> And then he said, “There is nothing more powerful than the Black Rose. It bestows one the ability to conjure whatever the mind can imagine. Therefore, one who possesses the Rose, possesses the world.” - “The Book of the Rose, Chapter X” by Emperor Midas I of the House Bladesong
Crest Castle
High Harbour, Trinitan Empire
Western Wayland
9th of Frostfang, 475 (5E)
Dawn settles upon High Harbour. As the horizon turns orange, slowly swallowing the dark of the night, King Bryce stands before the mirror in his bed chambers, buttoning up his dark red doublet interwoven with gold, elegant lines. He then rubs his fingers through his firm, black beard. He could have a servant do all of these things, but he always insisted on doing it himself. Not because he doesn’t trust them but because he simply thinks servants have better things to do than coddle up an adult man who seemingly cannot even groom himself. He looks upon his own blue-coloured tired eyes and narrow face, still mourning the death of his wife. He cannot deny, though, that the funeral last night was beautiful in ways he cannot describe. But he cannot help to feel anger, as well. Anger and determination to find the murderer who went so low as to murder this fantastic woman in cold blood in the dead of night. These matters can be attended to during the upcoming council meeting. The one he had been preparing himself for earlier than usual this morning. Time to find out what my councillors think of this, he thinks, readying himself to leave his chambers for the council table. As he leaves the door, two kingsguard stand at attention and follow him through the hall to the other side of the castle.
Upon arriving at the council chamber, his guards station beside the archway as he steps inside. Three tall, ornate, and red-tinted windows light the table in rays of red, illuminating the map of Oryn carved into the marble table, and beside it stands five councillors. One woman and four men of different shapes and sizes. They all bow courtesy when they see the king. “Good morrow, Your Grace.” the slender woman says, rocking long brown and curly hair. Her face is pretty but pale as snow, with contrasting ocean-blue eyes. “We all hope you had a decent night after all that happened.”
Bryce simply nods in return as he plods towards the head of the table. “Good morrow my lady, my lords. Please have a seat. There is much to discuss.”
As such, they sit down. On either side of the table sits a good friend of Bryce, the duke of Folksbane, Brennar Snowdin, and the lady Chancellor, Jaslyn Hollard, who greeted the king good morning earlier and who’s in charge of domestic and foreign affairs. Next to her is the chair of the Keeper of Coin, Tobin Porter, son of the duke of Aramore, who had shown great skill in this trade at a young age. Beside Lord Snowdin sits the battle-hardened Marlock Dawn, Lord Marshall of the king, in charge of managing his garrisons and armies, as well as the city guard of High Harbour. Finally, the other head of the table is for the Lord Inquisitor, Cedric ‘Snakehand’, tasked with everything involving secrecy and gathering information.
All of these people have shown great loyalty to King Bryce for years, and thus, he trusts them with his life. The king clears his throat and straightens his back, resting both his arms on the table. “I thank you all for attending this council meeting at the nick of dawn. Let us start with the most dire matter at hand. The murder of my wife. This is where I divert my attention to you, Lord Snakehand. What have your agents discovered so far?”
The Inquisitor, in his early forties, looks up with his sharp, angular face, almost like a fox, correcting his dark tunic. His dark hair is kept short and neatly trimmed, streaked with silver at the temples. “From witness sources, my Liege, we have concluded the murder has been carried out by a group rather than a single murderer. There is also a member of the city guard being questioned because we have reasons to believe he had been bribed by one of the murderers.” he speaks in a calm, emotionless demeanour, always trying to conceal the scar on the right side of his face from ear to jawline, “Or an accomplice, at the very least.”
Bryce nods, interlocking his fingers. “Thank you, Lord Cedric.” he turns his head to the Lord Marshall. “Since the city guard is under your command, Lord Marlock, I trust you will deal with the bribery in our ranks.”
“Of course, Your Grace. As soon as Lord Cedric here informed me of this, I have already taken action. However, a lot of my men complain about being underpaid as they seem to be unable to take care of their families properly. I won’t insult any of you by having to explain any further.”
The steward, still young and only recently appointed, flips some pages in his notebook, visibly swallowing and correcting his blonde, sandy hair that is neatly combed. “I believe, my Lord, I have already been scouring for solutions before this meeting, and I have found one. If our King Bryce allows it, I can increase the guard’s pay by-”
The king interrupts him, “I trust you, boy. You have my support you will do what is necessary. These meetings don’t go too much into detail. We can definitely afford to spare coin for our forces for the time being. Thank you, Tobin.”
Tobin timidly withdraws and closes his book, internally annoyed at the king calling him ‘boy’ and not addressing him as a lord.
“If I may,” Brennar grunts as he shuffles into his chair with a bald head of hair but a grossly big beard with braids in it. “With all due respect, but if there’s a band of murderers mucking about in the city, why the bloody fuck haven’t we found them yet, eh? We have a blockade stopping any ship from leaving the bay, the city is in lockdown, the lower district is being turned upside down, and yet we have nothing? Am I the only one who notices we are missing something here?”
The Lord Marshall glares back at the duke, “These things take time. It happened in the dead of night, witnesses are few, and the lockdown happened about an hour after she was murdered. That is plenty of time to escape and just walk past the guards. That is why I have every single guard on duty that night, questioned.”
“So you’re not even certain the murderers are still in the city?” Brennar scoffs, shaking his head. “What was the queen even doing there at night?”
“Careful.” Bryce scowls, “You are a good friend, Brennar, but be careful. You are talking about my wife.”
Brennar sighs, pressing his hands together, “I just think it is strange, that is all. Forgive me, Your Grace. Even you have to admit it is unusual for a queen to leave unguarded and end up in the slums of the city.”
“You will say no more about this matter, Brennar.” Bryce barks, “Alara frequently helped out the orphanage of the lower district as does my daughter.”
“I have them questioned as we speak.” Marlock adds, “It is a possibility the murderers left the city, that is why we need to collect as much information as possible.”
Bryce turns head to the steward again, “Tobin, how big of a price can we put on their heads?”
Tobin opens his notebook again, flipping a few pages. “Even with the increase in guard pay, we can spare a sum of five-thousand orons without hurting your coffers, Your Grace.”
Bryce nods, “Good. Have the bounty spread in the city, one thousand orons each murderer caught dead or alive. Offer fifty orons for each piece of useful information.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Tobin bows gently in his chair.
“Now, Lady Jaslyn.” Bryce diverts his attention to the woman, “As Chancellor, I need you to send word to the other dukes in my kingdom, and the kingdoms of the Empire. Inform them of regicide murderers running free, and find a way to work closely with them. If they’re not here, they might take shelter in neighbouring kingdoms.”
“I’m sorry, but they haven’t left the city.” A young female voice sounds from the chamber entrance, gaining the attention of every person sitting at the table. It’s Kiera, resting a hand on the stone archway and holding a folded piece of paper in her other hand.
“Daughter?” Bryce stands up, “These meetings aren’t-”
“Meant for me to attend?” she finishes him, “Well, maybe it should.” she marches along the length of the table, catching glimpses of people watching her in confusion. She unfolds the piece of paper and places it down in front of her father. “This might be useful.”
Bryce picks it up and reads it;
“Manifest of the whole Cargo on board the Ship Danube, Master (blank), burden, 405 51/95 tons, bound from Wildspire to High Harbour.
N°1 Eight hundred & eighteen crates of cotton
N°2 Fifty-three crates of carrots
N°3 Seventy-nine crates of cabbage
N°4 One hundred and two crates of apples”
“This just looks like a manifest to me.” Bryce says.
“Turn it,” Kiera says, and when the king does, he sees more written in tiny letters.
“Leave the unregistered cargo by the usual location.
The Truth shall Free me. All Hail Lundir. - E.K”
Bryce’s eyes widen, and he stares at his daughter. “Where did you find this?” but then he notices tears in her amber eyes. She slowly shakes her head. “It’s all my fault.”
Bryce turns his attention to the other council members. “Leave us. You know your tasks. We’ll have another meeting before dusk.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” the Lord Marshall says as he stands up and bows. May I ask what that note upholds?” The other members remain interested as well.
“It’s a manifest with a secret message from one E.K.”, Bryce says, then looks at Cedric. “Here, take it. Find out who this E.K. is.”
The spymaster walks up to the king and gently accepts, nodding his head in acknowledgement. He then follows the others, leaving the room and passing the two door guards on their way out, leaving Bryce and Kiera by themselves. By now, the sun had shifted the red-tainted rays to the other side of the table and onto Kiera’s face, glistening her tears. “Now, what do you mean it’s your fault?” Bryce asks, gently holding both of her upper arms.
“I found it at the harbour.” Kiera sniffs, “When delivering food to the orphanage, I saw my mother with strange people I have never seen and followed them to a ship unloading cargo on a pier. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but I stole that manifest.” Bryce’s eye twitches. “You mean to say she was involved with the people who murdered her?”
“I don’t know,” Kiera sobs, turning away from him and leaning against the table with her rear.
“Maybe if I hadn’t stolen it, mother would have been fine.”
Bryce walks up in front of her again and takes her into his arms. “You couldn’t have known, my sweet daughter. I promise I will get to the bottom of this.” he stops the hug and keeps his hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes. “That manifest will make great difference in finding the murderers. Thank you for bringing this to me. I always knew you have your mother’s wits.” he takes a step back, visibly clenching his jaws together, and he stomps away but is briefly stopped by Kiera’s words. “What are you going to do?”
Bryce spins around his axis. “I’m going to turn the harbour upside down.”
“Can I come?” Kiera asks, wiping a tear with newfound determination in her eyes.
“It might be too dangerous. It’s better you remain-”
Kiera interrupts him, taking a step forward with clenched fists. “Don’t take away my chance at clearing my consciousness. I started this. I want to be there when we end it.”
Bryce sighs. “Fine, but you stay close to the royal guard.” He doesn’t have to say this twice as Kiera bolts for her bedroom, striding through the hall, passing by several houseguards nodding in greeting. She bursts through her door and immediately grabs her leather bracers and fur tunic resting on her dresser. She swiftly puts them on. She belts down the fur tunic and attaches her quiver to the side, filling it with arrows she made herself. She then throws her fur cloak around herself and fastens it with a golden rose brooch. Lastly, she grabs her bow and wraps it around her body. She takes a deep breath and leaves her chambers again, being greeted by a young servant handing her woollen gloves. She accepts them and digs her hands into them while hurrying to the exit down the wide, carpeted stairs into the bailey.
About a hundred footmen have gathered already, standing in formation before the king and the Lord Marshall, Marlock, guarded by half of the royal guard, who are about thirty strong. Kiera strides to her white horse and mounts it, pulling up her hood to protect herself from the icy wind and falling snow. The iron gate squeals open, and the commander barks orders, beginning the march down the hill the castle rests upon into the busy city. Kiera follows, guarded by her own handful of royal guards, gripping the reins tightly. Minutes pass, and they reach the bottom of the stairs, entering the core district with an intimidating display of power. The rhythmic clanking of many armours summoned the attention of every nearby citizen. Kiera and her guards ride along the length of the march and join the king. He peers at his daughter and smirks as they turn into the commercial district opposite the slums, down the cobblestone road leading to the biggest harbour in all of Oryn. Kiera notices window hatches open and confused heads peering through to watch the marching soldiers, as well as wandering citizens, dispersing while the captain of the march shouts.
“Make way for the King!”
“Make way for the King!”
Kiera takes a good look at her father, who is wearing a crimson velvet cloak with white fox fur fastened by a thorned rose brooch. His green wool tunic, embroidered with roses, and leather trousers tucked into fur-lined boots keep him warm. A gold circlet with rubies secures his fur-lined hood, and black fur-lined gloves protect his hands. He always insisted Kiera wear similar fashion, but she always disliked royal clothing, which is why she is wearing much simpler clothes. They are both, however, donning the same brooch, fastening their cloaks. As the army marches, several footmen walk ahead, pushing aside frost-covered market stalls, securing passage. They finally emerge from the narrow streets of the commercial district into the expansive harbour. The icy wind from the sea bites at Kiera’s face as they step onto the sprawling docks, which stretch out like fingers into the frosty waters. Massive ships, their sails furled and decks laden with supplies, bob gently in the harbour, their hulls coated in a thin layer of frost. The sounds of creaking wood and clanging metal fill the air, mingling with the calls of seabirds and the distant roar of the ocean. The soldiers’ disciplined march slows as they take in the bustling activity around them—cranes lifting cargo, dockworkers shouting orders, and merchants haggling over goods from far-off lands. The sheer scale of the harbour, with its endless rows of ships and towering masts, dwarfs the army, making even the largest of their banners seem small against the vast, wintry seascape.
The rhythm is quick to be disturbed, though, as the army halts and the King turns with Marlock, Kiera follows. Many of the dockworkers already stare at the footmen, whispering amongst each other with confused gazes.
“Men of the Wayland!” Bryce shouts, “Somewhere around this harbour lies information on your beloved queen’s murderers. You know what to do. Turn this place upside down, and do what is necessary to have the people comply. Get to work!”
And so, one hundred footmen disperse in all directions, harassing dockworkers by pushing them aside and turning over crates and entering ships to scour them for information. Commotion stirs as Kiera watches her father’s men look into every nook and cranny, every crate, every man with violence. Even her horse feels her uneasiness, becoming impatient.
“Ho, Wildwind, ho,” she commands.
“Rider approaching behind!” yells one of the royal guards, turning everyone’s heads to the district, including Kiera’s. It was a city guard, slowing his gallop into a trot, then stopping before Bryce and his guards. “The Lower District, someone has started a fire, Your Grace. Several houses and an orphanage are burning.”
Kiera’s heart skips a beat, and cold sweat runs down her back.
“Littlewood Orphanage?” Kiera asks with wide eyes and poised to dust off toward it.
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“Yes, Princess.” the city guard answers, and as soon as he does, Kiera whips her reins and commands Wildwind into a gallop. “Hya!”
“Kiera wait!” Bryce growls, then turns to Marlock. “Take my royal guards, and go after her now!”
“Yes, my King.” Marlock nods and turns his horse, shouting a follow order to the royal guards. He dusts off into the commercial district after Kiera.
Bryce averts his gaze back to his men, turning the harbour upside down. A determined stare crosses his face. I will find these murderers, Alara. I promise.
As Kiera rides through the cobblestone streets, she can already see the towering black smokestack in the distance. “Come on, faster, Wildwind!” she barks, but the road is too icy. She cannot go any faster. As the frigid wind stings in her eyes, all she can think of are the children of the orphanage, the old, kind lady Thrud, and her friend, Tommen. What if they are already dead? What if they couldn’t get out in time? Images of their dead, scorched faces flash through her mind as she leaves the commercial district, through the core district, then into the grim slums, galloping through the gate. The smokestack isn’t far anymore, and Kiera passes increasingly more people on their way to watch or help put out the fires. She occasionally hears them mentioning her.
“That’s the princess!”
“What is the princess doing here?”
Kiera arrives and halts before the burning orphanage, holding her breath. People are frantically throwing buckets of water into a devastated building. Flames spew out of the windows, and the sound of cracking wood and panicked yelling pierces Kiera’s ears. Her heart drops at the sight of the closed door. They didn’t get out, she thinks, and her entire instinct screams at her not to go in, but her heart protests, and she gets off her horse and runs towards the door, grabs the handle, and opens it.
BOOM! A small explosion sends her staggering back, and she feels the scorching heat across her face. She doesn’t even notice that the tips of the right side of her hair, including her right eyebrow, are burnt.
“Princess, no!” someone exclaims, but Kiera is determined. While another flame starts pouring out the door, she holds her breath and runs straight through into the fire and flames. The heat immediately burns her skin, and when she opens her eyes, she sees flames licking the walls and smoke billowing through the hall. “Tommen!” Kiera screams, forcing her to cough from the acrid black smoke. There’s no reply. She wades through the hall, vaulting over a crashed beam on the floor. Sudden loud crashing and cracking sounds make Kiera squeal, protecting her head in anticipation. However, whatever broke down must have been somewhere else. She arrives at the first door and, with no hesitation, charges into it and bursts through, the heat hitting her like a wall. Through the haze, she sees a figure collapsed on the floor. Kiera feels a searing pain in her right arm as she makes her way to it, realising it’s the old woman. “Thrud!” Kiera whimpers, trying to grab her, but she weighs too much and seems to be unconscious. She violently shakes her, but as she turns Thrud’s body, half of her face is nothing but a skeleton, sending Kiera backwards in disgust. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Kiera yells, coughing more, feeling the air sting her lungs. The only thing that keeps her from passing out is the sheer adrenaline surging through her veins. She leaves the room and goes deeper into the hallway. “Tommen!” she yells again, reaching the next door.
“Kiera!” the voice comes from upstairs, sounding just like Tommen. She darts to the stairs and climbs them, noticing a part of the stairs is about to crumble. But that doesn’t stop her. Coughing and wheezing, she reaches the top, and there seems to be way less smoke here. Then she notices the giant hole in the roof, letting all the black smoke seep out along the burning walls. And then he sits there. Tommen. In the middle of the room, on his knees. With a knife held against his throat. A man has it, standing behind him. Grey skin, white hair, crimson eyes, with a strange orange glow around his entire body. “Hello there, Kiera.” the man grins, ruthlessly driving the knife into Tommen’s back.
“NO!” Kiera screams, and with a sudden burst of anger, she grabs her bow from her torso, but the man drops Tommen’s bleeding body and throws his other hand forward, sending a ball of fire toward the princess. She dodges it with her head by an inch, but it still explodes next to her, blinding her briefly. Kiera opens her eyes, greeted by the image of the killer’s face a lot closer as he dashes into her, throwing her back against the wall. Holding the bloody, dripping knife, he thrusts it toward her, but Kiera deflects it with her bow, holding it with two hands. Urvel growls, swinging the knife another time, slashing Kiera’s shoulder, forcing a yelp out of her. When he goes for another stab, a pair of arms emerge from the smoke behind him, pulling him away from Kiera. It’s Tommen. “Run, Kiera!” he shouts right as the killer turns, punches him to the ground, and climbs on top of him to thrust his knife into Tommen. With heart pumping in her throat, Kiera doesn’t run but takes an arrow, nocks it into her bow, draws the creaking string, and releases it, sending the whistling arrow into the man’s back. More voices sound below. The royal guard, Kiera realises.
The killer stands up over Tommen’s lifeless body. Kiera doesn’t want to leave him, but it’s no use. He’s dead. With her bow in hand, she turns to run down the stairs, but it’s gone. Crumbled down. There is nothing but a high drop down the ground floor. Her hesitation may have caused her downfall. “No, you won’t!” the killer grabs her with both of his hands and slings her away from the broken stairs right next to Tommen’s body. Winded and on the ground, she looks at Tommen’s face, confirming her suspicions. It’s come to the point where even adrenaline can’t stop her from feeling exhausted. As the killer walks towards her, she crawls back.
“It’s a shame I had to kill your mother,” the killer says, still holding the bloody knife in his hand. “Clearly, I could have replaced her with you. But my boss wants you both dead. It was so easy to lure you in here. It must feel horrible, knowing none of the children survived.”
Her heart sinks. What does he mean, none of the children survived? She hasn’t seen anyone’s body other than Thrud’s and Tommen’s. “Please...” Kiera begs, feeling her shoulder getting wet with blood. “I’ll stop pursuing you or anyone else. I swear.”
“See, I know your father is scouring the harbour,” the killer says, “And the only way he could have known we operated there was because you gave him that manifest, just like I wanted you to.”
“What do you mean?” Kiera coughs, feeling the adrenaline fade and pain returning across her whole body.
“Our hideout is rigged to blow. I wasn’t sure your father would allow you to come with him, so I set fire to the orphanage. See, I know everything about you, Kiera. The Touch of Silence knows everything about everyone. And now, you’re decreed to die.”
A crack, another crack. The cracks turn louder, and then, CRACK! Another part of the roof collapses next to Urvel and Kiera, forming a blinding cloud of dust but intensifying the flames. Unable to breathe at all through the thick smoke and dust, Kiera clutters up, pain surging through her limbs, face, and fingers. All she can do now is try to find an opening and jump off the building. She can barely see. She can’t even open her eyes because the smoke stings so heavily. But if she wants to get out, she has to. So she bites through the pain and opens her eyes, groaning, grunting, seeing a wade of light through the smoke, and steps towards it. Step by step, until suddenly, the ground beneath her next step is gone. She falls down at least two meters, slamming into another roof of the neighbouring building, away from the fire and smoke. The fall sends a chilling sear of pain through her back. Coughing weakly, Kiera keeps lying down, completely out of strength. Everything hurts, and all she can hear are the crackling flames of the orphanage and the panicked yelling of citizens below on the street. It is now that a recalling flashes through her mind.
She was three years younger, touring the city alongside her father, mother and brother on a bright summer day. Though, make no mistake, the summers this far up north are still cold, but at least the sun shines a lot more often. The convoy took a halt in the centre of the core district, right beside the grand statue of the first king, Rymar Bloodcrest. Guards set up a perimeter, and peasants were allowed to visit the royal family and make requests or give gifts. The line was long, and they already had received thirty-four visitors. The thirty-fifth was a young ginger-haired boy alongside an old woman. He held the woman’s hand and kneeled before Kiera and her family sitting on regal chairs.
“His and her Majesty’s, I thank you for receiving us so far away from your great castle, in the middle of this beautiful summer day.”
The king nodded, “State your name.”
“My name is Tommen, Your Grace. And this is Thrud, owner of the Littlewood Orphanage.”
“Good day, Tommen and Thrud.” The king smiled, “What can the Crown do for you? You may stand.”
Tommen, who looked younger as well, stood up. “The orphanage consists of about twenty-two orphans. There are many mouths to feed. We are managing just enough this summer, but every winter, we struggle a lot, Your Grace. Just last year, we lost a child of nine to hunger. It would be an honour and mean a great deal to Thrud, the children, and I if the Crown assisted in providing food for the winter.”
The queen, Alara, folded her hands together. “My deepest apologies and condolences for the loss of the little one.” Then she looked at her husband, who nodded in agreement: “While we cannot provide food for all winters, the Crown shall provide enough for this coming winter.”
Kiera noticed Tommen looking at her, smiling. She caught herself smiling back.
“Thank you so much, Your Grace.” Tommen bowed clumsily, “You are very generous.”
“I want to see the orphanage,” Kiera said, staring at Tommen. She felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder as she whispered to her.
“Darling, the Lower District is too dangerous. We cannot visit anyone there.”
“Well, I still want to.” Kiera stood up and turned to her mother. Suddenly, the king barked. “Sit down and listen to your mother.” He turns his attention to Tommen and Thrud. “The Crown thanks you for your visit. You may leave.”
Tommen bowed and took one last look at the princess before leaving. He is so pretty, Kiera thought.
Kiera opens her eyes, looking at a wooden ceiling. It’s quiet, and the smell of roses seems familiar. She turns her head. This is her bedroom, and she’s lying in bed. When she tries to move a limb, it hurts too much, so she stays put. Both her arms are resting above the blanket, her right arm wrapped in bandages, as well as her shoulder. She then notices she’s wearing a loose sleeveless gown with its epaulettes cut off for easy access. And to top it all off, everything hurts. She remembers the fire, the killer, and then...Tommen...Thrud...the children. None of them survived. Her heart immediately aches. How many people is she going to lose next? First, her mother, now her best friend, and the entire orphanage. The raw pain of loss surges through her, and all she can think of is ‘why’. Who are these people going after everyone she loves? What has she done to deserve any of this? What has her mother done? And then she remembers the manifest she stole, giving her father another lead to their whereabouts. Was it her fault again?
Two gentle knocks appear on her door, and then it swings open. A lady about her age in a white dress and brown braided hair walks in carrying a leather bag and quietly closes the door behind her. Kiera recognises the lady. She’s the new Royal Arch-Healer. Her mother helped raise Kiera. It’s only when she turns her head to Kiera that she visibly startles. “Oh, Princess. My apologies for barging in. I wasn’t aware you were awake.”
“Elynn,” Kiera mutters, but when speaking, she quickly finds out her throat hurts a lot, and her voice sounds hoarse.
The healer walks to Kiera’s right bedside. “Try to refrain from speaking. All that hot air you took in burned your throat, possibly even your lungs.” she places the bag on the side of the bed and digs her hand into it, “Try to breathe deeply for me, please.”
Kiera takes a deep breath, closing her eyes.
“Simply nod or shake your head. Does it hurt your lungs?”
Kiera shakes her head, stubborn in getting a few words out anyway. “Just the throat.”
“Then your lungs are fine,” Elynn says, taking out a vial containing a white substance. Kiera was fully expecting her to say she was lucky her lungs were fine, but she didn’t. She has been everything but lucky lately, and it fills her with angry grief. She cannot stop thinking about Tommen.
The healer gently holds Kiera’s right bandaged arm. “Let’s take off those bandages, shall we?” As she starts unwinding the cloth, Kiera winces in pain. Suddenly, she remembered more about what had happened. The killer mentioned a trap for her father. An explosion that would wipe out half the city. A sudden hint of urgency fills Kiera’s voice. “My father, is he-is he okay?”
Speaking hurt so much this time it almost forced a cough out of her.
“Shh, your father is fine, Princess. There was, however, an explosion at the Great Shipyard. Many people died, and the Lord Marshall happened to be gravely wounded. But your father was looking for you when it happened. He and his men found you on a rooftop.”
By now, the bandage is fully unwrapped, revealing a painful sight. Her entire arm has a purple/reddish hue, covered in burnt patches of flesh. Kiera’s heart begins pounding faster, and it’s all starting to be too much to process. She covers her mouth with her left arm and begins silently crying. Elynn frowns, gently placing a hand on her right shoulder. “I know it’s all much to take in. I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling right now.” Her voice sounds quiet but warm and sweet. And her brown eyes radiate kindness and comfort. And mostly, calmness, despite everything that’s been happening. It comforts Kiera, too.
“Your arm looks worse than it is. It will definitely scar, but you have no burns to the bone. This ointment will prevent infection and alleviate the pain,” Elynn says as she uncorks the vial and turns it upside down, producing a white, high-viscosity liquid in her palm. She rubs her hands together and hovers them over Kiera’s arm. “Are you ready, Princess? It will hurt at first, but soon after, you will feel relief.”
Kiera nods, sniffing as a tear rolls down the side of her head. The healer gently presses her hands on the arm and spreads the ointment across the burns. Kiera whimpers loudly, scrunching her face and trying to retract her arm out of pain. It hurts so much. It hurts so much. It feels like ten knives are cutting her arm at once, slicing back and forth. For just a moment, she seems back inside the burning building. Her whimpers turn into loud groans, and she arches her back. “Stop, stop, stop, stop!” Kiera begs, breathing heavily.
“Of course.” the healer removes her hands, “I just finished anyway.”
And Elynn was right. Slowly but surely, the pain begins to fade again with the ointment in place. Kiera’s breathing calms down again, but she still sobs, feeling absolutely miserable. “Everything hurts.”
“I know,” Elynn whispers, “Would you allow me to inspect your shoulder? I won’t touch it. I just need to make sure it doesn’t infect.”
Kiera nods, looking away and sniffing. The healer walks around the other side of the bed and gently lifts the bandage covering the knife wound, revealing a nasty gash that’s shut chiefly with dried blood but still bleeds slightly. She moves her head closer and watches it intensely.
“Hm, no infection.”
She puts the bandage back in place and looks puzzled. “I’ve seen these kind of wounds before. They’re usually made with a serrated knife. Were you attacked, Princess?”
Kiera turns her head back to Elynn and doesn’t know what to say. This whole ordeal has gotten so many people killed. She doesn’t want to put anyone else in danger anymore.
“No.” Kiera shakes her head, still finding out every word she tries to say feels like she’s trying to swallow a jagged rock.
Elynn gently holds Kiera’s left hand. “Of course, Princess. Forgive me for prying.” She lets go and puts the ointment vial back into her bag. “My inspection is finished. There is, however, one last thing.” Her hand stays in the bag. “It is about your mother.”
Kiera frowns her eyebrows, “What do you m-what about her?”
Elynn takes out what looks like a rolled-up piece of paper from the bag. She seems to be thinking, trying to find the right words.
“When my mother passed away, I was still a child. I was lost. I never knew my father, so I became an orphan. I was sent to Caernstone Citadel, to the Sanctum of Healing Arts. Once you swear the Healer oath, everything you are and own belongs to the Sanctum. So, I spent many years there training to become a Healer—until two years ago, when they deemed me ready to follow in my mother’s footsteps and become the new Arch-Healer for House Bloodcrest.”
Why is she telling me all this? Kiera thought as Elynn continued.
“See, when I arrived in High Harbour, only one day later, I was approached by someone from the city. He handed me three letters—letters like this one right here.” She holds up the rolled-up letter. “They all have different names. One of them was mine. I have another for Aldrin Malver and another...for you.”
She grabs Kiera’s left hand and places the letter into her palm. “The man who gave me these insisted I only read mine, and just deliver the others to their respectful recipients. Or there would be consequences.”
Kiera looks puzzled, afraid to even open the note. She gathers some strength to speak, preparing for the pain. “Why are you only giving me this now?”
“Because Queen Alara forbade me. Not until she deems you ready...or if she happens to lose her life.”
Kiera inspects the note. Its rough edges and browning paper make it seem like it’s been through a lot, but it is still sealed. Her name is indeed on it, written in her mother’s handwriting.
Elynn stands back up. “While you are recovering, I will continue my search for Aldrin Malver. And when you read it, you will feel an immediate need to act. But be patient, Princess. We will discuss this further next time I visit you. You must have read your letter by then.”
Kiera’s first thoughts were, who is she to command me? But this seems serious, and she seems to know much more about all this. And in all honesty? She likes this ‘Elynn’. She has been nothing but kind and honest towards her. The healer takes her bag and slings the strap over her shoulder before bowing. “I’ll see you soon, Princess.”
With timid steps, she walks to the door, and before she can place her hand on the handle, Kiera utters a few words. “Thank you, Elynn.”
Elynn turns and smiles, “I live to serve you, Princess.”
She swings the door open and leaves, closing it behind her, leaving Kiera alone in her chambers.
Her eyes are on the note now. Why is she afraid to look? She takes a deep breath and pries off the seal, then unfurls the letter. Seeing her mother’s handwriting nearly sent her back into tears. She reads:
“My Dear Kiera,
If you have received this letter, it could only mean one thing. I’m gone. I told Elynn I would give this to you when you are ready, but the truth is, I never want you to be caught up in all of this. But if I die, it means you have no choice. And I am sorry.
You probably have so many questions, so I will try to answer as many as I can. As you know, I am your father’s queen consort, but I have kept a secret from you that I am also part of an organisation called the Touch of Shadows. I have been their tracker for as long as I can remember, even before I met your father. The Shadows motive is merely to serve. They are tasked to set up cells in every kingdom across the realm and, by illegal means, rake in gold mainly through smuggling. However, their main objective is to find the long-lost ruins of an ancient race called the Hinos. I am sure you have read about them. What they do when they discover them, I don’t know. The Shadows never actually enter them. It’s the people who give the orders. The people few members of the Shadows have the courtesy of meeting. We do have a name for them, though. It is the Echo of Silence. Now, make no mistake, the Touch of Shadows is extremely dangerous, the Echo of Silence even more so. You are to never underestimate them, even their lowest of ranks.
Now comes the important part. Wherever you are when you read this, I need you to sit down, my daughter. The Hinos, the ancient dragonkin, have been extinct for centuries. There are rumours among the Shadows that the orders come from a Hinos remnant who is scouring his people’s ruins in Oryn, trying to find a way to resurrect millions, if not billions, of his people. You know what that would lead to. When I found out about this, it was already too late. The only way you leave the Shadows is to die.
I may be running out of time, so I will finish this quickly. You need to know something about yourself. Before I met your father, I was with someone else. Someone who I recently found out is a descendant of the ancient Hinos. A half-human. The truth is, Bryce is not your real father. The person I was with is your real father. I know this is a lot to take in, but you know what that means, do you? In the Book of the Rose, it is mentioned only a Hinos can wield void magic, and therefore, the Black Rose. If the Touch of Shadows indeed is being led by a Hinos trying to resurrect his people, only you can stop him. You and two others I have scoured are descendants. You already met Elynn, but you need to seek out Aldrin, too. It is imperative you do so. There may be more out there in the world. If you can find them, it will surely increase your chances of survival. Together, you will be strong. I don’t know where he is, though.
I am sorry for keeping all of this from you, my daughter. While you may not carry Bloodcrest blood in your veins, your father loves you. All I ask of you is that you please do not tell him. I don’t know what he will do when he finds out. He is an honourable person. I do have to go now. Find allies, and do not underestimate your enemies. First of all, you have to confirm your heritage. The Shadows will hunt you everywhere you go. When you do, seek a way to discover your true potential.
Believe in yourself. You are one of the only few people who can stop a realm-wide war between two races that will surely destroy everything everyone has ever built. It cannot happen.
Farewell, Kiera.
Your mother, Alara Fyre.”