CHAPTER THIRTY
Brothers and Sisters
The family dinner was scheduled for their third night in the palace, and Orion spent most of the preceding day in a state of carefully controlled panic.
"You're pacing," Nera observed from her seat by the window. "You've been pacing for an hour."
"I'm thinking."
"You can think without wearing a groove in the floor."
"The pacing helps." He stopped anyway, running a hand through his hair. "It's just... all of them. Together. In one room. With me."
"You've had dinner with your family before."
"Ten years ago. Before I ran away and they all developed complicated feelings about my existence." He resumed pacing. "Marcus is barely speaking to me despite our... moment in the training yard. Helena watches me like I'm a puzzle she's trying to solve. Darius hasn't said more than ten words since I arrived. And Elara..."
"Elara seems to like you."
"Elara was ten when I left. She doesn't remember who I was—she's responding to who I am now. The others remember." He stopped at the window, staring out at the city below. "They remember the boy who abandoned them. And that boy is who they'll see at dinner, no matter how much I've changed."
Nera rose, crossing to him. She was human-sized, as she had been throughout their time in Valdris, but she moved with a grace that transcended form. Her hand found his, steady and warm.
"Then show them who you've become," she said. "Not by defending yourself, not by explaining. Just by being present. Being real."
"And if that's not enough?"
"Then it's not enough. But at least you'll know you tried." She squeezed his fingers. "You faced down a sea god, Orion. You can face your siblings."
"The sea god was easier."
"Probably. But this matters more."
He couldn't argue with that.
* * *
The dinner was held in the small family dining room—not the grand hall used for state occasions, but a more intimate space where the royal family had shared meals since Orion's childhood.
He remembered this room. The dark wood paneling. The portraits of ancestors watching from the walls. The long table that could seat twenty but usually held only six now. His mother's chair, at the King's right hand, had been removed years ago—Father couldn't bear to see it empty.
The King sat at the head of the table, looking more vital than he had in the throne room. Something about having all his children together seemed to energize him, to push back against the frailty that had marked their first meeting.
Marcus sat to his right, in the position that would traditionally belong to the heir. His expression was neutral, controlled—the face of a man who had learned to hide his thoughts behind a mask of composure. But his eyes flicked to Orion occasionally, unreadable.
Helena sat across from Marcus, elegant and sharp in a gown of silver that matched her calculating gaze. She had nodded to Orion when he entered, a gesture that could have meant anything or nothing.
Darius was further down the table, in military dress despite the informal setting. He was broader than Orion remembered, harder, with a scar running along his jaw that hadn't been there before. He hadn't looked at Orion at all.
Elara sat closest to the King's left, and she was the only one who smiled openly when Orion and Nera entered. "You came," she said. "I was worried you'd find an excuse."
"We considered it," Nera admitted, surprising a laugh from the young princess.
"I like her," Elara said to Orion. "She's honest."
"She is that."
They took their seats—Orion across from Darius, Nera beside him. The arrangement felt deliberate, though Orion couldn't determine who had planned it. Every seating choice in a royal dinner had meaning.
"Well," the King said, raising his wine glass. "My children, together again. I never thought I'd see this day."
"Neither did we," Helena murmured, but she raised her glass as well.
They drank. The dinner began.
* * *
The first course was soup—a delicate consommé that Orion remembered from childhood. For a while, conversation stayed on safe topics. The weather. The harvest. Helena's latest trade negotiations with the coastal cities.
But the undercurrents were there, waiting.
"So," Marcus said eventually, his tone carefully casual. "The prodigal son returns. After a decade of silence, you simply appear at our gates with a wife no one's heard of."
"Marcus," the King said warningly.
"It's a fair observation, Father. We're all thinking it." Marcus's eyes fixed on Orion. "You left without a word. Without explanation. Without even a letter to let us know you were alive. And now you expect us to simply... welcome you back?"
"I don't expect anything."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because Father asked." Orion met his brother's gaze steadily. "Because I've spent ten years running from this family, and I'm tired of running. Because I wanted you to meet my wife, and I wanted to see if there was anything left worth salvaging."
"Worth salvaging," Helena repeated. "An interesting choice of words."
"An honest one."
"You seem very focused on honesty for someone who hid his entire existence for a decade."
"Helena." The King's voice was sharper now. "That's enough."
"Is it?" Helena set down her spoon, her composure cracking slightly. "We're just going to pretend everything is fine? That he didn't abandon us when we needed him? That his leaving didn't nearly destroy Father?"
"I didn't leave to hurt any of you." Orion's voice was quiet but firm. "I left because I was suffocating. Because the path that was laid out for me would have killed something essential in who I was. I'm sorry for the pain it caused, but I'm not sorry I left."
Silence fell over the table.
Elara looked between her siblings, her expression troubled. Darius continued eating as if nothing was happening, his face a mask of military discipline. The King watched his children with an expression that mingled pain and something like hope.
"You could have written," Marcus said finally. His voice had lost its edge, replaced by something rawer. "You could have sent word that you were alive. Do you have any idea what that not-knowing was like?"
"I couldn't."
"Couldn't, or wouldn't?"
"Couldn't." Orion set down his own spoon, his appetite gone. "Every time I tried, I couldn't find the words. How do you explain to the people you've hurt that you had to hurt them? How do you apologize for saving yourself?"
"You just did," Elara said softly. "Just now. You found the words."
"It took ten years."
"Better late than never."
* * *
The second course arrived—roasted pheasant with autumn vegetables—and the tension eased slightly. Not resolved, but acknowledged. It was, Orion supposed, a kind of progress.
"Tell us about your wife," the King said, deliberately steering the conversation. "We've heard rumors, but I'd rather hear the truth from your own lips."
"What rumors have you heard?"
"That she's a foreign princess in hiding," Helena said. "That she's a sorceress who bewitched you. That she's a common woman you elevated out of spite for tradition."
"None of those are entirely accurate."
"Then what is accurate?"
Orion glanced at Nera, who nodded slightly. They had discussed this, had agreed on what could be shared and what must remain hidden.
"I was dying," he said. "In a forest, far from anywhere. Bandits had shot me and left me for dead. I had hours left at most. Nera found me. She saved my life, nursed me back to health, and somewhere along the way, we fell in love."
"That's very romantic," Elara said, her eyes bright.
"It was very practical, at the time. Survival first, romance later."
"And her origins?" Helena pressed. "Her family? Her history?"
"Are hers to share, if she chooses." Orion's tone brooked no argument. "What I can tell you is that she has no designs on this kingdom, no political agenda, and no interest in the succession. She's here because I asked her to come. That's all."
"You're very protective of her."
"Yes. I am."
Helena studied Nera with renewed interest. "And you? Do you have nothing to say for yourself?"
Nera met her gaze calmly. "I have plenty to say. But I've found that words mean less than actions. Judge me by what I do, not by what I claim."
"The garden," Marcus said unexpectedly. "Father's been talking about nothing else. Apparently you've done something remarkable there."
"I helped it heal. It was suffering."
"A garden doesn't suffer."
"You'd be surprised."
Marcus frowned, but the King nodded slowly. "She's right. That garden was your mother's heart, Marcus. When she died, it started dying too. No one's been able to help it." His eyes moved to Nera. "Until now."
"I have a connection to growing things," Nera said carefully. "It's a gift I've had all my life."
"A gift," Helena repeated. "How convenient."
"How fortunate," the King corrected. "For all of us."
* * *
Darius spoke for the first time as the third course was being served.
"You fought Marcus in the training yard."
It wasn't a question. Orion nodded, unsure where this was going.
"You won."
"I did."
Darius set down his fork, finally looking directly at his brother. His eyes were hard, assessing—the eyes of a soldier evaluating a potential threat or ally.
"Marcus has been training with the best swordmasters in the kingdom for ten years. He's beaten every challenger he's faced. Until you."
"I've been fighting for survival for ten years," Orion replied. "Different kind of training."
"Clearly." Darius was quiet for a moment. "I'd like to spar with you. See for myself what you've learned."
"Is that a challenge?"
"It's an invitation." The corner of Darius's mouth twitched—the closest thing to a smile Orion had seen from him. "I command the northern border forces. I've fought more real battles than anyone in this room. I want to know if my brother is actually as good as the rumors suggest, or if Marcus just had an off day."
"I did not have an off day," Marcus said indignantly.
"You lost."
"After an extended bout! It wasn't—"
"You still lost."
"I accept," Orion said, cutting off the brewing argument. "Tomorrow, if you're available."
"Tomorrow works." Darius returned to his food, apparently satisfied. It was the most engaged he'd been all evening.
"Boys and their swords," Helena muttered.
"At least swords are honest," Darius replied without looking up. "They don't pretend to be something they're not."
"Is that directed at me?"
"It's directed at everyone." He glanced at his sister. "We're all pretending here, Helena. Playing nice when we have a decade of resentment to work through. At least a sparring match is straightforward."
"Spoken like a soldier."
"I am a soldier. It's the only thing I've ever wanted to be." His eyes moved around the table. "Unlike some of us, I found my place. I'm not competing for the throne—never wanted it. I just want to protect the kingdom. Everything else is politics."
"Politics matter," Helena said.
"They matter to you. To Marcus. To everyone who thinks power is the goal." Darius shrugged. "I think survival is the goal. Power is just a tool for achieving it."
"That's surprisingly philosophical for a soldier."
"I've had a lot of time to think. Standing on walls, watching for enemies. Waiting for battles that might never come." He looked at Orion. "You understand. I can see it in how you move, how you watch the room. You've been in real danger."
"More times than I can count."
"Then we have something in common." It was almost an olive branch. "More than I expected."
* * *
The dessert course was a delicate arrangement of pastries and fresh fruit, but by then, the formal structure of the dinner had dissolved into something more organic.
Elara had migrated to sit closer to Nera, peppering her with questions about Thornhaven and life as an adventurer's wife. Helena had engaged Marcus in a low-voiced discussion about trade routes that seemed to be a proxy for something else entirely. Darius had retreated into silence again, but it was a more comfortable silence now—watchful rather than hostile.
And the King sat at the head of the table, watching his children with an expression that seemed to shift between joy and sadness.
Orion found himself beside his father during a lull in conversation.
"This is what I wanted," the King said quietly, his voice pitched for Orion's ears alone. "All of you together. Even with the tension, even with the old wounds. Just... together."
"It's not as bad as I feared."
"No? I thought Marcus was going to throw his wine at you at one point."
"He considered it. But he held back." Orion smiled slightly. "That's progress, for Marcus."
"He's angry. He's been angry since you left—at you, at me, at the world." The King sighed. "But there's a good heart under all that stubbornness. He just doesn't know how to show it without feeling vulnerable."
"I noticed that in the training yard. After I beat him, something shifted."
"He respects strength. He was raised to." A pause. "Perhaps I raised all of you too much to value strength and not enough to value... other things."
"You raised us to survive. That's not nothing."
"No. But survival isn't living. I'm only now beginning to understand the difference."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, watching the others. Helena was laughing at something Marcus had said—actually laughing, her calculating mask slipping just for a moment. Elara was demonstrating something with her hands, making Nera smile. Darius was quietly helping himself to more pastries with the focused intensity he brought to everything.
"They're good people," Orion said. "All of them. Complicated, but good."
"They are. I just wish..." The King trailed off.
"Wish what?"
"That your mother could see this. She would have loved watching you all grown, finding your ways." His voice grew thick. "She never got to see any of you become who you are. She would have been so proud."
"I think about her sometimes," Orion admitted. "Wonder what she would have thought of my choices."
"She would have understood. She was a runaway herself, remember?" The King managed a sad smile. "She would have been the first to say that you had to find your own path, even if it hurt the rest of us."
"I wish I'd known her better. I was only twelve when she died."
"I know. And I'm sorry for that—sorry I couldn't give you more time with her. Sorry I couldn't give any of you more time." He gripped Orion's shoulder briefly. "But I'm glad you're here now. That's what matters. Not the past—the present."
* * *
After dinner, the family scattered into smaller groups.
Marcus cornered Orion in the hallway outside the dining room, his expression conflicted.
"I need to say something," he began, then stopped. Started again. "In the training yard, when you beat me—"
"You don't need to—"
"Let me finish." Marcus held up a hand. "When you beat me, I realized something. I've been angry at you for ten years, and I didn't even know why. Not really."
"You were angry because I left."
"That's what I told myself. But watching you fight, seeing how you've changed..." He shook his head. "I think I was angry because you got out. You escaped. You did what I never had the courage to do."
Orion blinked. "You wanted to leave?"
"Sometimes. Not forever—I do believe in duty, in responsibility, in all the things Father raised us to value. But sometimes..." Marcus's voice dropped. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like. To just walk away. To be nobody important. To make choices that only affect myself."
"It's liberating. And terrifying. And lonely."
"I imagine it is."
"But also..." Orion searched for the right words. "Also the most honest way I've ever lived. Every decision I made was mine. Every consequence was mine. No one to blame but myself, no one to credit but myself."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is. But it's real."
Marcus was quiet for a long moment. Then, surprising them both, he pulled Orion into a brief, fierce embrace.
"I'm glad you came back," he said roughly. "Even if I don't always show it. Even if I'm still angry sometimes. I'm glad you're alive, and I'm glad you're here."
"So am I."
"Good." Marcus stepped back, composing himself. "Now. About the succession—"
"I don't want it."
"I know. You've made that clear." A hint of a smile. "But politics doesn't care what you want. As long as you're here, you're a factor. We should discuss how to minimize complications."
"That sounds like something Helena would say."
"Where do you think I learned it?" Marcus's smile grew. "Tomorrow. After your bout with Darius. We'll talk properly, without the family audience."
"I'd like that."
"Good." Marcus nodded once, formal and awkward and somehow genuine. "Goodnight, brother."
"Goodnight, Marcus."
* * *
Nera was waiting in their quarters when Orion returned.
She had changed out of her dinner gown into something simpler, and was sitting by the fire with a book in her lap—though she clearly hadn't been reading, because the pages hadn't turned since she'd opened it.
"How did it go?" she asked. "With Marcus?"
"Better than expected. He hugged me."
"Marcus? The one who was glaring at you all through dinner?"
"The same." Orion sat beside her, feeling the strange, tentative warmth that had been building all evening. "I think he's been carrying anger because it was easier than admitting he envied me."
"Envied you for leaving?"
"For having the courage to. He's spent his whole life doing what's expected, being what Father needed. The idea that there was another option... I think it haunted him."
"That's surprisingly self-aware."
"He's not stupid, just stubborn. There's a difference." Orion leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Helena is still calculating. Darius wants to spar tomorrow. Elara thinks you're wonderful. And Father..."
"Father what?"
"Father is just happy we're all in the same room. He doesn't care about the tension or the old wounds. He just wanted his children together."
"That's what parents want." Nera's voice was soft. "At least, the good ones."
"Did you have parents? I've never asked."
"In a sense. Fairies don't have families the way humans do, but I had... mentors. Elders who shaped me." She set down her book. "They're part of why I left. They couldn't see me as anything but the crown. Everything I was got subsumed into what I represented."
"That sounds familiar."
"I imagine it does." She moved closer, leaning against him. "Your family is complicated. But they're also... warm. In a way I didn't expect."
"Warm?"
"Even the anger is warm. It comes from caring—from having cared, from still caring. They're not indifferent to you, Orion. They never were." She looked up at him. "Indifference is the real danger. Your family loves you too much to be indifferent."
"Sometimes love and resentment feel very similar."
"Because they come from the same place. You can't resent someone you don't care about."
He considered this, turning it over in his mind. It made a strange kind of sense.
"Elara asked me about Thornhaven," Nera continued. "About our life there. She seemed... wistful."
"Wistful?"
"Like she wanted that kind of freedom for herself. The youngest of five, she said. Always overlooked, always protected, never quite allowed to be her own person."
"That sounds familiar too."
"It does. I think she sees you as proof that escape is possible. That you can leave and survive and build something better."
"I'm not sure I'm a good example."
"You're the only example she has." Nera kissed his cheek. "Be kind to her. She needs someone who understands."
"I will be."
They sat together in the firelight, processing the evening's revelations. It had been exhausting—emotionally, mentally, in every way that mattered—but it had also been necessary. A first step toward healing wounds that had festered for a decade.
"How long do you think we should stay?" Orion asked eventually.
"As long as it takes."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have." Nera turned to face him. "Your father wants you here. Your siblings are starting to accept you. There's healing happening, slowly, imperfectly. How long that takes... I can't say."
"And Thornhaven?"
"Will be there when we return. Helga will probably complain about our absence. Sanna will have grown taller. The guild will still have quests." She smiled. "Home doesn't disappear just because we're not in it."
"You're very wise."
"I've had a long time to develop wisdom."
"Longer than anyone here realizes."
"Exactly."
He pulled her close, and they stayed like that as the fire burned low—two people navigating complicated waters, finding their way together.
The family dinner had been a beginning. Not an ending, not a resolution, but a first step on a very long road.
And for now, that was enough.
* * *
The next morning brought the promised sparring match with Darius.
Word had spread, and the training yard was more crowded than it had been for Orion's bout with Marcus. Soldiers, nobles, servants—anyone who could find an excuse to watch had found their way to the viewing galleries.
Darius was already warming up when Orion arrived. He moved with the brutal efficiency of a career soldier, every motion purposeful, nothing wasted.
"You came," Darius said without preamble.
"I said I would."
"Princes don't always keep their word." But there was no malice in it—just observation. "Pick your weapon."
Orion selected a sword from the rack—similar to what he usually carried, balanced for speed rather than power. Darius had chosen something heavier, a blade meant for crushing through defenses rather than dancing around them.
"Rules?" Orion asked.
"First to yield. Or first blood, if you prefer."
"First to yield."
"Cautious."
"Practical. Blood stains are hard to explain at dinner."
Something that might have been amusement flickered across Darius's face. "Fair enough. Ready?"
"Ready."
They began.
Where Marcus had been precise and technical, Darius was overwhelming. He fought like a force of nature, pressing forward with relentless aggression, each strike powerful enough to batter down lesser opponents through sheer force.
Orion didn't try to match him strength for strength. Instead, he moved—sliding around attacks, redirecting force, turning Darius's power against him. It was a different fight than the one with Marcus. Less about technique, more about endurance and timing.
The crowd watched in fascination as the two brothers circled, clashed, separated. Darius was the better soldier—more experienced, more battle-hardened. But Orion had something Darius lacked: unpredictability. He'd learned to fight against things that didn't follow human patterns, and that training showed.
Five minutes became ten. Ten became fifteen. Both men were sweating now, breathing hard, pushing past comfort into something rawer.
"You're good," Darius admitted between exchanges. "Better than I expected."
"So are you."
"I've been doing this my whole life."
"So have I. Just differently."
Darius launched a series of attacks that would have ended most opponents. Orion weathered them, deflected, and saw his opening—a half-second gap in his brother's guard. He took it.
His blade stopped a hair's breadth from Darius's throat.
Silence.
Then Darius laughed—a genuine, surprised sound. "Yield," he said, stepping back. "I yield."
The crowd erupted.
"That was good," Darius said, clasping Orion's arm in the warrior's grip. "Very good. Where did you learn to move like that?"
"Fighting things that weren't human. Monsters don't telegraph their attacks the way soldiers do."
"I'd like to hear about that. The monsters, I mean. What you've faced out there."
"It's not always interesting."
"I don't need interesting. I need real." Darius's eyes were steady. "The border is quiet now, but it won't stay that way. The northern tribes are getting restless. The eastern kingdoms are rebuilding their armies. War is coming—maybe not this year, maybe not next, but eventually."
"And you want to be ready."
"I want my men to be ready. I want them to face things they've never seen and survive." He released Orion's arm. "You've done that. Survived things most soldiers never will. That knowledge has value."
"I'm not staying forever, Darius."
"I know. But while you're here..." He shrugged. "We could learn from each other. If you're willing."
It was, Orion realized, an olive branch. Different from Marcus's awkward embrace or Elara's open affection, but genuine in its own way. Darius understood the world through martial prowess, and he was offering respect in the only language he fully trusted.
"I'm willing," Orion said.
"Good." Darius nodded once, then turned to address his watching soldiers. "Show's over! Back to drills!"
The yard cleared rapidly, leaving the brothers standing together in the morning light.
"Marcus told me what happened in your bout," Darius said quietly, once they were alone. "That you beat him. That something changed afterward."
"Something did."
"He's not good at... feelings. None of us are. Father raised us to be strong, not vulnerable."
"I noticed."
"But he cares. Under all the pride and stubbornness, he cares more than he knows how to show." Darius's voice was unusually soft. "We all do. That's why your leaving hurt so much. You weren't just a brother—you were proof that the cage had bars. That escape was possible. And we didn't know how to handle that."
"I didn't leave to hurt anyone."
"I know. But you did anyway." Darius met his eyes. "That's not an accusation. Just a fact. Actions have consequences whether we intend them or not. The question is what we do afterward."
"What do you want to do?"
"Move forward." Darius shrugged. "The past is done. Can't change it. Can only decide what comes next."
"That's... surprisingly mature."
"I've had a lot of time to think. Standing on walls, watching for enemies." A ghost of a smile. "You learn things about yourself when you're alone with your thoughts."
"I suppose you do."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment—two brothers who had been strangers, finding their way back to something like family.
"Dinner tonight," Darius said eventually. "Less formal. Helena's hosting—she wants to talk politics, but there'll be wine, and Elara will probably rope your wife into telling more stories."
"We'll be there."
"Good." Darius clapped him on the shoulder. "You're not bad, brother. Not bad at all."
Coming from Darius, that was high praise indeed.
* * *
By the end of their first week in Kingshold, something had shifted.
The tension was still there—would probably always be there, in some form—but it had transformed into something more manageable. Marcus's glares had softened into something almost like protectiveness. Helena's calculating stares now came with occasional smiles. Darius had started joining Orion for morning training, teaching him military techniques while learning adventurer's tricks in return.
And Elara had become Nera's shadow.
"She's attached herself to you," Orion observed one afternoon, watching his sister drag his wife toward the gardens for the third time that day.
"She's lonely," Nera replied. "The youngest, the overlooked. She's never had someone who really listened to her."
"I listened."
"You left."
The words were gentle, not accusatory, but they landed anyway.
"I know," Orion said. "I'm trying to make up for it."
"You are. She sees that." Nera kissed his cheek. "Give it time. That's all healing ever needs."
She went to join Elara, and Orion watched them go—his wife and his sister, two people who had somehow found each other in the chaos of his homecoming.
His family was complicated. Broken in places, scarred in others. But they were trying. All of them, in their different ways, were trying.
And maybe that was enough.
Maybe trying was all anyone could ever really do.
— End of Chapter Thirty —