Kingdom's Vice Series: Journey to Alleria ( #1 2014) #Wattys2015

Chapter Seventeen

‘Ill news has reached my ear,’ Uncle begins, standing in the throne room before a crowd of subjects: Duhamas and Faeore among us, but no sign of Alec, ‘Of a new King in Bardhelm. It seems the old king has resigned himself to the arms of Death and in his place a new king stands.’

Everyone awaits the name, the name that shall echo in these halls with a cringe and a growl.

‘They call him Redermarke The Ruthless. Word is he trained under the Master Swordsman as a child, his skills still remain unmatched. He is dangerous and no doubt his plans for Bardhelm are dire.’

An ice-cold pang shoots through my heart.

Redermarke.

Uncle’s eyes linger on me for a long moment, before they scan the faces in the crowd.

‘So, what is our King’s command?’ Duhamas asks in a loud voice, making every head flick towards him. Faeore smiles proudly.

Uncle nods towards them. ‘Nothing.’ He replies. ‘We will do nothing and go about our lives as usual. Bardhelm has no influence over us, not anymore. I am not my father, nor his father before him. We will not fall on our knees under the mercy of Larkarh scum!’

There are cheers from the crowd, joyful laughs and disdain-laced hisses. Duhamas and Faeore take their place beside the King, their smiles wide and genuine. The crowd disperses into their own little cliques as I remain in the hall, my arms wrapped around me in the hugging position.

‘You’re still here, Skaya?’ Uncle says, as if he was expecting me to leave with the others; the others I knew nothing about. ‘The Tale Room, as always, is open for your leisure, should you need to brush up on your history.’ He chuckles.

I shake my head. ‘No, Uncle. I do not wish to visit The Tale Room.’

He takes his goblet of wine and sips it. ‘Then what is it you want?’

I sigh. ‘I want to get away from here, now.’

He chokes. Faeore and Duhamas stare, eyes wide.

‘You what?’ Duhamas exclaims.

I bite back my tongue, but it slithers out of my lips and speaks for me. ‘I cannot stay here so long as he remains here.’

Faeore clings to Duhamas’s arm, but steps forward a little. ‘You are on sacred ground. You have stayed in the moon’s light too long. If you leave, the moon will never shine in your favour again.’ She says, gazing into the distance. ‘I see it. There will be no light to guide you,’ she tells me, meeting my eyes, ‘Only darkness descends upon those who turn away from their Kingdom, their kin. You cannot leave, Skaya.’

I narrow my eyes. ‘Then he must leave. I cannot stay here when I know he still breathes the same air! I cannot conceal my rage any longer. My hate for him is growing stronger. It’s safer for him if he leaves. They’ll be no more courtyard displays, no more sharp words—you have my word I will cause no more commotion, just send him away.’

Uncle sits back in his chair and savours his wine. He looks to Faeore, who nods. ‘Your vision is clear?’ he asks her. Duhamas rests a hand on her shoulder as she nods back.

‘Yes, Father.’ She says. ‘It is an ill-fate, and I do not foresee it changing.’

The King looks to me, emotionless. ‘It is settled then. You will remain in Alleria as commanded by your King and will refrain from speaking of Alec in my hall. Your words bring no good to anyone, especially yourself.’ He tells me in a hard voice. There is no kindness, no sympathy. ‘It will serve you well to think of others instead of just yourself. You are not in Bardhelm anymore, Skaya. Cardarh is given, but it is also taken away. If you feel nothing for him, his punishment will be meaningless to you.’

I swallow, my head swimming with comebacks and refusals, but I cannot speak them.

‘I will send a Guard down to the dungeon to punish him, and then I will deal with Alec myself. He took away my kin too, Skaya, not just yours. I have just as much a right as you to be angry, but for the sake of our vice, our fault, I keep it hidden. My feelings will be revealed in private, as they should, as they always have been.’

With one swift wave of his hand, two Guards come on either side of me and lead me out the double doors.

~.~.~.~

Solitude greets me with the wind. I never thought the wind was capable of speaking in words or any kind of translatable language for that matter. Whether or not the grave news from Bardhelm was relayed in Allerian or Tongue of Meyn is beyond me. I knew The King was a man of many talents: he can read emotions from the lines on faces, he can ease emotional pain, the wind speaks to him in words he can understand. He is kind, but he can also be stubborn and firm; much like how I remember my mother. She would have been a good royal I think, had she decided to stay. But, if she had stayed, my father would not have existed in my life and I would simply not be alive. I wouldn’t be a Dunedine, or a swindler. I wish I could say I am proud of my Ivorian heritage, but with this news weighing heavily on my shoulders, I can only admit that at one point, I was.