The Skull Throne

“What if I do not agree to this plan, Par’chin?” Jardir asked. “Will you steal the crown and try alone?”

“Half right,” Arlen said. “Minds are coming to Anoch Sun on new moon and I’ll be there with or without you. If you can’t see the value in that, then you’re not the man I thought you were. Take your crown, slink back to your ripping throne, and leave Sharak Ka to me.”

Jardir grit his teeth. “And the spear?”

“The spear is mine,” Arlen said. “But you swear by the sun to do this with me, I’ll give it to you free and clear and call it a bargain. If not, I’ll take it to the Core and put it through the demon queen’s heart myself.”

Jardir stared at him a long time. “That will not be necessary, Par’chin. It grates me to be given what is already mine, but what kind of ajin’pal would I be if I let you walk such a road alone? You may think Everam a lie, Par’chin, but truly He must love you, to grant you such courage.”

The Par’chin smiled. “My da always said I had more sack than sense.”

Arlen bustled about the kitchen, his hands a blur as he worked. He had never been a great cook, but years spent alone on the road had made him efficient enough at boiling potatoes and pan-frying meat and vegetables. He used no fire; heat wards etched into the pots and pans did the work, powered by his touch.

“May I assist?” Jardir asked.

“You?” Arlen asked. “Has the self-proclaimed king of the world ever even touched unprepared food?”

“You know me well, Par’chin,” Jardir said, “but not as well as you think. Was I not nie’Sharum once? There is no menial task I have not bent my back to.”

“Then bend your back to setting the table.” The banter was familiar, something Arlen hadn’t realized he had missed all these years. It was easy to fall into their old patterns, brothers in all but name. Jardir had stood with Arlen on his first night in the Maze, and in Krasia, that was as great a bond as blood. Greater.

But Jardir had been willing to kill him for power. He had not done it with malice, but he had done it all the same, and even now, Arlen had to wonder if he would do it all over again if he had the chance … or if the chance came again in the future. He searched Jardir’s aura for a clue, but he could discern little without Drawing magic through him and Knowing him fully—an intrusion Jardir would no doubt sense, and have every right to take offense to.

“Ask, Par’chin,” Jardir said.

“Ay?” Arlen asked, surprised.

“I can see the question that gnaws at your spirit,” Jardir said. “Ask, and let us have it done.”

Arlen nodded. “Soon enough. Some things are best done on a full stomach.”

He finished preparing the meal, waiting patiently as Jardir said a prayer over the food before they set to eating. A single serving was enough for Arlen, but Jardir had suffered serious wounds in their battle on the cliff, and while magic could heal them in an instant, it couldn’t make flesh and blood from nothing. He emptied three bowls and still reached for the fruit plate while Arlen cleared the table.

When he returned he sat quietly, watching Jardir gnaw the bowl down to stem, seed, and core.

“Ask, Par’chin,” Jardir said again.

“Did you decide to kill me in the heat of the moment that night in the Maze,” Arlen asked, “or was our friendship a lie from the start?”

He watched Jardir’s aura carefully, taking some small pleasure as hurt and shame colored it for an instant. Jardir mastered himself quickly and looked up, meeting Arlen’s eyes as he let out a long exhale, nostrils flaring.

“Both,” he said. “And neither. After she threw the bones for you that first night, Inevera told me to embrace you like a brother and keep you close, for I would one day need to kill you if I was to take power.”

Something tightened in Arlen, and unbidden, the ambient magic in the room rushed to him, making the wards on his flesh glow.

“That don’t sound like both,” he said through gritted teeth. “Or neither.”

Jardir could not have missed the glow of his wards, but he gave no indication, keeping his eyes fixed on Arlen’s. “I knew nothing of you then, Par’chin, save that the Sharum and dama nearly came to blows over your request to fight in the Maze. You seemed a man of honor, but when your rock demon broke the wall, I did not know what to think.”

“You talk like One Arm was a piece of livestock I tried to sneak past the gate,” Arlen said.

Jardir ignored the comment. “But then, as the alagai poured through the breach and despair took hold in the hearts of the bravest men, you stood fast and bled at my side, willing to give your life to capture the rock demon and put things right.

“I did not lie when I called you brother, Par’chin. I would have given my life for you.”

Arlen nodded. “Nearly did more’n once that night, and Creator only knows how many times since. But it was all a show, ay? You knew you’d live to betray me one day.”

Jardir shrugged. “Who can say, Par’chin? The very act of foretelling gives us chance to change what is seen. They are glimpses of what might be, not what will. What would be the point, otherwise? If I thought myself immortal and began to take foolish risks I would otherwise have avoided …”

Arlen wanted to argue, but there was little he could say. It was a fair point.

“Inevera’s prophecies are vague, and often not what they seem,” Jardir went on. “I spent years pondering her words. Kill, she had said, but the symbol on her die had other meanings. Death, rebirth, conversion. I tried to convert you to the Evejah, or find you a bride and tie you to Krasia, in hope that if you ceased to be a chin and were reborn as an Evejan, it would fulfill the prophecy and allow me to spare you.”

Almost every man Arlen knew in Krasia tried to find him a bride at some point, but none so hard as Jardir. He never would have guessed it was to save his life, but there was no lie in Jardir’s aura.

“Reckon it came true after a fashion,” Arlen said. “Part of me died that night, and was reborn out on the dunes. Sure as the sun rises.”

“When you first presented the spear, I knew it for what it was,” Jardir said. “I sensed its power and had to force down my desire to take it from you then and there.”

Arlen’s lip curled, showing a hint of teeth. “But you were too much a coward. Instead you conspired and lured me into a trap, letting your men and a demon pit do the dirty work for you.”

Jardir’s aura flared, a mix of guilt and anger. “Inevera too told me to kill you and take the spear. She offered to poison your tea if I did not wish to sully my hands. She would have denied you a warrior’s death.”

Arlen spat. “As if I give a demon’s piss. Betrayal’s betrayal, Ahmann.”

“You do,” Jardir said. “You may think Heaven a lie, but if you were given to choose your death, you would face it with a spear in your hand.”

“Didn’t have a spear when death came for me, Ahmann. You took it. All I had were needles and ink.”

“I fought for you,” Jardir said, not rising to the bait. “Inevera’s dice have ruled my life since I was twelve years old. Never before or since have I so defied them, or her. Not even over Leesha Paper. Had Inevera not proven so … formidable, I would have hurt her when my arguments failed. I left for the Maze determined. I would not kill my brother. I would not rob him.”