Page 118 of Ash and Feather

It still looked more or less the same as the image seared into my mind. Towering shelves filled with bland record books on one wall. Rows of ornate shields, swords, knives, and other gleaming weapons hanging on the other—just a small sampling of the impressive collection the former king possessed.

Torches like the ones in the halls lined these walls, as well, but they did little to warm things, even after I purposely directed more energy into them to make them burn brighter.

The room smelled as I remembered it, too—like leather and ink and metal, with a hint of the oils used to clean blades. Father had often polished those blades while listening to reports and holding small council meetings in this space. Gripping a sword kept him weighted and grounded in his decision making, he’d claimed.

Tonight, yet more guards were currently stationed in the corners. All these sentries…were they expecting another attempt on my brother’s life, so soon after the last?

Fallon sat at the table, looking calm and unworried about any would-be assassins. An untouched plate of food and a goblet of what smelled like spiced wine sat beside him.

Despite my escort’s claim about his lack of sleep, the king looked wide awake, a pen clutched in his hand and moving urgently over an already impressively-long letter.

He seemed mostly intact despite the injuries he’d sustained, though his movements were stiff and occasionally accompanied by wincing. His face remained a canvas of bruises, most of them now faded to a mottled shade of greenish brown. A fresh scar covered the left side of his face, the edges of it still an angry shade of red.

It reminded me of another scarred face, which made the heavy feeling in my chest grow worse.

“Why are you here?” Fallon didn’t look up from the desk as he spoke, continuing his writing. Even once he placed his pen aside, he kept his gaze on the paper, lifting it more fully into the lamp light and reading it to himself over and over again.

He reminded me of our father in that moment—so desperate to seem busy because it meant he didn’t have to look me in the eyes.

“I want to discuss what happened in Mindoth,” I said, “and the ones you took captive after the ordeal.”

He grunted. “I’m still recovering, but my prognosis is good enough. The attack was a grave mistake on the part of the elves, however, and they will pay dearly for it—through those captives and otherwise. What else is there to discuss?”

“That attack was only the beginning. The situation is fragile. Complicated.”

“And you think I’m unaware of this?”

I held my tongue. I hadn’t really come here to provide counsel for his war efforts. I had only one true goal tonight, and it was to get closer to finding Karys.

My brother clearly had other things on his mind.

“I didn’t think you’d ever show your face in the halls of this palace again,” he said after a weighted pause. “Because, after all, you are part of thereasonthe situation is so fragile and complicated, aren’t you?”

Again, I said nothing. It felt like we were walking through a forest on the darkest of nights; so many rocks and roots hidden and waiting to trip us, each as likely to derail this conversation as the next.

“You started this years ago,” he continued, “when you answered the attack on our family with divine fire, and then left us to clean up the mess.”

I stared at the sword hanging on the wall behind him—once our father’s favorite one—as I said, “And you’ve done nothing to keep the fire going over the years, I suppose? No attacks or unfair sanctions against the elven-kind? No thirst for vengeance of your own?”

I could feel his glare settling on me, though I kept my eyes on the sword. The blade was wide enough that I could see my distorted reflection in it—my unnaturally bright eyes, the softly-glowing edges of the symbols on my skin.

I made a conscious effort to try and settle these things; I wanted to go back to a time when we were both powerless mortals, if only for a moment.

“I’ve simply been trying to hold the line,” Fallon said. “I would welcome peace if I thought they were capable of it.”

I thought of the many, many conversations I’d had with Karys about what the elves had endured as the humans’ population soared and stretched across the kingdoms. Her kindclaimed they would welcome a ceasefire, too, if only the humans were capable of it.

Such a messy thing, this idea ofpeace—especially when no one could agree on who had started the war.

“And what would you know of mortal politics?” my brother asked. “How well can you really see our troubles from your divine throne?”

“I am not oblivious to them. I’m intimately familiar with the battles you face—now, more than ever.”

“And why is that?” He fixed a commanding glare on me.

When I didn’t answer immediately, his eyes shifted toward the guards in the corners of the room, as if considering ordering them to drag me away.

So much like our father.

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