The line was prettier than Haldren's. It was also beside the point.
Because the trouble with the argument, however lyrically he'd phrased it, was that this wonder hadn't grown. It hadn't acquired its heroes. It had stayed exactly the same.
44
ALAR
"A wound you cannot see is still a wound."
—Vedona Academy, Healer Corps
As we were waiting for our parents, I alternated between watching the clock and my brother.
I was anxious despite Arwen's progress. He was doing well, but it was happening too quickly, and I didn't trust the results to hold under pressure.
We were not meeting in the rose garden either, which had become Arlen's safe space, because our father had scoffed at my suggestion to meet there and demanded the audience be carried out in Arlen's receiving room.
"A king doesn't rule from a garden," he'd said, as if that encapsulated his whole argument, and I had to admit that it had.
Arlen needed to perform well indoors.
I shouldn't have boasted to our parents about my brother's fantastic progress. I had spoken too soon, and now they were coming over to evaluate said progress for themselves.
Arlen had been doing great, I told myself. My father would be so impressed.
Or not.
My brother was shining too brightly, and like a candle with a flame too big for its body, he might burn out too soon.
He'd shaved himself without Balert's help, combed his hair back, put on a proper coat, and sat straight in his chair. He was telling me very animatedly about how well he'd slept, about how his breathing was deep and calm now, about how he'd be ready for whatever Father wanted to throw at him. I had a feeling that his speech was more for his own benefit than mine. He was boosting his confidence by reciting his progress, and it wasn't a bad strategy, but it also revealed how anxious he was, and that was a problem because Arlen couldn't handle stress yet.
It was too soon.
"You don't have to perform for them," I said. "They are just coming to see how you are doing. They are your parents."
"They are the King and Queen of Catonia first, and my parents second. You and I know exactly what Father is coming to see."
He wasn't wrong, and there was nothing I could say that wouldn't sound like platitudes. "You're doing great. Just relax and let him lead the conversation. You know how he likes to hear himself talking."
At that, Arlen chuckled. "Yeah, I do. I need to practice talking like he does."
"That's the right attitude. Imagine yourself king, delivering riveting hour-long speeches."
He arched a brow. "Riveting? If I want to fall asleep fast, all I have to do is listen to one of Father's televised speeches."
The humor was good. The less stressed Arlen was, the better he'd do.
Since our heart-to-heart in the garden, he'd thrown himself at recovery the way he'd once thrown himself at everything, and the healer's warning had been knocking at the back of my skull the whole time.
Do not mistake a good week for a cure.
He'd been sleeping less, not more. He'd pushed me to speak aloud about the attack and tell him my suspicions of who might have been behind it. I had done as he asked while knowing that we were going faster than the healer had recommended. I'd cooperated because the clock was not only ticking but eating us alive. A week to Father's final decision. Two until the ball. There was no room left to go slow and careful the way the healer had advised.
There was a quick knock on the door before the guards opened it and announced, "Please rise for Their Majesties, King Alaranthus Tekumuton the Fourth, and Queen Hanith of Catonia."
I rose, but Arlen couldn't, and that was the first setback of the day.
I should have told the guards to skip it.
