I would not forget what he had said, though. After I had passed out, I awoke to him signaling to the staff to heal me, and he had said to one of his friends, “I cannot kill him, yet.” So much rested on that last word. Why should it matter when I die? If he had truly meant to kill me, he probably could have paid off the arbiter and claimed to have beaten me in a duel.

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. I do not want to answer. Somehow, I rise from the bed, and put on tan, wide bottomed pants and a thin thobe. “Come in.” I answer. My voice comes out hoarse. The door pulls open, and Baelya enters. She stares at me, her eyes starting to water. She closes the door, then crosses the room in only a few steps, embracing me wordlessly. I feel like I finally let out a breath I have been holding. Her hands pat my back gently while I weep onto her shoulder. I can feel her own tears against mine. Neither of us willing to move. We stay like this for some time; eventually, she wipes the tears from her eyes. “Was it really you?” she asks, quietly.

Confused, I respond “was what me?”

“with Wren… did you…?” she trailed off.

“Did I?” I ask, looking at her to show my confusion.

“They said you tricked Wren into a duel.”

I stare into the pattern of the ceiling, carefully crafted silver inlays ran along at regular intervals, forming a multitude of diamonds, each of which was alternatively painted dark or light. I look down at Baelya, who pulls away from me just a bit, and who stares at me with a hint of fear.

“Is he still here?” I ask, emphasizing he in a manner which should indicate who I’m speaking of.

“Did you do it?” she asks again.

“Yes. I killed my brother because I hated teaching him to write.” My voice raises to a shout, “I hate reading him bedtime stories. Is that what you think?”

Her face changes and she responds “No. You loved him. I know.”

I cant stop the anger from flowing, though. “Then WHY DID YOU HAVE TO ASK?” I shout.

Another set of tears begins to flow from her face, “I’m sorry.” She says meekly.

“GOOD.” I yell, shoving her backwards. I can feel rage coursing through my veins. My brother is dead, and who I thought was among my only friends cannot even trust me to not kill him. I march towards the door while Baelya tells me to wait in increasingly louder and more desperate tones. I grab the door handle, and she grabs my wrist. “It was only because the arbiter. I trust you, I promise.” She says, sounding desperate. I turn around. I had already seen the fear in her eyes, in her body language. She did not trust me. She is no friend. I slap her hand away and turn the engraved, golden door handle, shutting the door in her face.

A tapestried carpet extends in front of me over the stone flooring. Ahead, one of the maids, Merlian, glares. Even from nearly 20 paces away I can clearly see the anger and disgust in her eyes. How could the staff assume this of me? How dare they? Among the family, Wren and I are perhaps the only people who even know most of their names, aside from father. Wren and I were. Yet, one word from Simael is enough to have them put my head on a pike, were it allowed. It does not matter. I will leave this place. I have learned a great deal here, and I can surely use my knowledge elsewhere. Perhaps I can hire a man to kill Simael, if I steal some money. I begin towards father’s study, deliberately maintaining eye contact as I approach Merlian. Deep down, I know I should defend myself, but right now I only want to see someone’s head cave in; No, truly, nobody should die, I think. The thought seems to calm my anger just a touch. As I pass Merlian, she spits at me. I hold eye contact. Finally she drops her gaze. I realize she is shaking with fear. I feel anger that someone so weak should judge me; simultaneously I realize I how much worse I am making things. I mumble “sorry”, though it comes out inaudible and rush further down the hall, wanting to get away. I still feel anger bubbling under the surface.

I reach the study without interruption, though I did see the quick shutting of a door ahead of me as I moved down the hall. Inside, a large dark wooden desk sits in the center of the room, stacked with papers awaiting father’s return. Behind the desk is a collection of jewelry which is certainly valuable. I almost feel bad as I reach to grab a few silver necklaces with dark inlaid gems. Father had never been mean, per say. More like, he had never cared about me one way or another. I am just his bastard, but he keeps me around.

Suddenly, an idea comes to me, and a terrible one at that. I could present my case to father- and see that Simael would get fairly punished for what he did to Wren. Of course, father loved Simael, so I likely had no chance, but if I did not go to father with my side of the story, he would never be punished.

I already know that I cannot go for Simael directly. I cannot even think of him without nearly shivering, not to mention he is a trained swordsman. Hiring an assassin would probably not succeed. Among the family, there have been many attempts to assassinate the heir to the house, and thus, he is both trained, and employs an entourage of swordsmen to cover his back. Then my only option is if I reach father before him, I can convince father that he really did do it.

I return a few pieces of jewelry to their place. I would only take what I needed, not steal from the man I am to be trying to convince of my innocence. I will need to gather traveling clothes, or buy some in town. I don’t want to talk to Baelya, or any others I know, so I decide I will find clothing in town. I walk out of the study, moving through less populated corridors, making my way towards a side of the building where I can exit through a window. The front door always has guards, who I’d rather not deal with, and if I see the yard in the back now, I may fall to the ground and cry until I die of dehydration.

The window itself is one a guest room. I unlatch the metal hook and slowly lift the wind outwards. I place one foot onto the sill, then the other. Standing, I lower one foot out the window, then the other, holding unto the frame of the window, the I release both hands, falling into rocky, sandy dirt. I look around furtively. Nerves begin to overtake my anger, and I think of turning around and running to tell Baelya what’s on my mind.