The Aftermath of Adversity - Reaconia Chapter 19

After the Pyron attack on the capital, the King's council regroups to discuss what happens next. A new regent is sworn, and an ominous letter is received from the enemy.

 

 

Chapter Nineteen: The Aftermath of Adversity

 

            “The pyre can be lit now, Lord Camrey.” Queen Regent Fiora Greer gestured for the newly appointed Magi to step forward. The front yards of Dawnstead castle were brimming with people, yet the air was still, and Burlon Camrey’s footsteps echoed off the stone walls. Along the balcony rail, a series of torches stood, ready to light the mounds of stacked logs meticulously arranged in the lower courtyard, seven in total, which were crowned with the carefully wrapped bodies of the dead.

            Following Magi Camrey was Commander Phillip Hartley, Kingsman Aristede Marsannay, and Archdeacon Cobarus Ammar along with two members of his clergy. Fiora herself stepped down from the raised dais to grab the last torch, doing so with a shaking hand. As she turned to descend the curved stairs to the lower courtyard, she stole a glance to the windows of the royal apartments; King Drom Sease was watching the ceremony from overhead, and he gave her an approving nod, which somewhat resolved her nerve, she grasped the ivory rose necklace on her chest to steady her hand.

The heat from the torch was welcome as she followed the flame, the day was overcast and the air chilly; it got colder and gloomier by the day as Quabriel ended and the winter season established itself. Fiora thought the weather a perfect match for the somber atmosphere that filled the courtyard. Lords and ladies, dressed in their warmest mourning finery, bowed and curtsied to her as she went by; as the betrothed of the former crown prince, she was used to the formality of court life, though since Oliveir’s death nearly eight years past, her treatment in the capitol was all niceties and cordiality. It felt strange to be receiving this attention in genuine deference.

Fiora did her best to acknowledge as many of them as she could, first passing Lord Murano and Lady Corina Eldridge, Lord and Lady Camrey, who were also there to support their son’s promotion, then to the ladies of the court who had helped her that fateful day, who stood with their families; she greeted those ladies with sincere warmth, first Rascheldas and Linnea and Lord and Lady Camrey, then Merlina and Narisca and the Elony’s, and Mareta and Dierdre with Lord and Lady Veyla. The girls all wiped tears with silk handkerchiefs as one of the bodies on the pyre was of their group, Midori Leery, who had perished in the attacks.

Descending the stairs, Fiora scanned the faces of the massive crowd ahead of her which flowed out of the open gates and into the streets of the capitol, closest to the stairs were the castle’s household staff, some poorer townsfolk along the back walls in mere rags despite the cold. She tried to keep her composure as they watched her and the other torchbearers, others had their heads bowed in sorrow, or eyes locked on the bodies of the dead. Snivels and moans began to cry out from the crowd, as some became overwrought with emotion or called out for their lost loved ones that were about to be put to the torch.

The queen regent took her place in front of the closest pyre and cleared her throat to speak. The king had helped her in preparing the speech, and she practiced it many times with Valencia’s help. “Good people of Lossain,” she projected, “As we gather here today, we mourn the loss of our beloved loved ones who have fallen victim in the recent senseless attack on the city and the unspeakable treachery we have faced. Their sacrifice and bravery will forever be remembered in the annals of Reaconia’s history. We stand united in grief, but also in strength, as we honor their memory and vow to uphold the values they fought for and show resilience and prosperity in the aftermath of adversity. Let us take a moment of silence to pay our respects to honor the fallen, and may their spirits find peace in the afterlife. We will not forget their valor and the legacy they leave behind. May their souls rest in eternal peace.” Her voice quivered but she forced out the final words.

“For realm and peace!” Commander Philly Hartley shouted, and a resounding response filled the air from all who repeated him. With that, the seven torchbearers placed the flames to the kindling below the pyres, pausing at each corner to ensure the fire took. The moment of silence followed, save for the hissing and crackling of the dried word and the cries and sobbing wails of the townsfolk; even Fiora fought hard to stifle her emotions as her eyes welled and lips quivered. It helped to think of the traitors and enemy soldiers that numbered amongst the dead too, including Sir Gambrell and other knights that had betrayed them. She took a few deep breaths to control her sentiments.

Before the moment drew on too long, Archdeacon Cobarus Ammar began a prayer from where he stood at the center pyre, arms lifted and eyes closed, his words laced with his thick Drylands accent. “Blessed master, Beacon of Life! Oh, Trea, our guide! As you so steered our descendant fathers to safety, lead our departed friends and loved ones into your warm embrace…”

As Archdeacon Ammar continued, Fiora broke away and ascended the stairs, lifting her black skirts and raising each foot at a measured pace, not trying to run back to safety and out of sight like she wanted to. Around the dais were the most important people in the realm; the remainder of King Drom’s council stood with their families, and all watched her as she returned: Banker Alenron Castellor, Constable Bramrich Reacon, Shipsmaster Tedmar Sanlore, Chamberlain Pherzo Fellgryn, Chancellor Miello Pencarrow, Master of Agriculture Brodden Winderlea, and Huntsmaster Mikhil Oakwood. Fiora had known each of them for years, and many since they had been appointed, and she had never been nervous around any of them until today; her eyes met each of theirs as they dipped their heads in return. Lastly, the revolting gaze of Lady Dovee Rirschire hit her, the King’s cousin, whose beautiful pale skin looked especially so trimmed in black lace and pearls. Fiora walked right past her and stood next to Valencia, clasping her hand nervously.

The old woman leaned into her, and her approval was like a song, “You did very well, Child.”

“The day is just beginning, Ida, don’t praise me just yet.” Fiora gave a laugh, but her stomach turned at the thought. After the funeral ceremony, Fiora was to meet with all the council members behind her, individually, to re-swear their loyalty to the king and crown; she had no inkling of how long that would take, or what they had to say to her specifically. Most of them knew Drom was still amongst them, so her regency was a sore subject in some of their mouths. Directly after that, they were to have a council meeting to discuss the state of the city and how best to respond to the attack. Finally, there were still prisoners held in the dungeons that needed to be questioned.

Nearly two weeks had passed since the attack on the capitol, and the two dragons left neighborhoods crushed to splinters, and dead in their wake, a fortnight since they had all been betrayed by members of their own forces, a fortnight since queen Romay and princess Memora had been taken. In that time, the blood and mud had been wiped clean of the castle, their household guard was rid of all those who were suspected to be enemies, their immediate defenses had been restored, and a majority of the rubble in the city had been cleared, if not sorted through with the hopes of finding living townsfolk… there was still so much to do.

Fiora knew it was best to be present and respectful during the memorial service and not to let thoughts of the day overwhelm her but looking down in prayer put her eyes right on the cobblestones of the courtyard, which laid atop the prisons. She tried to recall a time when the prisons were as full as they were now and could not; the cells were full to bursting, and all those prisoners directly beneath their feet.

            “May the essence of Trea protect us all.” Archdeacon Ammar finished his prayer, and the crowd responded in unison. Now, tendrils of thick black smoke filled the air and heat emanated like a furnace from the pyres; the smell and fumes brought tears to Fiora’s eyes and put an acrid taste in her mouth.

            Ida let out a wheezing cough next to her. “Let us away child, you have done your duty and etiquette does not demand you stay to inhale ashes. Besides, I have something I would like to show you.”

            “If you are sure.” Fiora said, but she started walking as she said it. A clanking of armor told her that Luofan followed her closely. Sir Luofan Kazakha had been assigned to Fiora’s personal guard right after the attacks and he rarely let her out of his sight. And if he did, he was reliably outside her door; she did not know when the man slept.

            “Where are you taking the regent, Lady Jayne?” Luofan asked Ida dutifully.

            “Oh, relax, Sir.” The old woman waved a towel at him that she always carried, “I’ve simply had something made that I want to show our Lady.” When the knight opened his mouth to inquire further, she cut him off, “Oh, we are going to the Reception Hall, Sir. I swear, I have boils on my rump that are less in my business than you are!”

            The knight resigned and fell back into place behind them as they walked through the stone galleries, which gleamed after the latest cleaning. Where once the halls had been bustling with activity, it now was still, though at every corner stood two knights with long axes that lifted their weapons to allow them to pass, at every door stood an armed guard with a key. The castle’s household guard had tripled since the attacks, with lordships or land promised to any family with an able son willing to join the royal forces. Commander Hartley’s barracks filled within two days, and the training grounds ran from dawn to dusk. Fiora’s mind raced on how they would ever produce the resources or funds to pay them; yet another item to add to the task list.

            Two guards allowed them into the Reception Hall. “I have taken it upon myself to have these made before we convene in council this afternoon.” Ida said, and two maidservants went to work unfolding two large bolts of fabric. “It is my gift to you as well for your upcoming coronation, a demonstration of the faith I have in you, dear child.”

            They were sigil banners, still the gold and ruby colors of the Sease-Beauvior, with the Crowned Sun crest emblazoned in shining thread, though in the center, an ivory white rose seemed to bloom in fabric petals.

            “It’s just like my necklace!” Fiora gasped, clutching the medallion around her neck. “Oh, Ida, it’s beautiful!”

            “With your permission, Queen Regent, we can hang them on either side of the throne for the audience with the council members.”

            “Yes, absolutely!” Fiora said, running her hands along the velvet. In the past week, she had felt shaky in her new role, but seeing her family’s crest displayed along with the royal sigil gave her a sense of pride and made her heart steady. An image she had hoped to see since she had been betrothed to the crown prince; if Oliveir had not died, she would have had this already. Tears welled in his memory, and in thanks to Ida who had materialized it. “It is perfect.”

            “Yes, very nice indeed.” A voice called from behind them. Ida let out a sigh and collapsed before she even turned around to answer.

            “It’s only Dovee, Ida.” Fiora giggled silently, “No need to be upset.’

            “I wouldn’t say that I’m mad she’s here,” Ida huffed under her breath, “I just really could live without her.”

            Fiora stifled her laughter as she addressed the girl who walked across the reception hall to them. “Lady Dovee, I want to thank you for standing on the dais with us for the ceremony.”

            “I was only standing, not like it was very hard.”

            “You will address her as Queen Regent, Lady Rirschire.” Ida said, all humor driven from her tone.

            “Oh, calm down, Valencia. Things are not so serious amongst family.” Dovee brushed her off.

            “Amongst distant family, they are.” Ida quipped. The old woman could practically count the twitches in the young girl’s eye as she shot her glare; Dovee Rirschire never liked to answer to anybody, and Ida knew the girl was jealous of Fiora’s new position, as if being the daughter of the King’s cousin gave her any right to the throne.

            “They really are lovely banners, Queen Regent,” Dovee finally said, twisting a jet-black curl of hair between her fingers. “I am sure your family will be so proud to see how far you have risen in recent events. Will we be seeing them this afternoon?”

            Everything the girl said sounded like a threat, and Fiora gave the girl a practiced smile, “Thank you, Lady Rirschire. Word was sent to my father and brother after the attacks, so I am sure they will arrive as soon as possible, however it is a long way from Bridgeport.”

            “Oh, pity.” Dovee gave an amusingly sad expression.

            “That is why the coronation is postponed, until my family and other important nobles can safely make it to the capitol.”

            “My family among them.” Dovee said, “I hear word has been sent to Lakeview for the entire Sease clan to venture here.”

            “Yes.” Fiora said plainly. In fact, it was Drom that had written a letter to his family in secret, explaining everything; she tried not to hide her surprise of Dovee’s knowledge of the letter, and did not even know if it mentioned Dovee’s mother, father, or baby sister.

            “Have you written to your family?” Ida asked the girl. “Perhaps it is time we arranged your journey home, child.”

            Dovee gave a ‘mmm’ in response with a sideways smirk, “How could I leave now when there is such turmoil and uncertainty in the Capitol? I am here at the Queen’s own invitation, after all, and I will be here until she says otherwise.”

            “Well, if you are to stay, you can swear fealty to me, as Queen Regent, this afternoon with the other council members, and represent your family that is not yet here.” Fiora said icily.

            It was apparent that it took every fiber in Dovee’s body to force the curtsey she gave, but she did it, if not incredibly low. “It would be my pleasure.”

            “My pleasure, Queen Regent.” Ida corrected the girl.

            “Great.” Fiora quipped. “Now, if you will excuse us, Lady Rirschire, there is much preparation to do.”

            “Indeed. Always a pleasure, Ladies.” Dovee stood slowly, arranging her hair and skirts before turning to leave, heels clicking on the tiled floors.

            Ida waited until the doors closed behind her before speaking. “Perhaps we should lock her up and question her with the other prisoners.”

            “Oh, Ida, she is harmless! Just clutching to the tiniest bit of influence that she thinks she has.” Fiora giggled.

            “It’s always the most unassuming ones that you have to look out for.” Ida said, all seriousness. “Look at the example we’ve just had, when our armies were infiltrated and loved ones taken away. Let it be one of your first lessons, dear Fiora: “never trust anybody”.”

“Except you, of course!” Fiora clutched the old woman’s hands.

“Yes, except for me,” Ida coughed a laugh, “and Sir Luofan here.” The knight from the Crags bowed low, with a salute, clenched fist to his chest.

“Would you please assemble these in the throne room?” Ida continued, gesturing to the maidservants, who began to roll up the bolts of fabric. “And as for you, Fiora, we really must make haste.”

 

The main throne room was blocked off and unused since the attacks, so the assembly took place in the small throne room adjacent to the reception hall, where the windows overlooked an enclosed ward awash with grey light of the overcast day. A winter garden had just been planted, and the snowdrops were blooming, their white drooping petals creating a lovely backdrop. Fiora sat on a throne at the center of the room, her new sigil banners on either side, behind either shoulder stood two armed guards. To her right stood the brilliantly armored Lord Marshall Reith and King Drom Sease in magnificent black velvet robes, Fiora still thought it strange to see him without a crown on his brow, though he still wore his regalia of gold chains around his shoulders, with the crowned-sunned pendant gleaming on his chest; and to her left stood her sworn guard Luofan, sleek hair pulled into a tight braid, with Ida next to him in her fine mourning dress, though now she donned her emerald green hood that she often wore and a series of rose colored sashes swathed her torso, with the Heart-and-arrow sigil of House Jayne emblazoned on them. Fiora clasped her own magnificent black gown, slashed with the warm grey colors of her house, mostly to subtly wipe the sweat from her hands, but she occupied her shaky nerves by fingering the silvery moon pearls that dotted her dress.

A dull roar filtered into the room from the main entrance hall and commons areas where the nobility waited their turn to pledge fealty to Lady Fiora Greer as their Queen Regent. All conversations fizzled to a hush when guards placed all around the room tapped their staff on the tile floors, after Fiora gave her signal to begin the rite.

Since Chamberlain Pherzo Fellgryn was among those to promise their loyalty, Ida Jayne took it upon herself to formally conduct the proceedings. The old woman stepped forward, clearing her throat to best project her voice. “Lords and Ladies. It is with great honor and reverence that we gather here today to witness a momentous occasion- the swearing of fealty to our new Queen Regent, Lady Fiora Greer! To swear fealty to our Regent is not merely a formality, but a sacred vow of allegiance and loyalty. It is a pledge to uphold the values and ideals of our kingdom, to serve with honor and integrity, and to protect and defend the realm with unwavering dedication. As you kneel before her majesty, remember the oath you are about to take is not just to a person, but to the ideals and principles that our Regent embodies. Let your allegiance reflect your commitment to the well-being of our kingdom and its people.”

Ida cleared her throat before continuing, “Let us stand together, united in our devotion to our Queen Regent and our kingdom. May our allegiance be unwavering, our service be steadfast, and our commitment be enduring. Long live our Regent! For Realm and Peace!”

The vaulted ceilings of the main entrance hall echoed with the reply of a hundred cries for realm and peace.

Commander Hartley was the first to take a knee in front of the throne, gleaming in splendidly polished decorative armor crossed with gold embellishments and swirling gilded appliques, his magnificent fur-lined, one-shoulder brown umber cloak, with the Hartley oxis bull head sigil, pooling behind him, which matched his long, curled hair that fell loose past his shoulders. As the cousin to Queen Romay Beauvoir, it seemed important that he be the one to set the precedent in declaring fealty to their new Regent.

“Phillip, dear child,” Ida said to him, “I call upon you to swear fealty to our new Queen Regent, with hearts full of reverence and minds steadfast in purpose. May this oath bind us all together in loyalty and honor and may our Regent guide us with wisdom and grace.”

“Thank you, Ida, sweet lady. My King.” Philly said, bowing to all who stood in front of him, “And Fiora, our beautiful new Regent. We were once in talks to be married, I come to you now with all the love and devotion I had for you all those years ago.”

Fiora giggled when Philly gave her a wink, despite Ida’s scoffs and raves about formality.

“It is quite alright, Ida.” Fiora said, she stood from her throne and clasped Philly’s gauntleted hands. “Commander Hartley, I do so appreciate you lightening my spirits on what has been a very tense and gloomy day.”

“It will be my greatest honor to provide that for you whenever you need, Your Grace, but Ida is right; If this is to be done, let it be done properly.” Philly said, kneeling again in front of her again, leaning on his sword hilt. “I, Lord Commander Phillip Corion Hartley, hereby pledge my loyalty and fealty to you, Lady Fiora Greer, as my liege. I swear to serve you faithfully, to defend your honor and lands, command your armies proficiently, and to uphold the laws of the realm. May our bond be strong and true, now, and always.”

“I accept your oath, Lord Commander. Your loyalty and service are valued and appreciated, as much now as it was all those years ago.” Fiora laughed. “Will you take your place here next to us?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Philly stepped to the side next to Drom, who placed a hand on the Commander’s shoulder.

“Shall we continue with family?” Ida said, going to the door, addressing the crowd, “will Lady Dovee Rirschire please come forward?”

            A silence filled the hall, and faces darted about looking for the girl summoned, but there was no response.

            This damned girl. Ida thought before calling her again after the moment of silence drew on too long. “Lady Dovee Rirschire!”

            “I am here, Lady Jayne, do not fret.” A sing-song voice called from above them and every head turned to the top of the stairs where it emanated; the group let out a collective gasp when the woman who sang it made her appearance.

            Ida gasped as well, but for different reasons: Dovee Rirschire had shed every bit of mourning attire and now dressed in the Suites fashion reserved for the highest nobility. The room practically glowed in shades of blushes, crimsons, and lavenders with the silks and gossamer lace that swirled around her, the draping train gathering around her feet with every step down the grand staircase; her curled black hair poured over her bare shoulders, pooling in a structured overcoat of rich purple brocade that seemed to blossom from her belted waist. Jewels of garnet and diamond covered her head to toe, including a circlet atop her brow, and picked up every bit of the small light that filtered in from outside.

            The room filled with tittering whispers, and the invitees forgot the entire reason that they were there. Ida knew the girl’s objective was to pull all focus on her, and she had done just that. “This way, Lady Rirschire.”

            Dovee walked past Ida without so much as a glance, gliding to the center of the reception hall, dipping into a curtsey that was nowhere near as low as it should have been. Fiora, Drom and the two guards stared at her speechlessly. Ida presented her the same way she had done for the Lord Commander.

            “My dear cousins.” Dovee began, “I hereby pledge my loyalty pledge my loyalty and fealty to you as the queen of this realm.”

            “I accept your oath, Lady Rirschire. Your loyalty is commendable.” Fiora said, keeping it short.

            “Your Majesties,” Dovee continued. “I serve you faithfully, but I cannot help but feel that I could be doing more in my position. One day, I hope to prove my governance and worthiness for rule.”

            “You choose today of all days�"” Ida began to refute Dovee’s treason, when Fiora put a hand up, silencing her.

            “I appreciate your dedication, Lady Rirschire. Rest assured, I will consider your aspirations; for now, let us focus on the duties and well-being of our people, and let us work towards the betterment of our kingdom together.” Fiora was the very picture of firm graciousness. “Now, if you will join our council, let us continue with the other nobles.”

            Ida announced and introduced each of King Drom’s council members, and their family members who were either in the capitol or could arrive on short notice, and they all took their turns bowing and giving their courtesies. Most of them knew that King Drom was going to be in attendance, though some were surprised to see him, and, to Dovee’s great pleasure, many of them acknowledged her first as they entered the room, standing out so as she did.

The first to enter, coming in alone, was the aged Kingsman Aristede Marsannay, whose frail, brown speckled body was drowning in heaps of robes, a great poppy red cloak over his mourning blacks, with the meersor fox of his house emblazoned on the back. Fiora did not know exactly how old he was, though he had just welcomed a great-great grandchild and had a daughter that was Valencia’s age; his sister was Queen Treanna Marsannay, Romay’s grandmother, and he had been a faithful servant ever since. His loyalty was among those that did not need reassurance, but Fiora accepted his raspy “For Realm and Peace” gracefully. Drom himself stepped forward to help him out of the room.

            The second group were the Camrey’s, with the new Magi Burlon Camrey leading the pack, the dark grey colors of their house with the howling terramancer wolf inscribed throughout. His wife, Londell Lazarus, adorned in gold lightning bolts, followed with their daughters Rascheldas and Linnea. Burlon’s brother, Rorand Camrey, his wife Sohal Meagar, who wore the maroon erseraptor sigil, and their son Lolren were also in attendance, having been in Lossain to present their son as a suitor for Memora. They presented a handsome group, though were tentative, careful to do things properly and live up to their families recently elevated status after the former Magi Fransisc Diversey’s relegation; as a group they bowed to King Drom, then to Fiora.

            “Lord Camrey, I do thank you for your duties in the memorial service this morning, and I hope you are settling well into your new position.” Fiora said.

            “It is our pleasure and great honor, Queen Regent.” Burlon replied.

            “We are most grateful for your trust in us, and though the times are trying, we have been welcomed kindly to court.” Londell Lazarus added.

            “We could not have picked a better candidate for Magi.” Drom said, “All reports say you have proved exemplary in your studies, and you have our support in your quest towards Master.”

            “It is my life’s goal to prove the confidence you have in me, my king.” They all bowed to Drom again.

            “And I do hope, my Lord and Lady, how much of an aid your daughters were to us all on the fateful day of the attack.” Fiora raised a hand to Rascheldas and Linnea. “We are forever in your family’s debt.”

            “Your Grace.” They gave another bow.

            “Together, let us work towards the prosperity and harmony of our kingdom.”

            As they turned to leave, young Lolren Camrey stopped to bow to the king. “Your Grace. I regret I was unable to meet with your daughter, the princess. If there is anything I can do to help find her, I would be happy to assist.”

            “I appreciate your concern, young Lord Camrey.” Drom said, nodding his head dismissively.

            Short on their heels was the royal banker Alenron Castellor, arm-in-arm with his wife, Juevia of house Nolthorn. He was in orange sashes forming an ‘X’ over his blacks, with a spear embroidered on each, resembling the crossed spears of the Castellor sigil, her with the antlered head of an elkaria in golden yellow on each draping sleeve. Both of their daughters were married into houses overseas, so theirs was a quick swearing with just the two of them, but warm, especially since Alenron’s ancestors had served the royal family since the first Reacon king, and Drom had grown up alongside Alenron since coming to the capitol as a young man. Their “For Realm and Peace” was accompanied by handshakes and kisses to each cheek.

            Master of Ships Tedmar Sanlore was next, his son Chiron Sanlore following, the ship sigil embellished on the deep cobalt fabric that decorated them; Tedmar’s wife Ierra Schanandore was on her son’s arm, the red flames on her garments a perfect complement to the black mourning attire she wore. Tedmar’s sister Carellan Sanlore was present with her husband Jamiel Reacon, also in blue, but with the beacon flame of the Reacon sigil, their daughter Adess, and son Kerro Reacon behind them. They each took their turn swearing fealty, taking extra time with the Schanandore wife, though she was a distant relation to the crown’s sworn enemy, Merit, and both Chiron Sanlore and Kerro Reacon were present as suitors to the princess, and each young lord gave their manliest presentation to the King.

            The Archdeacon and his clan followed, filling the room with tan cloaks and robes, with sigils of the giant scarasaur beetle embellished in black; Cobaras Ammar in his priestly robes, his wife Aleasha Everell with the belynx cat of her house embroidered in a grand collar, with yellow-orange sashes trailing over her shoulders and down her back. Their son, Kendar Ammar stood with his wife Seskra Bekarian, whose sigil was represented in bronze icalanth shells and silver moon pearls in her jewelry, and their daughter Pirreha Ammar, who peeked from behind her mother’s skirts. Cabaras’ second son Julval was also in attendance, as was his daughter Melys. They made an impressive group, the women beautiful, the men muscled and sun-tanned, even the older Cobaras. Fiora felt a blush hit her cheeks when Julval stepped forward, there as a suitor to Memora, and noticed obvious glances between him and Dovee, to which she ushered them along, quickly accepting each “For Realm and Peace.”

            The next group was smaller, thankfully, as Fiora began to tire of the precession, though she was able to hide her impatience, unlike Dovee who let out an audible groan as Ida announced Chamberlain Pherzo Fellgryn into the room, who wore a great lavender colored mantle with the Hartebeest sigil inscribed on the back; his wife Mailera Stance was in all black save for an auburn colored veiled headdress, with two long necked chifteralls in blue thread. Only one of their three daughters accompanied them, Elleira Fellgryn, a shy girl who barely said a peep other than her fealty, which could barely be heard.

            The opposite could be said for the next group, as a sea of plum fabric and feathers filled the room, color of House Pencarrow, spotted with their white quill sigil. Chancellor Miello Pencarrow, and his wife Havarra Winsor, belted and draped in grey with enameled coiled black dragorgol snake sigils serving as clasps, led the boisterous family, which included their son Jonvill and his wife, Paryana Knolley, in emerald greens with the grey tusked saurophent sigil, and their young daughters Sabari and Dellana, with purple feathers in their hair. Dalyn Pencarrow, their second son, stood with his wife Benesi Bellevue; she held their son Yarmond Pencarrow, that played with her magenta sashes covered in lorestrills, the feathers she wore of the lorestrill birds shimmered and seemed to change colors in the light as she moved. Miello’s third son Joseram, another suitor for Memora’s hand, bowed to Drom as deeply as his girth would allow, then stood next to his sister Rorutha Pencarrow, nearly as heavyset. They each chattered and talked over each other endlessly, giving their praise and fealty. It was Miello himself who ushered his family away, giving his apologies and a quick “For Realm and Peace” as he bowed out of the room.

            Ida announced their Master of Agriculture next, and Brodden Winderlea stepped into the room, youngest son of a great house in the Plains, he was new to his position as well after his father’s recent death; green fabric draped his shoulders, and a bushel of bundled grass decorated his cape, with wind in silver thread cutting through it. His wife, Miniera Bellevue, wore the same magenta and lorestrill sigil as her distant relative Benesi Bellevue, dipped a deep curtsey next to him; their daughter Lovisa copied her mother’s every move, and their son Jeldan Winderlea, yet another of Memora’s suitors though he couldn’t have been older than twelve, gave the sweetest bow and pledged fealty in his tiny voice.

            The Huntsmaster Mikhil Oakwood was announced next, also a new member of the council after his father Chirac Oakwood stepped down; one would never have guessed by the way he carried himself, he looked as if he were made for the role, though not in a pompous way. The earth brown cloak he wore matched his skin tone perfectly, emblazoned with the great eldertree sigil. The Oakwood’s were among the first Original families that allied themselves to the Descendant line, and the eldertree they harvested proved to be a great resource and made them respectable allies. His wife, Magiel Bellevue, another distant Bellevue relative, was radiant in her magenta accents, beautiful against her dark skin. One of their daughters Tussea Oakwood was in attendance. They each gave their deference in turn, which Drom and Fiora accepted gladly.

            “I understand that your other daughter will be joining us shortly,” Fiora said, “coming from the Suites with the Chavaroche’s.”

            “Yes, we are thrilled for Kimlali’s return, though we are regretful it was not under better circumstances.” Mikhil said.

            “We are aware the Chavaroche’s make the journey to inquire about their daughter after the attacks that have plagued us.” Magiel Bellevue added. “Is there any word of the girl?”

            “We know she is safe, as she was seen after the attacks.” Drom said, “Though she has been absent from court since.” There was no need to explain further.

            “Well, we will keep her in our prayers.” Magiel said, “As well as the safe return of our queen and princess.”

            “Thank you, Lord and Lady Oakwood.” Drom said.

            “Until then, we pledge our fealty to our new Regent. For Realm and Peace.” Mikhil bowed low.

            The final group brought forth for the day, for good reasons, was the family of Constable Bramrich Reacon. The Reacon’s were the founding family of the realms new age, and had served as ruling kings for nearly one hundred and fifty years; when the last Reacon king, Cardal Reacon, fell ill and died with no living male heir, his brother Canon sailed from the Plains to secure his right as next in line, though before he could arrive, Cardal’s wife Korhiana Beauvior seated her own brother Deomaro on the throne, having amassed enough forces to defend their position. Countless battles ensued, some even just outside of Lossain’s walls, in what would later come to be known as the Battle of Brothers; Canon Reacon and one of his sons were killed in battle, and he and Cardal’s sister Lavela Reacon, along with her husband Algierre Schanandore were executed for treason. Such a devastating blow to the Reacon name was unforgivable, and led to generations of Reacon, and Schanandore, resentment of the Beauvior name.

Now, nearly two hundred years later, with a new Sease king on the throne, it was Drom’s prerogative to repair some of the bridges that had been burned and quell some unrest; when the position of Constable opened after the former titleholder, Foramin Knolley, had passed, he offered it to the Reacons, and though it was a far reach from the title of King, they accepted. Bramrich had served well in his position for nearly ten years, until the Pyron Rebellion in 358 AD brought his family into question again, though mainly because of his wife, Lady Danama Schanandore, who happened to be the sister of Lord Merit Schanandore, who thought himself king and ruler of Pyron.

The lady walked into the room on the arm of her husband Bramrich, she adorned in garnets and red silks ornamented with the Schanandore flame, he with his mourning black coat over a royal blue tunic with the Reacon beacon flame on his chest. Four others followed them in, they all bent low in deference and stayed in that position until addressed.

            It was Drom who stepped forward first, “Lord Reacon, Lady Schanandore. It pains me to yet again call on you to pledge your fealty to our family, knowing you have done so many times before.” The king helped Danama to her feet and took Bramrich’s hand in his, “You have proven your loyalty in action and reverence, and it is our great honor to know you as friends of the crown.”

            “Your Grace.” Bramrich said, gesturing to those behind him, “I know you have already met my family and heirs to the Reacon seat at Kingstone: Lord Jamiel Reacon, Lady Carellen Sanlore, their son Kerro, and daughter Adess. As often as it takes, we will continue to show our allegiance and maintain our respect for you and yours.”

            “A pleasure to see you all again.” Drom said as they bowed.

            “It is our pleasure to swear our fealty to your regent, and assure you that you have our support, my King. Regent Greer.” Danama curtseyed again to Fiora.

            “As you have served faithfully as Constable for the last twenty years, we humbly ask you to retain your position as we transition forward.” Fiora nodded back to them.

            Suddenly, the doors opened again at the back of the hall; both Commander Philly and Lord Marshall Reith stepped forward, hands on the hilts of their belted swords. Valencia went to the guard to inquire about the disturbance.

“Your Graces, Lord Donkar Drake, and Lady Betheliare Reacon ask to join their family in deference.”

            “Apologies Drom and Lady Regent. It is our daughter.” Bramrich said, surprised.

            “Then of course they can enter, we welcome them gladly!” Fiora said, gesturing to the guard to allow them entry; in her lessons she had come to realize that the more voices that promise fealty in a family, the greater chance of them abiding by their word.

            “My child, you should not have traveled thus in your condition!” Danama embraced her as she came forward, “Your Graces, I present my daughter Betheliare, and her husband Donkar of House Drake.”

            “My King, Lady Regent. I ask forgiveness for the intrusion, and for our state, as we have only just arrived in the capitol.” Betheliare wore modest travelling attire of the Crag fashion in the blues of her house colors, her blonde hair done in a long simple braid; she dipped in a slight curtsey, as low as her body would allow being heavy with child.

            “House Drake gives their salutations from Bluff Isle, Your Graces.” Donkar bowed next to his wife; he wore the blacks of his house color, unwittingly matching the mood of the day.

            “We are glad you made it here safely, and hope you will be welcome in the capitol, we will be happy to provide any assistance to you in your condition.” Dovee chimed in.

            There was a brief pause as they looked at her confounded, unsure of who they were speaking to. “Why thank you, that is a most kind offer, Lady…” Betheliare said, holding a hand to her stomach.

            “This is Lady Dovee Rirschire.” Ida exasperatedly introduced her.

            “Cousin to the King.” Dovee extended her hand.

            “A pleasure, Lady.” Donkar Drake accepted it.

            “After we received word from about the attacks, we thought it prudent to come to the capitol and give our support to our family, no matter the risk.” Betheliare said.

            “It means so much to us that you have done so.” Fiora said, “and Lady Rirschire is correct, you are welcome to all amenities here in the capitol for your stay.”

            “With the greatest of respect, Your Graces, after the tribulations our family have endured, and the countless times we have been under scrutiny. I humbly ask if this be the last time we are put in this position, especially for my mother’s sake.”

            Betheliare’s parents seemed mortified at their daughter’s boldness as the girl fell to her knees in front of the dais.

            “My King. Regent. I do apologize�"” Bramrich started, though the King cut him off.

            “Think nothing of it, what she asks is fair my friend; your family has demonstrated tremendous loyalty, it is on our end that there has been uncertainty.” Drom helped Lady Reacon to her feet.

            Bramrich sighed in relief at Drom’s informality. “We will do this dance as many times as it takes, my King, to continue to show our allegiance.”

            “You are an example to us all, Lord, and Lady.” Fiora said. “Proof that the name does not define the individual. Your friendship defies the history of our houses, and like the beacon flame of your sigil, we can forge the path ahead in unity.”

            “Nothing would make us happier.” Danama Schanandore said, “I will spend a lifetime trying to make up for the atrocities of my brother, Merit. I cannot control what he does, but we can control how we serve and support our rightful rulers.”

            “Exactly.” Bramrich addressed his family. “So let us swear our fealty once again, with pride and honor, to our new Queen Regent. May our family continue to serve faithfully, as we have always done before.”

            They bowed in deference, and Fiora accepted it, “May your allegiance strengthen our realm and continue to bring honor to your name. For Realm and Peace.”

            “For Realm and Peace.” The four said in return.

            Valencia ushered their subjects out of the room after heartfelt exchanges amongst allies and friends.

            “Oh, thank goodness that’s over!” Dovee’s knees practically buckled the moment the doors closed. “My feet are killing me!”

            “Maybe you should leave and get some rest then.” Ida said bluntly.

            “Fiora, you were excellent today.” Drom said, he hugged her and planted a kiss on her forehead, “Despite all the despair we currently face, it gladdens my heart to see you so successful and profound. You are proving you were born for this role; if only my Oliveir were here to see you.”

            “Yes, my girl, very well indeed.” Ida said, “But still very much to be done this evening.”

            “If it’s not too much to ask, I may need to take a rest as well.” Fiora said. “I am glad you are pleased with me, but I am rather overwhelmed after the day’s events.”

            “We are all at your disposal, my dear.” Ida laughed. “The day’s events are whatever you command.”

            “I never want to command any of you to do anything.” Fiora chuckled.

            “You do not have to attend the council meeting,” Drom said, “I can give you a full report.”

            “No. I want to be there.” Fiora said. “It is my first as official regent.”

            “Delayed, then.” Drom smiled at her. “I can tell the Councilmen that we will meet in two hours’ time.”

            “Thank you, Drom.”

            Ida led both Dovee and Fiora out of the room, Luofan on their heels.

            “It is for the best that the council meeting is delayed.” Drom said when it was just himself, Philly, and Lord-Marshall Reith left in the room. “There is something I require your help with that I would rather not have Fiora be a part of.”

            The only way into the castle prisons was down a small spiraling staircase in the Knight’s tower of the gatehouse and through a series of guarded chambers, which were even more so since the attacks, though all guardsmen stepped aside seeing the king, their commander, and lord-marshal coming towards them. Squelches sounded with the first steps into the prison chamber, and the three greeted a wave of musky damp air. Usually, the typically empty cells were maintained, though with every cell full for nigh on two weeks since the attacks, the necessary upkeep was impossible; being directly under the upper courtyard, sometimes water would leak down between the cobbles when it would rain, as it had.

            Iron-barred cells lined the walls on either side, some double-occupied with gaunt, shivering men, a few raving their innocence once they eyed the king, begging for food or to see their families, and others silently staring into nothing, eyes only squinting at the torchlight as they passed.

            They had questioned some of the men already, though Drom wanted to see if any stories had changed in the days since; Fiora had been a part of the interrogations before, though this time would be… more. He took his time staring at each man. The moment that armed guards, in crimson cloaks as well as blue, had stormed the stage and ripped his family apart was a fleeting one, but Drom had remembered each moment in vivid detail, every scarred brow, every dark eye, every snarled lip that spat at him from under their helms; he saw those faces before he slept, in his dreams, and when he woke each morning.

            “This one.” Drom said to a man he recognized, who squirmed and used every ounce of remaining energy in protest as Philly unlocked the bars and pulled him to his feet. It took both Philly and Reith to haul him out and throw him to the floor of the guardhouse. The man wore only a pair of dirty trousers, his hair and skin soaked with moisture; he crouched, shivering, a fortnights worth of new beard lining his bruised, gaunt face. A far cry from the armed sturdy guard that attacked him; Drom still felt a pain in his ribs from where this man planted his sword pommel.

            “Where are my wife and daughter?” No response.

            “What was the purpose of taking them?”

            After a moment of more silence, he nodded to Philly and Reith, who each took one of the prisoner’s arms and forced it behind the man’s back, causing him to arch up straight, wincing. Philly took a fistful of the man’s hair and made him look at Drom; the king knelt in front of the man, his belt knife’s point dimpling the muscle of the prisoner’s chest.

            “Where are the queen and the princess being held?”

            When Drom felt a blob of spittle hit his face, he applied pressure and a bead of blood formed at the dagger’s tip, then ran in a red stream down the man’s torso.

            “How did you gain entry into my castle?” Drom wiped his cheek with a sleeve.

            “Kill me if you want.” The prisoner hissed through clenched teeth, “You won’t get anything out of me.”

            Drom allowed his hand to draw a line across the man’s upper body with the blade.

            “F**k you and your family�"ah!” The man shrieked, shaking in pain.

            “How many Pyron soldiers participated in the attack?” Drom shoved his fingers into the fresh wound on the man’s chest. “Are there any other attacks planned?” The prisoner screamed and yelled profanities, writhing in pain with a newfound vigor, Philly and Reith struggling to keep hold.

            Suddenly, the man went limp.

Drom picked up his slumped head by the chin, “No, not yet you son of a w***e.” The king attempted to revive the man, slapping his face repeatedly until it was covered in bloody handprints.

“I think this one is done for now, my king.” Reith said.

            Drom sighed, “Throw him back, if you will, and bring me Larserk Waverly.”

            The knights did as commanded, and the king took the time to clean his hands and his blade.

            After a moment, the prison doors opened again, and Philly and Reith brought out the former Master Magi of Drom’s council, the man’s feet dragging on the ground behind them. Waverly at least sat up on his own when he was put in front of the king, though his eyes would not meet his former liege lord’s.

            A long moment passed as Drom thought of what to say. He had taken a chance in bringing the Waverly’s to court; the Waverly’s were an Original family, allies to the crown since the fifth Reacon generation, having created a major stronghold at the base of the Arid Towers in the Drylands. When their family had dwindled to trifling numbers, House Winsor took over Wastehaven castle, establishing dominance in Waverly Hall and leaving the Waverly’s to retreat south to Inclascea. Reparations were made towards their family: vast sums given for their livelihood and suitable marriages made; Romay’s father King Byron finally making the Waverly’s a part of the Descendant line, Larserk’s father marrying a Fellgryn, and his uncle marrying the king’s own cousin Deore Beauvior. Drom himself, in one of his first acts as King, conferred Larserk as Magi after the former Master Magi, Sargyth Sorryn was executed following King Phearro Beauvior’s abdication and exile. Drom considered Larserk a great friend, had taken much advice from him in council, celebrated his family’s marriages, and rejoiced in the birth of his granddaughter; he felt an uncomfortable culpability and humiliation that he had not seen the man’s sedition prior to the attacks.

            “What can I do for you, my King?” Larserk Waverly groused.

            “You can finally provide answers that I need.” Drom spat.

            “I have given you all the information I know!”

            “Then why am I still searching for my wife? For my daughter!” Drom grabbed Waverly by the soiled collar of his former official robes, their faces mere inches from each other.

            “Where both of them on the same ship?” the king asked again when Waverly remained silent.

            When Drom had been interned after the attacks, Commander Hartley made the wise command of shutting down the ports and closing the shipping lanes to the capital. A company of Lossain soldiers detained Waverly and many of the defector Pyron men as they attempted to board a ship, though another ship had already departed, and was presumed to have held the queen, and potentially the princess.

            “I do not know, my King.”

            Drom tossed the man to the ground again, his blood boiling hotter the longer that Waverly played the fool. “Do not call me your king! It is obvious where your allegiance lies, traitor!”

            More silence.

            “Well, what do you know? Tell me!” Drom struck his old friend hard in the jaw with a balled fist. The man crumpled back, and Philly and Reith helped him up again after he struggled with his hands bound.

            Waverly swirled his mouth around, then spit out a tooth in a glob of blood, though still said nothing.

            Drom nodded to Philly, and the Commander extended Waverly’s arm, squeezing the wrist tightly so that all the man’s fingers splayed out. The king grasped the man’s thumb, and put his dagger at the base, where digit met palm.

            Eyes wide and red lips contorting, Waverly began to panic, “No, please my King, you wouldn’t!”

            “I will, and without hesitation, if you don’t start talking.”

            “Th-the queen was on the ship. It was b-bound for Pyron. That is all I know. Your Grace, p-please!!”

            “And what about my daughter?”

            “I don’t k-know!” Larserk’s voice rose as Drom tightened his grip, “She was sent somewhere else, I do not know where, I s-swear it!”

            “How long have you been an ally to Pyron?”

            “Not long, Your gr�"”

            “How long?” the knife blade pressed harder into the soft flesh of Larserk’s hand.

            “Two years or so! Two years!” The man whimpered, tears welling in his eyes.

            “Why, Waverly?” Drom hissed, “After everything I have done for you, how could you betray our friendship and loyalty? What caused you to turn against me and my family?”

            “It is nothing against you, my King. I�"I am appreciative of everything you have done for me.”

            “Were you coerced? Threatened? I will give you one more opportunity to explain yourself.”

            “I cannot, my King.”

            “I am not King to you. You cannot say, or will not?”

            “I am ashamed.”

            “I don’t care.”

            “My King, please!”

            “You are wasting my time.” With one quick motion, Drom’s blade went through Larserk Waverly’s hand, severing his thumb in a spray of blood; for a moment the prisoner only looked at his finger after it bounced to the floor, then to the nub of exposed bone and flesh that gave a fresh red fountain with every heartbeat. After the shock wore off, Larserk let out a scream that rattled the walls, then clutched at his hand rocking back and forth, walking a delicate line between shock and sickness.

            “Now you will talk.” Drom said, thankful for his mourning blacks, which hid the fresh bloodstains well.

            Taking a few deep breaths, Waverly finally answered, sitting still as if in a daze. “There were promises made to… give us back our family castle… to take Wastehaven back in the Waverly name.”

            “And you entrusted Merit Schanandore to keep his word?” Drom almost laughed at him.

            “I let my family ambition get the best of me, I see that now.” Larserk’s voice was almost pitiful, as were his eyes when he looked up to the king. “Your Majesty. If there is anything I can do to win back your love, I will work until my dying breath to make amends.”

            “You have torn my family apart and nearly toppled everything I have worked my whole life to build. No amends can be made in your case.”

            Waverly let his chin fall to his chest, “Yes, my King…”

            “Philly, send the Infirmarer down here to address this man.” Without another look at his former friend, Drom turned and stormed from the hall.

            Adrenaline coursing through his veins, blackening the edges of his vision, Drom ascended from the Knight’s tower and, trying to avoid as many people as possible, took the smaller staircase in the Gatehouse to the higher levels rather than the grand staircase of the entry hall; then crossed the promenade which connected to the council chambers, taking a moment to revel in gloomy fresh air and feel the light rain sprinkle on his face. Surprised to be this emotional, his friend’s betrayal hitting him harder than he let on, Drom had to take a few deep breaths to quell the rising lump in his throat. Noticing red droplets dripping from his coat, he moved along, and was shocked to find Ida in the council chambers, in conversation with the elderly Kingsman Aristede Marsannay. They both staggered, not expecting the king’s arrival.

            “My Lord.” Drom said, “I apologize, I understood that the council meeting was delayed.”

            “It was, Your Grace,” Aristede nodded from where he sat, “though I came up here after my swearing, and figured I would stay put; when you get to be my age, it takes hours to get anywhere, so better just to wait.”

            “Are you hurt, my king?” Ida rushed to him, noticing the blood dripping at his feet.

            “No need to worry, Ida.” Drom shrugged off the coat, “The blood is Larserk Waverly’s.”

            “Is there a need to worry about him, then?” Ida took the coat from him, “I will have laundress Sisal see to this straight away.”

            “Philly is getting the Infirmarer, though Waverly is the former Master Magi, and even I know to apply pressure to a wound to slow the bleeding, he will be fine.”

            “So, you went to the prisons then? I must have assumed incorrectly that we were going later this evening with Fiora.”

            “You assumed correctly, though there is no need now. I took measures this time that I would rather she not see.”

            “And did these extreme measures work, my king?” Aristede asked.

            “One soldier fainted on me before I could get anything out of him, and it took losing a thumb before Larserk would speak.”

            “Oh, I do not like that.” Ida covered her ears. “I like to talk of the latest flowers, or gossip… But if I were to say that you should throw a match in there and burn them all for what they did to us, I hope you would not think less of me.”

            “Not at all,” Drom laughed, “I have to restrain myself from doing the same.”

            “There is something I would like to address with you before we begin our council meeting, my King.” Aristede said.

            “I’ll leave you to it, then.” Ida said, grabbing Drom’s stained robe and exiting the room as quickly as she was able.

            “What is it, Lord Marsannay?” Drom asked when the door thumped shut.

            “You are the fourth king I have had the pleasure of serving, and it is the great honor of my family to have served the realm as Kingsman for nearly one hundred and twenty years, so I hope I do not offend Your Grace by speaking plainly.”

            “I have always appreciated your insight in all matters, Aristede.

            “I have had time to think sitting here, and I do not think it is the best move to name Fiora Greer as your Regent.”

            Drom stared at the old man, confounded, “And why mention this only hours after swearing fealty to her?”

            “When desperation called for stability after the attacks, with the uncertainty of the fate of Your Grace, Her Majesty the Queen, and of the princess, it was wise to name an immediate successor…” Aristede said.

            “And?” Drom said, after the old man hesitated.

            “It has been a fortnight since the attacks. Your Majesty is well. And there are others currently enroute to the capital that I believe may be more suited to the role.”

            “If my son were alive, Fiora Greer would be your queen, and she has been like a daughter to me for over ten years. Other than mine own daughter, whose fate is uncertain as you so graciously put it, I can think of no one better than Fiora.”

            “The Greer’s are a smaller house that does not bring the backing to the crown that other houses would. I fear that the girl right now is but a pawn in the power struggles and political conspiracies that are certain to plague this realm while we are vulnerable.”

            “And who, in your wisdom, would you suggest putting forth to face the oncoming skirmishes?” Drom asked.

            “You have written to your own family, my King, and your uncle Tyro Sease is your next male heir. There are also the Queen’s distant cousins of House Beauvior in Key Square. Even the Rirschire girl has legitimate claim, with an adequate family name, sufficient resources, and is presently here in the capitol.”

            “Lady Dovee isn’t fit to rule a room full of kittens, let alone the realm.” Drom scoffed, “The fact that you would even suggest so makes me question your faculty, Aristede.”

            “I do not mean to make offense, Your Grace.”

            “Questioning Fiora’s ability to excel as regent is offensive, not to mention treasonous, my lord, considering you have just sworn fealty to her.”

            “I’ll not say any more of it, my king, other than the fact that we must prepare for the opposition from other houses who will be vying for the throne.”

            “That is to be expected. If you feel these thoughts, I am sure the other lords will broach the subject again in the council meeting. Until then, my Lord, I will give leave.” Drom did not acknowledge Aristede’s bowed head as he stormed from the council hall, eager for a moment of privacy.

 

            The king met Fiora on the way back down the grand stairs as she came from her chambers, Luofan behind her.

            “Are you feeling rested, Regent?” Drom bowed to her, then looked at her with a sly smile.

            “Yes, Drom, very much so.” She laughed at him, taking his arm as they continued through the gallery. “Though Ida informed me that you have already gone to the prisons, if I had known I may have gone ahead with the meeting as planned.”

            “I should have notified you; I apologize Your Grace.” the king said, leading her to the outdoor balcony overlooking an enclosed ward, “If I may, there is something I would like to discuss before we begin.”

            “She also said that you inflicted some punishments on them.” Fiora adjusted a shawl to fight the cooler air.

            “Perhaps I let the worry for my family and my impatience get the best of me.”

            “I agree that it is time for them to start talking, however, I feel that thoughts solicited in punishment do not equal those that are freely given.”

            “When you speak like that is when I know I have made the right choice in naming you regent, Fiora.”

            She beamed at his words, “What is it you wanted to speak to me about?”

            “I spoke with Lord Marsannay earlier, after the swearing, and he addressed your legitimacy as regent. I thought I would warn you to be prepared if the subject arises again, as well as talk of marriage.”

            Fiora contemplated the king’s words, “I knew those issues would arise; thank you for letting me know. It pleases me to have you as my advisor and friend.”

            “This will be a defining moment for you, Fiora. Are you ready?”

            “I am, my king. Shall we?”

            Every council member stood to attention when Drom and Fiora walked into the room, except for Aristede Marsannay; they circled the grand council table, still dressed in their house colors and mourning blacks minus the bands and embellishments. The spot at the head of the table was saved for Fiora and Drom took the seat to her right.

            “In the name of Her Majesty, Fiora Greer, Queen Regent of Reaconia, we call this council meeting to order.” Drom announced. They all took a seat after Fiora did.

            “First item of business,” Chancellor Pencarrow unrolled a bound parchment, “and of utmost importance, is the state of the city. For this we will turn to our Constable and Town master, Lord Reacon.”

            Bramrich Reacon stood to address his peers, “Now that the business of the dead is managed, it is imperative that we begin rebuilding efforts of the city. The merchant district, the gate districts, and a large section of the Old Town dwellings have been ravaged by the dragon battle; much of the rubble has been cleared from the streets, now we must evaluate the damage and conditions of buildings there and ensure the infrastructure is sound.”

            “Before roads and residences are seen to,” Commander Philly Hartley interjected, “I believe we must focus on our security and defenses. What is the point of rebuilding the city if we cannot adequately defend it and prevent another attack?”

            “A very good point, Lord Hartley.” Drom added, “It is fair to assume that we will soon face further opposition, and not only from Pyron. We need to ensure our fortifications are sound, improve our defense mechanisms, and reinforce our city walls.”

            “We have already tripled our household guard.” Chamberlain Pherzo Fellgryn said, “Do we have the manpower to even further extend our militaries?”

            “Let alone the finances involved.” Banker Alenron Castellor added, “We are already paying our newest recruits with words and promises… we do not have the budget for adding to our security if we are going to be responsible for the rebuilding of our city.”

            “We will remind those sworn to us that it is their duty to defend this realm; to send every man, even if they have fought for King and Crown in the past, to do so again and preserve what Lossain and this realm stands for.” Lord Hartley preached.

            “I can send letters for aid out immediately.” Chancellor Miello Pencarrow suggested. “Every man we could muster would be of help. We must show that we are able to not only regain our strength quickly, but attack the opposition after a battle, otherwise we would appear weak and ripe for the taking.”

            “All this talk of money and defenses when we have people in our city that are homeless and have been out of work for nearly a fortnight, with each day growing colder than the last.” Fiora spoke over them. “Our main attention should be towards the people of Lossain.”

            “Very wise, Queen Regent.” Magi Burlon Camrey praised. “If we are to wait any longer, the people will start to resent our failure to act.

            “So, what are your suggestions on how to help them?” Fiora inquired.

            “Many of our religious houses have already been opened to those in need, with some to the point of overflowing.” Archdeacon Cobarus Ammar said.

            “Many, but not all?” Drom asked.

            “I fear for the sanctity of our septs with allowing the destitute freedom of all our buildings, Your Grace.” Lord Ammar replied. “Stick too many desperate people together in a room, misconduct and impure acts are sure to follow, not to mention the diseases that spread.”

            “I do agree that our septs should be of temporary use for our displaced townsfolk.” Bramrich Reacon altered the conversation. “Perhaps priority should be put to a shelter of sorts, for a more long-term housing solution.”

            “We have many warehouses near the ports, do we not, my king?” Fiora asked Drom, “there is surely one that can be rehabilitated to accommodate those in need.”

            “That would likely be the most cost-effective solution.” Lord Castellor agreed.

            “See it done.” Drom said, then deferred to Fiora, “If our Regent agrees.”

            Fiora nodded approval, and Chancellor Miello Pencarrow wrote the order.

            “To add to Lord Ammar’s point, there is something to be said about the health and cleanliness of these establishments.” Magi Camrey added, “I would like to propose that these lodgings include hospices and necessities to prevent diseases and cure the sick and injured. Might I also suggest we alleviate some of our own household physicians and apothecary staff to see to the needy.”

            “Excellent suggestion, Lord Camrey.” Fiora said, “We must see to the needs and concerns of our people. It is not a good look to hoard in abundance what they need to survive.”

            “An exceptional start to your new position, young Lord Camrey.” Aristede Marsannay complemented the new Magi.

            “In that same spirit,” Master of Agriculture Brodden Winderlea cut in, “I will personally enquire about our food stores, if it is found that we have some to spare, I will let your majesties know, taking into consideration, of course, that we must prepare for the upcoming winter months.”

            “Very good.” Fiora stated.

            “Lord Reacon, if you can also have a crew to ensure that any fresh water supplies to the public have not been damaged, that will safeguard a basic necessity for them, and also be of service for your needs, Magi.” Lord Winderlea added.

            “I will see to it, Lord Winderlea.” Lord Reacon said.

“If my services can be of use, Your Majesties,” Hunstmaster Mikhil Oakwood called from the far end of the table, “Might I suggest we increase the number of hunts to once per week, with any of our catch given as a gift to our people. It may mean more to them if we allow the townsfolk use of our personal wood for their own needs during this trying time.”

            “That is a most admirable request, my Lord.” Fiora agreed, after a subtle approving nod from king Drom.

            Master of Ships Tedmar Sanlore sat pondering quietly throughout the meeting, and after a moment of silence he cleared his throat. “If I may suggest an idea, Your Graces?”

            “Please, Lord Sanlore.”

            “I hope this does not come across as insensitive or disingenuous, but we have been giving a lot of ideas on how to help the townsfolk here in the city, when a potential solution could be to send them away.”

            “I will not uproot people and force them from their lives and families.” Fiora refuted.

            “Let it be their choice then.” the Shipmaster said, “I could muster a few ships to be at the ready to deliver these displaced townsfolk to whomever would accept refugees, then those ships on return could bring back donations and resources that our sworn subjects could provide the capital.”

            “Our young Shipmaster speaks some truth.” Aristede Marsannay nodded in approval.

            “Those who decide to stay could be put to work, either trained with my men or given job opportunities towards rebuilding this city.” Commander Philly added.

            “There is something to be said about involving the townsfolk in the project, it would foster a sense of unity and ownership to what they are building.” Bramrich Reacon thought.

            “This is very agreeable on a financial standpoint.” Banker Castellor offered, “Pay the townsfolk with shelter and loaves of bread; with labor costs greatly reduced, then our treasury is only responsible for materials and resources, much of which can be donated, with any luck.”

            The room went still as each man chewed on the idea.

            Fiora looked to Drom before speaking, and the two made a nonverbal agreement. “It must be their choice.” She enforced. “We will send letters to the neighboring communities, asking if they could take people in need, and to spare whatever resources and men that they can. Post flyers at every square and alehouse, go to every camp with this news; the townsfolk must know, in every detail, what we are asking of them, and expecting from them. We will provide a small stipend to those individuals or families willing to relocate, and those willing to stay will be given opportunity to assist in rebuilding, with food and housing as repayment; any able-bodied man who chooses to will report to Commander Hartley’s instruction. Work will begin immediately to establish accommodations for those in need.”

            “Are we all in agreement?” Drom asked the council, to which resounding ‘aye’s’ and ‘here here’s’ echoed.

            “Now that the general population is seen to, shall we discuss the state of the royal household?” Chamberlain Pherzo Fellgryn proposed.

            “Aye that was the next item of discussion.” Miello Pencarrow dipped his quill to slash a line through his text.

            “It is of immense pleasure to know that Dawnstead castle, despite being the site of the main attack, received minor damage. As we have discussed, most of the destruction lies in the Old Town district of the city. Other than repairing a few minor tasks, and replacing some valuable furnishings, there is little to be done with the physical property.” Lord Fellgryn said.

            “Aye, the poor always lose.” Kingsman Marsannay wheezed.

            “We can thank Trea for shining his light over this castle on that fateful day.” Archdeacon Ammar prayed.

            “Can we thank Trea for my wife and daughter being stolen from us, or for the countless number of people who died amongst these halls that day?” Drom shouted from across the table, and the room fell quiet.

            “I do apologize, Your Grace. I spoke without thinking.” Lord Ammar bowed.

            “Our household staff has been accounted for and growing with the addition to our household guard. Although, we have been unable to locate a few, even after laying the dead to rest; namely, our old cook Reemin is gone, along with two of our serving boys, Arles, and Imani. There has been great curiosity as to how the Pyron soldiers gained access to our castle and were able to infiltrate our forces. It is my opinion that their absence in the aftermath puts upon them suspicion of the deed.” Lord Fellgryn continued.

            “A fair assumption.” Brodden Winderlea agreed.

            “I have known Reemin for years.” Drom said, “What happened here was an unimaginable tragedy, I do not think we can put the entirety of the blame on a cook and two serving boys.”

            “I agree.” Fiora said, “though as of now, it is one of the only leads we have. Chamberlain Fellgryn, I think it may be wise to implant spies amid the household staff, even if that means I must take on more ladies to my retinue. See if they can decrypt anything amongst the whispers that swirl amongst the servants.”

            “Very well, Your Grace.”

            “While our main concern is determining the whereabouts of Her Majesty Queen Romay, and of Princess Memora, we must consider the security of the castle and of our household of utmost importance. As Lord Fellgryn has stated, our castle guard has tripled, though it is up to us all to uphold security measures, as well as to reassure our staff that they are safe and that actions are being taken to prevent further attacks.” Commander Hartley said.

            “If I may, my Lords. There is another way to enhance our security and defend against future threats.” Kingsman Marsannay added, to which Drom let his head fall, dreading what Aristede was about to say.

            “What do you refer to, Lord Marsannay?” Hunstmaster Oakwood asked.

            “Why, marriage of course!” The Kingsman exclaimed.

            “The girl was just sworn in this afternoon, and two hours later you want to marry her off?” Alenron Castellor huffed; aside from Drom, he had known her longest out of anyone on the council and felt defensive for her.

            “With all due respect, Your Majesty, whilst we needed an immediate response to the dismantling of our royal family after the attacks, your elevation may be seen as unfit to some.” Aristede continued, “There are many out there who will want to step forth and take your place, thinking that they have better claim.”

            “There is some wisdom in this.” Archdeacon Ammar agreed.

            “And though I stand behind Lady Greer as our Queen Regent, she is unmarried, and without heir.” Marsannay said bluntly, to enforce his point.”

            “That is not of enormous concern, as Her Majesty’s position can be seen as temporary, until the whereabouts of the Queen and Princess are divulged.” Chancellor Pencarrow said.

            “You will not speak of Fiora as an object to be sold off, or a placeholder in this position!” Drom shouted, rising to his feet. “She is my daughter and will be treated as a permanent member of this family and council!”

            “My king. My Lords.” Fiora said, “You will not talk around me as if I am not sitting right here.”

            “Apologies, Your Grace.” The council said, in unison.

            “I know I must marry.” This brought a couple of surprised murmurs out of the men. “And will actively pursue that goal; in the meantime, this council will continue to support the crown’s rule as it has for years.”

            “If it can be suggested, Regent.” Shipmaster Tedmar Sanlore said, “We do not know from whom the immediate dissension will come, though I would imagine the Sease family and Beauviors will have something to say, not to mention the Reacons and the great families of the realm, many of whose names are present in this very room. Castellor, Winsor, Pencarrow, Winderlea, Jayne. Seek out these families, their support will appease many people and ensure the validity of your rule.”

            “All of which I have considered.” Fiora said when he finished. “As it so happens, I have met some eligible suitors today: Lord Camrey, your nephew Lolren is here in the capital; as is your son Joseram, Lord Pencarrow; along with Lord Julval Ammar; your young son Jeldan, Lord Winderlea; along with your son, was it Chiron, Lord Sanlore? As well as your nephew Kerro Reacon. I understand these young men were brought to court with the intentions of courting the crown-princess Memora, but I will make introductions if it pleases you, my lords.”

            “An honor, Regent Greer.” Archdeacon Ammar said.

            “Most agreeable, indeed!” Chancellor Pencarrow exclaimed, jowls bouncing as he nodded his head.

            “We must not forget an obvious choice for our Regent’s hand.” Banker Castellor said, “Why, our own Commander Hartley. The two were at the brink of engagement at one point, and he is Queen Romay’s own cousin. A fine lord who has served this realm and capital well.”

            The other lords began to refute the idea, wanting their sons to be in the running for King Consort; Phillip Hartley and Fiora simply exchanged awkward glances.

            “I thank you, Lord Castellor, for your kind praises,” Commander Hartley raised his voice above the prattle, “though I would never consider submitting my own name to be a king.”

            “Then it is a good thing you did not offer yourself up.” Huntsmaster Oakwood chimed in, “It is a smart match, and one that could be quickly arranged if we face any immediate dissent from the other ruling lords.”

            “It is highly unlikely that they will choose a successor soon,” Chamberlain Fellgryn added, “we should have ample time to set up a match.”

Kingsman Marsannay sighed, “Wars on succession are the bloodiest type. I do hope this can be quickly resolved.”

“I will consider all we have spoken about.” Fiora said, blushing. “I thank you for the suggestion, Lord Castellor. Indeed, if the Commander would serve in marriage as finely as he does in his position, he would surely make a fine match. Next item please.”

The Chancellor finished scribing before he spoke again, “While we have Commander Hartley in mind, next order is of the state of our forces, and the smaller Pyron strikes that plague our realm.”

            The Commander shook off the subject of the previous conversation, “We have had a great shift in our militia as a result of the attacks and have had to regroup quickly and deploy soldiers to defend against further incursions; we are spread thin throughout the realm as we deal with enemy forces on multiple fronts. Now that we have a solution in resupplying our forces, our priority is to maintain order and protect civilians in the wake of the attack and contending with the possibility of further dissent or betrayal.”

            “These nuisances must be put to rest!” Aristede Marsannay blurted. “I have never in my life seen such dissention and disregard for the realm and its people!”

            “I agree completely, Kingsman,” Philly said. “While we are doing all that we can to restore our militia, I defer to this council to help prioritize our objectives and allocate our limited resources effectively.”

            “It is my thought that the Pyron forces are purposefully scattered throughout the realm, to intentionally divide our forces. Unfortunately, we fell for that trap, and I believe in doing so, we weakened ourselves for attack and opened our doors to infiltration.” Drom cradled his head in his hands.

            “Are there any of our forces that we could recall back to the capital?” Shipmaster Sanlore asked. “Do all these threats require royal soldiers? Where are the men of the lords who rule in these places?”

            “Perhaps Lord Sanlore is right.” Cobarus Ammar added. “Instead of many small factions, we choose to focus on defending key strategic locations or rally some of those groups for a counteroffensive to push back the enemy.”

            “I second this plan,” Lord Winderlea said. “Groups of larger forces should be able to control some of these uprisings.”

            “Tell me then, my Lords, which townsfolk we should defend and which ones to leave at the mercy of these Pyron monsters. Which of our people should watch their families slaughtered and houses burned, and which people should be spared?” Fiora rebuked, and the room fell silent.

            “Perhaps there is another way,” Hunstmaster Oakwood said. “These Pyron soldiers must be getting aid or support from somewhere. If we were to find these supply chains, we could cut them off and weaken them internally.”

            “I doubt there is much relief that Pyron is giving their men,” Banker Castellor said. “Much of the resources these rebel soldiers use is stolen from our own people. Still, there is something to Lord Oakwood’s suggestion.”

            “Not to mention the dragons.” Chancellor Pencarrow said, “We have discovered they not only have one, but two! They are likely flying in more men and resources. How do we stop that?”

            “They don’t have two, you stinking galamantor,” the Shipmaster retorted. “If you haven’t seen the destruction in the city, the dragons were battling one another.”

            “If the reports of your men can be believed, Lord Hartley, one of them may be on our side,” Chamberlain Fellgryn smiled. “The rumors say it was the princess herself who flew away on one of the beast’s backs.”

            “I’ll not have slanders and lies be entertained in this court!” Drom said. “And you will watch your tongue, Sanlore.”

            “The reports are conflicting,” Commander Hartley quickly responded. “It was chaos on the scene during the attacks, and visibility low. Details we have heard differ and are contradictory.”

            “We all heard the accusations given at the council meeting by Merit Schanandore’s man,” Cobarus Ammar said. “Until the princess is found, these rumors hold credibility.”

            “With all respect, my king, let us drop the pretense. In lieu of slanders and lies, could we not approach the subject in a positive light?” Bramrich Reacon asked. “Imagine the benefit of having a creature like that on our side.”

            “We could clear all Pyron forces from the realm with a dragon in our control, as well as whatever these “Sheezen” forces that Merit’s son, Kion, is building in the north.” Lord Winderlea pondered.

            “The beast is not in our control. Our destroyed city is proof of that. Let that be the end of this talk.” Fiora locked eyes with Commander Hartley, they were the only two in the room who knew the truth; the Lords apologized in unison.

            “Right.” Philly said before the conversation could turn again. “I think we can all agree that the best course of action, as we are not recalling any of our soldiers, is to train as many of our new recruits as quickly as possible to steadily resupply men to maintain our strength and bolster our forces, thus achieving victory of these remote camps. Concurrently, we will search for any Pyron supply chains, and disable them.”

            Murmurs of agreement sounded throughout the room, interrupted by the loud crash of one of the heavy oak doors; Ida entered the room, as quickly as she could, breath heaving and her cheeks red. “Queen Regent, my King, Lords.” The old woman took a breath. “I come bearing the most urgent and terrible news.” Every eye in the room darted to the parchment she held.

“Give it here, Lady Jayne.” Chancellor Pencarrow stood, taking the scroll from her outstretched hand; all other lords stood, listening with eager anticipation. The Chancellor scanned the document briefly before reading, always careful about information he divulged. “It is as we have feared, my king. Regent Greer.”

“Out with it, Chancellor.” Drom said.

 

Hear me, oh Lords, from Frost Moors to Plains,

Originals, Descendants, and Non.

I am the one true king, accept my reign,

Declared from my seat in Pyron.

The former King and Queen, deposed and dethroned,

I hold their crown of rubies and gold.

 

So, heed my words, oh Lords of the land:

Accept me as king or face the reprimand.

When the time comes that kingdoms crash,

The lost one shall usher forth new harmony.

It shall be then, the day that air turns to ash,

My victory shall mark the rise of a monarchy.

 

I liberate you from the shackles of mediocrity, incompetence, and corruption that threatens this realm’s stability.

Too long we have suffered under usurper Beauvior rule.

A descendant of the last Reacon king, I will uphold the domain that my ancestors were denied.

I command you to kneel, to swear allegiance to me, and will not tolerate any dissent or disobedience.

Those who defy me, who dare to resist, shall feel the weight of my iron fist.

Those who swear allegiance to me and my cause, I promise a prosperous and powerful future under my reign.

 

Embrace the dawn of a New Age, for I am the one true king.

 

            “Signed, Merit Schanandore.” The Chancellor finished the letter, folding it deftly. A silence hung in the room.

“Rubies and Gold?” Young Brodden Winderlea asked.

“The house colors of Sease and Beauvior, he’s saying he holds them hostage,” Aristede Marsannay wheezed.

“I had no idea the tyrant was so poetic,” Banker Castellor said.   

“He jests, making light of our misery,” Drom hissed. “The b*****d has my queen.”

“But only the queen, though he says he has you both,” Cobarus Ammar said.

“He must think he does hold me, which could be to our benefit,” Drom added.

“There is no mention of Memora,” Ida said.

“I am so sorry, Drom.” Fiora whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“We have no time to wait for reinforcements to arrive.” Drom crumpled the letter in a balled fist. “We cannot wait until he comes to our shores and turns our skies to ash.”

“Yes, we cannot wait any longer!” A tear befell on Ida’s cheek, “Oh, poor Romay.”

“What do you suggest, my king? We have not the resources or the men!” Kingsman Marsannay exclaimed.

“It seems I must ask from our closest neighbors something I hoped never to ask during my rule.”

“Your Grace?” The Kingsman queried him.

Drom turned to his constable, “My Lord Reacon. I am aware your family holds little love for mine and the crown, but as an ally, I would ask if Kingstone had resources enough for an immediate attack against Pyron?”

Bramrich Reacon looked stunned, and the other men gasped and flapped their mouths like fish, unsure of how to respond. The constable finally bowed. “My king, it is an honor you turn to us in your time of need, knowing our family’s history. It has been a while since I have received word from my uncle, Lord Devaes Reacon, on our recent number of forces, however, if it please you, I will arrange an audience to speak with him presently.”

“Is this the wisest course of action, my king?” Archdeacon Ammar asked.

“How will we pay them? Would their assistance even be enough to face the Pyron armies?” Banker Castellor rambled.

“I will not know until I speak with them, Lord Castellor,” Drom said, “If our Regent agrees, I will take you up on that offer, Constable Reacon.”

“We will see what the Reacons offer,” Fiora nodded. “Oh, how I wish there was some way to get word to our queen.”

“What if there is?” Commander Hartley said after a moment of silence, inciting puzzled looks from the council. “We send a group of men in Pyron armor, with the prisoner with Drom’s likeness disguised as the king. If they are successful in infiltrating, they can get word to my cousin, and strike at the heart of their Schanandore rebellion.”

“We do have two Pyron ships secured in our possession at the ports,” Shipmaster Sanlore said.

“A fine suggestion, Lord Hartley,” Chamberlain Fellgryn said. “The tyrant thinks he has the king already, so why not give him up?”

“And who would lead such an attack?” Kingsman Marsannay asked.

“I would volunteer myself for the honor,” Commander Hartley said.

“No!” Fiora shouted. “Apologies, my lords. Commander Hartley is needed here; he will take what few household guards we can spare to escort the king to Kingstone. Lord Hartley will choose a trustworthy candidate to go on this expedition instead.”

“If not I, then you will find no better man than our Lord-Marshall Reith.”

“Very well.” Fiora said.

“If it pleases you, Regent. My king.” Bramrich Reacon nodded to them both, “I would accompany you to Kingstone and would be happy to provide an escort of men from mine own household.”

“Are there any objections, Council?” Drom asked the room; a series of head shakes, bows, and mumbled words of support resounded.

The king deferred to Fiora, who addressed them all: “It is settled then. Chancellor Pencarrow, we must immediately send letters to all ruling lords of Reaconia, counteracting the traitor Schanandore’s words, and denying all his vile accusations. Lord Reacon, send word immediately to your family ahead of your procession. You will leave at daybreak tomorrow with the king, our commander, and your household guard to discuss our terms with your family. Before then, Commander Hartley will prepare the enemy prisoners to sail with a group of our men and the false Drom Sease to Pyron. Lord Winderlea, prepare supplies enough for fifty men to sail for a fortnight, you may use provisions from our personal stores to see this done; and Lord Sanlore will prepare one of the Pyron ships for immediate sail.”

The sky remained an ominous grey throughout the day, but now grew darker as the afternoon ended. “You will depart tonight, under the cover of darkness,” Fiora continued. “We must get word to Queen Romay as quickly as possible. Commander, instruct Lord-Marshall Reith that if any of the Pyron men step one foot out of line, to kill them without hesitation. That is all.”

“For Realm and Peace!” Every head nodded to her, then quickly departed the room, set on their tasks.