by Kyra Gregory
Blinking the terror from his eyes, giving himself a second to breathe, and bask in the relief his mother felt, Riffin saw a shadow looming over them.
His father had arrived. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his jaw was tense and his nostrils flared. It wasn’t often that Riffin witnessed his father’s ire—a thing he was told of but mostly shielded from—but he reckoned this was just a taste of it.
His mother looked up at him, only for his father’s attentions to be trained on Thane and nobody else. He couldn’t bear the sound of him sobbing, seeming as though he shivered as he turned on his heel and went to storm out of the room. His mother flew to her feet, abandoning Thane in Riffin’s embrace, and grabbed his arm, stopping him from going any further.
He couldn’t tell what it was she said. She seemed angry at first—stern like she always did when speaking to her subjects—and, then, as his father’s stance softened and he cast his gaze back in Thane’s direction, she grew sympathetic, stroking his clenched fist as though he was the one that needed the comfort.
Riffin bent over, his forehead inches from the floor as he took on Thane’s position. “You’ll be all right,” he whispered, running his fingers through his hair.
His mother and father returned, crouching down beside them. “Let’s get you to bed,” his father sighed, slipping his hands beneath his arms.
“In my room,” Riffin said. As Thane faded in and out, resting his head on the crook of his father’s shoulder, a shiver ran down Riffin’s spine. “I don’t want him to be alone,” he whispered.
He wasn’t sure what it was he said that caused a smile to light up his father’s face, or what he did to deserve the gentle tussle of his hair from his father’s large hand. All he knew was that they listened to him, carrying Thane’s tired figure to his chambers.
Chapter 9
CURLED ON HIS SIDE, huddled up to keep warm, Thane slept. Riffin thought he slept like the dead did; almost entirely unmoving, with nothing but the occasional hitch of his breath to tell him he was alive. His father couldn’t stomach it. After having laid him in his bed, he left to summon the physician and never returned. His mother, on the other hand, remained seated in a chair beside the window.
Pensive, Riffin couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts went through her head. He wondered if she was anything like him, with her mind entirely on the boy in the bed, or, if she was the Queen again, and capable of thinking of nothing but the politics that ran through her kingdoms.
It was a lesson he’d learnt young, a great deal before his tenth birthday. His mother’s actions may not always appear to be those of a mother, with the interest of her family and loved ones at heart, but those of a Queen, meant to rule so that the family could maintain that position.
Sliding off the bed, casting one last look in Thane’s direction, he crept closer to her. He hunched his shoulders, shrinking to appear almost as small as possible, unwilling to take up much of her space as he approached.
When he took a seat across from her, his hands clasped between his knees, she tore her eyes away from the view outside and laid them upon him. They softened again—his mother had returned. “He’ll be all right,” she told him.
“Why did this happen?” he asked, shrugging a shoulder.
She pursed her lips together, considering her words carefully. “Thane’s lessons are different to yours,” she said, matter-of-factly. “He was afraid and—”
“I already know that,” he said, cutting her off.
She bit her bottom lip, a flash of anger in her eyes—she wasn’t used to being interrupted.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
An acceptance of his apology flashed across her brows.
With the doors left wide open, allowing the physician to come and go, Ewin entered the room like a whirlwind. He never saw them seated beneath the window, turning to face the bed where Thane was lying.
Riffin shot out of his seat, rushing to stand between the two before his mother could even think to act. “Leave him alone,” he said.
Ewin took a step back, surprised by the ferocity in his eyes. “How is he?” he asked, smiling.
“No good, thanks to you,” Riffin countered, advancing towards him. “Leave him alone. He needs to rest. No more lessons.”
His mother rose from her seat, arms folded over her chest and her head hung low.
Ewin looked her way with a short bow of his head.
“The state my son found yours in today has troubled him a great deal,” she declared.
Ewin bit the inside of his cheek, breathing out heavily. Putting on a soft smile, he lowered himself to Riffin’s height. “Thane’s lessons are of great importance,” he said. “With what he learns, Thane will be better at protecting you and your family from danger when you’re older.”
Riffin shook his head stubbornly, the breeze of doing so a relief against the burning of his reddened face. “He can’t protect anyone if he’s dead because of your lessons!” he countered.
Ewin’s smile grew. “You misunderstand—”
“No!” he barked, causing his mother and father to jump. “You misunderstand! Thane is my family and I will protect him!”
The smile fell from Ewin’s face and he bowed his head, reiterating, “When you’re older and when you’re King, you’ll understand why his lessons are important.”
Riffin shook his head again. “I won’t be that sort of King,” he said. “Never!”
Ewin pursed his lips together and that smile returned, fanning the flames of anger. “You might not understand this now, but you’ll understand it when you’re King,” he said.
Stubborn, Riffin shook his head. He wouldn’t change his mind, no matter how many times Ewin tried to repeat himself. “I won’t,” he said.
His mother stepped closer. Her shadow loomed over them both. Her hand fell to his shoulder, tempering his anger somewhat. “Thane will remain here until we’re certain this has passed,” she said, a declaration to hm, as well as Thane’s father. “You’re dismissed,” she added, meeting Ewin’s gaze.
“Your Majesty—”
“She said you’re dismissed,” Riffin growled before he could say another word.
Ewin licked his lips, wiping away the temptation to smile, and shifted his weight. “Spoken like a true King,” he said.
Riffin’s breathing remained heavy as he watched Ewin leave, his eyes stinging.
His mother’s fingers squeezed his shoulder and her lips fell to the top of his head. “Steer your heart away from anger and return to where you’re most needed,” she whispered.
Her words were a bath of ice cold water against the burning rage he felt across his skin. In the blink of an eye, the anger abated long enough for him to come to his senses and to return to his bed where Thane rested.
Chapter 10
WHILE THE PALACE BUSTLED with guards and servants thrown into action, preparing for the Queen and her Heir’s departure, the throne room remained largely in silence.
Deros and the Queen spoke quietly over their maps, going over their tactics, all the while composing notes and letters. Gyles and Riffin did the same, signing, folding and stamping their letters to be whisked off by the messengers. One by one, their sleeping armies would fall into position, and await their rulers arrival before marching on Ludorum.
Too jittery to sit still, Riffin leaned over the marble-topped table, hunched over as he composed his letters with a steady hand.
“What are you doing here?” Gyles asked, leaning forward in his seat across from him.
Riffin’s gaze flickered from his uncle to the map beneath the palm of his hand, flicking his pen against it. “My duty?” he tried.
Gyles’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?” he asked.
Riffin resisted scoffing. “Because I have to be here,” he replied.
Gyles chewed his bottom lip, taking a pause. His attention turned to Deros and the Queen, albeit for only a second. His gaze softened then, and, for a moment, he seeme
d vacant, as though he’d been transported into the past. “You think you’re doing what you need to do to become more like the ruler your mother is, but your mother never left a man to die by himself—I did,” he said.
Riffin shifted his weight, huffing with a roll of his eyes. “Thane’s not alone and Thane’s not dying,” he said.
Gyles didn’t pause this time. His eyes, intense, never left his. “Will you still be that confident if the worst happens?” he asked. “Will you be able to live with yourself if you didn’t think you did everything in your power to care for the ones you love?”
Riffin sucked in a deep breath, ripping himself away from his post, turning to his mother. The words that left his mouth never lingered needlessly, never needed to be considered. “I can’t do this,” he said. “I need to see to Thane.”
He expected disappointment, maybe a sigh and a roll of his mother’s eyes. But he needn’t have doubted his mother—he needn’t have doubted who she was. Gyles was right. In the end, her heart was always in the right place.
He felt his mouth go dry. His next breath caught in the back of his throat as the realisation dawned on him. “I might never be the sort of King who could look passed this,” he said.
A smile lit up on her face. “I never asked you to be,” she whispered. She cocked her chin towards the door behind him, “Go,” she said. “We can manage.”
Gratitude flooded his expression as he smiled at her. There was no need for words, not even to Gyles. A look—a simple glance his way as he went to dash out of the room—said everything he needed.
He’d only made it half way down the corridor when footsteps echoed behind him at a pace that matched his own. Glancing over his shoulder, his father slowed to meet him. Reluctance, hesitation, perhaps a little bit of shame, etched into his features. “I haven’t stopped thinking about him,” he whispered.
While his father’s sole concern was for leaving his wife to tend to the battle ahead by herself, his concern for Thane matched it, and Riffin couldn’t be more grateful.
Like it or not, whether he agreed or not, his mother’s words lingered in the back of his mind. They hadn’t been informed of any progress in the last few hours. If Thane was anything like he’d left him, the end of his life was bound to be on the horizon.
He couldn’t stomach it. He couldn’t bare to think about it. Having his father there would provide little support—a drop in the ocean—but it was just about all he could hope for.
Guards posted at the door to Thane’s chambers were unmistakably somber, doing little to put his mind at ease. When they entered, the cool breeze hit them. Meant to combat the smell of sweat, bile and blood, the incense burned and the balcony doors had been left wide open.
Neyva sat closest to him, clasping Thane’s hand against the bedding. His features were frighteningly pale against the rich reds and golds of his bedding, his eyes closed, his grimace against the pain telling Riffin and his father that he was still very much alive.
Malia stood at a distance, arms folded over her chest, visibly resisting the urge to pace.
“How is he?” Riffin asked her.
She opened her mouth to reply, only for it to fall shut again, the words unbearable to speak. She took one glance Thane’s way, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head—the only response she could muster.
Riffin swallowed thickly, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of her fingers. “Go and get some rest,” he said. “We’ll take over from here.”
Malia shook her head, “No,” she croaked, softly. “He won’t allow the servants in—not any of the guards either. We’re all he has.”
His father was a great deal braver than he was. He took the first steps towards him, speaking to Neyva quietly so as not to disturb him.
Riffin made a much slower approach. While providing his sister with comfort lingered in the back of his mind, arriving at Thane’s side struck all sense of manners from him.
It hadn’t been long—a day and a bit—and Thane looked gaunt already, as though he were wasting away. Slick with sweat, his face only seemed a little thinner than usual. But the dark circles under his eyes were indicative of the little sleep he’d received, his lips parted ever so slightly, stained a rosy colour not from life but from the blood that had seeped into the fine lines.
His gold curls stuck to his features and, all fear aside, he couldn’t help but reach out and brush them away from his face. The touch of his skin sent a shiver running down his spine. His skin was hot to the touch. Another wince of pain crossed his features—Riffin recoiled and Neyva leaned in further, grasping his hand and pressing kisses to the back of his fingers.
He slumped into the cushions that supported him, propped up as much as possible. No longer standing tall, dressed in his thick black and gold coats, he seemed small, almost insignificant. The linen shirt that clung to him with sweat, sheer against the contours of his muscle, appeared to have a great deal more material on it than necessary.
“Has he woken at all?” he asked, finally.
“Fleetingly,” she whispered. “To protest being moved, mostly.”
If so much as being moved caused him enough discomfort to stir, he wanted nothing more than to allow him to relish in the peace slumber might’ve brought him.
Neyva cocked her chin in the direction of the nightstand, “He’s prepared himself some cures but...” She shook her head, licking her lips, striking the negativity from her mouth. “Seems to me none of it has done him any good.”
Riffin picked the cup off the nightstand, sniffing it. Putride. He couldn’t imagine drinking the thick black substance would do him any good, but he wasn’t one to dismiss Thane’s knowledge on the subject. “He’ll pull through,” he said. “He always does.”
Neyva mustered a smile, allowing her lips to brush the back of his hand, as though hoping he would feel her smile and understand the humour behind her remark. “He always was stubborn,” she said.
The two laughed, but the chuckle that had them pause came from Thane himself.
Stirring ever so slightly, he looked at them both from beneath half-lidded eyes, a touch of amusement on his face.
Riffin’s stomach fell. How he could stand to look amused by anything in his state, he had no idea.
“Can we get you something?” Neyva asked, brushing the sweat from his cheeks.
He did his best to smile and shook his head. That was about all he could manage, resting his cheek against the pillow, leaving the conscious world behind for a little while longer.
The thought that short laughter and a smile was about all he could manage, the mood grew a great deal darker. Nobody said a word, each personally struggling with the prospect that he could leave them in his sleep.
At least he smiled, they each thought. At least he laughed.
Ample frustrated, his father shifted his weight, breathing out a heavy sigh that cut through everyone’s thoughts. “He needs to be cleaned up,” he said. “Lying in the sweat, the sick and the blood—that won’t do him any good.”
He knew he was right. Thane wasn’t dead yet—there was no sense acting like it.
But he’d smiled. He was happy. He was alive.
What if touching him changed all that?
Nonetheless, the decision had been made. They knew it was right.
Malia refilled the washing basin at his bedside with clean water, dropping a few drops of perfume into it.
Neyva left his side for a fraction of a moment, retrieving a clean linen shirt, readying it beside them.
It was a brisk, cautious, coordinated effort. Riffin moved closest to Thane, tucking a hand beneath his arm, while his father climbed onto the bed and did the same on the other side.
They were quick as they lifted him from the cushions, cutting away at the filthy shirt, placing it on the ground.
As Thane groaned in pain, Riffin cradled his head in his hand as Neyva wiped down his neck and chest. Malia handed him a second cloth and, with a light touch, he wiped d
own his shoulders and back. His father dried him down and, before long, the clean shirt replaced the old one.
They realised the door had opened once they stopped holding their breath. Glancing in its direction, Ewin stood at a distance, taken by surprise by the sight before him.
Without a word, he turned on his heel and left, pulling the door shut behind him.
His father sucked in a breath through his teeth, nostrils flaring with a familiar anger. He went to move, ready to lay Thane down and follow the man out.
“No,” Neyva said, placing her hand over his. Her tone grew deeper then. Absent the soft-spoken, grief-stricken woman she was only moments earlier, her eyes filled with a rage to mirror her father’s, and her tone darkened to match her mother’s. “This one’s mine,” she said.
Chapter 11
THROWING OPEN THE DOOR to Thane’s chambers, Neyva flew out into the corridor, light on her feet. “What will it take for you to stop treating him like this?” she asked.
Ewin came to an abrupt stop, half-glancing over his shoulder. He didn’t dare ask it—not out loud—but he didn’t seem to fathom what she meant.
“Thane did everything right,” she declared, impassioned. “He always did his duty—it was always his priority. He was never manipulative, he never stepped out of line. I love him and I cannot even begin to fathom what it is you think is so wrong with that,” she said.
Ewin hung his head, but she knew him better than to assume it meant his defeat and agreement.
Her shoulders dropped but the tension never left her. Hands balled into fists against her skirt, she did her utmost to abate the anger, all the while maintaining her assertion. Dread filled her tone at the prospect of talking Ewin up. The truth was, Thane became the man he grew to be all thanks to his father. His methods were harsh, they were cruel and they were unorthodox, and while she knew Thane could’ve become a good person without all that, Ewin’s well-intentioned train of thought was all that kept her from lashing out and telling him exactly how she felt about him. “You raised a caring, considerate, loyal, loving young man and you have done nothing but shit on his efforts to be exactly the person you wanted him to be.