Page 67 of Iron Blade

His correction was just a delusion. He was a part of our world - the prodigal cousin who would come back soon.

I smirked. “You’ll come back. When the war kicks off, you’ll be by my side.”

I pulled out my blade, the one that was made in the likeness of his own, and we stood, staring at each other like two sides of the same coin.

“You don’t need me by your side,” he said, his smile mirroring my own.

“You’ll be there all the same.”

He didn’t disagree. He couldn’t. We were brothers. That was that.

When we were twelve, my father tried to pit the two of us against one another, as if it would somehow strengthen us. He would insult one, and praise the other. Then he would make us fight, compete, and try to break our spirits. He wanted us to lash out at one another. He thought that we would be two swords, sharpening each other with every clash.

But his plan didn’t work.

Instead, Dairo and I became two conspirators, hiding from his wrath, protecting each other like double agents. That came to a halt when we grew up, but the camaraderie remained.

Dairo pulled a knife from his belt - the small throwing knife forged from iron. It was dark, the handle only distinguishable from the blade in its blunted sides, and the small hole at the rounded end where we could tie a rope or dummy cord.

It was just like mine, except they bore his initials - ACG. Alastair Cian Green.

Our blades were like us - identical, but for one small difference.

“Do you swear to always have my back?” I asked, staring at his blade and mine as we held it in the space between us.

“How could you even ask?”

“Come back to Green Fields.”

“No.”

I shut my eyes in disappointment, even though it didn’t last long. I could work with a no. He’d give in eventually.

“You are separate from the Enterprise,” he said, grabbing my free hand in his. “I made a pledge to be your brother. Not your father’s heir. Not an Irish soldier. I would never fight for Green Fields Enterprises. But I will fight for you, brother.”

My father thinks my first blood oath was when I was eighteen years old. He had made every man in our army, me included, swear to avenge my mother’s brutalization.

The army was much smaller then, and far less professional. But it was the start of the world he would create with oaths and blood. It was a word of pledges, and feudal sensibilities. He brought something that felt ancient into our society.

But he didn’t know that Dairo and I had an older oath. We were twelve and feeling like big men. We slashed our hands, and shook, swearing to always have each other’s back, no matter what, without question. We were so young, and weak, that the cut we placed on our hands barely even scarred. Still, I could see it. The timid little knick near our lifelines.

My first vow was to Dairo.

I hoped the one I made to Kira would be my last one.

“I’m marrying her,” I said. “Tonight.”

Dairo laughed, leaning back into the seat, the leather groaning under his weight.

“Ah, just the run of the mill vacation with my family in America.” His good natured smile didn’t waver as he shook his head. “We’ll start the evening with a kidnapping, and cap it off with a wedding.”

“Will you officiate?” I asked, again, repeating a question I had asked at the beginning of this detour.

“Of course. You knew before you asked.” Dairo shrugged.

Kieran slowed the car, and we came to an office building made of glass and metal. The Law Offices of Morelli and Co.

Kieran pulled into the back of the lot, beneath a broken parking lot lamp that we had disabled that afternoon.

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