Page 4 of Veil of Vasara (Fate of the Five #1)

CHAPTER 4 - ELIEL

I had always liked it when someone died.

Not because of the death itself, but because of this sight, a sight that only ever happened when someone of import had passed. People strolled down the streets, shrouded in deep wine red, near black, the colour of mourning in Vasara. They were weaving through the roads, pooling together at the Palace gates.

They looked like a puddle of blood, spreading outwards in different directions.

I used to watch this as a child, when the life of a monarch, someone of Royal birth, or even a notable warrior had ended. I would sit by the windows and watch. I used to watch the red swarm, utterly mesmerised.

Now, I stood in the King’s chambers, soon to be my own, and looked down at the sight again.

The people were waiting, waiting for me.

I was waiting too. Waiting for the moment someone would inform me this had all been a misunderstanding, that my parents were still alive, that I was still a Prince, and not a King.

There was a knock at my door.

“Your Highness.” A muffled voice travelled through the wood.

“Come in,” I replied.

Jarian. He was the Captain of Vasara’s Royal guard. His armour was gold, his cape was wine red, as opposed to its usual amber orange, as a sign of mourning. Across his breastplate, in the centre of his chest, the symbol of a sun was carved, the real-life counterpart of which was reflected against Jarian’s sword.

“Your Highness.” He bowed.

“Please Jarian, there is no need for such formalities.” I offered him a small smile.

Jarian looked as if I had mortally offended him. I tilted my head to the side, indicating I was curious about the purpose of his visit.

He cleared his throat. “The Council are waiting for you, Your…they’re expecting your arrival this morning. I’ve come to escort you there.”

I nodded to acknowledge that I had understood.

I couldn’t stand most members of the Council. It largely consisted of cowardly, small-minded men whose riches were more often than not, unfairly earned. They were undoubtedly circling around me like vultures, planning their strike right at the moment they perceived me most vulnerable. My parents had just died, I was mourning, I was inexperienced, I was young. All these things made me a perfect target for their claws.

But I had learnt to fend off such claws when I was a boy. Their talons did not concern me, but they did need to be blunted. Soon.

“Very well. Although you do not need to escort me Jarian, I am perfectly capable of traversing these hallways alone.”

“Yes, Your…Eliel, it is only that your life is vital to protect, now more than ever. The Council and the nobles think it would be wise to have guards with you at all times.”

I chuckled. Of course, that is what the Council and the nobles would advise. I had been aware for a while that not everyone here worked directly for the Royal Family. There were some who had been bought by the nobility, from this Kingdom and likely from others. Who could say which of them were spies and which were not? I was more likely to be assassinated by one of my so-called protectors than any intruder.

“Something to be discussed at today’s meeting,” I raised my head to look Jarian directly in the eye. He looked away.

“You have cold eyes,” one of my childhood tutors had once told me.

How ironic, I remember thinking, that a child of the Kingdom perpetually illuminated by the sun, had eyes of ice. They were pale blue. Most people’s eyes in this Kingdom were various shades of brown or red.

When Jarian did not move, still intent on accompanying me, I told him explicitly, “You are dismissed, Jarian.”

“But –"

I looked at him again, this time raising my eyebrows.

“It suits you, Your Highness.” He looked at my outfit. “The same shade as your hair.” I glanced at the cherry red doublet I was wearing.

I didn’t respond. Jarian bowed and took his leave.

Why Jarian was ever appointed as Captain of our guard remained a mystery to me. He was a good man, yes. Good men commanded loyalty, but they did not command death. No matter how they were portrayed, the guards were meant to be a symbolic threat of death to anyone who would oppose us.

I wasn’t even sure Jarian could kill a person.

I was sure, however, that the number of fighters who truly deserved a place in their ranks could be counted on one hand.

As I stepped through the hallways, people bowed, curtsied, murmured, or declared their condolences every other second. The passers-by all had red hair, auburn hair, golden hair, chestnut hair. It was as if a sunrise itself had scattered through these corridors.

If I could have travelled through the secret passages behind these walls, I would have. Alas, I had to be “seen.” Athlion needed to know that I was alive, that I was ready and willing to take the throne, that our Kingdom was “strong.”

A few of the more familiar faces, the cooks, the nurses, the servants approached me with tears in their eyes. They declared how sorry they were through trembling lips. I spent far too much time informing them it was not their fault, that I was alright, that they did not need to be sorry.

It was a special kind of torture.

People had loved my parents. They had respected them. They appreciated the stability they’d brought to our lands over the past few decades. They appreciated their part in the successful outlawing of sorcery, which all Five Kingdoms had instigated around twenty years ago, and the integration of Dareans and Accipereans into our world, as Vessels.

They valued the gifts my parents bestowed upon them, a life free from the dangers of sorcery but one that could thrive upon its powers and the magical creatures allocated to each Kingdom.

Far too many people delighted in the intimidation of sorcerers and magical creatures. They fed off that victory from decades ago like starved children. I had seen people beat their designated creatures for sport. I had heard of the creatures being forced to fight against one another in pits for entertainment.

Once, I had taken a whip against a man who’d been battering a Chimera with it. It was I that was punished rather than the man, and the next day, that Chimera was hanging outside the Palace gates.

It wasn’t the only being of magic out there. Sometimes sirens, sorcerers, centaurs, pixies, banshees, and other creatures that had been caught were outside. Their heads were on spikes, their bodies hung by a rope that had broken their necks. This did not, however, bother the people. It did not frighten or sicken them. It made them feel safe. It shrouded them in a false sense of security.

But it sickened me.

It was obvious those who possessed sorcery would always be more powerful than us. It was obvious these sporadic massacres were futile. We could never truly know if we had escaped the dangers of sorcery completely, or at least crushed sorcerers enough to prevent such dangers from fully re-emerging. If they did, they would end us all. Easily, quickly, and painfully.

Some said we would deserve it. Their voices never rang aloud for long.

And I still valued the head on my shoulders. I would not speak my mind aloud.

For now, I would play this role, the subservient, obedient, and altruistic King. Becoming King, this was simply adding a few more gemstones to the ornate mask I was familiar with.

I wore it now, as I stepped into the Council chamber.

Everyone rose, crossing their right fists to their left shoulders. They bowed their heads as they spoke in unison.

“Your Highness.”

“Please rise and sit gentlemen.” I approached the head of the table, gracefully strolling past them. I had been taught how to walk, move, talk, breathe, and fight from a very early age. The sound of my footsteps was barely audible.

Councillor Wayman opened his mouth. I could tell what he intended to say by the forlorn look in his gaze.

I raised my hand before he could speak. “And please, no condolences. They are not necessary. I know how much my parents meant to you all.”

I pondered which of them, in fact, rejoiced over their passing.

“I appreciate and know your sentiments. You need not voice them out loud. It would be better and more efficient if we began immediately. As you can imagine, I have many matters to attend to in light of recent events,” I added. In truth I was keen for this meeting to be over as soon as possible.

I placed my hand back on the table. The dark red stone of my family ring knocked against the mahogany wood. A stunned silence followed, confirming my suspicions. Each of the men had planned a speech about how saddened they were by my mother and father’s death and now, with such a disruption to their plans, they shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

I would not hear their attempts at grievance. It would only be insulting to my own.

It was Councillor Trenton who was the first to speak.

“Your Highness,” he addressed me.

I debated telling him that he should call me by my birth name, but it would be of no use, not with these men.

Trenton continued, “You are your father’s only heir.”

“I’m very aware of that Trenton. What is your point?” I found it hard to hide the irritation in my voice. I had always noticed people spoke to those in power as if they were incompetent. It was likely due to some sort of fear, but it was incredibly frustrating and wasted untold amounts of time.

Councillor Raynard spoke up. “It is only to say…Your Highness, that in tumultuous times such as these, we think it would be wise to conduct your Coronation as soon as possible.” Sweat beaded across Raynard’s bald brow. He dabbed at it with a small handkerchief before resuming. “There is, of course, normally a two-month mourning period to pay our respects to the deceased, but we feel” -- he looked around the room, searching for the virtual support of the Councilmen -- “that it would be wise to shorten that…slightly, on this occasion.”

This was curious. I knew there had been rising tensions between Vasara and some of the other Kingdoms, particularly Jurasa and Kalnasa. Although Jurasa’s King was infamous for his prickly relationship with most rulers. I also knew, there had been reports of sorcerers organising small rebel groups, but these were issues our Kingdom had dealt with for many years.

For centuries, no matter the circumstances, no matter the strife, even when the Wielders’ War had ensued, the mourning period had been respected and upheld by all Kingdoms.

“Please elaborate,” my voice was dry as I met each of the Council members' eyes.

“Your Highness…I am not quite sure—" Raynard started.

“I would advise you become sure Raynard, and quickly. Your seat around this table is of no consequence to me, to see you replaced would mean nothing for myself, however I am sure it would be quite devastating for you and your prospects.”

To even insinuate Raynard’s prospects could be devastating when he likely possessed enough wealth to last him four lifetimes was ludicrous. But I needed him to believe that an end to his position would mean the effective end to his pathetic existence.

I continued to look at Raynard, expecting an answer, but it was only stuttering noises rather than words that came out of his mouth, like pathetic attempts at rainfall in a drought.

“Apparently Raynard has lost the ability to answer a simple question. Would someone kindly do it for him?” I asked.

The Council members cast wary glances at each other. I had sat on the Council a few times before but had often been discouraged by my father from doing so. He would proclaim it was tedious, filled with conversations centring around tiresome practicalities about taxes, shipping, and supplies. These were conversations, he said, I should be grateful to avoid until my time to rule came.

Only now my time had come, and nobody was speaking about anything.

“It is rather hard to have a productive conversation if my own Council will not participate in it.” When nobody spoke again, I added, “The order to have guards accompany me everywhere I go is to be revoked. Now, if there is nothing else, I will take my leave.”

I stood. Just as my chair had fully made its way back from the table, Councillor Trenton spoke.

“It’s the sorcerers, Your Highness…”

I slowly turned to him. I sat back down in my chair, resting my right elbow on its arm, my hand hovering by my face.

“What about them?”

“They are…regrouping.”

“They have been regrouping sporadically for a while. What are you insinuating?”

“We believe...” He paused as if debating how to word his statement. “We believe sorcerers killed your parents, Your Highness.”

I gripped the side of my chair in one swift movement. “You believe… or you are certain?”

“We are…fairly certain of it, Your Highness,” Councillor Wayman confirmed.

“Why?” I tried my best to hide the swirling pit of emotions raging through my mind. I was not sure if I was succeeding in doing so, but I was determined to get through this meeting as calmly as possible.

Councillor Trenton continued. “The Palace physicians who examined their bodies found marks on their chests. They were unmistakably marks of sorcery. They were” – he looked at me tentatively – “Your Highness I’m not sure if you should hear this.”

I was not sure either, but I said, “I must know every detail Trenton, after all, this relates to matters of our security, to my own security.”

Trenton nodded. “The marks were carved into their chests, presumably with some kind of blade or knife. There were smaller, similar marks engraved on their wrists and at the nape of their necks.”

“I was told” – I took a deep breath – “I was told, they died of an illness. They had been sick for days and nobody noticed these marks. What fool of a physician diagnosed them?” I slammed my palm against the table, louder than I had intended.

“They were sick, Your Highness, the physician believed them to be inflicted with the Darts, their symptoms were identical.” Wayman’s tone was not entirely without fear.

I did not enjoy scaring people, but for some reason, most of them had been afraid of me, since I was a young man.

“You have cold eyes.”

The Darts was an illness that had spread across all Five Kingdoms over the past few years. It had claimed many lives. It was mostly the poor who were affected, but some members of higher society had contracted it also.

“How did a Royal physician mistake the work of sorcery for the symptoms of Darts?” I looked at Wayman with as blank an expression as I could summon.

“It seems they were also poisoned, Your Highness,” he answered. “After their deaths, the physicians, assuming that the Darts had cruelly taken their lives, did not immediately think to examine their bodies so…intimately. Not until this morning, when they were being prepared for the public funeral. It was then they found the marks Trenton speaks of and traces of the Tuspian Leaf inside their mouths. It is a rare and deadly poison. Its effects mimic that of the Darts in many ways.”

I sighed. How could I be surrounded by such complacent fools?

“The Tuspian leaf?” That wasn’t just rare, it was practically extinct. "Why not simply kill them?" I paused for a moment, processing how strangely the words sat in my mouth. "With the poison?"

"The Tuspian leaf is a slow acting poison, Your Highness. It can take many days, at times weeks to achieve its full effects. Presumably the" – Trenton side-eyed me before he continued – “assailants did not have the time or ability to wait, so they used a small dose to mimic the effects of Darts, waited but a few short days, then delivered the final blow using…sorcery."

I pressed my lips together, eyeing the table. I attempted to steady my breathing before I spoke again.

“So, what you’re implying, is not only were my parents assassinated, but they were assassinated by sorcerers? That this information, which should have been known to all of us, to me, days ago, has only come to light now due to the obvious incompetence of several people both within the Palace and around this table?”

“We are very sorry, Your Highness. We are greatly distressed –”

“Your distress is useless to me, to all the people here. If what you say is true, we are in a graver danger than we previously anticipated.”

The silence that followed my statement confirmed what I had already begun to suspect.

“You were already aware of this threat, weren’t you gentlemen?” I leant back in my seat.

Councillor Fargreaves, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table, his auburn hair cast in the shade, replied. “Your father was aware, as were we. He…we were trying to find a way to deal with the situation. He thought he could find the origins of this group and wipe them out before you or your mother ever needed to know.”

I placed my head in my hands for a moment, before realising it would be best not to demonstrate any level of exasperation or emotion in front of these men.

“Did you find this group?” I dropped my hands, returning them to the table.

“Unfortunately not, Your Highness. It is unlikely they have one set location.” Councillor Trenton shook his head. “Either way, it is this threat, along with the rising tensions among the Kingdoms that has prompted our suggestion of expediting your Coronation.”

“I see,” I stated. It did not truly matter when I would be coronated, not to me. The result would be the same, I would be the King of Vasara, of every Kingdom, of every person in Athlion.

“We believe it would be a good idea to interrogate the Vessels, Your Highness,” Wayman suggested.

“The Vessels aren’t allowed out of the Northern Wing. Their powers are stripped by their chains. How would they have done this?” I squinted.

“They may not have committed the deed, but they may have information.”

I sighed. “Arrange for them to be questioned.”

“Do we have your permission to use more extreme methods, should they be necessary, Your Highness?” Trenton asked.

I thought about it for a moment. “No, we need the Vessels. If any of them seem suspicious, you will report it to me. I will deal with them myself.”

Trenton and Wayman looked at each other in surprise.

“As you say, Your Highness,” Trenton nodded.

Raynard started, “In light of the rather unique familial situation that Vasara faces –”

He had found a delicate way of revisiting the fact that Vasara was the only Kingdom with one heir. It used to be two, until Malia had died. There was also Elias, my cousin, but under no circumstances would any of the nobility support him as King for several unsavoury reasons, nor was there any possibility Elias would allow himself to be crowned.

“We also believe the Courting Season should be discussed,” Raynard added.

“The Courting Season is not for many months.” I abruptly faced him, furrowing my brow.

“Your Highness, we feel your need for a wife is also more pressing, in light of these threats.” Trenton met my eyes. It was easy for me to notice that Trenton had assumed the role of leader amongst the Councilmen, being the one to take charge of topics the other members shied away from.

“How so?” My voice sounded flat with disapproval.

“It could strengthen our alliance with one of the other Kingdoms, should your chosen Queen originate from one of them,” he replied. “Jurasa or Kalnasa would be a particularly good choice, Your Highness.”

“I would rather not spend any more time than necessary in the Jurasan King’s presence,” I mumbled under my breath.

“He is a rather…unpleasant man.” Fargreaves sounded pained. “But he is a powerful one.”

Raynard scoffed. “He knows it too.”

Being the ruler of Jurasa meant their King had control over the largest bodies of water that existed in Athlion. They were mostly located to the West, where Jurasa was situated. Therefore, good, or at least neutral relations with its monarch were vital if we were to survive. Not that he made such relations easy.

It was not the prospect of conversing with Jurasa’s King that truly pained me but that of the Courting Season. The Season was a tradition all rulers of Vasara had upheld for centuries. At some point within the first year of a King’s reign, five candidates, one from each Kingdom, were selected as candidate for the Season, where they would vie for the King or Queen’s hand in marriage.

The Season filled me with more dread than the thought of any war, battle, or assassination attempt. It would require my undivided attention at several points. It was an outdated rite of passage, full of hypocrisy, backstabbing, and plots for power. There had been candidates sent to the Courting Season as young as sixteen, some as old as sixty. There had been candidates who had cried and begged to return home, and candidates who had plotted to murder each other. I had heard the stories. Had I the choice, I would have banned it, but there were too many powerful people involved in its creation and eliminating it would take many years. Time was not a luxury I had.

“Do you really believe we have time for this? You know full well how long and tedious the Season is. War is likely on the horizon, and you believe rather than planning for it, I should be attending balls and dinners, charming noble ladies?”

“Your Highness, it is precisely because war is coming that you need a wife as soon as possible, that our Kingdom needs a Queen, and heirs.” Fargreaves creased his brow.

“In case it has escaped your notice, heirs cannot be produced over-night. By the time any Queen of mine gave birth to an heir, we could all be dead.”

“Still…it is important, it is necessary for the stability of the Kingdom. Your safety is our priority.” Trenton shifted in his seat.

“If only you had possessed such an attitude towards my father’s safety Trenton.”

“Your Highness,” Trenton sounded angry, “I can assure you, your father’s safety was something I took very seriously.”

“Not seriously enough.” We were staring at each other now. Trenton was the first to look away.

I turned to the side and looked out of the arched, tall windows lining the walls of the Council chamber. The room was elevated enough that dense clouds floated past them, giving the illusion of being far removed from the world. Ironic, since here, within these four walls, conversations were held that could, and would, change the course of history.

When I hadn’t spoken for a few minutes Fargreaves declared, “We think the Coronation could be combined with the Season. We could implement it as part of the Season’s activities and invite the candidates to participate.”

I shook my head. “This haste will not solve our problems.”

“It will not, Your Highness, but it does not need to solve them all, it simply needs to send out a message to the other Kingdoms, to the people and to these… sorcerers ” – Wayman uttered the word with disgust, his jowls and grey hair wobbling from side to side – “that we are united, that we are ready, that we are –”

“Strong, yes. Only there was no reason for anyone to doubt that before the death of my parents and they died all the same. They were assassinated all the same,” I stated.

Wayman’s mouth was open in shock. He was gaping like a fish out of water.

“Do you think Wayman, do any of you truly think, that the sorcerers who murdered my parents will quiver in fear when they hear I have been officially crowned? That I now wear a larger headpiece, which weighs more in gold. That I have been married? Do you honestly believe that these” – I waved my hand in front of me – “empty gestures of power will convince them? Because I do not.”

“It may not convince them, Your Highness,” Trenton answered, “But it would certainly serve as a distraction to the people, both from the grief and the news of the assassination, should it be uncovered.”

“Are you expecting it to be uncovered, Trenton? Is our Palace so rife with traitors?”

“I am afraid all centres of power are rife with such people, Your Highness,” Trenton’s tone was condemnatory.

It pained me to agree with him.

“It will also,” Trenton continued, “possibly fool our enemies. If these sorcerers are not convinced we are strong, they will at least be convinced you are preoccupied.”

“I will be preoccupied. That is the problem.”

“We can work this to our advantage, Your Highness,” Fargreaves added, not without a hint of patronisation to his tone.

“The question is whether there will be people roaming these walls capable of noticing our distraction for what it is,” I looked back at Fargreaves.

“That is a risk we will have to take,” Trenton stroked the brown hair of his moustache and beard, deep in thought.

Perhaps they were right. If we were to plan and strategize, it would be best to shroud those activities. Something as large and eventful as a Coronation and the Courting Season would provide ample distraction, especially if they were combined.

If we were to stand a chance against these sorcerers, we would have to think like them, operate like them.

“When?” I questioned.

“We could send out invitations this week, Your Highness, with the aim to begin the Season at the start of next month,” Raynard suggested.

Three weeks away.

“Do it and start the interrogations today.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

I stood, this time, fully drawing my chair back, and fully intent on leaving. “We did not have the courage to see what was right in front of our eyes,” I addressed them, “to see what was happening before us, and these, gentlemen, these are the consequences. I will not suffer them. My people will not suffer them. You will ensure that, or you will suffer your own.”

All the men looked at me in unison as I left, and not one of them uttered a word.