The first red haze of dawn settled in shimmering fog across the castle, the final stars fading into the biting cold of a new spring day. Breath rose in frozen clouds from the mouths of grumbling and complaining soldiers, tightly wrapped in fur-lined cloaks, who strode along the castle wall. But, pacing over the cobbles of the courtyard below, the brown haired teenager barely noticed the chill that stung at his exposed face.
He stepped carefully around a patch of glistening ice beside the nearest horse trough, his blue eye narrowing at the dark shine of frozen stones. That would be a way to start this day. Just slip right there, on the ice, and fall flat on his backside. He grimaced, glancing at the nearest group of soldiers on the wall above. They were turning away with obvious disappointment. Good to know that, if he did fall and break his neck, his death could at least entertain the fine fellows in charge of keeping them safe.
Well, they would have to be disappointed for now. Because he had no intention of dying in such a ridiculous way. Not after all he’d already survived. And least of all today. No. He, William of Alamore, wasn’t about to die on the same day he turned seventeen. He bit back a grin at the thought, his spirits rising in a wave of warmth across his chest. Seventeen. Entering the final year of his training to become a knight, the time when he would be gifted his first sword.
He tried not to think of what would happen at the end of the year. Those thoughts lurked in the shadows of his mind, always threatening to drown him in their severity. He wouldn’t let them pull him down now though. Today, he wasn’t going to let the future dictate his excitement. Glancing above again, his brow furrowed. It felt like the morning was taunting him, moving at an insufferably slow pace, the dawn barely creeping across the silene of the resting castle. Then again, waking in the middle of the night and being unable to sleep likely wasn’t helping him. Not that it was unusual for him. He’d found it hard to sleep ever since the events of the summer before when—after nearly being killed several times in accidents—they had discovered that Colin, one of his best friends, had been betrayed by his own cousin and the steward of Lonnac. What had ensued was a war to free the land and, most importantly, the people. People who had suffered at the hands of a traitor, who had been used as bait, as pawns, as leverage to gain power.
It was the thought of those people more than the memories of the battle and war that made Will wake in cold sweats most nights. Lying awake, he would try to shake away the memories of the people of Lonnac, of their joy, their love for Colin. But there was no breaking loose from it, no denying the thoughts that it brought forward. He’d managed it for years but now, after seeing the reality of how others might suffer at the hands of a tyrant, he couldn’t shed away that reality any longer. Not when his existence might end the suffering for far more people than lived in Lonnac. Not when his blood could save an entire country from the cruelty that power hungry men brought upon it.
Because for Will, the future wasn’t that which he had always dreamed. Gone were the hopes of only ever settling to become a knight of Alamore. They had been jerked away, a dream lost to the waking hours now that he had opened his eyes to the truth at last. No. There was no easy way forward to pursue becoming a knight. His own lineage had seen to that. His blood, the blood of the rightful heir of Thornten, meant that he couldn’t stand aside any more. Part of him felt certain he’d always known that. And even now, at last acknowledging his fate, brought with it some small semblance of peace.
But mostly it was a shackle that pulled against his heart. It drug him into a fate he had never wanted, a future that others would and had killed to steal. It made him wish he could live in ignorance, as he had for so many years before. There was no going back now, though. Not now that he had seen how the greed of a ruler could destroy the lives of people. My people. That thought only added another coil of iron weight to his shoulders.
He owed them, though. Owed them the freedom of a leader who didn’t strive for division and power. If he did nothing, he’d be as bad as Tollien. Worse, perhaps, because Tollien would never let it rest so long as Will was alive. He had made that clear time and time again. He would make the people Will cared about suffer. He would kill them, slaughter the innocent who stood in his way to ensure that the threat of the rightful King came to a close.
It had been on the ride back from Lonnac only two months before that he’d finally found the words to these fears. While riding alongside the Ranger of Kings, he’d spoken and so accepted the fate that was in store for him. A fate that he felt certain would end with his life. Even so, he had to do what he could for the people of Thornten and for his friends. Wasn’t that what he had wanted in being a knight after all? To protect? At the time, in his life of ignorance as a child five years before, he’d imagined the glory and grandeur of it.
Thinking of those times, the times before the truth, before he knew the power of blood and how it could tie him to wars and crowns, Will bit back a smile. That childish part of him might have been in another life. Now, he was older. Now, he knew better. He knew that Marl, the man who had raised him, had been his kidnapper rather than his father. He knew that Sir Ross Hayvern, the best swordsman in Alamore, was not simply a knight. Ross was the lost Prince Valren of Thornten and he, Will, Ross’s only heir. He knew that he was meant to be a ruler, even if he hated it. He knew what was waiting in one year, when he became a knight and would no longer be able to ignore the truth.
But one year.
He had a year. He tried to focus his thoughts on that. A year of training left, a year of being young, of preparing. He had a year of spending time with Rowan and Colin, of stealing hours with Eldin in the practice courts or simply riding beyond the walls. He had a year of listening to Sir Henry drone on about history and having Haru, his own knight, drive him insane with footwork and battle tactics. Right now he couldn’t change the course of his future. But he could enjoy this last blissful year until then. Especially today. Today, he could enjoy the pride of being seventeen, of getting his first sword and finally being among the oldest squires.
He smiled to himself, imaging the blacksmith shop in the city. Glimmern, the finest smith in Alamore, always had a selection of weapons available. There, he could test swords, perhaps drag his friends with him to drool over all the different blades. They hadn’t had the chance to do that when Colin had turned seventeen the month before. When they had been planning to ride out, Colin’s last relation, his cousin and trusted ally Nicolyn, had arrived. He’d presented Colin with the sword of Cavian Greyhead, Colin’s own father. The memory of Colin fighting to find words, staring at the blade, made warmth rush through Will’s veins. He’d nearly been brought to tears but, thankfully, Rowan had chosen that time to announce he had a finer blade for Colin and returned with Colin’s first broken wooden sword—which he had proudly informed them he’d hidden for the past five years beneath his bed. It had added levity to the day.
There hadn’t been a chance to go browse for Rowan’s sword either. Even though Rowan wouldn’t turn seventeen for a few more days after Will, a currier had arrived a week earlier with a blade from Rowan’s father. Rowan’s mentor, Sir Rockwood, had sighed heavily and relented to let Rowan carry the weapon early. As much as Rowan griped about the sword being ‘too fancy’ and ‘completely something my father would pick’, Will had noticed him taking far more tender care of the blade than he did with anything else, checking the edge each morning and polishing it each night.
Seeing both his friend with their own swords had made Will feel a pang of envy. Not only because both now had the mark of squires entering their last year of training but because both had been gifted some of the best swords he’d ever seen or held. It made him more anxious to find the right fit, to search for something that could carry him forward. After all, in the future, he would need a good sword if he wanted to survive. He would need a great blade to keep him alive in the face of his fate.
Stop thinking about that, he chided himself. No. He could want a sword without having to think about how he’d have to use it to fight for a crown. Right now, he just to earn his sword, to have this last moment marking the end of his journey toward knighthood.
His smile broadened, his thoughts consumed with finding the perfect blade. He could almost picture himself lifting one from the racks at the shop, feeling the leather grip in his hand, raising it to practice, the sun glinting—
The world jerked and Will flailed, his arms thrown out in a desperate attempt to pause the pull of his weight toward the earth. He only had time to string together a few foul utterances before he sprawled backwards to the cobbled ground. Familiar lights of pain burst in blue and purple glory before him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the ache in his bones and the burning humiliation that rose with the howls of laughter above him. He wished he could melt straight through the sheet of dark ice and into nonexistence. Lying on the ground, he waited for the air to fill his starving lungs again, hoping that the roars of humor would subside. How stupid. How stupid he was….
At least it’s just the soldiers who saw that.
The scuff of a boot near his head and a low chuckle made Will open his blurred eyes. He blinked, clearing his vision and bringing the beaming face above him into focus. Stifling a groan, he closed his eyes again as not to see the smile that the red-haired knight was wearing. Excellent. As though this wasn’t already humiliating enough, it was too clear by his expression that Haru had seen the whole thing. Double excellent.
Best,
CJR Isely
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