43 lines
No EOL
2.3 KiB
Markdown
43 lines
No EOL
2.3 KiB
Markdown
The courtyard below was a study in ritualized despair.
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King Aran of Talpis stood surrounded by his remaining honor guard, the black antlers of the royal crest stitched across their cloaks, their spears dull with soot. No drums. No cheering crowd. Just the soft crunch of boots on snow and the occasional jangle of mail. The pageantry was performed for no one, save memory.
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Telaryn turned from the ledge as her father ascended the outer stair. His breath smoked in the air before him, his face drawn and pale against the fur-lined mantle. She saw the tremor in his hands, though he tried to hide it in the folds of his cloak.
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“Daughter,” he said, his voice a brittle thing. “You shouldn’t be alone up here.”
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“I wasn’t,” she answered. “Alisha left when the trumpets sounded. She didn’t want to see it.”
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The king gave a small grunt—approval, amusement, or sorrow, she couldn’t tell. He moved to stand beside her, looking out over the smoking rooftops. The firelight danced across the city like fever.
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“You mean to ride,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
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“I must,” he replied.
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“No. You want to.”
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Silence. Then: “Would you have me rot behind stone, waiting for the legions to pull me out like a rat from a hole?”
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She didn’t answer. He continued.
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“There are vows older than this war. Older than our walls. My grandfather swore never to die in chains, nor beneath another’s banner. So did I.”
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“Then die,” she said, the words burning her throat. “But don’t call it duty. Don’t pretend it’s for us.”
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The wind caught his cloak and flung it out behind him, as if the mountain itself wanted to pull him away.
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“You think me proud?” he asked. “Do you think I don’t know how this ends?”
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“I think you would rather die a legend than live a man.”
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He turned to her, and for a moment—just a moment—she saw the tiredness beneath the steel. The cracked foundation of a king built too tall.
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“If I fall today, they will remember me for what I tried to protect.”
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“And if you lived,” she asked, voice low, “would they not remember what you built instead?”
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He said nothing. Only reached up and touched her face, a gesture that belonged to a warmer season, a different life.
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“You are my legacy,” he said. “Not these stones.”
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Then he turned and descended the steps, footsteps vanishing into the snow. |