Benroy, Viceroy of the new world, current heir to the Araram estate, General of the 8th army and Lord of the Blood, opened his eyes. He was lying in a decadently large bed, staring up at a richly decorated ceiling. For a few seconds his eyes tracked the playing wyverns that had been painted there, a scene from his youth. He smiled as he recalled jousting with his older brother, vying for their father’s approval.

He should write his brother a personal letter, he decided. The last interactions between them had all been of formal and strategic natures, leaving little room to acknowledge their kinship. Filing the resolution away he turned on his side. Still asleep next to him was the Lady Rakefet, as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on her. His court had been scandalized by their coupling, which had just been what it needed.

The Blood needed something to gossip about and he would rather have it be about whom he was sharing his bed with than the lack of major battles that had been fought. A red spark danced through his eyes. There had barely been a skirmish, let alone a battle. Yifat had promised him opposition, local kingdoms rallying to the new threat in the North, troops numbering in the hundreds of thousands on the march. Instead he received report after report of land being claimed without opposition.

Both in the East and in the West the armies had hit the sea. Field Marshall Mordechai had informed him that he would cease his advance for now, least they risked overextending. All armies had halted their advance, save for General Yifat’s who was eager to increase her own holdings. He would have sent his own army, but he didn’t trust the other generals enough to protect his capital. All in all, it was very frustrating.

He got out of bed, throwing on a loose robe and left the bedroom. As he walked into the adjacent room servants hurried towards him. He let them dress him as he thought about the budgets that should be allocated to the recently arrived builders. A part of him wanted to help his new capital shed the purely functional aesthetic it currently suffered from. His seat of power should be both safe and beautiful after all. However, the general in him balked at the expenses of such a vanity project. He needed the private contractors to work on the capital’s defences, so that he could deploy the engineering corps elsewhere.

Since he had obtained the crown, he had learned that its authority wasn’t boundless as he had previously thought. His grasp on Field Marshall Mordechai was brittle at best. In all things military the field marshal still had the final say. He had also noticed that the Blood turned against him if didn’t find the balance between military and civil spending. He was under scrutiny, being judged whether he was fit to wear the crown. If he proved not to be, he would be replaced in an instant.

His lips curled into a smile. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To struggle against adversity, no truer definition of life could be given. He bowed his head as a servant placed the heavy silver crown on his brow. Silver, because only the queen was allowed to wear gold. The crown itself wasn’t too ornate. He had thought about mirroring the queen, but eventually decided against it. His bloodline was a martial one and that should be reflected in his crown. So, had chosen for a simple silver band decorated by a hundred small swords sticking upward.

It properly honoured both the crown and his blood and he could wear it into battle. A large mirror was rolled towards him and he took a critical look at himself. The clothing he wore was regal, fitting a king, but it reminded the onlooker of his martial past. Traces of the military uniform he used to wear were very present. It was a new fashion he had created to remind everyone that no matter how many luxuries Yesharas offered, the city, and the nation were at war with this world.

Servants approached, offering him choices in rings, swords and gloves. He settled on the ring of his office, his service blade and a set of ornate black leather gloves with silver lace. As he left his quarters, he felt himself a rich and successful man. Ten minutes later, when he walked into his council chamber, where his ministers had already assembled, he felt powerful as well.

“Good morning my Lords, my Ladies. We have a busy day ahead of us. Let’s get started.” He said as golden fires ignited in his eyes.

Ɏ

A month’s ride south of Yesharas there was a farm. It wasn’t a huge farm, but not a small one either, it was just right to feed a family of four and then some. Of course, it hadn’t fed four for a couple of months now. Most unusually a sword was propped up against the doorpost, an indication that tonight the farm might feed four again.

Thomas was sitting at the dining table or his parental home. It all seemed to be smaller than he remembered. Poorer too. He was currently drinking water from a wooden cup. The wood was weathered from its frequent use. In the encampment it would have been replaced long ago by a tin or metal goblet and Lady Yifat only drank from expensive glass cups. He took another sip as he waited.

As soon as he had gotten home his mother had taken his dad outside and they hadn’t come back yet. He heard footsteps behind him and he turned around. His sister was standing in the door opening. She was looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Kyra.” He said carefully. “You look really creepy without eyebrows.” She responded flatly. Then, her face split into a big smile and she rushed forwards to hug him. “Long time no see big brother.” She said. And as she said it, he realised she was right. The last time he had seen her it had been during the surrender of the village and they hadn’t spoken for much longer.

He hugged her back tightly. “I’m sorry I’ve been busy.” He softly said. “I’ve missed you.” He added. She snorted. “Getting all sappy on me?” She asked. “If that’s all it takes, I don’t know how Anna puts up with you.” Thomas released her. “Oh yeah, I’ve really missed all the jabs and wisecracks.” He said sarcastically. “Best thing about being home really.”

The door was thrown open with a bang. Gilroy barged in, his eyes narrow, his brow furrowed and his face set in an expression of displeasure. “Kyra, out!” He growled. His sister knew her father’s face almost as well as her mother did and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that a shouting match was about to break out. With a quick wave to Thomas she hurried out the backdoor.

“What in Soles’ name were you thinking, drawing a blade on Roland?” His father thundered. When Gilroy raised his voice, it tended to have an effect on his surroundings. Thomas’ wooden cup fell over, spilling water over the table. Thomas himself was pressed into his chair, more by the oppressive presence of his father than by the noise. Gilroy slammed his hands on the table. “I don’t even want an answer. This is Roland Thomas, Roland! He helps bring in the harvest every year. His father and I drove out the wolves when their pack grew so big that it started praying on the village. More importantly, he is one of us and we do not draw weapons on our own!”

Thomas opened his mouth, but Gilroy continued before he could so much as utter a word. “You will go over to their house and apologize this very instant and you will pray to Soles that Roland will find it in his heart to forgive you.” The gigantic man breathed heavily as his tirade came to an end. “No.” Thomas said softly as he stood up. He might not be as big as his father, but he wasn’t much smaller either. “Excuse me?” Dark shadows descended on his father’s face. “No, I will not apologize. I was doing my job.” Thomas said, defiantly.

“Boy, I will not stand for this. You will go and apologize and things will return to normal around here.” The thunder had disappeared from his father’s voice, making way for something cold. “No, I will not. I’m sixteen father, I’m a grown man and I will choose whose orders I follow, not you.” He looked into his father’s eyes. Having spend so many months with visius he had gotten quite good at reading their emotions, but there were no helpful lights dancing through his father’s eyes. Still, there was anger in his eyes, but something else too. Much more than anger he saw worry. His father was worried about him?

“That’s enough. Gilroy go take a walk; I will not have you destroy my pottery.” His mother said, steel in her voice. She rarely called his father by his name, only when she was displeased with him. “Moira” His father began, but the look she gave him was enough to silence him. He growled in frustration and walked towards the backdoor. Before he left, he threw a glance over his shoulder at Thomas. “This won’t end well boy, mark my words.” He slammed the door behind him, making his wife flinch.

“Your father has some difficulty adjusting to the new situation.” His mother calmly said as she prepared tea. A hot cup of gingerroot tea and a quiet conversation could solve any conflict, she was fond of saying. And far was it from his mother to not practice the words she preached. “That doesn’t give him the right to treat me like a child.” Thomas said angrily. His mother raised her eyebrows. “Sixteen or not, he’s still your father and he retains the right to scold you if you do something that is out of line.” Thomas cheeks reddened. “I was doing my job!” He shouted, much louder than he had intended.

“I think we both know you did a little more than that.” She calmly said. The softness of her voice was such a contrast to his own loud words that when he next spoke, he brought the volume down as much as he could, short of whispering. “I made a judgement call; Roland was going to use his light against me.” Her mother tilted her head. “From where I was standing you were the one who drew his sword first.” Thomas frowned. That didn’t sound right. “He called the light and I drew my blade to defend myself.” He said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“I think we both know that isn’t what happened.” His mother said as she poured him some tea. “I think that you’ve been a little on edge. Have you been sleeping alright?” Searing light and white-hot pain flashed through his mind. “I’ve been having dreams.” Hiding behind his cup as he took a sip of the hot tea, almost burning his tongue. “Careful, that’s hot.” His mother said as she poured herself a cup as well.

“Sometimes when bad things happen to us the emotions and experiences stay with us, even when we do not want to. They follow us into our dreams. They’re Soles’ way of reminding us that what happened should stay with us. It doesn’t do however to let the past control our present.” The pleasant smell of ginger spread through the kitchen. Or perhaps it had already been there, but only now was Thomas comfortable enough to notice it. “It is not our experiences that define us, but the way we deal with those experiences, both physically and emotionally that makes us who we are.” She stood up and walked towards one of the many cupboards in the kitchen.

From it she retrieved a small figure made out of rope. “Sometimes it is hard to give a place to events that had such a deep impact on you and they start to haunt you, both when you are awake and when you’re asleep. In those cases, it is okay to ask for help.” She smiled warmly at him and he felt the anger inside die out. “We all need a little help sometimes.” She handed him the small rope doll. “Put that below your pillow. Sleep a couple of nights and then think about the whole Roland situation again.”

Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Even if I change my mind, I will not be able to do anything about it.” His mother raised her eyebrows. “I’m leaving for the capital and I don’t know when I will be back.” His mother’s face was blank, completely unreadable. “I see.” She finally said, after what seemed like an eternity, but could only have been a minute or two. “When are you leaving?” He looked up and saw concern in her eyes. Concern and pride. “Tomorrow at first light. My next stop is Anna, then I’m going home to pack my things and sleep.”

His mother nodded. “I see. You’re not going anywhere.” She then sharply said. He was about to protest, but his mother raised her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Tonight. You’re not going anywhere tonight. You will eat here with your family, your fiancée and her family. It may be a little cold, but we can set up tables outside. Tonight, we eat like one big family, after which you will sleep here in your old bed. Your father will wake you an hour before dawn.” Thomas was about to say something, but his mother was already in motion, shouting his sister’s name, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

After a few minutes a smile appeared on his face. He walked outside where his mother was giving Kaya orders, while his father was already making his way over to Anna’s house. He picked up the sword propped against the door and started his way down to the village to pack. There wouldn’t be any time for it tonight, not if his mother had anything to say about it.

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“And that my Lords and Ladies concludes our official business for today I believe.” Benroy said and clapped his hands. Servants entered the council chamber where he had spent most of the day with his ministers. “Cooled kepach from my personal collection.” The assembled ministers let out approving mumbles. Many of them were old friends of his and over the years he had gained a reputation for the quality of his kepach, so they knew they were in for a treat.

“Distilled from the fields near Rahat, we are in for one of the finest bottles of kepach I have had the pleasure of tasting. Please enjoy.” Much like the kepach the council meetings were not to everyone’s taste. Benroy, however loved both. He liked to be kept abreast of the changes in his kingdom, to be involved. It was the thing he had craved since the first time his father had allowed him to attend his council meetings back in Araram. It was one of the things that he had most enjoyed about being a general.

The council relaxed, settling back in their comfortable chairs. “Now then, lords and ladies. I would like to discuss a small matter.” Some of the councilmembers immediately straightened, but Benroy hastily waved them back down. “No need to get formal. The matter I want to talk about is the Leviathan festival.” There were some curious glances. “In approximately two months the leviathans will swim by the shores of the homeland. Naturally that isn’t the case here, but I would still like the honour the tradition.” At the mention of tradition there were some enthusiastic nods.

“I was thinking a free day for the commoners, save necessary personnel, and a ball for the Blood.” More enthusiastic nods. “Lord Yitzhar I believe your wife has some experience in planning these kinds of things.” Yitzhar, second in line for the city and surrounding territory of Tachow and a notorious conservative, gave a stern affirmative nod. “My wife will make sure that all rituals and traditions will be observed.” He said.

“Excellent, I will be looking forwards to it.” Benroy said as he made himself comfortable. Before long the conversation turned to gossip and other unimportant topics. Things weren’t perfect or exactly as he wanted them, but they weren’t bad either. One should enjoy the good times or one wouldn’t be able to enjoy life at all.