Astoria

f i f t y - n i n e

Jonathan had never imagined himself reentering King's City like this. It had always been a triumphant entry, at least the way he had pictured it. In his mind, he would march into the city in a fashion befitting a conquering hero, his revenge on Rupert having been accomplished.

Now however, it was a subdued group that entered at the city's gates. There was no fanfare to greet them, no people rushing out to welcome the returning soldiers. There was no joy, or satisfaction in a battle well-fought, among the small group of men who now hurried through the sleeping streets of King's City.

The night was chill, the air laying still over the city, and mist crept in at the edges of the streets and in between the buildings. The moon was barely a crescent, and feathery clouds scudded across the sky, hiding its light from view occasionally.

Jonathan rode at the group's head, Captain Aaron Landon by his side. Both men were silent and both stared grimly ahead. Neither spoke. At regular intervals, Parker brought his horse back around from the back of the group, behind the supply wagon, to the front, where he made his report.

It was always the same: "no change".

Jonathan himself felt uneasy for more reasons than one. He was coming back to the place that had held so many bad memories for him, and he felt somewhat apprehensive, especially as the palace, perched on its hilltop, came more and more into view.

However, he tried to push these feelings away and focus on his mission.

He glanced worriedly back at the supply wagon as they approached the beginnings of the road uphill to King's Palace. They had tried to make the wagon as comfortable as possible, but he worried that the uphill ride might be somewhat bumpy or jarring.

"Why are we slowing?" called Parker, softly, riding back to the front of the group once more.

"Sorry," said Jonathan, shaking his head to clear it. He picked up a bit of speed, Captain Landon following.

***

Parker held his breath from his spot atop his mount, as the battlefield physician took the king's hand in his own and held two fingers to his wrist, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The physician looked up. "No change," he said, frowning.

"That's...good, right?" said Parker. "If there's no change...he's still holding on, right?"

The physician shook his head. "I will be honest with you, young man. This is a bad situation here. I can only hope that the King's Physician at the palace will have skills beyond my knowledge of basic battlefield wounds."

Parker frowned, but said nothing, only kept his mouth in a straight line and watched Antony, his hands clenched tightly around the reigns of his horse.

"Anything?" called Jonathan, his voice strained.

Parker shook his head, not wanting to repeat that there had been no change.

It had been this way the entire return journey from the rebel island. Antony's pulse remained weak and slow, and his breathing was heavy and labored, yet he still managed to hold onto life by the barest margin, through the fevers, through the chills, and through the times where he struggled, as if in fear.

Parker himself felt rather guilty. A manservant, he reminded himself, is supposed to go into battle with their master and to protect him and fight for him as much as it is in his power to do so.

He shook his head and directed his gaze straight ahead as they crested the hill and entered the courtyard of King's Palace.

***