Eris had constructed a portrait of Rook’s life so vivid that when she closed her eyes she saw it clearly. Often enough it had proved wrong already, when he spilled some new secret of his past, when he told her of his parents or some other fact of Keep Korakos, but such details were amended into her imagination easily enough. It was something like her understanding of the Old Kingdom—of what life must have been like before the Fall. She did not know why she was concerned with such things, only that her curiosity worked regardless of her intentions. In the background. Without any conscious thought.
Yet when she considered her fantasies, she found no place for siblings in them. It had never occurred to her, not once, that Rook might have a brother. The ideas did not belong together. Rook was like her—a person adrift, alone save those he met along the way.
But he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t. She was foolish to be surprised.
“Khel,” Rook said, his features white. Then he jumped forward in a great bound and wrapped his arms around his brother’s, the two embracing in an enormous, suffocating, manly hug. Their faces both twisted from amazement to smiles. Rook snorted as though he might cry, which very well could have been the end of his and Eris’ relationship, but he held the tears back, instead saying, “That night—I saw you—you were at father’s side—”
This ‘Khelidon’ pulled away. It was striking to see now with the two men side-by-side how similar they looked. With Rook’s hair and eyes enchanted to appear dark they might have been twins.
“You won’t believe the story,” Khelidon said.
Rook smiled back at him. He grabbed his brother by the forearm. “You won’t believe mine. I thought—I thought you were dead. I swear I would have come back sooner if I’d known—”
“Rook. It’s all right. There’s time to discuss it all later. But for now…” The brother gazed toward Eris. He had that look of wonder men, especially young men, often did when they first saw her, which she normally enjoyed. Yet from him…
“This is Eris,” Rook stepped forward to introduce them. “And Aletheia. We’ve travelled together since I left the city. That’s—how I met Jason, too.”
Jason nodded. “In a manner of speaking.”
“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance,” Khelidon said, bowing before Aletheia before coming to take Eris’ hand. He kissed her finger. “Women often followed my brother, but you are…”
She frowned and pulled herself away. “Not a follower,” she said.
He looked up at her—then seeing her eyes. “You’re a magician.”
“I’m a magician,” Aletheia added quickly, as if she might be forgotten.
“I see.” He glanced between them, then back to Rook. “You might have me beat.”
“Can you sit down?” Jason said. “This standing makes me nervous.”
So they all sat and the meal began. A strange revisitation of the previous morning, yet now the discussion was alive, a kind of excitement in the air. Eris couldn’t take her eyes off of this newcomer. There was something about him that she found unsettling—and he could hardly takes his eyes off her. But that was natural enough.
“How did you meet Jason?” Aletheia asked.
“I introduced myself after I saw him with a crow’s tabard at court,” Jason said. “One thing led to another.”
“And who was I to refuse an offer of friendship from the great vampire slayer of Arqa?” Khelidon said.
“I can imagine your surprise when you heard of my involvement,” Rook said.
Khelidon smiled. “I still don’t know the full story. He kept those details to himself. As I recall he told me he met you in a town called—what was it?”
“Sam’al,” Jason said.
“Sam’al, right, as you were heading inland. That was how he knew you.”
“I don’t understand,” Rook said. “You were at court? Is Hierax not duke?”
Khelidon’s smile faded. He took a breath, and it was then that he decided to tell the story. The story Rook had refused to tell. Eris did not understand every detail, but she gathered it went something like this:
Just over four years ago, when Khelidon was fourteen, the most trusted brother of their father, their uncle Hierax, gave an order to the Keep Korakos guard to stand down late at night. The gates were opened. Two dozen men of the Archon’s retinue were let inside illegally, and all while the ducal family was asleep.
“I remember,” Rook said. “I was out riding with Aetos and we saw the torches on the ramparts snuffed out from far-off. That was why we came back at once.”
“I woke up to hear the gates opening. I knew something was wrong,” Khelidon said.
He slipped outside his room to the great hall where he watched these soldiers enter. He was young and naïve, and while he was suspicious when he saw most of the guards removed, his fears were allayed when he saw Hierax himself at the soldiers’ head.
“Fearing nothing from him I revealed myself and asked what was wrong, but he commanded one of his knights to apprehend me. I still thought everything was a misunderstanding—so I let them hold onto me for half an hour while they searched upstairs for mother and father. Eventually he came back to me, and he asked where you were. I told him I didn’t know, that you were out and wouldn’t be back, and when he went wild with rage I knew something was wrong. I’d had the foresight to bring my dagger with me; I managed to run it through a hole in the armor of the knight who held me, and I sprinted back upstairs.”
Apparently one of the loyal guards had sensed a plot and used a side passage—these castles were full of them—to come upstairs and alert the duke and duchess of what was about to happen. They had managed to arm themselves in time to fight off a probative wave of the Archon’s soldiers; Khelidon soon reunited with his parents, but as they made for a secret passage, they were quickly accosted by more of Hierax’s men.
“He knew the Keep better than anyone,” Khelidon said. “The exits were all being watched. Father killed a man-at-arms with a shield, I remember it clearly, but there were archers beyond the wall; they hit mother in the ankle.” It was clearly not a pleasant memory and he stopped to ground himself. “Father gave me his sword and picked her up and—I’m getting bogged down in details.”
“I didn’t know,” Rook said.
Khelidon nodded. “So…”
They had been forced to return to the Keep, then fought their way to the great hall. They found the bodies of several guards who had been murdered after refusing to leave their posts, assassinated in the silence of the night. Then, in the throne room, they were confronted by Hierax.
“That was when I arrived,” Rook said. “Aetos and I came as fast as we could. We found four men-at-arms loyal to the family in Crowbrook and used a rear entrance. There were Archon’s men waiting there, but they hadn’t expected us. We confronted them and—Kings, I don’t remember what we said, I didn’t think they were our enemies at first, but we killed them, at least four, and hurried through the tunnel, then the Keep, and…”
Rook fought his way through the Keep in search of his father. There were bodies everywhere. Every carpet and tapestry was coated in blood. He lost one of his men-at-arms, then another, was wounded himself, and when he finally came upon the scene in the great hall, it was much too late. He was in the upper balconies, where the higher level vassals stood when they petitioned the duke, and there was no way to jump down and no time to descend to the lower level.
Here their stories converged.
Rook watched on from up high, Khelidon from down low, as Hierax pronounced the terms of their father’s arrest—and Rook’s arrest—for a conspiracy to assassinate the Archon. Their father protested his innocence and said what he thought, that this was a coup, that his brother was a fiend, and thus he offered to go willingly. So he put Rook’s mother down and surrendered.
And Hierax drove a sword through his gut. His mother was barely conscious by then, but they slit her throat, too, and it was left only to Khelidon to fight off his uncle and countless armed soldiers.
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“I killed one of them,” Khelidon said. “Sent a sword right through his neck. But another blade found its way down my face, and another sliced open the back of my thigh, and a third was run through my chest.”
“I remember,” Rook said. “I thought…I watched as it happened. Aetos and I—”
“Who is Aetos?” Eris said. She felt a tinge of guilt for interrupting the traumatic scene, yet she needed to know.
“My mentor,” Rook said. “An old knight. We tried to rush downstairs, but we were met with another four men-at-arms, and we couldn’t fight them all. I wanted to stay anyway, but—Aetos made me run with him, back to Crowbrook. But—I wasn’t thinking clearly. I got away from him and ran back as dawn broke. I was certain I was having a nightmare and I would wake up soon. I knew I needed to find you and father, to see if it wasn’t too late. But when I smelled the blood again…when I saw the bodies, after the adrenaline had worn off…I couldn’t do it. I’ve never been more afraid. Not even…” He laughed sadly. “So I ran back to Aetos. There were already knights looking for us. We were assassins, they said. Hierax desperately wanted to capture me. But Aetos had some money, so he put me in a disguise, sent me off on my own for fear we might be recognized together, and had me buy passage to Rytus. The most remote place we could think of.”
So there was the story. After so many years. Eris wondered if it was true. She looked to Khelidon. “That does not explain how you are alive before us today.”
“You weren’t resurrected, were you?” Aletheia said.
“No,” Khelidon said. “I survived. They didn’t notice I was alive for hours. By the time they did they couldn’t agree what to do with me. I don’t remember that day well, but I think one of the Archon’s knights argued that I was just a boy, that I was defending my father, that I surely knew nothing of any plot—and if I did I should stand trial for it.
“Hierax had spent years brewing a scheme with Prince Alexandros. He had support from the other dukes, behind closed doors. But it was still important to keep up appearances—and the Archon himself could never know. So he was afraid of seeming like a butcher, killing off his own nephew. That’s how I was captured. They took me to a healer and managed to keep me alive.”
“And you went to trial?” Rook asked.
“The Archon himself demanded it. And would you possibly believe that I was cleared of all wrong-doing?”
That was a colossal disturbance to Hierax’s plan. The Archon, who was aging and susceptible to manipulation, was still convinced to grant the Korakos ducal title to the brother, for the old duke’s supposed schemes, but the now-cleared youngest boy was to remain second in line to succession, after Hierax’s own son Kirkos. He was to be granted a small portion of land in the city and its outskirts, as any son of a duke would be. He was to remain in society.
“And here I’ve been, for four years,” Khelidon said. “Wondering if my older brother would ever come back.”
“I had to find friends first,” Rook said. “Aetos—”
“I haven’t heard from him,” Khelidon said.
Rook nodded. “You know why I’m here, little brother. You know that Hierax has to die—and I intend to take his place. Like I always should have.”
Khelidon nodded back. “Then you’re in luck,” he said. “I’ve been working on a plan of my own. With you, I think I can do it.”
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The Archon was infirm and comatose. He would die soon and his son would take the throne. Prince Alexandros was a bloodthirsty nepotist who delighted at the torturing of puppies, which did not sound so terrible to Eris but did suggest a flaw in character that would not lead to generous rulership. For the time being, however, he was merely one lord of many, with the true power in the city being held by no one. The lords had been left to run rampant. The law was hardly enforced except on the most local of levels. The vacuum was a perfect opportunity to strike.
“In such an environment, we could walk to Hierax’s front door, slice off his head, present our claim, and find ourselves back in power tomorrow,” Khelidon explained. “The people haven’t forgotten what he did—and they like you, Rook. They loved you. They’ll love you even more with—” he glanced at Eris, “someone like her at your side.”
“So long as she doesn’t say anything,” Aletheia said.
Aletheia was probably right, so Eris added nothing. Khelidon continued, “I’ve been building up my own retinue. I have twenty of my own hetairoi and another forty men-at-arms, more than enough to hold Keep Korakos. But it would be a delicate situation. If Alexandros unites behind us, it wouldn’t matter how dead Hierax and Kirkos were. We’d be next.”
“Compared to the Magisters, these aristocrats do not seem so frightening,” Eris said. “Coat them with flame and they do not fight back.”
“No one has ever doubted the validity of my claim to the throne, or yours,” Rook said. “The question is how to reveal the truth of Hierax and clear my name. With those two steps, we can do what we will to our uncle. Without them—we might as well hang ourselves.”
“That would save the bailiffs some trouble,” Khelidon joked. “But you’re right. I’ve thought of that!” He took a long sip of wine. “Hierax doesn’t trust me, but he doesn’t have good reason to keep me out of his court—at times where I’m expected. He’s holding a ball next month to celebrate his daughter’s wedding. I was planning on using the opportunity to break into the Keep with one of my squires, to break into his vault. But now that I’ve met Eris…I have a much better idea.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I hope it does not involve dancing.”
“Perhaps some. They know Rook—even under a disguise he’d be recognized quickly. But they don’t know you. You are a beautiful—astonishingly, beyond all measure, beautiful woman, who no one would find out of place in court. And you’re a magician. If anyone can break into Keep Korakos, surely it’s you?”
A moment. Aletheia looked up. “How come no one ever asks me?”
Khelidon looked at her. He hesitated. “You are—rather young, and—not exactly who I had in mind, for my…debutant partner.”
She smiled. Rook glared at her as she said, “I just wanted to hear him say it.”
Eris’ imagination was already hard at work picturing the splendor of a ducal ball. The food, the jewelry, the people, and the dress she could wear—did anywhere suit her more? She was utterly entranced at the idea, although she would have preferred to attend such a function with Rook rather than this snake of a man. Khelidon spoke with utter confidence; Eris still was not certain why she disliked him, perhaps it was because he was a cripple, but she found the way he spoke to be false. Rook spoke with utter sincerity, always. That was his charm. It was impossible to resist. Khelidon imitated those charms, but he did not have them himself.
Or perhaps she was imagining things. In truth the two were hard to tell apart.
“And what precisely are you looking for?” she asked. “Perhaps this Hierax has kept detailed, easily authenticatable letters incriminating himself? That would be very convenient.”
“It needn’t be directly related to the conspiracy that killed our parents,” Khelidon replied coolly. “Any nobleman is involved in unsavory behavior, especially a duke. I’d wager a man willing to commit fratricide is up to more than the regular. So long as we find something as bad, or worse, than what he accused our father of—it should be enough.”
“Politics is a dirty business,” Rook said. “That does nothing to clear my name.”
“That’s the more challenging business. You complicate things, brother. Your claim’s better than mine, but you look much guiltier. I’ve been thinking about this all day. I don’t think there’s any way to ‘clear’ your name, except to gather the crowds and protest your innocence.”
“We are vampire slayers,” Eris said. “Does that not draw some crowds?”
“Hey, that’s my thing!” Jason, who had been silently not listening, said. “Find something else to take credit for.”
“Like perhaps rescuing the great vampire slayer from an arena,” Eris suggested. “He could promote your heroism greatly indeed. And ‘twould even be true!”
“…not until you’ve done some of this other stuff first. Maybe then. We’ll talk about it.”
“I’m not sure how you’ve held onto your wealth with such generosity in your heart,” Rook said. “But there is the point of the Seekers to consider. The moment I reveal myself, the Magisters will be after me. And Eris especially. We can’t afford to fight them and the other nobles simultaneously. I need to have control of Korakos the moment I make myself public.”
“More stories I need to hear,” Khelidon said. “But I have come up with an idea. Even as the princelings feud, Alexandros plans to hold the Kathar Tournament at the start of summer. Every nobleman is entitled to fight, or send forth a knight to fight in his place. I haven’t bothered going these last years—I can’t compete anymore because of my leg—but you....you could fight in my place.”
“And fight in armor,” Rook said. “With my helmet on. Never revealing who I was.”
Khelidon nodded. “The winner receives a hundred talents, but moreover—imagine the scene. You meet the Prince. The crowds cheering for Korakos. You shake his hand, and at the last moment you reveal yourself, and say you’ve come back to take what was stolen from you! The people would never forget it, and if we find what we’re looking for when we raid the vault, then we’ll be able to strike.”
Rook was a fool for romance. He collapsed backward in his chair as he imagined the scene. Smiling faintly. “Ever since father first took us and I saw Aetos fight, I wanted nothing more than to win the Kathar Tournament.”
“I know,” Khelidon said. “It would be the perfect bugle for your return.”
“Not to spoil your fun,” Eris said, “but ‘tis more likely you reveal yourself and the Prince has your head removed on the spot.”
“Well,” Rook said. “I’ll just have to make sure I wear a gorget.”
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The rest of the night oscillated between nostalgia, sorrow, excitement, and joy. They were all very drunk by the time they retreated to their chambers, but Eris still had the sense to speak her mind once the door to their room was closed.
“I do not credit him,” she said.
Rook grabbed her and pulled her in for a kiss. “He’s my brother,” he slurred.
“Even so. He did not seem—even incidentally alarmed—when his fancied plan—” Rook was molesting her, which she didn’t mind but that it made it hard to concentrate, “to hoist himself to duke—was all usurped in favor of you. Does that not seem irregular?”
She felt only very slightly impeded when intoxicated, except she was vaguely aware that her choice of vocabulary was bordering on the irregular. Yet only vaguely.
He stared into her eyes. “Of course not,” he whispered. “He’s my brother.”
“I should be vexed you were still quick, were I he. Not anxious to succor you.”
“He’s my brother.” Now he was undressing her. She fought back weakly.
“Also,” she said, “he spent the complete night leering at me like—like—you.”
Rook picked her up and carried her to the bed, where they both lost balance and collapsed. “Everyone leers at you. Especially me. He has good taste. And he’s my brother—Khel—and he’s back!” He kissed her deeply in celebration. A look of sudden sorrow overcame him. “He’s back. He’s alive. I thought—but he’s alive, and I’m going to be duke again, and you’re going to be my duchess. Let’s celebrate!”
He had her pinned down. Normally she enjoyed being pinned down, but although her mind was not altogether functioning in that moment, she still felt the need to protest. “You have been celebrating with wine all night,” she said, and she couldn’t help the goofy laugh that followed her words.
“It’s not every day a man’s brother comes back to life. I think more than wine is called for.”
Eris did not appreciate the implication that it was her role in life to assist him in revelry, nor the reference to any marriage between the two of them, but she decided it was not worth fighting with him today. Tomorrow they could argue, soberly. Today he could have his fun. And she could have hers, too. So she let him have his celebration.