The Vixen Trials

Not A Man

Malek looked down at his hands as his cheeks colored. "That's all I can do. A boy's trick." He shrugged. "It comes in handy sometimes when I don't have a weapon."

Dakkoul's forehead crinkled at Malek's obvious shame. "That's an amazing thing to be able to do." He felt a shot of pride. His brother could make his hands into weapons. Out of a flush of good feeling he lightly punched Malek on the arm and ignored the way he flinched away from him. Malek needed to learn to trust him. "Maybe you don't even need all that sword and knife training we've been doing. We should have been training with your claws."

Malek bit his lip and shook his head. "I can't," he mumbled. Dakkoul searched his face in surprise. Malek would hardly meet his gaze. "I said I'm not a man, didn't I? So I'm not supposed to do it."

Objections jumped up and down on the tip of of Dakkoul's tongue at such a stupid notion. He swallowed them down before yanking an unresisting Malek into the corner of the room away from Alyssia.

"You. Are. A. Man," he said through gritted teeth.

Malek's lips twisted into something very like a sneer. "Because you say so, Hattavah? If only it were that simple."

Dakkoul took in a breath to gather his racing thoughts. "A boy runs to his parents when he has trouble; a man faces it himself - like you did against the Foxes, twice."

Malek shook his head. "I was forced into both of those fights. I didn't choose them."

"You volunteered to work for me."

Malek leaned back against the bookshelf and crossed his arms against his chest. "That was stupidity," he muttered. "I thought..." He stopped. "Doesn't matter."

Curiosity distracted Dakkoul. "What?"

A slight smirk tugged at Malek's lips. "If you must know, I planned to charm you into revealing the whereabouts of our father." His lips straightened and a strain appeared in his voice. "Then run off. That didn't work so well. But it wasn't bravery. It was over-confidence."

"Over-confidence is the definitely a manly trait," Dakkoul fired back before sighing. Malek probably deserved to know. "I've sent a messenger to Father, asking him to come. A couple of weeks and he should be here."

Malek's throat bobbed. "Really?"

Dakkoul nodded, his eyes latching onto the frayed edge of Malek's tunic. He should get that fixed before his father saw him. Couldn't have him thinking he was mistreated. His heart thumped at even the thought of his father coming. He couldn't reveal himself to him of course but he could watch him with Malek from afar.

A hand gripped his elbow. He travelled up it to meet Malek's surprisingly warm gaze. "Thank you."

"But no running afterwards, promise me," Dakkoul demanded. "I'm still planning for your freedom, but you have to trust me and wait until I say."

Malek's face creased with doubt even as he mumbled the required words. Dakkoul dismissed him with a wave as irritation overtook him. When he said something he would do it. Didn't his brother realize that by now?

Dakkoul rejoined Keilah who was sitting by fire rereading the handbook. He stood with his back to its heat, revising his original statement as he looked at her pure white hair. Except for the promises forced out of him by people like the Sheradith. He couldn't keep his word about Jagur. If only Keilah could accept that and move on. He wouldn't risk everything that mattered to him for a stranger again. Doing so for the Prince that one time had cured him of that.

As if she sensed his gaze, Keilah looked uup from the handbook.

"There's a final phase," she said. Her hands trembled but her luminous bi-coloured eyes on him did not waver. He felt an answering response shoot through his body but quickly suppressed it. He must control himself around her. He could only hope to serve her, nothing more. He fixed his attention on her words,

"In the fourth round, there are only two left. The challenge is decided by the groom. It's a secret no one can prepare for."

"That won't matter though," his voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. "Because you'll have dropped your sword."

"I know," she admitted with a sweet small smile. "I won't be queen." Her smile erased. "I'm sorry I won't be able to free you."

He wanted to draw her into his arms. Instead he spoke with his most decisive tone. "Don't worry about that, my Lady. I have my own plans."

Malek strolled over as if expecting him to spill the details, but Dakkoul knew when to stop talking. The concern eased on Keilah's face as he hoped it would.

As they snuck back to their respective rooms, Dakkoul knew his path was set now. He had to go to sort out his daughter's safety which he'd do at the upcoming dance, get Keilah through the Vixen Trials and Malek to freedom. After that, with all his responsibility gone, Lord Rustavan would no longer be able to control him. He had no illusions as to what that would mean, but death was a kind of freedom wasn't it? Anything would be better than continuing to be the Hattavah.

What do you think separates a boy from a man? Is this cultural?