The throne room was oppressive, with the sultry air lingering low and not a breath of breeze to move the thick tapestries. A single fly buzzed by one of the tall windows, too far to ask a servant to smack it.
Worse even, Alcibiade was talking. A lot. In that monotonous voice of his, his balding head bowed low. Even Diocle, standing tall by her side, suppressed a yawn.
“Thank you for your detailed introduction, Counselor,” Cibele said with a stretched smile. Enough was enough. “I think we should let the soldiers tell their tale, shouldn’t we?”
“But of course, your majesty! I never meant to trespass, I live to serve the noble house of Asares…”
On and on, with his typical stream of platitudes.
Be glad I’m not asking you to die for the Asares, she thought bitterly. It was tempting: Gaiane had been gone for days, and no matter how far and wide they’d searched, she was nowhere to be found.
The three soldiers panting in pain in front of the throne were, at least, a distraction from the usual, sorry reports of villagers punched for not knowing enough.
She vaguely remembered the woman, a sturdy soldier with a square jaw and hard cheekbones. She looked gaunt now, with her left leg slipping from under her and her face drawn. Of her two companions, the man with graying hair blinked in confusion, and a large yellowish bruise covered half of his face. The young recruit was biting his lower lip and squeezing his eyes in pain, trying to stand despite the horrible angle his bandaged knee was bent into. His crutch helped a bit.
“You can go,” Cibele said. Alcibiade didn’t protest, even if his faded eyes sent sparkles of disappointment. Diocle, unsurprisingly, stood by her side. She was almost glad for his insubordination.
When the door slammed shut, the room fell silent. Except for that damned fly, of course.
Cibele rose and slowly walked down the platform, her steps soft on the thick blue carpet. She stopped in front of the soldiers and clasped her hands in front of her, letting her long sleeves hide their trembling.
I should tell them to get up and find them some chairs. They’re clearly in a lot of pain.
The thought came and went almost unnoticed. She had more important matters at hand.
“Tell me,” she said curtly. The woman was quick to answer, and her voice was unsteady and bitten off.
“They… attacked us. And then betrayed our trust.”
Diocle cocked his head to the side.
“It sounds rather nondescript, do you know it, soldier?”
Cibele briefly lifted her eyes to the ceiling coffer and took a deep breath.
Insolent.
“I’m well aware, sir, but it’s the truth. First my patrol was captured by a band of outlaws, West of Nikaia. I lost two men, but I managed to call for reinforcements. A stranger helped us escape, even killed the gang’s leader, but then…”
“Explain yourself. I need more details,” Cibele pressed on. Her knuckles cracked when she clenched her fists more tightly at the long tale of how the soldiers were captured and had cheated death by hanging--she had no doubt it was true, for the red wound around the commander’s and her companion’s neck were very clear.
The second part of the misadventure was less plausible. A man first helped them fight their captors, then ambushed them in their camp… and took just one horse and the bare necessary to survive. Not a thief, not a friend of those rogue Laskaris loyalists.
Who, then?
“This man. What did he look like?”
The young soldier whimpered, but his commander answered quickly.
“Broad shoulders and thick arms, even if he looked rather thinned out from a life in the wild--this at least sounded true, considering how he was dressed, rags and hides and very old boots.” She grimaced and tried to bend her wounded leg back in place. “Long hair, a beard, light brown or… no, well, ginger, but he was dirty enough not to…”
“And blue eyes. Like a winter morning,” the graying soldier said in a dreamy voice. His left pupil was larger than the right one, and his nose crooked to the side. He smiled. “Like that boy said, the storyteller, the one with the gang…”
The commander interrupted him.
“Please, your highness, forgive Barnabas. He took a heavy blow to the head and he’s not himself. The stranger had blue eyes, but it’s not relevant. I’m sorry if…”
“No, it’s interesting,” Diocle said. Cibele silenced him with a glare and tried to smile back at the rambling man.
“Tell me more about this stranger and the boy, Barnabas,” she added in a sweet voice.
“The boy. He said the Dawn Star is still alive, and the Dawn Star--I saw him back at the Spring Slaughter. He should be dead, but…”
“With all due respect, your majesty, allow me to explain,” the commander insisted with a tired sigh. “There was a young man with the outlaws, and he talked endlessly about how the Laskaris weren’t as done as history has proven. Nobody believed him, though, and yes, our traitor had blue eyes, like many other people. He wasn’t…”
“What was his name?” Cibele interrupted her.
The woman grinned mirthlessly.
“He told us his name was Stelio, and now I can see why.” She shook her head, and her greasy hair covered her face. “He took a horse and left. But he said…”
Her angular face twisted in concentration. Diocle took a step forward and bowed lightly.
“It’s alright, soldier. You’re in no trouble: finish your report, then I’ll send for the royal healers. You did good, and we’re grateful for your sacrifices.”
Wise words. Cibele envied him that calm composure: she only managed to sound intimidating, and it wouldn’t work right now.
The commander swallowed and looked past him, into Cibele's eyes.
“He said he was no one, and that he had a princess to find.”
“He’s after Gaiane, then. Predictable, but not clarifying,” Diocle said, caressing his chin. Cibele squinted.
Something didn’t quite sit right in the soldier’s tale. She didn’t think they were lying--not in front of Diocle, whose talent in finding answers was almost legendary in the realm. And yet…
She dropped her arms and walked toward the commander, placing her hand on her head.
“You did us a great service, and we’re grateful for your loyalty. Go find Alcibiade and tell him to escort you to the medical wing. No doubt you’ll find him right out of the throne room,” she added.
The three soldiers painfully scrambled to their feet. They bowed, and Barnabas with more enthusiasm than the other, then crawled down the long aisle. They were badly wounded, and every step looked like agony.
“You should’ve offered them some servants to help them. A crutch, at least,” Diocle said after the trio had reached the distant door.
“Help them yourself, next time,” she snapped, sitting on the throne and letting her head fall against the backrest. She massaged her temples and stretched her legs, and Diocle sat on the floor by the throne.
“Something’s bugging you,” he said. “I know it.”
“Are you using your powers on me, Diocle?”
He laughed softly and crossed his legs.
“I don’t need to, I can read you pretty well after all these years, my dear. Spit it out, come on.”
She sighed.
“A princess. He knew Gaiane was missing, he knew her name--why a princess, then?”
“Again with this nonsense, Cibele? The Laskaris are dead, all of them. It’s been eight years, and surviving the collapse of a whole castle is pretty complicated. Especially for a heavily pregnant woman.”
“But what if…”
Diocle got to his feet and crouched back in front of her, taking her hands. A familiar gesture, and this time she didn’t recoil. The look on Diocle's face was open, vulnerable: there was still something of the young man she’d chosen to sire Zafiria's only hope, with those high cheekbones and lips always slightly curled in a mocking smile.
“Cibele. My queen. It doesn’t really matter; can’t you see? Our only concern is Gaiane. Once we have her back, safe and sound, even old king Stelio, his wife and his son could pop back to life. It will make no difference.”
“In all these years I haven’t heard anyone say that even the Dawn Star could still be alive. Why now?”
“The heir to the Asares throne has disappeared, and this is weird enough on its own. Of course such an incredible thing would create legends.” He shook his head. “Even make the dead come back to life.”
He let her hands go, and she stifled a jolt of disappointment.
“What should we do?”
“I have an idea, and you may not like it. This, Cibele, calls for my direct intervention. I’ll go search with the rest of the troops.”
But when Diocle started to go into further detail, discussing new strategies and patterns for the patrols, her mind drifted away.
Gaiane, where are you?
Suddenly, the throne she was sitting on felt very, very fragile.