It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)
Episode 17: Alternative
By Sulia Serafine
[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.
E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw.
Note: I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.
Rating of this episode: PG-13 for adventuring, the usual tiny amount of cursing, and more surprise than our characters would like…
*IN RESPONSE TO LAST EPISODE: Everyone continues to ask me about the dragon hunting Shinko, but not Joren—despite the yet-to-be-proved consensus that Joren is, in fact, Enishi's son. According to you observant readers, that should have made Joren the first to be killed by the dragon, right? Well! That's for me to know and you to find out…many episodes later. Well, if one would piece together certain occurrences throughout Joren's entire life and draw several explanations, the right one is bound to be there. At least, I hope so… eek. Stick with the story! The truth shall eventually be revealed! (And I meant that in a *so* non X-files way.)
P.S. Kudos to whoever made the red monkey/ Cleon connection! I thought no one was going to get that!
~~
"You're awake!" Kel exclaimed the next morning. She set down the bowl and washcloth she had been carrying and ran the rest of the way to his side. "How do you feel?"
Faleron smiled at her weakly. "Could be worse." He grimaced. "I'm going to assume that I have no dignity since my clothes are gone. So, with shame removed from the equation, would you mind helping me with the bedpan?"
She blushed inwardly as she picked up the medieval equivalent of a hospital chamber pot and slid it under the sheets into position. Out of politeness, she averted her eyes until he was done. Then she took the pan again and set it on the floor.
"Are you hungry?" Keladry touched her forehead. "You're still very warm. You must feel awful."
"Oh, but there are levels lower than awful, I assure you. And I'm somewhere near the bottom." He tried not to groan when he shifted around. "I am hungry, though. I'm surprised I'm still alive to feel hunger."
The rest was left unspoken. They both knew that he could have died very easily. If the cross bolt had been a few inches higher or lower, it could have meant the end of Faleron King. Now he was awake, having many stitches and bandages across his wound. The pain-killing herbs that he had been provided with were not as effective as he'd liked them to be, but it was better than nothing. Just the same, Faleron could tell that there was something else wrong with him—not the wound on his ribs. Something far more deadly.
He sensed it like an itch in the back of his mind. The feverish dreams were still fresh in his memory. If only those had been just that—dreams. Something was terribly wrong with him and he was afraid to ask Keladry to confirm his suspicions.
Instead, he slowly reached for her hand and squeezed it. When she turned away guiltily, he knew that he had nothing to suspect anymore. It was true. Whatever else had happened to him, it was horrible and there was nothing that they could do about it.
"I'll get you something to eat. They'll probably have me escorted," Keladry whispered, "but I need to make sure your food isn't tampered with." She pushed away from the bed and reluctantly ambled toward the door. She touched the doorknob and glanced over her shoulder. "Are you sure you'll be okay here?"
The former thief nodded. He waited patiently for the door to close after her. When she was gone, he let out a deep shuddering breath. He couldn't believe how much pain he was in. It hurt just to breathe. It didn't help that he was still feeling slightly feverish. He wanted to dunk his head in cold water, but knowing what little strength he had, he would probably end up drowning himself.
He had to admit that he was partially hungry. The cramps of pain he was receiving from his abdomen, though, informed him that he wouldn't be able to hold down any solid foods. It would probably be the best course of action to keep a vomit bucket near the bed.
Think of something else, he commanded himself, forcing his current physical ailments aside. The last thing he could remember clearly was Maggur insisting that Cleon go on his quest for the dragon alone. Cleon had been so sure that he couldn't accomplish what was being asked of him without help, so Keladry had convinced him that she and Faleron would go with him.
He'd seen the cross bolt coming.
As soon as he knew what was going to happen, he realized that he didn't have any choices. Faleron had become so familiar with seeing all the possible choices and picking the right ones that he felt incredibly cheated when he knew he couldn't find a good solution. He did not have the right reflexes to dodge. And if he did, the bolt might have struck his friends.
He'd known in those infinite moments before the pain that he was probably going to die. And despite having a clear view of all the possibilities, there were still none available to him. It was luxury that he was not allowed to have. So many answers, but only one outcome: Faleron had to die.
Why am I still here?
It was not an unfamiliar feeling—being used for higher motives by someone he didn't know. The courts of Scanra had definitely meant to use him as a scapegoat for the tragic murder of a suburban family and their burglar. Yes. There was a perfectly good reason he was still alive. Someone meant to use him against his friends, and apparently, it had worked. Cleon was nowhere in sight. Keladry acted as if it were all her fault. They were all being used.
The burning pain across his ribs caused him to half-expect flames shooting up from his body. When all he saw was a mass of white bandages, he calmed down, but not before imagining actual tongues of yellow and orange consuming his body. He sloppily wiped the sweat off his brow and relaxed his head back against the pillows. There was nothing else to do to wait. Wait for what? A temporary solution in primitive medicine? Impassive healers? The news that Cleon had gotten himself killed while fulfilling his damned destiny? Or, perhaps… the only thing left to wait for was death.
He turned his head carefully so he could stare at a point in space beside him. In his mind, he began constructing a picture of what the Grim Reaper would look like. Soft black rustling cloth like liquid shadow, much like the court advisors had worn. A long cowl pulled over a skull. Skeletal fingers curled around a tall staff, topped with a razor sharp scythe.
Having an imagination is a dangerous thing, he mused to himself as he closed his eyes and decided to doze while waiting for Keladry.
When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw nearly made his heart stop.
"I see," Selirithel said, pulling his hood back slightly so he could gaze down at Faleron better. He bent down and retrieved a bag with Keladry's belongings in it.
Meanwhile, the injured young man was trying very hard not to have a heart attack. He gulped. This was Death he was staring at. His nightmares had come true. All at once, Faleron tried to collect himself and remain dignified. His last minutes on earth wouldn't be cowardly. "You're… You've come for me, haven't you?"
The stranger picked up a gold chain with an opal attached to it from the bag and swung it slowly in front of Faleron's face. "I always come for those who have this."
"And I have it," Faleron whispered.
"It is strange," Selirithel sighed. "I came back this morning because I believe I had given this to Joren Stone. Yet, it is in your possession instead of his."
Faleron recalled the many times Keladry had confided to him about Joren. She had reluctantly recounted the occasions the blond had nearly been killed by various forces in the world. Yes, Death should have come for Joren long before it had come for him. Even the Reaper himself was confused.
The sorcerer, on the other hand, had no idea of the thoughts swirling around Faleron's head. Sensing that the opal was still in the castle, he'd had no idea who was now holding it, if not Joren. He and Borealize had rescued the four Mithran hostages and taken them out of the Black City, but when Selirithel had sensed one of his opals left behind, he had decided to go back for it.
"You are too injured to move and I have not the right materials with me to help you," Selirithel thought aloud. After a moment's hesitation, he snapped off the opal from the chain and whispered an incantation. Faleron could barely hear anything, but he could see that the opal was turning red, then black. When he was finished, Selirithel put it in Faleron's palm and closed the former thief's fingers around it.
"What is it?"
"You can swallow it. It is better that you die earlier, rather than feel the pain that will mark your last hours. It will be agony, and this alternative… it is humane," Selirithel finished. The sorcerer rested his fingertips on Faleron's forehead, feeling the sickly warmth radiating from him. "Now is not your time, but you will know when. You will know."
Faleron nodded slowly. "Thank you."
The stranger's fingers brushed over Faleron's eyelids, urging him to close them. Faleron did so, and remained silent while his personal messenger of death left the room. Tears welled up in his eyes and he tried to banish them before Kel returned.
This was the answer, wasn't it? For as long as Faleron could remember, he considered himself gifted with the ability to evaluate any situation within the blink of an eye and pick the best solution. So, here was his dilemma. And here was his answer. Not like before, with the cross bolt, where he could only wait for the inevitable to happen. No. Not like that act that had caused him to lie in bed dying. Here was a new choice.
He squeezed the black opal in his hand until his knuckles became white.
Alternative. Yes. It's my choice now.
~~
Keladry walked back from the kitchens with a guard in tow. She resented the constant presence of people she did not trust, but there was no helping that. Faleron needed her. And Joren needed her to be there for Faleron. Someone always needed her and Keladry honestly didn't know how much she could take.
Nearing the corridor that led to the infirmary, she suddenly stopped when a man in black robes turned the corner. She could hear the jingle of a golden chain on his wrist, identical to the one that Joren had given to her.
But for some reason, she thought to herself that there was no man there. The guard halted as well, the same slight perplexity on his face. They both saw the man walk toward them, but they did not believe he was there. They forgot him as soon as he was out of their range of vision.
Selirithel looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse at Keladry. She had almost broken through his spell. He had cast a spell identical to the one he used when he and Borealize entered the hostage's room. No one would see him because he wished for it, not because they couldn't physically see him. They did, but they refused to believe in it. But he could feel her will tugging at the foundations of the magic he had set.
What a strong mind that one has, he thought.
Keladry and the guard began their journey back to the infirmary again. The remaining sentries hailed their comrade and cast Keladry dirty looks. She glared at them all and slipped into the room with the bundle of food in her arms.
"The hostages are gone—not Inness and Conal, the rest of them. The guards are accusing me of helping them, but how could I have? I've been here with you and they know it," she said as she began laying items out on the small bedside table. She noticed the moisture at the corner of her friend's eyes. "Fal?"
"I'm fine. Now, what were you saying?" he asked, blinking his eyes open.
"The hostages with the exception of my brothers, they're okay," she said quietly, still eying him anxiously. "Joren, Neal, and some other guys they brought with them—they came to free us. Then Joren and Neal went to help Cleon."
"Oh, good. Cleon has help." Faleron felt much better after hearing that statement. He coughed. "So Joren and Neal are okay. That's a definite relief, too."
She sat down on the edge of the bed and felt for his temperature again, touching his forehead, cheeks, and neck with the back of her hand. A flash of disappointment appeared in her eyes. She went back to preparing his food. While she cut up the bread into thin slices, she talked. "I've been trying to formulate a plan to search Maggur's chambers and find—" she stopped short. "Find what we need. Joren said that he met people who could help so we wouldn't have to get… what we need from Maggur."
Faleron frowned at her. "It's okay, you know. You can say it. What is it that I need? Anti-virus, magical charm, or perhaps divine intervention?"
Keladry felt the urge to smirk, but didn't. "No. Just a simple little antidote."
"Well then, there you go. A measly antidote. I trust Stone to pull through with help. But if it makes you feel better, plot and scheme all you like to steal this antidote from the chamberlain." He reached over and patted her hand. "I'll be fine. "
She watched in silence as he slowly ate the food she prepared. He managed to hold down most of it, though at the end, he was vomiting up the last few things he had swallowed. Keladry bade him to drink plenty of water, and arranged a pitcher and cup at his bedside table.
"Geh. I feel like I'm in a permanent hangover," Faleron groaned. He chuckled lightly, but stopped when he realized that Keladry's eyes were becoming moist with tears. Distressed—he had never ever imagined that Kel would cry in front of him—he tugged her arm and pulled her to lie down beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. More stabs of pain accompanied his movement, but he forced it out of his mind and chose to focus on his friend beside him.
After all this time of being restrained and reserved by her own sense of pride and duty, Keladry felt herself slipping away, almost as badly as she had when Joren had been involved. She had faced death before. But not like this. Not even when she had received the call that informed her that her brothers might be dead. It had not been quite as close and real as this, right next to her. They remained silent for a few minutes.
"Kel?"
"Yes?"
"Two men walk into a bar, one wearing a tutu and the other wearing a inflatable duck tube around his waist. What did they say to each other?"
She sniffled and wiped her salty tears away. "I don't know. What?"
He grinned. "I don't know either, but it sure beats the hell out of thinking of that stinking bedpan under the bed."
Keladry put her arms carefully around his chest and smiled. She hoped she wouldn't miss him. She begged the gods that she wouldn't have to miss him.
~~
Cleon unconsciously tightened his grip on the dragon scales. He glanced behind him, downward at Joren who was riding some distance behind on a large wolf. Chisakami narrowed her eyes slightly, causing Cleon to turn back around and stare straight ahead. The slow, silent journey had been nothing but torture. And if there was anyone to blame, it was Cleon. At first, Chisakami and the dragon had wanted to fly, but Cleon had become very nauseous. He'd never been sick while flying in airplanes before, so he attributed the uneasiness to the dragon alone. And now, he was leading a living weapon of mass destruction back to the last people on the face of the earth who should be in possession of such.
And he mostly still blamed himself.
"Is something wrong, My King?" Chisakami asked.
"No. No, it's nothing." He perked up when they rounded a bend in the rock-hewn road and saw the Black City not too far away. "Finally! I can't wait to check up on Fal and Kel and be rid of this—" He stopped short and glanced fearfully over his shoulder. "Nothing."
As they came closer and closer to the city gates, Cleon could barely contain his excitement. He'd wanted to return quickly so he could see Faleron. The problem with this was that Faleron might have died in Cleon's absence. In that case, it would have been better to delay from returning so that Cleon could go on believing that his friend was still alive and waiting. He couldn't stand the suspense, but what if…?
Deciding to boldly ignore the dragon maiden's glares, the sharpshooter turned and stared at Joren's small figure in the distance. Joren had said that Faleron was fine. Cleon believed him. He didn't have a reason not to, at this point. Since Keladry had finally admitted to her friends that she and Joren shared a bond and that they were both going to start over, emotionally, Cleon had started to see things in the blond that he hadn't noticed before. Joren may have been a hard-ass to everyone but his girlfriend, but he was trustworthy.
Faleron's okay, he told himself. He has to be. He is.
When they had reached the city walls, Joren had disappeared from sight. The soldiers at the gate stared out from the battlements, some frozen in shock, others panicking in terror. No one bothered to open the gates. They didn't need to. The dragon could have easily climbed over, or even jumped if it had so desired.
Just the same, the large mythic reptile remained outside the city. It lowered its head to the top of the walls and ramparts to allow its riders to step off. Then it began to settle peacefully on the ground, curled up much like a dog in front of a fire, waiting for further instruction.
Cleon wanted to land running on the broad wooden ramparts. He restrained himself, though, remembering that he had to present Chisakami to Maggur and the other advisors. It would be difficult to explain everything that had happened, but luckily the dragon maiden could fill in the blanks better than he could. Everything except the part where Shinkokami had died.
No. Best not to mention that.
They climbed down a long wooden ladder. It was difficult because his companion wore a kimono and she was not about to hike it up to help her along; decency won out over efficiency. He helped her down and supported her as she delicately hopped off the last rung, a cloud of dust rising up from her sandaled feet. She pouted at the traces of dirt that were on her hem.
An official escort made up of a contingent of army officers was waiting for them. Older men with at least ten or twenty years experience in military matters, they seemed like the type that would take no nonsense from anyone, even their superiors. The grisly old men gawked at Chisakami. Cleon figured that her clothing caused them to think of the fashions in Enishijirou. And only Cleon knew why that was…
They rode on horseback to the castle. He wanted to put as much space between him and the dragon maiden as possible, but instead, she sat sidesaddle behind him on the same horse, holding his waist like she had while riding the dragon. She was wary to let any other man touch her. Only Cleon was allowed.
Why? Because of a ridiculous fairy tale on parchment, he groused silently.
His hands tightened on the reins. Staring straight ahead, Cleon attempted to think of a way to help Faleron. What if Maggur refused to administer the antidote? What if there was no antidote? Cleon gulped. He averted his gaze to the ground ahead of him in hopes of distracting himself. But the patterns of pebbles on the dirty streets did nothing to take his mind of fearful matters.
It was a tense time. When at last they reached the castle, he practically leapt off the horse. If his female companion hadn't cleared her throat reproachfully, he would have ran away in an instant. But he stayed. Cleon impatiently helped her dismount from the dark gelding and let Chisakami clutch his arm. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, he supposed. As gentlemanly as one can be, against his will.
"Why are you in such a hurry? Fate will take its course," she murmured, noticing the flashes of emotion in his eyes.
"It's not Fate I'm worried about," he replied.
Maggur greeted them as soon as they were inside. The dark robed man put on a false smile as he clapped his hands together. He ushered them toward the throne room through the dark corridors of the castle. He placed a bony hand on Cleon's shoulder. "Your Majesty! I'm pleased to see you've taken an interest in potential queens, but the dragon…?"
Cleon rolled his eyes. "This is the dragon's spokesperson. Like an agent or something." He shrugged it off indifferently. "You two can talk all you want, but I need to see my friends.
The older man sighed. "If you must, I imagine that they're still in the infirmary."
"And the antidote?"
Maggur shook his head. "All in good time, Highness. Please, more important matters must be discussed."
"Important!" Cleon exclaimed, annoyed. "What's more important than this? Get out of my way! And make sure the next time I see you, you have the antidote!"
Cleon shoved past him. Despite the fact that he didn't know in which way the infirmary was, he strode away, stubbornly determined to find what he sought for. The guards moved to stop him, but Maggur signaled them to back off. The chamberlain watched Cleon suspiciously before returning his attention to Chisakami.
The halls were long and dark, as if space and night stretched on forever into eternity. He had very little idea of where to go, but he did not slow down at all. He found himself panting by the time he had checked his third hall. Eventually, a servant passed him. He grabbed the surprised young girl and asked desperately where the infirmary was.
The shabbily dressed girl stuttered an answer while curtsying repetitively. He felt a bit sorry for her when she was done. The castle was filled with many intimidating people and creatures. Even Cleon was an oddity compared to the normal, humble standards of peasant folk. The girl ran away as soon as she finished speaking. He shouted his gratitude at her rapidly retreating form.
By the time he had run up the servants' staircase and down the many corridors leading to his destination, he was about to collapse from overexertion. He stopped for a moment, trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart. The guards beside the infirmary doors peered at him curiously. They recognized the clothing and the golden circlet fixed to Cleon's head of unruly red locks. But could this really be their king?
"Your Majesty?" one of them spoke nervously.
The redhead straightened up and glared at them in what he hoped was an imposing way. "Move aside! Your king wishes to enter this place!"
They stepped away at once, snapping to attention in an instant. Cleon ignored the formal salute and flung open the doors. His mood brightened instantly.
"You're okay!" he gasped as soon as he stepped inside. He slammed the door behind him and went to his friend's bedside.
Keladry was fluffing the pillow behind Faleron's head. She looked up and smiled when she saw the person they had been waiting so impatiently for. As far as she could tell, the sharpshooter looked unharmed. She continued to study him just to be sure.
Meanwhile, Faleron shifted ever so slightly and winced. A jolt of pain shot up the side of his ribs. He breathed raggedly through clenched teeth and leaned his head back, screwing his eyes shut. With a weak hand, he wiped off a bead of sweat from his nose. He could only wish that he possessed a remarkable resilience like Joren to recover from injury. Unfortunately, it was not so.
"Not 'okay', just… alive," Faleron croaked. His throat was dry as well. Keladry picked up a cup of water and held it to his mouth to sip. He thought it was all quite useless—to sip the water only to sweat it out again. He was tempted to dry up like a desert if it meant he could stop this dependency on water. It was one of those rare times that he wished he was a camel.
Cleon crouched beside him, resting his chin on his knuckles. "But you look okay. And you will be! I did what Maggur asked me to. He has to give you the antidote."
"We can only hope. Never mind that. You really didn't wake a dragon, did you?"
He didn't reply, but smiled apologetically. Faleron rolled his eyes.
"Guess we can't blame you for trying to help. I still don't believe that there are actually dragons in the world. How the hell does that work?"
Keladry sighed stressfully. "After everything we've seen, I'm more than ready to believe it."
"What we've seen and heard can logically be explained. It may not have anything to do with magic at all, but a natural biological phenomenon," Faleron argued, coughing a little.
Cleon pointed out the window. "You take a look at Godzilla out there and then we'll start talking about 'logic'. Forget it! We need to get you professional help. Here you are, going on and on about reason and logic and you're still injured! Can you move?"
"Painfully, but I'm sure I won't bleed to death." Faleron shifted slightly, trying to gauge his range of motion. If he moved, he would be in extreme pain. But he would still be capable of surviving the journey. "I think I'll need you two to carry me."
They looked instantly to Keladry. It was obvious that Cleon would help, but Keladry could not. Her brothers were still in the Black City and she was very loath to leave them, especially Conal. She had no idea what made her elder brother think it was safe to stay there. So, she had to stay to convince him otherwise.
"Maybe Joren could help. He has to be around here somewhere," Cleon suggested.
Keladry leaned forward. "That's right. Neal and Joren went with you to the caves. They're okay, aren't they?"
The sharpshooter pouted. "Well, last I saw, they were fine. But Joren is here and Neal…"
"Where's Neal?" she asked apprehensively.
"The caves. He, uh, had to take care of something."
He thought of Shinkokami and how she had recognized the dragon maiden before she had died. There had been hurt and betrayal in her eyes. The last few seconds of life had been filled with confusion and pain. It was a horrible way to the eternal unknown. He hoped that Faleron wouldn't have to feel that anytime soon. Cleon would make it his sole responsibility to watch out for his dear friend.
He got up. "I'll go look for Joren, I suppose. He knows where to go. I'd rather go to that other city than stay in this one, that's for sure."
Keladry shook her head and also stood. "No, I'll do it. I need to find Conal and Inness anyway."
She gently pushed Cleon until he was sitting on the bed. Then she patted Faleron's hand and headed toward the door. The guards on the other side blocked her path.
"Let her pass! She's on her way to my advisors," Cleon shouted.
The men seemed bewildered, but they let her go. The redhead smiled smugly and dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Being king did have its perks.
Keladry walked down the hall in stiff strides. Most of the guards had heard Cleon's shouted order, and whispered it to others who had not heard. Still, they glared at her, feeling as if she was not worthy to wield any rights or privileges.
She gradually passed less and less guards. The discovery of a pair of dead succubae in the other halls had caused more of the castle servants to vacate while sorcerers and soldiers began flocking to places of importance. Certain things, such as the advisor's meeting room, had to be protected, but no one came to personally stand watch over the king. Keladry wrinkled her nose in distaste.
After a while, she spotted a man in black robes, an advisor. She decided to follow him in hopes of finding the rest of them. She wondered: what did the advisors do, anyway? Make laws, give orders, and prepare for war? Keladry reminded herself that they had been preparing for their legendary king's arrival for many years. Their plans for war had probably been revised countless times by now.
The first time she had seen the many black robed men in the throne room, she knew that they could not be trusted. Cleon had seemed so carefree sitting atop his throne then. How couldn't he see that they were suspicious characters? Well, he knows now, she thought. And now, her brothers were among them, learning their evil ways and duties.
"Conal. What's going on with you?" she whispered, falling back into the shadows to avoid being seen.
A cold hand grasped her shoulder. Keladry spun around. A hand immediately covered her mouth, but her reflexes kicked in. She lifted her knee sharply, hitting her assailant in the groin. A low groan was heard from the man as he fell to the floor with his hands cupped over his sensitive area.
Keladry stared at him. "Conal?"
"Are you that opposed to one day having nieces and nephews from me?" he ground out between clenched teeth.
She kneeled beside him and pulled back his hood. "You deserved it. You shouldn't have sneaked up behind me." Remembering why she had been seeking him out in the first place, she folded her arms across her chest and glared. "And you have a lot of explaining to do."
Keladry helped him to stand, though Conal was still partially bent over, face flushed. He looked up at her with an emotion that she couldn't name. She met his gaze with equal intensity.
"I don't have to explain anything to you," he said coldly.
"Yes you do! I'm your sister! So what's with this idea about staying and working here? I thought you wanted to break into the advertising business or something."
Conal snorted. "Do you have any remote idea what I went to night school for?"
She didn't.
He continued, straightening up painfully and leaning against the wall. "I've been learning electricity. Electrical engineering." Conal spread his arms to gesture to the castle around them. "This place can't stay off the map forever. They need to make the transition into the modern era. I'm sure that this magic of theirs is some branch of science yet to be discovered. If I combine that with modern technology—"
"No!" Keladry cried. "What are you thinking? Conal, you can't trust these people. By Glory, they shot Faleron!"
"Only because you didn't cooperate. I heard what happened. If you had just played along until you had found a better plan, then your friend wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed dying," her brother spat, pointing a finger accusingly at her.
Keladry took a step back. She forced herself to remain cool and collected. "What can I say? I don't play along with madmen."
"Then that's the difference between you and me. You won't play the game, but I will." He pushed off the wall and began walking down the hall headed in the direction of the man she had been following. "And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't send Inness to spy on me. Get him and go home. I don't need you to protect me, baby sister."
The clip-clop sound of his shoes on the flagstone floor echoed with a sense of finality. Keladry slumped to the ground, staring blankly at the space in front of her. She still couldn't believe what had just happened. The same feeling of surrealism that she had experienced when learning of her brothers' missing plane now filled every inch of her body. It wouldn't leave her alone.
He didn't. No. An imposter just walked away from me. That's all. That's not Conal. It can't be. Inness would have told me if it was all just a joke. I'm sure it is. Inness must have forgotten to tell me. That's all.
She felt the irrepressible urge to throw up her food like Faleron had. Except that her sickness didn't eat away at her body. Just the soul. But to Conal, she was certain, the soul was an intangible thing believed in by sentimental fools. It had to be subjugated to progress and power. Opportunity had ridden in on a stallion made of gold and jewels and her elder brother had grasped the reins with both hands.
Vomiting out a nearby window, Keladry wondered if he would have pushed her to her death had he seen the opportunity to do so.
A warm hand pressed against her back. Her body tensed for a moment, prepared to be shoved out the window like she had just imagined. Instead, nothing happened. She gripped the stone window still with shaky fingers and turned to face her visitor. Please. Let it be Conal. He's come to apologize for acting so strangely. He must have come to say sorry.
Joren took a handkerchief from his belt pouch and calmly wiped her mouth. Keladry couldn't tell what sort of reaction he was having to seeing her regurgitating her breakfast, but at least there was no disdain in his eyes. Despite their new understanding, she secretly suspected that there was still some part of her that disgusted him.
"Is he dead?" he asked gravely.
A simple question. Keladry smiled, morbidly amused that Joren had guessed that the cause of her upchuck reflex had been Faleron's death rather than her brother's betrayal. But she hadn't told him about Conal yet, had she? No. It was as good a time as ever to try.
She put her arms around him loosely and buried her face in his chest. "I lost Conal."
And though he had truly been attempting to make an effort at effective consoling, the words came out a mess in his head. He bluntly settled for, "It happens."
Luckily, she understood and hugged him tighter.
~~
Author's notes: Oy. Sorry this took longer than my last updates. School has come back with a vengeance. I'm up to my neck in work and plans. Creativity is at its all-time low, but do not despair! They cannot keep me down forever! At least… I hope not.
I'm finding it very difficult to type with gauze and medical tape all over my palms. Tore off the skin because I lost my rowing calluses over the summer. Ah, the things I put up with for my lovely sport.
Thanks for reading! I can't reveal too much about the next episode. You'll see it all in good time. Confrontations, escape plans, and the inevitable war…
Until next time
-Sulia Serafine