Kingdom of Silver and Starlight

King of a Ruin

Alios, like most demons, had been born into a war. He couldn’t fault his mother and sire for their ill timing, it was simply in the nature of Abyssals to seek out bloodshed and c*****e, to gain power from a slaughter and revel in the destruction of their enemies. He felt it now as an adult, the mayhem bubbling beneath the thin veneer of humanity. Most days he could control it, but some days he awoke with his claws buried in the wooden frame of his bed, half-remembered images of corpses staring at him from behind his eyelids.

Perhaps things would have been different had they won. The war had been massive, with every other kingdom against them. In those days the sky was ablaze with dragon-fire and infernal flames, while the sea roiled and bubbled, birthing untold horrors up to the ice-scorched surface to wreak havoc amongst those on land. Sword clashed against scales, teeth tore into flesh, and blood splattered the soil until there was hardly a place where death had not sunk its skeletal grip into the very fabric of reality. It was in this turbulent time that Alios had been born.

As an infant, Alios Caligo had known nothing of the world he’d been cast into. He hadn’t known that he would be loathed for the crime of being born, for daring to exist, for all that he represented. He hadn’t known the hunger would gnaw at him from the inside out, or the cold that would claw at his skin, or that those two sensations would be his closest companion for years. Even now he could not let go of those years and the shadows they had cast upon him.

Over the years Alios had gathered a great many literary works, and had read a great many quotes that revered the innocence of children, their minds yet untainted by the vicious viscous quality of the outside world must therefore house some secret intelligence that outstripped the most duplicitous of minds.

That was a load of bull, Alios had thought to himself when the blade in his hands grew too heavy, his palms dampened with the slick of fresh blood, and when the phantom screams in his ears threatened to drown out everything else. Innocence was a luxury that not every child received. To pretend otherwise was the height of foolishness. Either you grew up fast, or you wouldn’t get the chance to grow up at all.

Alios adored parties, which was a pity since he seldom found opportunity to attend many. If he wasn’t running his kingdom, ensuring that his people had enough food and medicine to see them through the harsh winters, then it was some other problem that required his insight. Mena harangued him whenever she could to simply delegate more, but he just laughed and said that she, Nicolai, and Salix were more than enough for him.

He did not say that he trusted them implicitly, that trust was a rare flower that bloomed slowly for him and died just as quickly if it sensed a drop of the bitter tang of treachery. Though he was the eldest, the four of them were his council and counsel, and he was content with that. They would never lie to him, and he to them. There would be no falsehoods spoken over their table.

Now the four of them stood in his study, eyes on the ivory envelope that rested at the centre of the oak desk. The wax seal was still unbroken but that didn’t matter, they already knew what lay inside. His court had received many of these letters throughout the years and after a while reading the same regurgitated, shallow platitudes became dull. Most ended up as fuel for the fireplace in his study, or were given to the local children to scribble over.

This though, this was different. Not the contents of the letter, but the timing and the context.

“We’re not going,” Mena was the first to speak, her firm voice echoing in the dimly lit room. “We can’t. There’s still too much prejudice towards us amongst the other kingdoms. We can’t risk drawing their ire right now.”

“But isn’t this the best time to go?” Salix pointed out, fingers never stopping as he meticulously plucked handfuls of bane-berries from their pedicels and set the white fruit into a nearby bowl. He was still dressed in his protective cloak, having come straight from the castle infirmary. Alios’s eyes scanned his head physician and confidant, taking in the purpling bruises beneath jade green eyes. Their brightness only further contrasted against the mottled patch of iridescent black scales on his cheeks and neck, now dull with exhaustion. He must have been working all through the previous night and well into the day.

Beside him sat Nicolai, the willowy vampire utterly engrossed in his cup of tea as Salix continued to elucidate his point. “The war ended two decades ago. We can’t be expected to hide here with our tails between our legs forever.”

“And then what happens when we step outside and the other kingdoms still harbour hate for us?” Mena demanded, slamming her hands down on the table.

The knife at her hip glinted meanly in the candlelight, and she scowled down at the letter as though she would dearly love to hack it to pieces, but this was a problem that could not be solved with wanton violence and was thus her least favourite problem.

Determined to make them see reason, she continued, “What if they decide to finish the job? With sufficient time and warning, we might be able to mount an initial defense, but our soldiers are not equipped to fend off multiple kingdoms. Nicolai!” She whirled on the absent-minded general who startled and nearly dropped his teacup. “Nicolai for f**k’s sake pay attention and tell them we can’t just parade ourselves in front of the same people who tried to wipe us out!”

“Hm? Why not?” He c****d his head, blinking garnet-red eyes owlishly around the table. Alios hid a chuckle behind his fist, waiting to see what his long-time friend and First General had to say. “We were invited, weren’t we? It’s not as though they are utterly ignorant of our continued existence.”

“That’s already a huge problem!” Mena threw up her arms as though Nicolai had just proved her point. “That’s more reason why we should lay low. Why should we bother? We don’t need this! haven’t had any issues in the last few years. Business is going smoothly, our people aren’t starving, and we’ve finally found our footing. What reason do we have to court calamity by drawing their attention?”

Alios cast his mind back to one of the folders tucked away in his desk drawer. It held the records of a clash that had taken place fairly recently on one of the offshoot roads that connected to the Painted Sands Trail, the principal commercial route which spanned the mainland, beginning in the depths Snowland hills and all the way to the coast of the Wasting Sea. Although the traders who used it transported all manner of things, the most important of these were the colours. Dyes for clothing, ink for documents, oil pigments to be spread upon a canvas, and it was from these that the road received its moniker.

Less than a week ago, a caravan had set out from from the Voided Lands bearing bars of newly smelted gold and boxes of freshly faceted corundum gemstones. They’d hardly been a day away from the borders when they’d been waylaid and harassed by soldiers bearing the flashy purple insignia of the Dragon court. While none of the merchants had been killed during the encounter, a large amount of their stock had been taken as part of a ‘toll fee’.

It was just the latest in a steadily growing trend.

Turning his attention back to the current conflict at his table – Mena looked apoplectic while Salix was staring down at his hands as though he was contemplating swallowing one of the berries just so he could be excused from the discussion – Alios raised a hand, causing both of their mouths to snap shut. “I understand both of your concerns,” he said, the idle tone of his voice belying a sharp mind and growing impatience, “but Nicolai speaks the truth. They know where we are, but they don’t know who we are, and that is a far more pressing problem. Tell me Mena, what have your spies reported?”

The banshee swallowed back her irritation and folded her arms over her chest with a sigh. There was a reason she had chosen to follow Alios all those years ago. Though she didn't always agree with his methods, her king had never given her reason to mistrust his decisions no matter how dangerous or outlandish they seemed at first glance. So she answered, “They believe we’re a kingdom of demons and ghosts. According to the most common consensus we’re either pitiful monsters or savage barbarians eking out a miserable life in the forsaken lands.”

To his side, Salix pressed his lips together and Nicolai ducked his head, swirling the liquid dregs around in his cup. ‘They weren’t wholly wrong,’ Alios lifted his head to look out the window. Night was falling steadily, the grey blue ombre casting the ironwood trees into shadows and silhouettes. It had been like that in the beginning, back when their families and ancestors had first arrived in the Voided Lands. Back then the kingdom was just a stretch of barren wilderness and craggy hills dotted with openings that wound thousands of miles below the surface. The valleys between the rocky faces were covered in overgrown greying tufts grass and wild nettles.

Alios had been a child when he'd been proclaimed king at the tail end of the conflict. He had been a boy still reeling from the horrors of battle and the death of his mother, the previous ruler, but he had been a soldier too. In the time after, Alios had done his best to repair and elevate his home. The bulk of their land was devoid of the nutrients necessary for farming and could hardly sustain crops, but there were caves with veins of gold, walls encrusted with minerals and precious stones that could be traded for both food and agricultural materials, or kept to be used for crafting.

“They think that we have nothing,” Alios rose to his feet, crossing behind his seat to walk around the table. As he passed by each of his friends, he placed a hand on their shoulder to emphasize his words. Un-gloved and un-glamoured, obsidian black claws curled lightly against the nape of the necks. It was as much a display of tender kinship as it was a show of dominance. “They think that we are suffering in the hell that they threw us in. Those same nobles who were too cowardly to set foot on a battlefield now sit in their marble castles and pat themselves on the back, delighting in their asinine belief that our people are too stupid to thrive because they can’t imagine surviving without their luxuries.

“Then shouldn’t we be encouraging their assumptions?” Mena argued, sounding frustrated. “If they truly think that we are harmless, then we’ll at least have the element of surprise in the event that something happens.”

“Right. So how long would we be expected play this game?” Now he stopped in front of her, polished gold staring down into bright blue as Alios stared down his favoured spymaster and assassin. “A year? A decade? Until they’re heckling us through the gaps of our own gates? How would we play it? Tell me Mena, are you comfortable letting them look down on us like that?”

Seconds ticked past as she seemed to struggle between her warrior’s pride and the cautious nature that had made her such a good survivor. Finally she let out a gusty sigh, though it came out more like a growl. “No. No I can’t accept that,” she admitted. “But we’re not staying for the whole meeting!” She added quickly.

“I should hope not,” Salix muttered, apparently deciding that ingesting highly toxic plants was not a valid solution for avoiding conflict. He reached out and neatly swapped the sugar-cubes and bowl of white bane-berries around before Nicolai could accidentally poison himself while trying to sweeten his tea. “I just managed to germinate some meadow saffron seeds in the greenhouse and if they die while we’re gone I will put arsenic in everyone’s dinner.”

“Well that’s just not fair,” Alios drawled, resting a hip against the edge of the desk. “I’m immune to almost all poisons. Why would you leave me out of the fun like that?”

The dark glare Salix shot him from over the tops of his circular glasses promised swift retribution. “Trust me, I’ll find a way.”