passerine by blujamas ((reupload))

chapter 3

"His Majesty has a lot of paperwork to do," the guard said, trying—and failing—to be stern.

"If so, then His Majesty would certainly welcome my esteemed company," Tommy replied, giving the guard a grin and a salute as he pushed his way into the king's offices.

Beyond the door was a large, sparsely-decorated room. There used to be paintings on the walls of past kings—their forefathers with gold hair and brilliant-blue eyes—but the first thing Wilbur had done as king was take them all down. Tommy remembered sitting on the floor of the offices, staring up as Wilbur climbed a ladder, rolled his sleeves up to his elbow and began ripping the paintings from their hooks. There had been such violence in his movements, as if the task was the very bane of his existence. Once it was done, Wilbur stood in the center of his devastation, taking in the bare walls, and nodded once to himself, pleased. Tommy still didn't know if Wilbur even noticed he was there, too.

The only paintings on the walls now were the landscapes Mama used to make. Tommy's favorite was the one of a mountain range shrouded in blue mist, because he could see in the corner where Mama had given him the brush for a few seconds—three errant brushstrokes in an otherwise perfect painting that stood as a reminder that, once upon a time, Tommy had existed in the same universe as his mother.

Bookshelves stood against one wall, with the other two set with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens outside. At the center of all things was a desk, and a king.

Wilbur sat scribbling away at a roll of parchment. His crown lay discarded beside his inkpot and a cup of cold tea.

"What're you doing?" Tommy asked, closing the door behind him.

Wilbur didn't reply. He gave no indication of even hearing him.

Tommy rolled his eyes and produced two apples from his pockets. He made his way over to the desk, moved over a stack of heavy, important-looking books and hauled himself up to a sitting position, his legs dangling over the edge.

"You've been here all day, you know," Tommy said idly, balancing one of the apples on the tip of his finger. "Missed breakfast and lunch."

Wilbur only grunted in response.

"Kingdom's on fire," Tommy continued. "Rioting in the streets. The guards are staging a coup. Techno is leading them."

"Sure, Tommy," Wilbur said noncommittally, reaching to dip his quill into the inkpot.

Tommy casually moved the inkpot out of his reach. Wilbur glared up at him, finally acknowledging him, albeit with annoyance.

"What do you want, Tommy?" Wilbur asked, irritable.

Tommy took one of the apples and planted it squarely in front of his brother. "Starvation's a pretty shit way to go," Tommy said. "Find a less dumb way to die."

Wilbur stared down at the fruit as if he had never seen one before. "I'm not hungry," he said, at the exact moment his stomach started to growl.

Tommy snorted. "How embarrassing for you."

"Shut up." But Wilbur was putting down his quill and reaching for the apple. Tommy bit into his own to hide his self-satisfied smile.

Tommy leaned over to catch a glimpse at what Wilbur was writing. His brother's familiar looping script had already covered most of the page with words like intentions and fortifications and conscription.

"Conscription?" Tommy repeated around a mouthful of apple. "What does that mean?"

"Swallow before speaking," Wilbur said mildly.