WILHAM

—RULE NUMBER ONE: NEVER SHOW EMOTIONS

Wilham remembers his father scrawling the rules down on a piece of paper, and with a handful of tape, he stuck it on their wall. It was ten measly sentences, and they were made to chant it like a hymn. If you didn’t, your thumb was chopped off.

His childhood was never normal.

( He is glad that being a faerie grants you healing. )

Wilham deserves to have his thumb chopped off now. As he blinks at his younger brother, the ghost of his past, the one person he always gave a second thought looks so angry at him, he almost flinches.

( It is no use, however, to restrain because he knows that the emotion is strong in his eyes. He feels the tears well up, and he can hear his father shouting at him. )

“No emotions!” And the knife slit through the flesh.

Screaming into the pillow. Smearing the blood in the wall.

He shudders, and he forces himself to meet Jace’s eyes. The latter reaches for his gun.

“Look—Jase,” he feels Novus crumple behind him. Great. Vanya picks Novus up, and slings him over her shoulder.

“What?” Jase snaps, the fire burning in his eyes. Wilham studies it, and he remembers how it feels to be burnt by human rage. He blinks, and he recovers his composure.

“Don’t start a fight with me.” Wilham warns him softly. He casually rolls up his sleeves.

“Oh, I will.” Jace spits. “Is this what you’ve been doing since you ran away? Playing the criminal?”

Wilham resists the urge to slap some sense into his brother. “You don’t understand.”

“When will I understand, Wilham? When will you let me in on your secrets?” He gestures at Ravka. “Who’s she? Your latest fling?”

Ravka’s cheeks flush, and she lunges at Jace with a snarl. Wilham intercepts her, throwing a punch at his brother’s face. Jase blocks it with his arm, and glares at him with hatred. Wilham sees himself reflected in his eyes, and feels a surge of guilt.

“You traitor.” Jase hisses.

Wilham doesn’t hesitate. He knows what he has to do. He slams his fist into Jase’s jaw, and follows with a kick to his stomach. Jase grunts and falls to the ground, clutching his ribs. Wilham hopes he’ll stay down for a few seconds. Plan B would be—

“You’re not my brother. You’re a monster.” Jase spits out, blood dripping from his mouth. The blood. The crimson liquid splatters to the ground, and it takes him back to that night.

Blood on the walls. The blast. The ruins.

Wilham looks away and freezes. “What?” He whispers, not paying attention.

He can’t look at Jase. He can’t look at the blood. The crimson liquid splatters to the ground, and it burns his eyes like acid. He feels a surge of nausea and bile rising in his throat. His heart pounds in his chest, and his breath comes in short gasps. He wants to scream, to run, to hide. He wants to forget.

He clutches his head, trying to block out the memories. The memories that haunt him every night. The memories that make him wish he was dead.

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You are a monster.

“You. Are. A. Mons—” Jase tries to say, but Ravka cuts him off with a punch to his face. She shoves him hard in the stomach, making him gasp for air.

“Shut up!” She grits out, breathing heavily.

Jase throws himself at Wilham, tackling him to the ground. Wilham forcefully tries to pin him, but all he can think is about the words, and the blood that stains Jase’s shirt. He panics.

Get it out, get it out, get it out.

Jase punches him more, but Wilham doesn’t care. He is just getting bruised, there is no blood. But the red substance on Jase’s shirt, dripping down his nose.

He frantically backs away, crouching and terrified. He ought to show more courage, but all he can think about is that night. It’s been years, but he still remembers the sounds, the smell, the weather…he can never truly escape. That night is simply too alive and too fresh in his mind.

Ravka steps forward, clasping a hunting knife. She plunges it through Jase’s soaked sweat in his arm.

You are a monster.

Is that a lie? It feels like the truth.

Wilham snaps out of his shock. He looks at Jase, lying on the floor and he gets up. Ravka stabbed him. He looks away, forcing himself not to look at the body. Blood. Blood is bad.

“You are a monster.” Jase says one last time, as he clutches the stab wound. He is immobile, and has clearly given up.

Wilham has time to prepare. He smiles, not sparing a glance at Jase, afraid of what he will see.

“Thank you.”

And they run.

**

"Who is he?" Ravka asks him, holding his hand as they stumble through the dark alleys. She can hear the footsteps of their pursuers behind them, getting closer.

Wilham glances at her, his face tense. "You already know who that is."

She shakes her head. "You never told me you had a brother."

He shrugs. "You never asked me."

They turn a corner and find a dead end. She curses under her breath and he merely raises an eyebrow in mock. Silence fills the air, and she speaks again.

"Would you have told me if I had asked?"

He looks at her, his eyes cold. "No," he says truthfully.

Uncomfortably, Ravka hangs back to talk to Vanya. He listens to Vanya’s grumbling about how heavy Novus is in one ear, but a whole other story goes through his head.

You traitor.

Wilham suppresses the urge to laugh. He has betrayed his family the same amount of times he has lost his index finger.

( None. He could never dream of doing that. )

He takes up his old chant, and it rings through his head: There is always a reason. There is always a reason. There is always a reason.

His father taught him this. He was in a good mood that day, throwing Jase into the air and catching him again. It was easy to identify what mood he was in. On bad days, he didn’t catch Jase.

And now this bunch of repeated words means something to Wilham. There is a reason why he is with Ravka. There is a reason he was in the arena. There is a reason why he doesn’t ever offend his family.

The shuffle of footsteps stops.

The cottage looks like it has been abandoned for years. The roof sags and is covered with moss and lichen. The walls are cracked and stained with mold and dirt. The windows are broken and boarded up with planks of wood. The door hangs from its hinges, barely holding on.

The cottage has once been a cosy and charming place, but now it is a sad and lonely ruin. It looks like no one has lived there for a long time, or ever will again.

Ravka steps forward to the door and pushes it open.

“What are you doing?” Vanya asks. “This cottage won’t house us, it’s practically falling apart.”

Ravka shushes her, and points an accusing finger. "Anything is better than nothing." Her knuckes are red, Wilham observes. She has clearly put lots of effort into the punch.

Weak knuckles," he had told her, tapping his fingers on the table. "It will be your downfall."

She laughed, a mocking sound that echoed in the dimly lit room. "Please. You have a weak heart."

He frowned, his eyes narrowing. "My heart works just fine."

"I'm sure it does, Kane," she sighed, leaning back in her chair. "But sometimes I wonder if you have a heart at all.”

He wonders if she still thinks that way.