The Poisoned Throne

Chapter 21

Thomas

The new year came shrouded in a cloak of fog so thick that human sight could not penetrate it. In the south of Etheron, unlike the mountains, there was no frosty winter teeth that bit into uncovered faces and hands, not was there harsh winds that cut through layers of clothes like needles of ice - there was only this; a thick, blinding whiteness that tumbled down the mountainsides to settle over the marshlands.

The army had set up camp around the Eugene estate, but Evelyn and Tiraq as well as some of their friends and advisors had been given accommodation there. Thomas, having been recognized as a musician, was invited in, too. In the evenings, at dinner, he would alternate between playing old, well-known pieces and some of his own, newer works.

It was on the eve of the first day of the new year that the army was spotted - the other army, the approaching army.

That morning, the Queen had unexpectedly called on Thomas. He had just finished dressing, even though the sun had long since risen above the horizon. His head was pounding and his stomach was unsettled by the consumption of not entirely healthy substances the night before. The powder that one of the soldiers had shared with him had made the already magnificent, futuristic pyrotechnic display even more surreal. The colors had shone bright, glowing and flashing against the black sky.

“Your Grace,” he said when he stepped out into the small sitting room that he shared with two other men, who lived in the other two adjacent rooms. “How can I help you?”

She pulled out a folder - his folder, he realized. “You forgot this yesterday,” she said. “I thought you might want it back.”

Thomas pondered about the strength of that powder as he took the folder from her hands - he had never forgotten his compositions anywhere, nor were they ever far from his hand. “Thank you,” he said. “It is very kind of you, though I have to ask why you did not simply send a servant with it?”

“I’m glad you asked,” she said. “You see, when my brothers learned to lead armies and fight with swords, my mother made me take music classes. I wasn’t particularly talented, mind you, but I can read nodes, and I was quite fascinated with one piece.”

His blood rushed to his face. “You read it?”

“Oh, you don’t mind, do you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “There are just… a lot of unfinished symphonies.”

“I only read one,” she told him. “The one on the very top. Journey Home. Is that the title?”

“Working title.” He cleared his throat. “It’s rather… fluid, I agree. Its style changes a lot.”

She frowned. “Oh, I’m sure you’re right,” she said, “but that’s not what I was talking about. I just noticed the author name - a William Smith.”

For a moment, he stood, taken aback. Then, he lowered his gaze, nodded. “He started the symphony, yes.”

“But he didn’t finish it,” she noted. “Why not?”

He swallowed deeply. “He died.”

“When?”

“A few months ago,” he said.

“Right,” she said.

He nodded. “We were traveling together when it happened - just before I met your army, actually.”

She stood pouting for a moment, lost in thought. Then, “Oh, so I suppose I should say sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he said. “If you mean it, that is.”