The first memory he held was of being exposed.
He'd been four then, so tiny, his sister only slightly taller. He was holding his hands out, begging his mother to open the door and let them in, as his sister stood beside him, pounding on the window.
Instead, their mother closed the shutters and left them both to the streets.
His next memories were painful flashes: begging for food, sleeping in the open, getting thrown out for stealing. Raydan the Ratter, they'd begun calling him. Don't let him come close, he's dirty, he's an orphan, he'll steal from you, lie to you.
He remembered being five years old and starving, walking with his sister through the streets in the night, looking for a place to sleep. They'd stumbled on a secret in a back alley. He'd run away.
He remembered his sister turning back.
His sister had sweet talked her way inside a house, using that secret. She was getting food, warmth, shelter. She'd been unable to bring him along, and had left him by himself, cold and alone and starving. He remembered having a moment of pure jagged understanding: he was exposed completely now, no one left to look after him. If he was to live, he'd have to create layers to protect himself, just as his sister was beginning to.
So he did. Inside him, in the very center of him, was a cold spine, calculating and watchful, and he learned from a young age to focus on it, to build everything around it. His outside layer became a smooth talker, a sweet joker, a fast mover. The inside layer, that stiff spine, was always watching, always ready to keep from being so exposed ever again.
And it worked.
He grew older, learned to watch and listen, learned to gather information everywhere. Over time, he learned to speak the silver-tongued language of any people, to walk in any group and turn any insult or bribe or threat into polite, smiling power. He'd use his spine and his sense of control to stay so calm, always calm, ever calm and watchful. He'd learned to read people in a instant, and know when to step forward and when to melt back. Information was always valuable. The more he knew - about people, about relationships, about kingdoms, about everything - the more he could plan and placate and bribe and calculate and …
And stay alive. Hidden. And surviving.
Over time, he became known as Raydan the Silver-Tongued. He would smile and continue to watch and listen.
And over time, the people who paid him to watch began to ask him to do more. To threaten. To kill. And he had. He'd done what he had to - anything and everything he had to.
These skills kept him alive, and they kept him numb.
Emotions were exposure. They were a death trap. Feel and you eventually want your mother, who will never let you in. Feel and you eventually want your sister, who was learning to lie and hide, the same as you. Feel and you die. He learned to feel nothing. He learned to fake everything. To trust in his own cold spine.
He was a smiling, clever, silver tongued shadow dweller. He saw all, said little, and felt even less.
Eventually, his sister and he had grown very far apart; they'd become the heads of two different camps, each warring to get valuable secrets, as the city itself became more dangerous every day. A coming war broke, and then another, and his sister had embraced it, leaned into it, become just as dangerous and sharp and smiling as he. He'd had his fill of that after a while - after his sister had falsely accused him of being sent to assassinate her, and her retaliation resulted in him nearly dying from half a dozen gashes on his chest - and he left the city of his birth and struck out completely on his own.
He found his way into a hidden golden city, overrun with competing lords, aging and decaying. He befriended a woman bedecked in gold who was fighting a dozen different camps trying to take her city over. She, like he, was far more than what she seemed on the surface, and he found in her a leader worth following. She was in need of someone who could be her watchful spy, and he was in need of a new home. A deep friendship developed between them, and by her side, he dealt with her minor irritations while she helped dig into the mines under the city. Together, they saved the city from ruin, turning it around in months, making it theirs. Once that work was finished, the woman dressed in gold knew people would always come looking for the golden city, wanting to use the riches for the wars still raging outside. So she closed the gates, and he remained within.
The golden city was now as full of as much food and warmth as he could ask for, and he felt he could be content here, for the moment, in relative safety. He was only Raydan the Silver-Tongued here; these people had no memory of him as a starving begging child. So he decided to stay.
And when, years later, he'd first seen the queen, walking up the hidden stone pathway into the golden city he currently called home, he'd found her beautiful, and clever … and that was all.
He'd decided to emerge from the shadows, to charm and seduce her. He had done this with many other beautiful and clever women, for he was, after all, Raydan the Silver-Tongued.
He'd taken her on a walk, as he had many other women. He enjoyed her company, as he had many other women. She was charming, and clever, and supernaturally beautiful, and … and then something else. Something he hadn't quite anticipated.
That night in the garden, that first night, he'd plied on the usual manipulations and charms and smiles, and when he leaned in for a kiss, she'd pushed him away. He laughed when she did, retreating into his usual relaxed knowledgeable space, reassuring her: it was all right, he'd come on too strong. But in his watchful way he saw clearly: there was something about this woman that he didn't yet understand.
So when, the next day, the golden city was invaded and attacked, he decided he'd follow this queen, this new mystery, as she attacked back. She was taking on the man responsible for the same war that both Raydan and the queen had fled, the same war that had killed her mother and stolen her throne. She was taking on a king, and he knew enough to help. He could ply his skills and wares in this new direction, to end the war all together, and as he did, he could spend time in the shadows studying that elusive something he didn't yet know.
So he sunk his effort into that, with an unexpected amount of joy. And when the queen, in her quest to take down the king, had eventually traveled, with her ever-growing consort, to the town of his birth, the town of Raydan the Ratter, he knew exactly who they needed to reach out to.
His sister threatened to kill him, of course. But then …
With skill and grace, his queen struck a deal that had brought his sister back into his life.
And, side by side with his sister and an ever-growing army of people loyal to his queen, they fought the battle, and won.
Afterwards, an agent of his sister's had slipped up to him and given him the news. His sister was inviting him into her consort - something she had never done before. They had grown up as two warring camps, his sister and he. This would be the first time in his life they would be working together.
The queen had given him something he thought he'd never have again. His mother was long dead, and he thought he'd lost his sister long ago, but here she was, inviting him back into her life with a smile. The cool remove he'd known his whole life - the outer layer of smiling confidence, the inner watchful layer - cracked, ever so slightly. He wouldn't let on, couldn't let on, to anyone, how much that meant to him. His sister knew - like him, she always knew everything - but he dared tell no one else.
Except the queen. He wanted to tell her. To thank her.
So that night, after the battle was over, he'd come to the queen, all smiles and charm, and invited her to the initiation.
And she'd agreed; he felt she sensed how he felt, and with small, coded sentences directed her way, she confirmed it. And she was as sharp as he was at the initiation, able to figure out whose hands held her sword. His sister let her approval be known.
Afterwards, with the subtle unspoken flirtation passing back and forth between them, the queen had invited him to the command tent. Alone. She'd known he'd prefer the shadows, and had let him find his way there on his own.
When he arrived, he found he could only approach her if he could remain in shadow. He came up up behind her and covered her eyes. When she protested - as a battle hardened queen is wont to do - he told her that it was because the sensations were better in the dark. But in truth, it was because he felt safer there. Because he wanted to be close to this woman. His queen. And the only way he dared be exposed that much was in the shadows.
It occurred to him that he was feeling afraid, and feeling grateful, and feeling excited … and feeling anything was something he hadn't done for a long time. Then his lips were on her and he tucked the thought away.
He lay awake long after she did - as he always did, always the last to sleep, the first to wake, the first to know, the first to move. And he felt, in the back of his mind, that he could not risk being more exposed than this. He could not risk feeling more than this.
So he lied to himself. He told himself that, at last, after all this fighting by her side, after being with her in this way, he had a handle on this beautiful strong clever queen, and he could at last let her go.
He rose, while she slept, and dressed, and disappeared back into the shadows, where he could once again fully relax.
The next day, they imprisoned the former king … and they discovered that there was an even bigger war that the former king had been fleeing from, that was about to come upon them all.
For a moment, he thought of fleeing. But there was nowhere left to run - and in truth he no longer wanted to. Every day, she trusted more and more tasks to him. And every day, he accepted those tasks with everything he had.
This time, however, they were not facing down a king. They were facing down a god. A silver woman who could command the lightning. This time, his queen would need more than a well-planned battle.
It finally occurred to him what he needed to do when, in a library, he discovered the untranslated book of spells. It finally occurred to him, as he tucked the book in his pocket, that he needed to do something no one else would. Because someone like him always needed to see these solutions. Someone like him always needed to see around the corners before everyone else. If he didn't, nothing and no one that mattered would ever survive. They would just keep fighting wars, over and over again, until he and the queen and everyone they loved were dead.
So he decided he'd do what had to be done. He let the cool, smiling, calculating part of himself take over again.
He betrayed them all, turning his allegiance over to the lightning god, and shooting a dear friend in order to sell the lie.
In the company of the lightning god, he returned to his watchful silver-tongued ways, his cool detachment. The lightning god found him amusing, and attractive, and he leaned fully into those things, smiling, listening. He found out secrets from her, and, even more importantly, he saw that her daughter could be something more than her mother.
Then the lightning god told him that she'd sent assassins to kill his queen. And they'd be there before nightfall.
He ran, taking her daughter with him, and raced through the night until he reached his queen. In her chamber, frantically trying to convince her the assassins were coming, exhausted beyond measure, he'd found himself doing something the first time since he was a little boy. He was begging. Begging her to hear his words, instead of coolly, humorously saying them. Begging her to trust him again. Words eluded him. Emotion clouded him.
He needed her to believe him.
To his surprise and great relief she did. He found himself happier beyond measure that she'd come back. And again something happened that he didn't expect. As they killed the assassins together, this time, they were equals, back to back, each moving against the other. Her trust was complete, and it had come due to his honesty. He was not the silver tongued detached manipulator here. He was not keeping his hands over her eyes. She was seeing him, and he was seeing her. And he was not afraid.
Something had changed between them.
That night, on the eve of battle with the lightning god, after all preparations had been made, she had come to him. Not to make love or to hear the silver tongue, but for something else.
I have accomplished so much, she said. What if I were to kill her? What if I win the final war? What if the unthinkable did really happen, and the war ended tomorrow? We have all lived in the shadow of war for so long. If that's over, what comes next? My mother would say I should marry, but I'm not sure what I see for myself. I can fight better than anyone else. I can see straight through the heart of people. I can lead a kingdom. I can command a bear, a minotaur, a wolf, a hundred ships. I can match you and your sister, spy for spy. I can solve the unsolvable riddle of the labyrinth. I can unite five warring kingdoms against one common enemy. And after all that … marrying would be the only thing left. But what if I chose not to? What if I decided I'd rather rule alone, instead of giving it over to someone else's choices?
He saw straight into her heart as he spoke. And he said: my queen, customs and traditions are for those who need a guide rope in order to tell them where to go. You have already proven you have your own path. You would be remiss to marry and give the kingdom over to someone else, for no one could match you. Instead, it is on you to make the choice that matters most, for yourself.
His queen smiled, seeming to draw strength from this. Thank you, she said.
That night, as storm clouds gathered outside, heralding the coming of the lightning god, he'd found himself, for the first time in a long time, terrified of what he might lose. Everything around him seemed precious. He was no longer able to hide.
He gave everything he had that next day, when they fought. And they all fought together.
And his queen, using the spells he'd gotten for her, turned the lightning god to dust.
When it was over, he found himself flooded with relief at his queen standing so tall, drenched in blood and battle wounds, but alive, and here. Everyone he'd come to know was very much alive, and still very much here. And he was with them. He was wanted.
He'd wandered, dazed, afterwards, trying to shore this new flood of emotions back up where he'd always kept them, tucked away. His layers of cool watchful detachment and smiling confident humor had all blended together, and for the first time he felt unsure of where or even who he was.
His queen had found him in the crowd of celebrating people.
And … she proposed marriage. To him. Not to any of the kings gathered there, but to him. The orphan, who came from nothing. Raydan the Ratter. Raydan the Silver-Tongued. He'd run out of words, then, and instead of expecting him to speak, or to be exposed, she'd taken him once again to her bed.
Once in her chamber, he'd only felt able to come up on her once she'd turned away. Embracing her when she couldn't see him. She relaxed into his arms when he did. And he realized that the thing he'd been unable to pinpoint was right here.
The thing he could never get a grasp on was this: she had seen him, somehow, from that very first day they'd met, so long ago. She'd seen the real him he'd kept hidden. And she would never turn him away. He filled in half of her, and she filled in half of him.
He told her he loved her.
She turned around, the fire behind her, letting the light fall on his face. She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. And she told him she loved him back.
He found himself, for the first time since he could remember, near tears. He gently guided her toward the bed, wanting more than anything to keep her alive and here with him. Seeing him. Fully seeing him.
Afterward, she lay in bed and watched him, and he thought of the power he now had in his hands. The power that she had, with love and and trust, given to him.
She asked him what was on his mind.
He told her about Raydan the Ratter. The tiny child hiding in shadows, stealing bread, running, finally stumbling on a back alley secret and discovering he could tell it, and make money, and survive. They'd called him a rat, so he'd learned to hide it, but he'd also learned how skilled he could be at that hiding.
And now he wondered aloud: what kind of king would Raydan the Ratter be?
She'd been surprised when he'd used the name. And why wouldn't she be? he'd kept himself so closed and locked. His real self. The other self, his charming, perpetually amused self, was not really him. The real him might always be that little child starving to death and begging and ready to do anything to survive.
And yet, here he was. In this bed, in this room, in this castle, in this kingdom. In places he had eased into many times, in the shadows. And now, by some miracle, here he was, and he now owned it. It was his.
With his queen lying beside him, watching as he processed it all.
He tried to explain what that meant, to be here, and was unable to.
Instead, she smiled, and told him what he already knew. That he wasn't alone.
What kind of king would Raydan the Ratter be? she repeated back to him. Whichever kind he chooses.
The dam had broken. Raydan the Ratter was gone. Raydan the Silver-Tongued was gone. Emotion flooded him fully and would never be able to be put back in where it had been, braced tightly against his spine, surrounded by a watchful layer and a layer of calculated phrases and smiles. He'd been holding a breath, and now he'd let it out, and the air was gone.
All he had to do was take a new breath.
And, he found he could. With her sleeping beside him, with war gone and love and warmth all around him, he finally could.
Here, in this green kingdom, he could have children, and could shelter other children so much like the little one he'd been so long ago. His queen could be the light, could draw all the attention, and he could walk beside her, always watchful, always listening, but now commanding real power, no longer needing to be coolly removed. And, surrounded by real love and real family, he could learn, finally, to stop being afraid of exposure. He could love, and he could be loved back. He could be happy.
And so he was.