Page 25
As sunset approached, Thomas surprised everyone by requesting a private conversation with Thorne.
“I believe certain matters should be discussed directly, without the formality of full council,” the king stated, his expression revealing nothing of his intentions.
“Is that wise?” Diana murmured to Silas, eyeing the king with suspicion.
Before Silas could respond, his father added something unexpected. “My son should join us, of course. As he stands between our worlds, his presence seems appropriate.”
Silas concealed his surprise, nodding with what he hoped appeared as diplomatic calm rather than the complicated mix of apprehension and hope he actually felt.
“I would be honored to accompany you both,” he managed, glancing at Thorne, who inclined his head in agreement.
“If you're comfortable walking deeper into the grove, Your Majesty?” Thorne asked, his resonant voice measured and careful.
Thomas hesitated only briefly. “Lead on, Guardian.”
As they ventured along a winding path into the Eldergrove, Silas positioned himself slightly behind, watching the strange tableau of his father following Thorne among ancient trees. The king moved with the composed watchfulness of a man in unfamiliar territory, his gaze taking in every detail of this realm he'd forbidden for so long. His straight back and measured steps revealed tension that his voice had hidden.
Thorne led them to a small clearing centered around a massive oak. Its trunk was wide enough that ten men could not have encircled it with joined hands, its branches creating a natural cathedral overhead. Dappled light filtered through leaves that seemed to shimmer with inner luminescence.
“The First Oak,” Thorne explained, his cosmic voice modulated to something less overwhelming. “Every guardian of the Eldergrove has sat beneath its branches to contemplate difficult decisions.”
Thomas approached the tree cautiously, studying its immense form. “And that's why you've brought us here? For a difficult decision?”
“I thought,” Thorne replied carefully, “that neutral ground might serve us all.”
Silas remained silent, sensing the delicate balance of this moment. His father and Thorne were measuring each other, seeking common language across a gulf of fundamentally different perspectives.
The king acknowledged Thorne's words with a slight nod. For a long moment, he simply stood before the ancient tree, seemingly gathering his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a directness absent from the formal negotiations.
“You love my son.”
The bluntness of the question startled Silas, heat rising to his face at his father's characteristic lack of subtlety.
“Father, I don't think—” he began, but Thorne raised a hand gently.
“It's a fair question,” his transformed partner said, then turned to the king. “Yes. Beyond what words in any language can express.”
“And yet you allowed him to undertake a ritual that nearly destroyed him. That changed him forever.” There was an edge to Thomas's words, the accusation barely concealed.
Silas stepped forward, angry at the unfairness of the charge. “That was my choice. My decision. Thorne tried to stop me.”
“I fought against it,” Thorne confirmed, his transformed features showing a flash of the anguish he'd felt. “I would have taken his place if the ritual allowed it.”
“But it didn't,” Thomas pressed, his gaze shifting between them.
“No,” Silas answered, meeting his father's eyes directly. “It required Ashworth blood. A willing sacrifice from our line.” The implied parallel hung between them—Silas had made a sacrifice for his people, just as Thomas had always expected of him, though not in the manner his father had envisioned.
“A line with its own history of sacrifices, as I understand,” Thorne added quietly.
Thomas's jaw tightened at this reference to family secrets. “You know much about my family.”
“I have lived long enough to remember several generations of Ashworths. Some wise, some foolish. Some cruel, some kind.” Thorne gestured to the massive oak. “This tree remembers even more. It was here when the first Ashworth made contact with the forest realm.”
Silas watched his father's face, recognizing the slight widening of eyes that indicated genuine interest beneath the diplomatic mask.
“What was he like?” Thomas asked, surprising Silas with what seemed like genuine curiosity. “The first of my line to come here?”
“Curious. Respectful. Afraid, but willing to move beyond fear for the sake of knowledge.” Thorne studied Thomas carefully. “Qualities that seem to persist in your bloodline.”
Something flickered across the king's face—not quite acceptance, but perhaps recognition. His gaze shifted to Silas. “You are... different from me. From what I wanted you to be.”
The admission stung, even though it was nothing Silas hadn't known for years.
“And yet,” Thorne observed quietly, “he may be exactly what your kingdom needs.”
Thomas turned away, his gaze lifting to the canopy above. “When he was born, I had such plans. Such expectations. A proper heir, shaped in my image.” A note of something like regret entered his voice. “I never considered he might have his own path.”
“A better path, perhaps,” Thorne suggested.
“Better?” Thomas turned back, eyes narrowing. “My son consorts with forest spirits, bonds himself to a guardian, sacrifices his very nature in magical rituals. Is that better?”
Silas felt the familiar weight of his father's disapproval, but before he could respond, Thorne spoke.
“He bridges worlds that have been separate for too long,” Thorne replied evenly. “He sees beyond artificial boundaries to the truths beneath. And he chose sacrifice not from weakness but from extraordinary strength.” The guardian's transformed features softened slightly. “Qualities any father might take pride in, I would think.”
The king was silent for a long moment, truly considering these words. His eyes found Silas, studying him as if seeing something new. Finally, he spoke with unexpected candor.
“I don't know how to be proud of what I don't understand.”
The confession, offered without calculation or political maneuvering, left Silas momentarily speechless. Never had his father admitted to such limitation, such uncertainty.
“Understanding begins with willingness to learn,” Thorne said. “You have demonstrated that willingness by coming here today.”
Silas found his voice. “And by allowing me to be part of this conversation, rather than shutting me out as you once would have.”
Thomas acknowledged this with a slight incline of his head. He circled the great oak slowly, trailing his fingers along its bark. “You know, my advisors counseled against this meeting. They said it was beneath my dignity to negotiate with forest beings.” A faint, ironic smile touched his lips. “Some even suggested you might enchant me.”
“And yet you came,” Silas observed.
“Yes.” Thomas stopped, looking directly at Silas. “Because despite our... differences, I have never known you to be a fool.” His gaze shifted to include Thorne. “Either of you.”
Silas felt something in his chest loosen—not forgiveness or reconciliation, but perhaps the first acknowledgment of respect.
Thomas's expression grew more serious. “Tell me truthfully, Guardian. What does the future hold if we pursue this alliance? Not diplomatic assurances—the truth as you see it.”
Thorne considered the question, his cosmic awareness searching possibilities that stretched beyond normal perception. Silas had experienced glimpses of this awareness during his brief time as the Bridge, and watching Thorne navigate it reminded him of the vast differences in their perceptions now.
“Difficulty. Resistance. Danger from both the Shadowblight and those who fear change,” Thorne finally answered. “But also... potential. Growth. Understanding that could transform both our realms.”
“And my son?” Thomas asked, his gaze returning to Silas. “What future does he face after what he's done?”
The question carried genuine concern beneath its formal phrasing. Silas recognized it for what it was—the worry of a father, however imperfectly expressed. It touched him more deeply than he wanted to admit.
“I'm standing right here,” Silas said with a hint of the impatience he'd felt throughout his youth. “You could ask me directly.”
A flicker of the old frustration crossed Thomas's face, but he surprised Silas by doing exactly that. “Very well. What future do you see for yourself, Silas? After everything that's happened?”
Put on the spot, Silas found himself searching for words. “I'm... changed. The ritual marked me in ways I'm still discovering.” He touched the faint runes that remained visible on his skin. “But I'm still myself. Still your son, still an Ashworth. Just... more than I was.”
“And what do you want?” Thomas pressed. “From this alliance. From the future.”
The directness of the question was so unlike his father that Silas needed a moment to formulate his answer.
“I want to build something that lasts,” he finally said. “Not just a temporary alliance against current threat, but a new way of existing together. I want to use what I've become—what the ritual made me—to create bridges that won't collapse when immediate danger passes.”
He met his father's gaze steadily. “I want to make something better than what came before, for both our peoples. Something worthy of the Ashworth name, even if it's not what you imagined.”
Thomas absorbed this, his expression unreadable. Then he turned back to Thorne. “And you, Guardian? What do you want from my son?”
“Want?” Thorne considered this. “I want his happiness. His safety. His fulfillment.”
“Those are platitudes,” Thomas dismissed. “Everyone wants such things for those they claim to love.”
“Then perhaps what I want matters less than what I'm willing to give,” Thorne replied. “Which is everything I am, everything I have, everything I might become. Without reservation or condition.”
The king studied him with new intensity. “You speak of devotion fit for poetry, Guardian. But the practical world requires more concrete foundations.”
“Does it?” Thorne asked simply. “Or does it merely claim to, while secretly resting on the very devotions you dismiss?”
Thomas had no immediate answer for this. He looked between them, father studying son and the being who loved him.
“You've both changed,” he finally said, addressing Silas directly. “You're not the boy I raised, and he's clearly not the forest spirit I was warned about.”
“Is that disappointment or observation?” Silas asked carefully.
“Perhaps,” Thomas said, with the faintest hint of what might have been humor, “it is merely an acknowledgment that my expectations have proven... insufficient.”
For Thomas, this was as close to concession as Silas had ever witnessed. Not acceptance, not approval, but an opening—a crack in the rigid worldview that had separated them for so long.
“We should return,” the king said, resuming his formal bearing. “Before they wonder if the forest has swallowed us whole.”
As they walked back toward the meeting clearing, Silas felt a strange mixture of emotions. The conversation had revealed more of his father's thinking than years of formal interactions. Not healing, not resolution, but perhaps the beginning of understanding.
Thorne moved ahead slightly, giving them a moment of privacy.
“He is... remarkable,” Thomas said quietly, nodding toward Thorne. “Not at all what our intelligence suggested.”
“Most things about the forest aren't what reports claim,” Silas replied.
Thomas glanced at him sidelong. “Including you, it seems.”
In this moment of unusual candor, Silas found the courage to voice the question that had haunted him since the alliance began taking shape.
“What happened with the trial?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. “For your role in persecuting guardians, the shadow corruption, Nathaniel's exile. Diana said the council was considering formal proceedings.”
Thomas's stride faltered almost imperceptibly, then resumed its measured pace. His expression tightened, the momentary openness receding behind practiced composure.
“The council... reconsidered,” he said after a long pause. “Given the current crisis and the need for stability.”
Silas studied his father's profile, sensing there was more to the story. “That seems remarkably convenient.”
“Politics often is,” Thomas replied dryly. “Though I wouldn't call the compromise 'convenient' for anyone involved.”
“Compromise?”
Thomas sighed, a rare display of weariness. “In exchange for suspending the trial, I agreed to certain... concessions. A council of oversight for royal decisions. Restrictions on crown authority regarding magical matters. Formal reparations to those wrongfully accused.”
Silas absorbed this, understanding the magnitude of what such limitations would mean to a man who had ruled with near-absolute authority for decades. “That must have been difficult for you to accept.”
“It was necessary,” Thomas said simply. “The alternative was prolonged internal conflict while the Shadowblight grew stronger.” A hint of irony touched his voice. “As someone recently pointed out to me, division serves our enemy's purpose.”
“And Nathaniel?” Silas pressed. “What of his specific claims?”
Thomas was silent for several steps, clearly weighing his response. “Your uncle and I have reached a private understanding. His exile has been formally rescinded, his properties and titles restored.” He hesitated, then added, “Some wounds cannot be healed by royal decree or political settlements. Those... remain between us.”
The admission surprised Silas with its honesty. No justifications, no deflections—just acknowledgment of damage that couldn't be undone.
“So you avoid public accountability, but surrender private power,” Silas observed. “A very Ashworth solution.”
Thomas's mouth quirked in what might almost have been a smile. “Perhaps. Though I prefer to see it as choosing the path that best serves the kingdom's immediate needs.” He glanced at Silas. “Something I believe you understand rather well, given your own recent choices.”
The comparison caught Silas off guard. His ritual transformation and his father's political compromises were vastly different, yet both had involved sacrifice for greater purpose. The parallel was uncomfortable but not entirely unfair.
“The difference,” Silas finally said, “is that I faced the consequences of my actions directly. I didn't negotiate them away.”
“Didn't you?” Thomas asked quietly. “You knew the ritual would transform you, yet you proceeded because the alternative was worse. You chose calculated risk over certain disaster.” His voice carried no accusation, merely observation. “As did I.”
Silas wanted to argue, to insist the situations were fundamentally different, but found himself considering his father's perspective. Both had made choices with incomplete information, accepting personal cost for hoped-for collective benefit.
“I still believe you should have faced formal judgment,” Silas said finally. “But I understand why the council chose compromise over justice in this moment.”
“Justice,” Thomas repeated thoughtfully. “A complex concept in times like these.” He looked ahead to where Thorne waited at a respectful distance. “Your guardian would likely say true justice lies in restoration, not retribution. In building what was broken rather than punishing who broke it.”
Silas couldn't hide his surprise at this insight. “You've been listening to him more carefully than I realized.”
“I listen to everyone carefully, Silas. It's how I've survived decades of court politics.” Thomas's expression grew more serious. “The trial may be suspended, but accountability remains. Every step of this alliance reminds me of past failures. Every guardian I face knows what policies I endorsed.”
For the first time, Silas glimpsed the weight his father carried—not just crown and kingdom, but the accumulated consequences of decades of decisions. The realization didn't erase Thomas's responsibility for the harm he'd caused, but it added dimension to Silas's understanding of the man behind the crown.
“We still have much to discuss,” Thomas said as they neared the clearing. “Many details to resolve.”
“Yes,” Silas agreed. “But at least we're discussing rather than dictating.”
Thomas's mouth quirked in what might almost have been a smile. “Perhaps that's progress enough for one day.”
It wasn't everything, Silas reflected. Justice delayed was often justice denied. Yet in the compromise, in his father's willingness to surrender power if not pride, lay the seeds of something that might eventually grow into understanding. Not forgiveness—not yet—but the beginning of a path that might someday lead there.
And for now, that would have to be enough.