A twig snapped in the distance and Killian ran out of patience. Surging forward, he grabbed Fyar tightly just above the elbow and tried to yank him back towards the palace hall. “That’s enough. Let’s go back inside. You’ll be missed.”
Fyar put a hand over Killian’s and squeezed his fingers. There was a minute shake of his head. “We’re exactly where we need to be.”
“Fyar…I don’t understand.” Was he trying to get himself killed?
A grim smile. “Do you remember the day we met?”
“How could I forget?” Killian croaked. Feeling wrong-footed and dizzy, like everything was spiraling out of control and he had no way to fix it, to get it back on course. “It was the worst day of my life.”
Fyar barked a laugh. “And mine. You were so young then. So innocent.”
“I was awaiting execution. For murder.”
“A punishment you thought you deserved, even after all he had done to you.” Fyar inclined his head. Therefore, “Innocent. I was so intrigued by you, by what you had done. I snuck into the dungeons because I needed to talk to you, to hear your story directly from your own mouth. I had to ask how it felt, to kill the one you considered your father with your own hands. Did you feel guilty? Did you feel justified? Did it haunt you? Would it haunt me the same?
“I had meant to use you and discard you. Did you know that?” Fyar didn’t look surprised when Killian nodded. “I never meant to get attached. Yet here you are, a century later. The elf who killed my father under my order, still by my side as my most trusted friend. Isn’t that something.”
They had never spoken of what they’d done in this way before. Never so outright and open. Fyar never shied away from what he had done, he had done it and he accepted what he had done, but he never let himself linger on it too long.
What’s done is done, Fyar had once said, in the quiet of his garden.They had been in the pavilion overlooking the lake.The only way is forward. I’ll do everything I promised, so his death won’t be for nothing.
“There’s nothing to bind two together quite like patricide.”
A laugh punched out of Fyar’s chest at Killian’s outrageous statement. It grew and grew until it Fyar looked a bit crazed with it. “What a thing to say.” His eyes softened. “He liked you, my father. It was hard to tell since he was so often not in his right mind, but he liked you. He thought you were funny.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Neither can I. You’re such a dull male. Not funny at all.”
The hair on the back of Killian’s neck stood on end, his ears catching thezingof swords leaving their sheaths. He couldn’t pinpoint which direction it came from, the sound scattering on the breeze. Letting go of Fyar’s arm, Killian drew his swords and planted himself in front of Fyar, his eyes scanning the darkness around them.
Steel glinted in the moonlight and the shadows took shape, bleeding from the misty darkness until they became four distinct figures.
None wore hoods or tried to hide their faces in any way. Not that it mattered much, Killian didn’t recognize any of them. They were simply loyal elves that Lyra brought from the west.
“Lyra,” greeted Fyar, “My dear cousin. I’m so happy you could make it. Finally decided to show your face?” He didn’t seem surprised in the slightest at their uninvited guests. With a sideways glance at Killian, Fyar said, “They’ve been following us the entire time. You’re losing your touch.”
Killian’s lips thinned. “Is now the time?”
“We may not get another.”
Killian didn’t have the time to dwell on that.
Lyra stepped to the front with a scowl on his face, drawing their attention again. In a wild show of overconfidence and arrogance, Lyra had braided his golden hair to match Fyar’s, braided like a king’s.
Killian growled.
Lyra snapped at him, “Hush, you dog, this is a family matter.” He turned to Fyar and his expression went almost soft. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Fyar said, “I’m not going to roll over and die for you.”
Lyra nodded solemnly. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. That it’d be done already.”
“Ah, yes. Your creatures in the forest. Not to mention, your little stunt with the poison. Shoddy work, but what else would we expect of poor, young Porthos?” Fyar clicked his tongue. Lyra nearly turned purple in rage at the mention of his brother. “If you’re going to try and kill me, at least do me the honor of slitting my throat yourself.”
“Like you did with Uncle Numar?” Lyra spit at Fyar’s feet. “You sicced your dog on him. Was that an honorable death?”
Fyar’s jovial mood vanished in a heartbeat. “Don’t speak of things you don’t understand.”
