Chapter 136: Nereida’s Voyage
Nereida had forgotten how impressive the throne room was. The last time she had been in the room had been her knighting twenty years ago. The walls were still covered with the same tapestries, beautiful works of art that showcased the early years of the kingdom. They were beautiful, heavy things. The carpet had been replaced sometime when she had been gone, the lush red carpet soft and new. Someone had built a ramp leading up to the throne, and her mother’s throne had been removed. Instead, there were two smaller thrones set up on either side of the King's throne and a third that had been toppled and set on fire. The remains of the third throne had not been cleared out. The scent of ash was heavy in the air, and Nereida did not miss how the servants exchanged worried glances at one another.
They were brought before the throne, left on the floor so that they would have to look up at Basiano when he arrived. Alejo and Egaz clung to each other, fear on their faces. They were quiet, their little eyes wide and their faces pale. She wanted to take them in her arms, tell them they had nothing to worry about, but Aella’s words echoed in her mind. Could she trust her family?
The oppressive silence was finally broken when Leevan, Caleb and their three children came in. The three children were whispering, their little voices shaking, but the noise of it was strangely comforting. Aeljo stared at them, terrified, as if their frightened whispers would bring something to them. Nereida shivered. She remembered pleading with him when he had been just a toddler to please, please be quiet so the “bad men” didn’t come. Did he remember? Leevan broke away from his husband, kissing his cheek once, before he ran to Nereida and held her tightly. She didn’t sob, though she wanted to. She wanted to break apart and drown in her emotions. But her children, and her brothers, needed her to be strong. She didn’t know Camina like they had, not really. Instead, she leaned into her middle brother’s strong embrace and let herself be comforted.
“You did all you could,” he whispered to her. She felt the tears stinging her eyes at that, but she just nodded, not able to trust her voice. “She was in her father’s arms and not alone.” He kissed her forehead, something he hadn’t done since she was twelve, and then he stood, straightening his grey tunic, his own eyes shining with tears he could not shed. He moved over to Alejo, kneeling to be at the boys’ level. “And you, little one. I know you tried to help. That was brave beyond measure. I am proud to call you family, Alejo.” The young boy's eyes went wide and they shone with pride. He puffed out his little chest just a bit, before he deflated.
“It didn’t help,” he muttered, looking at the burned throne that lay sideways behind the others.
“It did. You kept her from pain.” A lie, Nereida knew, but it soothed Alejo, and she would never correct it. He needed to hear that he had helped. He needed to believe he was enough. Leevan turned to Egaz, his face serious. He put his hand on Egaz’s shoulder, and the boy paled, looking away as if he expected to be chastised for not healing. “You carry a burden, little one. I’m sorry we made you feel like you had to hide. But you exposed a great evil, small lord, and for that we will always be grateful. Elena misses you, would you like to go sit with her?”
“If we wiggle over, she fits here,” Egaze replied. “I don’t wanna leave my brother alone.”
“You are a good lad. I’ll send her over.” He went back to his family, sending his youngest daughter over. The little girl ran over, hugging both Egaz and Alejo. Alejo looked startled by the hug, but Egaz hugged her back as tightly as he could manage.
The room was soon full of family; Ango, his spouse and their two children arrived along with Nereida’s mother. Her mother looked old and fragile in a way that even losing her husband hadn’t caused. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, her pallor was ashen. Her hair hung limp, and her wrinkled hand shook as she stared at the burned throne in horror. The servants wheeled her next to Nereida, and then every servant left, bowing low. None of them wanted to still be here when things came to a boil. Nereida reached out of her litter to take her mother’s hand. Her fingers were icy cold.
“I didn’t want to believe,” the matron whispered. Whatever she was about to say next was interrupted when the doors behind the throne opened. Basiano stormed in, fury in his stance. His two wives followed, leading their children. There were six children, the oldest, Diego, was just fifteen. He was the only child not clinging to his mother, but instead he walked at his father’s right side, his face serious, his lip trembling as he tried not to cry. In his arms, he held the red dragon egg as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
“What in the five hells is that?” whispered Ango. Basiano shot him a glare, and the prince lowered his gaze.
Silence fell over the family. Basiano, against all protocol, dropped heavily into the King’s Throne. Her mother made a little gasp. It was unheard of; the ruler-to-be could only sit in the throne once they had taken their oaths before the nobility. To do otherwise was to invite calamity. But then… calamity had already struck.
“The Traitor dies after she births my child,” Basiano announced, his voice cold, dispassionate. It was worse than listening to the dragon talk from his mouth. This was Basiano, this broken, angry man. “I will not give her to the gods’ justice before the child arrives. She took one child, I will be damned before I let her take another.” His words carried and echoed in the vast room. No one shifted or moved. “If any of you are unhappy with that, there is the door. You may remove yourself from my halls and my kingdom.” His tone was empty, hollow, and it almost sounded as if he expected one of them to leave. But no one moved. He stared at them, his once warm face full of pain and anger. He looked older now, his shoulders stooped under the weight of his grief.
One of the toddlers sniffled then sneezed. The innocent sound was terribly loud, and Ango hushed the child.
“I will not abide by any further traitors, nor any further secrets,” Basiano announced, sitting up straighter, as if he recalled why they were there. “If you have something to keep from us, then you will leave. We are family, and if you do not wish to be part of this family, you will leave.” No one moved. “This does not leave this room, any of it. If I see this information leaked to the nobles, I will find the leak and plug it permanently.” He hissed the last word. He threw his cloak off, the white fabric falling behind him, revealing his scarred arm. “I played host to a god, you all know. Caleb and I opted to save the god, so that our people would not lose their fire. He will be born again, from this egg, and we will raise him as a prince in our household. He is made of my flesh and Caleb’s, and magic. He will need guidance to become better than he was. I expect help, for all that stay.” His eyes drifted to Nereida, and she felt a shiver rip through her body. His gaze was angry, hurt, and strangely determined looking. The moment between them passed quickly enough, but Nereida felt her mouth go dry. He expected her to leave, he expected her to not be here. She looked at her feet, her heart breaking, because she also knew that he was right. She did not expect to be here to help. Beside her, she saw Leevan staring at Caleb in horror, the scars from his burns and his lack of hand suddenly meaning something far different to the prince. Nereida looked away, not wanting to see her brother’s heartbreak.
“I will be telling the nobles that the egg was found in Camina’s ashes,” Basiano continued, ignoring them to stare at a point past them. His voice grew quieter. “I expect you all to support the lie, and the ashspinner will also support it.” There was no room in his tone for argument.
A long minute of silence stretched as Basiano looked out over them all, his face pinched in grief, warring with rage. He slammed his fist onto the arm of the throne.
“I cannot be the only one who kept secrets,” he roared. Alejo flinched, hiding his face behind little Elena. The young girl whimpered, trying not to cry in front of her uncle. She held onto Alejo, her little knuckles white as she shook in terror. Nereida started to get out of her litter to limp to her babies to hold them, when Egaz stood up.
“I do.” His voice was quiet and trembling. He looked up at his uncle with a hurt expression.
“Egaz,” Aella spoke their son’s name in warning, sounding strained. The little boy grinned at her, his smile shaking and tears bright in his eyes.
“It’s okay, Gradmiral Mom.”
It was Alejo who grabbed Egaz and got the boy to stop talking.
“Just ‘cause my father and yours aren’t the same doesn’t make it anybody’s business,” Alejo whispered fiercely, pulling his brother into a hug. Nereida blinked, staring at the young boy. She had always been so careful. How had Alejo known? Unless… unless his brother had told him?
The adults watched the scene, some of them curious, others concerned.
“This isn’t a tale for children,” Nereida said, sliding out of the litter and limping to her sons. Her human foot spiked with pain whenever she put pressure on it. The boys scrambled to hug her, and their young cousin also, interestingly, came to hug her. She’d only talked to the girl once or twice, so the affection was surprising. She ruffled the young girl’s curly red hair and got a teary little smile out of her. “Bassi, please.”
“You must, Nereida. No secrets. But no details are necessary.” His voice cracked. He would not look at her. Nereida flinched at being called her full name by her brother. She picked Egaz up, and she saw Aella moving toward Alejo, her hand twitching toward where a sword should have been. The air was tense. Nereida toyed with how to explain it, but Egaz spoke up again, even as she tried to shush him.
“I’m a demon.”
The room went silent. Nereida kissed her son’s cheek.
“Shadow-born, but not a demon,” she promised him softly. She looked up at Basiano, her anger flaring at her brother, but she drowned the feeling. She would not let him see how much it hurt that he had outed her son. “My son was conceived when I was held by the demons. He can use shadow magic, but is not one of them.” She glared at her brothers and their spouses, careful to control her breathing, her raging fear. They could see no weakness.
“I figured the truth of it on that night,” Leevan said, his voice steady. He took a step toward Nereida, his hands open in the gesture of surrender. “He’s family. You are family.”
“He also hasn’t been corrupted like the demons,” Aella said, her voice strained. She looked pale and drawn, and she was breathing heavily. “I… I can’t better explain it, but… the Moon Dragon accepts him as safe.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t let her out now, we are too close to the New Moon.” Nereida saw Aella’s hands clench and unclench, as if she was fighting for control.
“Three days,” Basiano agreed, his voice carrying. He reached for his oldest surviving child, squeezing his shoulder. The boy leaned into the touch, his solemn expression shattering into silent tears. “I will take the throne in three days, and complete the mourning period after. This cannot be delayed.” Aella gaped at him as if she wanted to yell at him, but her mouth just kept opening and closing as if the words were fluttering out before she could put sound to them.
Nereida glanced back at her mother, but the older woman had gone ashen grey again, and was looking at the floor. At that, Ango’s spouse declared that they had been working with the guards to uncover something, some kind of corruption in their father’s old cabinet of ministers, but Nereida zoned out. Another secret was poured out, this one by Basiano’s wife; her brother was powerless, but she had helped him cheat during his coming of age ceremony so that her parents did not disown him. Aella moved over to Nereida’s side, squeezing her hand. It was time.
“Damara is a dragon,” Nereida told her family, looking them over. “Magic holds her in this form, but she… she came out of an egg.” Someone laughed, a desperate sound. Nereida looked over to see Ango curled over, tears of laughter streaming down his face as his belly shook.
“Of course she is.” He shook his head, wiping away the tears of mirth. “Can’t do anything the easy way, can you Nerry?”
“I think watching an egg hatch is much easier than giving birth,” Elam quipped, their mouth quirking into a small smile. There was a little chuckle that sputtered through the room, the family trying to find something, anything, to smile about. They were all desperate to feel something other than crushing grief.
Basiano, however, did not smile. HIs expression hardened as he stared at them. Nereida wanted to go to him, but he had put his walls back up, acting the part of king, not grieving brother.
“My wives, my children and I will be mourning privately the rest of today and tomorrow. I ask you respect that.” He seemed to look directly at Nereida, and she stiffened in irritation, until she realized he was looking at their mother. She had not been there. “Leevan, you have the run of things until then.”
“Yes, my king,” Leevan replied, his tone soft. “We are here if you need us, Basi,” he added. He stood up straight, looking tall and proud despite the mourning clothing. “Don’t keep the walls up too long. Please.” Basiano’s fury faded for a moment and he nodded. Slowly, he stood, motioning to his son to follow him out.
Nereida turned toward her mother. She was crying, but not making any sound. Tears just ran down her weathered face as she stared at the throne. Unsure of how to help, Nereida limped to her mother’s side and took her hand. No one spoke. There was no ritualized grief here, only the uncertain, raw grief. They sat with their grief, their broken, hurting family, until a toddler quietly whined that they were hungry. Grief’s spell was broken, Nereida’s mother let go of her hand, and those who could walk left, escaping the silence.
“My poor baby boy,” her mother whispered, the first time she’d made a sound. “I… Nerry, I have to be here for him.” Nereida didn’t know what to say to that, and so she squeezed her mother’s shoulder softly. Aella stepped forward, a faraway expression on her face, her voice strangely high. Nereida tried to get her wife out before she uttered a prophecy that would distress her mother and children, but she was too late.
“All hail the King of Grief. Long will he reign.”