Echoes of memory, p.11
Echoes of Memory, page 11
Aris barely noticed the meeting passing before him. His mind was too busy with the questions gnawing at it. The next thing Aris knew the meeting had ended and he was exchanging obligatory pleasantries with the various other heads of state.
“Are you excited for your celebration?” the Minister of Finance, a fat elderly man with reddened cheeks named Lang Vallen, asked him, breaking Aris out of his stupor.
“Excuse me? You said celebration. What are you talking about? What’s going on?” Aris’ full attention had been drawn to Lang Vallen’s chubby face.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I assumed you knew,” the elderly man flushed, causing his already reddened cheeks to turn a shade darker. “It was your intel that saved the Emperor’s life. He saw it fit to honor you for what you did for him in stopping the rebel mercenaries. He had Edrian Wolls put in charge of the celebration for you.”
Aris’s eyes widened.
What was happening? What was Edrian planning?
“He’s to be the one to honor you for saving Emperor Evrain. He'll be the host of the party tonight, and it's being thrown at his expense. We were told that it was because he was so grateful for what you’d done for him.”
How had Aris not known? Edrian had to be up to something. He’d seen the fury in the man’s eyes.
Aris couldn’t believe the naivety of the rotund older man but gave him a pleasant smile regardless. Lang Vallen was one of the few men among the cabinet Aris felt as if he could trust.
The fat man hadn’t sought out his position. It had just fallen into his lap. He truly didn’t care about the recognition or power that he was afforded. He just loved mathematics and economics. His eyes lit up whenever the subject came up.
Lang’s simplicity was endearing.
Aris had heard many others complaining about Lang behind the back of the older man, but that made him trust the man even more. He never partook in any of the court gossip and preferred to stay to himself with his numbers whenever he wasn’t called upon for an economic report.
Aris felt as if he were walking on eggshells every time he interacted with most of the other nobles and Cabinet members. Lang was one of the few he trusted. Edrian Wolls, however, Aris would never trust. Hearing the news that he’d been the one who’d been put in charge of the celebration for Aris’s actions would feel to Edrian Wolls as if his face were being grated on sandstone.
Why was he being celebrated in the first place? He had barely done anything. Why the high honors bestowed?
He knew that the hawkish man was planning something and the celebration made Aris warier than ever. Surely Emperor Evrain had to know about the enmity between them. What was he thinking? Was the Emperor truly so angry with his Minister of Defense that he planned on completely humiliating him, or did he have some sort of nefarious intentions?
What games were being played? Why was the Emperor being so foolish?
Why was he doubting the Evrain? He had no reason to doubt the man who had given him so much.
Ever since his coma, everything had changed for Aris.
He prayed that his mind had been infected by a deep lie. It would be easier if that were true than what Aris kept feeling more and more with each passing day.
That the rebels were right.
“What...you...think?”
Aris hadn’t realized he’d zoned out.
“Pardon?” he asked Lang Vallen, who’d been saying something he’d missed.
“Oh, never you mind. I know the look in your eyes. It’s the same one I get when I’m presented with a particularly intriguing math problem. What I said was of little import anyway. I’ll leave you to the question that’s got you so intrigued,” The older fellow said with a look of understanding. “But if whatever it is that’s bothering you needs another pair of eyes, make sure to let me know. I love a good problem.”
Aris nodded and smiled as his eyes followed Lang Vallen who’d turned to walk away. He rarely interacted with the man, but it was good to know that he had the fat man in his corner.
Aris' smile faded from his face the moment that his eyes fell on Edrian Wolls. He saw nothing but hatred reflected in them.
Aris could see that the party was on his dime and forced upon him, and it ate away at the Minister. Edrian had lusted for the glory, and the Emperor stripped him of that. Aris had torn down Edrian’s plans with a single sentence. Aris knew it was impossible for there to be no repercussions for that action against such a vain and self-absorbed man.
Aris tried offering an apologetic nod towards the Minister of Defense, but Edrian Wolls just stared back at him before turning his head and spitting on the marble floor in disgust. Aris’ defenses went up quickly.
Few things are more dangerous than a proud man forcefully humbled.
“Please let there be no fanfare,” Aris thought as his mind wandered to the events of the evening before he was shuttled to the keep’s tailors to be fitted for an expensive new suit made especially for the occasion.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Aris was shuffled all over the keep, one second he was being stripped and thrown into a large tub the size of his courtyard full of perfumed water and then washed by beautiful nubile servants —whom he insisted remained clothed, not wanting to let the sight of them tempt him any more than he already was at the sight of their clothes sticking to their wet forms— and the next he was being toweled dry and manicured before being brought to the tailors once again.
They fitted Aris with an ornate military uniform of the deepest turquoise coloring and a verdant emerald collar. He’d been given new underclothes as well. How they had been able to get such a perfect fitting was a mystery he thought best left unsolved.
By the end of the three-hour ordeal, Aris looked like an entirely new man. Gone was his rough military demeanor and in its place was the image of a high noble, complete with the lavish stylings preferred among Fiell’s elite.
Aris barely recognized himself when the keeps servants placed a huge gilded mirror in front of him and offered him a look at their handiwork. The short serviceman’s beard he preferred had been shaped into a well-defined goatee and his blond hair had been quaffed in a small —albeit militaristic— attempt at a high fashion pompadour.
Aris examined his reflection and took in just how different he looked. His rough, often ink-stained fingernails, were glossy and shining, and his skin that had been rubbed raw just hours ago reflected in the light.
It felt wrong.
This wasn’t him.
He felt more naked than he’d ever been in his life bedecked in the expensive fineries.
Chapter 19
ARIS WAS MORE UNCOMFORTABLE than he had ever been as Edrian Wolls introduced him to the leagues of dignitaries that were gathered around him in the Great Hall. He was paraded before nobles, diplomats, merchants, and more. The wily Minister of Defense spoke of Aris as if he were his lifelong friend. He was so convincing that Aris himself nearly believed it.
What was his game?
Edrian’s praises even managed to make Aris’ fainting and coma seem like a heroic act. He painted a scene of Aris Ravenscroft rushing a force of twenty all by himself, facing down their fury with a martial mastery unseen in ages. Edrian Wolls’ words were practically worshipful.
It made Aris’ skin crawl.
“What IS his purpose for this?” Aris wondered as he tried to insist Edrian was embellishing the story to the latest crowd he’d been placed in front of.
Aris knew that Edrian would somehow turn the situation in his favor, he just didn’t know how or why. What he did know though, was how many fires he would have to put out with how much he was being trumped up.
Was that what this was about? Why was this man, someone who loathed him, making him out to be a national hero?
Aris had wished for the Minister to stop and had nearly stepped in to set things straight, but he caught sight of Emperor Evrain. The man flashed him a dark look of warning as he opened his mouth to object.
What had that been? Aris had seen the Emperor angry before, but that flash of emotion had felt different. Alien.
“What was that?” Aris thought as The Emperor's eyes shifted back to Edrian Wolls. Had that look been there before? Or was it the memories of Dren infecting his mind that had caused Aris to see something that wasn’t there?
No, the memories may be causing Aris to see the world in a new light. But that didn’t change the fact that Aris had indeed seen something.
He’d been a guard for too long to mistake that look. Aris knew what he’d seen.
Right?
How could Aris know for sure?
“The Emperor is just trying to show his gratitude.” Aris thought. “He has to be. The alternative can’t be true.”
Aris didn’t want to believe the visions that’d plagued him. He couldn’t believe them. They showed Emperor Evrain as a monster. Not the hero he was. Not as the man who had saved their empire from destruction a little over forty years ago.
He had saved the empire then.
Right?
Why did Aris find himself believing the visions more and more? They had to be lies.
They HAD TO BE lies.
The evening continued and Aris was lavished with praise for the rest of the night. He hated all the eyes on him. He hated the pretenses that danced around the room like the nobles and their wives and mistresses did around the ballroom. He hated how he was being painted as a hero that had singlehandedly saved Vealand from the greatest threat to its safety since the disaster that had driven them inland all those years ago.
He had done nothing of the sort.
All Aris had done was report the rebels' plans.
Nothing more.
In fact, he’d tried to stop their execution. He had even failed in that. He hadn’t been able to stop them from killing them would be assassins so he could interrogate them. No, he had been overwhelmed with the visions and had fallen into a coma.
He wasn’t the hero they said he was.
Each time that Aris tried to deny the exaggerated rumors that Edrian Wolls spread, someone would be there to insist he was just being self-deprecating. That made the stories grow even larger. He was the humble hero of Fiell.
Why was he being turned into a folk hero?
It was the exact opposite of what Aris expected from Edrian Wolls. He had expected open hostility, not the sickly sweetness that dripped from the Minister of Defense’s lips with every word of praise that he showered on him.
Aris tired of denying the stories and soon just found himself smiling and nodding. He would ignore the looks of admiration.
He didn’t care what everyone else thought.
He cared about the truth.
He would find it.
He would dig until he found the reason behind Edrian Wolls’ actions. He would find whether his visions were true or the lies that he hoped they were.
Aris would make it his mission.
Aris noticed the Emperor’s startlingly clear eyes following him when he finally extricated himself from the party thrown in his honor.
What had that look been?
Chapter 20
SEPHIRA SMILED BRIGHTLY. She had finally been able to schedule her day to include a trip to the market that would buy her enough time to visit Kestrel as well.
Why did she feel like she needed to keep her connection to him quiet?
She had nothing to hide.
Kestrel fascinated her though; the way he carried himself reminded Sephira of her father and uncle. He seemed so different from the other beggars that littered Fiell. He was strong despite the hell that had been thrown at him since he was a child.
As Sephira walked she found herself thinking about the conversations they would have. Kestrel kept surprising her with his unusual intellect. She hadn’t expected such wisdom from one who had grown up on the streets. Though if Sephira were honest with herself, she wasn’t sure what she assumed of someone who had spent their lives on the street except that they would be caked in grime. Thankfully she had been spared that fate when her uncle Aris had stepped in after the death of her father. For that, she would be forever grateful to her uncle.
What had happened to her mother though? Why couldn’t she remember?
Sephira chided herself for not paying attention when she bumped into a fish cart. She had let her lack of memories interfere with her again. That was happening all too often these days. Why now though?
Sephira reminded herself that she needed to be more careful than ever due to her uncle’s newfound status as a folk hero.
There was no such thing as anonymity anymore.
Her uncle’s heroic actions had put him and his family under the eye of the public. People worshiped those they admired, and her uncle Aris’ actions had fascinated the city of Fiell.
Sephira hated the attention.
Sephira had quickly taken to wearing a scarf to disguise herself in the style of the Allehan women of the south who thought showing their hair and neck was scandalously immodest.
Though few, there were enough Allehan women in the city that nobody thought to look twice at her.
Sephira hated that she had to disguise herself to escape the eye of the public that had fallen on her uncle Aris, and by proxy, the rest of his family.
She wished to return to anonymity.
Thankfully though, she had been spared the brunt of the public eye when her uncle had taken his metalvine and broken the hands of a relentless penny-paper reporter who wouldn’t stop harassing Sephira for her story about being the daughter of both an infamous traitor and celebrated hero.
After that few other reporters dared approach her. Still, Sephira hated the feeling of eyes constantly following her. Like her uncle, she would much rather go unnoticed than be forced into the spotlight.
Sephira strolled through the colorful alleyways that paralleled the Trout River and soon arrived at the small house before she realized it. She knocked at the small burnt red door. Her excitement at seeing Kestrel’s face befuddled her.
Why did she feel herself being drawn to him?
She smiled despite herself when she heard Kestrel shout, “wait a minute! I’ll be there soon!”
Sephira smoothed her hair and fixed her green dress.
Seconds later the door popped open. Kestrel smiled at her and invited her in. The deep purple bruises that had covered his body were fading into a dirty yellow.
What would he look like when he was fully healed?
He smiled again and beckoned her to the small stool near the bedside he promptly returned to.
“I see you’re walking around now,” Sephira flashed a grin. His quick recovery buoyed her heart.
“Not as much as I’d like, but anything is better than being stuck in this smelly old thing all day,” he replied as he patted the mattress he had sunk back into.
“Hey, you should be happy you have a bed to sleep on. My old body is aching from a lack of proper sleep you whelp,” Wallace said as he stepped into the room from the root cellar where he had gone to grab vegetables from. “Good to see you Sephira. Here take these.”
Sephira obeyed the old man’s command and hastened to his side. She grabbed a handful of vegetables from him and placed them on the small wooden counter that doubled as a cutting board.
“I’m glad you’re here. I need to go pick up some more supplies. This young man eats so much you’d think that he hadn’t ever had a decent meal before. It’s like he grew up on the streets or something,” the old man joked at Kestrel’s expense.
“You should count yourself lucky that I’m eating it. I can swear I saw the neighbor’s pig vomiting when you tried to feed the leftovers to him.”
Wallace laughed. “Sephira, would you mind taking these vegetables and making them into something edible for us poor lonely bachelors?” the old soldier asked her.
She nodded a yes. A small part of her wanted to be offended at the assumption, but it passed quickly. Sephira enjoyed cooking and she found herself looking forward to Kestrel’s reaction to her creations.
“Good. Well then, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” Wallace grunted. “And Kestrel, if you can manage it, try to move around some more. Help the young lady.”
The pair blushed as Wallace closed the door.
A short, but very awkward silence followed.
“Well, I’ll get to working on our meal,” Sephira said with a forced cough.
Kestrel nodded in reply and Sephira couldn’t help but notice that his cheeks were still stained red from embarrassment at the old man’s remarks.
She allowed herself an indulgent smile.
The duo chatted while Sephira fetched some of the water that Wallace had placed over the small fireplace. He had been heating it to use in the atrocious tasting herbal tea he forced Kestrel to drink every couple of hours. The old soldier had insisted on its medicinal properties, but Kestrel argued that if the taste could kill, it wouldn’t matter how good it was for the body.
He expressed his thanks to Sephira when she freed that water from its fate of turning into that noxious substance.
After Sephira grabbed the water, she asked Kestrel to cut some vegetables for the soup. Kestrel nodded and hobbled over to the counter where he took the cleaver and began his best attempt at copying what he’d seen Sephira doing before. She went to grab the freshly killed chicken that Wallace had provided.
“That looks good,” Sephira said minutes later, upon spying the small pile of onions and celery Kestrel had just chopped up. “But I think those pieces may be too large. They need to be smaller.”
Kestrel obeyed and resumed dicing the vegetables.
Sephira had nearly finished gutting the chicken and cleaning it by the time he finished and she smiled when she inspected his handiwork.
“You’ll make a fine house-husband yet,” she laughed as she saw his face redden. “You look exhausted. Go and sit. I can do the rest.”
Kestrel reluctantly obeyed and returned to the small bed where he laid back down. He was loath to admit it, but her joke about him becoming someone’s husband had buoyed his heart. From the moment Kestrel had taken Cillia under his wing, in some deep corner of his heart he had known that he had always wanted to be a father. He wanted to have his own child and give it the future he had been denied. He would redeem the mistakes of whatever man had poured his seed into his junkie of a mother.
