Ceska

I'm screaming and floundering and crying until my eyes swell shut
but still, I’ll hold onto you

They had been ten years old when their mother first presented them to the Celebration. “All eyes will be on you, my dolphin,” Ceska's mother had told them, her smooth-knuckled hand brushing over theirs, their twin scowling over her shoulder as the Consort bent over their shell-encrusted scales, “so always act as though they’re watching.” And so Ceska did, and watched them in turn — the courtiers and the travelers and the jewel-encrusted traders that made the Queen’s eyes sharpen — and from then on the gifts in their room would pile up, fine silks and sculptures and trinkets in stacks so high that they had to move to another room to sleep.

For a time Ceska’s love for knowledge was a little-known secret, as they were young yet and the Queen kept visitors from their company; but a few snuck under her piercing gaze to offer them their services, which they turned down with little guilt, for there was only one thing they wanted. Until, finally, when it became her turn during the procession of offerings, one bold-brassed visitor had cleared her throat and spoke briefly of the things she’d learned on her journeys. Many present then had laughed, assuming it to be a poor traveller’s attempt to save face, but Ceska’s eyes were sharp, and they sought the speaker to question her deep into the night.

And so it went, year after year. If the Queen favored opulence, and their twin weaponry, every returning guest to the Celebration knew to bring knowledge for Ceska. At first they had listened with fascination to the histories and myths of otherworldly lands, but with no means to keep pursuing them they quickly bored; then they were brought human artifacts made of metals of all kinds. And yet Ceska tired of these as well, and no one could bring a smile to their pale face until one day a clever guest brought them a ball of living light, trapped and shifting within a ship's lantern. Then their admiration was reserved for the inconceivable and extraordinary alike, and their rooms grew full with what the Queen called trinkets and Ceska called magic.

Ceska had thought, foolishly, that the endless days would continue forever. Even as their sibling left for longer and longer and came back with blood on their teeth and rents in their scales, as the Consort glanced at them with a appraising look in their eyes, as their mother's gaze grew warm like a candle in a cup, they were safe knowing their own place, knowing that what happened above the water mattered not. And yet everything could change in an instant, when the Queen wound her tail around theirs as they sat at her left and said, "The time has come to appoint my Heir."

They had to fight not to stiffen. They had known, in the abstract, that they were the favored child. It should have been easy to come to a conclusion, and yet. And yet. Their mother’s hand on their shoulder should have been comforting, but this was the Queen speaking, the air stifling with her command, and for a brief moment they felt dizzy with hesitation. Then Ceska inclined their head gracefully to the crowd exactly the way they had been taught to do, and the gathered vetehi below exploded into congratulatory tail-slapping applause. And their twin stood still amongst the cascade of fins and scales, face frozen into a incredulous too-wide smile.

It was a few long moments before the Queen would let them leave her side. Ceska hurriedly accepted the last of the congratulations as they made their way down the winding halls, speeding up in earnest as soon as they were no longer followed. The noise grew louder, then stopped abruptly when Ceska reached the entrance to one of their old rooms and looked inside. Fragments of glass were scattered across the cavern, and their twin was crouched over the remains of what looked like a engraved glass plaque. They glanced up at Ceska, teeth bared into a smile. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” their sibling drawled, barely audible over their subsonic growl, “I’m not mad at you.”

“I know.” Ceska said. The gulf between their mother and sibling and their complete inadequacy to fix it slammed into their awareness (how many times had they just let it be?) and they straightened their shoulders, awkward and guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d… she didn’t say anything to me.”

“I’ll support you, if that’s what you’re asking.” their twin snapped. “Mother would kill me if I didn't, even though she wouldn't even care if I disappeared so long as her precious Ceremony still stood. That’s why you came, right?” Ceska opened their mouth and their sibling snarled “Go away!” leaning forward with their fists full of scattered shards of glass, and they felt their tail lash behind them in response. If they swam just a little bit closer, even with their tail held down in submission, they knew their sibling would lunge. They ached - to throw themselves at their sibling or to cry out in supplication, they didn't know. This isn't my fault. You're better than this. If I leave, you might not come back.

"Fine," was what they said instead, knowing their voice had gone foam-soft and furious. "I'll go. Farewell, sibling." They turned and left the room without looking back. They didn't remember how they found their room, balled fists pressed tightly into their eyes, but wound themselves into the tightest ball they could manage and slipped uneasily into sleep. In the morning, when they rose and headed to the ballroom and heard their mother screaming at the servants, the Consort speaking urgently to the guests to spread the word before their second heir could wander too far, Ceska knew without being told that they would never see their twin again.