Heart Of Smoke

The Newcomer Thinks He Can Kill Me

I hate fancy ceremonies. They make me itch, having to sit still for a million years while my father practices putting people to sleep without using magic.

And I, Japeth Sader-Mistral, twin brother of Rhian Sader-Mistral, also known as the next fool who will drown in an overly large robe for the next who-knows-how-many years, have to sit there and pretend to look interested.

And then there's the whole 'Oh no! Girls of the court are staring at Japeth instead of Rhian! We need to put the spotlight on our favorite son again!' That's when he stands up and talks for a million more years.

Even so, they still look at me-sometimes. Okay, once, and that was because he was ill and I had to speak in his stead. Don't think I even managed half of his time, I was up there for what felt like forever. Ugh. How does he do it? And where can I get that kind of counseling? 

But here I am, stuck with an itchy foot in the middle of Hallowed Be Thy Future King Rhian's mind-numbing talk on his kingdom. Same introduction as every other time, similar format, just slightly different topic. By the end of the month, we're likely to be through every single possible way to harvest crops in minute detail. 

*Insert scream of frustration*, which I can't do because then I'll get to do more ass-wiping for Rhian, God forbid. I think I'm dying on the inside.

I occupy myself by staring at the high, sweeping ceiling. I've memorized just about every curve and color on that ceiling out of boredom-pretty impressive but also pretty expected from someone stuck in second place their entire life.

Finally, finally, blessings rain down finally, Rhian shuts his rat trap and resumes his seat. We all look to my father-still drowning in his robe, by the way, who nods and invites us all to eat. I quickly dig into my food and go back to the solace of my thoughts.

What's the point of a banquet if you set out delicious food in front of us, then force us to sit still and not touch anything for the next hour or so and listen to your son drone on about the usual, huh, Dad? We all see that one courtier sneaking food the entire time, it's not like it's a secret.

Being quiet has advantages; you're bothered less often, less is expected from you, and you hear and see everything. Latest bit of gossip? Got it. That one cook who tried to poison the king? Yep. A maid made out with a server in the Queen's bathroom? You're the first to know. And trust me, some pretty weird shit goes down around here.

It does help that I have my scims, living scaly creatures that I keep concealed under my suit, like a second skin. They're invincible except to being torn apart, and are a part of me. They get hurt, so do I. They hear something, so do I.

I got them from my mother, who always wears the same dress-Doesn't even wash it, ew-that is able to shift into a dress made out of blue butterflies. The butterflies are at her command, being able to be sent around the palace as spies. How else do you think those twenty-something assassination attempts last fall all failed?

I know, I'm special. And to top it off, Rhian has literally nothing. No special gifts or talents-I'd say looks, but we're twins. I suppose his way with those around him could count, he's not too shabby at manipulation. Wonder if he can bribe those dumb tailors into hemming my father's cloak so he's a rat only on the inside?

"So, Japeth," Princess Maeva of I-don't-remember-but-it's-stupid-ville turns to me with a bright smile. I immediately want to spit out my wine-I know that tone horrifyingly well. Good God, no. Not now, please. But no, they never listen. "I hear you're looking for a bride."

"Wrong twin, sorry." I say with an eye roll before angling my head towards Rhian. "The one you're looking for is over there." 

"I wish to bring up marriage with Japeth," she presses. Take a hint, girl! I'm. Not. Interested.