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1.
Cal was perhaps the only one in the palace patient enough to play with Maven. Maven could feel his eyes boring into him as he stared at the pieces; brow furrowed, teeth clenched, he willed himself to see something, anything.
Shoving a finger at the red piece shaped like a horse, he asked, “What does this one do again?” His brother sighed, fingers tapping on the marble table top.
“Maven, you know what the knight does, you moved yours correctly ten minutes ago.”
“Oh.” He heaved a sigh, feeling a sense of doom wash over him. Maven had been bothering his brother for weeks about teaching him to play to chess. Ever since he stumbled into his father’s study to find the two of them playing, his father’s deep voice chuckling at some move his brother had made.
“Calore, you little genius,” he’d said, not yet realizing that Maven had opened the door. “We’ll make you a military strategist yet.” The smile on his face was one that Maven had only seen snatches of and it made something tug in his throat, a sour taste flooding his mouth.
Lately , Maven had been having nightmares, terrifying dreams of endless snow. He would walk for what felt like days, but never seemed to make any progress, never came across another person. Sometimes he’d awake screaming, thrashing in his covers. Other times, his eyes would snap open and he’d find his face wet with tears, his chest gasping for air. When this happened, he would normally go to his brother’s room or try to find his mother. Yet last time, she’d scolded him, told him he was too old to have these dreams, too old to need to share a bed with anyone. It’s only a dream , she’d reminded him while walking him firmly back to his own room, nails digging into his shoulder. You need to remember it’s not real .
Maven knew the dreams weren’t real, knew it wasn’t even winter yet, that snow wouldn’t fall for a good seven months. But they felt real — the cold cutting through his clothing, the snow pelting his face. The lack of control he felt was horrifying and he didn’t know how to explain that to her. So this night, he went in search of his father instead.
He hadn’t considered that his father wouldn’t be alone, nor that his brother would be the one with him. He definitely should be in bed , Maven had thought at the time.
A cough interrupted his reverie and Maven forced himself not to complain, instead moving his pawn forward one square. Cal groaned.
“All that thinking for that?!” Maven’s fists clenched.
“You took a long time too !”
“Not that long!” He moved his bishop four squares to take the pawn Maven had just placed. The fire crackling to the right of them flared brightly for a moment, causing a log to splint and fall with an extra flare of sparks. Cal glanced at it, brow creased, before looking back at Maven. “Your turn again.” Screwing his eyes shut, Maven took a big breath before once again staring down at all his pieces.
After several big sighs from across the board, Maven tentatively pushed his queen forward, preemptively blocking a potential check from his brother’s rook. Truthfully, he had been nervous about using his queen, even though Cal had mentioned again and again that it was the strongest piece on the board. He liked how close it was to the king, ready and waiting to protect if needed. Separating them felt wrong and he skeptically wondered if it was a trick.
With the air of a cat creeping into an unknown room, Maven slowly took his hand off the red piece, positive that it was safe to do so. His brother studied the board before lifting his eyes to meet Maven’s, mouth curving into a smile.
“Nice one, Mavey,” he said. “You need to use your queen more.” Maven felt himself flush with pride, a warmth percolating in his chest that almost dampened the dismay that resulted from Cal capturing his one remaining bishop.
The game didn’t last much longer even with Maven requesting how each piece moved. With a grim sense of triumph, Cal took out Maven’s queen with his own right before cornering his king.
“You lean him down like this,” Cal demonstrated by knocking Maven’s king with a flick of his fingers. “when you’ve lost.”
“But,” Maven argued, righting his king. “Can’t I move —“ but before he could even touch his remaining rook, Cal was cutting him off.
“No, Maven, I told you, that’s not how that piece works, you know this —“
“Fine!” The fire beside them gave another sharp flare as Maven launched himself out of the velvet settee, ignoring how the board jostled and the pieces flew. Maven ignored his brother’s exclamations, as well as his calls to come back. The flames roared and tears streamed down Maven’s cheeks as he ran back to his room.
That night, Maven’s nightmares were filled with giant king pieces crashing to the ground, enormous obelisks threatening to crush him as he ran through the endless snow.
. . . . .
The following evening, Maven made a point of perusing one of the lesser libraries on the third floor of the palace. It was filled mostly with old ledgers and court documents, interspersed with tomes on tactics and military history. Maven passed the time by pulling increasingly larger volumes from the shelves and paging through, doing his level best to find any of it interesting. His father’s words echoed in his head; “we’ll make you a military strategist yet. ” If he wasn’t able to do that by learning chess like his brother, he’d have to find some other way.
He’d been so determined in his attempt to understand the map of Piedmont that he didn’t hear the footsteps in the hall until it was too late.
“There you are!” Cal exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Maven hurriedly closed the book in front of him as Cal approached the table. “What are you doing up here?”
“Reading,” Maven answered, chin lifting. “About military strategy.” He was met with a blank look.
“Oh,” was all Cal said, before shoving the books aside. “I thought we could play some more.” He gestured with a box Maven hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. It unfolded cleverly into a chess board, displaying an array of pieces in miniature.
“Did father give you that?” Maven hadn’t moved, stood rooted to his spot in front of the table as Cal set up the pieces, stacking books on other tables so they’d have more room.
“Yeah,” he said, eyes shining. “For when we visit the front lines. He says it’d be good for me to go with him.” Maven only nodded in response, picking up one of the pieces. It was heavy for its size and etched with ornate little patterns, tiny swirls decorating its mirror-like sheen. The red pieces appeared hewn from whole stones, their translucence glinting darkly in the candlelight.
They were gorgeous; Maven hadn’t seen a chess board like it. When he turned the piece over, its base was engraved with “TCVII” in thick, strong letters.
Cal plucked the piece from Maven’s hands before he could say anything about it.
“Sit,” he ordered and Maven complied, suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet. “I’ve had an idea.” From some hidden pocket on his person, Cal produced a tiny hourglass and placed it on the tabletop next to the board. Maven eyed it with suspicion.
“What’s that for?”
“It keeps time.” He flipped it over to demonstrate how the glittery white sands fell from one globe to the other through the delicate neck in the middle. “You see, when you turn it over, the sand falls—“
“I know how an hourglass works, brother,” Maven said tartly, arms crossing. “Why would we use it here?”
“To make sure we each have the same amount of time.” He folded his hands together to rest his chin. “You’ll have three minutes to make a move and then I’ll have three minutes for my turn.” Three minutes didn’t seem like a long enough time to Maven, but the idea that he could ensure a semblance of equality appealed to him. No extra time , he thought. No favorites .
“Ok,” he agreed and moved one of his pawns forward two spaces. When Cal grinned, Maven couldn’t help but respond in kind as he flipped the hourglass over.
They played three rounds that evening, flipping the hourglass with each move. Maven lost every game, but he managed to capture more of his brother’s pieces than the matches prior. Cal muttered constant instruction and encouragement; nice move , he’d say or don’t forget about your rook. Maven vacillated between being appreciative and highly annoyed, but discovered part way through the second game that he was having fun.
It was nice playing with Cal. The cheerful crackling from the fireplace, the ambient glow of the candle light, the musty smell of the old books fell around Maven in a blanket of comfort and peace. Maven didn’t want to leave even as they traded yawns, ignoring the chiming of the clock that stood sentry in the corner of the room. Maven was having trouble keeping his eyes open when the library door was thrust wide, revealing the broad figure of his father.
“There you are!” boomed the King, walking heavily towards them. “Been looking for you, son.” He patted Cal’s head affectionately as he observed the board. “What do we have here?”
“I’m teaching Mavey how to play, father,” Cal answered around a yawn. “I wanted to use my new board.”
“I see,” the King replied, raising an eyebrow at Maven. “And how is our Mavey doing?”
“Badly.” Cal’s eye held a teasing gleam.
“I’m getting better!” Maven argued, cheeks blazing. Their father chuckled, bringing a large hand down on Maven’s shoulder to squeeze.
“Everyone’s bad when they start, my son,” he said. “We all need practice.” With that, the King sent them to bed, promising to play both of them three games each the following day.
That night, when silvered snow pelted his skin and ruby red pieces threated to crush him, Maven’s own screams of terror jolted him awake. His breath was harsh, rough inhales fighting over exhales, and he longed for his brother, for the peace that came with him and a chess board. And yet the hand that came to rest on his forehead was not Cal’s, but his mother’s.
“Here, darling,” she soothed, brushing his sweat slickened hair aside. “Look into my eyes, sweetheart. Let me fix this.”
2.
Cal was perhaps the only one in the palace who still thought Maven could excel in Training. At this point, their roles had been made clear; Maven enjoyed reading and puzzles and was the intelligent one, the Quiet Spare whose primary job was…to wait. On the other hand, Cal was the stronger one, the passionate one, the future Warrior King. He continued to thrive in his ability, surpassing all the usual benchmarks far in advance of his peers. He also had the irksome combination of optimism and skill, which meant that he’d try his hardest to help everyone succeed while also having the ability to thoroughly crush any opponent.
And today — just like every Sunday — his opponent was Maven, who felt thoroughly distracted by the collar is his newly minted suit.
“That was better!” Cal called, bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready to receive an attack that had not yet happened. “Let’s try that again, but this time keep your weight even on both feet.” Maven’s fingers flexed wide before balling back into fists.
“I thought we were working on my aim?” he said, hating the sullenness that leaked into his own voice. “It’s hard to focus on both things at once.”
“I know it’s hard,” Cal soothed, walking towards him. In the last six months, he’d suddenly sprouted another five inches, towering over Maven. Yet he didn’t seem to lose any of his grace — if anything, his new height seemed to add to it. The fact of it did not help Maven’s own feelings about himself as he stumbled along through his Training courses. “But you can do it. And it will help you aim.” Maven swallowed his response, knowing that Cal’s endless supply of encouragement would only make him more irritated.
Closing his eyes, Maven took a moment to breathe, inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling. He rolled his neck, willing himself to not focus on how tight it felt when he swallowed. He focused on his feet, leaning first to the right and then to the left, settling his weight in between. Opening his eyes, he clicked his bracelets, feeling the sparks blossom at his wrists. Keeping an eye on his brother a hundred feet away, he took one last mighty inhale before he thrust his arms forward, throwing a ball of flame on his resulting exhale.
The flames shot forward, hotter and faster than they had in the last hour they’d been training. Fire was the only thing Maven could see, the rush of heat and light strong enough to knock him over, tumbling backwards. I did that, he thought, eyes fixated on how the fireball traveled across the floor. I made that.
There was a brief moment where its size seemed to double, building and building, an inferno threatening to eat itself before winking out entirely, as if it’d never been. There was barely a wisp of smoke and Maven blinked his eyes in an attempt to reconcile the change as his brother whooped and jumped across the room.
“There you go, Mavey, that’s it!” he exclaimed, again running over to Maven and slapping him on the shoulder. “See, all you need is to adjust your stance, that was excellent!” Maven felt a smile ghost across his face. His brother’s grin was blinding bright, a fireball of its own, eyes as joyful as they were serious moments before.
Maven knew it wasn’t an act, doubted greatly Cal was even capable of hiding how he truly felt. The enthusiasm he displayed for Maven’s successes was the same he had for his own, if not more. His brother’s support never seemed to flag.
“Maybe,” Maven heard himself say. “I think I’ll take a break.” He turned towards the locker room before Cal could say anything further, marching with a purpose.
Once inside, he briefly debated staying but his feet took him onward, back through to the palace proper. From there, it wasn’t difficult to make a real escape, walking towards one of the gardens that didn’t get as much use.
It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, the sun at its zenith, filtering happily through the colored leaves. Maven had always preferred this season, with its brisk winds and its crisp scent. The leaves rustled underfoot and Maven began to wander, following the paths at will.
A fountain trickled, the weather not yet cold enough to stop it and he sank his fingers into the chilly waters.
“You know it’s ok to struggle at this, right?” Cal’s voice from behind him caused him to jerk, water splashing up and onto his lap. Maven frowned before once again meeting his brother’s eternally open expression.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied, shaking his hands dry. Cal studied him, an unnerving flicker in his eyes as he went to walk around the fountain. He felt his forehead prickle with sweat.
“It can be a brutal ability,” Cal continued, hands clutched behind his back. “The violence of it is well known and well feared.” He paused on the other side, turning to show twin flames between his palms. “But it also provides warmth and survival. ‘Without fire—’”
“‘—There is no life,’” Maven finished with a sigh. “Don’t quote coursework at me, Cal. Leave that to us scholars.” Cal’s hands twitched slightly, before dousing the flame entirely and taking a seat beside Maven.
The two sat in a silence that wasn’t very comfortable but wasn’t entirely hostile, the water burbling happily away behind them. Maven opened his mouth several times, intent on saying something about how he was happy he was a burner or even proud to be a burner, that he understood it was a powerful ability and also a difficult one, that it took time and patience to master. Yet, each sentence died on his tongue before he could even say it. Maven had been Training for a couple years now; while he’d been a relatively late bloomer, he’d had enough time to adjust to it, to let it become a part of him.
But it still didn’t feel a part of him — he didn’t feel the way that Cal looked, as if manipulating flames was like breathing, as if casting infernos was akin to existing. As he looked at his brother, he couldn’t seem to find any of the flaws he couldn’t ignore in himself. Cal was only fourteen, but it took no effort to see who he would be at eighteen, at twenty-five.
It took no effort to see him as King.
“Are you nervous about leaving? Is that what’s going on?” Cal asked. Maven shrugged, kicking at the pebbles on the path.
“No?” Cal stuck his head in front of him, catching his eye. “Fine. Maybe.” Cal frowned.
“It’s not going to be exactly fun,” he hedged, leaning back. “War fronts aren’t known for being pleasant. But —“ he nudged Maven with his shoulder, as if trying to jostle the nerves out of him. “— it’s important we’re there, that we’re with our soldiers, that we learn that life. And thankfully for you, you won’t be alone.” The smile he gave him was so easy that Maven couldn’t help but feel the corner of his mouth twitch in response.
“I don’t want to embarrass myself,” he muttered. “With my ability, I don’t want —“
“Oh, is that all?” Cal hopped to his feet, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Well that won’t be any problem with me around.” He winked, jerking his chin in request for Maven to follow as he made his way back towards the palace. “And in any case, the Reds will be impressed with anything you show them, even if you’re only lighting candles.” He slung an arm around Maven’s shoulders and Maven found he couldn’t begrudge his brother’s ease even if he didn’t quite feel it himself. “Let’s get a snack, how about? And then play a game of chess, getting beaten will distract you…”
. . . . .
That afternoon was the first time Maven beat Cal and while Maven was generally inclined to believe he’d thrown it to make him feel better, he didn’t think he’d do it twice in a row. So that’s what it feels like , he thought as he watched his brother’s silver king fall, No wonder Cal is so happy .
3.
Cal was perhaps the only one in the palace who could get Maven out of bed. The horrors of the front lines hadn’t left him, even though it’d been three long weeks since he’d returned home. Just recovering from the stress , his mother had told his father. He’ll get over it, he just needs time . His father had only given a low grunt in response.
Maven had feigned sleep at the time. He’d heard his parents voices from down the hall, his father’s harsh baritone cutting through the thick mahogany door. “What do you mean, he’s still not out of bed?” he’d yelled. “It’s past midday — the boy can’t sulk forever.”
Sulk .
The word made Maven’s gut churn, made the little porridge that he’d choked down for breakfast threaten to come back up. It felt cowardly and childish to avoid his father, to pretend to sleep, but when the door slammed open, the boom of his father’s footsteps no longer dampened, Maven couldn’t bear facing him. He’d closed his eyes and worked to steady his breathing.
He was shocked when his father hadn’t tried to wake him; he’d stomped over to his bedside only to stare, a wash of warm air signaling his proximity.
His mother did her best to calm him and get him to leave, but Maven knew he’d be back.
Stomach clenching, he fell back into a restless, dreamless sleep.
. . . . .
The light had faded by the time Maven opened his eyes again. Sitting up, he saw a tray of soup and bread had been placed at his bedside. Reaching out a shaking hand, he touched the side of the bowl to find it cold, a thick layer of fat congealed on its surface. Maven grimaced and reached for the water glass beside it instead.
“My colors, Mavey, I was worried you’d never wake up,” a voice called from the other end of the bedroom. Reclined in a plush chair was Cal, a book propped open on his lap. “You were out like a candle.” Maven blinked; it had been weeks since he’d seen his brother. He’d been confused as to why, had asked his mother multiple times where he was. Her answer was a simple “I’m not sure, Maven. I’ve asked him to visit you.” The rejection of it had stung.
He’s too busy being the perfect son , a soft, velvety voice whispered in the back of his mind. Future Kings don’t have time to coddle their baby brothers .
“I was tired,” Maven replied, taking another gulp of water. If Cal had picked up on his wintry tone, he didn’t show it as he unfolded himself and made his way to the bed. A canvas satchel was slung over one arm and a familiar box was in his hand.
“It’s fine if you’re not feeling up to a match,” Cal said, tossing the box onto the duvet as he slid himself next to his brother. “But I thought I’d bring it just in case.” Maven glanced between Cal and the box, unsure how to respond to the cavalierness of the offer. But before he could say anything, Cal continued. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.” His brow creased as he nudged Maven with his shoulder. “I’d have been here sooner if they’d let me. Also father now wants me to sit in on his war councils.” He screwed his lips towards one side of his face. “You know, I never realized just how long father is in those meetings—“
“What do you mean ‘if they’d let you?’” Maven interjected, hands clenched around his glass. “Why wouldn’t they let you visit me?” Cal tilted his head to the side, brows raised.
“The healers,” he answered, nodding his head towards the door. “They said you weren’t well enough for any ‘unnecessary visitors.’” He snorted, moving his bag into his lap. “As your brother, I think I’m pretty necessary but what the healers say goes, I guess.”
Maven put his glass back on the tray as he tried to understand what Cal was saying. In the past few weeks, he’d only seen a healer a couple of times and each time they’d said the same thing. “ Merely a case of grief, your highness. Unfortunately there’s no known cure for that .”
“In any case, I figured they’d be giving you boring healthy food,” Cal rambled on while rummaging in his satchel. “So I thought you could use some of these —“ With a flourish, he presented Maven with a cloth covered bundle. Using both hands to take it from him, Maven cradled it against his chest as he eyed his brother, who looked far too gleeful to be trustworthy. Using a tentative finger, Maven slowly unwrapped one corner.
“How did you…?” A golden pastry tumbled out. As he unfolded the cloth entirely, an entire tray of pastries revealed themselves. Raspberry tortes and blueberry muffins, rustic scones and delicate croissants filled his lap, overwhelming his senses.
“I might have sweet talked Sarah,” Cal said, snatching a scone. “She’s the baker and I told her it was for us to celebrate being home again.” He took an enormous bite, crumbs tumbling down his chest. “She was very concerned to hear about the explosion — happy you’re doing alright.” Cal rolled his eyes. “‘Course you’re a burner so you’d obviously be alright but—“
“You know, I think I would like to play chess.” Maven did not, in fact, want to play chess. Chess was very low on the list of ways he felt like passing the time. However, the last thing he wanted to do was talk about what happened at the war front. To cover the suddenness of his request, Maven snatched a pastry at random to shove into his mouth — only to groan in appreciation at the fresh strawberry jam that cut through the buttery crust. Cal grinned.
“Good, right? I knew you’d like them.” Scrambling over the duvet, Cal went about setting up the board right on Maven’s bed. “I’ll bring up more tomorrow, if you like. It’s important you have some actual food. Red as always?” The question struck Maven as funny, in part because it was unnecessary — as a small child, Maven had stubbornly insisted on being red which then turned into a habit that had never been broken — and because of how normal it sounded. After everything that had happened, Cal still treated him the way he always did; he was the doting big brother and Maven was the whining little brother, trailing behind him and bothering him to play.
Lately, Maven had felt so unmoored, so detached from his own reality. He knew a part of that had to do with the front, what he’d found there, what he’d lost there, and then all that his mother had done in an attempt to fix it, to fix him .
But Maven was suspecting that perhaps there was no fixing him. He’d never been enough to begin with — his father’s own preference for Cal was evidence of that —and then the more he grew, the more he realized how he just wasn’t quite right .
His mother tried so hard, did her absolute best to help him…but she’d had years and at the age of fifteen, he hadn’t gotten any better, was still encountering problem after problem.
Yet somehow, here his brother was, smuggling him food and asking if he still wanted to be the color he always was when they played chess because Cal remembered the things that Maven liked and tried to make his brother happy. With a deep sense of knowing, he was positive that if he’d said actually, he’d like try to silver for a change, Cal would have no issue letting him. For the first time in recent memory, Maven felt a tentative sense of grounding, like toes brushing against the bottom of a lake. His clock began to chime its hourly song, as if it felt it too.
“Yes,” he rasped. “Red as always.”
. . . . .
When his mother visited him the following day, she found him at his desk instead of in his bed.
“Feeling better?” Her heeled shoes thwacked against the hardwood floors as she moved to Maven’s side. “What do you have there?” Cal had allowed Maven to keep the chess board and he’d taken to playing both sides of it, using the hourglass to help keep himself in line. However, he’d been stuck on the most recent formation for a while, the time piece standing quietly to the side.
“Distracting myself,” Maven muttered. “It didn’t work.” The Queen was quiet, still.
“Are you sure?” A surge of frustration swept over Maven, thick and fast.
“Yes. Of course I am sure,” he bit out, never taking his eyes off the board. “It didn’t work. It’s gotten even worse.”
“We shall try again.” She picked up the silver king piece, turning it over with a delicate hand. The shine of it paired nicely with the rings sparkling along each of her fingers. “This is Cal’s board.” Maven nodded.
“He lent it to me,” he muttered. “Thought it would help keep me occupied.” His mother hummed.
“Why do you not have one of your own?” Maven paused. He’d never considered having a board of his own; there were plenty scattered throughout the palace, most of which were decorative and sat in different parlors, an ever present option available to all guests. Cal had a permanent one in his chambers that they would typically use, along with the travel sized one he had been gifted by their father years ago. Maven didn’t need one, had never wanted one before.
“I don’t know,” was all he said. “I’ve never asked for one.” His mother merely placed the king back down on the board.
“It’s quite rude of Cal to show off to you in this way,” she remarked, cold fingers carding gently through his hair. “I’ve always known he was a thoughtless boy, but this is particularly brazen. Even for him.” A chill tickled the back of Maven’s neck and he ducked his head out of reach.
“It’s fine, mother,” he said, gathering up the pieces. “He just doesn’t want me to be bored.”
She didn’t respond to that, nor did she move as he cleaned everything back up, folding the game up neatly. He stood without looking at her and made his way towards the bed. “I’m tired now,” he said. “I’m going to take a nap.” He threw back the covers and hopped into the plush expanse, pulling the covers back over himself as he turned to face away from her.
A semblance of calm fell over the room; the clock continued its ever present tick-tick-tick and the dull chatter of birds drifted through the cracked window. Maven closed his eyes, willing his mother to leave him be.
Instead, the clicking of heels made their way towards the bed.
A cold hand once again brushed through his hair. Maven grit his teeth.
“I know you think he loves you,” she whispered, tone even colder than her fingers. “I know you wish that to be true.” The mattress dipped and Maven couldn’t help feeling a flutter of surprise to find her on the bed beside him. “I’ve wished that to be true myself. Many times.” He felt her breath brush against his ear, frost coating over grass. “But we must face the truth, my dear. We cannot deny what we are up against.” Gently, she managed to shift him so that they were looking at each other, one set of icy blue eyes meeting the other.
“My darling son, my little prince,” she cooed, palm gentling against his cheek. “We must stick together if we are meant to survive them.” He knew what was happening, felt the sharp sensation as she entered his mind. Her eyes held him steady, transfixed. He could not escape her. “I know you love him, love them both.” The timbre of her voice took on a honeyed quality, filling his ears and muddling his senses. “But love makes you weak. And they don’t deserve that love, Maven. Not when they can’t give it back.”
The world fell away as the ocean of Elara’s power washed over him, a riptide gripping him and towing him under. Somewhere, in a distant corner of his mind, he was sick over how instinctively he relaxed into it, relaxed into her, succumbing to her whims without an ounce of fight. That distant corner screamed and flailed, not unlike the version of Maven that could still have the nightmares that had plagued him so long ago.
Silly Maven , his final vestige of free will thought, this is the nightmare .
. . . . .
When he awoke the next morning, he found the chess board was gone. He searched and searched but found no trace of it. Cal would be so upset.
And then Maven also found that he didn’t much care.
4.
Cal was perhaps the only one in the palace who could pull off a charming smile while getting his ass kicked.
Although, when it came to his and Maven’s weekly chess matches, he did have plenty of practice losing.
“Damnit,” Cal muttered for what felt like the thousandth time that evening. “Damnit, damnit damnit.” Maven held back a sigh; it was beginning to bore him.
“Do we need to reinstate using the hourglass, brother?” He tilted his head towards the small, ornate time piece sitting on the fireplace mantel in front of them. While expensive — and probably Samos-made — it was one of the uglier knickknacks Cal had in his apartments. Which, considering his decorating tastes skewed ascetic, was saying something.
Cal’s grin only split wider. “I think I’d only play worse,” he replied before flicking his fingers at his king, knocking it over before the queen Maven had moved into place in less than 30 moves. “I can’t remember when you got so much better at this than me.” He slumped back in his chair, rolling his neck. Maven couldn’t take his eyes off the king, the silvery sheen of the chess piece glinting garishly against the checked board.
Somewhere, a clock chimed, the echoing of its hourly song cutting through Maven’s thoughts. One bell. Two bells. He counted until it stopped at eleven. It was late. He tore his eyes away from the board, blinking furiously . His brother raised a brow.
“ Too tired for a third go-around?” He was still smiling. Maven’s eyes narrowed.
“When did you become such a good sport?” At that, Cal chuckled and started re-organizing the pieces, snatching up his silver ones from Maven’s red.
“If I was less impressed, I’d probably be more upset.” His eyes caught Maven’s, his smile shifting into something more serious. “I really am impressed, Mavey. You’re so clever. You’ve come such a long way from crying every time I’d take one of your pawns.” Maven felt his face heat and reflexively threw one of his said pawns at Cal’s face. Without even blinking, Cal snatched it out of the air, quick as a cat, and threw it back. It bounced off Maven’s chest, landing with a soft thwump as it hit the rug.
“I didn’t cry every time,” he said as he picked up the pawn. Cal hummed.
“You cried a lot.”
“I think I cried once .” Slotting the pawn back in its place, he looked up to see his brother looking at him again with a much softer expression. His eyes, so different from Maven’s own blue ones, seemed to shimmer in the firelight.
“You know, I sort of miss those days. When we were kids.” Cal shifted over to grab his tea, but he didn’t drink it, merely turning it in his hands. “Life felt a lot simpler back then. Like we had all the time in the world left to run around and have fun.” Maven’s throat felt suddenly thick and all he could do was nod, eyes catching once again on the ugly hourglass. He knew it hadn’t been touched the whole evening, knew there was no way the sands were moving, that they had been held quiet like they do every evening when he and his brother played together. This little ritual, this quiet enclave within Maven’s week, amongst days filled with his mother’s scheming, his obedient cleverness, his required submission. Here, with Cal, they were just two brothers playing a game they’d always played together. Here, with Cal, he was just Mavey, kid brother and best friend. Here, the sands held still…for a little while.
And yet, he could have sworn that he saw the sand moving, its last dregs slipping through the neck and impossibly continuing on through the bottom of the glass, empting entirely onto the mantel, bright white pouring over the dark wood. Maven squeezed his eyes shut. Stop that , he ordered himself. Stop that — there’s nothing there .
“Hey.” Maven opened his eyes to find Cal leaning over the table, hand reaching for him. “Mavey. Look.” Cal managed to grip Maven’s wrist, his palm blisteringly warm. “There’s still a lot to be excited about in the future.” His gaze was sharp and burning and Maven couldn’t look away. It reminded him of what he looked like in their Training session; intense, determined, unshakeable. Indomitable. “Look, I know it’s a lot. Trust me, I don’t take my future as King of Norta lightly.” His hand squeezed. “But with you next to me? With that terrifying mind right by my side?” Cal’s face broke into a smile so sincere that Maven had the wild urge to slap it off his face. “I know we can do this, Mavey. Together we can make Norta better than it’s ever been.”
Cal’s proclamation was accompanied by a rush of heat, a confirmation of sorts that his brother meant every word he said. He was never very good at hiding his feelings, the temperature of the air around him always fluctuating depending on his mood. He’d never quite mastered the art of controlling that or hiding it; thus was the privilege of being the Heir, of being everyone’s favorite.
Maven had never had that luxury, had never been able to simply exist as himself. He had to learn to hide himself, correct himself, knowing that if he didn’t do it, his mother certainly would.
And it was with her in mind that he looked back at his brother’s devastatingly handsome face, his devastatingly sincere expression to match his devastatingly sincere pronouncement and said, “Yes, Cal. Together.” At that, Cal practically glowed and Maven found himself being tugged up and toward him, big arms squeezed around his middle.
“You’ll see, little brother,” Cal said into his hair, patting his shoulder. “You’ll see.” As quickly as he hugged him, Cal pushed him back to arms length, eyes studying. “Now, it’s late. You look exhausted. Bedtime.” Running a hand through his hair, Cal turned, making his way toward the bathing chamber. “Same time next week?”
The question was tossed over his shoulder, as if he already knew the answer.
“Sure,” Maven replied. Despite the clear dismissal, he didn’t move. Cal shot him one last smile before closing the door, the last of his warmth following him and leaving Maven in the cold.
Stiffly , Maven turned toward the bedroom door. But instead of leaving, he made his way toward the fireplace, eyes fixed on the offensive time piece. The sand was still there and still quiet, waiting patiently for someone to flip it upside down. The metal was a garish combination of iron and copper, twined around each other. With a delicate hand, he picked it up, inspecting.
Before he could consider it further, he threw it into the dying fire, coaxing the flames as the glass cracked, the neck splinting into a dozen shards.
“Same time next week,” he whispered, before marching through the door, knowing he will never play chess ever again.