I'm No Hero

“Where did you run off to?” Meil, her hair tied back in a braided crown, in a simple but well-fitting dress, greets me with a frown in front of the pavilion as the rich move for their cushions. “Was all that fuss on the street your doing?”

“Could have been.”

“Yeah, he showed off real good,” Sels chips in.

“And wasted all your spirit essence? You need that to recover, you dolt.” She sighs forcefully, moving to step past. “I swear, you’re— hff. The next time you collapse, I’ll have to tie you down.”

“Off eating with the pompous and the rich, are you?”

“Unfortunately, since your father invited me here.”

I catch her arm gently, halting her. “Then at least eat with us.”

She stares at me like she can’t recognise the man in front of her. She probably can’t.

I smile. “This way, if I collapse or choke on my soup, you’ll be right there.”

“Hmf.” Her frown takes a moment to turn reluctantly agreeing. “Well, you’re the Prince-heir. At least that way I can make sure you eat something.”

“And kiss him back to life if he faceplants in his soup,” Seelis says a tad too loud.

I threaten her with a pinched bill, and she yelps, ducking away and nearly slapping the side of my head with her wings.

Meil ignores her, as she should, exhaling and climbing resolutely up the steps. I fall in beside, the last step one too many for weakened and travel-wearied limbs. Perhaps I should have thought of the extra climb before I went down to the street.

I’m still puffing by the time I fold onto my cushion, gesturing another over for Meil beside me. If we were being strictly formal, our knees would have to suffer on the hard mat. Thank the spirits Father never cared much for traditional discomfort.

Meil kneels stiffly, discomfited anyway. “You’re seating me here?”

“A healer needs a place of honour.” I pat the ground between us. “Sels has the guest seat of honour.”

“Ah.”

I can feel her eyeing the side of my face with some small degree of suspicion. I ignore it to smile at my dear sister’s own narrow glance and raised eyebrows.

“Dragging your healer to the Imperial table, brother?” she says.

“Meilan is a valued member of my team, and a good friend. She deserves to be honoured.”

“Ah, Healer Meilan!” Father’s voice booms. He strides over to enthusiastically clasp her hand and bow. “I’m glad my son brought you up here! You have our thanks for keeping him alive and well.”

Her attempt at a smile seems more of a grimace. “Of course, your Imperial majesty.”

I tap her with the back of my hand as Father moves on and she flicks stiff glances at the generals and advisors seating themselves further down. “Don’t worry about them.”

“I’m starting to regret showing up at all,” she grumbles.

“So do all who find themselves dragged into a formal dinner after a week on horseback.” I shift for the thousandth time to relieve stiffening muscles. “How do you think I feel? If I had a choice, I’d still be sleeping in the stables right now.”

“Shared suffering, hm.”

“Only the finest for those who’ve been to the hells and back.”

And there’s a genuine, if small, smile.

“My people!” Father’s voice carries above the murmurings from below, the noise of the street dying away as he addresses everyone. “We are gathered this night to celebrate the return of the Sunrise Warriors, who travelled far into the heart of the fissures, to defeat Noruaas! Many of them laid down their lives—”

My memory of this speech is hazy, but I know the gist. He’ll glaze over the fact we didn’t outright defeat Noruaas, because at the time we hoped it was a mortal wound. Back then, I kept my head down and I let it happen.

Now, I watch as the servants file through the doors with light wooden tables, bowls steaming into the night air. A full serving is set in front of us, dishes no one from my time have tasted in decades—orange fish flesh, beef, noodles, and fluffy, perfectly steamed rice instead of flavourless gruel more mud and weed than edible food.

“—not in vain, for they have gravely wounded Noruaas—!”

“Excuse me.” I lever myself to my feet, grimacing at the stiffness in my knees.

Meil frowns at me. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just going to make a boring, long-winded speech of my own.” I smile at her and Sels with a wink. “Don’t wait to eat with me.”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re about to do something?”

I wave her off, giving sister’s sharp look a slight, lazy smile. There’s a faint tightness around my wrists, a hint of chains pulling at me; a warning in her eyes. I ignore it.

“Father, if I could?” I murmur, stepping to his side as he draws the speech to a close.

“We— hm?” he interrupts himself, and throws me a wide smile, clapping his arm over my shoulders. “Ah! And a word from my son himself, the hero of our age!”

I avoid grimacing with the ease of long, long practice, giving him a slight bow as he steps back, and a deeper one to the multitude watching from the garden and the street. “People of Nachisi, of the Empire Under the Sun, I am honoured.”

Children on adults’ shoulders grin and clap their hands, the people murmuring their own respect and bowing in turn.

They have no idea. My faint smile fades like light snow in the spring, and I exhale, lifting my voice. “But I am not your saviour. You believe Noruaas dead, mortally wounded, but it is not.”

The shocked silence reigns supreme. “In truth, we failed. Despite my fellow warriors’ valour, and their sacrifice, the blow we struck was not enough. In time, Noruaas will recover, and it will return. The safety we have now is a false one, and will not last.”

I reach up, the edge of the mask brushing my fingers. “I know this because I have seen it, and I have felt the touch of the devil itself.”

With one quick yank, it comes free, the breeze touching cool fingers to the sizzling blackness branded in jagged slashes across the side of my face. I know what their horrified eyes see—that darkness like ichor, sparking with hints of embers, almost pulsing like living fissures between reddened skin. “I can no longer call myself a hero, or even a warrior. For my errors, I have been marked, and I have to live chained like a beast.”

I push spiriscence into the chains, flashing them for all to see, raising my voice over rising murmurs. “Because of this, I can no longer claim to be Prince-heir of this empire. I willingly renounce my title, I renounce the name of Lonni Dynas, and all claim to the Emperor’s throne and authority.”

“Son—” Father takes one step and halts as I lift my hand.

“As tradition requires, I am now an Imperial Guardian at the behest of my sister, Haimilia Dynai.” My eyes meet hers, a face already painted white frozen in a rigid mask, and I turn back to the crowd. “My life is chained to the Imperial Princess-heir, and I take on the name Dyste-Eino, as is my fit punishment until my curse and my shame can be lifted.”

With a bow to the hushed, muttering masses, I replace the mask and turn, striding past Father’s still form to return to my place, kneeling amid a stiff, hushed group. Closing my eyes, I give my thanks and lift my miso bowl, slurping only the broth.

“Not bad. The beef adds to it.” Better than anything I’ve had before or since I returned.

No one speaks, and no one touches their own. I can feel them staring, though. It’s a familiar reaction.

I try taking a nibble of the beef, simply because it’s the first opportunity I’ve had to do so in quite a while. “Wasn’t as longwinded as I thought it might be, but I hope you enjoyed the—”

Chopsticks stab the side of my neck. Rather painfully.

“Ow.” I glance sideways at Meil’s thunderous expression, testing briefly for blood. “Am I up for serving, now?”

“What in the hells was that?”

I meet her eyes. “The truth.”

“The truth?” She struggles for a good few moments, her voice artificially loud in the quiet still clutching the group. “That wasn’t the truth. That was a knife to your own stomach. You can’t—”

“Meil,” I gently interrupt her. “I know. You can chop me up for sashimi later, hm?”

Honestly, I was half-expecting a blunt bill to take a chunk out of me, too. I forgot that Sels only took up the mantel of skull-beater after Meil couldn’t, just to keep me honest. Now she’s only a child, watching me with eyes that don’t know what to think, or how to react.

I’m a long way from home.

“Don’t worry, this is for the best.” I flick Sels’s ear and turn Meil’s weapons of choice aside. “I promise.”

Sels just stares until I wonder if she’s going to call me a devil again. Instead I nearly choke on my nibble of beef as she abruptly throws out, “I still didn’t see your stupid curse mark thing cos you were facin’ away the whole time.”

Well, some things don’t change.