Cian has never let Keegan win. His favorite path was that of riling up his brother to the point that any of their friendly joustings would end without a clear winner. It would always infuriate Keegan, and he had to wonder if his brother knew why he did that. He probably did, but would never voice his opinions on the matter. If he did, then it would be admitting that he could never hope to match him—just like in most things. Keegan is, if not, prideful.

  What about himself? Cian never takes a loss to heart, nor does he think too much about his academics. He simply strives to do well and wants those around him to be happy and thriving. This arena is not allowing for that, and Cian also must be contradictory. He has to take this fight personally; he has to let Keegan see that there is a gap between them. There must be a clear victor, and it will be him.

  Dust scattered beneath Cian’s feet as he closed the distance. Keegan blinked—one instance, Cian was there, the next, he was at his flank. Cian’s hand brushed aside the sword’s path, using the force against it, his entire body turning like a pivoting blade. He struck with his shoulder, drove his elbow forward, each blow precise and swift. Keegan staggered, eyes wide. Their fight had shifted, and a new fear overcame Keegan, so he reacted, withdrawing a syringe filled with Lord only knows. He is not given the chance to use it because Cian grabs his hand and turns the point of the needle on him. It sinks into his forearm, in between the small openings of his chain mail, and Cian pushes on the plunger. The action costs him—a knee hammering into his side, and Keegan throws him, trying to create distance as he deals with what he has been injected with.

  Cian rolls on the ground, landing on his back near the arena’s edge. There is a glint that catches his eye. From where he can see his knife lying on the ground below him. They are not allowed to leave the arena unless physically knocked out. Leaving is seen as a forfeit, so Cian cannot walk to retrieve his weapon, but he does not think he needs to.

  At the gambling house, Cian had been in want of a weapon when fighting the guards, and the knife had answered. He had called it to him. His conversation with Wukong had led him to realize this, so when he was in the safety of his guest room, Cian had fiddled with different commands. It felt ridiculous to have the knife on the floor away from him as he tried ordering it around like a dog, but there came a moment where he went quiet. A body moves without needing its soul to tell it to, and Cian wondered if the same applied to the knife. He began to think of it as another appendage, shifting from forced concentration to moving without thought. It had scared the the daylights out of him when his empty hand suddenly gripped around a handle.

  The knife shuddered on the ground for a moment before it yielded to the will of its master, lifting from the ground and then darting in Cian's direction. The moment Cian gripped the handle of the blade, he rolled, bringing it up to meet the downward strike of Keegan's sword. He kicks with his leg, forcing Keegan to jump back, and Cian uses the moment to spin himself to his feet.

  Keegan recovered easily, defensively holding his sword, but Cian noticed how his grip lacked strength and his body wobbled. It became increasingly apparent that something was wrong when the boy charged forward, his footwork appearing lazy, and Keegan has been known to be anything but careless. “You were trying to poison me with aconite,” Cian said, easily parrying an attack from Keegan’s sword. He has seen many of his brother’s poisons in use, aconite being one he used when hunting. It numbed the prey’s body, causing them to lose the function of their muscles before dying. Keegan had explained that in high quantities, aconite can kill, but if someone dilutes it and gives it to a person, that person will experience the effects, but not death. “Just how many poisons do you have?”

  In response to Cian’s inquiry, Keegan pulled out another syringe, and Cian was once again prepared to turn it against him, but it was not necessary. “That was the last,” Keegan replied, his voice slurring and his body slumping slightly. “All that’s left is epinephrine.”

  Alma had also provided Cian with epinephrine, but her syringes were not filled, containing less than a quart’s worth. According to her, too much of it could cause his heart to seize, so it was very concerning to see that Keegan did not have the same reservations. He is unsure of the amount used, but it must have been enough to clear away the sluggishness previously witnessed with Keegan’s body. The boy was shaking, and a frenzied look was in his eyes. The sight made Cian frown.

  “Are you an idiot?”

  Keegan dared to appear confused, and it irritated Cian. “Is the patriarchy worth so much you’d endanger your health?”

  “Is it worth so little to you that you wouldn’t do the same?”

  Cian did not understand, and Keegan did not explain. The two could already see that the fight was at its end, and there was no point in delaying further. They lunged at the same instant, colliding at the arena’s center. Keegan’s sword roared forward, fueled by the rush burning through his veins; the world sharpened, every muscle thrumming with raw power. For a heartbeat, it looked like he would overwhelm Cian outright, but Cian met him head-on, no falter in his step, his movements just as sharp, just as brisk. They would have been locked in a stalemate, neither side willing to give, had Cian not felt it. A tug on his left hand, his weapon moving, following a pattern not entirely of his own. Every clash rang—the weapon guiding him, once again pushing the limits of his body. Never had Keegan faced this rendition of Cian before. He tried to break through, to drive his sword down with brute strength, but the rhythm turned against him. Steel flashed, the impact thundered, and in the next breath, he was flat on his back, breath driven from his lungs.

  Dust rose around them as Cian dropped a knee to Keegan’s chest, pinning him in place. His blade struck the rock of the arena beside Keegan’s head with a heavy crack, its gleaming edge trembling inches from the boy’s ear. Silence followed, sharp and absolute—until the knife stilled and the voice of their father broke through.

  "Glory unto God, for the heir has risen victorious—Cian, my son, may the tribe of Heartsease thrive under your name!"

  —————

  His father liked to regale him with the story of his birth. The uniqueness behind it had left a deep imprint on his father’s memory, and Keegan also found it fascinating. When his mother and his aunt were tending to the budding wisteria vines around their home, his mother had slumped forward, clutching at her swollen abdomen. His aunt had cried out for help; the servants answered her call, and one of them was sent to fetch Archdoctor Ebenezer. It had been quite the shock for the man to come and find, not just his mother in labor, but also his aunt, who had gone into labor mere moments after the servant had left. The same servant had to be sent out once more, only this time to retrieve Healer Sophia.

  Archdoctor Ebenezer saw to the needs of his aunt, as she was the patriarch’s wife, while Healer Sophia tended to his mother. Both mothers were in good hands, as even though Healer Sophia lacked the title, she was a capable woman whom Ebenezer trusted.

  The afternoon had soon faded without either mother noticing. Shadows deepened, the lanterns inside the mansion burned low, and the long night of labor closed in around them. His mother had given a final push as Healer Sophia guided the infant out of the womb. Keegan had apparently been wailing louder than a banshee when his head emerged, and his father said his wailing was equal to the one occurring on the other end of the hall. He had said it was borderline deafening, but that it had brought him great joy because it meant he was alive and that his cousin was as well.

  The two infants were allowed to meet the following day, and it had been Keegan who had reached out, snatching at his cousin’s wrist. He had held on tightly, an infant unaware of his strength, but Cian had not cried. The child had laughed, and his laughter made Keegan laugh as well. Their parents liked to jest that, since his mother and aunt had both prayed together for a child, the Lord had a sense of humour. Women who prayed together gave birth together, as his father was fond of quipping.

  Now here Keegan was, grasping the wrist of cousin-become-brother, a reaction to Cian offering his hand to help him up. He had to wonder whether their births were a coincidence or allowed to be to protect the heirship that had been meant for Cian in the first place. Keegan cannot truly be mad, can he? His brother reclaimed what was meant for him, and Keegan had never stood a chance. Their fight made this evident. No matter how hard Keegan studied, no matter how hard he trained, he would always fall short of his brother. Perhaps that is why his father favored Cian. A temperamental son pales in compassion to one who brings joy to others.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Are you alright?” Cian questioned, his eyes were filled with concern, and Keegan knew it was because the boy was worried about his health. It was foolish of him to take a syringe full of epinephrine; the reward was not even worth it, considering he was still no match for Cian. “My pride is wounded, but otherwise, I’m perfect,” Keegan lied. His heart was still hammering, and he could admit to himself that he was afraid it would suddenly stop, but he did not want Cian fretting over him. He wanted to be alone when licking his wounds. “You’re lying.”

  Cian’s accusation held an assured weight behind it, and if cursing were not a sin, Keegan would have done it. He never understood why his brother was so sensitive to his emotions. It made him irrationally angry—his tongue on the verge of lashing out, but his father and the delegation of tribal leaders were coming onto the arena. Instantly, the two boys were swarmed —or, to be precise, Cian was. Keegan received words of consolation from the various patriarchs and matriarchs, and he listened to them with a strained smile, but their attention was on commending Cian’s prowess in the fight.

  “I had heard both you and Son Wukong are considered the highest-ranking students in The Cornucopia. Both of you are praised for your balanced intellect and physical skills, and I can see it’s not simple boasting,” Matriarch Isolde said, appraising Cian keenly. Behind her, Son Elias stood, quiet and almost acting as his mother’s shadow. The young man was the same age as Son Aleatorio, who was four years his elder. Keegan can vaguely remember them from his first year at The Cornucopia, but they never became acquainted, despite also being children of tribal leaders. He supposed Cian would be the one now to spark a friendship—already he was happily shaking Son Aleatorio’s hand as the young man congratulated him on a fight well done. Cian had always had an easier time endearing himself to others.

  “You endured your brother’s tricks like a grown warrior!” Matriarch Regina exclaimed, slapping Cian on the back heartily. “So young, yet so resilient!”

  “Was Miss Alma the one who provided the antidote to the poison your brother used?” Patriarch Galen inquired. “If I recall, she once had a competition with him, and it was the only time I ever saw her so competitive.”

  “It’s archaic how Heartsease still holds ceremonial combats to determine their leaders, although I will not dispute that it was a respectable fight to witness,” Matriarch Vara said. Her brother, Patriarch Darian, elbowed her good-naturedly. “If we were in the same predicament as them, which one of us do you think would win?”

  “You.” The matriarch’s words were resolute, and Patriarch Darian seemed astonished. “You can be very mean when you desire to be.” Her brother laughed, spiritedly, and it was by that point that Keegan had already wandered away from the small crowd. The leaders were more focused on the one soon to join their echelon, and a sense of bitterness began to well up within him, but he smothered it the best he could. It was more important that he get to his room and use the calmative he had prepared to counter the adrenaline if needed.

  “Keegan.”

  Blocking his path was his father, and he blinked because he had not seen the man approaching. He thinks it is intentional on his father’s part; when the man wanted to, he could move like a shadow. Keegan is a master in the art of avoidance, especially when it comes to avoiding talks about his inner thoughts, so his father has found a way around that. He can already see it in his father’s eyes—the same look he always got whenever word would come to him about Keegan’s temperament. It made him feel like his father thought of him as some wild animal, uncontrollable and liable to hurt someone. Just because he lost his heirship to Cian did not mean he was angry at his brother, nor did it suggest he would strike out at the first person who provoked him.

  “I’m deeply fatigued, Father,” Keegan said the moment his father came closer. “If you wish to speak with me, then can it be after I’ve rested and taken something to calm my racing heart?”

  His father quirked a brow. “What was inside the syringe you used on yourself?”

  Perfect, Keegan grimaced. “A…compound which reinvigorated my vitality.” He did not miss his father’s face darkening, and Keegan felt like cowering, but the storm passed after his father took a deep breath. “Nothing irreversible, yes?”

  “I’m daft, but not that daft,” he reassured. His words did little to quell the rising worry he saw in his father’s eyes, but his father pushed forward. “I wanted to convey how proud you made me today. Your forethought helped you to compensate for your weaknesses, and your strengths shone in the fight. You caused Cian to be weary, and I dare say the match could have gone either way.”

  “Would you have been disappointed if it had?” Keegan asked without meaning to. His father looked affronted. “Either outcome would have brought joy into my heart because the both of you are my sons. If we believe that everything works for the good of God, then had you won, Heartsease would still have been blessed.”

  There was an earnestness in his father’s voice that made Keegan want to believe his words. The idea had so consumed him as to why Cian would suddenly vie for the patriarchy, especially after speaking to his father when they arrived home. He had thought his father pushed him to do it, and there is still a tug within the back of his mind that says his suspicions are true, but Keegan cannot fathom such a thing. His father always said he never favored one child over another—that they were like precious jewels in his eyes. Then there was Cian.

  He glanced to the side to see his brother still amidst the throng of tribal leaders, smiling as he conversed with them. Cian is not one to betray anyone.

  “Although I lost, it warms me to hear you say that, Father.”

  His father smiled. “Go rest now, my son.”

  Keegan returned his smile, moving around him to scamper off, unaware of how quickly the smile dropped from his father’s face.

  —————

  “Congratulations on your victory, my son.”

  The other tribal leaders had dispersed, and workers were coming to restore the Colosseum to its natural state, as it was easier to prepare for future events that way. Cian had stayed in the arena, having noted his uncle's conversation with Keegan, and was waiting for everyone else to leave before speaking with him. “Thank you, Uncle. It was hard fought.”

  Indeed, Cian felt physically and emotionally exhausted, and to add to matters, he knew Wukong had noticed how he retrieved his knife. Everyone else believed his story about having a hidden secondary knife on his person. His movements had been fluid enough to hide his summoning of the knife, and it worked in his favor that, other than Wukong, no one else knew of its peculiarity. He would handle the matter when the time came because no doubt Wukong would pester him over such a discrepancy.

  “A meeting is intended to take place between the tribal leaders,” his uncle said, recapturing his attention. “I understand you must be exhausted, but as my heir, you're responsible for attending the meeting as well. It’s essential, and you'd best pay attention because what you will learn is no trivial matter.”

  “Is the meeting taking place now? Is that where Keegan has gone off to?” Cian asked in concern. His brother had given his all to win the fight, and Cian would not be surprised if the boy were to collapse unconscious suddenly.

  “No. He has retired, I assume to his room, and I don’t expect he will be joining us for dinner.”

  Cian breathed out, relieved. “That’s good. So when is the meeting to happen?”

  “As you deduced, right now.”

  Now Cian was confused. He would much rather have Keegan rest, but if the meeting is as crucial as his uncle is suggesting, it would be best for Keegan to listen in. Listening to information with your own ears is far better than someone retelling what they heard, yet his uncle had allowed Keegan to walk away. “Why didn’t you inform Keegan about the meeting?” he inquired, although Cian suspected he already knew the answer.

  “It might seem unfair, but the heirship has fallen to you, and you must be privy to information most others cannot be.”

  “Do you know if Wukong and Teacher Barnabas are attending?”

  “They are—”

  “And what about Son Elias, Daughter Imara, and Son Aleatorio? What about the spouses of the tribal leaders?”

  Bomin went silent, confirming Cian’s suspicions. “Why wouldn’t you want Keegan present? He might not be your heir, but he’s still your other eldest son.”

  “It’s in his best interest that he not have to see what Patriarch Griff will be showing everyone.”

  “If Keegan isn’t going, then I’m not either.”

  “Refrain from acting childish, Cian,” his uncle said, pinching the bridge of his nose in rising irritation.

  “According to tribal law, I’m not an adult until I reach twenty, so I’m acting my age,” Cian retorted, and it felt out of place for him to be talking like this to his uncle. He has done so to Grandmaster Edwin plenty of times, but that was all in good fun. He liked to tease the grandmaster, as dangerous as it was, but that is not what he is doing now.

  “I want Keegan there. We are already keeping secrets from him, and I don’t wish to hoard any more than necessary. It doesn’t feel good to lie to him.”

  His words had the desired effect of causing a glint of guilt to pass over his uncle’s eyes.

  “Go inform him then.”

  Cian ran off before his uncle could change his mind.