Page 24 of The Sundered Blade

Tucked into a hollow between a copse of firs and a rocky overhang, Vaniell demonstrated his one useful skill and built a fire that would need very little wood to keep it going. Enchanting wood was not a simple feat, but he could do that much at least.

“If I had my hearthstone, this would be much easier,” he noted regretfully. “I can enchant a smaller stone for light, but heat requires more weight, and the wretched thing is too large to carry around in my pockets. Someday I hope to find a way to make it smaller.”

Kyrion lowered himself to the ground with a barely audible groan before reaching into his own pocket and producing a smooth, round stone that fit neatly into his palm. “Do you mean like this?”

His lips tilted into a smirk as he closed his eyes and clenched his fingers around the stone. When his fingers opened, it was glowing brightly, emitting a pleasant warmth along with its cheerful yellow light.

Vaniell did his best to hide his shock—and his curiosity—as he stared at what was essentially a pebble. If only…

“Exactly like that,” he admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. “But it was kind of you to pretend that I was being helpful.”

Kyrion shook his head. “I only hope you have more useful skills hidden in those pockets of yours, because that is all the magic I can spare at the moment. Flying takes a great deal of energy, particularly with a passenger, and my wound will recover more slowly if I burn myself out.”

“Oh, that was pretty much it.” Vaniell shrugged and tried not to display his discomfort with that admission. “I was born at court and raised in salons and ballrooms. I can manage decently well in a garden as long as you keep the bees away, but in the wilderness? I’m pretty much hopeless. Whatever happens from here on out will be purely experimental in nature.”

“You mentioned protection?” Kyrion reminded him. “Hopefully, you had more in mind than fire and a sharp stick. Or unpredictable explosions.”

“You wound me.” Vaniell allowed his eyes to widen reproachfully. “I happen to have a fair amount of practice at setting traps and alarms. We will at least have a warning before anything larger than a rabbit attempts to attack.”

One of Kyrion’s eyebrows shot up. “And have you experienced many rabbit attacks?”

“One, in fact,” Vaniell retorted, holding up his left thumb and forcing back the surge of painful memories that always accompanied this particular story. “And the little furball left a scar, so that just goes to show you should never underestimate anyone just because they appear harmless.”

Kyrion’s voice went flat and quiet. “I have never once thought you harmless, Prince of Garimore. And I’ll wager neither did the rabbit.”

Vaniell was not expecting the jab, so it hurt far more than such comments usually did. “Whatever you may think of me,” he said coolly, “I’ve never tortured the helpless. Never inflicted pain for fun, or enjoyed the ugly things I was forced to do.”

Silence reigned for a few moments as Vaniell stared grimly into the fire he’d built, wondering whether he would ever outlive the consequences of his decade-long pretense.

But after a few more tense breaths, Kyrion sighed deeply. “My words were harsh and unfair,” he said. “I believed my resentment to be resolved, but perhaps I was overly optimistic.”

When Vaniell did not reply, he added, “And I do trust your word that you never deliberately caused pain. What came of my captivity was not truly your doing.”

For some reason, Vaniell decided to tell him the whole story. “The rabbit was caught in a reflecting pool in the garden,” he said abruptly. “When I found it, it was struggling to get out, unable to find purchase on the wet rock. I was sopping wet before I managed to pull it out, but I carried it inside, determined to dry it off and keep it as a pet.”

It had not gone well.

“I took it to my father, and when I held it up to show him, it bit me. Hard. I was bleeding and crying and by the time I recovered sufficiently to look for it, the rabbit was gone. I asked, and my father said that… That he’d had it killed. As an important lesson.”

Melger had rarely taken the time to interact with his younger son, but when he had, it was always in the nature of a lesson. Usually a brutal one.

“He said that in order for a kingdom to thrive, we must be forever vigilant and rid ourselves of anything that can hurt us, no matter how small. And then he said that if the rabbit was fool enough to be caught, it deserved to be dinner.”

Kyrion’s head tilted thoughtfully. “And what did you actually learn?”

That moment was still clear in his mind, so many years later. “To hide my pain,” he said quietly. “That if I wanted to protect what I cared about, I must never let anyone see how I feel.”

That lesson had become his entire identity, and even now, he did not truly know how to change it. With Karreya and Emmerick and Jarek he’d made a start… And with Kyrion, he’d laid bare far more of his heart than he planned.

But he’d been unable to tell Karreya the truth. Unable in the end to do more than hide behind sarcasm, flippancy, and insincere smiles.

“Such lessons do not fade with time,” Kyrion said finally. “Only with experience. Patience. Sincerity. You will have to want a different way in order to find it.”

But of course he wanted things to be different. Wanted to be able to speak freely with his brother. Tell Karreya that he loved her. To weep for his mother and laugh with a friend without pretense.

“If wanting were enough, the world would be a far different place,” he said flatly. “Neither of us would be here now, and there would be no need for war. So forgive me if I don’t place much confidence in the idea that wanting to change will gain me anything but false hope.”

“Desiring a thing can lead you to finding the right road,” Kyrion corrected. “But you are not wrong. Desire alone can change nothing.”

---