A mountain of papers weighed on Ezekiel—invitation after invitation, orders and requests, all arriving with no sign of stopping. The golden tip of his quill, black with ink, had lost the rubies that once adorned it, worn away through constant use. The sight it once held was long forgotten.
He had been young the day it was given to him—a prince, an heir. How quickly the years had gone. He was a man now, thirty-seven Reward Days he had lived through, but after his twenty-second, life had lost the beauty he once saw in it.
The birth of his brother had changed everything; the crown meant for him, taken and stolen. The family of the woman he loved had betrayed him, turning their backs, their words and vows carried away by the wind—forgotten.
As he kept answering, denying, and ordering, a man rushed inside his tent. It was nothing fancy, simply something temporary for quick departure.
"My lord, voices from the Empty Sea were heard," said the man with a raspy voice. "Asfrodos banners are moving—a siege of Rorschach—and their next target is to move down the Golden River."
A smile formed on the scar-filled face of Sir Tomas Aiza, the Old Fox. A rare sight even for Ezekiel, though not a pleasant one; the grin made the old man look terrifying, but it also meant opportunity.
"Send word to Lord Vicente to gather his banners and as many horses as he can, and march toward the Wall. We shall meet at the top of Lake Venture."
Outside the tent, plates clattered as one of the guards rushed to deliver the message.
"But that's not all, my lord," said Sir Tomas. "Tales have arrived from Greenwood and Tall Forest—trails of rats have been spotted." The Old Fox seemed to grow excited.
"How many knights were raised there?" Ezekiel asked. He had been put in charge of capturing Raumhant, but his plan was not only to take the land, but also the smallfolk. He had ordered low nobles to knight peasant men and give them small lands to rule; in return, control of the villages would be easier, and his troops multiplied without relying on Tricous.
And so it happened that his troops were well-established near the Gash.
"Twenty, my lord—that's what the last report said," replied Sir Tomas. "In charge was Lord Mauricio of House Folia, but he moved with his banners back to Tricous, with both his elder sons."
"So the one who remains in charge is Lady Amira." Ezekiel tapped the back of the quill against the wood of his desk, thinking. What to do… What to do. He could not send a woman to command twenty knights and around five hundred men. It would be madness.
Was there someone else? he thought.
"The bastard," proclaimed Sir Tomas, knowing what had taken Ezekiel too long to say.
"The bastard son…" murmured Ezekiel. He knew of him—the illegitimate son of Mauricio Folia. The words felt close to Ezekiel; he had been called the same before. In a way, he wanted to give the order to the boy, but why would Sir Tomas mention him? Sir Tomas Aiza was an honorable man. A bastard must have seemed like a stain rather than an option.
"So this bastard—what was his name again?" Ezekiel asked.
"Devante, my lord. Devante Folia. He is said to be Lord Mauricio's most-liked son. The story goes that Lord Mauricio fell in love with a lower girl when he was young, on her seventeenth Reward Day. She quickly became pregnant and gave birth to a healthy boy. It seems the boy resembles his mother a lot."
Ezekiel remembered stories of how the lower girl had died days later. Natural causes, they had claimed—though he was not sure of those claims.
"Send word to Devante Folia," Ezekiel ordered,
"to take a new banner and gather any knights of the Greenwoods, then march up into the Tall Forest and kill any rat he finds.
Whether they are boys or sellswords, he has free choice to move them as well." He added that last part when his instincts screamed at him. He trusted them, and felt Devante would need all hands he could get.
Sir Tomas Aiza rose to his feet, bowed before his lord, and went to send the message.
Once again Ezekiel was left alone with his papers—but in a far better mood. If Devante was able to make his name known on the Gash of Raumhant, and gain the trust of those peasant-knights, a new house could emerge, and Devante would no longer have to hear the word bastard tied to his name.
But it was up to him, just as Ezekiel had done. At first he had been "bastard," now "crownless," but in the future—King.
King of Raumhant. King of Croixdes Rêves.
It was his dream, and though his conquest was slow, it was absolute.
Then the words of the man came back to him:
"Do as I told, and you shall rule—not over a small house, but a castle. A castle so vast you would lose yourself in its corridors."
And his words seemed true even now. Just as he had said, Asfrodos was making a move, and all Ezekiel had to give Duarte was Rorschach—not even one of the Golden Cities, but a castle at the edge of the Empty Sea.
__ __ __ __
Reward Day, a day remembered by all men, women, boys, and girls.
A new year for those who survived the worst of days and were healed under the blessing of Dark.
Yet the body lying at Cassian's feet bled out lifelessly, its severed head held by Eduardo, whose breathing grew more and more frantic.
"Don't let anyone who is not your superior rule over you."
Those were Lord Roberto's words, and Cassian had obeyed them too well.
"What are we going to do, Sian? Everyone will know," Eduardo whispered, his voice shaking.
Cassian didn't know either. But first, the body had to be dealt with.
"Put the head on top. I will make a hole beneath it."
Eduardo, gripping the head by the hair, tossed it near the body. Cassian pressed his hand to the ground, and the soil trembled before swallowing the corpse completely.
"You think Aylin will miss him?" Eduardo asked. "He was a bad father, but he still gave her life."
Cassian did not answer. He knew she would miss him, and he knew guilt would tear at Eduardo.
"You should tell her," Cassian said quietly. "Tell her you killed him."
"I will," Eduardo replied. His voice no longer trembled. It carried the steadiness of a man who had made his choice.
A moment later Eduardo's strength gave out. His body loosened and fell to the ground. Darkness began to heal him. Cassian washed his hands with a ripple of water and lifted Eduardo onto his back, although Cassian had strength beyond his years moving something bigger than him was no easy task.
He carried him back toward the celebration area, where drunk men lay scattered, half conscious, already mended by Darkness.