Circle of Reign

by Jacob Cooper

  “The evidence has been widely published throughout the Realm, posted on nearly every public board in every city and town in every province. I assure you, Lady Kerr, the Minister of Law has reviewed the Archiver’s records and they are the basis for the High Duke’s position and actions,” said a stuffy man drabbed in a gray robe with dark red trim. This was Tyjil, the High Duke’s closest advisor. The words he spoke seemed to sliver from his mouth as poison dripping from a hydraf: slippery, serpent-like creatures from the deep. Moira thought it a fitting description for the ophidian-looking man.

  “Actions?” Moira had whispered the word more than spoken it. She took a step closer to Wellyn, not addressing her rebuttal to Tyjil. “Is that what you call what you did? Actions? No hearing, no chance for evidence to be presented? Just silent execution in the night—”

  “Lady Kerr,” Tyjil interrupted, feigning outrage at her words. “Your husband’s death was most unfortunate, but you cannot seriously think to accuse the High Duke of being complicit. Lord Kerr met with some unknown foe without the walls of his hold, on his own. We do not know what transpired, other than he was overcome. His loss, as well as that of your daughter, was most regrettable, but it was no more than mere days before his majesty would have been forced to take him into custody for the charges of which we now speak. I again assure you, the evidence is most damning. In many ways, your husband’s fall was—” Tyjil stopped as if thinking for the appropriate word. “—a mercy,” he finally said, looking pleased with himself.

  “My daughter,” Moira said, her words cold and flat, “is not dead.” Shayla came forward and touched Lady Kerr lightly on the arm.

  “My Lady, let us retreat for now.” Moira shook her off.

  “Then, help me understand where she could possibly be,” the High Duke said dismissively. “Even your own scouts and men could not find her. It’s not surprising that our search parties would not have found a wood-dweller who was hiding—”

  Hiding? Moira thought. Why would she be hiding? Why would Wellyn think she was? She did not give voice to her ponderings.

  “—but trained Arlethian soldiers? Your husband’s own hold guard? And why would she not have returned home? No, my Lady, I’m sorry. It’s just not reasonable to believe she is still alive. It’s all just conjecture that she was even involved in any way when Thannuel was overcome. Who’s to say these unfortunate events are even related?”

  “I felt her.” Moira came back with ice in her voice. “I felt both of them, several others as well, including at least one horse. I felt the conflict through the ground. They were not more than a quarter league from the walls of the hold. But…” She stopped and looked away slightly, her lips still parted. Shayla put a hand on her arm, not in a restraining but a comforting manner.

  “But?” Tyjil encouraged with feigned interest.

  “We were too late. Too slow.” The admission was barely audible. There it was again. The guilt. She remembered how Aiden, master of the hold guard, had not slept for nearly three days as he relentlessly searched the forest for leagues in every direction. He probably punished himself more than she did, physically at least. How he had idolized Thannuel. The amount of times he begged her forgiveness was only matched by the amount of times she refused to forgive him, for there was nothing to forgive.

  “Moira, please,” Wellyn entreated with a more reasonable tone, scooting forward slightly in his throne. “Accept the truth of the situation. Your husband was not who you thought he was, who any of us thought he was. His plotting was no doubt to blame for your daughter’s death as well, no matter how it happened. This is my final declaration on the matter. The Granite Throne has spoken.”

  This snapped Moira’s attention back to the moment. “Do not speak of my daughter as if dead again. She is alive.”

  Moira Kerr stood there before the Granite Throne, staring into Wellyn’s eyes. He did not look away, doing his best to emanate confidence and resolve. But she saw it. A shadow of doubt flashed through his eyes, giving Moira a sliver of the evidence she sought. All this was an act on her part, though the words she spoke were truly how she felt, to get some kind of reaction that would justify her, vindicate her feelings.

  My suspicions.

  Wellyn was supernal at statecraft, having been groomed his entire life for when he would sit upon the Granite Throne. He was in fact, a genius. Arrogant, manipulative and self-serving, but a genius nevertheless. If Emeron Wellyn was anything, he was methodical and deliberate. But Moira saw what could never be taken from a person, truth coming forth in the eyes. Doubt was well concealed within the High Duke, behind thick mental and emotional walls, but these walls were not impervious. The eyes always revealed the truth if one stared long enough, and she had unmistakably seen through a fissure in his defensive walls.

  Though not sure which part of the arguments she had levied against the High Duke had caused his internal doubt, she smiled, satisfied. It was enough to confirm that he was not completely innocent in this diabolical conspiracy, and further, that there was in fact a plot being employed. Wellyn appeared to notice her attitudinal vicissitude and sat back in his throne, wary.

  She would need to be cautious, especially now.

  “Please forgive a grieving widow’s outbursts, my Liege.” She bowed slightly, but the smile remained. Wellyn was visibly unnerved, but he did not react with words. “I and those with me humbly request your safe leave.”

  Wellyn nodded ever so slightly.

  In the manner consistent with the Realm’s customs, Moira and her entourage of a few common servants took three steps backward while still facing the High Duke, then turned and walked out of the chamber hall.

  Shane took the message from the blue falcon’s left leg and unfolded it. The bird of prey had landed on the perch designed for a winged messenger on the east wall of the hold. With steady hands, the hold master silently absorbed the contents of the message. The falcon cawed impatiently.

  “Well?” a man of medium height and stocky build behind him asked. He was one of the common servants Shane had recruited. Hadik, Shane recalled.

  “Lady Kerr left Iskele two days ago. She will likely arrive tomorrow,” Shane reported.

  “Our orders?” Hadik asked.

  Our orders? Shane repeated in his mind. Our? It occurred to him that he was indeed part of them now. The falcon screeched again. He took a strip of dried meat from his pocket and held out his hand to the bird. It pecked a couple times at the food, as if to test it, and then grabbed it between its beak and flew away to consume its reward in private.

  “Fisherman, what else does the parchment read?” Hadik again asked without trying to hide his condescending tone. Shane had a fleeting thought of turning on the man with his short blade and dispatching him before he could react. He knew he could do it. I am more hunter than fisherman, he thought. Hadik, though a Khansian Guard, was not a wood-dweller. If he acted quickly, without warning, he could get behind him and—but no. The consequences of such an action would no doubt end his life as well as his family’s.

  Instead Shane handed the message to Hadik to read for himself.

  “We are to act upon her return,” Hadik announced in military fashion.

  “Aye,” Shane said flatly without meeting the Khan’s eyes. “We have little time.”

  Hedron snuck his sister in through a crevice of the eastern section of the north-facing wall at dusk. An oak tree’s root that protruded from the ground had split the wall enough for Reign to fit through rather easily, although Hedron often received a few scrapes when he squeezed through. Though they were twins, he was almost a full head taller than Reign and certainly broader in the chest and shoulders.

  “You won’t believe it!” Hedron whispered excitedly. “We have stew with real meat! And even a little mead. Mother doesn’t know that I know where it is. Shane showed me yesterday and gave me a couple sips. Mother won’t notice if we sneak only a little.”

  Reign did not share her brother’s excitement. She moved toward
the kitchens with a bit of anxiety. It was always a task for Hedron to convince her to come inside the hold. She had become accustomed to living in the forest, an easy adaptation for wood-dwellers.

  “What if I’m seen?” she hissed.

  “You won’t be. Now hurry!”

  Hedron tried to find inauspicious moments to gather and deliver food to Reign in the forest as often as he could. With his mother gone for some time, he took the opportunity to get her in the hold more often. Though the hold was more populated now than it had been in cycles, which made the risk of someone catching a glimpse of her higher, many of the newcomers were not wood-dwellers at all. They would not be able to sense the twins’ prowling, but caution was needed all the same.

  They made their way quickly alongside the northern wall toward the kitchens and dining halls located in the western part of the hold. The long shadows of the trees cast by the setting sun created large dark splotches that aided the two Kerr children’s stealth on their way to pillage their own food supply. They arrived without detection. Hedron could see Reign’s demeanor change once the scent of cooked meat filled her nostrils. She took on a wilder, ravenous look and tried to bound past her brother and into the kitchens.

  “Wait!” Hedron objected, grabbing her arm and halting her advance. “Old lady Wendham sometimes stays late to clean up.” Drilth Wendham, a widow of some years, served House Kerr as master cook for longer than his mother herself had been in the family, longer than Hedron and Reign had been alive. She had raised her own daughter, Shayla, in the hold and remained even after her husband passed away nearly two decades ago. The only thing Hedron knew about her was you never called her by her first name and that she was a stickler for manners beyond the most stringent requirements of etiquette. Old lady Wendham would not take kindly to her pantries being poached after hours, no matter who the perpetrators were. Though she was long in years, her senses were still sharp.

  Hedron poked his head around the corner and looked into the cooking bay of the first kitchen. “Looks clear,” he reported. They continued their slow advance and peered around every corner before they entered. All clear. Hedron visibly relaxed but the tempting smell of the food was driving Reign a little crazy. He heard her stomach growl and thought he heard her mouth salivating.

  “All right, I’m going to the pantry,” Hedron announced. “Wait here.”

  The hours passed as the two stuffed themselves silly, playing little games and giggling. When the jubilation had somewhat died down, Reign asked, “When do you think it will be safe?”

  Hedron stopped chewing for a moment as he stared at his sister, then swallowed. “I’m not sure. I haven’t felt any different, have you?”

  Reign shook her head. “No, I just hoped maybe you did.”

  “I don’t feel any different, and I’ve never felt anything from that Triarch since; not since I found you there.”

  “How did you find me?” Reign asked for the hundredth time. “I was so far back in the hole of the tree I could barely see out. You couldn’t have seen me. The size of the hole is barely large enough for me to squeeze through.”

  “I didn’t see you. I just knew you were there. You knew I was near when I found you, didn’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s like that,” Hedron went on. “I knew you were there like you knew I was near. You weren’t even surprised when I peeked inside the tree and found you, nor was I surprised to find you there. We’re the same.”

  “And mother? Why not tell her I yet live?” Reign asked, the same as always. He knew she already knew the answer, but Hedron could only guess the pain and longing that was within her. They had both lost their father, but Reign had essentially lost her mother as well. Hedron was forbidden from telling his mother that Reign was alive; and not just alive, but right here, safe. As hard as it was for Reign, it had to be even harder for their mother. At least Reign knew her mother was alive and well. But Hedron could see, though he was only ten, how Moira fought every day to maintain the smallest sliver of hope that her daughter still lived.

  Hedron realized Reign was staring at him and that he hadn’t answered her. Even at their young age, people had often told them how much they each resembled their parents. Reign’s dark hair and piercing eyes left no doubt as to what Moira looked like at her age. It was a compliment to be sure, as people still gawked at Moira in her middle age. The number of people that told him he looked just like his father, however, bothered Hedron. Was that such a good thing anymore? he wondered. What if all they said was true about him?

  “I was told not to,” he finally answered, the same as always but with a hint of resentment.

  Hedron often replayed those first few spans in his mind following the fateful night that had changed his life forever. All of the hold guard had been dispatched and the hounds released, scouring the woods in search of Thannuel’s assassins. Hedron had been told firmly to remain in the hold. The excitement of the night overcame him and he did not obey.

  He had visited her many times over those first several days when she seemed dead except for her breathing. More often than not he found her balled up and asleep in the tree. He left satchels full of food and a short blade he had stolen from one of the elderly common servants. He always left her undisturbed in her silent state until she finally emerged from her perch after many days. Even now she still had never spoken of those first many days. When Hedron tried to push her for details on what had happened, she started to shake violently, entering a fitful state, shaking her head as if trying to free herself or shake something from her. It tore Hedron apart inside to see his mother agonize over his father and his sister, thinking both had been lost. His mother had told everyone not to extinguish their hope for Reign, but most feared the worst.

  “Hedron?” Reign asked in a drawn out way, raising her eyebrows. “Hello?”

  He snapped out of his memory-induced trance and realized he had been staring blankly for a short time. “Sorry,” he said.

  “And? What were you thinking about?”

  “Nothing, really. I was just—” He was cut short by the vibrations of horses and carriages approaching. “Mother is returned!” he exclaimed.

  Reign bolted upright, sensing it as well.

  “We have to sneak you back out. Quickly!”

  As the twins made their way back alongside the north wall toward the small opening, their attention was caught by a small group of men moving together. Hedron and Reign retreated back behind a pillar in the courtyard. Shane and the other servants he had brought in were heading to the arched gate where the carriage would pull into the courtyard. It was typical for the servants to receive an inbound party, no matter the hour. The hold master motioned for a couple servants to accompany him south and others to the east parts of the hold. Hedron didn’t think anything of it until he saw that they were armed.

  “Keep going,” he whispered to Reign. “I’ll meet you at the crack.”

  “Hedron?”

  “I need to see something. I’ll be fine. Keep going.”

  The lingering question of her greatest calling in her now altered life seemed to have been finally answered. Or, at least Moira felt certain she was on the correct path. The dedication and conviction required to tear down the Granite Throne would be immense, but she would not cease until it was accomplished. It was possible, it had to be. Somehow, in some way, it must be possible. She clutched Thannuel’s cloak that lay in her lap more firmly. It accompanied her everywhere she went when she stayed for even one night away from the hold.

  It will pass to Hedron before many years.

  Moira had no training in battle, no army, no significant influence, no resources to accomplish her new calling. Just the firm conviction that accompanies righteous direction. But no matter the strength of that conviction or the justness of the path, she needed an ally with all she lacked. She thought of her sister, Molina, and her elderly father who lived half a day west of Riley’s Cove. Even if they believed and supported her, whi
ch they undoubtedly would, she knew they could do little to help. Moira needed an ally with power and means.

  She decided to seek out Lord Therrium at her earliest opportunity. Though she was exhausted from the journey physically, her mind raced with the details from her time with High Duke Wellyn. Warm wind whipped and howled around the carriage as they traveled through Calyn, a welcome change to the bone-chilling northern gales. They would reach the hold tonight before second moon.

  Anxiety beset her and refused to let her body rest, but she was strengthened by purpose, direction. It’s more than mere purpose. What would she do with the new knowledge she had gained? Knowledge was probably too strong of a word. Wellyn had admitted nothing—verbally, at least. But she knew there was something at play, something beyond what was obvious upon an initial glance, something below the surface. Yes, it made more sense the more she pondered over it. But why target Thannuel? What did he know? Not for one moment did she entertain the notion that her husband had been what they said. She understood the propaganda released about Thannuel being a traitor was deception and meant to focus the masses’ attention elsewhere. Misdirection. But what is Wellyn trying to divert attention from? Impossible questions to find answers to without action. Pondering would only bring more questions.

  Her thoughts turned to Antious…how he had believed Thannuel had planned on telling him something before he was killed. But something he could not tell her? Why would her husband not have told her? Did…did the High Duke’s claims have any…no, of course not. Thannuel was not a traitor, not plotting against Wellyn.

  But she was, wasn’t she? Had she not found a reason? Motive? If Wellyn was the monster she now suspected, was it so inconceivable that Thannuel could have known…known what?

  And then horror pulled at her heart. Could Reign have been the target? No, that made no sense. She was under the age of innocence and was no threat. She tried to flush the thought from her mind, but found that it would not be abated.