I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat! -- Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
The tea was too hot for Abi's taste. She watched the steam rise from its surface as if it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. She took note of things she'd never considered worthy of notice before. The teacup was white and painted with blue flowers. It was the sort of teacup that had a lid[1] -- something that before now she'd only seen in Mirio's house, or when the Gengxinese ambassador was visiting. The tea was a blend she didn't recognise, and it smelled much sweeter than anything she was used to.
The person opposite her set his teacup down with a faint clink. Abi didn't have to look up to know he was staring at her. She could feel the weight of his stare like something pressing down on her. It was deeply uncomfortable.
Everything that happened since the meeting in the garden was a blur in Abi's mind. She couldn't remember how she had ended up in a tea shop in a part of the city frequented by foreign tourists, or if she had said anything to her... to the... What was he, anyway? The logical part of her mind refused to accept the evidence of her eyes. Imrahil was dead. Imrahil had drowned years ago--
And his body was never found, a little voice whispered. He has no grave. Just a memorial with his name on it.
The shop was warm but Abi shuddered. She wasn't sure if she was cold or if it was the effect of the stranger staring at her so intently. Part of her wanted to yell at him to stop. Another part wanted to ignore him in the vain hope that maybe he would go away. Most of her just wanted the world to start making sense again.
This morning Abi had thought she'd know everything about herself and her family. She was the ninth child of Hartanna and Mihasrin. She had an older half-brother and her oldest full brother had died tragically when she was a child. She was the most scandalous person in her family. Now everything she thought she'd known had been uprooted. She could hardly have felt more confused if the sun had risen in the west, or if she'd drunk water and found it was dry.
A small group of musicians in the corner played a tune she faintly recognised. A noisy party of foreign tourists -- from Ublad, judging by their language -- sat at the next table. Steam still rose from the surface of Abi's tea. She picked up the cup and took a sip, carefully avoiding looking at the stranger opposite her.
Aunt Jiarlúr would be looking for her soon. Maybe she was already turning the Gengxinese palace upside down, trying to find Abi and not knowing she wasn't there. Aunt Jiarlúr, who would immediately recognise her long-lost and supposedly-dead nephew. Abi trembled at the thought of what would happen if her aunt ever met-- But that was ridiculous. The man sitting opposite her wasn't Imrahil. He was just a very strange foreigner living in the Gengxinese court. She'd just been tricked by a passing resemblance to a portrait. Even if Imrahil was still alive, it was impossible he'd look exactly like a portrait painted over a thousand years ago. And people didn't just stumble upon long-lost siblings. It was all ridiculous and it made her head hurt to think about.
She was so lost in her thoughts that it gave her a start when the stranger finally spoke.
"Aren't you going to say anything?"
His voice was quiet and even, and he spoke Saoridhian with an upper-class accent. Her parents' accent. Abi flinched involuntarily. Then she forced herself to look up and meet his eyes.
Even though she'd only seen his portrait once, Imrahil's face was stamped on her memory. If she'd been given a pencil and a piece of paper she could have drawn him. She stared at the stranger and it was like seeing the portrait again. He was thinner and paler, but that was the only difference between them. His eyes were still pure silver and unusually large. With a jolt she realised they were the exact same shape as her grandfather's. There was something about the shape of his nose and mouth that reminded her of her mother.
And dark magic hung around him like a cloak.
"What is there to say?" Her voice seemed to come from very far away.
The stranger -- Imrahil? -- shrugged. There was something bizarrely reminiscent of Arafaren in the gesture. Abi felt as if she was looking at a curious patchwork of various relatives she recognised, all mixed up together in the strangest person she'd ever met.
"Aren't you curious about who am I? Or what happened?"
No, Abi realised with a dull sort of surprise. She wasn't curious. For the first time in her life she'd found something best left alone and had no desire to meddle in it. But this time it wouldn't leave her alone.
"Who...?" she began. Her throat closed up and she couldn't say anything else.
"Here I'm known as Lian. I've had many other names and lived in many other places before, but they aren't important now. As for what happened--" He abruptly held out his hand. Abi instinctively started back before she realised he was neither giving her something nor trying to strike her. He simply offered her his hand and pulled his sleeve back from his wrist. "Take my pulse."
It was a strange request. But this day was so surreal already that Abi, after considering it for a minute, decided it was harmless enough and she might as well do it. She reached out gingerly and pressed her fingers against his wrist. His skin was oddly cold to the touch. And his pulse... She frowned. She moved her fingers to different parts of his wrist. A horrible sinking feeling took up residence inside her chest. She looked at him and found him staring at her again.
"Yes," he said as calmly as if there was nothing unusual about a man walking around without a heartbeat. "Do you understand now?"
No, Abi wanted to say. But at the same time she was beginning to piece some things together.
Lian was surrounded by dark magic and had no heartbeat. It seemed impossible -- especially since all stories of creatures kept alive by dark magic described them as starving monsters like the parasite that had possessed Ilaran. However, she couldn't deny what she'd felt. From there it was easy to deduce Imrahil had done something involving dark magic that had led to him being presumed dead.
It seemed Abi had much more in common with her brother than she had ever suspected.
"And on that subject," Lian -- Imrahil? How was she supposed to think of him? -- continued, "I know why I use dark magic. Why do you use it?"
Abi stared at him. She felt a sudden wild and completely out-of-place desire to laugh. She restrained it because she had an uneasy feeling that if she started she wouldn't be able to stop, and this wasn't the time or place for a nervous breakdown. How was she supposed to answer? "I tried to learn necromancy and got two people killed"? Just thinking about necromancy made her feel sick. It brought back the memory of the parasite and the woman it killed.
"I'm not using it any more," was all she said.
She drank the rest of her tea in one go, wincing slightly at how it was now lukewarm, and got up abruptly. "I want to go--" Home, she almost said, but home was miles away. "I want to go back to the palace now. My aunt will be looking for me."
~~~~
Lian said nothing during the walk back to the palace. Abi was too caught up in her thoughts to speak and didn't know what she would say anyway.
They separated at the path leading to the guest palace where Aunt Jiarlúr and Abi were staying. Lian spoke up suddenly as Abi turned to leave.
"You may not be using it any more, but it's still part of you."
Abi froze. Slowly she turned and stared at him. He stared back at her with a puzzled frown, as if she was a jigsaw that was more complicated than he expected.
"What are you talking about?"
"Dark magic. It's as much a part of you as your ordinary magic. I'm surprised no one else has noticed. And it's active, as if something's feeding off it."
He's trying to scare you, part of Abi's brain tried to reassure her. What reason does he have to lie? another part asked.
Abi turned and practically ran to the palace without a backwards glance.
Aunt Jiarlúr was waiting for her. "There you are, you wretched girl! Have you any idea how worried I was? Where were you?"
"With Mirio," Abi said faintly. "I have a headache. I want to have a rest."
Her aunt opened her mouth. Then she closed it again and looked very closely at Abi. Lian's words came back to her. I'm surprised no one else has noticed. Abi flinched and pushed past her aunt. She ran to her room and locked the door. Then she collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
This is a dream, she thought dizzily. It's all-- Everything after the festival is a dream. I'll wake up and I'll be at home. The memory of Death's throne room and Death herself came back to her. On second thoughts, she couldn't have dreamt that. Her thoughts flew away to a different subject. He's lying. He's not really my brother. There's nothing wrong with my magic. It's over, it's all over. I'll never touch necromancy again.
Part of her mind repeated its earlier question. What reason does he have to lie?
Abi didn't feel tired, but the bewildering twists and turns of her thoughts and the even more bewildering last hour left her exhausted. She fell asleep within minutes.
~~~~
All things considered that went rather well, Lian thought optimistically.
Abihira hadn't called him a liar or thrown a tantrum. Nor had she insisted on the sort of overly-sentimental tearful reunion that always accompanied long-lost siblings meeting in plays. She was shocked, but not quite as much as he'd expected -- or rather she was shocked for a different reason. She was clearly aware that she had an older brother and knew what he looked like -- enough to recognise him on sight. Strange; he'd thought his family had done their best to pretend he never existed. He hadn't expected them to talk about him or keep his portrait on display.
It was odd about her magic, though. Lian had seen that sort of magic once before, in an assassin who controlled poisonous snakes. She had never let go of her control on the snakes, even when they weren't with her. And the spell she used constantly fed off her magic.
Lian had learnt to notice other people's magic over the years, and he knew when someone was actively using a spell. Abihira had essentially cast a spell that sustained itself on her magic -- and she apparently wasn't aware of it. But what was the spell? What was her magic doing without her knowledge?
When he returned to the Ninth Prince's Palace he stopped by Zi Yao's room to check on him. Zi Yao was sleeping. His temperature was normal and there was no cause to worry. Lian went to his own room. He opened the door and stopped. He bowed after only a second's hesitation.
"Your Highness."
Mirio looked up. There was a coldness in his eyes that Lian had never seen before, and he was holding...
Oh. When Mirio last saw the photos of Lian's parents he hadn't seemed to recognise them. Obviously he had now. Meeting Abihira must have reminded him.
Lian stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. No point in letting the servants hear everything. It would be all over the palace within hours if they did. Mirio put the photos back on the table and stood up. An uncomfortable silence fell.
"What do you think they mean?" Lian asked at last. Mirio blinked in confusion. Lian elaborated, "The photos. You must have some theory about them."
Slowly Mirio said, "I have. But nothing I've thought of makes any sense."
"Then ask me. I'll tell you the truth." It struck Lian suddenly that he'd wanted Mirio to figure everything out. He just hadn't expected the awkwardness that would inevitably follow.
With surprising bluntness Mirio asked, "Are you Abi's brother?"
"Yes."
"...Does she know?"
"Yes. I've just talked to her."
Mirio relaxed slightly. "I suppose it's none of my business. But I think of Abi as my real sister, not just as a foster sister, and I will do my best to protect her if at all possible. So I must ask: what did you do to get banished?"
"What makes you assume I was banished?"
"No one has ever mentioned your existence. Either you're illegitimate, in which case you would only have a photo of one of Abi's parents, or you did something scandalous. And if it was scandalous enough to ensure no one ever spoke of you again, then..."
"You're afraid I'll be a bad influence?" Lian finished. "Or that I'm dangerous? What I did was... Well, it was very simple, really. I meddled in necromancy and accidentally killed myself. Then I brought myself back to life."
Chapter Footnotes:
[1] This is based on the Chinese teacups-with-a-lid I've seen in period dramas. (I don't know if this sort of cup has a specific name and Google is no help at all. If anyone knows, please tell me!)