by Sarah Dalton
Luca stared up at Seawalker with what felt like a heavy stone in his insides. Then he turned back to view his homeland. Nesra’s Keep sat atop a hill further inland, and tucked into the corner of Reyalon. The great city walls shone bright white in the sun. When would he see this place again? What would Xantos be like? He had heard stories about Xantos. It was a place of volcanoes and ash, with a shadowy valley and gold mines along the coast. They had no king. They were ruled by Lords instead. They did have a castle though, which had at one time housed the Emperor of both Estala and Xantos.
Brother Axil led Luca up the walkway and onto Seawalker. Luca shuddered at the thought of his father finding Matias. Matias, what have I done?
“Father will hunt us down and kill us,” Luca whispered.
Brother Axil walked through the bustle of the ship as though he had done so before, moving them away from the sailors. “You are his son. You are the rightful heir to the throne now.”
“I am a murderer,” Luca whispered bitterly. “I deserve to die.”
“You do not. I will not hear you speak this way.” Brother Axil steered Luca below deck so they could find their cabin.
But Luca did not think Brother Axil was right this time. He was a murderer, and he had robbed Estala of the greatest king they never had.
Stefan
It was not sadness that filled Stefan, nor was it pleasure. His emotions lay somewhere between the two, bouncing back and forth. He could not deny the slight thrill of excitement when he gazed down at the remains of his older brother. He was not glad that Matias was dead, but he was excited about what it might mean. With Luca gone—and suspected of Matias’s murder—that meant Stefan was heir to the throne. Him.
Stefan was not the youngest of King Davead’s children, and so it was not as unlikely as it could have been, but there was a certain way his peers treated him which made him an unwanted choice. It was as though he had been born with some deformity he could not see. Stefan was not quite as handsome as his brother Matias, but he did possess many similar features to his brother. They both shared the same mother and took after her dark features, such as their deep brown eyes. Stefan had learned quickly that he was not thought as attractive as his brother, when his mother once told him he could be ‘as handsome as his brother, if he could keep his restless eyes still’. He could not imagine Matias with the moniker of “snake”. That was what they called him behind his back: Stefan the Snake.
He would show them. He was heir to the throne now, and his father had tasked him with finding out more about Matias’s death.
“The blaze was intense and sudden,” said Brother Mikkel, crouching low to the ground to examine the remains. “You can see from the scorch marks on this rug, the table, and the floor here. Your brother burned fast.”
Stefan regarded his mentor. Brother Mikkel was a wiry man from Irrinthia in the north. The narrow face and pale skin gave him a ghostly appearance. When Brother Axil had been hired as the Governor for the royal children, Stefan soon realised that Axil favoured the others and disliked Stefan. He begged his father to hire someone only for himself so he would learn as quickly as the others. Finally, the king had relented and Brother Mikkel arrived at Nesra’s Keep. The Enlightened Brother soon became Stefan’s one true friend.
“A torch, perhaps?” Stefan suggested.
Mikkel raised his head and sniffed audibly. “Do you smell that?”
“Burnt flesh? Ash? Burnt linens?” Stefan suggested.
“And what else?”
Stefan inhaled slowly with his eyes closed. “I do not smell anything else.”
“Exactly,” Mikkel said, straightening himself to full height, which was half a hand higher than Stefan. “You cannot smell the pitch. I do not think this fire was the result of a torch. There are no candles here either, not that a candle could produce a fire like this.”
“Then what?” Stefan asked.
Mikkel’s eyes widened until the whites protruded from his angular face. “Menti.”
A thrill of excitement ran up Stefan’s spine. He liked Menti. At least, he liked to inflict the king’s justice on them. The Menti were unnatural. They were against Anios. They worshipped the wrong Gods and they practiced black magic. Mikkel said they were an abomination, a scourge, and an insult to Anios. Stefan was inclined to agree.
“So Matias was killed by some fire-wielding, filthy Menti, and my brother Luca, who was on his deathbed, has managed to disappear from the keep with his Xanti Governor, Axil.” Stefan could not keep the smile from his face. “I always knew there was something wrong with Luca. He had the entire court fooled with that little act of his, but I knew. No one is that sweet.”
“This is Axil’s doing,” Mikkel said with a frown. “I have never trusted the Xanti. What was a Xanti doing training in the Enlightened way anyway?”
Stefan took amusement in watching Mikkel’s face darken. There was no love lost between the two Governors. Mikkel was in a small faction of the Enlightened called the Order of Insight, who revered Anios’s words above all others. They had the right way about it, Stefan thought, and that was to enslave or kill any Menti they came across. The rest of the Enlightened believed in a tenuous and weak idea of peace. Stefan knew there would never be peace between the common people and the Menti, because the Menti would always be throwing their power around. His father understood that too; that was why he had given Stefan a battalion to command for that purpose. Stefan glanced down at the lightning bolts depicted on the hilt of his sword. They represented his allegiance with the Order of Insight.
And why shouldn’t he side with them? Out of all of his family, and all of the members of court, Brother Mikkel had always been the one to stand with him and not against him. Mikkel was his ally, and his friend, as well as his mentor and Governor. The Order of Insight listened to his counsel and accepted him for who he was. They did not block him out like Matias and Luca, and their annoying Governor Axil. And how right had he been? Axil and Luca had murdered Matias. It was all a big mess but Stefan had kept his hands clean of blood.
For now.
Stefan knew that he had to find Axil and Luca, bring them back to Reyalon and force them to answer for their crimes. Another small smile crept along his lips.
“Your Highness.”
Stefan turned towards the door where a tall man filled the doorway. General Tyca wore boiled leather armour and mail. He was sweating from the steep steps to Luca’s chamber, which gave his skin a pinkish complexion. He was older than all of the king’s sons, but younger than thirty. General Tyca took the second-in-command position for Stefan’s battalion of men, and was one of his closest advisors. He was not, however, someone Stefan trusted. But then, Stefan did not trust anyone. Despite the lack of trust between the two men, Stefan had always acknowledged that Tyca was an excellent commander and so far had followed through on every command given to him.
“What is it Tyca?”
“You gave me a task to complete a fortnight ago,” he said. The man did not move towards Stefan, which was a habit Stefan had noticed before. Tyca was either afraid or uncomfortable around Prince Stefan. Perhaps both.
“I remember it well,” Stefan replied. “And the outcome?”
“It is as you expected,” Tyca said.
Stefan nodded. “Good. Then you will need to join with General Barca and his men to deal with the problem. But we have another priority to deal with. Order the city guard to search Reyalon and its borders for my brother Luca and his governor Brother Axil. I want guards at every port questioning captains on their way to and from Xantos. I want a search party in every forest between here and Lantha. I want to know where my brother has gone. He cannot be far yet. He was in his sickbed three hours ago. Is that clear?”
General Tyca glanced down at the twisted bones and flesh on the floor of the chambers. “God be good, is that Matias?”
Stefan frowned. There was no point in lying to his general. “Yes. Also, Brother Mikkel, will you arrange for my brother’s remain
s to be dealt with. Make sure the Brothers are members of the Order of Insight.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“But do not make any funeral arrangements. Father will want to do that.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Tyca hesitated and Stefan picked up on the tension of Tyca’s expression. His lips were pursed and thin as though he disapproved. Stefan did not have much patience for men who wished to give their own opinions.
Stefan sighed. “What is it, General?”
“The problem you wish us to deal with. Barca and I… We are not comfortable with the request.”
Stefan leaned into Tyca’s personal space, exhaling softly until Tyca stepped away. “We are not comfortable with the request, Your Highness.”
“Sorry, Your Highness.” Tyca’s eyes narrowed, but there was also more in his expression, and Stefan was positive that it was fear.
“Do you know why I remind you, Tyca?”
The idiot shook his head.
“I remind you because you need to know your place.” Stefan clenched his clammy hands, steeled himself and continued. It was important for his generals to follow him. He had to show strength. “You have sworn allegiance to me, and to my father. I am your leader. You are a good man, Tyca, and I swear to you that I would not ask for such a thing to be done if it was not needed. For the cause.”
Tyca nodded and bit his bottom lip. “You are of course right, Your Highness. I will see to your orders at once.”
Stefan saw the glint of approval in Mikkel’s eyes and it felt good. His chest seemed to inflate and he felt taller than ever before. Was there anything more satisfying than men following his orders? He would be surprised if there was. One day he would be king, and then everyone would have to follow his orders, whether they liked it or not.
Reva
In the days that followed the labour, Reva knew only the walls of her chamber and the view from her window overlooking the courtyard of Unna Castle. It was an attractive view, with flower baskets of purple and pink hanging from the walls, and the ornate cornice running beneath the roof and above the arched windows. Men and women busied themselves outside, delivering goods to the castle. She watched with envy as the blacksmith’s lad mounted a dappled bay gelding and trotted out of the castle gates. Where was he heading? Somewhere with beauty, she hoped.
Reva appreciated beauty. There were many intricate, beautiful pieces in her own room, from the ironwork around her bed, to the unlit braziers standing tall and proud, to the great wardrobe carved with a detailed depiction of a grand oak tree on the doors. But Reva was restless, and sick of her surroundings. It was too hot in her room, and the place smelled of tonics and stale fruit. Francis had decided she should grieve alone. He had confined her to her chambers for as long as it took for Reva to gain her shape back and recover from her… troubles.
Her troubles.
She thought about the word bitterly. Is that what he thinks? That giving birth to a dead son is little more than an inconvenience? Was that why he refused to visit her? Because she was trouble? And God forbid anyone saw her while she recovered. They would see her swollen, broken body and know what a failure she was.
Ammie always came to her in the evening with her food. She often brought cold meat from the cellars to place on Reva’s swollen stomach. Reva was still sore from her labour. Her stomach cramped intermittently, her breasts were swollen and tender, and sometimes there was still blood. She had barely noticed any of these things at first, all she noticed was the absence of the baby from her arms, and the way her belly bump had become deflated and flabby.
Reva was staring out of the window at two young boys playing with wooden swords when Ammie entered the room carrying a tray.
“You’re goin’ to enjoy this, my lady,” she said brightly. “The goat was butchered this mornin’ so it’s fresh, and the apricots are plump. I gathered the olives today myself.”
But Reva was still watching the boys with the swords. “Do you think any of those boys are Francis’s illegitimate children? That one has his eyes, do you not think?”
Ammie tutted. “Why are you thinking of such things? Come and sit at the table and enjoy your meal.”
Reva walked across the room to her handmaiden. At least it was getting easier to move. Her wound had almost healed, though she was still sore. She threw a cushion onto the seat before taking her place. Ammie had not brought a slab of cold meat today, and she briefly mused that she was gradually recovering. For some reason the thought frightened her.
“Eat with me, Ammie. This is too much food for me.”
The young girl hesitated. “It isn’t proper.”
“Like I care what is proper or not. Sit down.”
“But I have your sheets to change and—”
“Sit down, Ammie.”
The girl grinned before she sat. Reva had a sisterly love for the girl. Ammie was as loyal as they came. She had lied for Reva, and covered up many secrets. If word of Reva’s many miscarriages had reached the people in the castle, there was a good chance that the gossip would have been too much for Francis to bear. Reva knew that her husband would be wont to rid himself of his young wife and start afresh. Then what would Reva do? Where would she go? The king had washed his hands clean of any responsibility to her welfare, and she had no family left to speak of. But Ammie was to be trusted. She was more like family than anyone Reva knew. She was a pretty girl with freckles across her nose and blonde hair tinged with a red hue. She was one year older than Reva, and Reva often found herself looking up to Ammie when it came to decision-making.
“The apricots are good,” Ammie said. “Thank you for sharing with me. But if Lord Unna finds out—”
“From whom?” Reva replied with a raised eyebrow. “He does not even visit me while I am recovering from my… trouble.” Reva said the last word with disdain.
Ammie frowned. “Men find these things difficult. Lord Unna has been unusually subdued recently. I reckon he’s thinking of you even if he doesn’t show it, my lady.”
Reva pursed her lips. She could not imagine Francis having much affection for her. Reva was fast to learn that Francis had chosen her for her youth and looks, in that order. He was desperate for an heir, and since Reva had not produced one, his affections had dwindled even further. If Lord Unna was subdued, it was because of his lack of heir, not for any affection towards her.
“I hope he is not taking it out on the servants,” Reva said.
Ammie half-smiled. “We know to keep out of his way when he’s in one of these moods.”
“Very clever.”
Ammie chewed slowly on her roasted goat. “Are you still in pain, my lady?”
Reva shifted slightly in her seat. “The pain is more like discomfort now. Aches and soreness, but no real pain.” She pushed an olive across her plate. “Except for the pain with no wound.”
As Reva dropped her eyes to the table, she was surprised to find Ammie’s hand reach across to clutch her own. The girl’s fingers squeezed hers.
“My mother lost two before she birthed me. She lost another two before she had my brother. It’s harder for some women, that’s all.”
Reva fought to hold back her tears. “Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Of course it is. I am young, my body is young. Hope is not lost yet.”
Ammie let her fingers go and turned her attention towards the food on the tray. But Reva was too lost in her thoughts to eat. Instead she daydreamed an image she had seen in her mind’s eye many times. It was of a little boy running down the corridors of Unna Castle, his chubby fingers touching and exploring the walls and the many intricate iron pieces. Unna castle was often called the Iron Castle because of the many iron flourishes across the doors and over the walls. Most had been commissioned by Francis when he took the Lordship.
Reva closed her eyes to block the thought from her mind when a strange sound caught her attention. Ammie was on her feet immediately.
“A horn.”
Reva opened her eyes a
nd her mouth dropped open. “What? But it cannot be.”
Ammie hurried around the table. “Come. We must leave.”
The door burst forth and Lord Unna entered. “Prince Stefan has sent men.”
Reva took anxious steps towards her husband, worrying the hem of her sleeve. “Prince Stefan? I knew him when he was a boy. Why is he sending men?”
But Francis gripped Reva by the elbow, almost exactly like he did the first day she met him. “You must go. The men are breaking into the courtyard. Run down to the stables. I have guards waiting there to get you out of Unna.”
Reva twisted her body around to view her husband. There was no trace of humour on his face. He was serious, and that sent a chill snaking down Reva’s spine.
“Ammie can go with you as well.”
“Thank you, Lord Unna. I’ll protect her with my life,” Ammie said, her voice breathless.
Reva had been desperate to leave her chambers, but she had never imagined that it would be like this. The corridors were filled with people running scared. Francis barked orders as they made their way through. He commanded frightened soldiers to the towers with their bows. Servants were to make their way to the cellars and lock themselves in. Most of the able-bodied men he passed were sent to the armoury. Unna Castle had never been under attack before. There had not been any warning for this. Though Francis had organised drills for the castle in the past, he had grown lazy in the present, and the chaos was the result. Reva smelled the fear as they hurried through the corridors. It was body sweat and vomit. The realm feared Prince Stefan and his harsh ways.
“What is this, Francis?” Reva said. She shuffled as fast as she could, still sore from her wounds. She lifted her chin against the pain, determined to ignore it. “Why is Prince Stefan attacking us?”
“He has spies, damn him,” Francis muttered. “I do not know how else… North tower, now! Gather men on your way.” Francis grabbed another young man on the way and turned him around to head back into the castle.
