Page 2 of Fate of the Sun King

In addition, the Aurora King’s roving bands of poachers act as enough of a threat to keep them confined within our walls. They might hold few rights in Aphelion, but it’s probably a marginally better fate than conscription to Rion’s mines.

“Hungry?” I ask Tyr as I fix him a plate of food, slicing some of the cheese I know he likes and adding a few crackers, along with a cream puff that’s his favorite treat. I also pour him a generous glass of the vintage whisky I bought—it cost nearly as much as an entire flat in one of the lower districts, but why shouldn’t he be allowed to indulge whenever he can?

I set the food on the table next to the bed, glancing over, wondering if we’re having a good day or a bad one. He’s barely reacted to my presence, and that probably tells me the answer.

My gaze skits over the arcturite cuffs ringing his neck and wrists. The glowing blue stone, mined in the Beltza Mountains far to the north, has cut him off from his magic since the day Atlas confined him to this room.

Atlas used the warder’s promise against me and my brothers, convincing Tyr to turn over the rule of Aphelion to Atlas. We were forced to capture Tyr against our will, bind him in the cuffs, and lock him away—possibly forever or until… something drastic changes.

The memory haunts me in my dreams and when I’m awake, but I had no choice. I still have no choice. Going against the king’s command means suffering unimaginable amounts of pain and, eventually, death. More than once, I’ve considered it. Just allowing my insubordination to end it all. But then Tyr would be without me, and I can’t rely on the others to protect him the way I can. At least this way I can do my part, as much as I despise myself for every second of it.

Tyr’s gaze tracks my movements as I settle into the chair in the corner, picking up the book on the nearby table and flipping to where I marked our page two days ago. I’ve read hundreds of books to Tyr over the years. He refuses to read them independently, instead waiting for me to arrive. It’s another small thing I can offer. Maybe it makes this miserable life just a little less miserable.

As I read, I watch him from the corner of my vision, noticing how his eyes move as though they’re tracking the words on the page. I think he’s listening to every syllable, but whenever he utters a word, I worry it will be the last time I hear his voice for good.

Sometimes he lies so still it’s like he’s already gone. Lately, I worry about his condition deteriorating faster than ever. I confirmed long ago that prolonged exposure to arcturite slowly erodes the sanity of High Fae minds. I don’t know what Atlas plans. He can’t kill Tyr: the Mirror would transfer the magic to the true Primary, and he’d lose everything he’s been trying to gain for centuries.

After an hour, I close the book and stand, knowing I have a thousand other duties needing my attention.

Tyr, as usual, hasn’t touched his food. I’ve never understood why he refuses to eat in my presence, but I don’t press the matter. A man forced to live this threadbare existence is entitled to his eccentricities. At least he’s eating. That must be enough for now.

I stand over him, wishing there was more I could do. I tuck back a lock of his hair, the strands dry and brittle to the touch. He’ll need a trim soon, along with a shave of his thickening beard. I’ll bring some scissors and a razor next time. For obvious reasons, I can’t leave these items here. I note his tunic also looks a little ratty. It might be time for new clothes as well.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I say, trying not to sound quite as maudlin as I feel. “Eat up.”

Tyr blinks, and I like to think it’s because he’s acknowledging me. I hope it is. I miss him and everything we almost were.

I check the room one more time, pausing when the floor starts to vibrate under my feet. Another tremor. These shifts started happening several weeks ago, but their origin remains a mystery.

Whatever. This isn’t my concern. I have plenty of other things to worry about right now.

Once the rumbling subsides, I close the door gently behind me before I make my way back down the stairs and immediately head towards Atlas’s apartments, brushing past his sentries outside.

After knocking on the door of the king’s study, I call out, “Atlas?”

“Enter,” comes the voice on the other side.

I find him standing at the window, cradling a mug of tea in his hand, staring out across the city.

“I’ve just been to see him,” I say, keeping my voice low. The study is warded against eavesdropping, but I can’t defy the insistent hush of the secrets I hold. It feels wrong to speak of them in a normal tone of voice. Like I’m normalizing shit that should never be normalized.

“Hmm,” Atlas replies, still focused on the view outside.

Thankfully, he doesn’t see the way my jaw clenches at his indifference. The way he behaves like he doesn’t give a fuck about the brother from whom he’s stolen everything makes me so furious red bleeds into the corners of my vision.

Finally, Atlas pushes himself from the window and walks over to settle on the shiny leather couch in the center of the room. He takes a long sip of his tea before he settles back and gives me a look that seems to ask Is there anything else you need to bother me with?

“He’s getting worse,” I push. “The cuffs—”

“Aren’t going anywhere,” Atlas says, his response chilled with the threat that he will not entertain this conversation again.

“But they’re killing him.”

Finally, Atlas arches a brow and pins me with a cold look. “What would you have me do? Take them off so he can kill me?”

The king glares with his piercing aquamarine gaze, daring me to break. We’ve known each other for a long time. Atlas might call us friends, but it’s hard for me to consider our relationship in that light. When one side holds all the power, and you are merely a servant at his command, it’s more complicated than friendship.

I resist the urge to unleash the truth that squats on the tip of my tongue, burning like acid. That yes, I’d love to see Tyr break free and pay Atlas back for everything he deserves.