Kareth stopped to start a fire and roast a couple of hares that he had caught while they were moving. Selene was so drawn into his story that she did not even know how long they had ridden. Seros put the hares on a spit and rotated them over the small fire that he had dug a hole out for as to hide the flame from anyone who might be looking.
“Barost returned to Lilanth shortly after the death of Narris with the so-called proof of Narris’s betrayal. He was accompanied by the members of the Uthari who had pledged him allegiance, though most of them did not know the truth of what really happened. The queen was devastated to hear about not only her brother’s death, but also that of her nephew. Liras and the queen were not close—it seems that no one was, really—but he was blood nonetheless.”
The hares were golden brown and dripping grease into the small fire by the time he had finished talking. They smelled delicious and Selene could not help but lick her lips. Neither Kareth nor Selene had eaten anything since the few bites she managed to get down at the inn two nights before when Seros, who was actually Kareth, decided to kill three men. They meant to do us both harm, and had he not acted she would not be alive today, she told herself.
“And the queen did not know that Barost betrayed her?”
Kareth frowned at the question. “My mother was a woman of many flaws, trust being one of them. No, I am afraid she did not know, not until it was too late. Barost took the remaining men back to Lilanth with reports that painted a beautiful picture of the now Silent King Maras. Though, as you know, he was not always silent. Narris took care of that, even though it cost him his life.”
Selene smiled at that, “and the king never spoke again?”
“Some say that he speaks, while others say that he is unable to. My mother never heard his voice. When he came with his armies and betrayed her he had a steward who spoke for him. She said that his neck was still black and blue and that he coughed up blood after he ate.” Kareth seemed to enjoy telling about his father’s anguish. “She never loved him though, my mother. She quickly realized what kind of a man he truly was, though it was too late by then.” He cut away some meat from the spit and handed it to her. “What about you, Selene? You must have a family?"
Selene paused, caught off guard by the question. "I had a mother once, so long ago it seems like a different life. I remember her auburn hair, her smile." She blinked away the beginnings of tears. "She was killed when I was three. A raiding party hit the group we were traveling with, or so I was told. The memory escapes me." She looked up to the sky for a long moment. “I suppose it is for the best, for I think that it is not something that one would want to remember.”
"The Cleanse..." Kareth contemplated, his words little more than a whisper. He looked over at her, his face a mask, his eyes beginning to glisten. "I too lost ones I cared about in the Cleanse. Many I know I shall never look upon again. I try to hold out hope, though, that someday at least a few of us will be reunited.”
“I have never heard of the Cleanse.” Selene could only guess its purpose, but either no one she knew told her about it, or no one knew.
“The Cleanse was the king’s answer to the migrating Panthosi people. It was not a problem at first, for the King believed that he had successfully exterminated us after Lilanth fell.” Kareth took a deep breath, the difficulty that accompanied speaking of his people obvious. “Death camps were set up all over the southern reaches, and each Warden Lord was to oversee the inevitable genocide of the Panthosi people that were not killed in the attack; a task that most of the lords were unhappy about, but carried out nonetheless.”
The thought of death camps frightened Selene. “Why doesn’t anyone know about this?”
Kareth shrugged. “The king decreed it in private to his council, and then in sealed letters to the Warden Lords. It was all very contained, neat and tidy. And, despite its monstrosity, it was very effective. I assume that there is less than a thousand descendants of Panthosi blood still breathing this day.”
“Even if you do defeat the Silent King, what then? I knew it all along, but I never really knew.” She paused, not sure of how to say it, or even if she should. “Panthos is gone,” she said with a shiver of understanding.
A pained look traced Kareth’s face. “Panthos will never be as it was, this I know, but Panthos is not dead. It lives here, and here.” He pointed to his head and his chest as he spoke. “In every Panthosi still alive, it lives. Lilanth lies in ruins, but it can be rebuilt. Flame and metal cannot erase history; they can but hold it back.” Kareth took a moment, gathered his thoughts. “The first time I visited Lilanth was near my twentieth nameday. At first glance, it is little more than a large pile of rubble. Most of the streets were still visible, the stone showing through sand and debris occasionally. The first tears I shed in my own country fell at the Temple of the Moon, or what was left of it. The pillars still stood, the giant stones licked by flames, but most of the temple had caved in on itself. I realized then that the entire city was one large graveyard. We must have seen the bones of a hundred thousand people throughout the city. You would think that scavengers or travelling folk would have found Lilanth over the years and made it a home, but no man wants to live in that kind of shadow. I can only imagine that Lilanth, to this day, remains deserted—taken back by the desert, by the Moon Gods themselves.”
“Panthos was not able to fight back, not even a little?” Selene’s face was a mask of confusion and pain, and something inside of her ached, something unexplainable.
“It will all make sense soon, my dear. Sit back and I will tell you how Lilanth, the City of the Moon and the center of Panthos, fell.”
*****
The northern king arrived in Lilanth a mere fortnight after Queen Somara received her brother’s body in a simple wooden box. She wept over him for hours. The wound at his neck was stitched closed and painted with covering, but it remained ominously present. Barost brought in the crate filled with Narris’s bones and laid them at her feet. His face was somber and he flattered her with courtesies. She had but to agree that Narris was guilty of the treasons he was so charged, though it killed her inside. Somara and Narris were no more than two years apart and were all but inseparable until he took his vows and joined the Uthari. Even then, she kept him as close council. He was in charge of her Royal Guard and doubled as the keeper of her secrets. They had no other siblings, at least none that made it past childbirth. Their mother, only years after their birth, had died giving birth to a stillborn child who never tasted a breath of air, and their father died shortly after in the Trippant Wars. It pained her so to turn her back on her brother, but it made no difference then, she supposed. Somara had given her word to marry the northern king and thus unite the two great empires of the Vint and Panthos. Even though she wanted nothing to do with him, there were no facts to base a dismissal on. Refusal now would most certainly mean war for Panthos and death for her people.
When the king rode through the gates the city was a wash of angry stares and soiled japes. The great City of the Moon knew who their Uthari Lord had been, and they scorned his slayer, regardless of what tales of grandeur accompanied the northern monarch. However, when he walked up the milky white steps to the queen’s temple, his face was writ with compassion and humility.
He bowed a long, deep bow, and rose with tears glistening his eyes. “My most beautiful queen, so long have I heard of your magnificence, but the stories fall short of your true beauty. My heart pains me, for we must meet so soon under such grave circumstances. I feel at a loss to express to you my sorrows for the way things turned out. I can but pray that you have found it in your heart to see the justice in my actions and forgive me for that which has taken place.” But it was not the king that spoke. A man standing directly beside him dressed in a long blue robe laced with silver had loosed his voice through an equally compassionate face.
She looked at the king’s face for a long moment. It was a soft face. His jet black hair fell loosely over his eyes, eyes that commanded loyalty; eyes that induced fealty. Though, he looked slightly frail and unkempt—it was then that she noticed his neck. They had attempted to cover it with powder, but the dark blue and black bruises were still painfully visible. Every swallow was excruciating, she knew. Had my brother killed you, I would not have to weather this farce any longer. It was hopeless to dwell on that which had not come to pass and, despite her feelings, she had a duty to protect her people.
“You are most courteous, Your Grace. I trust your voyage was comfortable?” she replied through a fake smile.
The Silent King smiled lightly and glanced at his voice. “I would not worry my beautiful queen with tales of the long road. I must say that your kingdom is a wonder to look upon.”
She forced herself to remain civilized. “My good king, you are too kind. You must be weary from your travels. I have made the royal solar available, if it please you.”
The king nodded and glanced at his voice once more. “It is an honor, my queen. I look forward to the union of not only ourselves, but also of our two great kingdoms.”
Queen Somara bowed graciously before the king and watched as he was led off to her prior chambers, to the chambers they would so shortly share. It was Barost who whispered in her ear once the king was out of earshot.
“They say that he will never speak again. The rage of Narris reaches out from the grave to steal a king’s commands.” Barost chuckled a moment before he noticed the icy stare from Somara. “It was wrong to speak of your brother so, my queen. You have my apologies.”
She turned her back to him and briskly strode away. It was not until she made it to the library that she stopped and tried to push back the tears. It is not like a queen to weep, she told herself to no avail.
“If you have come to pray, there are better places, I must confess.” The voice was soft, yet strong—it was a voice of age and wisdom, laced with kindness, touched by love. Somara turned to the small, pint-sized man that walked from the other end of the large chamber. He was clad in a brown woolen robe and walked with his hands clasped behind his back and a soft smile upon his face. The man was years past balding and had a corked face and a pinched nose, but his eyes were as clean as sapphires and as soft as a gentle embrace. “I have never been one for praying, though, as you are well aware, my queen.”
“Plios, tell me that this is right, that it will benefit my people.” Somara had no one else but her great uncle to give her council now that Narris was gone.
“Uniting with the Vint is a wise move, plain for anyone to see. Yet, kingdoms do not always require wisdom. Sometimes all they require is love. A leader can be both wise and just, but if they are without love, then the kingdom will fail. It is through love that the Moon Gods reign, and it is through love that you must reign, my queen. So, as you sit here and question your decision, ask yourself, is it out of love for your people that you take this northern king into your kingdom, your hall, your life, and, eventually, your bed chamber?”
“All I do is for the love that I bear for Panthos and its children,” Somara answered.
The old man nodded. “Then you know the path you must take, my queen. You must set aside mourning for your brother and his son. You must put on your queen’s face and show the empire that you know what is best. Narris was a good man, no doubt. Perhaps he even had a reason to commit such acts, but it all means naught. What you must do is honor your brother by leading the people of this kingdom, of the kingdom that he gave up any rights to so that you could rule unthreatened.
“Do you know that he was the first to do so in over a hundred years? Yes, they say it is custom to remove yourself from the path to the throne if you are not next in line, but honor is easily forgotten when power is dangled in front of one’s face. Your brother found it so easy to step away from the throne. Not because he did not want Panthos, no, no. He stepped away for love of you. He knew that you were the heir, that the rights were yours. He would not forsake his honor or that of his family. The Uthari are great fighters, but they give up everything to be so.”
Somara nodded, her eyes solemn as she held back the tears once again. “I love and miss Narris with every beat of my heart, but you are right, Uncle. All I can do now is protect my people and do what is best for them. Thank you, Uncle; you are forever my most trusted council.”
Plios brushed the hair from the side of her face and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Go child, and set Panthos on the path of love. Embrace this northern king and watch as the continent unites.”
Days melted away as the preparations were made for the wedding. Somara had already wed once and was loath to have to stomach another parade of wealth and entertainment—which was exactly what the wedding would be. “A queen and king are not married in a quiet garden,” her wise uncle had said. No, this wedding was to be the most expensive wedding of all time. It pained her to forsake the Panthosi custom of having a small service, but she knew what would be expected of her from the northerners. King Maras had spared no expense, and her own kingdom was busy decorating the Temple of the Moon for the occasion. It hurt her to think that people were starving in her empire while she would be dining on course after course of the finest food in the world and washing it down with casks of Ventos Gold.
Her nerves ran taught the morning of the wedding,but Somara was surprised to actually feel at least some excitement about the coupling. She pulled herself out of bed and called one of her servants to draw her bath water. A warm breeze blew in from the terrace. Somara dropped out of her bed gown and walked into the welcoming sunlight. Her body shuddered as the warm rays danced across her naked body, and, in that moment, she felt completely at ease. She looked over the city of Lilanth with a smile, knowing then that everything would be okay. The wedding would go as planned. Her marriage, though not formed from love, may eventually become something more than just an arrangement. The thought was comforting, however faint it proved to be.
Servants ushered into the room behind her and started filling the tub with buckets of steaming hot water. Somara stepped into the bath, but did not pull back from the heat. Panthos was heat, Panthos was fire, and a Panthosi Queen needed to be vulnerable to neither.
All of her inhibitions melted away as the hot water cleansed her body. After her skin was pink and she could not scrub any longer, she climbed out of the water and patted herself dry. She moved into the room next to her bed chamber and her servants began dressing her for the occasion. Her dress was deep red, laced with diamonds and pearls from every reach of the empire, and threaded with shimmering silver. She did not even want to ask what it had cost the King to have it crafted.
They started with her hair and then powdered her skin with shattered gems to give it a sparkle, or so they said. She sat there for hours as they made her look like a queen fit to be married, and, when they were finally finished, she did have to admit that she looked magnificent. Mira entered and greeted her with a loving embrace.
“You look absolutely stunning, Mother,” she said before pulling back. She looked every bit the same as her mother, her beauty a blossoming flower. She smiled but could not keep the tears from coming.
Somara embraced and kissed her again. “Mira, I love you more than words can express. You understand why I must do this? You understand why I must marry this man?”
Mira looked up at her. “I know why you are doing it.” She hesitated. “I don’t want to leave Lilanth.”
Somara smiled and kissed her again. “Oh sweetie, you do not have to leave, that I promise you. We will talk about this more after the ceremony.”
Mira seemed satisfied with that answer. “The Moon Gods await to anoint you and your king,” she said with only a slightly forced smile.
Somara nodded and motioned for her daughter to lead the way. “We must not keep them waiting then.”
The city was singing with both praise and dismay as they made their way to the Temple of the Moon. The wedding procession was nothing short of a parade of wealth and power. King Maras brought dancers from Marwyn, fire breathers from across the sea, and even some outlandish creatures that the northmen called the Fae—though they could not have been the real Fae People, for they were a long lost race of magik users bent on the destruction of mankind. There was white smoke and flashes of light that shocked the setting sky, creating a boom that shook the hearts of those in attendance.
Throngs of people lined the street as Somara made the short walk from the keep to the temple. It was no more than a thousand steps, but each one seemed more difficult than the previous. Music played, dancers danced, and all the while her nerves threatened to paralyze her in front of the entire city.
Mira must have noticed her apprehension and moved to her arm. “Come, Mother, the steps are not far.”
Somara nodded and wrapped her arm into Mira’s. She was certain she heard curses from the crowd and prophecies of disaster, but she ignored them all. If she did not marry the King of the Vint now, she would certainly doom her people and her kingdom. It was all she could do to preserve the Panthosi way of life, at least for the time being.
Petals fluttered from the sky as they neared the Temple of the Moon. It was constructed of marble with two pillars at least twenty feet wide that surrounded the entryway. Vines snaked their way up the aged pillars and flourished around the entire structure. It was the most beautiful temple in all the world.
Upon seeing Plios ahead of her, she leaned down and kissed Mira once more. “You will forever have my love. Go now, child.” Mira embraced her and walked into the temple with her guardsmen. Plios met her at the steps to the temple and she took his arm willingly. “You look radiant, my queen. The gods themselves could not have asked for a more dazzling bride.” Her uncle’s smile succeeded in comforting her nerves. His voice was as soft as silk. He always knew exactly what to say.
“Dear Uncle, Father would not bequeath any other the right to escort me into the temple.” She felt weightless as they began moving towards the huge ash doors.
“Jadan was a brave and honorable man; I am but a humble scholar.”
She smiled compassionately at him as they walked arm in arm. “You are humble, Uncle, and a far greater man than you know.”
Her uncle returned the smile, but she could not help but notice a twinge of pain cross over his face, though it was gone as quickly as it came. “How is the princess?”
“I am not sure. Eight is a hard age, perhaps she understands, but if not, she is a Lockeye, and Panthosi—she is strong.”
Plios nodded. “She will be fine, and she will grow into a magnificent queen.”
“Thank you, Uncle.”
The doors swung open and the procession moved into the extravagantly decorated temple. Every seat was full with the rich and the pomp, with both nobility and prosperity. She immediately noticed the divide. The right side was entirely Panthosi, the left entirely Vintish. Word had reached her that all the lords of the north would be in attendance, all but Lord Racyn of Marwyn, Lord Went of Tristos, and Lord Roland Grine, the son of Lord Eric, whom had recently lost his life in the King’s Throne Room to some young knight. The council had advised her against having so many honored guests enter the city, especially when they would each have a hundred men at arms as personal body guards, perhaps more.
Lord Braise of Westerlay was said to travel with no less than three hundred men, an old family tradition, apparently. She was sad to admit that her knowledge of the history of the north was limited. One thing was certain; the Vint was far richer than she had previously thought. The Isles are just south of Panthos and many believed that because of the treasures found there that the Isles were inherently wealthy. It was the opposite actually, though few could explain why. She knew that the Isles owed a debt to Panthos that could never be repaid, one that made the allure of Panthosi prosperity even more enticing, but King Maras brought with him an entourage of unimaginable power. It washed over her as she made her way up the lavish walkway and caught eyes with her soon-to-be husband.
He was, at least, handsome.
Black draped his entire body, laced with gold and inlaid with pearls. He had a broadsword on his right hip and a dagger on his left. His doublet had a golden stitched dragon with diamonds for eyes and ivory for talons. Through all of his profligacy, his eyes remained the one thing about him that succeeded in making her breath grow deeper and her heart race.
Plios gently squeezed her hand. “It is time, my queen. I will see you at the feast.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before finding a place near the front of the room.
King Maras moved forward and took her arm. He was surprisingly gentle, and the bruises on his neck seemed to have dissipated since she had last seen him. They stepped up to the plinth where the vicar stood, backs to the rest of the room. She had barely noticed the man in the blue robe that stood to the vicar’s right. He was the king’s voice, the man who had spoken to her upon his entrance into Lilanth.
The vicar began the words without dithering and before Somara knew it she was donning the cloak with colors and sigil of House Maneiron. The union was made, the empire complete, and, for some reason she could not explain, she felt a great sense of despair.
They moved to the Great Hall of the keep for the feast and the mood changed entirely. In the temple, the tension could have been sliced with a sword, but flasks of wine and cups of mead seemed to wash away their variances. Music bounced off the walls and laughter rang from table to table. With the sundry host of people that were in attendance, they barely had enough room in the large hall. At the last minute they had moved in ten more tables and well over a hundred more chairs.
Her new husband was downing more wine than she thought humanly possible, but seemed happy enough. There was obviously not much they could say to each other. His voice was skilled in the pleasantries, but when it came to personal conversations, he was as cold as winter steel. She tried to talk to some of the other people around her, but found the conversations short and uninteresting.
The food was good, as promised, but she ate little. Her thoughts kept returning to her brother. He was the best man she had ever met, as good a man as her father. There would be no replacing him. She downed her entire cup of wine and rose from the dais. Maras did not even notice her leave as he drank and listened and laughed his horrible, broken laugh.
She moved about the hall and nodded thanks over and again. The lords of the north doted on her beauty, and the noble men of the south praised her vigilance in bringing peace to the realm. It was a room full of sycophants, and she felt utterly lost until she saw the tall, tanned Uthari armsman approaching from the corner of her eye.
Tradai was one of her brother’s oldest friends and was Captain of the Third Guard, second in command behind Barost. “Has anyone told you that you are without a doubt the most beautiful queen that Panthos has ever seen?” He smiled through perfect teeth and pushed one of his braids out of his face.
“My dear Tradai, thank you for the complement, but I expect only truth from you, not flattery.”
“It is the truth, my queen.” His face grew serious. “I am sorry that I did not come to you sooner. Narris was…”
“A great man,” she finished for him and tried her best to hold back her emotions. “You need not apologize, my lord Tradai, least of all to me.”
Tradai nodded. “I presume you are enjoying your night?” His voice was laced with sarcasm.
“As much as I can.” She changed the subject seamlessly. “How is Mira?”
“I checked on her just moments ago. She is fast asleep. Two men are standing guard outside of her door, another on the veranda. She is safe, I promise you.”
Somara seemed pleased enough with that. “Thank you, Tradai.”
“My queen,” he nodded once more before taking his leave.
She had not noticed the commotion behind her, but the room had erupted into laughs and drunken bellows. It was time for the bedding, and she was sure that the guests were more interested in seeing her naked than wishing her a pleasant night. It was a custom reserved for the noble northmen, which now made it her custom as well. She simply smiled and braved the humility as they picked her and her husband up, carrying them to their bed chamber.
Hey everyone, thank you so much for stopping by and checking out the story. I will be posting a new chapter every Tuesday and Friday until the entire novel is on Wattpad. However, I would like to let everyone know that The Lost Prince is on Amazon. I am giving the book away for free on here, but if you loved the novel and feel like purchasing a copy, or gifting it to someone else, I cannot express how honored I would be.