Kastali Dun

King Talon recognized his torment. He knew it well, for it found him as it often did. In so doing, it greeted him the way an old friend might after a long winter or distant journey. And this friend? He hated it. His heart cursed it.

Loss was not something he did well. For a king, loss meant guilt. Loss meant failure. Cyrus was his to protect. The bond they shared went deeper than blood. It was a profound connection that perhaps only mated Drengr could understand, but even then, it was different. Incomparable.

To accompany it, the rage and anger he so often wrestled with burned brightly, engulfing him within a blaze of uncontrollable emotion. He hated himself when he became like this! Yet this was how he coped. He had always been more dragon than human, and it showed. In times like these, by the gods, it showed.

Fury was easier than grief, it was easier than sorrow, though both were cowardly roads to take. Still, he took them. He took whatever he could. Life was hard enough as it was. And yet, though it was easier to be angry, it was not easier than the torment accompanying his loss. It was not easier than the guilt he felt from his failure.

The dragon side of him dominated. Such powerful emotions—not necessarily coherent and certainly not controllable—wreaked havoc on his surroundings. Most of the belongings in his private quarters had been smashed and broken. Even though wrecking them brought no comfort. He had done it anyway. Even afterward, he hadn't the heart to say the words that might make such objects whole again. He was no longer whole. The state of his living quarters was an accurate reflection of himself.

If only the gods would grant him one small mercy. He wanted nothing more than to remain locked away for eternity, never to face his duties, never to admit publicly of his errors, and most certainly, never to show how broken he felt.

A knock at his door disturbed him, sending fire through his veins. The guards knew better than to enter. He kept them terrified such that they stayed away. Ignoring the rapping nuisance, he gave no response. Instead, he sat on the torn armchair, swirling the contents of his brandy in a glass. It was the only thing that calmed him to some small measure.

His living space looked as though he had taken up his dragon form to rampage through the rooms. Maybe he had. He could not remember. Regardless, such an unflattering sight should remain private and unseen. He had no desire for anyone to behold it.

More pounding followed. He let forth a low growl in warning. Didn't the guards know better? "Leave me be!" he roared at last. And for a moment the knocking stopped. Only then, the door slowly opened.

He shot to his feet. Just as he was about to lose control and perhaps condemn a guard or two to the dungeons, Lady Saffra stepped through. Her eyes were wide as she took in the state of things. Silently, she shut the door behind her.

She was worried. He did not miss it upon her features. He frightened all, except those who mattered most to him. Saffra was young, just under twenty if his memory served him. Why should she not be afraid? Still, her obvious feelings brought only annoyance.

"I do not wish for your horrid tidings this day, Lady Saffra. You would do well to leave me before I act in a way that is not kingly." It was a trial, controlling his voice, controlling his temper.

She curtsied, clenching her skirts with her fists. "Your Grace, I—"

"Talon will do, Lady Saffra. I am no king today." He hated the respectful title she bestowed upon him. He did not deserve it.

Lady Saffra looked surprised by his words. She opened and closed her mouth several times. All the better to leave her speechless. He wanted naught to do with her. At last, she gave a small nod. "I apologize for coming to you in such a time."

"Bah!" he waved a hand. "As always you display the utmost politeness. I have not the patience for it." At that, he threw himself back into the only seat in the room, the only piece of furniture that was not otherwise destroyed. There he took up his glass once more. Saffra watched him silently, judging him harshly no doubt. But rather than run away, she remained. He gave a sigh that was more snarl than anything. "Very well, Lady Saffra, tell me what you have seen. And I swear to the gods, if it is more bad news, I will have you locked away, never to trouble me again. You bring only vexing matters that are better left for another time."

It felt good to make threats, even if they were empty. The truth was, he needed Saffra. If he was to succeed, even to a small extent in his position, he needed her greatly.

She flinched only slightly, but she did not cower away from his threat. That was a thing to be admired, surely. Though she was still very clearly apprehensive and hesitant.

"Your Grace, I have seen Reyr, Jovari, and Koldis. The gods bequeathed me with a vision of them entering the kingdom through the Gate in Kengr. With them they brought two. Cyrus, dead and wrapped in a shroud, and a woman."

"What did you say?"

Saffra repeated her words, though it was unnecessary.

"Tell me of this woman. Who is she?"

Saffra held her silence—hesitating. She was considering something. "She was a young woman, Your Grace, perhaps my age, maybe a little older. Beautiful, to be sure. With golden hair and green eyes."

"Nothing more? You do not know who she is?" She hesitated and gave her head a little shake."Huh. What a foolish thing for this woman to do. Does she wish for death?"A snarl escaped his chest. Saffra's dark eyes widened.

How dare this...this outsider? How dare this woman enter his kingdom during such a time of turmoil. Was his job not hard enough already?

"I—"

"You need not answer me, Lady Saffra." His words silenced her. Standing, he began to pace back and forth, exacting more details from Saffra about the vision until he could see the scene clearly in his mind's eye.

A single dominant theory developed within his thoughts. Reyr would have a good reason for breaking the law. He knew his Shield better than most. Reyr was honorable. For him to resort to such drastic measures—bringing an outsider into the kingdom—it could mean only one thing. It meant that this person had done something terrible enough to warrant a hard justice, a king's justice. He was muttering to himself as he ran through these ideas.

Yes, it all made sense now. This woman was responsible for Cyrus, to be sure. Rage and hate boiled up inside of him. He would kill her for this. Worse, he would make her suffer for the pain she had caused him.

"Your...Your Grace," Saffra began stuttering once she understood his intentions. "I do not believe her guilty. It would seem impossible. I beg that you reconsider your allegations."

"I did not ask for your beliefs, Lady Saffra, nor your begging." His voice was closer to a snarl. "You are a prophetess, and a young one at that. Here you stand before me, arguing against my judgement. Titles of king aside, I have walked in this world far longer than you. You would do well to hold your tongue from such decided opinions, and refrain from giving them so freely."

Saffra was quiet after that. He could see the clench of her jaw and tightness of her balled fists. In the silence, a new thought occurred to him. "Tell me, Lady Saffra, I have only just remembered. In the council chambers some days' past..." He could not remember how many, for time had spun itself together in a never-ceasing array. "What did you see when you slumped unconscious in your chair? It happened in the same moment I felt Cyrus's death. Did you witness it?"

Saffra's eyes widened briefly. She did not answer immediately.

"Answer me."

"I...I saw his body, Your Grace. I saw his dead body. His skin was the color of soot—blackened with poison."

He waited for her to say more. She was too easy to read. There was more, but why she refrained from divulging it was beyond him. Saffra was always forthcoming.

He afforded her a severe look of warning.

She flinched and then spoke, "The woman was there. She was there beside him."

"I thought as much. I needn't remind you Lady Saffra that it is a terrible crime to lie to a king."

"You are no king today," she replied at length. Her voice shook, making clear the gall it took to speak to him like this. She was beginning to view him with disgust. It was well warranted. Rather than release his fury upon her, as he most certainly would have done had it been anyone else in the room, aside from his six, he silently commended her for standing up to him. Few had the courage to.

"You are correct, Lady Saffra. Today I am nothing like a king. Now leave me."

"But..."

"But, what?!"

Saffra started. "The woman did not do anything, Your Grace! I am sure of it. She merely cried over his body. You must believe me. She is not his killer."

"Have you proof?"

Saffra shook her head and remained silent.

"I thought not. As such, I will make the decision regarding her guilt. Not you. Now go."

Saffra fled without another word.

***

Several days later, when the time came to call an assembly of his Lower Council and inform them of the recent developments, thanks to Lady Saffra, they reached the same conclusions as he. Lady Saffra stayed away from this meeting. She often did unless he required her attendance. He would have stayed away too, if such a thing were possible.

In the end, the verdict was unanimous. This woman, whoever she might be, was surely guilty of a great crime.

"You must condemn her to death, Your Grace, and kill her immediately," Sir Rosen said after hearing the information. "Such a woman is surely a great sorceress and must be eliminated."

"She is an immense danger to our kingdom," the others argued. "But surely a trial will be more fitting for our customs."

"And allow her to speak? Allow her to curse us all?" came the rebuttal from some.

In truth, he wished very badly to hear what she had to say. Though he doubted her words would be of any importance. At the least, he wanted to hear her admit to her crime. Such a declaration might bring him a measure of satisfaction.

"I will not kill her immediately," he decided at the close of their meeting. Upon hearing his verdict, the chronicler recorded his words, scratching away with his quill upon parchment. "I must think the matter over for now. As such matters go, a vote will be taken before I give you my final decision. But know this: if she is his killer, a painful death will await her. There will be no mercy."

A great deal of mumbling followed his words. Not everyone agreed with his actions. Their pesky objections taxed him, and he was eager to be alone.

Once everyone was gone, he poured himself a goblet brimming with a strong dark mead from north of Squall's End. There he sat, drinking his fill beside the firelight, surveying his surroundings. The room was orderly once more. He had finally righted it as a first step towards regaining his composure, but healing was a long way off. He could not begin to traverse such a path until all loose ends were tied.

It started with this mysterious outsider...this woman. Who was she? Why had the gods cursed him with such a burden? Entering his kingdom illegally, upsetting his Council, creating more problems than he was ready to take on. He despised her for it. Handling the death of Cyrus was terrible enough. Now this?

Still, he couldn't help the curiosity that tugged at him.

Saffra said she was beautiful. But even beauty was deceiving where magic was concerned. Yet he wondered about her, what she was about, what she might look like. He pictured golden hair and green eyes. Then he shook his head and rid himself of the distraction. He had done away with women long ago, and even the most beautiful would not tempt him.

Instead, he considered the matter at hand. By morning—which was adequate time for someone on the Council to leak the information—the entire city would be in upheaval. His citizens would demand penance for Cyrus's death, and rightly so. She was the only culprit—she would stand no chance. When the time came, justice would be their demand. He would be the one responsible for dealing it, and deal it he would.

⭐🌟 DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!!🌟⭐