allowed it.
She stood.
Needing a victory, even a small one, this time, when she raised her arm and swiped her small fingers into an arc, I did the same with my own. A single bloom from the stonebloom plant at her feet appeared. A bright-yellow riverlily, stark against the browns and greens of the landscape around it, peeked out as if to greet her.
The girl leaped into the air and then fell back down to her knees to inspect it. Smelling the flower, her elation evident, she rose once again. This time, when she raised her hand and swiped, a second bloom appeared, one I did not produce.
I smiled. One which fled immediately when I spied Dren’s amusement.
“She’d not have done it otherwise.”
“Likely not.”
“Why do you smile like a fool?”
“No reason, my lord.”
Knowing I’d regret it, I relented. “Say what’s on your mind.”
“Is he a traitor? Truly?”
Every muscle in my body tensed, the urge to reach out for magic and destroy something, particularly Dren, one I fought to succumb to.
“How can you ask such a question?”
“He is not the only one who disagrees with your father’s stance on the Gate.”
We’d spoken little of my brother since he left, with good reason. Thinking of him, of how easily he’d forsaken me and his men…
“Agree or disagree, he is a traitor to Gyoria.”
“Perhaps. But not to his own convictions.”
He spoke barely above a whisper. Dren had suffered more than most, a suffering that bore visibility even after so many years.
“Convictions,” I spat, impatient with the conversation. “His only conviction was loyalty to a woman he hardly knew.”
“Love does such things.”
I would not argue with that appalling fact, for I’d seen as much with my own eyes. “Which is why it should be avoided.”
