Breaking the Gloaming

by J. B. Simmons

  He suddenly yelled out from his enormous chest. He raised his arms and shouted, “Do you not want better than this? Follow me, and you will live in peace. We will all have a share of the food.”

  A man yelled back in desperation: “And who will get the food first, your guards? How will you restrain them?”

  “You will all be guards, obedient to me,” Cain said. “Each of you will have a turn guarding the square.” He motioned towards a few of the men standing closest to him, and he held up several metal bars for distribution. Those were the weapons that my men had gathered and Cain had stolen.

  “Lies!” shouted a man in the crowd. “You take all the best food, all the weapons!”

  “I will not play favorites.” Cain scanned the crowd, as if looking for the man who spoke against him. Then his eyes caught mine. His face darkened in fury.

  “I will not be like that man!” He pointed his sword at me.

  Everyone in the room turned toward me. Fifteen feet of empty floor separated the others from Mersault and me. I drew my sword. Zarathus gleamed.

  Cain’s newly announced division seemed to ignite the smoldering group. Men began shouting, shoving, some of them charging at me, others at Cain. Within seconds, the whole mass was in a frenzy.

  Cain was submerged, completely lost to my sight, while I was surrounded. The onslaught hit me like waves against a great stone arising from the shore. I did not budge, and they parted around me. I deflected their crude weapons, but my blade did not graze their skin. This time I wanted only Cain. I began to circle towards where he had been standing.

  He spotted me first. “Kill him!” he screamed.

  We began fighting to reach each other, through the brawling men between us. A few of Cain’s men tried to stop me. I flowed through their attacks. They stood no chance against my blade. I was healed and strong again. I severed one man’s sword hand. I knocked out two others with the hilt of my sword. They could thank me later for letting them live.

  A high-pitched shout grabbed my attention. Mersault. Cain was standing before him, pulling his sword out of the man’s stomach. Cain stepped toward me. Mersault fell to his knees.

  I realized the men around me had mostly backed away. Others were laid out on the floor, or writhing from their wounds. I closed the short distance between Cain and me.

  He swung his sword at me with the force of an ogre. I spun out of its path and swiped at his legs, drawing blood. He screamed out in pain.

  His eyes showed fear as he limped towards me. He stabbed at my chest, and I parried the blow. The force of our striking blades made him stumble back.

  I jumped high by his side and swung Zarathus through his neck. His head fell back as his body fell forward.

  Just as the men remaining in the room began to scatter, I announced myself. They needed something more than a man to bind them together.

  “I am your Lord!”

  Their heads snapped towards me.

  “Kneel before me!” I shouted in the midst of the confusion. One by one, they began to bow down.

  The fight had taken mere minutes. At least a dozen men remained in the room, on their knees in a crescent around me.

  I turned to Mersault, relieved to see his wild smile. Maybe Cain’s stab had not been as deep as it had looked.

  He was kneeled over like the others. I pulled him up by the shoulder, but he groaned. As his torso straightened, I saw blood.

  “See,” he smiled through the pain, “it does not matter.”

  He tried to stand, but fell to his knees.

  “Would you end this pain for me?” He asked.

  I shook my head. “We will get you food and tend your wound.”

  “I am bleeding to death. Would you make me suffer longer?” He glanced to the men around us. “Show these men your mercy!” He groaned.

  I looked down at him. He met my eyes calmly. The hysteria was gone. Pure innocence was there, like I had seen in him before. His presence here was my fault. I would not let him suffer.

  He nodded, as if reading my thoughts. He leaned back and offered his chest to my sword.

  When I pulled the blade out of him, the last thread connecting me to my past was severed. He was dead, relieved of his duty and his breath. I was alive, obligated to breathe and to lead again, alone.

  I had an odd thought in that moment. I wondered what it would feel like to kill Andor. Would it feel worse than losing Mersault? I knew that it would, even if I had once wanted it. The past was dead to me and ahead laid a steady march to the grave.

  Chapter 12

  CHILDREN'S SENSES

  “Come away, O human child!

  To the waters and the wild

  With a faery hand in hand,

  For the world’s

  more full of weeping

  than you can understand.”

  Lorien’s stomach twisted, her head spun, and she vomited. This was the third morning in a row. She had never felt ill like this before.

  When her breakfast arrived, she poked at the eggs but settled on a few bites of toast. It was a rare morning when she was glad to be alone. Andor had been gone by the time she rose from bed, as he had been almost every day since his return. His days were overly full of duties. Her days were, too, but she had more freedom to set her agenda.

  Her head continued spinning while she dressed, but at least she kept her bites of toast down. She moved to the desk that she and Andor had requested for the prince’s quarters. The huge slab of wood was meant for them to share, working across from each other, but Andor had little time to sit here.

  She began reviewing a stack of reports from the prior day. There was little good news. The harvest in Valemidas’ lands was going poorly. Food would be short this winter. Gold would be even shorter, as the Sunans no longer lended to the palace and the few merchants who still did were charging much more, fearing that Valemidas itself might not be able to pay. Still, soldiers must be paid, walls must be maintained, and the work of the palace must continue.

  So she began writing a slew of notes. She wrote directly to the many merchants she knew in the city. She wrote to targeted nobles. She wrote to the councils of towns under Valemidas’ control. By midday, she had read and discarded the stack of reports. A new stack of messages rose high from the desk. Seventy papers with the prince’s seal and with the princess’s script. Seventy demands that read like gentle requests. She prayed they would not be like seeds scattered on barren soil. All she needed was for a few to take hold, root down, and grow flowers in the coming winter.

  Lorien realized when she stood that her efforts had made her lose track of time. She should have eaten more, or gotten up to stretch. Her head spun again but she steeled herself with small steps and another nibble of cold toast. As she left their quarters, she asked one of the servants to have a doctor waiting when she returned.

  Today she would visit Jon for lunch. Andor had agreed instantly when Lorien had proposed it. With Jon by Andor’s side most hours of the day, it was not hard to see that he had lost his cheer, that something weighed on him. Andor needed Jon to be his spirited, enthusiastic protector, especially with war coming. Lorien would try to learn more and help their friend.

  The long walk down to Jon’s room helped clear her head. Like all men on the Knight’s Council, Jon was in the same central tower as the prince, but near the bottom floors. That way, anyone coming for the prince would have to pass his strongest knights first.

  When she arrived at his door, she was surprised no servant was there, but then she remembered ordering that staff be cut several weeks ago. They could no longer afford a servant for every knight.

  She knocked. The door swung open and Jon greeted her.

  “My Princess, it is good to see you.” He bowed smoothly. “I was honored to hear your request to meet with me.” His motions were powerful and graceful, but his words were stiff and formal. Lorien had expected more warmth.

  “Of course, Jon, and please, stand, call me Lorien. The honor is mine. I am
sorry that we have not been able to spend more time together, but a friend of Andor’s is a friend of mine. Andor would not be on the throne without your loyalty and support.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” The knight looked down at his feet shyly. “I just did what I could.” He gestured for Lorien to follow. “Come, the table is prepared.”

  Lorien noticed that the antechamber was too full, too well-decorated, and too clean. She saw the same thing as she followed Jon into the small dining area. The window opening to a courtyard was framed by lush, colorful curtains. The rug was ornate and soft. The setting on the table was elegant. An ornate vase of bright flowers sat at the center. It was too much for a man of Jon’s honest style, and he would not have had time for such attention to detail. She sensed a woman’s touch.

  “I love your curtains. Where did you find them?” She asked as she declined Jon’s offer of wine. Her stomach would not tolerate it.

  Jon looked over his shoulder and then turned back with an uncertain look. He was quiet for a moment before saying, “I am glad you like them, my lady. Someone chose them for me. Same for our meal. I think you will like it.” He motioned for her to take a seat.

  “Thank you,” she said as she sat. “My appetite is weak today, but the bread looks delightful. Tell me, who picked these curtains? I may need to consult with her.” Lorien took a small bite and looked at Jon expectantly.

  Suddenly his head fell into his hands. He looked up again with something like shame on his face. It took Lorien aback. She had planned a long inquiry to discover what troubled him, not simply a couple questions about curtains.

  “I am sorry, but I cannot bear to keep this hidden from you. Andor has not asked, so he does not yet know. He has too much on his mind already.” Jon’s voice grew calmer as he spoke. “Can you keep this between us? Secrets have never rested easy with me.”

  “Of course. You can be open with me.”

  “Mailyn?” He called out toward the room to his right, likely the bedchambers.

  A moment later a woman walked in. Not just any woman. A woman whose beauty took Lorien’s breath away. She was tall and slender, her walk a saunter. She had flaxen hair that flowed to her shoulders. Her features were perfect. She was an image of symmetry.

  She walked to Lorien and bowed low. Only then did Lorien realize that her slim figure had a protruding belly in the middle.

  “Lorien, this is Mailyn. She is staying with me, but it is not what you think.” Jon stood at Mailyn’s side protectively. The distance between them hinted that Jon spoke true. He did not touch her like a lover, but everything else suggested he had those feelings. Lorien wondered who the father was, and how she possibly came to live with Jon.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, my Princess.” Mailyn’s silky voice matched her looks.

  “And you, Mailyn,” Lorien said. “When is your child due?”

  Mailyn’s hands suddenly went to her belly, and she smiled radiantly. “My baby is jumping. It feels like it jumps at your voice. I am due in two months.”

  “That is wonderful.” Lorien gestured toward another chair at the table. “Please, sit and lunch with us.”

  Mailyn grinned in thanks and lowered herself into the chair. Jon rushed to set another plate for her. The three of them slipped into conversation as they ate. A cloud seemed to have drifted away from Jon. He beamed with his typical, contagious happiness. Lorien asked about his service protecting Andor and about Mailyn’s background.

  By the end, Lorien was confident of several things. Mailyn’s child was very important, but there was no way Lorien was going to learn who the father was today. Mailyn had moved in with Jon only recently, but Jon had already fallen for the woman. And from the glances she stole at him, Mailyn was growing in her trust of Jon. She seemed to respect him but to still be afraid of something. Like any mother, she would surely do anything to keep her baby safe.

  Lorien managed to eat much of her lunch, and she left feeling better than she had in several days. She had a new mission: to find out whose child Mailyn bore.

  ***

  Later that day, after she had met with her doctor, Lorien conspired with Jon so she could steal time with Andor. It had been too long since she had gotten away with him alone.

  Jon had agreed to bring Andor to the palace gate as the sun set. Whatever reasons he had made up, Jon had done his part.

  Andor arrived to find Lorien waiting, glowing in the day’s fading light. She held the reins to their horses, already saddled. After some protest about missing meetings with nobles this evening, Andor consented to follow Lorien. Jon was their only guard. She led them on horseback out of the city. Most citizens were inside enjoying their dinners. Aside from a few curious glances, they escaped Valemidas unnoticed.

  She led Andor to the barn where they had married a few months ago. They dismounted there and walked to a secluded spot on the north bank of the River Tyne. Jon stayed behind with the horses, in a position where anyone coming by land would have to pass him to reach them.

  The air was cool and fresh beside the water. Darkness had fallen. The gentle lapping waves reflected the moonlight. Lorien had Andor exactly where she wanted him.

  “What do you think those are, fluttering just above the water?” Andor pointed to the edge of the river. “There are hundreds of them.”

  “Bugs looking for smaller bugs to eat?” Lorien responded playfully.

  “What if they’re faerie creatures? Spirited little beings with minds like ours, which only come out when the moon is full.” He rubbed the back of her neck while he gazed out over the water.

  “You are in a good mood tonight.” Lorien savored the touch of his skin against hers.

  “My bride has stolen me from the traps of the city. The weather is perfect. What’s not to like?”

  “I have asked you that same question many times in recent weeks, and you have found your reasons. They are good ones, I admit. The coming war, the discovery about your family, the question of who to trust. But think on what we have gained back now, not on what lies ahead.”

  “We have gained back what matters most,” he said, “but we have lost much, too, and duty lays heavy on my shoulders.”

  “You have to let others share your duty. What more can I do for you?” He had been working himself too hard. It was impossible to plan for war, preserve good relations with the nobles, and nurse a city back to health, much less deal with his own lingering pains from the Gloaming.

  He ran his hand along her cheek and traced the line of her chin. “You tell me, Lorien. Where am I failing the worst?” He laughed, a sound she was happy to hear. He had been taking himself too seriously.

  “The nobles.” She did not hesitate long before answering. “You are still bitter about what they did, with so many of them supporting Tryst and forgetting about you once you were gone. But you know you would not have regained the throne without them.”

  “Yes,” he nodded, “but look what they made me do to Tryst. He is stuck in the Gloaming, dead for all we know.”

  “It was your idea to send him down there.”

  “It was, but only because the nobles would have executed him otherwise, and because I hoped it would save him. I will bring him and the others out of there.”

  “Then why have you delayed?” She asked.

  “I am trying to work within our system. The duty falls to the minister of prisons, and I have ordered him to get it done.”

  “Really?” She pressed him. “You know the best way to keep something from happening is to assign it to a minister.”

  “I want them out,” Andor said. “I really do, but maybe you are right. I have been letting the delays drag on. I cannot seem to face the issue. The place still weighs on me, like it is some curse. My thoughts bend and twist around the memories. And Justus says the nobles insist the people cannot know about the place.”

  “You harbor anger toward the nobles, yet you obey their whims,” Lorien challenged. “That is not the way to lead. Do you want t
he people to know?”

  He studied his hands as they folded together in his lap. “It is an old secret,” he sighed. “Maybe we cannot risk more questions right now. The people must trust us as we ask for more and more in the coming months. They need to believe in Valemidas to give fully to our city’s defense. They would lose faith if they knew every disappearance, every lost prisoner, had been cast down into that hell.”

  “Hard words,” Lorien said. “I will think on them. But for now, let me take care of the nobles. I, too, grew up in their court, and I know how to manage them. I will settle their disputes. I will attend their meetings for you. I will respond to their requests for information and favors.”

  “This is a heavy burden—” he began.

  “Exactly!” She interrupted him with a laugh and put her hands on his shoulders. “Your shoulders will feel much lighter without the nobles sitting on them.”

  “Thank you. Yes, much lighter.” He smiled at her and then laid on his back and looked up at the stars. “What else am I missing?”

  There were many things she wanted to say, but it was not the time to discuss all the affairs of governing. Two items held the greatest importance.

  “Sebastian.” His name was sharp on her lips. “You know I do not trust him, yet you allow him into your closest council. He is a Sunan man and a proven betrayer. Just because he chose you over Tryst does not mean he will choose you over the Sunans. Tell me why you trust him.”

  Andor hesitated. This was not the first time she had brought up his spy. “Yates says I must learn to trust again. Why not start with him? I was born a Sunan, too. We cannot hold that against him.”

  “He is not like you, Andor. You do not bear the tattoos he does. He lived there until he was old enough to earn their marks. You left as a little child. You are a Valemidan with Sunan blood. He is a Sunan with a Valemidan façade. You cannot reconcile the brokenness of your past through him.”