It was a beautiful day, as far as sailing on the ocean was concerned. The sun was out in all its glory and there were very few clouds in sight. So the blue ocean sparkled and gently rocked the ship. His last remaining ship, The Mahout. With a crew of only seven survivors, they had been forced to leave his other two ships anchored off Volcano Island.
As if in a last-ditch effort to lift Moutassim's spirits, a pod of four bottlenose dolphins that had been following the ship for some time, suddenly leapt and twisted out of the water, making the crew aww in delight and point.
Moutassim did not look. He just sat in another corner, absently staring out at the ocean through puffy eyes. The kracken could have leapt out of the water for all he cared. He was replaying in his head all the what-ifs. What if he had not brought Tarik with him? What if Dakati had no cause to mutiny? What if he was able to leave the island yesterday afternoon, safe and sound, and with Elia by his side?
Of course, the biggest what if continued to prick his conscience. What if he had never launched this voyage, in search of new land? Instead, all he had found was death and heartbreak. And he had not even been able to give Sahelia or his brother, proper burials.
For what felt like the hundredth time, Moutassim buried his face in his hands and let out his grief in a torrent of tears. Angry tears at the world for robbing him of Elia. Anger at himself.
Through his grief, it occurred to him that a small, warm hand was gently caressing his shoulder. He did not raise his head. But he was grateful for Tigrita's small efforts to comfort him anyway.
A small part of him wanted to be angry at Tigrita too. Because after last night's tragic events, when they had boarded one of their last three ships, she had helped to override his orders to turn back.
"It's on you."
Tigrita squinted. "I'm sorry, your majesty?"
"It's on you," Moutassim said more loudly, clearing his throat. "It's on all of you if more people die on this voyage."
"We accept that," a deep, rolling voice said above his head. He looked up.
It was Sengathi, the tall, burly crew member with the thick afro and tribal tattoo on his chest, who had singlehandedly saved him and Tigrita from the rampaging beast last night. He had managed to rally what remained of Moutassim's crew, to disobey his instructions to turn back.
"We did not come all this way, go through so much, to just turn back now. We will not return to Mesigan with our tails tucked between our legs." Sengathi had said, to solemn nods from most of the remaining crew.
"That's right," Tigrita had said, coming up to press her body against Moutassim and rub his back. "We will be your strength, my emperor. The strength you need to carry on with your voyage. We will make history together."
And so, after several half-hearted attempts to convince them of the futility of the very trip he started, Moutassim had settled into a corner to mourn for his sister-in-law and brother.
"I don't accept it," someone said stubbornly.
Moutassim looked around Sengathi's broad frame, to see that it was Okorie who spoke. Had Okorie had his way, the longboat would have pushed off from the shore and left him and Tigrita at death's door last night. Even now, his left side temple remained swollen from Sengathi's fist. Moutassim looked at it with some satisfaction.
"No one asked you," Sengathi snapped and Okorie quickly averted his eyes. "My emperor, as I said last night, we've come too far to give up now. For those who did not make it, we owe it to them to ensure their sacrifice wasn't in vain."
Moutassim looked up at the man and wondered at his boldness. Whatever appetite he had lost for adventure, Sengathi seemed to have gained it.
"They know the risk, I know the risk, your majesty," Tigrita took up one of his locks, weighed down as it was with salt water, and idly played with it. "Just rest easy and let us press on until we reach land again."
There was another thing Moutassim seemed to have lost an appetite for and that was bedding Tigrita. Since the deaths of Sahelia and Tarik, he had been forcefully reminded that all that remained of his family was Kelita and Agdel. Sex had been driven from his mind, replaced with shame at the lust he once felt when he had admired Tigrita.
Irritated, he shrugged off Tigrita's hand from his hair and looked out at the ocean. He sensed her eyes boring into the back of his head and chose to ignore them.
"Very well, have it your way," Moutassim muttered.
🇬🇾
The further into Bremon they got, the more the cheers grew. For Khalid, it was as if his life had come full circle. From sheltered existence in the palace to losing his father and fleeing from his kingdom. To begging for help from Sieberon, to marrying the king's daughter. And now, he was leading an army of Sieberon mercenaries into his capital.
The people ran out into the streets, cheering as they realized their king, or at least the son of the king they knew, was home. Khalid's mother had taken care of his appearance so that he looked like a king. He wore silver armour similar to that his father had favoured, although of course his was considerably smaller. Strapped across his body was his ornately carved white bow, with his quiver hanging from the saddle.
A red sash was wrapped around his body from shoulder to hip and a red cape with gold trimmings billowed from behind him and covered the armoured rump of his chestnut stallion. And of course, his long, blond hair had been pulled from his face and braided down his back by his mother.
"They're not cheering for you, you know," Thovina grumbled from her horse beside him. Her black armoured breastplate was dusty, made worse by the misery stamped on her finely carved features. "They're just glad to be rid of imperial rule. A donkey could come and proclaim itself king and they'd cheer, as long as it's their native donkey."
"Oh shut up," Khalid retorted, not even trying to hide his wide, toothy smile at Thovina's discomfort. Of course, he knew what was bothering her. Away from Sieberon, her influence and ability to make his life miserable was slipping away. They were on his turf now.
His smile grew wider, as the pearly white and gold domes of the Rozaic palace came into view. He looked back in excitement. His mother, who was being carried in a palanquin by six Sieberon attendants, was peeping through the blinds with amazement. As if she couldn't believe they were back home.
Just then, an advance troop of Sieberon soldiers rode up beside him.
"Sire, your palace courtyard is packed with people. We won't be able to get anywhere near the palace," one of the soldiers said.
"Clear it!" Thovina demanded sourly.
"I give the orders here," Khalid growled.
"You can have your adoring sycophants crowd the courtyard later to fawn over you," she snapped. "But right now, I need a bath and change of clothes. I'm tired of this march. We've marched all the way from Sieberon. Clear it!"
The soldier looked from Thovina to Khalid and back again, unsure of what to do.
"Fine, clear the courtyard," Khalid muttered, casting a dirty look at his wife. "But those adoring sycophants are my people and you will have some respect."
"I don't care, they can have you when I'm soaking in a warm bath."
And so by the time they reached the palace gates, the soldiers were already herding the people out of the courtyard and past him. He waved as they cheered him, but when he looked up at the palace his smile faltered.
The outside of his palace looked battle-scarred, with black burn marks all over the walls. There were several parts where blocks of marble had been struck clean out of the walls. And in the courtyard itself, several marble statues of angels and lions had been broken into tiny pieces and trampled underfoot.
"Lovely folks, your people," Thovina said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "They've got a really good eye for art."
Khalid ignored her, doing the mental calculations for how much repairs and restoration would cost. His father would not be pleased. The Rozaic palace was his baby.
Finally, after the last of his people had been ushered out, he nudged his horse forward. His eyes fixed with excitement on the great double doors.
There was a sudden sound, like the clatter of hooves on marble floors and then the double doors burst open from the inside. First one horse, then another, came leaping out the door and down the stairs, making straight for Khalid and his men, who all froze. The first horse that zipped past carried two girls, neither of them looking more than twenty years old. And the second carried another girl and... a one-handed boy, his stump bandaged and wrapped around the girl's waist.
Khalid looked at his men, unsure of what to do. It was Thovina who sprang into action.
"Stop them!" she shouted, her face lit up with the excitement of the chase as she pushed her mare into a gallop.
The girl riding the first horse twisted around in the saddle and aimed her free hand at them. Thovina's horse neighed in alarm and went down heavily, with a screaming Thovina still hooked in the saddle, as they dropped into the hole that had suddenly opened in front of them. There was a sickening sound of metal being crushed in as the thrashing horse landed on top of her. Her scream of panic quickly changed to feeble groans of pain.
Forgetting their past differences, forgetting the four riders, Khalid slipped down from his horse and rushed to his wife's side. Her horse did not seem to be seriously hurt and quickly rolled off her. But Thovina was a different matter. Her right ankle had been bent at an impossible angle, her armoured breastplate was pressed in and crushing her breast and she was whimpering in pain, feebly trying to get the armour off her.
"Help me!" He looked up and pleaded. Two soldiers immediately dropped down and with their help, he was able to pull the armour off. His mother also came up beside them, motioning for her palanquin to be brought. Khalid and three soldiers lifted Thovina. She screamed the minute her right foot left the ground.
"Brace her foot, you idiot!" Bethos snapped at one of the soldiers, who immediately did as instructed. Together, they gingerly laid her in the palanquin and then six soldiers lifted it and made straight for the palace, Khalid striding along beside it. Thovina's hand made its way through the curtain and Khalid grabbed it and squeezed. Her hand tightened in his, as though grateful for the reassurance.