Chapter Five
Light and Dark

The Palace’s courtyard was beautiful. From the outside, the complex had seemed a bit monolithic and ostentatious, its high walls both a deterrent and a necessary part of its construction on the rocky terrain. But once inside, the architects had gone out of their way to create an atmosphere that was both regal and cozy. 

Compared to the southern Palace, it was, indeed, not that big. But everywhere he looked, Cinero saw signs of wealth and comfort that were beyond his admittedly low expectations for living standards. It didn’t take much to impress someone who had grown up first in a farming community and then in mercenary barracks, after all. 

The largest building, at the far end, was a layered structure, combining the light wood of the hardy northern trees with its basalt stone, and dominated the scene, but Cinero’s attention was drawn to the ornate fountain between the buildings. He watched the water gently cascade from the central, spiral pillar, into the little pond, with no idea how they got the water up there. He caught Caerella looking at it too, and they exchanged a brief nod. He didn’t want to look like a country fool for being mesmerised by running water of all things but, well, it was new to them nonetheless. 

After having passed through the gates, they’d been given an escort, an entire patrol of over a dozen guards, to walk them up the steps to the Palace proper. It was clear some of them had not anticipated carrying a stretcher up those steps, but if they had complaints, they didn’t voice them. 

Stopping just short of the fountain, the steward ran up to them, with the awkward gait of someone with a king waiting for them while simultaneously trying to look dignified, and not really succeeding very well at either. Flaveo chuckled. 

“Shut it,” Caerella whispered, but the corners of her mouth had curled up slightly. 

“Make me,” Flaveo said under his breath, but as the man approached them, he bowed at the waist with the rest of them, quickly standing back up. Cinero wasn’t very familiar with decorum, but doing as the others did had always served him right. 

“Gentlemen, milady,” the mousy man said, “I fear the normal introductions and regulations will have to wait, as His Highness King Lucius is… pressed.” He took a deep breath. “Do not look His Majesty in the eye unless he addresses you directly. Do not speak unless spoken to. Keep your answers brief and to the point. If what you claim is true — which His Majesty will verify himself — you will be handsomely rewarded, but impolite or improper behaviour will not be tolerated.”

“Righty-ho,” Flaveo said with an indecipherable expression that could rival Cinero’s own. One of the guards made a noise that could be read as someone masking a snort with a cough. 

“Excuse me?” the steward said. It was clear he had heard what Flaveo had said. His brain was now furiously discussing the matter with his ears, who must have surely made a mistake at some point. 

“We understand, and will abstain from impropriety,” Caerella said with a voice sweet as poisoned honey. Somehow, while looking straight at the steward, she managed to give Flaveo a withering glare through her peripheral vision. With a curt nod, the steward spun on his heels. It was clear they were expected to follow. When the man’s back was turned and they followed, Caerella walked next to Flaveo. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Worth it,” Flaveo said. “I’ll behave. Promise.”

They hadn’t met the King when they’d received their assignment. Royalty wasn’t expected to interact with the common people like themselves for something like that, obviously. But the news that Prince Clarus might be alive, well, that was a different matter, wasn’t it? They were led not, as Cinero had expected, to the largest building, but to one off to the side. It was ringed by beautifully decorated columns and banners, a beautiful, if slightly weathered carpet leading up the steps. Behind him, Cinero heard the guards lift the large stretcher again, and he could’ve sworn he heard someone mutter a curse under their breath as they made their way up the steps. 

The large doors were pulled open, revealing a small antechamber. He did his best not to stare too much at everything, but it was hard to ignore the beauty, from the architecture to the furniture, all masterpieces of craftsmanship and artistry. 

“Don’t worry, lad,” Rubicus said, walking next to him, “nobody’s going to get on to you for looking. That’s what it’s for.” The man grunted. “And I doubt we’ll ever see the like again, so it might be worth getting an eyeful.” Cinero nodded, and let himself stare, his head on a swivel. He felt a little bit like he had the first time Caerella had taken him to a confectionery. He’d been no more than twelve at the time, right after his first outing with Rubicus’ party. It had been a reward. The smells coming from every direction had been almost overwhelming. Up until then, he hadn’t imagined smells like that even existed. 

Similarly, what he saw here defied what he’d thought houses could look like. Windows large enough to fit two horses side by side, with room for riders. Doors inlaid with marble reliefs depicting ancient kings, queens and regents. Everywhere he looked, there was more to see. Even the floor was decorated with coloured tiles, mosaic tableaus depicting events from legends Cinero had never heard of. 

And then they were through another set of large doors, and the almost comically exaggerated stare from the steward made it clear that now they would be in the presence of royalty and they had better behave please and thank you very much. 

The room they’d been led into looked to be some kind of meeting hall. A wooden table had been moved to a far wall, with the center of the space now occupied by a marble block that Cinero couldn’t even imagine having been moved here, let alone on short notice. Behind it, flanked by various men — advisors and different flavours of sycophants, Cinero assumed — stood King Lucius, clad in royal white. 

Cinero could see the family resemblance. The one and only time he’d seen the king had been from a mile away, when he’d waved from a balcony at the populace. But now, up close, he saw the carefully kept beard. Where Prince Clarus had blonde hair, the King’s hair had long grayed, and the past decade had not been kind to him, but the sharp jawline and high cheekbones he’d clearly passed on to his son. His face was a network of worry lines, giving him a grim visage, and his shoulders carried the weight of a lifetime of service to the people. Even before the war, his kingdom had seen its share of turmoil. Eight years of war and almost a decade without an heir had left their marks on him. 

But not his eyes. Even from across the large room, Cinero saw that flicker of terrible hope. It was one he’d seen before. After the war, a lot of people had hoped to see family members again. That flicker of possibility, seeing a familiar face only for it to turn out to be a trick of the light. King Lucius had long given up hope of seeing his son alive again. Next to them, the steward hissed out of the corner of his mouth. 

“Bow. Now.” Cinero heard a sharp intake of breath from Flaveo, who had been elbowed in the ribs by Caerella, either because she’d seen him about to say something, or as a preventative measure. They bowed before the King as the Prince’s body was carried forward and laid on the table, face still covered. 

King Lucius was the one to pull the cloak down. None of the others had dared to move. When the Prince’s face was revealed, the collective gasp was as dramatic as it was comical. There had probably been the assumption that this had all been a fakery, or that the rumours of Prince Clarus’ escape from death had been exaggerated. But the ever-so-gentle rising and lowering of his chest, the almost-imperceptible blush were unmistakable. The only one not to reel back, not to show any shock or surprise, was King Lucius himself. Instead, he only reached forward, putting his hand on his son’s motionless cheek. When he spoke, the whole room went quiet. Despite being barely above a whisper, his voice carried across the space. 

“My son,” he said, and then his voice broke. “My boy.” He stepped back, tears staining his beard. Nobody said a word. Cinero wondered what it was like, to be so isolated that nobody even moved to help, so offer a word of consolation. The King looked at the steward, and nodded. The man turned to Caerella. 

“We may discuss payment,” he said, looking at the door, indicating that such brutish and crude matters should and would not be discussed in front of the King. Caerella bowed to the King, and followed the steward out the door. Cinero briefly wondered if they should follow them, but since Flaveo and Rubicus made no such attempts he decided against it too. 

“Cassion,” the King said softly. 

“Yes, Your Highness?” The man to his immediate right shuffled forward. He had clearly been chewing his attempt at a beard, little flecks of spittle on his lips .

“Don’t just stand there,” King Lucius said. He was clearly a man of few words. The man he had addressed as Cassion clearly didn’t possess that same quality. 

“Of course, Your Highness,” Cassion said, producing a long, thin vial, no wider than a straw. “I have concocted a tincture of magic that is both safe and potent, that would wake even the deepest sleep. It is, in my humble opinion, some of the finest magic—”

“Cassion,” the King interrupted, his voice shattering Cassion’s rambling like a hammer to a window. The court mage looked taken aback. 

“Yes, Your  Highness?”

“For every minute you spend sniveling instead of resurrecting my son, I will have you clean every latrine in the kingdom twice over.” Cassion’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. 

“Yes, Your Highness,” he said, and then carefully hurried over to the Prince’s side, and carefully held the vial over the young man’s mouth, his hand trembling slightly. Then, a single drop of a silvery liquid fell from the glass, and onto the sleeping figure’s lips. The whole room held its breath for a few seconds. Nothing seemed to happen for a moment. Then nothing happened for a few moments more. The King started to deflate. Cassion’s face went from reddish, to red, to a deep purple. 

Prince Clarus gasped. Cassion fainted. The King leapt forward, raising his son by the shoulders. Cinero looked around the room, at everyone intently staring at the scene in front of them, at the men who had no idea what the proper decorum was for a situation like this. The Prince stirred again. Then Cinero heard something. Something that seemed to come not from in front of him, or to his sides, or above or behind him. He heard a voice inside his head. 

“Hello?”

His jaw tightened so strongly he thought his teeth would shatter. A feminine voice rang through his head, making it sing like a bell.

“Thank goodness, I thought there’d be only men in this room. Clarus is a wonderful man, but since he doesn’t seem to be waking up, I was wondering if I could be in your head for a spell.” There were so many things he had no idea what to respond to first, and so he went with the most obvious question first.

“What?” Cinero whispered. Flaveo frowned and looked at him. Cinero quickly shook his head, pretending that hadn’t been him. So apparently he was hearing voices now. 

“No need to speak out loud, sapling, I can hear your thoughts just fine as is, if you concentrate. I do need your permission, I fear,” the voice said. 

“For what?” Cinero thought back at it, doing his best not to giggle. This was, he felt, a truly inopportune time for him to go spectacularly insane. 

“To ride along. I swear by the stars I will not be obtrusive. I would only like to lay eyes on him, if only once more.” Something about the melancholy tone in the voice’s, well, voice, shook him out of his oncoming hysteria. 

“The Prince?” He looked at the figure in his father’s arms. Whoever the voice was, he couldn’t blame her. 

“Indeed! I can bestow boons upon you in return!” From quiet and sad, to bubbly and happy in a heartbeat, the voice seemed more than a little excited.

“Like what?” 

“How does youth and beauty, if not everlasting then at least outlasting any beast, sound to you?” Cinero couldn’t argue with that. Women did seem to like beautiful, youthful men. Not that the interest of women was something that occupied his thoughts much. 

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Aesling. You can call me Ash, if you like.”

“Why are you in my head?” It was hard not to entertain the thought of this voice being real, that this wasn’t a stray thought gone too far. 

“I am not in your head. I am in the Prince’s head. I would like to not be. Would you like green eyes? I could give you those.”

Cinero thought for a moment. The thought of being beautiful, what that meant to him... Could she really change him, pull him away from the brink of what adult manhood meant? Even if she couldn’t, if she was really just a figment of his imagination, would it really matter if it made him happier? 

“Okay,” he said. 

Then, too many things happened. He experienced a fullness in his head, like he was a cup now overflowing, a thousand thoughts and memories that weren’t his crashing around in his brain. 

At the same time, the Prince’s eyes opened, and the sword he’d had clutched in his hand fell to the floor with a loud clatter. His voice was barely audible. 

“Father?” Prince Clarus said. “Wait, no!” Then, as a loud cackling began to fill the room and the King was thrown back, everything went white.

Elamimax

You know, if I had a nickle for every story I've written where someone suffering from untreated depression becomes unwitting host to an entity of questionable morality who gives them advice, I'd have two nickels, which isn't much, but it's weird that it happened twice.

If you want to read all the way up to chapter 22 (which is how far I've written so far)  you can do so on my patreon. or you can wait, like a good little critter :)