The War (All Chapters + Synopsis)

Chapter 15.3 - Ilena

"How does it feel, knowing that you're going to be the next Brein of Mawrhydi," I ask my cousin softly, following Lues, Amalia, and Katlyn down to where the seamstresses work in the lower level of one of the smaller pyramids.

"I don't know I will be, you could survive this. I'm betting on you surviving this, Mawrhydi isn't ready for someone as cool as me to be brein," Rhyfelwr jokes, but I can hear the fear in his voice.

"You'll be a great brein, you just need someone to handle the military part," I say to him, and he laughs.

"I was always going to end up brein eventually though, because you can't produce heirs, so either I or my children would inherit the throne," Rhyfelwr whispers.

"Yeah, but you would've had more time to learn how to be a good ruler, but now when... when Brein Tyrnon dies you'll immediately become the brein, and it might not be too long from now," I say, choosing to ignore his comment about heirs. I can't produce heirs, no, because of what happened to me that year I was gone. I cut off the memories before they can form, I don't want to relive that right now.

"You might still survive, we don't know that this will kill you," Rhyfelwr insists, and I marvel at his optimism.

"It will," I respond softly, and he shakes his head. "I'm strong, but I have my limits, and I know that this is one of them."

"Your brother will be heartbroken if... when you die," Rhyfelwr says.

"He'll survive, he has Amalia, Lauria, Katlyn, Hayley, and two aunts who care for him deeply," I answer.

"Five of the people you just listed will be too busy mourning you to help him," Rhyfelwr states and I nod in admission to the truth he just spoke.

"It's not my choice though, it's not up to any of us whether I live or die, it's up to the gods, not you or me," I say at last, looking out one of the windows as we pass by.

"I Gyd won't let you die, though I can't make any promises about your gods," Rhyfelwr says, almost in a teasing tone.

"I have gods? I'm an omnist," I tell him, and Rhyfelwr laughs.

"No, you're clearly a Bekeist monk," Rhyfelwr teases.

"Bekeists are fools, we have them in Feralis... but I don't understand how they can be that naive when our country is in perpetual war," I say, my mood darkening.

"It's their prophet, what's his name? Beke? It's his fault that we have passive fools like them in our world," Rhyfelwr responds, and I nod.

"I'll admit though, those Atijists are a blight on the world. All they ever do is cause problems for us. I mean, right now we're at war with some of the tribes in Ijoba again," Rhyfelwr complains.

We arrive at the workshop, where the seamstresses are already busy taking Katlyn and Amalia behind closed doors for fittings. My brother is lead away, so Rhyfelwr and I take a seat on a plush couch in the waiting area.

"Rhyfelwr, you can't think about it like that, you're generalizing. Not all Atijists are extremists, and hey, they think all Unigolists and Glawenists are monsters too," I try to combat Rhyfelwr's aggressive opinions on the religion of the desert empire that is Ijoba. "Take that from someone who's dealt with those kinds of preconceptions their whole life."

"I know, but... it's hard not to think that way when they come in and slaughter innocents," Rhyfelwr mumbles.

"Think about it this way, Mawrhydi attack the Ijoban's first, and the whole world cheered Mawrhydi on."

"I don't know how you do that."

"Do what?"

"Look at both sides. You don't seem to feel any animosity for the Holy Collective either, it's incredible strange to hear."

"You're wrong on that point, I do feel anger, even hatred, towards the Holy Collective, towards Raverna and her generals. But, I understand that the religion is not at fault, that the general populace is nothing like her and has absolutely nothing to do with her decisions. I understand that Raverna and her generals, and those who report directly to her, they are a minority of awful people. I know that the majority of the world is not monsters, but that doesn't mean I don't see them," I try to explain, but by Rhyfelwr's puzzled expression I know I haven't succeeded.

"That makes sense, but I don't get how you can be so level headed about it all the time. See, this is why uncle Tyr made you heir, even if you weren't necessarily a hundred percent legitimate," Rhyfelwr mutters under his breath, whispering at the last bit.

I opt to ignore his comment, about my legitimacy. Technically speaking he's right, no, not even technically speaking. Rhyfelwr is right, I'm not a legitimate heir to Feralis or Mawrhydi, but I was the heir to both for a time. The reason for my father is obvious, his wife died in childbirth, my older sibling stillborn. Then the whole thing with my mother happened and I was born. He didn't want Rhyfelwr to have that sort of pressure, he wanted to protect his sister's only legacy, but I was already being groomed for the position of heir, and one day monarch.

Maybe he loved me, and wanted to hold me close. That's probably why he didn't strip my titles after the fiasco of my disappearance, but that might also have been because he saw what a lazy bum my cousin was becoming. It's not that Rhyfelwr is fat or stupid or anything, he's just more suited for diplomatic missions than controlling a country.

"I didn't mean that," Rhyfelwr exclaims, realizing what he said. "It doesn't matter, all that matters is that you're too calm and smart about all of this."

"All of what?" I ask, already knowing what he thinks I'm too calm about.

"The War for Varieture, the possibility of you dying, and conflicts in general," Rhyfelwr answers, I was expecting this.

"Well, you sort of go numb to all of that when you've lived with it for so long. My whole life was a series of me almost dying, it was literally all about the war," I explain. "I guess too, that when people think of you as a monster, it's easier to see other peoples' perspectives."

"I'm sorry, about everything that's happened to you. Knowing what they did to you, it makes it so hard to see their side," Rhyfelwr explains. "Nobody deserves what happened to you, and I just... I hate Carber, I hate Queen Raverna, sometimes I even hate Uncle Tyr and your mother for putting you in those kinds of situations."

"Don't hate them, they aren't worth the effort. Also, my father and mother did what they thought was best. They aren't saints, and I will never make the claim that they are, but they aren't demons either."

I hear my brother shuffling behind a curtain, trying to listen in, pretending he didn't hear most of the conversation.

"You can listen in openly, you don't have to sneak around," I say to him, and he comes out from his hiding spot looking rather sheepish.

"Sorry, but... I think it's ridiculous, that everyone but me seems to know where you were that year. You've been keeping secrets from me, you and Katlyn both, but I let some of them slide. Like the thing about... about Brein Tyrnon being your father," Lues explains, "but I can't trust you if you are always keeping me in the dark about stuff. That's not how it works. I'm your king, not just your little brother, and I need to know the truth."

"Okay, but back in my room," I gesture towards the maids, servants, and seamstresses that are pretending not to listen in.

My brother nods, and together we walk back up to my room. Katlyn and Amalia follow close behind. Rhyfelwr bids his adieus and bows out to do some official business for my f... for the brein. While we walk, I prepare myself for the rush of memories that will come of telling this story again, and steel myself for their reactions.