Sverrin found Aurora in the hallway beyond the staircase, looking up at a vast portrait. “I was wondering where you had gotten to.”
“Your Majesty.” She curtsied, her pastel blue silks rustling. “I am sorry if I kept you waiting, but it caught my eye.”
He came beside her, looking up at the painting, his expression a peaceful, if reserved. Aurora’s skin crawled to have him so close, but she didn’t move. Somehow, she found he always smelt faintly of damp earth and preservative ointments, and it made her stomach roll. She focused on the artwork instead.
It was a handsome portrait of Jionat and Sverrin, stood side by side. Sverrin was clad in the Harmatia’s colours, donned in a studded maroon doublet with a griffon to honour his mother’s house, and a tall red-gold crown. He had a furred, velvet cape thrown over his shoulder which trailed to the floor in thick cascades, and stood, regal, an arm leant against a tall wooden throne.
At his side, Jionat held equal importance in the picture. Dressed in the Delphi colours, pale blue and white, he had an identical crown of silver sat amidst his curls, which were painted lighter than Aurora recalled. Indeed, Jionat seemed to have a silvery aspect in all his features, which made him seem more reserved, wiser and colder than the boy she’d met.
“I had this painted a few years ago,” Sverrin said. “My mother said I should have a portrait mounted to commemorate my ascension to the throne. It did not seem right that I stood alone in it.”
Aurora was surprised. Through the past days, she’d seen Sverrin throw up many expressions, each like a new death-mask he could swap between, but this was the first time she saw a genuine tenderness. Sverrin looked up at Jionat with love, and Aurora realised, with a start, that Jionat’s sacrifice actually meant something to the King.
“Do you miss him?” she found herself asking.
“More than I can tell you.” Sverrin reached out, as if to touch the painting, and let his fingers hover over it. “I died and when I woke, both my father and brother were dead. My first day of rebirth, and it was devastating.”
“I can only imagine how difficult it must have been.”
“I try to live my life as they would want me…Though some days, it is harder than others.” Sverrin withdrew his hand. “Do you know, Princess, the most painful part of my return, was that I grew to be a man. And being a man meant I started to see the flaws in others, flaws which I was blind to in my youth. One by one, everyone I once idolised came to disappoint me. I cannot help but resent them for that—for breaking the illusions of my boyhood, the illusions I had when I died. But you see, my little brother cannot disappoint me. He is immortalised. Perfect.” Sverrin raised his hands again, as if he might dip them into the painting and clasp Jionat’s face fondly. “Sometimes I feel as if he is the only true part of me I have left.”
“He must have loved you very much,” Aurora said. Abomination or not, Sverrin hadn’t chosen to be revived, and it had never occurred to Aurora how Jionat’s sacrifice would affect him. He was always painted as a tyrant, a Kathrak pawn with no empathy, but everyone chose to forget the confused boy who’d emerged strangely from death to a world so drastically changed.
Aurora frowned up at the painting. “They painted the Prince’s eyes blue,” she observed.
“Of course,” Sverrin smiled, “just like his mother.”
“But Prince Jionathan’s eyes were grey, like the King Thestian.”
“You must be mistaken, Princess. I recall well—they were blue,” Sverrin said.
“They were grey. I am sure of it.”
“They were blue.” All of the light had left Sverrin’s amber eyes and Aurora grew small. Sverrin’s expression had settled into something blank, hungry and dangerous, and her very heart stilled. In that instant, he looked as void as the Korrigans had.
“You’re quite right,” she gasped, forcing a smile. “Blue. Like his mother. Of course you would recall it better.”
Sverrin’s expression was immediately replaced with one of relief, as if, despite his certainty, he’d begun to doubt himself. “You met him, did you not? Was my brother not a fine man?”
“The finest.” Aurora was glad of her thick skirt, which hid her shaking knees. She held her arms, tucking her hands away so that their trembling wouldn’t betray her. “I knew him only fleetingly, but he left an impression on me that I shall not be quick to forget. I mourn him. I should have been glad to have known him better…though I thank the gods his sacrifice gave me the chance to be acquainted with the brother he loved so ardently. I am beginning to understand, Your Majesty, the source of Prince Jionathan’s loyalty—though I hope you do not think me too bold for saying so.”
Sverrin put on a show of being flattered. He offered his arm, and she took it, allowing him to guide her down the staircase. “Your good opinion of me is the highest praise I could hope for.”
“And yours of me is…” Aurora said coyly, “I can only hope to please you, Your Majesty.”
“You do please me.” Sverrin’s eyes roamed down her body and she turned away. He must have mistaken her masked revulsion as bashfulness, because he chuckled quietly. “Would you like to see him?”
“Pardon?”
“My brother.” Sverrin stopped walking, pulling Aurora around to face him. She forced herself to look up into his eyes, though it made her want to turn and scream. “Would you like to see where Jionathan is laid? I go there often to think and speak with him. It brings me peace. Perhaps, Princess, you would like to join me?”
Aurora breathed in deeply. “Oh, Your Majesty, I would like that very, very much.”
The journey down the stairs took longer than it should have, and by the time Zachary made it to the library, he wanted go back to sleep. Still, he persisted, pushing through the door and walking stiffly over to the seats by the fireplace.
Daniel looked up from one of the desks, and rose. “You should be resting.”
“If I have to spend another minute in that room…” Zachary slumped into the seat, triumphant and exhausted. Daniel came forward, and peering down into Zachary’s pale face, he silently lit the fire. It chased back the chill and Zachary was immensely thankful for it.
“You must be hungry. I’ll tell Heather to reheat some broth. She’s not going to be happy you left your bed.”
“Daniel, stop.” The boy was making Zachary even more exhausted. “Sit. Talk.”
Daniel considered the command, releasing the servant bell, and then slowly took the seat opposite Zachary. “My mother left.”
“I sent her away.”
“I know.”
“I owe you an explanation.” Zachary heaved a sigh, but Daniel raised his hand.
“After the outburst, I asked Heather to tell me everything. She explained what happened…between you and my mother.”
Zachary was unsure what to say. It was hard to read Daniel’s expression. “It was a complicated affair.”
“When I confronted her about it, she tried to lie to me.”
“How do you know she was lying?”
“I love my mother,” Daniel twisted his hands, looking down into his lap, “but I know what she’s like. And I know you better than she thinks."
“You can’t be angry with her.”
“Yes, I can. I can be angry with both of you,” Daniel said. “It doesn’t change what you are to me. At least now I finally understand why you hated me so much, when you were so close to the rest of our siblings.”
Zachary rocked his head against the back of the chair. Again, he found himself glad that Daniel had lit a fire—the library felt cold and terribly dark all of a sudden.
“If I’d known,” Daniel continued, “I wouldn’t have invited her.”
“Why did you invite her?” Zachary asked, and Daniel closed his eyes. He seemed to be trying to prepare himself, breathing deeply over a long count. Finally he swallowed, and looked up.
“Because I was afraid and I wanted my mother.”
Zachary frowned, leaning forward.
“What were you afraid of?” A disturbing thought came to him. “Me?”
“No,” Daniel laughed softly. “No—I knew you would never hurt me, even if you hated me.”
“I don’t hate you Daniel,” Zachary said. Daniel stared at him, unblinking. He swallowed again, fidgeting with his hands. An anticipatory silence settled over the pair, the tension of unsaid words mounting as Daniel licked his lips nervously.
“I have a secret,” he finally whispered. “Only a few people know…And a lot rests on that remaining so, but…But sometimes I want people to know. I want their help. Their support. My mother, she’s my ally. But I need…I’m hoping that you’ll help me too.”
“I don’t understand.” Zachary frowned, and Daniel adopted his spot-on-the-wall strategy, looking past Zachary, twisting his hands more urgently.
“I’m scared,” his voice dropped.
“What are you scared of?”
“My mother told me not to tell you. She said you weren’t ready, that you wouldn’t understand, but I don’t know if she said that out of spite, or worry. All I know is that I want to trust you. And I want to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” Zachary sat forward. “Daniel, you’ve been trying to speak with me for days now. What is it?”
Daniel bit his lip. “I’m not sure you’ll understand and I’m terrified of what will happen if you don’t.”
“Speak plainly. Please.”
Daniel bit his lip and breathed in long and slow. “Do you know the faerie shrines, around our home?”
Zachary raised his eyebrows. In Corhlam, there were several places said to have once been sacred to the Sidhe before the boarders were established, and the faeries were driven back into the Myrithian forest. Of course, there were some that still roamed free, and spots of ancient power had been identified out among the rolling hills. Thorn bushes that stood alone in fields, strange rock formations found in the middle of nowhere—the people of Corhlam had long ago learnt not to interfere with these. There were some who still left offerings. It was common practice to respect these places, and was believed that ill fell on those who didn’t.
“What about them?”
“There’s a story—it varies from place to place. They say that in the old times, a pregnant woman got lost on the moors and came upon a shrine. Exhausted and hungry, she found the food offerings and ate them, without thinking.
“The god of the shrine was angered, and he confronted her in a dream. She blamed the child in her womb, saying that it filled her with a ravenous hunger she couldn’t control. And so, to punish the child, the god laid a curse on it. Not to kill it, or even to make it sick—instead, the baby, meant to be born a boy, emerged as a girl.
“In the other version, it’s a hungry child who eats the offerings, and is transformed directly. The punishment is the same, either way. The child is forced to live their life knowing what they were meant to be, but trapped as what they are.”
“Daniel,” Zachary groaned. “I know these stories. They’re nothing but superstition. It’s utter nonsense.”
“I know,” Daniel said, almost aggressively. “It’s folklore—a crass reasoning for someone being different, but—”
“What in the name of—” They were interrupted by the door, Heather bustling in. She crossed to Zachary, fussing over him. “Do you know my worry when I climbed the stairs to find your bed empty? You should not be up. Healing Septus, you’re as pale as death, and shaking too.”
“Heather, it’s fine.” Zachary’s mouth felt as it were full of wool. He kept his eye on Daniel, who’d grown taut, unnerved by the interruption.
“It is not fine—do you know how unwell you’ve been?”
“We’re in the middle of a conversation,” Zachary said sternly, not removing his eyes from his brother. Heather followed the gaze and she immediately let her fretting hands drop.
“Oh Daniel,” she whispered, “you’re coming out with the truth?”
Daniel gave a jerky nod.
So Heather knows what he’s trying to tell me? Zachary felt strange, his mind beginning to form ideas, none of which seemed coherent.
“Daniel,” he said, “is there a point to all of this?”
“I…I’m trying to tell you, that all superstitious reasoning aside, it is possible to be born in the wrong body. For whatever reason, it does happen.”
Zachary eased himself forward in his chair, his disbelief rising. “Daniel,” he began softly, “are you trying to tell me that you think you’re…a woman?”
“No,” Daniel hiccupped again, sniffing, and at last he pried his gaze from the wall and looked into Zachary’s face. His teeth had begun to chatter, and Zachary was distressed by the frightened tears that sprung in his brother’s eyes. “That’s the point. I’m a boy.”
Zachary shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Oh Athea, this is so hard.” Daniel wiped his face, but new tears sprung to replace those that had started to fall. Zachary had never seen the boy look so frightened, and Daniel had faced the Night Patrol. “As I get closer to being a Magi, I risk more than ever. I could lose everything—I could be imprisoned. Rivalen would… Athea, what would our father to do me?” Daniel gave a sudden sob, and Heather crossed to him. She perched herself at his side and held his shoulders, tipping him against her comfortingly. Zachary could only watch.
“Tell me,” he implored.
“When my mother was pregnant, Rivalen told her that he wanted a son. He said that he had too many daughters, and that if she gave him another, he would throw her in the well.” Daniel hid his face behind his arms, using his sleeves to wipe away the tears. Zachary felt stony. “She prayed to every god that I would be a son, left offerings and made wishes. But she gave birth to a daughter.”
Zachary was stunned. Daniel hiccupped again, but continued, his voice hitching up and down from the pressure of the words.
“She feared what Rivalen would do, and so she made a plan. I was born in her family home, outside of Anaes’s Fort, so when Rivalen sent for word, she told him that I was a boy. She knew he wouldn’t want any part of me until I was old enough to be of use. On the one occasion he came to see me, she swapped me with the baby of a friend of hers—so that our father might see a prick and be satisfied.
“My mother planned to disguise the truth as long as possible, gather what she could, and then flee. She didn’t anticipate, however, that her lie would actually suit my needs. By the time I was four, I rejected every notion of being a girl. It sounds strange, I know…but I was boy in everything but body. When it became clear that I also had a capacity for magic, my mother realised that I could be a Magi, like you. That I could forge a better life for myself than one she could give me on the run. I begged her to let me be Rivalen’s son. To let me be myself. Somehow, she understood, that her prayers had been answered. I am a boy.” Daniel balled his hands into fists. “But if anyone discovered this, they wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t see past my bound breasts and the space between my legs. And I’m terrified, Arlen. I’m so terrified.”
Silence followed. Daniel and Heather watched Zachary expectantly, Daniel shuddering, his breath short. Zachary stared back, his mind in turmoil.
What did he think? The whole story sounded preposterous. A girl believing she was a boy? Isolde giving birth to a sister, rather than a brother?
As Zachary examined Daniel, he was able to make out feminine features in the other’s face. Were they feminine? Zachary hadn’t thought so before. Daniel had only ever been his brother. Nothing of his sibling’s behaviour had indicated anything otherwise, though it did explain Daniel’s secretiveness, and how he seemed to take ill every month.
Was it possible? To be a boy in all but body? Zachary tried to imagine what it would be like if he was turned into a woman. At first the idea seemed comical, but the more he thought about it, the harder it was to envision. What would it be, to be so utterly betrayed by your own body? To look in the mirror and see something other than what you a
re?
The whole affair made his vision swim like he still had a fever. He wasn’t quite sure what to believe. Daniel was clearly head-sick. Isolde had twisted her child to suit her needs, and this was the result. The best thing for Daniel now would be to retreat somewhere, and learn to be a woman. After all, if they tried to continue this façade and were caught by the Magi…Zachary didn’t even want to consider the repercussions. At the very least their family name would be ruined.
Zachary turned to tell Daniel that but his voice died in his throat. Daniel’s eyes were wide and watchful, waiting for a verdict. Zachary felt his stomach constrict.
Had he really just been thinking of the family name? As if that even stood for anything anymore—as if it was anyone’s business! Zachary marvelled at his own selfishness.
Daniel had demonstrated himself to be a clear-minded individual—if anyone was head-sick in the family, it was Zachary. So what right did he have to speak on Daniel’s behalf? Zachary might have thought the boy confused, but after nineteen years, Daniel was probably surer of what he was that Zachary could be after a few minutes. What business was it of Zachary’s to be making these decisions on his brother’s behalf? Besides, on reflection, it wasn’t the strangest thing Zachary had ever heard.
If he hadn’t told me, he reasoned, he would have still been my little brother come tomorrow. It affects me in no way.
“Say something. Please,” Daniel begged, the silence drawing on too long.
Zachary blinked, stood and then crossed to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a glass, and then one for Daniel. Sitting down, he slid the drink over to his brother silently and settled once more into his chair.
“I once knew a man,” Zachary eventually said, “who was convinced he was a duck.”
Daniel blinked, shocked. Zachary shrugged and took a long sip of his drink. The conversation ended.
Aurora had thought she was prepared, but as Sverrin brought her further into the heart of the castle, deep down beneath its foundations, she found her courage waning. The sense of the Korrigans, which lingered whenever Sverrin was near, grew with each step, until it was almost like Aurora was descending down into the nest itself. The past traumas came as easily for her as they’d done ten years ago, and horrors she thought she’d forgotten came roaring out.
Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2) Page 45
