The Boy who Died

"You still won't relent?" The veins in Jean's forehead pulsed, his grip tightening. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Have you forgotten how it feels to be beaten into submission, little brother? Have you forgotten how I used to 'enjoy' you?"

Egrith's jaw clenched, his entire body tensing with fury.

"YOU!" He snarled. "Do you think I am still that—"

"Stop."

A voice cut through the searing heat of their confrontation, calm and commanding, yet heavy with an authority that demanded obedience.

"Egrith. Jean. Show your faces at the castle—now. And do not harm the boy in your hands."

The crowd rippled with murmurs.

"It's the Pharaoh!"

"Long live the Pharaoh!"

"His Majesty is using that outsider's magic!" someone gasped. "That outsider he captured yesterday! The one who could make his voice reach anywhere!"

Jean and Egrith exchanged a glance.

Their father was watching.

Now or never.