6. Six
With Ludelle off doing her prayers, Zimyn had spare time to visit his father—something that became rarer once Ludelle had been crowned. His responsibilities had escalated, his time diminished, especially with the Queen’s Undertaking close at hand. A part of Zimyn felt guilty for not spending more time with his father—especially after his mother had died—but his father understood the role of Captain better than anyone else, so he knew what it entailed: how much time and effort it required to guarantee that his guards stayed in line and that Ludelle didn’t find herself in any precarious situations.
Plus, Zimyn didn’t appreciate his father’s sly glances whenever Ludelle’s name was mentioned. For some reason, his father got it in his head that Zimyn’s affection for her went beyond the role of her Captain. To be fair, he wasn’t wrong, but he still didn’t need to constantly throw it in Zimyn’s face.
His father lived near the castle, an honor given to him for his years of hard work. Zimyn trekked down the mountain on foot, zig zagging through the dense woods used as an extra layer of protection. With snowfalls becoming more sparse and the weather turning warm, the ground had turned to mud. The steep decline forced him to grab on to the nearby trees. Moss coated his hands.
He often had to stay inside the castle walls, not given the chance to be out unless he accompanied his Queen, which had become slimmer since Balvan had worked hard to keep them apart in public. Hence on those occasions that he did travel with Ludelle, they now acted as if they were strangers, instead of two people who’d known each other since childhood.
“My son,” a rough voice spoke out. “You have returned.”
Zimyn had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes as he closed the cottage door and stepped inside. “Don’t be dramatic, Father. I didn’t leave in the middle of the night without a word. You know exactly where I am.”
“Can a father not miss his only son?”
“Not when the son has been busy taking over his father’s duties so that he could relax without a worry in the world.” Zimyn put his hands on his hips. He was careful to avoid the fur rugs dispersed across the floors to protect against dirtying them with his shoes. “What are you doing?”
His father was seated on an old wooden chair, which creaked as he moved. He was focused on a task in front of him, as his worn hands worked tirelessly. So many scars freckled his skin, showing his long tenure as Captain. He had trained many novices that excitedly joined the force, and as a result, accidents happened constantly—including some of his own. Zimyn helped bandage more of his father’s wounds than he liked to admit.
“I am an old man with too much time on his hands. I needed to get creative.”
Zimyn raised a brow as he tried to make sense of what he was looking at. There were small cubes of ice all over the table situated on a cold plate so they didn’t melt. An assortment of tools laid out beside it. Zimyn approached the scene, removing the books and blankets from the opposite chair.
“Are you creating a model with ice?”
“Exactly that,” he said enthusiastically, his hands practically shaking in excitement as he used a small knife to shape the ice. “Wood has become too easy. I needed a challenge.”
Zimyn watched his father closely, appreciating the silence as he chipped away carefully. An old clock methodically ticked in the background. The quiet was so foreign for Zimyn as he had become accustomed to the loudness of his guards or the sounds of swords being clanked together in training.
“How was your visit to the West?”
Zimyn sighed, “Discouraging, especially for Ludelle. The land is in desperate need of the Undertaking, The whole court is.”
“And how is little Ludelle doing?” His father asked as he brought two pieces of ice together and melded them. His eyes narrowed deeply to focus on the fine details of his model.
“She’s not so little anymore.”
His father waved him off. “She’ll always be that little girl who stormed into the training rings before dawn to try and pick up a sword that doubled her in weight,” he reminisced, as he liked to do. “One time she nicked herself and instead of crying, she tried to use her powers to seal the wound. Unfortunately, even blue blood runs warm, and it melted instantly.”
Zimyn smiled to himself. That sounded like Ludelle, determined to find a solution for herself before asking for help—or never asking for help, really. He remembered that his father found her that day and brought her to a back room where he wrapped the small wound. Instead of being grateful, she had ignored Zimyn for days after, saying that his father thought her weak because of the way Zimyn treated her. To prove her wrong, Zimyn threw snowballs at her. She retaliated by throwing shards of her ice at him. They both ended up with sliced arms and legs.
“Has she chosen her betrothed?”
Zimyn whipped his head to his father, who had a knowing smirk on his face. “Why do you think I would know that?”
He whistled. “So quickly deflecting. Shouldn’t the Captain of the Guard know who the Queen will choose to sleep next to each night?”
“Are you worried her husband will stab her in her sleep?”
“I am not the one worried.” His father brought together more pieces, and slowly, the model was becoming clearer to Zimyn. A chair, with small crafted details mirroring the throne Ludelle sat on.
“She’ll make the right choice for the Court at large. That is what’s most important.”
“Duty to the crown?”
“Responsibility for her people,” Zimyn corrected.
His father got up, the old chair almost tipping over before Zimyn stopped it. His father had become oblivious to his surroundings as he narrowed his attention. On a window sill sat a snow globe. One Zimyn was familiar with, having seen it everyday growing up.
His father brought it over. “I gave this to your mother.”
Zimyn shook it, watching the snow fall over the castle that was depicted inside. “Mother loved it. She always stared at it.”
“Yes, with me staying inside the castle, and her here, we spent such little time together. It’s one of my biggest regrets.”
“She never held that against you,” Zimyn said earnestly. “Every time you had a chance to come for dinner or for a quick break, her eyes glowed with delight.”
His father gently smiled, clearly picturing her face. His mother had meant the world to the both of them. When she got sick and could barely move, each of them made sure that one of them was with her at all times to keep her company. Even when she could no longer communicate her needs, Zimyn could always tell when she wanted her husband by the way she fondly stared at the snow globe.
“She was my salvation in so many ways. She reminded me every day that I was more than just my duty to this court. That’s what this snow globe was. It was a reminder that although the castle held a piece of my heart, she held it all.”
Zimyn swallowed, trying to think of something to say but could barely form a word. “Why are you telling me this?” he barely choked out, his voice wavering.
His father sat back down as he got to work. The cabin walls felt constricting as Zimyn waited for him to respond. “Because your heart is much larger than your role as Captain.” His father stopped and looked into Zimyn’s glacial blue eyes, his father’s a shade darker than his, “And because…your heart is at a crossroads.”
“I’ve made my decision already,” Zimyn said, with no room for additional argument.
Zimyn’s father nodded, staring down at his model.
“Love is not simple. It requires sacrifice. Your mother sacrificed so much so I could do what I was born to do. I never took that lightly, especially when you came into the picture.” His face turned solemn. “I would have sacrificed my very soul so that she could still be here today. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way, so I spent every second that I could with her when we had it.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Yes, but you knew that already.”
His father had been trying to get Zimyn to stay as soon as Zimyn told him he wanted to leave. It’s not that his father didn’t support his decision to travel, but he assumed Zimyn was doing it for the wrong reasons—that he was running away.
Zimyn admired his parent’s love, but everyone was not so privileged to experience such a simple, quiet love like they had. Zimyn and Ludelle—even if he stayed—would never be simple.