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But I don’t get the chance to share. My spine prickles at the sight out of the corner of my eye. My stomach caves in. And Allysteir flicks his head up and growls before hauling me to my feet, shielding me in a black, protective cocoon, and roaring for Ifrynna.
Because strewn upon the shores of this secret isle thanks to the tide are countless corpses of young women. All are clothed in a bridal gown...and marked with sacred runes of Doom.
After ensuringKryach would escort them safely back to the Citadel, I sent Isla away upon Ifrynna, then summoned Elder Kanat to the little island where I wait, prepared to test him. Because this has his signature all over it. I roll my tongue against the bridge of my teeth, glowering behind my mask at the discarded corpses, runed with Doom and inked by refter blood symbols of black feathers and hellwylves: Morrygna’s sigils.
I lean over to inspect them, wondering if it’s time to enlist Kryach’s aid. The stabbing sensation at the back of my mind ensures what his price would be. Yes, I am certain Isla is strong enough to survive the God of Death. But he would command me to revoke my blood mark upon her body, her freely granted offering to precede his. He will take far more than her soul or a portion. He will takeeverything, flesh and blood included. He’ll leave me cursed with utterlynothing.
Once I sense the Sea shifting to betray an oncoming vessel, I turn to the opposite shore a few hundred yards in the distance. Snarl. I should have known the slithering snake of an elder wouldn’t have had the courage to face me alone. Though I didn’t expect my damned brother to accompany him; no other explanation considering the royal barge dropping anchor beyond the bone reef flanking the isle.
I curl my good lip back as Aydon, Kanat, and the elders climb onto the barge’s attached skiff so they may embark onto the shore. Garbed in our traditional robes, Aydon, in his bone-armored boots, hits the shallows first, followed by Kanat lurking behind my brother as if the Prince is his mask.
But no mask in Talahn-Feyhran history could ever rival mine.
You won’t ever hide from me, brother,I want to say to Aydon as he approaches, not a strand of polished hair out of place?his azure eyes sharp and keen to parade his political charisma. I hold my tongue despite permitting my shadows to creep all over, on the cusp of piercing any elder who would dare dishonor the bridal-imitation corpses. Most elders are too preoccupied covering their mouths with their kerchiefs to ward off the rigor mortis stench. It’s the finest of perfumes to me. The same aroma permeating my refter bride glen. The fragrance haunting my accursed being.
Waves lap at the shore, knocking the bride-clad bodies against one another. A violent wind lashes the cavernous dome of this greatest territory in all the White Ladies. As if harmonizing with these ominous events. A hint of a storm on the air.
Thrusting my robe to molest the air, I coldly lance Kanat with my words, “Is there some affair you would care to share with yourKing, Elder Kanat?” It takes all I have to clench my teeth around his title and force the words beyond them. I want to strip him of it here and now, but while I could wield my parietal bone power to rival Kanat and the other elders, it would not rival Aydon’s equal supremacy. Only with Aryahn Kryach’s fullest power could I hope to overcome them.
Say the word, Allysteir, and I will bring them to their knees, carve the souls from their beings, and feast on them as mere delicacies.
Yes...right before he feasts upon my bride as his greatest banquet of all time.
Stay with Isla, I snarl, urging him back to the Citadel. Kryach hesitates as if hoping I will surrender to his whim. But he should know better. Only once in the past five hundred years have I ever done such a thing.
Once he departs, I harden my jaw, all my muscles taut as I face the elders and my brother. If I could, I’d give up all my bone power, my immortality, my soul itself to protect my bride, but the High God of Death considers my offerings as scraps.
No, ultimately, this is my brother’s game. A game of minds and of wills. We are equal kings on the board, but he has more pieces than me. He has formed his alliances through political maneuverings while I chose to hide in my refter bride glen, to distract myself with Isle-fruit, with bony ponies, with punishment, and artistic exploits. Now, I will pay the price. All these lovelies pay the price.
I must not retreat today. Time for me to move even if I am my only piece. My king outranks his.
“Your Majesty,” Kanat states, slipping into his venomous tongue more potent than a Sythe-sac. “Rest assured, the elders will unearth the identity of whatever being has thus dared to defile our sacred Underworld with such savagery. With our unified power, we will not rest until we bring the transgressor to their knees before your very throne, my King.”
The other elders chant their agreement and their empty promises. Meanwhile, I don’t fixate on Kanat’s eyes. Futile given how well-rehearsed he is. Instead, I use my mask as cover to appraise Aydon’s physical and facial gestures. He does not flinch. Nor do his eyes wander to the bridal cadavers. Much to my chagrin, he regards me as I regard him?as if he knows I’m testing him behind my skull eyes, weighing his responses.
I want to bind his throat with all my shade power and challenge him.What happened to my brother, Aydon? What happened to my bold older brother who roamed the tombs of the kings and climbed a dragyn ribcage housing our great grandfather’s crypt? Where is my brother who spied on the elders and plotted endless pranks with me to disrupt their shrine practices?
My gut tightens to the memories, to the knowledge of my past brother. Where is my brother who never desired power despite how much he was groomed for it? Who longed to travel throughout all of Talahn-Feyal and drive back any refters who dared to plague our lands? A goal we shared. We would be warrior princes for decades before your father passed, believing the Mallyach-Ender and the Mender of Worlds would arise in our time and conquer the gods themselves!
The brother who loved me and did not loathe me...
I clench my gloved fist, note how Aydon’s eyes flick to my subtle gesture, then back to my corpse mask as if suspecting my thoughts. I seal my wretched lips over my huff. And long to roar what I have never mentioned since that cursed night five hundred years ago.The brother I sacrificed everything for!
I thread my brows low, eyes contracting, careless of whether Aydon may discern, careless of how he hardens his jaw while the elders debate amongst themselves. The words lodge in my throat, and I must swallow them. They are as rotted as my flesh.What did I do to earn your revilement, brother? What did Talahn-Feyal do to deserve your dishonor?
After longer moments of the elders prattling like the gaggle of useless geese they are, Aydon finally raises his voice, “After a sharp investigation, whichIwill oversee, I will order our finest corpse collectors to gather the dead, cleanse them of the accursed symbols, and to perform the ceremonial death rites as well as notify next of kin. As Elder Kanat assured you, Allysteir, this wrong will be righted. And there will be peace and prosperity once again in Talahn-Feyal.”
All elders fall silent in the wake of Aydon’s announcement, nodding in agreement, bowing to him. Not to me. Aydon postures, bearing beyond a princely regality because he knows he wields equal power. He knows my utter weakness. It’s there in the slightly crooked smirk on one corner of his mouth, how his cobalt eyes pinch and shimmer.
So, as the elders depart to the shore to inspect the corpses for the beginnings of the investigation, I catch Aydon by his mirrored robe sleeve and seethe under my breath, “What is your game, brother?”
Breath heavy and on the verge of panting, I wait as Aydon glances at the elders, assuring they are distracted before he goes so far as to pat the mask where my cheek is in a direct mockery while he hums low, “My greatest desire, brother.”
My breath hitches as he shifts his robes, righting them while simpering and striding away, vainer than a crowing cock. I release my shades until the isle trees violently quaver and shed hundreds of pomegranates to crack. Their fruit surges with juice and seeds like clotted blood to splash the bridal corpses.
Somehow, I wrestle my growl back into my throat. I long to summon Kryach and agree to any bargain because Aydon has added his marker to those who would dare claim my bride!
Except in Aydon’s case, he wants her very much alive. And in hisbed.
