Wern, Fir of Marla: 28 Xiven

As he was forced inside, the door rumbled to a slam. A leather-clad guard adjusted Kayin to stand off to the side, still beside Sepik, as the others filed all in different directions. Though his vision was blurry and this empty chamber was only lit by candles, he could make out the distinct shapes of Tidesa and the king speaking to one another, blue and purple amongst a sea of gray stone.

“Yes, my king, I’ll take care of everything,” said Tidesa.

“Borrow my Chief of Staff for the night. I’m going to turn in early.” The king yawned. “What a dreadfully long day.”

“Arill,” Tidesa said immediately, moving to the opposite side of the room, “I need two plates of mushrooms and berries delivered to the Lavender Room and the Crimson Room. I need the tailor for measurements, and two servants to draw baths for the Princess and the Prince.” Her voice droned on, barking orders for more people to do more things, all for the new court. Linens, books, organize an itinerary for tomorrow.

Kayin continued staring forward, struggling to breathe, struggling to force everything to slow down, to go back to when he stood in line. Go back, he willed. Please. I don’t like this part of this dream. Even in his nightmares, he was able to have some sort of control. Even if he couldn’t go back, the effort usually woke him up. But not this time. He’d completely given up on his senses; the room was unimportant, the arms pulling him one way or another hardly registered. Go back. Go back! Even when some sort of wet cloth wiped over his face, he only paid enough attention to realize he was in a different room, and some old lady scrubbed his skin raw. He was too stuffed to breathe out of his nose, but he could nearly taste the floral scents being rubbed onto him. Now his dream was just being strange. Maybe Aunt Aayin was putting on some of her medicines beside him and he was still asleep. He’d be in so much trouble if he didn’t wake up soon….

Now he stood in a dark red room, where the stone walls were covered in drapes and two candles lit either side of the entrance. He’d never dreamed of a place like this before, where this one room, the size of three of his huts put together, had its own fireplace across from a large cushion framed with wood that some person in the back of his mind kept calling a “bed.” But it was much too large to be a proper bed, and it didn’t look right. But dreams were odd that way, in that things were usually too small or too large and didn’t make sense.

He couldn’t understand the voices that spoke all around him. He didn’t know who they were, and he didn’t bother looking up to them. This was an awful dream that would be over soon. And even though he’d never felt anything as soft as that giant “bed” he now sat upon, it wasn’t worth everything else that happened.

This large, crimson cushion had blankets and pillows to spare, all surrounding him, but he stared at the low flame in the fireplace until his eyes dried. There were no more tears to spill, his head throbbed, and he wasn’t waking up yet. His stomach couldn’t clench any more than it already did. It must have been the hunger pangs seeping into his dream-world again. And the sound of that high voice by the wooden door must have been some kid playing outside the hut.

“Why aren’t you talking?” the voice asked. Kayin blinked for what felt like the first time in hours to look to the new sound. Oh, wait. No, he knew this voice. It was Sepik, though she looked quite different. Something held her hair away from her face, a ribbon of some sort, and her shirt was new—or rather, it was more of a dress of some sort, that went down to her calves. At noticing hers, made of a light pink sort of fabric, Kayin realized he wore the same thing. A woolly, warm knitted sort of thing, but his was green. When he touched the fabric with his fingers to examine the intricate weaving of the yarn, Sepik invited herself to stand in front of the fireplace, looking at him.

“Oh, you’re crying.” He wasn’t sure why her pointing out the obvious bothered him so much. “About your mom?”

“No,” he corrected hoarsely. Speaking made it feel like he swallowed sand from the riverbed. “Aunt Aayin.”

“Oh.” Sepik looked over his shoulder to a table beside the bed, noting the untouched plate of food, before crossing her arms and shrinking into herself. “Well, at least your aunt fought for you. My parents just thought they could try to sell me for money.” Her words prodded a recent memory, but he shoved the thought away. He didn’t like that part of the dream, either. None of this was good. Why couldn’t he wake up and hug Aunt Aayin already? He willed himself to wake up again, but Sepik continued, “But I guess it doesn’t matter anyway, they all ended up dead.” Kayin flinched. She lowered her voice to a mumble, “Lot of good being smart did.”

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“D-don’t,” Kayin managed to gasp. His eyes burned, even though she blocked all the heat from the fireplace.

“This is better,” Sepik said, nodding too hard. “Like—these rooms! Just for us! They’re huge!” Maybe if he didn’t hide how upset he was, she would go away. So, he sniffled, wiped the salt from his cheeks, hoping to draw attention to himself. But she looked around, gesturing to things that didn’t matter, listing them, trying to sound enthusiastic. “And we’re going to get to eat more than just edia sometimes, and….” She wiped her face with her sleeve, but completely ignored that Kayin stared at her, crying again, clutching his stomach in agony while she droned on about all the things they would get now. “And we’re gunna—we’re gunna bring the Golden Age...or I am.” She looked up to Kayin again, her brows furrowed. “I don’t know why she chose you, too.” That made two of them, but her confusion didn’t bring any comfort. “I’m gunna be Queen. You don’t need to be here. We all saw what happened the last time a male tried to rule. You’re just gunna end up just like him.” Now he couldn’t breathe, even as Sepik started her way to the door. “But you can’t help it. It’s in your nature. Maybe I’m supposed to help you, too.”

His feet met the stone by the time she shut the door. He rushed up to it, stomping, hoping to catch up to her before she could get too far, but when he opened it, Tidesa stood there, waiting. The way she stood there with her hands clasped in front of her, calmly staring from across the way, only fueled the embers that burned in his turning stomach.

“What’s the matter?” Tidesa dared to ask. What’s the matter? Was she telling a joke? A great cry grew from his chest, to his lips.

“You!” he started, breathless. “You killed her!” It took a while to feel the rush of the stone floor against his palms, where he slammed his hand over and over and over again, in rhythm with his sobs. “Why?” No matter how hard he beat the ground or dug his knees into the grout, it didn’t make the awful lurching in his chest lessen. He slammed it harder, listening to the smacking of skin against brick; Aunt Aayin joked to distract him from his hunger pains that she would smack him on the head and ask, “Does your stomach bug you now?” And, of course, he would forget about his stomach and focus on the sharp thwack on his head. But for whatever reason, the trick didn’t work. His hand ached, sharp and prickly, but his chest still let out wells of deep, pulsating pangs. He heaved and choked on his tears, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up.

When the warmth of a hand touched his shoulder, Kayin jumped, scurrying out of her grasp without ever opening his eyes.

“Don’t touch me! You killed her!” He curled into himself, hugging his knees close to his chest.

“You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t calm yourself, Kayin,” came the reply. This got him to look up at her, gasping for breath.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have killed my aunt!”

“She isn’t your aunt anymore. The King is your family now.”

“No he isn’t!” He shouted back into his arms, tightening himself into a ball. He didn’t hear Tidesa kneel down beside him. She was smart enough not to touch him, at least—

“Kayin.” Her voice was taut but quiet, nearly a whisper by his ear. It took several gulps of air before he could quiet his breathing enough to her her. “I need you to listen to me now.”

“Why should I—”

“You can’t say things like that anymore.” She interrupted his shouts with more whispers. He looked up, finally, shocked more than anything. Keeping himself quiet like this made his limbs quiver. “Did you hear me? You can’t say things like that anymore.” Her eyes, purple and stern, kept him staring. “That’s treason. And you are responsible for your own actions, now.” The icy shock began to melt into confusion. He cocked his head up a little more, blinking at her.

“What—what does that mean?” he stammered. “Are you—are you gunna kill me, too? L-like Aunt Aayin?” Was she saying Aunt Aayin died because of what he said? “You were going to kill her anyway, what does it matter what I say!” Tidesa’s lips pursed into a thin line, obviously disappointed with his conclusion.

“You, alone, are responsible for your actions, Kayin. You cannot say treasonous things anymore.” She repeated herself, but something in Kayin’s chest told him her words meant something else. He squinted at her. “And you’re important. Too important to die. So, please.” She added a forced smile, but it was gone in a moment as she emphasized, “The King is your family now. You are Crown Prince of Yatora.” She said this like it was some sort of answer to the questions that made the air thick like fog. But it didn’t make anything any clearer. Now that Kayin was quiet, she glanced over her shoulder, then rose to her knees. She adjusted her dress, her stark white hair, and gave him another fake smile. “Get some rest, Kayin.”