The Winds of Crowns and Wolves (24 page)

Bypassing the armory and slum districts via
the main road, the couple had ventured northward outside of the
city limits. Scattered around the massive capital’s walls were
apple trees that hung low over the grass, as their fruit grew
heavy. Jenos took Neach by the hand, and guided him toward the
riverbank where the largest of the apple trees resided, in an
effort to gain some shade, as well as soak in the picturesque
landscape of the world just outside of Leirwold.

“Here,” she said, grabbing an apple from the
tree, “I promise you’ll never taste a fruit so sweet anywhere else
in the land,” her eyes cutting holes through him, peering into the
distance.

Neach took the sumptuous red fruit from her
hand and rotated it in wonder. There were apples in Spleuchan Sonse
that grew as well, but none of this caliber. With a swift bite, he
dislodged a fair portion of the apple, and chewed as the sweet
juices ran down his throat.

They sat and talked, for what could have
been a lifetime, intrigued by each other’s simplicity, with a total
disregard for the complex nature of things tossed to the side like
week old bread. Laughter and sigh conjoined at the oratory hip,
their words danced through the air with the acumen of a young bird,
newly lightened of his burdening lack of flight.

Some time had passed, and the sun was
lowering itself to just above the mountains in the distance. Neach
had scaled them only a few weeks prior, but much had changed since
then. As he sat with Jenos, wrapped in his now strong embrace, he
wondered if certain things were meant to be kept secret. The truth
of his intentions would surely result in the collapse of his new
found relationship with the King’s daughter, and the less she knew
the better. A bitter twang arose within his stomach, as he digested
the thought of betraying the girl he had fallen in love with.

“Do you ever wonder how exactly it is that
we got here?” the princess asked in a quiet voice, as she looked
out on the water from atop the shore.

“If I’m not mistaken, you lead me to this
place,” Neach said with a chuckle. Humor was a medication to
alleviate any wound, and he felt as if he had contracted a terminal
disease.

She smiled, but less sheepishly than would
have been expected. The King’s daughter was many things, but weak
was not one of them. If the King failed to produce a male heir, she
would be the rightful owner of the throne of Duncairn. All of her
life, she had been prepared to seize command where her father left
off, and it led to a brazen belief in herself and her identity.

“Unfortunately, I do not mean this
riverside; I mean it on more of a grand scale. Was it the fates of
the Gods which led us to one another, or simply the fool’s luck? Or
is it possible that neither are at play and a day will come where
what we now have is both irrelevant and unimportant,” the
conversation had taken a more somber tone, but the princess spoke
with a genuine curiosity. Neach could not fault her for her
questions, as he had the same ones himself.

“Just as the unfettered crop does not grow
on its own, I believe these things are a result of a multitude of
arbitrary things, and some of pivotal importance,” Neach began to
say.

“And now I’m supposed to believe the archer
is a master farmer?” Jenos said. It was her turn to jest and she
let out a loud laugh while looking up at Neach.

He smiled a smile he never knew was inside
of him. A genuine feeling of bliss fermented within his bones when
he was with the princess. She related to him in many ways, but
unfortunately they were very different in one article in
particular.

If the princess had known of his true
profession in agriculture, it’s likely they would never had known
of each other’s existence. The class system within Duncairn allowed
for no mobility, and it was rare for anyone to make it to the
capital from a place like Spleuchan Sonse.

Nevertheless, Neach amused her.

“It doesn’t take a fisherman to know that
fish don’t drink beer,” he said with a chuckle. The old adage was
actually something he had heard from Fenris when he was in Rosalia.
Though crude, it expressed the sentiment that some things were
known to all.

Jenos’ smile turned a shade of grey and the
joy left her face.

“My father used to say that when I was
younger,” it seemed Henrig had known Fenris as well.

“Your father is a great man,” Neach began,
“he has done many great things for this Kingdom,” even as he spoke
the words, they seemed to leave a foul taste in his mouth. To
falsely promote an individual, only days before their imminent
death, seemed a devilish deed.

“My father lost his way when my mother
died,” the princess cooed, her voice trailing away, “and I’m afraid
he never did see the path again,” her words echoed around the river
basin and within Neach’s own mind. Something told Neach that the
princess was not the fondest of her father.

“When I was five, he killed my uncle,
because he dared to speak out against his ailing father,” tears
began to well up in her eyes as she spoke, “The man is ruthless,
and no good he has done has come without great cost.”

Neach held her tight within his arms, as she
sobbed softly. Though she was young, the event must have been
traumatic. Differing from the past days, a new picture was being
painted of the King. In contrast to the vibrant colors of war and
honor thrown on the canvas by his subjects, his daughter slung mud
and tar against the white sheet. He remembered something Tyrin had
told him the night before he had entered the castle: those closest
to power are the ones most likely to feel its wrath.

Eventually, her tears subsided, and she
turned around to face Neach.

“It’s getting late, we must return to the
castle,” as she spoke she grabbed him by the waist and kissed him
again. Like a flash of lightning, the kiss sparked feelings deep
within Neach’s heart that he thought were the things of dreams.

The sun had sunk beneath the horizon
provided by the mountains, and the angle of its light proved that
the afternoon was growing late, as the princess held Neach’s hand
within her own. They would return to the castle for a meal and more
celebration, but the ultimate outcome of the celebrations would be
mourning if the House had its way.

A woman stood on a corner singing as they
walked, hand in hand, past the slum district.

Fire rose dancing and waterways dry, the
summer brings heat and the winter asks why. In the bitter cold
chill the fire cracks on, when the summer heat is burning, there’s
no hiding from the sun.

Dusk hung low over the city, and cast a dark
shadow over top the tallest buildings. Its bold purple and reds
painted a caricature of a summer day passed on the canvas provided
by the sky. Legends had been told for generations that sunsets were
the sky’s own battle against the demons of the horizon, and each
night it ended with the same outcome, consumption. A sun consumed
by Earth, light consumed by dark, day consumed by night. Satiation
came with difficulty in the Kingdom, and things had only gotten
worse since the King’s self-imposed eradication of all members of
the House Goedwig. Entire villages were consumed by flames, as the
King burned rebels alive in an attempt to make a statement to all
who opposed.

As they entered the castle gates, a new
flame burned high atop the watch tower.

Tall and defined, the pyre was crafted in
the shape of a triangle attached to the top of a straight wooden
beam. The triangle sought to represent the balance between the
Gods, the Royals, and the Supernatural. A burning triangle was a
method of warding off supernatural spirits and restoring
equilibrium to a given area.

Jenos squeezed Neach’s hand tight as they
strode across the moat and into the heart of the castle, where
hundreds of people had gathered.

It seemed the celebration had already begun
within the walls of the secondary ring. Men sang loudly and women
watched on in shy respect, as the outpour of testosterone
threatened to combust.

“What silly men,” she said, her eyes slanted
in disgust, “They sing songs of joy when all they have ever known
is mediocrity,” her posture was that of a queen, but she was still
young in her age.

Jenos walked with intention and dignity, as
was expected of the King’s daughter, but her eyes showed the pain
of a life lived with sorrow. She had watched her mother die and her
father turn into someone she despised. Despite his best efforts, he
had become the man Jenos dreaded. A man hell-bent on maintaining
his power, and naïve to the damage he was incurring around the
Kingdom.

“Mediocrity is the fruit of life, they say,”
Neach retorted as they neared the crowd, “If every man strove to be
King, there would be no law, only constant struggle,” as he spoke,
he was unsure if he believed what he was saying. Deep down, he
believed that all men sought power; the only difference was the
scale at which they desired it.

“Sometimes fruit can be spoiled, Neach. I
fear that time is soon,” she spoke softly as to keep his thoughts
quiet from the onlookers.

“There is great unrest in the Kingdom,” the
words hissed from her mouth, “Rebel factions find their bases
everywhere from Balthusom to Fletwod, and my father sees no means
of reparation beside unforgiving slaughter. We live in a fractured
world, Neach. Unfortunately, the pieces have been so jostled that a
complete repair seems impossible,” her words echoed with the weight
of a large iron cask. For the third time in as many days, impending
war was being mentioned.

“Perhaps we can fix it if we start with the
edges first,” Neach replied.

“Even the greatest puzzles are capable of
being constructed. What rebel groups are these that your father
fears so?” he asked tentatively, remembering his role in the
castle.

“I’ve heard whisperings of them. They
descend from animals, and they act as brutish. No morality is
forged in the heart of the wilderness, only the means of survival.
It’s been said that each Kingdom of the Western Empires holds its
own animals within its depths, I just pray that ours are easily
tamed,” she concluded with a slight gasp that proved the extent of
her exasperation.

Neach knew very well the animals she spoke
of. He himself was one. Feral blood flowed through the veins of
thousands of people, who he had yet to know, and he could only
assume that a portion of them acted as the princess said.

Two criers entered the scene, in front of
the pyre as horns blared and the toiling crowd grew silent.

“We present to you, Lord of Leirwold, King
of the Island of Duncairn, Kingdom of Honor in the Western
Empires,” the criers stepped aside as the sea of people parted
their way to make room for Henrig.

He walked with conviction and smiled at his
subjects as he passed them one by one. For a faint moment, there
was eye contact between him and his daughter, but it passed in due
time.

“Greetings, people of Leirwold, subjects of
the Kingdom of Duncairn,” his voice boomed through the courtyard
and the people looked on in awe as he spoke, “Tonight, we celebrate
the birth of my dear father with the burning of the ceremonial
wooden triangle. Its meaning is known to most, but its importance
in these times of struggle is best reiterated. We face a great
disturbance in our Kingdom, as summer feigns its warm benevolence
upon us. Dissidents from all corners of our vast world threaten to
remove power from the people and regents, and vow to lay untold
waste to every village and city in the Western Empires. This
triangle calls for the harmonious relationship of the regents,
supernatural, and the Gods above. We hope they look favorably upon
our Kingdom tonight, as we begin the celebration of my father, who
fought for nothing else other than an equilibrium,” the King’s
words were met by a raucous round of applause, and Jenos simply
frowned.

He wore a gilded black robe, and his crown
served as the diamond atop the illustrious banner that his outfit
laid forth. Within the seams of the golden headpiece, rubies and
sapphires dotted the yellow, and sparkled in the early evening
sunlight. Behind him, the fire from the pyre crackled loudly, as
the dampness of the wood was removed and turned into large puffs of
black smoke.

His face looked distraught, but he dared not
show his emotions to his subjects. To them, he was their source of
perpetual hope. A talisman of optimism, King Henrig’s presence was
larger than life, though he was dwarfed by the massive fire burning
at his back.

“Now, we bow our heads in silence, in
remembrance to not only my father, but every person who has ever
given their service to the Kingdom in the hope that we could live
lives of peace,” the King’s words resonated through the open space
and the silence that had already hung over the square
persisted.

Neach looked around at the hundreds of
subjects whose heads were now bowed in fullness to the memory of
Henrig’s father. The only person whose head was raised beside his
own was Jenos. She stood, stoic, and on the verge of tears, before
she bolted toward the inside of the castle. He let her go, but even
as he watched her leave, his heart pained to see her in such a
state. Long held disdain had boiled over, and was now threatening
to scald the hands of Jenos and her father.

The silence passed and the King was faced
with jubilation.

People sang and drank, eat and laughed, all
the while, the King paced in front of the triangular pyre with a
look of agony on his face.

“Your highness, this has been a most
beautiful ceremony,” as he spoke the words, a bitter taste erupted
in the back of his throat. He wondered how long he could continue
to deceive the King before it would break him.

The King hardly looked up at Neach when he
spoke.