Chapter Eleven
Tor
It was an incredibly awkward hug. Ondun’s hands came up to pat Tor on the back gingerly, probably because he wasn’t used to having a prince throw himself at him. Probably because, two years ago, Tor had been his commanding officer, captain of the guard, and nothing else.
Probably because, two years ago, Tor had drunkenly ordered this man to go into the mountains after the exiles, where, until about ten seconds ago, it was presumed he’d died.
But he was here, and he wasn’t dead, and that meant Tor was clinging on for dear life.
Pel was suddenly at his side. “Everything all right?”
Reluctantly, Tor extricated himself from the hug.
Ondun was red-faced, but he looked way less anxious now. Pel looked concerned, but thankfully more like he was worried about Tor than worried why he was hugging someone else.
Tor drew in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. His eyes were prickling with tears, and he had to blink them back.
“Yes, sorry, everything is fine. Pel, this is Ondun, one of the guards who, uh, went up the mountain in Filon two years ago.”
Pel’s eyes snapped to his. “What? Really?”
Tor nodded.
A grin grew across Pel’s face, until his eyes were alight with happiness. “Oh, Tor, I’m so glad.”
He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Tor’s waist. Tor leaned into him gratefully, the torrent of emotion flooding through him almost too much to handle.
“Are you all right?” Tor asked. “Did more of you survive?”
Ondun nodded. “Eight of us. Well, nine that night. Fremuni and Bezun were killed when we were captured. We were outnumbered, and we, uh, surrendered.”
“As you should have,” Tor assured him immediately.
Ondun looked relieved again. “They, uh, agreed not to kill us if we pledged to remain with them. We had to renounce our Fealty and promise never to leave. We agreed.”
Tension was creeping back into Ondun’s face and shoulders, and Tor hastened to reassure him once more.
“I shouldn’t have sent you up the mountain after the exiles. It wasn’t something the High King would have approved of. I should have been more alert, should have asked more questions, and should have better protected you. I failed you, and I apologize for that.”
Looking totally uncomfortable, it was Ondun’s turn to reassure Tor, “It’s all right. You were following orders, and so were we.”
Swallowing bile, Tor made himself confess, “No, I messed up. I thought the letter from the High King ordered me to send you after the exiles, but it actually ordered me not to send you after them.”
Ondun’s brow furrowed. “No, it didn’t.”
Tor blinked at him. “What?”
Ondun stared back. “The letter ordered you to send guards after the exiles.”
Tor’s breath caught, and Pel’s arm tightened around his waist.
“How do you know that?” he demanded, way too harshly.
Ondun flinched, and red crept up his cheeks and ears.
Blowing out a breath, Tor said, “Sorry. I, uh, I’ve spent the last two years with the knowledge that I somehow misread that letter and sent twelve people to their deaths.
In the morning, the only letter in my tent clearly ordered me not to send anyone after the exiles.
Everyone said I was drunk and must have imagined the other letter, the one I remember. ”
Most of the tension eased out of Ondun as a look of understanding crossed his face. He still looked… chagrined? He cleared his throat.
“In that case, the important thing you need to know is that I absolutely did not sneak into the High Prince’s tent looking for a piece of paper so I could write my little sister a letter before I went off after the exiles, because I’d solemnly promised her I’d write after the fight, and I’d realized I had no paper. ”
Tor stared blankly at him for a moment, and then he let out an incredulous bark of laughter.
“Understood. The High Prince totally does not mind that you were not sneaking into his tent.”
Ondun smiled a little uncertainly at him, but he seemed reassured by Tor’s amusement, and he gave up trying to talk in the negative.
“I saw the letter on the desk when I grabbed the paper. We were gathering to head out, so there was no time, so I dashed off a few lines to my sister, and I couldn’t help but compare my handwriting to your letter writer, and then I realized it was the High King, so of course he had nice handwriting, and then I realized it was the order to go after the exiles—at which point I realized just how foolish what I was doing was, and how much trouble I could get into, and I got out of there as fast as I could.
But it definitely ordered you to send guards after the exiles.
A decisive victory that would prevent further calamities, I think it said. ”
Tor’s knees went weak, and Pel’s arm around him tightened even further, like he was actually trying to hold Tor up now. He let out a shaky breath. Tor had still messed up. He should have been sober enough to question that order.
But it had been two years of everyone telling him he was wrong. Not even Pel had suggested he’d read the letter right—not that Tor was blaming him for that, since it would mean…
Since it would mean that Tor had been deliberately set up, and up until recently, the idea hadn’t so much as crossed any of their minds.
Now it seemed all too plausible that he’d been sent a false letter that had then been replaced with the real one.
How many people were involved in this? Of course, if it was Yomil or Fernila, they’d both have relatively easy access to…
everything, really. Someone had to be bribed heavily to swap letters like that, probably, but Tor supposed that if you believed you were able to remake the world order, someone could be convinced to join your side for promises of wealth or power.
Or maybe they just hadn’t liked Tor or hadn’t realized what was planned or what it would cost.
He’d probably never be certain. But thanks to Ondun, Tor knew that he hadn’t imagined things. He’d always maintained that he’d seen that original letter, but there had been days where he’d doubted everything, including himself.
He swallowed against the lump in his throat.
“Thank you. I, uh, I was really starting to think I must have made it up, despite what I remembered.” He cleared his throat. “But I should still have been more discerning when it came to what you were being asked to do, and I’m sorry I put you in this position.”
Ondun hesitated for a moment. “Do you think I might be able to contact my family now?”
Desperate hope swelled through Tor like a tide. Goddess, he hoped so. Ondun’s mention of his sister had made Tor remember. She’d been so young when Tor had gone to tell them that Ondun had been killed. Maybe only seven or eight. There had been so many tears.
The idea that Tor hadn’t been responsible for the death of her big brother was almost too much to wrap his brain around.
“I will do my utmost to make that possible,” Tor promised Ondun solemnly. “I’m not sure how my brother is going to take any of this, but I like to hope that even if he’s not all right with me taking the Fealty, he’d let all of you return home. None of this was your fault.”
Of course, citizens were forbidden from pledging their Fealty to someone who wasn’t the ruler of what had become the United Realms, so it was also possible that Varex would take a dim view of everything.
But Tor really, really hoped not. He was willing to be the scapegoat and take on all of the guilt if it meant that everyone else was spared—as long as it didn’t hurt Pel and the baby, of course.
Tor swallowed again. “I’m so glad that you’re all right. I’d like to talk to you and the others properly, I’m just not totally sure when that will be possible.”
“I understand,” Ondun told him, though he looked a little disappointed, which Tor couldn’t blame him for. “I know there’s a lot going on right now.”
So much more than Ondun knew.
“Would you still like to pledge your Fealty?” Tor asked. “Zero hard feelings if you’ve had enough of me.”
Honestly, after everything Tor had put them through, avoiding him would make perfect sense.
Ondun met his eyes squarely. “Maybe you didn’t make the best decision back then, but you were following orders just like we were.
We could all have made different choices, but we didn’t.
And I think we both learned a lot over the last two years.
I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to pledge my Fealty to you. ”
Could lumps in the throat get stuck there permanently?
“Thank you,” Tor croaked. “I’ll do everything I can to live up to that trust, I promise.”
Ondun nodded solemnly and reached out with his clasped hands. Tor settled his on top, and a moment later, the Fealty had been pledged.
It felt a little more like stealing a citizen from his brother than it had before this moment, except that Ondun’s Fealty had already been renounced.
And it did happen, people deciding to move between realms for whatever reason, though it wasn’t common.
If they made the move permanent, they were meant to change their Fealty.
Tor had never really thought about how many might just…
slip over a border and not say anything.
It was technically possible, at least. Did that feeling of home being home compel people to be accurate with their Fealty?
Or did the overarching Fealty from the rulers of the United Realms to Varex as the High King smooth the way?
Tor had certainly felt at home the months he’d been in Tond—though he assumed that had more to do with his single-minded attention to Pel than anything else.
The next person came, and then the next, and the next, and Tor tried to concentrate on the present.
Pel found him more food and drink. As the night wore on, all nine of the guards who’d gone over the mountain pledged their Fealty to Tor, and he apologized to each of them.
If they were angrier than Ondun, they didn’t let on now.
And he supposed that if they were really angry, they probably wouldn’t have pledged to him.