by AJ Nuest
Only one hashishan waited outside his father’s suite of rooms. Slouched against the door. Applying the pointed tip of a dagger to the grime beneath his nails.
The man’s blatant disregard for the respect due his post banked the embers of rage in Caedmon’s chest. His fist shot out before he’d given the command and the hashishan’s head snapped back. A dull thud echoed off the stone walls as his skull rebounded against the door.
The man blinked, wavered unsteadily and slumped in a heap to the floor.
“Al-l-lrighty, then.” Rowena nudged the unconscious infidel with the toe of her boot. “I don’t suppose the words ‘anger management’ mean anything to you?”
“This delinquent holds no more esteem for the king’s welfare than he does loyalty for the crown.” Glancing up and down the corridor, Caedmon tossed limp man over his shoulder. “If Denmar ever spied a guard being so lax, he would have him drawn up before the court by his balls.”
Grabbing the handle of the chamber door, he shouldered through, dumped the hashishan in the corner and turned to survey the king’s receiving room.
Empty, though a fire crackled in the hearth and the candles were lit. A tray of untouched food occupied the table beside his father’s favorite chair and a crumpled blanket lay discarded atop the padded footstool.
The murmuring of mingled voices drifted in from behind the closed bedroom door and Caedmon commandeered the distance, raking the black shroud off his brow. A twist of the knob and he burst inside his father’s room.
A festooned chancellor held the royal crown over Braedric’s bowed head, his robed vestments befitting a coronation of noble blood. His half-brother knelt at their father’s bedside, wrists crossed over his decorated chest, hands clasping the orb and scepter bequeathed their sovereign’s rule.
A chronicler occupied the large table before the fire, quill scratching across parchment, fulfilling his sworn oath to the archives by recording the last moments of a dying king.
Helios wept. The passing of the crown.
“You will cease and desist in this moment.” The words fell from Caedmon’s tongue before he’d given them due consideration.
Silence descended as the chronicler’s quill paused.
Braedric lifted his head at the same moment Fandorn stepped from a draped alcove. The light in his gray eyes altered from surprise, to relief, to sorrow so quick, Caedmon had not the time to gather their meaning.
A death cough rattled the king’s chest and Rowena rushed past his elbow to his father’s sleeping pallet, the king’s head resting on a mound of downy pillows and several blankets piled high upon his royal bed.
Smoothing a long strand of thinning hair back from his cheek, she placed a tender kiss on his forehead. “We’ve returned, my king. Caedmon and I have come home.”
“Traitors in our midst!” Braedric rose to his feet, his motions unhurried. Almost as if he cared neither the outcome of Caedmon’s arrival nor the ensuing panic he’d raised with his call.
The chronicler’s scratching resumed.
A smile darted across Braedric’s face, more fleeting than a trick of the light. Yet this did not deter Caedmon’s understanding that something more untoward than a preemptive passing of power transpired within the draped windows of this room.
Two hashishans charged through the door, the blades of their unsheathed scimitars reflecting the orange candlelight as if the metal had been heated to raze and score. A shiver etched Caedmon’s skin, enhanced by the hum of silver along his spine as he withdrew his sword and aimed the sharp tip at his brother.
Though he may taint these proceedings with his foul lies, the crown did not yet rest upon Braedric’s head. And the blade of Caedmon’s sword would run red with his half-brother’s blood before he stood before witnesses and threatened everything Caedmon held dear.
Crossing to the sideboard, Braedric straightened the edge of his fur-trimmed cape and decanted a measure of wine into a silver goblet. He swung the bottom of the cup toward Rowena. “Get that vile conspirator away from the king.”
Caedmon spun and placed himself in direct line of the hashishans’ path. “Touch her and you shall never touch another so long as you draw air.”
“Tomas?”
Confusion laced his love’s voice and Caedmon risked a glimpse over his shoulder. She stood back from his father, frowning at the shorter of the two men.
“Tomas, it’s me.” Tugging the black covering from her head, she shrugged the remaining hashishan’s attire off her shoulders. “What are you doing? You know I would never hurt the king.”
The hashishans traded a glance and hesitantly lowered their weapons.
Slamming his goblet to the sideboard, Braedric strode across the room and wrenched the scimitar from the taller hashishan’s hand.
Alarm drove Caedmon forward a step. His heart thumped a grim warning.
A thrust of blade, and a grunt widened Tomas’ blue eyes.
The young man seized Braedric’s shoulder, bent slightly at the waist. His skin paled and, as Braedric withdrew, Caedmon’s gaze fell to the leather-wrapped handle protruding from the center of the young man’s gut.
“You shall never defy me again.” Braedric’s low warning soured the air the like the sulfurous breath of a dragon. He returned to the sideboard and shook out a linen towel to clean the scarlet evidence of murder from his hands.
Tomas toppled forward and the acidic bite of fear curdled Caedmon’s tongue. The notched end of the blade wobbled, pointing upward from his spine as mottled gore and bits of bone slipped down the sides.
Rounding his father’s sleeping pallet, Rowena started in the boy’s direction, but Caedmon stayed her with a subtle shake of his head. Not the threat of a dozen hashishans’ outweighed the dangers they faced in this room.
Braedric’s quest for the throne, his double-sided mongering with Seviere… To have everything he’d ever desired so close and yet still outside his reach, had driven the reigning prince beyond the normal ravings of madness.
“Tell us, Sorceress, what devious plot came of your visit with King Seviere?” Goblet in hand, Braedric turned, his congenial smile oddly calm and out of place. “Or perchance your plans were of a darker nature. Mayhap the counsel of Wizard Gaelleod was the one you sought?”
Above the continuous scribbling of the chronicler, Rowena locked eyes with Caedmon. Two high red spots dappled her cheeks. Realization lodged into Caedmon’s mind like a dull axe and his jaw shut with an audible clack.
Braedric had just named her a deserter to the throne, documenting her place in Austiere history even as the chronicler sat nearby taking notes.
The king’s eyelashes fluttered and she quickly returned to his father’s bedside as he rasped a series of desperate coughs.
A prayer of gratitude swelled in Caedmon’s chest. Thank the Nine, the rightful king still lived. He stepped forward to pay his allegiance and despondency nipped at the heels of his relief. At once, he was cast into the days of his youth.
Red droplets speckled his father’s lips. The same which had so oft grieved his mother. But whereas Isadora had toiled under the fatal grip of the wet lung sickness for an entire season, his father had succumbed in a mere matter of days.
Caedmon frowned. Mayhap the king’s age played a factor. He peeked askance at his brother. Or the unfettered suspicions fueled by the sedition of his father’s only pure blood heir.
Hatred sang pure and swift through his veins, and Caedmon whirled, perching his sword at his half-brother’s throat. “Only one traitor in this chamber defiles the king with his presence.”
“You’d best rethink your allegations, brother.” Braedric’s brown eyes glittered with malevolence, and Caedmon’s palm dampened around his sword. “You address your future king.”
“I have not yet departed this realm, Braedric.” King Austiere sipped from the glass Rowena tipped to his mouth, his trembling hand clasped around hers. A pink cloud bloomed in the water like a fragile flower. He pushed the glass
away as another retching fit wracked his shoulders.
“Do not trouble yourself with the transgressions of this treasonous leech, father.” Braedric strolled to the spot directly before Caedmon, obstructing his view of the king. “Rest easy, now. You may trust Caedmon’s punishment to me.”
“You seem quite eager to set aflame the funeral pyre of my ascension.” His father’s head fell back to his pillows and the parchments strewn across his fur-trimmed coverlet fluttered at the disruption. “I’ve signed no order. The crown does not yet sit upon your brow. And until my last breath departs, I shall rule this kingdom with an iron fist and judge what is best to safeguard her subjects.”
Another bout of soupy coughs overtook the king and he pressed a lace-trimmed cloth to his lips. A tear tumbled onto Rowena’s cheek and she briskly swept it aside, tugging the blankets and settling them higher upon his father’s chest.
“And get that bleeding corpse out of my chambers!”
Fandorn flicked his hand at the remaining hashishan and, a moment later, the chamber door clicked into the latch at Caedmon’s back.
A cunning gleam of triumph flickered in Braedric’s gaze, depravity hidden beneath his outwardly congenial mask.
“Caedmon, come here.”
Lowering his sword, Caedmon broke from Braedric’s stare and approached the bedside, knelt near his father’s waist and gathered his thin hand. Skin hot to the touch. A cruel tremor suffusing the king’s fingers.
“Where have you been, my boy?” His watery brown gaze searched Caedmon’s face. “Is it true what the rumors say? Braedric’s hashishans reported you’d ridden for the realm of Seviere. Why, my son? Speak quickly now and with sincerity. I’ve not much time left.”
Grief bore down on him, stilling his tongue. Blinking past his tears, Caedmon shook his head.
That his father had been tormented with the worst possible doubts regarding his character rent his heart into pieces. And yet, the reports were true. He’d left the castle without the king’s consent and ridden straight into enemy territory.
So, where did he begin? What manner of words could he utter to calm his father’s worries and ease his leave-taking of this plane?
Rowena came to rest on her knees beside him, reached inside her chest plate and, with her thumb and index finger, withdrew the golden key from between her breasts. “We’ve been to the future, my king.”
A slight inhalation lifted Fandorn’s shoulders, and he stuttered several steps closer.
“You lie.” The underside of Braedric’s cape snagged along the floor as he quickly advanced. “If such a thing occurred, we would have known. We would have been given a sign. Believe not one word she speaks, father. Each syllable that falls from her tongue is like a poisonous plague through my veins.”
A musical tapping snared Caedmon’s attention as the chronicler tapped the ink from the end of his quill.
“The chamber which contains the chest was shuttered under Gaelleod’s evil spell.” Caedmon locked onto his brother, searching for any glimmer of recognition, any hint to verify his claims. “The same chest which once retained safe harbor inside Castle Austiere and through which Sorceress Rowena entered this realm.”
The king scowled. “What are you saying, my boy?”
“A blinding light by which the future will be illuminated.” Fandorn stole forward another step. “It is her, is it not? Sorceress Rowena is the future…and the armoire is the chest. Of course. Helios wept, how could I have been so shortsighted?”
“That’s absurd.” Fury reddened Braedric’s cheeks. He flung his cup aside and wine splattered the floor. “The armoire refused to open.”
“And you would know of this how?” Caedmon pushed to his feet.
The dishonesty ended here. Now.
No more lies. No more fear. No more deferring to his brother simply because of his bloodline. “Tell us, Braedric. What did Seviere promise you in exchange for delivering him the chest? What could he have possibly bartered in trade for a kingdom which was already rightfully yours?”
“You fool.” A brittle edge formed along Braedric’s jaw. “You ridiculous half-blooded fool.” His focus danced about the other faces in the room. “Do you not see? Do all of you not see how she has turned you against me? I was to be named Rescinder. By all rights, the armoire was mine. And yet she chose a smelly gypsy as her champion. Someone unworthy to wipe the sweat from my brow. On her word alone, my birthright was cast aside and the entire kingdom deferred to her will. The bastard prince and his white witch. The sum of you left me no choice. She has no power, father. She is a lecherous blight. And I shall not stand idly by while the two of you destroy everything that was promised me. I will not be ignored in favor of some common gutter tripe and his monotonous, two-bit whore.”
Narrowing his eyes, Caedmon squinted at his elder half-brother. What deceptions had he been told? What ignoble lies? For how long had Seviere whispered such fraudulent words in his ear? “You have been deceived, Braedric. Rowena is the key. She’s the very foundation upon which our—”
The door flew open and a hashishan stormed into the room. “My liege.” He dropped to one knee at Braedric’s feet. “Seviere’s army advances. Their forces number at least ten thousand strong.”
The hint of a smile twitched the corner of Braedric’s lips, and his eyelids slipped closed. Filling his lungs, he blinked and faced their father. “The sorceress brought them here.”
The loopy scrawl of the chronicler’s quill persisted, and Caedmon’s stomach sank even as the truth of his brother’s accusation rang in his ear.
Seviere had indeed followed her, but she had not led the charge. “You are twisting the facts. Seviere comes in search of the key.”
“Here is your proof, then, father.” The reigning prince opened his palm toward Rowena. “Seviere follows in her wake even as Caedmon stands before you professing her innocence. You must know we cannot defend against such an advance. Seviere’s legions outnumber ours five to one. We must join with the enemy. Unite the realms. If we are to protect our people, we must submit to Seviere and relinquish the throne.”
Contempt for his brother surged bitter and hot up the lining of Caedmon’s throat. And yet, at last, he finally understood.
Jealousy had driven Braedric into the arms of the enemy. From the moment he’d lost the title of Rescinder, he’d conspired to join their nation with Seviere.
And to what end? To secure himself a seat of honor? Steal back his place in history and be revered as the savior of his realm?
No. Too many lives would be destroyed as the outcome. Their kingdom would be lost to obscurity, overthrown and forgotten. Her subjects beaten and enslaved.
All due the indignant, self-righteous appeasement of her ill-appointed leader.
Meeting Rowena’s gaze, Caedmon became filled the light of her undying love sparkling like an emerald fire. With his next breath, the dim shadows of doubt receded. For the first time since their meeting, he was granted a vision himself through her eyes.
Strong. Steadfast. A man bound to his country…
A king.
He cupped her cheek and she covered his hand within the gentle slope of hers. She’d been right all along. The Austiere Kingdom did not belong to Braedric. It never had. How could that be possible when she’d presented the sum of its entire future to Caedmon the moment she’d appeared in the mirror?
Lifting his chin, he met his father’s feeble gaze. Fraught with fear, desperation. The last, grief-stricken hopes of a dying king. “I will not…I cannot allow our kingdom to be deposed. With Helios as my witness, I vow to you, father. I shall fight for Austiere freedom until the last beat of my heart thunders on.”
“And so will I.” Rowena stood at his side.
The king rasped a weak breath, glancing between them. He reached for a yellowed parchment near his leg and Fandorn snapped his fingers to call the chronicler’s attention.
The man sprang from his chair and rushed for their king, a quill, inkwell and
the royal seal in hand. He dipped the stained tip in ink and placed the feather between the king’s trembling fingers.
“Father, I beg you.” Braedric raked his hand through his hair. “Think of your subjects.”
“They are and always have been foremost in my mind.” King Austiere penned his signature along the bottom of the parchment and pushed it aside. “Self-sacrifice, duty and honor…” He wheezed and gasped for air. “These are the qualities that make a king. Now be still, Braedric. Grant me peace in this moment of my passing.”
The strength left Caedmon’s legs and he fell to his knees. His heart constricted. Regret became a living, breathing entity in his chest.
“The crown passes to Caedmon. Such is my final decree.” The king’s fingers sought his across the blankets and momentarily tightened. “Rule well and with a pure heart, my son.”
He stiffened, the coverlet pulling taut across his body, and went limp. His chest descended as a death rattle spilled from his lips.
“My heart cries out in mourning.” Fandorn lowered his gaze to the floor. “Alas, alas, our king is dead.”
Caedmon squeezed his eyelids closed, tears falling warm down his cheeks as he pressed a fierce kiss to the back of his father’s hand. “And may the Goddesses guide you safely to paradise.”
“He loved you more.” Stumbling back several paces, Braedric shook his head. “I did everything he asked of me and he loved you more.”
“Brother, please.” Caedmon untangled his fingers and stood, placing his father’s palm on his still form. Could they not have one moment’s respite to contemplate their misery? Could not the impending tide of their differences be set aside to mourn the loss of their king?
Spinning away from the bed, Braedric pressed his fists to his temples. His head fell back and his maniacal laugh rebounded in the chamber like the tolling of the Apex bell. “Honor? Justice? Rich words issued from a king compelled to dispense neither.”
“Enough!”
The chronicler finally ceased his damnable scratching at the same moment Rowena flinched in her boots. Wrapping his arm about her waist, Caedmon drew her to his side. “You shall speak of our father with respect or remove yourself from these chambers.”