Death is a challenging concept to deal with. I remember when I learnt it. I was young, of course. I was barely older than a child when I committed my first kill. I watched them, watched their light fade, their body empty matter, never to move again. The willingness to kill is an instinct for all animals. It is built into their minds, their souls. Every animal must consume the flesh of another living thing, be it animal or plant or something else, to live. But me? My kind? We are taught that we are above all of that. We are not animals. We are something more. Something else… But then why does killing come so easily to us?

  Targrin opened his mouth to speak, and Elva grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him away, sharply. They got around the corner before the door opened and Lucian stuck his head out, confused, then pulled back, shut the door, and returned to his conversation.

  Elva let go of Targrin’s wrist and pushed a hand against his shoulder.

  “Who. are you?”

  “I’m Eadrin. Your little brother.” He said quickly, too quickly, and too formally. He should have complained about her grabbing him, damnit! “What is-”

  “Try again. You are something else. I’m going to find out. If you’ve-”

  He cut off her tirade with a sudden chop, the bladed edge of one hand slamming into her throat. Then he grabbed her by the front of her blouse, stepped over one of her legs, and pivoted her up and over, knocking her to the ground.

  She hissed and raked a hand down his face, nails drawing angry lines on Targrin’s cheek, and he hauled back a tiny fist to retaliate. She jerked her head to the side and he missed, and she used the opportunity to bring up one foot, tuck it into his stomach, and kick him backwards. Light as he was, he flew back and hit the opposite wall, and landed, winded, on hands and knees. She was up on her feet, eyes gleaming… then she ran.

  Targrin was up on his feet and after her only a moment later, racing through the house. They passed a servant, who shouted an admonishment, but that didn’t stop them. She was up the stairs, down the hallway, and turned into the library, and he was right there with her.

  “What are we doing Elva?” He growled, stepping in and shutting the door. There were only two ways out of this room: the door and the window, and the window didn’t actually open. It was for light and light alone.

  “I wanted us somewhere alone.”

  “Why?”

  “So no one would interrupt when I pull the secrets out of your head.”

  He frowned, confused, and saw… something odd. There were ropes on the table. She was tying up her skirts higher on her thighs (he’d seen assassins do this same trick in noble courts). He reached up to touch the doorknob, and his hand came away scalded. There were runes carved into the wood around the knob, and the metal was burning hot.

  Now there were no ways out.

  “You’re talking crazy, Elva.”

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  “No, I’m not. Everyone thinks something is wrong. Cenric and Lucian are paying attention more than most, but not more than I. Now, I will ask one more time: who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

  Targrin was… caught. His frown deepened, brain scrambling, but the exertion from running and the slight pain from her scratching, her kick, were mixing him up. He’d fought with arrows in his back before, but this body… it was ill-suited to this.

  “I… am your… brother.”

  She shook her head, took a step forward, and held out a hand.

  [[SPELL OF BINDING]]

  Targrin’s eyes widened as the magic flared, but… he had protected himself from this stuff before. The easiest way to protect oneself from magic was to not be where it was happening. He leapt forward, caught himself on his palms, and rolled, covering a few feet into the library. The ropes lashed against the door, eel-like, before Elva swung the other way and chased after him with the magic.

  He was on his feet, skipping backwards, barely evading the second swing. Then he passed close to a chair, and he stepped back then to the side, grabbed the chair, and lifted it awkwardly in his childish limbs up and into the path of the ropes. Instantly, the chair was tangled and wrapped in the ropes, and he dropped it, turned, and ran towards Elva.

  She started to speak, to draw the magic back, but he slammed his shoulder into her rib-cage. He knocked her back, spine hitting the edge of the table they both studied at, and wrapped his arms around her hips. He pivoted again, tossing her to the side, and followed her down to the ground. He drove a fist into her stomach, then punched her across the face.

  Elva swung her arms up to protect her face from the third attack, then she spat out another word of power, causing the air in front of Targrin to thicken and thrust forward. He was knocked back and away, and he landed on his back. She got up, staggered from his strikes, a little blood running down the side of her face where the flesh had split. He also got up, rolling into a crouch, and he pulled the short knife he’d stolen out of his shoe. It was actually a letter opener, but he’d filed the edge down a little and sharpened the point.

  “Don’t make me kill you, little girl.” Targrin forced his voice down deep and low as he furrowed his brow. He held the knife easily, his grip somewhere between too tight and too loose. Just right.

  Elva’s eyes darted between the knife and his face a few times, and then her eyes flared again. She grinned, teeth bared, and she spread her hands out to either side of her.

  “I’ll kill you first.”

  His blood once more ran cold. Not because he was afraid, no. He held the belief that she would succeed. There was an edge, a darkness in her voice, that reminded him of his childhood. Of slitting throats for petty coin, or bashing heads in service to The Lord’s army. She would try to kill him.

  [[SPELL OF BURNING]]

  The letter opener suddenly began to heat up in his hand, and he acted on instinct. He flipped the weapon up, caught it by the point, and hurled it forward. The burning blade flew, spinning end over end, and hit his big sister, Elva, lovely and sweet, directly in the hollow of her throat.

  With the wrong end.

  The blunt end hit her in the neck and she gagged, hacked, and clapped her hands around her neck. Her words were swallowed down, and she coughed once.

  Targrin just… stared. How’d he mess it up THAT badly? He felt frustration, rising up, bubbling low, acid-like… until it erupted… in a bright peel of laughter.

  Elva stopped coughing and glared at him, as he laughed. Then… she hiccuped her own giggle. She’d almost died. She’d watched her little brother try to kill her and bungle it just enough to… almost be funny.

  Targrin bit off his laughter and took a step forward, and so did she, though both were reigning in giggles of exertion and exhilaration. She showed foresight by firmly stepping down on the blade, causing Targrin to stop short and raise both hands.

  “Alright, Elva. Let’s talk.”