THE NIGHT IS LONG, it's cold, and unforgiving, you can't see your own fingers, but in the presence of the fire, you're warm, you can look around you and know you're safe.
I thought that that was what love was.
A fire that dimly lit the world around me, and kept the chill away.
But behind me, in the tall trees, were eyes always watching, and my back was left cold.
FAKIR HAD ALREADY WALKED away when Edel called Ahiru.
While he was worried about Mytho, Fakir was sure Mytho would win the duel, even if it was an unfair fight.
But, he couldn't just sit back and watch, that wasn't what needed to be done.
No.
He would have to get his hands dirty.
Fakir made his way back to the castle, back to the room he was told was given to Rue to reside in until she moved into Autor's chambers, and prayed she was alone.
He knocked politely, not wanting to scare her just yet.
She would be a wreck, he was sure.
"Come in."
Her voice, thick as smoke, as it had always been, but laced with tears.
Opening the door, he was not surprised to see her hunched in on herself, with tears falling from her pale cheeks, but what did surprise him was Ahiru on her knees in front of Rue, trying to give her comfort.
"Fakir." His name fell from her tongue all too sweetly.
He tried not to look at Ahiru, he had not come here for her, and his task would be harder with her present.
Clearing his throat, he took a step in and locked the door behind him. "I have no doubt that Mytho will win." He took a few measured strides forward. "He has never lost a duel to Autor, and with his heart on the line, he will not be playing games."
Rue closed her eyes and took a staggering breath. "I've been forbidden from talking to either of them."
"It's the custom." He agreed.
"But I need to tell them both something vital." She opened her eyes and looked up at him and he was taken aback by the overwhelming determination that filled them. Rue wasn't worried about Mytho losing, oh no, she was grieving her loss of voice.
His eyes flashed to Ahiru on compulson, and there was a lost expression on her face, on her lips. She did not understand the laws of a duel, nor why it upset Rue so much.
"Please," Rue looked to Ahiru and took the hands that rested on her knees, before looking back to Fakir. "Could you give them my message?"
"No one can know." He lightly shook his head.
"I know."
"Very well. I will deliver your message to Autor."
"What? Why?" Ahiru looked up at him, her head tilted, an eyebrow raised.
"You are losing your fiance, it will look more believable for you to be going to him. A last goodbye."
She blinked and pouted. "But it doesn't make sense for you to be going to Autor."
"I am the man who fought Autor in the Prüfung, it will look as if I am trying to give him advice for the coming fight."
She thought about it for a moment longer before agreeing.
Rue told them the message she had for each and Ahiru was quick to deliver her message to Mytho, but Fakir stayed behind.
Ahiru looked to him before she walked out the door, with her eyes she asked if he was coming too, but he lightly shook his head and held up a loose hand, in a moment. Nodding, she left.
The door closed, and alone now with the Princess Kreahe, the only thought he had was how solemn Ahiru had become, how unlike her it was, and how much it made him long to reach out to her, and make she was-
"I assume you've come to threaten me."
Fakir stood alert. "Yes."
He turned around and no longer was she a sniveling Princess sat at her vanity, but every ounce the daughter of a warmonger, raised to carry the yoke.
"I am afraid to tell you that your little threats will do nothing to dissuade me. I love Mytho with all my heart and I-"
"Yes, I realize that."
She gave him a cold glare, her eyebrows just dipping into her pretty eyes. "I wasn't finished speaking."
"But I was finished listening. I have not come to threaten you the way I threatened Princess Odette. I came to warn you."
She didn't seemed phazed, but he could tell that she hadn't been expecting that. "I misunderstand your intentions then."
"Clearly. This is a dangerous kingdom, perhaps more dangerous than the one you grew up in."
"I grew up in the midst of a battlefield, there is no place more dangerous."
"But, there is. I'm sure before you came here, you read up on our history, our customs, our rituals."
"Yes, I did. It is the proper thing to do. To understand your husband's land before you come into it."
"So, you know of the Königsspiel."
"Yes, the little jaunt through the forest to decide who's king. That aspect I found more boring. It's all you ever talk about here." She crossed her arms. "Königsspiel, Königsspiel, Königsspiel! The First King this, the Run that. It was all too tedious."
"It can be. But you must remember, the Königsspiel was done for a reason."
"Oh do tell."
"A peace treaty needed to be forged, a people needed a home, needed protection."
She rolled her eyes, but before she could open her mouth he continued.
"Do you know what is inside the forest? Or why we have built our walls?"
"Aesthetic?"
Fakir walked to her window, facing the south, in the direction of the forest that was slowly coming to surround Nordlingen. One day, the Kingdom would be lost to the forest, forever.
As tall as the walls where, scraping against the clouds, the climbing trees were still taller, piercing the sky with their great height.
"The war was never been brought to our threshold for one reason and one reason only. The forest."
She was quiet for a moment, taking in what he had said, turning to the window herself. "The forest?"
"It is not filled with bears and deer, but death herself." He turned back to her and he knew that she didn't believe him. But that was fine. "A warning to you. Many years ago, the forest leaked into the walls of the kingdom, and death is here."
She scoffed and rolled her eyes, she turned her back to him. "Go away. Go to Autor and convey him my message."
"Of course, Your Highness."
As he walked out the door, he could feel her glare on his back, but he did not mind it, it was not like he hadn't been hated before.
He strolled through the castle walls, he dared not glance at the people who associated themselves with him, and only inclined his head to an elderly maid who had seen him as a boy playing with Mytho.
"Not a good day, Fritz." She shook her head, always believing that to have been his name. "You should come back Monday."
Inclining his head, he politely ignored her and went to knock at Autor's door.
There was no word of permission from him, but Fakir opened the door anyway.
It was dark, and when Fakir let the door behind him close, not even the light from the hallway remained.
"Autor." He called. "I know you're in here."
There was a scratch and Autor's face, lit by a match, appeared in the darkness. "Have you come to laugh at me?"
"No, to deliver a message."
Autor looked away from him and down to his match twirling it in his fingers, he said. "I thought she could learn to love me."
Autor had always been good at putting on a mask, hiding his emotions, but it was always done in a way that made him appear to be looking down his nose at you. Now, sitting in the dark, captivated by a burning match, he let his tears collect in the corners of his eyes.
He wasn't under Drosselmeyer's spell, however, was the only thought Fakir had.
"I thought that I had already loved her." He blew out the match only to light another. "Her hair in the sunlight, her eyes in the moonlight, her gentle laughter like a summer breeze."
Fakir took a step forward, but his foot caught the edge of a book, and he stomped on the pages before he could stop himself.
Autor looked down lazily. "A first edition of the memoirs of the Third King, King Hammond. And you've destroyed it. But, I suppose that is what you are best at. Ruining my life."
"Ruining your life?"
"Yes."
"You think I ruined your life?"
"I do."
"Perhaps it is time to share Rue's message." Fakir took a planned step, allowing his muddy shoe to take purchase on the book, allowing it to further ravage the delicate, old pages.
"Perhaps it is." The match went out, but quickly another took its place.
"She told me this: don't get yourself killed." He stepped off the book, kicking it back until he was sure it was face open on the ground, cracking it's spine. "Perhaps she did love you, she doesn't want you to die."
"Perhaps she does, although, now what do I have? That little, ignorant, brat?" He laughed cruelly. "How does one man go from the finest of all women to what is no better than a-"
"Choose your next few words wisely."
In the light of the match, he offered Fakir a wicked grin, but he spoke his words as the match went out. "A fickfehler. She is nothing but the dirt beneath my heel, no better than a rose trampled by steed, a branch overhanging from my neighbor's property, destined to be abused until I cut it off."
He waited until Autor lit another match, but when he did, he was no longer in the chair where he sat, but across the room, smartly out of Fakir's reach.
"Oh, there's that look in your eye. The eyes of a King, please tell me, how will you go about explaining my death, hmm? You need me to run, do you not? How do you plan on challenging a dead man?"
"When I walk out of the forest alive, while you are wandering around stupid and blind, the people will now who was meant to be King."
He smirked and blew out the match. This time, Fakir listened for the shuffle of his feet, and when the sudden spark of light came from the left, he wasn't surprised.
"You don't seem to understand, only the true king can win, you won't make it out alive. You let your father's stories get into your head."
"My father died before I was born, and my mother is all alone."
"No." He dropped the match, and stomped it with his foot. The scratching of the match lighting behind him, his neck arm, and the gentle breath on the top ridge of his spine dared him to turn around. "You are but a black smith's son, your mother a common whore who didn't have time to deal with a bairn. And that is the truth."
He blew out the light, and Fakir turned, trying to grab him but he was too late. "One day, you will see the truth."
"No, one day you will!" In the very corner of the room, a small patch of light struck. "One day you will run into the forest on blind hope and as you lay, dying on your back, you will not receive help from me. No, I will walk out of the forest alone."
"No matter who walks out of the forest, who lives and who dies, it will be me the people choose."
"And the Bookmen will not allow it! You think you have so much power, you have the people rallied behind you, but it is I who wields true power."
"You have done nothing but hide behind Drosselmeyer and his pack of dogs."
"And it is those pack of dogs that will allow me to take the throne." The match went out, this time on it's own, having burnt too far down past it's red head.
"There is one thing you forget."
"And what is that?"
"A pack of dogs are loyal to whoever has the biggest bone, and one day the bone they've been chewing on will diminish and when they beg for more, Drosselmeyer won't have any to give."
"I will give them-"
"No, I will. I will give them back their purpose. Of being the counsel that once proudly aided the King, not the cult they've become. One day, I will have your head on a platter for what you have said about her, but until then, I would be careful."
"Are you trying to help me?"
Fakir turned to leave, and as his hand rested on the door, he couldn't help but let the unfairness of it all nag at the corner of his mind, and in a strange act of kindness, he said. "Soon, your body will not be your own and you will not even have control over your own thoughts. Until that time comes, learn to make your own decisions, for they may be your last."
He blinked back the light, letting his eyes be awakened and walking out of the room.
He was tired of darkness.
WHEN HE RETURNED TO Rue's room, Ahiru was once again comforting Rue, he only stepped in to give Rue a single nod, that his job was done.
Ahiru stood, as if to go to him, but he shut the door before she could, he couldn't look at her, not without knowing that after tomorrow, she would be engaged to Autor.
He could stomach the idea of her marrying Mytho, he was sure to bring her happiness, but tied to Autor, she would surely wither.
Autor was like the winter, cold and bitter, unforgiving. All throughout summer, she was safe, but now she would have to deal with the unrelenting death that came with the snowstorm.
And it didn't seem like Autor intended to keep her as his bride.
Calling her nothing more than an error, it was a mistake. Fakir grew up hating Autor, the boy that had stolen his crown, his mother, his brother; he looked to him as an obstacle to overcome, something that was in his way, the monster that had stolen his life away.
It wasn't fair, that Autor had grown up to believe he would be King, and it wasn't fair to Fakir either. Autor didn't have a choice, he was only a child, less than a child.
But now he was a man, a smart man that knew how to choose his words carefully.
There was a reason Autor called her as such, to get a rise out of Fakir, but he also knew Autor didn't speak his words falsely, he believed what he said, and perhaps he was right, from what Fakir himself had seen, he had his guesses that she wasn't a real Princess, either some noble or lower, it didn't matter.
Autor had opened his big mouth and insulted Ahiru. Balantaly, without apology or remorse.
And he would pay for that.
Fakir stopped, he clenched his fist and jaw, his heart burned with an indescribable rage, he wanted to walk back and do something unspeakable to Autor, but his time would come.
He knew.
They both knew.
The forest was always watching. Evaluating.
He couldn't be vengeful, he would have to wait for the match to fall, for the flame to catch fire on the edge of his clothes and eat him alive.
It would take time, he knew, but he was patient.
He had been patient for twenty-one years.
He wouldn't ruin his chances simply because he grew hot with anger.
A bolt of lightning and the crash of thunder woke him.
Autor would get the punishment he deserved, but so would Fakir.
AHIRU WOKE TO THE sound of thunder. She sat up in bed and looked out over the sky, black with clouds, the rain pounding against her window.
The sun wasn't even up yet, it was too dark, no light shone through the clouds, but the castle was alive and buzzing.
She stepped onto the cold floor and went to open her door, watching as everyone ran around in a fury.
"What's going on?" She asked.
"We have to get ready for the duel."
"Oh. It will still happen? Even like this?"
The maid smiled. "It'll make it even better!"
Ahiru paled, she had never been worried about either of them, but as another flash of lightning lit up her darkened room, her heart pounded in fear, surely they would both die.
The maid was gone when she turned back, but soon Miss. Edel as at her door.
"Hurry, you must get dressed."
"What do you mean? It's not even dawn."
Miss. Edel blinked at her. "It's nearly eight o'clock."
"Oh."
"You must get dressed, soon the duel will commence."
Ahiru looked out her window at the clouds that looked more like smoke than a storm and suddenly she was back at the edge of the dock, clinging to the post as her legs were being swept out from under her.
She nearly fell, but Miss. Edel held out her hand. "It will be alright."
"At the end of the day." She spoke to herself, but Edel turned a sharp ear. "I will be engaged to a man that hates me."
"The sun will rise again." Edel patted her hand.
"But shrouded in clouds." Ahiru said, remembering an old poem once spoken to her. "The sun will surely drown."
Edel was quick to dress her, and a small meal was brought to her.
"This is fancier than normal." Ahiru observed, touching the edges of her dress, blue like the sky, edged in a fine golden thread, a pattern of flowers and suns and ribbons covering her.
"Everyone knows the outcome of the match, and tonight you will be given to Autor as the future queen."
Ahiru looked down at her hands. "I didn't agree to this."
Edel looked at her in pity, and in the vanity mirror, her gaze was too easy to see, but Ahiru didn't look in the mirror, and missed it completely.
"No, you didn't, but Rue came to be Queen, and now has to step down."
Ahiru nodded. "It must be hard on her too then."
"But, she never wanted to be Queen. Did you want to be Queen, Ahiru?" Edel was careful to watch her, to see the reaction her eyes would give her, if she was hiding or being honest.
"I wanted to marry the Prince." Her fingers deftly picked at the edge of her gown, did she know what it was made of? "But, even he was the youngest son. I never would have been Queen."
"Yes, but, did you want to?"
She scrunched her nose. "If it means I'd have to marry Rudolf, no."
"If then, it was someone else who would take the throne, someone more desirable than Rudolf and Autor."
"Like who?" She asked.
Edel pulled back a measured strand of hair, adding it into what was the most complicated hairstyle Ahiru had worn yet. "Who was that one boy? I saw you yesterday, you ran to him and he embraced you."
She blushed, "It-it's not like that! I ran into him and he caught me. He- he didn't embrace me or anything like that!"
"What was his name?"
She stopped her babbling. "Fakir."
"Fakir." Edel nodded. "And what if he was the one you would be engaged to tonight?"
"Oh, well, I guess it wouldn't be that bad. But he's just my friend so it would be weird, but I guess it's better to be friends with your husband than to bitterly hate them."
"With him by your side, would you want to be Queen?"
Ahiru had to think, if she wanted to be Queen, she would want to be a fair Queen, and of the two examples she had, she didn't know if either were fair.
Like a mother to her, Queen Paulamoni was sweet, but lived life like it was a dream, and treated Ahiru like nothing more than a nightmarish pest when she fell in love with the Queen's son.
Now that Ahiru was gone, she was sure Queen Paulamoni was back to dreaming blissfully.
Queen Helmia was someone she wasn't sure about, was she a fair Queen? She sat at her throne without an expression ever crossing her face. Was that disciplined into her? That she had to place her own feelings behind her in order to rule justly, but Ahiru was unsure that she could do that.
What kind of Queen would she make?
Maybe, if she was by herself she would run the kingdom into the ground, but with someone by her side, someone to rule with her.
Someone like Fakir.
It wouldn't be hard.
"I think, I think it's not just about being Queen, but about partnership. I would need a good man by my side."
Edel smiled, she finished Ahiru's hair and took a step back. "Done."
Ahiru's eyes shot up to the mirror to look at her hair. "Oh!"
Her hair was wrapped up on the crown of her head, beaded with pearls and golden chains.
"You did this?"
Miss. Edel gave a humble smile and bowed her head. "Let us go and attend the match."
FOR A MOMENT HIS heart beat a little faster.
Was it fear? Or adrenaline? Maybe both.
But he held the sword in his hands and lifted it over his head, only for it to come down too fast, falling instead of diving.
It was too heavy for him to manage.
"C'mon, you have to try better than that!" Autor rolled his eyes, but there was still a smile behind them, it was hard to see, but Mytho got good at finding it.
"It's too heavy." He dropped the sword to the floor and starting pouting.
It worked on the maids, he would pout and they would coo and they would get whatever he wanted, but it never worked with Autor.
Autor gave a heavy sigh, "You have to be better! Who's gonna protect me when I get crowned king?"
"The knights, that's their job, stupid."
"Oh, like I'm just gonna trust some know-it-all knight to protect me?"
"You're the know-it-all!"
Autor laughed and knocked on Mytho's head. "Just because I know everything doesn't mean I'm a know-it-all."
Mytho was quick to fix his hair. "Are too!" He stuck out his tongue. "Besides, I'm never gonna beat you, you're too good."
Autor nodded. "Yeah, you're right."
Mytho kicked his sword. "So what's the point?"
"Hey." Autor set down his sword and picked up Mytho's. "You just have to practice, if every snot-nosed kid decided they'd never be good at anything, everyone would be dead."
"That's a frank way to look at it."
"It's true. People try all the time. Look at the House of Verstand, they're always studying and looking for answers, they're becoming doctors, writers! They try every day and they succeed. Half the books we have in our library are thanks to them."
"Yeah, but who cares about reading? That won't help me sword fight." Mytho sat down before falling on his back, looking up at the blue sky, dotted with cotton clouds.
Autor leaned over him, blocking the sun. "The point is, you can't give up. The nobles of the House of Verstand don't write those books purely based on their own intelligence, they go out into the world, collecting knowledge and data to make our kingdom stronger."
"So I have to go out into the world to be stronger?"
"No, but you can't just stay where you are." Autor stuck out his hand. "You have to get up and fight."
Rain collected in Mytho's eyes, last night he could barely sleep, but the desires of his body overcame his own will and he fell, it was the pounding of the rain that woke him the next day, and as he stood, waiting in the jousting pit, he could barely see ten feet in front of him.
He should have waited, he knew, for everyone else to get there first, he should have waited for his servants to come and collect him, for the Bookmen to brief him, but he couldn't.
He was soaked to the bone by the time they let the commoners into the seating. It was all covered, they would have a perfect view of his fight.
And Rue would be dry.
She would be there, waiting for him, counting on him to win, for their love.
It didn't matter that it was Autor he was fighting, if he lost, what would happen to him?
But if he won, what would happen to Autor?
Autor would be the laughingstock of the kingdom, lost to his little brother.
How embarrassing.
Mytho wanted nothing more in this world than his brother's happiness, but what of his own?
What of Rue's?
If he lost just so Autor would have honor, how would he live?
How could he live, day to day, seeing Rue in the arms of his brother?
She would have to produce an heir, and the thought of Autor touching her in that way poisoned his heart.
Mytho was a prince, through and through, he was kind, patient, charming, everything a prince was supposed to be, he wasn't supposed to feel rage and anger, jealousy and envy, his heart beat quicker, he could hear it in his ears, louder than the rain and thunder, and each passing second he stood alone in the pit, he allowed his emotions to take over.
He would not take pity on his brother, as he stood, a rabid dog foaming at the mouth, waiting for the hand that fed him, that loved him, he knew he would take a bite and he wouldn't let go until he had three hands and Autor had one.
THERE WAS A QUIET air that surrounded the people as they milled into their seats, mostly wet, but willing to take it if it meant they could see the duel.
Not in a thousand years had a duel like this commenced.
Sc Sure, a few thousand over the hand of a lady, but never had it been two princes. No, there was nothing like it, and all wanted to see it.
Some felt pity as they looked down at the man standing in the pit, shaking and wet but still as a statue, he was waiting, and because of the intensity in his eyes, some thought he was death himself, come to take their souls with his sword, forgetting that someone was soon to come and bear the full weight of that glare.
It didn't come as a surprise when Fakir stepped into the stadium, not taking a seat but standing at the railing.
Oh, he's the Prince's friend, isn't he? Of course he would be here.
There was a tear, who to watch, the prince or the black smith?
All knew the rumors, some believed, some didn't, some sat on a fence, not believing but not saying it was an utter lie, but all thought: he's come to watch his brother.
But, Fakir stood, used to the stares, and put his focus on Mytho.
"C'mon." He said, under his breath. "You can win this."
FAKIR LAID IN THE field with a sword next to him, it was one he made, so it wasn't very good, but he was still proud of it.
He knitted his fingers behind his head and looked up at the sky, it was getting dark and the moon was on the rise.
"You're doing it wrong again." He said.
"I know." Mytho said, panting just slightly, he had been practicing all afternoon, and while Fakir had shown him the perfect technique, Mytho kept falling back into the handhold his tutors taught him. "Are you sure this is right?"
Fakir sighed, he stood, taking his own sword with him, he took a defensive stance, holding the sword with two hands. "Try it their way."
Mytho nodded, he attacked, holding the sword like he was told and went to strike Fakir's sword.
"See? I didn't even move. Now, try the way I told you."
He switched his hands, and when he attacked, the sword fell from Fakir's grasp.
Fakir stood, and sent him a smirk.
"That doesn't mean anything, you could have let go of the sword."
"Oh? I'll try it on you then."
Mytho took the sword and went into a low stance, one not easily knocked over and waited for Fakir.
Two hits, the second working far superiorly to the first.
Mytho stood, his mouth agape. "Woah! How did you do that!"
"It's all about the grip. How you hold the sword is just as important as how you swing it."
Mytho smiled, picked up his own and started the drills again. "How did you learn all of this?"
Fakir shrugged, taking his place down in the grass. "I read about it."
Mytho's actions slowed. "You read about it, huh?"
"Yeah, what's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, it's just. Autor is always going on and on about his books, like they're the greatest thing in the world. It gets annoying sometimes."
Fakir rolled his eyes. "He's annoying sometimes."
Mytho laughed, "Yeah, but you don't have to live with him. Did you really get this stuff from reading?"
"Some of it. Charon can't show me the moves the way a real trainer should, but he corrects me. You know, he used to help my dad train."
"I thought he was your dad?"
"Uh- No, no, he's not. He's my uncle! Yes, that's what he is."
Mytho looked up, the sun finally set, the sky became lightly dusted in starlight, his mother would-
No, someone would be worried, not his mother.
Mytho gave a sigh and fell down to the floor. "Did you know your mother?"
"I do."
"Really?" Mytho rolled onto his stomach, and sat his chin on his hand. "Why don't you live with her then?"
"She can't take care of me right now. But," Fakir sat up, "When I'm older," He hugged his knees to his chest. "She'll be able to."
"Where is she right now?"
Fakir looked away from Mytho, as the Queen walked in, taking her seat high above everybody else, her unseeing eyes looking down on her son, ready to fight his brother.
She didn't even care, she didn't even care that one or both of her sons might die on this day, she just sat there, waiting for this trivial event to be over.
Next to her, sat Rue, even from here, he could see her tears, but he didn't see Ahiru.
The chair on the right side of the Queen was empty, and he could not see her hair bright in the grey dour.
"Who's that?"
"I don't know, I've never seen her before."
Fakir started to crane his neck, he was starting to look ridiculous, he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself either.
"Fakir."
He nearly jumped out of his own skin, she was right in front of him.
A maid held a parasol for her so she was dry.
She was like a ray of sunshine, a sunspot in the mist, even her dress was like a glimpse of summer, too far away now.
"Ahiru."
"I wanted to tell you that-" She bit her lip, fiddling with her thumb, her eyes cast out to Mytho where he stood. "No matter how today goes, everything is going to be okay."
Why was she telling him his?
She didn't need to, she didn't know that Mytho had changed his plans, putting off the Königsspiel for who knows how long.
And yet, there she stood, smiling up at him, giving him reassurances as if he was the one to die today.
"What are you doing here? You should be in the Queen's box right now."
Her smile faded and she started to worry, pulling at the sleeves of her gown. "I-I…"
"Go, don't worry about me, in fact." Fakir looked away from her, out into the pit where Mytho still stood. "It'll probably be best if you stay away from me for a while."
"O- oh." Her brows knitted together, and it obviously wasn't the response she was looking for.
Comfort. That's what she wanted, on a dreary, rainy day, she was about to sign her life away for the happiness of others, she was just looking for a friend to hold on to.
He sighed, he took her hand in his, softer this time than last. "I'm a dangerous person to be around, there's not a lot of people who like me. For your best interest, for your safety, stay away."
She looked down at their joined hands, the tip of her thumb running over his knuckles, and he was quick to pull away. "Everything will be okay." She said, softer, more to herself this time than last.
The maid beside her ushered her away, and Ahiru couldn't stop herself from looking over her shoulder one last time before she was escorted to her box.
For the first time in her life, she sat next to the Queen.
"Good morning, Your Majesty." She said, but the Queen stayed silent.
Ahiru looked out over the arena, noticing all the people that had come, come to watch a stupid fight. Even Fakir.
Even her.
There was a loud trumpet sound and everyone was quiet.
A Bookman marched into the middle of the field with a soggy scroll.
"I hope we are not too late."
Ahiru looked over to Miss. Edel, sat down next to her, and pulled Uzura into her lap, she had a toy drum in her lap, tapping it lightly but determined not to be too loud, but the gentle tapping of the snare gave the surroundings an eerie atmosphere.
Ahiru offered a sad smile, but it was quick to fall.
The Bookman spoke in a loud voice, but it was nothing to challenge the rain.
Ahiru didn't pay attention, she looked for Autor, Mytho stood below her, below his mother and below Rue, meaning Autor stood on the other side, standing beneath two different Houses, their flags flew in the sharp, icy breeze, but she could not see their designs, and could not tell who they were.
Perhaps it was the House of Verstand, the House the Bookman said…
There was a roar in the crowd and Mytho ran forward, Ahiru and Rue leapt from their seats.
So this was it then.
AUTOR STOOD IN AN awkward way, he did not stand under the flag of his family, but he faced them, and perhaps that was worse.
He could barely see with the rain, and every drop that splashed on his glasses only made matters worse, but he could see them.
Rue in a dark gown, as if she was mourning, though who she was mourning, he couldn't tell.
His mother, dressed in a color that matched the sky, she was hard to spot, blending into the wood behind her.
But Ahiru, that clumsy little brat, dared to wear a blue that even the sky would envy. It was a brave choice on a day like this and he hated her all the more for it. What if one of us was to die? Then you would be wearing something egregious.
Finally, he let his eyes fall on Mytho.
The stupid fool.
He had been standing out in the rain since dawn, Autor was sure, what with his white shirt soaked through, dripping its own rain droplets.
He put his hand on the leather guard of his sword, it was already wet, slippery, he would have to be careful.
This couldn't be a battle of strength, or of wills, but a battle of the mind.
Autor had to think, what moves would his baby brother favor? A downward strike first? And then a stabbing? Or would he start with a stabbing, try to get it over with as soon as possible?
But then again no, this was Mytho, he couldn't harm a fly, much less kill someone.
No.
No, Mytho would try to make him surrender.
So then, it wasn't a battle of strength or the mind, but of endurance.
Autor would have to take the defensive, never be the one to strike, and keep a strong stance, so long as he didn't break, Mytho would wipe himself out and Autor would win.
Like a fool, his eyes traveled up to where Rue sat.
And behind her, was his grandfather.
The horns blew and the Bookman stepped in.
His heart beat faster, why? He wasn't nervous before.
His eyes shot up again, to Rue-
No, not to Rue.
To Him, to Drosselmeyer.
Even from a distance, Autor could see the gleam of his teeth.
The quivering of his quill.
And as if the words themselves were being written into his back, as if his flesh was being clawed open with the silver pen, he started to lose control.
He felt faint, black dots filled his vision, and his hand on the sword changed position.
He let out a battle cry but Autor swore he never uttered a word.
It was like a dream, like his soul had been cast out of his body and he only watched.
Quick feet that met Mytho in the middle, strong shoulders that lifted his sword above his head.
No, this is my fight!
He stumbled back, the tips of his fingers touching his temple.
"Autor."
He was free.
But not for long.
Soon, he was cast out again.
Thrown from the throne of his own mind.
"Are you alright?"
Like an animal, he roared, slashing with his sword with abandon.
It was not fair.
It was not fair!
If he was to win, it would be of his own freewill, goddamnit!
He gritted his teeth, an action all his own, he stumbled, but lifted his sword in the defense and waited for Mytho to strike.
It would work, he just had to stay determined.
Mytho took initiative, light steel beating against light steel, and he was starting to tire.
This will do, this will have to do, he would see, he will see that I can last, that I can win, and he'll let me be.
And suddenly, his hands leapt out.
Mytho's sword fell to the ground and he looked surprised, but before he could kneel to grab it, he kicked the legs out from under Autor.
He fell hard, the breath knocked out of him, and for a moment, he closed his eyes and imagined that he wasn't fighting his brother, but instead, he was just in training, and Mytho was kicking his ass like always.
The dust settled, and he thought he was free, but when he opened his eyes he saw nothing but darkness.
And in darkness he stayed.
He panicked.
"Wait. Wait I don't want to fight you!" But no words left his mouth. "Stop this! I can't fight!"
He felt his heart quicken, his steps light, and he attacked with diligence. Suddenly an expert in the craft.
He felt the drops of rain, cold on his skin, so close to becoming ice and snow, and a hard wind blew it into his face. It didn't fall, it flew, flying south like a bird.
Each time his sword hit Mytho's, it was deafening, ringing in his ear, always too close to his ear. He would jump to the side, jolting in fear, too close, it was going to pierce him, but he didn't move, he couldn't move, not stuck in one place, but moving as if pulled by strings.
The mud soaked into his boots, through the seams of the leather and it squished between his toes and he tried to focus on that feeling, hoping that the discomfort will draw him away from his impending death.
It worked, but not for long.
"Kneel!" Mytho cried out, and Autor wanted to.
Yes, he had intended to fight for Rue, to prove to her that he loved her, that she could grow to love him. If it was a husband with strength she wanted, he would be it, but he wanted this to be over.
He wanted his back to be left alone, he wanted his eyes to see, he wanted to plan his movements and have his body move accordingly.
He wanted to kneel, begged himself to kneel, tears poured down his cheeks with the effort to kneel.
"I will not kneel." He spoke, and even to his own ears, did his words sound forced.
He was not his own.
WITH DISTANT EYES, THE Queen watched through the downpour, and her heart cried.
"Please." She said. "Kneel. It is better for you to appear weak than for you to die."
She didn't know which son she talked to.
Her own, or the son of Felix Verstand.
It didn't matter now, she loved them both, and their loss would kill her.
She wasn't sure how much more she could take, everyday she felt the burden of knowing she was not her own, but she took strength in the three young men she held dear to her heart.
She felt a tear slip past her lashes, and she knew that no one would ever see it, that it was not a tear she shed, only one she felt.
She could sob, she could yell out in pain, she could fall to the floor, but no one would see.
No, no one would see.
She would remain seated in her chair, her back straight, her head held high, she could grieve all while looking to be the perfect Queen.
It was a secret, she learned, not to resist the writing on her spine, the ripping of her skin, that if she kept still, and didn't fight, she could have some will.
She could still see.
She could choose what she ate, what she wore, how fast she walked, the blink of her eyes, her breathing, her thoughts, so long as she didn't fight.
Some days, it was worth it, and some days not.
Today, it was.
She couldn't fight it, not today, not when she may lose a son, and if she did, she had the freedom to close her eyes.
AHIRU COULDN'T STOP THE tracks of tears that ran down her face, she couldn't, no matter what she tried, it was impossible.
She hated fighting, and now she had to sit pretty and watch them duel.
It wasn't fair, in her opinion, why couldn't Autor just give in?
It never occurred to her that Autor might love Rue as much as Mytho did, she thought it was pettiness, or maybe it was just that Autor hated her that much he was unwilling to trade.
She didn't mind that so much, in fact she could understand it.
Who would want to give up someone as wonderful and perfect as Rue, for her?
She started crying when the first blood was shed, they were hurting each other, killing one another, and she couldn't figure out a good enough reason why.
She decided, then, that she didn't want to see anyone fight ever again, she didn't want to see anyone ever have to draw their swords, there was nothing worth so much violence.
There was a tug at her arm.
"Why are you crying, zura?"
Ahiru looked down to Uzura, and wiped at her own cheeks. "It's horrible. That's all. It's horrible."
"What is?"
Ahiru looked out to the two men, and shook her head. "This. This is. It's not fair, and what will it do? Only hurt all that are involved."
For a moment, Uzura was silent, her mouth opening slowly, her eyes trained on Ahiru, and then she spoke.
"A scar, zura. A scar will cover the sun, and all will be lost, there will be no light except what is offered by the moon, zura. A scar, zura."
"What?"
"What was that? What did she say?" Miss Edel kneeled beside Uzura in a second, her hands on Uzura's little shoulders, and looking desperate she asked Uzura to repeat herself.
Uzura smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't remember, zura!"
Miss. Edel sighed, but kissed Uzura's forehead. "Do you remember, Ahiru?"
"A- a scar, will cover the sun? And, something about the moon?"
Miss. Edel simply nodded. "So it will be, then. A silly little poem from yesterday's reading. I'm trying to sharpen her memory."
"Ah." Ahiru said, nodding. But it had been a good distraction, her face dried of tears, she wondered how much longer either could last. "Miss. Edel?"
"Hmm? Yes dear."
"That poem, have we gone over it before? It sounded familiar."
"We have studied the poet, it's her style you must recognize." Miss. Edel rose. "Watch over her, I will return as soon as I can."
Ahiru nodded, she was confused, but perhaps Miss. Edel could hardly stand the duel, like Ahiru could hardly stand it, and needed a break.
Ahiru looked over at Rue, the poor woman, but when she did she noticed that Rue didn't look half as sorrowful as she thought she ought to be.
She leaned forward, engaged in the fight, her eyes following their rapid movements, mouthing something to them, perhaps encouragement.
Ahiru was intrigued by her, but perhaps she had pushed past the inherent sadness of it all and instead focused on the winning.
So long as he won, she would be happy.
She could love.
It was different for her.
For Ahiru, she worried about them and their well-being, the relationship they would have after, but for Rue, her concern lied in Mytho being victorious, her heart wasn't consumed in tears, but a heat, she cheered him on, waiting for the win she was sure he would have.
But, as Ahiru watched, she saw an evenly played match.
She couldn't predict the winner.
There was a creak, and the little pitter-patter of feet, and Ahiru turned in her chair, but too late, Uzura had already ran off.
"Oh, no!" She whispered to herself.
Ahiru rose as calmly as she could.
Should she give an excuse or leave calmly? Give an excuse or leave?
Excuse or leave?
Excuse or leave?
Excuse or-
"Ahiru, where are you going?"
Ahiru flinched, and looked to Rue, a look of concern on her face, she expected Ahiru to stay, as a companion, as a source of strength.
But, now, all eyes were on her, including that of Drosselmeyer's, and she hadn't noticed until he stopped, but since the battle started, the constant scratching of a pen had filled her ears, and now with its absence, it was abnormally quiet.
"Um- I-I- I think it's too much for me." She laughed weakly. "I just need a moment to- to recompose! Yes, that's it."
"Oh." Rue nodded. "Be quick."
Ahiru bowed her head. "As quick as I can."
She moved around her chair and went as quickly as she could out of the booth, and not by fault of her own, for her eyes were cast down, she bumped into Drosselmeyer and the little board that held his ink and papers.
With a soft clatter, and a sharp break, everything was ruined.
The paper stained black, but more importantly, the black ink spilled onto the edge of her skirt.
"Oh, no!" She cried. Lifting her skirt for further inspection. "It's ruined!"
"Ruined?" Drosselmeyer spoke softly, he fell to his knees, his fingers brushing against the papers, trembling. "You know nothing of ruined."
"Oh! Mr. Drosselmeyer, I'm so sorry, where you scribing the duel?"
"It matters not what I was writing, but you have forcibly ripped my hand away! And now, now it will all be lost." His eyes turned on her and with an anger like no other, he rose to tower over her. "If you cause me any more trouble, I will punish you in the only way I know how, and then some. But for now." He raised his hand above his head, and she closed her eyes, but never felt the smack.
She opened her eyes, and before her stood the Queen, without a word, she held Drosselmeyer's wrist in her hand, and challenged him with nothing but the look in her eye that told him to try again.
He seemed surprised, but so did all who stood in her box.
She let go of his hand and wordlessly took her seat. Her eyes trained once more on the two young men.
Ahiru swallowed hard, but while Drosselomeyer gaped at the Queen, she picked up her skirts and ran from the box.
She still had to find Uzura.
Down the wet steps - she slipped several times - and out into the dirt fields that surrounded the jousting pit, she looked around for any sign of the little girl.
She thought she heard drumming, perhaps the toy drum the little girl carried around her waist, but Ahiru ran after it like her life depended on it.
But perhaps she was wrong, because as she ran, the drumming grew louder, but then it stopped, only to start up again, far away, in the other direction.
She felt her hair start to fall, it wasn't meant for activity, only for sitting and watching.
But Ahiru whipped her head around trying to find any clue of the little girl in the rain.
"Uzura!" She called, running when she had a lead, stopping when that lead faded. "Uzura, please! You'll get sick out here!"
There was the crack of a whip and Ahiru jumped six feet in the air at it's sound.
She had only heard that sound once before in her life.
A servant had stolen from the King, and with a whip he was punished.
"Look, Ahiru." Someone had said, but she didn't remember who. "That's what happens when you lie to the King."
"Uzura!" She called again, turning frantic.
There was another crack and she screamed.
And still the rattle of swords.
A clap of thunder.
She heard a carriage now, the squeaking wheels, and the hooves of the horses beating against the muddy road.
A man yelled, another cried out in anguish.
There was drumming.
"Uzura!" She called out again.
"Here, zura!"
Ahiru nearly cried in relief, she could see the silhouette of Uzura in the rain, but also, she could see the carriage coming.
"No. No! Uzura!"
She sprinted.
She picked up her skirts and traveled as fast as she could to the little girl.
Her hair slapped wetly against her back, her toes tripped over loose fabric.
A symphony of thunder as rods of lightning filled the sky.
The horses running.
Another harsh crack of the whip.
Uzura smiled, and waved.
Ahiru held out her arms to catch her, but she was too late.
She could not push Uzura out of the way of the carriage.
It was right there.
Ahiru guarded Uzura with her body, waited for the hooves to break her spine, but nothing happened.
She pulled away and looked up at the horseman.
"What is it!" A voice croaked from the inside.
"A girl, My Lord."
The carriage door creaked open and a man stepped out.
He was a dark haired man, his eyebrows mean, casting shadows into his eyes, his black attire didn't stop him from looming like death himself. He did not smile, but his mouth was wide.
Ahiru stood slowly, cautiously, she took Uzura's hand and hid the girl behind her.
"And who are you?" His voice was deep, and he spoke his words slowly, not drawing them out, but at a pace that spoke of luxury. When he spoke, people listened, he didn't have to fight to be heard, he didn't have to squeeze his words together. No, he strung them out to dry.
"Princess Ode-"
"A Princess!" He guffawed, but his mouth never moved. "A Princess would hold herself more highly than to throw herself in the way of a moving carriage to save such a wretched creature."
"A child?" Ahiru asked.
"That is what I said." His eyes roamed over her languidly. "A servant's job, to go running out to fetch a child."
"She's my responsibility." Ahiru spoke, she felt insulted, although she wasn't sure why. He hadn't insulted her yet.
"Is she yours?"
"N- no. No she's not."
"Then she is not your responsibility."
"My Lord, who is it?" Another voice called from the carriage, and the man rolled his eyes, with the same speed at which he spoke his words.
Slowly, carefully.
"A silly girl."
The second man stepped out, produced a paracel, and went over to the two of them. "Oh my. Young lady, can you tell us where the castle is?"
"She is a Princess! Show some respect!" The first man laughed.
The second let his eyes grow wide. "A Princess?" And he bowed immediately. "The Princess Odette Ahiru of-"
"Yes, it's alright." She spoke, not wanting to hear the full title. "Before I tell you where the castle is, may I ask who you are."
"Of course. I am Sir Katzenlehrer, but you may call me Mr. Cat."
"Mr… Cat?" She tilted her head.
He smiled. "It is easier for my younger students, and for the older, the name simply stuck. I was the ballet teacher of Princess Kreahe Rue. I understand that she is going through a difficult time, I came to console her."
Ahiru nodded, before turning back to the man in black. "And you, sir?"
"I am Duke Raven. I have come on behalf of the King. He is not happy with the trade."
"Oh." Ahiru let her eyes grow wide, so this was…
This was the man that tried to marry Rue.
Ahiru wondered if it was really the King who was upset, or if it was the Duke himself who came to complain.
Mr. Cat came up beside Ahiru to offer some cover and she gave him a smile of thanks.
"Perhaps a trade? We will offer you a dry ride back to the palace if you can lead us there."
Ahiru nodded, she looked down at Uzura and pulled her along.
Mr. Cat offered his hand and pulled them into the carriage.
Ahiru sat awkwardly next to the Duke, and Mr. Cat sat across her with Uzura as she showed him her drum.
Shyly, she showed them the correct way to the palace, and she was quick to escape the carriage once the door opened, shooting up the palace steps in an effort to get away from the man.
"Ahiru!" A voice called, and she sighed in relief.
At the top of the stairs, Fakir stood, looking troubled and mad.
"Where did you go?"
Ahiru panted slightly, pointing back at Uzura. "She ran off again! Is it over?" She turned back to him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the doors of the palace opened.
"Ahiru!"
Ahiru smiled, it was Rue. "Oh, Rue, what happened?"
Rue gave her a great smile. "He won, he won Ahiru."
Ahiru wrapped her arms around Rue. "Oh thank goodness!" She peeled herself away and all Rue could do was wipe at happy tears and grin from ear to ear.
"He got hurt, but he won. He won."
Beside her, the Duke cleared his throat, and Rue cowered, her eyes meeting his, she clung to Ahiru.
"Your Majesty."
"My Lord." She said, her voice shaking.
"I am afraid it is not so easy." He turned away from the Princess, he held his arms behind his back and walked into the castle doors.
And Ahiru's heart became heavy with burden.