Rhema IV: Tears Well from Blood
The Tenth day of the Twelfth Moon, 872 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.
He was going to kill the people who'd done this. The people who had cut open his closest friend as if they were some... some fucking animal! Those vile butchers, he would... he would...
Rhema looked down at his friend's sleeping form, and exhaled, doing his best to keep his mind clear. He would do nothing for now, save keep vigil. He would control himself, for his friend.
Besides, he thought with a chuckle that was only slightly mad, most of the people who did this are dead already.
After the raid on Seaview Manse the knights under Ser Romanos had spent the majority of the night following both leads and the fleeing cultists, resulting in the majority of the other manses being broken into and searched thoroughly for any sign of cultist activity.
He happened to know that his brother had used the knight's hunt as a front to strip the manses bare, carting their wealth off to the royal coffers. That had made him smile more than a little bit. It still made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards even now. Guess my brother isn't quite so afraid of dirtying his hands as some of those nobles thought.
Seventh shifted in their sleep, and Rhema's breath hitched ever so slightly as one of their wings peeked out at him from the top of the blanket. Angels, they were magnificent! They were small, far to small to actually lift them from the ground, surely, but nonetheless they looked stunning.
If only it had not taken so much pain to break them free.
Seventh had told him, albeit in a clipped and quiet manner, what had been done to them. Even thinking about such things roused such an anger in the young prince that he wanted to march out there and find every last one of those damnable cultists that had escaped before fucking shattering every rib they had, then he would watch and he would laugh as they choked on their own blood, pierced lungs flooding with their own hot ichor.
But not their ringleader. No. He had much better plans for him.
He sighed. As of right now those plans were useless and immaterial, because no matter how much he wanted to go out there and visit vengeance upon the people that did this, it was overshadowed by his desire to make sure his friend would be safe first, barely; it was a very fine thing, but his desire to ensure Seventh's immediate safety just about triumphed over his want for bloodshed.
Even so, the thoughts of what he'd do to that 'Turnkey' bastard or whatever Seventh had called him still warmed his blood and sharpened his mind. After all, it was hard to sleep with such detailed plans running dancing across his thoughts.
Ser Aenethar was still out there somewhere too. His plans for Turnkey may have been bad, worse than bad, but what he'd do to that treasonous fucking bastard when he got his hands on his fucking throat would make it seem like mercy by comparison.
He was shaken from his darker thoughts at the sound of the door creaking open. He shot around, hand already on the axe by his side, but let himself relax when Marshal Crowe entered the room. There were dark rings under her eyes, a tiredness in her step that told him she was only being kept awake by her own stubbornness and professionalism. He wasn't surprised, after all, she'd spent the last few weeks desperately trying to balance combat effectiveness and his sister's suspicions.
My sister...
He shook his head and banished that trail of thought before it had a chance to truly begin. He'd said it himself, they'd not truly been siblings for quite some time; she'd bullied him and cast him aside time and time again, and had called not only for the deaths of so many innocents but also their own brother in her quest for power. She was dangerous, she was violent, and she was downright hateful.
So why does it hurt so much?
He did his best to rid himself of these thoughts, speaking with a dry yet humorous tone to his mentor and friend.
"Crowe. You look like shit."
She raised an amused eyebrow, and responded in kind.
"Your Highness. You aren't looking too princely yourself."
He snorted and turned back to the bed, Crowe moving to sit in a chair next to him.
"They will be alright?"
Rhema nodded.
"My brother damn near stripped the city bare of those well-versed in the medicinal arts at my behest, but out of every physician my brother called in as well as his own personal healer from his retinue, not a single one can make heads nor tails of how they're managing to heal so quicky without any intervention. Indeed, my brother's personal healer has said that they've somehow managed to heal themself of any physical damage in totality already."
Crowe nodded, remaining as attentive as ever no matter her tiredness.
"Good, that's good," she hesitated a moment before continuing, "and mentally?"
He sighed bitterly.
"I don't know. I hope they'll be fine. If not, well..."
He gestured weakly to himself.
"We know how that story goes."
Crowe sighed next to him.
"You need to stop being so hard on yourself. I know you might not think it but these last few months you've showed remarkable resilience and loyalty, not to mention competence. There are few men alive who would have the courage and determination to do what you did. Very few. Your actions shortened the war by months no doubt, and saved thousands of lives."
"Maybe. But I do not feel as though that was my doing, not truly."
Crowe stood with a sigh, patting his shoulder before turning to exit the room.
"Hopefully you will in time, your Highness. I'll leave you to your vigil."
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It must have been hours the next time someone entered the room. The sun was beginning to set in the west, the autumn sky taking on a hint of green as blue gave way to black.
"I thought you might be here still. Somehow I think you will be until you know they're okay."
He relaxed at the familiarity of the voice, his brother's words lessening the tension he had been feeling somewhat.
"Here, give me a moment."
There was the sound of a few things being set down on the small table next to him, then pouring. He spoke without turning.
"What is that, wine?"
He was corrected by a tankard pressed into his hands, foaming with ale.
"Nope. There are times when a man needs to quaff, and ale's a damn sight better for that than wine. Come on."
His brother raised his own wooden tankard, and clinked it to his own. There was silence for a moment, save only gulping noises, as the two of them drank deeply from their cups. His brother stopped when half of his tankard was empty, but Rhema kept going till his was empty. Angels, he hadn't realised he was so thirsty.
"Thanks for that, I needed it. You wouldn't happen to have any food with you, would you?"
His brother nudged his shoulder and gestured to the small table off to the side, where a small platter of honeycakes and plums was set. He nodded his thanks and picked a honeycake off of the platter, eating it in a dozen bites. Oh, he'd not had one in so long he'd almost forgotten how fucking good they were. He immediately reached for another, and his brother picked up a plum, raising an eyebrow at him.
"What? I'm hungry, leave me be."
A huffed laugh left his brother, and they sat in silence again for a moment, eating quietly. After a little while had passed, Rhema turned to face his company. There were questions he needed to ask. He hesitated a moment before speaking, his voice seeming to catch in his throat.
"She's dead. I know that much, but... is she yet buried? I hesitate to ask but what I mean is... no tar, no spikes, nothing like that?"
His brother shook his head slowly.
"No. Even if I'd wanted to, I don't think I would have been able to bring myself to do it. No, she's been given a quiet burial in the family crypts under the Westcoast Church. She'll rest there with our ancestors forevermore, with the dignity and respect due to any member of our family. Which reminds me, have you given father his funeral yet? I have heard nothing of it all the time I have been here."
This time Rhema nodded.
"It was done quietly the day after you took off back to the north. Father hadn't been seen in public since... well, for at least eight months. Maybe even a year. If there was no war between the three of us then I doubt anyone would have noticed his passing. But his body was taken to the Westcoast Church under armed guard. I take it you didn't personally see our sister interred, else you'd have seen him yourself undoubtedly."
His brother was silent again for a minute, nodding in acknowledgement of Rhema's words. Rhema took this silence as his que to continue asking questions.
"Assassins. You said you'd been attacked by assassins. And the Choir- did you know they were real this whole time? For how long? Why you as well? I don't-"
His brother held up a hand for quiet, then began answering his questions in a slow, almost staggered manner. It was as though he had been too busy to think through what had happened until recently, and was only now starting to come to terms with everything.
"I don't really know myself. I thought our sister sent assassins after me at Ousdaal, but thinking back on it now... it doesn't really make sense. She would have needed to have friends, or at least supporters, within my camp who were unknown to both me and Elikoidi, and as you know it's damn near impossible to keep a motive from him. I mean, those people would have had to be in the camp for weeks, maybe months, without once even talking about anything that could have given their allegiances away. Given some of the phenomenon surrounding their eyes, such as a sense of unease and how they caused mild headaches, Elikoidi thought they might be a part of the Cult of the Choir. After that-"
His brother took a shuddering breath to calm himself, running a hand through his hair.
"After that we set it to one side, mostly. There was too much to worry about, too little time. We needed to take the capital. So I led a breaching party later that same day. I was the first man through the breach."
There were a few twitches to his brother's lips that Rhema reckoned were the beginnings of a supressed yet proud smile.
"The first wave failed, but that never mattered. The castle surrendered to us that same day anyway. Marren had his carcass shot smoke them out. After that we marched here and, well, you know the rest."
He nodded, and they lapsed back into silence. His brother drained what was left of his ale and refilled both of their tankards, handing one back to Rhema who sipped it appreciatively. He took the time to think about him and his brother for a little while. He would be lying if he said he wasn't scared for what the future held for them now; the two of them were all that was left of their house. Oh, there would doubtless be someone bearing their family name in the Noble Sons Abroad who would make an appearance if ever something happened to the two of them, but of the true members of house Sperakos it was just the two of them. That raised certain complications. He might have fooled around with a few different people in Castelos, but nothing serious and not for quite a long while now, half a year at least. As for his brother, well, there was only one person he had ever seen his brother show an interest in, and lets just say if there was even an heir that came about from that union then something passing odd was happening.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
He chuckled a little at that thought, strange as it may have been.
As for himself at the moment, he'd been feeling strangely about such things as marriage and the like recently. He didn't want to get married, but he wasn't stupid. He was a prince, in fact as soon as his brother's coronation finally came about Rhema would technically be his heir, and he needed to marry. Both of them did.
He did his best to supress a groan at the thought, and let his head hit the frame of the bed in front of him.
"Ugh."
A mildly amused huff came from his brother next to him.
"Well, what's brought this on?"
"Nope, not bringing it up. It'll just give you ideas."
"Heh, smart move."
His brother's tone lost some of its joviality, taking on a more serious aspect.
"But truthfully. How are you holding up, given everything that's happened? I'm not going to judge you regardless of the answer, I just... I don't want to be left in the dark if I you're going through something."
He turned his head and flashed his brother an admittedly weak smile before responding, opting to just speak the truth rather than conceal anything. This was his older brother, after all. Lyk would never see his worth as being any less than it ever had been, regardless of how far Rhema felt himself falling.
"I... I don't rightly know. I'm angry and sad and melancholic for a hundred reasons, but then I'm happy and excited for a dozen others. Everything's moving so fast, and now that we've been granted a reprieve it's only giving me time to allow certain thoughts to linger in my mind."
"Oh? Like what?"
He was silent for a moment, uncertain how best to communicate his worries.
"Rhema?"
"Was this my fault?"
He gestured weakly with an arm at Seventh, though he didn't move his head from where it rested at the side of the bed. His brother started.
"What? You saved them!"
"Aye, I did. I also sent them away with Aenethar to you. Specifically with Aenethar. If I'd just picked someone else they wouldn't have been through that."
His brother's expression softened.
"Rhema, no. Aenethar's actions are his own, you cannot be held accountable for what he did whilst almost two-hundred miles away from you. It was not your fault."
There was another pause in their conversation before Rhema spoke again, vitriol and hate dripping from his words.
"I fucking hate Aenethar. The man and the Angel. I fucking hate them both. I hate the man for what he did to my friend, my friend! And I hate the Angel for just... for just letting it fucking happen! I was devout enough! I said my prayers and saw to the rites! So why? I don't understand! I don't fucking understand!"
There was stillness for some time after that as he blinked back tears and controlled his breathing. He wouldn't give in to his anger now. Not yet.
His brother was silent for a few moments after his outburst, letting him burn out the worst of his choler before speaking. When he did speak it was hesitant and bordering on regretful, as though he were both in mourning and also worried about how Rhema would take continuing such a conversation.
"I... I have sent for the bones of Ser Aethel to be sent back to his place of birth, where he will receive the last rites before being laid to rest. He deserves that much for standing against that blackguard."
Rhema nodded. That seemed the right thing to do. He had no idea who this 'Ser Aethel' was, but he knew that the young man had died trying to protect Seventh.
"Where was he from?"
Lykourgos tilted his head ever so slightly in a mixture of thought and acknowledgement.
"I spoke with Romanos about that to make sure I got it right. He was from a small village near Einarford, almost due southeast of Aenirhen. He'll be laid to rest amongst the memories of his youth, as it ever should be."
Rhema nodded again, still smarting at the thought of Aenethar. He'd worshipped the Angel of Death and Dreams faithfully for years, and yet here his loyal friend lay in front of him. Where was the justice in that? Where was the reward for his faith?
The stopped himself from physically shaking his head to force his mind to go blank. There was a new source of justice in the realm now. A new source of faith. His brother would see those that did this punished, even if the Angels would not, and in turn Rhema would strike down those any who sought to stand in his brother's way.
"So. What comes next?"
His brother turned to looked at him, Rhema's own gaze still on the sleeping Seer in front of him.
"What?"
"I said what next? You expect me to believe that you're content to just sit on your laurels the rest of your reign? No, not you. I may not have seen you anywhere near as much as I would have liked as we grew up, but I know you would never be content to simply let the world remain unchanged. You've got something planned. A great many somethings, I would wager."
There was silence for a moment, and Rhema turned to look at his brother. His face was hard set at first, as though it had been carved from stone, but as he watched a smile crept ever-so-slowly across his brother's features.
"Angels, did you know you're the first person to actually ask me that?"
There was a moment's pause, and Rhema took the opportunity to move himself into a slightly more comfortable position as he waited for his brother to start.
"The first order of state has already been done; the last powers held by the nobility here have been stripped away. Their wealth is ours now, and as such it will be used to assist with the rest of my plans, or at the very least lower the burden of their costs. For a start a large sum will be reinvested into Anaria, you know, to try and get it out of the slump it's been in for the last decade. Refurbishing the eastern district, expanding the docks in the west, tearing down the manses and rebuilding the city's industrial heart, and finally a complete overhaul of the city's defences complete with the restoration of the northern district."
Lykourgos continued without pause. There was much on his mind, it seemed.
"After that I want to start trying to increase the presence of the merchant class, both to increase the kingdom's wealth and to act as a counterbalance to the church and the now defunct nobility. I'd start this by granting Aenirhen and Haestinghen city charters; they're populous enough and in positions advantageous to trade, so it shouldn't be too hard after that to start stimulating local industries, which primarily revolve around clothiers. Again, if this is done right we should be able to increase the kingdom's wealth in the long run."
He paused and turned to Rhema, abashed smile on his face.
"Sorry, I'm probably boring you-"
Rhema cut him off immediately, an idea of his own coming to him.
"What about Brycgestow?"
His brother blinked a few times, surprised, then smiled again, gesturing for him to continue.
"Explain, please?"
"Well, you want to increase the wealth you receive from Aenirhen and Haestinghen whilst also supporting merchants or somesuch thing, yes?"
Lykourgos nodded.
"Well, what about adding Brycgestow to that list? It's only slightly smaller than Haestinghen and it's in the perfect position to act as a port of call for any ships travelling from the southern realms to Anaria. It's got a few wharfs already, but I'd imagine that if you knew what you were doing and with the right amount of coin you could turn it into a true harbour. It'd also be useful to support the local maritime trades and industries, net-weaving and sail-making and the like."
Lykourgos raised an eyebrow, amused and surprised.
"I somehow forget that Brycgestow is the only real town you'd have been able to visit most days. Well, I trust your judgement on that matter. It would make a military wharf viable, which would be good for protecting against any raiders from the Al-Alema coming by sea rather than by land."
Rhema nodded. The twenty-mile wall at Castelos was excellent for protecting Teleytaios from the landward side, but seeing as house Sperakos hadn't held a naval force since they were hereditary fleetmasters there was little that could stop seaborne raiding parties at the moment. It would be good to change that.
"Well, that's that side of things worked out."
His brother smiled at him.
"Don't worry, I know what you're really asking about. The answer is Owkrestos. We'd need to allow a season or two to pass first to ensure that the next harvest is brought in, lest we face the beginnings of a famine, then we'd just need a casus belli of some sort, a reason for war. Preferable to anything would be for Lord Blackoak to finally have enough of King Aleksandar's regency council spurning him and rise in rebellion. Not only would the two sides bleed each other out, we could march in to restore order and be genuine peace-bringers, not merely conquerors. After that, we'll see. These things take time, normally at least."
"No esoteric, mystical shit? I thought you were working on something relating to those symbol things or whatever?"
Lykourgos started, and nudged Rhema gently in his side.
"Okay, that one's for me to know. My findings have been enlightening thus far but I've also been able to play my cards relatively close to my chest. Given the circumstances it may be better to wait until I have enough knowledge on this matter to give you some real answers, but for now just know that I'm keeping my eyes open for a few letters being sent my way."
Rhema nodded. That sounded good to him. Seventh shifted, making a sort of whining noise in their sleep. Rhema looked at them almost automatically.
Lykourgos looked at him, then at Seventh, and then back at him again. A smile crept across his face. No, not a smile, it was a fucking shit-eating grin.
"Oh, you have no idea how hard it is to resist saying anything impolite right now."
Rhema scoffed, affronted.
"Come on, what did I do?"
His brother chuckled.
"Really? You're asking me that question. Okay, let me jog your memory. Summer Solstice, eight-hundred and sixty-six."
"What? You, me and Alekos celebrating. I don't see your point."
His brother continued, eyebrow raised, raising a finger with every date he brought up.
"Winter Solstice, eight-hundred and sixty-six. Summer Solstice, eight-hundred and sixty-five. All Hallows Eve, eight-hundred and sixty-seven."
Rhema turned away a little, getting the common theme now.
"Okay, so maybe I hinted at your infatuation with Alekos a few times, but-"
"Eight-hundred and sixty-seven. The Day of Ascension."
Rhema blinked in surprise a few times at the tone of his brother's voice. What had he done then?
Was that the time I- Oh.
He desperately tried to stop a smile from manifesting even as the blood drained from his face thanks to his nerves. He might have locked his brother and the Polaeran princeling in a confessional booth together during a particularly awkward stage of their development. The two had been completely red when they were finally let out, and he was just thankful for the head start Ser Romanos had let him have before releasing his brother as one would a raging bull. Alekos, as far as he remembered, had been far too anxious around him to act anything other than nervous anyway, so there was little change in his demeanour. His brother on the other hand... Angels above, he'd never felt such fear and humour at the same time before or since.
On the one hand, Lyk had been furious at him and damn near beat him to a pulp on the training grounds the next morning.
On the other hand, it had been really fucking funny.
"Okay, so maybe I was a little bit of a dick from time to time."
His brother nodded, smiling.
"Indeed. And now here we stand, our positions swapped after all this time."
Lykourgos pointedly looked at Seventh, and then back at him. There was an extremely teasing tone to his voice, and some small part of Rhema wondered if he had sounded that annoying back then.
"On a completely, definitely unrelated note, I have yet to receive an apology for those long years of teasing. I do so wonder if I shall ever receive one. It would be a shame if not, after all, I never know what I might say in the midst of choler."
The shit eating grin was back, and Rhema gritted his teeth in a mixture of mock anger and real annoyance. Fine. If you wanna play this game, then play it we shall.
"I am... ugh, damn you. Fine. I apologise for insinuating that you and Alekos wanted to neck each other but lacked the courage for year after insufferable year. I thought you'd appreciate some alone time in a small candlelit room with plenty of altar wine and incense smoke. Happy now?"
Lykourgos turned away, a dusting of pink colouring his cheeks, and cursed. He stood and made to leave the room, an embarrassed and yet fond smile on his face.
"Fuck you."
Rhema smiled warmly.
"Fuck you too."
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He woke to the sound of a panicked gasp. Immediately he shot up, and firmly clasped the flailing hand of his now awake friend, who without registering his presence shouted out whatever words were rattling through their head.
"He's awake! My Lord, My King, My God, you're awake! He's awake!"
Rhema blinked once. Twice. Who was awake? He shook his head. Whoever else was awake didn't matter for now, because Seventh was here in front of him!
"Sev?"
"... Rhema?"
Rhema shot forwards and wrapped them in what he hoped was a gentle hug, but given his worry might have actually been a vice grip. His hand brushed against one of the small wings, and a strangled gasp came from his friend. He immediately let go and held his hands up in a gesture displaying he meant no harm, concern across his face and in his mind. Seventh's hand found his own again, and they sat, enjoying the quiet for a moment.
"Sorry, bad memories with... with people feeling the wings. My wings. God, that feels odd to say."
"I'll bet. How do you feel?"
They looked at him, eyes fluttering open and closed a few times.
"Better now. It is just you? No need for a blindfold at the moment?"
He nodded.
"Just me, friend. No worries there."
"Good, good. How goes the war?"
Rhema felt his smile grow wider.
"Over. We lost quite soundly. Lyk is to be crowned in a few weeks, if all goes according to schedule. I think he wants his coronation to be held on the Day of Ascension, symbolism and all that, but I'm not sure. I'm just glad it's over."
Seventh smiled at that.
"That's good. Your... other sibling?"
Rhema's smile fell and he went silent. Seventh must have known what this meant, but they said nothing. Instead they just squeezed his hand gently and changed the subject with a slight smile.
"Well, like you said, it's over now. Now you can rest. Me too, I hope."
Rhema snorted before his brows furrowed in mild confusion.
"You claimed someone was awake as you awoke. It sounded quite intense. Who is it that woke up?"
Seventh lay there in quiet contemplation before a lazy smile crept slowly across their face.
"Oh. Oh, I did, didn't I? Oh, I can hardly wait!"
"Who? Who is it?"
They smiled coyly at him.
"Ask your brother. It'll be funnier if you tell him what I said without context; he'll jump a mile and start barking orders immediately. Besides, you'll meet who I'm talking about soon enough. He's awake, and he's on his way to the capital. Oh, I can hardly wait to finally meet with him properly."
Rhema swallowed hard, thinking on what his friend had just said, before sighing in resignation and banging his head quite deliberately on the bedframe once more.
"Rhema?"
He looked over at Seventh, an annoyed smile on his face.
"Has anyone ever told you that you can be really fucking cryptic sometimes?"
Seventh laughed a gentle, genuine laugh, and the sound made Rhema smile. For once, everything seemed like it was going well. For once, the future seemed bright for all of them. That made all of this worth it.
Everything.