The prince rushed into Verdane's throne room. Seeing his wounded father lying in a pool of blood, Jamka was struck dumb. Falling to his knees, he took the old king in his arms. "Father, I'm sorry. I was too late," the prince breathed, despair gripping his heart.
"Jamka, I've caused you so much pain," Batu said weakly. "I'm sorry, Jamka..."
Grief stung his eyes, and soon the archer was crying. "Father..." he managed, "I know about Sandima. Your whole life, you've been a wise and peaceful king. This... this wasn't you. You were under that maniac's evil spell."
The old king gave his son a wan smile. "And yet I'll be remembered as a fool. I've done injustice to our citizens, Jamka." Batu's breath was labored and sanguinary, with blood pooling at the corners of his mouth. "Forgive me... son. I leave Verdane to you." The king's breath rattled once more in his chest before death took him.
The prince managed a bitter sigh. "Farewell, father," he said softly. With grief and pain weighing him down, Jamka couldn't bring himself to move. The painful moment seemed as though it would never let go, stretching itself into dark eternity.
A voice finally brought him back to reality. "Jamka, I'm sorry." It was Sigurd, standing in the throne room's entrance.
Blinking tears from his eyes, the archer glanced up at the warlord.
"I can't stay here," Jamka said, feeling numb. "I can't take care of Verdane yet. The bastards who did this to my family, I'll cut them down."
Sigurd nodded grimly. "I wish you didn't have to fight. I wish none of us had to."
Reverently placing down his father, Jamka rose to his feet. He turned to the warlord, filled with determination. "Sigurd, my bow is yours, if you'll have me."
"Of course, Prince Jamka," the lord said quietly. "We'll put an end to this war together."
The Verdanian prince prepared some extra horses for their journey, both for celerity's sake, and to help carry supplies. Jamka couldn't bring himself to fill his father's throne, not until the old man had been avenged. He knew that Verdane needed him, but they could manage on their own—at least for a time.
He heard someone approaching as he was fitting a breast collar onto one of the horses.
"Jamka," a voice said softly.
It was strange hearing such tenderness in that voice. He wiped a sleeve across his eyes before glancing behind him. Ayra stood primly, but pain was etched plainly onto her face.
"Your highness," the archer said, unable to muster any mirth in his voice.
Her lips quirked into a faint smile. "Oh, hush," she said, but there was no edge to her words. "Are you doing alright, Jamka?"
The prince shrugged his shoulders, heaving a deep sigh. "I don't know," he said dumbly.
Ayra nodded understandingly. "Shanan and I," she began, "I don't know, either. My father and brother, they were both taken by this war, too."
And it became painful for Jamka to look at the Isaachian warrior. The strength with which she'd always carried herself was suddenly a brittle front, unable to hide her weakness and pain. Left in its place was a vulnerable girl, caught up in the maelstrom of a terrible war.
Jamka broke from her gaze, ashamed. The fact that his own kin had caused her and Edain so much grief, it smoldered in his stomach like brimstone. "I'm sorry, Ayra."
She laughed quietly at that. It was a sad laugh, but pretty nonetheless. "Jamka, we're a lot alike."
The Verdanian prince nodded faintly, unable to muster any words.
"Next time we fight," Ayra began, "let's fight together."
He cast a dazed glance at the Isaachian princess. "What?"
Ayra gave him a reassuring smile, and he hadn't realized til then how lovely a smile it was. "That way, when this is all over," she explained, "you can come back here to Verdane, and I can go back to Isaach with Shanan. We'll make it through this war, so that we can heal our countries' wounds."
It took a moment for her words to sink in. "You're right," Jamka said, nodding. "Yeah, let's do that. You want to help me finish packing up these horses?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Sure thing," she agreed, gracing him with another smile.
Jamka felt his cheeks reddening at the pretty sight, and his stomach did a twirl. He quickly turned back to the horses he had been packing and made himself busy. It must be my imagination, he thought.