Chapter 15 Attic

If the Chosen flees or proves to be a coward in any way, the Royal Archers kill him, and then the Holy King feeds his son to us. If the Chosen is still alive when she does, it’s a frenzy because, although the Most Revered often has scrawny novitiates and delicious political prisoners for us, we are seldom given an actual, delectable prince to consume. Wait. What’s happening? — Prince Eater #34

At first, the only things visible to Jon from the hard, lumpy bed incarcerating him were dingy walls, a spider web Alec would soon sweep away, and a line of dust built up along the top edge of the baseboard. Slowly, though, he realized there were other views, ones he never tired of seeing: Alec’s rear end whenever he bent over to scrub the floor, wayward hair tumbling into his face, and jaw jutting out as he struggled to tackle unfamiliar tasks. Jon adored watching Alec’s strong fingers buttoning, tugging, and tying whatever attire Jon was to wear for the day.

Jon had been rescued wearing only the bloodstained rags they’d left on his body and although he didn’t remember what happened to them, he imagined that the rags were discarded. He had never inquired about where Alec obtained the clothes or found the money to afford them. Jon noticed that his own clothing was usually in much better shape than what Alec wore. Jon could tell that the clothing was not new, but it was always finely made and fashionable, and Seamster McSwiney came by unfailingly to do alterations so that the trousers accommodated his broken leg and the shirt sleeves could either wrap and button around his broken arm, or be folded out of the way entirely. Although the slippers on Jon’s feet were second-hand, Alec was scrupulous about Jon’s small clothes and socks being brand new.

Everyone wore trousers and shirts, practical shoes, and hats that protected the wearer from the two suns. Ordinary citizens wore rough work clothes. Nobles and aristocrats wore the same style of clothing more finely constructed from expensive materials. Members of the military wore uniforms and fighting gear. Jon had heard that in other countries, women wore dresses, or skirts and blouses and he had met travelers from New East Anglia who often wore fancy tights and velvet waistcoats in a style that they called Austen. After they’d been the butt of a sufficient number of jokes and giggling, invariably they began wearing styles common to Midhe Nuae.

Jon missed the stars. From his bed as an invalid, he couldn’t see out the one small, grubby window. Almost every night at the castle Jon had sat by a bedroom window, wandered through the garden, or stretched out somewhere along the castle parapet, and gazed at the sky. He could locate Earth without depending on the Constellation of the Lost Seaman, knew the names of the planets, and had been able to navigate with a sextant since he was a child. He savored the smell of the night air, the rustling and chirping of nocturnal wildlife, and the respite from busy human clatter. The castle’s night watch was accustomed to him, would nod respectfully but not interrupt him with conversations, and often softened their steps as they walked by.

Alec was walking that way now as he toiled at the daily chores. Jon had never known before that the labor of hauling water could be completed without the buckets clanking together or water swishing and sloshing over the rims. Jon’s dirty garments had been washed and suspended from the rafters without so much as a grunt or impatient sigh on Alec’s part. Jon wondered how he would ever be able to repay Alec for all he was doing, for his love, his loyalty, and his unrelenting effort to meet all the basic needs Jon could no longer manage alone.

If Jon had a complaint, it was that Alec was too conscientious with the pain medicine Healer Callahan provided. Alec used a scant measurement, and then put the packet in his duffel bag where it would be too difficult for Jon to get to. He wished Alec were more generous until he began having nightmares near the end of the first dimming, and then Jon was ashamed that he had been churlish toward Alec for taking precautions.

The first one took Alec by surprise. He leaped from his narrow, uncomfortable cot, and raced across the room to Jon without taking time to don even small clothes. He dropped to his knees and grasped Jon’s shoulders gently and cooed softly, “It’s okay, Jon. Hush. It’s only a dream. Hush.”

“Reggie! Reggie!” Jon screamed as he tried to push Alec away with his unbroken arm and vainly struggled to rise to his feet. “Reggie! Ethan! We’ve got to help Reggie!”

Jon’s good hand fisted and swung toward Alec who dodged it easily, although he let go of his friend, and sat back on the floor in confusion. He wasn’t sure how to handle Jon’s terror. He knew exactly what Jon was dreaming and exactly why it upset him so much. Although he didn’t know what to do about the nightmare, the next time Jon jerked forward in an attempt to get to his brothers, Alec positioned himself behind Jon, embracing him while he continued to whisper comfortingly, “You’re safe. You’re safe. Hush. Hush. Hush. You’re safe.”

YEAR 358, HILLTOWN

The infant was conceived during the wee hours of the night while Gil protected the lovers’ privacy under the willow where Alec had fletched crossbow bolts. Several dimmings later the most experienced healer in Hilltown happily explained to Ava Most Revered that she was expecting a daughter. Four dimmings after that, the same healer explained to her that she was also pregnant with a son, sunsbabies by superfetation. The boy was born prematurely when Ava went into labor with the girl. Outside of Gil and Ava, the healer was the only one who realized that the girl was royalty, while the boy was not.

“Let me hold them,” Gil had heard Ava ask from where he waited outside her door. When the healer set the newborns in her arms, she called out, “Gil, come and see.”

“Gil Braeford?” the healer had asked. “The babies are too new to be passed around, especially to a dirty soldier like the Grays Commander.”

“Dirty!” Ava cried out as Gil walked into the room. “He’s the boy’s father. Step aside and let him see.”

The healer had looked at Gil, gazed at the baby girl and boy in thought, and then stepped back without further objections. As she packed her medical bag she said to Ava, “I’ll go to the castle on my way home and let His Majesty know about the birth of his daughter.”

Gil had nodded in agreement while Ava had smiled widely at the healer, and then smiled more widely at two magi standing nearby in case they were needed. The pair returned her smile and left the room directly behind the healer. Shortly afterward, along one of the smoothest, well-maintained paths to the castle, the healer died when she inexplicably fell from her horse.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Within hours of giving birth, Ava asked Gil to transport her to the willow. She explained that she wanted to meditate and pray in this special place but was too weak to walk under her own power. He set her gently beneath it, made sure she was comfortable, and then stepped back to allow her privacy. Ava unwound a length of swaddling to reveal the face of Holy King Harrison’s daughter and then shoved a corner of the blanket down the tiny infant’s throat.

“Ava!” Gil called out in alarm.

“Our son will be a Prince of the Realm,” came the reply. “The Last Prince.”

The infant in the Most Revered’s arms died within seconds.

Shock froze in Gil’s throat, and he realized for the first time that nothing Ava O’Connor said or did was ever for anyone but herself.

Gil dashed behind the willow and vomited.

PRESENT DAY – SNAKE IN

Alec rested on the bed holding Jon, trying to ease Jon’s nightmares and alleviate the bitter pain of Jon having been betrayed by his own family. After a few minutes, Jon’s eyes flew open. He rose abruptly into a sitting position and stared around the small attic room without recognition.

“Easy,” Alec said gently. “You’re safe.”

“Reggie,” Jon muttered. “Ethan.”

“I know. I know,” Alec whispered. “Lay back and rest. I’ll keep you safe.”

His eyes wide in confusion, Jon turned at the sound of Alec’s voice. He blinked several times and asked, “Alec?”

Alec smiled, rubbed Jon’s arm soothingly, and said, “Yes, it’s me. You’re okay, Jon. Lay back and rest. I’ll keep you safe. Rest.”

“Reggie,” Jon said sadly as he leaned on Alec’s shoulder. “Ethan.”

The days blended together. Alec would rise and help Jon with his needs, descend four flights of stairs to the back of the inn to empty the night chamber pot, and then attend to his own needs. Whenever weather permitted, Alec propped open the small attic window so fresh air could circulate, although it did little to improve conditions in their attic chamber.

Despite his concern for Jon, Alec felt trapped in the airless room. He had never been stricken with claustrophobia, but he was accustomed to being outdoors daily and being free to come and go as he pleased. Now, before doing even routine tasks, Alec had to consider whether or not it would be safe to leave Jon alone. No matter how restless he felt, however, he considered himself blessed, far beyond what being with Jon would inspire.

The Kings Soldiers often suffered imprisonment for even obviously unreliable accusations made by senior officers. That fact is what had given Sergeant MacDonald the confidence to abuse Alec so freely and unfairly. Despite the lack of either a trial or proof, the officer’s word was accepted as the truth and never investigated. Punishment typically included flogging followed by incarceration in the dungeons. If the confinement were short — two days, three, or a dimming at most — the soldier usually did all right. However, at the senior officer’s whim, accusations could result in flogging and an extended stay lasting numerous dimmings with food and water rationed to the minimum necessary to sustain life. Additionally, providing medical care to prisoners was deemed a waste of resources. Only the Crown could legally exact death sentences, but the reality of the harsh punishments forced on soldiers was that in nearly every case the combination of flogging and prolonged imprisonment resulted in death. If the soldier did live, he was crippled and unable to return to duty or earn a living as a civilian.

Alec never understood why Holy King Harrison could seem like such a levelheaded, compassionate monarch who insisted on educating the children of his soldiers, yet at the same time allow such a capricious, frequently abused system of justice within his military. Civilians did not have an easy time in the judicial system, but in general, they were treated more fairly and justly than Holy King Harrison’s own defenders. Until Isla MacDonald bought her sergeant’s commission, Alec was fortunate to have never suffered the antagonism of officers. He had never been imprisoned, but living like this, caring for Jon’s never-ending needs, he had no trouble imagining the hopelessness soldiers in the dungeon must feel. Alec vowed to himself that in the future he would behave better toward any of his friends who ended up discarded in the dungeons and try to help those in need of food and medical aid.

With that promise to himself, Alec would chastise himself for indulging in self-pity, because none of the inconveniences to him compared to the arduous road that lay ahead for Jon.

Each morning Alec hauled buckets of water back to the stuffy attic room which continually reeked of the lotion applied to Jon’s facial wounds. If Rory were already awake, the youth would assist, but otherwise, he made the many trips himself. Once he’d lugged the buckets upstairs and had them lined up by the fire to warm, Alec limited himself to one bucket, at the most two, for his personal ablutions, preferring to conserve most of the water for Jon’s use. He was meticulous in his care of Jon, never neglecting to shave him, never leaving him to stay in one position too long, and never failing to provide encouragement or empathy. Each day freshly washed clothing hung from rafters drying.

Jon was despondent and in pain. He had no interest in sipping whatever soup or broth was available. Alec soon learned that it was up to him to respond when Jon was physically and psychologically ready to eat rather than try to have him stick to a regular, set schedule. The willingness of the Dochertys to send up small cups of broth throughout the day proved essential for Jon’s recovery.

At the end of the first dimming following Jon’s beating, Healer Callahan removed the stitches on Jon’s face and arm before suggesting that Jon should sit upright for a few minutes each day, gradually increasing the time, as he regained his strength. Alec reassured him that he would move Jon to the wooden chair beside the fire at least once in the morning and once in the afternoon.

“Good, good,” Callahan responded. “You’re taking exemplary care of your friend. I couldn’t do better myself.”

“I’m worried about the pain medication,” Alec responded, and then explained about Jon’s nightmares.

“That’s to be expected,” Callahan reassured him. “It’s a balance. When the dreams are very bad, ease off on the pain medicine. Not completely, of course. When he sleeps well, you can increase the medicine again so that he’s more comfortable. In the meantime, try getting him to sit up a few times a day, and we’ll see how it goes.”

The first time Alec went to lift his friend to the chair, however, Jon moved away from Alec’s hands, and begged, “Oh, stop. Just let me die.”

“Never,” Alec refused.

“I’m no use to anyone.”

“You don’t have to be. I’m useful enough for us both.”

“Even my sister said I’m a chore now. A bloody, human blob that will never be normal again.”

“You never have been normal so what’s different about it now?”

The rejoinder made Jon smile, half of his face wrinkled as the corner of his mouth turned up, but the other half only flinched. Pain shot through his face and subdued Jon enough that Alec could transfer him to the chair. The first few times Alec stood next to Jon to help him balance upright. Although not as tall as Jon, Alec was by far the more muscular of the two, so transporting Jon was an easy service to provide, and one he never resented. Once Jon grew stronger and could sit upright on his own, Alec would place him on the wooden chair beside the fire with a blanket to ward off chills, then use the time to clean and put fresh linen on the bed. If Jon were still strong enough to sit once household tasks were done, Alec perched on the floor and the two friends shared meandering conversations.

©2022 Vera S. Scott