W
hen Vercingtorix parts through the lingering crowd to reach me, I envy the ease with which he does it. It is more than the step. It is more than the motion. It is the surety, the regal-browed charisma, that, despite my birth or even my looks, has never once had the decency to come easily to me.
In my childhood, my tutors had believed that this deficit of character I seemed born with—Keturah was miraculous, but she was not divine—could be trained back into place. That through enough practice, my character would miraculously grow armour around itself, my smile transforming into the pinnacle of diplomacy, my speeches rending entire rooms of men to their knees.
Music would no longer be the only thing I seemed to be gifted in. At the very least, I had an almost puppy-like eagerness to please; that, they had thought, would certainly carry me half of the way.
Of course—I never made it through the other half.
But if I had?
I think about this to avoid thinking about other things—like how we are suddenly alone, like how Pilate's drink sears through my stomach and throat, like how the blood I have coughed into my father's cloak might as well announce to him its presence when he is this close to me—and rock back onto my heels, smiling, my feint of placidity continued without remorse nor mercy.
Surely, he cannot be here simply for me. Surely, he is here because it is strategic. I must anaesthetise myself to every possible disappointment, in this way, before it can sting me numb like a scorpion; and doing so brings me immediate, sabotaging relief. This is familiar; I have done this time, and time, and time again.
“Ah. Patience." Grinning, I reach towards the spare drink he has brought with him. It is a frothy bright champagne, and it is not my brother's concoction. I vaguely recount Pilate disliking champagne; before the deaths of our parents, between twice-weekly declarations of war, I had drank with him many times. He has always had an exorbitant love for wine. “I used to be rather good at that."
I bring the glass to my lips and drink. I am reeling from the effects of the green cocktail yet I am practiced enough, by now, in the art of masking nausea that the champagne goes down easily, and I balance the half-emptied glass on the marble ledge jutting out from the hooves of the lackluster cast. “No longer though, I'm afraid."
My words are half-warning and half-jest. It is good-humor tinged with paranoia.
Vercingtorix is a stranger. I have told myself this for the past twenty-three days, and even this fact—that I know the exact number of days, when before I had been careless enough to miss birthdays until the buttery smell of cakes rose from the kitchens to perfume my curtains—despairs me. It is the thorn in my side I cannot reach. It is the snake in my bed I cannot find. It horrifies me and blows a mocking breath of life into me in cyclical, tormenting echoes.
I try to forget him. I remember him because I am trying to forget him.
I am taken aback when he turns himself to fully facing me. I am leaning against the statue, rearing hooves pressed into the hollows of my spine, my head thumping and my pulse erratic; the hall is deserted and the living statues have wandered down other solemn corners. I hadn't noticed it before, but when we are this close he easily towers over me.
There is nothing in front of me now but eyes as changeable as the sea, and a scar rending them through like a pink river. I wish to touch it, to see if it is as jagged and mangled as it boasts.
I do not.
“Is this concern I am sensing, Vercingtorix?" I say, before breaking into a breathy laugh. The lyre strapped to my back trembles out a singing note. There is a faux giddiness in me now, brought about by the alcohol and my cartwheeling head and the discomfort that rends across his proud mouth, a twist there and gone. This pleases me.
I have become one of those horrible princes more endeared by a show of weakness, than any form of strength.
“Just besides this hall is the armory. As well-equipped as the King's keep, if you'll allow me the boast—and more, I hope—" I pause, my eyes flicking to the scar crowning his shoulder, “—to your liking." In truth I have not stepped foot inside the armory since I found myself barely able to lift a plate, but I have chosen the armory because I am almost certain he will be impressed by it.
And I have always borne an asphyxiating need to please.
I have pushed off of the statue, my breath gushing out in a huff, when my smile flickers like a candle flame. “...is that guy really your brother?" I look up in surprise, and find myself nearly pressed to his shoulder. I ease a step backwards, my wings rustling up against a marble head.
“So you've seen him?" I ask carefully, and I am frustrated at once at how I am suddenly apprehensive. At this point, it has become second-nature. The hatred that swells in me is enough to drown armadas.
But Torix does not know this, so I manage a laugh for him. It comes out stiff and forced. “He is striking, is he not," I mutter, sweeping a curl of hair out of my eyes casually with a wing, before gesturing for him to follow me as I begin to pick my way towards the armory.
“Pilate is the third eldest, and the second son after me. He is now head of house. And I have been bitten by those snakes more times than I can count as a child so I assure you—" I turn back towards him and allow the faintest sneer to curl across my lips, “—they are real, and as the rumors say, venomous."
If there is any accusation in my words, my sneer fades too quickly to confirm it. Instead, I shake my head and cough mildly into my wing. Schemes and betrayals and arsenic in a wineglass are things of the past. The consolation is that I am still alive, after each one.
I am still alive; that must count for something.
He, who navigated with success
the dangerous river of his own birth
once more set forth
on a voyage of discovery
into the land I floated on
but could not touch to claim.
His feet slid on the bank,
the currents took him;
@
BRIGHT SPLASH OF BLOOD ON THE FLOOR. ASTONISHING RED.
(All that brightness inside me?)
(All that brightness inside me?)
♦︎♔♦︎
