Progeny of Fate

Silas

            The throne room is laden with plush, tasseled rugs. Chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling, their golden filigree is well polished. I imagine servants climbing precariously up long ladders to clean them. I look at the red rugs differently now, imagining that their coloring serves a dual purpose of camouflage. Tapestries woven from thick, multicolored wool decorate the otherwise bare walls of the vast chamber. I'm trying to distract myself with anything, look anywhere but at the man sitting upon his blood throne. The woman sitting beside him. Princess Raine was rumored to have spent the past decade and a half in a quiet village devoting herself to her studies. Evidently, she has returned.

            Her beauty is breathtaking. She has high, defined cheekbones, a deep blue gaze, and hair so blonde it's almost white. Her coloring is stark in contrast to her father's black hair, now peppered with gray. His beard is of the same color, and his skin is not as pale as Princess Raine's. While her skin tone serves her in the best way, with a slight flush to her cheeks— she appears almost ethereal. King Hector's complexion, though tanned, is bloodles and cold. He appears as though chiseled from ancient stone.

            When they marched me here for an audience with the king, I'd been fearful it had something to do with the explosion of a certain ship in a certain port that I may or may not have had a hand in. Accidentally, of course. However, the summons had nothing to do with explosives. I'm shackled beside a perfectly contented Priest Mikael, a man I despised. He is unbound. When I first arrived in Holtz, Mikael had been the man to meet me at Flegris and bring me to the Northern Temple. He had been relentlessly involved in my studies. The shadow of resentment sours my temperament, remembering the future he and my mother desperately tried to saddle me with. To no avail.

            I had joined the military, stationed mostly at Reiga where myself and my friends got into all sorts of trouble. The port city has a vibrant night life, despite our occupation. It's common knowledge that King Hector has his sights set on Reiga. Even so, the inhabitants do not seem particularly adverse to the notion. The king rules with an iron fist, but makes sure mouths are fed and bands of thieves no longer run rampant.

            Alas, I'd left life in the Fire Order to pursue a future of my own making. So when the renowned Captain Bassek presented a piece of folded parchment with mine and Priest Mikael's names scribbled upon it, I'd been baffled. Apparently, the parchment had been procured from the pocket of the king's own baneman. The assassin is to arrive here by nightfall, at which point he should be able to clear up this confusion and I can be on my way.

            The orange rays of a setting sun shine through the high windows. They cast their light in multicolored glory on the biggest of the chandeliers. A spectacular show of broken fragments of light dance on the floor. Anxiety creeps into the back of my mind. I rake my chained hands across my trousers, trying to ridmyself of the clamminess. The great doors open, held by the guards at the door as the awaited entourage enters. At long last, the caravan escorting a shackled Lord Aedan of Flegris enters the room. I wouldn't recognize him by face alone, but luckily they announce his presence. I do know of his history, however.

             I've only been to Flegris a handful of times. The summers are fragrant with ripe grapes winding through the vast vineyards. In contrast, the winters are harsh and cold. Flegris Castle is built on farming country, with meandering rivers providing decent irrigation. The Flegris family once traded their crops at steep prices to the rest of Holtz. They made much of their profit off of their quality wines and ale, too. I've read the recent histories, as well as the old. I know how the king conquered the Flegris family in order to control the food supply and feed the rest of his kingdom. He had graciously spared Lord Aedan and left him with his former title. I feel a semblance of sympathy for the boy he might have once been, losing his entire family in what was a bloody massacre. Somehow, I'm not all that shocked that Aedan is the King's new baneman. There's a sort of poetry to the notion, even if pitiful. However, the swaggering assassin before me now sends that pity scattering to the winds.