For as long as Zier could remember, Coris had always been the prodigy. And he, the putz.

True, he might come out on top (out of two) when it comes to swordplay, riding, archery, and not ripping the seams of the shape-hugging men's leg-wear, but considering any knight or yeoman serving his father would be capable of the same and probably more, those weren't exactly boast-worthy credentials.

Coris excused his physical shortcomings and general obnoxiousness by excelling in all the arts Bishop Frey threw at him. Strategy. Negotiation. Leadership. Sciences. Philosophy.

Linguistics was his forte, however. He had always had a way with runes, words and languages. Whether he was weaving up scathing similes to describe his intellectual inferiors—namely Zier. Delivering an opening speech to a banquet. Penning a heartrending eulogy for a fallen knight. Impressing a Tyldornian emissary with a snippet of their tongue, flawlessly delivered. Or, most recently, negotiating hostages with a dangerous Nostran mercenary. Things Zier could never imagine himself doing.

But one thing Zier himself and everyone who knew him did not appreciate enough was that actually, Zier could be as cunning and eloquent as Coris—when it comes to things he was disturbed enough by to put his mind and mouth to solving.

For example, preventing his overly-righteous sweetheart from marrying his brother.

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Coris led their mother's way into the room and held the door for her, as was customary. Once she had swept past him towards their father, sitting behind the oaken desk at the heart of the study, his silvery eyes flicked away from Father and his seneschal Sir Nethan momentarily to focus on Zier, before righting themselves at the Baron.

In that fleeting glimpse, Zier felt a wave of chill cascading down his spine, borne of the cold, boiling fury within the serene, benign silver of his brother's eyes, as he realized he had been too late. No, rather, he had made a misstep—He may have gotten to Father first, but that was because Arinel had chosen to go to Coris. Then again...

Truth belongs to he who speaks first.

Coris had pacified Zier with those words, that night when he discovered Zier in the secret passageway, having just swallowed the Axel, before admitting to Father that he was the one who tried to steal the Axel. Those words proved true. Five years had passed, and Coris still held that truth fast in his clammy hands.

And the same goes for Zier now. Since he had spoken to Father first, Coris would know better than to try and challenge his version of the latest Axel heist. The truth was of his design. And Coris must work with what was on the table.

Silence fell for a beat as father and erstwhile heir sized each other up, then Coris opened; it was unbecoming to have the Baron speak first.

"About the heist two nights ago, Father, I'd been meaning to report to you once the guests have left."

Coris cut straight to the chase, as if he had been with them all along, as always an expert at reading whatever room he was in. His expressionless face was adorned with his customary gentle grin and twinkling silvery eyes,

"I would prefer for us to gather and discuss our most dangerous secret while our every move isn't scrutinized by foreign ears and eyes. But, apparently, Zier has beaten me to it. And now it seems as if I had intended to fool you for as long as I dared."

Coris's smile widened a minim as he cocked his head towards Zier, who jolted; he wasn't dense enough yet not to recognize a none-too-subtle jab when he heard it.

"Don't go spiting your brother for simply holding Hadrian's best interests at heart while you didn't."

Father interjected coolly, eyes slightly narrowed in reprimanding, and Coris's smile now had a bitter downwards twist.

"It pains me that you have interpreted my intentions so, Father." Even so, his voice remained light as teatime chitchat, "I would have shown you the scars I still suffer from protecting Hadrian's best interests, but they are inside me."

"Don't insult me with your tale of so-called heroic redemption, Corien Alexis." Coris had barely even finished when Father practically spat back, and both Zier and Mother jumped, "You have always been, and still are, concerned with no-one's interest other than your own!"

Zier couldn't tell if Coris's shock was genuine or fabricated as he stood there, frozen but for his blinking eyes, his complexion fading a shade paler than normal. Father planted his hands on the desk and pushed himself to his feet, blue eyes glaring straight into Coris's as he explained his outburst.

"If you really had meant to protect your wife, you would have told her that The Axel was inside you. But you didn't. You feared she would have The Axel taken out of you. The way I had attempted to, and you fear I might do again if you had reported to me."

Father's voice was no longer a blunt, white-hot snarl, but was sharp and icy, like the thinnest blade dripping with poison. And Coris stood there as it sank into him, his face impassive and unreadable.

"You assume the worst of everyone in the three lands but your spiteful self. Including your own father, brother, and wife. It's only befitting that we assume the worst of you as well."

Silence crept in as the last echoes of the Baron's voice ebbed away into thin air. Coris lowered his eyes to the crimson carpet, his lack of a pithy reply signaling surrender.

Father descended back to his velvet-cushioned chair. Pulling a piece of half-written on parchment towards him, he dipped his falcon-feather quill into his inkwell and picked up where he left off,

"Contrary to your belief, your brother came to me today not to tattle, but because he was concerned for your safety." He continued as he deftly flourished words in a perfectly straight line, before pausing and looking up.

"The Axel's secret had been compromised, thanks in large part to your misguided decisions." He flicked the feathery end of his quill to indicate his eldest son, then to his younger one,

"He suggests you leave Hadrian quietly and lay low far away for a while. Wait out the threat while we prepare for those bandits' return."

For the first time since the conversation started, Coris was lost for words. He chanced a glance at Zier, eyes wide with horrified premonition. Zier could only look away in shame.

"I would have suggested the same myself. It was the obvious course of action." Father's quill went scritch-scratch on the parchment for a while. He signed his name, stamped his crest, rolled the paper into a scroll, then handed it to Sir Nethan, who took up the trouble of winding a ribbon around it and sealing it, then left the room to post it.

Up until the door swung close behind him, Father's eyes never left Coris, then he declared his ultimatum.

"After the May Fest, you are to leave with your wife for Manor Safyre. I'm asking Baroness Norena to stock Villa Lapis with a moon's supply of Safyre's best mead. You are to return once Lady Arinel has conceived your child."

That last part was not what Zier had had in mind. Coris was flustered for a beat. Then, in a rare fit of pique, his pallid face flushed to a healthy pink.

"That's impossible, Father! I'm barren! How am I supposed to impregnate her? Are you planning to exile me?"

"Again! You're assuming the worst of me, Coris!" Father shot straight back to his feet, his fist clenched until his knuckles shone white as a weathered finger jabbed down at the wood. "You can never be sure if you're barren or not. For all we know, Arinel might already be carrying your child now as we speak!"

"Definitely not, because I haven't lain with her once!" Coris rebuffed viciously without the barest pause, and Zier hastily tried to correct him,

"Brother, about that—"

Despite his fury, Coris was still aware enough of his surroundings. He whipped around to Zier, and as the inkling took shape in his head, his face turned, if even possible, even deeper red. He glanced between Mother to Father, over and over, eyes bulging with disbelief and hurt.

"So, you were spying on our first night?" His voice was a mere rasp, and Mother bit her lips in anguish, as Coris shook his head with a twisted grin,

"I thought we'd abolished that embarrassing rite decades ago. And you chided me for distrusting you?"

"If you so loathe us keeping watch on you for your own good, then how about not keeping secrets and lying and manipulating us in the first place?"

Father proposed, his voice of restrained calm, and Coris tensed up in alarm. Father's eyes narrowed, insulted.

"I don't blame you for being against the marriage, but instead of working out a compromise together, you chose to go behind me and Lord Crosset's backs to rescue Arinel." Father shook his head with a frustrated sigh, "You're eighteen, Coris! What do you know about what would be best for her?"

"I don't. And I never will." Coris's voice exploded through gritted teeth, for once purely livid. He hitched up a scornful smirk. "I was just trying to give her what her father has never given her. What you have never given me and Zier. A choice!"

Coris's voice rose into a shout, and Father fell silent, figuratively and literally thrown aback against his chair's backrest. Even as a spoiled young boy, Coris was rarely upset, let alone enraged, as he had always gotten his way through manipulation and verbal coercion. Now, the room still rang with his outburst as Coris plowed on as if possessed, arms flailing as if conducting a play as he paced before them.

"From the day I was born, I'm Corien Alexis. Protector of The Axel. Prodigious heir of Hadrian. I didn't have the choice to back out, because I was born for it. I didn't have the choice of who I wanted to become, because of what Hadrian already expects me to be. I didn't have the choice of who to marry, because you killed off the only other choice I had!"

Coris whirled back, panting hard as he glared in accusation at his father. The room had gone graveyard silent. For a moment that felt as long as a lifetime, Father held Coris's gaze, his sharp blue eyes calm, its depths unfathomable.

"I did not kill Agnesia Graye." Father's voice was firm, but there was a subtle note of suffering mingled within it, even as his eyes never wavered from Coris, "I had nothing to do with that fire."

The corner of Coris's bitter grin twitched. For perhaps a second, his eyes gleamed in the gentle rays of late morning sunshine, as if glossed by tears, but with a single blink, they returned to being as dry and sharp as they always were, and his empty, saintly smile replaced his anguish.

"If so, I guess I should hurry back and tell Arinel the good news. She would be most thrilled. A romantic retreat would do well to dispel any lingering trauma from the heist."

He concurred airily, picking up before the conversation went astray to disastrous waters, as if the middle part never happened. No-one contradicted him. Zier couldn't explain what was it about him, but Coris had always been great at steering the conversation.

"Also, I would prefer it if Zier accompanies me." Coris turned to Zier then, and the younger lord jolted, chilled by the cold steel lining his brother's amicable smile and the glint of a poisoned arrowhead in his eyes,

"The road to Safyre is an arduous one, but at the end lies two prosperous towns, each with a unique culture. He would learn much along the way and there. I also don't mind extra security on my part."

Zier's mouth fell open in horrified awe. In three sentences, Coris had destroyed Zier's sole objective of getting Arinel alone to himself while Coris was ten days away on horseback. For once, Father nodded without objection. It was a reasonable request, after all.

"Very well. Zier, you are to accompany your brother." Father slapped down his brisk command, leaving Zier feeling like kicking himself, then turned back to Coris, "You may take Christopher and Simon as well. It would be an experience for them, too."

Coris bowed with a small smile of gratitude. Yet, his airy parting remark was dripping with sizzling venom.

"Thank you, Father. I shall be in my room pleasuring my wife, while you starve Latakia of resources with your cherished Ban. Until you see fit to let me roam free again. Zier!"

The dying prodigy barked at his younger brother, whirled around then swept from the room, his crimson cloak billowing behind him, a bewildered Zier scurrying to his side.

The costly whole-tree door swung shut with a much more resounding bang than that of Sir Nethan's. It was a wonder that Coris didn't snag the rim of Zier's cloak in the doorframe.

A drop of water splashed onto the back of the Baron's hand in the descending silence, absorbed by the Baroness's supple palm clasping over it.

"He was right. They didn't have the choice. But I did."

Kellis whispered. More combined tears splattered onto Sylvia's hand. She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut as she burrowed her face into the nook of her husband's trembling shoulder, feeling his rough hand caressing her hair.

"Nineteen years ago, my father handed me Maxus's Memoirs, along with the first choice I have ever had to make. To validate Axel Hild's sacrifice. To avenge Maxus's Fellowship. To right the wrongs Drinian has done to Corien and Meira. To end Mirra's war in my time. Or to betray all their expectations. For better or for worse. Or to leave things the way they have always been. Unfinished. Halfhearted. A clock ticking back towards doomsday. Handed down from father to son."

Throughout his soliloquy, Kellis's tortured gaze lingered on the closed door, where his eldest son's eyes had been, but as he continued, he closed his eyes and dipped his head in utmost shame.

"I chose the easiest option, to leave this dream I couldn't fulfill to my sons. The way my father did to his son, and Hadrian men all the way to Maxus did to their sons. And the way my sons will probably do to their own sons."

There was a pause as Kellis contemplated his sins, then he whispered in a voice soft as the clouds shrouding the peaks of Neverend Heights, yet just as heavy as its stone.

"Tell me, Sylvia. Am I the foulest father in the three lands for bringing our sons into the world?"

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