ZEPHYR RAVENSWOOD

“The one who brought me back from the dead?” The whispers of wind were about his ears, but he paid them no mind, his focus was given to the cloaked person and what they had said. At first glance, the mysterious person in cloak looked to not be on his side, but on further thought, he was not sure they weren’t and he was not sure they were. If they were truly the one that brought him back to life, then maybe they were, and any word they speak might be of some truth, and they would have some of the answers he sought.

In just a few days in this world, he had grown more wary and untrustworthy than he’d ever been before, granted his life was what was at stake, but he had begun to fear his wariness would never leave him, it might never leave him, and he wondered if the person he would be able to confide in would ever come, he wondered if he would continue to lead a life of untrustworthiness forever. He wanted the cloaked person standing amidst the flowers unseen to his eyes in the dark, to be his ally, that would be one less person to be wary of. They were no doubt a sorcerer, someone with magic of some sort, he was sure and not surprised, proof of it all had been laid before him on his first day in this world. He knew a sorcerer as his ally would be of great aid, any man with half a brain would know that, and he was a man with more than half, if he dared say so.

Zephyr thought of what next to do. He knew he was to first confirm if the person before him was truly someone he should lend his ears to, and what better way for him to find out if this person was his ally, than to ask.

“Who are you? What are you?” The burning yellow-and-red of the torch in his hand, fought against the wind, a long but short hard battle that it came forth victorious from, standing above the wooden slender hill in all its golden splendour.

“I see no guard with you, Your Grace. Was that a good idea? Coming alone to receive a call from the unknown?” The cloaked person spoke again, asking the king a question that sounded nothing short of terrifying with a voice that was not one known for a man’s.

The question heightened Zephyr’s doubts. His ally would not say such, would they? It scared him, along with the little flashes in his mind of the faces in the dark of his room and the moments he had encountered in his dream, they had not yet left his eyes and they all scared him. He had no idea why he told the guards to stay back, all he met on his way to this garden of flowers and darkness and fear. He had acted on impulse, doing what he thought best, but was what he did the best now?

He had to make the questions floating in his mind matter less, whoever was behind that hood should not see him frightened, he needed to act strong, he told himself in hopes to feel less frightened than he already was. He was to be strong. He’s the king. “What would be a good idea is you giving me answers to the questions I asked. You are to answer mine, and not me to yours.” His voice came forth strong, as strong as he wanted it to be, and less doubt was it strong enough.

The golden flame spat a crackle atop its wooden hill, a call to the silence that came swiftly after, tensing Zephyr to a hidden gulp. He watched the person in cloak a few feets away from him, his hind-foot strengthening in preparation to run if any hostility came forth. If it came to that, he was sure he would fail, but he would rather try running than watch himself die without a fight, damn his fake kingship then.

But what came after was not what his hind-foot had prepared for, it was not what his mind prepared for. The hood came down, the cloak’s hood, and it was his toes that strengthened now as he impulsively stepped closer bit by bit to get a better view of what face had called him, than the one the shadow of darkness had covered from where he stood.

He was close now, at a length akin to that of a longsword from the person, unsure of why his body moved closer to danger of its own accord without thought, but he got something out of it. The golden flame in his hand gave some of its gold to the mysterious person’s face, and it was in his view now. A face that was compatible with the dark of night, one he would have no chance of seeing without the moon’s help, if not for the gold that blazed calmly than it had before, in his hand.

It was a lady that was cloaked before him. Her voice that came before had given him an idea, but what better way to be sure than seeing the dark long hair swirling into the hood that fell at her back. The smile on her face was coated in gold, ebony-and-gold was her face now, and she stood there beautiful and mysterious, but Zephyr had seen beauty before, even better ones, he was not captivated, if anything captivated his mind at the moment, it was the faces in his room and the answers he sought. Give him answers and maybe he might see her beauty then. “Who are you?” He asked again, his face hard as stone, but if opened up, it would be a frightened one softer than a cushion of feathers beneath.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“My name is Melisandre, Your Grace.” There it was, it came finally, it was coming now, the answers he wanted, even though this one was a bit lower on his list, it was a start. “And as I said before, I was the one that brought you back to life. Might I take the burden of that torch for you? Your hand is tired.”

“If I need help, I shall ask,” he shot his answer fiercely like an arrow, hinting to Melisandre that she was not yet trusted until he proclaimed so. “And what do you mean you brought me back to life?” He squinted his eyes, acting oblivious to what she meant. He felt deep down that was the better move, and he had begun to employ it.

She brought her hair out of her hood and draped it all over her left shoulder. “You remember nothing of what happened?”

Zephyr was not here to answer questions, and a grimace came with this one she asked now. He was impatient. “As I said before, I ask the questions and you answer, not the other way. I do not want to repeat myself.”

She pulled her eyes from her hair and glanced at him, the king in robes. His crown was not sitting on his blue hair now, and he looked more like a boy than a king, a mere boy she was no doubt ahead of in age, even if a bit. “You were poisoned, Your Grace,” she answered gloomily. “Gone with the shadows of ghosts, no more of this world.”

He knew this already, this was not what he was looking for, but he had to pretend, she undoubtedly knew something, he just had to pry it from her, one way or another. “Dead?” He said, continuing his oblivious pretence, his hand had begun to ache from the torch he held, but he told himself he just had to bear a little longer. Soon he’ll have better answers. “I fell asleep at my table and I woke up after a while. I was not dead.” He was not the best actor, but he tried to make his face as confused as he could make it, he was doing a good enough job for now.

“Oh, you were dead, Your Grace. Dead and gone. I brought you back myself, and that’s how I got linked to you. How would you explain me speaking into your mind?”

Zephyr’s brows were still arched in a made-up slope. Another question… he thought, but he chose to indulge her this time. “A sorcerer is the only explanation, there’s nothing your kind can’t do. Am I right?”

Her face was brightened by gold, and Zephyr could see the slight anger that stormed her face with his words, but the care he had for that amounted to nothing. It was only him he cared about now, not the anger of another.

“You are correct, Your Grace. I am a sorcerer, but there are things our kind can’t do. If you were dead for even a day, you would have been impossible to bring back. You were lucky I came when I came.”

“Lucky?” Zephyr spat. You call this luck? I’m stressed more than I ever have, the only thing good about this is that I am alive… he was angered but he kept it to himself. “Let’s say I believe you and I did die, what do you know about my death then?”

Her smile that had been far lost in the dark of night and light of gold returned. “I know the one who killed you, Your Grace. Or should I say, those.”

Finally. His chest tightened. He was there now, the answers he sought. She was going to give it to him now. “And who are they?” His curiosity this time was genuine, his brows arched in nothing of pretence.

She walked closer to him, reducing the length of the longsword between them to a little bit above half, and whispered, each word she uttered seeming to take an eternity to escape her lips to Zephyr. “You have seen them, Your Grace. You have broken your fasts with them. They are your family, the ones you have taken the throne from. The second branch of the Ravenswoods, every single one of them.”

His chest tightened further and his heart raced, he was not fully believing her, but if she brought him back, then maybe, just maybe, she was right. He inhaled sharply as a relief came shortly after, and one thought was what crossed his mind for that soothing sensation. Someone to confide in… he gave himself hope. He might not have been the killer… Flynn…