Dinavhek- The Fall

by Tal'urra Steelfang

  It was absurd, he knew, but he didn't care. Disturbing revelations from the past few days aside, he was happier with his life now than he was before. He had to be grateful for that.

  “Yeah, I guess it has.”

  The prince glanced at her, having forgotten that she was there in the midst of his internal monologue. He expected her to question him, to prod at him relentlessly like everyone else always seemed to, but here she was, agreeing with him! For once, he didn't have to justify his thoughts, or his feelings. For once, he was safe to simply feel, and he was relieved.

  “You never did tell us what happened yesterday, but I suppose you're waiting, right?”

  “I'm sorry, Aasimah. But, yes, I have to. I need to.”

  “I understand.”

  Adsuni gave her a small half-smile. She knew what it was like to bear witness to something so painful. He had respected her need for space after the battle of Dre'shii, and she was repaying him now in kind.

  “Has Itholera said anything?” he asked.

  “No, she told us that it would be better coming from you.”

  The prince nodded. “I'm grateful. To both of you, that is. For everything you do around here. I hope you know that.”

  Aasimah cocked her head to the side, looking at him curiously. When the prince did not elaborate, she left him alone to his thoughts, those of which ran quite dark that morning.

  “The aide to Takirar's king is coming here?” Itholera asked, sharing a mutually uneasy glance with Aasimah.

  “Yes, that's what my father tells me,” Glanen confirmed, standing around as Itholera washed dishes, and Aasimah set the table. “He escorted the king, as his personal guard, you know. He told me that Lady Kharqa is rather severe in temperament, and expects a great deal from those she deigns to speak with. I don't think this bodes very well for our friend.”

  “Friend?” Aasimah asked skeptically.

  “The prince,” he clarified.

  “I know who you meant, but, really? Friend?”

  “Why, yes,” Glanen said with a slight frown. “Do you feel otherwise?”

  “The prince is kind to us, more than I expected he would be, but we're still a world apart. I hardly count him as my friend, and I've no doubt he feels the same about both of us,” she finished, pointing at herself and Itholera.

  Itholera immediately stopped what she was doing, shocked. Aasimah was always blunt and honest, but this?

  “Aasimah, that's—” she started to say.

  “—cruel,” Glanen finished, looking at Aasimah as if she had sprouted a second head. “I can't believe you feel that way. The prince sees no difference between any of us, I am certain that he sees you as a friend.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Do you feel the same about me?”

  Aasimah took a breath, steadying herself. She didn't want to admit it, but she felt a connection of sorts to the knight. They were opposite in every possible way, when it came to their personalities and life histories, but underneath all those differences, there was a sort of comradeship that they'd developed.

  Knowing that she was about to reject it entirely, she met Glanen's eyes and said, “yes, I do.”

  He looked as if he had been struck.

  “We're all from completely different worlds. At least she,” Aasimah added, nodding in Itholera's direction, “is of noble birth. But me? I've always been street trash. My people never picked back up and rebuilt whenever our homes were raided – those of us that survived just moved on. That was my group, my life, by the way. The road was our home.

  “Do you know what it's like to be playing with your friends one moment, and find yourself running for your life the very next? It wasn't just bandits that came after us, the noblemen did, too. Men of your stature.”

  “Aasimah!” Itholera gasped.

  “We would never—” Glanen said. “My comrades and I might have different ideas from time to time, but I assure you, Lady Aasimah, none of us have ever chased after poor children for the sport of it.”

  Itholera's expression darkened. Glanen hadn't noticed, but Aasimah had, and she thought she knew why.

  “See,” Aasimah said, “she knows. How many of her family members took part in it?”

  Glanen looked at poor Itholera for support.

  It seemed as if she were about to say something, but she stopped short, her striking blue eyes glossy with unshed tears.

  “We saw something, yesterday,” came the prince's voice from behind them. All three turned abruptly to see the young man standing in the open doorway. Though he spoke to all of them, his eyes were fixed upon Aasimah. He didn't appear as hurt by her words as Glanen, but there was a noticeable strain in his voice when he spoke next.

  “I'm sorry, Glanen, but you deserve to know.”

  “What? It's not true – my prince, tell me it isn't!”

  The prince looked upon him with pitying eyes. “I-I'm sorry... I took Itholera with me to the market yesterday. We... we found ourselves separated from our guards. I did something – something stupid, if I'm being honest. I sort of... went off, on my own, to look for them.”

  “You left her alone?” Aasimah asked.

  “I cane take care of myself!” Itholera said defiantly. “Besides, I ran after him.”

  “She caught up to me. We heard screaming. It sounded like a child, and I followed the sound. When I got there, I saw our guards beating a young boy. One of them even choked him. They claimed he was an assassin, and they did recover a knife from him, but the whole situation just felt wrong to me.”

  Glanen paled. He wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn't find the words. He seemed hopeful that it was the end of their tale, but then, the prince drove the knife home, twisting it in his heart.

  “Sir Konrad was there. He saw us stray from the market and followed us. He had the boy taken away. That's... that's why he escorted us home, and brought me up to my father's chambers. I'm sorry, Glanen.”

  The young knight said absolutely nothing. For the first time in his life, he was truly speechless. It was a painful sight; Adsuni was used to being able to hear his friend from the opposite end of the palace. The Glanen he knew was loud and proud, but now, he almost seemed to cower before him. Itholera observed his plight sympathetically. Aasimah just stared hard at the prince, her expression unreadable.

  “Is this what you were going to tell us?” Glanen finally asked, directing his question at Itholera.

  She remained silent, but gave him the slightest of nods in affirmation.

  “Prince, I request to be dismissed,” he said, approaching Adsuni. “I have something I need to take care of.”

  His friend looked at him sadly. “You have my blessing. Take all the time you need.”

  Glanen departed without another word, and so, too, did the prince, but not before looking back at Aasimah.

  “How could you say they're not our friends?” Itholera asked her, voice heavy with disapproval. “After everything we've been through, after everything we've seen. They reunited us! How can you be so cold?”

  “They're not our friends. Not really. I don't doubt they like us, and in their own way, maybe they even do think of us as friends. I... like them, too, for what it's worth” Aasimah said, reluctantly. “But we're not friends. As long as we are servants, as long as they are a knight and a prince, we are not the same. We'll never be the same. And neither will you and I.”

  “I would have thought, after all this time, you'd see things differently.”

  Aasimah strode past her, avoiding her judging eyes.

  “You thought wrong.”

  Glanen had never been one to let things go. He was a man of extremes; he always seemed to care more about a particular subject than others around him seemed to, to the point where almost seemed fanatical in his principles and his loyalties. He was not about to let go of his friend's disturbing news, either.

  He wasted no time in seeking out his captain, once he reached the Knight Academy. H
e knew the captain would be busy training new recruits, but he knew, too, that the man would know where his father was. Sir Konrad hadn't been home when Glanen stopped by, not that the young man expected him to be; like his son, Konrad wasn't happy unless he was working, and he only returned home when it was time to sleep. Glanen saw his father at the Academy far more often than he saw him anywhere else.

  “Captain,” Glanen called, weaving through dozens of clumsy young men, many of whom were sparring. “Captain Bryste!”

  Bryste was an older fellow with an impressive drooping black mustache and a heavily battle-scarred face. He was one of the most experienced men among the Knighthood, and as such, he was a rather terse and almost unnecessarily strict individual. He would know where to find Sir Konrad.

  “What do you want?” he asked, clearly irritated over being disturbed in the middle of a lesson.

  The poor young fellow who had been about to spar with him breathed a sigh of relief, thinking himself saved. Glanen almost pitied the fellow.

  “Is my father around?” Glanen asked, getting right to the point.

  “Sir Konrad,” Bryste corrected. “You are always to call him Sir Konrad. Leave the 'father' talk for home.”

  “Sir Konrad is your father?” the younger recruit asked incredulously.

  The other two ignored him.

  “Yes, where is my – where is Sir Konrad?” Glanen asked, correcting himself just in time.

  Bryste scratched at his chin. “I haven't seen him since yesterday morning. If he is here, he's probably in the armory. He is supposed to be teaching third company about proper weapon maintenance.”

  “Right, thanks, I'll look there!”

  “Wait!” Bryste called.

  Glanen halted.

  “What is this about? You know better than to interrupt my lessons.”

  “I can't tell you, sir. It's just very important that I find my father.”

  Bryste stared him down, but Glanen stood tall, matching him almost defiantly. “Very well,” his captain said stiffly. “But don't expect to dodge the consequences of this little interruption so easily. I'll be working you hard over the next week.”

  “I know, sir,” Glanen said with a smile, before heading off toward the armory. Bryste had been mostly correct about his father's whereabouts; though Konrad was not actually in the armory, they'd ran into each other on the way there.

  “Glanen!” Konrad said, beaming. “I'm surprised to see you here today. I thought you were with the prince!”

  “I was.”

  Konrad's expression fell, but only for a moment. When had Glanen ever been so taciturn? “What brings you here?”

  “Where is the boy, father?”

  Sir Konrad's eyes turned cold. “Boy? What boy?”

  “The one you had sent away. Tell me it isn't true, father. The Knighthood must have better things to do than imprison children!”

  Konrad glanced about nervously; there were few people in the halls, thankfully, but he didn't want the news spreading. His underlings, as well as his superiors, were not immune to gossip. He reached out and grabbed his son by the arm, pulling him into one of the storage rooms.

  “What did you hear?” he demanded.

  Glanen stared at him in abject horror. “No, I thought... I hoped they were mistaken. Is it true?”

  His father grimaced. “Yes, it's true. It was all I could do in the moment.”

  “Where is the boy, now?”

  “That is of no concern to you,” his father answered sharply.

  “Yes, it is! I am a knight of Dinavhek, it is my duty—”

  “—to listen to your superiors, and do as you are told. My son, it is time for you to grow up and leave these foolish ideals behind. Why do you think the most action you see is the training ground? Why do you think you have experienced so few battles? Why, do you suppose, you spend the majority of your time at the palace, instead of out on the field, with the rest of your peers?”

  Glanen didn't answer, and he didn't have to, for his father gave him little time to.

  “You are a symbol of hope to our people, not a true knight. The commonfolk need someone to admire. You must understand, their approval towards the Knighthood was lower than it ever had been. You weren't fit for real battle. That you ended up in that village, during the raid—”

  “Dre'shii.”

  Konrad's jaw tightened. “Dre'shii,” he said, humoring his son. “It was an accident. The Knighthood never would have dispatched you, if they had known first. I certainly would not have let you go. I'm glad that you returned home, safe,” he added, “but you were a fool to rush headlong into such a dangerous situation.”

  “That's why I was tasked with the rebuilding efforts,” Glanen said, realizing the painful truth.

  “Yes,” Sir Konrad said slowly, deliberately.

  “Father, where is the boy?”

  “He is where he should be. I cannot tell you any more.”

  Glanen opened his mouth, about to protest, before his father interrupted, twisting the knife even deeper into the young man's heart:

  “This is our way. Put aside your foolish fantasies and accept your fate for what it is. You are a knight of Dinavhek, and it is time you learn what that really means.”

  Chapter 15

  Of Mice and Royalty

  ∞∞∞

  Lady Kharqa from Takirar had been greeted most graciously upon entry of the Dinavhene palace. Of course, King Zaeem would have it no other way. It did not matter that everyone else currently in the palace was in a rather foul mood, for they all knew the stakes were high in this meeting, and as such, they all did exactly as they were told.

  Every resident of the palace presented their own perfected image, so much so that no guest would recognize the underlying tension for what it was. The guest of the evening was greeted cordially by the King, himself, and his son, who bowed politely in deference to the lady. The servants were not to be seen, but that was to be expected, as they were of little consequence to her. If they were good at their tasks, they would rarely, if ever, be seen that night.

  “Lady,” King Zaeem said, taking her offered hand and bestowing a somewhat clumsy kiss upon her knuckles.

  Bless him, he tried, is what a forgiving and well-mannered woman might think. Lady Kharqa was neither of those things, and so, she merely stared at him with a smile that did not reach her grey eyes. Her raven-black hair was twisted into an elegant bun, and she wore the finest golden jewelry that any person had ever laid eyes upon. She was the very picture of cold elegance.

  She was no doubt unimpressed by the near-ruined state of the palace, but to the casual observer, there was a certain charm to it. Despite the worn-down appearance of the building, King and Prince maintained a dignified air, acting as though nothing were amiss. They were noblemen through and through.

  “Your home is quite... warm,” said Lady Kharqa, obviously struggling to find something pleasant to say about it.

  Though the prince's eyes flashed ever so briefly, her disapproval was lost on the king, who accepted her compliment as a man dying of thirst might accept a single drop of water. In this case, the water might well be poisoned, but what did he know?

  “Thank you, my dear!” Zaeem said eagerly. “It is my pride and joy, this palace. After centuries of war, it still stands, truly a symbol of hope among the Dinavhene people.”

  It's a miracle that it even is still standing, thought the prince. He had noticed the woman's disdain toward his home, unlike his father, and he knew that she must be entertaining similar thoughts. For some reason, that idea soured his mood completely.

  Before either of them had a chance to say any more, Lady Kharqa shed her coat, casually dumping it into the prince's surprised arms.

  “Now, then, shall we get to the point of this meeting?” she said, ignoring Adsuni entirely in favor of casting a rather suggestive glance at his father.

  “Eh? My lady, I beg your pardon, for I am just as eager to proceed with our meeting, but yo
u seem to have misplaced your belongings.”

  The woman briefly shifted her attention toward Adsuni.

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “Good lady, he – why, that is, to say... he is my son.”

  Her eyebrows arched, and she stared again at the prince, this time observing him for far longer. She had that same unbreakable, hard stare that he had grown used to with Aasimah, but there was a notable difference between the two.

  Aasimah simply read him, like an open book. Her gaze was not meant to intimidate, but to observe. Lady Kharqa looked to be sizing him up, and it was evident to the prince that she did not like what she saw.

  The feeling was mutual.

  “I see.”

  Apologies were beyond her, it seemed.

  “Right, well, we'd best be getting along! There is much to show you, and I fear we won't have enough time for it all.”

  “Have I arrived late?” Lady Kharqa asked, as the king began to lead them out.

  Zaeem stammered. “No, not at all, good lady! You have arrived just on time,” he assured her, realizing his mistake too late.

  Kharqa gave a lazy wave of her hand, dismissing his unspoken apology.

  “I'll just go check on dinner,” the prince said, grasping at whatever excuse he could to get as far away from the woman as possible. It was an incredibly rude thing for him to do, but he did not care, and he seriously doubted that she had any concept of rudeness at all.

  “My boy, I am sure dinner is coming along just fine!”

  “I-I know, I just wanted to make sure that everything is going according to plan,” he said, scrambling desperately to find a believable excuse for his departure.

  “Oh, do let him,” Lady Kharqa said, looking down upon the prince. “We have matters to discuss that might not be suitable for the... prince.”