Aeolwyn didn’t know how relieved he was to be back home until the carriage pulled up to the palace’s gates. The lovely stucco and brick walls. The leaded windows, and the cobblestone road they came in on felt safe.
It had only been a week he had been in the Star Children’s prison, but it felt longer. He felt like he was a different person and he was finally returning home after an extended absence. Though the walls felt warm and safe, there was something uncomfortably unfamiliar about them.
After the first few days, he was thankfully given better accommodation. A room more befitting a person of his stature. Lord Longinus visited him only once, after he had moved to say that he had met with Aeolwyn’s father, and they had come to an agreement. They just needed time to hash out the details before his release.
He was not told what those details were, nor was he told when he would be released. A guard just showed up with his food on the last day, watched him eat it like he always did, and then took him with him when he left.
They stuffed him in the carriage and off he went.
All in all, once he was able to handle his fear, his treatment hadn’t been all that bad. The food, while not great, was adequate, and once he was out of the cell, he had a garderobe instead of a chamberpot. There were still no windows to speak of, and the smell was pretty bad, but it wasn’t horrid like the cell had been.
And there was light. Blessed, glorious natural light. Those first few days in the darkness were soul-sucking. He thought he was going mad. He wanted to die. He nearly started banging his head into the brick until his brains spilled out. Both as an escape from the misery and to punish his captors. When it became clear that they weren’t going to kill him, he figured that if he were to die in their custody, his father would destroy the whole godforsaken place.
It was all behind him now that he was free. He wondered what happened to Egnever. He hadn’t seen or heard from his brother’s friend since he had been taken up to see Longinus after he killed the guard. He hoped he was freed too. That prison cell was fit for no man. When he was in there, he swore to himself that if he got out, he would destroy it one day. A promise he intended to keep.
Lord Smyton, the man he specifically didn’t want to see when he snuck out met him at the large double doors that served as the entrance to the palace. He was dressed in his black formal tunic. That wasn’t good. He usually dressed in a lighter-colored coat for day-to-day work. The fact that he was dressed more formally meant official duties, and considering this was the day Aeolwyn was being received home finally meant he was the official duty.
All he wanted was a bath and his bed.
Only one of those came true. Lord Smyton took him straight to the baths and had the servants scrub him from head to toe. To get the Children’s ick off was how he phrased it. He didn’t enjoy it one bit. He was old enough to wash himself, and didn’t appreciate all the servants who had come and saw him naked. It was shameful.
Once he was bathed, he was dressed in fresh clothes of a similar green that he had been wearing when he snuck out. He still wanted his bed, but he couldn’t deny how good it felt to be in clean clothes after spending an entire week in the old ones.
Smyton had those clothes burned. He claimed they were too soiled to be cleaned properly. He was sad. He liked those clothes. They fit comfortably, and the boots were well broken in. He couldn’t argue with his father’s chamberlain however, so to the firepit they went.
After that, he took Aeolwyn to the Lord’s Hall, where his father’s privy council met. He had rarely been in this room. He wasn’t allowed in council meetings and the room was locked most other times. He had only visited it when his father decided to show it to him.
It was close to a bluff with large windows that overlooked the entire city; Aeolwyn didn’t get too close to the windows. His father threw people out that window when they displeased him, so it was best not to tempt fate, no matter how good the view was.
The large table in the center of the room was polished to a bright shine and inlaid with an intricate pattern in a darker colored wood that contrasted with the lighter color of the rest of the table. It had stout, ornately carved legs that resembled dragon’s feet, or so he was told. He’d never seen a dragon in real life and wasn’t sure that they actually existed.
His father arrived a short time later, without Lord Smyton. Aeolwyn stood up and bowed anyway. His father looked both furious and relieved to see him alive. Aeolwyn couldn’t help it, he broke into a run and embraced his father as tightly as he could.
“I’m sorry, papa! I didn’t mean to make all this trouble,” he cried. He couldn’t help it. His father detested a crying man, and Aeolwyn was blubbering. The tears spilled out of his eyes so fast that he was afraid he would stain his father’s nice doublet.
“Get a hold of yourself, son,” his father admonished, but hugged him back so tightly Aeolwyn could scarcely breathe.
“Now sit down,” his father said. He released the embrace and gestured to a chair. Aeolwyn hurriedly sat, wiping the tears from his eyes as best he could.
“Have you been in this room before, son?”
Aeolwyn nodded, not trusting his voice yet. He wasn’t sure if his father, who had been in this room thousands of times, would remember when he’d brought Aeolwyn here. They’d sat in the big chair on the end, where his father now sat, young Aeolwyn on his knee.
His father looked around wistfully. “Many important decisions have been made in this room. Decisions that have affected thousands of lives, including yours. This is hallowed ground. I want you to understand that.”
“Yes, father,” Aeolwyn replied weakly. He wondered if the negotiations to free him happened here. Probably. Aeolwyn couldn’t imagine where else they would have taken place. In the throne room? That would have been a laugh. The throne room was only for official visits and the days commoners petitioned the king for redress from other’s crimes.
“Now, I want you to know, son that I’m not angry at you for sneaking into the Star Children’s temple, But I need to know some things, and I am ordering you to be completely honest.”
“Yes, father,” he said. He wasn’t sure how completely honest he could be with his father. He had sworn the Laryn Oath to his brother. He couldn’t break it; he would condemn his soul if he did.
“First, I want to know why.”
Aeolwyn shrugged. He supposed this was an easy one as long as he kept his brother out of it. He could skirt very close to the whole truth without breaking his oath.
“I heard that the Star Children were going behind your back and talking to the nobles, and I wanted to find out why.”
His father smiled. “That’s very noble of you Aeolwyn, but I can handle my own business. You’re not ever going to be king, so you should stay out of politics. They’ll just get in your way as a soldier.”
“I don’t understand.” He had seen the way the lord-general handled things around his father, and he was as political as they came. If he understood it right, the soldiers did the fighting and the generals did the planning, but the lord-general did the politicking. If he was going to be the general of all his brother’s armies, he would need to learn to be deft with politics.
“Being a soldier means to do as you’re told. Playing politics is a dirty way of avoiding your duty.”
He still didn’t understand what his father was trying to say. He would never avoid his duty. He got the feeling that the king was just trying to get him to be a good soldier, which he already knew he would be.
“I understand,” he said, even though he didn’t. He didn’t want to argue with his father about it.
“Good. Now how did you get out of the palace? You are under specific instructions not to leave without me or your mother, and especially not without an escort. The guards and servants have been told this. Who did you bribe to get you out?”
“I didn’t bribe anyone. I just snuck out.”
“How?” his father demanded. He knew Aeolwyn was avoiding a direct answer, and it was getting his anger up. One thing he didn’t want to do was anger his father right now. That was a good way to increase whatever punishment he was ultimately going to get; because he knew he was definitely going to get punished by the end of this conversation.
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“I disguised myself as a servant and used their corridors to get out,” he said sheepishly.
His father actually smiled. He thought he would be furious. “Clever,” he said. “That explains the discarded clothes the guards found outside the gates. They were worried one of the women servants was abducted after she was seen struggling with a larger, drunk, male servant.”
“That was me, father. He was trying to drag me to a bar. I couldn’t get out of his grip so I tripped both of us and got away when we fell.”
“It’s that sort of quick thinking that will make you a good commander one day, son. Now, don’t avoid the more important of the two questions. Who put you up to this? You can’t have thought it up on your own. Was it Ulfnar?”
He couldn’t say. He had made the Laryn Oath. He couldn’t lie and get Ulfnar in trouble either. He also didn’t want to lie in front of his father, but he had no choice.
“No one, father. It was my own idea-“
“DON’T LIE TO ME BOY!” his father roared. He leaped out of his chair and knelt down directly in front of Aeolwyn. He pressed himself as far back in his chair as he could to put some distance between him and his raging father.
“So help me, I will call the execution right now and send you to the gallows. No noble beheading, you’ll suffer a commoner’s death for lying to your father AND lying to the king!”
Aeolwyn wilted before his father’s onslaught. The further he moved back the closer his father got until there was nowhere left to go. He caved. He had to. The power of his oath was nothing compared to the power of his father when his anger was up, so he did the only thing he could do.
He broke the Laryn Oath and condemned his soul.
“Alfyn,” he said. “Alfyn told me to do it. He was there! He brought his friends, and we climbed over the walls. And when we got caught, he vanished. He escaped and left me and his friends for the Star Children!”
His father said nothing. He just stepped back and sat down. He chewed on his lip for a while, lost in thought, eyes darting back and forth between Aeolwyn and the windows. Occasionally, he would take a quick breath in as if to speak but remained silent.
Aeolwyn started to get uncomfortable. Was he free to go? He didn’t think so. Every time he sat up as though he might think about getting out of the chair, his father’s eyes would dart back to him, and he would sit back again. Definitely not free to go.
Finally, he spoke. “I will deal with Alfyn later,” he said. Then he let out a deep sigh. His face contorted into an expression of pain for a moment, and then settled down.
“You understand the gravity of what you’ve done son?”
Aeolwyn nodded. “The Star Children said it was in their rights to execute me,” he answered.
“Yes, a fact that they made sure to remind me of on every occasion. Is it true you killed one of them?”
Aeolwyn shrunk again. “Yes father, but it wasn’t my fault! He took me out of my cell and was going to…do things to me. I couldn’t let that happen. I don’t know if he was going to hurt me or something else. I tried to stop him, and he attacked me. All I could do was defend myself.”
His father put a hand on his shoulder. “Easy, son. I am not mad at you for that. In fact, I am quite proud of you for standing your ground and protecting our good name.”
Aeolwyn was pleased. It was rare to hear his father say that he was proud of him. He wished he had heard it more; making his father proud of him was the only thing he wanted.
“That’s what makes the rest of this so hard.”
Aeolwyn’s stomach churned. He was to be punished, and whatever it was, it was going to be severe. A severe enough penalty that his father looked to be on the verge of tears about it. He wouldn’t cry, of course, it was unsightly for the king to do so.
When his father got a hold of himself, he spoke, “Son,” he started, “I can’t say this in any way but this: You are to be exiled from the capital. That was the only thing the Star Children would agree on to secure your release.”
Exiled? But he was only 12! Where would he go? Who would take care of him? Surely his father wouldn’t throw him out of the gates with only his skin to keep him company! There were wolves out there, and worse. He had heard stories of goblins, reanimated skeletons, and things even more dreadful. He couldn’t survive on his own! He couldn’t fight the fear welling up in him.
“Since General Alaric is here, I have made arrangements for you to join his company. You will be under his command and travel with him to Fort Camulan. Once there, you will follow his instructions and train as a soldier.”
He couldn’t believe it. This was everything he wanted. He was going to a fort on the frontier and be a real soldier. Suddenly his fear mixed with a new emotion: excitement. He was going to fight the Fenns, just like he had when he played with the board he and Sir Jom used.
His father stood. Instinctively he rose as well. His father put his hand on his shoulder again. “You are ready for this Aeolwyn. Now pack your things and go make your old father proud.”
***
The bar was called Brigadoon’s Arms. Its biggest selling point was that it was much too far out of the way for someone of Alfyn’s class to patronize, and so, no one would expect him to ever be here. He, of course, didn’t dress like Prince Alfyn, the heir to the throne. No, he dressed as Aylonzo, a brigand and mercenary from the south of Camulan looking for work.
He had chosen to meet her here because of its remoteness and its reputation for being discreet. Exactly the kind of place where you didn’t want to be recognized and didn’t want anyone to know your business. Being nosy here could and probably would get you killed.
Brigadoon’s Arms was down an alley that was dark even in the daytime. At night, it was nearly pitch black. Inside wasn’t much better. A hazy smoke permeated the dimly lit room from the dirty oil lamps and torches they used for light. The darkness prevented all but the most astute patrons from being able to recognize the features of anyone, even those they shared the table with.
Alfyn was seated in the corner, his back to the wall so he could face the door. The barkeep had brought him a watered-down lager that tasted vaguely of piss. He didn’t drink it after his first sip. He just didn’t want to look out of place, and a man without a drink would definitely look out of place.
He kept his hood up. His face was much too clean and smooth for a place like this. Most of the dirt-covered faces had deep lines from baking in the sun day after day. If anyone dared to peek past his hood, his identity as a member of the upper class would be readily apparent.
Reiva entered a short time later. She wore a leather doublet and trousers that had both been dyed black. Over this she had a billowy cloak that hid her shape. Like most patrons, himself included, her cloak’s hood was up. He only recognized her by the jet-black skin. Or, more accurately, he only recognized her because he couldn’t make out a face at all underneath her hood. The darkness of the room made her features invisible.
He made a quick hand gesture when she caught his eye, using the previously agreed upon signal. She sauntered over with the grace of a cat stalking her prey.
It was only when she was at the table did he see the two ornate daggers on her hips. She appeared to carry no other weapons. Most here were brutish about how they displayed their armaments. It was the only way they could shout out to the group ‘don’t mess with me, I’m dangerous!’ Reiva needed no such warning, and that made her seem even more dangerous.
She sat down without an invitation. He pushed a second cup of beer over to her. She took it, glanced inside, took a sip, and then promptly spat it out, spraying it in a fine mist all over the table.
“Tastes like piss,” she said.
He laughed. “Indeed it does,” he said.
“And you still let me drink it?”
“I didn’t want to be the only one with piss breath.”
She chuckled and slammed the cup back down on the table, then wiped her mouth with her arm, all without breaking eye contact. It was strangely alluring, and he found himself wondering what a night with her would be like. He almost considered suggesting it.
“What can I do for you Aylonzo?” She made sure to emphasize the name he was using to hide his actual identity. He couldn’t tell if she was mocking him for using it, or just indicating that she knew it was a fake name.
She handed him a crumpled note. He took it and looked at it. It was the note he had sent her.
We need to meet urgently. I will be at Brigadoon’s Arms at midnight. Call me Aylonzo, it said.
It bore no other markings or identifying information. The servant who delivered it to her told her who it was from.
“I have a job for you,” he said. He held the note up to the candle set between them until it caught fire. He set it down on the table, watching it burn.
“I thought your father didn’t trust me,” she said.
“He doesn’t. But if you do this job quickly and discreetly, that will go a very long way into gaining that trust and getting into his good graces.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a heavy purse, which he tossed on the table. It landed with a loud thud. “It also pays very well.”
“I’m interested.” She reached out to grab the purse.
He grabbed her hand before she could pull the purse away. Her other hand reached for a dagger. He ignored it. “This job requires the utmost discretion.”
“I can be very discreet,” she said, hand still on her dagger.
He tightened the grip on her hand. In response, her dagger came slightly out of its sheath, showing the tiniest bit of steel. Seeing how serious she was, made him a little nervous, but excited him as well. He almost dared her to use it.
“No one can know,” he said. “Not Lord-General Harmin, not any of my father’s council, you can’t even mention it to my father himself.”
“Sounds dangerous,” she said. “I like it. I agree to those terms.”
“That’s not enough,” he said. “Swear it.”
“I swear,” she said. “Do you want the Laryn Oath as well?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Alfyn said. He released her hand, and she took the purse. It disappeared into her cloak.
“What’s the job?”
“My brother is leaving on a caravan tomorrow headed to Fort Camulan. I want you to follow it, and when the time is right, kill him. Leave no trace. Make it look like an accident.”
She stared at him for so long he began to feel uncomfortable. Was she going to leave and tell his father? She would have a surprise waiting for her if she did.
“Fratricide and regicide? Interesting.” She paused. “Very well. You will get a note before the caravan reaches its destination. There’s plenty of excellent spots along the Camulan Road.”
Without another word, she gracefully got out of the chair and sauntered out. He wondered if she had meant to tease him. Perhaps he should have had a romp with her. He had never been with a woman of her color before, nor one of her profession. It would be interesting to say the least.
Maybe not. Best to never mix business with pleasure.
After she left, he waved his arm towards a man at a table on the other side of the room. Like most people here he was dressed in dark clothing and had a hood up. A scarred, sunbaked face peeked through the hood. He stood, and walking with a pronounced limp that Alfyn was sure was fake, came over and bending down, he put his face close to Alfyn’s.
“Follow her,” Alfyn commanded. “If she looks to betray me, kill her.”
“As you wish,” the man’s raspy voice replied.
“When she’s finished her task, kill her.”
The man nodded and limped his way out of the bar.