That night, Eris kept watch in the hallway leading to the dungeons. He glamoured himself into the shadows, still as a stone in the Forest House walls. The guards returned to their posts and, a few moments later, Beron emerged from the stairwell. His hands were clean but Eris could still scent Vel’s blood clinging to his father. Eris held his breath as his father, too caught up in his fury to look twice, hurried off towards his study. Even after he was gone, Eris didn’t dare check the brand on his arm.

He spent hours there, watching, counting, determined, unmoving. He noted the times when the guards changed, once in the heart of the night, when the moon was at its peak, and once more before it was time for breakfast, as the first rays of sun started drifting into the hallway. The High Lord came back later, by the time the morning was in full swing, and only when Eris knew his father had descended all the steps did he dare move out of his spot.

Back in his room, Eris took a much-needed bath and massaged his stiff muscles. He had pretended to sleep in and requested a late breakfast before sending all the servants away. He wondered if they were looking for Nyoka – she must have had friends amongst them. But she was ash in the wind and he was sitting amongst the luxurious oils and creams, thinking of how much more blood he’d have to spill before the day was over. He didn’t dwell over the justification of his action. There was no fairness in life and there would be no absolution for him one way or another.

He thought of his father, how perhaps they weren’t so different from one another. They would both kill and torture to reach their goals – no matter, how many bodies were left in their wake. The water in the tub boiled.

Naked and dripping water on the carpet, Eris packed most of the breakfast spread into three pouches – bread and hard-boiled eggs, dried meats and nuts, fruit and hard cheese. His stomach growled but he left the rest of the food untouched – clearing a buffet that could feed a small family would undoubtedly raise some suspicion. As he put the pouches away he turned over the thoughts in his head. There were no favors he could call in, no ruse he could plan to get Beron away from the Forest House, not quickly enough anyway. After what he’d seen … it would have to be tonight. He stashed the pouches in one of the locked cabinets. Lunch was only ever served in the dining halls, he wouldn’t be able to pinch anything else with the servants or his brothers watching.

Despite the stiff muscles and weary mind, Eris decided to get dressed and head to the courtyard to train with the others. The more he would be seen today, the better.

His brothers were all in the courtyard, even Lysander, who was sitting with Lucien atop the parapets. Eris made his way to them. The sun was shining brightly, a relatively rare sight in the Autumn Court. He wondered if Beron had been so pleased with how well his plan worked out that his moods had affected the weather.

Eris went to sit on Lucien’s other side. He was watching Theron, one sword in each hand, fending off the twins. Roderic was across the yard, a bow in hand, shooting at a handful of dummies spread out towards the edge of the forest. Lysander was leaning back against the stone, his face towards the sun.

“Isn’t this lovely? Just like the good old days.” Lysander crooned, basking in the sunlight, his eyes still closed. Back when they were just youths running around barefoot. Before they had to prove their worth and compete with each other or they risked being lashed. Before their father became a tyrant and their mother a shadow of her former self. Lysander didn’t need to add all that. They each bore their scars differently and dealt with them separately.

Eris himself would run off into the forest, with his hounds and his horse, deep into the heart of the Autumn Court, chasing some unlucky prey. Lysander would find comfort in books, and more often than not, in some male or female embrace. Theron would let it out right here, in the sparring ring, against whatever unfortunate opponent he could find. Late at night, from his room, Eris could sometimes hear the clanging of steel and the splintering of wood as Theron would destroy yet another training dummy. He couldn’t see the courtyard but he wondered if his brother’s shirt was bloody and clinging to his back as he went through the steps. Roderic drowned his sorrows with liquor and gold. He would winnow as far away as possible from the Forest House to drink himself stupid and lose their father’s money. Eris used to forbid the gambler’s dens from accepting Roderic, but when his brother started traveling to other courts for his fix, Eris quickly realized it was better to keep the problem contained at home. The twins passed their scars onto others in the dungeons, for each drop of blood their father took from them, they spilled a dozen more. Eris could only be happy about them not being allowed into the deepest levels.

Lucien seemed to incur their father’s wrath the most often nowadays. Eris had his own theories as to why that was, though none of them could be proven – but he saw it in how their mother protected him, doted on him, and how Lucien seemed to glow with her love. He looked at his youngest brother as he watched Theron disarm one of the twins in one elegant move. He was the most beautiful of them, he’d inherited everything from their mother and nothing from Beron. His tanned skin glistened in the sunshine as he turned towards Eris and gave him a grin. Lucien was the only one of them who was not afraid to smile genuinely, brightly. He’d seen those smiles many times given freely to their mother. “Shall we go for a round?”

Eris smirked at him. “Do you need a lesson in swordplay, brother?”

“I think it would do you more good than me – some sun and exercise. You look like a ghost.”

“He’s not wrong, you know.” Lysander chimed in, opening one lazy eye. “Whatever you’re scheming this time, it’s taking a toll on you.” When Eris bristled, Lucien gave him a pointed look.

“I’ll show the both of you that you shouldn’t be underestimating me. How about two against one?”

Lysander dismissed him with a wave. “Nice try, but I’ll have to decline. I wouldn’t want to get in Lucien’s way as he throttles you.” Lucien chuckled and gracefully hopped off the parapet. Eris followed with a scoff.

They donned the dented chest plates, the leather straps well-worn and cracked, and picked their weapons – both of them went for simple swords, no shields. Beron had forbidden them long ago to train with anything but steel. He’d even made sure the weapons were sharp. “Any wounds would be deserved,” he’d said. “The scars will serve as a reminder. So that in battle you may avoid making the same mistake twice.”

Eris made eye contact with Theron, who gave a barely perceptible nod. He dodged the following attack in an underhand sweep, narrowly avoiding the oncoming strike. Theron slid behind the other male, ramming him with his shoulder hard enough for him to fly into his twin. The two of them went to the floor in a mess of limbs, sliding out of bounds. The match was concluded. Their swordsmanship was not terrible, but they were brutish and cared little for tactics. Even with the two of them, they stood no chance against Theron. They had the advantage of raw strength but Theron, who was the tallest of all brothers, had the advantage of an extended reach – and a much better head for strategy.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Eris took his spot in the ring across from Lucien. “Regular rules?” Eris nodded. It meant no magic, for defense or otherwise, and the match would conclude with first blood – or if someone stepped out of the delimited area. They started circling each other, looking for an opening. Lucien made the first move, an overhead slash to quickly close the distance between them, which he parried. Lucien ducked under his arm and tried to stab him in the back but Eris had already put some distance between them once more. Lucien was only testing the waters, checking just how tired Eris truly was. His youngest brother knew very well that appearances could be deceiving and wouldn’t underestimate him out of vanity.

Lucien was good, Eris had trained him himself. What he lacked in strength he made up in stamina and cunning. He might even be able to best Theron. Eris realized he’d never seen them go against each other. Another time perhaps.

In regular circumstances, Eris was stronger and faster and was too familiar with Lucien’s weak spots. He could finish the match in a few moves, before even breaking a sweat. But his stomach was empty, his head was cluttered and he hadn’t slept in two nights – and the nights before those had been anything but restful. But he couldn’t afford to lose to Lucien, it would draw too much attention, raise suspicions. For his plan to work out, he had to appear aloof and unfazed, just as he always did, nothing out of the ordinary. He had to finish it quickly, while he had the upper hand, or he would tire and become too slow. Except, Lucien’s guard was up and he was covering his usual weak spots well. Eris cursed himself for being a good teacher.

Lucien attacked again and Eris parried and countered going through the usual steps. He was putting as much strength as he could muster into his attacks, hoping to force a slip from Lucien, but he was already feeling the echoes of fatigue in the muscles of his sword arm. He was going to tire himself out long before Lucien’s guard failed.

A lazy warm breeze, carrying the scent of ripe apples ruffled the leaves. For a moment, Eris regretted having to wear his long-sleeved jacket. Sweat made his clothes stick to his skin and the chestplate chafed at his neck. As his temper flared from the discomfort, the pieces in his mind clicked into place, like a chess game playing out in front of his eyes. It would be risky but he’d pull it off.

Lucien attacked, again and again, likely sensing Eris’s weakness. The older male blocked and whirled out of the way, trying to put some more distance between them, which left his back wide open. Lucien took advantage of the moment to slash at the exposed weak point. Half a breath earlier, and Eris would have been on the ground with a sword in his back, but he pulled away just enough that the metal only sliced the thick material of his jacket – and half of the leather straps of the breastplate. The two brothers faced each other lightly panting, a new distance between them.

Lucien smirked. “Your age is catching up to you brother.” It was difficult but not impossible to ruffle Eris’s feathers. Lucien knew his temper could leave him vulnerable. But Eris didn’t even deign to respond and instead just rolled his neck and shoulders as if to crack them.

A moment later, Eris was finally on the offensive. He closed the distance between them and slid to Lucien’s left side, who was ready for him, sword up to block the incoming attack. But with the leather straps torn, Eris shrugged out of his breastplate and, with his free arm he threw the jagged metal at Lucien’s head – quick as a blink. Lucien had to stagger back slightly to parry the unexpected object and Eris took advantage of the opening to swipe his legs out from under him. The younger male went down with a grunt and Eris put the point of his sword against his chest.

“It seems like you’re the one showing your age, little brother.” Eris gloated, pushing the metal into Lucien’s right shoulder, hard enough that red bloomed on his cream-colored shirt.

Lucien snarled. “I would hardly call that a fair match.”

“In a real fight, when someone is trying to kill you, I hope you won’t expect them to play fair.” Eris reached out his arm, which Lucien begrudgingly took. Eris spoke low enough that only the youngest heard. “Don’t forget. Out here it is kill or be killed. And there’s no honor in being dead.”

As Lucien dusted himself off and sulked back to the weapons rack, Theron approached. He was shirtless, water gleamed in his hair and on his skin. Eris already had his hand up to stop him.

“I’m not spending a moment longer in this irritating heat. I’m off to have lunch.”

Theron looked immensely disappointed but shrugged in defeat. “Lunch it is.”

They ordered the servants to bring the food outside and ate at a picnic table under an old oak tree at the edge of the courtyard. The temperature was truly pleasant in the shade, the weather better than it had been in centuries. There was plenty of roasted venison and an array of colorful vegetables – carrots, potatoes, parsnips, and mushrooms. His brothers were passing tankards of honeyed mead around, though Eris was careful not to drink from his. He would need a clear head. The lack of sleep was already not helping with that. Red and orange leaves fell down around them, lazily swaying in the breeze.

With Beron otherwise occupied, too busy to constantly pit them against each other, their time together had actually started feeling … brotherly. Eris marveled at the thought. His mind drifted back to less happy times when he’d had to whip his brothers with his own hands for whatever perceived disobedience, while their father watched, blocking the only way out of the gods-forsaken dungeon. He wondered how much time would have to pass without Beron around for all the wounds to be forgiven. Forgiven, not forgotten – they had plenty of scars to remind them that they would never be a normal family.

The afternoon found Eris in the library, between two stacks of thick old books, some bound in peeling leather, some held together with fraying yarn. He’d had to lie to the head librarian and say he was looking for books on war strategy, not an unexpected request coming from the General of the Autumn Court. He’d browsed the shelves himself and picked some interesting titles, most of which he’d already read. But what he was really here for was the massive catalog currently spread out before him: Most common poisons and their antidotes. The book was at least as old as Eris, and more likely older than Beron. The pages were yellowed and stiff, the ink had faded in patches making some passages illegible. The poisons were listed in alphabetical order which made everything easier even though there were entire sections stuck together by some kind of sticky resin.

…E…

Earthsalts

Ebonshade Extract

Echothorn

Eclipsarum Resin

Eclipsynth

The titles were written in an elegant, elaborate script and painted in what might have been vibrant colors once – now mostly just shades of gray. The first letter of each word had flourishes that hinted towards their provenance – leaves, flowers, roots, sometimes even the likeness of specific Lesser Faeries. Each page turned with a crackling rustle as if an ancient beast was stirring awake the deeper he delved into the knowledge contained within.

…F…

Faarune Essence

Facetedream

Fadegrin Toxin

Faerie Dust

Faesorrow

Faeveil Mist

Fairy Rose Pollen

Eris frowned and turned the pages back. Where Faebane should have been the page had been ripped, leaving behind a jagged remnant. Only a few letters remained, nothing that Eris would be able to make sense of. Beron was once again one step ahead. He had anticipated that someone might start looking around and had destroyed all evidence long ago – the rip in the paper was not even fresh. With a flinch, Eris realized that even his being here was a huge risk. He snapped the book shut, stirring up a cloud of dust and debris. He looked over his shoulder suspiciously, the library was dark and still – the only sounds were the turning of pages and the creak of wood as a librarian climbed one of the countless ladders to reach the upper shelves.

Eris cleared the table and put the books away by himself, carefully trying to make the Most common poisons and their antidotes look untouched. He decided to borrow two of the strategy books in an attempt to cover his tracks.

Back in his room, Eris sat in an armchair by the window staring, unseeing, as the sun sank into the forest outside. He was going through the motions of his plan, absently scratching at the brand on his arm, as if trying to stir it awake once again. The colors were more faded than he remembered, more beige than brown, despite the fact that his skin was growing pink from all the rubbing.

Vel was fading and he was powerless. His plan was half-baked at best but it had to happen tonight or it would be too late. For the first time in centuries, Eris sent a prayer to the Mother – hoping, wishing that She would protect Vel a little longer.

At dinner, Beron’s good moods seemed to be dimming – whatever he was trying to get out of Vel was not materializing. He snapped at Lysander when the male produced an unsatisfactory response regarding his emissary duties and then snarled at the twins for making a crass joke out of it. His brothers ate the rest of their food in subdued silence. Eris puzzled over his father’s patience. He had been cooking up this scheme for over two hundred years, so it was strange that his fuse was already burning so short. But then he remembered how Vel had gotten under his own skin so quickly and how she had pushed his father’s buttons just the night before, so he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. He wondered if she was bold or stupid, or just too old to care about death.