27

Le Breima

When everyone was seated back around the dining room table, Deilune brought his good hand, and, with a little contortion, his fickle hand in front of him, clasping them as if he were about to recite an epic answer for his school teacher.

"I told you at the pizza shop that it’s a long story. Parts of the story I don’t know well, and I’m hoping that my parents can fill in those blanks. Please remember that I’ve only known the tale of the Kareima as a bedtime story, a fantastic legend passed down in Lebreiman lore. I’ve never believed it as fact or history—or fate."

"Is why we suffer, Deilune," interrupted Grandmother Breima, her face proud, but with a hint of hurt behind it.

"Yes, Mother,” Deilune acknowledged, “I’ve made you suffer, and I’m sorry for that. I honestly never believed the legends of the Kareima were true." He pulled open his jacket and shirt and there beneath his discolored flesh, where his heart should be, gleamed the Heartstone of Lebreima. "I’m a rational man, a very logical person. How could I know that the Kareima could actually do this? Restore life.”

"Mysteries," Grandfather Breima said heavily, his accent stretching out the word. "Lottica look in telescope. She see star. Planet. No answer for why or how. Mysteries."

"There is truth in that, Father, we need to understand this mystery. How a gemstone could raise us from the dead." Deilune turned to Linda, his expression pained. "I’ve told you a lot about my family and Lebreima, but not everything. Forgive me for not telling you all this before. I never really believed it would matter. I thought my life here was too far removed from Lebreima.”

Deilune took a deep rattling breath. “That’s why I never told you that when my parents moved here they brought the Kareima with them. They asked me to keep it safe. They warned me that there were those in Lebreima who, upon my settling in America, laid claim to the Kareima and the title it bestows."

"What title?" Linda asked.

Deilune took his wife’s hand. “Le Breima. I am the direct Breima heir. I am the Breima. I am the heir to Le Breima."

"You're the king!" Nick blurted.

"Actually, that would be my father. I’m the prince."

"Dale!" scolded Linda, stunned. "Why didn’t you tell me? Your being a prince seems as unbelievable as us being brought back to life.”

You didn’t see zombie’s sighing everyday, but that’s what Deilune did, looking quite cowed as he tried to explain. "Linda, Nick, Lottica, the fact is that Lebreima is not really an independent state. Though Lebreimans like to think we have our own country, we’re actually a small autonomous region in a much larger nation,Throughout its history, Lebreima has been annexed and re-annexed by more powerful European nations.

The role of the king is purely ceremonial. It’s more like being the head of an extended clan. The heirs of Breima have never been encouraged to stir up nationalistic feelings. They have been bred to be regal and proud, but quietly so." He nodded to his father and mother who both nodded solemnly back.

"You see, it was never a big deal to me. I was never going to ascend a throne or dictate public policy. I was only going to be known as Le Breima. I would've proudly taken that role after returning from my studies. If I hadn’t fallen in love with your mother. Then my duty was to her and our children."

Nick looked from his father to his grandfather. "Is that why you intended to take Lottica and me to live in Lebreima, because we are heirs to the title?"

Grandfather Breima nodded. "Lebreima is birthright. You be much proud.”

Lottica’s head was spinning. She wished she could just write on the tablecloth with the remainder of her hot chocolate: and then she awakened. Instead, she asked her father the question that was most bothering her. "Who are the men in capes?"

Her father squinted, his left eye bulging ominously, and answered, "I'm not sure, but I think that's a piece of the puzzle that Grandfather or Grandmother might be able to solve. I’m betting they were after the Kareima." His gaze turned to his parents. "Am I correct?"

Lottica thought her grandparents could be mistaken for wax models during the next few moments. Neither moved nor even seemed to breathe, though Lottica swore some kind of communication was happening between them.

With a slight gesture of his hand towards his wife, Grandfather Breima broke the spell. "Please, Loteika, you tell."

Lottica froze. What did she know? Why was her grandfather asking her to answer the question she’d asked? He wasn't even looking at her; he was looking at Grandmother Breima. Then it struck her. He was addressing his wife. Her name is Lottica. How had she not known that? She had always called her Grandmother.

"I'm…I'm… named after Grandmother?" Lottica stammered.

"Yes, honey," her father answered.

Lottica turned to Nick in disbelief and then rested her gaze on their grandfather. "What is your name, Grandfather?" Then she hastily added, "If you don't mind my asking."

His smile was worth any embarrassment she'd had in asking. He calmly answered, each melodic syllable rolling off his tongue, "Nikalleit Deilunes Breima."

Lottica looked at Nick in disbelief. They were named after their grandparents. It seemed crazy that she hadn’t known their first names. That she and Nick wouldn’t have been more curious. She felt embarrassed.

"I’m so sorry we didn’t know,” Lottica apologized. “All this is overwhelming, but I still want to know who you think the two men chasing us were."

"Who chase you?" Grandmother Breima asked Lottica.

Lottica realized her grandparents weren’t up to speed on all the evening’s strange goings on, so she reported them as quickly as she could with Nick adding his commentary.

During the telling, Grandmother Breima's face grew even more pinched and serious. When they told her about the pendant around the taller caped man’s neck, she asked what color it was.

"Bright red," Nick said.

"Sometimes orangish," Lottica added.

Immediately, Grandfather and Grandmother Breima began a hurried discussion in Lebreiman. Deilune soon joined in, while Lottica, Nick and their mother waited. They could make out the words kareima, astreima, fareima and tireima in the rapid fire discussion. The verbal volley came to a dead stop on one word: Beilla.