Page 1 of The Amber Sunburst

TRIAL I

THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE, MAJOR ARCANA X

1

ALEXANDER

Alexander jolts awake to the unfamiliar feeling of being waterboarded.

He gasps—or at least, tries to—but his lungs are too full of water for any air to get in. To be expected, given that, again, he’s being waterboarded.

Another breath?

Water.

Well, shit. This is how he’s going to die. He can hear the headline clear as day: Heir of the Holy American Empire assassinated by water overconsumption. His brother will just love that.

He might finally laugh when he hears the news. Alexander can hardly remember what that sounds like—it’s been far too long since his brother laughed. But maybe he’s been laughing this whole time behind Alexander’s back, planning to betray him in a way that Alexander never thought he really would.

And, God, just thinking about that makes him want to give in. It wouldn’t even be hard—his life is a garbage fire now anyways. All he’d need to do is close his eyes and let go.

It’s just, Alexander is really not one for letting go. No—he’s a stubborn bastard and a fighter till the end. So if he’s going out, and it seems like he might just be, he’ll have to go out kicking.

He lashes out with his limbs, and hits… nothing. No cloth, no hands holding him down, no assailant at all. Just water, everywhere, and the muffled roar of it in his mind so, so loud. He wants to shut his ears, but he can hardly feel his arms anymore.

Then, cutting through it all, his father’s voice, somewhere in the distance. Not even words, just the intonations, the ups and downs.

If he’s here, this must be the end. Nothing to be done. At least Alexander will get to see him again.

He reaches out with a shaking hand, and he can feel that something invisible is about to take it. Something warm and soft and⁠—

And gone.

Because without warning, his reflexes finally kick in and every muscle in his body shakes violently, dragging him up and heaving him over onto his side. He would be convinced it was fire he was coughing up if not for the overwhelmingly salty taste of it.

The first breath he takes shreds his vocal cords—little drops of water clinging to his throat enough to burn, and burn, and burn—until the burning stops, and nothing follows.

No second onslaught. No kick to the stomach. No nothing.

Which doesn’t seem right. Shouldn’t his assailant be… well, assailing him?

He forces his eyes open. The sun is merciless, practically burning his brains out with its brightness, but when he squints, he sees ship debris covering a shore that stretches empty in both directions.

Maybe his brother hired someone to kill him slow, without dignity. He could have told them to leave Alexander here, half-dead on a desolate beach with no one around to even see it happen. That would be a Hell of a final blow to his self-esteem.

Oh.

Salt water. Sand.

“I’m an idiot,” he realizes aloud as he pushes himself to stand—pausing briefly to squeeze his eyes shut and allow the dizziness to fade—and whips around to find no mysterious attacker, just an empty beach. An empty beach whose sand now covers him head to toe because he collapsed on it in his exhaustion, because he was not being waterboarded. He drowned.

Almost drowned.

And he almost drowned because he was on a ship, because…

“Oh,” he whispers. He remembers now: waking up on the boat, still groggy from sleep-inducing draughts. The crew’s kindness, despite being tight-lipped about where they were taking him. And the lightning. He’ll never forget the crack of the lightning.

“Oh, God,” he groans.