by Meg Cowley
“This means that Zaki is the regent, whether we will it or not,” Behan said, dismayed. Heligan dipped his head in confirmation. Behan slumped in a chair. They sat silently for a few moments in the cool shade that felt refreshing after the constricting atmosphere of the castle.
“Can he take the throne from her without her cooperation?” asked Behan. Unable to sit still, he resumed his pacing.
“I had thought to look into this already. There is a loophole,” Heligan admitted. “As Irumae’s closest living relative Soren could dictate her actions, however as he has been declared traitor, this duty could be seen to fall to Zaki. He could rightfully sign her out of the succession as her guardian and representative on the grounds of her ill health.”
“And sign it over to himself as next in line,” Behan said, so aghast he paused. “I believe if he knows of this, he will use this to his advantage. Can this be hidden from him?” he added softly, daring to be hopeful.
“The questions is should it be?” Heligan said. His words were quiet, almost apologetic as he stood to view the castle from his window.
“Of course!” Behan said. “The man is selfish and self-serving, with some very troubling ideas. His father in law also concerns me. I do not trust Harad would leave us alone if this were to pass. For Caledan’s sake, Zaki should not rule. Soren is our rightful king and showed good promise. I pray the boy is safe.”
“As do many, I am sure. Yet I am bound to tell Zaki – truthfully – what options there are if he asks it of me,” said Heligan, “as are my colleagues. If this were to be concealed from him and he were to discover this, whose heads do you think would be first on the block?”
“Our roles are chosen by a ballot of our guilds,” replied Behan, frowning.
“I would not presume that makes us safe though, Behan. He has already replaced half the council with his own men and strips hereditary nobles of their rank daily. I am sure there would be a way to replace us if he wished. Our offices could be lost to a candidate of his choosing and we could find worse fates awaiting ourselves.
“Would you throw away your position so needlessly? We would be better serving if we let the cards fall where they may and ride out this storm. We need not forsake Soren or Irumae by doing so.”
“So you say that we let this occur?” said Behan. “We let him stand for the regency, sign over the crown to himself and remain here, waiting and hoping that Soren returns to retake the throne?”
“I see no other choice. It will occur with or without us,” Heligan said, facing him. Vexed, he rubbed his forehead. “It is not an easy choice, nor a pleasant one, and it will be dangerous for the both of us. We must speak no more of this and be seen to fully submit to the new regime. I believe only this will ensure our own survival and ensure Soren has well placed allies, should he return.”
“And if Soren returns, there is a way to undo this madness?” Behan’s stomach fluttered in a frisson of nerves at Heligan’s words, but he trusted his friend enough to hear him out.
“There is always a loophole,” Heligan said with an uncharacteristically devious smile.
Edmund
Edmund tasked Soren with eating, so that he had the strength for their journey, whilst he made all signs of their presence vanish by putting out the tiny fire and scattering the ashes wide. Soren ate the food and drank the now cold tea, but Edmund suspected that the young man tasted none of it. It had tasted like ash in Edmund’s own mouth that morning. It was biscuits and meat strips, the crumbled and stale remnants of Soren’s hunting provisions; even if it had been the finest pastries and fruits he doubted he would have enjoyed it.
“We must move on,” Edmund prompted, who had retreated some distance into the wood.
He waited for Soren to answer, but the prince stood frozen. Soren’s face was a grimace, his eyes screwed as tight as his fists. Edmund’s face softened and he paced forward to embrace Soren, a gesture inappropriate at court that seemed natural here. Edmund was reminded of his own son Dane; several years older than Soren’s twenty, yet he felt a strange mix of longing and worry for him. It mingled with relief, knowing Dane was far from harm and Pandora’s chaos.
“We must move on,” Edmund repeated. He sealed away his own emotions as he had been trained to do, knowing that he needed to show strength in front of Soren for them to succeed. Before long, they were ready, and with last glances at the sky to mark the time and his compass to mark their position, he led them north on foot through the forest.
The greenery thinned as they passed, until the trees were so large and spaced out that both could mount their horses and ride. Their pace improved and the miles passed by to the soft drum of hooves on moss and grass, but it was slow passage compared to the open travel of the road, unseen miles to their east.
~
As the sun slid once more below the horizon, they emerged onto an outcrop above the forest. The view was stunning; a sea of green forests and rolling hills as far as the eye could see alight with hues of gold and ruby under the descending sun, but Edmund and Soren were both too preoccupied and weary to appreciate it. Numb with tiredness, they scrambled down the steep embankment. Almost parallel to the road they at last found Carrick, the village that Edmund had been seeking, tucked away in the trees.
Still avoiding the road, they pulled up their hoods. Soren was too recognisable and Edmund too well known in the area to chance an encounter. Edmund knew word of the previous day’s events would have passed through here first as high-speed riders flew everywhere to disperse news from the capital.
On foot, they skirted the village in the valley keeping some distance away. Small allotments and animal pens surrounded the dwellings and these spread far into the trees.
After the forest, which had a quieter tune, the sounds jarred Edmund’s nerves. He angled northwest until the village’s noise faded behind them. Ahead, under the darkening canopy a tiny, whitewashed farmhouse appeared. It was nothing much – one room downstairs and its achievement the fact it had a second floor at all – but Edmund smiled at the sight. He made straight for the barn where he unsaddled and unpacked his horse, bidding Soren to do the same.
“Shouldn’t we stay in the woods?” Soren said, misunderstanding. “Someone could find us here!” As if to increase his anxiety, a sudden gust of wind forced the barn door to slam shut. Moonlight flooded back in as Edmund heaved the door open, revealing an unsettled Soren grasping his sword hilt.
“We shall be staying in the farmhouse,” Edmund said. “Worry not. We are safe here, you have my word.”
The farm door was open; unlike in the cities, doors remained unlocked in the countryside. Edmund strolled in, with Soren following behind. The familiar scent of fresh baked honey bread that met his nose made him smile. A crash sounded from upstairs as he shut the door and footsteps thundered down the stairs. Edmund could have sworn that dust had shaken loose from the rafters as the occupant emerged.
Shock and surprise flitted across her face before she rushed forward to grab Edmund in a bone crushing embrace. When she stepped back however, she scowled, standing across the bottom of the stairs, arms firmly crossed. An ancient woman of short stature, she had an imposing nature and radiated self-assurance. Grey hair was pinned up, with a few stray flyaway strands and dark, quick eyes twinkled from a wrinkling face; she was a woman who took no nonsense.
“Why’s it taken you so long to visit?” She was indignant, but all the same stomped to the stove in one corner to heat a kettle of water. As she turned around, she caught sight of Soren and froze.
“This house is a pigsty and I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush backwards!” she hissed at Edmund frantically. “Your Majesty Royal Highness.” She attempted a curtsy at Soren, agitated.
Edmund suppressed a bemused smile as Soren looked at him, nonplussed. “My apologies Aunt.” He paced forward, a few steps of his six-foot frame taking him to her and leaned down to grab his aunt in a bear hug that overwhelmed her. “It’s good to see you. It’s been too
long.” His smile lessened as he stepped away. “You’ve heard the news?” he asked.
“Yes I have, and I didn’t believe a word of it for a second.” Her eyes kept darting to Soren. “Now you’re here you can set the record straight.” She gestured at table and chairs in the corner of the small room by a stove. A large wick burned in a table lamp, throwing bright, flickering light across them all.
“Would you like some stew?” she said, seeming worried about offending her royal guest.
Edmund laughed. “We don’t bite, aunt! Please, we’re famished.” This close, he could smell the tomatoes and meat and his mouth watered as he beheld the bubbling pot sat upon the hob. They set the saddlebags down in a corner, unfastening their cloaks and casting them off.
Dragging three chairs closer to the table they sunk into them with groans, as Edmund’s aunt joined them, setting two wooden bowls full of stew on the table before them, topped with a carved spoon, and a hunk of bread each smeared with yellow butter. She ignored the spare chair, leaning on the mantelpiece instead.
"I suppose proper introductions are in order,” said Edmund, though he could barely speak through mouthfuls of tender rabbit and vegetables. He could not remember when anything had tasted quite so good. Beside him, Soren ate in silence. "Aunt, this is Prince Soren, the rightful king of Caledan. Sire, this is my Aunt Bethel, who raised me after my parents passed away when I was ten summers old."
Bethel, being of lower social standing, formally inclined her head first to the prince, who responded likewise, before raising an eyebrow to Edmund, inviting him to continue.
Edmund kept his account brief and quiet, covertly regarding Soren, but the prince focused his attention on the bowl before him. Bethel’s eyes were sympathetic as she studied the young man. “I suspect Zaki's tale of events will bear little resemblance to my own, but I can assure you that I do not lie. What have you heard?"
"Certainly not that,” replied the tiny woman, looking troubled. "One of the dispatch riders passed today. It was quick; you know how they rush about. He began by announcing the passing of the queen, may she rest in peace, but he put all blame on you.” She watched for Soren’s reaction. His eyes widened, although he said nothing, so she continued.
"He claimed that you had murdered your mother – please forgive me for saying this, I'm repeating what was said – in order to usurp the throne. He battled against you to save her, but was too late, and in the chaos, you escaped. Your life is proclaimed as forfeit. Yours too Ed. There are rewards for your capture,” she said with consternation. Edmund did not have a chance to reply.
"What of my sister?" Soren interrupted. "Is she safe?"
Bethel shook her head. "I’m so sorry, I don’t know. The rider just mentioned that Zaki is now managing affairs. You can go and see at the sign he left – it doesn’t say much more than that."
Edmund and Soren tried to absorb Bethel’s words. Edmund addressed the prince, both of their meals forgotten.
“Most this close to Pandora will notice something is afoot. After all, your mother, and you in turn were popular, Soren. You will be well regarded here, far more than your uncle who has done nothing to aid Caledan’s people.
“However,” Edmund paused. “I think we should tread with great care. Those further afield cannot be assumed to act in our favour and we may encounter those who would betray us at great expense to the country for their own personal gains. I think either way, for now, we have to recoup our energy. A wash, a meal and a good nights’ rest are in order.” He glanced at Bethel with a question in his eyes.
She huffed at him and rolled her eyes. “Well of course I’ll keep you tonight, as if it needs to be said. You’re still my little boy Ed, no matter how far you’ve risen in other people’s eyes. I only worry that you won’t be safe here. I’ve got the two rooms spare under the eaves still, you can have those.”
The kettle whistled at last. Bethel ushered them up the staircase to two small rooms under the thatched roof and heavy beams that held it up. As they each entered a room Bethel bustled downstairs in a businesslike manner, returning as they had just dropped their packs with a mug of tea each.
She smiled, and bade them goodnight. Before they could thank her for her kindness, she returned downstairs as though nothing had happened.
Edmund and Soren entered their adjacent rooms. It was a strange feeling for Edmund, stepping into his old room for the first time in several decades – almost like stepping back to his childhood. The room felt unchanged in his absence, though bare of his personal effects.
He breathed in the scent of Bethel’s homemade candle burning on the small dresser, feeling wistful for the simplicity of his youth. For the first moment since before discovering the letter’s existence, he felt as though he were safe, though he knew it would only be for a short time.
Through the wall, he heard muffled sobs. He rose to go to Soren but checked himself and instead sat on the low bed, his head bowed. He joined Soren’s grief with his own silent tears. The queen he loved was dead and the country he served on the brink of disaster. It was long after the small candle had spluttered out and the tea had cooled that he wiped the crusted tears from his face and slept.
Soren
Soren struggled to stand under the low, sloping ceiling of the tiny, white-walled room. A shuttered window revealed the forest and the candle-lit room contained a bedside table, an inviting bed and a wooden chair. He placed his pack and cloak on the chair and slumped fully clothed onto the mattress, drink forgotten as he stared at the flame.
Tiredness and the beginnings of acceptance took over. He bit down on his arm as sobs forced their way out muffled by the layers of fabric in his mouth. He cried as he had never cried before – for his mother, for his father killed in battle almost ten years before, for his missing sister, and for his own misfortune. Exhausted beyond measure, he slept and the flow of tears subsided.
The glow of early morning light and muted hubbub of the forest and farm awakening filtered through the shutter, waking Soren from a deep, dreamless slumber. He stared at the thatch-covered beams. At first, he felt nothing, until anger and rebelliousness stirred – not an impulsive, heated rage, but a cold, unyielding, inexorable anger that detached him from the pain he had felt the night before. Grief had ruled him then, but now he vowed it would not escape again, until he had brought Zaki to justice and found Irumae. I must not fail. With grim pleasure, he promised revenge on his uncle.
~
Edmund had already broken fast by the time Soren had washed and dressed and he helped himself to seconds whilst Soren ate. It earned him a rap on the knuckles from Bethel who sternly ordered him to keep his hands to himself and let Soren eat first. Bethel’s homely nature gave Soren a warm feeling; not even dining on the finest foods had he felt so comfortable in the palace. He relaxed, but the anger sat in his stomach as he ate.
“Off already, Ed?” Bethel asked, an eyebrow raised as Edmund retrieved their packs from upstairs. “Surely you need more rest?”
“We do,” he admitted, shrugging, “I suspect Zaki’s men will come here searching for us in a while.” He trailed off, looking at his aunt in concern.
“I can take care of myself,” she said lightly, waving a wooden spoon at him. Soren saw that the worry in Edmund’s eyes did not fade. “Well, I’m sorry it must be so. When this is over, you must promise to come and visit me. You’re welcome too of course, Your Royal Highness,” she added, peering around Edmund at Soren. She seemed hesitant around him when reminded of his status, but otherwise driven by habit or instinct to mother him.
“Thank you,” Soren replied, wishing he could put his gratitude into words. He had already come to feel quite at home there. The rough, home-made furniture had far more character than his own and Bethel’s oddities – a half-knit sock on the table, a speckled chicken pecking around the open front door – gave the cottage a far more endearing personality too.
“You’re welcome any time you wish. I miss you, Ed. I don’t see enou
gh of you or Dane,” Bethel said. “I didn’t want to ask last night. Is Dane well?”
Edmund spread his hands wide. “I have had no news from him of late, nor could I send word to him. He will be managing my lands in the south and should be safe there.” He smiled and Bethel seemed reassured, but Soren noticed how the smile did not quite reach his eyes.
Both embracing her – Soren for the unhesitant protection she had offered and danger she had placed herself in for them and Edmund for the long time they had spent apart – they promised to return. Her eyes filled with surprise as Soren stepped back. He left with sadness, wishing that he could linger in such a simple peaceful place, but there was no choice in his mind and he would not have stayed.
They continued to make swift progress following the road north and by nightfall had covered almost sixty miles. The two horses were exhausted after the ride, and nipped at the men’s sleeves as they were unsaddled and rubbed down with care.
A dell some distance from the road provided shelter, where they made use of the trees to tether the horses. They grazed as Edmund and Soren enjoyed a cold meal of meats and cheeses and bread, pressed on them by Bethel that morning. Again, they ate in silent companionship, neither feeling the need to talk, as dusk fell. It had been a quiet day, neither talking much during the ride, both listening for any sign of humanity.
Edmund rose in the gloom to retrieve a lamp from his pack. Though its range was not very large, the small clearing was soon bathed in a comforting gold light, which had a dappled, blurred effect from the lamp’s rough glass panels. Soren stared into the flame, watching the dancing flicker of light and taking in the sounds of the night in the woods around him.
Soren started as Edmund spoke. “Soren. I think we should talk further about our plans. Do you still wish to go to the northern monastery?”
Soren’s mouth tightened and his face was stern. “I do,” he replied.
