by C. A. Sabol
Cyerra sighed. He was certainly leaving her little room for ambiguity. She took his hand. “Come with me,” she whispered, taking him to the back room and out the back door. She turned the corner around the alleyway, and beckoned him to follow her as she opened a small shed. The shed was connected to the main shop, supposed to be used for storage and other similar purposes. However, it had been cleaned out and fixed up, made up to be more of a meeting spot.
Once inside, she pulled a string, and a lantern came on.
“Look, I can’t be too long in here, but there is something I feel I must tell you,” she said, her voice suggesting that she was torn apart inside. “But you must promise me that you will not hate me or my family for this first.”
“Okay,” Ronal promised. “That’s easy. I won’t hate you. I could never.” His hand squeezed hers relaxingly, reassuringly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s my brother, Aemon.” Her voice broke as the tears welled up in her eyes. “He is angry at the Royals. He and some of the Islanders around here are using the reception as a cover to find more enemies of the monarchy—almost like a reconnaissance mission.”
“Another Rebellion?”
Cyerra nodded. “He is intent on becoming the King, I’m afraid. After the last Rebellion, he feels that it is his destiny.”
“What? Are you sure?” He took a hold of her gently and asked, “How bad is it? How bad is it? Does he have a lot of support?”
She began to have trouble breathing. In the dim light Ronal could just make out the barest glimpse of tears beginning to form in her eyes. “Yes, it looks quite bad,” she muttered. “He has nearly one hundred small islands behind him, and his numbers are growing, though slowly, but with more joining every day. He has managed to convince the Island leaders that the entire Continent is taking over the islanders’ resources and exploiting them, and how Diamond City is loaded with riches that the Islanders will never see for themselves because of the King’s greed.”
“What?”
“I know, it seems to us to be a lie. But the islands are not as rich as the Continent. They will only see the profits and fall into step quite easily behind the enemy.”
Aemon had to be crazy, Ronal thought. But it looked like crazy was just what some of the Island leaders wanted. One hundred isles and growing behind him! Ronal couldn’t believe such a thing was possible. He knew, from his strategy class, that even from fifty islands in the Sapphiran seas that the occurrence of war would involve legions and legions of the King’s army, let alone a hundred or more! Even if the defenses had time to mobilize, the war would take thousands of lives.
“Cyerra,” he said. “I know that I cannot ask you to spy for me. But I need your help.”
She started to weep. “I would do anything to not go to war! I would do anything for my brother to let this go!” she cried. “And ... then there you are. I have only known you for a few short months, but I cannot help but feel I was meant to know you. I do not want you to die ... least of all, because of me.”
Her words were touching, but he did not need to hear them now. His hands grasped her arms, trying to assert the seriousness of the situation. He knocked her off balance as he held onto her and willed her to think logically. “Then convince your brother I am a sap. Tell him that you can go with me to the Palace and check for suitable allies. I need you beside me tonight.” Ronal’s voice never faltered, never wavered. But he was worried for her, and for himself.
“Please, my friend, please! Try to understand. My brother is not a bad man,” Cyerra started to try and regain her footing. “He is just angry, that he was deprived of a childhood. He grew up too fast. Aemon ... ” her voice trailed off and she sighed. She could hear her aunt moving around in the upstairs room. “We have to go back now. I cannot guarantee that he will let me come tonight. But I will try. If I can come, I will meet you there.”
“Thank you,” Ronal said. “That’s all I’m going to ask of you for tonight.” I’ve got to let Etoileon know about this, he thought. If anyone would know what to do, it would be him.
Cyerra put on a brave smile. “Really? No dance?” she teased him as she walked out of the shed, trying not to let anyone see that she had been crying.
THE KING SILENTLY GROANED at the thought of having a meeting with the Heads of Council that day. Breakfast had been far from fun, when he had finally told Selene the news of the council’s opinions. Even thinking about what those old men on the councils were going to tell him about what they thought he should be doing in order to help the prosperity of the world made his blood stir in anger. But he was comforted by the thought that the old men would be well into their spirits before too long. This was his last meeting before the reception.
On Sapphira, the Heads of Councils were also known as the Judges. They had been hand chosen by the Judges before them to replace them. The original generation of judges dated back to the first hundred years of the establishment of the monarchy.
He looked at the water clock in the middle of his study. From the look of it, he had no more time to delay; it was to leave for the meeting.
Dorian walked down the luxurious grand hallways of his home and marveled at how the decorations were coming for the party tonight. The wreaths of tree branches hung over and beside doorways, the world colors, appropriately blue (for the seas) and gold (for the land) were hung in plain and tasteful sight. He couldn’t help but smile at all the effort that had been put into some of the outrageous designs; the guests were going to have plenty to talk about in those first awkward stages of starting a conversation.
Some of the really early guests were even coming, no doubt anxious to get off of their ships. Some islanders needed to spend over two weeks at sea in order to attend the Representatives’ Ball. They would sneak ashore early, prepare for their grand entrances, and then once more sneak away to the welcoming blue carpet, where the television broadcasts, the newspaper journalists, and all the city people were anxiously awaiting them. It was almost like a contest, to see which island’s representative would get the most airtime. The movie stars could have been put to shame by the off-hand attempts of some of these people to stay on the small screen, Dorian thought. He grinned as he at last reached his destination.
“All bow to His Royal Majesty, King Dorian, son of Lukiahs!” the royal guard at the door announced. Dorian looked around to see that the surrounding men all greeted his arrival by giving him, remarkably, the same expression of quiet indifference. The king was just starting to think that he’d been late when the proceedings began, officially starting the meeting. Dorian kept his enjoyment to himself. After all these guys on the council were putting him through, he was a little more than glad the Council members had to bow down to him respectfully.
Dorian waved them off after a long moment. “All may rise.”
Simultaneously, all of the men stood up straight from their bowed positions and after a moment of all of them trying to avoid rubbing their sore muscles and aching joints, everything was all ready for hours of discussion.
Dorian’s chief councilor was a short, nervous looking man sitting to the right of him. Dorian couldn’t help but feel a warm smile come to his face as he looked at this man; his name was Josiah, and he had been serving in the Council ever since Dorian had turned eighteen years old. Josiah had the heart of a child, and was Dorian’s favorite in the Judges by far. Josiah alone was sympathetic and willing to listen to Dorian’s thoughts on certain ideas. The tiny man’s eyes twinkled with respect as he nodded, telling the King that the Heads of Council were ready for him to begin.
“Welcome, men,” Dorian greeted. “It is good to see that you have not been delayed by all the partying, I must say.”
A soft, almost inaudible chuckle sounded out among the ranks. There were a total of twelve men. Out of all of them, three of them had grinned, two had laughed, and the rest had no change of expression on their faces whatsoever. Dorian raised his eyebrow in speculation. You’d think that the men would be a bi
t more cheerful—they were given all the comforts of the Palace, and had nothing to do but once in a while gather for these silly meetings, he thought. “Anyway, to business.”
“First order of Business,” called out the speaker. His name was Gibberson, and he was a loud man, the only one with a full head of hair that was some other color than gray or white. His voice was only slightly softer as he looked at the king and continued. “Your Majesty, if you have not yet noticed, we have a new face with us today.”
Dorian had not noticed the unfamiliar man sitting front and center in the boardroom. Now, looking on it, there was indeed a young man in the room, dressed in a simply cut black woven cloak. He sat directly across from the King’s seat. He had to be young, Dorian thought. From his assessment, the king figured that this new arrival had to be only a few months older then Selene. But unlike his sister, this boy was completely solemn in his manner. Dorian was quite certain that he’d never seen such an intense face before at such a young age. The closest he could think of was that brat friend of Selene’s, that orphan she’d dragged home. “Introduce yourself sir, if you please.”
He stood up, barely coming to a short six feet in height. “I am Aemon, son of the late Ammos the Lost, of Jewel Island. I am the representative from my home island to the City.” He sat down once again, patiently waiting to be addressed by King Dorian.
Dorian raised his eyebrows in surprise. He knew who this was now all right. “I see. Welcome to Diamond City. Might I have a reason for your visit with my councilors this afternoon?”
Josiah spoke up. “Sir, we have been approached by Aemon –“ he was cut off as Aemon once again stood up.
“I have come here to speak for myself and my people, and I would appreciate the chance to do so,” Aemon interrupted him quite smoothly. “I have a proposition for you to carefully consider, Your Majesty.” His voice and manners both lacked the full respectful formality that was due to the King and his advisors.
Dorian could guess where this was going. “You dare to mock the King?” he asked. “Either you have much bravery, sir, or little sense.”
Aemon grinned. “I prefer to think that we are on even ground, Your Majesty.”
“Really? Why’s that, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I have come to get what I rightfully should have had long ago, and I warn you, I am willing to use whatever means necessary to accomplish my goals,” he started out. “There is something I want from you.”
“And that is ... ?” Dorian was starting to sense that something was terribly, terribly wrong here. It was a feeling he had not felt since before his father died. His fears were confirmed by the Aemon’s response a moment later.
The smirk on Aemon’s face grew. “How is your sister doing, now that she is eighteen?”
THE TIME HAD JUST COME for the reception to begin as Etoileon made his way up to the highest tower of the castle. He was late as far as the party was concerned, but he had a special reason for missing out on the pre-premiere and the beginning of formal announcements, and coming to this special room at the top of the high tower.
This was the place where he and Selene met each night they could both sneak away, often talking until the midnight hour. It had been their tradition to do this since they’d met, almost three years ago. This was where they laughed and talked together, and told each other all their secrets ... well, most of them at least.
Etoileon smiled as he pulled out his special gift for Selene—having taken Ronal’s earlier advice, he had a tiny bouquet of deep red ekedlets, small minuscule flowers that smelled like sweet fruit. The ekedlets were tied together with a small yellow ribbon. He’d thought that the small gift would be perfect for her. It had taken him a while to get them, too. He was only allowed into the city, along with the other members of the Palace crew, only twice a month. Etoileon was lucky that he’d known the streets well enough to know where to go so he could get back in time to escort Selene down to the ballroom entrance.
The city was crowded for the opening of the reception. Etoileon had run into more than one person trying to reach his destination, Madame Flora’s Shop. Though he had meant to hurry up, Etoileon slowed down to look around, amazed to see just how the streets had changed to him in so short a time.
He’d been raised on the streets, mostly all alone.
It had been a miracle that he had survived there, let alone to manage to get a job in the Diamond City Palace, considering a job at the palace was a highly coveted position in society. Middle class children often took jobs in the palace, using their connections to be introduced into the flashy world of riches and wealth. After a number of years, they were able to use their earned capital to be educated in the way of society. Using the skills they would acquire from training and teaching of their instructors and parents, the now young adults would be able to be placed in a position where it was likely for a marriage to be arranged or sought after.
Etoileon had none of this.
He had no parents, no real family, few allies ... there were plenty of untrustworthy people, enemies, and dangers around every corner. All he had were survival skills, and the good fortune to happen to be in the right place at the right time. As Etoileon leaned back on the tower wall, he thought about the night that he’d met Selene. He did not get too lost in his memories. The Palace was beginning to feel more like home to him as time went on, and his memories of the darker times of his life were beginning to fade.
It was a moment later that the door opened and Selene walked into the Tower room as well.
“Etoileon,” she greeted him, her eyes quickly losing their flicker of surprise and replacing it with an expression of warmth. “I did not think you would be up here this early.”
“You are,” he pointed out, a small smile forming on his face.
“Well,” Selene blushed, “There was something I wanted to do before later.”
“You mean before I came?” Etoileon asked. “What was it?”
“Well ... ” Her face had turned even redder, and she looked away as she reached behind her and pulled out a small bag. “I wanted to give this to you later, but I have no objections to giving it to you a little early.”
Etoileon looked down at the bag she placed delicately in his hand. It had been carefully prepared for him, he could tell. The bag was all dressed up, tiny curls of ribbons surrounding the drawstrings of the sack, and made from cheerfully colored fabric.
Selene nodded. “Open it, Etoileon. It’s for you.”
Inside the bag, he found a small silver-framed photograph of Selene and him from a few years ago. It was when he had first undergone his training for the Fighter squad. Selene was sitting in front of him in the picture, while he was standing behind her. He could tell that his eyes had been focused on her; Etoileon figured that he must have missed the camera. His eyes examined the picture closely, running over Selene’s face again and again.
“I don’t remember this picture,” he said slowly.
“It’s from the time that you came storming out of the Fighter’s training room, remember? You were not too happy, I recall. My memory of the reason has faded, but I remember thinking you needed me there,” she said in a hushed voice. “I still come to watch, sometimes.”
I still need you there, he thought. But he could not say that. So instead, he looked over at her intently, and said, “Thank you.”
“So you like it?” Her smile seemed to brighten up the entire evening sky.
“Very much,” he nodded. “That must’ve been the day that Master Norio told me in front of everyone that I had been poorly trained and it would be a miracle if I amounted to anything.”
Selene’s sad smile flitted to her lips. “Poor Master Norio. That has to be the most incorrect he’s ever been.”
“Just goes to show you that no one is always right,” Etoileon shrugged. His eyes fell to the picture once more.
“Well ... Happy Third Year Anniversary, Etoileon,” she whispered. “That’s what it’s for. We met on
this day, three years ago, remember?” She sincerely hoped he had remembered.
So that was why she had been so excited. His face curved into a smirk. “How could I forget? Actually, I was just thinking about it, if you want to know. Do you remember it?”
Selene grinned. “I remember it as though it were yesterday.”
Chapter 4
Memories
IT HAD ALL BEGAN ON that day, three years ago to the day.
The Princess Selene, under Dorian’s careful guidance, managed to grow up in a short amount of time. She was constantly kept under watchful eyes, and it was thought that because of her that the world seemed to grow happier.
Dorian watched his sister as she played in the main hall’s water fountain. She was fifteen, almost sixteen, years old, and she had never grown out of this habit.
She had never grown up to him, either. She still had the same angelic eyes, innocent look, and soft hair (though of course lots more of it) she had when he’d been nine years old and had picked her up for the first time. She had changed somewhat over the years, though. She was of average height for fifteen years, a couple inches short of five and a half feet. She was thinly built and, according to all of the boys that were employed as bellboys around the palace, the most charming girl that they had ever talked to or looked at. She was absolutely luminescent with the radiant light that seemed to shine from within her royal blood.
“You’re going to get sick,” he warned as he walked closer to her.
“Brother,” Selene replied, while she was giggling hysterically. “You are incredibly too serious at times. Besides, if you would just let me have a tour around the city, I would not be so bored as to cause trouble.”
“You know that this is not too much of a problem—after all the years you’ve been playing in this fountain, the staff is quite used to cleaning up after you,” Dorian shook his head. “But the world out there is dangerous, Selene. It is no place for one as innocent and as carefree as you are. You know I cannot let you go out there. I have told you this before.”