3. Ignis II

Well and truly drunk, I wandered into a toy store. There were various baubles and dolls and paddles with strings tied to rubber balls. None of it was what I was looking for. There was a xylophone. I picked up the small mallet and picked out discordant notes until the shopkeep came up huffing from the back. To my mild relief, he didn’t seem to recognize me, other than picking up on the general air of nobility. He was plump and had a pleasant disposition, though I wondered how much of it was calculated.

“Greetings good sir! How may I be of assistance this blessed day?” His eyes flicked to the mallet in my hand and back. “Has the tone board caught your fancy?”

I shook my head. “Sadly, I’m shopping for someone else today.”

“Little brother then?”

“Sister.” I wobbled on my feet, and he took my arm to steady me. Once confident I would not tip over, he released my arm and waddled to the more pastel, feminine side of the room.

“How old?” He asked, cheery but businesslike.

“Fifteen…” I paused, “I think.”

His hand faltered for a moment, then reached for a decorative silver band with clear rhinestones embedded upon the top. He held it out with a flourish. “A tiara for the little princess, perhaps?”

I stiffened, then coughed to hide a laugh. The man had no idea how good his instincts were. The thought of presenting Annette with a fake tiara was tempting, but I was relatively sure she’d find it either daft or insulting.

“Alas, she already has one.”

“Hm,” The man muttered to himself. From there we went through a repetitive dance: he would pick something off the shelf, I would consider it and eventually turn it down. It had never occurred to me how difficult Annette was to shop for. Everything any other girl her age would appreciate all seemed too infantile or silly pictured in her hands.

This went on for some time and our interaction grew strained.

The storekeeper brought out a stuffed animal. I sighed and nearly left before giving it a second look. It was a white tiger with black stripes, blue eyes, and a stern stare. It stood out because it didn’t seem childish. Nothing like the caricatured spotted dogs with felt tongues lolling out or circus bears popular among children. If not for its size, it could almost pass as a work of taxidermy.

“I’ll take it.”

The toymaker let out a breath of relief so large he seemed to deflate, and offered a reasonable price, more to avoid what he likely assumed would be an extensive haggle than out of any sense of fairness.

I found Annette in the war room. That wasn’t its given name—it was more like a pavilion, really—but since Annette took it over a few years back the nickname stuck. A dozen tables with kossboards were arranged in a parallel line, a single person seated at each of them, all of them deep in thought. Except Annette. She barely seemed to contemplate anything as she walked casually down the line, pausing at each board for less than a second to make a move before continuing to the next.

The contrast between my sisters always struck me as peculiar. No two siblings are exactly the same, not even twins. But my sisters might as well have been from entirely different continents, let alone families. While Sera was bright and energetic, Annette was taciturn and reserved. Sera’s emotions blazed white and hot while Annette revealed nothing, her feelings invisible and immutable beneath the ice of her frozen demeanor. Sera had magic and music, while Annette had only her mind.

But her mind was something else entirely.

“Hello little sister,” I said, holding the tiger behind my back. Annette didn’t look up, instead walking over to the closest board and leaning over it. The student at the board looked absolutely gobsmacked. It took a moment to recognize him: A baronet’s son, Tary, who didn’t walk so much as strut, as if the very clouds lifted his feet. I’d never seen him look so lost.

“Why did I beat you?” Annette drummed her fingers on the board. Her voice gave nothing away—if I hadn’t grown up with her, I would have no idea the extent of her irritation.

“You haven’t yet,” Tary snapped, trying to regain his usual bluster.

“Oh?” Annette demonstrated in seconds the various ways every legal move he had would lead to imminent defeat. “Looks like discendente to me.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a freak of nature!”

My hackles rose and I stepped forward, only to be stopped by a single flick of Annette’s finger.

“That is why you cannot win, Tary of Fillmont.” My sister began to reverse the pieces in order of movement from memory alone. “Here. And here. These were your critical mistakes. Simple mistakes a child could avoid. How old are you, Tary?”

“Too old to be taking lessons from a teenage hermit princess.” Tary huffed backwards and his knee bumped the Koss table, upsetting the board and sending a number of the white and red pieces tumbling to the ground. A black rage came over me, pulsing from the corners of my eyes. How dare he? I had a sudden urge to grab his hair and throw him to the ground. In reality, all I had to do was cough, draw his attention, and he’d fill his trousers. But I knew from experience that Annette would hate me for it. She had a thing about fighting her own battles. So I did nothing.

“Too old indeed.” Annette’s stare was withering, even secondhand. “Yet, you lose. Over and over.” Tary’s hands clenched into fists. “The reason you lose,” Annette continued, “is because you’re already resigned to losing. From the beginning. Over and over you tell yourself that the odds are stacked. You give yourself excuses. What’s the point of paying attention when you’re up against a freak of nature? It’s at that moment where you fail. The rest is nothing more than learned helplessness.”

To my surprise, Tary actually softened at this. His fists unclenched and his fingers flexed. Shame played across his face. “How do I convince myself it’s possible to win when I know for a fact that it is not?”

“What’s needed is a change of perspective. Have you read Wi’rell?”

“I don’t think so.”

Annette glided over to the bookshelf on the far side of the room, perused it with a far away look, then returned. She held a familiar tome under her arm and I couldn’t help but smile.

I never understood Annette growing up. Sera made sense: a fighter, through and through. Annette was a sponge. She would soak up everything she was taught, be it sewing or etiquette, and be utterly exceptional at it within the year. But everyone wanted her to be the princess Sera never would be. They wanted her to giggle and run through fields with flowers in her hair. They were going to be waiting a long time. Annette never cracked a smile for more than a few seconds, and it was nearly impossible to make her laugh. She’d only ever spoken on the topic once: She said it felt like everyone expected something of her that she didn’t know how to give. Everyone but me.

I never judged her for not emoting or being charismatic enough. At some undefined point she began sneaking into my room at night to study and read. Her presence didn’t bother me. After dealing with Sera it was just nice to have a sibling that didn’t constantly shout or argue or need to compete. Sometimes Annette would grow too sleepy to keep her eyes open, and on one such an occasion, she asked me to read to her. I picked Fen Wi’rell’s Treatise on Combat underhandedly, hoping the dryness of the text would drive her away, or to sleep, or at least make her think twice about asking me to read in the future. It utterly backfired. I’d read that book to her at least half a dozen times. Then one day she stopped coming.

I never knew why.

Annette flipped the book open and began to quote. “If a warrior finds himself in a situation where victory is improbable and retreat is impossible, his goals should shift. Instead of expending one’s self attempting to achieve the inconceivable, he should instead look to leave his mark another way.” She closed the book and handed to Tary. He took it slowly. “What does it mean?”

“That even defeat should accomplish something?” Tary said, not able to keep the statement from sounding like a question.

“Yes.” Annette flashed a rare smile, there and gone instantly. “You don’t have to win, Tary. You don’t even have to come close. All you have to do is make me sweat. Make me wonder, just for a moment. Cripple me so someone else-“ Annette indicated the other Koss boards. “-can come in for the kill.”

“That’s… not very satisfying.” Tary rubbed the back of his neck.

“Perhaps. But a partial victory is better than total defeat.”

Annette finally turned to me. She clasped her arms behind her back and whatever passion had leaked through while she talked of battles and philosophy refroze, leaving her face entirely.

“Hello Cairn.”

“Annette.” I ignored the panic on Tary’s face. Perhaps it was enough to know he’d be wondering how long I’d been standing there and how much I’d heard for at least the next few weeks. “Can I steal you? It will only take a few minutes. The gardens, perhaps?” I indicated the door to her left, hoping today would be the day I could get her to go outside.

“Of course, but not the gardens.” Instead of following me, Annette raised one hand and snapped her fingers. The quiet whispers and mutterings went silent. “Take twenty,” she said over her shoulder, addressing the room, “don’t be late.”

I sighed inwardly. This was the part of Annette that puzzled most. She used to be somewhat adventurous, roaming the castle, speaking to servants and visitors alike. It might not have been the sort of bubbly, cheery interaction my parents would have preferred, but still, she made an effort. One day, everything changed. A few months after she stopped visiting my rooms she stopped going outside at all. All her meals were served to her room. Her tutors and handful of friends came to visit her here. She could only leave the two areas when practically forced, and even then, began to panic if her excursions went longer than an hour.

We stood awkwardly until the last of her students filed out the door. She wasn’t meant to be the teacher, but after three weeks of attempting to break Annette of her “bad habits,” the previous teacher quietly packed her bags and vacated the premises without leaving a note.

I held out the white tiger. It was garnished with a red bow that I had fashioned from some tablecloth, as I’d forgotten any sort of wrapping. Annette didn’t reach to take it at first. Instead, she studied it, bending slightly at the waist, a small hand on her chin.

“It matches your eyes. A pet?” Annette finally said. I felt a crick of irritation.

“It’s a gift, Annette. For you.” I pushed the tiger further forward.

“Ah.” She took it then and folded it into her arms like one would an infant, the small head peeking over her grasp.

The sides of my mouth started to turn up on their own. “Annette. Did you just make a joke?”

“Of course not.” Annette shook her head and her dark curls bobbed. “One cannot simply assume one is being given a present. That could cause quite a misunderstanding if you had already claimed this child as your own.” She stroked the tiger’s head.

This child. What a weirdo.

I opened my mouth to speak but Annette interjected, “It is not winters festival.”

“Do I need an excuse to spoil my dearest sister?” I tried.

Annette’s gaze went to the ceiling as if she was calculating something. “Auburnswell, 15th. Or 16th.”

“What?” I could feel my good mood draining away.

Her cold eyes pierced me. “That was the last time you came to see me of your own volition. Four months ago.”

“I’m sure we’ve talked since then-”

“A button. A lady’s button had fallen off and you needed my expertise and discretion.” Annette’s nose crinkled. “Her bodice smelled like deeply unhappy roses.”

“Elphion take me.” I ran a hand through my hair in annoyance. “Okay. Fine. I’m sorry, Annette. It’s been terribly-“

She swiped her hand as if deflecting an arrow, still deeply in thought. “Don’t apologize. Not looking for sorry. Doesn’t make sense. You need something?”

“No. If you’d just let me-“

“No favor needed. Why the present? Neither a festival or my name day. Why do people bring presents? Love? Appreciation? No.”

The words weren’t intended to be cruel, but they struck a painful chord in my heart just the same. There was no point in cutting in when Annette was like this. Better to let her suss it out for herself.

“Smells like cheap liquor and cheaper perfume. Quantity over quality. Splurging. Gift is a product of sentimentality born out of… guilt? Guilt over what? Over-” the end was bitten off. She blinked several times then and looked up at me, suddenly very small. “Oh. Oh no.”

I hugged her then. It was all I could think to do. She didn’t reciprocate, her small arms hanging at her side limply before suddenly pushing me back.

“No. Wait. No. You have to give me time to put together an argument. There are plenty of reasons, I just need to think…” She trailed off as I shook my head sadly. This was not going well. It was part of why I’d held off talking to her for so long. My sister was too smart for her own good.

“Sera’s going to need you, kiddo. She’s smart but too brash by half. You’ll need to support her.”

Annette made the same wide flicking motion with her hand, her brows pulling downward in a deep scowl. “I do not want to support Sera. Sera makes cruel jokes. Calls me a simulacra. Overplucks my eyebrows. Borrows my dresses, despite the fact that they are both too short and too chesty for her.”

I fought back a snort. “Brassiere aside, she’ll be a better ruler than me.”

“Perhaps, but that is irrelevant. We were supposed to be a team. You and I. I’ve been preparing for this. I knew you’d need help and I’ve been working myself to the bone-“

“Which is fantastic. It will just be Sera instead of me,” I said firmly.

For a second, I thought Annette might shed a tear. Her eyes reddened and her lip quivered. Then her breathing grew more steady. I could almost see her emotions being brutally reined in, pulled close and banished away forever. All the anger and heat and frustration had disappeared entirely, replaced with disinterest and disdain.

“I suppose this is goodbye then? It would not be wise to linger after the fact.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Be well then, brother. May the frost wane at your waking.”

I wanted to hug her, but it was obvious from her body language that further contact was not welcome. So instead, I bowed.

“And yours as well.”

The coronation hall was packed to the walls, excited conversations capitalized by the occasional high-pitched laugh. Guards, ever vigilant, formed lines at the front and back, uniform and proud, their gray-silver armor glowing gold in the warm light.

I peeked out from behind the curtain, the magnitude of what was about to happen finally hitting me and souring my stomach. This was it. There would be no going back.

Mother had, indeed, found something in purple, though in actuality it was closer to plum, ridden with unnecessary ruffles and enough detailed embroidery to give the most gifted seamstress a heart attack. Worse, it had a collar that was both scratchy and tight, making me feel as if my head could burst at any given moment.

I tried to ignore the bevy of smiles sent my way. It was no secret that most of the kingdom, save a small selection of excessively well-to-do nobles, were desperate for a change. My father ruled with an iron fist and a cold heart. These attributes saw us through the worst of the wars and the rebellions. It was a universal assumption that once those uncertain times were over, my father would change. That he would soften with the absence of external threat. But that never happened. He was still the same warlord who set fire to the villages of his enemies and threw prisoners of war off high balconies. Only the targets had changed.

Stupid as it sounds, I’d actually been feeling somewhat guilty when he approached me an hour earlier.

An attendant was powdering my face in the preparation room when a hulking seven-foot form stooped through the door and stood behind me, leaned against the wall. I couldn’t see his face through the mirror and lights, and he seemed content to stand in shadow.

“Hello Father,” I said. The attendant faltered, paused to bow, then resumed his task, much more slowly and carefully than before. King Gil’s silhouetted form crossed his arms, seeming to make a point out of saying nothing.

“Come to give me any last-minute advice? The secret to ruling? How to select a respectable queen?” I instantly regretted the last question. It was dangerous for anyone to be coy with my father, even a prince on his coronation day.

No response. Nothing but the quiet swish of the attendants brush. My father finally spoke in a deep, bristling baritone. “Are you meant to be king of Whitehall? Or some whored out Panthanian pillow-biter?”

My attendant immediately stopped, panic rising in his eyes. My father’s harsh words were jarring, but I’d be damned if I let him see it. I gave a meaningful look to the attendant, and he continued, flicking occasional glances into the mirror towards the back of the room, as if preparing to dive aside should Gil the terrible come charging in to bowl me over.

“Much has changed since your coronation, my king.” I said, my answering respect to his impropriety dripping with sincerity. “Plumbing, for instance. Dragons no longer roam the earth. And there are enough lumen lamps and magical lighting on the great hall stage to make the most sun-kissed Dulen pale as the eldest vampire.” I cocked an eyebrow playfully, despite knowing the reception my lightheartedness would receive. “If I have the choice between appearing panthanian or vampiric, I must choose the former.”

“Why did you allow Thaddeus to send men away from the capital? Today, of all days?” My father’s eyes glittered in the dark, practically smoldering.

“He believes the elves-“

“It’s always the blasted elves!” my father exploded, his voice rattling the mirror. “Or stone-sucking dwarves, or infernals, or demons. The man is obsessed with the lesser races to the degree that should be considered unhealthy. As if any of them pose even the most passing threat.”

“Once upon a time, they did.” I pointed out, careful to keep my voice as neutral as possible.

“They did, aye. Then I crushed them. I burned their crops and salted the earth. I caved in the dwarven mines. I rode an Elphion damned dragon through a portal to the infernals’ domain and set it on fire, then broke the dimension gate on my way out. I executed every elven cultist and their children.”

In a mocking tone, I mentally recited the tirade along with him, it was so oft repeated, but when he reached the end, I couldn’t help but cringe. Unlike every other event, I’d been there for the last one. I’d seen the smoke rise above the villages. Heard the screams and wails of broken families. Mother tried to keep me home but Father had insisted, claiming it would enlighten me to the truth of things. Instead, it had given me nightmares for years.

“Yes. You did,” I said evenly, staring back at him. “It is not the sort of thing that folk forget. So, it was perhaps with an inexperienced mind that I decided the elves were the kind of threat we should monitor. Seeing as how they might harbor some resentment over, you know, all those pesky dead children.”

The man applying my makeup stopped breathing. Father stood directly behind me, his arm perpendicular to his body, prepared to launch a vicious backhand I knew all too well. My attendant scrambled backwards to escape the fallout.

“Quite a mouth on you, boy.” He hissed.

“Please. Go ahead.” I turned to him and stood, gesturing at his hand. “Strike me. Here, if you would.” I pointed to my right eye, coincidentally the last place he had hit when we spoke months ago. “I’d love to see the strength projected by a bruised and battered king.” Good King Gil hesitated, then smiled cruelly. His open hand became a fist and lowered, striking me almost casually in the stomach.

I lost my lunch and what felt like several gallons of beer.

As I heaved onto the floor, he leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Everything you are, you owe to me. I made you. A peacetime ruler is nothing more than a mummer’s puppet. Enjoy the strings.”

It was at that moment, staring at the newly grimy floor, that the guilt over what I was about to do disappeared entirely.

The pageantry of the coronation continued at a glacial pace. The royal family was set to one side of the stage, a small selection of nobles and high-ranking officers on the other. A group of musicians finished their final piece, and I sighed in relief. The music had been stately, on rhythm, and entirely exhausting, never venturing from mathematically tedious baroque traditions.

Afterwards, Archbishop Celic rose from his seat and made me wish the music had gone on for another hour. With painstakingly extensive detail spoken in the most pious tone, he told the history around the tradition of “The King’s Sacrifice.” How every monarch that had provided a proper sacrifice had been rewarded with a bountiful rule, and how every king who had not had suffered. Then he proceeded to list them.

All of them.

By the end of it, even the pews filled with church electorate, all high-ranking priests and nuns, were a line of glazed eyes and slowly tilting heads.

To my amusement, Sera was struggling more than most. Her body slumped momentarily only to reawaken with a start, glancing around to check if anyone had witnessed her heresy. Sera wasn’t allowed to sit with the rest of us, of course. Because of the magic. Because she was different. I caught her eye.

”Be ready,” I mouthed.

She nodded. No smile. It occurred to me that for once, Sera was likely more nervous than I was.

Archbishop Celic finally wrapped it up. With shaking hands and a sheen of sweat on his forehead, he took a torch from one of the guards, said a few words in old Uskarian, and lit the pyre in the center of the room. It glowed the usual unearthly green, a side effect of the rare darshall wood used for the ceremony. The queen reached over and squeezed my hand. She had tears in her eyes.

”I’m so proud of you,” she whispered in my ear.

Give it time, stepmother. Just give it time.

I tried not to regret how much this was going to hurt her. Plenty of time for contrition after. Annette watched me intently. There was a slight confusion on her face, as if she was staring at a puzzle and couldn’t quite piece out how it all fit together. She was probably wondering why, after our previous conversation, I was still here. Why I’d let things go so far. The answer was simple. Annette didn’t have all the pieces. Sera was the closest. I’d told her more than was wise. Even she didn’t know everything. The state of ignorance wouldn’t last long. Within the hour, everyone would understand.

Archbishop Celic approached me, holding the silken black pillow that nested the platinum crown. It was smaller than my fathers, such was the way of things. As a king’s list of achievements grew the crown would also, additional pieces of platinum and gems being soldered on. In the royal blacksmith’s quarters, there was likely a set of blueprints for how this particular crown might grow. In another world, it might become so elegant and massive it could only be displayed, rather than worn. But even as it was placed upon my brow, I knew the truth.

“I present to you, King Cairn, son of Gil, First of his name!”

This crown would never grow. This crown was stillborn.

The applause of thousands shook me from my revery as I stood, cloak trailing behind. I embraced my mother and sister, then shook hands with my father. All earlier cruelty was gone from his face, and he wore the face of a proud patriarch. I leaned in to whisper in his ear as he had in mine.

“I know what you did, you old fuck,” I said. And for a second there was no response. The sort of person he was, he probably had to go down a list. Then his face went ashen as the proud father imitation slipped into abject horror. For what might have been the first time ever I let the mask slip. There was nothing he could do. We were past the point of no return.

“Now the king will present the sacrifice.” The Archbishop extended a shaking hand towards the ceiling, and the crowd applauded again. It was the last time they’d clap for me tonight.

I approached the edge, overlooking the emerald pyre, and began to speak.