The Heir of Eyria

by Osku Alanen

  “Explain yourself.” King Robert said in quiet anger. For most men, his father might’ve seemed composed, calm. But for Alessia, she knew the bulging vein on the man’s forehead meant there was a storm raging inside of him. And she was the one about to face the storm.

  “I’m sorry,” Alessia found himself saying.

  “Sorry?” King Robert snorted. “You’re sorry?”

  “Please, father. Let me explain.”

  “Explain what, Alessia? Explain how you let the murder of my heirs escape in the middle of the night because of your recklessness? I should never have trusted the man with you. You disappoint me, daughter.”

  “Technically, the assassin didn’t escape,” Alessia whispered, biting her lip in the process. Oh, why did I have to say that? You should learn to keep your mouth shut, silly girl.

  “What?”

  Alessia cleared her throat. “As I was saying… technically the assassin we captured did not escape. How was I to know the second assassin was to come back? I am not the only one at fault here, father. My trap would have worked, if not for the second assassin. I’m sure of it.”

  “But it didn’t work,” the King snorted. “And that’s the only thing that matters, daughter.”

  Alessia turned her gaze away, hurt by the spite in his father’s words. She had failed here, yes, but was she truly the only one to blame? She thought about describing what she had witnessed to his father, but feared he’d think her insane. After all, she had no proof. Now all they had was one dead assassin who could no longer give them answers. All leads had been extinguished. Alessia cast a glance towards Everny’s direction. The bastard dared grin?

  Figures, the spineless coward stays silent. Only last night he had supported my plan openly, showering me with praises. The bald, backstabbing opportunist.

  “Get out of my sight, daughter,” King Robert waved his hand dismissively, “Go to your beloved mansion, stay there for all I care.”

  Alessia wanted to protest—desperately—but the disappointment in his father’s eyes… biting her lip and holding back her tears, Alessia submitted. “I understand, father. Please forgive me.” She bowed, retreating from the throne room with hasty steps, feeling the eyes of the closed council silently mutter behind her back, whispering, laughing. Even Captain Severan refused to meet her eyes.

  ***

  That night, Alessia paced around her chamber, lost in her thought. “Think, Alessia. What happened last night?” She muttered to herself.

  The assassin had looked like her father, she was sure of it. Had the shock of losing three of his brothers finally broken him, making her see ghosts? Alessia shook her head in disgust. No, she was stronger than that. She always prided herself in her sense of logic; how she always stayed rational and composed when she needed to act. But she hadn’t always been like that, had she? It felt like only yesterday she first knocked timidly on the door of his teacher, begging him to teach her. Alessia dug her nails deep into her palms; she would never let herself become that same little girl again.

  Alessia took a deep breath, calming her pounding heart. She gathered her thoughts, trying to see only the evidence—the facts. Fact one: someone had entered the room—the evidence was undeniable; the dead patient she had used had been stabbed multiple times. Fact two: the assassin in Everny’s interrogation room was dead—Alessia had checked. It was no trick. Ergo, an assassin had come there that night, to finish what they had started. Still, it didn’t explain why she thought she had seen her father there, in the robe of her mother’s making, no less. Could he have worn a mask of some kind? Perhaps, but she knew of no mask that good. The only logical conclusion was that she was either insane, or that the man had some strange abilities. A troubling thought entered her mind. Only one logical conclusion was left, yet the implications of it made her heart pound. Had she witnessed sorcery?

  She had heard stories of impossible deeds—miracles—being performed by strange men in ancient books. No one had seen a magus in decades in this part of the world. The few archmagi that were left in the world were nothing sort of recluses; they preferred to stay out of the way of men. The thought sent chills down her spine. Was the assassin a magus? A sorcerer of old? The implication was troubling. If a magus was working with the Nubian Empire, their kingdom would be in trouble. Still, it made sense: no simple assassin could infiltrate the castle unnoticed, kill three members of the royal family, and disappear into thin air. She knew her thoughts were only postulation still, but should they prove true....

  Alessia trusted her eyes, but others wouldn’t. In their eyes, she was a simple woman who had let the most hated man in the kingdom escape under her watch. All her life, she had worked to prove she wasn’t the simple, spoiled princess everyone had thought her to be. All that hard word—ruined in one single night. She needed to find evidence that the man was a magus, but how? There were no answers here. She placed her ear against the wooden frame of her door. Everything was quiet. She opened the door slowly, hoping the hinges wouldn’t scream.

  “Is everything alright, my lady?” a guard with blank, neutral face answered her.

  Of course, her father had posted some of his personal guard here. He knew her daughter, after all. “Yes,” Alessia answered, faking a smile. “Good evening to you.” She slammed to door closed behind her.

  There is no escape for me here, is there?

  She lowered her back against the heavy door, staring at the ceiling. She was dressed in nothing but her nightgown—hardly a suitable outfit for making an escape. The thought made her heart jump. Could she force the door open, and distract the guard somehow? Of course not, silly girl. These are trained soldiers.

  She forced herself to think again. If she was going to redeem herself, she would find out who or what the assassin was. And what better place for answers than the Grand Library of Eyria? She remembered the countless days in her childhood she had spent within those halls, enamored by the smell of old ink and paper. That was before her father had grown paranoid, fearing spies and assassins hiding behind every corner. Whenever she had visited the library, she had an escort with her—usually her elder brother, Lionel. He always used to mock her of her interest in the words of men long dead, saying it wasn’t fit for someone of royal blood, a princess no less.

  Then it hit her: her brothers were dead. Lionel, Rewalt, Edgar. They were all gone. Alessia wept herself to sleep that night, finally realizing the implication of their death; she would never see them again. She could never hear his elder brothers’ playful mocking of her pursuits. She would never hold her sweet younger brother in her arms, and spin him in circles, listening to his cries of joy. She had suppressed this part of her, turning all her attention towards the assassin, avoiding the pain inside her. That pain came rushing back to her now, like a violent wave ramming against a ship out in the open sea.

  ***

  It was early next morning when Alessia came up with her plan. She knew her father employed spies—assassins of his own. She herself had witnessed multiple times strange men disappearing into alleyways of the castle with nothing but dead ends. And there were spyholes in the castle, surely there might be some in her family mansion, too? Every king needs to employ those who work in the shadows.

  The sun had already set by the time Alessia had scoured through every brick in her chamber. She had left nothing unturned. She even moved her chamber pot, thinking there might be a hidden latch beneath it. Who am I kidding? There is no secret passage here. All this work, and for what?

  Alessia let out a frustrated scream, shocked to find a guard barging in on her when she was half-dressed. The guard’s face flushed red as he quickly discovered no one had assaulted the princess. He turned around, sheathing his blade. “Is… something the matter, my lady?”

  Excellent sense of smell had always been one of her better attributes, one she had found invaluable with her patients. It helped when deciding if her patients were too far gone; foul flesh had a peculiar smell that correlated with their survi
val. However, this time she didn’t smell the rot, but instead a faint taste of whiskey lingering in the air. Could she use that? It would seem one of her father’s guards had a problem. She covered herself with a woolen scarf. “Oh, nothing, good sir. I thought I saw a rat.”

  “I see,” the man muttered without looking her way. “If you’ll excuse me….”

  Alessia crashed on her bed, her brain working overtime, plotting her escape. If the man truly was a drunkard, then he would no doubt succumb to his habits while Alessia slept. That’s how she would get out. The thought brought a smile to her otherwise gloomy face. Now all she had to do was wait—and listen.

  It was close to dawn when Alessia heard faint snoring coming from the other side. She quickly gathered her things and opened the door as slowly as she could. The rest of the mansion would still mostly be asleep, but the help in the kitchen wouldn’t. Could she count in their silence? It was something Alessia was reluctant to do; she liked her servants, and it would be a shame to put them in that position.

  Alessia tiptoed past the guard. The weight of his body was leaning dangerously on the fickle looking chair, and she feared he might fall over at any moment. Just as she had predicted, the guard was holding an empty flask securely on his right hand. Just above him, stood a painting of the infamous king of her family—King Richard vas Nerian. Her uncle.

  Just as Alessia sneaked past the passed-out guard, she thought of the King and the story she had heard as she grew up. Everyone knew the achievements of King Richard—the man who had singlehandedly made their nation what it was today. Those were his glory days, however, and many were reluctant to mention his downfall. How he had turned crazy in his later years.

  After yet another clash with the Nubian empire, a long-lasting peace between the nations was finally brokered. They had even attempted to unify the two great nations by marrying the King’s son with the emperor’s daughter. Thus, the couple spent half their time in Eyria, and the rest in Nubia. However, during the absence of King Richard’s only son, he had grown restless, paranoid. No one knew what the catalysis of the King’s madness was, but now that Alessia thought about it, it might have been a simple sickness of the mind—a fact she had seen many a time during her studies. Regardless, for whatever baffling a reason, king Richard thought the time his son had spent in the Nubian empire had made his son a spy. He feared his son would betray his kingdom as more and more of their cultures mingled. He blamed his son’s wife for turning him. And when he found out she had birthed a son while they had spent more than a year in the Nubian empire, the King had finally snapped.

  An argument broke between the father and the son, and by the end of it the son ended up dead. This was the final nail in the coffin, and the King ordered any and every man, woman, and child of Nubian origin executed. It was a genocide—the darkest time in their nation’s history. Alessia had never been a part of it; she was born way after, when the nation had all but forgotten it. No one knew the true events that transpired that day, but at the end of it, both the King’s daughter-in-law and her infant son ended up dead. When Alessia’s father learned of the horrors his brother had done, he marched on the capital with his armies, and with his own hands, strangled this mad brother of his. Peace was achieved, and sanity restored. But the emperor of Nubian empire couldn’t forgive them—it was too much. And that’s why their nations yet warred.

  It was no wonder the portrait of the King who had lost his sanity was stashed away in their family mansion, away from the eyes of the royalty. Alessia had wondered for a long time why his father hadn’t disposed of this painting, but as she reached adulthood, she had finally understood. It was a reminder of the insanity in the blood of the line of vas Nerian. In a way, they were both black sheep of the family, and that was one of the reasons Alessia had chosen this room as her chamber.

  The silence of the mansion during the night was haunting. If this had been the castle of his father’s, there would have been constant patrols roaming the halls. But since Alessia was the only one of her family who stayed here, the mansion was all but abandoned. Her father had obviously thought a few guards would have been enough to make sure she never left her chambers. Alessia looked through the windows as he passed the halls leading to the entrance of the mansion. It was still dark outside, but already she could see faint rays of the sun appear in distant horizon. She would have to hurry, or she would have no chance of getting out of the Royal Plateau. But when Alessia pushed the doors of her Mansion ajar, thinking she had made it, she found a lone man staring at her.

  Rodrik.

  Alessia felt her face blush, small droplets of sweat forming on her forehead. She walked towards the stable boy who still stared at her. He was carrying a stack of hey, clearly heading for the stables to feed the horses before the rest of the mansion woke up. Did it have to be him? Alessia thought bitterly, biting her lip.

  Then he gave her the same warm smile as he always did. “Well, now. I didn’t think you were an early bird, my lady. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get up at this time of the day.”

  “I have errands to run,” Alessia found herself muttering. She had no doubt most of the kingdom had heard of how she had let the assassin escape—and that included Rodrik. But as a member of the royal family, she owed the boy no excuses. Alessia walked past the boy. Gods, how handsome he looked with his strong, bulging forearms. And that smile… it awakened something inside of her, a desire she had fought long and hard to control. Alessia pushed those thoughts aside. She didn’t have time for this. “Please don’t tell anyone you saw me.”

  “My lips are sealed, my lady,” Rodrik replied, showing once more that warm, handsome grin that made the world seem brighter.

  Alessia walked towards the edge of the Plateau, feeling the boy’s gaze on her back. A while later when she looked back, she saw the stable boy walking away. She breathed a sigh of relief; now all she had to do was a get past the guards at the gate, and she would be free to head for the lower city—towards the Grand Library.

  You would think the Royal Plateau more heavily guarded after the assassination of the royal family, but much to Alessia’s surprise, it wasn’t. The guards looked just as bored as they always had. Sure, the people and their belongings were searched at the gate, but the guards paid no attention to citizens leaving the plateau—especially women. And why would they? No one knew the princess was missing yet. And with nothing but a simple robe and scarf purchased from a girl heading for the gate for a few meagre coins, she passed through the gate without so much a single look from the guards. To think it would be this easy for her to set out to the world—it baffled Alessia’s mind. All her life, she had thought herself a prisoner, but it turned out that the shackles were of her own making.

  Alessia walked down the Royal Plateau and towards the waking city below, eyes wide and eager for adventure.

  Chapter 9

  Ronan

  Ronan observed the docks of Evenport with disgust. You would think Riverend was bad, but it was nothing compared to this place. There was nothing respectable about Evenport; it was just another backwater hellhole of the Northern Islands with muddy roads and grim, brooding men. When he walked past the alleys near the docks, he could see young boys’ eager gazes linger his way, likely trying to see if he was an easy mark or not. Thieves—these boys were—just waiting for a carefree traveler to pass them by. The only respectable people here were the sailors—and only a minority of them at that. Then there were the sailors who had lost all their will to live—those who spent their meagre pay on cheap booze, already dreading the next day they would have to venture out to the open sea. Still, he couldn’t blame them; the life of a sailor could, indeed, be a miserable one. He considered it once, aye, but it was not a life he could wish for his son.

  Keran…

  When Raven told him that a scout had spotted Eira and his son, they had departed at once. Ronan had no time to say goodbye. A single bag was all that he took with him. Leaving the Huntress behind with not even
a word was something that he regretted. Still, she would understand. The only thing of value he had with him were his newly-forged hatchets the blacksmith had worked through the night for him.

  “So, what’s the word?” Ronan asked as he saw Raven finish his conversation with the man who no doubt was one of Hera’s scouts. The scout locked eyes with Ronan, nodded, and left the two men alone.

  “The Huntress’s scout claims he saw a woman board a ship under the cover of darkness. She had a boy with him, a small one. They departed for Asralan—a coastal town.”

  Ronan’s eyes widened in excitement. “It has to be them.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Raven said, nodding.

  “Nothing left to do here but to pursue them, I reckon.”

  Raven nodded again. “Let the rest of the group know. I will try to secure us passage on one of the merchant ships.”

  “Aye.”

  Ronan had a slight sense of hesitation over leaving the Northern Islands. He thought it silly; he had spent half his life traveling from town to town, from one job to the next. Whatever it took to survive. Still, there was a time in his life when he had done things he regretted even to this day. He was young then; he didn’t know better. To think he had once obeyed the whispers in his head. What had he been thinking? He had no desire to revisit those memories. The blood he had shed haunted him still.

  After years of walking the path of blood, he had found a woman he could care for—love, even. He had gone so far as to start a family with her. That was the only time in his life when he had known true happiness—for that brief moment in time. He should’ve know then it wouldn’t last. No happy moment ever did. Aryalia… why had she left him? Ronan couldn’t remember the reason. One day he had just found the woman’s belongings gone. No letter. No word. She was just… gone. What kind of a woman leaves behind her crying infant son? No reason could be dire enough, Ronan had decided. He knew he wasn’t the perfect husband, the perfect father. But no reason is good enough to abandon your family.