Part 2 Chapter 2

CHAPTER 11

 

 

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evil’s office is crowded. The royal family are all seated on wooden chairs with their backs to the door; behind them are those that consider themselves to be in the highest positions in the city; chief advisors, controllers of the city’s vast wealth and power. Some of them are seated in chairs similar to those occupied by the Kvathrock family, but most and standing, crunched together pushing and shoving, trying to get some room. Bevil himself is seated on his chair; he is watching the scuffling before him, impatiently waiting for silence from the others. He is holding the last will and testament of King Gremborlin in front of him making subtle but unseen gestures to them to be silent due to the importance of the will.

  Simultaneously Olraym and Bevil cough loudly to get attention.  The scuffling quickly stops, all wondering who made the noise and why. Upon receiving glares from all members of the Kvathrock family they all find some space in the room to stare at embarrassed.

  With a sigh of relief Bevil begins reading from the will. Starting with how much Gremborlin loved his family, making Moira tear up once again, then moving to Gremborlin’s friendship with those standing at the back. They all look sombre until one by one they are mentioned in the will then they become sad and humbled.

  Finally Bevil comes to the part of the will that names Gremborlin’s successor. All become tense including Bevil himself, all waiting until Bevil gives the answer.

  “I Gremborlin Kvathrock, as King of The Highlands, hereby name my son…” all who are seated lean forward slightly as if afraid they won’t hear the name, “Prince Olraym Kvathrock as my successor and future King of The Highlands.”

  Those at the back all give an approving nods and a low toned congratulatory cheer to Olraym. Sertia smiles, she just got what she wanted. Moira looks ambivalent about the decision; she is pleased for Olraym but doesn’t want to look as if she is favouring one son over another.

  Only two in the room give off a negative vibe about the answer; Thorne, who has an angry look on his face at not being named future King, and Olraym himself who looks unsure of what to say and scared at the looks he is now getting from everyone else. ‘Me? Why me? I can’t be the next King,’ thinks Olraym.

  Once Bevil finishes reading the will all leave his office as he seals the will and places it in Queen Moira’s hands, all but Olraym that is. He stays behind, not moving from his seat. Bevil stares at him as if waiting for him to leave, when he doesn’t he becomes concerned and confused.

  “What is it Prince Olraym?”

  “…why did father pick me?” Bevil now looks at him in understanding, stands and walks around his desk until he is next to Olraym.

  “Though I have known your father most of my life, I’m afraid I cannot say without telling a lie that I truly knew him. He did things for his own reasons whatever they may be. He never told me what they were.” This makes Olraym look away in despair, wanting more of an answer from Bevil, some clue as to why he will wear the crown next, “but I can say that no matter the reason, everything he did was for the better of The Highlands, for the better of his family.”

  While this doesn’t cheer Olraym up, he puts on a brave face, making Bevil smile. 

  “Anyway, who says you won’t be a good king?”

  “I don’t know anything about ruling people and being a leader.”

  “What about all that training you had when you were younger?”

  “That was different, that was just sword training, fight training, and survival training. That won’t help me rule. I can win in a fight but I can’t win in politics.”

  “You never know,” Bevil gives him a look, “it could come in handy someday soon.”

  Olraym looks at him confused but says nothing, instead he stands and leaves. The hall outside is empty, Olraym realises he was in Bevil’s office for some time. He waits, considering his options of what to do, where to go next, and then decides to walk away and think along the way. He walks aimlessly through the castle, trying to think of where to go but his mind is always going to his father’s decision of making him King.

  Suddenly he stops and looks around. He is in the Throne Room. He stares distantly at the throne as if it is something both beautiful and evil.

  “Beautiful isn’t it,” says a familiar voice. Surprised, Olraym spins around, revealing the voice to that of Thorne. His surprise dissipates and he turns back around to the throne.

  “Yes it is.”

  Olraym hears Thorne slowly make his way closer to him, and then hears him stop just behind the pillar closest to the door.  Olraym, not wanting to appear weak to Thorne, successfully fights off the urge to turn around again to watch him.

  “How is it that such an innocent object like a chair can be the threshold of power,” the way Thorne says it makes it less of a question.

  “It’s just the way it is.”

  Olraym wonders where Thorne is going with this but doesn’t stay to find out, just leaves, feeling Thorne’s eyes on his back.

  “Congratulations,” says Thorne as Olraym moves out of his sight, but Olraym doesn’t stop. “Perhaps you can make changes.”

  This does make Olraym stop in his tracks. He walks back and stops again just outside the Throne Room. He watches Thorne with suspicion and shock.

  “What did you say?”

  Thorne looks at him with both curiosity and feeling that he may have something on him.

  “I said you may be able to make changes.”

  They both look at each other, then Olraym leaves again, this time without stopping for anything.

  The guards and servants he passes are more attentive to him; word about him being king soon has already spread. He gives them a nod, acknowledging them, and then continues on.

  ‘What did he mean making changes?’ thinks Olraym, ‘does he know of my nightmares? No…he can’t, how could he?’ these thoughts plague him until he reaches his chambers. Even though the day is far from over he cannot think of what to do, what to say to anyone. He thinks of Trugaime and he lights up because of it but again scolds himself for those feelings. But still he wonders how she is doing in her cell and wonders if he should let her out.

 

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Trugaime is sitting cross-legged on the prison cot staring down at her open hands, she is a little curious. After Olraym left she decided not to put her hood back up but to leave it where it is. This does not help her situation in any way; in fact it makes it a little worse. The new guards are the same as the old ones: wanting to rile her any way they can, only now that they can see her face they make it a point to focus on that. They know how attractive she is and point out as much as possible that they would love to bed her as hard and for as long as they can. This does rile her more and more but she makes a point not to give in. Her training as a Cultist would not allow it.

  But this is not why she curious, she is curious because at the moment Queen Moira Kvathrock is sitting on a chair outside her cell. Much like her son was doing earlier. Moira is staring at her with a blanket of emptiness, but underneath is a barrage of daggers. Trugaime looks up at her and watches as the blanket of emptiness in Moira’s eyes becomes thinner.

  “Why are you here?” asks Trugaime finally, not really bothered by the silence between them, but wanting it gone just the same. Moira is silent still for a moment longer, her blanketed stare unchanging.

  “I wanted to see the one who would want my son dead.”

  “I don’t want your son dead, I was just doing what was requested,” Trugaime says shaking her head.

  “Who requested it?”

  Trugaime shakes her head again, “I don’t know.”

  This time Moira shakes her head, “you must have some idea, some clue as to who gave your Cult my son’s name.”

  Trugaime sees that hidden underneath those dagger looks is another feeling. Fear…fear for Olraym, for herself and her family, fear for The Highlands. While Trugaime doesn’t have children she can sympathise with Moira. She has lost many friends and family in the Cult. But still, she wants something in return.

  “If I help you, what do I get in return?”

  Moira looks at Trugaime indignantly, punctuating it by letting out a puff of air. When she sees that Trugaime is serious she controls herself but without changing her expression.

  “If you help…I can promise that your execution will be swift and painless.”

  Another shake of the head from Trugaime, “no deal,” she says, “either execution of any kind, or no information of any kind.”

  This angers Moira somewhat and Trugaime can see the daggers reappear. She thinks of another offer but thinks on nothing.

  “Fine, I swear as a member of the royal family of Tov’ra that you will not suffer an execution,” Trugaime smiles and nods in mock appreciation, “even though you deserve one.” Trugaime’s smiles stays.

  “I’ll need that in writing.” Moira nods quickly.

  They are silent; Moira waits for Trugaime’s insight. Only the mumbles from far away guards and sickening coughs from fellow prisoners fill the silence. Moira waits and waits and waits, the silence between them continuing for an eternity.

  “Well!” shouts Moira, not being able to take the silence any more. 

  “It must have dawned on you that perhaps you should look closer to home; any who have a reason to kill him would know him personally.”

  This shocks Moira and she doesn’t bother trying to hide it. She is about to threaten Trugaime for such an outrageous claim but she stops and thinks about it. It does make sense, who would want him dead more than someone she knows? With the timing of Trugaime’s appearance it makes sense that whoever wants Olraym dead doesn’t want him to be King. Trugaime watches this realisation form on Moira’s face.

  Suddenly Moira stands and walks quickly away.

  “Hey!” shouts Trugaime, making Moira stop, “What about the execution? Where’s my pardon from it?”

  “You’ll get it soon enough,” Moira resumes leaving. Trugaime listens to sound of Moira’s shoes smacking one after the other on the ground as she leaves, then of the door opening and closing. Soon after the door opens and closes again, footfalls close in on Trugaime but these are different: these aren’t feet belonging to Moira or any woman for that matter. They belong to one of the new prison guards. He stops at her cell and is about to pick up the chair Moira was sitting on, but stops with his hand on it. Trugaime watches him hesitate for a moment, take a look at the closed door, then sits down on the chair. He watches her and she can see he is definitely attracted to her. She uncrosses her leg and backs to the wall, not wanting to cause trouble so close to getting off from being executed.

  “You ever been with a man?” he asks in a rough voice, she can tell he is getting excited.

  “No,” she says, her voice doing its best to tell him to get lost. But he doesn’t listen.

  “You want to?”

  Trugaime leans forward and gestures with her finger for him to do the same, “you probably wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

  This makes him angry and he shoots up off the chair and rushes to the bars of her cell, his breathing hoarse and his hands squeezing the bars, as if he wants to bend them apart so he could get through.

  “What’s going on here?” the noise attracts another guard, who walks quickly to the cell. To Trugaime it looks as if the second one is the captain of the prison guards. The first guard acts as if he didn’t hear his captain and just keeps staring at Trugaime, but when the captain grabs his shoulder he yells out, spins around and punches his captain in the face. The captain, shocked by the punch, yelps and is thrown to the back wall. The first guard realises what he has done and goes to help his captain to his feet.

  Trugaime is barely able to control her laughter as she watches this unfold, watches as the captain gets to his feet and shouts at the guard, attracting the attention of the rest of the guards. The captain pushes the guard towards to door. The guard takes the lead and walks the rest of the way, obviously ashamed at what he has done. The captain takes one final look at Trugaime and follows the guard. When Trugaime hears the door close and lock she lets it out in one long barrage of laughter, stopping occasionally to catch her breath. She hears that some of the other prisoners are laughing also.

 

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After leaving the dungeon Moira considers her talk with Trugaime. While she does believe Trugaime when she hinted that it may be someone close to Olraym. That still begs the question: who?

  While she thinks of this she wonders through the streets and finds herself outside mausoleum. She looks through the gate to see men already moving materials to an empty arch to create the statue of Gremborlin. She smiles at the thought that, sometime in the future, being able to see Gremborlin’s face every time she passes. 

   She leaves shortly after and deciding she is going to do whatever she can to find out, she immediately heads to the castle and to her bed chamber. Once there she finds some parchment, a writing pen and some ink and, after thinking very hard about those she knows and loves, she writes down all the names she thinks it may be. The list turns out to be long, with plenty men and even women who would want harm to come to Olraym. Some in Tov’ra but others are elsewhere like Burden and places further south. Most she realises were at the reading of the will.

   She stops, thinking she is finished but after thinking it through, she reluctantly adds the names Sertia and Thorne to it.