The ale was sour. The corner dark. The banter around him unamusing.
All just like his mood.
“The gale continues. That wind be something of a blessing: strong, straight, and true,” said one sailor.
“Just like our king with his new queen!” shouted another.
An uproar rose from the gallery. Even the cooks in the kitchen heard the crude joke, adding their chuckles. Only Gerry remained apart, raising his stein to his lips for a long, long draught.
“Best mind your tongue,” advised one sailor, whose lack of slurred speech conveyed the right of his thoughts.
Finally, Gerry thought. Some sense.
“Bah,” replied the jokester. “The officers don’t care what we say down here.”
“But up on deck –”
“Her moaning will drown out the lot of us!”
The laughter exploded. As did Gerry. He slammed his stein onto the table and shot from his seat. He made a line toward the drunk buffoon – intent on shutting his mouth for good – when a set of strong hands grabbed ahold of him, ushering him to the stairs.
Gerry shook his shoulders to try to break free before realizing the quarters swayed back and forth. The jolt to his feet had been too sudden considering the ale he had consumed. His stability compromised, he leaned into the Voiceless guiding him, who had picked up on Gerry’s need for support.
The two emerged onto the main deck, where the swift sea air invigorated Gerry. He inhaled, the sweet wind cleansing him. And without further provocation, he retched.
“Aaargh!” the Voiceless exclaimed, the guttural sound rising.
“I’ll take him from here,” Symon offered, nodding to the knight’s now-soiled boots. “Go, clean up.”
The Voiceless obliged as Symon guided Gerry to the railing. There, Gerry proceeded to spew the contents of his day.
“Impressive,” Symon began as Gerry vomited his last. “You made a mute man speak. Not much different from their grunts during training, but still.”
“More jokes,” Gerry sputtered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He slumped down to the floor. “Don’t you start.”
“You all right, little brother?”
“How, how could he? How could she?”
“‘Tis our duty, remember?”
“You didn’t –”
“We were attacked that night.”
“But before, during your truth session, you said you couldn’t –”
“That was different. Had I . . . not been interrupted, I would have done my duty. Understood?”
Gerry nodded, though he didn’t believe him. Then again, he could hardly comprehend anything. “I need a drink.” He propped himself on his hands, about ready to rise.
“No, no. You’ve had enough.”
“You’re not the king of me!” Gerry, somehow, stumbled to his feet.
“I am,” Symon insisted as he wrapped his arms around him.
“More ale.”
“No.”
“Then wine.”
“No.”
“Well, give me something.”
“I will.”
A moment later, the cold rush enveloped him. Gerry opened his mouth to scream, only to have his cries drowned. His breath burst into bubbles around his face. He wrestled against the firm grip of his brother’s hands on his head and shoulders. Finally, Symon relented, allowing Gerry to fall away from the water barrel.
“What the hell was that?!” Gerry demanded from the ground, soaked from the shoulders up.
“A lesson.”
“In what?”
“Public display.” Symon extended his hand. Gerry took it begrudgingly, only to be propped back onto his feet in an instant with Symon’s strong pull. “Never get drunk while in disguise. Never.”
“But Ely does that all the –”
“Ely knows how to control himself, even when drunk. Him acting on his control, well, that’s a different matter entirely, as Dawkin would say.” Symon jabbed Gerry with his finger. “You, on the other hand, can’t control your spirits.”
“I can. A little.”
“You can’t.”
“I’m just, I . . .” Gerry gestured toward the King’s cabin. His shoulders slumped, defeated.
“Understood.” Symon patted Gerry on the shoulder. “Your disguise washed off. Come, before anyone sees you.”
Minutes later, in the privacy of their alcove within the Voiceless’ quarters, Gerry slipped a dry shirt over his head. As he tied the tassels, Symon offered him a warm mug of tea.
“Drink.”
Gerry raised it to his lips, then paused.
“Did you . . .”
“No fading potion. Nothing in it but honey and the brew of leaves. Honest.”
“Maybe there should be.” Gerry took a sip. “I should all but forget tonight ever happened.”
Symon pulled up a stool and sat across from him. He leaned in, placing his elbows on his knees. “Gerry, I know it’s hard –”
“Do you love her?”
“What?”
“Taresa.”
“I know who you’re referring to, I just, I . . .”
“She was my first. I know you and Ely and even Dawkin have had other women before, both as the Prince and in your excursions from Terran, but I haven’t.”
“Really? Come now. You spoke of visiting brothels and taverns when going out on your own, in disguise.”
“Lies. All of them. Sure, I went out hidden in one of Ely’s ridiculous fronts and came back to tell of some misadventure. But twas a ruse. I never lay with another. I only drank and sulked in the corner of those establishments, reporting of what others did, never of myself.”
“Gerry, we all think we love the first one we lay with. But such feelings pass.”
“Do they? Always? She isn’t some whore from a tavern. I’ll see her for the rest of my life. What I feel . . . it won’t fade. Just the opposite. It’ll grow stronger. I know it.”
“Then, Taresa, she means something to you?”
“Aye.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. Perhaps you care for her. And Dawkin. Maybe even one day Ely, that rotten bastard. Still, you don’t know what it’s like. To carry the burden of –”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I didn’t finish.”
“Nor will you.” Symon rose to pace. “Gerry, we share the same burden. Us four. No one else will ever know the responsibility we share. People look at us and think we have only the good life. They never consider the stress we feel as baron after baron laments at our court. Or how we must make decisions that affect not only our kin but our kingdom. Then in battle or conflict, they never have to see those we command, then lose . . . the dead we see . . .”
Symon paused, leaning against the wall across from him. Though the light was low, a host to dimness and shadows, Gerry knew it alone could not account for the mood he saw. The blood drained from his façade. The drooping mouth. The sunken eyes.
“You know what day it is?”
Gerry shook his head.
“It’s been a year.”
The shock thundered through his consciousness, such his worry over Taresa abandoned him.
How could I have forgotten? Idiot! I of all my brothers should have remembered. Mar, I discovered his body. I was there . . . I was there . . .
The deluge of that fateful night sank in, overwhelming him. The bloodied sheets. The gasps of the knights and the cries of the attendants who crowded at the doorway. The mangled flesh . . . of his . . . of his . . .
Tears cascaded down his cheeks as his nose ran and his mouth quivered.
Symon bent his head down, knowing he had touched a nerve, of a wound that had never healed. He dipped his hand into his breast pocket to retrieve a handkerchief, which he extended to Gerry.
“Like I said,” Symon whispered as Gerry took his cloth. “I see.”
“Dear Mar,” Gerry said, dabbing his cheeks and nose. “Father. I recall him, in that wretched moment, as if it was happening before us, right now. And yet, so much has passed since then, it also seems like ages ago.”
“Much has passed.”
A king’s year is a peasant’s lifetime. “Aye. Now look at us.” Suddenly, through the remnant of his tears, Gerry chuckled.
“What?”
“Such fools we are! We lost our father, became kings, married into a family who hates us, and traveled to a country where death has stalked us at every corner, and we still can’t bother to get along. Honestly, how did Father put up with us all those years?”
Symon grinned. “True. If he had stuck with us, to see what we’ve done, what we have become, how we sulk about our trials – He would have flogged the lot of us. With Ely alone, his arm would have tired from inflicting his discipline. Seems we haven’t matured much since our younger days.”
“We’re as green as ever.”
“Still, I wish Father was around to see us.”
“Aye. In spite of my sniveling, I’m sure he’d manage a grin. For all our faults, our mistakes, we somehow secured the coronation of King Jameson. And a queen, on top of it. Within the year, if it can be believed. For all we’ve endured becoming whatever – or whomever – we are now, Father would be proud.”
Clang! Clang!
Both Symon and Gerry perked. The main deck bell outside rang. Footfalls beyond their cabin pounded and shuffled. Amidst the commotion, a familiar voice rose.
“Lower the dinghy!”
“Ely?” Gerry stammered.
Symon threw a hooded cloak to Gerry, not bothering to wait for him to put it on. With haste, he made for the door.
“What in the bloody hell?” Symon uttered.
On deck, they found a ringlet encircling Ely, who rang the brass bell at its center. Sailors and servants alike stared at their sovereign, then each other, unsure of how to act or what to say. It took Captain Danyll wedging his way to the head of the crowd before Ely finally relented.
“Oh, there you are,” Ely said.
“Your Majesty,” Danyll began, appearing equal parts annoyed and befuddled. “What is the matter?”
“My good sir, this ship is the matter.”
“Forgive me, My King. Do you care to elaborate?”
“It is much too far from our fellow galleons. A king needs to be able to access all of his fleet at a moment’s notice. I mean, this mist which obscures might as well be a wall of fog, seeing as I can’t see the next ship.”
Now strictly agitated, the Captain approached Ely, to stand directly in front of him. “Your Majesty, our ships are at your command, as are we, your faithful crew. While out of your immediate view, I assure you, the fleet is but a signal away.”
“Pray tell, good captain, if my fleet is so close, how long would it take for me to reach them?”
“In the event Your Majesty would need to disembark, reaching the next ship would take only a matter of a minute or two, with the support of a small rowing crew, of course.”
“Very well. See to it.”
“My King.” Danyll cleared his throat. “May I ask why you need to leave now?”
“If you must,” Ely sighed. “Ask.”
“Why must you disembark now, Your Majesty?”
“Good sir, a king cannot wait until court is in session to rule – what with the frivolities of a crown on his head, a scepter in hand and all that sort. The moment to serve, to reign, can happen at any moment, at any time, whether it be during court, at supper, even in the middle of the night. Do you follow?”
“Aye, Your Majesty.”
“On that accord, a king operates much the same way in all aspects of his life. His sleep patterns vary from that of the ordinary man. His eating habits can change. As his moods. And desires.”
Captain Danyll raised a brow though he continued to listen. Others among the crew did likewise, while Gerry shared a look of bewilderment with Symon. Where the bloody hell is he going with this? Gerry thought.
“It so happens this is the case with me, your beloved leader,” Ely continued, oblivious to the stupefied crowd around him. “Such a fancy struck me just now, whilst you dined or rested. My mind, it began to run. A longing, a passion, to be among all my people, thundered within. You have had the privilege of being in my presence since we left Arinn to pick up my queen before heading home. But what of the others? Those who crew the other galleons and support vessels? The barons and members of the court who came to represent Greater Marland? Even the multitude of servants, from the refined attendants to the lowly maidens. They need to feel my presence.”
Oh, for the love of Mar. Gerry dropped his head, the cowl obscuring his face as he shook his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers to further hide his embarrassment. He glanced at his left to find Symon – his jaw clenched, his skin red – seething at their brother.
“Remember what you told me,” Gerry whispered. “Public display.”
“I’ll display him all right,” Symon replied softly. “How dare he!”
“He’s only . . .” Seriously, what is he thinking? “He’s Ely. He can’t help it sometimes.”
“He has a wife in his bed and still he can’t stop whoring around for one night. And as King Jameson!”
“Shhh!”
“He is acting as the Throne. As all of us.” Symon glared at Ely. “He should be with Taresa. Not about to leave her.”
At the mention of her name – and in consideration of Ely’s departure – Gerry smiled.
The winches rotated to life as the crew lowered Ely and four accompanying rowers in the dinghy to the water below. The vessel splashed lightly as the small team pushed off the side of the flagship with their oars, with Ely at the bow of the dinghy, sweeping his arm as if commanding a warship in the heat of battle.
“Man the oars, gentlemen! See we arrive at the next ship in haste, for she awaits us! What is her name again?”
“The Blessed Virgin,” answered one of the sailors.
“Oh,” Ely replied, pausing. “Well, not for long. Am I right? Am I right?”
The four oarsmen laughed, albeit awkwardly. From above, Captain Danyll stood at the railing with the remainder of the crew and passengers, watching as their sovereign rowed away.
“Our glorious sovereign,” Danyll said, though not so loudly that those in the rowboat below could hear him. “He’s gone mad tonight, I fear.”
“King Fool,” muttered a sailor, hidden amongst the crowd.
“No sedition on my ship,” Danyll chastised, at the same time realizing his folly. He leaned back from the railing to glance over his shoulder, finding First Mate Josson to his right. “Get the men below deck. Gawking at His Majesty will not be permitted.”
“You heard the Captain,” Josson bellowed. “Back to your business. Any man found wasting his time up here will earn half rations and double shifts for the rest of the voyage. Go on, now!”
The masses scattered, with Symon heading back to the knights’ quarters. Gerry trailed behind him for a bit – but with Symon stewing, not look back – he fell away. He considered his options, his gaze gravitating toward the stairs leading to the sterncastle.
Moments later, he knocked on her door.
“Go away!”
Gerry cleared his throat. “My Queen,” he uttered, attempting to sound as much as his regal self as possible.
A patter of muffled footfalls followed before the door opened. Taresa’s handmaiden, Celia, stood aside to allow him to enter. Even the suppressed look of a servant at that moment was enough to put Ely to shame.
“You may leave,” Taresa said to Celia.
Ely entered, stepping aside to allow the handmaiden to pass. Celia curtsied. She slinked past Ely.
“Lady Celia.”
Celia paused under the frame, looking back to Taresa.
“Thank you.”
“Your Majesty.” Celia curtsied once more to Taresa. She turned to Ely. “King Jameson.” She closed the door behind her.
Ely peered out from under the rim of his cowl. Taresa, shocked and angry, met him. The left strap of her white nightgown had been ripped, though the rest of her clothing appeared unruffled. Her eyes wide and bloodshot, the skin around them slightly swollen, she glared at Gerry.
“Remove your hood. I want a good look at you,” she insisted.
Gerry lifted his head. He pulled back the edge of his cowl.
No sooner had it fell to his shoulders when her hand slapped his cheek.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” she asked, standing in the doorway, unwilling to let him inside.
“No.”
“I thought not.” She slammed the door in his face.
“Damn it, Ely,” Gerry cursed beneath his breath.
“What was that?” Taresa said from the other side of the door.
“I said I’m sorry,” he lied.
“You can be a real bastard sometimes. You know that?”
“Aye. You have the right of it.”
“How could you?”
“I’m sorry.” Gerry tilted his head back, his mind racing. How the hell am I going to pull this off? Whatever had transpired between Taresa and his brother remained unknown to him. He did not have the advantage of Ely’s truth session, so he could not pretend to recall any conversation or experience they had shared. What’s more, he dare not walk away from her now, lest he anger her further.
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
“Yes?”
The door swung open. Taresa glared at him, her surprise at his return having faded, replaced in full by fury. “Seriously?! You have nothing else to say?”
At once, he truly felt sorry. Not for what Ely had done. No, it was for the loss he felt, the mourning of the connection he had shared with Taresa their first night together. Staring into her eyes, he knew it no longer persisted. Whether due to Ely’s folly, or his general absence from her, their bond had faded from existence.
“Forgive me.” He met her glare, never wanting to turn aside. “I failed you.”
Unprepared for his earnestness, Taresa relented. She stepped back, allowing him to enter.
Gerry’s eyes fell to the bed. The top comforter and sheets had been pulled away, exposed the lining beneath. Beside the bed, shards of a shattered goblet littered the floor while on the nightstand a carafe of wine lay upturned, its contents dripping onto the puddle beneath. Whatever Ely had tried with her, he had done so in his classic style of haste.
“I thought you left,” Taresa said, crossing her arms.
“For good?”
“You threatened to leave the ship, saying you needed some time to think. You went on and on about someone taking your place, what was meant to be yours, whatever that bloody well meant.”
“I did. I . . . I needed time to return to my senses, ‘tis all.”
“Well, how kind of you to choose the most opportune moment to take your leave.”
Damn it, Ely. Gerry rubbed his right temple. “My dear . . . I apologize, I mean, in all the excitement of our night, did we, um . . .” He motioned to the bed.
“Honestly, how drunk were you?”
“It wasn’t the drink. Just my general mood. My disposition.”
“No, you damn idiot. We didn’t lay together!”
Thank Mar. “I see.”
“James, what is with you tonight? You couldn’t control yourself with me. We nearly . . . started . . . until I told you . . .”
Taresa cradled her head in her hands as she wept. Gerry, in witness to her pain, approached her. Still wary, he held out his hands, ready to comfort her. If she would allow it.
“Taresa, the whole memory of these past several minutes is a blur. The whole night, in fact.”
“Do you really expect me to –”
“He died. A year ago to this day. My father.”
Gerry’s hands fell to his sides. Taresa straightened, a sense of shame, albeit small, welling within her.
“James, I’m sorry. I had forgotten.”
“Aye, so had I. The whole day nearly passed without me thinking of him. Til tonight.”
Taresa took his hands in hers. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure of it myself.”
“Understandable. I’m sorry.”
“You needn’t apologize. I have a habit of reacting poorly at the worst possible times. As you’ll come to learn.”
“Well, still, in light of what today means, I should have chosen another day to tell you . . .”
“Tell me now.”
“What? Again?”
“We’ll reset the clock. Pretend this never happened. Please. Let us have a chance to do this right.”
“This seems ridiculous.”
“I’ll act as if I never heard your news before.” For I haven’t. “Anything and all which is on your mind, I want you to tell me.”
Gerry strode to the bed, to sit on its edge. He patted the space next to him, inviting Taresa. She smirked, taking her place by his side.
“Tell me. Everything.”
“As you wish. You recall our visit to my great uncle’s manor?”
“I remember. How could I forget?”
“Well, we went there together . . . And we left with another.”
Gerry cocked his head. “Another?”
“I am with child.”396Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlHp8mhSWaX
