17: The Living Receiver (Receptor vítális)

Royal families are rife with fratricide. Whether ’tis solely the lust for power or the facing of brothers against each other to that end surely depends on the situation and the richness of what’s at stake: kings and fathers can be such cruel judges. When such matters were still of import to me, I fancied myself the favored of two sons, and it was always there between him and me – silent, save the occasional sneer or provoking accent or slip of the tongue, for which we would cease talking for years. Family blood, it seems, is easier spilled.

In truth, to call him such is to err, for wolves are noble beasts. Scavengers feed from carcasses stiff with rot, yet hold themselves in high esteem. Tycho reeks of pride, and his nose bloodied from so many falls, the stale bits of grey flesh stuck to his mouth, a mottled mane of foolish immaturity lends to his lack of vision. yet this fork-tongued beast has again recruited your services to his end again he has caught a live prey to pride himself upon and again it is you Do you not know his simple calligraphy is writ red with the blood he has spilt, even now: the blood of all humanity?

There was a third, you know. Motherless, she was caretaker to us all, so innocent yet learnèd, never once putting her aims above ours. Scolded, teased, and demeaned; there were moments when incisors flashing pink and white with anger were directed at her, sounding a vicious growl, which she bore as only a sister could, as a surrogate parent, disarming us with a sweet smile or an understanding nod. In my pride, I once fancied myself Strauss’ ultimate achievement, but I know now my intellect was very much exceeded by her compassion.