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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
- 14
- 15
Disclaimer: No sex in Chapter 15 (I can see heads exploding now)
The dialogue, though altered somewhat, from Suikoden V is not mine. I am not making money, my friends.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Of Runes, Queens, and Cowards
Roiling up the river from the south, the Dahak bore steadily forward, rapidly closing in on Sol-Falena’s dam. Support forces from Estrise, Sable, Lelcar and Lordlake approached from the east and west, and the dragon riders swept forth in aerial assaults. And on the Dahak, next to Prince Falenas himself, stood the tactician Lady Lucretia Merces, her gaze set in cool determination.
“Stick to the plan. Don’t let anybody get cut off. Surround the enemy like a net and close in on them.”
***
Inside the Palace, the young Queen Lymsleia frowned as she eyed her latest, unwelcome guest.
“Did my dumb husband send you to collect me?”
“Huh?” Euram blinked. “Gizel? Oh! N-no, oh, no, no, Your Majesty! On the contrary, I have come to whisk you away to safety, to ensure Godwin’s nefarious and appalling designs harm not one treasured hair on your precious, royal head! Why, at this very moment, Commander Gizel and Lord Godwin are preparing to set forth a plan most nefarious, most egregious, a plot so repugnant and hideous that I dare not utter its…”
“Oh, shut up!” Lym barked, growing dizzy from his wild gesticulations and swooning. “What do you think you’re doing, anyway? Conducting an orchestra?”
“Er, well, no…” he stammered, cowed.
Lymsleia sighed. “Oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter, anyhow. I’ve already told Gizel, and I will tell you the same: I’m not going anywhere. I will remain right here and wait for Frey. And nothing my husband, or you, or anyone else can say will make me change my mind!” With that, she sat firmly on her bed with a defiant whirl.
Cringing, Euram considered abandoning this and fleeing to save himself. Almost at once he rebuked such notions and instead thought hard. At length he took a long, deep breath.
“Your Majesty, I will take you to the Prince!” He emphasized his statement with a fist to his chest.
For a split second the Queen brightened, and she was on her feet. But just as quickly her features fell into a distrustful scowl.
“You’re lying.” The young girl eyed him dangerously, her gaze piercing him from beneath that oversized crown perched upon her small head. “Why should I believe anything you say?”
“I assure you, Your Majesty, your brother awaits! And I, Euram Barows,” he gave an animated sweep of his arm, “will deliver you safe and sound to his side!” With his final words Euram dipped into a low and sweeping bow.
She watched him in disgust, un-amused and unconvinced.
“Why on earth would my brother trust you?”
Half-rising, Euram bit his lip. Erghh. She was smart. Woefully smart.
“Erhm…” His mind raced. “Only the most dire of circumstances has led us to this juncture, Your Loveliness. Desperate affairs call for desperate measures, of course, and this His Highness has devised a most clever plan! He does not wish to commence fighting until he has personally seen that you are safe and sound. Oh no, no! Therefore, he has clandestinely appropriated a ferry from Raftfleet, and navigates this ferry hither while the larger forces divert the nefarious Godwin’s notice. And on this ferry he comes, to the dock below, just beyond the passage! There, he will wait to ferry you to safety, before he personally storms the Palace in his certain rush to a most glorious victory!”
“You’re full of it,” she frowned, thinking with all his gestures and flailing he rather resembled a stork miming a windmill. “Why would he send you of all people to fetch me?”
“Ah, Your Esteemed and All-Powerful Majesty,” he began in his most melodious, sing-song tenor. “Before we last parted company, Prince Freyjadour approached me, after oh-so-graciously allowing this poor, broken noble into his ranks. ‘Barows, you wretch,’ he said to me, ‘do but this one thing, and you shall be redeemed in full!’ But, oh! There is precious little time to waste! We must hurry!”
“That sounds like a load of…”
“No time to dally, no time! Come, come, Your Majesty, the Prince awaits! Your reunion is just down the stairs!” He concluded with a theatrical sweep.
Skeptically she took a step to follow, eyeing him with wary discomfort.
“What is wrong with you, anyway?”
Subdued, Euram crumpled.
“S-sorry, Your Majesty. Th-this way.”
Frowning, she reluctantly followed the strange boy from her chamber and towards the Queen’s Knight’s guardroom.

***
Up in the Sealed Room, Gizel stood near his father and a selection of scholars. All were gathered around a carved stone bust, sitting on a pedestal upon a raised circle dais and surrounded by pillars. Bound to that bust was the Sun Rune itself, subtly glowing with a power presently dormant.
All stood, awaiting a signal when a messenger interrupted their silence.
“Your Lordship! I have an urgent report! It appears Lady Sialeeds has died in battle! I received a report that Alenia confirmed it!”
“What?” Gizel looked up sharply, his calm poise staggered by shock. For a moment he seemed to reel, and looked to Marscal Godwin, hovering near the bust. “Father…” he began, unsuccessfully attempting to sweep the clutch of sadness that gripped him beneath his cool exterior. “We must do it now!”
***
Alenia’s report, however, was flawed: the Lady Sialeeds was not yet dead, but wounded, on the causeway near the Sol Falena dam.
She staggered now, defeated, before her nephew and his small group. Georg Prime, Kyle, Galleon and Miakis had all accompanied him for the Palace siege. Having recovered from her critical wound, Lyon was once more at Prince Frey’s side, and she could sense Frey’s sorrow as he pleaded with the woman who had betrayed them.
“Sialeeds—please, stop this! Why are you doing this?”
“Dammit…” Sialeeds panted, staggering as her weakened legs struggled to keep her upright.
“Lady Sialeeds…that’s enough!” Lyon insisted.
The mage Zerase had taken it upon herself to confront Sialeeds as well, and she now stood defiant and demanding beside Frey’s troubled comrades.
“That’s enough!” she echoed Lyon’s words, obsessive as ever about the Rune Sialeeds bore: the Twilight Rune. “Don’t you get it?”
“There’s no time for this!” Sialeeds glanced back towards the water. “We can’t afford to…” All at once the sky swelled brighter, until the light was nearly blinding to forces on the ground and water, alike. “No…”
Everyone followed her horrified gaze to the Sun Palace. Above the central edifice, a massive orb of light flared and gained strength, seeming to suck all light from around it into a single nexus of unbearable energy. A bright beam shot down from the sky, absorbing and amassing power to coalesce into one great orb of blinding fire, primed to unleash that energy on whatever—and whomever—might lay in its path.
Those fighting on the ground paused in their battle and looked to the sky with dread. Blinded, General Boz Wilde squinted and threw a shielding arm high. Talgyl of Lordlake also witnessed the mounting energy, and for him, it was a phenomenon terribly familiar. For just then, Talgyl and his comrades relived the terror the citizens of LordLake had experienced just before their beloved town was decimated, two years ago.
“Not again…” Talgyl lamented, dread weighing his aged features.
The orb grew brighter and flared dangerously, washing out land and sea in a blurring veil. The low hum that surrounded the energy spun higher and higher, all escalating toward a devastating crescendo.
“I told you!” Sialeeds whirled on her nephew and his group. “Run! Now!”
***
As the Queen and the disgraced noble hurried past pillared columns and descended a long stairwell to arrive breathless at the junction, Euram paused to double-check, thinking to himself.
Left passage. Got it, Gizel…
“Come, Your Majesty. This way, this way!”
“What are you doing?” Lym halted, regarding him with fresh distrust. “The dock is the other way.”
“Presently, of course! But first—we must head left.”
“What for? What are you up to?”
“No time, no time! Your M—”
"I’m not going that way. You said my brother was waiting on the dock; that’s just where I am going.”
“I beg of you, my Queen, you must accompany me!” Without thinking, Euram lunged out to seize her arm and tug her toward the left wing. Almost violently she snapped her hand away.
“You’re not allowed to touch me, remember? Oooh, if Miakis were here…”
At that moment, a searing and painful brightness seeped in from the windows, bathing stone and marble in a wash of pure, concentrated light. Brighter it blazed, a steadily growing radiance both brilliant and terrible. A low hum swelled; bones tingling, Euram could almost feel the escalating surge of power from above.
Oh…not good, not good!
Knees buckling, Euram would have hit the floor cowering just then, were it not for his young charge.
“What in the…?” the Queen had paused mid-rebuke and now looked around her, shielding her eyes in frustration.
Thinking as quickly as his terror would allow, he took advantage of her distraction. His gaze darted along the wall, spotting the sunken stone to which Gizel had referred; there were two, in fact, one outside and another just beyond the portcullis of the leftmost passageway. Without thinking further, he sprang over and pressed the nearest recessed block. There came a scrape and a rumble, and the stone slab began to descend.
Before Lym could utter another sentence, Euram tackled her, sending both of them tumbling into the left passage. They spilled into the corridor, a tangle of limbs and fine fabric and common threads. As they fell into a heap, the Queen’s dress and petticoat crumpled and buried her, until all Euram could see was a raging, spitting and cursing bundle of lace and silken fury beneath his own lanky limbs.
“Mff! Stupid, crazy fool!” the Queen’s muffled voice barked from beneath her rumpled dress. “What do you think you’re doing? Get off of me at once, you simpleton!”
Hastily he scrambled to obey, his own ungainly limbs awkwardly untangling themselves from the fuming monarch. At last she shoved him off, just as the stone door slammed and settled into place. Euram rolled aside, gulping as Lym sat upright, ill-fitted crown askew, her expression seething as her eyes flung fire at him. He shrank, an arm shielding his body as if he expected to be struck, or kicked.
“How dare you! How dare…” she panted.
“F-forgive me…”
“What are we doing here?” Lym crawled to her feet. “Open that passage at once and take me to my brother!”
Euram sighed, still breathless on the floor. “Alas…I am afraid I cannot.”
She stood, for the moment towering over him. Her arms went to her hips.“Where is he? You said Frey was waiting on a ferry.”
Silent, Euram lowered his gaze.
Queen Lymsleia frowned. “He isn’t down here at all, is he?”
“Ah…” Shifting uncomfortably, Euram sighed. “Alas, Your Majesty, I regret…he is not.”

“You tricked me.” Her eyes darkened when his hangdog silence confirmed just that. “I knew you would.” She growled, moving to the recessed stone on the wall and reached in vain for it. With a frustrated grunt, she whirled again on her unwanted escort, still on the floor. “As your Queen, I order you to open this door and let me out! You will release me this instant!” Her tirade continued, promising all sorts of terrible retributions.

“You may add it to the list of crimes for which I will surely answer when this is all done,” Euram said with resignation, bent double as he panted, unused to such exertion. “When this is finished, you may have my head if you wish, and goodness knows, I have earned it. But at the moment…I cannot release you. I am sorry, Your Majesty.”
“Well, my brother will certainly hear of this. Hmph. You’re just like everyone else around here.”
“You’re right,” he groaned, miserably. “I am the lowest of scum, a derelict, the most detestable of knaves. I haven’t the right to consume the same breathable air as one such as you! I am…”
“You are an idiot. Stop groveling and get up off the floor, at once.”
“Yes, Majesty, yes, yes…”
She frowned, watching him awkwardly scramble to his feet, bowing and apologizing all the way.
“What is the matter with you? I think you’re insane.”
“I…I suspect you are probably right, Your Majesty.” He sighed, despondent, hands once more seeking to fidget with lace and ruffles missing from his wrists.
“You could try acting like a normal person, for a change,” Lym suggested with a frown.
Euram studied the ground, his words quiet and sad. “I-I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how.”
And for a brief moment she pitied him, even if she wasn’t sure why.
Just then, a low rumble shuddered the ground beneath them.
“Now what?” The Queen looked back toward the corridor’s entrance as the shaking grew, almost knocking her off her feet. Without thinking, Euram moved to steady her.
“Ghh—Your Majesty, this way, please!”
A roaring swell rose to accompany whatever force rattled the floor and walls around them. Staggering, the pair hurried further into the corridor, until the quaking grew nearly violent enough to tumble them over. Fearing the ceiling might crumble down on them, Euram scuttled them to the nearest wall where they huddled low, him shielding her body with his own.
Almost as abruptly as it began, the quaking subsided.
At length they relaxed, and Euram respectfully moved away from Lym, giving her space. Seeing her crown had slipped from her head, he bent to retrieve it and deferentially offered it over. She accepted, choosing to simply clutch it in her hand. She had ventured from the wall to again weigh their surroundings, her young brow furrowed with doubt, and, for the first time he’d ever seen, fear.
“What—what do you think is happening out there?”
Euram was likewise eyeing the walls, the ceiling, fearing at any moment the quaking or some other calamity would begin anew.
“I wish I could say, Your Majesty,” he admitted, feeling helpless. He had no way of knowing that the Loyalist Army had only just thwarted a catastrophic flood, or that at that very moment, Prince Freyjadour and Lady Sialeeds were joining forces once more, combining the strength of the Dawn and the Twilight to repel and subdue the mighty Sun Rune’s wrath.
In a way, he was almost glad to be spared the horrible details of what was going on outside. But in another way, not knowing almost made it worse.
When he turned back to the Queen and saw the worry on her brow, something stirred in him. It could have been hopefulness or confidence, or perhaps it merely pained him to see her shaken so. For whatever reason, he supplied something he hoped sounded encouraging.
“N-never fear, my Queen. I regret I know not what is transpiring above. B-but I can say this: you are safe here, and whatever happens out there, I assure you Prince Freyjadour will emerge triumphant.” He managed to sound more confident than he felt, though whether she believed him was uncertain. There was a worry in her chestnut eyes that disheartened him, but she did manage a nod.
“I hope…I hope you are right.”
An awkward silence passed between them, both of them frightened and subdued beyond harsh words or stumbling apologies.
He spun a dainty turn, nibbling on a slender fingertip as he examined more thoroughly their environment. They were in a passageway of stone walls and pillars and arched, vaulted ceilings that stretched back far in the distance. There were no windows down here—truly a sealed space underground, protected from fire and water alike. But faint blue magical fires gently flickered in recessed niches lining the corridor. There was a faint musty smell hanging in the stagnant air, not unpleasant, but certainly old.
With mincing steps he ventured further inside the old conduit, curious as to how far it went—and what might be lurking there. He shuddered.
Reluctantly the disheveled Queen followed her unwanted guide.
“If my brother didn’t send you…then why did you come?”
Euram pretended not to hear, hesitantly flouncing ahead in that refined way of his, but she knew better.
“I asked you a question. Was it Gizel?”
“No, no. Not Gizel,” he absently replied, tiptoeing deeper into the passage as if he feared some beastly thing might leap from an unseen recess and devour them. At length he stopped, afraid to go any further.
“I think…I think we shall be safe, here.”
A series of stone slab benches lined the wall, and Queen Lymsleia sat, watching Barows as he minced timidly ahead, only to hurry back and take a seat opposite her across the narrow hallway, where he sat restless, fidgeting like an anxious child.
For a long time they sat in silence, listening to scattered and muffled sounds of battle above: the humming of runes, the churn of naval ships, random blasts of who knew what.
Lym simply watched the ceiling, as if she might somehow pierce stone with her eyes and divine the fighting’s progress.
“I would rather be above,” she said, wistfully. “I would rather at least be able to see what is happening out there. I am Queen. I should be on top of these situations.”
Euram nodded. “I—I am sorry for deceiving you, Majesty. But I know your brother would prefer you safe. Besides, he will flatten them, you shall see! I have the most unshakable confidence that with the Dawn Rune, he will bring Godwin’s contemptible armies to their knees! And then, they will swing from the highest gallows…” he began, repeating his father’s own words before Lym suddenly interrupted him.
“Gizel said you did something…something to my brother…in Sable,” she began, now reminded of an earlier conversation with Gizel. “But he would not say what. I want to hear it from you.”
Euram looked like a doe caught in a cross-fire before the impact of her question struck him like a punch in the gut.
“Oh…” his stomach pitted, a blanket of dread closing over him alongside a red flare of anger and hate.
Oh Gizel…you incredible, unthinkable, unbelievable bastard…
Rising, he paced nervously, and wondered briefly how it was that all of Falena knew the particulars of his shameful scheme, and yet the Queen Herself did not.
He swallowed, faltered. “It’s…a regrettably long story, Your Majesty. Perhaps I’ll indulge you another…”
“We’ve got time.” Lym’s expression sat firm. “You will tell me everything. That is an order from your queen.”
“Oh…c-can’t this wait?” His hands fluttered at his sides, his face reddening.
“Right here, right now.”
“Aw…c-c’mon, Your Majesty…” As his responses grew steadily more childish and evasive, Lym scowled at the way he shuffled and fidgeted like a boy half his age.
She crossed her arms and glared him down hard, unrelenting.
“Spill it.”
“Ugh…” Shrinking, he plopped back onto the bench, defeated.
And so, taking a deep breath he miserably poured the whole shameful tale, withering under her glare all the while. He didn’t dare meet her gaze as he relayed his plan, how it was foiled, how the townspeople had turned against him, and in those mortifying moments he relived how they had closed in on him, armed with everything from brooms and rolling pins to sharp farming tools. He’d heard their cries of “pound the frills offa him” and something about tarring and feathering—all of which he would have deserved, he realized now.
When the humiliating story concluded, the Queen shook her head in disgust.
“Of all the despicable…”
“That isn’t all.” Euram took another breath, and revealed his scheme with the Book of Condemnation, and how the tome, which he’d later learned contained a fragment from the legendary Rune of Punishment, had nearly destroyed him instead of the Prince.
“A-and then there was…” He may as well get it all in the open, so with a sigh he confessed his arrangement with the Maximilian Knights in Haud—how he had hired them to dispatch the Prince, only to have them—yet again—turn on he, Euram Barows, instead.
The worst part was that these misdeeds he could not even credit to his father’s influence; these crimes were his, and his alone. He wasn’t even sure why he was spilling it all, now. Maybe he knew she would eventually learn of them, or maybe, once again, he was hoping to outdo Gizel in something—even if it was in revealing to the Queen his own shame.
A prolonged silence followed his guilty confessions. He had pulled his skinny legs up close to him on the bench and sat hugging his knees like a child.
The Queen frowned.
“One shameful, cowardly deed after another. And all that business with the Dawn Rune?” She pressed him, as if to confirm his guilt in those crimes, too. “Everything that happened with Lordlake?”
Euram nodded, diminishing further at the disappointment and reproach in her voice. Silent, he hung his head, never having felt so small.
“To think I felt sorry for you, when I first saw you here, in the dungeon. I had not believed Gizel. Why, you’re nothing but a scoundrel.”
“He was right,” Euram admitted with a defeated sigh. “Everything you have heard about me is right. I am every bit the ‘wimp’ you said I was, and worse. I am a loathsome, gutless louse, a sorry, contemptible heel, a lowly wretched reprobate, worthy of the nethermost…”
“Oh, shut up!”
“Y-yes, Your Majesty. Of course, Your Majesty.”
She sighed. “Of all people I have to be stuck here with you.”
For a long time after they sat in rigid silence, as the battle above raged on.

***
Gizel had ventured into the hallway outside the throne room, as he waited for Dolph to deliver his wife. Wide waterfalls flowed soft and eternal into elegant aqueducts, and for a moment he stood alone, the light cascade an illusory comfort. He knew without being told that the battle was advancing toward the Palace, and was prepared for his meeting with the Prince. Lym had refused to leave to safety, and if nothing else, the Commander of the Queen’s Knights must remain by the Queen’s side in the event of a siege—and this was inevitable, now.
It was Alenia, not Dolph, who approached him first.
“The rebels have breached our defenses. The Sun Palace is no longer safe! Her Majesty and His Commandership must try to escape now!”
Gizel only nodded. “I’ve told Her Majesty to flee, but she has refused.”
“Then, Your Commandership, at least you—”
Gizel shook his head in refusal.
“The Commander of the Queen’s Knights must never abandon Her Majesty. Never.”
“Yes, but…!”
“Alenia, here is another matter we must discuss.”
“Y-Yes, Your Commandership?”
“It seems Lady Sialeeds was still alive when you sent that report.”
The redheaded woman stalled, and faltered. “Huh? B-but…”
“Mistakes like that are common on the battlefield. I’m not holding you responsible for it. It’s just…unfortunate, that’s all…”

The sadness in his voice was well-masked, but Alenia knew her Commander well. A sorrow of her own swelled inside her, the disappointment in Gizel’s words slicing her deep.
“Your Commandership…” she began, bowing her head.
Dolph entered from a staircase above and into the hallway. He was alone.
“The Queen is missing from her chamber, Commander.”
“Missing?” Gizel looked up, a spark of alarm crossing his normally unflappable features. Almost as quickly he suppressed it, his brow lifting in thoughtful consideration. “Curious.” His mind presently went to the only possibility he could imagine: Sialeeds.
She must have moved her, or persuaded her to move. The only questions were “how” and “when”—and of course “where”.
“Shall I search the Palace further?” the young assassin coldly queried.
“No, Dolph. I would rather you go with Father.”
“Very well.”
“Your Commandership, we must secure the Queen as soon as possible,” Alenia countered.
“No, Alenia. That will not be necessary, I do not think. Interesting…” With those words he slowly turned, and strode through the throne hall doors.
“Your…Commandership!”
Alenia’s plea was answered by the door’s closing boom.

***
Outside the palace, together with Sialeeds and their respective runes, Prince Frey had thwarted the Sun Rune’s might, and his units had and routed both the land and naval forces. On the ground, Prince Freyjadour himself stood with Lucretia and his team of Queen’s Knights on the very walkway that would lead them directly to the Sun Palace: their home.
Lady Sialeeds lay injured behind them, in the care of Doctor Silva.
“Time to head straight for the Sun Palace, Your Highness,” the tactician calmly explained. “We don’t have any time to waste.”
The Prince nodded distantly, looking ahead to the castle he had called home his entire young life.
“Come on, Prince,” encouraged Miakis, Lym’s personal bodyguard. “This time, I’ll save the Princess for SURE!”
Frey nodded, but as his friends surged forward he paused long enough to look back, towards the causeway where they had left his wounded Aunt Sialeeds. Lyon hung back, and she knew what he was thinking.
“Don’t worry, Prince. Doctor Silva will take good care of her. Let’s go: the Princess awaits.”
***
Euram and Lymsleia sat quiet and thoughtful in the underground passage. Neither had spoken for some time, and the silence and tension grew unnerving as the sounds of battle above them grew muted, diminished.

“You could have been my husband…” Lym said at last, a statement that did little to ease the prolonged discomfort between them.
“Yes.” Euram bowed his head. “I had thought I wanted that.”
The Queen frowned. “What about that absurd performance in the Senate Building? You seemed pretty sure about ‘carving your way to my heart’, if I recall. Or rather having your ‘champion’ do it for you.”
Euram winced, rising to pace again. “I was sure, at the time. I know better, now. I wanted it because that was what Father wanted. But more than that—and worse—I wanted it so…so that Gizel couldn’t have it.”
She regarded him sadly, and at length she sighed. “I am nothing more than a prize, then, in the nobility’s disgusting little power game.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. That is the way of it.” As he nervously paced back and forth, his anger at himself, at Godwin and Barows alike swelled thick in his blood. “The rotten, wretched nobility. That is the cause of all this. We are the cause of everything!” With his final shriek he dispensed a mighty kick to solid stone and regretted it at once, crumpling in pain.
“Hold still, you fool!” chided the Queen. A pained whimper answered her. “Oh, for pity’s sake. You’re a grown man. Act like it!”
And there they were, in an abandoned conduit beneath the Sun Palace: a girl wise beyond her years, and a young man unfledged, a child in spite of his.
Whether he felt he didn’t deserve a bench or simply felt lost, Euram leaned against stone and slid to the floor, his back to the wall. Once more he drew in his knees and was silent for several beats, a weighty gloom shading his faraway gaze.
“I wish…” he spoke at last, nearly a whisper, then shook his head, as if abandoning his thought. “I was angry,” he began anew. “I blamed your brother for our undoing. I wanted to destroy him, because…because I felt he’d destroyed us. Dad and I were using him, and he knew it; he exposed us for the frauds we were, and I…I felt he’d betrayed us. But it was we who betrayed him—and all of Falena.” A small shiver came over him, and he drew himself further inward. “I should have been angry with Dad. And myself. But I blamed His Highness, and tried to hurt him. I know it is no excuse. I was only hurting myself. Throughout Falena my name is reviled, and it’s no more than I deserve. But it hardly matters, now. The House of Barows is no more. My father is dead, and we are…finished.”
“Lord Barows?” Lymsleia sat upright in surprise, still clutching her crown in small hands. “Dead? But when…?”
“Gizel didn’t tell you?” Euram blinked up at her. How could she not have known? Did Godwin truly keep her so in the dark? “After Stormfist fell, and the troops withdrew from Rainwall. A…a unit remained behind, and…murdered him.” He deftly avoided mentioning Sialeeds, but the young queen saw him shiver again, his amber eyes drifting back into distant reflection. “I saw it happen. I watched him die.”
Lym shook her head, now wondering herself how this information had been so effectively kept from her knowledge.
“How…how horrible. I am sorry.”
“It…” Euram hesitated, wavering. “It is for the best. He was a wicked man.”
“But he was still your father.”
“Y-yes,” Euram flicked away a single tear. “B-but we…in a way…I am responsible, too, for…for what happened to Her Majesty Arshtat, and His Majesty Ferid.” He swallowed. “Had I not…done what I did at the garrison…Father would not have had the chance to seize the Dawn Rune from its rightful place—and none of this would have happened. Queen Arshtat, and Ferid…would not have…oh, Your Majesty!” Euram sobbed, the full brunt of it all coming home to settle on his heart.
In silence Lym watched him, bemused as she absorbed his words. Clearly there was much she did not know, and she would learn more, but for the moment she thought of the proud, obnoxious clown who had so foppishly rained adulation on her in the Senate Building, all colors and ruffles and swooning. And now here he was, broken and huddled on the cold floor and spilling his family’s disgrace and ruin to her, and it was nothing short of surreal.
“Everything—everything!” he went on, his voice tight with self-hatred and despair. “It is all on account of our crimes, my own and those of the House of Barows. And now that my father is gone…” he paused, swallowed. “Now that he is dead…you may lay the blame squarely at my feet. When all this is over…as Queen, should you wish to see justice done—should you wish to impose a fitting sentence—and should the people of Falena wish it—I-I will accept it. I will endure any manner of retribution you decree—h-however severe…or final.”
Stunned beyond words, Lymsleia fought for something to say. She should have felt nothing but fury toward this man, fury and hatred. And those feelings were there, certainly. They bubbled inside her and threatened to boil over, and she could have screamed at him. But as she digested his tearful admissions, she found her fury tempered with something she never would have anticipated: an unsettling swell of pity.
More than anything, Lymsleia Falenas was suddenly struck with the full burden of what it meant to be Queen.
Now, more than ever, she understood the full weight of her duty, as she found herself struggling with matters one so young should not have to consider. And this was something she would have to address. The fate of this poor, pitiful wretch would lie in her hands, and she would be forced to make the final decision. He was one of her subjects, after all—as were all the people of Falena: ultimately her responsibility. And whatever happened to this sad, disgraced noble, whose crimes were indeed heavy and numerous—would ultimately fall to her.
And that was a staggering burden for anyone, let alone a twelve-year-old.
“Let’s…not worry about that, for now,” she quietly said, further words failing her.

A sound interrupted them, like stone scraping on stone, and they looked in the direction from which they had come, towards the exit. Footsteps echoed in the corridor, and now both of the stood, curious and afraid as they awaited to learn of the latest visitor’s identity.
The Queen and the fallen noble both ventured toward the approaching steps.
Someone was coming, indeed, and Euram half expected Gizel or Sialeeds. A sharp gasp caught in his throat when the slender form of the Queen’s Knight Lady Alenia came into view. Her uniform was stark black against the subtle blue lights lining the hallway, and she strode up the corridor with confidence and resolve, as if she had a task she meant to complete. Her sword was drawn and hovered at her side, as if prepared to strike down any who resisted her. Alenia’s stern gaze at last settled on the pair she found there.
As she approached Euram withered in fear, but Lym stood her ground.
“Lady Alenia? What do you want?”
"How appropriate,” Alenia spoke smoothly, her tongue like a snake dipped in honey as she regarded the Barows heir. “A rat in a sewer. But what are you doing here, Your Majesty?”
“I would like to know that, myself,” said Lym, glancing at her escort.
“Kidnapping the Queen,” Alenia’s accusing gaze settled on Euram. “A crime punishable by death.”
“Now, just a minute…” Lymsleia began, before Euram’s desperate plea cut her short.
“K-kidnapping! Oh, no! L-Lady Alenia, I, I would never…”
“Barows filth. Step away from the Queen at once! Your Majesty, has this scum harmed you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lym countered. “Do you honestly think him capable?”
“Yet he has abducted you, nonetheless.”
“N-no, wait, please! The Lady Sialeeds herself… I mean—oh!” Euram stopped short, cringing as he realized once more his mouth had revealed something he did not intend.
“Sialeeds?” the young Queen whirled accusingly on Euram and spat. “How dare she—and how dare you!”
“Y-you don’t understand, Your Majesty! She-she wanted you safe. I only…”
Before he could finish, Alenia silenced him with a downward sweep of her sword. “Pah! Lady Sialeeds is dead, so her orders no longer apply.”
Euram swallowed, his thoughts roiling, his heart empty.
Lady Sialeeds…dead?

At once something he had not expected came over him: a heavy press of grief. But no tears came; in all honesty, he was unsure how to feel.
Despite his fear of Sialeeds, all he could manage now was empty sorrow. As deeply as she had terrified him, as merciless as she had been with him, he could not resent her. She had, in a way, saved him, he supposed….
“I…I don’t believe you,” Lym faltered. “And even if I did—I wouldn’t care.”
“It is the Commander’s duty to protect the Queen in the event of siege. You will accompany me, to His Majesty Gizel’s side.”
“Your Majesty, you can’t, it isn’t yet safe…” Euram pleaded, only to be ignored.
Lymsleia paused, thinking. “As much as I would love to watch Gizel’s humiliating defeat—I don’t trust you. Something feels—wrong.” Young as she was, she couldn’t help but suspect Alenia meant to use her, perhaps even against her brother. Alenia may have proclaimed allegiance to her, but she knew the woman’s loyalties, above all, lay with Gizel.
“There is no time for this,” the Knight insisted. “We must head above, now.”
Lym frowned, having given the demand much thought and choosing shrewd judgment over simply following her own heart, her own desires.
“I won’t go, not with you. And you are a Queen’s Knight; I know you will not dare harm me, so you might as well leave us.”
Alenia smiled. “I will not harm you, Your Majesty. But I have no qualms about harming this cur.” Her blade lowered, stopping just inches from Euram’s chest. He froze, biting back a squeak of fright. “Come along at once, or I cut down this pig!”
Paralyzed with fear, Euram could only manage a dismayed whimper. And considering all he had confessed to her, he wasn’t surprised by the Queen’s next words:
“Go ahead if you want. I don’t care for this clown in the slightest, so that’s not going to—”
Alenia lunged, her sword leading. Euram yelped and sprang aside, his body striking a stone wall as a white flash of pain sliced down his left side.
“Stop! Oh, stop! I will—I will go with you.” The Queen’s answering cry fell muted on Euram’s ears, and everything seemed to spin.
He knew Alenia had struck, even if he didn’t know how deeply, and for a moment he feared he might black out. His eyes briefly dimmed before his senses returned in a swirl. The room stopped spinning, and he realized he was crouching against the wall on the floor, clutching his side.
And once more he was staring down a sword tip, aimed for his face.
“Up, wretch.”
Too frightened to even beg for his life, Euram swallowed and obeyed, staggering painfully to his feet. At sword-point he struggled forward, arms hugged to his wounded side, his thoughts spinning from one horrendous outcome to another. How many vitals had she struck? How many arteries? How long did it take a man to bleed to death, anyhow?

***
Gizel rose to attention, sword drawn, at a commotion outside the throne room. But the doors swung to reveal not the Prince and his retainers, but Alenia, the Queen at her side, along with a clearly-wounded Euram Barows, miserably limping along under threat of her sword.
Gizel sighed back a hidden twitch of anger.
“I return Her Majesty to your side, Commander.” Unceremoniously Alenia shoved Euram to the floor, where he crouched, trembling and whimpering and hugging his arms to his injured flank.
Gizel frowned. “I instructed none of this. Where was the Queen?”
“In the old conduit, below the Palace, Your Commandership.”
“Where she would not have had to witness what is about to take place,” Gizel shook his head. “Alenia…”
“The Queen’s Knights are sworn to protect Her Majesty, above all.”
“And she would have been safer where she was.”
“This Barows scum abducted her. Did I not say he would be trouble?” Gizel nearly laughed at the thought of Euram forcibly ‘abducting’ anyone. “We’d best dispose of him at once, while there is still time.”
“That is for me to decide,” the Queen interjected, her voice commanding great authority despite her age. She stood as tall as her frame allowed, fearless before the red-haired woman. “You are a Queen’s Knight, not judge, jury and executioner. He will answer for his crimes, properly: before myself, and Falena. And you will stand down.”
“B-but Your Majesty…”
“The Queen is right, Alenia,” Gizel interceded. “You will harm him no further than you have done. We have no time for this. Battle approaches. I will face the Prince myself, with honor, as I have stated.”
"Commander, I will defend you…”
“That will not be necessary. You are dismissed, Alenia. Flee the palace while you can.”
Her lips trembled with a further protest, but at a harsh nod from Gizel she spun on her heel and swept from the chamber, streams of her uniform flowing behind her.
The door closed with an echoing slam.

Gizel first turned to the Queen.
“Are you harmed?”
“No, not at all,” Lym answered, returning her crown to her head. “But you might want to take a better look at this poor fool. He is lucky he was so quick to dodge the brunt of her blade, or she could have harmed him much worse.”
“Well then, Your Majesty, I will see about it personally. In the meantime…your throne awaits.”
Frustrated, she huffed and moved to occupy her royal seat.
“As for you…” Gizel went to Euram and knelt next to him. The younger man’s arms were clutched at his flank and he was bent double, but he didn’t dare look at his own wound, even as the initial rush of adrenaline faded and a sharp, slicing pain began seeping in.
Surely he was dying. Lady Alenia had been adamantly pressing for his death since he’d arrived as a prisoner, and now she had surely delivered a fatal blow, and he would soon expire, perish, wither away as his precious lifeblood slowly drained from his very body!
“Let me see,” Gizel’s order drifted to him as if from afar, and Euram groaned as the Commander pried his arms loose to inspect his wound.
“Ghh—Your Majesty. D-don’t mind me,” Euram panted, his resistance failing as Gizel forced a look at his injury. “I—I am f-finished. Done for.” He swooned. “Deceased, departed, s-slain. Ohh, I’m afraid I am…failing…”
What would be etched on his grave? Would he even be permitted a grave? More likely he would be flung facedown atop a midden, with a primitive wooden sign if he was lucky, carved with a simple, fitting epitaph:
Here lies a worthless fop.
Just then, Gizel chuckled.
“Barows, you silly, silly fool.”
“Er—wha…?” The younger man faltered, blinking owlishly at the Commander.
“All this production, and it is nothing more than a surface wound. You will bleed, but you will live.”
“Ghh…oh? Y-you mean I…”
“I’m afraid you are not dying, not today.” Again Gizel chuckled and held the other noble at arms length. “Damn Alenia,” he muttered, before glancing him up and down and shaking his head. “Tsk, tsk. Naughty, naughty Euram. Did I not instruct you to save yourself? You placed yourself in danger dragging the Queen along. But, in a way, you fulfilled another desire of my own: protecting Her Majesty. And for that, I am proud of you, Euram.”
“Oh,” Euram groaned at a sharp twinge from his wound, though he brightened, childlike. “Are you saying I…did…well?”
“Yes, indeed, Euram. You have. For disregarding my specific commands, that is,” he added with a smirk.
“Oh, b-but what about…” Euram darkened, remembering. “What of…the Sun Rune? It…”
“It is no longer here, in the Palace,” Gizel said, to the other noble’s confusion.
“Whaa?”
“My father has taken it from here, to the Ashtwal Mountains. There is no need for you to worry about it now.”
“B-But Gizel…”
“Shhh,” Gizel soothed him. “For now, simply try to remain calm, and keep pressure on that wound—yes, just like you were. You will be fine, once you get it cleaned and dressed.”
Sounds of upheaval filtered into the throne room from beyond the door, and Gizel settled on Euram a solemn gaze.
“Get behind me, quickly, and stay there. You are to keep out of harm’s way.”
“Oh, but what are…?” Euram’s mind spun, more torn than ever. “What will you…?”
The door crashed open, and Euram withheld a gasp. There stood Prince Freyjadour Falenas himself, his fair features grave and solemn. His soft brow was furrowed with anger, sorrow and grim resolve. That elegant silver braid flowed like the rippling sea down his back, his eyes like iced flame. And beneath it all was an unyielding nobility that transcended royal blood.
Here was a man, no longer a boy, who clearly meant to take back Sol-Falena for his people, and to take back the Sun Palace for his family, his sister. Here was a figure who radiated pure strength, and Euram trembled at his mere presence.
His presence alone would have been enough, but the team he had chosen to assist him in storming the palace were equally intimidating, each one. Accompanying the prince were his most trusted friends and Queen’s Knights: Georg, Lyon, Miakis, Kyle and Galleon—warriors, all.
Euram knew most of them, to varying degrees, and he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or dismayed by their presence. It wasn’t so much that he feared they would harm him, but that each of them were either tied to his misdeeds or had witnessed him in some state of disgrace.

The woman, Miakis, was Princess Lymsleia’s bodyguard, and she had personally struck fear in Euram with her threats—and those daggers—on at least one occasion. Spirited and vocal, Miakis wielded her blades with precision, her girlish looks deceiving. Only a little older than Euram, she was nonetheless quick, sharp and deadly—and he had met her presence with fear ever since she’d confronted him in the Senate Building, not long before the Sacred Games.

The blonde Kyle always gave Euram pause in how closely he resembled his late brother Hiram. The “spitting image” he had been called. Indeed, Kyle was rumored to hold a relation to the high-ranking Senatorial family, and he had long been assumed a Barows sympathizer. Unfortunately for Euram and Salum, Kyle had proven neutral in the Barows/Godwin feud, and had personally witnessed their humiliation with the Dawn Rune fiasco, shortly before abandoning them with Prince Frey’s supporters.

The same went for Georg Prime, an older Knight and close friend of the late Commander Ferid. Georg had also been present when Salum and Euram’s plans had gone awry, and had in fact grilled them mercilessly before departing along with Frey’s followers.

The Prince’s bodyguard, Lyon, had witnessed everything: Euram’s every tantrum, his every embarrassment, his every scheme, his every failure. She had stood at Frey’s side when Euram had lashed out at Zegai, when he had groveled to Princess Lymsleia, when he had nearly lost his life to the Book of Condemnation, and she had seen him humiliated in Sable and Haud.

Yet in spite of all this, it was the presence of the Knight Galleon that struck him most keenly.

Galleon had long been a veteran of the Queen’s Knights, and had assisted Ferid during the Armes invasion, eight years ago. But the thing that struck Euram hardest now, what dismayed him most grievously, was the knowledge that Galleon’s home was Lordlake—the very village decimated and doomed to drought and misery, all because of his folly.

Inaudibly Euram groaned. So many people with so many reasons to hate him, and all in the same room—it was enough to make a young noble feel faint. If he could avoid looking Galleon—or any of them, for that matter—in the eye, then so much the better.

Surely the best he could do now was lie low.

And that was exactly what he did. Pitifully Euram dragged himself behind Gizel, as instructed, and remained crumpled on the floor, his head down.
Luckily for Euram, when Prince Frey’s entourage strode into the throne room, they were focused primarily on Gizel and Lymsleia.
Gizel stood next to the throne to greet them. He was outfitted in his full Commander’s regalia—a uniform that he had usurped from Ferid himself. His sword was at his side, readied.
“We had a little tango with your minions, Gizel,” Kyle announced, with his usual, cocky bravado. “Zahhak and Alenia. Regrettably, we had to dispose of them.”
“Seems they had discovered Raging Nostrum,” added Georg Prime. “They were determined, and loyal, I’ll give them that. They were willing to die for your cause, and I am afraid they have.”
“Yes,” Gizel nodded, with a sigh. “I instructed them to save themselves. I did not intend for them to die here. How unfortunate. However, they chose their path.”
“How could you allow them to use that drug!” Lyon demanded with a frown. “How could you let them throw their lives away?”
Gizel regarded her coldly, and gave a heedless shrug. “That particular course of action was never cleared with me. In fact, their orders were not to get involved in this final conflict.”
“Princess!” cried Miakis, spotting Lym on her throne.
“Lym!” Prince Frey called out to his sister where she sat next to a hovering, guarding Gizel, clearly a hostage on her own throne.
“Frey!” Lymsleia cried out from her royal seat. “Miakis! Lyon! Kyle and George, and Galleon…you all did come!”
Euram thought they would all completely overlook him—and this was just fine, as far as he was concerned. But at that moment, Prince Frey glanced aside and spotted the man on the floor behind Gizel.
At first the Prince did not recognize him, clothed in commoner’s threads and huddled pitifully, knelt on the ground. But a spark of vague recognition soon swept Frey’s features, and he called out, drawing unwanted attention to the fallen noble.
“Euram! Are you—?”
“I am u-unharmed, Prince. B-but please, don’t…don’t worry about me. Be careful, Your Highness!”
“Well, well, Your Royal Highness!” Gizel greeted Frey formally. “It’s been a while. The last time was the engagement ceremony, I believe? I'm sorry I couldn't invite you to the coronation ceremony. I'm sure you understand, considering the... circumstances.”
“Circumstances?” Frey’s sapphire eyes narrowed, his sectioned Nunchaku at the ready. “You would call your treachery ‘circumstances’?”
“Treachery? Now, Your Highness. You know my father and I have acted in our Queendom’s best interests.”
“Stop with all the lies!” Miakis demanded, the only thing keeping her from rushing to Lym the sword Gizel so casually held—and that sword’s proximity to Lymsleia herself. “Get away from the Princess!”
“Why should I?” Gizel coolly returned. “I am the glorious Commander of the Queen's Knights, as well as her husband, after all.”
“Then what do you plan to do with that sword?” Miakis cried, almost frantic.
“This?” Gizel displayed his blade, his voice and composure unnervingly calm. His sword glinted in the light that filtered into the hall.
“Forget about that, Frey!” the Queen advised her brother. “Seize him! He doesn't have the guts to hurt me, anyway!”
“My, my,” Gizel turned to his wife, still seated on her throne. “Do you really take me so lightly?”
“No, I don't. If you had wanted to escape, you could've easily done it by now. But you stayed with me instead. So no matter what you say, despite your threats, I don’t think you ever really wanted to harm me.”
At that moment Gizel smiled.
“But what if my master plan was…murdering you in front of your beloved brother?” His sword dipped down to come level with her face, and the Queen gasped, a brief flash of fear in her wide brown eyes.

Miakis growled. Frey tensed, gripping his weapon hard and looking as though he would charge Gizel at any moment. And from his place on the floor, Euram withheld a gasp of his own. He did not truly believe Gizel would harm Lym, though the proposal itself was audacious enough.
At once Euram remembered Miakis threatening him in the Senate Building. If nothing else, she was tough and capable. If the Queen could get close to her bodyguard, Miakis could at least move her out of harm’s way—and she would protect the Queen to the death. If only he could somehow provide a distraction, it might permit Lym the chance to move nearer to Miakis…
But Lym’s initial fear faded just as quickly.
“Hmmph! Don’t make me laugh.” Casually she pushed Gizel’s sword away from her, out of harm’s range. “A proud man like you, committing such a rotten act? I don’t think so.”
“Oh?” Gizel made no further threatening move, and instead lowered his blade. “I think I might have just underestimated the woman I'm married to.
Well, just as Her Majesty said, I chose to stay here. And the reason I did that was because I wanted to see you, Freyjadour. I told Zahhak and Alenia that, too. But they insisted on remaining where they were. What a pity...
“It’s funny if you think about it. Everyone’s been trying to change Falena for their own selfish purposes. Our country has been strangled by the noose of a tug-of-war between the royal family and the Senators. First, the late Queen and Ferid tried to change Falena. Next, with a difference of opinion, my father tried to change it. And then Lord Barows got you on his side and tried to change it yet again,” Gizel tipped a nod towards Euram, who chose to study the floor, his head low. “But that didn’t work out, either. But now,” he turned now to Frey, “it’s come down to you, leading a force of your own against my father. And finally,” Gizel now moved to stare at one of the running waterfalls, his voice distant and perhaps even wistful. “Sialeeds betrayed her own family and decided to change things for her own selfish reasons. Each one trying to do what they thought best for this country of ours, but their paths were so different.”
At the mention of Sialeeds, Prince Frey waded forward, clutching his weapon, his features a tangle of sorrow and fury. “How can you stand here and casually talk like this? You murdered my parents—our parents,” he added, glancing sadly to his sister.
Gizel didn’t budge. “The Queen’s instability was a grievous weakness to Falena’s security. Arshtat and Ferid, unfortunately, had to be removed.”
“How dare you…” Lyon began.
“Is it not true?” Gizel continued. “Arshtat took possession of the Sun Rune too quickly, too erratically. It was slowly consuming her, and ultimately, it did. Father realized that to harness such power effectively would take patience, and research, and time.”
“The Sun Rune…” Kyle almost whispered.
“Her Majesty Arshtat took up the Sun Rune to safeguard it from the likes of you, Godwin,” Georg Prime added, a dangerous anger brewing beneath his calm demeanor. And it was no surprise, after all: Georg had been forced to murder Arshtat, himself.
“You tried to kill me, and Sialeeds, as well!” Prince Frey reminded him.
“Father and I simply hoped to strengthen Falena,” Gizel calmly explained. “Had we not made our move, Lord Barows would have done so, eventually. Not all of our tactics have been…praiseworthy, I freely admit. But ends often justify the means. Still, in the end, I suppose the path Falena will take will be the one you have chosen, Your Highness. So, I may have lost in the end. But I have come too far to simply beg your forgiveness…”
“Gizel, don’t do this,” Euram suddenly cried out as Gizel readied his sword. It was just the opportunity Lym needed to flee her throne and rush to the arms of her bodyguard. They huddled now to left of the floor’s red runner, at a safe distance from Gizel and Prince Frey, who were now moving to face off.
“You will accept my challenge, won’t you?” Gizel taunted, and Frey nodded.
“You bet I will,” the young prince readied his weapon, deadly and elegant, a grim determination burning in his sapphire-like eyes.
“I thought you would see things my way,” Gizel advanced, his sword prepared and primed. “Just you and I, man to man. Prove to me you’re a winner, Freyjadour Falenas.”
Euram watched from his crouched position, his heart twisting in many directions at once.
“Gizel!” he cried out in desperation. “Y-you can still surrender. It doesn’t have to be this way!”
“I am afraid we’ve had this conversation before, Euram Barows. You know better than that.”
“Stop it!” Now the Queen frantically interjected from Miakis’s shielding arms. “What’s the point of doing this now?!”
“There is no point,” Gizel returned. “It’s just that it’s inevitable. Your brother and I can never coexist.” With a flourish he extended his blade, at once grand and menacing in his flowing black and gold Commander’s attire. “In order to survive, Falena needs strong leadership. Until one of us falls, this war will never end. Whichever of us wins—be it myself, or the Prince—it will be for the good of Falena.”
Prince Frey whirled his tri-sectioned staff, facing his opponent with a flourish of his own.
Gizel stood before him, stately and composed in his uniform. Equally composed, Prince Frey stood with a fire-like fury in his icy eyes, a dangerous determination humming beneath his elegance. And the two men now stood face to face, prepared to fight—a fight from which only one of them would emerge alive.
Euram groaned as it came down to the very thing he’d feared: that no matter what happened here, he would lose Gizel, to whom he’d developed a strange and almost needy attachment—or he would lose the man to whom he’d pledged undying fealty, with a promise to right his wrongs. Worst of all, he would be forced to witness the bloody outcome.
But then, he should be forced to watch, shouldn’t he? His actions, his cowardice, had been the catalyst for all of this—right down to the reason these two men now fought.
It was the Prince who made the first move. He spun in, light on his feet with a dance-like grace. Gizel easily parried the first blow, but Frey’s flail-like weapon came back round and landed a solid and resounding smash to the left of the Commander’s skull.

Euram cringed. He had felt the business end of that weapon before, after all, in Sable. Cowering on the floor, he shut his eyes and looked away. It was all too brutal, too barbarous for his delicate sensibilities!
Recovering, Gizel came in strong, his sword arm leading. Prince Frey succeeded a fast parry, but the second and third blows struck their marks, slicing through vambrace and skin, and a thin splatter of Frey’s blood streaked the throne room floor.
Hating how helpless he felt, Euram recoiled near the wall, cradling his wounded side as he fought to ignore the unfolding battle. But he couldn’t escape the sounds that rang in his ears: steel clashed on steel as Gizel dove in with his blade, the scrapes of metal parried, the slashing of sword slicing flesh, the dull and sickening thuds of Frey’s tri-nunchaku making contact, the grunts and growls of a fierce duel.
Once in a while Euram dared an upward glance at one of Gizel’s taunts or Frey’s cries, only to catch a glimpse of the mêlée between them. A nimble parry, and Frey’s weapon would strike one, two, three times, pounding his opponent in the face, and again Euram would have to turn away.
“Very nice, Prince…but it’s not over yet.” Gizel encouraged, his voice growing ragged.
Again they clashed, Gizel leading with a series of nimble swipes which Frey parried with difficulty, before he came back around with his own weapon, delivering a blow to the knee that doubled his foe over and another to the head which sent him lurching back. Growling with pain, Gizel slumped for only a moment, but he was not prepared to admit defeat.

Snips of the battle continued, drifting into Euram’s ears even as he tried to blot it from his awareness. Another flourish, and a cry from the Prince preceded an especially crushing blow from his staff. Unable to bear it, Euram looked up just in time to witness Gizel stagger backwards and quickly buried his face in his hands, just wishing it would all end.
And all the while Frey’s retainers, his bodyguards and Queen’s Knights hovered at the sidelines, ready to assist their leader should the need arise.
There was a swish of a twirling staff cutting the air, and a broken, strained grunt from Gizel. At last, the Prince came in with a full mid-air flip, bringing his weapon down hard in a full-force, devastating blow to the head that staggered Gizel backward and left him dizzied, and weakened.
When Euram looked up again, the Commander reeled back, his sword dropping to the hard floor with a clatter. Gizel stumbled backwards onto the carpet runner, where he fell hard onto his back. Euram cringed.
The older man lay panting; blood flowed into his eyes and swallowed his features like slow-moving lava. Euram gasped. For a moment Gizel strained, as if he might again rise to the challenge.
Groaning, he slumped instead, content to lie where he’d fallen.
Gizel Godwin could fight no more.
Moving to his fallen foe, Frey bore several cuts that had slashed through his uniform and seeped blood, but blood also spattered his sectioned staff: Gizel’s blood. That same blood oozed down Gizel’s face and pooled on his temple.
The Commander’s body trembled where he lay, weakened. But there was a resigned contentment to his faraway look—almost as if he had expected defeat, and welcomed it.
Conflicting emotions assailed Euram’s heart, and in a moment of panic he bit back a whimper.
Freyjadour stood panting over Gizel, and in that instant the Prince looked stronger than he’d ever looked, his weapon steady in his trembling hand. His flowing silver braid fell gracefully down his back, and he stood tall and commanding above his defeated foe.
In that moment Euram saw not a child prince, but a fierce warrior, a force of vengeance, a noble and stalwart fighter.
A leader.
And what a grand leader he had become.

Gizel, on the other hand, seemed diminished, on the floor where he struggled with labored breaths. It was as if seeing his plans with the Sun Rune thwarted had resigned him to loss. And seeing him in that state, Euram felt a surge of deep sorrow swell in his breast.
“Heh heh…” Gizel brokenly choked, bleary green eyes focused on his triumphant foe. “I-I guess…I’m no match for…I’m no match for someone like you…”
An odd hush fell over the room, and all at once something strange happened: Queen Lymsleia rushed to kneel at Gizel’s side. The Commander met her gaze, his own jade-like eyes soft and acquiescent. It was the most docile Euram had ever seen in those jade-green orbs, which had so often pierced him and peeled away his own paltry emotional defenses.
And even more oddly, Gizel was smiling—warm, and contented, even in defeat: almost as if his defeat were a release for him, one he had sought all along. He met the young Queen’s gaze with tenderness and a whisper of lament.
“The…the only regret I have is…I won’t be able to see…the kind of Queen you’ll become…” he choked, even now calm and composed.
“What?” Lym shook her head. “What are you saying?”
Hearing the Queen’s gasp, Euram bowed his head. In her naiveté, and despite Gizel’s warnings and Euram’s efforts, she had not anticipated having to witness death, brought directly to her throne. And she should not have had to witness such a grisly thing. She was too young…
But she was too young for any of this: too young have her parents violently ripped away from her, too young to marry the champion of a bloody battle.
More than anything, she was too young to watch her big brother kill another man.
Euram swallowed another lump in his throat as Prince Frey’s company moved in. Kyle, Lyon, Miakis, Georg, Galleon…they all shuffled in to hover over Gizel’s fallen form, and for a moment Euram was reminded of vultures.
The Commander smiled through curtains of oozing blood. He took in a painful breath and groaned. “…Please forgive me for being such a sore loser…But in the end, it wasn’t you who won. …It was ……Sialeeds.”
At the mention of her name, Frey slumped in sorrow.
“You must understand,” Gizel insisted, strained. “She did what she did…for your sake. To purge Barows and Godwin…to leave her niece and nephew a clean…slate.”
“Sialeeds…” Frey looked toward the window, remembering how they had left his dying aunt outside.
“But there is still Father,” Gizel shivered as if from cold. “You must deal with him, now. And I think you will.”
“Where is Lord Godwin?” Georg asked.
“He has fled, taking the Sun Rune with him. You will have to catch him before…”
“Before what?” Lyon interjected.
"I am sorry…” Gizel panted, his consciousness failing. “There is just one last thing. Barows.”
Hearing his name, Euram pried himself from the wall and crawled over to the fallen Commander. Now closer, he could see more clearly the depth and extent of the damage, he swallowed a gasp. Several instances of blunt trauma were bleeding, some of them visible indentions where indentions should not be. And he knew just then that the damage was surely fatal. Hot tears swelled and shivered in his eyes, and he bit his lip.
“Your Highness, this broken man has much to answer for,” Gizel nodded toward the dishonored noble, sniffling over his prone form. “But his need for redemption is strong. He will require some looking after, but I know he will serve you well. Take care of him.”
“Of course.” Frey nodded, his brow furrowed with bewilderment and sorrow.
“Euram,” Gizel’s voice was strained, as if it hurt him to speak. The younger noble moved closer to the dying man. This man, who had been his lover and master for so many long days, who had held him prisoner and used his body; this man, who had subjugated him, collared him, branded him, violated him—yet had taught him so much about himself in the little time they had spent together. One of Gizel’s temples was frighteningly cratered inward, where thick skull had given beneath a crushing blow.
As Euram sadly looked upon the older man and gazed deep into those cold, green eyes, he saw that those eyes had softened. There was a gentle fondness in them, tempered with pride, and for reasons he couldn’t understand, Euram sobbed aloud.
“G-Gizel…” he croaked, and the fallen Commander reached up to sweep at his tears and tenderly stroke golden locks.
“Now, now. None of that.” Gizel gently chided. Euram snuffled in response and reached up to clasp one of Gizel’s hands, cradling it between his own. “Euram Barows. I had not meant to spare you. I never intended to let you keep your treacherous life…because I did not think you truly reformed. I thought you as wicked and unrepentant and false as ever. But now, I understand you have indeed changed. I think—you now, finally know yourself. And you shall be a stronger man for it. You will use that knowledge and that new strength…to restore Falena’s nobility to honor…” Gizel trailed, his consciousness fading.
“I will, Gizel. Oh, I will,” Euram sobbed, grasping Gizel’s hand tight as he brokenly spilled his promise. He would work as long as he lived to restore Falena, and see to it that corrupt clans like theirs never, never again gained a foothold of power in the Senate. “I will devote my life to it. You have my promise, my word…and it is good this time.”
Gizel graced him with a nod and the warmest of smiles. “You will go on, and help make Falena great again. Try and find peace, Euram. Perhaps your absolution will serve to redeem us both. We are… after all…kindred….”
With those words, Gizel was silent. His hand dropped away from Euram’s cheek, and his eyes glassed over, frozen and peering lifelessly toward the high arched windows along the throne room’s vaulted ceiling.
No further words passed his lips.
For many long seconds, the only sound in the room was the trickling of the waterfalls.
Lymsleia dissolved into sobs. At once Frey embraced her, and she clung to him as she wept into his chest. Before long, tears of sorrow and relief filled the chamber. It was over. They had re-taken Sol-Falena—the final victory.
But it wasn’t truly over, was it? Lord Godwin was still alive, and worse, he had taken the unstable Sun Rune away with him. They would have to face that, and soon. But for now, all were focused on this victory, and all the sacrifices that had come with it—on both sides.
For a long time Lym wept in her brother’s arms, and Miakis and Lyon stood by, their cheeks bright with tears. Georg had turned away in deep and silent contemplation. Kyle was sadly overlooking the throne room and Gizel’s prone body while everyone huddled over the fallen Commander and the Princess herself.
Forgotten by everyone, Euram knelt alone, cradling Gizel and sobbing his heart out.
“It should have been me…it should have been me,” he whispered, and he wasn’t talking about winning the Sacred Games, or being Commander. A swell forced another flood of tears from deep in his heart. “I’m sorry…I’m so, so sorry. Forgive me…”
For a long time he remained just like that, slowly rocking the Commander and muttering snips of apologies and self-blame: blame which he would surely carry to his own grave. His Father, General Novum, Arshtat, Ferid, Sialeeds and now Gizel—all dead. And yet he, the one most responsible for everything, was permitted to live. His heart sank further.
At long last Lymsleia recovered from her lamentation and rose to her full height. Her composure regained, she observed the situation through red, tear-blurred eyes. And through that blur she saw Euram Barows, acknowledged by no one, and addressed him almost amicably.
“I didn’t think she would really do it. Alenia. Try to kill you, I mean. I thought she was bluffing, so I bluffed back. I didn’t think she would actually harm you. It is a good thing you move so fast. Otherwise…”
“Ah…” Still chasing his own subsiding tears and fighting pain, Euram shook his head, strained. “D-do not worry about me, Your Majesty.”
“I’m not,” Lym casually returned.
“Er…thanks, just the same,” he managed. “You should be proud—of your brother, and yourself.” He winced even as he said it, reminded of how long he’d spent so grievously shaming his own sister. But as he had watched this girl in action, her decisions and reactions to all that had been thrown at her, he had seen that her potential was truly impressive.
“Mark my words,” he promised her. “You are destined to be the greatest Queen Falena has ever seen. So wise. So strong. So smart. I was no more worthy of you than Gizel. Seeing you now, it—it makes me so ashamed, of everything I’ve done. Of everything I am.”
He nodded to Frey, feeling a fool. “Oh, Prince. All this…all this might not have happened, were I a braver man. I have committed countless evils against you, against Falena. I should have died here. I should…fester in the lowest dungeon….s-swing from the highest gallows…” he trailed, repeating the fate his father had predicted for Godwin.
“Well, Euram,” Georg put in, addressing Euram for the first time since they’d left Rainwall. “You might not have the chance. You should at least get that wound tended first. You are bleeding quite impressively, there.”
“Huh?” Euram looked down at his wound for the first time. His arms and hands came up red.
“Oh…g-goodness! I…”
With a single glance at his own blood, he swooned and fainted dead away.
- 14
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The Recreant of Rainwall (Cruel Twist of Fate)