Chapter Fourteen
Ethyr paced his room for hours until pure, utter exhaustion downed him. He woke to the gentle call of his name and blinked open his eyes to a fire-lit room and Poyut kneeling by the side of the bed.
“Poyut!” He sat up, reaching for her without thought, reaching for some kind of comfort. “Did soldiers go to my village? Did Yorith order it? Is he destroying it?”
“Calm down,” Poyut soothed, patting his arm. “No one has gone anywhere. Your village is safe.”
“I wasn’t running away! I swear!”
“I know.” Poyut stood and he dropped his arms back to the bed. “I don’t think Yorith would follow through on something like that. He just doesn’t trust you.”
“Well I don’t trust him!” Ethyr cried. “He was going to do it!”
“Well.” Poyut’s face went grim. “He’s ordered you locked inside your room again.”
“No!” Ethyr groaned.
“You’ll have lessons still, but Dessin will come here instead.”
Ethyr buried his face in his hands. “Poyut,” he whined. “What am I supposed to do?”
“I heard everything that happened. I don’t think it’s your disappearance that’s made him do this, I think it’s Lyrian. Yorith knows you spoke to him and now he’s stood up for you. The High Priest is suspicious.”
Ethyr jerked his head up. “He didn’t stand up for me!” he exclaimed. “He just didn’t want to destroy innocent peoples’ livelihoods! He’s a better man than Yorith and Yorith knows it and can’t stand it!”
“Ethyr,” Poyut said quietly, the flickering shadows of firelight across her face making her appear even more solemn. “Don’t make assumptions. The both of them are dangerous men.”
You need to be wary of Lyrian. Kiaro’s words rang in his head like an echo of Poyut’s. Why was everyone warning him against the one person who was trying to help him?
Kiaro. God of deception.
“Poyut,” Ethyr said again, calmer. “Does anyone besides me speak directly to the gods?”
She tilted her head. “The High Priest does, of course. And the Head Priest, I think.”
He clenched his fists in the sheets. “And you work for Yorith, right? You report directly to him.”
“...Yes,” she replied slowly. “I told you so.”
“Did you tell him about my conversation with Lyrian?”
“Of course not. I only said we toured the forum and you did speak briefly with him, but also with Alania and Justice Malor.”
Ethyr stared at the silk sheet covering his lap, biting his lip.
“I’m not colluding with the High Priest, Ethyr, I promise.”
“Then why are you standing up for him? You’ve seen everything he’s done. That he’s doing.”
Poyut sighed. “Because he’s no worse than anyone else in a position of power, and he’s respected enough that I know he does his job well if nothing else.”
“So destroying innocent people’s homes is doing his job well?” Ethyr muttered.
“I didn’t say that. But he hasn’t destroyed anyone’s home.”
“Yet.”
Poyut sighed, tilting her chin down to regard him. “You know, when I met with him about this position, he asked me whether I was willing to protect the king at any cost, and under any circumstance. Even against direct orders from my superiors.”
Ethyr frowned. “He probably asks that to every King’s Guard,” he muttered.
“Maybe. But he knew the gods’ choice was going to cause tension, and even though he himself didn’t like it, he still made your safety a priority.”
“Not the safety of my family, my friends!”
“I know. I’m not saying I like him or approve of his methods. But my job is to keep you safe, and I take that very seriously. I don’t believe Lyrian is any safer an ally than Yorith.”
“How would you even know? What do you know about them?”
Poyut sighed and sat on the bed. “To be honest, not much. I was a lowly foot soldier in the Walklands for most of my career, and was only a cavalry soldier for a year before I was promoted to this position. I didn’t see Lyrian very much and never interacted directly with him, and never once saw Yorith before he chose me as King’s Guard. ”
“Then why?”
Poyut blinked curiously at him.
“Why did he choose you?”
“I’m not… completely sure. I was told he looked at the records of all recently promoted cavalry, and spoke to my superiors. He doesn’t like choosing soldiers who worked under Lyrian for too long, worried they’ll be more loyal to him.”
“Will you be the next king’s guard, then?”
“Oh,” Poyut said, surprised and shaking her head. “No. We go with the king once he’s been relieved of his duties. I’ll be your guard for life, Ethyr.”
“But…” Ethyr looked around the dark room. “If I’m no longer king, why would I need one?”
“Well, the fact that you were king can attract unwanted attention.” The back of Ethyr’s neck and knees pricked as he remembered the men who had grabbed him on the road. “And you’ll have possessions of considerable value, and a monthly stipend that is certainly enough money to provoke scheming.”
Ethyr exhaled through his nose, biting his lips. The crackling of fire filled the room, accompanied by the chirping of nightlife and the same constant, distant rush of the waterfall. Ethyr stared outside at the few twinkling points of stars he could see past the light filling the room.
“I want to go home,” he whispered. Poyut didn’t reply. “I miss my aunt. And my uncle.”
He could see them in his mind’s eye: Tebhen warming his hands over the fire as Deian cut vegetables for the porridge, while Ethyr lugged a bucket of water inside.
He would be grateful to gulp down the warm air of the hut, a reprieve from the outside chill that seared his throat and nostrils.
He never liked fetching water, but he hated it most during winter mornings, a season which always started earlier and end much later than was tolerable.
How many of those mornings had he silently cursed the chore?
He would give anything to be back there, filling and lugging as many pails as Deian wanted.
He would give anything to have chores again, to have his days occupied with activity and the collegial companionship of the other villagers.
He rested his cheek on his knee, forcing his gaze to focus on the stars and not blur.
“I miss the chickens and collecting their warm, fresh eggs. Getting headbutted by the goats when they wanted to be pet. I miss the village, and knowing everyone’s names, and being surrounded by nature instead of walls. ” His heart ached. “I miss Mikel.”
“Who’s Mikel?”
He tore his gaze from the sky, but only briefly met hers before he looked away again.
“He’s… my friend. He’s funny and sweet and he knows exactly how to cheer me up…
or piss me off.” He felt one side of his lips tilt, unable to help it.
When he looked at Poyut she was watching him with a sad, knowing smile and his collar grew hot.
“Anyway,” he said, perhaps too loudly in the quiet room, shrugging his shoulders to his ears. “I miss my old life. I don’t see how it’s fair.”
“It’s not fair,” Poyut agreed. “At least the priests have nothing to lose and everything to gain by being king.”
“And I lost everything,” Ethyr mumbled. “And the gods don’t care.” But of course they wouldn’t. Two decades to them was a blink of an eye. To him, it was a huge portion of the prime of his life, stolen. Could they even conceptualize such a thing if they wanted to?
He punched his fists into the mattress, startling Poyut, then folded over and buried his face in the blanket. After a prolonged hesitation, she rested a hand on his back and rubbed it consolingly.
When another minute had passed she gently broke the silence. “No one’s been able to find a man of your description by the name of Kyarin. But I am trying to find him.”
Ethyr pulled himself upright, wiping his face. “Thank you for trying.” He hadn’t thought the man would be found. Not easily, anyway.
Poyut gave him another sad smile and bumped her hand under his chin. “Just hang on for a little while. I’ll do what I can to convince Yorith to ease off.”
“What does it matter?” Ethyr flopped back into the pillows. “The ability to leave my room doesn’t change anything. I’m still stuck here.”
“Eventually Yorith will realize you’re not a threat or a liability and he’ll let you do what you want.”
“When is eventually?”
Poyut pressed her lips together in silent apology. She stood and patted Ethyr’s shoulder. “Get some more rest. Take one day at a time. That’s all we can do.”
He couldn’t fall back asleep after she left.
He leaned against the frame of the balcony entrance, watching the night sky, listening to the distant sounds of the waterfall.
He preferred leaning or sitting on the railing, out in the open air where he could feel like he was part of the sky and not imprisoned in the palace, but he never did it now with the guards on the ground below.
He was so sick of it all. Reminiscing to Poyut had strangled his heart with nostalgia and longing that wouldn’t fade.
Yorith wanted him to feel privileged for luxury, but he couldn’t fathom how anyone would choose trinkets and ridiculous clothing over love and companionship.
He would have chosen Deian’s squeezing hugs and Tebhen’s laugh and Mikel’s lips over all of it.
Dawn eventually filled the sky with streaks of pink and orange against the navy of night. And so another agonizing day began.
At least he had activities: lessons with Dessin for the majority of the day, and Poyut was allowed to see him and bring games.
She taught him how to play a variety of card games and two different dice games, and he taught her a hand coordination game his village played with twigs and little polished stones.
She also brought him a trinket called an ‘illusion spinner’ from the market.
Two different images on either side of a paper medallion magically combined when it was spun by the strings attached to either side of it.
He’d never seen anything like it before, and it occupied a good amount of his time as he twirled it to and fro, trying to figure out how it worked.