Page 14 of Return of the Darkness
Upon reaching Antor, Caellum’s heart warmed as children threw flowers in their path and smiled as Sir Cain dismissed soldiers when they spotted their family in the crowds. Relief overcame their loved ones, and Caellum committed such moments tomemory. It was all he could think about as he sat in the grass with no family to return to.
At the edge of the castle estate, the early morning sun streamed through the trees and bathed his face in shadowed rays as he peered up at the treetops. He had left Sadira to rest at the castle and said he needed some time alone. She had understood, though that was no surprise. She was an extension of him at times. He had sought out Sir Cain and had guards move his parents’ bodies, taking them out of the darkness of the crypts and reuniting them with his siblings. He sat in the grass for nearly an hour, never straying his gaze from the treetops. With a deep breath, he finally averted his eyes before the sun rose too high. He needed to continue with his day and kingly duties.
A single tear rolled down his cheek. He smiled, realising the remaining rays of sun dancing through the trees shone perfectly on two headstones. Of course they would. The sun always shone on Edlen and Eve. The sisters’ graves were in the centre of the other six headstones. He smiled at their names and chuckled at the engravings; they would have ridiculed his poor handwriting. He laughed again, unable to control it. His body felt it, then, and slowly but surely his laughter dissolved into sobs. Bowing his head, Caellum cried into his velvet sleeves, permitting himself to cry. He had held it in after finding their lifeless bodies crushed under the table at the temple. He shed no tears at the funeral, either, too shocked by the realisation he would never hear Edlen and Eve’s laughter again or listen to Aurelia talk of the servant boy she liked while Caellum braided her hair or jest with his brothers as he outmatched them in sword training.
Caellum sat in silence with his dead siblings, knowing the pain that had forged their bonds had never been intentional. His father’s actions—slapping them, pushing Dalton down countless stairs and breaking his leg, sneering instead of smiling—were all involuntary. Controlled. Caellum flinched. Had a voice in the back of his father’s head tried to reason with him when he strangledAurelia for flirting with the servant boy? Did he fight the shadows in his mind when Edlen and Eve sobbed in their rooms after he starved them for three days for interrupting a meeting? Caellum sniffed and finally looked up, wiping the tears with his sleeve. His father’s headstone stood at the end of the row of eight, the mound of dirt in front of it devoid of grass from the recent reburial. Was he truly fighting Caligh’s power when he said Caellum should be his last surviving heir? Was his father proud and believing of him, despite never having voiced it aloud?
“You said he used to be happy,” Caellum murmured, looking at Aurelia’s headstone. Ivy shadowed her name, but he brushed most of it away, allowing a few strands to linger, hoping the God of Earth would acknowledge her place in Garridon, despite their contradicting origins to the throne. “When did Caligh take over his mind? I would not be here as king or live in this castle if he had not taken my grandfather’s mind too.” Caellum did not know his grandfather and hated the bitterness brewing in his stomach, as though he was to blame for allowing Caligh’s control. Had he been unsuccessful in warping Jorah’s mind, it would be Sadira here now, alone, overlooking her family’s gravestones. At least Caellum had Sadira.
“You would have liked her.” Caellum reached to brush the ivy from the twins’ headstones and trace their names with his fingertips. “She would have played hide and seek with you every Sunday; she would have grown any flower you wanted to place in your hair.” Caellum smiled at the flowers growing at the stone’s base, swaying in the wind; it was like his sisters acknowledged his presence. He looked to the left at his brothers’ headstones. “She would have kept you all in line, too. She can be commanding when she wants to be. I miss you all,” he whispered, wiping the tears from his cheeks. He imagined a gentle breeze against his cheek was instead a delicate kiss from his sister.
“They would be proud of you,” said a gruff voice from behind. Caellum sniffed but kept his eyes on their graves. He wouldrecognise Sir Cain’s voice anywhere. The crunch of gravel sounded behind him as Sir Cain made the final steps on the path before collapsing on the grass with a thud. He mirrored Caellum’s stance and rested his forearms on his knees, looking at Wren and Hestia’s gravestones. A bandage was wrapped around Sir Cain’s shoulder, who also refrained from putting weight on his left leg. Dark circles ringed his eyes and suddenly Caellum was struck by how much older he appeared while exhausted.
“You served him long before Aurelia was born,” Caellum said, turning to look at the man who had raised him when his father could not.
“I did,” Sir Cain said, scratching at the ginger scruff on his neck.
“Was he always…”
Sir Cain shook his head. “Before you were all born, we were friends,” he said. “Did I ever tell you how we met?” His eyes remained on Wren’s headstone as he continued, not waiting for an answer. “We were sixteen. I was riding through the fields between Stedon and Antor. My pa’ had pissed me off, and I needed to get out of the house. There I was, galloping free as a bird, when a white mare burst from the forest and sped across the field with a girl atop it, screaming her head off. I steered my stallion to follow, and when I caught up, I brought her to a halt and expected her to be grateful. Instead, she turned to me, red in the face, and said, ‘You’ve ruined the game!’” Looking down, Sir Cain shook his head with a chuckle. “Your father appeared then. Guiding his horse in a leisurely stroll, he called, ‘What a shame, Hestia! I didn’t catch you, so I suppose I cannot marry you.’ Back then, he acted as though he wasn’t madly in love with her, but he was. He turned to me and said, ‘You’ve done me a great favour. I owe you one.’ But I didn’t see him again for a year.” Caellum released a deep sigh, trying to picture a younger and happier version of his parents. The image did not come forth; his childhood was too dark to imagine it. “Then, I turned seventeen and wanted to enrol in the military. I needed a recommendation, so when his father paraded him around the city, Itold him he owed me. He was the son of the king’s adviser; he would be a great recommendation.” Sir Cain cleared his throat, smiling with crinkled eyes. “He grinned and signed the paper there and then. He said he’d make sure we were in the same training unit. We were inseparable from day one.”
Caellum wanted to smile at the fond memory but could not reconcile this version of his father.
“I was by his side at the wedding. By then, I’d been promoted enough times to be granted a seat at the wedding table. Was with him the day his father locked us in the manor while he usurped the throne. Your father tried to condemn the usurpation, then. I healed his wounds the day after Jorah’s coronation. I carried his parents' caskets alongside him when they died. I was outside the chambers the morning Aurelia was born. I was the fourth person to hold her, you know, after the physician, your mother, and him. Then…” Sir Cain choked on his words, glancing away.
“Something happened, something changed in him,” Caellum said. Sir Cain nodded, frowning and rubbing his hands together, as though trying to decipher what happened.
“I never knew why. He said he’d found a journal in his father’s belongings and there was something odd about it. He wanted to visit the Neutral City but wouldn’t let me accompany him. He needed to do it alone. When he came back, he was a different person. I tried to ask him what happened and what was wrong, but he said if I ever questioned him again, he would have me exiled. He commanded me to move from my chambers in the castle to the guard’s barracks and spoke to me only about military matters.” Sir Cain shook his head. “I should have fought back, especially when he started hurting you all, but if I did, I would be gone, and who would have been there to care for you and your siblings?” Sir Cain turned his head, his chin wobbling. Caellum patted him on the back.
“I would never blame you for any of it, you know that.” Sir Cain sighed and furrowed his brow, facing Caellum.
“It never made sense. He started to lose it, and I just thought he was sick.”
“What do you mean ‘lose’ it?” Caellum asked.
“He just didn’t seem right in the lead up to the explosion. I’d catch him talking to himself as he left meetings, pacing the gardens alone, and shaking his head. I just wish there was something I could have done.” Sir Cain sighed and picked at the grass by his feet. “I saw that behaviour again in Soren, right before we headed to the desert for battle.”
Caellum pulled back.
“What do you mean?”
“She was erratic like your father, talking to herself. It was like watching someone lose their sense of the real world.” Caellum tucked the information away, wondering if there was perhaps something more to Soren and Caligh’s relationship.
“There is nothing you could have done for my father. It wasn’t him,” Caellum said softly, and Sir Cain scoffed. “No, listen to me—itwasn’thim,” Caellum stressed. Sir Cain finally met Caellum’s eyes. The sun shining through the treetops highlighted his faded ginger hair. “It was Caligh. He controlled my father. It must have been when he went to the Neutral City. He must have taken over my father’s mind. It was not him, Cain. None of his actions, words, or plans from that point onward stemmed from his free will.”
Slowly, Sir Cain nodded, his shoulders relaxing. A sense of understanding brightened his eyes. “It wasn’t him,” Sir Cain whispered, looking back at the headstone. “I wish there was peace in that knowledge, lad, but instead all I am left wondering is ‘what if?’”
Chapter Eight
Nyzaia
Nyzaia was grateful Larelle and Vlad had remained longer in Tabheri. Sadira and Caellum had stayed for only one night, while Larelle and Vlad stayed two. Nerida’s queen wished for Zarya to have a full day's rest before travelling back to Mera. Vlad had stayed to give the soldiers a break before trekking through the Zivoi mountains, but as she looked at his glistening eyes now, she knew he wanted to be here to say goodbye.
While the rowdy calls and celebrations of the combined armies were a welcome distraction from the ruckus of her thoughts, Nyzaia had wanted this to be a quiet moment. Peaceful. Kazaar would not have wanted a big celebration in his honour while people with their tainted opinions feigned their commiserations. His wish was granted. There was no body to burn or ashes to place in the palace while people danced and drank in his memory. Instead, there was merely the oasis at the edge of Nefere Valley. She wished Elisara was here, so they could remember him together. Nyzaia had endless stories to share with her to help her through her grief.
She had thought of several places to say farewell to Kazaar: the canyons surrounding the Red Stones’ den, the middle of the Ashun Desert, or drinking over the edge of the docks in Myara. But one small memory lingered in the back of her mind while she had tried to decide.
It was the day after Elisara and the recruits in her unit had completed their two years of mandatory training. Vala’s princess at the time had returned to her kingdom, and Kazaar had three weeks off before the next set of recruits. After her fourth year withthe Red Stones, Nyzaia wanted to celebrate after completing her final trial with the Dealers. Whenever she completed a year with a pillar, they had the same tradition: meet at the edge of the capital and travel to Myara for a weekend of eating, drinking, cards, and, above all, laughter. There was once a time when Nyzaia was the only person Kazaar laughed with. When she sought him out in his chambers that day, the guard by his door said he had left for Nefere Valley. Unable to comprehend why, Nyzaia left on horseback to find him.
