A showdown appeared eminent when the blast of growls and gnashing of the canines broke out. Still, the wadogs never closed the distance between prey and predator, never advanced to the base of the tree where Heron and Davir stood. Despite their distinct stalking golden glares, the wadogs appeared hesitant, lacking the poisonous drooling Heron remembered from their first encounter, almost ten years prior.

Past the underbrush from where the beasts had emerged sounded rhythmic hoofbeats, punctuated with faint snarls. "Here! They found something," a deep voice announced in a shout. A horse cut through the shrubs, its fast gallop quickly turning into a trot. The sudden halt lifted dust off the ground. Heron understood it has never been their flesh the canines wanted.

A man in the uniform of the Superior Guard stood proud in front of them. On the sides of his saddle hung thick bunches of chains. He drove his horse into a full circle as if consciously flaunting the line of dark emerald stones glinting on the belt buckled around his waist. "Enough," the man bellowed to the dogs and the barking ceased at once.

He jumped down his horse, dangling chains chinking and metallic soles crushing twigs and rock. He stared directly at Heron, a frown twisting his face. Meek at his sight, all the wadogs turned to the man, wagging what was left of amputated tails as they gathered around his feet. The man gave his hand to be licked by the pack and took off his headpiece to expose a hairless head.

He bowed to Heron, his head glinting even under the dimness of dawn. "Lord her Lomeon," the man said, satisfied, with that familiar smile that always appeared about a nail from breaking into a chuckle. It's been a long time since we last crossed paths, my Lord. I still believe it's such a pity Lord had to miss military school."

"I had no say on that," Heron uttered exactly the same words he'd last said to the Brigadier when he had last touched on the subject. "It would have been an honor to be trained by you for my military instruction in Anuteh, but my Master decided I was not ready."

"Of course, your Master knew best," he said. "It would have been cruel to send a grieving boy alone to the south. But still, it's a pity." He recited his part of the script too. Until the next time, Heron had the displeasure to meet him again. The brigadier turned to Davir and introduced himself, "Sir Kerm. Brigadier of the barracks of the city of Ceres." He studied Davir intently, seemingly pondering on his words before he finally said, "And you must be soldier Davir, you. Such a pity this is how we meet. Brigadier Jallon of the royal domain had great projects for you."

Davir kept his silence and bowed to the captain simply.

The brigadier's initial call had been heard. A second horse ran past the bushes. Master Salmior came into view. The mere sight of the old man caused a heavy silence as painful as the wound on Heron's leg. The bottle of water hanging on the saddle of his horse immediately reminded Heron of his thirst.

"Sir Salmior," Davir muttered, bowing in reverence.

Contrary to the brigadier, Master Salmior did not descend from his horse. He eyed them from his horse with disapproval only the blind would miss. Heron had thought himself numbed out to that type of scornful treatment. Still, now, it seemed to burn him. Heron knew why they had come looking for him: the coming of his bride to the royal domain. He had planned for his venturing inside the forest to take longer than he'd forecast but not a full solar-arc.

"I'm very thankful for your work, brigadier Kerm," said Salmior, half turning his brown horse around, "as always. Please, call your men to return to the city. And you be back to ride with the soldier to the palaces. The heir comes with me."

After the brigadier mounted his horse and disappeared with a hasty gallop inside the forest, the old man ran a hand across his forehead. He appeared exhausted.

"You have lost part of your guard uniform, soldier Davir?" Salmior peered towards Heron, nodding slowly at the sight of the torn blue tunic resting on his shoulders. "Well, I see," he said. "Never mind." He cleared his throat. "I'm going to be clear," Salmior declared. "The royal coming of the prince's bride is less than a solar-arc away from now. That is tonight if I need to remind a man who's deemed good enough to serve the royal guard of Ceres. Or, well," he exhaled, "someone who is supposed to give orders to said guard. The last thing the heir is supposed to be doing is catching a cold out in bloody Scura at night, so a miserable blue man could heroically lend him his filthy tunic."

"Salmior, please," Heron called. "All of this is my responsibility."

"Master," Salmior countered. "It is Master for you, young heir. Wherever have I failed with your discipline," he grumbled, then carried on with a sigh. "I promise you things will change from now on. As for you, Davir." This time the old man didn't face the soldier. His stare was now set in the depths of the forest. "After having tolerated your presence in the royal domain, I expected you would at least show gratitude. But I suppose there's more than skills with a stick to be a man with honor. What a shame."

"My mistake will not be repeated, Sir."

"You bet. You will keep your distance from the heir," Salmior said. "That will be taken care of on the terms of your superiors. Expect a word with your brigadier soon. Spare me your promises in the meanwhile."

Brigadier Kerm crossed the bushes again, "Jallon's patrols are heading back to the royal domain, and mine, back to the city." He trotted next to Master Salmior.

"Heron dear, hurry and mount, please."

Kerm's eyes bore onto Heron uncomfortably. He never turned away from him, so Heron did. Even so, Heron could feel the man's black eyes digging holes through his nape. Once the brigadier was out of sight, Heron's interest fell onto the water skin hung on the side of his master's saddle.

"I need a pour, Master," Heron gave in.

"Was thinking you would never ask," Salmior grumbled. "Drink. Be quick, then we leave."

They rode out of the forest. The sun hung low over the horizon when they galloped past the ramparts of the royal domain. Salmior rode Heron from the grove to the entry of the western palace and conducted his horse toward the stables.

Heron watched Master Salmior lead his horse to its stall. Because of Servyna's death, Heron had begun his religious instruction a year sooner than other monarchs in prospect, as the First clergyman in the capital Master Salmior had taken Heron as a pupil. He had saved him from military school when his grief made him most fragile. His teachings on the sacred scriptures of the Onus of the Ancients were the only efficient antidote against the emptiness Servyna had left behind. Two weeks after Davir's arrival in the royal domain, and the master Heron had looked up to all his life had become a stranger difficult to understand.

His master had been right for almost ten years. What were the chances he was wrong now? Perhaps the resurging grief, the lack of sleep, and this anger Heron failed to let go of were clouding his judgment. Or they shed a light on the fact that his master saw Heron as a necessary tool of government to shape and bend by discipline before he saw him as a person. Even when Heron clang to the better version of the clergyman, a question surfaced: Why had he participated in hiding the truth about his mother's death from him?

Heron walked up to his master as he caressed his horse, already in its stall.

Heron stood by his side, inhaled and the words flew out, "I know how Mother died, Master."

Master Salmior halted in place. He exhaled, his shoulders hunching. "I knew there was something," he lamented.

"Even tutor Arai knew. Ancients forbid how many others," Heron said. "Were you ever planning to tell me the truth?"

"You learned that from the revolutionaries?" Master Salmior turned to him, not quite able to look Heron straight in the eye. "I had sensed your encounter with the rebels had stirred something inside. I know our relationship has soured lately, Lord. But I will always be here to listen. Every time we ignore pain, we're burdening ourselves with a weight that will make our graves. There comes a point the burden becomes too heavy to carry alone and collapses over us, it buries us."

"You were the ones to lie to me for years," Heron said. "Did that not burden you?"

"You are right," Salmior sighed. "Just remember, it's not a decision neither your father nor I made in isolation. The Five main clergymen, the two brigadiers, the Council of the Wisemen, and the Popular Representation, all the court was unanimous to spare you that knowledge until you were enlisted in the military. Obviously, you missed military school because you were fragile at the time."

"The court was unanimous it would be easier for the pawn of the monarchy, or for the boy?" Heron sighed. "The court didn't imagine I could discover the truth with a blade to my throat, or that discovering the truth at eighteen years of age meant I would be experiencing her death again?" Heron knew no one could ache as much as he was aching again for Servyna. But he aimed for his words to wound, even if just by a fourth of how he felt.

"Your father and I should have mustered the courage to reveal that to you. We failed. I hope you forgive us, him most of all. And since the attack in the tavern, we didn't measure any efforts to protect you, if that's what you are asking. We didn't measure efforts eight years ago, as we didn't a week ago. At the time, brigadier Kerm had scoured the entire city to find the criminals behind Servyna's death. The Wisemen and our nurses kept Lady Servyna alive for three weeks. That had been a miracle on its own."

"What a pity, it didn't save her, that miracle," Heron said. "And the best effort failed to find the criminals, still."

"It is beside the point now. It has been a long time. Your obligations must be your focus now."

"It's been a long time for you and father, and apparently the rest of the capital. It's been days for me," Heron said, turning away from the master, hard the old man sigh behind him.

"Just know that your father awaits you in the main room with your promise. Your clothes are ready in your bedchambers. Please, take care of that wound, too, Lord."

Heron didn't look back.