If you are reading this, then Eris and I have been pressed into service… again. I will do my best to watch over him, as I always do, but this war is unlike the other wars. The crown is surely taxed for resources, both in manpower and raw materials. I fear that soon they might begin to conscript promising acolytes directly from the Academies. You’ve always shown talent and promise, despite the problems who’ve had with your various instructors and not being accepted into the King’s premiere academy. Now, I must tell you the reasons behind these things, and it has nothing to do with your talent, knowledge, or skill. Eris is responsible for it all. Through bribery, family favors, and not just a little blackmail, he has ensured that your education remains a mediocre one. I reveal this to you, because if you are pressed into service, you will need every advantage you can get to survive the war. Combat Sorcerers have a life expectancy of about two weeks, if they are fully trained. Learn whatever you can, any edge that you see that can help you survive. When this is over, we can confront Eris about this together. Just live. You have the ability. Don’t let your peers, your teachers, or even you brother hold you back any longer.

Jairth

Eris crushed the brittle and faded parchment in his hand. Over twenty years of wondering what set his sister on the path that consumed her sanity, and here it was. For a moment, he wondered how Somarys had come into possession of the letter. He shook the thought aside. Somarys was the most cunning, resourceful, and thourough person he’d ever met. Eris also pushed aside the thought that this letter might be falsified, but he brushed that aside also. Somarys knew Eris. She knew he would be suspicious of everything she said and told him. A little lie here and there to nudge him was one thing, but something this large would be too easy for him to punch holes in. And it made sense, perfect sense.

Callie had begun her climb to power shortly after Jairth and Eris had been called to their second term of service. The chaos and destruction that followed in her wake had created the perfect opportunities, one after the other, for Jairth to also climb to power.

Eris sighed and tossed the parchment into the fire.

Somarys blinked. Her forehead wrinkled a bit as she regarded him. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Now that you know the truth, will you help me?”

Eris took a long drink of his dark ale. The serving girl knew how he like it heated and spiced. Such a simple and yet complex thing, perfect for taming the bundle of conflicting feelings battling inside his breast: anger, shame, hurt, fury, sorrow, fear. They battled against him, but the ale provided a barrier, not because it worked to get him drink – it was only his first mug, and he’d always been able to handle his drink – but rather because the brew reminded him of who he had become and what his place in the world was now.

“No.”

Somarys leaned back in her chair and studied him through narrowed eyes. She looked at him as if he were a new spell that produced an effect she hadn’t expected.

“No?”

Eris nodded. “No.” And drank again. “Good luck finding someone to aide you, but it won’t be me.”

Somarys leaned forward. Eris did not like her smile. It was the smile many swordsmen gave when they were about to try one of the special maneuvers, tricks, they’d developed to quickly get through an enemy’s guard. Eris prepared himself for whatever tactic she planned to use next. Nothing could prepare him for her next words.

“What if I told you, it might be possible to save and redeem your sister?”