Unearth The Shadows

21

Heron Her Lomeon | 26th day of Sprout season

In the morning, heavy knocks rocking the door of his chamber startled him awake.

His body was absolutely raw. Squinting, Heron tried to recollect the eve's events and as they were revealed, bit by bit- him drinking too much, finally inviting Elana to a dance, only to fall on his way to bring it about- he cringed and wished the Ancients burned him with lightning, off the face of the earth forever. No need for Purification, please.

Even after multiple incarnations, he couldn't overcome that amount of shame. Because of his inappropriate state, he hadn't spent the night with Elana, he lay in his chambers, unable to imagine from where he'd gather strength enough to stand.

The knocks on the door sounded again.

Heron was hopeful his leg at least had been granted some healing through the night. But as soon as he pressed his feet on the ground, pain rippled up to his thigh, stinging like a stab where the wound was located.

He was still wearing his uncomfortable wedding clothes. He took off his vest and tugged the edges of his tunic to uncrumple the plies drawn over the night. When he opened the door, another memory of yesterday's night hit him-his father was there for their training for enlistment. "Father, I-"

"Be ready quickly, we must go before I have to open the courtroom."

Heron glanced behind him, beyond the window, finally realizing how early it was. The sun wasn't even out yet. He wasn't ready. He'd had too much to drink, his wound still seared him with pain when he forced it. But he'd given his word. "I won't be long, Father." After ridding himself of his silk, body-fitting trousers for something ampler, Heron was back, out of his chambers and following his father to the stables where they took horses to enter the forest.

Throughout their way, Heron pleaded his father wouldn't scold him for his lack of restraint the previous night. For a change, The Ancients granted him that pleasure. They halted in front of a square field of cobbles stacked together. "I won't be knocking on your door the next time. I expect you to be here before me," Lomeon said.

"When will be the next time?"

"What we agreed on yesterday night," Lomeon said impatiently.

Heron's memory refused to retrieve that information for him. He was torn between waiting until he recalled something or asking the question directly. "I don't remember, Father." There. Lomeon could slap him if he wanted. "Yesterday night I was-"

"An absolute shame to yourself and the Monarchy." The words seemed to cut Heron to pieces. Lomeon interrupted the heavy silence that had settled. "You should be here every morning without exception," he sighed. "Sir Salmior judged it was better to dismiss your former guard. You must take things seriously because if you fail in the city, no one will be there to keep your back."