A Whisper of Night

9.3 || SCIROCCA 🍃

           

Stunned silence. And then the soldier behind the farmwoman sheathed his sword, his face twisted cruelly.

    "How do I know you're telling the truth, Princess?"

    "Because I can describe them," she said. "The boy's name was Luka, the girl's Zalyne." Her tongue was moving now, spinning the truth she'd sworn never to speak. "He had curly brown hair and a stout figure. She was injured on her left shoulder and had curly hair, too. They mentioned stealing and losing their horses."

    The soldier leaned forwards, his eyes narrowed. "And what were you doing out in the fields, little Princess?"

    "I wanted a breath of fresh air," she said. "I-I wanted to get out of the city. I've been doing that since - since I was a little girl."

    "And did they mention where they were going?" the soldier said.

    "N-no," she said. "B-but...they may have been going to the Nightfire Isles - "

    "But from which port?" demanded another soldier.

    "...Husling."

    All of them turned towards Melia. The innkeeper spoke to the floor, her voice barely a croak.

    "What?" said the soldier. "Husling City?"

    "I...I smuggled them out. Onion cart. P-please, s-stop - it hurts - let me go."

    "She's weak," scoffed the soldier. "Can't even take a few bruises and cuts."

    "Let her go," Sirok ordered. His voice was astonishingly calm. "Let us talk like civilized men."

    "Yes, of course," the soldier said, leering at him. "However...this woman did commit treason. And that cannot go unpunished."

"NO!" Melia shrieked.

With a sickening crunch, the blade entered her throat.

    People screamed, sobbed, wailed. The farmwoman scrambled away, her son in her arms, a hand over her mouth.

    Scirocca collapsed. She felt the marble at her knees, her hands, coldness cutting through her skin. Bile burned at the back of her throat, threatening to choke her –

    "Let them leave," one of the soldiers was saying. "Our business here is done."

    Scirocca stared at the pool of blood, at Melia's lifeless body. Somehow she thought of the oat cakes the innkeeper used to bake for her when she was a little girl, barely the age of that farmwoman's boy....

    This is my fault...all my fault....

    "The queen wanted us to bring back the traitors," a soldier was arguing. "We shouldn't have killed - "

    "We still have this one," another soldier said, grinning. "She'll make a good hostage - I mean...bride. There are plenty of suitable bachelors in Scorvald. Take me, for instance." The men around him burst into laughter.

    "We'll take her to the Lion Queen," said the guard with the whip. He seemed like the captain. "She'll decide what to do with her there."

    No, Scirocca wanted to say. No, no, no - this can't be happening -

    "You can't," Sirok said, his lips pressed tightly together.

    "Oh?" one of the soldiers strode forwards, his eyebrows raised. "And why is that, your Majesty?"

    "She is betrothed," he said calmly. "Betrothed to one of the Alchemists of the Labyrinth. You know that such unions cannot be broken."

    The men fell silent.

    "However," Sirok continued, "you may have my younger daughter, Merocca. Although both are legitimized, her claim is stronger than this one's. She is trueborn."

    "I heard she's sickly and barren," spat one of the soldiers. "Why would Lleona want someone like her?"

    "You heard falsely," Sirok said. "She has been sick recently, yes...but illnesses are fleeting. Bastardy is not, and even legitimization does little to heal it."

    The men hesitated.

    "You know," one of them said, "if I didn't know you better, your Majesty, I'd say that you're trying to get rid of your daughter."

    "Why'd he do that?" laughed another soldier. "He's already losing this one. He's probably too old to get another baby out of a woman."

    Scirocca could see Sirok's jaw tighten with anger, but he said nothing.

    "We'll bring these terms to Queen Lleona," the captain decided. "We know that a betrothal to one of the Lyagen's men is holy. She won't be happy, though...."

    "...with my only trueborn daughter?" Sirok gazed evenly at the men. "I could not be giving her a better apology."

    He turned away, stalking out of the Hall. Scirocca stumbled after him.

   I'm sorry, she wanted to say, to scream. I'm sorry - but for what? There seemed to be too many reasons for her to apologize, and far too little words.

    Sirok had just lost both of his daughters. But he had not given Queen Lleona a legitimate claim to his kingdom...no, in a few years, although nobody dared say so, Merocca would be dead....

    Like Melia....

    The guards would go up to Husling City, she knew. There they would question and kill and question and kill the men of the city until they found which ship the fugitives had taken to the Nightfire Isles. And from there....

    How many lives had Scirocca destroyed by helping the two fugitives? How many lives had she ended with her one act of rebellion, her one act of defiance?

    Sirok stopped at his room. Scirocca nearly ran into him.

    "Father," she managed, her voice trembling, "I'm sorry."

    Sirok said nothing. His throat moved as he swallowed. He looked a thousand years older now, even older than Mossbeard.

    "I just...I wanted to help them," she said. "I wanted to...I wanted to defy you. I was angry." She tried to summon that anger she'd felt that night in the fields, but the fury that had consumed her just a week ago was gone, as foreign as the accents of the Lion Queen's men.

    Sirok raised his head. "I leave for Slagheld on the morrow," he said quietly. His voice sounded like dust and bone, like the muted grayness of exhaustion and the bitter tang of defeat. "You...you will stay here."

    "I'm sorry," she whispered. The words were empty. "I really am."

    He sighed. "Get some sleep," he said. Had it not been for the sorrow in his eyes, he would've sounded caring...almost loving. "You have a wedding tomorrow."

    Scirocca nodded, swallowing as her father shut the door in her face.

    As she strode down the hallway, she could've sworn sheheard him sob.

~~

Yikes...Scirocca, Sirok, and Merocca are all screwed.

Just out of curiosity: who's your favorite protagonist?

Next up, a chapter I've been planning for 20 years (just kidding, haha, but I'm still super excited for it!): Astna's first battle!

Thanks for reading! Please vote and comment!