Midnight Moon

Chapter 40 - The Day of Ashes

Koan paced haltingly through his quiet chambers, the palace and the city beyond bustling with activity. Any other year the silence would have been a blessing, yet he dreaded being left alone with his thoughts.

The knock on his door was a relief. "Your Majesty, Commander Ranhi is here," called Balrere, the head of his guard.

"Thank you, send him in." Koan straightened the cuffs on his dark tunic, turning as a grey-clad servant escorted in the Commander.

The other man strode across the room, the ornate pommels of the twin swords swinging on his hips as he knelt before the King. As he dipped his head, his black eyes shone against his sandy skin, which was scattered with scars. Though creases formed at the corners of his eyes, his broad shoulders and muscled arms still moved with the fluidity of youth.

"My Lord," he greeted; his calm, warm voice eternally at odds with his grizzled appearance.

Koan could already feel a little tension leaving his shoulders, and his lips twitched at the uncharacteristic insistence upon ceremony. "Do stand before your knees seize up."

The Commander smirked as he rose, enviously smoothly. "Careful, haven't you heard that rudeness causes hair loss? You don't want to rush that along." He pointedly eyed Koan's grey hair as he smoothed back his own thick ponytail, white lines barely visible against the black. The two of them had fought side-by-side throughout the War of Two Kings, and Koan would never dream of having anyone else lead his army, but it was frustrating how gracefully the slightly younger man was ageing.

Koan snorted and held out a hand. "It's good to see you, Torland. I was worried you wouldn't make it."

"I wouldn't miss it," Torland assured him, gripping Koan's forearm and gesturing to his ceremonial uniform; gold piping outlining the emerald green, cut across with a dark sash. "Though you know I hate the pretence."

Koan's lips twisted. "Don't let any of your soldiers hear your complaints."

Torland made a noncommittal noise, shifting the embellished scabbards on his belt. It was gratifying, watching him squirm as he did every year under the pageantry Koan had to endure day in and day out.

"Today isn't about us," Koan pointed out, though his friend's discomfort was a reassuring piece of familiarity in this increasingly alien world. "How have you been? Your dispatches sound successful."

Torland shrugged a shoulder. "In a sense. We've got no shortage of problems to keep us busy; there are bandits and warlords everywhere taking advantage of our distraction with... the search." He gave Koan a sideways look, as though checking whether the elephant in the room was to be named.

"Have you found anything, anything at all?" Koan was relieved he had been given an excuse to ask the question, though he could hear the desperation in his voice.

Torland stopped meeting his eyes. "There are a lot of whispers, but it's hard to tell which are true. We're constantly following leads, but they never go anywhere. Not yet, anyway," he amended hurriedly, his gaze scanning the King's face.

Koan sighed. He wasn't surprised at the lack of news, and the disappointment barely made a dent in the constant cavern within his chest. The confirmation still hurt, though.

"She's alive out there somewhere, I'm sure of it," Torland assured him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Koan fought the urge to shrug him off, dejection warring with reassurance. "Don't try to give me false hope."

"I'm not. Veanna's a strong girl, she'll be fine."

He allowed himself a thin smile. "Thank you."

"Have some faith," Torland insisted. "She can take care of herself - I taught her to fight."