VOLATILE KINGDOM | ILYA PETROV
- i -
Ilya decided to forgo breakfast to indulge in a few extra hours of sleep, but the tranquility of slumber didn't help calm the storm raging inside of him. It only dulled it. The hurricane of thoughts in his mind couldn't be contained in a jar if that jar was already full of cracks. Silent contemplation exhausted him and the weakness in him wished he could ask it to disappear, but he willed the foolishness of hope away. He couldn't be that person.
He wouldn't.
He sat up to the sound of footsteps approaching his bedside and saw Melik push apart the black drapes of his canopy. He assumed it was a dream and blinked up at him sleepily, not moving his face away when Melik brushed his hand against his temple to push past his unruly dark hair.
"I brought your breakfast, princeling," said Melik, gesturing to a tray on the table. "Apple oatmeal custard and peach slices. You're like a kid, it's cute."
"Get out."
"But—"
"Who let you in?" Ilya realized what a useless question that was and immediately added, "Forget it, just get out. I don't want breakfast. I've told Mil that."
Melik plopped down at the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other at the knee. "Oh, so you call him Mil?"
"What part of get out don't you under—?"
Melik stood up, walking past the canopy drapes and leaving Ilya in darkened. Hurriedly, Ilya followed, pushing past the thick fabrics to see Melik staring at his scimitar. Melik's countenance changed, the contrast between his previous and current mood as vast as the sea that separated the Byzen kingdoms.
"What is it?"
"I don't know, he won't say," answered Melik, frowning, "but something definitely happened because I felt it."
"Felt what?"
Melik shrugged after meeting Ilya's eyes. Ilya grimaced, and panicked, Melik attempted to explain, "It's a bit like being comfortable with something that you know is there that you forget that it's there most of the time because it'll always be there, but suddenly...it's not and you feel something akin to emptiness, like something's missing but you don't know what that something is."
"But your djinn knows?"
"Yes, but he's evading my questions."
"Can it do that?"
"'Course he can. He's got a mind of his own and everyth—" Melik bit down on his bottom lip, appearing embarrassed.
"What did he say?"
"I'm going to find Kouen to see if he's experienced something similar. He has two of them so one's bound to crack. You should eat something and come down. Kouen wanted to see the Sacred Pillar."
Ilya looked to the bowl of warm custard and grimaced when he felt his stomach growl. He took a single spoonful and delighted in the sprinkle of cinnamon in it.
When his young valet, Milan, entered to help him dress, Ilya thanked him for adding cinnamon to his oatmeal. His mother used to do it when she used to bring his breakfast up for him.
"I can't take credit," said Milan, sheepish, "Prince Melik prepared your breakfast."
Ilya let the spoon fall back into the bowl and the sweetness that filled his mouth faded into a sour aftertaste.
Melik and Kouen were downstairs in a sprawling sitting room with matching looks of consternation. Ilya took it upon himself to take their minds off the subject, of which they knew nothing apart from a nagging feeling that something wasn't right.
Ilya guided them to the Nohrian Sacred Pillar in the castle's basement floor where restricted magical research and resources were located. Only the strongest and most influential magicians were allowed, particularly those that donated funds to keep the labs working, apart from the magical researchers working there.
The pillar was located in the exact center of Tsar and within the basement floor, which connected tunnels throughout the capital, it was placed inside its own four walls. Access to it was limited to the royal family and the few researchers allowed permission to find any traces of hidden magic or secrets.
"The castle was reconstructed around it," started Ilya, standing in front of the Nohrian Sacred Pillar. It was erected prominently as if it had broken through the black floors—tall a triad of spiked obsidian crystals inscribed with words in a language few knew. "We have the strongest barriers protecting the castle and believed it was something that needed to be kept safe. Originally, we thought it contained hidden magic because of how it's appearance cleared the terrain for miles into a perfect circle, but for the longest time it has been dormant. That was until the Corrinean war when it started to glow. Our magicians haven't come to a conclusive answer as to why it would react at that point specifically, especially when the war began with Baryon, but they are trying to prove it has to do with the Byzen Code."
Kouen approached the pillar with interest and appeared for several minutes to be reading the inscriptions, translating them in his mind word for word, but rather than his eyes mirroring his understanding, they seemed to show a mixture of confusion and frustration.
He finally exhaled.
"Well, what does it say?" asked Melik.
"I've never encountered this language written so abstractly," answered Kouen.
"We had Baryonian scholars react similarly," said Ilya.
"What's wrong with it?"
"It's incomplete," replied Kouen. "It doesn't make any sense and it could easily be taken out of context. Perhaps, that is the reason your country has insisted on magical properties." He pointed to the middle of the third line in the block of foreign text. "There are mentions of magic here, but it doesn't explain why it's being mentioned, it continues in a different direction, or so it would appear."
He grimaced.
"The Baryonian scholars that studied this, are there any remaining?"
Ilya looked to Melik, who shrugged like the useless man he was, and returned his gaze to Kouen. "The scholars were better known in Baryon and given that it's been quite some time, it is to be assumed the only person with that sort of knowledge could very well have been Octavia."
"The Baryonian princess," said Kouen in understanding. He awarded the pillar another minute of silent observation before regarding Melik. "Did the Baryonian scholars face the same with the other pillars?"
"As far as Baryon, Corrin, and Hassah are concerned, yes," replied Melik.
"What of Ione and Lorah?" queried Kouen.
"At the time the pillars were undergoing study, the Ionian pillar was buried in rubble and the Lorahian king at the time barred field work," explained Melik. "The Lorahian people worship the pillar as if it were a god."
"Nohr believed it to have magical properties and Lorah considered it holy," said Kouen, mostly to himself. He appeared to have renewed interest in the pillars when he returned his gaze to the inscription.
- ii -
It became perfectly clear to Ilya as a boy of ten to realize the true extent of his father's hatred towards him and to acknowledge, with all of the heartbreak in his fragile world, that his father only loved in pairs: his survival and his queen followed by his ambition and Grisha. Ilya seldom existed in his world.
But…
That wouldn't matter. He worked hard. He could work three times as hard as anyone. If he kept doing that he could impress his father.
Christopher, a young valet-in-training, read out Ilya's schedule to him as Ilya's caretaker, Arina, dressed him in his training garb. He had sword training after breakfast while Grisha studied magic in the basement floor of the castle. Ilya feared his younger brother would become too advanced in magic by the time he caught up, but Ilya was a fast learner and he'd catch up in no time. So, he needed to work harder.
"Don't overdo it, my prince," advised Arina, smiling kindly. "Your lady mother will worry."
Ilya promised he wouldn't, but he crossed his fingers in the inside of his pocket. He bolted out of the door and down the stairs to the large hall where his sword master waited for him. He swelled with excitement as soon as he entered because his master held two real swords in her hands, one of which she handed to him.
"The edges are dull, but this is prime steel and it will hurt more than a wooden sword," the woman told him.
Selena was a strong woman, tall and lean with defined muscles. Her nose was slightly crooked from having been broken. She told Ilya that she had been hit hard with the hilt of a sword by the person that taught her to fight and so awed she had been with the move that she didn't try to get it healed properly because she didn't want to forget. She wore her long golden hair in a high ponytail. Ilya liked the sight of it moving behind her with the fluidity of her movements, like a snake poised to attack.
Ilya took the blunted sword from her and nodded, his face bright with emotion.
He trained together with Selena for an hour uninterrupted, applying all of the techniques he learned from her in the year they had been training together, but Ilya lost his grip on his sword with the last of Selena's heavy blows and received a whack across his upper arm as a result. He heard his sword clatter noisily at the same time that he heard his mother's voice nearby before she appeared in his periphery.
She turned him around to face her, quick to undo the buttons of his jacket to check he arm that had sustained the hit. The skin was bright red and a little sore to the touch.
Miroslava raised her eyes to Selena, who stood bent forward in a bow and kept her gaze glued to the floor.
"Real swords?" she demanded. "You think it is safe for a child his age to—"
"Mother!"
He was embarrassed.
"Answer me, Selena!"
"Our prince cannot grow if he is not extended the same courtesy as other quick learners. He's earned this right, your majesty."
"Well it ends now."
Ilya panicked. "Mother, no—"
Miroslava snapped at him, her blond-white hair whipping around behind her, "This is too dangerous. You are far too young. Understand this and obey."
His protestations withered in his throat and he allowed his mother to drag him out of the hall, too embarrassed to take in Selena's expression while he listened to his mother go on about how there would be a time when he would be handling real swords. She took him aside into a room to treat the bruises rising to the surface of his arm and she continued to berate him over the lesson, going as far as saying that she wanted to dismiss Selena.
"No!" Ilya blurted, panicked by the thought. He couldn't lose Selena. She was helping him get stronger.
His mother frowned. "I understand that this is something you enjoy, but darling, don't be in such a rush to gain strength. You are already strong."
He lowered his eyes, but she put her fingers underneath his chin to lift his face. She smiled sweetly at him before cupping his cheeks and kissing his whole face until he was squirming to get away with a giggle. Between kisses, she repeated she loved him.
"Just a few more years, yes?" asked Miroslava.
Ilya nodded. "But mother, please don't dismiss Selena. We can train with wooden swords again."
"I'll consider it," she said, rising from her seat.
"But Grisha—"
"You are not Grisha, Ilya," she interjected patiently.
"I'm older than Grisha!"
"Accept that this is how it has to be."
"Mother—"
"The conversation is over, Ilya."
His mother left him to get to the next block in his schedule.
Ilya wouldn't meet with his tutors for another hour and he used his free time to sneak back into the training hall where he practiced with Selena to devote more time in implanting that day's lesson. He worked tirelessly until Arina appeared to inform him that his tutor had arrived.
He ran into his father on his way to get out of his sweaty clothes and bowed deeply, but Roman didn't look at him as he walked. He was walking alongside Grisha, who was chattering animatedly about his lessons that morning. Ilya bit down on is lower lip, unable to shake the force of his mother's words about waiting. He couldn't get anywhere by waiting.
Ilya went to see his tutor and dismissed him. He ran around the castle until he found his sword master seated outside the castle maintaining her sword and bowed before her, requesting that they continue where they left off before his mother interrupted.
"Your mother will not approve," said Selena.
"Please, master!"
"I admire your determination, Ilya, but I do hope you understand that you are setting yourself up for disappointment."
Ilya looked up at Selena, not fully comprehending the true meaning of her words. She understood it and sheathed her blade with a heavy sigh.
"I'll continue to teach you no matter what hour or day you come before me seeking to learn and refine your skills," Selena told him, a darkened look in her hazel eyes. "However, I need you to do one thing for me. Will you do it?"
"Anything!"
"You will do this for you, only you. Understood?"
"Yes!"
Ilya heard complaints about how Melik and Kouen's djinn continued behaving strangely without proper explanation. Their lack of understanding resulted in a hint of frustration within their everyday lives henceforth. He had been present to one or two discussions about what they weren't able to grasp from the silence of their djinn, but the lackadaisical conversations went nowhere and Ilya required constant reminder, mostly from himself, to refocus his attention on Nohr armament.
Roman, his father and king, had since Kouen asked for Lorah to be taken, summoned the leaders of his magical and non-magical armies to a war council, one that Ilya had been initially excluded from. If Kouen had not sat in it and requested that he be present alongside Melik, Ilya wouldn't have known a thing about what his country intended to do. His father assigned Ilya's former position as Head Commander of the (non-magical) Nohrian army to a tall woman with red hair down her back dressed in black spiked armor. She was ranked among the strongest fighters in their army, ambidextrous, skilled with sword and spear, and a forceful nature in battle. She suited the rank fine enough that Ilya didn't feel too bad about having been replaced.
Roman and Grisha would be departing for Lorah early next morning so plans were rushing to be finalized. Ilya would remain in Nohr until he concluded what his next best course of action would be, though he considered asking Kouen if he could accompany him to Hassah. He felt inclined to see Queen Nimet, but he was torn by the thought that maybe he should go to Ione to be by Asta's side. There would be plenty to do there.
He couldn't make up his mind and on the morning of his father's departure, Kouen approached Ilya with Werner following close behind. Melik was at arm's length, pensive as he stared out at the sea beyond the docks that held over a dozen ships filled with soldiers and magicians alike.
"If you've yet to make a decision about what you want to do, go to Lorah in my stead," said Kouen. "The Ionian army is yours to command."
Ilya stumbled over words, surprised by Kouen's request. He looked away from him to Werner, the long-haired commander of the warrior army, who smiled affably. "The Ionian army?"
"It would be an honor for us all to serve under your meticulous leadership," praised Werner, inclining his head into a curt but respectful bow.
He thought of his father and brother, imagined their disdain upon learning this news were Ilya to accept. Kouen would be going onto start negotiations with Hassah and informed Roman that he'd be sending someone along with them from the Kou Empire. The Ionian army was negotiated by his father, which Kouen saw no reason to refuse.
The two were being careful around one another, which was to be expected as they built trust. The representative from the Kou Empire was going to watch Roman to make sure that he delivered on his promise. Roman wanted the Ionian army because they were familiar and Ilya could guess the sort of thoughts on his mind that fueled his choice.
"Are you certain you would not rather send one from your Household?" asked Ilya, uncertainty pricking around his insides. His remaining Household members, the tall men with inhuman characteristics that followed him everywhere, stood several feet back, their eyes glued on their king.
"Yes," said Kouen.
"If you're that concerned about accompanying your father, we can switch," suggested Melik. "You're well enough acquainted with my mother to lead negotiations."
Ilya bristled with the implication that he felt concerned about going to war with his father. It embarrassed him to appear so pitiful before everyone and he steeled himself, glaring contemptuously at Melik, who flinched as if he'd been struck by a small pointed object.
"I've no qualms on going," stated Ilya, returning his hardened gaze to Kouen. "I'll go to Lorah in your stead."
Pleased about his answer, Kouen left, presumably to send information to Ione and the Kou Empire, with his remaining Household members following close behind. Ilya took the brief opportunity to turn to Werner Tjäder, hoping that Melik would follow the Kou prince, who appeared to be waiting for some sort of regard or even a hint of an order. This man had twice the amount of years in experience as a soldier and was considered among the most fearsome warriors of the Byzen Cluster, not only that, he was extremely loyal to the crown, but especially devoted to Asta. He pledged his blade, heart, and soul on Ione. There were few warriors like him in existence.
Ilya knew the man could be trusted and that would make working with him easier than being saddled with people he held doubts over.
"Do not hesitate to correct me if I commit any mistakes on the field," said Ilya. "I may be taking over as commander, but you hold the most experience and there is value in that that you shouldn't relinquish because of my rank. That is the only order I will stress that you follow, understood?"
Werner grinned. "Only if you would extend the same courtesy to me, my prince."
"Ilya alone is fine."
"I couldn't disrespect you so brazenly."
"It would be no disrespect," said Ilya. "I am no longer a prince of Nohr. It is only a matter of time before the Cluster fully transitions and the only royal family remaining is the Ren. If you do not want to fully discard rank, you may call me Commander Orlov."
The title coupled with his mother's maiden name rolled from his tongue pleasantly and he played with the thought that he might like that title better over that of Crown Prince.
"Understood, Commander Orlov."
"Good, then we are settled."
They shook hands and arranged to meet in the docks within an hour. Ilya felt unnerved by the shrinking timeframe between accepting this duty and showing up before his father to inform him that he would be joining him in conquering Lorah. Roman was disappointed with him because of how things ended up, but despite having done so, his father lost nothing. He asked for money, he received it. He demanded to keep the magic school and all related aspects under his control, including magical research, and got it. He discarded his heir, a conclusion he fought tooth and nail to attain since Ilya's shortcomings shamed him, and managed it with ease.
Focus…and put the thought from your mind.
"Ilya."
Ilya half-turned, aware of having forgotten Melik standing by, and felt his insides shudder as Melik stepped forward.
"Look," continued Melik, and his eyes were brimming with unwanted sympathy. "You don't need to torture yourself by going with your father to Lorah. You want to go to war against Lorah least of any of us."
The emotion in him twisted into something sharp. "My personal feelings are inconsequential to the duty assigned to me."
"You shouldn't have to bury your feelings," said Melik. "You've gone through enough and you can take your time to come to terms with it all."
"What is there to come to terms with?" asked Ilya, his voice stronger, his eyebrows drawn close in the middle.
"I know how hard you worked to—"
"Is that how you view me?" demanded Ilya, irate. The thought of being perceived as pitiful, so devastatingly pathetic, that Melik felt inclined to propose switching positions with him. "I'm not so pathetic that I need you to spare my feelings!"
Melik's eyes flickered to the ground briefly as if he were contemplating his next words. "I'm just worried—"
"Save yourself the trouble of worrying for me. I've survived well without it."
He twisted on his heel and started to walk away from him, but Melik reached to grab him by the arm.
Ilya jerked his arm out of his hold, glared impatiently at him, and moved on. He heard Melik call his name again, but it came out all wrong with more emphasis on the first syllable to the point that it sounded like a pleading note that ended in silence.
VOLATILE KINGDOM | END
