by G. B. WREN
“So you believe nothing has changed with Nepsaril’s death?”
“Gervest no longer has anyone to guide him along the path Nepsaril had set him on; his will is his own. It is not yet clear if he will abandon all that he has learned.”
Loran wandered over to Hermesis. She gently caressed her mare’s long neck with her hand.
“I can’t help but pity him now. His childhood was stolen and his innocence corrupted. I don’t envy our father having to judge him.”
Topen and Loran mounted their horses. Loran took the lead, guiding them towards the narrow path that ends at the southern wall of the castle.
“There is just one more thing I wanted to show you,” said Loran. “It is near where we first met,” she revealed, with an impish grin.
Soon, Hermesis and Daramose rested at the edge of the forest. They strolled across the road that led to the castle gates, and ended their journey at the southern wall of the castle.
Excited, Loran moved swiftly to the wall the moment her feet hit the ground. She repeatedly motioned for Topen to join her, while she scanned the area for anyone close by.
“Quickly,” she whispered, as she playfully relived the consequences of discovery she felt when she was a little girl.
Topen left Daramose with Hermesis and followed Loran to the wall.
“Press your hands here . . . and here,” instructed Loran, as she guided Topen to the stones on the wall that would trigger the pivot point.
Topen did as instructed and the secret entrance, once again, revealed itself.
“Surprised?” she asked excitedly. “We’re almost there.” Loran cupped Topen’s hand and led him into the dim tunnel.
Topen had helped Rondros Avileen with the design of the castle—as well as procurement of the unique stones used in its construction—and was aware of this secret entrance. However, he would never blemish the enthusiasm Loran felt as she guided him to a purpose only she knew.
Loran raised her hand to the wick of a candle, sitting on a stone ledge. The candle burst into fiery light, and she rotated to face Topen.
“I’ve been practicing,” she proudly announced.
Loran guided Topen close to several small pebbles sitting on the ledge. They had not moved since she dropped them there, sixteen-years ago.
“These pebbles still sit here because they represent the moment when I first put my trust in you,” said Loran. “I dropped those there when I accepted that magic could be real. It was the moment that was to change my life.”
Topen stared at the stones, illuminated by the candlelight that surrounded them. But Loran’s green eyes soon pulled his attention—he watched tiny flickers of candlelight frolic on their mirror-like surface. Even if he could prevent himself from being drawn into the depth of her gaze, he didn’t want to.
He inched closer to Loran; she responded by slipping her hands along his arms as Topen slowly reached out for her waist. Loran’s desire swelled, anticipating the touch of their lips, but she savored the gradualness of his approach. When they drew so close as to share a breath, Loran swept her hand towards the candle’s flame and snuffed it out. As the dim light filtered from above, and swirls of smoke rose from the candle, their lips joined in a passionate kiss.
* * *
The invited guests to the ascension ceremony filled the halls of the castle, as they eagerly fluttered to the receiving chamber. Once inside, they found a seat among the marbled benches that adorned both sides of the great room, and took up the full length of the chamber.
Guards stood near the front of the benches, preventing anyone from occupying the first two rows—except for those guests who were invited to do so. Among those honored, and seated at the far end of the first bench, were Liam and Luciena—who beamed with such delight, she could barely sit still. She rotated her head so often to see who else had arrived, that Liam imagined it might twist off—and at the thought of such a fanciful event, a slight chuckle escaped his lips, followed by a quick cough to disguise his indulgence.
The guards allowed Samuel and Michael Kileson passage to the front row. Samuel acknowledged Liam at the end of the bench—with a soured expression and brief nod. He sat on the opposite end, putting as much distance between them as the bench allowed. Michael, however, presented a courteous, but embarrassed smile as he lowered to sit. He avoided eye contact with Luciena, whose lustful eyes conveyed a reckless interest in him.
“I believe the young man is smitten with you, my dear,” spoke Liam. “But I think your attention is making him a bit uncomfortable.”
With Liam’s words, Luciena realized that she was acting as if she no longer needed caution around him, that Gervest had already taken her for his wife—as he had promised on many occasions before cavorting in his bed.
“You flatter me, Liam,” said Luciena. “But I believe the young man is just shy around beautiful women,” she declared, apathetic to the shallowness of her vanity.
The space between Michael and Luciena filled with the last of the sovereign’s advisors.
On the marble floor at the top of the stairs, was a podium. Behind it, were the same three chairs that Gilvius used when he presented his twin sons on their sixteenth birthday. Leanna walked across the marble floor and sat in the first chair. After a few moments, Rolam, dressed in similar attire as Gervest had worn—before being magically relocated to the dungeon—passed behind his mother and glanced briefly at Liam and Luciena, before he took his seat on the third chair.
Luciena exuded a seductive smile for the man she believed she had conquered, but when Rolam snubbed her flirtatious gesture, she was puzzled . . . until she observed him more closely. A sickening bile threatened to rise from within her.
“That’s not Gervest,” Luciena whispered to Liam, as she clutched at his arm. “It’s Rolam!”
“Are you sure?” Liam pretended bewilderment of Luciena’s discovery. “They are twins, you know.”
Before Luciena could respond further, Gilvius stepped onto the marble floor and walked confidently across the hard stone towards the podium. A few voices in the gathering gasped at the sight of Gilvius, but none were more surprised than Samuel. Gilvius looked healthy, and many years younger than when Samuel had last seen him. Samuel looked with astonishment at who he thought was Gervest—seeking some reassurance that Gilvius’s condition was expected. He received no such comfort from Rolam’s steady gaze and bright smile he directed towards his father.
Topen and Loran had been standing near a column—partially obscured in the shadows—ever since Michael and his father first arrived. Michael’s heart sank when he took notice of them. Even from a distance, and cast in shadow, Michael could easily detect the radiance emanating from Loran’s face as she watched Gilvius step to the podium, and even more so when she gazed at Topen at her side.
It was then that Michael knew; even if Gervest forced her into a pairing, he would never have Loran’s love. He resolved that she would never look upon him as she did with those she truly treasured.
The crowd quieted as Gilvius began to speak.
“The title of Sovereign is fleeting,” Gilvius began—his voice forceful and unwavering. Since the days of Rondros, choosing a replacement among the most deserving of his heirs is the final act of the sovereign, and in many ways, the most important one. The sovereign steps down from his reign, but not his responsibility to council his replacement.”
Gilvius glared at Samuel briefly, and he nodded respectfully in return. But Gilvius’s stare left with it an uncomfortable caution in Samuel; he checked the guards for any movement in his direction, but they remained uninterested in him.
“Rumors have flown across the provinces of who will ascend, but as with most rumors, they lack substance without validation,” Gilvius continued. “So, it is with great pleasure and humble pride, I present to you the new Sovereign of the Avileen Empire—Rolam.”
A sense of relief immediately swept through the chamber. Many were so thankful for Gilvius’s choice that they wept th
rough their applause. A very few, who were expecting a reward for their loyalty to Gervest, were stunned and scowled disapprovingly. Although Samuel shared their shock, he did not reveal his disappointment on his face—he was too skilled a manipulator for that. He simply smiled and applauded with the others as Rolam embraced his father and took his place at the podium. Rolam viewed the joyful expressions before him while he waited for the applause to wane. Soon, it was time for him to speak.
“My only wish is that I will never falter as I follow in the wise and compassionate steps of my father, and his before him,” said Rolam. “I must confess, one of the wisest attributes my father ever taught me, was brevity. Therefore, I will not be keeping you here with a long-winded list of what I hope to accomplish as Sovereign. My very first words to you is all the list I need.”
The gathered guests laughed while they applauded Rolam’s directness and commitment to follow Gilvius’s rein.
“Honored guests, I invite you to join me and my family in the dining hall for the great feast our chefs have prepared for you,” Rolam concluded.
A stream of applause continued as Rolam turned back to his parents—who rose to greet him. All three stood facing the assembly, with Rolam standing before the sovereign’s chair in the middle. When all three descended onto their seats, the assembly stood up—and applause filled the chamber once again.
Samuel bolted from the room as soon as he was securely on his feet, but Michael didn’t follow him out. Instead, he walked to Loran where she lingered with Topen. Loran had halted her applause just long enough to wipe a tear from her cheek when she noticed Michael approaching her.
“Michael?” Voiced Loran.
“I wanted to apologize to you,” Michael blurted out. “It is because of my friendship with Gervest that he has been so adamant we are to be matched . . . well, that and my father’s influence.”
“I will give you two some privacy,” said Topen. “Liam agreed earlier to meet me in the library, after the ascension ceremony,” he remarked to Loran.
Loran reached for Topen’s hand and squeezed it gently for a brief moment, before letting it go.
“I’ll be in the dining hall when you’re done.”
Topen nodded.
Although Michael had resolved he would never have Loran’s love, it did not make her affectionate gesture towards Topen on his departure sting any less.
“Is Gervest well?” Michael asked.
“He is being cared for. I will let him know of your concern,” said Loran, unconvinced of the sincerity of Michael’s apology—since he had only now discovered Gervest would not be Sovereign.
Michael hesitated to speak further after Loran responded coldly towards him. In the moment of his indecision, Loran turned to leave.
“Loran! Please, wait,” he urged.
Loran detected sincerity in Michael’s anxious plea. She turned back to face him.
“I know you don’t trust me, I have made so many mistakes with you over the years. Please, just give me a moment.”
Loran acquiesced and nodded, letting Michael know he had the moment he had asked for.
“Since childhood, Gervest has been my friend. He has always known of my . . . obsession with you, and has tried to place us together many times. I never noticed the gradual changes in Gervest when we were younger. It was not until I once witnessed the contempt he felt for your father in the advisors’ chamber, that it struck me—Gervest had embraced evil.”
Loran let fall any reservation she held of Michael’s honesty and listened intently to his words.
“I think I grew up a little on that day. Still, I wasn’t strong enough to turn from what I most wanted, and what Gervest could give me . . . you. There was something else I also realized, that while Gervest is my friend, I think I am Gervest’s only friend.”
Loran quickly scanned her memory of her childhood, and of all the people that came into her brothers’ lives. It was true; she could remember no other that Gervest had called a friend.
“I want to help Gervest—if I can,” Michael continued. “I can’t say I am proud of what my destiny has revealed to me so far, but maybe the future holds greater promise.”
“I never imagined a time I would say this to you, but I’m pleased Gervest has such a friend as you,” said Loran. “And your destiny is yours to guide, Michael. Lead it well.”
* * *
Topen strolled by the last of the guests flowing into the dining hall. Excited voices and laughter permeated from the room and followed him down the hall—until he reached a turn, then all fell silent. His destination wasn’t much further now, but for Liam, Topen’s arrival would be the end of a journey, of uncertainty, of hope.
The library doors were already open when Topen stepped through. Liam perused the books on the second level. He collected a book from the shelf, and watched as Topen shut the massive library doors below him, before he spoke.
“I have given it more thought since you first arranged our meeting, and I suspect the news you bring is not pleasant,” said Liam, while he flipped through the pages of the book he held—paying no attention to its content. “Otherwise, you would not want to meet in private.”
“Your father is dead,” Topen announced.
Liam slapped the book shut in his hands, and then placed it back on the shelf.
“I’ve discovered you have a reputation for bluntness. It appears to have been well earned,” said Liam, as he began to descend the staircase. “How can you be sure of my father’s death?”
“During our battle, Nepsaril described your father’s fall from the wall, and that he saved him before he hit the ground.”
“But why would he save him?”
“To change his form and use him in a deception. Your father appeared as Nepsaril when he was killed.”
“I thought you killed Nepsaril.”
“So did I.”
Liam was prepared to learn that his father had perished during the time of the castle war, but numbness crept in when he realized that his father’s slayer was standing a few feet away. With all the questions that formed in the fog of his mind, Liam managed to focus on what he most wanted answered.
“How could that happen? How could you possibly mistake my father for Nepsaril?”
“It would be more effective to show you.”
Topen brushed his hand across his face. Liam was stunned when Topen transformed into the exact image of Gilvius—as he appeared earlier at Rolam’s ascension ceremony. Try as he might, Liam’s eyes could not detect any flaw in Topen’s subterfuge—that it was not Gilvius standing before him. Topen morphed once again, back into his own form.
“There are many ways to appear as another,” said Topen. “None of the methods can be detected without first having suspicion, and some approaches prevent all discovery.”
After Topen’s demonstration, Liam accepted that Nepsaril was the only one to blame for his father’s death. He pondered the absurdity of not knowing real magic existed, until he was involved in the strategy to unseat Gervest. Now, Topen had just revealed his and Nepsaril’s powerful magic touched him personally.
Liam pushed to learn more.
“What land do you come from that such magic is common?”
“A land far from your own,” Topen cryptically replied.
Topen said nothing more and departed before Liam could prod any further. Though Liam wasn’t surprised that Topen evaded his query, his elusiveness only flamed Liam’s desire to discover more.
* * *
The Avileen family sat together at a long wooden table in the front of the dining hall—where they overlooked the revelry of their guests. Only Gervest was absent. He took his meals behind the guarded door of his bedchamber until Gilvius could determine his true nature. Goblets of wine and platters of freshly prepared game—along with a variety of fruits—filled the tabletops.
Topen entered the dining hall and marched toward the front of the room. Leanna was the first to notice his approach, and she imparted a
grateful smile. When Kelamar detected him, he raised a goblet of wine—in celebration of the culmination of their victory.
Topen had rounded the end of the table by the time Loran saw him. When she stood, raced to meet him, and hugged him for all to see, Leanna knew Loran had chosen her destiny. And although Topen had greeted Loran warmly, Leanna was unsure if he had committed to intertwine his destiny with hers. Loran led Topen to their chairs and hastily turned to her mother after she sat down.
“After the feast, I have something important to discuss with you.”
“Discuss . . . or tell, my daughter?
“Leanna, I am still bound to the pledge I made to you twelve-years ago,” assured Topen.
“I remember well our words, Topen,” responded Leanna. “All of them.”
“Can we meet with you and father in your chamber later?” Loran asked.
“We will return to our chamber soon, after the feast.”
Leanna tried to hide her anticipation of the words her daughter would speak later. However, while everyone else continued to relish in the festive atmosphere, Leanna only managed a few forced smiles in response to the happiness that surrounded her.
* * *
Behind the secured door of his chamber, Kelamar filled a goblet from a bottle of his favorite vintage wine—always kept securely hidden from the more common wines freely displayed. He handed the goblet to Topen, and filled another for himself.
“I’m sad to know this is our last adventure together, my friend,” said Kelamar. “Your visits are far too lengthy to suggest otherwise.”
“The future is uncertain, Kelamar—and beset with surprise,” toasted Topen, as he clanked his goblet against Kelamar’s.
“Surprise—such as you and Loran?” Kelamar blurted out.
Topen showed no reaction to Kelamar’s remark. He assumed Kelamar was commenting on seeing them together in the dining hall.
“I’m not talking about the display of affection you two demonstrated earlier. I mean the dance that has gone on for years—at least in Loran’s heart.”
Kelamar looked with disappointment at Topen’s passive expression.
“You could at least reward me with some surprise. I rarely get to see that in you.”
