Shayne Lyro and the Present
A dull pulse was trapped inside Shayne’s head. He peeled his eyes open, finding the dining room empty for once. Most of his fingers were broken, creating an obnoxiously painful sensation he couldn’t fix while his arms were tied down. The first thing he’d do once he got out of this chair was snap all his fingers back in place so the bones could meld and then he’d use his fresh hand to punch Kahn-Der in the face.
A coarse, quiet laugh escaped his lips.
If he ever got out of this chair.
Old food littered the table by his feet. Not only had his brothers turned him into a centrepiece, they’d eaten their meals around him: morning, midday, and evening. They must have thought he’d be jealous at the sight of their crispy hogbeast meat and berry pudding. But as it was, he felt no hunger, even though having meat and vegetables thrown at him was the closest he’d come to eating anything in days.
His throat was too raw to shout anymore—he’d done enough shouting, insulting, egging the three other Lyro descendants on over the long days, but there was one thing he had not tried to nuisance them with yet, and that was his horrible singing voice. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to use it, but he cleared his throat, wincing when he was reminded how tender it was. And he began to gift the House of Lyro with a ballad in a raspy, high melody that could hardly be called a melody at all. “Kahn-Der is a coward,” he sang, “and Jethwire is bad at playing the flute. And Massie is seriously messed up. None of the Lyro brothers are handsome, except for one —”
The doors to the dining room opened. Kahn-Der wore his lamellar armour again and carried his long sword. Shayne slumped back in the chair, finding his energy spent after just a few lines of his song. His eyes slid closed too, and his heart grew weak at the mere sight of his brothers returning. He stifled a moan as he considered what torment they had in store for him today.
He missed hot coffee and butter tarts. He missed sleeping in on weekends and taking pointers from cheesy romance novels read by the fire. He missed arguing with human store owners about why he couldn’t enter their store in bare feet.
Today, and yesterday, and the day before that, there were moments when he’d wished for death, followed by moments he’d wanted to destroy Kahn-Der so badly he dreamt about it during the restless minutes of sleep he’d managed to find. He wondered if the sky deities would grant him one wish after he took his last breath. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d wish for, but he knew there was something in his faeborn heart he wanted. Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Maybe he was just too tired to think right.
“Cut his vines,” Kahn-Der instructed, and Shayne’s eyes slid open. His gaze settled on his eldest brother whose crooked smile gloated like he’d beaten Shayne in this game. Like he’d enjoyed every moment of pain and discomfort he’d brought the former heir. Shayne had watched the oldest Lyro descendant do his fair share of terrible things in his years—stealing, murder, conspiring. Deep down, Shayne supposed he’d always hoped he’d be able to face off with him some day and annihilate the brute. The Ever Corners would be better off without Kahn-Der in them.
Massie hopped onto the table with a dagger and cut the vines in rigid strokes. Shayne’s arms fell onto his lap. He raised his hands to study his strangely bent fingers. Then he started snapping them all back into place. “Faeborn-cursed monsters,” he muttered beneath his breath as he fixed himself up.
“Come with me to the roof, Brother,” Kahn-Der invited, and a weak smile spread across Shayne’s face.
“Finally,” he rasped. Shayne tried to stand but discovered his legs were drained of usefulness, and he fell right back into the chair. He gripped the armrests so he wouldn’t slide out of the seat as Massie chuckled. Shayne took in a deep breath. He forced himself back to his feet, keeping his eyes wide open and…
“Queensbane,” Shayne muttered to himself when he looked around at the table. He had no idea how he was going to get down without simply falling. He wasn’t sure how he was going to take his first step forward either.
Massie solved his problem though when he shoved him.
Shayne fell sideways, off the table, over a chair, and toppled onto the floor. The dining room spun for a moment; the chairs were caught into a whirlwind, the smell of day-old pudding flying around with it, and the large painting on the wall of five white-haired Lyro children with two of the faces scratched out whisked by like a magic carpet. Despite his delirium, Shayne smiled. One of those pretty, scratched-off faces was his.
For a split second, Shayne wondered what his Brotherhood brothers would think if they saw him like this, and his smile fell off. He could not think of Dranian, Cress, and Mor right now. He could not think of them in his last moments, or he might decide he wanted to live. And he was long past that option.
Kahn-Der grabbed Shayne’s shoulders and hoisted him to his feet. The handle of a long fairsaber was shoved into Shayne’s hand. Shayne was turned around, and Jethwire and Massie waved goodbye as Kahn-Der led Shayne to the stairs and shoved him, step by step, up to the roof of the pagoda—a journey that felt like hours by the time they reached it.
Shayne took in the red and gold dragon statues at the roof’s four corners. He leaned a little to peer over the roof’s edge, seeing thick pillars the width of a bathing pool below with flat tops. If he’d had any energy, he might have tried to leap onto the nearest one and spring from pillar to pillar to escape.
But if he tried to jump in his state, he’d fall. Fall and fall and fall. He’d do Kahn-Der’s work for him.
“A death trial for the highest chair. I’ve wanted this since the day our father chose you as the heir instead of me,” Kahn-Der said—Shayne only half listened. He already knew all this boring stuff. His return had likely made Kahn-Der worried that Hans-Der would hand the title of heir back to Shayne.
“He changed his mind about me after he chose me,” Shayne mumbled anyway. “He sent me away and gave you everything you wanted.”
Kahn-Der snarled. “Not everything. He let you live.”
Rain spat upon the roof, turning the flat area slick. Shayne released a light chuckle from his sore throat as he lifted the shiny sword in his hand to gaze at it; the sword of his childling years. A special sword everyone in the House of Lyro knew how to use. Long and thin; meant for quick slicing.
“He let me live because he knew you were the real culprit behind our sister’s death. He really only sent me away for being wild and hilarious and fun—something the rest of you haven’t a clue how to be. Maybe he even hoped I’d return some day and slay you.” Shayne rolled the fairsaber in his grip. He teetered as he tried to find his stance. Then he smiled—one last smile for the insufferable brother who’d destroyed so many fairy lives. “Enough chit chat. Let’s play.” He raised his sword.
Kahn-Der’s crooked smirk returned, his ice-blue eyes narrowing, his white hair turning to glassy strands in the rain. “This will be a good day for me,” he said as he raised his fairsaber.
Shayne didn’t dare try to run at him. Running would make him tip over. So he waited, and sure enough, Kahn-Der struck first.
The blade came down so heavily that Shayne fell backward when he blocked. He rolled out of the way as Kahn-Der stabbed the roof, over and over, only ever missing by a thread. Shayne threw his leg up into Kahn-Der’s stomach, revelling in the sweet sound of bone snapping.
Kahn-Der growled, finally hesitating long enough for Shayne to climb to his feet.
Shayne reached over and patted himself on the back. “I’m not doing so bad considering how unfair this fight is, don’t you think?” he asked. Kahn-Der didn’t give him time for more thoughts; his fairsaber swung at Shayne with the speed of the wind, and Shayne took it.
He took it…
He was too fatigued to see it coming, too weak to dodge it.
The blade tore through his flesh, right across his front, and Shayne released a guttural cry. He dropped to a knee, using his sword for support as purple blood raced down his body, mixing in with the rain puddles. He checked to make sure he was still breathing, that his faeborn lungs hadn’t stopped working. Then he clenched his jaw.
This fool. Did he even know he’d stolen Shayne’s happy life without a care?
Kahn-Der swept in to finish him off as Shayne’s eyes threatened to fall closed. He took in one last breath and slashed through the air, catching Kahn-Der’s midsection so their cuts matched. Kahn-Der gasped and grabbed his stomach. He looked up at Shayne in surprise.
Shayne flashed him a smile. “Twinsies,” he said.
Kahn-Der growled and kicked Shayne backward. The second he was down, Kahn-Der kicked him again, forcing Shayne to roll dangerously close to the roof’s edge. And with Kahn-Der’s last kick, Shayne tumbled off, his hands weakly grabbing for something to catch and finding nothing.
Wind and rain slapped his cheeks on the way down.
Shayne collided against a flat surface, his ribs bending inside of him, his body skidding to a stop. He realized he’d landed atop a pillar when his fairsaber tipped over the edge and soared far below to the ground where he’d never get it back.
Kahn-Der landed beside him and used his boot to flip Shayne over.
Rain fell into Shayne’s eyes, blurring his brother’s crooked smile. A brief break in the dark clouds sent light burning over them, turning Kahn-Der into a silhouette as he raised his fairsaber high above Shayne’s chest, blade point aimed for Shayne’s heart.
So, this was it.
Shayne braced for it. He almost closed his eyes, but…
A new silhouette appeared with a flash of ruby-red, eclipsing the light beside Kahn-Der. It was followed by a confusing, bone-snapping shuffle that ended with Kahn-Der flying off the pillar. Shayne blinked as Kahn-Der’s limbs flailed, as he didn’t catch himself, as he disappeared over the edge.
Shayne tilted his ear to listen, sure he heard the echo of Kahn-Der’s wail like the fool was falling… still falling… and…
“Oh dear. I hope you weren’t planning to keep him alive? I think he’s very much splattered.”
Shayne’s blurred gaze drifted back to the new silhouette. Was this fairy speaking to him ?
A sweet, furry smell wafted through the air as Shayne lifted a hand to block the sun, to see who this glowing savior was. But the sun slipped behind the clouds again, everything turning back to shadows, and Shayne found himself staring into the face of an enemy fox he was sure was a hallucination.
Luc Zelsor stared back at Shayne. “North Fairies,” he muttered in a bored tone.
Through the teetering in his mind, Shayne recalled a dagger hidden in his boot. Boots weren’t good for anything really, except hiding daggers. He dropped his arm; it slapped against the stone beneath him and stayed there for a moment until he could muster the energy to move it again. Then he inched his hand toward his boot. Bit by bit.
Luc Zelsor blinked. Watching it all.
Shayne tugged the dagger free anyway. He tried to throw it quickly, but the toss ended up being so weak that the fox simply swatted it from its slow, pathetic float through the air. The blade bounced off the pillar and fell, down, down—just like Kahn-Der had.
Suddenly Shayne laughed. Was Kahn-Der really the one who’d met that fate? Agony ripped through his body with the chuckles, and he winced, deciding laughing was off limits.
The fox still stood there. Arms folded. Watching. After a moment, he scowled and said, “You really are mad, North Fairy. I thought Lily Baker was fibbing about you being crazy, but I can see now that you’re a pure-bred lunatic.”
Shayne’s smile fell. He felt less dizzy as he lifted his gaze to the fox. Something predatory came over him, and he gritted his teeth, pulling himself up to a sitting position as his swollen flesh and aching muscles screamed in protest.
“Whose name did you just utter from that vile mouth of yours?” Shayne asked from a dry throat. “When did you speak to my Lily? I swear, if you so much as touched her—”
Luc kicked him back down. Shayne’s spine smacked the stone, and he choked to catch his breath.
“There’s only room on this pillar for one fairy who talks a lot, I’m afraid. And I call dibs on being that fairy.” Luc tilted his head. “Honestly, I’m not convinced you were worth saving. There’s a perfectly good dog back in my apartment that possesses everything necessary to replace you.” At that, Luc sighed, dropped to a knee, and grabbed Shayne by the arms.
Shayne gasped as he was sucked from the pillar. The realm turned to wind around him and he was overcome with the sensation of floating, speeding, slipping through spaces. After a second of it, he realized he was being cutely held by Luc-the-enemy-fox- Zelsor . Shayne tried to push the fox off him, tried to peel himself out of the fox’s grip, but the attempt brought a fresh dizzy spell over him, and he slumped—accidentally letting his head fall onto Luc’s shoulder. A grunt of revulsion filled his ear.
It may have gone on for seconds, or minutes, or longer; the fox’s kidnapping attempt. Time patterns were confusing as Shayne fell in and out of consciousness. As he became aware of his surroundings slowing down.
The next thing Shayne knew, he was dropped onto a cold, hard floor. He rolled onto his side and curled into a ball to sleep there, caring nothing of the place, the time, the circumstance. But then he heard a voice that made him feel all warm and good inside. A grumpy fae voice. It said, “I thought you were going to meet us there later?”
A treacherous fox voice returned, “The thing I had to deal with first ended sooner than I anticipated.” And then, “You’re lucky I made it to that tacky red House early, North Fairy. Your lunatic barefoot friend owes me his life, you know.”
When Shayne managed to open his eyes, everything was blurry again. But as his vision sharpened, he thought he could see Dranian standing there, the fool’s scowl as perfect as ever, his eyes filled with worry. Shayne released a dry chuckle as he wondered if he really had died in that moment on the pillar. If Kahn-Der had ended him, and the rest had been an afterlife illusion. Because he was sure this was fairy heaven—or even better, human heaven. Luc Zelsor must have been a grim reaper sent to try and steal him from his true destiny among the clouds.
Shayne’s theory was confirmed when a pretty, blonde-haired human came racing into the room. She dropped down beside him and shouted, “Are you crazy, Shayne?!”
“Only crazy for you,” he tried to say back to human-heaven’s-Lily as he reached a weak arm toward her to see what she might feel like in heaven. If her body was solid or made of light where his hand would move through. But Shayne found his mouth didn’t work anymore to say his brilliant comment, and his arm was too heavy. His hand dropped back down, his eyes rolled closed, and his head fell to the side as the visions of human heaven drifted away.