Ambric rubbed his temples. “Warrin, will you give us a few moments alone please?”
Warrin’s shoulders drew up as if he were preparing to argue, but in the end, he only brushed past Allaster out of the room. Allaster wished he could follow, but it was long past time for this conversation with his brother. Pulling up a chair alongside Ambric’s bed, he crossed his legs at the ankle and sipped his whiskey, waiting.
“You know,” Ambric said eventually, “I still haven’t gotten used to it. The way you look.”
“That makes two of us.” Every day when Allaster looked in the mirror and saw the same face staring back at him, it left him disquieted. “It doesn’t feel all that long ago that I was desperate to reach your height.” Ambric had always loomed so large to him. He remembered clambering on ledges and perching on countertops, only so he would be at his brother’s level.
Ambric snorted in amusement. “You surpassed me soon enough.” His laugher faded as quickly as it came, the double meaning behind his words draping across them both. Once, they had dreamed of chasing dragons together, before fate plucked Allaster from his family and his home and set him on a new course.
From that day onward, every step forward took him farther away from Ambric, who had always looked at Allaster as if he were leaving him behind. Even when Ambric came to the Library as a mage, their reunion had been short-lived. Before long, everything between them became that same push and pull they seemed unable to escape. It was after one of their fights that Ambric had retired, giving up his magic.
“Illiza’s piano was gone from the foyer,” Allaster said, his sister-in-law’s name soft on his lips. She had been a mage just like them, her life extended by magic, but she had died nearly two years ago.
Ambric’s expression darkened, his cheeks reddened from thewhiskey. “I moved it when she passed. If you came home more than once a decade, perhaps you would have known that.”
The blow struck true, and Allaster downed his whiskey. He had meant to visit, but so much had been happening at the Library—Mora’s transformation had just begun—that he had never found the time. Lately, it felt as though he never would, and stepping foot in Spenshire today had been a stark reminder of that.
So much more than Illiza’s piano had changed since the last time he had visited. The town had installed new windmills to grind grain, and the aqueduct system from the capital had finally reached their shores. His grandniece had even built a cinderwood hearth in the Jacari style, the artifact’s magic keeping the house warm despite the coastal weather. Each advancement, each change, made him feel ever more disconnected from his home. As if every time he turned around, it moved a little further away, marching along without him.
As it should.
A Librarian wasn’t meant to think of their home after they reached Amorlin. They weren’t meant to be having painful familial conversations as old as the sea they longed for. His duty was to Amorlin and the beasts, and no matter what lies Vera spun against him, he would see it through until the end.
“I’ve been busy,” Allaster said at last and watched his brother’s expression twist.
“And I haven’t been?” Ambric demanded. “You’ve always thought your time more important than mine, just like everything else in our lives. No matter what I accomplished, I was always in your shadow.”
Allaster’s hand curled around his empty glass. There was truth to what Ambric was saying, in the way people had treated him. As children, even their parents had favored Allaster, though Allaster had done everything he could to make up for that. When he came home from the Arcadamium, it was only ever Ambric he sought, as if he could love his brother enough for three.
“You know I never wanted this,” he whispered.
“Yes, poor Allaster, the martyr.” Ambric’s tone turned acidic. “Given everything you could ever ask for on a silver platter. Tell me,brother, how difficult it’s been being handed everything. Tell me how hard you’ve had it.”
Allaster should have known better than to give Ambric alcohol; it only ever brought out this side of him. But he had hoped, for once, to share a drink with his brother, not as Librarian and High Mage, not as two boys who’d had a lifetime of expectations wedged between them, but as the brother who had once saved Allaster from the sea and the little boy who’d climbed on countertops just to be nearer to him.
Ambric swallowed the last of his liquor and let the glass thump on the table. When Allaster only watched him in silence, some of Ambric’s frustrations receded, and he took a steadying breath. “What are you going to do about Ambassador Vera?”
Allaster slumped deeper in his seat. “That remains to be seen.”
Ambric studied him intently, and Allaster tried not to squirm beneath his gaze. When it softened, Allaster only worried more.
“You’ve always been in your own world,” Ambric began gently. “So high above the rest of us. But you’ve been pulling away more since Mora died. I know you blame yourself, Allaster, but it wasn’t your fault.”
It was an offering, a hand outstretched. A chance for Allaster to close the distance that had opened between them, if only a little. All he had to do was reach out and take it.
In the end, he only offered his brother a broken smile. “I wish that were true.” He stood, watching Ambric’s face fold with disappointment, and told himself it was for the best. Because no matter what became of Vera, of Kasira and Thane, of the Library, he knew what fate awaited him. Ambric had always seen him as competition, sought to outpace Allaster at every turn, but he probably never thought he would outlive his little brother.
And now, because of Vera, Allaster would be leaving everyone he cared about in a time of turmoil and danger, and with every day that passed, every move that Vera made, there was less and less he could do to protect them. The sound of Spenshire’s screams still echoed in his head, the sight of bodies strewn about the floor like fallen leaves.Broken and dying. He had felt so helpless, even as he and Kasira had driven the Ryveren back.
How many more would die in the Ambassador’s crusade? How many beasts would she sacrifice to her insatiable goddess?
“Allaster?” Ambric asked uncertainly, and suddenly Allaster became aware of how tightly his fists were clenched, of the press of fangs beneath his lip, of the prick of claws. When he met his brother’s gaze, there was a look in it he had never seen before.
Fear.
Something inside him cracked, and he retreated a step, trying to corral the rush of emotions inside him. But it was like a storm unleashed, and he could no more contain it than capture the wind. “You deserved better than me, Ambric.” His voice trembled, his magic melding with his anger, but it was not toward his brother.
“I’m sorry.” With a snap of his fingers, he vanished—and reappeared in the Gold Room.
