Relam made a slow circuit of the room, looking for something, anything to pique his interest. There was no food laid out in the dining alcove, no messages or reports on the low table in the sitting area. Nobody present to talk to. Aven must have recovered and been returned to his own home, for there was no evidence of the younger boy to be found. There were guards outside of course, but the young prince did not really feel like making idle small talk with them.
Finally, Relam returned to his room, closing the door quietly so he could be alone with his thoughts. He sat at his desk and pulled out the dragon carving he had started so long ago. It was nearly finished now. The long tail, muscular legs, and triangular head had all been pulled out of the block of wood. He had even finished the spikes along the dragon’s back and neck. But it didn’t look right yet. The surface of the piece was smooth, like hide or hair, and dragons had scales. Relam stared at the carving for a few moments, trying to decide whether to take the plunge and begin the detail work or not. Eventually, he set the carving aside, deciding that when he did start the detail work he wanted to have the full capabilities of his fingers and hands. As things stood, his right hand was still stiff and sore.
He put the carving back in its secret little hiding place and looked around his room for something else to distract him. There wasn’t much to look at. There was his weapons rack, his sword belt hanging from one of the pegs. And the bed, of course, and the desk he sat at. But there was nothing else that had any chance of holding his attention more than a moment, save the view from the tall windows.
Even this source of distraction was useless though, for the world outside was dreary and gray, matching the young prince’s mood. Swollen gray clouds hung low in the sky, giving forth occasional flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder. There was a stiff wind as well, and the trees Relam could see were thrashing back and forth as they struggled to resist it.
An hour later, it started to rain, great fat drops of water driving against the tall windows with a muffled roar. The force of the storm was impressive for a few moments, but once Relam realized he could no longer see anything out of the windows and that the storm would go on for some time, he stood and paced around the room, looking for something else to occupy his time.
He had no success finding something to do in his room, so he wandered out into the main room. But there was no one there either. Finally, he came to a halt in front of the door that led into his mother’s sickroom. He hesitated for a moment, then knocked firmly on the door. There was no reply, so he eased the door open and peered through the narrow gap.
The room was devoid of many of the devices that it had contained for the last year. The dozens of medicine bottles and herb pouches had vanished, as had the healer’s medical instruments. The bed was empty as well, and freshly made, the sheets and comforter drawn tight across the surface. And in a chair beside the bed, was the king.
Relam’s father looked much the worse for his grieving. His hair and beard were unkempt and there were dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. His clothes were stained and rumpled, and Relam suspected that his father had not gotten fresh ones since the queen’s death.
“Father?” Relam said cautiously, not wanting to disturb him. He needn’t have worried though. His father sat as still as statue, gazing at the place where Relam’s mother had lain for so long as she battled her disease.
“How are you doing?” Relam asked, trying to stir him from the depths of his grief.
The king did not even acknowledge that he had heard Relam, did not shift in his seat, nor blink. Not a muscle twitched and his expression did not change.
“Do you want to talk?” Relam asked, his voice trembling. “Do you want to talk about her?”
His father made no move or reply once again. Relam’s heart was nearly overflowing with sorrow and pity at this point.
“Father, hear me!” he pleaded. “Talk to me. Just do something!”
But nothing happened.
“I need you,” Relam whispered, tears threatening to break free once more. “Now more than ever. Please, come back, I’m begging you.”
He laid a hand on his father’s shoulder, trying to pull him away. But the king would not move, no matter how hard Relam pulled and tugged at his arm. Finally, Relam admitted defeat and returned to his room. There, he fell onto his bed once more and cried himself to sleep.
Chapter 23
Nobody disturbed Relam for the next day and a half. Occasionally, at random hours of the day and night, he would sneak down to the kitchens for food. He would take a little of whatever he could find, speaking to no one, then slip out once more before anyone could ask how he was doing. The rest of the time he spent locked in his room, alternately sleeping and lying on his bed, heart too heavy to do much else. His mother’s death was one thing, but when his father’s condition was added on to that it was nearly too much for him to bear.
Finally, the day came when his mother was to be laid to rest for good. Relam rose with the sun and dressed mechanically in
