A kingdom of Ash and Echoes

Chapter 19- Whispers in the Halls

The castle seemed quieter than ever, as if even the stone walls mourned with them. Word of Callum's condition had not spread beyond the tight circle of family and trusted servants, but secrets in Avaranth had a way of slipping through cracks like water. Lyriana could already feel the whispers beginning, hushed voices in the corridors, wary glances that lingered too long.
"The crippled prince," she had overheard once, spoken by a maid who thought herself alone. The words had pierced her like a blade.
She had not told Callum what she'd heard. He bore enough shame and fury without the burden of knowing how others named him. Instead, she carried the weight of it herself, shoulders heavy with the knowledge that their family's strength was unraveling thread by thread.

Her mother bore it no better. Queen Elowen moved through the halls like a shadow of herself, her once-commanding presence diminished by grief and exhaustion. She rarely left Callum's side, and when she did, her steps seemed unsteady, as if the ground itself betrayed her. Lyriana often caught her mother's hands trembling when she thought no one was watching.
And then there was their father. King Aelric's illness deepened with each passing day, his strength fading like a candle guttering in the wind. The physicians dared not tell him the full truth about Callum's injury. Aelric believed his son was recovering well, and for now, the family conspired to preserve that fragile hope. To tell him the truth—that his heir could no longer walk—would be to strike the final blow to what little resolve he still held.

But silence was its own burden. Lyriana could feel the lies pressing against her chest, suffocating her. Every time her father asked after Callum's progress, she smiled and spoke of healing and patience, and each time she felt a little piece of herself fracture.

Late one evening, she found herself alone in the council chamber, staring at the great map spread across the long oak table. The northern borders, where Callum had fought and bled, were marked with tokens denoting skirmishes. Rebellion still smoldered there, fanned by unseen hands. Her eyes lingered on one name written in the margins of a report: Rowan.
Her breath caught. She had not spoken his name aloud since the day Callum was carried home. To love him still felt like betrayal. To hate him felt impossible. Somewhere in the shadows, her childhood friend—the man who once held her heart—was now an enemy. And he had struck her brother down.
"Lyriana."
Her mother's voice startled her. Elowen stood in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep.
"Mother," Lyriana said softly, stepping away from the map. "You should rest."

Elowen shook her head. "There is no rest for us now." She entered, her gaze falling on the map. "I fear the kingdom smells weakness. Your father sick, your brother wounded..." She trailed off, pressing a hand to her temple. "If word spreads, we will be torn apart."

Lyriana swallowed hard. "Then we cannot let it spread. Not yet. The people must believe we are strong, even if we are not."
Elowen's eyes met hers—eyes so much like Lyriana's own. "And you? Can you bear that weight, child? To hold us together while all else crumbles?"
Lyriana hesitated, her throat tight. She thought of Seraphina, gone to chase love while duty rotted in her wake. She thought of Callum, broken and furious in his chamber. She thought of her father, fading by inches.

"Yes," she whispered finally. "I must."
Elowen's lips trembled, but she nodded. She crossed the room and drew her daughter into her arms, holding her as though she feared Lyriana might vanish too.
And in that moment, Lyriana realized the truth: she could not fall apart. Not yet. Not while her family, her kingdom, depended on her.
But as the candles flickered and shadows danced across the map, she knew something else as well—Avaranth was bleeding, and sooner or later, the world beyond their walls would smell it.