The Chronicles of Ursa

Part 2 Chapter 10

The king and queen were burned together at dusk the next night, covered in roses from the garden where they first met. Flames from the huge pyre licked into the dark sky. Reddyn's eyes were branded with the image, even when he wasn't looking at the fire. He stood until the smoldering embers winked out and the last bit of heat leached from the pyre, taking no food and little water, as was the custom. Rahn stood with him, though it was not required, and there was an ever-evolving retinue of family, nobles, merchants, and villagers who came to pay their final respects to the beloved king and queen. Even those who had never laid eyes on their prince recognized him immediately: he was not the tall, broad young man with the Reddvayne coloring, or his blonde brother. Legend said the line was magically unbreakable, and yet Reddyn's dark hair and dark eyes had done it. The prince had grown to wiry strength, tough but lean, a sharp contrast to his cousin Corwyn's bulging, muscular frame, and his cousin Envo's exceptional height.

Rahn kept careful watch over the prince and everyone who approached him. Reddyn was surely the next target, though Rahn didn't know for certain what to look for, or how to protect the prince if he saw it.

Reddyn only shifted when the thunder began, glancing up at the darkening sky. He looks hollow, thought Rahn; the healthy teenagers' glow had disappeared from Reddyn's face. Some mourners remained for the first light drops of rain, waiting for the steady deluge before retiring to the castle. The entryway felt claustrophobic after standing vigil outside for so long, not to mention that it was lined with people. Most mourners were allowed to take breaks from the vigil; only Reddyn was required to stand the whole time. Rahn had stayed with him out of support and Corwyn out of bravado, but they were the only three, everyone else came and went from the castle in a somber, yet festive mood, as if it were time for the harvest feast.

Raevan rushed to Corwyn, her black petticoats swishing on the marble floor, red hair done up in an elaborate style with jeweled pins that made her glitter in the light. Quintessential doting mother that she was, she put an arm under Corwyn's and led him to the grand dining table.

"My love," she cooed, "There is a feast laid out for your sacrifice to your prince. How brave you are, how stoic!"

She continued praising him as they made their way through the corridor to the grand dining room, hangers-on and observers parting before them with respectful dips and bows. Reddyn watched them go. He did not want to dine at the grand table; he had just burned the two people he loved most in the world, and after showing them all the respect they were due, the thing he wanted most was solitude.

Greta placed a plump, friendly hand on his shoulder.

"My prince, there is a supper for you to be taken in your chamber, if you like."

Her voice cut through the haze and Reddyn met her kind green eyes. The sympathy in them almost broke him, but he caught himself in time and mutely allowed her to lead him up the stairs. Rahn followed, knees protesting sharply on each hard marble step. They came to Reddyn's room at the end of the hall and he put his hand on the familiar doorknob.

"I'd like to be alone for a while, please," he said. "Thank you for standing with me, Rahn. Greta, please take care of him."

"Of course, my prince," said Rahn, and when Reddyn turned to look at his swordmaster his eyes filled up with tears. Rahn placed his hand over Reddyn's on the doorknob and twisted it, gently pushing open the door and ushering Reddyn inside.

"Go on then, Redd," said Rahn. "We'll be here when you're ready."

He shut the door and Reddyn heard them walk back down the corridor, conversing in low murmurs. He hadn't been alone in days and for a few moments was truly at a loss.

Did I dream it all?

He glanced around his room, which had been cleaned, and spied the food left for him on the low table by his fireplace, crackling cheerily. Without thinking he was upon the table devouring everything, as hungry as he'd ever been in his young life. When he'd eaten the last bit of meat pie he flung himself onto the bed, sinking down into the mattress, willing his mind to remain blank. But within moments, unbidden, the images assaulted him: the sickness, the horror, the pyre – and his father's confession that shadow magic had been responsible. The food felt oily in his stomach and he reached the chamber pot just before most of the meal came back up, leaving Reddyn shaking and sweating. It was then, on the floor next to his bed and the pot full of rejected dinner, that the tears came, scorching and unrelenting. The days of bottled up grief it felt endless. After an hour he felt no better, and an hour after that he forced himself to drink a few sips of water, and an hour after that a tankard of ale, of which he'd almost never partaken save the celebration of his birth the previous summer. The ale dulled the aching in his chest just enough that he unclenched his fists, and his exhausted body finally slept.

The next morning when Greta entered carrying a steaming tray of breakfast and tea, she found him on the floor next to the fireplace, curled into himself like the kitchen boys who sometimes slept in front of the hearth.