Nathaniel Grey and the Obsidian Crown

by Farrell Keeling

  The boy cracked the tip of his sword twice against the floor, startling both Nathaniel and his future bride, then charged with his arms aloft.

  Nathaniel’s eyes widened, and he pushed the girl aside, before throwing himself under the boy’s arm at the last possible second, avoiding the blade by a hair’s breadth, as it arced above him.

  Ozin’s Throne! He’s actually mad!

  A mischievous grin that would have made Solas jealous played across the boy’s face.

  ‘Ha! That was really close!’ he said, ‘next time, not so lucky?’

  The Scorched boy spun the sword in his hand, watching Nathaniel intently, perhaps waiting for him to move.

  Does he really want me to fight him? Nathaniel thought.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Nathaniel splayed his palms out in front of him.

  ‘Hurt me?’ the boy folded his brows together confusedly. ‘You do me honour, Grey,’ the boy said, pointing his sword at Nathaniel.

  Nathaniel’s eyes crossed to the girl, who remained where she had fallen a few paces away.

  What am I supposed to do?

  He didn’t really want to fight the boy, but the idea of looking like a coward in front of his bride wasn’t exactly appealing either.

  ‘Enough!’

  The voice cascaded down the turret, its force almost bowling Nathaniel over where he stood. He swiftly snatched his wandering hand away from the rapier at his hip and felt compelled to drop his head too, as if observing one of the Elders. Such was the authority in the stranger’s voice that it had kneeled the Scorched boy before him.

  The man who stepped lightly down was no Elder but yet another of the Scorched. If Nathaniel had thought the boy was abnormally tall however, he was to be humbled by the giant that approached them. Bending to avoid hitting his head on the crest of the turret entrance, a Scorched man, with braids swinging about his thighs, approached the three.

  His clothes, like the boy’s, were most curious. A tan shawl, of some sort, was wrapped tightly over his shoulders, exposing muscular forearms and midriff. The sarong, loose and falling just above his sandal, was also of the same colour. In fact, the only colour present in the man’s dress could be found from the assortment of beads that hung around his neck and over his braids, gently clacking together as he walked.

  Heavy-set, as well as towering, with thick cords of muscle stretching across his entire body like a suit of armour, the Scorched man cut a most imposing figure. And yet, he carried himself with such grace that defied his sheer density. Like a lion, he advanced towards them, silent but for his clacking beads.

  His eyes swept the balcony, passing over both Nathaniel and his bride before falling on the Scorched boy, whose grin had instantly dissipated.

  ‘Would you leave a sister in the sand?’ he said, his voice so deep the words sent tremors across Nathaniel’s skin.

  The boy delicately dropped his sword and then stooped to offer his outstretched hand to Nathaniel’s bride. She brushed herself off, gave the boy a fleeting glance, which Nathaniel imagined was something akin to a glare, and wrapped her arm around Nathaniel’s.

  The man remained silent, as he folded his arms, but there was something in the way he looked at the boy kneeling before him that suggested no words were needed.

  ‘It was just a challenge, father,’ the boy muttered sheepishly.

  ‘Sun above, Naseri! You can’t fight the boy on his wedding day whilst in his wedding garb!’ The Scorched man shook his head incredulously.

  ‘But he is yet to be oiled!’

  The man’s chest heaved with a short bark of laughter, more boom than bark.

  ‘My child! Our feet no longer grace the sand, things are different here!’

  ‘But-’

  The Scorched man raised a hand that could have swallowed Nathaniel’s face whole.

  ‘Not another word! Now, our hosts have requested our presence for the feast, so make your peace with our friends.’

  ‘I beg your forgiveness,’ Naseri clenched a fist to his breast and bowed to them both, still looking utterly perplexed.

  ‘I should go also,’ the girl said. Nathaniel felt his chest deflate as she unravelled herself from him.

  He felt suddenly torn as he watched her gather up her skirts and follow the Scorched boy up the stairs. With a strangled wince, which he hoped hadn’t come out as pathetically as he feared, Nathaniel caught her hand just as she began her ascent.

  ‘I don’t even know your name,’ he said lamely.

  ‘Soon,’ she promised, and he could have sworn she smiled under the veil. Then with a squeeze of his hand, blooming his chest briefly once more, she was gone.

  Soon.

  The word rolled around inside his mind, provoking fanciful thoughts of what was to come. Nathaniel could see himself lifting her veil in front of a hundred onlookers. Yet, her face, no matter how hard he tried to picture it, was a blurry haze of changing facial characteristics. First, she was blonde, then dark haired, blue eyed, then green. A kiss exchanged would send raptures of applause across the hall, and confetti would dance above heads, buoyed by the cries of adulation.

  ‘Soon,’ Nathaniel whispered longingly.

  The tall Scorched man’s beads clacked as he drew in beside Nathaniel.

  ‘You know, Regal, in my land, the bride and groom before their Joining would be held together in total darkness in a windowless hut for a week. You would be allowed only water to stay alive and each other’s company to keep you warm.’

  Nathaniel looked at the man and was startled to find him without a grin, or any sign he was joking.

  ‘I am Emir,’ the man said, mimicking the clenched fist bow of his son. ‘Please forgive my son, I fear his brashness is due to the lack of his brother’s presence,’ he shook his head, but there seemed to be a hint of pride in his smile.

  ‘Nathaniel,’ Nathaniel replied, making an awkward attempt at imitating the man’s bow, ‘is your other son alright?’

  The man shook his head.

  ‘Not here, Regal.’

  There was no malice towards Nathaniel in the dark look that crossed the man’s face, but it was clear that the topic was a dangerous one to broach.

  ‘So, you’re the Samaii Chief?’ Nathaniel said, hurriedly trying to move the conversation elsewhere.

  ‘I am indeed. You don’t seem fond of my people’s marriage rituals?’

  ‘N-no!’ Nathaniel began to bluster, ‘Not at all! I–’

  ‘Calm yourself, Regal,’ the man chuckled. ‘I would agree they are somewhat… strange… for those not familiar with our ways.’

  ‘Errrr… a little,’ Nathaniel admitted with a blush. He was anxious to get to know his bride, but the idea of spending a full week alone in a hut with anyone, let alone a girl, filled him with unease.

  The man’s laughter shook Nathaniel where he stood. ‘I share your concerns, Grey! But think of it this way: once the week has come to pass, you would have forged an unbreakable bond with your promised one. You would know her soul before you know her face.’

  Or be sick to the teeth of each other before the first night is out, Nathaniel thought grimly.

  Chapter 5

  The smell of orchids clung faintly to his nostrils, even by the time Nathaniel had returned to the Great Hall, which had become considerably busier in the last hour. The throng of nobles and fellow guests, from all over Horizon, had since doubled. A steady stream of servants flowed from the kitchens bringing cutlery and jugs of wine to the table.

  Food had been carefully arranged in floral shapes. A coruscating kaleidoscope of colours, competing with the elegant extravagance of the guests’ formal dress, as they flocked slowly to the table.

  Nathaniel was, however, searching the seas of visitors for a flash of green. Though, wherever he looked, he could not find the girl in the green dress.

  He was suddenly very eager for this feast to be over and done with.

  ‘Is that… your Emperor?’

  Naseri’s sudd
en appearance by his side almost caused Nathaniel to jump. He followed the boy’s gaze. The Emperor, quickly distinguishable by the shimmer of his golden gown, was engaged in conversation with a couple of human nobles. They looked incredibly pale, as if they’d never been out in the sun before. They were also rather stiff of neck, looking down upon the Emperor past their noses. Although, that may have had more to do with the ridiculous looking ruffs that encircled their necks.

  Féynians, Nathaniel wagered, noticing the frilly umbrella that the noblewoman held closed by her side. It looked so fragile, he wondered how it managed to withstand a light breeze, let alone the constant rainfall that plagued the land.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Nathaniel replied to Naseri, watching closely as the Emperor gripped the man’s hands and accepted a curtsy from the noblewoman, which was remarkably graceful despite the bulky nature of her dress.

  Nathaniel wasn’t sure why, but something felt… wrong. Perhaps it had been his father’s face - stone-set - or even the sneer he could have sworn the Szar cast at the Emperor’s back, as they followed him to the archway Nathaniel had passed under earlier. The Szar had been in a bad mood, Tolken had said, nothing more. And yet, the discomfort that gnawed at him just wouldn’t go away.

  ‘I need to go,’ Nathaniel said suddenly, adding a rushed ‘sorry’, as he sprang away from the boy. Naseri looked once again confounded as to what he could have possibly done to cause offence.

  Unsure what forces drove him, Nathaniel gave chase just as his father’s head disappeared around the corner.

  It’s probably nothing, he thought.

  It was tradition for the Emperor to take leave before the feast began and give thanks to Athrana for a bountiful harvest, but what were the other two doing? Perhaps they had simply gone to pray with Tolken? Or it was just coincidence that they had gone in the same direction.

  Approaching the archway in a crouched position, Nathaniel took a careful peek around the corner. The Emperor had gone, so too had the Szar and his father.

  They can’t have just vanished, Nathaniel thought, they had to be in one of the rooms. He passed from door to door, pressing his ear against the cold oak but coming back each time with nothing. Maybe they had gone to another prayer room?

  But just then, a loud crash, like that of a handful of metal platters being dropped, alerted him to the third door he had passed. His hand on his rapier, Nathaniel launched himself at the door, barrelling it open with his shoulder.

  This was indeed the prayer room. Candles lay in dozens of little alcoves across the walls providing a faint light from the walkway to the statuette of Athrana, hands cupped out before her, like a beggar asking for change. Behind her, the moonlight cast ethereal patterns over the statue through a beautiful, multi-coloured stain glass window that made up the back of the room.

  Nathaniel’s father, the Szar, and the Emperor and his bodyguard were all here too. However, the manner in which he found them left much to be desired.

  ‘Wh-what’s going on?’

  After gently closing the door behind Nathaniel, his father gripped him by the shoulders and shook him. ‘What are you doing here?’ he stared at Nathaniel with wild eyes, ‘go back to the feast, and put that away!’

  Nathaniel hadn’t even registered that his rapier had left its scabbard. His attentions were focused entirely on the surreal scene laid out before him.

  Beyond the bloodied, crumpled form of the Emperor’s bodyguard, Tolken was on his knees, hands grappling at his assailant, who held him in a chokehold. A dagger lay flat under his chin and the Obsidian Crown had fallen on its side, in between him and his late bodyguard.

  Blue eyes, as cold as ice, regarded Nathaniel.

  ‘I’m going to assume, for your sake, boy, that you have inherited some of your father’s intelligence,’ the Szar growled, digging the tip of the blade deeper into the Emperor’s exposed flesh.

  ‘Sheathe your blade and hold your tongue.’

  ‘Let the child leave, he has no part in this,’ Tolken gurgled through bloody lips.

  ‘Silence traitor!’ Draeden hissed down at his captive, causing the Emperor to groan as he tightened his grip across Tolken’s throat. ‘What did I say, boy?’ the Szar turned back to Nathaniel.

  ‘Do as the Szar commands, Nathaniel, please,’ his father said, eyes pleading with the floor, as if hoping it would swallow him up.

  The rapier twitched by Nathaniel’s side, as he looked between his father and the Szar in utter disbelief at what he was witnessing.

  ‘What… what is this?’ he demanded of his father, ‘what is this?’

  ‘This is for the future of our Empire,’ the Szar said. ‘Here we cut out that last dreaded weakness.’

  ‘What is he talking about? Father? Father!’

  ‘Did you honestly think our dear Jael’s bleeding heart would stop with the Scorched, boy?’ the Szar continued, amidst Nathaniel’s father’s committed display of silence. ‘Oh no! Our beloved Emperor conspires with the animals!’

  Nathaniel felt his breath catch in his throat. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The time has come… for peace,’ the Emperor wheezed. ‘The Lycans need not be our enemies–’

  ‘They are beasts! Do you forget already what they did to Councillor Raël? They have no dignity! They are unworthy of anything but servitude, and they even failed at that!’

  ‘Please, Draeden, let my son leave,’ Nathaniel’s father begged.

  ‘No,’ the Szar pointed the dagger, still tinged with the Emperor’s blood, at Nathaniel. ‘The boy stays. It’s high time he decided where his loyalties lie.’

  ‘Draeden…’

  ‘Quiet, Laevan!’ the Szar snapped at his father. ‘Well, boy?’ Kusk stared at Nathaniel with those cruel, blue eyes.

  Loyalty.

  What Nathaniel saw before him was so far removed from that concept, it beggared belief.

  Had the Szar forgotten the pledge he made? The pledge every Regal made to those who bore the Obsidian Crown.

  Nathaniel made a step forward.

  Till my blood dries up, I give it freely for the people–

  ‘What are you doing, boy?’ The Szar watched Nathaniel advance towards him, rapier in hand, with wide eyes.

  –till my body decays, I give it freely for the Empire–

  –till my heart gives out, I give it freely for the Emperor.

  ‘Stop right where you are!’

  ‘I serve the Emperor,’ Nathaniel said quietly, hand trembling as he raised his rapier, ‘now release hi–’

  Crack!

  Nathaniel’s knees began to buckle. Stars flickering before his eyes, as he collapsed to his knees.

  Rolling on his back, he fleetingly saw his father looking down upon him, as his vision darkened, like a spilled pot of ink oozing across a blank page.

  ‘I’m sorry, my son,’ he thought he heard his father say, just as the last speck of light was blotted out.

  Chapter 6

  Nathaniel awoke, taking several sharp gasps of breath. The air tasted heavy and stale, like ale left too long in the sun. To make matters worse, it was pitch black… wherever he was. Drips of water, echoing in the quiet, were all that permeated the dark, terrible silence.

  Where was he? And how had he gotten here?

  He then became abundantly aware of a throbbing sensation on the back of his head and ran a hand through his hair. Dried blood, cracking between his fingertips, brought a grimace to his face.

  As he withdrew his hand, the memories came flooding back painfully. The Emperor, kneeling on the floor… a dagger held to his throat… the sneer of the Szar… the sadness in his father’s eyes as he blacked out.

  But why?

  Memories of the day fluttered by in their morsels, images flashing before his eyes like sparks, words whispered from the darkest corners of his mind.

  One seemed to stand out from the rest, refusing to be shoved back into the depths of his consciousness.

  A doorway and two men. His father and t
he man with the red-trimmed robes.

  What you’re asking of me is treasonous, his father had said.

  You have until the wedding to decide where you – and your family’s – loyalties lie, the other had replied.

  Nathaniel slapped a hand to his forehead.

  Of course.

  In their own house, his father had been discussing the murder of the Emperor and he’d been too blind to see it.

  But, why was he here? Alive? He was a witness to the whole thing, he was–

  Nathaniel gasped with realisation.

  Tolken’s death would bring an outcry. Doubtless, even if the blame had been pinned on the Emperor’s bodyguard, there would have been long investigations and countless interrogations. But if the Szar could produce a live suspect…

  A quiet anger took hold of Nathaniel, and he clenched his fists so hard he thought the knuckles would pop off. Then they fell limply by his side.

  He had fought and he had lost. But why? Even with his father standing beside the Szar, it had felt right to take a stand. Yet it was he sitting in the cold, while the Szar, and his father, slept snuggly.

  NO! he thought resolutely, I will not waste away here! He had to escape, he had to tell everyone. Surely people would believe him! Why would he want to kill the Emperor? And on his own wedding day no less!

  He tried to jump to his feet but was snatched back to the uneven cobbles, just as soon before he could manage to put his weight on one leg.

  Groaning as he pushed himself back against the wall, Nathaniel ran a hand across an arm, cursing softly when it brushed against metal.

  He’d been chained to the wall, like an animal.

  The only way it could have been more humiliating would have been if they fitted him with the old chain-suits that had once been used for Lycans.

  Steel clacked about the stone as he kicked his legs out in frustration. For how long was the Szar intent on keeping him down here?

  The sound of a heavy door screeching brought Nathaniel back from contemplating his fate. As it was prised open, he brought himself up to his knees, with the loud grunts of the man pushing it echoing all the way down to his cell.

  Footsteps followed the grunts. Amber drops of light illuminating parts of the staircase that led down to the barred pit in which Nathaniel was chained. The drops spread slowly, collecting together in pools as the footsteps came ever closer. As its bearer descended the steps, this flame, although so small in its lantern, seemed, to Nathaniel’s ill-adjusted eyes, to be almost blinding.