Screams. Cries. Death.
Evanthe hurried to the mansion's foyer where scuffling and shouts could be heard.
"Please let father be alright, please let father be alright," She muttered to herself as she rushed down the winding steps. The exchange of swords could be heard reverberating through the air and the metallic stench of blood hit Evanthe's nose as she got closer.
How did things get so wrong? Weren't the Cernat family a house that dutifully served the royal family for generations? Were we not loyal to the kingdom? My brothers died for this country! A thousand questions raced through Evanthe's mind as she ran towards the commotion, hiking up the skirt of her dress. There was no time for pleasantries nor formalities.
If this was done in another setting, she would no doubt be scolded by her nanny for acting so unladylike. But being ladylike at this moment will not change the fact that the royal family have sent out a decree.
A decree for House Cernat's exile.
They will not stop even if she asked them to. There was no time to settle anything in the name of tact and prudence. Her family was in trouble. Her father may not have much time left to live. She would rather see his face, his last act in glory and honour, his valiant form as he fought for the family than hid in the safety of her room in shame.
Her nanny was instructed under no circumstances Lady Evanthe should be let out of the room, until after they had taken the head of the Cernat family to the capital. House Cernat was accused of colluding with conspirators to overthrow the royal family.
It was laughable, such an accusation.
The House of Cernat had been the backbone of the Arodian Kingdom, a needed and trustworthy ally in a sea of aristocracy driven by wealth and greed. Along with two other Houses, it could be said that they were the founding families that established the kingdom, aiding the royal family in securing the seat of the throne. While this was a part of history that happened decades ago, such a relationship should not be taken lightly and should still be honoured.
Then, why were the most elite of the royal guards, the Kleron, here? Was father so important that they need to send the guards only deployed for battle here? Why were they heavily armed when they should be whisking father away in a civilised manner?
Evanthe could feel the tension in the air. There was a lingering premonition of imminent death and she didn't want the last of her memory to be filled with images of her brothers dead on the battlefield, and now with the possibility of her father joining them. She couldn't bear the thought of parting with anyone else dear to her, and if they were to kill her father, they might as well kill her together.
She stole away the first moment she could when she noticed the maids acting suspiciously after Count Eamon announced that some very important guests were to arrive later in the day. They talked in hushed whispers and gently ushered the young lady away whenever they found her near their master's quarters. In the end, they confined Evanthe to her room, telling her that these were matters of the master and that the young lady should not worry about these things.
"That is absurd!" She thought to herself. A letter with the seal of the royal family came that morning calling for an investigation of the Cernat family charged under the crime of conspiracy. The members were to be temporarily exiled and the head of the family was to report to Ieshagard to cooperate with the investigation. This was conveyed to Evanthe during breakfast which her father made light of it. Evanthe almost choked on her food. Conspiracy? Wasn't this something big? Shouldn't Father be more worried about this? The royal family have accused them of conspiring!
Seeing Evanthe's worried expression, Count Eamon gave her a reassuring smile.
"It's nothing to worry about. I will handle it when I report to the capital. Apparently, they are not satisfied with Eomer's and Eugen's deaths," Count Eamon spoke as if it did not concern him, but Evanthe knew it shook him when he learnt about his sons' passing.
When she first heard the news of her brothers' demise on the Eastern front, she was devastated. They were stationed at the edge of the Vlacor plains, a strip of land that bordered the Arodian Kingdom and the neighbouring Qaiyaron Empire.
Strategically speaking, Arodian soldiers posted at the borders of the Vlacor were relatively safe. The altitude in the Eastern plains was such that the land occupied by Arodia was significantly elevated than its neighbour. This gave Arodian forces the necessary advantage to foresee incoming advances from the empire. Not that there were any attacks as of late. It was relatively peaceful between the two nations.
However, recent unrest swept within Qaiyaron's Eastern region, an uprising that was fought between two of Qaiyaron's provinces. Intelligence gathered that there may be refugees crossing over into the Arodian borders and among them, armed defectors from Qaiyaron. While this was of no business to the Arodian Kingdom, the Qaiyan envoy specifically requested if the empire could use the strip of land to temporarily accommodate the refugees. The royal family agreed and in the name of good diplomatic relations, offered to send in a platoon of Arodian soldiers to guard the plains.
This platoon was from the House of Cernat, led by Eomer Cernat. As Cernat's territory was located within the Eastern region close to the Eastern front, they were naturally deployed to aid the Qaiyan refugees. Father was upset with the arrangement-- the royal family knew Duke Marchand's territory was equally widespread within the Eastern region; perhaps more so than House Cernat. With his assistance, his men could be used to further strengthen the borders of Vlacor. But the royal family did not mention the Marchand Dukedom in any of their plans.
Eugen tagged along after incessantly begging Eomer and father that he could be of use if there was to be a sudden eruption of battle. Father was against it at first, but he knew having Eugen as support for Eomer would be beneficial. While Eugen was younger, his way with the sword was much sharper than his brother. Eomer, on the other hand, was a trained strategist-- and while he was competent with armed weaponry-- he would rather strategically handle the enemy than fight them head-on.
It was risky, letting the apparent heir and his brother off to a potential war zone. But it was a matter of pride and respect to the royal family that Count Eamon sent his first son to the frontlines. It would deliver the wrong message to the royal family if he had sent Eugen leading the platoon instead.
But who knew that the day they left for Vlacor would be the last day Evanthe would see them?
Who knew both would lose their lives at Vlacor?
Cernat's platoon was supposed to be stationed there for a month to monitor the refugees. To protect them and the Vlacor borders. They were supposed to return unscathed. But then something happened during the night. There was too much commotion. Among the crowd of soldiers and refugees, a battle broke out, the details too fuzzy and inaccurate to really paint an exact picture of the occurrence.
Soldiers under the same banner fighting each other; refugees unexpectedly wielding apt weaponry and spoke in Arodian tongue.
Fire erupted in tents; the platoon's formation scattered.
Buried mines erupted beneath them sending soldiers and refugees alike flying.
Those who lived to tell the tale were delirious, it was as if there was a blank space in their memory and they couldn't quite remember the details of the struggle.
The number of lives lost was staggering for an ostensibly small-scale operation, and the refugees with the Arodian dialect seemed to disappear completely with the explosions. 356 men in a total of 500 deployed by House Cernat were killed in battle.
Eomer was pierced right in the heart by a spear. A surprising precision for an untrained refugee and a counterproductive endeavour for a Qaiyan defector.
Eugen was hit by a mine; his body was never found, probably destroyed due to the impact of the blast.
What in gods name happened there?
They were the Cernat family's pride. Eomer was set to inherit the family's noble title when he turned 25. He was betrothed to a wonderful lady of similar standing and was arranged to be married after he returned from the Vlacor front. He went into battle at 23.
Now, that day will never come.
And Eugen.
Oh, how Evanthe missed him.
He was closest to Evanthe in age by a few years and they were always bickering as siblings would. But Evanthe and Eugen shared a connection. As Eomer was the eldest and often had to manage Cernat's domestic affairs as the next heir, Eugen was the one who chaperoned Evanthe during her walks around the Cernat estate, played with her (although he was often frolicking with his antics), and kept her company when no one in the household would give her the time of day. Evanthe was bombarded with lessons and duties expected of a young lady of nobility. Thus, time with Eugen was a momentary reprieve.
You could say he spoilt her.
And now he was gone.
"Father!" Evanthe yelled as she caught sight of the familiar raven black hair dancing in fury among the blurry mass of clashing men in metal and silver.
It was a stupid mistake. For a moment, time seemed to stop as Count Eamon turned his head towards his daughter in horror.
But that short moment cost him.
A Kleron soldier approached him from behind and swung his blade down, successfully drawing out crimson. The Count stumbled, his leg giving way to its severed tendon. Count Eamon did a final strike-- just as he fell-- and aimed for the neck of the man, one of the most vulnerable parts of a soldier covered in thick armour. Steel hit soft flesh and the soldier gurgled, his blood spraying as he slumped to the ground.
But it was too late.
Count Cernat has fallen.
As swift as it happened, the other retainers of the Cernat family were quickly subdued; the fall of the head a severe blow to their morale.
"Goodness, what a mess. Count Cernat, your form is formidable! If it weren't for your daughter, who knew we would be the last one standing?" A man came up to the Count who was on his knees held by the guards, breathing heavily. He was limping, and his chest plate was splattered a vibrant red. The royal guard took his helmet off revealing his face. Eamon stayed silent and stared defiantly at the guard.
Evanthe couldn't help but quivered.
Haemon Cercel. He was a distant cousin of the Cernat's branch family and the adoptive brother of Eamon Cernat. The Cercel was an aristocratic family that had blood ties with the Cernat, but they were only a Viscount in rank. Haemon was raised as a Cernat before returning to his family's estate at the age of 15 when the Cercel heir had an accident that cost him his life. Normally, Viscount families stayed close to the Ieshagard capital and aided the kingdom in judicial responsibilities and administration.
Haemon, however, was the exception. Being brought up previously as a member of Cernat, he knew how to wield a sword and gained a reputation as a fearsome soldier. Haemon enrolled in the capital's military academy and was selected to join the Kleron royal guards.
Viscount Cercel made his way to where Count Cernat kneeled, lifted his foot and dug into his open wound. The guards on either side held Eamon firmly as he writhed and screamed.
"Uncle, what are you doing? He is your brother!" Evanthe rushed to her father's side but was barred when she came closer. A Kleron guard caught her by her arm and restrained her.
Haemon turned to Evanthe and walked towards her.
"He was never my brother," He sneered.
"Leave my daughter be. This isn't what we agreed," Eamon broke the silence.
"Well, you were supposed to come with me quietly to Ieshagard but look what happened,"
Haemon was within arm's reach. Eamon gritted his teeth.
"What do you want? Tell me!"
The Viscount smiled slyly.
"You are not expected to arrive at the capital. You were slain for colluding with the Qaiyans to overthrow the Somneri royal family. You attempted to defect to Qaiyaron when the Kleron guards intercepted your escape,"
Eamon's eyes widened.
"W-what?"
"Say that you did it. Or I will break her neck," Haemon reached out and grabbed Evanthe by the hair, causing her to cry in agony.
"Hurt her and I will kill you!" Eamon roared.
"Say it," Haemon urged, smiling viciously.
"Don't say it! You are loyal-- you served Arodia, you served Cernat. Father, please don't say it. They will kill me eventually," Evanthe pleaded, her face streaming with tears. Haemon quickly cupped her mouth but abruptly pulled away, his hand red and puffy.
"This lady is feisty. Whoever taught you to bite people?" He chuckled as he shook the blood away.
Evanthe spat the remnants from her mouth and glared at the Viscount.
"Oh, don't you worry, dear brother, I won't hurt your daughter. I will take care of her, a knight's honour. She won't have to die if you say it-- and you have to say it now,"
"Papa, please," Evanthe implored again.
Count Cernat stared at the ground, consumed by the silent conflict in his head.
He looked up and smiled gently towards his daughter, and at that moment, it was as if he aged years. His body looked worn and haggard, his eyes ringed with dark shadows. Evanthe felt that he knew this day was coming. Her father was always very meticulous in handling aristocratic affairs. He would never have gotten into this mess. He could have gotten away. Unless he had a liability. It was her.
"The oleander on the wall; grows crimson in the dawning light," The count's voice was low, almost as if he whispered it to himself. But Evanthe heard it. She trembled. She knew the verse by heart.
"Papa!"
"What?" Haemon dug his ear.
"I colluded with the Qaiyans. I am a traitor," Count Eamon declared.
His voice was clear as crystal, and it rang through the entire estate, the silence deafening. Cernat's retainers sank in defeat when they heard the proclamation. It was enough proof to deem the House of Cernat a Qaiyan collaborator with the royal guards as witnesses. Haemon grinned.
"Kill all of them. Bring Lady Cernat to the carriage. We don't want her watching her father's execution now do we?"
"PAPA!" Evanthe screamed as she was dragged away from the carnage. She saw Kleron guards slitting the throats of Cernat men she knew her whole life. Aldier, Nuerweis, Faulkner. Blood sprayed, dyeing the ceramic tiles red. Then she saw the guards heading towards her father.
"No, no, please!" She thought to herself. She wrestled with the guard holding her arms-- a little bit more and she would be free. Just as she twisted herself away and ran back to the skirmish, she caught sight of Haemon slicing her father's head cleanly off his shoulders. She shrieked. His head rolled back, his lifeless figure slumped to the ground.
"Oh dear, who let Lady Cernat back in here?" Haemon turned.
Blood drained from Evanthe's face. She stumbled and without thinking, grabbed a fallen sword off the floor. The Viscount laughed.
"What are you going to do? Kill me? Put the weapon down, that's dangerous,"
She slowly turned the tip of the sword towards herself, and Haemon instantly turned white.
"I don't think you want to do that. You are safe, remember? I promised your father I will take care of you. I won't hurt you," Haemon slowly approached Evanthe, dropping his sword. He raised both his hands in mid-air as he drew closer, but Evanthe knew better.
"May the gods know my fury; may you eat horse shit and die," she cursed him, as she forcefully pierced the blade into her chest. A dull pain struck her as Haemon came racing towards Evanthe, catching her as she fell. Whatever it was he wanted to do with her, it was too late. It was already done. Crimson splotches formed around her bosom and she struggled to breathe. Warm liquid was slowly filling her lungs, flowing up her throat. She coughed out blood.
"Get someone quickly, her nanny must be up there somewhere! Help me staunch the bleeding. Ah, for gods sake, there goes my promotion," Haemon pressed the wound, clearly looking agitated and frightened. Behind him, a Kleron guard yanked his cape off and assisted the Viscount with the wound. The other guards clamoured up the steps in search of help from the servants.
"Hey, child, don't you die on me. You have to live. You are still needed by the Somneri. Do you hear me?"
Haemon's face became a blurry mess, the room swirled and dipped into darkness. Evanthe was losing consciousness. Served him right. She would rather die than serve the royal family. After killing her father and now, with false accusations and treason, the deaths of her brothers were too unnatural to be caused by just a scuffle with refugees. They were framed.
In the darkness, Evanthe felt pain. It was worse than the stab she inflicted upon herself. Her chest felt hot and she clawed at her throat, choking. Panic enveloped her and she screamed.
