Quiet laughter trickled out of the sitting room.
There was a fire in the hearth, and before it sat Alucard, his back against the sofa and an empty pitcher at his side. He was holding out one hand, upturned, and in the air above, a tendril of water twisted and curled into the shape of a dragon. It coiled and danced, the water catching the firelight.
Berras watched, his mood darkening.
He was not without magic, like the prince, but his power lacked refinement. He could draw up a wall of earth, or bring it down, but the gestures had all the nuance of a butcher’s cleaver, while his younger brother had been handed a surgeon’s blade. It did not matter how much Berras tried, how much he trained, he still ended up with a pile of dirt.
Alucard’s lips moved, his fingers twitched, but otherwise, he didn’t even seem to be trying. It came so easily to him, and he treated it like nothing but a parlor trick.
Their little sister, Anisa, knelt on the cushions behind him, braiding his hair as she called out different things for him to conjure.
“A boat … a cat … a bird!”
“Alucard.” Berras’s voice cut through the room. The water, now a hawk, faltered in the air, a few beads dripping from its feathers as he turned his head.
“Yes, brother?” he said without rising.
“Come here.”
The water hung suspended, then reversed its curl, returning to the pitcher as Alucard stood and came toward him. He looked ridiculous, two half-finished braids in his shoulder-length hair. At fourteen, he was a full head shorter than Berras, and had to look up to meet his brother’s gaze. When he did, Berras saw that Anisa had painted his eyes, gold dust smudging his lids.
Berras scowled. “Have some dignity.”
Alucard flashed an impish grin. “Sounds dull.”
“You look like a fool.”
“Yes, well, you look like you got your ass kicked—”
Berras’s fist slammed into Alucard’s stomach. He heard the ribs crack, felt them splinter as his brother sank to his hands and knees, retching.
Anisa screamed, and rushed forward, throwing her small body over Alucard’s, saying “No, no, no,” the table and chairs rattling with the force of her displeasure. Six years old, and already flush with magic. The sight of it made Berras bristle.
Alucard dragged in a breath of air and said, “It’s all right. I’m all right.” He put a shaky hand on her small shoulder. “Go upstairs now.”
Anisa’s wide eyes flicked between her brothers.
“Go,” barked Berras, and Anisa fled the room, bare feet pounding down the hall.
Alucard was still on his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath. Berras waited, watching as he dug his fingers into the floor and rose, slowly, blood slicking his teeth. He swallowed. “Do you hate me so much?”
Yes, thought Berras, the word rising like bile in his throat. He hated Alucard for having so much magic. He hated Alucard for being soft. There were tears in his eyes when he looked up, and Berras hated him for that, too, the way he let them roll down his cheeks, the emotion that flooded his face. He hated Alucard for not hating himself.
Berras’s sore knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists. Someone had to teach him. It was his job, their father said. He was the oldest. The example. If Alucard was weak, it was because Berras had failed to make him strong.
“Our father says—” he started.
“Our father is cruel,” snapped Alucard, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “He was mean before Mother died, and he is meaner now. Why must you follow at his heels?”
“That is what it means, to be a son.”
“No,” said Alucard, “that is what it means to be a shadow.”
Berras towered over him. “Do you know what it means to be an Emery?”
“I thought it stood for pride and honor,” said Alucard, scrubbing at his tears, “but apparently, it means one is a raging dic—”
Berras struck him again. This time, Alucard at least put up a fight. His hand flew out, and the water in the pitcher surged to him, froze around his forearm as he brought it up to block the blow. The ice shattered with the force of Berras’s fist, and knocked Alucard to the floor again.
Anisa reappeared, tugging on their father’s arm, trying to pull him into the room, to make him intercede. But if she wanted help, she should have called a servant. Reson Emery only stood there, watching. His eyes skated over Alucard as if he were invisible, and went to Berras, landing on the blood that wept from his ruined knuckles.
“Well,” he sneered, “did you at least win?”
Berras met his father’s gaze. “I always do.”
II
NOW
Moonlight spilled into the royal chamber, mixing with the Isle’s glow. It cast thin fingers over the bed, over Rhy’s shoulder, as it rose and fell, the rest of him weighted down by sleep; over Alucard Emery as he sat up, gasping for breath.
It was just a dream, he told himself, over the angry hammer of his heart.
Just a dream. But that was, of course, a lie. It was a tangle of memories, of brutal moments wound together into nightmare. It was his sister burning from the inside out. It was iron chains in the belly of a ship. It was Berras breaking his bones while their father watched.
Alucard looked down at his hands where they gripped the sheet, forced his fingers to release their hold, frowned when he saw that they were shaking. He flung off the covers, and rose, reaching for his robe, shivering as the silk kissed his bare skin.
The nightmares left him feeling raw, old wounds reopened, nerves exposed. He could feel sleep retreating like a tide, and knew he would have to swim to meet it.
He padded barefoot to the gilded tray against the wall, with its stoppered bottles, and short glass cups waiting to be filled. He could have lit a lamp, but the truth was, he had made the tincture for Rhy so many times that he could do it by feel, even without the glow of the river and the moon. He ran his fingertips over the bottles until he felt the sharp edge of the diamond-shaped stopper, and drew it out. As he did, he should have heard as much as felt the liquid slosh within. Instead, there was only absence. The bottle was empty.
Alucard swore under his breath.
In the bed, Rhy rolled over, murmured something to himself before sinking deeper into sleep. Alucard went to his side, bowed just long enough to kiss his brow, then slipped the empty vial into the pocket of his robe, and left.
* * *
The queen’s workshop was empty.
It was strange, thought Alucard, given the hour. Nadiya always said the darkest part of the night was the best for getting anything of value done. Those long, black hours before dawn, when she could cast off the mantles of mother and queen and be what she wanted most: a Loreni. An inventor.
Another time, Alucard might have lingered to explore. But tonight, he wanted only to find his way back to sleep. The kind that fell like a curtain, and brought neither dreams nor memories.
He went to the chest on the far side of the room, its surface covered in cut-glass vials, jars of herbs, a stone mortar and pestle. The vessels were all marked, and he studied their labels, trying to remember the exact portions of dreamsquick and hallowsroot as he drew the empty bottle from his pocket. He’d just taken up the first vial, was trying to decide between three drops and four, when a voice behind him cut in.
“There’s a fine line between medicine and poison.”
He turned, and saw Nadiya at the base of the stairs, a tray balanced on her hip.
“I thought you might be asleep,” he said.
“At this hour?” she asked, as if that were absurd. “I wanted tea.” She set the tray down. It held a steaming pot, a cup, and a stack of small spiced cookies.
“I’m sure the servants would have obliged.”