Chapter 22 - Fiyr
In the chaos and revelry of last night, I managed to forget that we have the four kingdoms' most wanted criminal camping out in our healer's wing. This rapidly becomes important when Queen Bluelianna calls a court meeting this morning.
Most of the court is either hungover or tired or both from last night, but we all snap to attention when we see that the queen isn't alone on the dais. Kneeling at her feet like an unruly child is a man whose face is obscured by a thick white bandage that wraps over most of his face, completely hiding his eyes, but who is instantly recognizable from his shape and size. The tyrant of Shodawa. There's something undeniably poetic about this monster of a man who has spent the last decade terrorizing our court, along with the rest of the kingdoms, on his knees in a posture as weak as if he were flat on his back next to our monarch.
The queen's message is less than satisfying, though.
"I have debated this with our captain and healer for many hours, deliberating on every side of the matter, and we have decided to keep Braukkin as a prisoner indefinitely. He will live." Her lips press together with the final word as though to seal herself off from the criticism.
The backlash is instantaneous; this is not a popular decision. Trying to block out the court, I stare at Braukkin. He seems harmless now, docile even. There's no way he'll be doing much in his current state, surely?
But still... I remember the kid at my first Gathering. He was younger than I was at the time, and I was just a little kid. If things had been different, and Braukkiniaum had taken over Thundria instead… would he have sent Clowd off to die? The mere thought sends a flash of protective fury through me. The clamoring of the court snaps into sharp focus; we are deciding on the fate of a man who has done his worst to others, and choosing mercy for a man who has killed those we'll never know.
My gaze moves from the tyrant to the queen. Her jaw is set, but I can't help feeling like there's a glimmer of indecision in her eyes. Could her mind be changed? But to what? Should we execute him? I've never seen it happen at court and even in the history textbooks, it always seemed to clear-cut. An evil man and a righteous court with no other option. Not a blind ex-tyrant.
"Silence!" It's Sir Cawle, not the queen, from whom the shout comes. "The queen has spoken!"
Of course he would be the first to speak up for her decision; based on what he said after the battle, it was probably his decision. If anything, his defense only serves to cement my opinion that mercy is not the right path here. If Sir Cawle would benefit from this, then it's not good for all of Thundria.
But when I look back up at the queen, the uncertain glimmer in her eye is gone. That is, if it was ever there at all.
"He is stripped of his crown and will henceforth be known as Braukkin Tiull." Her sceptre hits the ground just once, like a door slamming. "Sir Cawle will organize you into patrols for the day. If anyone has other questions about my decision, I'll be in my chambers." She turns on her heel and strides back toward the door, and without glancing back, vanishes into her room.
My hands clench and release in helpless fists. What can we do? She's made her choice, and from her last comment, I suspect she won't take well to us trying to change her mind. I look back at Braukkin. Yllowei has crossed the dais to him and is helping him back and I notice something.
The star on his forehead, the one I've seen on all the monarchs at the Gathering, is still firmly in place, clear as day. Though I expected no different, it's chilling to see the reminder than the queen and everyone else can call him whatever they like, but the Starlaxi's Nine Blessings are still his. The past can't be undone. And neither can his crimes.
I see Lady Flourer and Lady Peilte standing in Yllowei's way, but she hisses something inaudible to them and they move. Braukkin trails behind the old healer—His mother, I recall, with a flash of unease—and they disappear into the healer's wing. Surely she wouldn't… A ridiculous image of Yllowei smuggling the ex-tyrant out of the castle in the middle of the night crosses my mind, but I shake my head, dismissing it. No. That's nonsense; she made it clear he was her son, and nothing more.
Nothing more. Still, watching where she was a moment ago, my heart aches for her. If I had a child and that child broke the knight's code in such an extreme way…
"Sir Cawle wants you on patrol." It's Samn, who snuck up behind me while I was reflecting on the pain I'd feel if my theoretical children committed theoretical crimes. Thinking of it that way makes me huff a laugh. What a stupid thing to be worried about right now.
"Right, thanks." I turn to her and blink. She's back in regular Thundrian uniform. Regular knight's uniform, that is; she's not wearing the ladies' dress. Then again, Lady Fyrra doesn't wear the ladies' dress, but I still thought that maybe after last night she was going to transform into someone else.
"You're staring," she informs me bluntly.
"Right—sorry—I—" I half-bow awkwardly and hurry past her to where Sir Cawle is conducting a cluster of knights.
"And take Sewif with you," he tells Sir Teyl, then trains that intense stare on me. "Sir Harte."
I bob in the same half-bow as before. "Sir?"
"You and Sir Sterrip will go to Tenedor for uniforms," he tells me dismissively, already turning back to Sir Teyl, but I'm certain I saw a knowing glint in his eye.
Sir Sterrip. Oh boy.
I scan the courtroom for Graie and I spot him sharpening Graystripe on the edge of the dais. Seeing the bucket beside him, I'm hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. I brush it off before I start throwing myself at his feet and begging him and the Starlaxi to make things return to the way they were years ago. Get over it. He certainly has.
"Graie, we're going to Tenedor for uniforms." I'm standing right in front of him and he glances up lazily, barely meeting my eyes.
"Alright." WIth a half-groan, he stands and stretches, Graystripe swinging above his head. I almost have to jump back to avoid being sliced. He lays the cloth over the polished blade once more and wipes it across, then drops the rag back in the bucket. "Lemme just put this away."
I nod stiffly and watch him as he heads into the kitchen with the bucket. So we're going with cordiality? I wish he'd hand out schedules of his mood.
Eventually, he comes back, though I'm convinced he stayed there longer just to make me squirm, and we head out to the stables.
"Which way is Tenedor, again?" I squint out at the horizon once we've mounted our horses. It's early enough in the morning that the sun is pointed right in my eyes.
"East," Graie answers.
"Great."
I consider commenting on how quickly he knew the answer and his interest in maps. The silence stretches longer and longer until it would be incredibly painful and forced to say it now. Guess we're just doing silence, then.
For every stream or bush we pass, I think again about breaking down and demanding that Graie apologize and stop seeing the Rivien knight so everything can go back to the way it was before. And then every time we cross the stream or pass the bush, I decide against it.
This is going to be a long ride.
…
Things don't improve that evening. Both Graie and I are put on the Gathering patrol, and somehow end up riding alongside each other, a stain of silence on the otherwise chattering group of the Thundrian court.
I glance at him every so often, wondering if there's anything I can say, then recalling that it's his damn fault we're in this situation anyway, and if anyone should be stressing out over how to bridge the gap between us, it should be him!
Thundria arrives by the pavilion and we dismount, lashing the horses to the edge of the tree line and walking on foot to the pavilion itself. I see that Wynnd's already arrived and beeline for a familiar head of sandy brown hair.
"Owen! Owen Newskar!" I exclaim, splitting away from the Thundrian crowd. "Remember me?"
The man turns and warm brown eyes greet me. He grins and I'm briefly thrown off balance by how much older he looks, but familiar at the same time. Do I look the same to him?
"Of course! How could I forget… uh," he tilts his head, then laughs, "Sir Fiyr Harte! I'm just messing with you!"
I can't help a bemused laugh at how gregarious he is. I guess not everyone's feuding with their ex-best friends and being confused and worried about the court detaining a tyrant.
"How's Wynnd? How's the court? Everyone getting on okay?" I ask eagerly. "Damn, how's Georse?! He must be a squire by now, eh?"
"You bet!" Owen grins. "And guess who ol' King Tahl decided to make his mentor?"
"No way!" I punch his shoulder. "Congratulations!"
He pretends to bow. "Thank you, thank you. As for the rest of us, well, we're getting on. Castle's rebuilt, territory's patrolled, villagers are suitably cowed by our strength." He flexes and winks at me.
"Didn't get any nasty surprises waiting on the territory?" I ask. "I know Graie and I found an old dragon cave when we were looking for you guys."
Sir Newskar dismisses it, waving his hand. "Nah, 'course not. We weren't gone long enough for anything really nasty to settle in. Couple mercs tried their luck with some villages. We reminded them who was in charge."
"You haven't brought Georse into any battles, have you?"
He laughs. "Are you kidding me? Marrani'd kill me. Her precious boy!"
"She scares me a bit." I shudder.
"So, has Queen Bluelianna deigned to grant you a squire, or do you fritter away your days, playing the lute and eating figs?" he jokes. The subject leaches the humour out of the situation for me, though.
"Oh… actually…" I lower my voice, sobering. Owen looks worried at the sudden change. "I did have a squire, but there was an accident. Her leg got hurt… very badly."
"Blessed Starlaxi! Is she alright?" Concern draws his brows together tightly.
"She's doing great at the moment, but…" Even now, my voice softens to hide the quiver in it when I say, "She'll never be a knight."
"Fiyr, I'm so sorry." Owen's eyes are sympathetic, but court propriety keeps any further display from producing itself. I swallow.
"It's—it's alright, really. She's doing well. I'm just glad she's alive," I admit. "But she's a fighter."
He half-smiles, still seeming uncertain.
"But tell me about training Georse! Is he a good squire?" I change topics, eager to return him to his good mood.
"Well, when Marrani isn't—oh, I think the monarchs are starting," Owen interrupts himself, glancing up at the platform.
I turn as well, in time to see Graie's disapproving stare that he's directing my way before I fix my gaze on the monarchs.
"Wynnd will begin," King Tahliorius announces. For a moment, I think that his eyes meet mine through the crowd, but then they dart away again, skimming the crowd like a bird over the moor. "We had a brief problem with mercenaries in some of our outer villages, but we… put a stop to it without too much trouble. I'd like to honour the bravery of Lady Fote and Sir Newskar!"
I whoop and clap Owen on the back. He laughs and ducks away, red tinging his cheek as those nearest turn to congratulate him.
"Thundria will go next." The queen's voice is cold and it makes me pause. Owen gives me a puzzled look and I shrug. "Rivier has been unfairly taxing the village of the Sun Rocks."
A flurry of whispers runs through the crowd, though no one dares challenge it outright. No one save for King Crukkedaro.
"Excuse me? I must have misheard you." His fiery gaze seems less like 'didn't hear you' and more like 'I dare you to say that again', though.
"I said, Rivier has been taxing the village of the Sun Rocks unfairly." Though her voice is level, the queen's face is set in ice, ready to weather the Rivien king's outrage.
Another chorus of whispers abound, then are silenced as King Crukkedaro retaliates.
"Thundria still has much to answer for," he retorts. "Our ranks still feel the loss of Sir Calew after he was killed in an unfortunate incident involving your knights on our territory."
Low blow. I suck in a breath and instinctively scan the people around me for Graie. His face is white and slack at the mention of the knight and despite how strained things are between us, I can't help a protective instinct from rearing up inside me and telling me to make the king eat dirt for leveraging the death of one of his own to refute an accusation of unfair taxation.
"Not to mention!" he shouts over the upheaval in Thundria and Rivier at the mention of Sir Calew. "Not to mention the traces of some Thundrian knight, an elementalist, on our territory."
"In the water?!" someone shouts from the crowd. I can't identify the voice, but I also can't definitely say that it wasn't Duss.
I try to stifle a laugh, knowing this is too serious for me to start giggling now. That was Graie, wasn't it? Oh, blessed Starlaxi, if the Rivien knights are finding traces of him now, how long until they're finding the whole person? He needs to stop meeting her, for his sake.
Graie's not where he was before and I can't gauge his reaction. For all I know, he's burrowing deeper into the Thundrian crowd to protect himself from the mob of Rivien knights that might recognize his trace.
"We found Shodawes trace on Thundrian territory as well!" A voice shouts suddenly. I blink, disoriented, then place it as Sir Cawle.
What? What is he doing?! We know those were Braukkin and his outlaws! Panic sets in as Naitienne Star jerks upright like he's been shocked and scowls.
"No Shodawes knight has laid foot on Thundrian soil. We will not stand by while you slander our kingdom," he snaps.
Queen Bluelianna, though she's far away, looks as surprised as I feel. What is Sir Cawle doing? But if she countermands him now, we risk looking weak.
"Perhaps they were simply outlaws of some kind. Braukkiniaum's, even," she offers, eyes sharp as they fasten themselves onto where I assume Sir Cawle is standing by the platform.
King Naitienne backs down a little bit, placated by the offering. "Perhaps. Until the tyrant is fully excised from our lands, it is difficult to be certain. All four kingdoms must be vigilant so we may bring him to justice."
Oh no. And it was going so well, too, until he said that. So the other kingdoms—or Shodawa, at least—agree that Braukkin needs to answer for his crimes, more than being detained in our healer's wing indefinitely. I can only hope the other courts don't find out that we're harboring him. At least not until Queen Bluelianna changes her mind about what we're doing with him.
"Rivier must answer for the taxation, however," the queen declares, setting the whole thing off again.
"And what of Sir Calew and the unknown traces?" King Crukkedaro demands. "Will we not be answered for that?"
"Thundria is honorable, surely they wouldn't…" the king of Wynnd interjects uneasily.
"Your meaning?" Crukkedaro spins to regard the other man. "Would you imply that Rivier is not equally so? Or were we simply not there at the right time to rescue your court from their own weakness and win your eternal gratitude?"
King Tahliorius doesn't dignify that with a response, and from the reactions around me, he doesn't need to. King Crukkedaro crossed a line, and it doesn't help that no one outside of Rivier has been in a hurry to forget how quickly he capitulated to Braukkin.
"The moon!" A shout suddenly goes up, shocking the squabbling monarchs into silence. A hush falls over the pavilion as we all look up to see that the milky disc in the sky is completely obscured by the long gray finger of a cloud.
"Back to the castle, Thundria," the queen declares and disappears from the top of the platform without even a glance of farewell to the kings behind her. Sir Cawle helps her down, but she shoots him a look clearly communicating 'I'll deal with you when I get the chance'.
Though I'm glad to see that she's not blindly following Sir Cawle into Thundria's ruin, I still feel unnerved by how the court is dividing; the captain of the guard and the queen at odds can't be good for us.
"See you around, Fiyr. Hopefully in better times, next time," Sir Newskar comments to me, giving me a little mock-salute as he backs away to rejoin his court.
I return the salute and send a silent prayer to the Starlaxi for the same thing. I have enough other things to deal with. Please.
When I get back to the Thundrian crowd that's heading toward the trees where we left our horses, I spot Graie hanging back. My breath catches in anger when I see that he's with the Rivien knight. What in the name of the Starlaxi is he thinking?! After he almost got caught?
Then quick as the flicker of a candle, he's back in the court's ranks and the Rivien's silver hair gleams once under the moon, then she vanishes into the shadows with the rest of her court. But I'm not letting it go unremarked upon.
"Graie!" I call, cutting through the crowd to him. Here we go again.
Thank you for reading chapter 22! Please follow and favourite this story and leave me a review with what you think!
~Akila