The setting sun flooded through windows of the tower, painting the white marble with an orange glow that would have taken his breath away if not for the reason he sprinted up the winding staircase. He silently cursed the ridiculous robes as they caught underfoot and threatened to send him careening down the massive, unforgiving stone staircase to his death. With every passing of a window or torch, the bejeweled garment flashed with the reflected light sending a multitude of colors dancing over the walls. The absurd outfit weighed nearly as much as the bulky armor the soldiers wore.
He finally made it to the guarded and heavily bolted door of the barbican. The sentry quickly unlocked it and stepped aside as the man opened the thick wooden door allowing the boy to enter. Candles and lanterns lit the round room that still burned from the light of the passing sun further adding to the orange radiance, and the royal physicians scurried around the massive canopy bed. The boy crossed the room quickly, choking on the emotion that was building in his chest and throat as he took in the site of his mother’s pallid, frail visage.
A bright smile lit her face at the appearance of her beloved son and beckoned him, “Come, Lailsund. Sit with me awhile.” She dismissed all but the Head Physician as the boy climbed into the bed to sit beside her feeble body. She reached a weak, shaky hand to his cheek and wiped away an escaping tear. “You must not cry, my son, not when others are present. You must remain stoic.”
“Mother, I—”
“No, Lailsund. You must listen to your mother. This is not the life I wanted for you. The throne was meant for your brother with you as his advisor, but with his death, you are now my sole heir. I never meant to leave you so soon. There will be many who will not stand for a boy of fewer than fourteen winters ruling Zanyrea. You must be very careful, my son. They will think you weak and impressionable, but I know you far better than they ever will. You are now King Lailsund Shallendir and you must take your place as ruler as I did when your father died.”
“But I do not want this, Mother. I am not ready. Father and Aellind were strong warriors. I will never be what they were. I do not like wielding weapons and I have never been strong enough to defeat even the younger boys while sparring.”
She took his slender hand in hers, “Look at me, Lailsund. You will learn quickly that strength of mind can be far superior to strength of body. You are intelligent, wise, and powerful beyond measure, but you must believe in yourself and show that confidence to the fools of this kingdom. Protect our people, my son. There are forces at work here that I cannot explain. First your brother’s death by wild beast whilst hunting, then your father’s at the hands of the Palineans, and now mine by a mysterious illness. I do not know who is behind this, but they have orchestrated the fall of this kingdom well. You must be careful with whom you keep confidence.”
A soft knock at the door made his mother tighten her hold on her son’s hand and look toward the entrance to the room. The door opened and closed behind the guard as he entered the room, then knelt before his former queen and new king. “Forgive me, your majesties, but a woman has asked for an audience with you. She was carrying a scroll with your seal, Queen Saphira.”
“I have been expecting her. Show her in, Uldermond.” Saphira pushed herself higher on the bed with much effort, causing her to sweat and groan in agony.
“Yes, my queen.” He stood and quickly opened the door to allow the woman inside.
A rotund woman of many years stalked by the guard squinting at him with suspicion and annoyance as he exited, closing the door behind him. She, then, turned to survey the room quickly spotting the Head Physician sitting near the fireplace. She huffed and raised her hand in his direction, “Sleep.”
The man slumped in his chair, head lolling and snoring instantly. Lailsund shrunk back against the headboard in terror, whimpering, “A Daekarr—”
“It is alright, Lailsund! She is an old friend.” Her reassurance did little to calm his fear, but he settled himself back beside his mother. When she was sure he wouldn’t bolt for the door, she addressed the woman. “Shame on you, Merna. You should have given me the opportunity to tell him first.”
“It is not my fault you hid his heritage from him, Saphira. It is you who should be ashamed, allowing your love for that man to strip away who you are. You are a Daekarr and you should be proud of it!”
Lailsund’s eyes grew so wide, he thought they might fall out of their sockets, and he looked in horrified disbelief between his mother and the strange woman, as Saphira answered, “You know how the Zanyreans feel about magic. I swore to Miasset when I accepted his proposal that I would not use my gift, and I have struggled with that oath, especially when Lailsund began presenting. I broke my oath only once to suppress Lailsund’s gift, but only with his permission to do so. Even so, Merna, I do not regret my decision to marry him. I love my husband.”
“Yes, and that love has facilitated your death and destroyed your family. I warned you not to come here.”
“Please, Merna, I do not have the strength or time to continue this argument. I need you to put aside your anger for me and protect my son.”
The woman watched the queen carefully, “You know what you are asking?” Saphira nodded. “And you consent to his training?”
“Yes. He is King of Zanyrea by birthright and a Daekarr by blood. It is time for this kingdom to accept what we are as Miasset accepted me as his queen.” She looked at her son, still watching them in silent shock. “Lailsund, stand so that Merna can have a look at you.”
The boy stood shakily and stepped warily toward the woman. He watched as she circled him, studying him and rubbing her chin in ponderance. “He is powerful.”
“Yes, and he presented a full three years early.”
“What did you use for the suppression? Aldermon or Ash?”
“Ash.”
“That will be much harder to find.”
“That was the point.”
Merna stopped in front of Lailsund, squinting as she stared deep into his eyes. “Desarian En Contotum?”
“Yes.”
“This is exquisite work, Saphira.” The woman smirked at the queen as her too pale cheeks flushed pink. “It says much for his strength that the suppression is unbinding itself.”
“I know. I wanted to reinforce it once it became clear that it would not hold, but I no longer had the strength to cast the spell. Now that I know my fate, I do not wish to keep his gift hidden. He will need it to protect himself, his seat on the throne, and the kingdom.”
“Yes, he is rather scrawny to wield a weapon. Do you even feed the boy?” She poked at Lailsund’s ribs and his mother giggled as the boy recoiled with a squeak.
“Do not do that! It is not funny, Mother.” He gave her a scowl that quickly melted into a smile as he saw the joy on her face. It had been months since he had seen her with a true smile. His father and brother’s deaths had stolen her happiness and left her melancholy at best.
“All he does is read. It will help with his studies when the time comes.”
“He will need to begin at once. We have lost valuable time in his training. Unfortunately, it will take me some time to find the bark of an Ash needed to enact the spell of unbinding.”
“Do what you must, Merna, but quickly. I do not know how much longer I have before this illness takes me. He will be safe until then and for as long as those responsible believe he can be manipulated. Lailsund is young and inexperienced, but his intelligence will be his downfall. They will see quickly just how dangerous he can be to their ambitions.”
Merna nodded, “I will leave at once, but I suggest you keep someone trustworthy and highly skilled at his side at all times. If they discover that he is a threat before I return, he will need it.” The stout woman turned and headed for the door.
“Merna, my physician.”
The woman waved a hand in the general direction of the fireplace, “Wake!” The snores were interrupted and replaced by the man’s confused mumbling, as Merna opened the door and departed the room.
Lailsund climbed back onto the bed with his mother and laid his head in her lap. She smiled down at him as she began stroking his dark blonde hair, “I am so sorry that I must put all this on you, my sweet boy. It was never my intention to make things difficult for you. I was only trying to protect you.”
“I know, Mother. I just… I do not want to lose you. I am not ready for this.”
“Ready or not, Lailsund, you must do this. I am dying. I and the physicians have tried to find the cause of this illness, but none of our research or treatments have been successful. I will not survive much longer, and you will need to be prepared to rule in my stead.” A raspy cough near the fireplace reminded them that they were not alone.
Saphira lowered her voice, “You must do everything Merna asks of you. Your abilities will grow quickly, and you will have little control over them in the beginning, especially when your emotions run high. I will spend what time I have left teaching you how to meditate and control yourself during these outbursts, but I warn you, my son, it will be far more difficult once the unbinding has been performed. The power will overwhelm you if you are not careful, and you can easily become drunk on it. Our abilities are wonderous gifts when wielded responsibly. However, they can turn deadly in an instant, leaving you in the midst of terrifying devastation.”
“That is why the Daekarr are so feared?”
“Yes, and when people fear something, they destroy it. That is why I chose to bind your gift. Miasset did not agree with my decision in the beginning, but the fear your manifestations caused within the servants made him realize that the kingdom was not ready for a Daekarran ruler.”
“Are they ready now?” The question was full of doubt and fear.
She shook her head, “No, Lailsund, they are not. You must be very careful who knows about your gifts in the beginning. Once you have mastered the power within you, it will no longer matter who knows our secret, but while you are learning to control it, you are vulnerable. I had hoped that it would be many years before you would need to go through this. It would have given them time to know and trust you as their prince.”
A moving shadow across the bed alerted her that the physician had left the chair in front of the fireplace. She looked up to see him ambling over to them with relative boredom. “Your majesty, it is growing late. You should try to get some rest while you can.”
She gave the older man a strained smile, and looked down at her son, “He is right. You will need your rest, as well. We can continue our conversation in the morning.”
Lailsund sat up, glancing over at the man who had retreated to his table of alchemical ingredients, then back to his mother, “Do you trust him?”
“There are very few I trust these days, Lailsund, but he has not given me cause for concern. I am vigilant and as knowledgeable about his salves, tinctures, and components as he is. We cannot let suspicion cloud our judgment of our subjects, my son, or we would lose the admiration of our people.”
He nodded, kissed Saphira’s cheek, and whispered, “I love you, Mother.”
“I love you, too, my sweet boy. Go get some rest. I will see you in the morning.”
Lailsund slid off the bed and made his way quickly from the room. There was so much about that day that he still needed to process. He was now king and as scary a thought as that was, the thought of losing his mother was far superior than the knowledge that he was the active ruler of an entire country. She was all he had left, and more than that, she was his best and only friend. No one else had understood him or his interest in devouring as much knowledge as he could. She had always been there to guide and support him, helping him find any tome he hadn’t read or believed he might be interested in.
She had encouraged his thirst for knowledge, teaching him what she knew and bringing in tutors to instruct him in things she didn’t. He could speak, read, and write five of the twelve languages of Teyrhune, two ancient dialects used only by a select few for historical purposes, and one his mother never elaborated on, but he now suspected it was the language of the Daekarr. He was well versed in Alchemy and Herbalism, History and Politics, as well as Art and Engineering. Little had escaped his interest, although politics and societal structures had never been his favorite. He had tolerated them because of his position and his love for knowledge.
His hand fell on the handle of his bedchamber door, and he became startlingly aware that he had walked the halls of the castle unaware of his surroundings. Had someone wanted him dead, it would have been all to easy to slit his throat, not that he could have done anything to stop it had he been attentive. The thought was unsettling, none the less, and he surveyed the hallway, unease and fear creeping into the core of his being.
The corridor was quiet and empty, except for the occasional guard standing at his post, the intermittent torches reflecting off their plate armor. He sighed in relief and pushed the wooden door open, then closed it behind him, leaning against the rough wooden door. He would have to remember that he wasn’t safe here. He wasn’t a carefree kid anymore and a lot of people would want him dead, especially once they discovered what he was. The Daekarr never lived long among other peoples, and Zanyreans were particularly brutal towards them.
He crossed to his wardrobe and opened the doors to look for his long tunic. It had been a long day, and he needed sleep. It didn’t often come, and the months since his father and brother’s deaths had not helped his mind’s willingness to shut down and allow him rest. He had to try, though, and regardless, it would be a relief to shed the ridiculous dress robes he had been forced to wear for the coronation.
He changed and crawled into the oversized bed, settling in against the pillows and pulling the blankets tight around him. Silence filled the room and the sense of overwhelming loneliness clawed at his chest. He sighed and rolled over onto his side to stare aimlessly at the ornate doors of the wardrobe. His eyes burned, then blurred as a tear slid from his eye to cut a path over his nose and drip onto his pillow. He let them come, knowing that an end to the night would be a day of restraining the emotions that fought for equal time at the surface. Loneliness, fear, inadequacy, helplessness, frustration, and grief over his family burned through him—none more potent than the grief he felt over the pending death of his mother.
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