Plague's: Fiction

"Devon and Damien"

Chapter 4: Act 1 Act 2 Act 3

Chapter 6: Act 1

Shadows crept across the earth as moonlight methodically pierced the canopy of trees. The young girl waited, a group of crickets her only companions. Their song provided no comfort for her; she held her breath, determined to be ready for any approaching footsteps.

“He is late,” she thought. In all honesty, she was surprised that he had even agreed to meet her. She had her predictions about his reaction… she had come prepared to die. He would never accept this.

Finally, one could hear the sound of approaching hoof beats. Four riders slowly approached, three of them holding torches. It was obvious who the fourth was. As he dismounted his horse, his royal crest shone beneath his cloak in the firelight.

He approached her, not bothering with pleasantries. “You have no idea how honored you should be, my dear.”

The sight of his arrogant smile infuriated her. Nevertheless, she spoke calmly. “I am truly surprised you agreed to see me; I assumed you were with your new bedfellow.”

By this time, the three torchbearers had dismounted and fallen in line behind him. “Do you dare speak with such disdain to your king?” one of them asked.

The king shrugged him off. “It is all right, Commander. My ego needs no rubbing… let the woman have her say.”

The woman took a deep breath, obviously nervous. “I will make this short, for I will not feign dignity to one who does not deserve it.”

The king waved his hand. “Well, speak. As you know, I have other matters to attend to.”

“I’m pregnant.” There, she said it. She had rehearsed this moment for the last week, knowing both the risk and potential of this moment.

The king did not respond. Instead, he glared at her with an indifference that pierced her soul far more than any injury he could inflict on her.

The king shrugged and turned to his torchbearers. “I fail to see how the improprieties of a little whore affect me?”

The girl felt her fear subside. Instead, she was prepared to rail him with all the anger and misery that she had been forced to keep inside. “So I am a whore now that you are finished with me? Indeed, I regret ever touching you! I am guilty of whoredom… of selling myself… my emotions, feelings, and love to you. All for nothing!”

The king’s countenance was a mixture of anger and confusion. “For what purpose do you tell me these things? Is this a form of blackmail?”

“I ask a favor, my lord.” When he did not respond, he continued. “I realize that my life will probably be forfeit for even divulging this information; most likely you will not let me see the morning. But I am asking anyway: I want you to give our child a home.”

“O...our child?”

“I have nothing. You realize this. I care nothing about my life. To me, death would be welcome, but only after the child is born. I ask that you allow the child to be raised in your kingdom.”

“My…my kingdom? Lydia, do you realize what you are asking?”

She started crying. “But my lord, he is your child!”

Rage filled the king’s eyes. “I will not have a bastard as my child! You know that Isabel is pregnant; she will give me an heir… not a two-bit seamstress!”

She then looked him in the eyes, as if attempting to bring forth some shred of humanity.

“Cyrus, please… I cannot provide for a son.”

The king violently grabbed her, as if the invoking of his name caused him to snap. “And what would you have me do? Shall I dismiss the queen and invite you into my bed? Or perhaps, as you say, I simply raise the child as my own. Even if the people did not know, the queen would never accept this! She would ruin me. The monarchy would soon crumble.” He nodded and stepped back. “I am sorry, my dear, but I can do nothing for you.”

Lydia shook her head, sobbing. “I can’t see how a human being can disregard his own child. How can you be so cold and calloused?”

The king sighed, as if he did not necessarily like his own answer. “Many years of politics and compromises.” The king thought for a few more moments. “I am afraid I cannot allow you to ever enter Boria again. I will provide you with a monetary supplement that will be adequate for you and your child to survive on.”

Although she did not want to cede to his decision, Lydia was tired of arguing and begging. She was also just tired… fatigued. She nodded slowly and attempted to compose herself.
It was decided then; some of the king’s men would escort her out of the kingdom secretly the following night. The king had no reason to fear that she would run; after all, she needed the money that the king’s men would be carrying.

The following night, as she waited by the door of her little cottage, one thought continually ran through Lydia’s mind. She kept saying it to herself, as if rehearsing it for a future performance. Over time, this thought became her obsession. It became her motivation, and saying it began to make her feel that somehow she was punishing and paying back the king for what he had done. Her hatred for the king festered, and she often turned back to this thought as her child grew. The thought was simply, “I will raise this child.”

While many commoners tend to look at the life of a royal family with envy, they usually fail to take into account the unique pressures and stresses that come with being the king (or related to him). Certainly, these pressures did not escape the royal family of Hessea. It was no secret, however, that Faleaon was not an “ordinary” king. Arranged marriages and politically motivated “family planning” were the norm: marriages existed to solidify political alliances and children were born solely to perpetuate the line. Certainly this cannot be said of every monarchy in antiquity; but it was the tradition.

Faleaon, however, was different. His father was appalled when Faleaon rejected an arranged marriage and chose to marry a common woman. The fact that he used the word “love” simply added fuel to the fire.

When he ascended the throne, Faleaon quickly became popular because of his compassionate, approachable nature. In a world of democracies, Hessea remained a monarchy because of Faleaon himself. His passion, charisma, and respect for the common man showed that the monarchy could still work.

Faleaon approached parenthood with the same compassion and accessibility. He counteracted the belief that kings are kings first and fathers second. His three children, Nathan, Joram, and Joanna, always knew they could see their father. He also encouraged them to establish their own identities as people, not just as princes and princess.
Therefore, Faleaon tried his best to alleviate the pressures of royal life. He especially held a place in his heart for Joanna. From the time she was born, he secretly treasured her above both his firstborn son and her twin brother. Especially after his wife’s death, he did not want her to become frustrated and resentful of her royal upbringing. He wanted her to be, first and foremost, a woman. He encouraged her femininity (in a castle devoid of many women) and never forced a suitor on her. In fact, when he found out that she and his talented First General had feelings for each other, he encouraged the relationship and treated Devon Tristam like a son.

Joanna was not sure what first attracted her to Devon. She was certainly impressed with his maturity, for he was the youngest man ever to attain the position of First General. Devon’s appointment to the position had been a bit of a surprise, for, although he was never shy, he was quiet and unassuming. When necessary, Devon became vocal and commanded respect from his officers, but Joanna noticed that he emanated a dignity and wisdom that belied his age. He was expected to be polite to her, as everyone was. But she could tell that there was something different in his address of her as “Milady.” He treated her with respect not just because she was the king’s daughter; he treated her with respect as a person, as a woman.

Joanna now stood on the balcony of the castle, eagerly watching the townspeople go about their day. The townspeople, in turn, expected to see the king’s daughter standing in her usual spot every day, observing a life that she had never known. She smiled as she saw several young men walking around in their finest garments; it had become tradition for young men of the town to gallivant the town square in their finest threads in an attempt to gain a quick notice from the princess watching from the balcony. Surely they understood the futility of this practice, but the thought of catching Joanna’s eye for even just a second motivated them to keep trying. Even so, Joanna was engaged. It was not common for a princess to be engaged twice in her life… the first of which she refused to think about any longer.

When she stood on the balcony, she often did a great deal of thinking. This day was no exception. She was greatly troubled. No doubt, the investigation into her brother’s death weighed heavily on her mind. Still, she could not help but think about something… else. She cursed herself for thinking so selfishly, for thinking about her own future rather than justice for Nathan’s murder. But she could not escape thoughts of the man who had re-entered her life.

She hated him… she abhorred him for how he had left her. He had been so cold and sudden in his dealings with her years ago. She had moved on, prepared to marry Prince Jerrod of Boria. Did she love him? Not really, but he was a dignified man, a natural born leader and heir to the throne of Boria. Besides, the man she had loved did not love her anymore.

Herein lied the conflict for Joanna. When she saw Devon for the first time several days ago, she could see something in his eyes. Not just eyes of regret… but something else. What exactly, she couldn’t pinpoint… but it was enough to cause her to approach him about finding her brother’s killer. She felt inclined to still trust him somehow.

Her father only complicated matters by telling her that she’d have to make a decision. “You need to get this settled once and for all between you and Devon before you make any final decisions,” he had told her. “Seize the opportunity.” Certainly, her father always liked Devon; and although he respected Prince Jerrod, the king himself was never a big fan of political marriages.

She wanted to curse Devon for coming back into her life, but then she realized that it was she who had asked him a favor. And although it did not ease the struggle and agony in her soul, she finally came to a conclusion… she needed to talk to Devon… she needed to know why he had left her five years ago.

Devon Tristam and Damien Reklaw made their way back to the dining hall, unsure of the proceedings that lay before them. Only Everson and his servant Joshua were present in the dining hall. Three places were adorned at the table, with each having a drinking glass and basket of steaming hot rolls.

Everson beckoned them to sit down and smiled. “I assure you, gentlemen, you have not lived until you have tried this bread. A recipe of my first wife… probably her finest asset!”
Neither Devon nor Reklaw found this particularly humorous; they felt obliged, however, to at least try their host’s offerings. Devon hated to admit that Everson was right… the bread was delicious.

Everson motioned for Joshua to leave them. When he had closed the doors, he turned to his two guests and smiled. “Gentlemen, as you can tell, I am a very accommodating person. I take pride in my guests… it is my philosophy that business should be transacted in an informal, friendly demeanor and atmosphere.”

Reklaw nodded and took a sip of his drink. “We are honored by your graciousness, sir.”
Everson threw up his hands. “Well, gentlemen, let us get down to business. I hope that you have not been offended by the delay. You must understand that I do not do business with just anyone; and as you know gentlemen, I have my hands in many things: commerce, politics, information, ‘companionship’… just to name a few.” It is in both my own and my clients’ best interests to remain cautious until I discover with whom I am dealing.” He poured himself a drink and raised his glass. “Plus, I enjoy getting to know people. Cheers.” Reklaw and Devon returned the gesture, raising their glasses of crimson ale.

Devon wanted to let both Everson and Reklaw know that he did not want to be a passive observer in this meeting. “Shall we begin, then?” he asked.

Everson nodded. “Gentlemen, I am at your disposal. To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

“We are here for information,” Reklaw stated quickly, shooting Devon a glance as if to say, “I’ll take it from here.” He pulled a bag out of his pocket. “We are prepared to offer 10,000 gold pieces. This is a down payment of 1,000.” He slid the bag across the table to Everson.
Everson scratched his chin and examined the bag, as if trying to determine how much money it contained. Devon once again felt the need to add something to the conversation. “I am sure this sum is not much to you, but it is a hefty sum nonetheless.”

Everson appeared deep in thought; he finally nodded. “You will be pleased to know that you still have my attention, sirs.”