Breaking the Gloaming (7 page)

The boy king then raised his hand slowly, its shadow stretching to touch Ravien. An amused look spoiled the young man’s attempt at a stoic face. He leveled his hand, then lowered it. The herald issued a sharp command, and the servants smoothly laid the poles on the ground. The throne had several steps leading down to a few feet from Ravien and Wren.

There was something spectacular about the young king. His eyes were amber, his face attractive as it reflected the light of gold around him. He looked harsh but delicate, almost innocent.

He raised his other hand and cupped the two together. The herald issued another command. The eight soldiers closest to Ravien and Wren stood and pressed around them, watching them closely. Ravien doubted she could fling a dagger before one of them would tackle her.

“Welcome to Sunan,” the king said without any hint of welcome in his voice. He spoke the language with only a slight accent. He remained still in his seat. “I am Ilir, chosen of god, the King of Sunan. Announce yourself and your purpose.”

“I am Ravien, Princess of Valemidas.” She bowed her head slightly. The boy turned from Wren to her as she spoke, no doubt surprised that she spoke first rather than the man beside her. “My purpose is better shown than spoken.” She laced her words with intrigue, hoping to allure the boy.

Some of his serenity slipped as he looked over Ravien’s body. He eyed her lustfully, quizzically, before responding. “You may show your purpose if you rise the stairs to me.”

He placed his hands around his face to signal something, and the herald issued a command. Soldiers stepped onto the stairs and formed a tight passage, just wide enough for Ravien. She had not expected this face-to-face encounter so soon, but decided to seize the opportunity.

She stepped back smoothly to the carriage and took out the sack she had been carrying. She retrieved a tightly sealed, round bag from inside it. It had a strong odor—embalming spices masking something rotten.

She walked with the bag toward the boy king. She climbed the stairs to his throne and came nearly within arms reach before a soldier held out his spear to block her from moving further.

She raised the bag, her arm quivering slightly. Her other arm untied the bag and reached into it. Then she pulled out a head.

The men around her gasped.

“Ramzi,” the older soldier, the commander, uttered in shock.
 

The king’s eyes swung from Ramzi’s head to Ravien, and back again. “What is this?” he demanded. Fear laced his voice.

“I bring news from Valemidas to Sunan!” Ravien announced. She ignored her shaking arm. “A man has stolen the throne from Prince Tryst, my brother. Tryst is gone, and now the betrayer is prince. He took the life of your great priest, but I have brought you his head.”
 

She placed Ramzi’s head at the feet of the king. “This is my token of loyalty to you, King Ilir. I serve you. I serve Sunan, if it brings me vengeance.”

Ravien’s news was greeted with silence. The young king stared down at the head at his feet. He motioned and one of the servants took the head away. The king’s gaze rose slowly until he met Ravien’s eyes.

“You will serve me?”
 

“I will serve you,” she answered, “and I know much of Valemidas’s weaknesses.”

“Why should we trust you?”

“I have lost everything in Valemidas,” she said. “I have nothing left, nothing to hide.”

“Nothing?” A devious smile spread across the king’s face. “Prove it, bare yourself now.”

“What?” She fired back. “I am the Princess of Valemidas, and you threaten this dishonor? In front of all these men?”

“I do not threaten. You said you
were
the Princess of Valemidas, and that you have nothing to hide. Trust must be proven here in Sunan.”

She hesitated. She could feel the eyes of a hundred men on her. Was it worth this shame to help defeat these people? The boy king spoke again before she decided.

“Take everything off,” he demanded, “or your friend dies.” He looked over her shoulder and held up four fingers.

A flurry of sound made Ravien turn. Four soldiers held their spears pointed at Wren’s neck. She would not let him die like this.

She spun and faced the king again. “You will trust me, make me an adviser in your court, and he will live?”

“You have my word,” he said.

She fought back waves of indignity and fury as she kneeled and slipped out of her dress, her boots, and everything else. The sealed note she carried from Sebastian would not be found, hidden as it was within a hollow heel of her boot. She carefully placed her dagger under the stack. Most of the soldiers kept their eyes on the ground, as if ashamed with her. None of them moved to take her belongings.

His Excellency nodded, appraising her. “A wise decision, Ravien. You will have a chance to prove your knowledge.” He stood on the seat of his throne and looked to the soldiers around them. “
N’ah musefe quede ya Valemidas!
” he shouted.

The soldiers chanted back the same words and banged their shields. Their sudden unity made Ravien rattled, for the first time, about her plan.

The young king sat again and motioned something to his herald. A flurry of orders followed, and a soldier’s callused hands clasped around her arms.

As the Sunan servants began to pick up the platform, with her, the king, and a soldier still on it, Ravien glanced back to Wren. The four men still held their spears at his neck. His eyes followed her as she was hauled away. It would be hard to live up to his trust, if she lived at all.

Chapter 8

FAMILY ARCHIVES

“People will not look forward

to posterity, who never look

backward to their ancestors.”

Thrones are seats, and seats are meant to support weight. It was not working that way for me. Today, again, the throne was like an anvil on my shoulders. 

I had hardly slept the night before, and I had barely started another long day of scheduled duties. The weeks since I had left Tryst in the Gloaming felt like a year. He and Ramzi had left a grand mess. My days passed with every waking hour, and many sleeping ones, filled with nobles’ requests, needs of the people, and preparations for defending Valemidas. I had no right to complain, but here I was, a restless prince on his throne, reminding myself of how hard I had fought to come to this exact seat.

“…And so it falls under the jurisdiction of House Talnor. They must bear the cost of this peasant’s life.” Sir Camden, the head of the Camden noble house, finished his argument. He was a diminutive man, especially standing beside Ryn Talnor. Only in Valemidas could a dispute between men of such unequal strengths be resolved by reason and justice.

At least, only in a Valemidas free of Ramzi. What I had learned of Ramzi’s brief reign in Tryst’s absence still shocked me. I had been trying to undo his work. First, I returned the boys ripped away from their families. Next, I lifted the burden of taxes and regulations. But our city did not have the gold to repay people for all they had lost, if coins could ever bring justice. Our recovery would have been long and hard even without the threat of Sunan invading. Part of me understood the Sunan’s timing. We owed them so much gold that they probably felt we would never pay, and that they must come and take what was theirs. I would assure them otherwise, but my words counted for little following years—generations—of debt.

Tryst and Ramzi had made it worse by upsetting our city’s delicate balance among the prince, the nobles, and the people. The prince held ultimate authority while he sat in this throne, but the nobles and people selected him. The nobles could also remove him from the throne. The people’s disputes were resolved by the nobles, who fought over their jurisdiction within Valemidas and beyond. A noble had to espouse a person’s claim for it to reach the prince. Most nobles fought to expand their jurisdictions to include more people, which gave them more audiences with the prince. Tryst and Ramzi had begun ignoring the nobles and hearing the people directly, robbing the nobles of their purpose in the balance. And so here I was, digging into the long queue of nobles’ disputes.

I thanked Sirs Camden and Talnor for presenting their arguments. I promised I would inform them of my decision later this day. This dispute had been going on for years, so I had little hope of resolving it with a single judgment. Justice never seemed simple, and it required much work to learn the facts. I suppose that is the way it must be, as there would be no dispute in the first place if it were easy to solve.

A numb excitement filled me as my last visitor of the morning arrived. It was the minister of prisons—the man I had charged with figuring out how to get Tryst and the other men out of the Gloaming. I hoped they had worked out the details.

“Minister Finloth, at your service.” He bowed formally. After he rose, he carefully resettled a glass spectacle over his right eye. His long face was solemn but smug.

“What news do you have about the Gloaming?” I asked.

“We have formed a committee,” he answered. “After much deliberation, we decided on six members of the committee, with me as its leader. We also wrote up clear rules and procedures.” He paused as if he expected me to say something. I motioned for him to go on. “The committee,” he continued, “will be named The Committee on Fair Transition for Lost Prisoners. At our first meeting, we listed the challenges and tasks ahead. First, we need somewhere to house all the prisoners. The dungeons are already full. We considered—”

I held up my hand to stop him. “That is enough about your committee. What is the current status?”

“Yes, my prince.” He fiddled with his spectacle again, then continued in a grand voice. “The current status is that we have determined the manner of retrieval, and we have nearly agreed upon the site for constructing a new prison.”

“
Nearly
agreed?” I felt my anger rising. “I told you I wanted them out
immediately.
”

“Of course, of course,” he said. “And we will have them out, but this must be a fair and safe process, and—”

“Silence,” I commanded, trying to stay calm. “You will figure out how to get these men out, where to put them, and everything else, and you will figure it out
NOW
. Is that clear?”

His long mouth hung open. He slowly closed it, and his lips curled into a faint grin as if this was a game. “Clear as crystal, my prince.”
 

“If you do not have a better report for me within the week,” I threatened, “you will not report to me again.”

He bowed and scurried out. I stood from the throne. It was a good time for a mid-morning break. I decided I would visit the archives, where others were doing research for me about the Gloaming and the Sunans.

I asked Jon and Ulysses to accompany me. Lorien had been insistent that at least one of them always be by my side. She did not trust anyone else. I liked keeping Jon close because he had known me before I was the prince, and Ulysses had more battle scars and wisdom than any of my other knights.

We walked together from the throne room to the remote wing of the palace that housed the archives. Outside a storm was raging. The constant pelting rain and gusting wind had everyone on edge. Once this storm season passed, it would be cold enough to light the braziers warming the palace.
 

We eventually reached the archive’s ground-level reading room. It was a light-filled space with huge tables spread around. The room was like the tip of an iceberg, showing only decorative books, with the vast collection of written treasures locked safely below ground, where the risk of fire and destruction was diminished.

My lead researcher greeted us at the door. He was everything I could have wanted in a researcher: smart, punctual, targeted, and curious. I had not set foot into the archives during my first reign, but the archivist did not resent me for it. Instead he basked in this glorious moment for his projects. The tufts of grey hair over his ears, his speckled glasses, his wide belly—they all shook with excitement as he bowed before me.

“Greetings, Guthrie. What have you learned?”

“My Prince,” he stood straight and waved for me to follow, “your request has led to most fascinating histories. I have parceled out assignments and no word of your questions has left our archives. Come, we have been preparing for your visit.”

He led me to a chair near the center of the room. I stood behind it, with Jon and Ulysses at my sides. Four more researchers formed a crescent around me, with Guthrie in the middle.

“It is truly an honor to have you here.” Guthrie held open his arms in welcome, his robe hanging low at the cuffs over his thin wrists. “Prince Aden founded this archive many years past, but we have few recorded visits from princes. Where would you like us to begin?”

“Start with the Gloaming,” I answered, “and if time allows, move to the Sunans.”

“The fascinating thing, my Prince, is that the two stories are connected, but I am getting ahead of myself. Yarl?” He looked to his left, and the young man at the far end of the crescent nodded vigorously, nervously.

“Yes, well, our written records of the Gloaming are few. They, um, we—” He tripped over the words.

“Take your time, Yarl,” I said with a smile and took a seat. Lorien had told me people found me less threatening when I was not standing.

“Thank you my Prince,” he began again. “We have two tomes that mention the Gloaming’s origins.” He stepped to the side and leaned over a thick, ancient book on a desk.

“This first one is called The History of Jonas’ Conquests. Most of the book is about what Jonas did on this continent, but in a short section about his approach to foreign lands, it says: 
As part of his efforts to promote pure bloodlines, Prince Jonas also adopted measures to eliminate those of Sunan heritage from Valemidas. Years before, Prince Aden had granted the Sunan people freedom to visit the city. Jonas worked to isolate the Valemidan continent from any Sunan influence. Many Sunans disappeared under Jonas’s reign. The fate of these disappeared people remains unknown. There were rumors at the time that Jonas constructed a secret prison, but this was not verified.
”