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Bryson’s Bolt
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Bryson found himself in one of the strangest predicaments of his life: alone with Intel Queen Delilah—the future grandmother of his child. He’d practically been family with the Intelian royals for over three years, living at the palace for the last two. Yet throughout all of that time, not once had he ever been alone with the queen. There were always two others present: Vitio and Shelly. And perhaps because of this, he had never understood the sheer horror the woman instilled in him. The king and princess had acted as buffers this entire time.
Bryson stood awkwardly on a stone patio somewhere outside the palace. He was unsure of his location, for all he could think about during his journey here were the possible topics of conversation the queen could have summoned him for.
Delilah’s green hair was tied back as she dunked a pair of underwear into a large wooden bucket of water. Bryson’s face burned hot, choosing to look toward the manicured lawn that stretched to a hedge maze. Delilah remained silent for what felt like hours. All that broke the monotonous quiet was the splash of water each time she dunked her hands into the bucket.
As she reached into a nearby basket of dirty clothes, she said, “Have a seat, young man.” She gazed up from her cleaning. “You seem stiff.”
Bryson released his grip on the patio chair. Rubbing his fingers together, he noticed their clamminess—nervous sweats. He circled the chair and took a seat.
“How are you, Bryson?”
He paused, taking entirely too long for the simplicity of his answer. “Good.”
“You mean ‘well,’” she said.
He nodded. Lilu would have made the same correction; Shelly wouldn’t have cared. Maybe that’s why he and the queen never spoke personally. She was an older Lilu. And if there was anything he had learned about his chemistry with the youngest Intel, it was that there was none.
“What do you want to talk about?” the queen asked.
“Err ... You requested my presence. I have nothing to say.”
She stood up and whipped a tunic against the air, wringing it free of water and wrinkles before pinning it to a clothesline. The timing was peculiar; it might have been a threat.
“You are going to be my son-in-law,” Delilah said, as if making that decision for Bryson. “I refuse to treat a member of my family as an acquaintance. I may have not cared much about you over the past few years, but clearly my daughter has seen something in you.”
“I haven’t proposed—”
“But you will.”
Bryson closed his mouth, realizing that wasn’t a matter up for discussion. He watched as she hiked up the front of her dress, fell to her knees, and began washing clothes again. He twisted his lips, searching for meaningful conversation. Then he found it once he caught a gardener in his peripherals. “Why are you doing laundry?”
“I like to clean my family’s clothes,” she said. “I’m working on Shelly’s right now.”
Bryson’s face turned red. One glance at the bin and he could tell exactly whose undergarments they were.
“Don’t be foul,” Delilah said.
The Jestivan sat slack-jawed. He didn’t even see her look at him—a mother’s intuition, perhaps? Or just a woman’s? He supposed men were predictable thinkers in certain aspects.
“But you have over a hundred servants in this palace,” Bryson pointed out, refocusing on his previous question. “Surely they’re better suited for such duties. You could be more involved in queen stuff.”
She smirked, and Bryson nearly gasped at the strangeness of it on her face. “Queen stuff,” she said emptily. “And what does that entail, Bryson?”
He froze; he honestly didn’t know. And not just in regards to a queen, but to anyone who was a spouse of a royal head. None of them seemed to be big factors in a kingdom’s operations. Still, he wanted to offer some sort of an answer. “Charity stuff?”
She stopped what she was doing and looked up with an impressed frown, her eyebrows high on her forehead. “I hadn’t even thought of that, but yes—although, I’ve become less involved ever since Lilu left to Brilliance. I’ve pushed it onto others.” She returned to her cleaning. “Anyway, the real answer to my question was being a mother. I heal and steer this family. I keep all of the limbs attached. And this duty becomes even more important during times like these.”
“War,” Bryson said.
“My daughter on the brink of motherhood is more pressing than war in my eyes. I want you to know what you’re getting into, Bryson. Shelly isn’t like me. And yes, I know you’re thinking that that’s a good thing ... and I agree; it is. You’re not compatible with a personality type like mine or Lilu’s. But you must also understand that everybody has their weaknesses—and Shelly’s might show when she becomes a mother.
“I grew up as a young girl in a village where women were housewives. I learned to cook, clean, and nurture ... and I liked it. I came from a lovely family. My mom was my hero. Now somehow, I ended up here ...” Delilah smirked at what was undoubtedly a memory. “That big oaf ... but that’s a story for another day.
“Lilu spent most of her time with me, while Shelly glued herself to her father’s hip. In many ways, both arrangements were curses and blessings for each of the girls. Lilu may have received my attitude and stubborn nature, but her work ethic is unrivaled. She’s the type of lady who will work all day, then come home and work some more. Of course, she expects help.
“Now, Shelly, on the other hand, is personable. She gets that from her father. She can be sweet while maintaining a sarcastic wit. Her best friend has always been Vitio, which has led to some heated quarrels between the two.”
Bryson laughed. “Personable? She was short with me for months after I first met her.”
“Blame that on your last name,” Delilah said. “Shelly is old enough to have remembered Mendac. She never liked the man when she was little, so she thought she’d feel the same way toward you.”
“So where’s the curse you mentioned in her relationship with her dad?”
“She has no drive,” the queen said, reaching for two clothespins and hanging the final tunic. “She tends to live through the stories of others rather than create her own, and she expects others to wait on her hand and foot.”
A montage of Shelly snapping her fingers and summoning a squadron of servants to pick up her messes played through Bryson’s mind. Delilah’s assessments of her daughters were accurate, offering a new perspective for Bryson on the two ladies. However, this couldn’t have been the point of their talk.
Delilah walked toward him, stopping a few paces away, her hands on her hips. “When this baby comes, Shelly will feel overwhelmed. I know because I felt it when I had her—and I was more suited for it. She will become vulnerable. You will see sides of her that no other human will ever see. Emotions will spill out of her with such ferocity that you’ll have to kick and paddle with all your might in order to stay afloat.”
The queen’s green eyes hardened. “One day you’ll go under. All it’ll take is a minor inconvenience to send you over the edge—a slight cramp in the back of your thigh. You’ll scream at each other with tears in your eyes, teetering on the verge of ripping each other’s throats out.”
“That won’t happen,” Bryson said.
Delilah paused and shook her head. “Said every new couple in the history of time.” He fell quiet as she slid a chair across the stone and took a seat directly across from him. “Do you love my daughter?”
“I do.”
She stared at him for a long time in silence, her eyes darting between his. “As much as it pains me, I know you’ll never be like Vitio. What I appreciate about my husband is the distance he puts between himself and danger. It’s allowed him to keep a presence in the life of his daughters—instead of buried in a grave. You, however, are a different kind of beast. You are a martyr of family and friendship, and you will always fight on that behalf. You are a courageous—and stupid—man.”
Confused by the contradictory message, Bryson asked, “Do you not like who I am?”
“I love who you are, Bryson. I’m just scared that who you are will make my daughter a widow.”
Processing the weight of her words, Bryson stared at Delilah. He feared the same thing. “I do what I do for Shelly and our child. If I don’t partake in this war, we will be overrun—and then there is no future for the Intel royal family. Dev King Storshae and Power Queen Gantski would be the first two to make sure that every single one of us is killed.”
“I understand,” Delilah said, her eyes finally softening. “Shelly will go into labor within the next two weeks, but tomorrow you leave for the Still Kingdom.”
Bryson’s head fell as he muttered, “I know.”
“To miss the birth of your firstborn ... You’ll regret it. I regret it for you. However, you better return from your mission.” She rose from her seat and looked down at him. “The child deserves to see its father at least once in its life.”
* * *
On the night before his departure to the Still Kingdom, Bryson lay in bed, hands behind his pillow as he stared at the sky. The princess was nowhere to be seen. At first he figured she was taking a stroll through the palace—perhaps spending time with her mother. After some thought, however, he realized how nonsensical such possibilities were. Shelly was nearing her ninth month of pregnancy; she couldn’t have gone far. After an hour passed, Bryson grew impatient and summoned his Branian.
At the center of the room, an orb of light took the shape of a human. Thusia appeared in pajamas and her hair in a towel. “A few minutes earlier and this would have been awkward,” she said.
Bryson scoffed. Her pajamas were printed with winged pigs. “Oh, it’s still awkward.”
“They’re cute!” She peeled her nose back and squealed, “Oink, oink!”
“I need you to be in mother mode—not buffoon mode.”
Thusia’s smile vanished as she took a moment to scan the room. “Where are Leon and Shelly?”
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Suadade’s down here?”
“He left the empire a couple hours ago.” Thusia frowned. “Speaking of which, I need to talk to that young lady. Shelly’s been stealing him away a lot lately. Does she not understand that there aren’t many beings in the empire I can stand to be around?”
Bryson kicked his feet off the bed and jumped to a stand. “We need to find them.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like that she’s sneaking behind my back and keeping secrets.”
“Woah, slow down there,” Thusia said, eyeing Bryson with an eyebrow raised. “Shelly isn’t exactly Leon’s type, if you catch my drift.”
“You and I are not on the same wavelength right now,” Bryson stated dully. He pressed a switch in the floor and descended below.
“How do you expect to find her?” Thusia asked, skipping onto the platform.
“I’ll ask her mom.” Bryson paused as he noticed Shelly walking toward them in the circular lobby below. “Where were you?” he asked.
She grimaced, pressing her hand against her stomach. “Helping a friend.”
“With Suadade?” he asked, the platform connecting with the lobby’s floor.
The princess’s eyes flickered toward Thusia before returning to Bryson. “Yes, with Suadade.” She stood next to them and pressed the lever, sending them back in the direction they came from. “Thusia, I’d like some privacy with Bryson, please.”
Thusia looked at Bryson, who gave her a nod. “Yes, your majesty,” Thusia said, mockingly bowing toward the princess.
Shelly waited for Thusia to disappear before asking, “Have we come to an agreement on the name yet?”
Back in the room above, Bryson followed her to the bed. “I doubt it,” he said, flipping back the blankets on her side. He eased her into a resting position before walking to the other side and getting in bed himself.
Shelly released a slow breath. “Well, since you won’t be here when it happens, it will be my call ... or my mother’s. She has offered a few suggestions.” Bryson didn’t reply, so she looked at him and said, “Don’t forget our talk from months back. Don’t allow the baby and I to be a distraction; it will get you killed.”
“Let motivation consume the distraction,” he quoted.
“A decent memory for a shoddy Intelian,” she said.
“If I’m shoddy, what does that make you?”
Shelly smiled at him and slapped his chest. “You’re getting cocky, knowing that you won’t be here tomorrow. Watch it,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I am a woman of the Intel family. It doesn’t matter how long you’re gone; I can hold a grudge.”
Bryson snickered and rolled over, his nose grazing the soft skin of her cheek. “Will you be seeing me out tomorrow morning?”
“Ha!” she exclaimed. “You’re leaving at six in the morning. I’m not waking up that early. Besides, I can’t make it all the way to that cellar.”
Bryson reached over, grabbed her chin, and tilted her head. He kissed her on the lips and said, “I love you.”
* * *
The following morning, Bryson, Olivia, Toshik, Vuilni, Vistas, and Titus stood on the same makeshift teleplatform they had used when crossing into the Dev Kingdom. Once again, they’d travel as a rather large group. Missions as dangerous as this required more hands on deck.
Intel King Vitio stood behind a control panel. As he tapped his finger on the board, he said, “He should be here any moment.”
They were waiting for whoever it was Vitio had found to execute the most important job in this mission: returning motor functions to Still Queen Apoleia’s father, Gennaio. Without this person, they held no incentive for Apoleia to contemplate switching alliances. Sure they had Titus on their side, but Bryson had yet to speak to this man. In fact, this was his first time seeing him. General Lars had escorted him down here in chains. Only now were his hands and ankles free.
“Knowing the ways of the Still Kingdom, there shouldn’t be much of anything at the teleplatforms,” Titus said. “They’re confident in the location of their city—surrounded by a towering wall and the Diamond Sea. However, even if they have stationed forces at the teleplatforms, it shouldn’t pose a problem. I’ll be able to talk them down.”
Bryson leaned forward from his spot on the teleplatform and looked over at the Stillian man. “We’re not worried. Look at this squad we’ve assembled.”
Titus shook his head. “You are everything Olivia described you to be.”
Bryson shot a glance toward Olivia, who simply shrugged in return. The door above opened, revealing two men backlit by the early morning sun. The candlelight slowly illuminated their faces as they descended the steps. One was Lars; the other Director Jugtah.
“I should have known,” Bryson said, recalling Debo’s memory.
“What should you have known?” Jugtah asked while stepping onto the platform.
Bryson made a point to not look at the man. “Nothing ...”
“Enough.” King Vitio’s gaze was stern. “You can discuss this some other time. First-day has begun in the Dark Realm, and we do not want to waste valuable daylight. I’ll keep this short, sweet, and to the point. Vistas is your line of communication to me. Make sure to provide me with daily updates. If you are to run into trouble, Vistas will notify me immediately.”
Vitio paused as he grabbed the lever, an austere look in his eyes. “The objective of this mission can be the biggest game changer in the war. We lost our bond with the Power Kingdom, so the Still Kingdom is our next best option as our lone friend in the opposition’s realm.” He pulled the lever and said, “Make it happen.”
The platform screamed as it mustered up the strength for movement. Slowly, its speed increased, causing the corridor to blur around them. The last image Bryson caught before vanishing was the look of spite in Lars’s eyes. As the general, that man wanted nothing more than to fight on his kingdom’s behalf. But after his cowardly display during the last mission, the king no longer trusted him. Lars probably wanted to redeem himself, but he’d never get the chance.
As the murky shadows morphed into a streaking bright blue, cold air stung Bryson’s face. He was glad he had heeded Olivia’s warnings. Otherwise, his entire body would have succumbed to such frigid temperatures. Because of his body’s already chilly nature, he had been convinced that he wouldn’t need scarves, beanies, or excessively heavy coats.
As the platform slowed, he began to make sense of their new environment. The Still Mountains and the Diamond Sea’s infinite expanse didn’t catch his eye first—it was the hodgepodge army that circled them. Stillians in powder blue, Devish in burgundy, Powish in jet black, and even a smattering of Cynnish in gray had all turned their attention to the strangers.
Bryson, Olivia, Vuilni, and Toshik jumped into ready stances, facing four separate directions, while Vistas and Jugtah sunk toward the ground at the center of the platform. Bryson rolled his eyes at Jugtah’s reaction. Why he had ever expected the man to be much of a fighter was beyond him.
“We will kill you without warning!” a soldier shouted. “Why have you foolishly stumbled into the Still Kingdom, territory under watchful eye of SCAPD?”
“We offer a proposition for Still Queen Apoleia. We would like to gain her audience!” Titus said.
Silence swept over the area, interrupted occasionally by a howling wind. While the brave adventurers stirred uncomfortably, the army stayed eerily still. After a long moment of nothing, pillars of ice and blades bore down on the group. These soldiers were not inclined to negotiate. Bryson started to duck, freezing mid-crouch as a wall of ice enclosed their teleplatform. The wall rang and echoed violently. Bits of the barrier crumbled around them. Such a defense would last no longer than five seconds, especially if the Powish decided to punch their way through. The ruckus ended abruptly, however.
“Let me speak,” Titus said, the barrier melting into nothing. He stepped off the platform and onto the ice-capped sea. “I am Titus Finilguster. I was sent to the Intel Kingdom well over a year ago under orders from the Still Queen herself. I was to serve as a spy for SCAPD against True Light. I now return with six key players from our opposition who wish to speak with our queen. They mean her no harm, for they understand that nothing would come of malicious actions whilst this deep in enemy territory. Lock them up if you must; they are willing to oblige.”
Laughter rang from the army that circled them. Understanding the insanity of this plan, Bryson had expected such a reaction. The laughter carried on for some time until a lady stepped ahead of the crowd, her brown hair coated in frost. Her presence seemed to suck all amusement from the air.
“Warden Moroza,” Titus said. “Do you not have duties to uphold at Ipsas?”
Bryson’s eyes widened. She was a colleague of Power Warden Feissam. Scanning the faces behind her, he wondered if any of them could have belonged to Diatia.
“What is this, Titus?” she asked as she began to circle them. Her eyes narrowed and head tilted, taking notice of who stood behind Titus. “Are those Queen Apoleia’s kids?”
“We want an audience with Apoleia,” Titus said.
Without averting her eyes from Bryson and Olivia, she replied, “I don’t care what your history is with our queen; you will address her properly when in my company.”
“Look, it is of paramount importance that we make it to Kindoliya.”
“And that isn’t happening,” she replied. “In fact, none of you will be going anywhere—not with a pulse at least.”
Bryson stepped off the platform. Titus extended his arm, barring off Bryson’s chest. “Stop it. They hate you more than anyone.”
Bryson ignored him and addressed the warden: “I want to reconnect with my mother.”
“Don’t you call her that,” Moroza hissed, the gentle nature of her tone vanishing into thin air.
“Mendac is the most disgusting man I’ve ever known to exist,” Bryson said. “I want nothing to do with him. I want to embrace my Stillian roots.”
“You are not one of us,” she spat. “And you have nothing to offer.”
“Who does Queen Apoleia love more than anyone else besides her sister?” Bryson asked. The woman didn’t respond, but continued to scowl. “Her father,” Bryson answered himself. “I want to make up for the evil deeds my dad did in this kingdom. One of those was paralyzing Gennaio Still.”
Titus’s grip on the front of Bryson’s coat softened. The Jestivan continued. “The queen would do anything to hear her father’s voice again, to share a walk in the palace and its ground. This is our offer. This is why we’ve come. We can cure Gennaio’s paralysis.”
A long pause followed, during which Warden Moroza’s expression hardened. She then said, “You claim to work miracles.”
Bryson looked back, yanking Jugtah from the stage, as Titus explained, “Mendac methodically fried Gennaio’s nervous system with an intricate bit of weaving using his Intel Energy, but we believe there is a way to reverse it. It’s been documented that such a feat has been achieved before. This man’s name is Nyemas Jugtah. He studied in the same field as Mendac and is an elite theoretical scientist. He believes he can reboot Gennaio’s nervous system.”
The warden grinned. “Intelians are insane. And clearly, Titus has become infected by such insanity.” Her smile turned into something sinister as her teeth morphed into jagged rows of icicles, unnaturally stretching her mouth; her fingernails grew into monstrous talons of ice—each one the size of a hunter’s blade—and three frozen tails extended from her back, curling above her and pointing at Bryson.
“We will make it to Kindoliya,” Bryson said, unaffected by her intimidation tactics. “With or without your blessing.”
“I believe that was your father’s thought process when he raped my queen,” she replied. “It appears the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”
A tail lashed out, extending toward Bryson in the blink of an eye. With a surge of electricity from his finger, he shattered it effortlessly across the frozen sea. She lunged forward, simultaneously swiping at him with her claw. Leaning to the left, he dodged the attack with ease. Anchoring one tail into the Diamond Sea’s surface, she swung herself around, launching another tail at Bryson. He destroyed the tail again as Moroza pressed forward, her mouth open and icicle fangs bared.
Bryson was too fast. He caught her face with one hand, the force of the collision enough to break a few of her frozen teeth. As she hung in his outstretched grasp, her feet dangling above the ground, silence swallowed the area. Part of him wanted to break every bone in her face. The SCAPD army probably predicted him to do exactly that.
Dropping her gently to the ground, he let go of her face. Coating his hand in electricity, he rid his palm of the frost that had accumulated from the warden’s breaths.
As he looked into her livid eyes, he said, “I have no desire to kill you—or any Stillian, for that matter. We want to create a relationship with your kingdom. But if you force my hand, I’ll have no choice.”
Her jaw was clenched, her pride wounded. It hadn’t been his objective to belittle anyone through his actions, but he had to protect himself.
“You’ll escort us to Kindoliya,” Titus said.
“You know your way there,” Moroza said. “You don’t need me.”
He nodded. “True, but we need to keep you in our eyesight. Who knows who you’d run off to tell.”
She snarled. “Look around. You see the soldiers in burgundy, correct? There are Devish all around you. Dev King Storshae has probably already been alerted.”
“These are infantry, not intelligence personnel.”
“You can go ahead and assume that.”
Titus gave a quick look around before saying, “Anyone who isn’t Stillian must also head to Kindoliya with us. Only the soldiers sporting blue will stay here. Once we speak with the queen, I believe she’ll send word back here for her men and women to stand guard against any possible threats—which includes current allies.”
After a few seconds of silent defiance, Bryson said, “My friends and I will make quick work of anyone who doesn’t comply.” Still, nobody budged, so Bryson offered an alternative means of communication.
A bolt of lightning fell from the sky, snapping eardrums and blinding everyone with its blue flash. As people regained control of their senses, they gaped at the impossible scene before them. The Diamond Sea’s ice-capped surface had been broken. The lightning had penetrated six feet of ice, revealing water below.
