Javius swears. “Don’t scream when I take this out, all right?”
It’s all Leth can do not to bite Javius’s fingers when the man pulls the gag from his mouth. He tries to sit up, but his muscles are still too weak from the drug, and he slumps back to the bedroll.
“Don’t bother.” Javius sits back on his heels and rubs his chin. “Never liked you much, but I don’t feel right about this.”
Leth watches Javius warily. There’s more rope around his ankles—tied over his boots, which isn’t very secure. That might be the easiest binding to wriggle out of first, if he can muster the strength.
“Anton hasn’t been himself since the Unbinding,” Javius continues. “Or maybe he’s been more himself than ever, fuck. He misses having Valor. We all do, but the rest of us are starting to get over it, you know? I thought he’d settle down too. But he hasn’t.”
Javius’s eyes are bloodshot, and there’s something frightening in his voice. A fearful tone that forces Leth out of his desperate, wary pragmatism. The full knowledge that his brother is the one who drugged and bound him drags Leth under like an avalanche, burying him in ice. Crushing his lungs beneath his ribs.
“I never liked you, but Antonhatesyou. Do you know why?”
Leth struggles to follow Javius’s line of thought. He can’t quite grasp the thread of logic.
Javius doesn’t wait for an answer. “Years ago. He was eighteen, so you must have been twelve? The two of you sparred, and you knocked him on his ass.”
Leth has sparred with hundreds of people, thousands of times. He doesn’t remember the first time he held a padded stick and stumbled through a routine against a training dummy. But he remembers the fight Javius is talking about—a bright summer day in the courtyard of Fort Tarhaeg.
“That was the last time we ever sparred,” Leth says.
“You beat him, and he couldn’t stand it.” Javius rubs his chin again and jerks his head back to look at the sealed tent flap. “Anton’s hated you ever since. You remember that time we went drinking, the night before your initiation ceremony?”
“I remember you spiked my drink.”
“That’s right,” Javius says. “Because Anton ordered me to.”
“No,” Leth whispers, tensing against his bindings. He listens rapt with horror as Javius continues.
“He gave me the drug himself. I’m not saying I’m a good person, here. Maybe I went a bit too far teasing you. Anton wasn’t happy about that.” Javius waves his hand, as if dismissing his past self. “But Anton’s the one who wanted you to miss the ceremony. He planned to keep you out of the military because that was the only area where he was still superior. You were better with a sword, and you had innate magic. All he had was Valor.”
Leth shudders. He doesn’t want to believe it, but it makes sickening sense. Would Javius dare touch him, if Anton didn’t approve? Anton wasn’t harsh but fair, upholding protocol when Leth missed the ceremony. The game was rigged against Leth from the start.
“That’s who Anton is,” Javius says. “He can’t stand not being in control. Not having power. Now that Ka Dravos has abandoned us, Anton needs new magic.”
Leth’s stomach sinks yet again. “What’s my brother really doing in Lyrisenia?”
“I told him to pray to other gods. Vara or Sephine. He told me he was done with gods. He wants magic he can control.”
Leth still can’t remember what section of the library Anton was looking through, but he remembers his own naive denial when Evain asked if Anton could be responsible. “I saw the array in the cave. Drawn in blood, with a man’s life spilled everywhere.”
Javius’s breathing is ragged. He rubs his hand through his beard. “It wasn’t enough. The demon he’s summoning is too powerful. The place wasn’t right, and the sacrifice wasn’t enough because Anton didn’t care about him. Anton needs to offer something more important—and then you walked up out of nowhere, like Ka Dravos himself sent you.”
We’re family, you know. That still means something.
“He wants to sacrifice me,” Leth says, barely hearing himself. The words feel unreal.
Javius’s head jerks in a nod.
Straining and twisting, Leth manages to lever himself up onto his ass. The effort sends the tent spinning around him. He wants to deny Javius’s words, but he can’t. The evidence is all around him, in the rope around his wrists, the weakness coursing through his veins, the betrayal clawing through his heart.
When he found out Evain was a demon, when he jumped onto Daziroth to ride away, Evain told him to ride into town, where it was safer. Because despite the lies, despite the secrets, despite the pure mundane annoyance, Evain always acted to protect him.
What people do matters much more than what they are. And by running away from a demon, Leth threw himself into the clutches of a monster.
A voice sounds from outside the tent. A soldier reporting back from watch. Javius flinches, then runs his hand over his face again. Sweat gleams at his temples.
“Why are you telling me this?” Leth is under no illusion that Javius is a friend or ally.
