Alensar

  Alensar threw himself into his studies, soon able to read at a decent speed. One afternoon, he was working with Jason nearby.

  Darion strode into the room wearing a uniform. It was similar to that of Laude Elaine's guards: an armored jacket with imported plates and cut-resistant fabric. The pants were similarly made of that material, with extra protection in vital areas. It fit better than what Darion had before, and was just as high quality. The only difference in his uniform was the golden bear embroidered on his chest, and the accents were bright purple instead of a subdued green.

  Darion was smiling. "So now I understand why people become guards."

  "Oh?" Alensar humored him.

  "Yeah, I look so good. I don't think my butt has ever looked better."

  Darion turned around to show them, then he looked pointedly at Jason. "What do you think?"

  Jason's eyes went wide, and he managed an "Uh."

  "Leave him alone."

  Darion turned back toward Alensar. "I'm hurt that you both are so unwilling to compliment me."

  Alensar looked at the ceiling and spoke in a monotone voice. "Your butt looks great, and your scar makes you look roguishly handsome."

  "I knew you had discerning taste." He looked at Jason again. "Do you agree?"

  Jason's face darkened to his ears.

  "Stop teasing him, you ass."

  "Me? Teasing?" Darion winked melodramatically at Jason, then turned back to Alensar. "Maybe you are in a bad mood because you need a compliment, too? Eh?"

  Alensar shook his head and turned back to his work. "Don't bother. I know I look like a corpse."

  He didn't look at Darion and Jason. His comment had killed the mood, and he wished he hadn't said it.

  "That's not true," Jason said. Alensar still kept his head down. He didn't want to argue.

  He flinched as he felt Darion's hand on his shoulders.

  "You'll get better. Just keep trying, okay?" Darion said. His sincerity was unnerving.

  "I will." Alensar managed to say. Darion patted his shoulder before making some excuse to leave, Jason following behind.

  ***

  Alensar's lessons with Val Walter were better. Now they were focusing on making sure he was losing convincingly, which meant that he was still getting hit regularly, but not quite as hard. But he was so very tired after each one.

  Darion came by after the lesson finished, and Alensar was resting.

  "You want to train a bit?"

  Alensar shook his head. "I'm still too worn out."

  "You need to eat more," Darion said. "Then you would be less tired."

  "You've been hanging out with Jason too much." Alensar scoffed and looked away from Darion's worried expression.

  ***

  After Professor Tannen left one afternoon, Alensar studied a book with a sheet of paper nearby. Alensar didn't have much patience for the easy books from which children learned. Eventually, Professor Tannen would just give him books on mathematics, business, and politics. All good things for a young noble to study. Alensar soon learned to keep a list of words he didn't know. After he learned them, he would spend the next day re-reading with the newly defined words and then seeing how far he could progress. It was slow going, but surprisingly satisfying work.

  But today his mind kept leaving the page. He would read the words, and then need to look at them again moments later, unsure of what they said. This wasn't just due to the difficulty; his thoughts kept distracting him.

  The absurdity of his inheritance…if he proved himself worthy. But he was good at becoming what others expected.

  He stopped reading and began sketching. He had started sketching the faces of everyone he once loved. His drawings were not as good as he would have liked. But he had to do it before the faces faded away from his mind, not in some distant future where he improved his skills. He was working particularly diligently on a sketch of Krystyna and little Yarrik. To give to Darion, so that he could have something tangible to remember them by. But of course, it's not that Darion could ever forget them.

  Alensar looked at the sketch, and it was somehow worse than before. He put the pencil down before he crossed it out or ripped it up.

  He pulled out the playing cards and started shuffling and cutting them. His control was getting better, and he was starting to do more artful cuts again. He played around with controlling the deck, keeping the Ace of Hearts on top. But when he checked, he had made a mistake, and the Queen of Spades was there instead. He stared at the card. Klara.

  Sacrificing himself so she could run away seemed so right and noble at the time. But with distance, things seemed different. All the barbs about his appearance, his quietness, and everything he did wrong. All the signs that he was not the only man she was with, that he had been afraid to confront her about.

  He shook his head. There would be no good thinking about her, dead or alive.

  He kept shuffling the cards, this time not trying to control anything.

  Of course, she would never want him now, so physically weak.

  She would mock him for avoiding training with Darion, who was all strength. They used to be each other's match, and now he was nothing.

  He pulled out another card–a Nine of Spades. How fitting, a card for nightmares.

  Every night, he woke up, sweating, crying, moaning, and lost in a memory. Usually, Jason or Darion could help him snap out of it without too much trouble. They had started taking shifts on the cot in his room. At first, he had tried to lie in bed, guilt about waking others keeping him still. But the pounding of his heart forced him to get up and prowl irritably through the house.

  He tried to shuffle the cards again, but lost his grip. They fluttered all over the floor. For a moment, he considered leaving them there, except that would mean someone else would pick them up. He couldn't even wallow in his own mess anymore.

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  ***

  One night, during the deepest darkness, Alensar was in the garden looking at the sky.

  Darion came out, just a lanterned silhouette.

  He threw a blanket at Alensar's head, then sat down next to him. Then he put out the lantern.

  It was cold, so Alensar pulled the blanket around his shoulders. "Remember how Mom would tell stories about the shapes in the stars?"

  "No," Darion grumbled. "Because I've never had problems with sleep."

  He muttered some insults under his breath that Alensar pretended not to hear.

  A long moment of silence passed. Long enough that Alensar looked over to see if Darion had nodded off, but it was too dark to tell.

  Darion must have sensed his movement because, a moment later, he said, "What were the stories?"

  "You want a bedtime story?"

  "I want you to fucking sleep."

  Alensar scoffed. Darion didn't have to be out here.

  Another long moment.

  Darion's voice was soft when he said, "But maybe I would like to hear one…to remember what she sounded like."

  ***

  "Well, I think that you are recovered, Val. Your wounds are well healed. You'll also want to start eating more, even when you don't have an appetite." Doctor Rika started gathering her tools carefully into the bag. She had been called since Alensar was getting thinner and sleeping less.

  Alensar nodded obediently.

  She gave him a bottle. "Take a teaspoon of this before bed, should help you sleep. But don't take any more, that could get dangerous."

  "Thank you."

  The doctor nodded, then stood looking at him expectantly.

  "You are dismissed." That seemed like something a Val would say.

  "Very good, Val. Do let me know if there is anything else you need."

  She gave a quick bow and left the room.

  Alensar began re-bandaging his wrists with deliberate movements. The skin was snarled with scars, yet there was no pain in his wrists, unlike just past his elbows and deep in his shoulders.

  He buttoned his shirt with the same deliberation. He didn't have a mirror in his room anymore, but he could feel the way the clothing draped on him, a bit too loose. He pulled the bell cord, and moments later, Jason appeared.

  "Can you re-tie this? The knots seem to have gotten loose."

  He turned around to avoid Jason's worried expression. Most of his clothing had extra ties and buttons to adjust as he gained weight...or lost it.

  He turned back to Jason and straightened the vest. "Thanks."

  "Of course."

  Alensar nodded and wandered over to his desk. At this point, Jason knew he was dismissed without Alensar having to say so.

  Jason hesitated by the door. "Should I bring a plate up?"

  Alensar hesitated. He wasn't especially hungry. He looked over at Jason and immediately wished he hadn't.

  Servants were taught from a young age how to hide their feelings. But Jason was becoming a friend, and the worry was clear from the twitch in his brow and the slight downturn of his lips.

  "Yeah, that sounds good. Something simple would be ideal." Alensar said.

  Jason gave a smart nod and left the room. Alensar was supposed to work on writing an essay summarizing the history of the Bathory dynasty. Instead, he began to sketch absentmindedly in the margins of his notes. The figures he drew were gaunt, with gleaming eyes, partially shadowed. Some were skeletons with wild hair and ropes around their arms and necks. Some were being devoured by hungry mouths, with leering smiles and eyes decorating the background.

  Alensar briefly covered the drawings when Jason came into the room with some potatoes and fried eggs, and a steaming cup of tea. Alensar didn't look up at him, pretending he was hard at work.

  Jason lingered at the door for a moment, but didn't say anything. Later that day, only the tea had been touched, and the floor was littered with crumpled balls of paper.

  Darion

  Darion managed to force Tsarek out of the house and into the garden every day. They usually sat drinking kava under the tree in the back of the garden. Someone had noticed and placed a cushioned bench at the spot, along with a small table.

  Darion had never seen Laude Granthor in the gardens, but the weed-free garden beds and perfectly pruned fruit trees seemed ready for her critical eyes at any moment.

  He looked over at his brother, with sunken eyes and cheekbones too prominent.

  "You must be tired of being the strong one," Tsarek said while watching the clouds. Despite Jason's warning, they spoke Karangasz when alone.

  "What do you mean?" Darion looked at him, but Tsarek's eyes stayed skyward.

  "You're staying strong while I fall apart. It's hardly fair, given what you have lost." Tsarek's voice was distant. As if he knew what he was saying was absurd, but needed to give voice to it.

  "Braterko, I didn't go to Tragst," Darion said, his voice just above a whisper.

  "I should get over it. It's been enough time," Tsarek said.

  At least he was voicing his self-hatred instead of holding it inside. That was some progress.

  Darion punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Stop being an idiot."

  Tsarek gave a slight exhale of amusement, but nothing more.

  "If I went through the same thing, would you be telling me to get over it?" Darion asked.

  Tsarek took so long to respond, Darion wondered if he would at all.

  "No, but I would tell you to take better care of yourself for my sake."

  This time, Darion gave a single laugh. "That's a good idea."

  Tsarek made a sound that wasn't quite agreement.

  "Do you know anything about Laude Granthor's past?" He said, changing the subject.

  Darion took a long sip of his drink. Now he looked at the sky. "I told her about those I had lost. She also lost her spouse and child. That loss united us. I think that's why she let me stay."

  "Strange how many people face the same loss," said Tsarek.

  "The consequences of war," Darion said and took a steadying breath. His own sorrow crept too closely forward in his chest.

  "Is it war still? It was our parents' war. But is it ours? Given that we so easily changed sides?" Clearly, Tsarek had been thinking a lot about this.

  "Or perhaps we just finally admitted defeat."

  "Or are susceptible to bribes," Tsarek smiled slightly and finally looked at him.

  "That's a well-established fact," Darion said with his easy grin. "More impressive are your negotiating skills."

  Tsarek raised his brows. "We'll see if that's true when I actually meet this uncle of mine."

  They clinked the cups and drank the hot, soothing liquid. They stayed until sunset, when Tsarek started to shiver. Darion didn't feel cold at all.

  Alensar

  Alensar was nursing his aches after his practice with Val Walter. They fenced in earnest at least once every practice. It was a relief not to hold back, but it left him more bruised than before.

  He sat on the bench next to the wall of the training room, watching the dust motes float in a sunbeam and drinking water. He leaned against the thick stone wall, cooling off.

  Darion walked in, followed by the guard, Orion, and two more whose names Alensar didn't know. He should know the names of the guards.

  They all bowed to him, as was expected.

  "Here to watch a real fight, Val?" Orion said in a tone that wasn't quite a joke.

  A look flashed across Darion's face that Orion misinterpreted as disapproval.

  "Ah, Val D'Ambrosia was common once, so he doesn't mind a little ribbing." Orion's voice almost made it a question.

  "Of course, I don't mind." He switched to a conspiratorial whisper. "But don't tell Laude Granthor or I'll get in trouble."

  They all laughed at that, though Alensar could sense it was more out of nervousness than humor.

  "Well, go on. Don't mind me," he said, waving his hand at them. They all gave bows, including Darion, who also made a subtle hand sign to indicate his amusement.

  They started with Darion, demonstrating a grappling move on Orion.

  Alensar felt the itch to train. Then he looked down at his legs and saw how thin they were.

  He didn't stay much longer. He left when Darion was distracted, not wanting to see Darion's expression when he left.

  Jealousy can take on many forms.

  ***

  Jason knocked on the open door a few times before Alensar looked at him.

  "Laude Granthor was wondering why you asked Val Walter not to come for a few days now. Is he treating you poorly again?"

  "No, no, nothing like that. I'm not feeling well enough for lessons today. My injuries have been bothering me," he said, and turned away to stare out the window once more. Even he wasn't sure if he was lying or not. Jason stood for a moment, hoping that Alensar would say something more.

  "Should I call for the healer?"

  Alensar shook his head. "I'm sure it will be fine in a day or two."

  As he left, Jason took the tray of untouched food with the intent of bringing a fresh one. Alensar closed the door behind him.

  ***

  "You should go home for the night. Visit your family. I can't imagine you like staying here all the time."

  "I visit my family every evening for a few hours during my break. I go there for breakfast on Sundays as well. And Darion and I switch off on the nights we stay with you." Jason said quite reasonably.

  "Well, I'm hardly going to sleep, so you might as well go home and get a full night's sleep. You look terrible."

  Jason stood for a moment with his mouth half open. "I look terrible? At least I'm eating!"

  "Shut up about the food, damn it. I'm not hungry. I'm a grown man. I'll eat when I want."

  "You're starving. You have all the food you need, and you don't eat it. You're killing yourself slowly!" Jason's voice was raised and audible to others in the house. Not that anyone would be learning anything new, other than that Jason had snapped.

  "Just leave. Go home. That's an order." Alensar's voice was deep and quiet.

  Jason's nostrils flared for a moment before his face lost all hint of expression.

  "As you wish, Val D'Ambrosia." He bowed.

  Jason remained just professional enough not to slam the door.