Chapter 12 - Samn
I never thought I'd wish Graie was with me.
And yet, as Fiyr asks his four millionth question, that's exactly what I find myself begging the Starlaxi for. Why couldn't he be here to field this idiot's constant pestering?!
"That's King Crukkedaro Star," I tell him, stifling a groan and pointing at the mountain of a man across the pavilion, who's firmly planted at the top of the raised platform next to the other leader that's arrived already.
"He's huge," Fiyr mumbles, staring at the Rivien monarch.
"His brother was Oeak Hahrte," I inform him, also watching the king. "I wonder how he feels about Thundria right now, then."
"There are so many people," Ravne observes tremulously, his big blue eyes taking in the giant crowd below.
I nod, though it goes unnoticed in the darkness. The courts of all four kingdoms only just fit on the pavilion, I've heard, yet there's plenty of space across the stone. Because…
"Where's Wynnd?" Fiyr wonders aloud.
I slip into the fifth dimension, almost unconsciously, but there's not even a whiff of moors anywhere on the pavilion. It's like they never existed at all… I remember them from the last Gathering; all lean, stringy twigs of people. They had kind, weathered faces; better than the constant Shodawes scowls at least.
"Is that…" Fiyr mumbles, still staring at the raised platform for the monarchs, though I know instinctively what he's asking.
"King Braukkiniaum Star," I say grimly.
Though he's not as tall as the Rivier king, he's as wide if not wider, and even from across the pavilion, I can see the deep ridges and edges that scars have cut into his skin.
"Some say he's—" Ravne's whispered comment gets cut off as Sir Hartef interrupts us.
"The queen's about to give the signal."
His warning proves prudent as we all glance up in time to see her flash a hand through the air in a move forwards signal.
The Thundrian court pours down into the pavilion, and the other two groups spread to allow our passage as we settle into the area. Queen Bluelianna is halfway up the leader's platform and King Crukkedaro offers a hand to pull her up.
Before our little squire clump dissolves, I lay a hand on Fiyr's shoulder instinctively, then yank it back.
"What?" He turns, and I pretend it's too dark to see the blush that colours his face.
"Stay around here," I mutter. "Over there? That's Blayke Fouhte." I motion to the short, compact man. "It's kinda tough to see right now, but those black gloves he's wearing are covering burn scars. That man is emphatically not a fan of fire, so steer clear."
"He couldn't possibly know I'm a fire elementalist," Fiyr snorts, borderline scornful.
"News travels fast," I warn, narrowing my eyes at his dismissiveness. "Just be careful, yeah?"
"I can take care of myself," he mutters, but there's no bite behind it.
Before the silence can stretch any longer, I split off from the group. Fiyr hangs back with Ravne, and I squeeze through the crowd, not sure of where I'll end up but not really caring.
"...and so I bashed my hilt over his head and walked away." It's Tigre Cawle's husky growl, animated through story to some younger Rivier squires.
Is he telling them about his battle against their kingdom? Seems stupid to me, but out of curiosity I freeze in place. Will he leave out the gory details? There were probably parents of these squires in the fight.
Sir Cawle simply continues recounting certain fighting maneuvers and tactics, nothing explicit. Or… wait a moment. He didn't even mention the captains of the guard, I realize with a frown and a familiar twinge. But… two captains falling in the same fight? Does he think it just isn't that important?
A protective instinct roars up inside me, but I push it back, telling myself it's probably just that he didn't want to describe death to some squires.
But those squires are at least fifteen, I'm sure it's nothing they haven't seen before… I think grimly, a sinking feeling in my stomach.
"Samn?" Fiyr again. Seriously, he's everywhere.
"What," I mumble, turning to him with an impatient look.
"I was going to meet the court healers," he says, trailing off expectantly.
"Alright, let's go," I say, sighing. Whatever. If he wants to cling like a barnacle to me tonight, I don't care. Just as long as he doesn't think this is the new normal. Because I'm not acting like this all the time.
I let him lead me over to the court healers, one of whom is recounting some story about a plant, with big hand gestures. I place the young man as Med Rannin Naos, Yllowei Fennen's successor apparently.
"The gods destroy it with their gases though," he says with a heavy sigh. "It doesn't have a chance to grow before it's choked off again."
"The maiorum wouldn't let that happen," a Thundrian elder, whose voice I recognize as belonging to Lady Tayel.
"Maiorum?" I look down to see where the question came from and see a little boy who looks younger than some of the kids I see playing around the castle.
Is he a squire? I wonder incredulously.
"Maiorum were the people we descended from," I explain quietly while Rannin continues. "They were stronger and bigger people, and they wouldn't let the gods push them around."
The kid's eyes get bigger than ever.
I don't hear Ravne's approach until he adds, "They each had bloodlines that granted them different powers; the Wer had incredible physical ability, the Ser were divinely connected to their ancestors, and the… uh, the other ones were deeply attuned to nature."
"The Mer," Sir Hartef informs him. "The Mer were deeply attuned to nature. The Wer granted us our fighting force and strength and nobility in battle, the Ser gave us our connection to the Starlaxi our ways of naming and rings, and the Mer gifted us with the ability to shift into the fifth dimension, or the Trace as it is known formally, at will."
"The gods sapped their powers until all that was left of the maiorum was us," Sir Hartef continues. "It's said that one day, when the kingdoms make their final stand against the gods, the powers of our ancestors will return to us."
His solemn explanation gets cut off by himself when he looks down at the kid he's explaining it to. "Uh, how old are you?"
The child looks like a deer caught in a hunter's sights, before stammering out, "I—I—I'm twelve."
Sir Hartef's eyes narrow a fraction. "Bit small for your age?"
"My m—m—my mother was small." The kid's stuttering so hard he can barely get the words out.
I glance at Sir Hartef, but I can't read his thoughts based on the hard set of his jaw or the sharp gleam in his eyes. It can't be anything good, because the kid takes one look at the knight and disappears back into the crowd.
"Sir Hartef?" I venture nervously, but when he turns back to us his eyes are glimmering with amusement.
"Don't you pay any attention to your history lessons?" he teases.
"No."
"Sometimes," Ravne says, then giggles. "No."
Liyon rolls his eyes and waves us off. As we begin to make our way back across the solstice pavilion, Ravne is abruptly swarmed with squires from other kingdoms demanding to know about the battle at the village of the Sun Rocks from a couple years ago. Must still be kind of legendary, I reflect.
I exchange a glance with Ravne, and leave him to his fans.
Fiyr's still hanging around the court healers, right next to Spottalia Lief, which makes my nostrils flare for the Starlaxi knows what reason, and I hurry up to him.
"We gotta save Ravne, he's under attack," I quip.
"Seriously?" His green eyes go wide, reflecting the moon.
"No, you bloody idiot. But a bunch of squires just ambushed him, begging for stories from the battle with Rivier," I reply shortly, rolling my eyes.
"Oh." He seems to heave a sigh of relief, and I fight the urge to facepalm. "Okay, let's go then."
I lead him across the pavilion towards the cluster of squires and Fiyr quickly ingrains himself into the group, listening raptly to Ravne's tale.
I hang back, self-conscious. I certainly don't want any unpleasant things dredged up by the story making me have a melt-down in front of three kingdoms.
It's only because I chose to stand a few feet from the rest of the squires that I catch a glimpse of Sir Cawle's shadowed face.
"And they were locked in combat, captain to captain, fightin' fiercer than two armies pitted 'gainst each other." Ravne's come to life as he tells the story, and his audience seems to appreciate it. "I mean, everyone was fighting, but they were fighting, y'know? Figured only one would make it out alive, and Redde Tayle was gettin' the upperhand."
Wait.
Did I hear him right? Or had it just been a trick by the Rivien captain?
"Sir Tayle drove him back, harder 'n harder with every strike, Sir Hahrte didn't stand a chance," Ravne exclaims.
My father was… winning? But Sir Hahrte… My eyes flick back to Sir Cawle, and I jerk suddenly at the look on his face.
Black fury twists his fearsome expression into a look that would send King Braukkiniaum screaming for his mother.
Ravne's fielding questions from his adoring fans now, answering in great detail as always, and doesn't seem to have any clue about Tigre's dark gaze boring into his back.
After a few minutes of tense silence from me, I finally breathe a sigh of relief when I hear the monarchs calling for us to start. I should find out what that was about.
"We'll begin without Wynnd," King Crukkedaro declares. His voice is rich and deep, though his twisted jaw slurs his words slightly.
"King Braukkiniaum Star will speak first," the queen announces, stepping back respectfully to let the broad man stand before the entire crowd.
A hush falls across the pavilion. Everyone seems to either know or suspect that Wynnd's absence is completely the fault of this king.
"Shodawa requires hunting rights to the territories of other kingdoms."
The declaration is barely out of the man's gravelly throat before it's shouted down with protest from Rivier and Thundria. I add a few indignant yells of my own. Hunting rights to our territory? No! We support ourselves using our own territories.
"It's for our children," the king states, soldiering on despite the yelling. "Shodawa has had more children than any other kingdom, and we require more territory to support them all. Rivier and Thundria will have to share."
"Bullshit!" I yell, and it's joined with many jeers of the same caliber.
Undeterred, King Braukkiniaum Star continues serenely. "Wynnd also failed to understand, and we were forced to take their land through driving them out. It would be a shame indeed for the same fate to befall the other kingdoms, but should it be necessary, the knights of Shodawa will not hesitate."
The shocked silence doesn't last long before louder cries are taken, more forceful, dangerous ones. The kind that if you were caught saying them, it would be bad news indeed.
"Tyrant!" I hear a couple people scream.
But King Braukkiniaum ignores them, fixing his cold eyes on King Crukkedaro and Queen Bluelianna instead. After a charged moment, the Rivien king steps forwards.
"Rivier will allow Shodawa a small stretch of land by the lake," he said, his voice as sturdy and sure as before, yet the words belied a certain uncertainty in his expression.
King Braukkiniaum's lips curl into a triumphant smile as yells of malcontent and protest rise from Rivier.
"Thundria will withhold a decision until further consideration," our Queen says diplomatically.
The Shodawes king doesn't looked pleased, but with this man, as long as he's not actively harming anyone else, it seems like a mild mood.
Thundria is certainly displeased with that answer. I hear shouts from familiar voices up to the queen and feel a protective flash of anger. She's making the right choice. I know she is.
"Our last piece of news is that a traitor was recently discovered in our court. A highly dangerous person, and I recommend to all kingdoms to keep your children close until the runaway is apprehended," the King states somberly, but there's a flash to his eyes that suggests he's enjoying it a little more than he should.
My mind immediately jumps to the only Shodawes runaway I know of. He's not talking about Yllowei, is he? She's grumpy but she wouldn't…
I glance at Fiyr, whose eyes have suddenly bugged out with fear.
"What?" I hiss to him.
"She snapped at some kids the other day…" he mumbled. "I—but she wouldn't. She wouldn't."
"I don't know if everyone else is so sure," I say grimly glancing around at the Thundrians clustered.
The panicked whispers being exchanged are gaining volume, and it's going to be a riot if someone doesn't do something soon.
"She needs to be dealt with!" Tigre Cawle yells, and whispers break out amongst Shodawa and Rivier now too. "We can't let her harm the children!"
I agree, but I also don't think she would. Right now, I have a feeling this angry mob's going to do more damage than any retired healer could if we don't stop them.
Fiyr's frozen, staring at the restless crowd.
Someone has to do something.
But the queen's still staring at King Braukkiniaum, undisguised distaste in her eyes, waiting and watching.
Looks like it's going to be me.
I grab the front of Fiyr's tunic and drag him off the pavilion with me.
Thanks for reading chapter 12! Please follow and favourite this story and leave me a review with what you think!
~Akila
