#kaladan

Finally, she reached him. Kaladan laid face-up, his fur cloak matted with dirt and blood. There was a gaping hole wrenched into his breastplate and his arms were splayed by his side, his weapon out of reach. A stream of blood poured from his mouth and nose, all meeting together to absorb a deep crimson into the earth beneath him. His eyes, glassy, stared up at nothing.

Surina stood over him, numb, giving a single slow shake of her head. Her guards hovered behind her. She’d seen countless corpses, probably more on this night than any other in her life, but none of them held the same weight as Kaladan’s. Dragonborn were known for their longevity. The only deaths she knew personally were premature and through combat. Her brother could not join that list. 

She shakily lowered to one knee, sword now in a vice grip, and turned his face towards her. She realized that she had already seen him in his last moments alive, nodding to her in certainty of victory as they clasped hands. She would never see him smile, laugh, bicker with her, or cry ever again. Grief and disbelief collapsed on her and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back tears. She had been right to think they should have stayed together.

She hardly noticed the galloping of hooves grow louder or the clatter of moving metal as more soldiers approached.

“See, it is as I said,” a voice said. She looked up and rose to her feet, though her knees almost quit on her. Lord Amysic’s escorts, her father, and several more Windcrest guards had arrived. Her father, normally vast and imposing in his armour, looked smaller as he stared on in horror, his sword held loosely in his grasp.

“It is as what?” she asked. The dread curdled in her stomach, made her want to be sick.

“It is true, then?” her father whispered. He gestured to Kaladan, his brows lowering in anger as he raised his voice. “Your murdered your brother? My son?”

“What?” The force of the accusation made her reel back a step, then retake it with a stomp. “No! I would never do such a thing, how could you possibly—I would not dream of hurting him.”

Torinn glanced sideways to Amysic’s guards, uncertainty passing over his eyes. One shook their head. Torinn looked back to her, his eyes flicking downwards, and she realized she was waving her sword around, coated in blood.

She knew this stacked against her, but she refused to sheath it, reinforcing her grip. She was innocent. She shouldn’t have had to and it was the only thing in the moment that felt real and certain. 

Her own assigned guards stepped forward. “She’s lying, my lord,” one said. Surina’s blood froze. “He was alive when we arrived, but she waylaid into him while he was injured. It was if she lost her mind, we saw it happen!”

Surina’s head snapped in his direction. Before she could open her mouth, her second guard chimed in. “It’s true. She led us past our allotted route, sir. He did not stand a chance.”

Adrenaline still roaring in her, she reached for his throat. “How dare you,” she snarled. “You were with me! You fought beside me! We were late!” She threw him backwards and he stumbled. She looked to her father, whose eyes were wide. “He was dead when we arrived, it is they who are lying!”

“She really has lost her mind!” One of Torinn’s guards shouted from the back. “You’ve seen how those two have been at each other’s throats recently, it was only a matter of time—”

“You,” she said, jabbing a finger at him, “Shut the hell up. This is not your business.” She whirled again, this time on her other guard, who backed away in genuine fear. “Who is paying you to lie? Who do I have to—”

“Enough!”

Her father’s voice cut through the noise and the ringing in her ears and the flat of his sword bumped against her waist. It hit her armour, but he held it with force, and she knew he could overpower her should she continue. She stopped. She pushed it away, but he lowered it to the ready by his side, mirroring her.

“I will not have any more violence here tonight,” he said coldly.

“Father,” she pleaded, “I did not kill him. I have said it before and I will say it again: I would not dream of hurting him, let alone killing him. We have butted heads, yes, but never enough to warrant his—his death.” Saying it aloud was like glass in her throat. She stepped forward. “How could you believe the word of them over the word of your own daughter?”

“Do not force my hand. Give me your sword.”

“But— ”

“Now.”

She held out her weapon. He snatched it from her, then passed it off to a guard behind him.

“This must be investigated. You, Surina,” he paused and closed his eyes, like the words physically pained him, “must be taken into custody.” He opened his eyes, gestured with two fingers, and Surina jerked as two burly dragonborn grabbed her arms from each side. She wrestled them off at first, but they came at her again and restrained her.

“Do not resist,” her father said, this time with sorrow as he sheathed his own sword. “I do not want to believe that my eldest is a murderer, but I must remain impartial and the evidence I have seen thus far does not look kindly upon you, daughter.”

“No!” she cried. The guards started to drag her away and she continued to fight them, kicking and screaming until she was spent and they had to support her weight as they fit her into cuffs. “Father, how could you—I did not—I could not—” She heaved a sob. “Kaladan—”