Ten years before
“So, Warwick and Dane, “ says the King of Sōwilō in front of his assembly, “there are two of you, and only one crown. The day will come when you will fight for it. But for now, tell us why either one of you would make a better leader.”
His steely eyes, grey like mine, rest on me. I gulp, and try to stand at my full height. I’m a full quarter of an inch taller than my brother was when he was nine years old, but nobody ever seems to notice that.
“I’ll be the best King because no-one in Sōwilō will be stronger than me,” I try to state confidently, but instead I sound like a squeaking mouse. I tense my trembling fingers. “I’ll defeat all our enemies, and I’ll rip apart any human who sets foot on our land with my bare claws.”
I wait to see the approval in his gaze, but it remains hard as stone. The ministers and servants that compose his court make strange faces, almost like grimaces. Why? Father says things like that all the time.
“Very well, boy,” the King dismisses, and a wave of something bitter and desperate washes through me. “And what of you, Warwick?”
My brother grins in that easy way of his, and his blue eyes twinkle. His auburn strands are a few tones darker than the shade of dead parrot that sits upon my head. I wonder if my hair will look more like his, when I’m eleven.
“I think I would like to gain the trust of my subjects by helping them,” Warwick muses out loud. “Sōwilō is home to all kinds of species and unique magical powers, but I believe that together, we can make this Kingdom the best place it can be.”
And just like that, the atmosphere in the room changes. Almost everyone now sports a warm smile. Even our father has a hard time keeping one corner of his mouth from shooting upwards.
That fierce, ugly emotion swells within me. How did Warwick do that?
“Ever so gracious, Prince Warwick,” Father compliments my brother. And by dragon’s tails, do I know that his compliments are rare. “We look forward to seeing the battle between the two of you in a few years.”
Only to see Warwick defeat me, the pesky little voice in my mind whispers. I screw my eyes shut and shake my head. No, I mustn't think such thoughts. For all his annoying perfection, my brother is just about as nice as siblings come. He got me out of trouble with our father more than once.
Still the flames of jealousy churn in the pit of my stomach.
If only I could be nice and funny and talented like Warwick. If only everyone could like me so much.
“As a matter of fact, papa, I think my phoenix already showed its first sign!” my brother quips excitedly. “I’ve been practicing all morning. Let me show you.”
As he fishes something out of his pocket, my heart seizes. What? On top of everything, Warwick can already prove that he’ll become a phoenix?
Our natures are usually revealed when we’re fifteen or sixteen, but some shifters manifest flashes of their powers in their earlier years.
I haven’t shown any signs yet. But then, I’m only nine.
The shaking in my fists is almost uncontrollable now, and for some reason my palms feel like they’re scorching. I hope nobody notices.
But no, everyone is focused on Warwick and his stupid candle. He’s fixating the little stick like Father does when he’s hunting a foe. Except it’s just a piece of wax, for Titan’s sake!
That is, all but one person. Uncle Thorsten isn’t looking at Warwick, but at me. Surprised, I quickly hide my hands beyond my back. I don’t have time to wonder about his wide-eyed gaze any longer, because all of a sudden the crowd breaks out in a litany of “oohs” and “aahs”.
Indeed, Warwick has managed to kindle a tiny flicker on his candle. It dies out in a fraction of a second, but it still causes the King to shoot from his throne and clap heartily.
The sound of Father’s admiration is poison to my ears. Now my fingers feel like they could sear a hole through my clothes. A dragon could very well have found residence in my chest, judging by the way it’s smoldering in there. My heart is ablaze. Blazing with anger against my brother for always being so brilliant, against myself for never measuring up to him.
All of a sudden, my palms burn something fierce, and the room briefly disappears in a vivid flare of orange. Cries erupt among the court, and I can hear Father’s roar of despair.
When my eyesight readjusts, I gasp in horror at the sight before me: the tiny glint Warwick had ignited has transformed into a full-blown flame nearly as tall as he. My brother falls to the floor as embers fly into his hair.
But that’s not the worst part.
I know I’ve done this. The fire in my fingers has tempered, and now feel no warmer than a dying campfire.
Thankfully a Selkie, a seal folk in the assembly, manages to spout jets of sea water on Warwick. Coward that I am, I don’t move, but the wave of relief that crushes through me is even stronger than the jealousy that previously simmered in my heart. The King lunges to his sopping wet son, and gathers him into his arms.
“Whoever committed this heinous crime against the Prince, step forward!” He barks in a voice that’s more ferocious than I’ve ever heard.
Blind panic surges through me, incapacitating every muscle in my body. What will Papa do, if I confess? I have a hard time breathing. Will he… kill me?
“Anyone who saw something, speak now! Or everyone in this court shall burn in flames!”
My eyes shoot frantically to Uncle Thorsten. He’s still staring at me. He knows. He’ll speak, and I’ll die. I want to cry, but not even tears will flow in my petrified state.
Uncle Thorsten takes a step forward.
My heart is beating faster than a war drum. In a way, I know it’s all for the better. There’s only one of me – should Father execute his whole entourage, that would be dozens of souls, all condemned because of my petty envy.
“My King,” Uncle says softly. “As the court physician, let me inspect the young Prince. It’s my belief that the combustion we just witnessed was just a manifestation of Warwick’s extraordinary powers. Not the result of another’s evil intentions.”
My jaw goes slack. Is Uncle Thorsten saving me?
And indeed, the bearded man sends me a minute nod.