by Jayden Woods
*
Picard awoke to the familiar pull of his brother’s hands against his tunic, shaking him every which way.
“Where is he?” roared Richard. The sound of his voice made the ache in Picard’s head multiply and spread out in various directions. “WHERE IS THE WOLVEN?”
Picard blinked and looked about in a daze. It was morning. Sharp yellow sunlight illuminated the interior of the carriage. Within it, there was no Wolven to be found: only severed rope, unlocked chains, and ugly blood stains.
“I … I … I don’t know, Richard! I really don’t know. I was here last night, talking to him, and then … then someone knocked me out! Someone must have come in here and freed him!”
“Not possible! The one who freed him is you!”
“No … no, Richard, I swear! It wasn’t me!”
“Shut up!” Richard struck him over the mouth, then flung him to the floor. He pressed his knee between Picard’s shoulder-blades, pinning him there, then took the remains of the rope and bound Picard’s hands behind him. Picard cried out, for he felt as if his very bones were being tied into knots. Tears filled his eyes and overflowed. In this position, the pain in his gloved arm was unbearable.
“Please, Richard. Please, you’re not seeing reason. I didn’t do this. I would never let Sean go.”
“You would do anything you wanted for the sake of that fucking safra. What other deals did you make with the Wolven that Father didn’t know about? How do I know you didn’t tell the Wolven to kill Father yourself!”
“No—I would never! Richard! Richard please!”
Richard lifted him back up and pushed him against the wall of the carriage. He grabbed the chains that once held the Wolven and started wrapping them around Picard’s feet.
“You said I should make an example of someone, eh? Now that the Wolven’s gone, who could I possibly make an example of? Who but you?”
Picard sobbed freely. “Richard. You wouldn’t. I’m your brother.”
“You’re a big fucking baby, is what you are.”
“I’ve always helped you, Richard. You may not have realized it, but I did. We work as a team, you and I. I’m the brains. You’re the brawn. Don’t you see? You need me, Richard. If you’re going to rule as Khan, you need a Polemarch. You need me at your side.”
Richard recoiled. “You don’t mean like … ?”
“No, don’t be silly. Father changed the old customs. The khan and Polemarch don’t have to be married, anymore, right? So I could—”
“So if Father was both,” barked Richard, “who says I can’t be?”
“Richard, please ...” Picard didn’t know what else to say. He could hardly see beyond the tears in his eyes. He could barely speak or breathe through the sobs in his throat. “Please, don’t do this to me. I didn’t free the Wolven. But even if I did, you shouldn’t do this to me. I’m your brother. Your flesh and blood. I love you Richard, and ...”
Richard slapped him over the mouth again, more lightly this time. He looked a little calmer now. “Shut up. You’re making me sick.”
“Because you know I’m right,” groaned Picard. “You know you shouldn’t—”
“I don’t give a fuck what I should or shouldn’t do.” Then Richard sighed. “But you are my brother. And you’re right. I can’t kill you.”
Picard dared to open his eyes again, searching through ripply curtain of water for his brother’s face.
“I’ll lock you away for awhile,” said Richard. “Until I decide what to do with you.”
Richard shoved him back into the bloody cushion that, only last night, had held the Wolven in its clutches. The cushion was ripped open now, of course, and the feathers inside it only served to prick and poke Picard’s skin.
The carriage rocked violently as Richard jumped out of it, making Picard fall to the ground in a miserable heap. How had this happened? Where had he possibly gone wrong? So many things had gone according to plan: Sean’s attempts to discover the secret of safra, then the fulfillment of his assignment, and after all that, Picard had even managed to capture him, which he once would have considered impossible. He’d had the Wolven right where he wanted him, and then …
A shaft of sunlight illuminated something on the floor of the carriage. Picard only saw it because he lay just inches from it, and his heaving breath rocked it about. It was a strand of hair, and it shone a brilliant hue of red.
“Mina ...” gasped Picard.
17
The Logical Decision