The rest of the afternoon went more smoothly, and when he waved to Blair as her carriage crossed the drawbridge, he felt that at least his parents would be happy even if he wasn't. He liked Blair, but it was one more thing on his mind, and he already had plenty to think about.
Once she was gone, he made his way to the north tower. He told one of the men that he wanted to see General Wescott and was directed to a room in a dim hallway. Inside, General Wescott sat at a desk covered in papers while the walls behind him displayed a number of swords gleaming in ornate hilts.
"Ah, your highness!" The general stood up upon seeing him. "Anything I can do for you today?"
"You said a while ago that you had some of Thaddeus's things here?"
"Indeeed I do," General Wescott said. He sat back down and opened one of his desk drawers. "Found these things in his saddlebag. Let's see." He pulled out a shirt Ivan recognized as the one Thaddeus wore for celebrations sometimes thrown after a battle if they were near a town that felt like celebrating. He had one just like it.
Next was a handkerchief with lace around the edges and flowers embroidered on it. General Wescott gave a smirk as he set it down on the shirt. "Thaddeus have a lady friend you knew about?"
Ivan shrugged. "Not any he talked about much. But they were always giving him things like that, in every town we passed through."
Wescott smiled and brought out Thaddeus's dagger. Again, Ivan had a matching one. They had the same royal seal on the hilts, though his had an I inside and Thaddeus had a T.
"His sword's up in the Hall of Arms, of course, but I thought you might want to keep his dagger?"
Ivan gave a quick nod, though he didn't touch the dagger. Looking at these things brought back memories he didn't want. They would never have matching things anymore. They used to joke about how stupid some of it was, but now he was alone. Any clothes, any weapons he had would be made solely for him. And none of this offered an answer for what happened that day on the battlefield.
"And this book." The general held some sort of journal and dusted the cover off with his sleeve. "I gave this to him for his sixteenth birthday. Do you remember?"
When he shook his head, the general gave a short laugh. "I almost didn't either. When we found it in his saddlebag, I could hardly believe it. I never thought he'd keep it so long. Thought he'd leave it behind at our next battle site, but I gave it to him anyway. I thought it might be good for him."
"Why?" Ivan asked. Now that he thought about it, he did have a vague memory of Thaddeus complaining about the gift—that they'd had plenty of tutors, and he didn't need to practice his writing anymore. "You didn't give me one, did you?"
Wescott shook his head. "No. I'm sure I gave you something much more typical for a teenage boy. But I thought it would be good for Thaddeus to have some outlet for his thoughts. Force him to actually think for a moment."
"Did he actually write in it? Have you read it?" Ivan asked, glancing down at the leather cover. He wanted to grab it out of the generals' hands and skim the pages, but a part of him was afraid of what he'd find there.
"It's written in, but I didn't read it, no. I thought if anyone reads it, you should be the one."
He held it out, and Ivan took it, trying to disguise how much his hands were shaking. He ran his fingers over the leather cover and then clamped it in one hand. He wouldn't read it here. He needed to be alone.
General Wescott gave a kindly smile when he looked back up. "Ivan, I never tried to talk to you about what happened. I didn't want to force you to relive it. But if you ever want to talk to someone, I think I knew him better than most."
Ivan glanced at the journal and forced a laugh. "Are you sure about that? You did give him a journal as a birthday present."
The general smiled. "Well, he knew his battle tactics. I thought he could use an education in something a bit more contemplative."
"He'd make a better king than me," Ivan said. The words came out in a rush. He didn't mean to take General Wescott up on his offer. If he started talking about Thaddeus, it would be easy to let too much slip out, but the thought seemed to bubble from his mouth before he could stop it.
Wescott looked surprised but quickly settled into a thoughtful expression. "Don't think that," he said at last. "You boys were very different from each other, but neither of you were better than the other."
Ivan felt his jaw twitching. That seemed like an easy answer. General Wescott had watched him and Thaddeus grow up on the battlefield. He knew what they both were like, and Ivan wanted the truth.
"I'm not good at speaking, or doing anything decisively, like he did. Everyone knows it. They said so at the riot—and I know what the lords say about me at meetings."
"Then you should stop listening," Wescott said. "Ivan, Thaddeus was good at fighting in a way you weren't. He was ambitious, and when he wanted something he would find a way to get it. Some would say that is a good quality in a king, and it is. But he could also be very single minded. He didn't think through plans or consider how they would affect those around him. To be honest, I gave him that journal because I was worried about him."
"Worried—why?"
"It doesn't matter now," Wescott said. "It was foolish of me, perhaps, but he'd mentioned in training a few times that he was jealous of you. That after the war, you would be the admired crown prince and he would fade into the background. I told him that wouldn't happen, but I don't think he believed me."
"So—you thought—"
"I don't know what I thought. But I knew he wasn't likely to tell you all that, and I thought he should have some place for those thoughts, so I gave him a journal."
Ivan looked down again at the book in his hands, burning to know what was inside.
"Whatever you find in there, he loved you," Wescott said after a moment. "Anyone could see that. And he wouldn't want you to waste your time thinking he'd be the better crown prince."
Ivan hesitated. He wasn't sure if he believed that. He remembered Thaddeus's dying moments, but there hadn't been any clue as to what his brother was really thinking. Only the words he said. That he was sorry, but he should have been born first.
"And Ivan, you're not the only one who has ever had people saying rubbish about them. Ask your father sometime."
He looked up, momentarily stunned. "But he's good at everything."
The general smiled. "Not everyone thought so. He was young when your grandfather died, only your age. People didn't think he'd hold onto the throne. I don't remember it well myself, but I've heard him talk about it. There were riots then, and worse. People who wanted him dead. It was a rocky time, but he got through it. You will too."
Ivan nodded slowly. He'd never heard about this. His father always seemed like the perfect king.
"I suppose dinner will be starting soon," General Wescott said. "You should be getting back. Your parents will want to hear about your afternoon, I'm sure."
"Right," Ivan said. He left the room with Thaddeus's things, feeling that he'd just been given an overwhelming amount of information.
At dinner, he considered asking about what General Wescott said but was instead accosted by his mother's questions about Lady Blair. She wanted to know where they went, what they talked about, if he'd enjoyed himself.
"I don't remember everything we said, Mother!" he erupted finally.
Her eyebrows raised as she took a sip of wine and placed the cup back on the table.
"There's no need to shout about it," she said. Her voice was quiet in a way that made it clear he'd offended her. "I was only asking a question. Your engagement ball will be here before you know it, and I want to make sure you choose the right woman."
He sighed and glanced across the table where Rafe was staring into his own wine goblet. His hair, which seemed more unkempt than usual these days, had fallen into his eyes, hiding his expression.
"It's still two months away," Ivan said finally. "Almost. I'm sorry for shouting." He glanced at his father next to Rafe who was watching him attentively. He couldn't tell them that he just wanted this dinner to be over so he could go read Thaddeus's journal. They might ask to see it, and if it did mention anything about Thaddeus wanting to kill him, telling his parents would complicate things.
"Of course there's a lot going on," his father said. "It's understandable to be a bit tense, but your marriage is as important as the rest of it. It will hopefully endure much longer than the politics of the moment."
Before Ivan could respond, Rafe spoke.
"It's difficult to think of anything else when the country is in such turmoil, though. Those riots in the west still haven't quieted down, have they?"
This launched into another discussion of all that was going on in the country, but rather than pay much attention, Ivan watched Rafe. This was the second time in one day he'd heard Rafe talk about politics.
This morning when they met, Rafe talked about the riots, how unhappy people seemed across the country, how peace seemed unlikely to last with people so restless. When Ivan said little, Rafe returned to what he said on Ivan's birthday about how things could be if they conquered Aschare.
"Maybe it would be worth it to go back to war, to keep the people happy."
Ivan crossed his arms over his chest. "Rafe, do you remember the war? Nothing is worth that."
Still Rafe didn't give up. When Ivan finally cut the conversation short saying he had to make sure everything was ready to go riding with Blair, Rafe's mouth hung open like he'd been about to speak and suddenly forgot everything he was going to say.
"You're going riding, with Blair?"
Ivan nodded. "Still looking for a wife," he said grimly. "You'd think with everything else, my parents wouldn't be so intent on my getting married."
"Have you decided on her?" Rafe asked.
He shrugged. "Not definitely, but I don't know who else. We'll see how it goes." He paused at Rafe's blank expression. "You are all right with it, still?"
Rafe seemed to forcefully pull himself out of a reverie. "Yes—yes, of course. Ivan, before you go—I know you don't want to go back to war, and I don't either, but it's just…" he paused and looked around searchingly, "I've heard things. About Ascharan spies and things. If they did anything aggressive, you'd fight them again, wouldn't you?"
Ivan blinked a few times. "I suppose so. But I don't think they will. We both agreed on the peace treaty." He left Rafe looking unconvinced and hoped he would hear no more about it, but now Rafe was bringing up the same matters with his father.
When the meal finally finished, he excused himself from joining them to continue the discussion, claiming that riding had worn him out.
When he reached his room, he shut the door behind him and looked at the journal on his bed. He was almost afraid to touch it. What was written on those pages could change everything. It might say if Thaddeus was working with anyone and what their plans were afterward, and if it did, he might have to tell his parents.
But more than that, it held words his brother wrote—an extra set of last words. Thaddeus died unexpectedly, but now he had one more chance to hear from him. The last chance he'd ever have.
Something about the thought terrified him, and he didn't want to read it alone. He went back into the hallway and looked up and down, hoping to see Madeleine, but she wasn't there. He hesitated, not wanting to look for her in the servant's quarters. That would attract too much attention, and he didn't even know if she'd be there. When he was about to turn back into his room, a door down the hall opened and she came out.
"Madeleine!"
She looked startled, then slowly came towards him.
"Do you have any work to be doing right now?"
"No, not until your parents come up for bed. Why?"
"I went to get Thaddeus's things from General Wescott, and—well, come inside."
He didn't want to talk in the open where anyone could overhear them. Once they were in his room, he told her everything about his conversation with the general. When he was finished, she looked at the journal curiously.
"Have you read any of it?"
He shook his head. "I haven't had time until now."
"I suppose I should leave you to it then," she said, starting toward the door.
"Wait, Madeleine! I was hoping you would stay. Thaddeus—I—" His mind grappled for words. It sounded stupid to say he was scared of what was written in some book, but he just didn't want to read it by himself.
"I don't have a lot of time," Madeleine said, crossing her arms. She seemed impatient but kept glancing down at the journal.
"You have some time," he argued. "My parents won't be up for a while. Rafe started talking about politics. Madeleine—what if Thaddeus always hated me?"
She looked him in the eyes, and her gaze seemed to soften. "I doubt that," she said. She uncrossed her arms and sat on the edge of his bed, picking up the journal. He sat beside her as she opened the leather cover to the first page. It was inscribed with large black letters:
"THE EXTRAORDINARY LIFE OF THADDEUS LEOPOLD NICHOLAS GLORODELLI: THE YOUNGEST PRINCE, ESTEEMED SOLDIER, AND ADMIRABLE GENTLEMAN OF WYNDL. AS TOLD BY HIMSELF."
Ivan couldn't help but give a short laugh as he read the title, and Madeleine glanced at him.
"Didn't think much of himself, did he?" she said.
"It's just like him to make a title like that," Ivan said, and she turned the page. It was filled with Thaddeus's handwriting from top to bottom on both sides. His throat tightened. Madeleine took one glance at his face and started to read out loud.
"General Wescott gave me this book for my birthday. I thought we were friends, but this is not the sort of birthday present I would give to a friend. He said to me, 'It's somewhere to put your thoughts,' and I said, 'I'd rather keep them in my head, thank you,' and he said that I could stand to do a bit more thinking. 'Be more than a soldier,' he said. Well, as you can see from the title of this book, I am much more than a soldier. While I am quite the esteemed warrior, I am also a youngest prince and admirable gentleman. Handsome too, I might add.
"I notice that the general didn't give Ivan one of these books. I suppose that is because Ivan is widely regarded as the intellectual twin. Right now he is reading a book, by the flickering light of the fire, his brow slightly arched as he contemplates the deep truths of life. I threw a rock at him. He seemed a bit irritated, but he needed to be reminded that we have more important things to do. We are conveniently located by the river and I think a moonlight birthday swim is in order. After all, we are men now."
Madeleine looked at him as she finished reading.
"I remember that," he said. "We always went off and did something reckless on our birthday. It was a tradition. Just the two of us, after everyone else was asleep."
Madeleine smiled. "Shall I read on?"
He nodded, and she turned the page again.
"Still my birthday but the middle of the night now. Ivan is sleeping. I wish he wasn't. The moonlight swim was brilliant, like most of my ideas, and then we had a deep, brotherly discussion. The sort only twins can. I think I understand why Wescott gave me this book now. We were talking about the war, and if it's ever going to end, and Ivan said he hopes so because it was exciting when we first got to fight but he's tired of it now, and he hates it, and I kept thinking I'm not. I like war. I hope no one ever reads this. You're not supposed to like war, are you? But I do. I'm good at war. I don't know if I'm good at anything else, and even if I am, it won't matter. Ivan's the crown prince. He'll learn how to be king, and what will I do? Nothing.
"Wescott told me to be more than a soldier, but I don't know if I am anything more. War is all I've ever done, and it's all I want. Ivan wants to go home, but I feel like this is home. I could spend my whole life at war. But what we're doing is killing people. What does that make me if that's all I want? Some kind of murderer? I wish Ivan would wake up. Though I don't know if I'd tell him this if he did. He wouldn't understand."
"That's the end of that one," Madeleine said as she finished reading.
Ivan pursed his lips together. "I wish I would've woken up," he said. "I understand him. Maybe I wouldn't have then, but now…"
Madeleine turned the page again and they found a rough sketch of a horse with the caption: "GUSTO, THE FINEST STEED IN THE WEST."
He smiled again. "He loved that horse. Read the next entry?"
She nodded and turned the page. Her eyes scanned the page before reading and a smile curved on her lips.
"The Ascharans are miles away in the mountain passes, and it is raining. So much that after two mudslides, we thought we'd give marching a rest. Wise decision, I'd say. Ivan and I are sitting in our leaking tent, and he is once again reading a book. I told him his pages would get wet, but he didn't seem to care. Now his pages are not getting wet, which is a great disappointment to me. However, I informed him that while he is stuck in the mundane stage of reading books, I have moved to the higher art of writing books. This, of course, is the book. And an excellent book it is."
Madeleine laughed as her voice broke off at the end. "Was he always like this?"
Ivan nodded. "He was always making jokes and putting on airs like he knew everything. But he wasn't arrogant. He was just playing at it. He made everyone laugh. And he always wanted me to put down my books and do something with him."
They sat in silence a few moments before they heard footsteps in the hallway.
"I should go," Madeleine said, standing up and handing him the journal. "Do you want me to come back when I'm done for the night, or do you want to read the rest on your own?"
He looked down at the leather binding in his fingers. Every word sounded just like the Thaddeus he knew.
"I'll be all right. "I'll tell you what it says tomorrow."
She nodded. "Goodnight then."
"Goodnight." He listened to the sound of her footsteps down the hallway before turning back to the journal.
He read late into the night, every page jolting another memory from thoughts he'd tried to lock away. He remembered what it was like to share everything with Thaddeus, living in the same tent, fighting battles side by side. He'd felt like they always knew exactly what the other one was thinking.
Now he saw there were secrets too. He never realized how much anxiety Thaddeus had for what would come after the war. It seemed to grow with every page. Some moments made more sense now—the time Thaddeus punched him in the jaw after he complained about an extra meeting he had to sit in on as crown prince.
"Sometimes I think he doesn't even want to be crown prince," Thaddeus wrote. "Doesn't he understand? It means he's going to have a future after the war. He's going to learn to do something other than fight."
Near the middle of the book, four pages were ripped out. Ivan fingered the remaining edges before looking at the next page.
" 'Ambition is the most important quality in a man of power,' A says. I think he thinks I'm more ambitious than I am. I'm not sure about all his ideas. But if J is in on it, I suppose it has to be all right?"
Ivan sat up straighter and read these words twice before turning to the next page, which had a similar short anecdote which also referred to people by initials.
"A says I'm the only one in my family who can make a decision without contemplating for days. I thought that seemed harsh, but then I asked both Ivan and my father if they had to choose between killing me and winning the war or saving me and losing, which would they choose? Neither of them gave a straight answer. But you'd have to win the war, wouldn't you? There are always going to be casualties."
The entry sent a chill down Ivan's spine. He remembered thinking it was a strange question when Thaddeus asked, but Thaddeus's own unflinching answer seemed stranger still. Was that what Thaddeus considered him—a casualty in his own war for the crown?
As he read on, it became clear that Thaddeus had a new group of friends. This A person was spoken of frequently, as well as J and a mix of other initials, though everything about them and their plans was vague and brushed over. There were a few retellings of escapades that Ivan was involved in, but they grew fewer and fewer. Instead every entry Thaddeus wrote seemed infused with secrets and a panicked determination to justify himself.
"Ivan's asleep, and I can't stop thinking," Thaddeus wrote in an entry dated six months before the end of the war. "I believe in A's plan, but I don't see why he couldn't have told Father. Or even just Ivan. I volunteered to tell him everything because I knew what was coming otherwise, but A just said 'Do you want to be in your brother's shadow forever?' and I don't, but I still don't know."
The next page had a series of statements written with large letters, each on their own lines.
"I'm a better soldier.
I'm more decisive.
I can make hard decisions.
I can give better speeches.
I have more ambition.
I should have been born first. I should have been born first. I should have been born first."
Then in much smaller writing at the bottom of the page, "Hell, I don't think I believe it."
Ivan turned slowly to the next entry. This one had skipped several months and was dated one day before the final battle. He set the book down on his bed to stop his hands from shaking as he read.
"They say tomorrow will end the war. We won't lose. Aschare will throw up a white flag and invite us to the king's palace to work out a treaty. I know what I have to do. A isn't here, but I know J will be watching. My life isn't going to come to a halt after the war like I always thought. But I'm scared. I can hear Ivan breathing next to me." The next two sentences were crossed out, but Ivan could read what they said, "He's a fool. He wouldn't make a good king." But Thaddeus continued with, "He's my brother. I hope an Ascharan gets to him first."
Ivan flipped through the remaining pages of the book, but they were all the same blank white. He closed the journal and watched tears he could barely feel drop onto the cover. He wanted more, but he already knew how the story ended. The next day Thaddeus would try to kill him, but for all his talk of being the better soldier, Ivan would be the first to kill.
He felt a fresh pang of guilt because Thaddeus clearly thought and agonized his choice for a long time, whereas he killed his brother with hardly a thought. And Thaddeus always was the better soldier—what if he changed his mind on the battlefield, and that was the only reason Ivan had been able to kill him?
It just wasn't fair to leave it like that. None of Thaddeus's thoughts or the initialed characters he rubbed elbows with gave an explanation. None of it told him why his twin brother decided it was worth it to kill him.
He picked up the book and a part of him wanted to throw it into the fire, to watch the pages curl and burn to ash. Instead he opened it to the first page and read again the curving script of the title: "THE EXTRAORDINARY LIFE OF THADDEUS LEOPOLD NICHOLAS GLORODELLI: THE YOUNGEST PRINCE, ESTEEMED SOLDIER, AND ADMIRABLE GENTLEMAN OF WYNDL. AS TOLD BY HIMSELF."
More tears fell and smudged the letters. He snapped the cover shut before anything else could damage his brother's handwriting. With shaky legs, he stood and set the book on his desk, looking out the window. The first gray light of dawn was visible on the horizon. It blurred and came back into focus as he blinked tears away. He pulled off his clothes and blew out the candles that had burned almost to their ends. Then he slid beneath the blankets on his bed. In the dark, a new determination burned in his mind. He would find who Thaddeus was working with, and he would make sure nothing like this ever happened again.
Yay, I've been waiting so long for you all to meet Thaddeus. Well, sort of meet him. He is one of my favorites. It's really too bad I killed him in the first chapter.
Reviews would make me happy, friends.