In all the places in Kesrock, Kyros dislikes the Sovereign Hall the most.
Situated in the north wing of the Kesrockian Knight’s Headquarters, the richly decorated hall is the Lord Commander’s chosen place to rain judgment upon all those deserving of it.
So, naturally, Kyros has never set foot here, and as he kneels in the mountainous shadow of the Lord Commander, seated upon a throne of stone, he allows himself a brief moment to wonder at how soft the carpet beneath him feels. It almost seems a stretch to believe that the harshest of punishments can be issued in a room that is so comfortable, until the Lord Commander speaks.
“Kyros Argonston.”
The Lord Commander’s voice is a thunderous rumble, thick with the cold of the north. Kyros recalls the rumors of how the Lord Commander likes to take trips up to the Battlefront in his spare time, always by himself and never returning without a fresh scratch to his armor or sword.
A pang of fear, mixed with awe, settles in Kyros’s stomach. He does not look up as he answers, “Yes, my lord?”
“I trust you know why you are here.”
“No, my lord, I mean yes.” Kyros looks up wearily. “Actually, no.”
The spacious interior of the hall is just the right amount of classy. Each wall is ostentatiously adorned with portraits and banners of famous lords and commanders, all of whom Kyros recognizes, but only through stories. They seem to be looking down at him from their places on the walls, silently judging his life choices.
The Lord Commander raises one armored hand.
“Send her in.”
A door opens from the back of the hall, and three knights march through, holding chains. From behind them, a woman emerges, bound in said chains.
Kyros is standing. He doesn’t know when, but he is. “What," he stammers, voice faltering, "is... what the hell?”
Cathra is wearing a low-cut dress the same shade of crimson as the cape she likes to wear, except this dress sports pale blue accents that bring out the tan of her skin. The silky fabric clings to the curves of her body as she moves, pulled tight by the crude collar of iron clasped around her neck and waist. Kyros watches, dumbfounded, as Cathra is led to the base of the Lord Commander’s throne, the iron links around her ankles rattling with each of her steps.
“What is going on?” he asks, though no one answers him. He tries to make eye contact with Cathra, but her gaze is locked onto something behind him.
“You look like you have something to say, Argonston.”
Kyros looks up at the Lord Commander, sitting on his cold throne, so far above everyone else. “Yes, my lord,” he says, feeling suddenly very angry. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Watch your tongue, gate guard!” one of the many knights around the throne shouts, threatening the tip of his spear at Kyros. “Keep talking like that and you’ll be up here next to this traitor!”
Kyros feels his face flush red hot, and growing even hotter as the Lord Commander’s voice cuts through him like a blade.
“Your father will not have approved of that outburst, Argonston.”
Kyros fights the urge to flee. No, there will be no fleeing. He will never save Cathra with this attitude. He forces his knee to bend. I need to hold my cards close, at least until I know what's really going on here.
“I apologize, Lord Commander,” he says, glancing at Cathra for strength. "It will not happen again."
Cathra’s jet black hair is corralled in a loose braid, tied at the end with a ribbon of silk. Kyros isn’t sure whether it’s the lantern light playing tricks, but tonight Cathra’s hair looks darker than it normally is; running down her exposed shoulder like a rope made of ink. He does not remember the last time he’s seen Cathra wear jewelry, and he suspects the pair of white pearls hanging from her earlobes are all the baubles she owns.
The Lord Commander speaks, his tone unsympathetic. “Seeing as you do not seem to know the reason you are here, I shall tell you: Cathra Stelias has been brought to me to be tried for treason, and you are here to speak on her behalf.”
Coldness spreads through Kyros’s body as realization finally sets in. Cathra’s dress, her jewelry, it all makes sense now. And yet it doesn’t make sense at all. He looks over at her, but Cathra’s grey eyes remain fixed on everything but him, revealing nothing.
"Treason?"
How can you be guilty of that? Kyros wants to ask her. This... how am I supposed to plead for you?
“I… I don’t know what to say,” he says, looking between Cathra and the Lord Commander. On his way over, Kyros had tried to guess what he might've been called here for, but not in a hundred years will he ever guess this.
“Use your words wisely, Argonston.” The Lord Commander’s expression is unknowable as he signals for the scribe in the corner of the room to start writing.
Kyros swallows. “May…” his voice squeaks then, and his whole face starts to burn. But he pushes on. “May I know on what grounds these suspicions are built on?”
The Lord Commander shifts on his throne, re-positioning the wolf-head helm balanced on his knee. The light from the lanterns cast knives of cobalt across his plated armor, bringing to life the two snarling wolves caught mid-leap across the expanse of his chest.
“The source of the tip is classified,” he begins, frost misting from between his pale lips. “Stelias’s case is being investigated as we speak. Would it be normal circumstances, she will be executed in front of the people of Kesrock without further investigation.”
The Lord Commander’s eyes are a shade of silver so dark they are almost black, and speckled with spots of gold like the star sky. But there are no traces of any warmth in them. “However, given her outstanding records and long servitude to the city, it is only fair that she gets a chance to plead her case, and have a representative to vouch for her words.” He leans forward on his throne, an ungainly creation carved from a single slab of solid diorite, and Kyros feels the force of a thousand men bearing down onto him.
“Hence, you are here. Acceptance is your decision, so make it wisely.”
A squad of five armed knights stands guard at the foot of the pedestal in which the Lord Commander sits, and another four are stationed at the double-door entrance to the Sovereign Hall. Adding to the three around Cathra, that makes too many, even in this spacious hall.
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Why does the Lord Commander even need so many men guarding him? Kyros finds himself suddenly wondering. He can crush me with two fingers, and Cathra is chained.
He opens his mouth to speak, to give voice to the absurdity, but all that comes out is,
“I accept.”
It is Cathra who looks up at Kyros in surprise now, her eyes wide as if she never expects him to agree. Seeing her like that, Kyros wants so much to reach out for her, comfort her, break those hideous chains. But he tells himself the best course of action is to stay fast, and tries to give her his most reassuring smile.
The Lord Commander does not pick up the exchange between them, or he just does not care.
“So be it.”
He then addresses Cathra directly. “Cathra Stelias,” he declares, voice booming through the hall, coming back in every direction. “You are brought here tonight on suspicion of treason against the King and the Royal Family. We have eyewitness reports claiming you have been purposefully letting in villainous characters through your gate, with intentions of amassing an underground network of criminals and assassins to conspire against the Crown. What say you in your defense?”
Kyros does not think it possible to be surprised anymore tonight. But clearly, he is too optimistic.
From where she stands at the bottom of the Lord Commander's throne, Cathra raises her head, as high as her chains allow.
“My lord,” she says, her voice as poised as her attire. “The accusations are false and outlandish. This is clearly an attempt to slander my name, and I happen to know exactly who it is that has spoken against me.”
“I do not care for that.” The Lord Commander cuts her off. “Defend yourself. Attacking others will bring no good to your case.”
Cathra swallows, her temper ticking down the corners of her mouth, though only Kyros is watching her closely enough to notice it.
“The person I let in that day was, who I wholeheartedly believed to be, Princess Hastarine,” Cathra explains. “I don’t know what she’s doing in Kesrock, but either way, I recognized her, even in adventurer clothing.” She then goes into a brief recount of what happened at the South Gate that day, and Kyros listens closely, noticing how Cathra is deliberately omitting details, making it sound like he and she are nothing more than comrades, nothing more than knights doing their jobs.
At the end of her recount, Cathra finishes with, “If she isn’t Princess Hastarine, she is another child of King Icheonsoll’s, one that perhaps we’ve not seen publicly yet. You will agree with my observations if you see her with your own eyes.” She looks to Kyros properly then, for the first time tonight. “Kyros can support these claims I make. He has a drawing of her. I called him here so that you can see for yourself, Lord Commander.”
Kyros nods. It is a mighty risk Cathra is taking to assume he even has his notebook on him. But luckily for her, he does.
The Lord Commander holds out a massive hand. “Show me.”
With one smooth motion, Kyros slips the book from its pocket under his shirt, opens it to the page with the drawing of the girl, and hands it to a nearby knight, who runs it up to the throne with both hands and head bowed.
“My lord.”
The Lord Commander pinches the book in his great gauntleted hands like he's holding a leaf. He takes a second to appreciate the drawing before saying, “Professional line work.” And for the first time ever, Kyros thinks he sees a hint of softness at the corners of the Lord Commander’s mouth.
“Strong attention to detail.”
Kyros bows his head, stammering, “Thank you, my lord.”
“Pity it is only in charcoal.” The Lord Commander holds the book out for one of his knights to take back. “Describe the colors this individual wears, Argonston.”
“I can, my lord,” Kyros replies, accepting the book back. “Her hair was this soft, yet brightly glowing gold, like looking at the mid-morning sun reflected through the surface of a lake. Her eyes were these brilliant, almost unearthly blues, like two crystals within which lay a fragment of the goddess’s skies.”
Kyros wants to say more, but the Lord Commander’s hollow chuckles stop him.
“A poet as well as an artist,” the Lord Commander muses. “By the twin goddesses of the three realms, with words like that, it’s a waste for you to be a knight. You should consider being a scholar, perhaps even a mage. Your skills with charcoal and speech find little use at your current post, I imagine.”
“Thank you, my lord, for your compliments,” Kyros says hesitantly, “but I would be doing my family a great disservice by putting down the helm.”
The Lord Commander nods. “True. Bendric would not like that on his legacy.” Then he grows serious once more. “Tell me who you think you’ve drawn here, Argonston.”
Kyro starts to answer, but stops. The question is simple, but feels loaded, trapped. He regards the Lord Commander carefully before speaking. “In all my life, I’ve only seen the Queen, and only once, Lord Commander. But, it is my opinion that the girl’s resemblance to Queen Yoonnar is striking, unmistakable. If she is not a child of the Queen’s, then there is definitely some sort of sorcery at work, and the truth is much more complicated than we might think.”
The pinpoints of gold shine like shrapnel from the Lord Commander’s dark eyes. “Sorcery, you say. These are bold claims, Argonston, and ones you should consider carefully before making. If there indeed is sorcery at play, and this girl you claim to be the Princess turns out to be a Blood Devil, it will be more than your life and career you are tarnishing, Argonston. Your family name will be dragged down with you.”
“Lord Commander Narage,” Cathra’s voice is steady as she speaks up, but Kyros can see the tension in her clenched fists. “It is my duty to protect Kesrock, its citizens, and the knights who lay down their lives for the peace of this city. I stand by the decision I made, and I am willing to suffer their consequences. But it is not fair to have another knight shoulder that burden with me. I have called Kyros to support the truth of what I speak, not to be trialed for it.”
“I do not recall asking for your opinion, Stelias.” The Lord Commander’s icy reply silences her. “And you will not address me in that tone again, not as long as I sit in this chair, and you are bowed before me.” His gaze shifts over to Kyros. “But now that you have, what say you to your captain's claims, Kyros Argonston?”
“I wholeheartedly believe Captain Stelias to be innocent,” replies Kyros. “If I shall be punished for standing up for what I believe to be the truth, then so be it.”
Cathra starts to make noises of protest, but the Lord Commander ignores her. “Your faith in your captain is admirable, Argonston.” He leans forward with one thick arm resting across his knee, the plates of his armor gliding noiselessly to accommodate the movement. “Let us hope it is not misguided.” He raises one hand, and the room goes silent.
"I have made my decision."
Kyros waits, breath abated. Did he convince the Lord Commander?
“Cathra Stelias, you are hereby suspended from all of your duties until the investigation into the charges of your treason is concluded. You are free to roam within the confines of Kesrock’s walls in the meantime, but are to not resume any of your existing responsibilities or impede in any matters involving the Kesrockian Knights. You will be called back here in a week’s time to hear the charges, be it death or exile. Should you try to escape, or sabotage the investigation in any way, you will immediately forfeit your freedom and be sentenced to death. Do you accept these terms?”
The look on Cathra's face is one of frustrated acceptance. She turns her head down and replies in a small voice, “I do.”
The Lord Commander turns to Kyros and looks straight into his eyes. “I believe your conviction, Argonston, because I know your father to be a great man. But I will remind you that your loyalties lie with the whole of Kesrock, and not just one of her guardians. Take that to heart, knight, for it would be a great loss to execute you along with one of my best captains. Now return to your quarters, your role here is done.”
Kyros’s stomach lurches at the word execute, but he forces himself to keep still.
The Lord Commander speaks as if he’s addressing the entire room, even though only Kyros and Cathra are listening. “It is our sworn duty as Kesrockian Knights to protect this city, and ensure nothing enters her four gates that may endanger the citizens within her walls. We all swore an oath when we took on the helms, and we all know the consequences for breaking it.”
A sniffle draws Kyros’s attention away from the Lord Commander, who is now beginning to ramble about justice and honor.
Cathra's chin is tucked inside her iron collar, so Kyros cannot see her face, but from the slight quivering of her shoulders, he realizes that she is crying, and he almost cannot believe what he is seeing.
Cathra is crying.
Cathra, the lone girl who arrived in Kesrock from within the frozen wastelands of the Dragonspine Mountains, with nothing but a sword and the clothes on her back; the girl who, despite all the dirty looks and backstabs and political sabotage, became the strongest knight in Kesrock, then a member of the King’s Royal Swordsmen, then the fairest captain of all four gates of the largest city in Gandolia.
And now she’s been brought to tears, by the system she's worked so hard to upkeep and protect.
Kyros stares at the woman who he has admired all his life, ever since he saw her at the gate back when they were children, and an incredible, gurgling rage swells out of him.
He stands, and steps towards the Lord Commander.