The Throne

A terrible clang explodes across the feasting hall as my sword meets Saul's. Our blades clash, scrape apart, and slice through the air again, seeking blood. Revenge is all I care about now.

My sword is in the fight, but my mind is somewhere else.

"Sit down, Nicolas," says my mother, in a memory I keep trying to push away.

I eye her cautiously without obeying. "Why?”

CRASH! Saul swings for my throat, a wild hatred burning in his eyes, and I spring out of the way, barely evading certain death. His fists, clenched tightly around the handle of his sword, are bigger and more powerful than mine, but I'm faster than he is; I always have been.

"Elowen," says my mother quietly, and that word makes me lurch as if the floor has dropped from under my feet. "Elowen's horse has just returned alone."

I stare at her, at the somber look on her face that I have never seen before. For as long as I can remember, she has always been cheerful, seeing hope everywhere. Never like this.

"What do you mean, alone?" My voice wavers.

Someone screams at one of the long wooden tables as I spin, blade whirling with me, straight for the man who has so quickly become my enemy. We collide, and in a split second of hesitation, Saul loses hold of his sword. This doesn't deter him in the slightest- he thrusts a foot into my stomach, knocking me back into a table, and disarms me with a heavy blow. "Just you and me now," he growls, lunging forward.

My mother's eyes fill rapidly, and tears stream down her face as she holds out a velvety bundle that's been folded in her arms this whole time. "Her cloak was found at the edge of the woods," she whispers, and sobs overwhelm her words. Her hands tremble violently, and she drops Elowen's familiar blue riding cape, marred with a sickening red stain.

Slowly, I reach down and clench shaking fingers around the cloak's hood, the one I've watched my sister pull over her long brown hair every morning since we were children. As I lift it to my lap, something small and white flutters down to the floor. A scrap of paper.

Platters and goblets rattle on the tables around us as Saul and I tumble across the floor, fists, feet and arms flying at whatever they can reach. My elbow meets his face, and he shouts a vehement curse at me through lips covered in blood.

Suddenly his fingers dig into my hair, and I lose my balance, slipping in a pool of spilled wine on the floor. I reel backward for an instant, but before Saul can find his footing, my instincts snap into motion and my hands find his throat. I throw my whole body’s strength into my grip, and he lets out a horrible, rasping sound that makes my stomach turn over. But I don’t let go.

The writing on the note is in a hand I know very well.

She deserved this, and so do the rest of you.

My brother has been away for many weeks, but I would recognize his script anywhere. He was supposed to return home tonight; how easy it must have been for him to depart a little early and reach the outskirts just in time to meet Elowen on her morning ride.

He's coming to the feast tonight. Probably for me. With both siblings out of the way, Saul will be the heir to the throne of Rimvale.

A stunning blow to the jaw snaps my head back onto the stone floor, and the world goes black for an instant. Weakly I struggle to get back on my feet, but the hall is spinning and I can't get farther than my knees. Saul seizes his blade from behind an overturned chair, and in a blink it's pointed at my throat.

I can't tell my mother. She would only try to stop me. So I crumple the note in my hand before she can see it and let her collapse into my arms and cry into my shoulder for a long time. When I finally break away, I stride down the corridor with dry eyes and a crystal-clear purpose.

I am going to kill my brother.

Saul hovers above me, and the ferocity in his gaze has been replaced by a hint of desperation, hesitancy. There is something inhuman in his eyes. "WHY?" he screams at me. "WHY DID YOU DO IT?”

Fresh rage surges through me. "Trying to win back their trust?" I spit at him, sweeping my arm at the terrified guests in the hall. "How dare you blame me for what you did!"

I catch sight of my sword a few yards away; impulsively, I dive for it, Saul leaping across the floor right behind me.

My fingers lock around the handle just in time. Half-rising, I plunge the blade forward just as Saul overtakes me.

The moment in which we run each through seems to last a lifetime. A strange, sharp pain reverberates through my chest, and I see Saul's eyes go wide as he drops his sword. And with it, a scrap of paper.

It falls beside me, just close enough that I can make out the words. The same words on the note in Elowen's cape, but scribbled in a different hand. Mine.

I meet Saul's eyes from across the stone floor, but they are lifeless now. I suddenly remember playing battle with him when we were ten years old, tussling happily in the tall summer grass as Elowen watched, laughing and urging us on.

My vision is going dark, but I think I see her standing there at the end of the hallway, just beyond the open doors.

She walks toward us, her long brown hair swishing with every step, and up close her face is sad. "I'm sorry," she says. "Can you forgive me?"

The darkness swallows me quickly, but Elowen's voice reaches my ears one last time.

"Only one of us can sit on the throne."