“Of course,” the guard replied, producing a key. He unlocked the gate quickly, swinging it open to let Relam in. The prince nodded gratefully, then moved into the gardens alone, the guard securing the gate behind him once more.
To Relam’s right, the Furnier River rushed past at the end of the gardens furthest from the palace. Here, close by where it joined the sea, the river was unfrozen and swift. The sound of flowing water soothed Relam as he walked past beds of winter-blasted flowers, delicate things planted for their beauty, not their longevity or hardiness.
Relam moved silently passed the flower beds, past the decorative trees that were suffering nearly as badly in this weather. He kept moving until he reached the stone path that led to the palace and turned right, towards the river. He followed the path to his goal: the stone table.
The young prince stepped up to the table and bowed his head. Here his mother had briefly rested months earlier before being entombed. Here his father would briefly rest as well, before following his mother into the royal crypt. And then, Relam would be completely and totally alone.
“Don’t leave me,” Relam whispered, reaching out and touching the table. “Please. I’m not strong enough to do this on my own.”
Tears began to slide down his cheeks as he thought about what was before him, and what lay behind. Of all the grief and suffering he had endured in the last year, of all the uncertainty and pain yet to come. The king was the most powerful man in the land, but also the most alone. Relam had seen this in his father. King Orram had only known two people he could always trust and count on, Relam and the queen. Beyond them, everyone had an agenda they were pushing, a desire to manipulate the crown. There was nobody else truly on his father’s side. How would Relam fare in such circumstances? He did not even have a family to fall back on.
Relam turned away from the stone table, dabbing at his eyes, as a stiff wind blew his hood off his head. He groped at it angrily to pull it forward again, half turning. Then, he stopped and turned further, frowning.
Not far away stood the entrance to the crypts, the silver doors shut tight. Relam hesitated, then moved towards them, stepping softly as though any movement might disturb the residents of the crypt.
As he began descending towards the door, the clouds overhead cleared slightly and a sliver of moonlight shone forth, spreading across the doors. Relam watched awestruck as the silver tracery glowed with an inner light, radiating out into the night and washing over Relam. The soon-to-be king shook his head in amazement, and laid a hand on the door, running his fingers over the silver lines. As he did, he realized that there was something written there, revealed by the moonlight. The silver letters were in an archaic but readable script, curving around the archway.
Here rest the Kings and Queens of the Sthan.
Though they pass on, their spirit lingers.
Remember them, oh future monarchs.
Learn from their failures.
Strive to match their success.
Rule their people well.
The message flared once again in the moonlight, then the clouds returned and the words faded before Relam’s eyes, until the door was a uniform, gray surface once more.
“Remember them,” Relam murmured, scraping his hand over the place the words had been. “Learn from them.”
The young prince retreated from the door a few paces and sat down, legs crossed, head bowed. Around him, the cold winter night swirled and howled with the passage of the wind. But inside, Relam felt peace for the first time in many months. He was not perfect. He knew that. But he had been beginning to think that as king he would have to be.
The crypt door’s exhortation had reminded him that even kings are flawed, that they make mistakes. Sometimes terrible mistakes, like his grandfather starting the war against the Orell. But Relam could learn and strive to be better, avoid making the same mistakes his ancestors had. And all the while, the former monarchs would be with him. His mother. His father. All of his ancestors, those he had known briefly and those he had known not at all. They were all with him as long as he remembered.
“You will not be forgotten,” Relam whispered to the night, thinking of his parents. “I will remember. And I will cherish those memories as I cherished you in life. I wish that you were still living, but I realize now that you are never truly gone. Guide me through my reign. Help me to rule our people well.”
Relam took a deep breath and fell silent, meditating on the past. The present. And the future.
He was still sitting there when the dawn came, the sun rushing up from the eastern horizon to burn away the clouds and bring light to a new day. All around the young prince, the world came alive with hope and promise.
Relam tilted his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the moment, drinking it in so that he would never forget it. It was peace. Peace with who he was and what he could be. And a determination to live up to the legacy of his ancestors.
As Relam opened his eyes, he heard a tentative footstep behind him, boots scraping on the stone path. “Your highness?” a voice asked.
Relam turned and saw his guards standing a respectful distance behind him, wrapped in thick cloaks to block out the cold. Underneath, they were wearing dress uniforms and their armor was polished until it gleamed like the rising sun, but they still carried their everyday weapons.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Galen said, shuffling his feet a little. “But we were sent to
