The Exiles

35. Another Tale

The castle bustled with noise as many servants and many hands prepared the city for a big day. Outside the royal kitchen, a bevy of workers walked in and out all evening, carting this and carting that. Smells of many delicacies wafted through the halls, causing many a stomach to rumble and mouths to water.

In the grand hall, others hung from rafters or stood on rungs of ladders, putting up decorations. In the gardens, some trimmed hedges and picked off weed, yet others cleaned out stables and the royal barns and hosed down the cobalt courtyards.

Speaking of the courtyard outside, a cacophony of excited chatter as villagers put up stalls and games for the fair after the ceremony, a Chymer tradition, filled it. Somewhere in the apartments surrounding the square, music floated out as musicians tuned their instruments and tried out melodious notes.

Beyond the keep, the sun was setting for the night at a leisurely pace, splashing its rich hues across the purple sky. The winter chills had ended, and the days had warmed. Hot air occasionally blew in from the east, bringing with it the scent of the orchards mixed in with the seas over the hills.

Amer stood at his window, staring down at the merry crowd, at the colourful tapestry of their tents. There was laughter down there, joy, but he was not ready for this. "I still think we are being hasty," he said, not looking to see if his mother was still in his room. He hadn't heard her leave. "Papa could still wake–"

"It's been months, Amer. Your Papa may never..." He heard Mama shuffle uncomfortably on the chair she'd pulled up next to the desk earlier.

"Even if Papa came around, he would not take the throne, brother. He gave his word at the Council Rock," Ursa said resolutely. Coldly. She'd become a great council to him in the past few months, but Amer still hated the way her voice sounded like the finality of steel on a polished sword. Sharp. Hurtful. Deadly. "You are the next king, whether you like it, and Papa was a man of his words. As you should be."

"Don't say was, Ursa!" Amer bit his lip till it hurt. After a moment, he said, "I know nothing of how to be a king." He finally turned and meet the women's gaze. "I don't trust that I can do this as well as he; steward this land and its people towards a new age and prosperity. I need his council."

"Well, you're going to have to do without it." Ursa stood taller, her shoulders squarer. Even her jawline seemed to have hardened over the months that Amer hardly recognised her as the same Ursa who had birthed babes and looked after injured animals, nursing them to life ever so gently.

"You have Uncle Rea, Ursa, Klune Ord, Lord Grisdon, even Mama and I," Mama stood from her chair and approached him. She'd lost a lot of her strength in the months since Papa fell. Her joy was gone. Even her once-honey-coloured eyes had turned darker, like a stormy night. She rarely smiled these days unless she was with Mawsie, and she sobbed whenever she brought herself to visit Papa's chambers, which was rarely. Amer had noticed. He'd noticed it all. How she barely touched her food or refused to conjure even the simplest weaves. How she'd punish herself with little things: walk till her feet bleed, stay up till her eyes were red. He wished he could help her break free, but he didn't know how to convince her she was not at fault. Yet every day that Mama stood in the temple, silent, her shoulder drooping like an old woman's rather than a once-fearsome Commander, he knew. He knew she blamed herself for Papa laying upon a bed since that day, unresponsive. The waters had healed his wounds so that only shiny white scars remained, but it seemed they hadn't healed the shredded soul beneath.

Mama reached up to caress his cheek and Amer tried not to shrink away from her touch. She needed to be reminded of their love, not their admonishments. She needed their permission to love them. It was painful for him to watch her trying to smile up at him. "You were born to lead, my darling. You were meant for this. Have faith that you Papa knew what he was doing when he declared you their next king, for he was not only merciful–" her voice hitched in her throat and tears glimmered in her eyes. "He was also wise. Sometimes, too wise. You must trust him... That he knew what he was doing..."