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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)	By : Darkrogue Category: +S through Z > Suikoden Views: 3924 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Suikoden, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters and dialogue from the game Suikoden V belong to Konami.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
***Author's notes: Dialogue from the Sialeeds/Salum/Euram scene is lifted directly from the game, Suikoden V. I own neither the dialogue nor the characters.

Chapter 12: The Color of Tears

Ooohh, that devil! The miscreant!

Damn him. Oh, the loathsome, appalling things he does to my poor, delicate, gentlemanly body! Is it not enough that he uses me? Is it not enough that he keeps me naked here, lying in wait for him to defile what little dignity I have left? Now, that he should rob my virile body of virtually all masculine adornment, it is no less than devastating!

When he took that razor to me, I wanted dearly to say “no”, to fight him, and yet…yet I could not. Is there any further disgrace he could possibly inflict upon me? Goodness me, but it is unimaginable that I should be here, enduring these treatments. Oh, how I bring myself to bear it! My, but it is simply inconceivable!

But then, the pleasure that he shows me…I regret that I am cruelly torn. If nothing else, he knows how to confuse me terribly. How does he do such things? How is it that that man can carry me to such sublime heights of desire, even against my very will?

And yet my soul flutters with what he disclosed to me last night. The Sun Rune….

So he has mastered it, has he? If so, it is as I had dreaded. There is of course the possibility that he is lying, but I am regrettably unable to discern this. He keeps his thoughts well guarded from me, and rarely even shows emotion. The thought of what ghastly devastation he might wreak with that rune—oh, the horror!

No, no! The thought is far, far too woefully barbarous for my genteel tastes! I feel I may swoon just thinking about it. I choose not to imagine it, for fear that it may prove too much for my poor, gentle heart.

I fear for them—for Prince Freyjadour, for my sister…for all of them.

That anyone could be so reckless, so utterly callous—oh, the blackguard, the rapscallion! That he could even think of using that thing, that he could so much as consider using something so vile, so despicable, so utterly foul, it is an affront to all things decent and virtuous!

Ahh, but I fear I must have awakened in a cranky mood this morning. Truly, who am I to speak so disparagingly of him? Who am I to slur his name, when I have so much to answer for, myself?

I wish my crimes ended with the Lordlake scandal, but this is not so. How many times did I sit awake, scheming against His Highness? How many times did I fail and flee back to Rainwall before I realized that my actions were helping no one, and hurting myself more than anyone? Thanks to my spite and foolishness, I made myself even more widely hated, the name Euram Barows the object of contempt and ridicule from Sol-Falena to Sable, from Lunas to Lordlake.

There are times when I hate myself.

I am grateful at least that Prince Frey and my sister took the time to come and speak with me after Father died. Had they not come to me then, I would have been lost, utterly.

I wonder if I shall ever have the chance to truly thank them, beyond the pitiful words I have offered?

Oh, but I mustn’t dilly-dally here; I am certain he has some chore for me, though I cannot imagine…

***

“Are you being naughty, Euram?”

He recognized her voice, and his heart nearly flipped.

Euram gasped and the pen jumped in his hand, streaking a thin mark across the page. He slammed the journal shut and stuffed it behind him, whipping his frightened gaze up towards his latest visitor.

Lady Sialeeds.

She stood in the doorway, tall, grim, smug… and unforgiving.

But how had she…?

He had not even heard her approach, nor had he heard the faintest sound of a key in the lock or the slightest creak of the door. How had she got here so quietly? Had he truly been that consumed with his thoughts?

“Y-Your Highness!” he squeaked, feeling a chill just from her presence.

He had not known whether to expect her or not, and he certainly had not expected her so soon. But now that she was here, he almost regretted having contacted her at all, as a simple word from her was enough to remind him of how terribly he feared her.

From across the room, Sialeeds could feel the prisoner tremble. Her silver hair hung lazily across one eye, but the other eye pierced him dangerously. Predictably he cowered into the cushions where he crouched, his arms endeavoring pathetically to cover his scrawny, naked form.

She knew he feared her. And he was wise to fear her. If any measure of wisdom could be credited to him at all, it was that. He would have to be unbelievably stupid not to fear her. After all, she had killed his father right before his very eyes...

***

As the war had raged across Falena, Godwin forces had inevitably arrived to conquer and occupy rival Barows territory. General Novum and his men had marched upon Rainwall, seizing the city with virtually no resistance.

No one had come to Rainwall’s aid.

Thanks to the actions of Salum and Euram Barows, sympathy for the faction had crumbled. With no outside support, Rainwall surrendered without terms.

Since the Lordlake reveal, Rainwall had become a dismal, depressing place. A cloud of disgrace hung over the city like a perpetual fog. Not wanting to be associated with Lord Barows, outside cities severed trading ties with Barows territory. Slowly, the city of Rainwall became swallowed in financial hardship.

The Godwin occupation only made matters worse.

Following the takeover, Godwin soldiers ruled the streets, taking what they desired and demanding what they wished from the citizens. They were ruthless, unforgiving, just as they had been trained to be. Rainwall men were sequestered and absorbed into the Godwin military. And the lord of Rainwall, Salum Barows, was made a prisoner in his own home.

Salum and his son had spent those dismal days living in fear and torment. Many spoke that they got what they deserved.

When the Godwin home base of Stormfist fell to the Loyalists, Gizel and his father had pulled their forces from Rainwall, scaling back the army to defend Sol-Falena instead.

Knowing she would enjoy the task, Gizel had sent Sialeeds to inform the Senator of this development, and to “take care of the problem once and for all”.

She had confronted Lord Barows in his mansion, along with his spineless, bumbling lapdog of a son.

She found them in Salum’s office, no doubt commiserating over a fate richly deserved. Now, Salum and Euram Barows both shuffled before her, each bent in obsequious and phony adulation.

Sialeeds eyed the pair with disgust. How they cowered like dogs, this fat, contemptible crook and his craven, worthless offspring. It sickened her how much alike they were. At least the Godwins were honest and brazen about their power-hungry, warlike intentions. The Barows were far worse: they were sneaky, treacherous liars of the most deplorable sort.

Both men were bent almost double. Salum’s belly followed his shrinking movements almost hypnotically, just as Euram’s dangling ruffles followed his. Sialeeds frowned and folded her arms across her chest, glaring at them with unmasked contempt.

“Stop groveling and listen up,” she spat. “I’ve a message for the pair of you.”

“Y-yes, Your Highness?” Salum was sweating like a hog in the sun.

“The Godwin troops are going to withdraw from Rainwall,” Sialeeds announced, coolly. “Aren’t you happy to hear that?”

“Er, y-yes, yes, of course we are!” Euram insisted, his voice high, quavering.
“So, uh, why did you--?” Salum ventured to question her further.
“What I do is none of your business!” Sialeeds snapped, abruptly. Both father and son cringed back at once.

“Yes…yes, Your Highness!” Euram squeaked, looking as though he would slither behind the heft of his father.

“So sorry, Your Highness!” Salum bowed deeply.

Sialeeds glared at the pair of wretches, both liars, both rotten. She scowled, thinking of how they had eyed her niece, how disgustingly Euram had courted Lym, and how Salum had planned to use her. Not to mention how the boy had consistently endeavored to sabotage her nephew...

She felt a fury inside her twitch.

“All right. I’ve given you the message, then.” Casually she moved about, as though she were done with them.

As she turned to leave, a brief flash of relief came over father and son. But it was short-lived.

“Oh, one more thing, Salum,” she said, pausing just in front of the doorway.

“Why of course, Your Highness. What is it?” The old man asked, uneasily. Sweat beaded upon his flushed brow.

Secretly Sialeeds cracked a thin smile. “I want to talk to you about Luserina. Come here.”

Hesitantly Salum waddled nearer, curiosity driving him forward in spite of his reservations. Euram hung back, craven, fidgeting. The old man approached Sialeeds, until he was within a whisper’s reach.

“Yes, yes?” he ventured, timidly. “Please, Your Highness. Tell me about Luserina.”

Sialeeds smiled again, coldly. “Well, she’s…how can I put it? She’s doing…really well. In fact, she seems to have forgotten all about you.” She gave him only a moment to absorb her words fully.
“So now, Salum...you can rest in peace.”

The old man had only a second to react. In the brief moment it took his eyes to snap wide, a bright flare pulsed from her wrist, filling the room in a brief but blinding flash.

Salum Barows was dead before he hit the rug.

By the time the rune’s light flickered out, his corpulent form had hit the carpeted surface with a heavy, bouncing thud.

The Twilight Rune, sister to the Sun Rune itself, had swiftly put an end to the Senator's life.

Euram’s face was tallow-white. He cringed, glancing briefly in shock and horror between Sialeeds and the lifeless heap that was his father.

Stricken, the boy dissolved into a pitiful wail.

“N-noooo!”

His slim and paltry form shook and then collapsed. He fell, and in a desperate panic, crawled to his father’s fallen corpse. He was whimpering, sobbing, his eyes darting wretchedly upwards towards his parent’s murderer.

“Did you really think I was going to forgive you?” Pitiless, the woman advanced on him, until she towered over the boy. He fell back, clumsily shrinking from her as if he would sink into the carpet. Euram scooted along the floor, his arms flung up and flapping at her as though he would somehow ward her off. Sialeeds scowled at the pitiful sight.

“Hmph! Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you. Now that an imbecile like you is head of the Barows faction, I’m sure it will fall to ruin anyway.”

With that, she laughed. It was a laugh that sent cold tremors through him, a laugh bred of pure malice and cruelty. And she had laughed all the way from the house, leaving him a quivering, sobbing wreck on the floor next to his own dead father.

***

Euram had done the same thing then as he was doing now. He had cowered on the ground like the pitiful worm he was.

She had not killed him because he was too pathetic to kill, leaving him alive the far worse punishment. And now, Gizel had made even further certain of that.

Yet he had had the nerve to slip her a ridiculous note. Whatever he wanted, she was certain he was up to no-good. He was a coward and a fraud, just like his father.

“Do you know why I’m here, Euram?” she asked, relishing his growing discomfort as she drew nearer.

The young man whimpered, a sound he had not intended her to hear.
Euram gulped.
“Y-yes, Your Highness...I mean, I think so.”

“Hmmph.” The woman ambled into the room, the door clicking behind her. She glided along the polished marble floor, the rustle of her slim-fitting silk dress as subtle as a whispering breeze. For all her delicate appearance, she was dangerous. Euram knew this, for he had experienced the misfortune of being on the receiving end of her cunning before.

“Euram Barows: once a future Senator—now his rival’s whore.” Sialeeds stalked closer, until she hovered above him. “What are you writing, there, hmm? Let me guess: you’re plotting something.”

He paled, suddenly afraid that she might demand to see it and looking as though he would attempt to hide the journal further.

“Don’t bother,” she snapped, at once. “If I wanted it, I would have it. No, you know exactly why I am here. And I believe I warned you that I would be keeping an eye on you, did I not?”

“Y-Your Highness?”

Euram shifted, hating the way her eyes seemed to peel through him. The memory of his father’s murder was still fresh in his mind, and he knew that she still possessed the very rune that had killed him. He did not doubt she would use it again. Euram cowered and sought to conceal his nakedness from her.

“Your Highness, I...”

“Silence!” she hissed. Almost as quickly she calmed again, idly sauntering at a steady pace as she casually studied her wrist. Elegant silken sleeves dangled from her arms and flowed gracefully while she spoke. “What I want to know is: why have you asked to see me? What, in your little mind, made you think for one minute that I would be obliged to ‘conspire’ with you? After all your talk! Though I am hardly surprised.” She spoke reservedly, something that frightened Euram more than if she had simply screamed at him.

“Y-Your Highness, I don’t...I don’t understan—”

“Don’t you dare play stupid with me!” she whirled on him. “You dare to assume my intentions? My loyalties, my purposes, are none of your business. How dare you attempt to appeal to me, when you have no idea.” She met his fearful, questioning gaze with derision. “Oh, don’t think I haven’t heard. You think I don’t know? Even without your letter, I would have known. So don’t think I am not aware that already you have caved in, already you have appealed to help Gizel. And you think somehow to include me in your ridiculous scheme?”

Euram’s eyes flung wide with sudden panic. “Oh, no, Your Highness! I—!”

All at once she whipped the note from her bosom and snapped it tight in her fingers. “I know you still love him, you wrote. Hmph. Just what have you managed to pry from him while you slither between his sheets? What is it you think you know about us?” she demanded. Sialeeds stalked nearer, her heels clicking the floor beneath her in a menacing, steady rhythm.

“Wait! Y-Your Highness, please!” Euram shrank, bending almost to the floor.

“You make me sick,” she spat. Steadily the woman advanced, frowning as she watched him grovel. How many times had this coward devised some ‘scheme’, only to flee back to Rainwall with his tail between his legs? How many times had he crossed her family? And now, he would endeavor to do that again, simply to win his captor’s favor.

Were she to eliminate him now, it would be a mercy killing.

“I have had enough of your lies. I knew you couldn’t be trusted, but even I did not think you were this stupid! To think that I spared you, to think that I convinced Gizel to keep you, rather than end your sad little existence.”

The Twilight Rune embedded upon her wrist flared dangerously, and the room began to glow steadily brighter beyond the muffled light that splashed through the window. The prisoner’s face shadowed with alarm.

“Nooo! Please, don’t! It isn’t what you think!” Euram flung himself to his belly before her, tucking his head beneath his shielding arms as though he expected any moment to be finished off. “Your Highness, I beg you! It...” he choked, lowering his voice to a desperate, trembling whisper:

“It is the Prince—not Gizel—who I wish to help!”

Abruptly the rune’s light faded, and Sialeeds paused, glaring at him hard. How could a creature so wretched so desperately cling to his life? But then, she thought, even the most meager life forms strive for survival.

Even the most pitiful snail, scrounging upon its belly in the dirt, does not wish to die.

“You had better start making sense,” she demanded. “What are you up to, and why did you come to me?”

The wretch sobbed and quivered upon the floor.

“Oh, Your Highness, I—I only meant that you still love Prince Freyjadour, even in spite of…of everything,” he gushed, stopping short of mentioning her treachery towards her nephew. “And…and I wrote you...because I didn’t know where else I could turn! I-I’m scared, Your Highness! I don’t know what will happen, but I am afraid.”

She did not respond at once. There was an honesty in his voice that she had not expected, and it left her momentarily perplexed, even if her outward exterior showed no sign of it.

Fearing her silence hinted at a pending rejection of his plea, he appealed to her further.

“I-I know I’m no good, Your Highness,” Euram sobbed, desperately. “I don’t expect or deserve your forgiveness, but please, please believe that I would never do anything to harm His Highness again, you must believe me!”

The words tumbled from his mouth in a cascade of babbling that finally dissolved into pathetic, wracking sobs.

Sialeeds said nothing for a very long time. He was actually quite difficult to watch. Turning away, she left him for the moment to snivel and cower.

Instead, she fixed her gaze upon the glazed, decorated windowpane, flipping her silver bangs from her eyes as she pondered her next move. To be honest, she had not known what to expect when she came to confront him. She might not have been inclined to believe him now, but his desperation seemed so genuine, his appeals so sincere that she somehow knew there must be at least a measure of truth in them.

Thoughts of killing him dashed for the time being, she thought about simply leaving him here. She wanted nothing to do with him. But something held her there. Whether it was a morbid curiosity or something resembling pity, something compelled her to stay.

“Get up off your belly,” she finally prompted, her voice tinged with impatience as she turned back to him, once more folding her arms across her chest. “I’m weary of watching you grovel.”

As it dawned upon Euram that he was not about to be destroyed, he obeyed, poking his tear-streaked face up to study her and rising from his prone position. He sat up and hugged his knees to his chest. He still recoiled from her physically, but somehow managed to refrain from launching himself at her feet again.

And there, Euram wept, full sobs spilling from him like a well-needed catharsis.

“F-forgive me, Your Highness,” he whimpered, softly.

“Enough. Stop crying. You talk and you beg and you promise, but I need you to answer something: why should I believe you?”

“I...” he faltered, swiping a wrist across his eyes. “…I can name no reason why you should. You have all the reason to doubt me. That is my fault.” Euram sniffled, shuddering as he felt her gaze upon him. “B-but I cannot bear remaining helpless, like this. He told me about the Sun Rune, that he had learned how to wield it. And, and that frightens me, I don’t want….” Euram sobbed again, a fresh reserve of tears gushing forth, despite the fact that he would have thought he’d cried them all long ago. “...he came and found me. Prince Freyjadour. He came and found me, after...when I was alone.” Euram did not mention directly his father’s death. “He came to Rainwall and found me there...when I was hopeless, when I thought my life was over. He took me in, and gave me a chance I didn’t deserve. And I would definitely, indisputably never, ever endeavor to harm him now, you must at least believe that.”

He sobbed again, a thing that might have tested her patience further, but she did not snap at him. Euram felt his throat tighten and reached up a slim, trembling hand to tug slightly on the leather collar at his neck.

“I promised…I promised I would change. I promised Prince Freyjadour, I promised Luserina. And I want to change, but I wonder…do you think it’s possible? Do you honestly think a terrible person can be redeemed, Your Highness?”

Sialeeds regarded the weeping young man with seeming indifference. She had not expected him to open up to her so earnestly, and certainly she hadn’t expected him to pose such a question. It felt like he was pouring his heart out to her, even if she could not fathom why.

At length she sighed, heavily, and moved to sit at the table where Gizel took his meals. Sliding herself into the Commander’s own chair, she considered Euram’s seemingly genuine question.

“Yes,” she supplied, finally. “Of course I do. Anyone is capable of changing, sometimes for the better. Though in my experience,” she paused, “...in my experience, they have done so for the worse.”

Euram’s heaviest sobs had dwindled, and now he regarded her with honest curiosity. Sialeeds seemed to lapse into a reverie of sorts, her eyes distant, faraway.

“My sister—Arshtat...she was so different. She was a good person, and kind, once. But that damn rune...the Sun Rune...” she drifted as she thought of how the rune had changed her sister, how it had made her say and do things she would never have done. How it had made her decimate Lordlake. How it had gradually made her begin to speak threateningly even to her own family, her husband, her sister, her son...

And she also thought of the person who had pushed Arshtat to take the rune and bear it in the first place: that damn woman, Lucretia...
And finally, she thought of the person who had started it all—the man who had ripped the Dawn Rune from the East Palace, sealing Lordlake’s fate and pressing Godwin to set his own sights on the Sun Rune. To prevent this, Arshtat had ultimately born the rune--a decision which eventually led to her and Ferid's deaths. And the man who had triggered those events was noneother than Salum Barows: the father of this wretch that cowered before her.
These things passed through her mind, but she never spoke them out loud. She had no reason to share anything of the sort with Euram; it was none of his business. Besides, he knew well enough his part in his father's selfish schemes. He may not have committed the deeds himself, but he had been complicit in them, and his cowardice and idiocy had set them into motion.
And she detested him for it.
After a moment, Sialeeds continued.

“And then, there is Gizel himself. Believe it or not, he was once a nice person.” Had she looked at Euram, she might have seen the curious spark that lit his eyes. But she was too absorbed in her own emotions at the moment.

She remembered the conversation she’d had with Gizel in Stormfist, days before the Sacred Games.

“What happened to the sweet, innocent boy I used to know?” she had asked him. His reply had been straightforward and as final as she could have imagined:

"Being a sweet, innocent boy does not get you what you want."

No, the way to get what one wants, Gizel had learned, was to destroy anyone who stood in the way, no matter how much ruthless scheming, cheating or force was required. And that was the philosophy her former love had grown to live by. He had become cold, emotionless.

Sialeeds sighed, and it appeared to Euram briefly that she was sad, regretful, even.

“He was a good person, when we were younger. And I did love him. Things might have gone differently...” she trailed again, thinking how devastated Gizel had been when she had told him the wedding would be cancelled, that their marriage could not happen.

That was when he truly began to change.

“But those things are in the past,” she concluded quickly, pulling herself from her brief reverie. “So yes, Euram. I know people can change. And most of them only become worse.”

Euram considered her, curiously. He had never seen her look so reflective and so melancholy at once, and he had not anticipated it. It almost made him feel more awkward, if such were possible.

“I…don’t doubt you,” he ventured, meekly. “About Gizel. I can believe he was not always cruel. But you are right: most people do change for the worse, I believe. I wasn’t always...like this...I don’t think. I used to be…normal, and nice, I’m pretty certain. And I want dearly to be so again. I just don’t know if...”

He sniffled and hung his head, lapsing into a reverie of his own. “I have caused…irreparable hurt, to many. I meant what I wrote: that I deserve your hatred. I have invited it. But I don’t want to be that person any longer. If I could erase all the things I’ve done.... but I can’t. I just want...”

For a long time, the only sounds were the steady hum of insects in the garden carried in through the cracked windowpane. The prisoner steadily swept his tears as Sialeeds sat, motionless and thoughtful as she stared into nothingness.

Abruptly she rose and paced about the room, taking note of the chamber’s décor. Her shoes tapped idly along the marble, her earrings swaying subtly as she moved. Her lavish clothing, the adornment of royalty, struck out in stark contrast to the young slave’s nakedness.

She examined the trophies and plaques and heirlooms with detached disinterest. These were the possessions and achievements of the man she once had loved. Still loved, in a way, she thought.

“Shouldn’t you be busy, Barows?” she asked suddenly, drawing a questioning look from him. “He assigns you work, doesn’t he?”

“Y-Yes, Your Highness. I was planning to get to it, presently.”

“I suspect you should.” She chuckled, softly. “How fitting now that you should do his menial chores.”

Euram said nothing. Finally Sialeeds turned to him and regarded the small, naked form, cuddling itself upon the cushions. It occurred to her how sad and miserable he had become: the son of a Senator, once proud and boastful, now collared, branded and cushioned before the Commander’s hearth. His eyes were downcast, his dampened lashes fanning over tear-blotted cheeks. Not a shred of his former arrogance seemed left in him: a creature humbled, shamed.

Sialeeds wondered how he was coming to terms with being Gizel's plaything. She was almost surprised he had not attempted to take his own life.

Somehow, she softened. A lengthy sigh spilled from her, languid and resigned.

“Maybe you are sincere,” she mused aloud. Certainly she had been cruel to him, but if he could admit that he had invited her scorn, then perhaps something had changed inside him. Perhaps he did possess a conscience, after all.

“I know of his plans to use the Sun Rune. Marscal will be the one to wield it.”

Euram’s eyes snapped up, as he wondered why Gizel’s father would be in charge of the rune. He got his answer.

“Gizel himself wants the honor of watching,” Sialeeds continued, grimly. “Yes, I knew of this plan already, Euram. And I do love my nephew still, so you were correct in that. I have devised a plan of my own. No, I will not tell you,” she asserted, quickly. “My business is mine alone. But you can rest assured, I have my devices.”

“I don’t want to simply ‘rest assured’,” he sighed. “I am tired of being helpless, Your Highness. I promised His Highness I would help in any way possible. I would like to make good on that.”
“Then tell me, Euram. Tell me why…why is it that I have heard whispers that you have appealed to Gizel?”
“Because...because I hoped that I might guard my true feelings. I had hoped that if he trusted me, he might tell me something, anything that might help me help Freyjadour.”

“That will not work on him. He will orchestrate everything to his own pleasure. You are nothing more to him than a plaything. Just like everyone else here. Besides, Euram Barows,” she admonished, “you should know better than to try to scheme or plot. You know you aren’t any good at it.”

He acknowledged her words with a laugh, a sound that was somehow pleasant amid his tears. Flipping her hair back, she regarded him, and her contempt for him softened, if only a little.

“Hmmph. If you truly are sincere, perhaps there is something you might do.”

He looked up like an orphan offered something sweet.

“I don't plan to be in the Palace during the siege. I will be…indisposed,” Sialeeds explained. “Let’s just say that I hope to eliminate the need to use the Sun Rune. But things do not always go according to plan. The Sun Rune is very…unpredictable. And in case...everything goes wrong…I would like you to try and move my niece to safety.”

Clouding with confusion, Euram blinked up at her. She sighed, not surprised.

“Lymsleia has refused to budge. She is stubborn. Like Arshtat.” She explained. “And if you try to drag her away, she will argue. She will fight you. She will insult you. It may not be possible. Gizel may have her too closely guarded, or he might even keep her glued to his side, I cannot yet tell. But if there is a way, if you can devise an opportunity—then that is how you can help.”

Euram appeared to gulp at the responsibility she had suddenly heaped on his shoulders. In all honesty, Sialeeds was a little surprised at herself, but at the moment, there happened to be a serious lack of those whom she trusted within the Palace, and one regarded as lowly as Euram might prove a convenient possibility.

Noting his doubtful expression she frowned, folding her arms. “Oh come, you can manage to handle a twelve-year-old, can’t you?”

With visible hesitation he swallowed, but nodded.

“But I don’t—you would permit me—near Her Majesty? After…” his words stalled in shame as he remembered his embarrassing performance at the Senate Building. She’d watched his mawkish appeals to the Princess with disgust. It didn’t matter that his fawning, obsessive declarations of love for Lymsleia had been nothing more than that: performance.
She looked away. “I am not happy with the idea, no. But I do not fear you will bring her harm.”
“N-no, Your Highness. I would never dream of—”
“That isn’t what I meant. You are far too incompetent and stupid and weak, even if you did wish it. But there is nothing left of your faction, now. My niece is shrewd, and strong. More importantly, she is Queen of Falena. She must be protected at all cost. If possible, I will contact you further, before the end.”
The end. Euram shuddered.
“Y-yes, Your Highness. I will do what I can—anything I can. If there is a way, I will. You have my word. And you can trust it, this time.” Euram bowed his head respectfully. “Thank you, thank you so very much, Your Highness.”

Sialeeds calmly strode to the door, where she paused. “Oh, and a warning to you: Gizel will see through you, and anything you do. I would advise against attempting to deceive him further. I have little doubt he knows your supplications are false. You had best watch your step, or you will be killed.” Euram nodded, and she turned on him one final, dire admonition.

“One more thing: if you truly are on my nephew's side, I will not touch you. But should I uncover the slightest reason to suspect further treachery on your part—should I believe even remotely that you are trying to help Gizel—then I will personally reunite you with your father in hell.”

And then, she was gone.

Euram stared at the door for a long time, her final warning reverberating in his head like the dull, lingering drone of a bell. He could hear her footsteps disappearing down the corridor. A cold and steady dread ripped into his stomach and forced a deep shudder from him.

When that Twilight Rune had flared, he had prepared himself to meet the same fate as his father. A raw mix of emotion swept over him suddenly, and he swooned. It was all too much to consider, too much to absorb all at once.

Euram took in a long, calming breath. His head pounded with the assault of thoughts crowding his jumbled mind. One moment he had thought she would kill him, and the next she was opting to trust him with her own niece—the Queen herself. It occurred to him suddenly that she might tell Gizel what had transpired between them, and he suffered a cold shudder when he considered what might happen then. But somehow, he did not think she would do such a thing. No, it almost seemed as though she might have forgiven him his past transgressions, even if just a little. Even if just enough to put him to the test so he could prove his true loyalty. But were those really her intentions at all? He could read Lady Sialeeds no better than he could read the Commander himself.

It made his head hurt.

But Sialeeds had given him hope about one thing: that he could change if he honestly wished it. If even Sialeeds believed it, then maybe, maybe it was possible after all…

Gradually he managed to uncurl his limbs, forcing himself from his withdrawn posture. Rubbing the last of his tears away, he pulled himself up to see what task Gizel had set for him. Then as an afterthought, he turned and looked down to the spot where his little diary, that small red journal, lay peeking out from behind the cushions.

Before he could forget and leave it lying about for the Commander to find, he bent and grabbed the item up.

Recently he had taken to concealing the diary in different hiding places. That seemed the best way to keep it from snaring the Commander’s attention. He knew Gizel was aware of it, and dreaded the day the man might actually demand to see it, but perhaps if he kept it out of sight, he might prevent that thought from entering his mind.

Hugging the journal to him, Euram slinked across the room and slid the item well beneath the bed before moving to find Gizel’s letter.

***

The audience chamber of the Sun Palace was more deserted than normal that particular afternoon.

Marscal and Gizel Godwin had spent the past few hours in the Rune Chamber with the scholars, assessing deeper the artifact’s power and how best it might be utilized. Only one consistency remained: the Sun Rune remained unpredictable. It was impossible to gauge the full effects of the destructive heirloom without putting it into practice. And that, of course, was a pleasure to be saved for the main event.

Both father and son had eventually dismissed themselves and moved to the audience chamber to discuss their plans further.

Daylight spilled inside from glass clerestory above, recently repaired from the damage suffered during the Godwin coup. Steady flows of clear-blue trickled down waterfalls that lined the walls. A dozen at least, these emptied softly into the aqueduct below. Marble pilasters of white separated the flowing fountains that streamed from the ceiling to the floor.

The steady cascade was calming, and gave the audience chamber a serene ambiance. Gizel sometimes came here by himself to think. At the moment, he was seated languidly in the Queen’s designated throne: the Queen herself was once more relegated to her own chambers, and she seemed more than content to be there.

Marscal Godwin idly paced, his hands loosely clasped behind his back. His white and gold finery lent him a commanding authority, only reinforced by his stern brow. A white stand-collared jacket, adorned with gold epaulets that dangled from his squared shoulders, was fitted perfectly to his form. His white breeches were untarnished and crisp, the red sash he wore as a belt shocking against spotless white. Black gaiters covered his boots and calves, and a gold-trimmed cape of pale embroidered salmon hung nearly to his feet. He was a man who appeared perpetually angry, though in reality he was simply a man who had witnessed enough bloodshed to know how to wage war.

Marscal had lost his wife to the Succession War years ago. Some said he had never fully recovered.

It was in Rosalind Godwin’s name that Marscal and his son sought to this day to forge a unified country, and an unrivalled military.

Their hopes had been to stabilize Falena, and assimilate all ‘loose ends’ into a single, unified government. They had hoped to help all citizens realize that this was the only way to deter outside invasion. A fragmented country with so-called ‘autonomous’ settlements would only encourage neighboring armies to take advantage of their weaknesses.

Unity was further necessary to safeguard against strife and conflict from within. After all, the Succession War was one of the bloodiest conflicts Falena had seen. So many unnecessary deaths, so many lives wasted during that power struggle. Through that strife, the Barows faction had achieved its goal and managed to seize a further foothold of power. But the reign of Queen Falzrahm had been sloppy, unpopular and ruthless all at once, a situation made worse by the ineffectual weakness of Falzrahm’s Barows husband.
Those years had weakened Falena, and made her susceptible to the subsequent Armes invasion that had further devastated the country. Marscal and his son only wished to eliminate the likelihood that such troubles would be repeated. Falena needed strong leaders and loyal subjects if she were to survive. Their methods may have seemed a violent means to that end, but ultimately, their intentions were for the good of the nation.
Now, at least they could take comfort knowing the Barows line was all but extinguished, the lone remnant of that treasonous faction a witless dolt who should have been executed for his family’s crimes, but who otherwise posed no tangible threat.
Marscal walked slowly, stiffly. The man’s dark eyes peered suspiciously from beneath his thick, perfect black brows as he considered the morning’s deliberations.

Gizel himself seemed more relaxed, at ease where he sat.

“It is almost certain that his Royal Highness will lead a force directly into the city, early in the siege,” Gizel explained, lounging back in the towering seat as though he belonged there. “He will make for the Palace, no doubt hoping to finish us off and end this with as little bloodshed as possible. In all likelihood he will seek first to capture us, and take us prisoner. Always he aims for the most peaceful solution, the fool.”

“And that damn Lucretia?” his father asked. “Are you confident that we are fully prepared for anything that bitch might spring upon us?” Marscal’s booted feet made scarcely a sound upon the slick marble, his bald head a stark contrast to his dark moustache, trimmed and uniform.

Gizel could feel the bitterness in his father’s words. Marscal had not yet forgiven Lucretia for betraying him two years ago. After the Lordlake uprising and the theft of the Dawn Rune, it had been Lucretia who had warned Queen Arshtat of Marscal’s interest in the Sun Rune. That was why the Queen had born the rune herself.

“Hmmph,” Gizel returned. “Well, one can never be truly prepared for her next move. Although I am sure she has prepared the rebels for the possibility of the Sun Rune. Perhaps that will cow some of them, but we cannot rely upon that. The Lordlakeans, as we have discussed, are not too great a threat.”

“Merely bumpkins armed with garden tools and feeble magicks,” Marscal agreed, disdainfully. “The Dragon Knights will be a larger worry, and accounted at least in part for our loss in Stormfist. It is unfortunate Craig Ladon has chosen to ally himself with the traitors, in spite of our persuasion.”

Gizel chuckled at his father’s choice of words. Of course by ‘persuasion’ Marscal meant how they had sent Nether Gate assassins to take the cavalry’s dragon horse eggs hostage. The Dragon Cavalry had in turn been dissuaded from marching to the Prince’s aid, under threat that the baby dragon horses would be killed.

“Well, Prince Freyjadour has proven more…resourceful than we expected, has he not?” Gizel added with a smirk. He was almost impressed that the Prince had been able to spoil their plot and liberate the dragon horse breeding ground at Gordius. Even in spite of their efforts, he had won the Cavalry’s alliance.

Marscal was not quite so amused. “So he has. Have you managed to squeak anything useful out of that Barows lout?”

“No, Father. ‘Useful’ is not a term well associated with that one, by any means,” Gizel casually replied, a half-smile brushing his lips.

“I thought not,” Marscal concluded with little surprise, staring into one of the many waterfalls. He said nothing more on the matter.

“Then we are agreed on our strategy, for now?” Gizel prompted. “Unless further issues arise, we will proceed as planned, and play the rest by ear?”

“It is well enough,” Marscal nodded, finally turning to look at his son. “Though I question your confidence. And I do not trust Sialeeds.”

“Neither do I,” Gizel agreed. “She has her own agenda, to be certain.”

“You are to keep a close eye on her,” his father instructed. “It matters not, in the end. Our ultimate stand will lie within the power of the Sun. That will assure our victory.”

****

After Marscal had departed, Gizel himself remained seated there in the audience chamber for several long minutes, simply staring at the cherry wood double doors ahead of him. At length he rose and strode steadily from the room and into the hall. Gizel brushed through the doors, his presence briskly saluted by a pair of Godwin guards as he passed. He was entertaining the thought of traveling to the dungeon to possibly torture that bastard Rayd, but somehow the idea did not sound appealing at the moment. Instead, he headed outside for the gardens.

He had reached the pergola when he heard the distinctive click of heels approaching. Gizel turned his head.

“Well, hello, Sialeeds. Just waking up?”

“Yes, in fact,” she replied with a lazy smile. She sauntered along the railing, her hair lazily bobbing before her eyes. “You once enjoyed sleeping in yourself. Or do you not remember?”

Gizel looked away from her. His eyes were cold, distant.

“I remember, of course...”

***

It was not the first time he had waited here, and he knew it would not be the last.

Gizel’s heart pounded with anticipation and thrill as he paced impatiently about the small wooden shack. Abandoned long ago, the structure had once been the residence of a pair of woodcutters who had lived and worked within the Western Woods just outside of Stormfist. Now, the place was generally grown over and dilapidated, accessible only by a ‘secret’ pathway only he and a certain other knew about.

The sixteen-year-old boy fidgeted, ran a hand through his hair, tested his breath in a cupped hand. Boards creaked beneath his feet as he paced anxiously back and forth, dust spilling between the cracks where he walked. Some parts of the floor were collapsed through, and others threatened to cave. But he knew where to walk. He had learned every detail about this place.

Always she made him wait, but he didn’t mind. Gizel listened for her footsteps, but he knew it was futile: she could be quiet when she wished, and the chatters and rustles of the surrounding forest outside would prove effective in cloaking any sound of her approach.

He had absconded with a bottle of Father’s wine before sneaking away, and had tucked it beneath one of those loose planks. The young man was about to move to one of the caving window frames so he could peer outside, when he heard the distinctive knock he had been expecting.

With hurried strides he rushed to meet her, cracking open the door. As soon as she was inside, he wedged a wooden beam between the floor and the door’s rusted knob, barring the portal shut behind them.

The girl’s green dress was rustled, her hair falling loose from its binding in thin wispy strands. Sialeeds was breathless, her cheeks flushed. Gizel immediately caught her in his arms.

“I thought you’d never make it!” he declared, an edge of relief and happiness and desire coloring his words.

“Oh, hush!” she shoved him off, playfully. “You’re lucky I made it at all. Do you have any idea how relentless Queen’s Knights are?” Once again she had shaken the guards set to watch over her so she could meet Gizel in their ‘designated’ place.

“Well, it’s a good thing they have yet to discover what a tomboy the Queen’s sister really is, hmm?” Gizel concluded with a wink. She feigned an indignant scowl.

“Excuse me? I would remind you that you are speaking to royalty. You might have a care whom you insult.”

“My apologies, my Lady,” Gizel bowed and took her hand, lavishing her wrist with lighthearted kisses. “Allow me to make amends, in whichever manner you see fit, Your Highness.”

Sialeeds giggled and seized him in a tight embrace.

“Oh, shut up and kiss me!”

Laughing, he obliged her.

They spent night together in that shack, just as they had done many nights in the past. Together they awakened the next morning late to the light of sun, spilling in through the window of the abandoned shack. The wine bottle, now empty, had tipped over on the wooden floor. It was nearly noon.

The faint shout of what could only be guards looking for them echoed distantly in the woods. The lovers grinned at one another and laughed. They would never find them, and they did not care of they were ever found.

“Soon we won’t have to worry about them,” Gizel said, hopefully, curling his arm more tightly around her. “Soon, when we are married…they will have to leave us be. It will be official. Your sister will bless our union, and we’ll never have to worry about sneaking off like this.”

Sialeeds grew uncharacteristically silent at those words. Gizel felt her shift next to him, as though she were struggling with something.

“That is the thing, Gizel…” she trailed at once, her voice having taken on a strange tone. Inexplicably she shouldered herself from his embrace and sat up. She was gazing expressionless into the blankets they had brought here, once lavish and now almost threadbare.

Gizel blinked and propped himself up, a sudden concern swelling inside of him. “Yes? What is it, my love?”

“Oh Gizel...” Sialeeds drew her knees up and rested her elbows upon them. She was quiet for a long time before she finally spoke. “ I am...” she choked, suddenly, as though she were attempting to contain a sob. “I’m afraid that I cannot marry you. And I am afraid this is the last time we can be together like this.”

Her young beau blinked again, his mouth falling open as he gradually absorbed what she had said to him.

“That isn’t funny—”

“It’s not a joke,” she corrected him immediately, before he could assume she was pranking him again.

Before he could begin to hope.

“I can’t….do this,” she confirmed. “I just can’t.”

Predictably, Gizel sat up. “What? No! What are talking about?” He felt his heart tighten in his chest. “Of course you can! Why would you...?”

“I can’t, Gizel!” her voice rose to almost a shout, but there was pain in it, and regret. “I can’t. And I cannot explain to you why. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What I don’t understand,” Gizel corrected, “is why you would do this now. Why would you…after all this, after all we’ve had...” As much as he would have fought it, he felt the hot threat of tears building behind his eyes. His voice quavered a little. “After all we’ve shared, all we’ve had...you can’t just tell me that. No, you can’t just do this!”

“It is...it is for the best, Gizel.” Now her voice faltered. She had known how he would react, and had dreaded it. “Oh, I love you, I love you so much,” she sobbed, reaching up and clasping his face. She saw tears swimming there in his jewel-green eyes, and it hurt. She had seen that same pain there when his mother had been killed, and now that pain had returned, and he stared at her with hurt and confusion and worst of all, betrayal. He was crushed, she could see it, and it was unbearable to know that she was the cause of that hurt.

“The Succession War...I know you lost your mother,” she winced inwardly, hating to bring up that painful memory. But it was necessary to make him understand. “If we were to marry...it would only happen all over again. Barows is too cunning. This will never end—unless, unless I help to end it. Arshtat’s line has to live unchallenged.”

She felt him sob.

“No! No, no!” the young man sniffled, far removed from even attempting to hide his tears now. “I love you. If, if that is the issue, we won’t have children, then!” Gizel supplied, desperately. “I don’t care if we have children! I just want you! I just…!”

Sialeeds shook her head, firmly. She was forced to bite her lip, forced to swallow her own sobs.

“No, Gizel. I’m so, so sorry. Just know that it is all for the good of Falena.”

***

“You really have everything worked out, don’t you?” Sialeeds asked, leaning on the wooden railing that ran the length of the pergola. Both stood gazing over the gardens, neither seeming much interested in what the other had to say. Streaks of sunlight leaked in through the latticing, creating patterns on the pavement beneath their feet. There was no breeze this afternoon. It almost felt dead, stagnant.

“And why do you ask?” Gizel returned, not looking at her. He focused instead upon the greenery beyond the railing. “You would doubt me?”

“Do I have reason to?”

“You had confidence in me, once.”

“And you had compassion in you, once.”

“That was before you stole it from me.”

Sialeeds sighed but shifted uncomfortably. Gizel could see that he had struck a sensitive spot.

“Don’t, Gizel. Just…don’t.”

“And why not?” he pressed, suddenly interested in this conversation. He rose from where he had leaned upon the railing and faced her. “Have I not the right to offer a simple statement of fact?”

“It is no good bringing up things you can’t change, Gizel.”

In a rare moment, Gizel’s emotion towards her seemed to flare, even if only slightly.

“I was not the one who ended it. I would have been happy to marry you anyhow, and politics be damned. It was you who made that stupid oath. Had it been up to me, there would be nothing to ‘change’.”

Again, the woman sighed. She shook her head. There were things she did not want to think about right now, things she did not want to be reminded of. Things that hurt too badly if she were to be forced to think about them.

“Haven’t we had this conversation before, Gizel?”

“Indeed. But as always, it goes nowhere.”

“Your needs seem well enough met,” she supplied suddenly, turning and placing her back to the railing. She faced him, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s why you are keeping that damn fop naked in your chambers, remember?”

“That hurt, Sialeeds,” he said, without emotion, without flinching. “But I must thank you at least for not killing him along with Salum. He has served me very well. And he is demure and obedient and silent, when I will it. Hmm, perhaps a catamite is preferable to a wife.”

The woman’s expression curled into a deep scowl at those words, and her eyes launched needles at him.

“Go, then, and fuck him if you wish,” she hissed. “Only spare me the detailed report of your conquest.”

“My Lady, I would not lend you the pleasure,” Gizel returned, his words equally venomous.

Her eyes narrowing into slits, Sialeeds whirled and departed from the gardens, leaving him alone once again.

Thrusting any trace of feeling or thought to the dirt, Gizel let her go. He stood in silence, focusing his thoughts upon the garden itself and stamping all memory, painful and otherwise, from his mind.

At least he had the pergola to himself, now.

****

Gizel sat alone at the desk in the Commander’s office at the back of the guardroom, just as he did most days. But today, he was not outlining upcoming duties for his Knights. He was simply thinking, in solitude.

One of the Godwins’ most trusted generals, Dilber Novum, had said something quite eloquent early in this very conflict. He had declared that whether one was a noble or a commoner, they all bleed just the same.

He had been correct. Indeed, they all bled the same: red, thick, and plenty.

And those traitors within the Loyalist Army would certainly bleed. They would bleed, as would their allies. Be they of noble breeding or the lowliest of thugs, they would all bleed alike. And so would the Prince himself.

Gizel sighed, a creeping reality seeming to settle upon him. It was actually something he had been considering for a while now, and as the time grew nearer, he was gradually coming to terms with it. As time wore on, he had accepted that the blood would flow from both sides, and that much of that blood was likely to be his own.

His talk with Sialeeds had angered him, and he had planned to calm himself by coming here to enjoy some solitude. Unfortunately, solitude gave him time to think about the unpleasant truth encroaching on the horizon.

He had hoped, as much as Father hoped, that they would be able to establish a new government for Falena. The Queendom was not working, and created too much room for dispute and conflict over the throne. He had seen it happen, and had vowed to put an end to it. A fresh, more stable system of government was badly needed, and he and Father had hoped to create that. Now, with Arshtat and Ferid gone and the Barows sect all but eliminated, that task should have been simple. Only it wasn’t. It was thwarted now by a child who had slipped beneath the radar, one who should have been killed along with his parents, along with Lady Sialeeds herself.

Their plans had been thwarted by a child: a royal, and a male, no less.

The Prince was only sixteen, but somehow he had managed to draw followers to him. It was quite ironic: royal males were virtually powerless under the normal doctrine of the Falenan Queendom. In a way, Freyjadour should have thanked the Godwins. Had it not been for the takeover, he would now be simply waving at crowds and looking pretty—the only things royal men were good for. Thanks to this war, the Prince had actually gained power beyond any he would have normally enjoyed.

Unfortunately, he had gained more power than the Godwins had anticipated. Gizel felt his mind cloud. Their efforts were fading. The proof of this was obvious in their loss of Stormfist. Along with Stormfist had fallen General Dilber Novum himself. He had fallen defending the Stormfist stronghold, where Gizel’s mother, Rosalind Godwin, was laid to rest.

His efforts, Father’s efforts were fading, and yet the conflict would continue until the bloody end. Neither Gizel nor Marscal were men inclined to surrender and admit defeat.

“You wished to see me, my lord?”

Gizel had never even heard the assassin arrive.

He looked up to find Dolph, waiting dutifully for his next command. As always, the younger man sported his usual lazy smile. But it was without emotion. The expression beneath his lidded eyes was dead and unfeeling.

“I did,” Gizel responded at length, considering him offhandedly.

Ironically, it was Dolph who had murdered Rosalind Godwin, years ago during the Succession War.

Dolph worked for Nether Gate, the assassin group responsible for much of the carnage during that war. Having no loyalties, Nether Gate had lent itself for hire at the need of both the Godwin and the Barows factions. The assassins had stolen Gizel’s mother, just as they had taken Hiram Barows, Euram’s brother.

And they also killed many others.

After Queen Arshtat disbanded Nether Gate, Marscal Godwin had taken Dolph under his wing. The initial reasons for Lord Godwin’s decision was largely a mystery, but he had all but adopted the boy. And Dolph repaid that kindness, or whatever it was, tenfold.

Since then, Dolph had devoted himself as the family’s personal assassin. To repay Marscal Godwin, the lad was unquestioningly loyal. The boy did anything the Godwins asked of him, and as an added bonus, he had willingly, over the years, ingested an assortment of drugs intended to enhance his potential.

The result was the young man who stood now before Gizel.

Only twenty, Dolph appeared innocuous enough to any unknowing onlooker. His exterior might have suggested that he was nothing more than a mere schoolboy. Certainly Dolph’s choice of clothing, pressed and clean, did not plainly indicate “assassin”. His brown hair he kept trimmed, boy-like, and his attire reflected what might have been worn by a spoiled young noble. His tan trousers fit snugly to his thin form, as did the short blue jacket where he kept a selection of darts and poisons at the ready, unseen. A chronic smile sat upon his face, one that never changed in the slightest. He was living proof that appearances could be deceiving. He was dangerous. He was deadly.

Strangely, Gizel felt at times as though this young man were his only friend. This was particularly odd, as he knew that Dolph could truly never be considered such. The man knew duty and duty alone, and was one with his grim craft. Just the same, he was the one person who Gizel felt he could confide in. Perhaps that was because he needed to talk about things, but did not want to open up any more than he had to. Perhaps it was because he wanted to open up, but did not want to have to listen to the responses of another human being.

Perhaps that was because he knew that Dolph lacked the emotion or desire to actually care about what he said.

Dolph did not ask questions, did not probe, did not feel. A being who actually felt emotion would crowd his mind further. A person who felt would add to his own emotional doubt.

That was one reason why he preferred not to talk too deeply with Euram about his own doubts. First of all, his personal affairs were none of Euram’s business. But the thing that annoyed Gizel the most was that he was far too emotional.

Gizel had known this when he had taken the younger noble as his prisoner. If he could say one thing about Euram Barows, the young man was passionate. Since the moment Gizel had met him as a child, the Barows heir had been full of life and spirit. The boy literally teemed with emotion, to an irritating degree. Not only that, he cried entirely too much, Gizel had learned of late. Yet, in Euram, another small truth was confirmed: just like blood, whether one was a noble or a slave, the color of tears was always the same.

Tears were a constant, and had no bias with regard to status. Ultimately, in war, the only things that remained constant were the color of blood, and the color of tears.

Dolph never cried. In a way, the assassin made things easy on Gizel’s conscience, because Dolph could no longer qualify as human.

“What would you ask of me, my lord?” Dolph submitted, evenly.

“Only to stay awhile,” Gizel returned.

“As you wish.” Half-mooned eyes gazed at the Commander, dead save the shadow of monotony within them.

Gizel stared in front of him, silent for a spell. It was a strange irony indeed that he would feel compelled to confide in the man he knew was responsible for his own mother's death. It was a single irony among many.

“You have been loyal to me—to us—for a long time, Dolph. You have never questioned a command. Never have you faltered in your duties. Always you have been truthful. And that is why I would ask you now, once again, for your honesty.”

“Certainly, sir,” Dolph answered, his voice flat and emotionless as always as he stood patiently awaiting the Commander’s next words.

“There are those who would view our methods as questionable.” Gizel’s hand moved up and rubbed idly at his chin. He stared and yet he was looking at nothing, and seemed to glare straight through the wall ahead. “That is understandable. But is it not equally questionable to do nothing? To sit idly and wait for invasion from abroad, or treachery from within? Is it not just as unacceptable to allow Falena to become weak, so that our citizens may die when we are attacked unprepared?” Calculating, he thought a moment before posing his next question.

“Are we truly protecting Falena, Dolph? All this?” he asked at length. There was a disinterested edge to his tone, almost. Or perhaps he simply sounded weary.

“We are doing what is necessary for the country’s survival, my lord,” the other man replied, almost without missing a beat. “True, certain techniques might seem brutal. But a firm rule is the best deterrent in the end, is it not? Stability and security. These things are your aim, and your methods are the most effective means of achieving it.”

Gizel wasn’t sure if Dolph was saying it because he knew it was expected of him, or saying it because he believed it. It was impossible to tell with Dolph.

Either way, it was at least some shallow consolation to Gizel.

The Commander nodded, then thought some more. “Father and I have already had this conversation, and we have discussed our options. It is unmistakable that those options are limited.” He paused, as though allowing Dolph the time to absorb his words. The younger man’s face remained eerily set. “I say this because I wish to give you the choice. You have no further obligation to remain here. You may get out now, if such is your wish.”

The assassin needed no time to consider this.

“I have been aware of the situation for some time, my lord,” Dolph returned, without a flinch. His expression was unmoving, as though it were etched in stone. “I am aware of the situation, and I intend to remain loyal, regardless. I shall remain here, until I am ordered elsewhere.”

A brief silence followed. Gizel nodded then, his own look distant. “I expected such an answer. I thank you, Dolph.”

“It is my duty and my pleasure, sir.”

“When the time comes...Father or I will provide specific instructions. The traitors will arrive any day now, and I know you will be prepared to act quickly.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“In the meantime,” Gizel added, almost distantly, “…the best we can do is wait.”

***

Euram’s task this time was relatively simple: he had been ordered to change the bedsheets again, and to put away the fresh laundry when the servants brought it to the chamber.

The bed he had done before, and this time it was somewhat easier for him to manage. He had learned quite a lot about such domestic things in the past few weeks. In a way, he supposed, that at least was good for him.

Another thing he had learned was that Gizel did not abide sloppiness. Euram took great care to handle things neatly. He knew well the consequences otherwise: the Commander’s punishments had seen to that. It was easy enough placing clothes and linens in their appropriate places: those in charge of the laundry had already folded what needed to be folded. He only had to find the right spot for everything. And the longer he lived within the Commander’s chamber, the more familiar he had grown with the place.

Euram felt rejuvenated somehow, hopeful, and there was a spring in his step as he went about his chores. Since Sialeeds’ visit, he felt somewhat better. He was actually thinking about some of the things she had said. As much as he hoped to redeem himself, he had felt doubtful that such a thing were possible. After all his many crimes, how could he ever hope to atone? How could he ever expect to win the trust of those he had wronged, much less help them?

Of course the Prince had told him it could be done, but Euram had a feeling Faroush only said such a thing out of pity for him. Luserina had also told him he could be redeemed, but, well, Luserina was his sister. And as Luserina herself had admitted: “That’s what sisters are for.”

But Sialeeds was different. This was a woman who had personally threatened to tear him limb from limb. This was a woman who had every reason to distrust him, and yet she had offered him the benefit of a doubt. If even she was willing to give him that chance, then that was all the more reason for him not to let her down!

Euram had not a clue what she had meant when she said she intended to ‘eliminate the need’ for the Godwins to use the Sun Rune, and he wasn’t sure if it sounded like a good thing or not. But, he decided, any plan that would keep that from happening had to be a good plan!

Didn’t it?

It was difficult to tell with Lady Sialeeds. As always, she was guarded, secretive, and he did not presume to guess her intentions. But for the first time since his enslavement, he did not feel a sense of impending doom crushing in on him.

****

Gizel had taken dinner alone that evening.

Honestly he had not harbored much of an appetite, and he had found some difficulty getting on with his business for the day. It had taken him longer than usual to outline tomorrow’s agenda for the Queen’s Knights. As much as it annoyed him to consider it, though, he knew exactly why he was finding it so hard to concentrate. The simple answer was that he was distracted.

The Commander strode back to his own chamber with steady steps. After speaking with Dolph, he had felt slightly better. Dolph was, as always, a calming anchor in his life. Both cool and lethal, Dolph was constant, even in his streaks of unpredictability. It was Dolph who had brought Euram to Gizel, after learning that the young Barows had allied himself with the traitors. It was Dolph who had helped assure Gizel’s victory in the Sacred Games. And it was Dolph who had contributed significantly to their continued success in the war before the tide had begun to turn.

Now, however, Gizel’s mind had returned to Sialeeds, and her words to him. And the more he thought about her, the angrier he became.

“…you had compassion in you, once.”

Damn that woman.

Even after all these years, her words still had the power to hurt Gizel. Her words maintained the power to shake the very foundations of his guarded being, and to make him question his own principles. His principles, his philosophies—these were things he kept close to him. It was his principles that he kept his emotions and his doubts and his misgivings hidden behind. And yet Sialeeds could see through them. Somehow, she could still manage to penetrate those defenses and those barriers until he was almost forced to question himself, what he was doing, and why. There was a disturbing truth in her words that struck him like a lash, and it was almost enough to force him to reexamine everything he had built towards. Sialeeds had exposed a raw nerve, one that he was ever fighting to keep guarded. Her casual honesty exposed that abscess present in his so-called “ideals”, chipped away at them until all that was left was the grim reality that everything he endeavored was all leading to nothing, and all that was left was a black and heartless void.

Gizel’s lip twitched, a motion almost indiscernible. His head pounded, his mind hurtling over the same spots again and again until he was tempted to abandon the whole pointless endeavor and simply say “enough”! But that would amount to surrender, and surrender was something he did not intend to do, ever.

If he had changed, then it was partly her fault. No matter what her reason or excuse, she should not have rejected him those years ago. It wasn’t fair, and it was hardly fair for her to speak accusingly to him now.

Approaching his room, he unlocked the door quickly and stormed inside, his anger barely contained beneath his usual cool exterior. His eyes caught Euram almost immediately. The boy started from where he lounged upon the freshly-made bed. The slender, naked form was stretched lazily upon ebony satin; pale skin the color of cream lay stretched in contrast to the dark covers. Euram sat up quickly, his golden tresses sprinkling down into his face and over his shoulders in messy and confused dishevelment. There was a panicked and disoriented blur to his darting brown eyes as they came to focus on the Commander. Euram looked as though he had been snoozing, like the little dolt considered the bed his own. Gizel scowled at the sight.

“Get up,” he commanded, watching with annoyance as the younger man scrambled to his feet.

“Some wine,” Gizel almost barked, emotionless as he dropped heavily into his cushioned chair by the hearth and propped his boots upon the footrest.

Startled, Euram scurried to obey, swallowing the uneasy lump that rose in his throat. He did not dare wonder what it was that might have placed Gizel in such a foul mood. He could only hope that it had nothing to do with him.

Carefully he selected a bottle of the Commander’s finest and poured a glass with trembling hands. Deep crimson splashed against crystal with a shallow glug. Slender and timid fingers curled around the glass’s stem, their owner slinking cautiously over to Gizel.

“H-here you are, sir,” Euram offered the wine, which the Commander took without a word. Euram cringed. Silently he moved in front of the other man and dropped to the floor so he could remove Gizel’s boots. Setting the footwear aside, he rose and slipped behind the chair and automatically set his fingers to work on tight shoulders.

Had the day left him in a better mood, Gizel might have been amused by his prisoner’s pitiful endeavors to please him. He shut his eyes, briefly enjoying the sensation of the massage as he sipped at his wine.

“That’s enough,” he said abruptly, and rose from the chair. Thrusting the glass at Euram, he watched as the younger man hurried to return it to the bar. Gizel studied the bed, and casually strode to peruse the drawers and closets where his laundry should have been placed. Everything seemed to be in order, though this did little to quell his annoyance.

“You have made yourself quite at home here,” he remarked, just as his slave uneasily pattered towards him. Euram stalled, cautious and hovered near, cowering as usual.

“M-my lord?”

“Oh, stop stammering,” Gizel snapped, whirling on him. “You have completed your chores, I see, but it seems you have chosen to wrinkle the bed lying about. Obviously your tasks were not enough to keep you occupied.”

Euram swallowed, his nervousness seeping through his every gesture. “Forgive me. I didn’t think you would mind.” Warily he slinked over and knelt at the older man’s feet. “I only dozed a moment, Gizel. Your Commandership.”

Gizel scowled. Euram had been up to something besides sleeping, this much was apparent. The evasive, obsequious tone in the prisoner’s voice was so apparent that he almost wanted to strike him.

“Hmmph,” the Commander regarded him with disdain. “How do you expect to ‘help’ me if you cannot even be expected to stay awake? Have you not been instructed to greet me when I arrive?”

Euram withered. “I’m sorry, my lord. I did not mean to—”

“You seemed nicely sprawled upon the bed for not having meant to. You should consider constructing your lies more carefully, Euram,” the Commander chided, watching as the other sank at his words. Gizel smiled then, but it was not a pleasant one.

“You know, Lady Sialeeds came and spoke with me,” he remarked, waiting for the prisoner’s response. He did not have long to wait.

Almost immediately Euram stalled.

The younger man felt the blood drain from his face. His eyes flicked up to Gizel, and he appeared to go pale with swelling dread.

“She—she did?” The younger man’s voice had tapered to a faltering whisper. Gizel heard his prisoner choke and grinned. This reaction was even more intriguing than he had expected.

“Why, yes. You seem unnerved by this, Euram.”

“Oh...my lord...” Euram stopped, speechless. A cold lump settled in the pit of his stomach, and he slumped, a bitter and helpless despair closing around him like a casket.

How could this be? Why would Gizel tell him this? Why would he mention her now, unless….

The explanation was simple: Gizel knew.

Euram nearly swooned. His throat felt tight. He was ruined. She had told him. Sialeeds had told Gizel everything, she must have! She had told him, and it was over.

Oh, he should have known better than to bring his concerns to her! He should have known better than to believe she would trust him. Yet again, he had been a fool, and now, he was finished.

He wondered all at once what Gizel would do to him, whether he would be executed, tortured or worse.

Gizel watched Euram’s sinking gestures with curious interest, and wondered what seemed so devastating to him all at once. He knew that Euram was horribly afraid of Sialeeds—the woman had murdered his father right before his eyes, after all—but he had not quite expected this. Gizel chuckled.

“Now, why such despondency? Her opinion of you has not been altered. She has never thought much of you, you surely realize. She only reiterated her estimation that you are worthless, only truly good for fucking, after all. ”

Euram said nothing, but appeared to shudder as he stared at the marble floor, suddenly seeming as though he had lapsed into hopelessness. Curious, Gizel raised an eyebrow, wondering if he had unintentionally uncovered something of which he was not aware. He smiled patronizingly down at the former noble.

“Come, Euram, what is the matter?”

“Oh, Gizel, I…” Euram sobbed, desperate and miserable. Pitifully he wrapped his arms around Gizel’s legs in abject supplication. Careful not to incriminate himself further, he spluttered over his own words. “I...please, sir...I-I am nothing. I cannot...”

Gizel’s suspicions only heightened as he regarded the pathetic young Barows. He had no reason to doubt that the younger man was involved in something underhanded; deceit was simply a part of Euram. Still, Gizel remained stone-faced, his disinterested gaze never wavering. Euram quivered at his feet as though he expected some kind of terrible retribution. And even though Gizel did not know what Euram expected retribution for, he knew Euram had unmistakably done something. That alone would have been cause enough for Gizel to punish him. He could have easily ordered him whipped: even if Gizel did not know the crime, Euram obviously did. But these things could come later. He would learn exactly what the younger man was up to with time, and it would not take long. For now, he could merely torment Euram at his own pleasure, until he had obtained a clearer knowledge of what exactly was going on in his prisoner’s foolish mind.

“Get up,” he commanded, harshly. Skinny arms clutched his legs tighter, pleading. “I said get up.”

Euram managed to unwrap himself and stagger to his feet, where he cringed guiltily before Gizel.

What are you up to, Euram Barows?

Frowning, Gizel shook his head and abruptly seized the younger man, yanking him close. Euram squeaked and trembled in his grip, and an alarmed whimper escaped his lips when the Commander crushed a kiss to them.

For many long moments Gizel held him there, clutching the naked form to his own. Demanding lips and tongue plundered the former noble’s mouth, claiming without feeling or remorse. Powerful arms held him tight, locking him in a deep embrace that seemed to tell of much more than just violence and rivalry, more than merely anger and resentment. It was an embrace that contained much at once, feelings that neither Gizel nor his unwilling pet were fully aware of. Certainly there was hatred, certainly there was scarlet hostility and mocking and distrust—acrid passions that flowed between them like a river of bile. But whether the Commander knew it, there was more to Gizel’s forceful embrace: there was something more than simple possessiveness. And whether his prisoner knew it, whether he wished it or not, Euram responded. In spite of his fear and panic, he felt himself melting to the other’s power.

After what seemed like forever, Gizel released him and thrust him away. Both men’s hearts thumped an erratic pattern of unwanted emotions, Gizel’s laced with suspicion and disdain, Euram’s clenched with dread and despair and helpless, roiling envy. They were one in the same, and yet they were opposites, ever clashing and ever at odds.

The Commander’s eyes rolled over his slave’s flushed skin. Euram’s pink, parted lips panted breathlessly, his small form trembling and cowering in a heated jumble of uncertainty, lust and confusion.

Lunging forth, Gizel seized him and marched him over to the writing desk, where he forcibly bent the lithe frame over the hard surface. He heard the younger man grunt as the breath was nearly shoved from him. The sound pleased the Commander, and he forced lean legs apart with a swift swipe of his foot. Pale, quivering buttocks mottled with traces of recent punishments faced him. Euram whimpered sounds of either protest or desire: Gizel could not discern which, and didn’t care. The Commander removed his engorged member and easily found the tight, tender opening.

A moan spilled from Euram as Gizel penetrated him. Ignoring his reluctant partner’s cry, Gizel began to take him hard. The former noble’s sounds of pain only drove him, and he could feel his prisoner’s innards shuddering to adjust to him once more. Determined, he settled into a rhythm that pleased him, taking the younger man with hard, gliding strokes. His hand wandered down to cup one of Euram’s buttocks, and he delivered a sound slap to the flesh, his cock lurching as Euram yelped and jumped in response to the sudden sting. That tight ring spasmed around him, and Gizel administered a further smack to his hip.

“Up,” he commanded. With strong arms he lifted, encouraging the other to pull his knees onto the desk. Awkwardly Euram obeyed, struggling to scramble his legs up, until with some help from Gizel, he was fully on the table and spread on his hands and knees, skewered on the Commander’s cock.

Gizel hooked his fingers through the band of leather around Euram’s neck and tugged, forcing the younger man’s back to arch, his ass to curve up into the fuck. His airway constricted, Euram gurgled, only to have Gizel clench his collar tighter at the slightest struggle.

The Commander took him ruthlessly, leaving no room for cries of protest or croons of encouragement or even whimpers of defeat. All else he blocked from his mind, focusing solely upon taking his pet. For that was all Euram was: his pet, his plaything, his slave.

Euram seemed to have been forgetting that of late. To be honest, Gizel had almost forgotten, himself. It was a weakness he did not intend to repeat. Regardless of anything either of them might have been tempted to hope, everything would soon come to an end. All at once Gizel understood that he had got dangerously close to the disgraced noble, and he knew it could not last. Any warmth or comfort in such a relationship could never be, and Euram would have to get used to the idea.

Growling, Gizel clutched the younger man hard and split him, relentless. The desk buckled beneath the force of his thrusts, but it was Euram’s body that bore the brunt of them. Euram’s wails pierced the chamber. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, his whole being enveloped in pain and confusion and despair and even lust, yes, lust for his tormentor. Crystal tears streaked from the corners of his eyes, small streams that set his misery and shame on display. The sounds of smacking flesh as Gizel crashed into him grew distant in his thundering ears, until he was dragged back to reality by a tightening grip and his rival’s grunts of completion.

The Commander erupted inside his pet, and almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. The only sounds that remained for a long time after were Gizel’s ragged breaths and the slight and pitiful whimpers of his defeated partner. At last, Gizel withdrew. The trembling body beneath him collapsed onto the desk.

Without a word, the older man moved across the room to the vanity, leaving Euram there. Methodically he cleaned himself, drowning out his lover’s anguished sounds with his own, blank thoughts.

This was simply the way things would have to be, for the short time there was left.

***

MEANWHILE:

Luserina Barows was tired.

Long hours she had been awake convening with Lady Merces over their plan of action, always aware that things could change at any moment. And ever present was the knowledge that the time to march upon Sol-Falena was upon them.

Luserina had so much on her mind lately. As usual, she was occupied trying to maintain everyone’s morale, but it was growing increasingly difficult, when she had so many doubts of her own. Naturally she feared the possibility of the Sun Rune, just as much as the next person. She knew Godwin was ruthless, and, at this point, desperate—a dangerous combination. It was a difficult reality to face, knowing that many whom she considered friends would likely fall in battle. The death of her father had stirred some mixed emotions within her, even though her sympathy for Salum was almost nonexistent. And of course, there was her brother…

She knew what people said of him. She knew that many were suspicious that he had turned on them again. And she had no business hoping that anyone might be concerned about him. After all, he had harmed more people in the Loyalist Army than he had helped, that much was certain. Just the same, she knew there was good in him yet, and she knew he had realized error of his ways. Luserina knew he genuinely wanted to atone for his crimes, even if the majority of her comrades doubted him or despised him altogether.

But since his alleged capture, she had heard nothing as to his well-being. She did not even know if he still lived, and she actually missed him. A few months ago, she never would have thought there would be hope again for her brother, but now that he had come to his senses, it felt terribly unfair that he should be taken from her all over again. It was only one of many cruel ironies that had plagued the war, and those involved in it.

“How’re ya holdin’ up?”

Luserina looked up and smiled when she recognized the head poked in her doorway. That broad face grinning at her from beneath the spiked hairstyle was one that had been long familiar to her.

“Oh...Boz! Please, come in.”

General Boz Wilde’s dark mohawk towered almost a full foot above his large head—a contrast to the long mane that hung behind. His brown cape, stretched tight across broad shoulders, draped behind him as he entered the room. The clank of armor and the rustle of leather followed his stride. Large hands seemed nearly to burst out of heavy gloves.

Luserina had always trusted him. Boz Wilde was kind, albeit somewhat naïve. The good-natured general and lord of Estrise had been her father’s trusted ally—until her father and brother’s part in the Lordlake scandal had been exposed. Once Salum Barows’ true character had been revealed, Boz had departed Rainwall along with her. In spite of his trusting nature, he was a competent and capable general, and had even been a rival to the renowned Godwin general, Dilber Novum.

“I hadda come check on ya,” the large man declared in his usual, casual manner. His arms crossed over his barrel chest. “I know there’s gotta be a heap on your mind lately. You doin’ all right?”

The girl nodded, though she seemed uncertain. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Boz tilted a thick brow. “Now, that ain’t exactly convincing. Look, I know you were at odds with your pop,” he explained. “But I also know it’s no easy thing losin’ one o’ your folks. ‘Specially when you know the way it happened wasn’t altogether pleasant.” He stalled, not quite sure how to continue that vein of thought. Everyone in the castle was aware of how Salum Barows had met his end. It was a sensitive subject, largely because it involved Lady Sialeeds, whose betrayal still reverberated throughout the ranks.

Boz suddenly shifted, awkward. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t’a brought it up.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Luserina assured him. She moved and sat down at the desk that had been furnished in her room. “You’re right. It is something I think about. I cannot say that I am upset about what happened. He was wicked, and greedy. He was a user, and a backstabber. But you are right: that terrible man was my father. And there will always be a part of me that loves him.” She sighed. “A part of me does regret his fate, even if he got what was coming to him. But I think, what I regret most of all, is that he had to die such a rotten man.”

Boz saw the disappointment in her eyes, a sadness that came from the loss of a parent who could never be redeemed.

“If it makes ya feel any better...” Boz ventured, “his ideas weren’t all bad. At least his motives weren’t. You know, back when Armes invaded Falena eight years ago, it was your father’s territory that suffered worse than any. Though I’m sure that ain’t exactly news to ya.”

Luserina nodded, thoughtful. She was aware of this, even if she had only been a small child when the war with Armes had taken place. Since Armes was situated near the eastern border of the country, the eastern portion of Falena—which was largely comprised of Barows territory—had taken the brunt of the devastation. Western Falena and the Godwin territories had been virtually untouched.

“Salum only wanted to keep his lands safe,” Boz went on. “That’s why he wanted to make peace with Armes. He had ideas that it was better to make peace with neighboring countries than to threaten and intimidate. That was the difference between your father and Lord Godwin. Godwin riled up our neighbors. ‘Course it was easy for him—Godwin territory’s far away, and pretty much safe. So on one hand, your father wasn’t all bad. He had good intentions, at least early on. But, as they say, good intentions oftentimes make for the worst results. All Salum’s shady sneakin’ around wound up hurtin’ and killin’ just as many as Godwin in the long run.”

Luserina said nothing at first, a gesture that Boz mistook as a sign of deepened melancholy.

“Ahh, damn me! There I go, tryin’ to make things better and I only make things worse! All I meant was, your father was well-meanin’, to start with. He just went about things all wrong. You gotta forgive me, my lady.”

“No, Boz. Don’t feel badly,” Luserina said, quickly. “You have said nothing wrong. In fact, you are exactly right, I think.” It did make sense, when he put it that way. This conflict, this reaching war, had roots that extended even beyond Lordlake and the Dawn Rune. The Armes invasion had affected her father. She could sympathize at least with his desire to make peace with Armes secretly. Such a proposal would have seemed hugely unpopular, traitorous even, to the majority of Falenan citizens, especially considering the nationalist Godwin propaganda that permeated so much of the country. The tug-of-war that existed between the opposing Senate factions was responsible for the greater part of Falena’s strife. She could forgive her father, then, for his shady dealings with Armes. That at least she could understand. But it did not reconcile everything else he had done.

“You are right, Boz,” she admitted once more. “But it does not excuse his crimes upon Lordlake. Or his responsibility for the Succession War. Or his attempts to use Prince Freyjadour. He might have hid under the guise of good intentions, but he was just as power-hungry as the Godwins.”

“All right, then, I take it back,” Boz relented at last. “Right you are. He was a slimeball,” the general admitted, prompting Luserina to laugh. Wilde’s mouth spread into a wide grin. “There you are, I thought I’d make ya smile somehow.”

“Thank you, Lord Wilde,” she said, giggling. “But it is not your duty to cheer me up. I have accepted that my father deserved his fate. I am just happy that my brother was spared.”

Boz saw her expression change again as she mentioned Euram, and he paused, feeling awkward all over. She had lapsed into thought again, even though she was attempting to appear focused and strong. Normally Boz was not good with sentimental things, and Euram was yet another tender subject within the ranks around the castle. Yet again he struggled, fishing for the correct words.

“I’m real glad o’ that, too,” he said at length. “Y’know, it’s amazin’ how much that boy’s changed—how responsible he’s become, just outta the blue!” Boz took care not to speak of Euram in the past tense: he was one of the few who maintained hope that he was still alive—and one of the fewer still who liked and trusted him. “Would you believe—Chuck told me young Lord Euram came and offered to help him with a bit o’ tidy-up in the storage room!”

“Did he?” Luserina’s eyes sparkled.

“You better believe it! Ha! I only wish his change had happened sooner. I wouldn’ta believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself! ‘Specially after all he’d done. Though, I’m afraid I wasn’t much help with that bandit episode,” he admitted, sheepishly.

Luserina smiled, remembering how Boz had unwittingly aided her brother’s plot to destroy the Prince’s name. Boz had seen young Roy dressed as Freyjadour, and had loudly and publicly addressed the bandit as “Prince”. This had given credibility to the idea that Frey had turned to banditry, and had helped spread the news around Sable.

The girl laughed. “It was an honest mistake on your part. Roy does look quite convincing in his wig." She did not mention that she thought the Prince himself was actually much more handsome. "He continues to fool people around here, people who should know better. You can hardly be faulted for mistaking him at a distance.”

“Just the same,” Boz said, awkwardly, “I accept responsibility when all’s said and done.”

“Don’t bother making excuses for my brother. What he did was wrong, and that’s that. And he would not have you try to share responsibility for that fiasco, either.”

“Well, that’s just what I meant,” Wilde returned. “I thought Lord Euram was just no good, through and through. Like father, like son, I once said. But after what I saw o’ him recently, before…before he was taken…well, I can tell you, he’s a pretty good boy. And I’ll stand by that!”

Luserina smiled, a gesture that warmed Lord Wilde’s heart. It was not often that she had been given a reason to smile since she had made the decision to abandon her corrupt family.

“I’m glad. And I hope your goodwill towards him will catch on. He will need all the support he can get to win everyone’s trust. If he returns,” she added, her voice trailing.

“Now, none o’ this ‘if’ business. Don’t you worry: before all’s said and done, he’ll be back, safe and sound, or I’m an ulse’s uncle!”

Taking heart, she brightened and nodded, encouraged. “Thank you, Boz. I’m sure you are right.”

Long after he’d left, Luserina considered Lord Wilde’s words. She giggled when she thought of her slight brother offering to help the comparatively enormous Chuck with physical duties in the storeroom. Quite a change, considering how badly her brother had treated all the servants back at their mansion in Rainwall. In fact, it had been little over a year ago when Luserina had witnessed Euram confronting Chuck in a very different manner…

***

Salum was entertaining yet another “important” visitor, doubtlessly for the purpose of some mutual political gain. This had left Luserina free for her own voluntary studies. Although she ran much of Rainwall’s business these days, her father continued to deal with a fair majority of public relations. He had been shut away in his office for a good while, his put-on and exaggerated laughter occasionally ringing through the house amidst the muffled talking that could vaguely be heard from behind that closed door downstairs.

She ignored it, for the most part. She was used to this after all, and assumed the conversation involved the usual flattery and promises that her father was wont to offer. No doubt Father was showing off his art collection. She almost pitied the visitor.

Luserina simply continued her studies, until another commotion distracted her from the book she had been enjoying.

“What is the meaning of this?!"

She sighed. That was her brother’s voice...

Pushing the book aside, she rose and hurried from her room and went to the stairs. Peeking down, she found Euram standing flustered and furious before a bemused Chuck. Her brother was quivering with irritation, his cheeks flushed, his fists clenched into balls. Poor Chuck regarded the young man with puzzlement and scratched his head with a large hand.

“I, uh…” Chuck shuffled.

“Quiet! Just what were you doing?” Euram demanded, haughtily. The larger man shrugged, his sad eyes studying the rug beneath his feet.

“I just went out to the garden for a minute, is all. I thought I might see about the roses, Young Master Euram.”

“Shut up! I’ve heard enough.” Euram flailed, his ruffles flapping. “Didn’t Father say you were to guard the storeroom every minute when we have company?”

Chuck cringed. “Well, er, yes, sir, he did, but—”

“Then what on earth do you think you’re doing?!” Euram shrilled with a stamp of his foot. The large servant hung his head, his broad shoulders slumping.

“Aw, I only stepped away for a moment, Young Master Euram,” he explained, contrite. His eyes drooped sadly, never rising to meet the other’s gaze.

“Quiet!” The younger man swelled with irrational rage, something that startled Luserina as she looked on. “I know not what you think you are up to, but I do not intend to stand for this poppycock! No, no—not another word! Get you back to the storeroom, and guard it like you’re supposed to! Now! Go!”

Without a sound of protest, Chuck shuffled past the huffy Euram and retreated into the storeroom, his head hung low. The man secretly lifted a thick finger to wipe a tear from his eye as he went—a concealed gesture, but she had noticed it, and she waited until Chuck disappeared before she stormed downstairs to confront her brother.

“Euram!”

“Ah, my dear sister!” Euram turned on her and smiled, but it was not the smile she once known. It was smug, cocky, a mocking and smarmy sneer in place of the jovial, boyish grin of his youth. Even his eyes gleamed with arrogance, and it disgusted her. “How fare you, Luserina?”

“That’s enough!” she shook her head. “I saw what just happened!”

“Ah, yes,” Euram sighed. “A shame, isn’t it? To think, even those closest to us cannot be trusted to do as they’re told. Disgraceful, inconceivable! Incomprehensible! I simply don’t know what’s come over him!”

Luserina’s expression darkened in disbelief. “I don’t know what’s come over you. How can you be so rude?”

Euram visibly swooned. “R-rude?! Oh! But you wound me, sister!” In an exaggerated sweep, he clenched a hand over his chest. “My, my, but what a thing to say! I have only the noblest of intentions in mind, Luserina. I only look out for us, for our family. I would not be so harsh otherwise. Surely, you must understand!”

Frowning, the girl shook her head. “I don’t understand at all. And I certainly don’t understand why you would be such a…” she thought for only a split second before she found the right word to describe him. “…such a jerk…to poor Chuck!”

“J-jerk?” Euram’s mouth dropped agape. “Wh-why I…Luserina! I only…” Abruptly his anger returned with a scowl that quickly dissolved into a patronizing smile. “Ah, but my simple sister. ‘Tis apparent how little you know.”

That was the last straw. Her hand whipped across his pale, powdered cheek, leaving a pink stain in its wake. Euram staggered and gasped from the blow, his hand flashing up to cradle his injured skin as he gaped at her in flushed horror. He spluttered, speechless.

“All I want to know is what you have done with my brother,” she hissed, spinning on her heels and leaving him there to blink in stupid and open-mouthed shock.

As she strode away, she knew that he would not have bothered to notice the hot tears that swam in her eyes even if he had looked.
He was far too absorbed in himself.

***

Luserina sighed, wishing her brother had not left her with such obnoxious memories. But she now knew why he had been so adamant that Chuck guard the storeroom.
Euram had known what was down there.
He had known of the Dawn Rune—that very rune the citizens of Lordlake had been punished for stealing. It was a dirty little secret both Salum and his son had kept hidden: a secret that would have exposed them for the criminals—the traitors—they were.

And eventually, their crime had been exposed, and it was their unrepentant ways that drove Luserina to disown them both.

But as much as she was willing to admit her brother’s faults, she knew Euram was different now. Even in the short time she had spent with him since their father’s death, she could tell he had changed from the way he spoke, the way he held himself. And she knew, above anything else, that Euram felt remorse for the things he had done.

It was for that reason that she hoped Boz Wilde was right.
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)