Children of Fire and Sun: The Rebellion (Updates Resume From July 2024)

Chapter Fourteen: Ryan (Nostras)

"A realm prospers due to the virtues of its monarch, and it collapses because of his vices."
—

King Aidoneus I of House Desher.

~•~

All had been going well.

Perhaps a little too well. Ayan had remained impassive for most of the meeting. It has been Philomena and Ryan who had led the lords into productive discussion, addressing their troubles by providing swift solutions. Yet this peace shattered as Laurent Eni, brother of Edmund Eni, took it upon himself to bring up the topic of Lysa Trellis’s disappearance.

At that moment, a fervent argument took place between the haughty lordling and the paranoid monarch.

"Your Highness," Laurent had said. "What does this show about the condition of Namiona? Shall a lady go missing from her home and no justice will be served?"

Ayan frowned, his voice a slurred rumble. "What do you know about the laws, boy?"

Ryan bit hard on his lower lip. Droplets of blood glistened on the surface as he watched the unravelling of the once peaceful session. The voices of his father and the lordling droned in his mind. He ought to have stopped them. To break the tension in the chamber. But Ryan could not. His body remained tethered to his seat. None of the other lords made any attempts to stop it, either.

In hindsight, he would admonish himself for not attempting to prevent what happened. To have let something like that happen. Yet the glare in Ayan’s sent shivers down his spine. He stared with wide-eyed fear at his father, whose face had turned as red as the rubies on his throne. In that instant, Ryan was a child again, hiding behind his brother.

Remus's first scars were gained from home and not from the battlefield after all.

"Lady Lysa is my brother's betrothed. It is a sin to look upon the betrothed of another with desire," Laurent argued. Despite not being of the imposing stature as that of his brother, his voice was loud and gruff, which would often overpower any voices of dissent. "How do we know it is not your son who is behind this abduction?"

Ayan sneered. "Even if he has, I see no fault in it. He is the crown prince, you foolish boy, and he can have any woman he wants."

Stop. For the love of gods and all that is holy, please stop. Ryan gripped both of his armrests tightly, causing his knuckles to turn pale. His breath came in shallow gasps, his heart an unchained beast on a rampage. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he could not bring himself to say it. Thick vines of fear, like the stems of the water lilies in the royal gardens, caught in his throat in a harsh grip.

"Look at him justifying the consequences of his son!" Laurent gesticulated, turning around to face the rest of the council. The noble lords refused to look at his face. "I tell you, they are the ones who have spirited Lady Lysa away. These Deshers are freaks! They are nothing but—"

The swish of a blade being unsheathed echoed in the chamber. Ayan stood up, his longsword gleaming in the light of the braziers. The rest of them too stood up, faces drained of blood. Philomena gasped and stepped in front of her husband, and he climbed down from the dais.

"I will have this bastard’s head." Ayan gritted his teeth, the words emerging as a low, almost animal-like growl.

"Please do not do this, my lord," she pleaded, her eyes welling up with tears. "I beg you. The lad is young and knows not what he says. Please, do not do this."

Ayan glared. "I am warning you, woman. Move out of my way."

Philomena held his shoulder. "Please. Forgive—"

With his free arm, Ayan struck his wife hard across her face. The frail Philomena fell upon the ground, her dignity tarnished in a room full of men who cast pitying glances at the middle-aged queen consort. Blood trickled down from a corner of her mouth where Ayan's ring had found its mark. The tears that both mother and son tried to withhold burst forth in streams of silent agony.

As for Laurent Eni, his bravado had dissipated like the morning mist. He gaped helplessly as Ayan stumbled towards him, sword raised. The lordling could see his reflection upon the blade, his heart halting its rhythm in that instant. No matter what, a creature valued its life above all else.

Laurent moved back a few steps. Drops of sweat glistened on his forehead. His hands unconsciously moved towards the empty scabbard that hung from his side, forgetting that none other than the monarch and the heir could keep their arms during such a session. Silence evaded the scene. None moved. Time seemed to pass at a snail's pace, as if it waited with bated breath to see what happens next.

In a swift motion, Ayan brought down the sword upon Laurent Eni’s neck. He did not even get the chance to scream as the Domhnallain steel severed through flesh and bone, severing his head from the rest of his body. It fell with a resounding thump at Ayan's feet, mouth open in a silent scream that would never be heard.

Blood spurted out of the decapitated body like water from a mountain spring. It sauntered a few times before tumbling backwards. Crimson stained Ayan's face and attire. He gazed at the scene with a sardonic grin, the sight of violence giving him a pleasure beyond measure.

A strangled cry escaped Thomas Mors's throat, who kneeled over his seat to retch. Philomena, who had sat up, pressed both palms over her mouth. Her insides clenched at the sight in front of her, at the blood that spread like a hellish stream in all directions of that chamber. The lords stood as still idols of the deities in their lightless abodes.

Still wearing that self-satisfied grin, Ayan ambled towards the exit. The bloodied sword hung from his arms, leaving droplets of blood along the once pristine floor. He pushed open the chamber door and walked out into the daylight, leaving the undispersed council meeting suspended in a conundrum. None stopped him. No one dared to.

The lordling is dead. The pressure within Ryan's chest grew tenfold as his mind raced to register what his two eyes had just witnessed. He could no longer breathe. Laurent Eni is dead. His mother had been right. Her fears were not unfounded. Each pore of his skin absorbed the metallic stench of blood mixed with bile. He was certain that he could never rid himself of the image Laurent Eni divided into two. Neither could he avert his gaze.

"Gods save us."

His words were a whisper in the wind, as the second prince of Namiona fell upon his knees, a vision blotted by darkness.

~•~