He had hoped, once, that if the memory was set aside long enough, it would dull and fade like paint under the desert sun. But the details were still painted as bright and fresh in his mind as they were the day it had happened. No matter how deep they were buried, no matter how many times he turned away from them, no matter how many days or weeks or years it had been. In his dreams, especially, they would rush back with force enough to knock the air from his lungs.
It started as it always did. He faced the heavy wooden door banded in ornate metal patterns. The hallway was oddly quiet after the chaos of the fighting. He couldn’t have said if it had really been so quiet at the time, perhaps he’d just been too focused to notice. But, in the dream, they were always silent. The only sound was his breathing, the pounding of his heart in his ears, and the muffled voice of his father on the other side of the door. There was no one left for him to shout orders at. He was left to rant at the Sun. The wood under his fingers felt warm when he pushed the door open, as if I great fire burned within. It wasn’t so far from the truth. The Sun beyond was blinding, rushing past him to fill the hall as he struggled to adjust from the gloom.
“Avad. So you came back.”
His father’s voice had never sounded so foreign. The stranger had fully replaced him. The man he had been once was long gone. His dark eyes were wild, like an animal caught in a trap who can smell its end coming.
“It needs to end, father.”
It didn’t need to end like this. There had been other ways. There had been hope. Once. But now… now they were standing on the edge of chaos.
“You are no son of mine.” Jiran spit the words, meaning to cut like a knife. But after all that had happened, the blade was dull.
Kadaman’s screams still rang in his ears. Even over the sound of the crowd he could hear him, begging for mercy. From his father or from the Sun, he would never be sure. Neither heard his plea. The Sun burned bright and merciless above and his father’s cold heart remained unmoved below. And he’d died all the same. Like hundreds before him. Another red stain on the sand in the Sun Ring.
“Oh but I am, father. You should have considered that when you moved me up in the line of succession.”
It was never meant to be his place. Kadaman belonged here. He was the clear chosen one to follow their father. He was made to lead. No one was blind to that. He burned with all the heat of the noonday Sun and all who stood in his presence were entranced by his charms. He had their mother’s Sun-kissed hair, her easy smile, her warmth. Avad had always taken more after his father. The same bronze skin and dark hair, the same dark, too-serious eyes that lacked the humour of his brother’s.
But Kadaman was gone. He wouldn’t let it all have been for nothing.
“Succession? You will never succeed me. I will see you put out for the Sun’s judgement. My son will succeed me. My only son. Itamen.”
His half-brother and his father’s new wife had been nowhere to be found when they took the palace. From what they’d been able to piece together, they had both been taken from the city. Sent off to Sunfall, for safe keeping. Bahavas would be with them, that much was certain.
“Itamen is barely more than an infant. This is madness, father. Your time is finished. My people have taken the city, the palace. It’s done. All you have left is to decide these final moments. Please, father, I am begging you, surrender. Step down now, peacefully, and I will see that Nasadi and Itamen are cared for and kept safe.”
After everything, he still couldn’t bring himself to let go of that last shred of hope. How much had he already lost? This was the last of his family. Ersa had warned him before he’d started down that long hall. But how could live with himself if he didn’t try, at least, just once more?
“Who are you to steal my throne, boy? I am the Sun! I burn with the fire of the heavens! I cast my light upon you and in my judgement I find you lacking! You are buried in the shadow, you are the darkness that seeks to snuff out my light! I will see you burn, boy. I will stain the sands with your blood like your worthless brother before you. I WILL CAST YOUR DARKNESS OUT!”
In the light of the day, the memory was always blurred. Had there been more ranting? Had he been so lucid? In his dreams the words were as clear as day, but when he tried to conjure them up in his waking hours, all he could hear was the pounding of his heart and that muffled voice beyond the door. The words were faded and distant while other details were so painfully clear and perfect. The look in his eyes and the flecks of spittle that caught in his beard. The way his crown sat crooked on his head. He remembered the knife but not where it had come from. Only that it was in his father’s hand. The sound of his sandals on the hard brick floor. Those moments played out slow. In dreams or awake. Each one was an eternity. Moving toward him, shouting madness, so far beyond any peaceful negotiation.
In truth, the fight had lasted less than a minute. The longest minute of his life.
It was Ersa who found him there. On the floor. His hands felt wet and sticky. She’d pried them open to free the knife. How long had he sat there? Even now, he couldn’t say. The blood had pooled on the bricks, warmed by the Sun. It hung heavy on the horizon, painting the room crimson. His father’s eyes stared back into the light without seeing as Avad watched him grow cold.
Night fell on the reign of the 13th Sun King and the dawn would rise on the reign of the 14th. Avad had known that the taste of victory would never be sweet but, by the Sun, he had wished it would taste less bitter.
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