Page 63 of Knight of Staria
Eli thought of Sabre begging to hold his hand at the gallows. Were they really brothers, after everything that had happened? What would life in the House of Onyx be like? Eli tried to imagine living in a pleasure house under the same roof as Sabre. They’d have to learn each other’s schedules all over again, navigate the twisted knot of grief and guilt that surged every time they looked at each other, carefully pick apart the threads of each other’s lives. Could they truly manage that?
Where would Rey be in all this? Rey always seemed to be more of a wanderer. Besides, Eli was used to waking up next to Rey. Rey made him laugh. He wanted to explore Staria with him, but if he did that, he would leave Sabre behind in Duciel. If he stayed with Sabre, that meant leaving Rey to his wanderings.
Maybe he would always have to leave Rey. Rey was a spirit. Their worlds could touch for a time, but they couldn’t overlap forever. Eventually, Eli would age, and Rey would carry on.
“Think about it,” Sabre said. “Please.”
Eli felt Rey’s gaze on him, but he couldn’t turn to see the expression on his face. “All right. I’ll think about it.”
The shadows deepened. The woods closed in around them, and Eli heard the rustle of small creatures in the sparse underbrush and squirrels scurrying about in the trees. He felt watched, hundreds of hidden eyes following him as he stepped over tree roots and ran his palm over weathered bark. Was the Green Man there, waiting to see if Eli would be struck down like his ancestor? Was King Tristan following in the shadows, stalking through the grass in his hulking wolf shape?
“I see it,” Rey said, and Eli sucked in a sharp breath. The three trees guarding the spring huddled around each other like old men gossiping in a town square, their branches knobby and graying with lichen, leaves rustling with a breeze that swept over the treetops. The earth around them was plush and wet, and dampness seeped into Eli’s cheap boots as he approached.
“You just need to reach in,” Rey said to Sabre. “You’ll feel the hilt about a foot under the water.”
Sabre grimaced at the dark water between the trees and got to his knees in the muddy earth. He looked so much like their mother that Eli felt a cold hand grip his heart. They had the same shape to their face when Sabre looked down, softening his features, and Eli wondered if Sabre could see it in his reflection in the water. Then, carefully, Sabre rolled up his sleeve and slipped his hand into the spring.
“I have it,” he said, after a few seconds. “It’s here, I can feel it.”
Eli held his breath. This was it. After so long sleeping under makeshift shelters and tree cover, fighting off hunters and starvation, it was almost at an end.
Sabre raised his shoulder, then stopped, a frown creasing his face. The water sloshed over his rolled-up sleeve, and he braced a hand on one of the tree roots. He jerked, his knees digging deeper into the mud, and his mouth hardened.
“It feels stuck,” he said, and tugged again. “It won’t…won’t come out.”
“No.” Eli stepped closer. “You’re the one who’s supposed to do it.”
“I’m sorry.” Sabre tried again. “Maybe it’s just mud.” He strained, face going pink, and hissed in pain as he lost his grip and went reeling back, spraying water over the trees. His hand was empty.
“But you’re the honest one,” Eli said. “You’re the good one.”
“Eli,” Rey said, softly.
“You’re the good one,” Eli said again. The trees swallowed his voice, rasping and thin. He got to his knees next to Sabre and grabbed his hand. “Try it again.”
“Eli.” Pain pinched Sabre’s features. “Maybe I’m not as honest as you think. I can’t be. I’m Adrien’s left hand. I have to keep his secrets now.”
“No.” Eli could feel tears threatening to build behind his eyes, and he blinked them away. “No, it’s wrong. It isn’t supposed to be like this.” He pulled Sabre’s hand back into the water, guiding it toward the sword. The hilt bumped into Eli’s knuckles, and he tried to push Sabre into it, but Sabre just pulled away, leaving Eli with both arms elbow-deep in the spring.
“I’m sorry,” Sabre said.
“I always thought you were the good one.” Eli could feel the sword. It was just there, so close, cold under his fingers. “I could handle being wicked if it meant you were in Duciel, being all the things a de Valois was supposed to be. Being like Father.”
Eli’s hand bumped into the sword again, and it jostled, stirring up mud. Rey gripped Eli by the shoulder, standing over him with his eyes bright and sharp, mouth slightly open.
“Eli,” he said urgently. “Keep talking.”
“What?”
“Keep talking,” Rey said. “Say what you feel.”
Eli twisted to look up at him properly. “I tried before. It didn’t work.”
“Try again. Say something real.”
Eli looked down at the dark water, and he curled his fingers around the hilt of the sword. His reflection rippled beneath him, looking nothing like his father or his mother—just Eli, scared and dirty and full of pain he could never truly express.
“I hated you,” Eli said. “I hated you, Sabre. I know it’s selfish and terrible, but I wanted you to love me so badly. I wanted to beyou. I saw how much you loved Adrien, how he was the brother you truly wanted, and I was stuck being a doll for Mother. And I hated you, because I was afraid to admit I hated her.”
