Chapter 216 Grieving and Regaling
ETAN
The following day, dusty and ragged, they rode at a walk up the main road towards the gate of the Palace City.
Etan was still in shock, still struggling to wrap his mind around what was happening, what events he'd set into motion.
He kept looking at Ayleth to make sure she was still there at his side, and Borsche, to be certain that this wasn't just a terrible dream.
That final argument with his father, his mother's kind but concerned words, kept running through his head. And his single-minded purpose ever since.
He hadn't thought about them or what they might be facing. He'd been so fixated on getting Ayleth to safety, he'd ridden home, taken his wife, let his heart be light—he'd traveled safely and quickly and meanwhile his parents had been slaughtered.
The Fortress City had refused them entry, and when they had turned to flee, it was too late. They'd found themselves faced with the army gathered by the Zenithrans, bolstered by the mass of fighters and mercenaries tempted by the Zenithra royal coffers, to come against the enemy.
Their smaller force hadn't been able to move fast enough. They hadn't stood a chance. Overwhelmed by the sheer numbers, his entire court was dead.
His parents were dead.
And he was about to be crowned King of Summitras, Ayleth at his side as his Queen.
This was not the way he had envisioned this moment. Ever.
As they'd grown close to the capital city of Summitras Etan had become aware of a low murmur in the air, a roar in his head. But no... it was the voices of the people within the walls, raised in mourning and in celebration.
Etan shook his head.
They drew rein a mile from the City walls, a mile from the Eastern Gate, and Etan found himself suddenly swallowing tears.
This wasn't how this was supposed to be.
"They already know you're coming, Etan," Borsche said quietly from his left. "Even while they mourn, they're celebrating. They want you. They need you right now. They need to know you're here and strong and will lead them against the threat.
He knew. They'd been rushing for the past day, pushing to get here, for this very moment. Poor Ayleth had barely slept three hours before he'd bundled her back into the saddle and they'd ridden all day, even in the fading summer heat. But she was strong. She hadn't complained. Had just held his hand when he would let her, and ridden close when he wouldn't.
Now he had to do this. He looked down at her and she gazed up at him, grief and fear in her eyes. He touched her face. "Don't be afraid. I won't let them hurt you."
She put her hand to his and turned her face, kissing the center of his palm. "I'm so sorry, Etan. I didn't think they'd move this quickly. I thought... I thought we could—"
"Don't," he said shortly. "There's no point regretting what we can't change. When we get through the gates I'll have to ride first. Stay between Borsche and Falek. Keep your hood up. We'll go straight to the Palace and... then we'll figure out what we're going to do."
She nodded. He leaned down to brush his lips on hers, but his felt cold. As if whatever fire had burned within him was extinguished.
He hadn't cried, she realized. His parents were dead and he hadn't cried.
But there was no time to address it now. With a heavy sigh, Etan let her go and turned towards the City, nudging his horse into a canter and staring, fixed straight ahead, at the gates and the roar of his people that rose with every foot closer they traveled.
*****
AYLETH
The capital city of Summitras was stunning. Wide cobbled streets, buildings tall and straight. The walls easily as thick as the Fortress City's, yet with windows peppering the upper levels. His people were trusted to live within the walls?
Most of the buildings were made of bricks in a warm golden brown, a material that was unfamiliar to Ayleth. But some were made from stone, others from strong, thick Cedar.
The streets were clean and uncluttered—or would be if they weren't full of people. While the capital wasn't as large as Zenithra's Palace City, Ayleth found herself... impressed.
The people were clean and healthy, their faces open—even wracked with grief, their eyes lit up when they landed on their new King, their heir. The roar of the crowds that had flowed into the streets even before they arrived was overwhelming. Ayleth felt the vibrations in her chest. Her horse snorted, ears flickering, but thankfully remained calm.
But the thing that dropped her jaw, that she couldn't understand, and had never seen before, was the sheer freedom with which Etan made his way through the city.
Ayleth had imagined that they would be met by the guard. That their passage would be cleared ahead, all the way through the city to the Palace.
But Etan... Etan walked among his people when they knew he was there.
Ayleth had never seen anything like it.
Like most young rulers, she had snuck out of the palace in disguise. She'd even walked the streets with a guard and her court. She'd been parts of parades of the royals, and her people were very close whenever they gathered in the Amphitheater.
But she'd never simply walked among them. She'd never been a part of their day.
Yet, Etan rode his horse directly into the city, meeting the roar with a raised hand and eyes silvered with unshed tears.
His broad shoulders remained flat and pushed back, and his chin high as he nodded to accept both the mourning wails and the cries of celebration.
The King is dead.
Long Live the King.
People of all walks of life—male and female, children, elderly... anyone who wished lined the streets. Some threw flowers ahead of his horse. Others rushed forward to drape ribbons over the animal's neck—and always, when they did that, Etan touched their arm or shoulder. And once, when a woman held her young son high to lay a ribbon on his animal's wither, Etan put his hand to the boy's face and leaned in to tell him something.
The mother cried, and he nodded to her as well.
"What are the ribbons?" she yelled to Borsche over the roar of the crowd.
"They're... acknowledgments of grief. They make Etan a part of the family. It is tradition in Summitras that when a loved one dies, the family bring ribbons written with a memory, and give them to the parent or spouse. Or in this case, the child."
"They give memories of the King and Queen? These commoners?" she'd gasped, without thought.
Borsche gave wry smile. "You'll find many things different in Summitras, Princess," he said. "Most of them for the good, I think."
"But... don't they ever attempt to hurt him, or—"
"His people would die to protect him," Borsche said. "They are a far more effective barrier to any assassin than the guard would be. Because there are so many of them. They would tear an attacker limb from limb."
"But... archers. Those with weapons—"
"There's no way to avoid risk completely, Ayleth," Borsche yelled over the crowd. "But be certain... there are far more eyes for his protection here than any that might want to do him harm. And he has missed his people. This is an important and emotional moment. I'm not going to steal it from him."
Ayleth shook her head. No, of course not, but... She watched the spectacle from behind, touched again and again by the care of his people, and by Etan's utter disregard for station or birth.
She'd thought she was forward-thinking.
She'd thought she loved her people.
But suddenly she felt like she was learning what true love looked like... and, as her head spun with the ways her life would be different if she wasn't always under guard, learning that she desperately wanted it.
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