Scales and Swords ✓

44: Like Him

He knows. These words ran through my mind as Nareem and I travelled up the tree.

When I asked Nareem what for, he had said, Cyr simply requested to speak with me, igniting a series of more questions. Why me? What had I done? Did he find out?

I continuously rubbed my sweaty palms over my trousers. Fixed my scarf. Flattened my hair.

"No need to be nervous, he isn't as scary as everyone thinks he is," Nareem said, beside me.

I regarded the young boy, frowning. "Are you close to him?"

"He's a good man," he said emotionlessly. There was something about him, that always seemed to fill me with dread. He was just a child. A child. And yet, something about him made him seem so much older. Where was the joyous smiles and hearty laughs. The carefreeness and irresponsibility of a juvenile. He seemed so hard and stoic. They all were. On the last level we stopped. He nodded towards the bridge. "Go ahead now."

I nodded goodbye and left. Over the rickety bridge I went. The ground, far far below, if I fell then I would never have survived. I kept my sights straight, staring only at Cyr's home which was now void of people. Every step I took weighed heavy with regret, the closer I got the more I wanted to go back. It wasn't just fear, it was shame, it was guilt and anger at myself.

No, I had promised Lance. I would earn Cyr's trust. I pressed forward.

At his door, I halted. Knocked. This was my job. But at the same time it wasn't. I was no guard. The longer I stayed as a guard the further my goal became. I turned away. The door opened.

"Hello," Cyr said.

I swallowed and turned round, meeting his sea green eyes. He was an aged man, but just like Lance his days were far from numbered. Thin but taut, with the occasional wrinkles, he was definitely an eye-catching man in his younger days. A smile brightened his face, making me feel all sorts of wrong.

"You must be December," he said. "I do hope I didn't inconvenience you."

Where was the man who threatened the king? The man who committed an unforgivable crime? The man whom I feared?

"Well why don't you come in, I have something I must discuss with you." He pushed his door open, waiting for my entrance.

I passed him silently, not daring to meet his eyes. His home was large and spacious. And yet so humble. A carved table laid in the center of the living room, surrounded by two shabby couches patched with various peices of cloth. A fading red vase containing a fresh bunch of strange yellow black-spotted trumpet flowers sat in the center of the table.

"Take a seat," he motioned to a couch. I complied.

Did he know? Was he going to corner me and squeeze out the truth? What was he going to do after? What if I don't leave alive?

"I knew a dragon once," Cyr said, entering from another room with a tray of two steaming tea cups. When did he leave? How long had I lost myself in my thoughts? He set the tray down on the table, took a seat himself and offered me a cup.

I declined. My shaky hands would betray me.

"Even back then they were rare," he continued, his eyes distant even as he smiled at me. His gaze was on me but he saw someone else. "I'd never thought I'd see another again. Were you close with your father?"

"My," I breathed my first word to Cyr, "my father?" The image of Dad flashed in my mind. I nodded than froze. He wasn't talking about my father, rather the dragon father I'd made up. "He passed when I was young. But I have fond memories of him." Lying always seemed to hang heavy on me, but as I spoke to Cyr all burden was rendered nil. I had made myself numb to the guilt, pretended they weren't there, till my eyes would open again and I'd see my pile of sins staring back at me.

"What about your mother?" He watched me carefully, like he did the king that night at the ball. What did he want out of me with these questions?

"She's a drunk," I said and I thought of my own mom, who never once indulged herself in anything without making sure we were all fed, clean, happy and near her. She was a tough woman for sure but when I think of her I only remember how warm I am in her arms.

Cyr lowered his tea cup and folded a leg over the other. His gaze suddenly hardening. "My mother was a drunk as well. Sometimes she'd leave my siblings and I for days, months even. Sometimes she'd return with a new sibling for me to take care off. Her work as a harlot was more of a burden than a relief. So when the Battle of Suffi began and their Queen requested Kreatian soldiers to fight in her army in exchange for a hefty amount, it seemed the best option among my few as a young man with no formal education. Though I was away, my family was fed and that kept me going. When I returned I was awarded a medal of honor and the opportunity to serve the king as his guard. Arthur wasn't yet King. He was the crown prince then, and I was his father's guard, but we were the same age. And soon we became friends." He paused, his gaze passing over me, slightly surprised. "I didn't realize how much I said."

"No," I said too eagerly. I composed myself quickly and managed to pick up the tea cup. "I enjoy listening to you." I need to know who you are and why you are doing what you are doing.

He smiled, but his eyes were downcast. Who was he, who was the hardened rebel whom the king feared so intensely?

"I only became a guard for my family," he said, his words tugging at my conscience. "As I slayed Suffi's enemies, I thought of my family. I thought of my siblings, who'd hunger for days waiting for our mother to return, of my younger sister who had to take care of them when I was away. We'd beg on streets for the slightest scrap of food to feed our youngest, so as I fought I was comforted by the thought that they wouldn't go to sleep with empty tummies. Taking the life of a person haunts you for life. I had no passion for war I simply fought for my family's survival."

He was like me. I was like him. We were the same. He'd understand what I was doing and why I did it, because he'd done it before.

"And since then," he went on. "I promised not to harm another soul. But Bikol's death pushed me to break my own promise. Arthur holds no such reserves. He has killed and he will do it a thousand times again. He is a liar. Even my innocent little sister has fallen for his lies...she protects him."

I willed myself calm. And hoped it'd seep into my tone. "What might you mean by that?"

He stared off forlornly. "She is his guard as I was once his father's."

My jaw locked, I downed the warm liquid to quench my thirst, to give my twitching hands something to do. Though he didn't call her name, I already knew whom he spoke off. I lowered the cup. I was composed.

"Forgive my bluntness, but I don't believe you asked me here to tell me off your childhood," I said calmly.

He nodded. "Of course. You are correct, I got carried away, forgive me. I called you here because I believe you and your sister will be valuable players in my plans."

"Your plans to overthrow the king?" I asked carefully.

"Overthrow," he repeated the word, a scowl dawning his face. "Must I overthrow him, when he seems to do so well himself. The choice lies in the hands of the people."

"Then what do you need me for?"

"Well December, I only represent the people's desire. I am but a part of the process. And you can be as well if you choose to stand by me." His eyes bright with excitement. This was whom I feared. The zealous rebel I was looking for. "Join me in my next step, let us take down the king's most valuable peices: those who oversee his army."

A/n: y'all gonna be pissed at me after this one.