unbreakable_king | [Aterat Mem Shares]

[Aterat Mem Shares]

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Winter is a slow time of the year, and as in the last. The winter was colder but never truly fun outside, the days were darker and the sky overcast, and there was little fun to be found save in searching the palace for new secrets. And with Kell off doing his training and the late hour of the evening, he doubted he could sneak into his brother's room and encourage the other boy to get up to mischief. So instead he moved to the game he had been working on since he was really small. Eight that is, which was over a year ago, so he was getting rather good at getting his game ready.

It had all started with his father's map room, hidden away behind golden doors. In the room there had been a great table covered with stone figures and buildings that mimicked the city beyond the palace. The pieces themselves were enchanted to move about the table to reflect the city itself. It had been such a glorious game, and soon he had started on his own version of his father's great game. Rhy's own was just the palace for now and the areas immediately around it, the palace of a golden three-tiered cake stand he'd begged off the cooks. His river was a stretch of crimson gossamer. His people were tiny figures from whatever he could find, life his mother being a glass tonic vial and his brother a fire-starter with a red top. Granted he'd never found something suitable to be the king, but it was still wonderful.

Tonight he crouched over the board before bed time only to have the bedroom doors open and present him a rare sight in his father, King Maxim. He was a towering man draped in red and gold, his dark beard and brows swallowing his face. No wonder Rhy had not been able to find a piece to play him. Nothing ever felt large enough.

"What's this?" asked his father, sinking to one knee beside the makeshift palace.

"It's a game," Rhy declared with pried, "just like yours."

There was no good way to describe the look of concern on his father's face, but when Maxim held out his hand, silently commanding, Rhy rushed forward to take it. Together they walk through the marble and stone of the palance, through the halls and down the stairs, Rhy's feet sinking in the plush carpets. From the path they took in silence, Rhy knew where they were going, to the parts where his father worked and Rhy did not often god. Yet as they continued and reached the golden doors, Rhy's heart leapt, half in dread, half in excitement, as his father unlocked the doors. And still his father guided him further in, closer, until he could look upon the table and its map. It was more marvelous than Rhy had remembered.

"This," Maxim said with a sternness to his voice, "is not a game. Every ship, every soldier, every bit of stone and glass---the lives of this kingdom hang in the balance of this board."

Rhy stared in wonder at the map, made all the more magical for his father's warning. Maxim stood, arms crossed, while Rhy circled the table, examining every facet before turning his attention to the palace.

This was no cake tray. This palace shone, a perfect miniature---sculpted in glass and gold---of Rhy's home.

Rhy stood on his toes, peering into the windows.

"What are you searching for?" asked his father.

Rhy looked up, eyes wide. "You."

At last a smile broke through that trimmed beard. Maxim pointed to a slight rise in the cityscape, a plaza two bridges down from the palace where a huddle of stone guards sat on horseback. And at their center, no larger than the rest, was a figure set apart only by the gold band of a crown.

"A king," said his father, "belongs with his people."

Rhy reached a hand into the pocket of his bedclothes and pulled out a small figure, a boy prince spun from pure sugar and stolen from his last birthday cake. Now, carefully, Rhy set the figure on the map beside his father.

"And the prince," he said proudly, "belongs with his king."

It's movement that stirs him from his sleep, which, after the night he's had, is pretty impressive. Rhy hums to himself as he rolls onto his side and watches as Alucard, by the dim light of the moon and stars through the windows, rises from Rhy's bed. Even in this light the man's tanned skin and rich dark curls of hair are stunning. Rhy can't help the stirring he feels in his body.

"Surely you don't mean to slip away through my window at this hour," Rhy muses, his voice light and teasing as his lover circles the bed, stopping only long enough to find his discarded pants and pull them on.

"Now now, my sweet prince, do you truly feel me so cruel a man as to leave you to your lonesome?" his beloved's voice nearly purrs as smart fingers move about the laces of his pants. "I merely wished you show you something."

Oh? More show and tell? The young Maresh heir delighted at the very idea, and he too slipped from amid the silken sheets of his bed, pushing through the rich curtains around it to find the nearby table where he knew he'd left a robe. The thing is pulled on even as he watches Alucard Emeric, roguish nobleman moving right to the doors to Rhy's patio and opening them. They are as silent as a breeze as they swing open, and his lover turns just enough to hold a beckoning hand out to Rhy. It would be rude, and foolish, not to accept. Rhy moved to catch the hand in his own, and found himself pulled swiftly against the older man's strong body. This close it was a wonder that he could breathe at all, and when he did he could smell the spice of Alucard's cologne, the natural musk of his skin, and under that the heavy mixture of sweat and sex. Oh what a temptation this man ever was for him.

"And one would hope that you meant to show me more than the glory of your bare skin," the prince chuckled, looking up to meet the quick, flashing wit of his lover's eyes as he was guided into the balcony with a side step.

Neither of them were appropriately dressed for this, and Rhy didn't care. From here the red light of the Isle River washed over them, and to look at the crimson of it lighting Alucard's skin was a temptation all its own. Rhy wished to lean in, to lick and suck and chase at the glory of that light. Instead he found himself being turned out toward the city and the myriad lights, both of oil and magic, that twinkled next to the powerful crimson of the local Source.

"What do you see, my pet?"

"Lights. The same lights there are every night."

The comment earned a chuckle, low and rich and sweet in that way that made Rhy want to press against his body, his lips, his hands. Instead he stayed watching, Alucard's hands on his shoulders, holding him toward the city.

"Each of those lights, my darling? Lives. A handful, at the least. Lives that one day shall be in your hands."

"Our hands," Rhy countered. "You will be at my side for that, will you not?"

Those hands on his shoulders turned to arms wrapped around his waist, and lips at his neck, kissing and sucking. Rhy shivered and pushed back against the firm, hot body, felt the growing firmness of Alucard's desire against his body.

"Of course, my darling. Of course."

Rhy stood before the mirror, fastening the gleaming buttons of his tunic. Beyond the shuttered balcony, the sounds of celebration were rising off the cold night like steam. Carriages and laughter, footsteps and music. He was running late, and he knew it, but he couldn't seem to get his nerves under control, wrangle his fears. It was getting dark, and the darkness leaned against the palace, and against him, the weight settling on his chest.

He poured himself a drink--his third--and forced a smile at his reflection. Where was the prince who relished such festivities, who loved nothing better than to be the contagious joy at the center of the room.

Dead, thought Rhy, drily, before he could stop himself, and he was glad, not for the first time, that Kell could not read his mind as well as feel his pain. Luckily, other people still seemed to look at Rhy and see what he'd been instead of what he was. He didn't know if that meant he was good at hiding the difference, or that they weren't paying attention to begin with. Kell looked, and RHy was sure he saw the change, but he had the sense not to say anything. There was nothing to be said.

He downed the drink, hoping it would render him in better spirits, but it fulled the world without ever touching his thought. He touched the gleaming buttons and adjusted his crown for the dozenth time, shivering as a gust of cold air brushed against his neck.

"I fear you haven't enough gold," came a voice from the balcony doors.

Rhy stiffened. "What are guards for," he said slowly, "when they let even pirates pass?"

The man took a step forward, and then another, silver on him ringing like muffled chimes. "Privateer's the term these days."

Rhy swallowed and turned to face Alucard Emery. "As for the gold," he said evenly, "it is a fine balance. The more I wear, the more likely one is to try and rob me of it."

"Such a dilemma," said Alucard, stealing another stride. He was dressed in clothes that had clearly never seen the sea. A dark blue suit, accented by a silver cloak, his rich brown hair groomed and threaded with gems to match. A single sapphire sparkled over his right eye. Those eyes, like night lilies caught in moonlight. He used to smell like them too. Now he smelled like sea breeze and spice, and other things Rhy could not place, from lands he'd never seen.

"What brings a rogue like you to my chambers?" he asked.

"A rogue," Alucard rolled the word over his tongue. "Better a rogue than a bored royal."

Rhy felt Alucard's eyes wandering slowly, hungrily, over him, and he blushed. The heat started in his face and spread down, through his collar, his chest, beneath shirt and belt. It was disconcerting; Rhy might not have magic, but when it came to conquests, he was used to holding the power--things happened at his whim, and at his pleasure. Now he felt that power falter, slip. In all of Arnes, there was only one person capable of flustering the prince, of reducing him from a proud royal to a nervous youth, and that was Alucard Emery. Misfit. Rogue. Privateer. And royal. Removed from the throne by a stretch of tangled bloodlines, sure, but still. Alucard Emery could have had a crest and a place in court. Instead he fled.

"You've come for the tournament," said Rhy, making small talk.

Alucard pursed his lips at the attempt. "Among other things."

Rhy hesitated, unsure what to say next. With anyone else, he would have had a flirtatious retort, but standing there, a mere stride away from Alucard, he felt short of breath, let alone words. He turned away, fidgeting with his cuffs. He heard the chime of silver and a moment later, Alucard snaked an arm possessively around his shoulders and brought his lips to the prince's neck, just below his ear. Rhy actually shivered.

"You are too familiar with your prince," he warned.

"So you confess it, then?" He brushed his lips against Rhy's throat. "That you are mine?"

He bit the lobe of Rhy's ear, and hte prince gasped, back arching. Alucard always did know what to say--what to do--to tilt the world beneath his feet. Rhy turned to say something, but Alucard's mouth was already there on his. Hands tangled in hair, clutched at coats. They were a collision, spurred by the force of three years apart.

"You missed me," said Alucard. It was not a question, but there was a confession in it, because everything about Alucard--the tension in his back, the way his hips pressed into Rhy's, the race of his heart and the tremor in his voice--said that the missing had been mutual.

"I'm a prince," said Rhy, striving for composure. "I know how to keep myself entertained."

The sapphire glinted in Alucard's brow. "I can be very entertaining." He was already leaning in as he spoke, and Rhy found himself closing the distance, but at the last moment Alucard tangled his fingers in Rhy's hair and pulled his head back, exposing the prince's throat. He pressed his lips to the slope below Rhy's jaw.

Rhy clenched his teeth, fighting back a groan, but his stillness must have betrayed him; he felt Alucard smile against his skin. The man's fingers drifted to his tunic, deftly unbuttoning his collar so his kisses could continue downward, but Rhy felt him hesitate at the sight of the scar over his heart. "Someone has wounded you," he whispered into Rhy's collarbone. "Shall I make it better?"

Rhy pulled Alucard's face back into his, desperate to draw his attention from the mark, and hte questions it might bring. He bit Alucard's lip, and delighted in the small victory of the gasp it earned him as--

The bells rang out.

He was late. They were late.

Alucard laughed softly, sadly. Rhy closed his eyes and swallowed.

"Sanct," he cursed, hating the world that waited beyond his doors and his place in it.

Alucard was already pulling away, and for an instant all Rhy wanted to do was pull him back, hold fast, terrified that if he let go, Alucard would vanish again, not just from the room but from London, from him, slip out into the night and the sea as he'd done three years before. Alucard must have seen the panic in his eyes, because he turned back, and drew Rhy in, and pressed his lips to Rhy's one last time, a gentle, lingering kiss.

"Peace," he said, pulling slowly free. I am not a ghost." And then he smiled, and smoothed his coat, and turned away. "Fix your crown, my prince," he called back as he reached the door. "It's crooked."

"I took the liberty of designing your pennant," Rhy says, resting his elbows on the gallery's marble banner as he regarded the party taking place in the rest of the Rose Hall below. "I hope you don't mind."

He could see his brother cringe out of the corner of his eye, and could even sense the concern from the link they shared. "Do I even want to know what's on it?"

Amused Rhy tugged the folded piece of fabric from his pocket, and handed it over. The cloth was red, and when Kell unfolded it he would be treated to the image of a rose in black and white. The rose had been mirrored of course, folded along the center axis and reflected, so that the design was actually two flowers, surrounded by a coil of thorns.

"How subtle," Kell said tonelessly.

"You could at least pretend to be grateful."

"And you couldn't have picked something a little more... I don't know... imposing? A serpent? A great beast? A bird of prey?"

"A blood handprint?" Rhy shot back. "Oh, what about a glowing black eye?"

Said black eye glowered at him now when his brother turned his head, and Rhy ignored it. He was well used to his brother's temper by this point.

"You're right," he continued, "I should have just drawn a frowning face. But then everyone would know it's you. I thought this was rather fitting."

That prompted some muttering from his brother as he shoved the pennant into his pocket, but it didn't stop Rhy at all.

"You're welcome."

They were in silence for a moment, and Rhy's eyes returned to surveying the Rose Hall where many nobles, foreign dignitaries, and of course the competitors for the Essen Tasch were millign about. It was as he considered them that his brother spoke again.

"You think anyone will notice that I'm--well, that Kamerov Loste is missing from the festivities?"

With that Rhy raised his goblet to his mouth to take a brief sip. This was the part that he thought he was most wickedly cunning for, and he wanted the moment to hang in the air, where he had the plan and his brother did not. "I doubt it, but just in case..."

With that Rhy dipped his drink subtly in the direction of a lean figure moving through the crowd below. From the sputtering choke he heard beside him, his brother must have marked the man as well. The figure was tall and slim, with trimmed auburn hair. Dressed as he was in elegant black trousers and a silver high-collared tunic, and moving with a good deal of grace, he played the part well, and was similar enough in form to Kell that Rhy was rather proud of himself. Add in the mask tucked under his arm that Rhy had previously given to his brother as his own for the upcoming games and the picture was complete. The mask that Kamerov Loste would wear in battle, a single piece of sculpted silver-white metal, polished to a high shine, and which would serve to hide Kell's identity, the best way to provide a distraction.

"Who on earth is that?"

Oh yes, Rhy thought he should very much applaud himself for this tonight. No one would expect him, crown prince of Arnes, to create such a lovely little ploy to let his older brother work out some aggression. It was a relief that they both needed, and had been months in the planning.

"That, my dear brother, is Kamerov Loste. At least for tonight."

"Dammit, Rhy, the more people you tell about this plan, the more likely it is to fail."

Rhy waved a dismissive hand at that. "I've paid our actor handsomely to play the part tonight, and as far as he's concerned it's because the real Kamerov doesn't care for public displays. This is the only event where all thirty-six competitors are expected to show their faces, Kamerov included. Besides, Castars is discreet."

That led to some incredulity from his brother. Of course it did.

"You know him?"

All Rhy cared to offer was a shrug. "Our paths have crossed."

He could hear the tension in his brother's voice when Kell next spoke, and could feel the rising ire in him. Bad enough that Kell had caught Alucard Emery of all people in Rhy's room once more earlier this evening. Now he was going to make a fuss about this wasn't he?

"Stop," said Kell. "Please. I don't want to hear about your romantic interludes with the man currently posing as me."

"Oh don't be obscene," Rhy huffed. His brother was beautiful and handsome and Rhy had been happy to tell Kell that many times before, had even playfully flirted with his adoptive brother, but that didn't begin to figure into this. "I haven't been with him since he agreed to take up this particular role. And that right there is a testament to my respect for you."

"How flattering."

It took some doing, but with a smile and a twist of his drink to catch light on the gold, and a quirk of his brow, Rhy caught Castar's attention and but a few moments later the man completed a tour of the room before ascending the stairs to the gallery.

"Prince Rhy," he said, executing a rather heavily flourished bow that did much to remember unto Rhy just how flexible and spirited Castar had been in bed the last time. Perhaps he would visit him again, when this was all over, if only to get Alucard from his mind. "And Master Kell," the actor added reverently.

Yes yes, everyone either adored or abhorred the black-eyed prince. Kell was their Antari after all, the symbol of their kingdom's might, and so often held as a lofty symbol of the power of the Maresh throne. If only they knew how tedious his brother could be, or the skill with which Kell cheated at Sanct. People really should stop that little hero worship thing they had gong on.

"Master Loste," Rhy said cheerfully, hoping to draw more favorable attention back to himself.

Instead 'Loste' looked to Kell, and Rhy had to applaud himself. They were of a height and build, all the more visible when he saw them together. Yes, he'd done well with this one, even if he knew Kell didn't like it at all.

"I wish you luck in the coming days," Kell spoke, which only made the man's smile deepen. Rhy wanted to reach out and remind Castar that it was not his brother whose eye wandered in the same way that Castar's did. It was not Kell's bed he could make it into.

"It is an honor for fight for Arnes," Castar advised them both, and then retreated at a dismissive wave from Rhy.

"A bit over the top isn't he?" Kell asked, and Rhy snorted in amusement.

"Oh don't be bitter. The important thing is that Kamerov has a face. Specifically a face that isn't yours."

"He doesn't have the coat."

"No, unfortunately for us, you can't pull coats out of that coat of yours. And I figured you'd be unwilling to part with it."

Though Rhy envied Kell's coat of many coats, he knew better than to ask after it. It was one of the things that made Kell so very Kell, and had bein since he had acquired it.

"You'd be right," Kell confirmed as he turned back to the banister and looked down. Soon his gaze was caught up in something, and Rhy's eyes followed. This time there was a figure dressed in all black with the edge of a smirk and a demon mask. The man moved like a shadow, and Rhy watched as his brother stared at the figure, riveted.

"Who's that?" Kell asked, and Rhy took a second look before moving for the list in his pocket.

"Someone who clearly shares your taste for monochrome. Beyond that..." he unfolded the paper and reviewed the list. "It's not Brost, he's huge. I've met Jinnar. Must be Stasion."

He watched his brother stare and then shake his head, wondering what Kell thought he was seeing. Luckily he was not long left in the dark.

"I know it's mad, but for a second I thought it was..."

Rhy could fill in that blank and he chuckled. "Saints, you're seeing her in everyone and everything now, Kell? There's a word for that."

"Hallucination?"

"Infatuation."

Kell snorted. "I'm not infatuated. I just... Our paths crossed one time. Months ago. It happens."

"Oh yes, your relationship with Miss Bard is positively ordinary."

"Be quiet."

"Crossing worlds, killing royals, saving cities. The marks of every good courtship."

"We weren't courting. And in case you forgot, she left."

Oh how wounded his brother sounded, and that was a pain Rhy knew very well. He thought once more of his room, of Alucard, of loving and losing when his beloved disappeared into the night with no explanation. Could Kell feel it now, the echo of remembered hurt and longing that beat in Rhy's heart. He didn't know, but perhaps it was possible, their link had been strong of late. Now though Lila marked Kell even more Rhy's brother, and it reminded him of all the things the two of them had never been able to share. Which was what made him speak up now.

"When this is over, we should take a trip."

Rhy knew how impossible it was, given how Kell was forbidden from leaving the palace unescorted. Of course it was worse now than it had been in the past. Still, Rhy wanted it with all of his heart, to see the world at his brother's side.

"Not this again," Kell insisted, and then thrust his cup into Rhy's hands. "Hold this."

Clearly he had seen someone in the crowds, and well before Rhy could say a word his brother was striding off at a hasty pace. Not for the first time, nor he suspected for the last, Rhy was left alone.

“We need another way to contain him.”

Attention turns to Rhy in the room, and given how many people were present, that’s quite a bit of attention. Well, let the attention be upon him, he was used to it. And if they tired their eyes following him as he paced, well, they deserved it, for all they had been hiding from him. Especially after Kell’s little stunt with the river. Thanks to that Rhy now knew very well what it was like to nearly drown, and he hadn’t even been the one in the water.

There was Kell, sitting across the room in one of Rhy’s favorite chairs, still dripping wet and no doubt ruining the thing. Though Rhy cared more for the chill across his shoulders from the wet clothes on his brother’s body, a chill even Rhy’s own pacing by the fire could do little for. A chill that not even the heat he could feel across his fingers from his brother’s too hot cup of tea could drive away. Sitting at his side on a stool was the Aven Essen, Tieren’s entire attention on the healing play of magic that no doubt alleviated the pain in his brother’s chest, which Rhy only knew from the fact that the pain was diminishing in his own. Nearer Rhy and the fire stood his father, Maxim, his father brooding in a way that Rhy was certain his brother had inherited, shared blood or not. Of course, given what had come of their city, he understood the brooding. Perhaps Rhy was due for another bout of it himself. But not here, not now, it would be unattractive, and hardly helpful.

Well, maybe he was brooding a little, but at least he tried to keep moving forward. There was nothing it could do for him right now.

Part of the brooding, though, came from the other two presences in the room. The first, Alucard Emery, oh how his presence ached in Rhy’s chest. His being there was its own form of dull ache, one Rhy hoped would not be echoed back across to his brother. The low throb of it was like a bruise to the jaw, one that only hurt when one was chewing or speaking. A bruise to the jaw that had come just as a rather lengthy speech was to be delivered, which was to say that it was constant, and he had no hope of relief any time soon. Alucard was seated on a couch with wine, nursing it and not even thinking it strange that one of his sun-darkened sailors stood at his back. The final member of their little mess of people was the unexpected Antari of Gray London, Lila Bard. The woman that captivated his brother so, moved his brother to perhaps even aspirations of love. The woman who sat on the floor and leaned against the couch, so close that Alucard could reach out to touch her if he wished, and Rhy didn’t like how that left a light curl of jealousy in his chest.

What business was it of his who his former lover dallied with? Even if it was bound to break his brother’s heart. Why should he care that Alucard remain so close to the woman, especially when he owed the woman his life, and his brother’s. Perhaps even the standing of his whole kingdom rested upon the small woman’s shoulders, and he shouldn’t begrudge her the company of the privateer but…

Ah, what a powerful little word, that one. But even her eyes, one brown and one a shattered star from where her glass eye had been broken, were turned upon him.

“Something better than a body,” he continued, living with the weight of the gazes upon him. Who was he to speak to them on this, he half wondered. He wasn’t a magician of any real caliber, his power the drips and drops of a leaky facet, rare and unmanageable compared to the force and experience in this room. “Bodies come with minds, and those, as we know, can be manipulated.”

Oh how deeply he knew that. He still remembered it, the lingering presence of Astrid Dane in his mind, and it made him sick to think about. Sick enough that he found himself reaching out to a nearby shelf, plucking down the first thing that came to hand. He needed to be buddy, he needed to feel useful. The silver spear was one of his father’s creations, from when he did magic more often, made of long metal cords, so when he pulled at it, they drew apart into a large orb, until even that was not enough for his finger, so he pressed them inward together, creating a dense ball in his hand. The weight didn’t change, but it was still satisfying to be doing something.

“We need something stronger. Something permanent,” his brother agreed, his voice firm and full of that frustrating conviction that Kell was given to.

“We need an Inheritor,” Master Tieren said, his voice soft but it still carried to Rhy, whose fingers forgot the playing with the potential weapon in his hand. There was something in his tone that made the word more weighty, more definite, more capitalized. Interesting.

All eyes turned to the priest, and Rhy delighted in the lack of weight from his shoulders, the potential judgement in his eyes. At least someone had said something useful. He was quite ready to speak, to press the priest, only another voice cut in for the first time and stilled Rhy.

His father’s voice, deep and strong like the earth itself, held some accusation in it, even has his face went scarlet.

“You told me they didn’t exist,” Rhy watched his father accuse.

“No. I told you I would not help you make one,” the priest corrected, and the way the two held each other’s gaze, the room silent and weighty all over again… it was unnerving. The two were so often a united front, old friends, Rhy knew. So to have them disagree over something meant that this Inheritor was not a light thing to discuss.

And yet, if it was an answer, a means to help the city…

“Anyone want to explain?” he asked, and for the life of him, Rhy could not keep a slightly hysterical edge from his voice. If there was an answer they were denying themselves because of history between his father and the Aven Essen, he had no patience for it.

“An Inheritor is a device that transfers magic. And even if it could be made it is, by its very nature, corrupt, an outright defiance of cardinal law, and an interference,” the stress put on that word as the Aven Essen explained, his eyes hard on Maxim, said that this was an argument he’d gone over before, “with the natural order of magical selection.”

Rhy could see the way his father looked at that statement, like he was a marble statue, with a face carved to relay the purest essence of anger. Silence hung between them like the dark mists that hung about the history, hung in the entire room like a barrier to further discussion. Even Rhy himself did not dare break it, because he understood what Tieren had just said. The cardinal laws governed magic and its use, not only a moral directive, but one intended to keep them from falling into the abuse of magic that had led to the downfall of Black London. One could never use magic to compel or control. A device that could do so, while taking magic from one to give to another as something along the lines of an abomination. And his father had meant to create one.

Meant to create it for Rhy. Meant to use a dark and tainted means of theft to take magic from one and give it to him, his useless, powerless son. Who, then, had been his father’s intended victim? Someone who had already broken law and who would have the sealing bands marked into their skin, to keep their power from ever being used? Or perhaps would it be someone a little closer to home? Rhy’s eyes flickered quickly over to his brother, even as a chill came over him. Had that been the point of the Maresh family taking in an orphaned Antari? To steal the birthright of one to gift to another who had nothing?

The very concept made him nauseous.

But the silence hung too long, far too long, and Rhy refused to let the revelation of what his father would have done for him, done to someone for him, stop this possible answer for their kingdom from being considered. So he took a deep breath and broke the silence again, his attention on Tieren rather than his father. Rather than his brother. Rather than anyone else. If he just looked at the Aven Essen, he wouldn’t need to consider anyone or anything else, or even the weight of his next words.

“Is it really possible, Tieren?”

“In theory,” the priest answered, crossing to Rhy’s desk and pulled a piece of paper from a drawer. Soon he had produced a pencil as well and begun to draw. “Magic, as you know, does not follow blood. It chooses the strong and the weak as it will. As is natural.”

Those words were pointed, no doubt another thing he had spoken to Maxim about when Rhy was young. But no, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t think about that more. Would not consider what his father would have made him party to.

“But some time ago a noble man named Talrik Larene wanted a way to pass on not only his land and his titles, but also his power to his beloved eldest son. He designed a device that could be spelled to take and hold a person’s power until the next of kin could lay claim to it.”

“Hence ‘Inheritor’,” Lila mused aloud, and the words made Rhy more sick. He had to swallow back the bile in his throat. Maxim, then? Had he wanted to pass his magic on to Rhy? Would his father truly do such a thing? Would Rhy accept it?

He feared the answer, if put to him, would be yes.

“And it actually worked?” Rhy asked, his voice almost breaking with strain.

“Well, no. The spell killed him instantly. But his niece, Nadina, had a rather brilliant mind. She perfected the design, and the first Inheritor was made.”

“Why have I never heard of this? And if they worked, why aren’t they still used?” Kell demanded, and Rhy had to struggle to not flinch. Of course the Antari would want to know. It would be childs play no doubt for his brother to create one, if the way of it was known. What would Kell do to make sure that Rhy could provide for the Empire? What had Kell done? Rhy found he did not wish to know.

“Power does not like being forced into lines,” Tieren said as he continued to work. “Nadina Larene’s Inheritor worked, but it worked on anyone. For anyone. There was no way to control who claimed the contents of an Inheritor. Magicians could be persuaded to relinquish the entirety of their power to the device, and once it was surrendered to the Inheritor, it was anyone’s to claim. As you could imagine, things got… messy. In the end most of the Inheritors were destroyed.”

“But if we could find the Larene designs,” Lila cut in, no doubt seeing the use of it more than the caution, and Rhy understood her drive there as it moved him as well for all of his horror, “if we could recreate one…”

“We don’t need to.”

Rhy’s chest ached with the rich curl of Alucard’s accent. He feared what his former lover would say next, for he knew that tone, had known it so well once. It was Alucard’s tone for ‘I have a secret you do not know’.

“I know exactly where to find one.”

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