30. Ezryn
Ezryn
“Rise, Ezryn, son of Isidora and Thalionor, guardian of Hammergarden and the verdant lands beyond, as High Prince of the Spring Realm.”
Tilla’s voice radiates with command as she sprinkles sacred water over me, drawn from the river’s highest point upon Mount Lumidor. My starlight silver armor clatters as I stand before the throne, crafted from the helms of my ancestors.
I stare into the visor of her helm. She gives me a reassuring nod. Then I turn and face the Hall of Vernalion. Face my people.
Everywhere I look, I meet the gaze of one of my citizens.
They smile up at me. Some of their eyes are watery with tears, others’ shining with hope—something sorely lacking in our realm of late.
Flowers are woven into crowns upon their heads, young and old, men and women alike. A symbol of joy, of merriment.
Tilla steps beside me, her voice ringing through the sun-dappled hall. “Behold Ezryn, the Reborn Prince!”
The room is silent for a beat, just long enough for the words to settle in the air like drifting petals.
Then it begins.
A cheer swells, low and trembling at first, then rising to a rumble. The Hall of Vernalion erupts. Applause, stomping feet, joyous cries. The sound is thunderous but somehow still beautiful.
“Hail the High Prince of Spring!”
“Hail Ezryn!”
“Long may he bloom!”
The cheer catches. Through the windows, I spy the grounds of Keep Hammergarden filled with people. They begin dancing, scooping up the cherry blossoms that cover the ground and throwing them up into the air.
At the very front of the hall, I look to Dayton and Farron.
Happiness shimmers in both their gazes as they clap.
Next to Farron are Padraig, the twins, and Delphie and Nori.
George looks up at me with such pride, a lump forms in my throat.
Nearby, Marigold and Eldor are arm in arm, while Astrid gives the air a triumphant punch.
Marigold wipes a tear away with a handkerchief, then waves at me.
She turns to the person beside her—an acolyte who’s made the journey down from the monastery—and points to me, mouthing, “That’s my boy! ”
In spite of everything going on, they have taken the time to gather, to witness this moment.
My heart swells and aches at once.
Rosalina and Kel. Cas. They should be here.
But I cannot hide in grief as I have before. Rosalina would want me to take my rightful place upon the throne. In her mother’s absence, she is my queen, and I will do everything I can to protect her realms.
Tilla nudges my shoulder. “Welcome back, Ez.”
I rock against her. After no small amount of cajoling from me and persuading from George, she agreed to remain my steward during the war.
She’s eager to return to her forge, and this is no minor sacrifice.
But I need a trusted hand at my side. Besides, I’m pretty sure she never intended to leave and just enjoyed my insistent flattery before giving in and agreeing to stay on.
Gently, I raise my hand, drawing the applause to a close. My gaze stretches over my people. They have seen me win great glory in battle and help keep us safe during the War of Thorns. They have watched me fail, been as forced to endure my shame as I was.
And yet they have forgiven me. For those are the pillars upon which Spring grows, the foundation with which I will lead us.
Forgiveness and redemption. And hope, for blue skies when we’re cold, rain when we’re thirsty, and a bright, beautiful garden of a life for us all.
I have no speech prepared for my people, for no words in the common tongue could encapsulate what I need to say.
So I pull from the ancient language of Spring, a song that was sung long ago, when the world was new and Rafael, the first High Prince of Spring, led our queen in creating the divine weapons. A time of rebirth. A time of hope.
My voice rings out in a clear, solemn tone:
Varenthiel cae miralune os theryan em elunoré. Yevanor sai liorin, aneth viala caelithar.
The slow rhythm and the words, older than Spring’s grief, settle over the crowd. And as I continue the song, I picture the words sinking to the earth, drifting all the way to the Below to Rosalina.
May we rise in golden blooms and mercy reign. We are the reborn, forgiven by the breath of life.
Meadowmere Forest is always a place of beauty, but tonight it has been transformed into something out of legend.
Trees rise like pillars, their branches woven with leaves adorned with sparkling paint.
Every path has been swept clean and lined with blossoms, and glowing orbs hover, casting the clearing in a soft, dreamlike light.
The air is warm with the scent of fresh rain and green things. Not just flowers but soil, bark, new growth. Spring in its rawest form. And above it all, the quiet murmur of anticipation, threaded with bursts of laughter and music.
Hundreds have gathered to celebrate my coronation with food, drink, and dance. My people…they waited for me. They hoped. Now, they believe.
I will do right by them.
And that means there is no time to partake. I stand in a circle at the edge of the party with George, Tilla, Dayton, Delphia, Farron, Padraig, the twins, Nori, and Keldarion’s steward, Eirik Vargsaxa.
While it may appear as if we are eating and making merry, we have spent the night planning and plotting.
“It is settled then,” I say. “We cannot risk another full-out assault on the Below without leaving one of the realms defenseless. Voidseal Bridge and Autumn’s Briar border have proven that.
Dayton, Farron, George, and I will leave on the morrow for the covert mission to locate Rosalina, Keldarion, and the rose. ”
“And we’ll have the realms armed and ready to fight when you return,” Delphia says, her voice booming with a command beyond her years.
I catch Dayton’s and Farron’s gazes. Despite the joyful music and being surrounded by those we love most in the world, a somber feeling pulses between us.
We all know this is a fool’s errand. George and I are risking our lives by traveling with them; Caspian has but to tug on the threads of their souls, and they could turn on us.
But it’s been too long with no word from Rosalina. There’s no one stronger of heart than her, but the Baron is not from the Vale, and he does not work with matters of the heart.
Besides, I’ve rescued Keldarion from the Below before, and Caspian too. I can do it again.
A glint of something in the dark of the forest catches my eye. Not a firefly or a painted leaf but the bright red of embers in the hearth, the ones that flicker right before going out.
“Come now. Plans are set. There is still time to enjoy the night,” I tell my friends. “Go. Revel in the wonders of Spring. For me.”
As they drift away to get food and drink, I slip into the darkness, becoming nothing more than a shadow among the trees. One of the trunks wavers, disengaging from the rest, and comes to stand before me.
Kairyn wears hardy clothes, made for harsh travel: leather boots, a large satchel, and a sweeping black cloak with a hood. His red eyes flash in the moonlight, horns curving around his head like the branches of a tree.
“I’ve come to say goodbye,” he says.
My chest tightens. I asked my brother if he wanted to join me in Florendel, but he declined. The memories are too fresh, his shame too raw. He has remained out of sight from any of our citizens. I will not force him into the light.
“Where will you go?” I ask.
He stares to the north, eyes faraway. “To find Wrenley. She’s out there somewhere. I don’t understand what…what this means,” he says, scratching at his heart, “but I need her to know she’s not alone.”
I think of that wildcat of a girl, moving through life like she’s cornered, her back always against a wall. “What will you do when you find her?”
Kairyn’s gaze turns skyward, through the trees, up toward Mount Lumidor. “I will return to Queen’s Reach Monastery and serve out the remainder of my penance until my high prince deems me worthy.”
A breeze rustles between us, carrying the smell of sweet water from nearby Sylvanita Lake. What does the grove look like now? It was once a place of immense beauty, but I drained the life from the earth. Has it regrown? Can a seed still manage to bloom even there?
Perhaps Kairyn and I will walk among the boughs of the willow trees once more. But for now, I rest my hands on the side of my helm and pull it off. Tucking it under my arm, I look at my brother with my own eyes. “Let us agree that you and I are finished doling out sentences for each other.”
A muscle trembles in Kairyn’s cheek. “Then perhaps, after I find Wrenley, I will continue to wander until I discover a new place to call home.”
I touch his arm. “Home isn’t always a location, Kairyn. It’s a heart, singing the same song as yours.”
Kairyn reaches over his shoulder, unstrapping the sheath at his back. He holds it out before me. I know it better than I know my own hands, for I have claimed more lives than I can count with it. Mother’s sword. Kairyn’s been holding on to it since the battle in Keep Wolfhelm.
“This is yours by birthright,” he mumbles.
I take it. Draw the sword. Examine the beauty of its craftsmanship in the starlight. If I close my eyes, it’s as if my mother’s wielding it with me.
Then I sheathe it once more and hand it to him. “Keep it.” I touch the small rectangular token at my neck, carved with cherry blossoms. “Now we both have something of Mother’s.”
Kairyn hesitates, then straps the sword on his back once more. He clasps his hand over mine. The words sound strangled from his throat. “Be well, big brother. May we meet again in a different world.”
With that, my brother turns and strides into the forest, cape snapping behind him.
I stand there, watching him until he is nothing but another shadow among the trees. I think of the ballad I sang at the coronation. Of the final line.
Naeven tiras elarion sai liraen em variel.
Let the weary walk in light and find the song of hope.