“Your brother’s ribs protected his internal organs,” Helen told Annarion. “And your brother is far too proud to acknowledge trivial wounds. But these blades weren’t poisoned in the same fashion as the weapons of his first assailants.”
“They weren’t?”
“Not when they were drawn in the foyer.” Helen exhaled.
“Did the attackers in confinement survive?” Annarion asked. The question was meant for either Helen or Nightshade, but it was Helen’s answer he expected.
“Yes. But their survival requires suspension of time in a very, very localized way. It is possible Kaylin might heal them;your brother is against even the attempt, although he knows that the attempt comes with memories that might prove of critical import.
“Sedarias argued for the healing. Teela remained neutral. What are your thoughts?”
“You know what they are.” Annarion’s eyes were very blue.
Helen’s smile was harsh but genuine. “Yes. I have not asked Kaylin for her opinion yet. If we ask, she will make the attempt.” Helen finished bandaging the wound that Calarnenne had refused to acknowledge when his own brother asked.
Annarion waited. His brother’s clothing was real; it wasn’t a courtesy or an artifact of the house; he had no attendant to help him dress. Calarnenne had always been graceful, elegant, and effortlessly powerful. Solanace had enemies—any family of note did. This much weakness he had never shown to anyone. Not even to Annarion.
Perhaps especially not to Annarion.
There was so much he wanted to say to his brother. He swallowed most of the words but found no way to soothe the anger, the bitter disappointment. Annarion was the one who had vanished, but Annarion felt abandoned in place. That was the truth.
He felt abandoned by the brother he had respected and trusted.
But... had he? It was not Calarnenne with whom he shared his True Name; not Calarnenne with whom he was tied by the namebond that Barrani were taught, from the moment they first opened their eyes, to fear and hate. He would never have taken that risk before he was sent, by his elders, to the green. He understood—everyone did, except Sedarias—that they were disposable tools. If they were fortunate, they would be powerful disposable tools. If, as people expected, they failed, their loss would cause the least harm to the family.
The war had been waged across the continent. The Dragonshad come far, far too close to the heart of Barrani life; the Barrani had responded in kind.
Calarnenne had not known of the plan. Calarnenne could not act—in time—to save Annarion. He had what Barrani had had for the entirety of their existence: vengeance. Destruction of those who had wronged them. Calarnenne had that. He was a renowned war hero. He was the master of one of The Three. He was the undisputed heir to Solanace.
He destroyed them all; only the sword he did not forsake. He never forgave their parents. He never forgave the extended family. And he never surrendered the hope that Annarion could be saved. The family, he buried. His revenge was akin to Teela’s—maybe it was no coincidence that they had both been chosen by the greatswords. They had not built their reputation on the swords; the swords had chosen because they had already achieved power.
Annarion discovered the extent of the destruction—the extent of all the loss—only when he was free to leave Hallionne Alsanis. He was not his brother. Had never been his brother. If he felt anger at being thrown away, it had never fully taken root. Not to assuage that anger would he have killed whole family lines, branch and root, but his brother had done that—starting with their own.
“I was alone for centuries,” his brother said, as if he could hear what Annarion did not say aloud. “I was not as you were. We have never been the same. I believe you would have earned great renown in wars, if wars still existed. I believe you would have brought glory to the Solanace name. But the family that occupied it did not deserve even the ashes of that glory.”
“I wouldn’t have killed them all,” Annarion said, voice low.
“No. But they had not finished. They desired power—glory for Solanace, and for themselves by extension. Were I to bring you home after theregalia, you would never have been free. They would not countenance my attempt. Had they left meto research on my own, they would not have died. But we are not mortals, whose familial bonds need only survive paltry decades. What affection I might once have felt could not be sustained.
“This was not the first assassination attempt. I wished to make certain there were few others. The fiefs were less approachable for those who might seek my death. I might have chosen to take the Tower even had I not been made outcaste. Yet you have returned. You have passed the Test of Name. You are a Lord of the High Court.
“You style yourself of Solanace. An’Solanace. It is an empty title. You must know it is an echo of your abandonment.”
“To you. To you that’s all that it was. But I am not dead.” Annarion turned away from his brother. “The brother I knew would not have destroyed Solanace.”
“Then perhaps we did not know each other well enough,” Calarnenne replied. “The only kin I valued was you. Perhaps I was overprotective. Perhaps what I sought was to preserve who you are. Your life within the Hallionne had very little of politics in it. You built a family that was far more steady, far more true to you, than the family to which you were born.
“But you have not lived in the High Halls; you did not fight in the wars. You did not lose what few friends remained to you to Dragons and treachery. You did not see them fall to despair; did not see them surrender to what they believed survival required. You did not see them bow, bend, and even break. And perhaps you will not. What I have seen and what you have seen are different.
“What I wanted was to have you back. You were my only weakness, and you could not be threatened, could not be used. Not against me. But you are home, now, in a very changed land. You are the child I remember. I am not the brother of your memories. But that is the outcome of experience. You did not see my struggles; you did not evaluate my choices—mymany choices. You could not weigh the losses you could not see—but you could judge. And you have.
“And perhaps I even expected that.” The words were not bitter. “What I did, I did for my sake. But I find that having achieved that goal, I am adrift. I am fieflord; I am not An’Solanace. I will never become that while I breathe. I have prevented anyone from taking that title, and there were those in the early centuries who tried.
“Perhaps all my efforts were wasted in the end. It was the Chosen who freed you.”
Annarion was silent.
“But you are still the only person alive I would claim, willingly, as kin. What I wanted, I have achieved. Tell me, brother, what you want. Do you wish to take up the mantle of Solanace? There are none, now, who would deny you. You will not have the power of alliances that Solanace once boasted—but I see a future in which your friends will become those allies.”