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Illario couldn’t remember why they were fighting. He was certain Lucanis had started it, provoking him with cruel jokes, but now, as fists and kicks flew across the room, he couldn’t say for sure.
At some point, as Lucanis rushed toward him, Illario shoved him back, arm pressing against his chest with all his strength. Lucanis, smaller in stature, stumbled and hit his head against the edge of the wooden frame supporting the bed. His body crumpled to the floor, knocked out, a wound forming at the back of his head.
“Shit,” Illario cursed, breathless as he crouched down. His legs burned, adrenaline numbing the pain of the blows he had taken. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders. “Lucanis? Lucanis, damn it, wake up.” He shook him, but the boy didn’t move. Horror settled in as Illario watched the blood trickling from the wound, too much, too fast. His mind raced.
He was so, so screwed.
With shaking limbs, he lifted Lucanis, cradling his weight despite the fear tightening his chest. Finding his balance, he hoisted his brother up and sprinted out of his room.
“Help! I need help!” he yelled, his voice raw, echoing down the hallway. Servants rushed toward him, eyes widening at the sight of Illario’s blood-soaked hand cradling the back of Lucanis’s head.
An older elf stepped forward.
“Lay him on the couch downstairs. I’ll fetch the healer,” he ordered firmly. Illario nodded and followed him to the sitting room.
Kicking aside decorative pillows, he carefully laid Lucanis on the couch and dropped to his knees beside him, pressing a hand to the wound.
“What happened?” a maid asked, hurrying over with a bucket of water and a sponge.
Illario grabbed the sponge, his throat dry. “We were playing, and he tripped,” he said. It didn’t feel like a lie. They never fought seriously. “H-he hit the bed frame,” he stammered.
The elf grimaced but helped push Lucanis’s hair aside so he could clean the wound.
“He’ll be fine. The healer is on the way,” she reassured him, trying to soothe the terrified young Dellamorte.
Then, hurried footsteps and the rhythmic tap of a cane against the floor made Illario’s stomach drop. Every hair on his body stood on end as he stepped aside to let the healer tend to his brother.
Caterina’s icy gaze locked onto him.
“Illario,” she called.
The maid stepped away quickly, casting him a look of pity as the preteen shrank in place, waiting for his grandmother to reach him.
“You’re going to tell me what happened. Right now.”
Her cane struck the floor once, the sharp sound making Illario flinch and squeeze his eyes shut.
“We were playing—”
“Who?”
“L-Lucanis and me,” he stammered. “We were playing in my room.”
“And then?”
Caterina slowly circled him, her gaze flicking toward the healer, who was now wrapping Lucanis’s head.
“He tripped, and—”
“No.”
Her cane swung, striking his arm hard enough to send him stumbling to the side. The servants looked away.
“T-that’s what happened, Caterina—”
“How dare you keep lying?”
She moved with practiced ease, driving the crow-shaped head of her cane into Illario’s ribs. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, fingers digging into the wall for support.
“The truth, Illario. Now.”
“Lucanis… tripped and hit the bed frame…” he whispered, meeting her stare.
She exhaled in disappointment, turned her cane, and the next thing Illario felt was a sharp blow to the back of his head.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
— — — — — — — — —
When Illario woke up, his hands were bound to a wooden post he knew all too well. His shirt was gone, and he shifted onto his knees, resigned.
They were in one of the training grounds—or more accurately, the punishment yard.
“What have I told you about fighting outside of training, Illario?”
His grandmother’s voice cut through the thick silence. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing her standing behind him, a riding crop in hand. Beside her stood Lucanis, eyes wet, his head still wrapped in bandages.
Relief flooded Illario. His brother was awake.
“We’re not supposed to,” he answered, lowering his gaze to the post.
“You could have killed him.”
The first lash struck. Illario tensed immediately, pressing his chest against the wood, a muffled whimper escaping between gritted teeth.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Had Lucanis told her? Had he asked her to punish him?
“I’m sorry,” he managed to say.
The next strike came, fire searing his back as the wound split open.
“If you ever lay a hand on him like that again, whatever happens to him, I will do to you twice over,” Caterina warned coldly.
The final lash was the worst.
Illario’s silent tears fell, his body trembling as he hung his head. He heard his grandmother walking away. Then, softer steps approaching.
Lucanis.
Still dizzy with pain, Illario barely registered his brother untying his wrists.
“I’m sorry,” Lucanis whispered, breath uneven. “She said you had already told her what happened. I tried to explain it was an accident…”
Illario sniffled, his hands slipping to the ground. Lucanis caught him and helped him sit upright. Without hesitation, Illario leaned into him, his whole body shaking.
“It’s okay,” he murmured just as quietly. His sobs quieted as he took a deep breath, giving Lucanis’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Are you okay? What did the healer say?”
“Just a small hit… he said head wounds always bleed way too much… I’m sorry,” Lucanis whispered again, glancing at the open wounds on his brother’s back.
Illario shook his head. “You scared the hell out of me. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that… Caterina was right.” He sighed. “I could’ve really hurt you.”
“It was a stupid accident.”
“Yeah, but let’s not do it again, Lucanis,” Illario joked, squeezing him affectionately.
The pain, the wounds, none of it mattered. His brother was okay. That was all that mattered.
— — — — — — — — —
"So what I’m hearing is that you knocked out the Vyrantium demon with a single shove?" Sienna said, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol.
Lucanis and Illario exchanged a look before bursting into laughter, just as drunk. Illario had passed his limit a while ago and was practically sprawled out in his comfortable chair.
"Yeah, the bastard really did," Lucanis said, wrinkling his nose in amusement.
"Have you two fought like that again?" the redhead asked curiously. "Have you knocked each other out since?"
"Please," Illario scoffed. "We’re not kids. We fight without passing out now."
"I seem to remember winning our last fight," Lucanis said with a smug grin.
Illario rolled his eyes and flicked a few drops of water from his other glass at him, making his cousin grunt in annoyance.
"Having a demon stuck up your ass is hardly an achievement," the older one teased, shrugging a shoulder with a smirk. "I’ll tell your boyfriend to join next time—then we’ll be on equal footing."
"Oh, please, yes!" the warden grinned from his seat, raising his glass and clinking it against Illario’s with a laugh.
"Davrin!" Lucanis groaned. He tried to shove him, but instead, he flopped over into his chair, his head landing against the warden’s shoulder. Davrin just laughed.
"What? It sounds like fun."
"I can't wait to see that," Sienna grinned. He eyed Emmrich’s glass and straightened up, bottle in hand. "More wine?"
"Please," the mage nodded, watching the others as Sienna poured. "Would that really be fair, Illario?" he mused. "Spite grants him impressive magical abilities, but teaming up with our dear grey warden? That seems a bit excessive."
"Well," Illario drawled, "you can join him if you want, Emm. But in that case, I’m calling Taash for my team."
"Fighting mages is too easy," Taash chimed in. They sat solidly in their chair, but the color in their cheeks told a different story about how the alcohol was hitting them. They turned to Sienna, miming a dagger pointed at him. "Quick, what’s the secret to fighting mages?"
Everyone at the table looked at them—then erupted into laughter.
"Don’t. Let. Them. Cast!"