Prince Saralegui often wondered about his mother.
It was not something that he liked thinking of, but, combined with the fact that he and his father had never established much of a connection (a fact he freely accepted), it was only natural that he be curious.
But was it normal to dream about her – a woman that he could not, no matter how hard he tried, remember? It didn't happen every night, but frequently enough that he never forgot after he woke up. It was the same dream over and over.
Saralegui knew immediately that he was an infant every time. He did not know how that piece of information registered, but dream logic was totally different from real logic. Accepting it would be the easiest way.
He would be wrapped in a blanket, comfortable even with the warm air. Something that had not changed even in dreams was that he enjoyed warmth – an unfortunate fact. Small Shimaron was a country with a cool climate. (He could not help but wonder if his father had decided to rule it just to spite him sometimes)
He would then be picked up carefully and cradled gently against a soft feminine body. The arms carrying him would hold him as if he would break at one wrong move; they held him as if he was the world's most precious treasure.
The woman would soon begin walking almost casually somewhere, and he would only be able to perceive the sound of her footsteps for just a while, before rushing waves could finally envelop his hearing.
A soft laugh, and he could feel her smiling at him fondly. Sara wanted to see her face; to see someone smiling at him almost lovingly.
And when he did open his amber eyes, it was to his own bedroom.
The same questions were formed time and time again.
Who was she?
That one was relatively easy. The warmth and familiarity could only be that of a mother.
But was she alive?
What happened to her?
Did she have any idea that Gilbert would be so aloof with her child?
Reason – a good friend that had proven itself to be very dependable over the years – told Saralegui that his mother had died at childbirth. It was not rare and was a possibility for any pregnant woman regardless of who she was and what importance she could have had in anyone's eyes.
But something else – he did not know what – told him that in this case, Reason was as dependable as a thief guarding a box of jewels. For one, he had no proof that she was dead.
Sunlight revealed the dust swirling in the air by the window. He observed this, feeling strangely alive. He could feel his heart beating, his chest rising up and down, his bones popping as he stretched his legs.
As promised, Savion had indeed pulled Saralegui aside for a talk. He had visited the morning after the incident and had told him about the alarming amount of power he had.
"Probably from your mother's side," the healer said, staring at him analytically. The Prince was already used to being looked at this way, but had felt a jolt in his stomach. It was the first time he had ever heard anyone speak of his mother.
"My mother?"
"Oh yes," said Savion matter-of-factly, looking down at a few notes on the table, "It's quite obvious that you inherited more from her than your father. As much as appearances go by, I suppose."
He looked back up, saw the look on the Prince's face, and changed the subject.
"Now, His Majesty and I have come to an agreement that it will be I who shall instruct you more of your power. Simply letting you practice things like this on your own would be disastrous to everyone and yourself.
"However, I will soon have business to attend to in Big Shimaron that cannot be ignored. For now, I shall only leave you with reading assignments. You are not to try and perform any of the instructions until I return.
"Is that agreeable, your highness?"
The Prince nodded silently, slightly let down that the old man was not as warm as he used to be. Of course, he was considered wayward by a noble's standards, but something had changed. There was a steely glint in his eyes.
Then Savion, apparently discovering Tutor #2's comments on Prince Saralegui's studies, had left the little boy twenty-six chapters to read.
It had been four days since then, and no one but he, his father, the healer, and a few soldiers knew of it. Larissa was being kept at home indefinitely, under the watch of Savion and his assistant, Abarrane. According to some maids that he had overheard in the corridors the second day, she had been acting very strangely since she had woken up.
"They say she's been saying the oddest things," said Jemima, "about… well, His Highness."
"His Highness?" Her fellow maid asked. "What about him?
"I don't know exactly what," she replied earnestly, "but apparently, she's been saying his name over and over again and writing it all over the walls since she was sent home.
"Poor thing."
"The question is: why was she sent home in the first place? Larissa was perfectly fine when I saw her that morning, but…"
Prince Saralegui had chosen to walk away at this point.
Larissa was going to be a problem.
The little boy still sat in bed. He supposed it was very late in the morning. The sun was high in its arc and he could hear bustling from out his window and from the corridor. The castle had already woken.
Sighing, he picked up the infamous lavender glasses and put them on; now aware of the damage he could do with his eyes alone.
Goodness, no. Don't get him wrong. Saralegui did not feel social responsibility or guilt. The fewer incidents he was involved in, the better. He needed a good reputation to achieve his ambitions of becoming king quietly.
And his face felt incredibly light without them.
He had no problems whatsoever with wearing them – not anymore, at least. The colours were still stunning, but his desire to actually view them had dulled somewhat. Like his heartbeat, the yearning was always there, but it was never as strong as it used to be.
A maid he did not recognize entered the room and bowed low, nervous.
"Good morning, your highness." She squeaked.
She had probably heard about Larissa, then. There was no way he could stop people from believing what they believed, but…
Then again, he could always present 'evidence' stating otherwise.
"Good morning." His face morphed into that of a happy little boy. The expression felt alien on his face, but he would have to work to get at it. Appearances would need to be kept up.
Saralegui would present himself as pleasant.
The maid's eyes widened.
"May I ask where Claire is?" He said pleasantly, hoping off the bed and allowing her to get close enough to undress him. Claire was Larissa's replacement whenever she was unable to execute her duties. But now that he thought of it, he had not seen her in quite a while.
The maid was hesitant in taking off the little prince's pajamas and was glad for the distraction. "Claire has given birth to her child." She said happily.
"Oh?"
"Yes, your highness. She now has a baby daughter to look after. Perhaps you will see them both when you visit Larissa later today."
"Perhaps I shall," he mused, before snapping his head to her and tilting it slightly, "What did you say your name was again?"
"Delia, your highness."
The next few minutes passed in silence as Delia clumsily helped him get dressed. Obviously, it was her first time doing something like this. She had none of the precision and speed Larissa had in buttoning his shirt and tying strings. Saralegui gradually grew more annoyed, but put on a mask of patience, staring out the window.
When she had (finally) finished, he rushed out the door and down the stairs to have breakfast alone. He had risen later than usual, and ate very little before marching off to the library, where Savion's books were waiting for him.
However, reading wasn't the only thing going on in that library.
The glasses were off, and his eyes glowed bright blue as a book floated in the air. The little boy radiated the air of smugness, though no one was there to see. Saralegui made the thin volume do a somersault before setting it back on the table.
The boy sat a little heavier on his chair and a headache grew like an infection in the back of his head. Even the simplest things wore him out – he would have to try and do something about it. He would have to practice more – worker harder.
Saralegui pushed the glasses up his nose tiredly and closed his eyes. The cold darkness was welcoming. In fact, the exhaustion was welcoming.
Because it was his own. He had never felt so free before – breaking rules. Once he had broken them, he found that there weren't many boundaries left to restrict him with.
The Prince smiled at his little secret.
It was rare that the Prince left the castle.
He stepped out slowly from the carriage, eyes darting to every surface of his surroundings. Everything was so bright, even with his glasses. The air was lighter, as if it consisted of light alone – even if the square was crowded with people. Apparently, a group of merchants had recently entered the capital and had set up there. Several people took notice of the little Prince emerging from the carriage, but did not approach. Several guards glared at them, as if daring them to come any closer.
Saralegui dropped lightly onto the grey stone, eyes still moving from object to object before coming to rest on a familiar face.
Claire.
She held an infant in her arms, smiling at it in adoration – like she held a god in her hands. He watched them for a moment, mind reeling and stomach making awful somersaults.
"Your Highness!"
The Prince's head snapped in the direction of the familiar voice. He turned his head in confusion before finally finding its source.
Larissa stood on the ledge of the highest window of the building directly across them in the square. She held a long rope loosely in her hands. His eyes followed its ends and saw one end tied to the rafters, and the other around her frail neck.
His mind had never processed anything so quickly before.
In the square, people screamed. Mothers and fathers covered their children's eyes and rushed them into houses.
"These past two years," she began, smiling at the Prince in an almost delusional manner, "I have served you obediently. And because of that, I pledge myself with my death, for it is my greatest wish that you succeed your father as the ruler of this great country. No man shall ever learn anything I have learned as your servant."
"Long live the future king!" She shrieked.
The maid took one step into nothingness and fell.
Saralegui swiftly turned his head away from her, but nothing would have prevented the loud snap that seemed to almost echo through the air.
The ride back to the castle had been turbulent and disturbing – much like his thoughts. There was absolutely no sign that something like this could have happened that morning. Everything had gone, not wrong, but so unexpected.
The carriage stopped again, and he saw the familiar structure of the palace. He stepped back outside, where he was greeted with more news.
"Your tutor is dead," said a guard seriously, looking down upon him. The annoyance at this was greater than the dull lurch his stomach had taken at the news.
The guard saw Prince Saralegui's face immediately grow graver than it had ever been before (if that was possible).
"How did it happen?"
"An arrow to his chest, Your Highness. Soldiers have been ordered to investigate this thoroughly. When we learn more, we shall inform you."
"I understand," said the Prince, before walking past him.
The little boy had entered his room and closed his door softly before lying down on his bed slowly, staring at the ceiling.
Today had not been what he was expecting.
Fate was pulling a cruel joke on him. It had indeed given him what he wanted – the people who knew about his power staying silent – but in the most terrible way imaginable.
He supposed that if he had ever wanted assurance that they would never tell, then death was the best way.
No man shall ever learn anything I have learned as your servant, Larissa's voice repeated her last words in his mind, growing more manic each time.
He shoved her away. There was no use brooding about her needless sacrifice.
But what had caused it?
The answer was already in his mind: power. Larissa was nothing special – she did not have any power. But to have so much of it flood into her… It must have made something snap. Some of his thoughts must have transferred into her.
That didn't explain why she mentioned his becoming king. There was something strange in that. Saralegui had never seriously thought about succeeding his father prior to that day. It wasn't possible that she knew.
Unless… there was still a connection in place.
Yes, that would explain it. He would go over the details later – when he was thinking properly again.
However, there was an almost itch at the back of his neck. Savion. He could always try to learn whatever he had planned on teaching him on his own, but there were other things that he knew that books were never going to tell him.
Savion had known who his mother was. There was no mistaking it.
He knew something he didn't.
Saralegui sighed, feeling more drained than he had ever been in his whole life. His eyes longed for sleep while his mind desired rest. There was nothing he could do.
He kicked off his boots and did not bother calling a maid to help him change. The Prince simply removed his glasses and shifted into a more comfortable position on the bed, and closed his eyes. There was no difficulty falling asleep whatsoever.
How did you think he would take their deaths?
His nanny and his tutor were dead. He was alive.
So he would live.
It's been a while, eh? I decided to make this longer because of the wait. I've been incredibly busy with school starting and stuff. (I finally got into Ink, my school's writing org, so I'm pretty happy)
The alternate title for this chapter is "In Which Everyone Sara Has a Chance of Getting Attached to is Killed Off". I realized that there really was no way I could keep this in canon with Savion or Larissa in the picture, so they had to go. I thought Larissa could have lasted just a bit longer, but Berias is coming in the next chapter, so I have no use for her.
… That sounded awfully familiar.
Anyway, I based Larissa's suicide on that freakish scene in the Omen remake. While I was watching it, I was like "holy shit!" The last three sentences were also based on The Sandman graphic novels by Neil Gaiman, which is highly recommended for anyone. It is seriously one of the best things I have ever read.
However, this chapter is definitely not my favorite. Characterization was definitely iffy, and the writing awkward. It was originally longer than this, but the parts I took out definitely turned Sara into a psycho too early. There was nothing I could do to make this better.
Forgive me.
Normally, I would have jumped ship at the first sign that this wasn't going to go down well – and the fact that I know only four people are reading this – but I'm willing to continue just for your enjoyment. That's the point of all this, right?
I apologize for this freakishly long author's note.
-Patricia
(PS: Something more personal)