Figurehead

four

The sky has been darkening quickly recently, with today no exception. It is Kras, after all, and it being Eri, it will not be long before Dre comes, with rain and snow, wind and storm.

Apart from the steady movements of Osa and Fik, we ride in silence, following the path. The Anshakim outskirts are not far behind us, and we still have two days left before we reach the front line. I try not to think about what it will be like when we arrive.

"The last time I visited Kalsemir was two Dre ago," I say quietly, my words slipping through the silence. I didn't realise I had spoken aloud.

"Mm. I think that's the same for me too."

Another silence settles.

"So how long have you been messenger?" I ask after a moment. I don't know Nirs as well as I knew other trusted messengers, like Lus- although we have barely exchanged words since Swi.

"A long time," she says, sounding surprised. I smile a little. She furrows her eyebrows in thought. "A long time," she repeats. "Around ten Dre. I took the role first at..." Her eyes glaze over in thought. "At 15 Dre." She nods and smiles at me. "I was honoured five Dre ago. And you?"

She smiles easily, with a light and companionable spirit. It is easy to return her smile. "Similar to you." I think back on the Dre I have spent in this role. "I took the role first at 16 Dre, and I'm 23 Dre now."

"The same age as the king," she puts in, and I nod, continuing in thought.

"I have been messenger not as long as you- for seven Dre, not ten- but I was honoured four Dre ago," I finish. She nods. I hesitate, then ask with an uncertain grin, "You seem to know the king not unwell."

She laughs dismissively. "Not quite." Her laughter fades. "I, uh-" Her expression becomes solemn. "My sister was close to his before she died."

"I wish I hadn't said anything," I say, regret plain.

She smiles lightly. "It's alright, you weren't to know, especially since it was so long ago. Sometimes Tri- my sister- told me funny stories about him."

"Are you still close?" I ask, questioning my ability to shut up.

She shrugs. "I travel, as messengers do, so we haven't spoken much in a long while, not really, since his sister passed." Three Dre ago.

"Oh." Is all I can say.

"I think it's good that he is king, and not his sister. Is that strange?" she says absentmindedly.

"I don't know," I say honestly. "Isn't it hard to judge?"

She nods, making a noncommittal sound. "I suppose it is."

The expanse of night stretched across the sky is a shadow, lit by glittering specks of silver and a waning pale stone. The few trees near us are bathed in darkness, casting long and stretching shadows on the flat ground.

I stand with the hood of my light cloak tugged over my dark hair, contemplating whether a fire would be worth the risk. Osa and Fik sleep, our bundles settled on the ground beside them. The other messenger stands over them, a light pelt in her hands as she turns to me. "You want me to keep watch first?"

I shake my head. "I'll do it."

She narrows her eyes at me in thought. "You sure?"

I shrug, tucking my hands into my cloak. "Yeah, you go ahead and sleep. I'll wake you when I get tired."

She eyes me a moment, then shrugs. "Alright." She turns, unrolling one of her bundles for a pallet and a sheet, curling up in it. "Wake me as soon as you get tired," she says, and I nod before she turns her back to me, adjusting the sheet and light pelt over her.

I sit with my back against one of the trees, drawing one knee to my chest as I slip a flat dagger from one of my boots. I twirl it between my hands before digging it into the dry and crumbling earth.

The road stretches across the ground a short distance behind us. We are out in the open here, near the Anshakim-Aranakiu border where no one lives. The few trees around us provide some shelter, but not much. In the distance, there are some crops, some buildings scattered across the horizon. Aranakiu.

The winds are cold tonight. It won't be long before we reach Kalsemir- and what will we see? I've heard of its war-torn and barren state; where forest used to be there are cinders and charred stumps. The buildings have crumbled more than they already were; I can't imagine what Vrendust or Tresvelk must look like. This war- it has gone on for so long. Longer than I have been alive. It has taken resources, it has taken lives, land, whatever finances the empire can spare.

This empire is poor, although the lands are fertile. At least, in the provinces Vrendust, Kalsemir and Tresvelk, the land used to be fertile. What does the Avu empire want of us? They stole Tresvelk from us all those Dre ago, taking away our most fertile province, taking away the lives of innocent civilians and what now? They want Vrendust and Kalsemir too? There will be nothing left by the time this war is won- and the victory, will it be celebrated by the Escatin people, or mourned?

In the sandy dirt, one of my fingers traces a circle and I think of the crown, of the throne, of the palace- if it can be called that, really. It is not much more than a large house of columns and empty rooms. Apart from Dein, there are only serving-children and their families living there, and there aren't many of them. There are guards, I suppose, and occasionally some of the Sirdiu or some of Dein's kin stay there overnight or for a few days. It is just as barren in the palace as it is out here.

I heave a silent sigh and tip my head back against the trunk, lifting my eyes to the night. Pray, pray, pray. I do pray, I am praying.

Sometimes I wonder if I can do anything else, but I am only a messenger.

This must be how Dein feels. He is merely the figurehead of a struggling kingdom; most of his people don't even know who the Escatin royal family once were, they don't know anything about him except for the fact his brother died in scandal and his afa simply tired of his duty, passing it on to his last remaining child.

What sort of a crown is that?

I pull my cloak more tightly around myself and glance at Nirs' sleeping figure, then at our surroundings. Silence still. It would be difficult for anyone to try and approach without our notice. My fingers brush the hilt of my dagger absentmindedly.

The air is cold, but I am not tired.

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