THE CROWN OF ASH

Chapter 9 : Martha

Four days went by as the throne hall of Redcastle was cloaked in shadows as the sun strained to pierce the high, narrow windows. King Loken lounged on his wooden throne, his eyes glazed over as Chief Minister Sigurd droned on about updates to Prince Aiden's ambiguous plan. The treasurer muttered grimly about dwindling finances, and the granary lord stood silent, knowing the king cared little for their concerns. 

"Enough," Loken interrupted, his voice gruff with boredom. He waved dismissively at the treasurer. "Get on with it, Sigurd. Does my son's little game yield results or only noise?" 

Before the minister could respond, Loken gestured to a servant. "More wine." 

At that moment, the double doors creaked open, and Queen Maeryn entered with her daughters, Bella and Sofia, trailing behind in silk gowns that shimmered like the sunrise. Their presence brought a rare warmth to the somber hall. 

"Your Grace," Maeryn said, her voice poised yet firm. "With your permission, we wish to journey east to Weldor. We wish to see Aiden." 

Loken leaned forward, resting his elbows on the throne's arms. "Fine. But Ser Braun must accompany you. He's the finest swordsman in Soryn, and your safety is not negotiable." 

Sigurd hesitated, clearing his throat. "Your Grace, the commander is... occupied at the moment." 

Loken's brow furrowed. "Occupied with what, Sigurd?" 

The minister shifted uncomfortably. "He is training someone in the castle yard." 

"Training who?" 

Sigurd sighed. "A boy, Your Grace." 

Loken sat up straighter, his face darkening. "A boy of what house?" 

"None," Sigurd said reluctantly. "He is lowborn. Prince Aiden commanded Ser Braun to teach him the sword." 

The wine goblet the servant brought never made it to the king's lips. Loken slapped it aside, sending red liquid cascading down the dais. 

"Summon them," Loken roared, his voice echoing through the hall. "Now." 

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The castle yard buzzed with the clanging of steel and the grunts of sparring knights, but all eyes occasionally flicked toward the corner where Ser Braun drilled his peculiar apprentice. Ray, the shaved-headed boy from the Pisspit, was drenched in sweat, his ragged clothes clinging to his wiry frame as he deflected Braun's strikes. 

"You're improving," Braun admitted, though his tone remained gruff. "But you're not there yet. Rest. Now." 

"No," Ray insisted, panting heavily. "We don't have time. We can't stop." 

Braun shook his head. "You'll collapse before you master anything if you don't rest. Besides," he added, "we don't know when the pirates will raid. No need to kill yourself with haste." 

Ray's eyes sharpened. "They'll be back soon. Pirates always return sooner to where their raids are guaranteed to succeed. They don't give people time to prepare." 

Braun's expression flickered with something resembling respect. He stepped forward, forcing Ray to sit on a nearby bench and handing him a flask of water. 

"You're too smart for your age," Braun muttered. "You remind me of the prince when I trained him." 

Ray looked up, curiosity flashing in his eyes. "You trained Aiden? He said something to you, didn't he? About the sound of wisdom. What does it mean?" 

Braun's gaze fixed on the horizon. "The sound of swords clashing," he said, his voice heavy. "That's real wisdom. Not the kind in scrolls. It's the wisdom of those who've seen death up close."

He paused, watching Ray's curiosity grow. "When swords clash, they don't care who you are. One blow, and a life ends—father, son, lowborn or lord . Gone."

Braun's voice softened. "It teaches you the value of life, boy. Every breath is precious."

Ray clenched his fists. "You've seen it, haven't you?"

"Aye," Braun said quietly. "And the sound stays with you. It shapes you."

Ray met his gaze. "I don't think I have a choice."

Braun nodded. "No, boy. None of us do."

For a moment, Ray was silent, the weight of Braun's words settling over him like a heavy cloak. 

Before he could respond, a Silverguard rushed into the yard, his armor clinking noisily. "Lord Commander, the king summons you," he announced, his voice edged with urgency. "And... the boy." 

Ray stiffened, but Braun simply nodded, as if expecting this. "Let's not keep him waiting." 

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The throne hall was tense with anticipation. Nobles whispered among themselves, eager to witness the king's wrath. The gates creaked open, and Ser Braun entered, his imposing figure cutting through the murmurs. Behind him, Ray followed, his ragged clothes a stark contrast to the grandeur of the chamber. 

Loken's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the boy. "What is the meaning of this, Braun?" he demanded, his voice cold and sharp. "Is this an insult to me or to all of the kings that have sat on this throne?" 

Braun bowed his head slightly. "Your Grace, I only do as ordered." 

"Ordered?" Loken barked. "You train villagers to defend themselves. Fine. But this? A lowborn boy? The same boy who started the riots days ago?" 

Ray's jaw tightened. The king's words stung, but it was the venom in his tone that ignited a spark in him. 

Loken's piercing gaze landed on Ray. "Do you have something to say, boy?" 

Ray took a step forward, his voice steady despite the tension. "Only to correct you, Your Grace. I didn't start the riots. You did." 

Gasps rippled through the hall. Even Ser Braun stiffened, fear tightening in his chest as he realized the boy's life is in danger.

Loken leaned forward, his face dark with fury. "Not only do you dare to correct me, but you dare to blame me?" 

Ray's voice remained unwavering. "If sheep escape because the gates are left open, do you blame the sheep—or the farmer who left the gates ajar?" 

The hall fell silent. The king's knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrests of his throne. "I should kill you for your insolence. Or perhaps I'll cut out your tongue and kill your parents for raising you this way." 

Ray's gaze didn't falter. "I have no parents. My mother died when I was four. My father? I don't know him since he was one of her many clients." 

Across the room, Treasurer Mavos smirked and leaned toward Granary Lord Tydos, muttering, "So, his mother was a whore." 

The hall heard it, and all eyes turned to Mavos, whose smirk quickly vanished. Ray didn't miss a beat. "No. She wasn't. She was a singer. Her voice was the only beautiful thing in the Pisspit." 

Loken's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "A singer? Then she must have been quite famous." 

Ray's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Her name was Martha." 

The name echoed like a curse through the hall. Loken froze, his eyes wide with shock. The color drained from his face as he stumbled back into his throne. 

"You are dismissed," the king rasped, his voice barely audible. 

The room buzzed with unspoken questions. Why had the king reacted so strongly? Why did he let Ray leaves? Did the boy's words meant anything to him? 

For now, the answers remained shrouded in mystery.