Chapter 1: & 2. Ignis I
My mother used to tell me stories of the old gods. Rhadis. Khetrix. Elphion. Onara. I struggled to stay awake those nights, fighting the ever-growing weight of my eyelids, struggling desperately to make it through just one more tale, wanting nothing more than to ride upon their victories and battles till morning light. It was engrained in me from childhood that one day I would join them, not as a supplicant before a deity but as a deity myself. That was what it meant to be Cairn, son of Gil, descendent of Thotar himself. When I crossed into the afterlife, the watcher would see the purity of my bloodline, the value of my very soul, and welcome me into Valhalla. I was the recipient of a noble gift. All I had to do was die honorably in battle.
They lied.
The day I died started innocently enough. Stepmother was buzzing around like a common maid, tossing clothes around, holding them up, clucking her tongue, and then putting them back.
“Oh, why don’t we have anything for you in purple. You look so dashing in purple,” Genevieve fretted. I pulled the covers over my head, hoping that if I just ignored her, she’d go away. The sound of fabric swishing continued, capitalized by little staccato sighs. Infuriating.
I threw the blankets off with a flourish and sat up. She was somewhere near the back of the closet, managing to completely disappear within the expanse of dyed wool and cotton.
“I’ll find something appropriate,” I said, barely managing constrained civility. “It’s a coronation, mother, same as the rest. The crown is passing from father to son.”
“It is historic. Don’t talk about yourself like you don’t matter, darling.” She crossed the double door gap to the other side to further bother my garments. “You’re a prince, and more importantly, my darling boy. I’m just going to give you a few options to pick from. I know how you get.”
When I finally return to the Pantheon in the afterlife, I believe simply surviving my stepmother will rank chief among my accolades. You would be hard-pressed to name a person more needling or generally bothersome. The contrast between my parents was almost comical. Father, a living legend. He united Silodan under a single flag. He fought in countless wars, slaughtered armies, subjugated rebellion and established peace.
Then there’s my stepmother, whose achievements include teatime diplomacy, picking outfits, and the vice chair—yes, you read that correctly, the vice-chair—of the Noble Ladies Book Club. The logic never ceases to confound. It’s not as if there were no better options. Whitefall had plenty of strong warriors, male and female. Tournaments had become more fierce and less gender segregated. King Gil had his pick of plenty of viable, superior matches. Yet, he chose her. Genevieve. Perhaps after all his accomplishments, my father just wanted something… simple.