The table clattered, and all eyes in the room turned toward the siblings in alarm. But no one was quite as stunned as Ennieux.

Most certainly not at the revelation that her cad of a nephew had picked up the vice of tobacco—really, was that such a surprise?—but that Renea would react with such intensity. It was abominable behavior, no matter the reason, and even the Saintess deserved admonishment.

When she saw Renea’s eyes, though, she stopped. Her chest tightened.

Just moments prior, they were so wide and happy. Now they were utterly stricken, hollow for reasons that Ennieux couldn’t fathom.

It had taken her many years to read the shades of emotion in her niece’s eyes. She’d always been jealous of their pure blue—the quintessential eum-Creid eyes, just like Celine had, just like her father Aaron had. And she fooled herself into believing Renea had simply inherited their irreproachably noble countenance.

To Ennieux, those blue eyes meant invincibility. So, it took her time to notice when they shallowed or rippled, the subtle proof that even a prodigy loved by God could wear at the seams.

No. Truthfully, it was never subtle at all. For most of Renea’s life, Ennieux had simply chosen not to acknowledge it.

Now Renea’s eyes were terribly bleak, worse than she’d ever seen them before. Her heart ached, as it crossed her mind that she must have looked this miserable just two nights before—Ennieux would never know for sure.

Even after the attack, Ennieux stayed in the lord’s chamber, too frightened to leave. Unable to compose herself, she failed to console her grieving niece. She never caught her before she left the castle, never let her know she was always praying for her safety.

Instead, Ennieux had huddled in her bed, cowering alone.

“I-I’m sorry. I just… want to know why you smelled like smoke, Ailn.” Renea’s voice was steady, even though her eyes were cloudy. Her gaze was firm, save for the way she blinked fast.

Ennieux couldn’t understand it. Here was her brother, alive and well. Was his new vice simply agitating her trauma, reminding her of his mortality?

“Renea, perhaps Ailn inched himself childishly close to the hearth. You saw he had a terrible time with the cold,” Ennieux said. It was a weak defense of someone she had derided all day.

“I know what tobacco smells like, Ennieux,” Renea said softly. “I’m not stupid.”

“Renea eum-Creid, I nev-”

“Please stay out of this.”

“You refuse to even —!”

“Ennieux.” Renea never even looked her way.

“...So be it, then.” Ennieux quieted down.

Gone was her usual glare, so fierce like sun reflected on snow. All she could do was return to her own meal in defiance of her niece’s unconscionable behavior. Why should she let a perfectly good culaïs go to waste? She’d already let it grow cold, wasting breath rebuking Renea.

Suffice to say, Sophie and Sir Kylian had also been shocked speechless by Renea’s behavior, and Sophie looked particularly perplexed by it. But if there was ever a moment to intervene, it had fast passed them by. Their presence in the conversation had been crowded out by the sheer intensity in Renea’s silent demand for answer.

Ailn tousled his hair in frustration. It seemed there wasn’t much to say except the truth. “It’s the smell of tobacco. You’re right.”

“Lady Renea, if I may, His Grace was suffering from cravings that gave him issues of concentration,” Kylian tried to defuse the situation. “Perhaps he has been trying to quit, but wished to have full faculty of mind during dinner today.”

“He’s having… withdrawals?” Renea asked.

“I haven’t heard such a term,” Kylian said, a bit confused, “but if you’re referring to cravings, then yes.”

Renea’s eyes dwindled and shook, even as her rapid blinking continued. “Ailn, when did you start smoking?"

“...I wouldn’t know,” Ailn said. “I lost my memory.”

“Sir Kylian,” Renea demanded. “When and where did Ailn get a pipe?”

“I certainly…” Kylian hesitated. “I wouldn’t know what happened to his previous one. We did retrieve a clay pipe from the quartermaster today.”

Ailn groaned, and smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand.

“Why would you—” Renea trembled. “No…”

“I couldn’t find my old pipe,” Ailn sounded exasperated. “I lost my memory, so I didn’t know where it was. That’s all.”

“Then why would smoking even cross your mind?!” Renea shouted.

The parlor went silent. It seemed like half a minute before Ennieux ventured to say something.

“Renea,” Ennieux said in a weak voice, “can you not forgive your brother this one time? I’ll make sure he never smokes again.”

She could hear the clattering of her knife and fork against her plate; her hands were shaking, no matter how she tried to still them.

Against her better sense, she found herself trying to mend the situation even yet—so why was her tactless and selfish nephew raising his hand to speak with that contentious look in his eye? She wanted to strike him.

“Just to be clear,” Ailn’s tone was as mild as possible, “I don’t intend to stop. Sorry.”

“You —!” Ennieux started.

“Ailn wouldn’t smoke in the first place,” Renea said quietly. She stared at the floor between them, rather than look him in the face.

“...I don’t know what I can say,” Ailn said.

Their conversation made absolutely no sense to Ennieux. And Renea’s next words were largely inaudible:

“... not yours.”

That was all Ennieux could make out. Yet somehow, Ailn seemed to understand her, as he averted his eyes.

In that moment, to Ennieux, Renea’s anguish seemed greater than her anger. And the softness with which she raised her head to look at Ailn, her eyes luminous with tears, were so obviously a pleading look.

“Am I… wrong?” Renea asked.

“Ailn, dear,” Ennieux called him with a term of endearment she hadn’t used since he was a child. She kept the trembling out of her voice. “Please… Whatever it is that pains Renea, won’t you allay her fears?”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Ailn let his gaze meet hers again, and the sight of Renea’s eyes made him flinch. Then, making that obnoxious expression where he clamps his eyes shut as if the sun’s too bright, he gave a tiresome sigh, before finally properly returning her gaze back. “Renea… I—” Ailn stopped himself.

His expression changed to one of utmost seriousness.

“You’re not wrong,” Ailn said. “I’m sorry.”

Renea’s eyes widened. She looked plainly betrayed, and her lips momentarily twisted rather viciously at the corners.

Ailn sighed.

“Renea, we—“ Ailn started.

“Don’t you dare say my name!” Renea shouted.

She pushed him again, and a glass at the back of the table fell to the ground and crashed.

“I don’t want to hear…” Renea trailed off, and while her glare remained, it fell to the ground as if matching her faltering words. Clasping her hands fitfully in front of her, she seemed distressed by her own volatile behavior.

Ailn waited patiently, letting the air calm after she trailed off. Then he started speaking again, weighing each word carefully.

“I’m on your side. We came from the same place,” Ailn said. “We’re kin.”

“...We’re not,” Renea spat bitterly. “We’re nothing. You are… nothing to me.”

The parlor was so silent, Ennieux could hear her heart squeeze. The moderate and apologetic look on her nephew’s face didn’t seem to match his sister’s harsh words. Was this simply how siblings fought? At least, was this how siblings who cared about each other fought?

Trying to glean anything of worth from her relationship with Celine was a futile idea. And her own children… They’d never fought like this. They were always perfectly respectable growing up—too respectable, even.

They were already adults, in practice, yet Ennieux felt like she hardly knew them. On the other hand, she thought she understood Renea, but that had evidently been a sham of a belief.

“Can we talk in private later?” Ailn sighed.

“...No,” Renea said quietly. “Please refrain from speaking to me again.”

Sophie, who knew Renea better than anyone else, couldn’t hold her worry any longer.

“Renea, what’s wrong? Why are you acting like this?” Sophie asked.

But Renea didn’t respond. Eyes downcast, she sluggishly walked back over to her chair. Rather than sit down, however, she pushed it in.

“I’ve acted rudely today,” she said, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’m sorry for that. But I’m going to excuse myself from dinner. Don’t worry about cleaning—I’ll have it taken care of tomorrow.”

“Wha—Renea! Renea eum-Creid!” Ennieux called after her niece. “What is wrong with you today?!”

“Renea, please tell me what’s wrong,” Sophie pleaded, following after Renea as she made her way to the leave.

Renea continued to ignore Sophie and Ennieux. But just as she was about to close the parlor door behind her, Renea stopped to say one last thing.

“‘Ailn’,” she said, seeming to choke on his name for a moment. “Don’t get in my way tomorrow.”

With that, she left, Sophie anxiously following behind, quietly shutting the door. It was just Ailn, Kylian, and Ennieux left in the quiet parlor.

There was obviously little reason to continue the dinner at this point, and Kylian sighed and rose to join the already standing Ailn.

“I’m bewildered by what just happened,” Kylian said with some hesitation. “But I still feel you could have handled that better.”

“Would you have preferred I lied?” Ailn asked.

“...If that was the alternative, I suppose not.” Kylian took a deep breath, and looked terribly exhausted. Then he turned to Ennieux. “Lady Ennieux, we…”

“I’m sorry about that, Ennieux. I really am.” Ailn sounded like he meant it. “We have to prepare for the inquest tomorrow.”

“Go on, then. Just leave.”

She gave no angry outburst. She didn’t move her eyes from her plate, as she kept eating her cold dinner. In fact, if someone were to come into the room right now, unaware of what just happened, she’d look like any other refined noble, dining politely.

“Before the night’s over, I’ll stop by the Great Hall and make sure everything’s alright,” Ailn said. “I mean it, Ennieux.”

“That doesn’t sound wise to me. But since when could I stop you?”

Ailn and Kylian glanced at each other. Then, seeming to think it was best to let her be, they both took their leave, Kylian giving a polite bow as he did so.

When they’d gone, Ennieux finished her dinner in the parlor alone, like she was used to.

----------------------------------------

Aldous’s quarters were not actually in the barracks, but in the keep. Kylian and Ailn made their way through the dimly lit keep, to meet with him one last time before the inquest tomorrow. They wanted to be as certain as possible about their preparations.

“The end of your conversation with Lady Renea seemed rather acrimonious, Your Grace,” Kylian said.

“No kidding,” Ailn sighed. “That’s gonna be an issue.”

That seemed like a profound understatement.

“I’m not certain that I could follow the implications of the quarrel, near its end,” Kylian said cautiously. He was trying to be graceful. “Your speech and hers seemed rather… abbreviated.”

“Let’s just say Renea and I can speak our own language.” Ailn averted his gaze.

“...Despite your amnesia?” Kylian frowned. “Did the ‘intimate’ family atmosphere prod something within your memories?”

It seemed barely plausible. Habits may come to an amnesiac faster than static facts—Ailn had remembered how to use a sword right away, after all. And an intimate, even cryptic way of speaking that only siblings would understand could plausibly be ingrained deeply into someone’s habits.

But that still didn’t feel like it quite described what he’d witnessed.

“Something like that,” Ailn finally said. His curtness, rather than emotional, seemed evasive.

Near the end of the siblings’ exchange, Ailn had asked Renea if they could speak privately. That had stood out to Kylian. Even though it made sense that Ailn might have simply wished for a less chaotic session to apologize properly, for that the two’s behavior seemed slightly inapt.

If Kylian were being completely forthright, it seemed to him that the eum-Creid family may suffer from madness or mania that was inheritable. It wasn’t simply Renea’s shocking swiftness to anger that made him think this. Once she’d turned furious, there was a certain ‘offness’ to her statements that reminded Kylian of Ailn in many ways.

Perhaps the strangest part is how their ailments seemed to exacerbate each other. The more detached Ailn became, the more Renea seemed to come undone—and vice-versa.

Ailn, in the present, addressed Kylian directly and broke him out of his thoughts.

“I can’t explain it,” Ailn said, his words carefully chosen. “But there are just some ways that my sister and I are the only ones who can understand each other.”

“...Is that so?” Kylian asked. “Does that apply to Sophie as well?”

“No,” Ailn said. “It’s just Renea. She’s… a special case.”

Ailn stopped for a moment, turning to Kylian.

“Out of curiosity,” Ailn started, “how far away can my sister heal someone from?”

Kylian also halted in his tracks. He was puzzled at the swerve in topic.

“A fair distance. I don’t know how far exactly. Why?” Kylian asked.

“No reason,” Ailn said. “Just thinking about something. Trying to be less cynical.”

“...Are you? It’s a good change,” Kylian mused, as the both of them began walking again. “Or perhaps not. I’ve pondered many times today if I could stand to be more cynical.”

Kylian thought of all the cases that had slipped away from him, his heart aching as the families of victims mourned without even the solace of the truth.

But how seriously had he ever considered that a husband or wife’s tears could be false? Perhaps the truth was right there, and he’d refused to look it in the face—simply because he wasn’t prepared to handle it.

Renea’s behavior at the end of dinner was more than just strange and startling. Calling it violent would be an unjust hyperbole, but her erraticism certainly didn’t preclude violence.

Rapid swings of temperament were difficult to deal with. Kylian certainly didn’t envy those who put in the care and labor required to attend to loved ones who suffered from temperamental difficulties. However, Renea differed in a greatly specific way from most individuals.

She had the divine blessing. Her holy aura was more powerful than anyone’s in the duchy—perhaps in history.

The control of one’s emotions was pivotal to the use of holy aura. From his experience at the northern wall, Kylian knew that desperation in the heat of battle had saved him many times by magnifying his aura. The context differed, but the feeling could be likened to anger.

The sheer strength of Renea’s holy aura would mean that a rash and passionate act that, in any other case would have meant a black eye, could feasibly kill a man. If she had been in a rage and attacked Ailn on that day, she could have been entirely unaware of how much force she was producing until it was too late.

Kylian grimaced as he pondered the unpleasant topic.

“Something on your mind, Kylian?” Ailn looked at him curiously.

“Your Grace, during the inquest—what do you intend to do tomorrow?” Kylian asked.

“I intend to catch the culprit,” Ailn said. “The truth’ll come out at the inquest. We just need to make sure the net is in place.”

Kylian stayed quiet, simply giving a nod of affirmation as they reached Aldous’s quarters.