Circle of Reign (12 page)

“Aye, bastards!”

They laughed again together.

TEN

Moira

Day 4 of 4th Rising 407 A.U.

MOIRA KERR ROSE EARLY,
just before dawn when the night was always darkest. The amber light of second moon receded completely about half an hour before dawn every morning, leaving Senthara completely engulfed in dark’s full embrace for those final moments of night. Rising at precisely this time was always typical for her, but even more so as the Lady Matron of Hold Kerr. She would be about the affairs of the hold and its lands, managing the labors of the day. In normal times, a herald servant would have seen to the management of the daily work, but these were not normal times.

Once a Lord passed away or retired, a pension from the Realm’s treasury was typically granted in support of the family, even when lordship passed from father to son. No pension would be granted to a family whose husband and father had been a traitor. This left the family to fend for itself. With little money to hire new servants or even retain those currently employed, the hold was understaffed, leaving the income and resources that could have been garnished for their welfare largely untapped. Only the most
loyal and dedicated servants remained, but even they were overwhelmed and the hold lay increasingly in a state of disrepair.

The cycles had not only been unkind to House Kerr’s ancestral hold but also to Moira’s heart. Her bones ached almost every day with sorrow, regret, guilt. Each emotion had its own place in her heart that filled the emptiness left by the death of both her husband and daughter, but though the emptiness was filled it may as well have been a void. The sorrow that occupied a portion of her heart was pumped through her veins, immobilizing her to a state that the remaining servants in the hold believed to be shock. Regret invaded her with almost every breath she took, rooting itself firmly in her lungs as a tumor that stubbornly refused to be expelled, causing weakness and lethargy to sweep over her.

The guilt, however, was the key to her continuance. The sorrow and regret sucked life from her on a daily basis, pulling her more and more to what would surely be a catatonic state if not for the guilt. It was energizing and compelled her to action, to do her duty as a mother and the lady of her hold. Yes, the guilt. The guilt of not keeping Reign closer to the hold; the guilt of blaming Thannuel for the same; the guilt of sending him out to find her, which, though a rational decision, tormented her nonetheless; and finally, the guilt of not being able to find her little Reign. It was likely the only element of who she was that pushed her, that kept her from sinking into an abyss and letting the light in her eyes completely go out. The light had faded, true, but it was definitely not extinguished.

Every morning, before the sun would peek over the horizon, Lady Kerr spent as many moments as she could stand in Reign’s chambers. She sat quietly there this morning, on the edge of Reign’s bed, just as she had every morning for the past eight cycles.
Come back to me
. As she let her emotional guard down, Moira thought upon the dozens of times she had chased Reign around the hold in little games of cat and mouse.
Fox and Squirrel, actually
, Moira remembered. Reign had always claimed to be a squirrel running
to hide her winter stash of acorns from the sneaky bad fox. Moira, of course, was the sneaky bad fox.

“A fox doesn’t want acorns,” Moira tried to teach her daughter.

“This one does!” Reign would say and giggle as she ran away, fully expecting Moira to chase her. The giggling was contagious and the hold servants would join in.

“Over here!” they would call. “We’ll hide you from your mother!”

“She’s not my mother! She’s the sneaky bad fox!”

When Moira would eventually catch her, Reign would laugh so joyfully. This seemed to invite tickling, so Moira would oblige her and the laughter would grow even louder.

Not even echoes of that joyful sound remained now. Moira had checked, placing her ear to the stonewalls of the hold, praying that they had somehow absorbed and maintained the remnants of her daughter’s sweet voice.
Ancient Heavens, have I forgotten what her laugh sounds like?
The quiet only intensified her longing.
How cruel silence can be
. Recently, Reign had wanted to grow up so fast. She would be ten now, if—
No, she
is
ten now
, Moira scolded herself for thinking of Reign in the past tense.

The Changrual had counseled her in her grief to look inward and discover her new purpose, what they called her “highest calling”. She had rebuffed them and their counsel, not thinking she had the luxury of such philosophical ponderings. Slowly, however, the question rooted itself within her.
What is my highest calling now?
She could not help but let her mind run freely on the subject during solitary moments such as now.

Nothing had been taken from her daughter’s room or disturbed in any way. Even the pile of disheveled clothing that Reign refused to properly put away, despite Moira’s constant insistence, seemed sacred now. She took one of Reign’s pillows and hugged it to her chest tightly. They had long ago lost her daughter’s scent, but she inhaled deeply just the same, hoping for any last remaining aroma of her young Reign. Moira’s tears came and flowed down
her pale cheeks, wetting the pillow. It was stained with her tears from the many visits.

“I miss you,” she whispered in a shuddered exhale. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She remained for a few moments longer and prayed that the Ancient Heavens would watch over her lost daughter—dead or alive. After she tenderly replaced the pillow to its original position, she rose and left Reign’s chambers.

Moira had already taken over many of the duties that a herald servant and hold master would have discharged, but a herald servant or hold master could not be retained. Not only was the family’s income meager, having to live from the resources provided by the land more and more, the stigma of being in the employ of a house named for treason was enough to drive away all but the most loyal to House Kerr—or the most desperate. Were it not for the secret support of Thannuel’s cousin, Banner, who had been assigned Lordship after Thannuel’s death, the hold would have been abandoned long ago. Moira had some family still—a sister, Molina, who was a caretaker for their father—but she could not burden them with her needs. In reality, however, she felt it would be too dangerous for anyone to take her and her son in. Moira did not know the genesis of this thought—why should her family be in danger for supporting her? It seemed a ridiculous notion, but she couldn’t shake the warning. For Hedron’s sake, she would not let the hold fall into ruin.

She thought of General Roan and Kalisa briefly. She had never met their children but they would be nearly seven now. Roan had sought her out shortly after the funeral, seeking insight into a message he received supposedly from Thannuel just before he died, but Moira had known nothing of it. The handwriting had indeed been her husband’s but the message’s meaning was cryptic. It could have been nothing but the nostalgic desires of Thannuel to see his closest friend; but, she agreed with Roan that the letter may have hinted at something more. What, however, they may never know. She tried not to focus on it.

Hedron would need to be sent into Calyn to secure provisions for their trip. He was ten years of age now, crossing over from the age of innocence, old enough to deal with the realities his family faced. Perhaps he only had the maturity because he needed to. Moira lamented that so much was now and would yet be required of him at such a young age. They would leave within a span for Iskele to once again plead their case before the High Duke. The journey there would take three days to complete, a day or two before Duke Wellyn and his court, and yet another three days for the return trip.
How will the hold fare for almost a span in my absence?
Lady Moira feared.
Will there be anyone left when I return?
She longed for the presence of Master Aiden, for his assistance in these times. But she would not request him to come and she doubted he would ever visit.

The pain, it’s too great for him
.

“My Lady?” entreated a young common servant. Moira looked up from her morning meal of simple acorn bread-cake and water to see Shayla standing before her. “A man has come asking for work. He awaits you in the courtyard.” The blonde woman servant was a little giddy. She stood there fidgeting with her hands and awaited her Lady’s response.

Now this is something new
, Moira thought. She almost did not believe what Shayla had said and had to shake herself from brief confusion.

“Are you sure?” Moira asked.

“Quite, my Lady.”

A man of middle age did indeed await Moira in the courtyard of the hold. The walls that engulfed the vast inner courtyard were two men high and made of gray stone interwoven with trees of all create. Battlements stood taller than the walls at each of the four corners of the hold, with branches and ivy adorning them. Elevated pathways started at ground level and rose gradually to lofty heights, weaving among the trees and branches immediately outside and above the hold before returning again to a different
landing within the hold’s walls. The leaves of the ivy should have been more vibrant this far into the Rising Season, but they remained mostly brown, auburn, and orange. Dead leaves from the Dimming and Low seasons had collected into piles in the corners of the hold, adding to the disheveled appearance and overall feeling of decline within the walls. From the outside, there was less and less visual difference between the hold and the forest as branches and other verdure reached unchecked over the walls. Where Moira now stood had begun to resemble more of a clearing or meadow after a storm rather than a royal courtyard.

Though inwardly damaged, Moira Kerr knew she was stunning in her appearance. Her long ebony hair and quaint features offered a dazzling contrast to the worsening condition of her home, as if a beacon in a raging tempest. This belief was not born of pride or arrogance, but from trust. Her lost beloved Thannuel had never lied or used words to mollify her, not even when it would have been kind to do so. He never wasted words on anything he did not mean and he was the most trustworthy and upright person Moira had ever met in her life. It was he who had always told her how magnificent she looked, a reflection of near-perfect beauty. Though naturally shy of this type of compliment, Moira realized that if she did not accept it, it would be as if she were calling Thannuel dishonest. Her confidence, then, sprang from absolute trust in her husband and nothing more.

The man who patiently waited to greet her was a bit castoff looking, but otherwise appeared able. She considered him for a moment and then spoke.

“What brings you to my hold?” Moira asked politely. Hedron came to her side. He had always been a little shy around strangers, especially men. This behavior had changed drastically as he now asserted himself as the man of the hold. The boy had never shown signs of his innate shyness towards girls, however. But few of his former friends, boys or girls, came calling anymore. He had even asked about young Kathryn Hoyt, to whom he had been promised, a few days ago. This surprised Moira, as the two had seemed like
fire and ice initially. Lord Hoyt, however, did not dare to visit. She did not blame him.

“I seek employment, my Lady. I have heard you have no herald servant, and I have experience as such. Many houses of Calyn have dismissed their heralds, so finding work has been difficult.”

“I’m sorry, I cannot hire you. You no doubt have heard of our misfortune. In truth, I find it curious that anyone would call on us. Our current status is no secret in the province, not even in the Realm.” Moira’s words were not harsh to this man. His posture bespoke his sincerity, even desperation.

“My Lady,” the man said, stepping forward and raising a hand toward her. It shook slightly and wore the calluses of many years. “I do not ask for pay, just shelter. I shall be responsible for my own food as well, not wishing to burden your resources. In fact, I may be able to add to your stores. I’m a skilled hunter and fisher in addition to being able to run a house. A casual glance toward the walls of your hold speak for themselves as to their need for repair and upkeep, if you don’t mind my boldness.” He looked down slightly, diverting his eyes. “Please my Lady, I can assist here. It would give meaning to me again.”

Moira considered. If what he said was true of his abilities, he was more fitting as a hold master than a herald servant. With Aiden having left to serve Lord Therrium as the master of the hold guard, there was little leadership beside herself still in the hold. And while she did not mind regulating the affairs of the hold, her ability to continue without more help was limited. The hold was in a state of slow entropy, as was the whole city of Calyn. She glanced down at Hedron, her remaining child, and recognized his need for his mother again. She had lost her husband and daughter, but he had also lost his father and twin sister. All they had was each other now.

Do I dare bring him into our hold? No one else has come seeking work, but he seems so desperate
. Moira realized that they were, too.

“What references do you bring?” Moira asked.

At this, the man looked down and a defeated look came over him.

“None, my Lady. I swear to you what I say of my capabilities is true. I had hoped time would prove my worth if I was granted a chance. Thank you for seeing me.”

The man turned and started to walk away, shoulders slumped.

“Very well,” Moira said in clipped words. The few remaining common servants of the hold looked startled, then relieved. “There is no pay that can be given, but shelter we have plenty. You shall not be herald servant, but hold master. I will remain in my self-appointed role as herald. I trust you know the duties of a hold master and can discharge them effectively?”

The man was visibly shaken. His jaw quivered before he clenched it and set it. “Aye, my Lady. Thank you. Thank the Ancient Heavens.”

“What is your name?”