Born to liberty

By Martine Carlsson

Lissandro is in danger in the Windy Isles. To rescue their closest friend that they haven't seen since their dispute, Louis and Selen must leave the safety of the progressive capital. Louis requests a diplomatic visit to King Dywel, a man he publicly humiliated when he spurned Howell's beautiful daughter to crown Selen-a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martine Carlsson
• Release date: Sep 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9789198392319

Martine Carlsson

Martine Carlsson lives in the middle of the Swedish forest. Martine is French and graduated librarian and historian from the University of Liege.

Book preview

To my daughters, Maximilienne and Ärengunn.

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It has always seemed to me that the social order was implicit in the very nature of things, and required nothing more from the human spirit than care in arranging the various elements; that a people could be governed without being made thralls or libertines or victims thereby; that man was born for peace and liberty, and became miserable and cruel only through the action of insidious and oppressive laws. And I believe therefore that if man be given laws which harmonize with the dictates of nature and of his heart he will cease to be unhappy and corrupt.

—  Louis Antoine Saint-Just

BLURB

Lissandro is in danger in the Windy Isles. To rescue their closest friend that they haven’t seen since their dispute, Louis and Selen must leave the safety of the progressive capital. Louis requests a diplomatic visit to King Dywel, a man he publicly humiliated when he spurned Howell’s beautiful daughter to crown Selen—a man—as his queen.

From their arrival in the Howells’ castle in the coastal city of Kilcairn, the tension between the royals is on the edge. But beyond the nonstop petty humiliations that Louis and Selen have to endure, a far greater threat is being hatched in the Isles. When young girls go missing, Selen is resolute to expose the mysteries hidden within the castle’s walls.

While Lissandro is nowhere to be found, Louis and Selen notice that the Howells’ ire doesn’t only revolve around their persons. As they realise that the situation is totally out of control, the gates are already closed. The life of their friend still in jeopardy, they have to reconsider their objective if they want to save the victims of a gigantic house of cards and make sacrifices that could cost them their throne.

AUTHOR

Martine Carlsson lives in the middle of the Swedish forest. She is French and graduated librarian and historian. She takes her inspiration from the nature around her, from her roots in Brittany, and from fascinating parts from the European history. Born to liberty is her third novel and the third volume of the series Light from Aphelion.

Light from Aphelion

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Born to liberty

CHAPTER 1

His ashen tongue rolled under the cold air. His lips had retracted over his gums, and he barely noticed it. The hair of his moustache curled into his mouth, grazing his yellow teeth. Harald’s parched body staggered on the pavement of Nysa Serin. Hung on every other frontage, lanterns seared his eyes. In their warm glow, brown and grey shadows buzzed around in a contented chatter. Harald hugged the walls. Against all odds, his furs and golden pendants made him stand out. And the smell. That despicable smell of rotten cabbage that emanated from him. He had never noticed it so clearly until he had arrived in the capital. The new capacities of his nose had elated him a month ago, but the more he had progressed through Trevalden, the stronger had been the contrast between the air around and the reek of his body. Nysa Serin had distinct perfumes; ripe plum and fresh horse dung, charcoal and baked bread, or cobbles and sawdust, all drowned in a general feeling of a wet spring. Not ordure. Only his limbs had the monopole of excrements. As if his meat putrefied. Harald tucked his cape closer around him.

In front of him, a woman stepped out of a shop where wool balls, garlands of ribbons, and pastel linen piled up to the windowsill. The sweet-sour smell of her day’s sweat filled his nostrils and made him drool. As she unlocked the shutter, her passing glance halted on him. The haberdasher took a step back, gulped, and scooted inside. Harald’s swollen eyes watched the door close before he grasped his head with both hands.

Deliver the message. The compelling voice resounded in his mind and speared his soul.

Yes. Yes, he squeaked. His fingers tugged handfuls of hair in a desperate attempt to lessen the pain. But I’m so thirsty, he hissed. Yet, the command was stronger. Shaken by spasmodic grunts, Harald hastened his pace.

Though Harald had never been in Nysa Serin, his feet didn’t miss a turn. To avoid the numerous patrols, he skittered through dimly lit back alleys, climbed on crates and over fences. Not a single beggar, not a drunk collapsed onto a porch blocked his way. The absence of trouble made his very presence feel wrong. From the rich Poldon district and its walled, monumental school buildings, he reached the waterfall whose thunder covered any noise the peaceful city emitted in the distance. No habitation had been built on that side of the cliff. The space between the pillars supporting the aqueduct and the rock bathed in darkness. Harald unclasped his cape and proceeded to climb the craggy wall.

With a sure grasp, he progressed on the slippery stones. The icy water drenched him and weighed down his fur. Far above, the black mass of the palace was silhouetted against the starry sky. He aimed for one of the tiny window lights. His spidery arms didn’t feel the pain as he hauled his weight up. Neither did his bony fingers under the million cuts on edges. He was so close to his objective that his throat jolted with growls of satisfaction. The light turned into a square. Then into a mullioned window. Leaving the mountain torrent, Harald scrabbled to stop under the windowsill. From his hideout, he peeked inside.

The flames made him squint. In each corner of a white and ochre room, vases with pipes crowned by glass cylinders produced a fire stronger than any candle. Those peculiar lanterns stood on cabinets as devoid of decoration as the walls behind them. Where the hearth should have been, a cube of green ceramic tiles occupied the space. Only his instinct told him that he had reached his destination. His eyes couldn’t believe that this meagre interior was part of the royal chambers. In the centre of the room, three persons sat at a plain, oaken table. From under long, dishevelled brown hair, the man facing him inspected tiny metallic bits he held delicately between two fingers. With his other hand, he used a chamois to brush off invisible dust. His fitted black vest on an ample white shirt contrasted with the leather straps and green linen of the person sitting on the other side. Despite the soldierly outfit, Harald knew by the man’s lilac hair that he was facing the queen. He was concentrating on showing dried insect specimens to a blond child whose head barely peered over the table. The boy’s skin was white as milk, and despite the closed window, a soft peach scent reached Harald’s nose. His neck was clean of hair and carried his head like a slender peduncle. Drawn to it, Harald hit the window with his hand. As his nails screeched along the glass, the man facing him jerked his head up and pierced him with startled blue eyes. Harald’s mind blew out with a pang. His head crushed the glass, and he hurled his body through the window.

In a rain of shards and blood, he landed on the ground. His arm spun. His claws grabbed at a frail ankle. The queen hustled the boy behind him and towards the green cube. A chair crashed onto the floor.

Save Neleus! one of the men shouted.

Harald hissed with rage. He jumped to his feet. The king had reached the furthest corner near the door. As the boy hurried to his legs, the king threw a black pole to the queen.

Deliver the message. The voice thundered in his head. Harald’s face distorted, jutting his teeth out. The queen rushed to him.

Lissandro!

Everyone in the room froze at Harald’s scream. Panting, he carried on.

I have a message. From Lissandro.

Now he had their utter attention. The queen took a step back. Harald choked in disgust at the sight of him. His smooth face matched his skirt, and no body hair made him a man. Rassragr. It was evident. No threat lay in this mare. Neither was he something he would feed on. Harald turned to the king—a barely manlier man who, despite a nasty stare, lacked the imposing bearing to rule a kingdom. Harald sneered before the words spilled out of his mouth.

Lissandro is in danger. In the Windy Isles. Each word felt like tearing off his tongue. Drink. I need to. Now.

From behind the king’s legs peeked frightened blue eyes. Harald’s tongue shot out. Something hit his face. Blood blurred his vision. He wriggled and clawed the air to fight back, but the increasing pain tore him into pieces.

CHAPTER 2

Selen looked down at the vile creature lying at his feet. Blood pooled under what had been the face. Of the nose, nothing was left. Fragmented teeth emerged from a reddish slop amidst an orange beard where golden jewellery hung on neat braids. Further under the massacre, one accusing eye glared at him. The only part rising away was a grey tongue that nearly stretched to one of the gangly arms. Selen dropped the poker.

I’m sorry. I felt you threatened. I panicked, he said. Behind him, Louis stepped along the table. Selen threw his arm up to block him. Hold Neleus away. Even with a crushed skull, Selen was unsure if the monster would stay dead. With the tip of his shoe, he poked at a leg. There’s not much to see, he whispered to himself.

There was no apparent weapon, neither bow nor sword. The furs were soaking wet and dirty. A shiver of insecurity ran through Selen at the thought that it had climbed up the waterfall to reach a place they considered a sanctuary. The clothes caught his attention. They were too warm for the season and too large for the scrawny body.

It appears it came all the way from the Windy Isles.

And it’s the only deduction we can make, Louis said with a hint of reproach. Selen turned around to object, but Louis continued. And it’s past bedtime.

Louis’s stare together with the protective hand around Neleus’s nape were clear enough. Selen straightened. Come, Neleus. He wiped his arm on the back of his tunic before offering his hand. Neleus unclenched his grip on Louis to dash under Selen’s protection. The boy tiptoed at his side from the cabinet to the distant bedchamber and its comforting pale blue.

What was it? Neleus wailed while attempting an ascent of Selen’s lower body for a hug.

Selen lifted him up. In an automatic swaying move, he laid the child down on the mattress and tucked the fluffy feather quilt under his chin. With his hands on the sides of the little shape, he paused, his gaze lost on the embroidered myosotis. It was actually a good question. One for which he couldn’t find a satisfying explanation. But only one answer was needed in this case.

Something that won’t hurt you, he said, staring at Neleus’s eyes with inflated conviction. Unsatisfied, the boy squinted like a lost puppy but didn’t argue. Selen smiled. I am like the copper giant, Talos, do you remember? I protect this place. Neleus pursed his lips. Selen’s smile crooked. And yes, I will stay a while.

Selen kissed the boy’s brow and settled on the bed. A trembling hand searched for his wrist. He let it hang there. A multitude of thoughts crossed his mind as he lay waiting. Only when the boy’s breathing indicated a deep slumber did Selen get up and hurry back across the hall.

The cabinet’s door stood ajar. From the other side came noises of moving furniture. Selen entered the cabinet and was surprised to find Louis on all fours amongst buckets. He had rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed the floor vigorously. Selen’s eyes fell on a stained sheet a few steps away in which the corpse had been wrapped. He stepped closer.

What are you doing?

Louis cast him a glance. I’m cleaning. Obviously. As Selen didn’t speak, he carried on. Because I don’t know which part would be worst. To show the creature’s body to the guards or to admit to Folc that something could enter through the window. A lock of hair fell across his face. He brushed it back with his wet hand. Strands stuck in the sweat of his brow.

Selen knelt down at Louis’s side. He took a brush, soaked it in the soapy water, and attacked the large stain. Between you and me, Louis. What was it?

Something like him, Louis mumbled.

But did he send it? It tried to attack us. Selen stared at Louis, but his friend’s eyes were still downcast, his brows furrowed in displeasure.

Are you surprised?

Selen blinked. Well, yes. He stopped scrubbing. His bewilderment about Louis’s reaction turned into suspicion. I don’t recall he had developed an animosity towards us. Is there something I should know?

Louis sat back on his heels. All I know is that someone I consider a traitor sent some monster assassin—call it whatever you want—into our very home. And now we have a body to get rid of. He pointed at the sheet. What if there are more?

I doubt... The thing had been in a poor shape and had meant to deliver a message. The contrary of an assassin. One messenger is often enough.

In that case, I’m not sure he was that effective with his mission. Louis carried on scraping the floor. Red driblets covered his arms and the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt.

I’m sorry, Selen whispered.

Louis flashed a faint smile. I would have done the same. He jerked a finger toward the door. Neleus was in the room. Damn. What was Lilo thinking? He heaved himself to his feet, picked up a bucket, and went to the window.

Selen smirked. Even on a slip of the tongue, the traitor had been granted back his name. What do we do with the corpse? he asked. What was left of the bloodstain could now pass for spilled wine.

Considering how you mashed the face, if we cut the tongue... Louis bobbed his head to the side in a suggestion that the beast could go down the same way as the water. It will look like an accident. Some drunk who tried to climb the cliff.

Selen peered at him askance. But we don’t have drunkards in the city. The guards wouldn’t have missed one.

Louis shrugged. They missed that one. And with his outfit, they will think that it’s some foreigner who didn’t know our rules.

Selen took out his dagger and lifted the sheet. Louis had scraped more than lifted the head. His blade was barely needed. He skewered the repulsive thing and carried it to the tile stove to toss it into the flames. The stench rose before he closed the metallic latch. Once back near the corpse, he took a grip at the shoulders. Did you search it?

There was nothing to be found. Not even a purse. The only gold he had was on his beard and around his neck. Louis lifted the legs and backed to the window. Had that man even planned on making it back home?

Selen had no answer to that. As they pushed the monster through the window, he loosened the sheet. The body splashed down the torrent and disappeared from their sight.

Louis leant against the window stile and inspected his hands. I need a bath. The excuse tossed off, he scooted towards the door with the eagerness to avoid a discussion.

Selen didn’t need to prepare a defence for his arguments; he needed answers. And that would have to wait until morning.

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The brush ran through his cascade of lilac hair. It had dried during the night, and some strands had formed bold knots. Selen sat on the side of the bed. His bare thigh lay against Louis’s chest. Curled in the sheets, one arm under the pillow, his friend was still asleep. Selen skimmed the brown locks covering the pale shoulders. Louis’s brows knitted. His coal-black lashes fluttered open, and blue eyes, already glinting with annoyance, focused on him.

We don’t have much more time, Selen said. And I won’t wait a whole day.

Louis heaved a sigh. I could barely sleep because of it. He pulled himself into a sitting position. We have nothing.

We know he is in danger, Selen said. It’s enough for me. Louis rolled his eyes. Probably not in the best place...

In the worst place. Anywhere out of Trevalden is the worst place for you and me, Louis insisted. Selen cringed at the idea of facing the roaring political opposition that had scurried away beyond the borders to escape the repressive flail of their social measures. And if it only could be limited to that! Even if we could do something, why would we? That thing was dangerous. He is dangerous.

Selen disagreed, but on that point, Louis wouldn’t move an inch. He knows things, and I need answers. Look at that. Selen pointed at his head. At the top of his lilac hair, a few inches of blond roots had grown. That’s what you normally get in months. It has been years.

I like blond. Louis smiled. Or you can colour it. He patted Selen’s hand.

They have neither the technique nor the shells. But that’s not my point. Selen tossed the brush aside. You need to shave now and then, but you don’t age at all. I want to know what’s wrong with our bodies, and if someone has answers, it’s Lissandro. Louis kept silent. Selen bent forward to seek eye contact. And I want to save him.

Louis exhaled and got up. He doesn’t deserve it. Selen watched his naked, slim body move to the oaken cupboard and disappear into black, tight pants and a large shirt. Louis turned to him as he buttoned his vest. But we’ll try. Selen beamed with relief. Don’t thank me. This idiot is all we have, and I won’t have your tender heart nag me for days.

Selen grabbed the tawny tunic hanging on the chair next to the bed and passed it over his head. Though the hem nearly reached his knees, he put on some thin hose. There would be no training session this morning anyway. How should we plan our journey?

Louis scoffed. Our journey? I didn’t say we should travel. He adjusted his hair in front of the mirror. We will send a party of trusted men who will report any information they find.

In the Windy Isles? Selen fastened his leather harness over his tunic, one strap at a time. What if they get caught? What if they get killed? Selen was pretty sure Lissandro would spare them, but he didn’t trust his friend to have the same clemency for anyone else. Not to mention the diplomatic incident if the men were mistaken for spies in a foreign kingdom. No. I think it’s our responsibility to...

To bring our projects to completion? In a couple of weeks, it will be the fertility festivities with the blessing of fields and pastures. It’s only the second year we have organised the feast, and the ministers and I have been through all the details to make this one memorable. You are expected to kill a bull. Besides, you can’t have forgotten your responsibility towards our son.

For an instant, he had. Shame flooded Selen. The festivities were also the time where every boy of age five went through their first rituals. Leaving the world of infancy behind, they departed their homes and donned the tunic of scholars. In the month of harvest, they would join the numerous schools of the city.

Of course, we will be here for the festivities, Selen said. He bent to fasten his sandals. But we could take a leave afterwards. What if we requested an official visit?

Louis stepped towards the desk, where a neat pile of papers lay next to a leather journal. He gathered the documents under the hard cover, wrapped the lace around it, and knotted the ends into a loop. I think—

A rumble of small steps hurried their way. The door opened wide to let a radiant Neleus jump into Selen’s arms. The boy had slipped on a beige linen tunic fastened by a leather rope. Selen helped him put on his sandals. Unlike his own, which were a knee-high elaborate lace, Neleus’s only had one strap around the ankle.

Is the monster gone, Dad? Neleus asked, one hand on his shoulder to hold balance.

Wiped out. Selen smiled back with a wink. Do you remember your tasks for today?

Neleus nodded. Gather plantain and lemon balm for a beesting poultice with Brother Benedict, then join you in the yard for the shield training.

Selen waited. And?

Neleus grinned. Tend to the strawberry patch.

Are you ready? Louis asked, the journal settled between his arm and his impeccably fitted blue coat.

Knocks resounded. After an appropriate couple of seconds, the doors of the solar opened on a column of guards. At their head, in his silvery armour embossed with the royal unicorn, Folc held his helmet to his chest. His immaculate cape covered his other arm.

Your Majesties?

We’re coming, Folc, Louis said. Always on time for the council meeting. With a nod at Selen, he went through the door.

The child at his side, Selen followed Louis out.

CHAPTER 3

So many people filled the square that the clamour had reached them streets away. The giant drums made Louis’s bones vibrate. From the buildings on the sides, a hundred pipers blew horns shaped like mammoth tusks. Auloi and hurdy-gurdies pierced in the background in harmony with the percussions. Despite the deafening sound, his horse walked calmly on a straight line to the massive temple. On the left of the square, the students from Nysa Serin and those who had made the journey from the countryside training schools aligned according to their schools and age. A coloured stripe on the hem of the boys’ beige tunics marked their respective grade. The first rows carried high their emblems, while all of them sported an olive twig, symbol of the festivities. On the opposite side of this sea of flapping flags stood the population of the city. Overjoyed husbands, loving wives, and young daughters with round cheeks had put on their best linen clothes and shook bouquets of broom and almond flowers. Here and there, elderly wearing the white scarf of old age cheered their arrival. Further to the side, on a platform decorated with ribbons, gathered the capital’s single women, their simple tunics and spring flower crowns an explosion of colours. Louis’s attention turned to his own clothes, which were reminded to his eyes with every sparkle from the dozens of metallic rivets and buckles. Over a dark woollen shirt, the supple brown leather straps fastened around his chest like a cage. Around his shoulders hung a cobalt blue cape. His outfit matched Selen’s body harness and red cape and was as modest as it was allowed, considering his status. Louis neared the flight of stairs leading to the temple. Recently polished, the imposing marble statues of the twelve gods stood out on the white façade. From beyond the open gilt-bronze doors drifted incense effluvium. Azure banners sporting the royal argent unicorn floated down the spire towers. On a nearby terrace, between braziers, the ministers, the priests, and invited officials waited. Louis and Selen dismounted and climbed onto the parvis before facing the crowd.

They must have been hundreds of thousands. All that the plague had spared had thrived after dividing the leftovers. No one lived in idleness. Their busy hands had rebuilt, restored, and the slums had been sanitised. Only decent citizens filled the city, at least considering what they did in their public life. What happened behind closed doors, as long as it wasn’t illegal, Louis didn’t care. Considering what they had on their conscience, the people were beyond glad to move forward and accept any reform that would distance them from past unspeakable choices. What they had already achieved had been beyond expectation. But it wasn’t enough for Louis. Every insignia, every title he bore weighed on him like a millstone round his neck. He had become a puppet in his own hands, a steering lever in a mechanism where he only wished to be a cogwheel. And, once again, their eyes were turned upon him. Without preamble, Louis stepped forward and addressed the crowd.

Never has the world offered the gods a spectacle so worthy. A whole nation in peace, who in the past braved adversity and tyranny, suspends the course of its heroic labours to elevate its thoughts. On this fortunate day, we, the people of Trevalden, render the divinities the only worship worthy of them. Not only do we pray the gods to honour us by blessing our soil, our streams, and the meat they give us. Our gods who gifted us with a nature full with charms, riches, and majesty. We also ask them for their blessing so that the men carry on loving one another, help one another, and attain happiness by the way of virtue. By these sacrifices, may our needs do not escape their notice.

While he spoke, children had stepped forwards from their parents’ embrace. In the line of angelic faces, Louis recognised Neleus’s blond curls. His son’s eyes stared at him with awe. Louis hoped it was for the father and not for the king. He turned to the families.

The gods impel the just man to hate the evil one, and the evil man to respect the just one. By the grace of the gods, we give to the world the example of virtues. Foul men may fight us again. Therefore, our nation must always be on its guard. It is the gods who make the mothers’ hearts beat with tenderness. And proud of their sons, they will shed tears of joy as those join our schools in the sublime love of the fatherland.

As cheers followed his words, the city guards and the royal guards united their kite shields to reinforce the corridor dividing the audience. On the parvis, the priests came forth, their white togas matching with the stone around. With melodramatic gestures, they threw grains into the braziers. It compelled the crowd to silence.

O, People of Trevalden, Louis carried on, defenders of liberty, let us deliver ourselves today, under their auspices, to the just transports of a pure festivity. O, gods, behold our prayers. Behold our sacrifices. Behold the worship we offer thee!

In a blaring bleating, the animals for the sacrifice were brought through the corridor all the way up to pens. An army of helpers in grey tunics received the sheep, cleansed them with blessed water, and held them in relative calm. Around large pedestals, the priests took their positions.

The guards’ shields pivoted again and locked together. At Louis’s side, Selen unclasped his red cape. His hair was neatly braided into a thick crown, a dainty detail in a polar opposite to his look. His harness tied up his chest and waist. His hose wrapped around his legs like a glove. His sandals’ laces made one with his ankles. Though it brought out his willowy body, there was nothing elegant in this heap of leather. It was Selen’s second-best outfit since Louis had refused him to perform half naked. His queen could not show skin, ever. Selen’s gaze was fixed forward, and nothing in his face betrayed his emotion. The huge horns resounded again.

From the opposite side of the corridor, a massive black bull came into sight. It blew and puffed. Its hooves scraped the dust off the red bricks. The beast was as nervous as the sheep had been patient. Louis’s gaze fastened on the horns, and the word that came to his mind was skewer. He swivelled to Selen. By the way his friend had explained the Cretan ceremony, Louis had expected a cow or a small bull. He felt beguiled. Selen knew he never would have agreed to that monstrosity. He waited for an explanation, a blush of shameful remorse, but Selen’s gaze didn’t flinch. Neither did it turn on him. Louis couldn’t force him either. Should he grab his hand at this point, it would only bring discredit upon them. His friend descended from the parvis with a bold determination. Louis straightened and let terror knot his bowels.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, Selen lifted up his cape. The bull’s rage focused. The helpers towed back with all their strength. In vain. The collar snapped. The bull launched itself straight ahead. Like a bullet, it darted across the square. On the opposite side, Selen had dropped the cape and ran to meet the beast. Louis’s chest heaved. He held back a scream. A second before the impact, Selen jumped and flew above the bull, arms open. He bounced onto the ground and twisted back. The crowd yelled. Louis couldn’t hide a smile. This was child’s play to Selen who obviously mastered the exercise that had been part of celebrations in his world. Startled, the bull stopped, turned around, and bellowed. Selen unsheathed a dagger and sprang into a run. The bull dashed. Selen vaulted over the neck, stabbed it, and tumbled to a stop. For an instant, the bull stood motionless. Then it collapsed, dead. Under the ovations of the crowd, the helpers carried it to the main pedestal. Head down, Selen walked back upstairs to take his place at Louis’s side. The danger over, irritation replaced fear in Louis’s veins.

That was foolish, he whispered, his teeth gritted. By the way his friend curled inside an invisible shell, his words had crushed the enjoyment Selen had taken out of it. Cut its throat, he added to defuse the tension.

Selen turned to him, astounded. It was Louis’s part, as the king, to sacrifice the most valuable of all the animals. While the sheep carcasses would be roasted and served during the celebrations, the bull would be used in the initiation’s ritual.

You killed it. It’s yours, Louis insisted with a faint smile.

Selen didn’t return the smile. His eyes pleaded to refuse the favour. He had wanted the game. The honour was a burden, as much as it was to Louis. Louis sighed.

He approached the pedestal and jerked the blade out of the collar. He didn’t fake a smile but lifted up the blade as a sign of victory. The canons’ fire thundered across the square and met the bongs of the temple’s bells. A flood of blood from the bull’s neck spurted over the stone. It ran into a bowl before overflowing further down the stairs. One of the priests picked up the bowl, lifted it up with a blessing, and carried it to Louis. The bull’s death marked the beginning of the sacrifices. Thundering drums, the swinging of incense, and chanted collective prayers masked with a festive veil the bloodbath that drowned the stairs. At least, this time, it was no human blood.

The aulos resounded. One by one, the young boys climbed the stairs. The first one halted in front of his king. The boy’s hand squeezed his olive twig, while his other hand fidgeted on his arm. He averted his eyes, and Louis expected him to scoot any time. Louis knelt down and looked kindly at him.

It won’t hurt, he whispered. Louis dipped his fingers in the bull’s blood and trailed his hand across the beige tunic. You are no more a child, but a boy with much to learn. Make your parents proud. He patted the boy’s shoulder. You can go now. Marked, the boy progressed to the other side of the square to take his place among the students. With no difference in the education system, each school would take its equal share without any consideration.

Louis proceeded with the ritual until his own son stood before him. While the other boys had left their mothers’ skirts to climb the stairs, Neleus was joining them. Though he knew what the ceremony meant, his son seemed confused about what was expected of him. His stare shifted between Selen and Louis for instructions. Selen couldn’t step forward, and Louis couldn’t touch him more than he had done with the others. His bloodied fingers streaked the tunic.

Though we won’t live together as much, your father and I will always be at your side, Neleus. We will return home later today, but these boys are your brothers now, and where you’ll go will be your new home. You have the right to be scared. To be brave is to get over your fear. Louis looked straight into his son’s blue eyes. We believe in you. You are and will always be our son. And we love you. The boy nodded, but no joy lighted his stern face. Louis bobbed his head to the side and watched Neleus go.

He drew himself up and stepped back. The presence of Selen behind him weighed on his shoulders. He knew that if he turned around, his heart would break, as Selen’s just had. For once in his life, Louis cursed the greater good.

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I’m sorry, Louis said.

I knew all along he would have to leave us to pursue his education, Selen said. In the inner garden in front of the solar, Folc displayed impressive sword moves in front of a captivated Neleus. At the boy’s side, on the grass, lay a bouquet of kitchen herbs Selen had asked him to bring to Brother Benedict. It doesn’t matter how ready I was, I will still miss my son dearly. Selen rested his head against the window jamb, his eyes downcast. Neleus’s cheers reached them from the garden.

No. I mean... Of course, he was sorry for that too, but life’s necessities were hardly his fault. I was amazed by your agility with the bull. I was just scared.

I knew you would. That’s why I hadn’t been entirely honest in the description. But to have me perform the ritual? Selen stared at him, doubtful.

I can’t. Louis shook his head faintly. His shoulders sagged. His eyes searched for compassion in Selen’s. Several footsteps came up the stairs. Selen cupped his hand, which gave him the little strength he needed to face their guest. Then he took a step to the side. The last thing they wanted was to show personal feelings in front of her.

Two guards of her house wearing the golden falcon on their crimson tabards stomped in front. Four ladies-in-waiting, all matrons in black robes and wimples that only left their bitter faces bare, marched in a square. A line of four guards in full plate closed the retinue. In the centre, stern and proud in her violet hoop dress walked Lady Hegora Khorkina. Tied in a bun, her blond hair had turned light ash over the years. A veil floating on her ruffled collar covered them partially. Her velvet hem nearly reached both sides of the hallway and halted a few feet from them.

My lady, Louis said, without any more protocol than a terse nod.

Your Majesty, the countess replied on the same gelid tone, without acknowledging Selen’s presence. It was a pitfall, and Louis wouldn’t raise the affront.

Though Louis had been careful not to apply all of his reforms to her city—the civil code had already maimed enough of her power—her townhouse in Nysa Serin had endured consequent changes. From a prosperous and illustrious goldsmith factory, its trade had been converted into a brewery. It was still highly profitable but a downfall in term of prestige. The jewellers had been called back to Millhaven, where such bling had not yet been prohibited. A fact she reminded him with her river necklace of amethyst and golden chains belt. Louis had taken time to change his leather for a simple blue woollen jerkin under a matching coat. She might take his modest appearance as an insult. He wanted to make sure she didn’t feel too comfortable far away from home.

Lips pressed, they exchanged impassive stares. She was the old world. The entire nobility left in Trevalden emanated from her. Yet, the countess had abided by all the new laws they had announced. Not once had a complaint risen from the people of Millhaven. Their schools were operational, and no trace of corruption had been detected among the state servants. The corners of his lips curved upward an inch.

Leave us, the countess ordered her retinue. They turned away with all their disapprobation perceptible in their shuffling steps.

Welcome to Nysa Serin, Louis said with a more engaging smile.

The countess twitched an eyebrow. I have to admit, this place smells of roses.

Should we proceed? Louis gestured to the open doors. The strain in his lips was already turning back into a rictus.

His majesty is as straight to the point as his wardrobe. She glided in front of him like the Queen of Sheba and disappeared into the council room, leaving behind a waft of bergamot.

Louis turned back to Selen. His friend looked away with a grin that said he was on his own on that one. Selen would be as neutral as his white doublet. This meeting promised to be long, like a day without bread.

Pembroke waited for them in an alcove. He put away in his purse a document he was reading by the window, adjusted his black houppelande, and came to them. Your Majesties. My lady.

Without much ceremony, they took place around the oaken table. Louis presided from his chair, the back of which was slightly taller than the others. Selen and Pembroke sat down in their respective seats on each side of him. Then they all rose again to allow Lady Khorkina to take a place next to Pembroke. Though barely a murmur, her sigh was thundering. Once all her petticoats were neatly folded under the table, Louis spoke.

It has been three years now since the pestilence struck our city. I can only admire the courage of our people, what it took them to rebuild this place. We are the first capital— he jabbed the board with a finger —the first city without slums. The first city with fresh water and sewers. He peered around for nods of assent. But it’s not enough.

Not enough? Pembroke retorted. It’s better than most of these people could have dreamt of. You’ve seen it today. They are happy, feasting on mutton as we talk. Even with all the restrictions on luxury, exotic food, clothes... There are no needy anymore.

But what about their freedom? Louis asked. Abundance is not an end in itself.

The people have gatherings in the temples and academies to deliberate laconically about their living conditions and the government. Everything is written down, made public, and reported to us. They have the right to express themselves, and we listen, Selen answered, confused.

Louis hadn’t broached the question in private first to avoid counterarguments. He had been holding the reins of power for too long. It was time to test the ground with the most fitted to ponder on such a social change. Yes, but why should it get back to us? Louis insisted.

You are the government, Pembroke said flatly. Your Majesty asks for daily reports.

Yes. To control our progress and perfect the system. But I hardly interfere in the decisions anymore. He turned to Pembroke. You know we have bright, representative councils and capable ministers.

We still come with innovations on a monthly basis, Selen said. We have other ways to interfere.

Precisely the arguments that had made him overstay his position on the throne. But what if the innovations didn’t come from us anymore? Louis insisted.

Are you trying to remove yourself from your obligations or from your status? Lady Khorkina had joined her hands and fixed her cold gaze at him.

Louis was taken aback. So, this was how it would look like. A getaway. He didn’t break eye contact. I don’t mean it that way, he answered, incisive.

Are you talking about the possibility of a regency? Pembroke asked. Louis’s eyes could finally look at someone else. Now that you have an heir. He straightened in his seat. Not that I mean something bad could happen to Your Majesties.

Not that again. I don’t have an heir, Louis said. Pembroke goggled and harrumphed with disapproval. The countess wasn’t less offended. I have a son. He tried to reassure them he wasn’t coldhearted. "I just don’t think the word heir is appropriate. At his side, Selen bit on a finger. Louis knew he had to weigh his words. He steepled his fingers. Imagine there was no king."

Who would rule the kingdom? Pembroke asked.

The people, Louis said.

But who are the people? Lady Khorkina scoffed. Me, or my chambermaid who cleans my pot?

Both of you.

And you want her to fix the taxes? It doesn’t make sense. She had already dismissed the idea.

Louis shook his head. I gathered you three, of anyone, because you are the smartest and most powerful people of this country. We have our opinions, but we agree on how this country should take care of its people. What we do here in Nysa Serin, we could apply it to the whole kingdom.

You need leaders for that, Pembroke interrupted him. You need a king.

I don’t want anarchy. There would be leaders, Louis said. In form of the councils, accountable to the people.

Composed of educated and talented men of the kingdom, Selen said, turning to him. That was a restriction. But also a safety motion and Selen’s condition.

What about our status? Lady Khorkina insisted. Do you expect us to resign as well?

No. Nothing will change for you or any noble if you continue to work for the people of Trevalden and in collaboration with the councils. This makes you accountable as well. The only difference is that there wouldn’t be a king anymore. The impulsion, the ideas, everything would come from the people. Why wouldn’t they want to work for their own good?

The countess scoffed. My own good is different from my chambermaid’s.

You both want respect, a roof over your head, and education, Louis said. By your own good, I mean as a nation of fraternal people. I’m not talking about personal interests. Those are secondary needs that can only be addressed within the limits of the constitution.

But at the end of the day, who would decide? Pembroke said, more by curiosity than real concern. Whose voice should the councils follow?

The constitution. The institutions, Louis said. There are now institutions and a code of law that have been tested for years and adopted by this society. Should it be required with time, the councils might adapt some laws, but no one corrupts the constitution.

Says who? You? Lady Khorkina said, then she turned to Pembroke with a conniving smile.

It is the best for everyone, Louis concluded, not to lose his grip on the discussion. He would have the last words. It won’t happen tomorrow, but I will let you ponder about it. You may have a taste of my absence as the queen and I will travel to the Windy Isles in a few days.

The Windy Isles? Pembroke said, aghast. Did you receive an invitation from the Howells?

No. I sent one. I asked for an official visit to straighten our relations with our neighbours.

Pembroke shook slowly his head in every way. Well, if it’s Your Majesty’s decision.

The countess hadn’t changed her doubtful, sardonic expression. Louis couldn’t say if she still pondered the nonsensical idea of a republic or if she found this expedition in the Isles as silly as it sounded to Louis himself. They had barely any trade left with the Windy Isles or any other foreign country, and most focused on the export of their surplus.

I will announce our departure under the council meeting tomorrow, he said to Pembroke. Of course, we will travel light and halt in Embermire.

Louis rose to put an end to their meeting. Pembroke took his leave of the countess, gave a short, reverential bow in his direction, and exited the room. Louis’s heart was heavy at the thought he had deceived his old counsellor. With no doubt, the count must consider he had been faithful to a frivolous king who only meant to shatter his world. And this had been followed by the news of a journey that made no sense.

I will relieve Folc.

Selen grazed his arm and strode off to the door. Even his companion was riddled with doubts for his political views. Minoan civilisation had been a monarchy ruling over the seas a thousand years before the Athenian Solon. Clearly, it couldn’t have been a matter of course. I’m totally alone on that one.

The countess was taking her time to adjust her veil. Louis offered her his attention. Your Majesty gives us much to ponder about. I wonder how many people in Trevalden wish to live like the ones in Nysa Serin. Her eyes gleamed briefly with intimidation. Before you allow me to depart, may I be as bold as to recommend Your Majesty not to bring the queen to Kilcairn. There was tension in her voice.

Louis didn’t have time to answer before he stood by himself at the table. The clicking of the countess’s footsteps reverberated faintly from the hallway.

CHAPTER 4

The screams rising from the cove died out. Lissandro crept deeper into the narrow, wet cave. His muscles still shook with terror after his overhasty climb on the cliff. Claws had been the best he could have done without being detected. Now, he crouched, as one with the rock. His nerves started for every loud bark echoing from under him. Tears of regret ran down his cheeks. He hadn’t protected her. Her frenzied gaze had scanned the beach for his shadow. And he had fled. Without a glance back. His overtired mind emptied. I should have protected her. It was my duty. I failed her. As he failed me. Lissandro’s eyes closed on memories of a life long gone.

________________

I will take care of you now.

From the safety of the stranger’s arms, Lissandro felt the heat of his burning family house vanish