Tale of Four

Tristan sat, staring ahead at the throne where his uncle sat. The lords of Veston had long flooded out the room, leaving behind only the Royal Family and the golden-armoured Kings’ Guard to stand before the throne and watch, protecting their new lord. Anton’s fingers bounced on the throne’s armrest, the light tapping making its way into everyone’s ears.

”Elias, Mabel, Matthew,” Anton said, each name slowly, calling out to his children. Elias was the first to be summoned by his father’s command, a seventeen-year-old boy the same age as Tristan. He walked with a similar confidence to his father, only lacking the sharpness Anton had, comparable to that of a sword. Much like him, Mabel walked with a newfound arrogance, having shaken off the title of Princeling and become a Princess. Yet in her confidence, there was a wildness, the grace of a princess lost in her appearance, donning trousers and a shirt rather than the usual dress expected of a lady, and her golden hair cut short just above her shoulders.

Finally, Matthew, someone out of place compared to his siblings, slumped his shoulders, trying to look smaller than he really was, his back hunched over as he hid from the dim lights around him. The three walked past the King’s Guards and took their place next to Anton as he lazily leaned over onto his fist and looked out at his family, still tapping the armrest.

”Any name I say, leave the room and remain in your lodging.” His words made everyone tense up. Tristan involuntarily gulped and lowered his head. They all knew what the command meant. Although he couldn’t remove his brother so easily, the rest of them lacked the support of most. ”Cleeve, Vincent, Ester. You will take the children to the wet nurses and then return to your lodging.”

”Bro...” A shrill voice of a man called out in panic, but stopped halfway as Anton’s finger stopped bouncing. His hard glare stared at Vincent.

”Take the children and return to your lodgings.” Repeating his words, the four showed different reactions. Cleeve slammed a fist on his chest, showing no emotion and bowed, walking off. Ester shook but nodded, bowing with clenched fists. Finally, Vincent shook, bit his lips and walked off. Anton remained unmoving, and only until they left did soemthing change.

From behind him, a red smoke formed, coming from the pores of his skin. Slowly, the smoke morphed into a creature, a red spider as deep as blood. Its gaping maw oozed with black liquid that dripped in hunger. The beady white eyes scanned everything around with a cruel glare, waiting for the order of its summoner.

Even Anton’s children tensed up, trying to remain dignified but struggling to do so, not daring to look behind them. With a deep snarl, the spider’s maw clicked, making its fur vibrate, dropping more of the black ooze. After seeing that it wouldn’t be given a command to attack, the spider curled itself around the ivory throne, resting a leg over Anton. His hand reached up without looking at it, stroking the creature from hell with a loving caress.

”Bradon. Your eldest daughter will marry Matthew. Do you agree?” Anton calmly said, as the spider rested its head atop the throne, staring at the Prince. Despite the fear every member of the Royal family felt, Tristan could see his eldest uncle unshaken by the clear threat, staring into the spider’s eyes.

”Understood.” Brandon calmly said, before sweeping a gaze over the rest of his family, finding his daughter in the mix, shaking in fear. ”Brother.” Looking back at Anton, he slowly walked closer to the throne. The King’s Guards let him pass, but the spider around Anton snarled, making the terrible clicking sound once more. ”Unsummon the beast. You have made your point clear to them.”

The two held eye contact, watching one another. A scratching sound echoed as the spider dragged one of its legs down the wall, hissing as it did. Tristan dared to look up and watched as a silver smoke slowly came from Brandon, the spider menacingly glaring at it. The King’s Guard finally reacted. Without turning, they placed their hands on the hilt of their swords, each one as calm as Brandon.

”Do it,” Anton said in a challenge. The entire family tensed up, and Tristan couldn’t help but wonder if Brandon would use it as a chance to take what he felt was his or if he simply wished to protect his daughter. Tension filled the air, broken when Brandon took a deep breath, the smoke coming from his body stopping as he placed a hand on his chest and bowed.

”I am merely offering advice as your Chancellor. Your Grace.” Taking a step back, Brandon climbed down the few steps he had climbed and returned to where he previously stood. From behind Anton, the spider dematerialised, turning to smoke and returning to his body. Everyone finally could take a breath, stopping themselves from wiping the sweat on their foreheads.

Tristan looked up at his King. Even if he knew he was a master with the sword, it wasn’t the reason he was feared as the executioner of the Cosmaton dynasty. His beast, his summon, the power carried by Cosmaton blood, was. Rarely did anyone see it take to the field, but they all saw what was left afterwards. Webs woven across battlefields, each one carrying a body twisted in unimaginable pain or wrapped in a cocoon of blood red silk, waiting to be savoured by the beast later.

Even if Anton wouldn’t be as effective a ruler as Brandon in terms of governance, no one could doubt his might, something that had kept the rule of his previous brother’s reign safe until his death. That wasn’t to say Bradon was weak, but he didn’t carry the same legacy as Anton.

Anton took a deep breath and looked to the ceiling, watching the candle flames dance. ”We are surrounded by vultures.” Saying he didn’t direct his words to anyone. Tristan calmed himself down and leaned forward. ”The Great Lords all vie for the Dead Gods Throne, forgetting who forged it,” Anton said with a hateful tone. Looking back down at his family, his deep black eyes scanned them, ”I have some of their loyalty, but they are not our blood. You all have a part to play in my reign. They will fear me for a while, but eventually greed and ambition will overshadow it.”

Anton’s eyes darted around before landing on Brandon. Even if there was tension between them, one that suffocated everyone around, inside their gazes, there was a shared goal of keeping the dynasty safe, even if it was built on uneasy foundations. ”You’re all dismissed.” Anton finally spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence. No one hesitated to stand up and leave, wishing to get away from the two brothers.

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Closing the door behind him, Tristan collapsed in on himself and grabbed his head, shaking, still able to vividly remember the sight he saw. The smell of blood still drifted into his nose from the spider. But even then, it wasn’t what scared him the most, but Anton’s cold, unflinching gaze, as he implied the death of four of his family.

A white smoke came from his skin, morphing into a dove made of light, its feathers pure and untainted. The bird flew around the room before landing on Tristan’s shoulder and nudging its soft head into him to try to cheer him up.

”Annabell.” Rubbing the small dove’s head, the bird leaned into it before pushing its hand away with its wing and flying up to the chandelier above.

”Why are you scared?” The dove’s voice was like that of a young girl, but not entirely human, each word repeating with an echo. Tristan looked up and saw Annabell raise a wing and place it on her chest, lifting her head higher until it faced the ceiling, ”The Great me can protect you.” Tristan stared and felt all the negative thoughts he was feeling vanish. With a small chuckle, the bird seemed to smile and flew down, resting atop his golden hair and sitting down.

”Anton is King.” Tristan said to himself and the bird, ”I don’t understand.” Looking down at the ground, he remembered a distant past, one that was from before he was born, an endless dark void where he floated with only a voice talking to him. ”What did it mean when I knew when the time comes. Why does it want me to stay here and survive?”

That voice that spoke to him, before his birth, before his life as Tristan, was unimaginably powerful, something beyond human comprehension. Even when it spoke, he could tell the words were translated by its power, its true voice alone able to destroy his entire being.

”Maybe this was it. You should have made a claim. Silly Tristan. You are chosen by a God.” Tristan tensed up and looked around, but sighed, realising that no one could hear. Grabbing Annabell, the bird tried to break free but failed as Triastan tightened his grip on it and brought it face-to-face.

”Never say those words again. Anton won’t hesitate to have me executed, even if it is my summons having the treasonous thoughts.” Annabell desperately tried to break free, eventually able to when Tristan released his grip.

”Idiot Tristan.” Annabell flew away, going to the other end of the room, not letting Tristan feel her soft feathers, ”The Gods work in ways you cannot understand.” The young, playful voice carried a deep wisdom as if it had seen aeons of existence. Tristan stared at the dove in wonder.

Everyone knew that the Cosmaton dynasty and the eight Great Nobles’ houses all had a special power tied to their blood, yet no one knew where they came from. When he had first met Annabell, he was interested, seeing the strangeness in the dove, a wisdom and knowledge that shouldn’t exist in soemthing born alongside him. But in the pursuit of answers, he realised the horror of knowledge, nearly losing his mind as he learnt truths he shouldn’t have, Annabell, forcefully suppressing them so he could never see them again.