“Quite frankly, it sounds like your fault.” Paracelsus dabbed a cotton ball on Federico’s bruised face, “You assumed she was an assassin - perhaps rightly so - and your first thought was to confront her, by yourself, in an alleyway.”

  “When I saw her, at my home, I was so…” He paused for a moment, rubbing his arm bashfully before swapping his hand to his head, “Overcome by rage. I couldn’t think.”

  “What’s the deal with the vines?” Serpacinno asked, observing the growths, which reacted in an almost sentient way, a way that no one other than her, with her snakes on her head, could notice.

  The heir hesitated for a moment, debating between telling them the truth, seeing as they had been mostly truthful themselves, and not, because of their still inexplicable presence in the country. “I need the truth about why you’re here.”

  Captain and Mate looked at each other, an unspoken conversation taking place in the space between their eyes. Paracelsus had a good point - at worst, he mostly likely hadn’t heard Kósmeidí, and therefore the information wouldn’t undo them to reveal. But then again, Serpacinno’s argument was not without its merit, they ultimately didn’t know what he would do with the information, and there was still the possibility that he did know.

  Ultimately, Parace had won out, and the two faced Federico to nod.

  “Alright then,” The Scaularese man replied, “Get comfortable.”

  —

  “Look at him, Alito,” Federico’s mother, Andrea said, holding her newborn and showing him to his father, Alejandro, “Our little Federico.”

  “He has your eyes,” Alejandro took the child off of her, allowing her some time to rest before he inevitably cried for milk, “Beautiful little brown eyes.”

  “I just hope he’s as handsome as you are.” Andrea replied, stroking the little baby’s face with the back of her hand, “And I hope that he gets an education.”

  The cord was cut, and the doctor respectfully left the room, intending to give the couple some privacy. The room they found themselves in was their own bedroom, Alejandro’s significant wealth having afforded a private staff of doctors and nurses to attend to Andrea’s every need.

  “Above all else,” She said as he latched, having started crying immediately after the doctor left, “Let’s hope he grows up to be healthy.”

  —

  “Now then, Fede -” a heavily pregnant Andrea said, showing him strange symbols he’d never seen before, “This is a ‘más’ sign. It means you need to add the two numbers.”

  “Add?” A four year-old Federico asked, with an adorable head tilt. His parents had been impressed by his progress thus far, at just nine months old, he’d stood up and walked to his mother, and just a week later, had already called her ‘mama’.

  “Put up two fingers on your right hand,” She said, watching as he did so, albeit confused, “Now put up three fingers on your left hand.”

  “I still don’t get it.” He said, frustrated and dejected.

  “You didn’t let me explain!” His mother smiled gently at him and ruffled his hair, “Now, how many fingers are you holding up on both hands?”

  The young heir took a minute to count, putting down a finger with each tally he took in his head, “Five.”

  “So two,” She tapped his right hand, “Plus three,” She tapped his left, “Is…?”

  “Five!” His face lit up in recognition, and his joy was only furthered when his mom congratulated him on a job well done, picking him up and laying a kiss on his face.

  Soon after, Andrea grunted as she felt her second baby kick, and she guided her son to put his hands on her belly, feeling the life growing inside.

  “That’s going to be your little brother,” She said with a smile, “Or sister.”

  —

  Life with Miguel was easy on Federico. As brothers, they shared a close bond, and the older brother always enjoyed leading his brother on walks through their estate, finding small nooks and crannies to hide in, or what times the food in the stores was left unattended if they felt in a mischievous mood. Miguel was not so gifted as his brother, not slow by any means and certainly above average, but not to anywhere near the same extent as his elder. Still, it didn’t stop him from giving his all at his pursuits, and in some regards, typically those of a more artistic slant, he even excelled past his brother.

  Even bearing in mind the surface level tranquility, their relationship was not without its rocks. A certain jealousy had inevitably crept into Miguel, and an insecurity quickly proved itself - it was clear that Federico was the favorite. No doubt he was loved immensely by his parents, but the lion’s share of affection was always afforded to Federico, and only a comparatively meager supply was eked out to him.

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  “Stupid Federico,” Miguel kicked off his socks and opened a book on politics. He needed a skill that could translate well into business, and he knew that his older brother’s one weakness in that regard was politics, “I’ll show you.”

  He studied for hours that night, burying his nose into the text, absorbing as much information as he could on democracies like the nearby Cartesia and the intricacies of parliamentary monarchies like Scaular itself. Kings, queens, presidents, generals, admirals and all the various nobilities buried themselves into his head, intent on finding a home in the young man’s psyche.

  Then Friday came, and the two of them were, as normal, rigorously assessed on their topics. No matter the economic, or arithmetic, or even the interpersonal relationships quizzes they’d endured, Miguel had already written them off, and as such was not disappointed when he scored lower. Desperately awaiting the results of the fateful topic, he had to bite back a gloating squeal as he just barely edged out his brother, outperforming him by a matter of probably less than one per-cent.

  “Good work, Miggy!” Federico embraced his little brother in a great big hug, nearly crushing the younger man’s spine with his strength. You see, Federico was woefully unaware of the brewing animosity his brother held for him, even as their hiding spots grew dusty and the gulf between them widened.

  Smug and self-assured in his victory, Miguel hugged back, “Thank you, brother.”

  This rivalry continued on for a number of years. Miguel would often unabashedly flaunt his little victories, and as he subjectively felt that he was receiving more attention from his parents, it only spurred him on further to goad his brother, to the point where even Federico himself was starting to get absorbed into it.

  —

  Miguel and Federico sat across from each other at the dinner table. The family’s servants had prepared some chicken meal for them while their parents were away, Andrea having gone into labor. The brothers glared at each other as they ate, a common habit when they were by themselves, and stewed in a silent rage.

  Even the servants in the other room had caught on to the tense atmosphere, whispering between themselves at the sight of the family reduced to barely restrained conflict.

  “And to think,” One of them said, “They’re bringing another child into this mess.”

  The thunder from the outside cracked behind the boys, but neither of them removed their fixed gaze from the other, even as they ate. Again, the thunder struck, and the rain was so intense the candles were starting to waver in their luminescence. With a third crackled, the candles were finally extinguished, leaving the manor to be bathed in darkness.

  The effect on Miguel was immediate, and the younger boy started quaking in his seat as the inky blackness rolled over him, engulfing him in his worst fear. And, try as he might, his eyes started to water as well, giving way to a few small tears which dropped onto the floor like the rain did the ground.

  “Miggy,” Federico walked over to him as best he could and wrapped his little brother in his arms, “Are you scared?” It was a soft tone, a gentle, caring tone that even Miguel’s own parents didn’t dole out so casually.

  Against his better judgement, Miguel nodded into his older brother’s chest. He never admitted it, to anyone under fear of punishment, but his own fear of darkness was caused by a rather traumatic incident three years ago, when he was five. He had done particularly poorly in grammar, and his father had locked him in a broom closet for nearly a whole day as a punishment.

  “Why do you hate me?” He asked his older brother, sniffling back the tears that now flowed freely.

  “Miggy…” Federico looked down, and although none could tell, his expression was one of utter shock and sadness, “I don’t hate you. You’re my brother.” He wrapped his lanky arms around his brother’s head tighter.

  “But you’re always so angry!” Cried the eight year-old, looking up at his brother’s unseen face.

  There was a long pause in the conversation, the only noise was the whispering of the servants and the heavy pittering of the rain mixed with the howling of the wind. Eventually, Federico replied, “I’m sorry. I know I should know better,” He blew through his nose awkwardly, trying to ignore the cringing feeling in his gut at failing his younger brother, “I know that I shouldn’t get angry, but, when I see how much you glare at me, throw me daggers…”

  “I don’t hate you!” Miguel shouted in response, clinging tighter to his brother’s shirt, “I’m jealous! Jealous of how much father loves you, jealous of how smart and brave you are!”

  “Listen to me well, Miguel.” Federico said in a harsher tone, “I’m no smarter, or braver, than you are. You need to believe that. And as for father -” He looked away wistfully, trying to find some scrap of that bravery his brother lauded in the rain, before he decided on ignoring the question entirely “We need to stick together, as brothers. Nothing can get between us.”

  Before Miguel could respond, the door slammed open, and Alejandro strode in, candle in one hand and who would later be named Rosa in his other. He carried a downcast expression, and the wetness on his face was indistinguishable as being either from the rain or his tears.

  “Come here, my sons.” Both the boys noticed that he looked almost vulnerable, but still pointedly looked down at his snivelling boy, “Your mother -” He choked back some air, “Your mother has passed away. She’s in Paace’s arms now. I need you to be strong for Rosa, and for yourselves.”

  Both of the boys immediately broke into sobs, wailing and bawling at the top of their lungs, and for once, Alejandro didn’t deride them for it, instead opting to hug the two of them after setting down the contents of his arms. Still, they both knew the peace wouldn’t last forever, and without Andrea there to scold her husband, for whatever that was worth, the punishments for falling behind would only grow in severity.

  Still, Miguel thought once he had somewhat calmed down, I’ll always have Federico.

  —

  True to their expectations, their father’s punishments did grow more severe.

  “Father, please!” Miguel shouted, raising his hands in front of his face, “No more! I’m sorry!”

  “No son of mine’s growing into a troglodyte!” His father brought his belt down, hard, upon Miguel’s arms. While now Federico was nearly a man, and his brother slowly growing into adolescence, they both knew better than to further draw their father’s ire. His disposition had only grown worse after the death of his wife, and the stresses of child-rearing were no doubt weighing on him as well.

  “Father -” Little four year-old Rosa said, gripping her pillow in the doorway, having been woken by the sound.

  “Back to your room.” Alejandro warned, not even turning to face her.

  “But father -” She replied.

  “Back to your room!” He shouted, now very much turning around.

  Through her tears, the youngest Almarés sibling turned around, seeing her eldest brother leaning against the wall. He wordlessly leant over, taking her hand and walking her back to her room.

  “Fede, why does father hit Miguel?” She asked, trying to be brave and hold back her tears.

  Federico simply crouched before her, offering a reassuring smile, and a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. Truth be told, he didn’t have a good answer. And, try as he might, he was unable to swiftly create a convincing enough narrative to placate the little Josey.

  “I’m sorry, I… I don’t know.” He finally said, picking her up under the arms and playfully spinning her around on his feet, “But don’t worry. I’m going to be a man soon, with a nice job, and a big home. And I’ll move both of you into it.”

  “But I don’t want to completely leave father.” She replied, twiddling her thumbs together, even as she enjoyed the little bit of play.

  “Oh, we’ll see him!” He reassured her, “But we won't have to live with him. We’ll make our own rules, and I guarantee you, I won’t hit you, or Miguel.”

  “Okay!” His little sister cheerily smiled back, thanking whatever conception a four year-old has of a higher power that she had such a kind brother.

  It was, then, a shame that such a cheery promise would be so abruptly dashed.