How long he sat there, Relam did not know. Eventually, his solitude was broken by the sound of the outer door opening. He looked up and saw his father stumping wearily into the room, followed by Narin and Clemon. The king’s chatelain was gesticulating and babbling as usual, upset over some unimportant matter or other.
“-and there’s talk of a miner’s uprising in the Heights against the lords who run the mines. If that were to happen our iron supplies would positively vanish until the situation was brought under control. And there are also many mines of precious stones in the area, not to mention the rock and marble quarries-”
“Tell the Mizzran lord that it’s time he saw to it that the mining bosses treat his people like humans,” Relam’s father snarled. “I don’t want to hear another word of trouble from that quarter, am I understood, Marc?”
“Of course, your majesty. Now, about the recent droughts near Gobel-Tek-”
“They can wait,” the king interrupted. “One more day won’t change the situation. Good night, Marc.”
“Oh, erm, yes, good evening, your majesty,” Clemon muttered sulkily, slinking from the room.
Relam turned away as the door closed and went back to staring into the flames. He heard his father sigh and go to his mother’s room. The door creaked slightly. “Any change?” Orram asked.
The healer’s murmured reply did not reach Relam’s ears. But the door closed and his father moved to stand by the fire, noticing Relam for the first time.
“Didn’t see you there, son,” he grunted. “How are you doing?”
Relam shrugged. “Not great.”
His father nodded sadly, leaning against the mantle. “I know. I’m hurting too, son. But we must keep hoping she’ll beat this thing, whatever it is.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
As soon as he said the words, Relam wished he could have them back. His father flinched and recoiled a half pace, and the room seemed to darken. Relam shivered slightly as the fire flickered, the flames dwindling.
“Life will go on,” the king whispered finally. “Believe it or not, life goes on.”
Relam hunched his shoulders and leaned forward, staring into the flames. Silence stretched between him and his father, an uncomfortable, oppressive silence that muffled everything else. Finally, the king turned and went back to the sick room, closing the door quietly behind him.
The young prince stayed where he was a moment longer, then stood and meandered to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. It was nearly time for dinner, but he was not hungry. Not anymore. Such trivial things as food did not seem to matter at the moment. The only thing that mattered was his mother, and the slim odds that she would recover.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the rug that covered the stone floor under his feet. The tasseled edges were starting to fray in places, and there were places where he could see between threads to the gray stone. The rug was nearly worn out, he realized. Before long, the royal decorators would start clamoring for it to be replaced.
A knock came at the door, tentative and quiet. Relam ignored it, still staring at the rug.
The intruder knocked again, more forcefully this time, then jiggled the latch. Relam glared at the hardwood portal, willing the visitor to go away.
But they didn’t. They knocked again, still louder, the door banging against its frame. Relam surged to his feet and crossed the room in two long strides, throwing the door open, drawing breath to reprimand the intruder.
“What is it?” he snapped irritably. Then, he realized it was Aven standing in front of him, slightly crouched, one foot back, right arm up to defend himself, frozen in shock.
“Rough day?” the boy asked cautiously, not meeting Relam’s gaze.
“You could say that,” Relam grunted. “Is there a reason you were trying to break my door down?”
“I’m working a shift in the kitchens tonight,” Aven explained. “There’s a feast being hosted by the Assembly of Nobles. Lord Thius wants to know if the royal family will make an appearance.”
“We won’t,” Relam replied shortly.
An awkward silence stretched between them for a long moment.
“I also wanted to see how you were doing,” Aven said uncertainly, making a helpless little gesture. “With your mother sick and all-”
“I’m fine.”
Aven raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Really?”
“Yes,” the prince growled, gripping the door tightly in his right hand.
“Your eyes are red, you know, and you look terrible. Have you even slept this week?”
“Go,” Relam snarled, anger and frustration building within him. “I’m in no mood for talk, Aven.”
“Fine. Is there anything you needed me to take care of, or-”
“Go!” Relam roared. “Get out! Can’t you see, you’re not wanted here?”
Aven stumbled backwards, mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Across the main room, the door to the sick room opened and the king peered out frowning. Relam did not wait for his father’s glare to find him. Instead, he slammed the door in Aven’s face and threw the bolt home. Then he stomped over to his desk and sat in the chair there. His head was throbbing painfully, and there was a terrible pressure behind his eyes. Worse though, was the weight in his chest. The weight of guilt.
“He had it coming,” Relam muttered through gritted teeth. “Barging in here when my mother is ill and needs rest. He deserved it.”
He kicked one of the legs of the desk for emphasis. It did not help his anger or frustration. The only result
