maybe in this season, drunk and sentimental, i'm willing to admit i love you still.
M
y brother is king. There was a time—as recently as yesterday, or when I woke up this morning in a cold sweat—where the thought of him ruling me was worse than physical pain. I thought it would have killed me. I have spent all my life in his shadow; to see that shadow grow even bigger would have, I thought, been unbearable. All this time and effort wasted being head of house just for him to be head of the country. It was enough to make me sick.
But when he left—really left, when I saw him slink out of the house—all I saw was how small his shadow was underneath the huge arch of the doorway. The height at which the entryway loomed over him made him look like a child. I saw him as he had been: the little boy (but always my big brother) with the lyre, who took naps with me in our sunny courtyard. I remembered suddenly that his eyes were once silver. Watching him from my window, I felt suddenly sick again, my stomach turning, my whole body hot as god-fire for reasons I couldn’t place, until I realized:
I was afraid. Not afraid of him being chosen. But afraid that he might not come back.
My room is cold and gray and dark. I pace it, feeling like a caged animal. I circle the room over and over again like some mockery of Sisyphus, pushing myself into the corners, switching my tail against my legs, taking strides so long they pull at my shoulders until I feel as though my body, held together only by tension, is about to unravel.
Outside my open window, the universe hangs on an invisible string. The night is clean and cool today; I see individual stars freckling its dark cheeks, the white smile of the moon its vibrant centerpiece.
My door is open. When the servants pass, they are so bold as to dart quick glances at me, their faces filled with quiet questions; I hear them whisper to each other once they’re out of sight. I know they must be wondering what is wrong with me—what plagues the unshakable Ieshan.
Even if I were willing to answer them, I am not sure I could bring myself to tell the truth. I stand in front of my gilded mirror and look myself in the eyes. I am handsome, but my face is sallow; the amber in my eyes is washed out by panic; my white robe is bunched around my shoulders, and something about the way it drapes over me like a sheet makes me feel suddenly smaller than ever.
The truth is: I am a child. I see it now—in the anxious hunch of my posture, the worried line of my mouth. In everything I’ve done for the past two years. In how I’ve acted, like a little boy throwing a tantrum.
The truth is: I am a child, and I miss my big brother.
Pilate.
I am half-asleep. I think at first that I am dreaming. It is late, after all. My brother left long ago; the moon is nearing the horizon now, and the stars are fading back into blackness. After hours of pacing circles in my room, of grinding the tattoo of my hooves into the soft stone floor, I am finally falling into a terrible trance that is not as kind as sleep, but not exactly as cruel as being awake: my eyes drifting closed, my heart a slow drip in my chest.
Pilate.
My ear flicks. A few of the snakes rise from their sleeping nest against my neck, and slowly, blearily, I myself raise my head.
Pilate. Something pulls at the knot of my robe, and—
I jolt awake instantly. My heart pounds in my chest: my body flushes with heat. Suddenly I am horribly and terribly all there in my fire and panic; when I turn to see who it is that has come for me, I almost expect it will be death himself with that scythe and black robe; and there is a sudden heartbreak-pain in my chest, because I know, when I die, it will only be because I am following my brother.
But it is him. Standing in front of me, Solis’ perfect statue. I remember all at once that he is a few inches taller than me; that even in sickness, he is the best of us; his eyes are bright and less blue than they have been in years. There is even a little smile on his funny mouth. And he smells like the outside world. I want to cry.
You are the first, he says. Can you believe it?
I let out the largest breath I have ever held; for a moment my vision goes black with the release of it, and I lose all the weight in my head. He had loved me once.
“I had no doubts,” I say softly. “I have always admired you. Do you know that? And Solis cannot possibly be any harder than me to impress.”
I laugh, and it sounds like a lifetime of pain.
I love him still.
