ELBK00 | Perception | Chapter 13 - Benign or Broken? (Patreon)

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Nathaniel Klein

─── ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯ ──

The warm aroma of fresh-baked bread, braised roasts and pan fried eggs spread through the corridor, making my mouth water. Fae tradition spanning back longer than any could remember dictated that meals in the inner castle may only be served twice a day. Once when the sun leaves the horizon, and again when it touches it in the evening. I found comfort knowing that this was unchanged despite my intrusion into this altered past. If the meals had been different, I might have been more lost than I realised.

My destination, like all the others, was the dining hall for the morning meal. Nobles and servants alike congregated at the heavy double doors, squeezing together to fit through the doorway before drifting apart to their respective areas. I followed, although my way was cleared as others stepped away to avoid being too near to me. They were superstitious of the ‘returned Klein son’ and I was glad for it, less bothering to attend meals if few were brave enough to stand within a few feet of me.

It had been a long time since I dined at Dunkel, but the space remained largely unchanged from what I remembered as a boy. My childhood summers had been wasted traveling between Leúchtend and Dunkel at my father’s behest. He insisted it was essential for diplomacy to visit the dark castle, but likely just wanted to keep Achaicus and I separated since it was only I who was forced to go.

Wooden chairs scraped against the slate flooring with a heavy clatter as lower nobles and servants settled into their seats either side of the long vertical tables spanning the room. At the top of the room, below the stairs of an old theater stage, a single horizontal table waited for its occupants with several empty seats. This was where the uppermost nobles were intended to dine. Members of my own family, and a handful of those from the Ethereal Court. 

Lucinde was already seated with her brood of children, but Achaicus and Markos hadn’t yet arrived. If they weren’t here soon, I likely wouldn’t see them at all. I gathered food from the buffet lining the perimeter of the room without approaching the table. I had no intention of staying long enough to speak with anyone. The hatred in my brother’s eyes was difficult to endure and part of me was afraid that my sister would look at me the same way once she realized I wasn’t her Nathaniel. 

I paused to find the red grapes for Eiríkr. Further incentive not to remain for long was the presence of my nieces and nephew. They had never known me in this past, could they reconcile having two uncles? I preferred not to know if they couldn’t.

With my plate filled enough for two, I slipped out of the hall and away from the bustle. Markos barred my way not a moment later, and not having expected him to walk into me, I was too slow to avoid the collision. The ceramic dish I’d been holding shattered against the tile, splattering condiments up my pant legs and sending grapes rolling away in all directions.

“Oh my, how clumsy of me,” the man cooed like a dithering old lady.

I glared daggers back. “So clumsy, one might have thought it purposeful.”

The corners of his mouth twitched in confirmation, but he suppressed the grin with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Why, I would never!” He gestured over two servants to clean the mess. “Come, I will personally accompany you to get another plate.” 

“This was an awful way to say you needed my help selecting your breakfast,” I countered flatly.

Markos gave a shrug. “How am I supposed to decide between humayne and pork without a second opinion?”

He gestured me back into the hall, and I gave a derisive snort as I led him to the banquet. “What is it that you really want?”

“Can’t I simply enjoy the company of my little cousin now that he has returned from the dead?”

“I doubt it.”

“Well then, perhaps I’m delaying you,” the man taunted. 

Typical.

We stood side by side as we selected from the buffet table; I piled grapes, bread and soft cheeses onto a new plate, while Markos filled his with every meat he could reach.

“No meat for yours?” he asked bemusedly.

“No.”

“The little savage doesn’t like it~?”

I couldn't tell if it was a true question or more of a statement.

“He does not,” I agreed calmly.

Markos pondered over which slice of humayne he wanted from the roast, before speaking with an air of disinterest. “There must be a reason you take his preferences into account. Are you a sympathizer?”

“No. I just know he can stop this war,” I answered with equal nonchalance, and the man glanced over with a curious expression.

“Is that what happened where you came from? He ended the war?”

A faint pulse of heartache softened my voice, “He gave his life for it.” 

Markos chewed the statement, and I felt his gaze settle on me, although I didn’t look over. “You can’t trust him, no matter how well he pretends to be civil.”

I gave no answer. 

The truth was that I knew Eiríkr was different in the same way Achaicus was. I had a lover who no longer remembered me, and a brother who despised me. Markos was the one that seemed the most normal, but I couldn’t shake the sense that trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford, even with him.

*** 

Guards stood steadfast in the stairwell and I ignored them as I ascended. I would have to endure their presence until Achaicus decided I was no longer a threat, an eventuality that could see us both grow old if I didn’t make an effort to reassure him. We would need to talk soon.

Returning to my room I glanced over the runes to check they were still intact. I’d been expecting Eiríkr to try and break them sooner rather than later, but it seemed today wasn’t the day. When I entered, the room was no less of a mess than when I’d left. As per our arrangement , Eiríkr was supposed to have cleaned up the mess he’d made breaking things. Eighteen items in total were broken, leaving him owing me nine favors, of which I was careful not to use too hastily.

In the centre of the room a pile of items were gathered on the floor, and abandoned. Beside them was a cloth, but no Vanir. I set the plate down and began to search, first in the antique closet where I had found him previously, and then under the bed. He was there, wedged between items again, and squished perfectly in the centre, making it difficult to reach him.

Tired of this game, I lifted the bed frame up with one hand, and dragged him out by the ankle. As limp as clothing he put up no fight, except to cover his face in his arms on the way past the clutter.

“Please not again…” he whispered, looking up at me with ocean blue eyes so deep with sorrow I wondered if any joy had ever lived in them.

 “You didn’t do a good job cleaning up,” I chastised softly, hoping he would see I meant no harm.

“So punish me and get it over with…” Eiríkr murmured, partially curling in on himself in defeat.

I sighed, setting my hand against his face. “It’s not that tragic, you little brat.” I pinched his cheek. “Don’t be so dramatic.” 

“Don’t do that…”

“Why not? Didn’t you just ask to be punished?” I countered.

A small spark of annoyance brought a flicker of life back to his expression. “Don’t touch me, you dumb fairy,” he smacked my hand away and I smiled sardonically. 

“Why? Are you scared?” I mused, taking the opportunity to place my palms either side of his face, trapping him between my arms when he tried to roll to the side.

The fierce look in his eyes ignited into stubborn determination. “No.” 

I leaned close to taunt him, “You look scared.”

His jaw locked and he glared back. “Gods don’t get scared, and you can’t do this to me. I’m a god. I order you to let me go.”

The laugh that escaped me was involuntary—he’d said the same thing to me when I made him walk behind a horse, and for half a second I saw the boy I knew.

“A god of what? Hiding in and under things?” I tilted his chin up with one hand to expose his throat. “So far, I can do whatever I want to you, and you won’t fight back.”

Eiríkr recoiled, and I automatically trapped him again. He curled away, refusing to look in my direction as I held him in place. “Why are you doing this?” He demanded at last.

“Because I can.” 

He stared at the wall a long moment more before returning his hard gaze to me. “You’re boring. Hurt me or don’t, I don’t care.”

Brave words for someone hiding under a bed like a child—I didn’t voice the thought. “I’ve brought you more food, I trust you can eat it on your own by now?”

“You said you wouldn’t poison me, but I suppose if I feed myself the poison you’ve kept your word,” Eiríkr scowled in return.

My eyes narrowed at the edges as I held in the amusement. “If you wanted me to continue to feed you, you just had to ask,” I offered my false sympathies and his cheeks flushed with heat.

“You’re insane.” It was a dry response as I moved off him 

We sat together in stern silence, sharing each bite of the meal between us as if it were a signed treaty. Eirikr’s eyes tracked the food. His features pinched in shrewd suspicion and remained that way as he chewed every mouthful with purposeful slowness. 

He hesitated when I pressed the next grape to his lips, and pushed my hand back. “You eat that one.”

I held his gaze as I obeyed, biting into the small round fruit deliberately to show him that it was safe.

“…Fine. I can admit you’re dedicated to this act.” He gave a moody huff and selected a soft cheese cube from the plate by himself for the first time.

“The poison wasn’t in the grapes, it was in the cheese,” I commented, and Eiríkr spat it back into his hand without a fraction of hesitation. “... That was a joke.” I explained more softly as regret churned my stomach, I should have known he was too mistrusting to be teased.

His nose scrunched with contempt. “Or maybe you’re just lying to make me eat it.” 

“Eiríkr…”

“Stop calling me that,” he muttered unimpressed. “My name is ‘Mercurissen’.”

“It’s your father’s name, and you’re not your father.” I reached over to offer him a fresh piece of cheese as he set the other one aside.

The brat smacked the offering from my hand. “I am my father’s son. Stop treating me like we’re friends. We’re not.”

My Vanir was excellent at striking where it hurt, even when he didn’t realize it. Keeping my expression neutral I began a new topic, “If you’re done with this tantrum, and with the food, we have other matters to discuss.”

He winced away, his mouth setting in a firm line. Condemnation drained the life from his face, as if he had been navigating a minefield, and with the next step, heard the click of one underfoot. His eyes now held deep regret, but no surprise as his muscles locked up.

“I’m sorry…” The apology was an empty attempt and laced with spite no matter how soft spoken it might have been. “I meant no disrespect.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I warned sternly. 

Eiríkr fidgeted, pressing the palm of his hand into his damaged thigh like it hurt, but kept his thoughts to himself.

My jaw tightened with a stirring of irritation for his broken, nervous state and for whoever had done this to him. I fought the emotion down to speak with a level tone, “You owe me favors, and I need your help.”

“You’ll be disappointed to learn there’s nothing I can do for you.”

“Come for a walk with me.”

“Is that a joke?”

“I’ll carry you if you can’t walk,” I assured.

“I can walk just fine on my own,” he spat back heatedly. “But I’ll likely get filled with arrows for the effort.”

“No one will harm you while you’re with me.”

He snorted out a savage little laugh. “You don’t know your own guards very well, do you?”

I stood, and offered him my hand. “Come…”

His eyes moved from my hand to my face and he scoffed. “No.”

“I won’t force you,” I lowered my arm. “You’ll be alone for some time, I can’t say for sure how long I will be gone. I’ll have servants leave your meals at the door.”

A flicker of panic danced across his face as I turned away. It was cruel of me to use his fears against him, but I’ve never claimed to be kind and if he wasn’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t have had to. I expected that he would stop me before I got to the door, and as my hand touched the handle I felt a tug on my clothes.

Eiríkr was closer than he had ever dared before, on a voluntary basis at least. His fist closed around the loose fabric at the back of my shirt so tight that his knuckles had turned white.

“So then, you are coming with me after all?” I teased and his jaw clenched shut.

“…I… am,” he agreed through his teeth.

“Stay close then.” I opened the door into the hallway, and led him out.

Eiríkr trailed behind at a safe distance two steps back to maintain his barrier of space, and I made sure to keep him in the peripherals of my vision. The guards lining the stairwell said nothing, but began following us one by one as we descended until a coterie of shadowy figures traced our steps.

As they converged on us my Vanir began to tremble with anxiety. “Nathaniel…” he whispered, wide eyed with panic.

I glanced over my shoulder to see he had come to a stop an even distance between the platoon of guards and myself. Terrified of them and mistrusting of me, his position highlighted the limited choices he had.

“Make your decision,” I told him, making no move to go back to him.

Through the agony on his face, I could read his thoughts: neither option appealed to him. He likely believed I would kill him just as well as the guards would.

“I won’t hurt you…” I assured, gesturing him forward.

With a small, terrified glance back up the stairs to the safety of the tower, he relented. “This is a bad idea…” he murmured to himself as he came to stand beside me.

He fidgeted anxiously on the spot, and I carefully guided him forward, placing him ahead and away from the guards. “It’ll be okay,” I promised.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you’ll like.”

*** 

Our path through the castle caused some small upset. Servants gasped to see him, and bustled away anywhere else but near the Vanir. Corridors cleared ahead of us, while curious eyes peered out from cracks behind closed doors and windows.  

We left the slate hallways and passed under an archway into what remained of a small garden. Torn during the fighting, it was just one of the many places I’d found while walking the grounds that hadn’t been spared from the war effort. All across the eastern walls were pockets of damaged buildings and the streets were filled with scaffolding. 

The furthest from the main castle, this garden had been left unattended, its restoration suspended in favour of buildings. With its soils upturned and the grass long and unkempt. Trees still bore the blackened scars of fire but bright new leaves had begun to regrow. 

Once this area had been a gateway between the upper and lower section of the castle. As such, it is shaped like a crescent against the main wall, and enclosed making the archway we had come through the only way in or out. The guards following us stopped at the entrance, spreading out in a fan formation to wait.

Eirikr regarded the foliage suspiciously, scanning each shrub and tree as we passed. “Is this a trick?” he asked at last. “Exchanging one cage for another?” 

“This is a nicer cage.” I led him to the crest of the next hill and let go, allowing him relative freedom. “You can go where you like within the garden.”

His eyes flicked past me to the guards, before he gave a subtle glance to either side, inspecting the walls. “I can go anywhere I like?” he clarified.

“So long as it’s within these garden walls, and I can still see you.”

Eirikr shifted from one foot to the other, uncertain of what to do before eventually walking some ways into the grass to fall back into it. I let him wander from me to explore, and leaned back against the nearest tree as I watched him. In the daylight he looked even more fragile. His undereyes were dark with exhaustion, and his skin too pale, as if he hadn’t seen the sun for years.

Not for the first time I wondered if I had made a mistake activating the spell. This Eiríkr had suffered, had I done this to him? Would he have preferred death? My thoughts drifted unwittingly to my brother, and the family I had left behind. What had become of them?

Nauseated by the thoughts, I sat down against the tree. I needed Eiríkr to read the spell he’d written and tell me what I had done when I activated it. Could it be reversed? Or could I go back and take him with me? I dared not tell Markos or Achaicus my intentions. But if I couldn’t get this boy to trust me, I might as well have died with him…

A shadow passed over me as Eiríkr came back over. He hovered uncertainly by my feet before crouching down. “I… Can I…?” he choked on the question. 

“What is it?” I prompted, wishing he were closer.

My Vanir plucked at the grass. “Could I sit near you for a little bit…?”

“Of course,” I agreed as calmly as I could manage, forcing my heart to settle. 

He waited for the space of a breath before crawling closer. I’d expected that he would sit beside me, but he curled up beside my legs with his head resting against the bend of my knee as he held onto my shin lightly.

“You’re allowed closer than that…”

“…Don’t I disgust you?” he murmured.

I shook my head, “No.”

Eirikr didn’t move, despite my assurance and I set my hand on his head gently to pet his hair.

“Can I ask you some things…?” he asked so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.

“Yes…” my heart raced with delusional hope.

“You’re Achaicus’s twin, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

He was quiet, choosing his next question carefully. “Then… Where were you? The night we attacked Leúchtend…? 

Let down by the question, I tugged on a lock of his hair. “Not there, obviously.”

He winced, but bravely continued, “Why didn’t you fight?” 

“My brother and I…” I trailed off, thinking through the answer to avoid lying to him, whilst not betraying Achaicus with the full truth. “...We have a difficult relationship at times. I wasn’t in a position to be able to fight at the time.”

“Are you the eldest or youngest twin?”

“Does it matter?”

He took a breath in and turned to me. “You’re identical, but you’re the stronger one. I wanted to know why.”

I didn’t have an answer to give him. Not because I didn’t have one, but for how he’d asked. Beneath his laconic cadence, the small spark of venom in his tone sounded like the information had some tactical advantage, and it made the hair on the back of my neck prickle in warning. 

Was this Eiríkr as benign as he seemed?

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