The Fall of Shaylar

by River Fairchild

  Lamisha walked by with a smile for him, her light blue gown hiding her feet so she looked as if she floated across the polished wood floor. Sanrev followed her into a hallway, the rough stone out there forcing her to lift the hem of her dress or become hopelessly snagged.

  “Are you well, Prince Sanrev? I haven’t seen you this past week.” Amusement played across her face as she watched him.

  “I’ve been away.” Sanrev didn’t want to admit he’d spent most of the week in taverns…or in someone’s bed. Seeing Lamisha now, he finally saw what a waste his life had become, as if he’d turned away from everything his father had tried to teach him. The revelation struck him between the eyes with such force he reached up and rubbed his head.

  “Are you in pain? Perhaps we should go back in.” She lifted her fingertips to his brow, her touch so soft and caring he felt doubly the fool.

  She was a Lady worth caring for—as unlike the women who slid along his body as one could be. He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it, the scent of her filling his nostrils, fueling his imagination, causing his heart to beat with gladness.

  “May I court you, Lady Lamisha?”

  She slowly withdrew her hand from his, her cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink. “You may want to wait until after His Majesty makes his new appointments. My father might not be the new King’s Advisor.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me. You are highborn and a suitable match…unless you don’t wish me to? Are you hoping for another?” Sanrev stared into her eyes, willing her to say yes; afraid he might be too late.

  “There’s no one else.” Her smile grew shy and she ducked her head. “But we should still wait until things are settled for my father. You’ll have to ask him for permission.”

  How different life was at Court. Somehow, Sanrev had forgotten all of this in the past few years. Spending so much time among the peasants, who lived their lives without so many rules, had given him a false mirror in which to see himself. He’d abandoned his duties, his family, his place in this Kingdom.

  No more.

  “I will wait for the right moment with impatience. Please do not torture me for long.” He leaned in and stole a kiss, her lips sweet and chaste. He broke it off, hungering for more but determined to treat her with respect.

  She giggled and slipped away, light on her feet as she ran. Only when she neared the doorway did she stop, lowering her hem and gliding into the banquet room with proper grace. Sanrev watched her go, a permanent smile taking up residence on his face.

  “Have you chosen your Cabinet yet?” Sanrev asked his brother two weeks later as they breakfasted with their mother. She still seemed pale and the skin on her face puffy, but her manner composed.

  “Mostly.” Camon had become even more aloof since the coronation, barely speaking at all to Sanrev.

  “Who’s to be the King’s Advisor?” He hoped the question sounded casual, as if his inquiry didn’t mean more than polite conversation.

  “I’ll be keeping Father’s Advisor for now. The man’s well-versed in the King’s business.”

  Sanrev let out the breath he’d been holding. He could approach the man knowing his fate had been settled. A smile struggled to fit on his face so he bit his tongue for distraction.

  Camon’s next words drove a stake through his heart.

  “It’s also necessary the man keep his position, as mother has chosen his daughter, the Lady Lamisha, to be my Queen.”

  Chapter Six

  The Wedding

  Sanrev approached the rooms which used to belong to his father, his heart heavy but strengthened by an ironclad determination. Camon had wasted no time vacating their mother to another tower, smaller rooms denoting her lesser role as Dowager Queen. He knocked on the outer doors and waited.

  One of the King’s servants answered. “I will announce you, Prince Sanrev, and see if His Majesty will grant you an audience.” The man closed the door in his face, leaving Sanrev in the position of supplicant instead of a member of the Royal House.

  Venturing back after a time, the servant opened the door, seeming surprised to find Sanrev still waiting. “His Majesty will see you in the study.”

  Sanrev raised an eyebrow. “Have you forgotten my name so soon?”

  The man blanched and bowed low. “No, Prince Sanrev. My apologies.”

  “I know the way.” He sidestepped the impudent man, knowing his attitude was by order of the King. A distraction to set Sanrev off-balance. He wouldn’t take the bait. He couldn’t afford to be swayed from the purpose of his visit. Knocking on the side of the open door, he stood waiting for Camon to acknowledge him and invite him in.

  “You may enter,” Camon said after spending a minute to finish reading the page in front of him.

  “Are you well, brother?” Sanrev smiled and saw the frown on Camon’s face when he called him brother instead of Your Majesty.

  “What do you want? I’m busy.”

  Now for the hard part. “I’ve come to request a favor of you—out of love. As brothers.”

  “Love?” Camon snorted. “Speak your request and be quick about it.”

  “I’d ask you to find another to be your Queen. I had plans of my own to court Lady Lamisha.”

  “The choice has been made.” Camon didn’t even glance up at him, his attention drawn back to his book.

  “But you don’t love her!” Sour bile built at the back of Sanrev’s throat. Heat crept up the sides of his neck. His stomach churned in anger.

  “What does love have to do with it?” This time Camon did look up at him and Sanrev wished he hadn’t. The King’s face might have been chiseled from stone but hatred lived in his eyes. “Love is a dangerous sport. Only the weak engage in it. The wedding will proceed as planned. You’re dismissed.”

  Sanrev strode from the room with his head held high, refusing to show Camon the blood he’d drawn.

  He tried speaking to his mother next but to no avail, though she was more sympathetic.

  “You’ve always known the highborn custom is arraigned marriage,” she said. “It’s what keeps our bloodline strong. The magic is dependent on that. I was about to start looking for a bride for you.”

  “Don’t bother.” Sanrev saw the pity in her eyes and couldn’t stand it. “I’ll find my own.”

  He left her and climbed the stairs of his own tower, entering the rooms he’d held since the time he started walking. Ghosts live in these rooms with me now. The boy I used to be stands beside me, shaking his head at the mess I’ve made of my life.

  Sanrev crossed over to the window, staring down into the valley below. If only Lamisha still lived there with her mother. She’d be safe. He feared for her future, the darkness coming back to invade his thoughts once more. Something was coming. He knew it. Could feel it in his bones.

  The wedding held all the spectacle due a King; a grand affair attended by all the nobility. Sanrev stood in the back of the hall, wishing he were anywhere but here.

  He hadn’t laid eyes on Lamisha for three months, not since the day he’d told her of his intentions to court her. He’d never been given the chance to explain or say a word to her. She must think he’d only been playing with her affections.

  Perhaps it was better this way. She wouldn’t miss him. Lamisha would be Queen, something Sanrev couldn’t give her.

  The crowd rose to its feet as the traditional song of the monarchy filled the room, the stringed instruments and pipes playing the tune his father loved so well. Sanrev closed his eyes, not wanting to see more, but the music changed and he couldn’t help but open them again. The last chance to see Lamisha without thinking of her as his brother’s Queen.

  Camon marched in next, his purple robe flowing behind him. Sanrev stared at the widened torque now worn at his neck. The wedding torque—woven by Lamisha’s hand and granting him her powers of magic.

  The young maidens entered, strewing rose petals on the floor for the new bride to walk on. Camon stood up on the dais, his jaw locke
d in a hard line as he waited.

  Sanrev ducked his head as Lamisha walked in, escorted by her father, but he couldn’t help seeing her misery as she climbed the steps to meet Camon and turned to face the crowd. The heavy purple gown they’d made her wear washed out her delicate skin and sucked the energy from her. It weighed down her light steps; she trod as if hitched to a wagon laden with stones.

  His heart ached and Sanrev tried to block out the priest as he spoke the ancient words. They filtered in anyway, buried deep within his memories of happier weddings.

  As it was in the mists of time past,

  So let it be said now.

  The Old Ones bless the exchange of magic.

  The giving of man to woman,

  And woman to man.

  The two halves complete the whole,

  As long as both shall live.

  Keep the vessel of magic safe,

  For woe to the man who loses his wife.

  The magic flees into the Crossing,

  As surely as he would die himself.

  So let it be known.

  So let it be said.

  The ceremony ended with a joyful piece of music, the melody soaring with the promise of love. Sanrev’s own emotions plummeted with each cheerful note. He slipped out the back, not wanting any part of wishing the couple happiness and long life nor drinking to their health and fruitfulness. The feast would go on for hours. No one but his mother would miss him.

  Camon confronted him the following morning, his eyes cold and hard, not the face of a man after his wedding night. Sanrev kept eating, not caring if he angered his brother further. Nothing mattered anymore.

  “The Dragon Sword is missing, stolen by a thief who slipped in during the ceremony. What do you know of this?”

  That made Sanrev pause. He knew a bit of the legend of the Dragon Swords. One couldn’t be taken from its owner, only given away as a gift.

  “What are you saying? You’re accusing me of stealing it? That’s not possible. It would find its way back to you.”

  Camon scrubbed at his scalp with his fingers, an odd enough reaction from his normally controlled nature.

  “Father never had the chance to give it to me. I’m not positive…” He spun around, his fists balled up at his sides as he showed his back to Sanrev. The magic pulsated through the air, powerful waves that had the hairs on Sanrev’s arms standing up as if a burst of lightning struck the room. Lamisha’s magic, flowing from the torque and racing unchecked into Camon’s body.

  “Whoa! Wait a minute.” Sanrev stumbled out of his chair, backing away from Camon. The man had gone mad. “Don’t do this. Mother—”

  A bolt hit the ceiling, spraying them both with a shower of pebbles and dust. Sanrev tensed, already imagining the burst of flame which would consume his body at any moment. A minute trickled by in tense silence.

  Camon turned toward him, his face once again a mask of stone. The ominous chill in his voice was the only emotion to escape.

  “You will leave the castle, never to return. Take your clothing and your horse, the only inheritance due you as second son. I will not lay eyes on you again.”

  “What? This is my home too.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Sanrev stared at him in disbelief. His own brother would turn him out? He watched Camon leave the room with no hesitation in his step, disappearing from sight. The matter settled, as far as he was concerned.

  Sanrev went up to his rooms to pack before he did something stupid. Too much anger boiled in his veins to risk staying. Camon might have thrown him out but Sanrev would never grovel at his feet. The King be damned. He’d make his own way in the world.

  Sanrev left within the hour, his posture nothing more than a man going out for a ride on his horse. As he passed by his mother’s tower, he didn’t look up. If she knew—if she watched—it was better for both if he didn’t acknowledge it. And if she wasn’t at the window?

  Sanrev didn’t want to acknowledge that, either.

  493rd year of the Celaka

  The Turning Ball ushered in the new year for the highborn with flowing drink, platters piled high with food, and stately dances to occupy the nobles. Camon sat on his throne overseeing the horde doing their best to act the fools. He glanced over at the Queen, regarding her passive demeanor, her listless eyes dull in the candlelight as she stared out at the crowd from her chair beside him.

  “Are you enjoying the festivities?” he asked. “I thought you’d find a smile to show for appearances, if nothing else.”

  She showed her teeth through stretched lips, the effect unpleasing in a face which didn’t otherwise move. “The Turning Ball is quite lovely, Your Majesty.”

  “Stay and perform the royal duties,” he ordered as he stood. “I have business to attend.”

  Camon left the gaiety, wanting no part of it. A waste of his time and a frivolous expense. There were simpler ways to usher in a new year. It had been his first Turning Ball as King but next year would be pared down. The spendthrift lot of them could fund their own amusement elsewhere. Eat at their own tables. Drink their own wine to excess.

  After winter loosened its hold on the land, the spring planting occupied much of the populace. The King’s Advisor began to display increasingly nervous gestures in Camon’s presence. By summer, Camon’s anger swelled with each new tic upon the man’s face, with each tremor of his hand as he handed papers over.

  “Are you feeling well?” he finally asked as yet another paper spilled to the floor.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Forgive my clumsiness.” The man retrieved the fallen paper and backed away from Camon, as was his habit these days.

  “Out with it! I am King. Don’t take me for a fool.”

  “It’s nothing, Your Majesty. Gossip uttered by lowborn peasants ignorant of their duty. I cannot bring the shameful words to my tongue.” The Advisor trembled all over and fell to his knees.

  “You’ll tell me the words or I’ll have your head on a pike for refusing an order from your King!” Camon rose from his seat and towered over the man, rage curling in the pit of his stomach like a snake ready to strike.

  “Some…some are whispering about an ill portent delivered at your birth, Your Majesty, and the oracle beheaded for his treasonous words. I don’t know the words themselves, I swear it!” He crumpled to the floor in a sniveling heap and Camon eyed him with disgust.

  “Guard! Get this man out of my sight.”

  A guard ran in and dragged the Advisor away. Camon closed the door and marched down the hall until he came to the end of it. He spoke a few words and the stone shimmered, revealing a hidden door. It led up rough steps to a tiny room at the top of another tower—a tower no one but the Kings of Shaylar had ever entered.

  The smells of herbs and spices filled Camon’s senses as he walked into the windowless enclosure. He inhaled deeply, a rare peace stealing over him as a torch of mage fire burst into flame and lit the area. On one side, a table sat along the curved wall, bottles of potions resting on its surface. The other side of the room held shelves of jars stacked in precise rows and one shelf with a few books.

  The knowledge of the Kings before him crowded the pages of those tomes, some writings so old they were impossible to decipher. Camon had memorized what spells he could find and dismissed the rest as ramblings of old men seeking to be remembered as great rulers by their descendants.

  Camon reached for one of the books which hadn’t any spells and turned to the section with his father’s writing. The one time he’d flipped through the pages it read like the details of a hunting party. He’d lost interest after a few minutes of reading back then and shelved it with the others.

  Now he searched for the pages written around the time of his birth. They were in proper order and he read of his father’s joy at having twin sons. Only one brief mention of the oracle and his treason were written by the King, the ink splotched over the next few lines as if his father had changed his mind about what he wanted to record, even in this
most secret of places.

  Camon slammed the book shut and went over to the table. There was more than one way to get the information he needed. He mixed a combination of spices, adding in a pinch of a rare herb, and set the powder on fire in a small bowl.

  As the fragrant smoke rose through the room, Camon chanted a spell to find the one who could tell him what he wished to know and deliver him to the castle. Now all he had to do was wait. He’d soon have the information he craved.

  Chapter Seven

  An Unjust Ruler

  The old woman let her grandson help her down from the cart in front of the castle, her gnarled fingers unable to grip his outstretched hands. He grasped her by the arms, the pressure painful but she knew he was trying his best to be gentle.

  “I’ll wait here till you come out,” he said.

  “No, go on.” She lifted a hand up to his cheek and patted his face. “I won’t be coming home.”

  “Then we’ll leave—now. Don’t do this.” His voice cracked on the last word and she gave him a sharp look.

  “This is what I have to do. What I have seen. I won’t deny what I am.” She saw the harshness of her words hurt him and she regretted it but he needed to understand. Others might shun her for having the wild magic of a lowborn and call her witch behind her back but she’d raised her family to be proud of their heritage. He needed to accept the responsibilities attached to it.

  “You can’t leave that cart here.” One of the King’s guards strode over to them, his manner unfriendly.

  “He’s leaving.” The old woman turned to her grandson. “Go…while you still can. Protect your mother.”

  He nodded stiffly, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She turned away from him while she still had the strength to do so.

  Hobbling, each step a painful jar to her knees, the old woman approached the main doors. The puzzled guard followed, not bothering to assist but not hindering her progress. She heard the cart wheels squeal as they started to roll, the horse plodding along with as much weariness as she felt.