Token of Loyalty

Chapter Ten

Erlendr choked on his ale before he cleared his throat. "See, that is inaccurate. That was how it was recorded in Tarynian history because Sindri wanted to paint it as such. If it had been up to Hrafn, it wouldn't have been the case."

Calanthe raised an eyebrow and hummed to himself. He thought to himself long and hard for a moment. If all history was based in some bias, perhaps ancient betrayals and blood-spillings, then what part of history was true? Was it only the wars? If so, he didn't want to think of that. Wars–in Tarynian history–meant blood for power, though to Eglantine it meant wars were an opportunity to gain knowledge. Eadburga was the outlier. Wars were a moment to take advantage of the weak, hungry, and powerless.

Eadburga was the poisoned kingdom in Gharash, and Aelfgar was the  Merciless Bane of Gharash now. Calanthe saw it as clear as day and his heart mourned for the people of the East.

Rein set his cup aside and gazed into Calanthe's eyes. "The truth is nobody knows everything except Hrafn. He is the truth bringer to Taryn, and why we have all sworn to protect him until we can reach the city."

"The truth bringer?" Calanthe asked, biting into his lip.

"Rein is too caught up in the religion of olden times to spell it out to you clearly," Erlendr stated, with a roll of his eyes. Rein huffed. Erlendr ignored him and continued, "Those of Taryn are godless, yet Rein comes from the Highlands. They believe in gods and the magic workings of them. I choose to put my faith in my King and this ale."

"Ridiculous," Rein remarked. "I can explain it plainly. You don't need to insult the religion of the tribes of Othmar in the process nor those from Wa'lara, Len."

"Now is not a good time to speak of your ties," Erlendr growled before he stood, grabbing his ale in the process. "I'm going to drink outside and alone. You two seem to be getting along just fine without me."

"Len, come–"

Before Rein could finish, the door shut in their faces. Calanthe frowned and walked back for the other ale before coming to the door to Hrafn's room. He glanced at Rein, but the war-torn man wouldn't meet his eye any longer. Calanthe let him be, then raised his hand and tapped lightly on the door.

"May I come in, Ta'lat?" Calanthe announced, then jostled the door open a smidge.

Ta'lat appeared suddenly before Calanthe pulled the door open. "You aren't a threat to Hrafn, Prince Calanthe. You may come and go as you please. You aren't a servant nor sworn to anyone unlike the rest of us."

Calanthe nodded, seeing his privilege as plain as day. Yet, he took it to heart because no person should have a master nor be a slave. He might be a Prince in title but that title felt undeserving and had been revoked the moment he had betrayed Eglantine and chosen the Tarynians. He couldn't see Eleanora allowing his reinstatement or reinstalling him as Prince of Eglantine.

Calanthe was the Prince of Nothing and No One. He owned no land, no belongings, only the knowledge in his head. He sacrificed it all for Eleanora. Queen Eleanora as the story would be told while Calanthe himself would remain a servant to the people of Gharash, for the prosperity of all.

"I understand your position, Ta'lat," Calanthe replied, with a humble nod. "I would ask you to not call me Prince any longer. Please refer to me as Calanthe and nothing more. Queen Eleanora reigns true in Eglantine, and my holding of that title would undermine her."

Ta'lat narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, confusion amidst his depths. "I don't understand your directions, Si–"

"Please listen," he interrupted, quickly, masking the truthness of his body. Only Eleanora and Hector knew now. One was a threat aimed to strike and kill while the other was intelligent and strong-willed. Eleanora wouldn't hurt Calanthe, but Hector would hunt and kill him. "Eglantine must remain in the hands of Her Queenship. I am Calanthe, a humble man for and of the free people of Gharash. For the sake of my life, I must remain a lesser person."

Ta'lat growled, stepping towards Calanthe. "His Grace saved you and this is how you treat the Tarynian kindness, like you can give and take your titles. No one of a lesser birth has that entitlement nor right."

"Ta'lat, take a break," Rein muttered when he rose from the floor, offering his ale to his husband. "For both our sakes, dear."

Ta'lat calmed at the sound of his husband's voice, almost letting a smile come from his worn expression. Rein and Calanthe moved aside for the larger man. He walked away from them to the door outside, and in the process Calanthe drew a picture of him in his mind. Ta'lat was a strong swordsman, hailing from a Wa'lakarin tribe and had been born in the mountains of Hemingr. His black hair ran long down his back, and it was tied into a fishtail braid, braided with threads and beads. He was a Blood Guard, having sworn an oath to the King of Taryn to protect the Kingdom and livelihoods of Tarynians at all costs, yet his heart was elsewhere now. He thought of his people, of the Wa'lakarins, and he thought of Rein's people, the free people of Othmar.

Each and every Gharashian felt the waves crashing and the barriers between the ties of kin being broken down. Gharash was falling under attack, yet not from the continent of Nearr. The migrants were harmful folk. It was the killers of Jiahao who loomed far to the East across the Eirsion Ocean.

As Ta'lat exited the hut, Rein turned onto Calanthe with a somber smile.

"We are a proud people here in the mountains and highlands. Sometimes, we take it personally when someone of noble birth tries to fall down the ladder because that is something we have never had," Rein stated, then gestured into the dark room. Hrafn slept sound asleep on a cot in the corner, covered beneath thick furs, yet he shivered in his sleep. "You've had a choice to do as you will since birth, not many do. Hrafn had his choice stolen from him, but he took it back. You can do the same, Calanthe."

Calanthe shook his head. "No, I don't want Eglantine. It belongs to Queen Eleanora."

"It is your lineage, Calanthe, you can't forsake your kin," Rein replied snappishly. "Kinship is the foundation of the highlands and mountainland of Gharash, to forsake your kin is the highest treason."

Calanthe quieted, saying nothing more. He wanted to forget Eglantine for the pain that the walls contained, but the good people he had left behind, like his maidservant Laina, and his steel-walled sister Eleanora. The memories made his heart ache one more time. Rein's words reigned true to his ears. Calanthe peered into Rein's pair of hazel eyes, his gaze burning with a thousand suns. The passion of the people of this region spoke through Rein. There was pride to be found here and kinship as Rein had spoken so adamantly, and to betray those whom you love and trust would be like backstabbing his own sister Eleanora or harming Laina.

"Ámarent isn't my lineage. My mother was Queen Calista, yet her name was never that. That was Hyacinth's name that she forced upon me as a child," Calanthe stated, calm in tone. "Before Ámarent, it was Sáevon. I am now my mother's child, therefore I am Calanthe Sáevon, Child of the Deceased Queen Calista Sáevon. I don't inherit the throne because I was never born an Ámarent, Rein. Hyacinth would've never allowed it."

"Well, Hyacinth is surely dead by now," Rein muttered, then quieted before he ushered Calanthe ahead. He nodded in assurance. "Stay with our King, Calanthe Sáevon. He is as much our king as he is yours."

Calanthe took Rein's words to heart, mustering the courage to walk into the dark, dreary room. Rein shuffled around before he sat on the floor once more, remaining on watch for intruders.

The likeliness of Hrafn was blurred by the darkness, but through the unsteady candlelight, he could make out the color returning to Hrafn's once pale face. His skin looked beige again, yet his hair remained colorless and devoid of essence. Calanthe wondered if the tales were true for those who endured extreme horror and terror that their hair could turn as white as snow. Hrafn was the only man in Gharash that Calanthe had seen with the strands of its original color being gone. He couldn't help but wonder what it had once been. Brown, perhaps? Or black? Maybe it had been a unique color once.

Calanthe didn't quite know the entire story yet nor did he wish to pretend to know. He had many years ahead of him.

Without a word, Calanthe took the chair nearest to Hrafn's bedside and remained there for the night, keeping watch over his new King.