Prophecy Of The Sun (Age Of Oryn Book 1)

by Liam Reese

  “What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed. “I told everyone to stay where they were for a reason.”

  “What happened?” Croenin blurted. “I heard the scream, we all did. Did—”

  “That is none of your concern.” Lothaire glowered at the two.

  “But—”

  Lothaire sighed, raising a hand to cut Croenin off. “It seems there was an accident. We have one of our guards examining the body now. He has some medical training and stepped forward when we were at a loss as to what to do.”

  Croenin wondered if that guard could be Captio, but put that thought aside. “What do you mean accident?”

  Lothaire stared at him. “This doesn’t leave this room. You and…” He looked intently at Rozaelle.

  “Roz. I’m Croenin’s cousin.” She offered.

  Lothaire looked to Croenin, who shrugged. “I didn’t know what had happened to her. I didn’t want to come alone.”

  That seemed to satisfy the large man, who continued. “You and Roz must promise me that you won’t go back to the other servants and gossip.”

  “We promise,” Croenin said.

  “Absolutely,” Rozaelle added.

  Lothaire looked up, closing his eyes and sighing. “Such an undignified way to die,” he muttered before speaking louder. “By the account we were given, it seems that Rysandre most likely choked on a fig tart. Her maid was out fetching a comb from her sister, and when she returned, her lady was on the floor, throat scratched by her own fingernails. An accident, I assume, but once our guard is finished examining her, we’ll be sure.”

  Croenin and Rozaelle nodded slowly. Could this be Ayne? He wondered. It seemed too mundane for her. After seeing his grandmother’s mangled body, message written in her own blood above her, Croenin thought that it seemed likely that this was just a freak accident. Though, it happening so shortly after his arrival did seem suspect. He and Rozaelle were dismissed with a stern warning and snuck back to the servants’ quarters, where many were still gathered in the dining hall, gossiping and stating their own theories as to what had happened. Jehayne arrived shortly after they did, and she quickly ordered the servants to their rooms to put a stop to the chatter. Leaving quickly, Rozaelle, Bruta, and Croenin all piled into the room that the two girls shared before Jehayne could spot them.

  The small room was much like Croenin’s, though in place of his small table that also served as a writing desk was one of the girls’ beds. No toiletries for them, he noticed. It seemed he really was granted special privileges even now. He sat down on one of the beds, and Rozaelle dropped down next to him as Bruta paced. She seemed more on edge than when they had left.

  “What is it?” Croenin asked, eyes following her as she walked back and forth in the small space, hands nervously playing with her long, black braid.

  “I just have this feeling,” she said softly. “That this is just the beginning. I had it earlier, before we all heard the scream.”

  “You’re probably just nervous after what happened,” Croenin said. “We all are.” He glanced at Rozaelle for reassurance, but she looked grim. “What?” He asked her.

  “This has happened before,” she mumbled. “This feeling.”

  “And?”

  Bruta stopped pacing, then, and looked Croenin in the eyes, her large, dark eyes shining with tears. “It happened before the Maelstris Nequitum found me, before I knew what I was.” She sat heavily on the bed across from them, hands fluttering in her lap. “When I was little, maybe five or six, I still lived with my family in one of the northern villages in Toque Staetyme, just on the border with Uqolelle. I was playing with my brother, just outside our cottage, when I got that feeling. I stopped playing and went inside, dragging my brother behind me, and told my mother that I felt like something bad was going to happen. She laughed, of course, just thinking that I had an overreactive imagination or whatever other excuse adults use to talk down to children.” She began fumbling with her braid again, fingers running over it. “Then we heard the shouts.”

  “What happened?” Croenin whispered.

  “Men from Uqolelle, raiding our village for supplies. They set fire to some of the cottages, and the thatch burned quickly, leaving only the stone bases behind. They slaughtered my father and the other men, and took the women. My brother and I were left, because our mother had hidden us under her bed. They were too lazy to look for us children.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What could we do? We were children? We stayed there for who knows how long, until hunger drove us out to search the village. There was no one, not even other children. We decided to leave. I lugged him over the wall after we searched for food and found none, and we set off in search of another village. A couple that happened to be traveling near our village found us and took us in.”

  Croenin was silent a moment. “That was one time, though. That doesn’t mean something like that is going to happen again.”

  Rozaelle rolled her eyes. “Are you seriously being skeptical right now?”

  Before Croenin could answer, Bruta spoke up. “It wasn’t just one time.”

  Croenin frowned and waited for her to continue.

  “Again, when I was older, my adopted father wanted to take my brother on his first boar hunt. My brother was so excited to go.” She stopped, taking a breath to calm herself. “But I felt that something would go wrong. I tried to stop them both from going, but they and my adopted mother laughed me off. It wasn’t until later, when some men from the village brought back their bodies, so badly mangled by the boars’ tusks you could scarcely tell they’d been human, that she knew I had some sort of premonition.”

  “And you think that now it’ll happen again, something terrible?” Croenin asked.

  “Yes!” Bruta stood, tears streaking down her pale face. “I’ve never felt it this strong before. I know something awful is coming, but I’m too useless to know what.”

  Croenin had never seen her so emotional before. He thought back to when he first saw her in the woods, so composed and mysterious. He stood and embraced her, letting her cry herself out as he stared resolutely at the wall in front of him. Something told him that Rysandre’s death wouldn’t be the last, and he knew that Ayne must have something to do with it. He told the girls of his conviction when Bruta had calmed down, and they knew that they had to make more of an effort to find her. Croenin wondered briefly if his own death was why Bruta felt the warning feeling so strongly, but he then ignored that thought. If he were to die, he was taking Ayne with him.

  Croenin snuck back to his room once he was sure the hallway was clear, wary that Jehayne might be lurking about to catch servants who snuck back and forth between rooms. He made it to his own small quarters without incident and dropped onto his bed, wondering how he might catch Ayne the next time he went to Mylesant’s room. He assumed Lothaire would hold off on sending Croenin to her with poetry, in order to allow her time to mourn. Perhaps he could persuade the man that she needed comfort, and instead of love poems he could read her something to take her mind off her grief. That could work, Croenin mused, flopping over onto his stomach and placing his head on his arms. He fell asleep like that, dreaming of rooms filled with thousands of books.

  The next morning, he awoke and skipped breakfast, reporting immediately to Lothaire. To his dismay, the man did not ask for him to go to Mylesant, and his plan of comforting her fell through when Lothaire gruffly shot down his idea.

  “I’m going to her myself,” he said. “It would be rude of me not to in this trying time.”

  When the large man turned his back to leave, Croenin rolled his eyes. Of course, he would use this time to step up his seduction. He was soon left alone, transcribing until it was time for his lesson with the children. It was tedious work, and by mid-morning, he wished he’d stopped and had breakfast, his stomach growling, distracting him from his work. Lothaire hadn’t yet returned, and Croenin wondered if he would have time to sneak down to the kitchen and back when the do
or of the office opened suddenly, Captio walking in holding a slip of parchment. The two stared at each other, wide-eyed, for a moment, before Captio quickly shut the door behind him and burst out laughing.

  “I can’t believe my luck!” He exclaimed.

  Croenin, surprised by his outburst, asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I was just coming up to give Lothaire my report on what happened to Rysandre.” Captio smirked. “It wasn’t an accidental choking.”

  “No?” Croenin breathed. “What was it?”

  “Her throat was entirely closed when I made my examination.”

  “Poison?”

  “No,” Captio’s eyes were wide as he shook his head. “I thought that, as well, so I tested it by feeding some of the tart she had been eating to a lizard I found lounging in one of the courtyards. The lizard is fine, released him just now after keeping him for observation, in case the poison was slower-acting on his system.”

  Croenin frowned. “Could it have been something else?”

  “I thought perhaps she’d been allergic to fig, but she’d eaten fig tarts many times before. They were her favorite, actually.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I questioned all of the kitchen staff separately.”

  “Then what?”

  “Magic. Someone wanted it to look like she’d choked.”

  “I think I know who that someone is,” Croenin said, standing.

  “I think so too, but let’s not jump to any conclusions yet. She may have a hand in this, but there may be more to it than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Pay more attention to the relationships in this place. I think there may be some changes happening very soon.” With that, Captio turned to leave. “Tell Lothaire she choked on a piece of the fig tart,” he said over his shoulder as he exited the room.

  Croenin sat back down, leaning back and staring off into space as he thought. Just like Captio to want to examine all possible suspects before focusing on Ayne, he told himself. Though, Rysandre had been betrothed to Lothaire, who was obviously in love with Eudys’ wife Mylesant. Could Lothaire have done something to her? He knew that Eudys had a sícharae. Or at least a sícharae is being used here, he thought, remembering the dull-looking king. Either Eudys is smarter than he looks or Lothaire is running things. He looked back down to his work, picking up the engraver and starting to transcribe once more. He was nearly done with that page when Lothaire burst into the office, sweating and panting as if he’d run a mile.

  “Go back to the servants’ quarters and remain there,” the large man huffed.

  “Why—”

  “Go!” He bellowed, and Croenin rushed to obey.

  He ran down the pearlescent staircase and to the first floor, where servants were already making their way back to their own wing. Just as before, the dining hall was awash with chatter, but this time there were no conjectures. A footman had fallen to his death from the top of the castle, a place no one was allowed to be. He’d been seen falling by one of the housemaids, who sat in the corner, sobbing out her story. After many tries, Croenin understood that the footman had been smiling madly on his way down to the cobblestones below. He shuddered. This definitely seemed like Ayne’s handiwork. He glanced at Rozaelle and Bruta, who looked much paler than usual. Rozaelle nodded to him and placed a protective arm around Bruta. He wondered if this was only the beginning. Two deaths in two days, he thought. This definitely isn’t a coincidence.

  Much like before the servants were sent back to their rooms, and Croenin, Rozaelle, and Bruta congregated in his room this time. Rozaelle and a shell-shocked Bruta sat on his bed as he plopped down at the small table in front of them, sighing heavily.

  “We have to find her,” he said. “She’s going to just keep killing people.”

  “Why would she do this?” Bruta asked softly. “There doesn’t seem to be a point to it.”

  “I think she just likes chaos,” Croenin answered. “And teasing me, just like she did by killing our grandmother.”

  “This just seems senseless though.” Rozaelle said. “She’s already managed to stay hidden from all of us, why start this?”

  “I think she’s trying to scare us. My sister wants to show us how much control she has here.”

  They were at a loss as to what to do besides trying to find Ayne. The girls returned to their room, and Croenin, once alone, tried to see beyond himself. Show me the killer, he mouthed, and he felt himself struggling to leave his body for a few moments before crashing back down. He let himself catch his breath for a few moments before trying again. Show me Lothaire, he mouthed, feeling the same struggle and fall. He tried to see Eudys, Mylesant, Jehayne, and others, before giving up, chest sore from having his breath knocked out of him and coughing. He was frustrated and felt trapped. What good was such a power if he could only use it when his sister allowed him to? He fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of running from some unknown danger.

  Croenin was awoken by a scream. Another lady, this time a woman rumored to be having an affair with Eudys. She tripped down the large white staircase that led from Mylesant’s quarters down to the ladies’ own rooms and was seen by her maids as she fell, landing at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck. The servants, except for a select few, were confined to their quarters, and Croenin was growing restless. The next few days passed like this, two more ladies and one of Eudys’ friends all dying horrible deaths that looked like accidents to all who witnessed them. One lady was crushed by an oryn chandelier as it fell from the high, domed ceiling of the great hall. The other was killed when her room caught on fire, the flames mysteriously vanishing once they reached the door of her chamber. A young man tripped and fell into one of the fish ponds, his tunic catching on a rock at the bottom of the shallow pond and trapping him there. He was found floating face down by the king himself, tunic having ripped just enough to allow the body to float to the surface of the pond.

  Croenin was trapped in his room unless specifically summoned for by Lothaire, who was filled with stress during this time. Croenin had begun to stop suspecting him as the one behind the deaths, until he passed Captio on his way back to the servants’ quarters after taking the minutes of a meeting in which Lothaire questioned two of the ladies who had last been with the drowned young man. Captio quickly pulled him into a darkened and empty hallway.

  “Have you found out anything more on Lothaire?” He whispered.

  “No, I’m stuck in my room most of the day.”

  “What about your ability? Why don’t you try spying on the others by seeing beyond—”

  “Because every time I try, I’m blocked. Ayne is stopping me from doing it, somehow. I think that proves she’s behind this!”

  “This doesn’t seem smart,” Captio said. “We’re all trapped here. It’s not like you can run. What’s more, killing off everyone one by one until she gets to you doesn’t guarantee you’ll die. I know I said this was magic, but it seems rather clumsy.”

  Croenin lowered his gaze. Captio had a point. Ayne up until this point had made him finding her more a game of cat and mouse. This just seemed like endless terror. Though she could be violent, this didn’t seem like her style. Just then, they saw two figures pass the archway at the end of the corridor. Croenin glanced at Captio, who frowned and began creeping toward the figures. Croenin followed and could soon hear what the figures were saying. He recognized Lothaire’s voice.

  “Abdicate.”

  “I will not,” a breathless, whining voice Answered. Croenin assumed this was Eudys.

  “I’ve warned you long enough. You have nothing to hold onto the crown for, you use it for endless feasts to stuff your face and forcing your wife’s cousins and friends to sing for you.” This was Lothaire. “You spend your days doing nothing but lounging around and eating. That’s not what a true king does. Abdicate and hand the crown over to me. I’ll give you my pendant, so you can still have control over those you wish to.”

  A petulant grunt.

  �
�Brother, you are king only in name, only because you found the circlet first. I’ve given you enough warnings these past few days. Give it to me.”

  “I’ll not! I am the king. My son will be king after me, and then his son as well!”

  “A king doesn’t only secure his line. A king must rule.”

  Croenin heard heavy footfalls stomping away, and knew that Eudys must have retreated in anger. He looked to Captio, who was smirking at him. He had been right. No doubt Ayne was grateful for the distraction, but she had no hand in this. Croenin peeled himself from the wall, waiting until he heard Lothaire’s footfalls fade to speak.

  “Alright, you were right. I’ll admit it,” he whispered.

  “You’re lucky I’m not one to gloat,” Captio joked. “What can you tell me about Lothaire? I haven’t been able to find out much about him.”

  Croenin followed Captio deeper into the hallway once more as they made sure they wouldn’t be overheard. He told his former master of the large man’s book collection, the human books he had found, and of his master’s obvious longing for a return to the time before the Aes Sidhe entered the human realm. He knew Captio would be impressed by the finding and allowed himself to go off topic a bit to tell him of the books of love poems and myths he’d been transcribing, feeling somewhat smug as the slender man tried not to look envious. He told him of Lothaire’s infatuation with Mylesant, and his sessions reading love poems to her.

  “He wants the throne and the queen,” Captio mused. “Well, we’ll have to see how this plays out.”

  “Shouldn’t we stop him?” Croenin hissed. “He just threatened his own brother. If he becomes king—”

  “This is not our fight. Not until we find your sister. She is, no doubt, using this to gather strength and get ready to confront you. If we let our guard down now to try to fight Lothaire, we may find ourselves losing out to her.”

  “How do you know we won’t be next?” Croenin cried before quickly lowering his voice. “Who’s to say we won’t be used to make an example of?”