Inheritor of Strength (Book one of Alfireán age)

Dying Is Such a Pain

"Speaking of the Imperial mine, we now have an interesting conundrum on our hands," Harold stated. "The entire Empire thinks Alfonso is dead. The Emperor himself came and expressed his condolences.

"As a matter of fact," Harold paused. His lips curled into a smile, and with a small theatrical bow, he announced, "he named you Dragoon, and you are scheduled to be officially buried in the Tomb of the Kings tomorrow."

Alfonso nearly fell off the bench. Being buried in the Tomb of the Kings was the highest honor the Emperor could bestow. Only two people in Alfireá's history, Sir Verin the selfless, and Cassara the defender of the weak, had been buried with the previous emperors.

Harold's eyes twinkled at Alfonso's stunned expression. "The Emperor said it was the least he could do for the last of such 'a noble and honorable family.'"

At these words, Alfonso's face lit up in happiness, and a giant grin spread from ear to ear. To think that his family's actions, that his actions, had been judged worthy of such a great honor was staggering.

He closed his eyes and imagined the majestic procession that would accompany his magnificently adorned coffin down the streets and deep into the to...m...b. Alfonso's happiness abruptly turned into dread. His stomach rolled over inside his gut and his eyes flew open.

"But I'm not dead!"

"No, you are not. A fact that is rather amusing in light of the current situation."

"I'm glad you find this amusing Harold," Olivia scolded. "But this is a real problem. Alfonso is alive, and we can't possibly refuse the Emperor's offer. What do we do?"

The slight levity in Harold's face faded, "Of that, I am not sure."

Alfonso's eyes trailed over to the area where the worker from earlier, and two others, were currently using earth magic to fix segments of the wall. He watched them for a few moments before asking, "Do you think the Emperor will believe that I'm Alfonso?"

"No," Harold answered without hesitation.

Alfonso ran his hand through his hair, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "Why not?"

"Nothing like this has ever happened in recorded history," Harold said. "To my knowledge, there is no other healer in Alfireá with my skills and abilities, and to be frank, even I am having a hard time believing it. I can guarantee that those pinheads, the Emperor's so-called mages, will never accept this."

Alfonso grimaced. Harold had proven the Imperial mages' theories on science and magic wrong on multiple accounts, thus causing there to be a fierce rivalry between them. And he was right, those pinheads, as he had referred to them, would never believe a word of this, especially if Harold explained it.

"But they have to," Olivia interjected. "Besides you and me, we have some of the world's best healers here, and we all know that Alfonso is Alfonso."

"Yes, we do. But the Emperor knows that those healers' loyalties lie with us, not the crown, something the nobles will be all too eager to point out."

Olivia jumped off the bench, knocking Alfonso's cup to the ground, and causing her white healer's garments to sway in the wind. "But what possible reason could we have to lie to the Emperor?"

The sound of a bird squawking and frantically flapping its wing drew their attention. A group of healers huddled around the frozen flock of birds. From the looks of it, they had managed to successfully resuscitate one of them. The poor creature, however, didn't seem in the least bit thankful. It hopped about and screeched as it struggled to free itself from the thin layer of ice still encasing half of its body.