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Dakan had made more acquaintances out of the closed doors of the castle than any of the royal council itself. They always eyed him as an outsider, just like the King himself did, speaking in quietened tones at his approach. No, there was something else in King Edward’s eyes. He saw him as an opposition, in a way. A nuisance that he had regrettably raised. Even when Dakan had sworn him nothing but loyalty as the Right Hand.
Philip was different. He had been more willing to listen to Dakan, and more critical of his father’s actions. He was kinder, more considerate. But he never had the courage to stand up to his father, something that Dakan had noticed far too late.
Dakan had noticed a lot far too late. The meetings that took place behind his back, of matters that should have concerned him. The secret exchange of letters from the council to faceless individuals. The consequences that raising the bounty of the Snapdragon had entailed.
Inkwells were smashed. Blood was splattered. It only breached Dakan’s awareness one fateful morning with a letter. It was inconspicuous amongst the other paperwork upon his desk, but the crude insignia of a shadowy form wielding a scythe caught his attention.
Pigs of the royal court, consider this a warning.
We are the Phantom Scythe. We will serve justice where there has been none. The crown will understand the pain it has inflicted, for the suffering of its people and for the assassination of the Snapdragon. These are our demands, and should they not be met, there will be consequences…
The assassination of the Snapdragon. Dakan’s hands trembled. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. How could he have not known about something so horrific happening right under his nose?
He curled the paper into his fist and rose to his feet, striding out of his office and out into the castle hallway. There was a conflicted mess of emotions stirring in his chest, burning and driving each step he took towards the council meeting room. The guards noticed his hastened approach.
“Sir Rhysmel, the King is-”
“Let me through.” His teeth barely separated as he spoke.
“He has requested-” They were about to give him the same spiel he had heard too many times, that Edward was with more important company.
“This is urgent.” He didn’t need their permission to enter as he shoved his way past them. They were both too unsure of how to even stop the King’s Right Hand, someone of relatively high esteem, from pushing himself into the meeting hall.
Edward sat at the table with his son, discussing papers with one guard with them.
“Dakan?” Philip said, standing with alarm, “You shouldn’t be-”
“King Edward Aevasther, do you have any idea what you have done?!” Dakan’s voice lashed out. He was too furious to back down or bend to Edward’s influence. Not now. Not after what he’d done.
“Rhysmel,” the King addressed him calmly. “Whatever do you mean?” Dakan was expecting King Edward to be dressed in blood, but the monarch was completely clean of his wretched crimes.
Dakan saw red as he stormed past the rest of the table towards the monarch. “What do I mean? This-” he shoved the paper in Edward’s face, “-is the warning I received from an organisation known as the Phantom Scythe. You killed the Snapdragon, a group of civilians, and now I wholeheartedly believe their successors will use any means necessary to get their justice.”
“I hardly think that ‘civilians’ is the right word. They were criminals, Rhysmel.”
Dakan slammed his hand down on the table, a blaze in his eyes. Philip startled. Edward did not so much as blink. “Do not twist the truth,” Dakan seethed. “What they wanted was mere reparations for this kingdom, and you slaughtered them like animals! Do you really think you are so above consequence? For shame, your majesty!”
Edward’s head rested against his own hand, annoyed by Dakan’s fervour but otherwise far too comfortable with the subject matter being discussed. “Tell me, what does this ‘Phantom Scythe’ have that could possibly stand against the NSA and APD? They are stragglers, nothing more.”
“None of us know what they are capable of. You were lucky that the Snapdragon’s anonymity was broken, but do not think of them as so foolish to make the same mistake again. I urge you to take this matter seriously before your own arrogance becomes your downfall.”
The king maintained a steely stare at his advisor as he leaned forward slightly. “I would suggest you consider where you stand very carefully, Rhysmel. You and I both know what happens to traitors of the crown, do we not?” Edward’s tone was filled with malice, and a stab of fear shot through Dakan. He was staring into the eyes of a snake, whose fangs were bared in cruel desire. The Right Hand tried to conceal his trepidation, but it was impossible to block out the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.
He gazed upon his king in disbelief and derision. “You make me sick.”
Philip, ever tardy in resolve, finally took action. “I think you’ve said enough, Dakan. Leave us and calm yourself, lest you involve yourself with the guards.” He spoke in a tone not dissimilar to his father’s – firm and unyielding. Dakan stared in incredulity, the snares of betrayal rousing his animosity. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the proud expression on Edward’s face. He had never felt so revolted.
“So be it,” Dakan said gruffly, sparing no resentment. He turned and left, his blood still boiling and skin still crawling.
His hand imprinted upon the paper he held in his hand. He held the weight of so many souls, of so much buried suffering, and he could do nothing. He could find every last detail of Edward’s crimes, and he would, but he only stew in silent sorrow and hope the worst would not come to pass.
/////
Dakan was pacing outside of his office when Philip found him later that day. His cast a vindictive gaze upon his friend of many years as he approached. “Did you raise your hand when the Snapdragon’s fate was decided?” he asked, his vitriol barely restrained in his voice. He had learned much since their meeting.
Philip sighed with ill temperance. “You are out of line, Dakan!”
“Did you?” Dakan pressed. “Did you cast your vote for the majority and damn so many people’s lives just because you can never think for yourself?!” Philip’s wordless stare said it all. Dakan’s anger redoubled. “This is madness, Philip! You stood by and watched as your father and your lady slaughtered dozens for mere criticism of the crown! You should be ashamed!”
Philip tightened and relaxed the muscles of his jaw repeatedly, finding it hard to meet the jade tempest of his friend’s eyes, until he finally spoke. “We are not children anymore, Dakan. I am the crowned prince of Ardhalis, and it would be wise to respect me as such.”
Dakan scoffed humouredly. “Then it would be Sir Rhysmel to you, your majesty. Do not play this game. I have been royal advisor for longer than you have been crowned as prince.”
“You threatened my father! Are you insane? You are lucky you kept your position, let alone your head!”
“Lucky?” Dakan repeated as if the word was bile on his tongue. “Lucky, unlike the poor souls in that print shop? This may be your father’s kingdom to rule over now, but you will have to rule over its future soon enough. Is this the Ardhalis you wish to reign over? Do you really think the people will stand for this kind of brutality? You know as well as I that if your bloodline’s ignorance continues, it will be your father’s head that rolls, and then your own.”
“Will you listen to yourself, Rhysmel?! You speak of treason!”
“I speak the truth. I am sick of being the miserable mutt locked out of such important matters just for having one ounce of empathy! Here I thought you were different to your father. Here I thought I trusted you. I was wrong.” That last sentiment should not have made the taste of salt rest upon his tongue, nor his eyes sting quite as much as they did. Philip was the closest he’d ever had to a sibling, someone kind-hearted enough to have seen an orphan like him as the same. But this had gone far past anything he could tuck away into formalities. His blood was boiling, and his breath felt like embers. Philip could afford to have his feelings broken when Dakan was as hurt by sorrow as he was.
Both men stared at each other, Dakan with such overwhelming ire in his eyes that it seemed like it would consume him. Part of him wished it would. Part of him wished that Philip would cut him down for how far out of line he stepped, instead of being the precious exception to the Aevasther’s wrathful punishment.
Philip sighed. “Go home, Dakan, before you say something else you regret.”
“I regret nothing,” Dakan growled bitterly before he turned abruptly, cape fluttering behind him as he stormed down the hallway. He didn’t stop until he was within his chambers, with his back to a closed door. He was panting from distress and yet somehow, he bit back the tears he wanted to shed so badly.
He was nothing to them, even less than the members of the Snapdragon. He was a nuisance. If he ever dared to step out of line from the tyrant he advised, he would be disposable. It would take so, so incredibly little for them to take him out of the picture.
Damnatio memoriae.
Would that be his fate, just like the members of the Snapdragon? Not just death, but complete erasure? When would the knife strike his back and fire consume his very existence? When would Edward claim everything that Dakan owed him?
He waited for a long time, still with fear and gutted from sorrow.
It either never came, or it was yet to come.
/////
Spring finally bloomed into existence, warding away the cold spells and instead filling the air with pollen and fragrance. Flower buds seemed to unravel at every turn, every street corner and window box that Dakan passed flourishing with life under a clear sky. As the driver pulled up to the Sinclair’s manor, there was already a bundle of joy racing out the door with red hair billowing behind her like a trail of rose petals. Everything was verdant and joyous.
As Dakan left the car, he couldn’t help but think how ugly Ardhalis was. Mid-April was a time of celebration in the kingdom – rejoicing the end of winter and the start of the growing and flowering period. But there were people who did not get to see the snow thaw out this year. There were empty spaces at many people’s tables where someone had once been, and where they now were promptly scrubbed away from life as if they were vile stains.
Dakan knew what had happened, and yet he stayed silent, like a good little king’s pet. What was the difference between him and the obedient soldiers who gunned down that print shop? What was the difference between him and the council members who agreed to silence these criminals? He was part of the problem.
Who was to say he would be any less compliant to shatter like an inkwell being struck by a bullet?
Lauren barrelling into him felt like a punch to the gut in more than one way.
“Dakan!” she exclaimed.
“Careful, Ren! You’ve grown so strong you almost knocked me over!” Perceptive as she was, Lauren did not see past his affable demeanour enough to see the sadness in his eyes.
“Look at how fast the flowers are growing this year!” Lauren grinned up at him, pulling him closer by tugging at the corner of his coat. “You could blink and you’d miss them!”
Dakan put a hand on her head. Once, her entire head fit in the palm of his hand, but now she had grown so much. “It’s not the only thing growing fast.” Lauren giggled, and while the sound made him smile, he couldn’t help but realise how disgustingly privileged he was.
In another world, Lauren would still be waiting for her godfather to arrive as minutes turned to hours and hours turned to days. He wondered how many parents did not return home to their children that night.
“Dakan!” Alexander called from the front door. “Back from the dead, I see!”
Lauren ran ahead of Dakan as he made his way to the house. “I would have come sooner, but work has been…” Dakan met Alexander’s eye and for a moment, there was something he couldn’t quite place that flickered in those grey eyes. The moment passed, but the second’s hesitation caught in his mind. His smile faltered before asserting itself again in deprecated humour. “…Well, it’s been work.”
That was a colossal understatement.
“Well, we’re glad you could make it. Come on in.” Rachel and Tristan were just behind Alexander as he entered. They were all happy to see him, of course, but none more than Tristan. He flung his arms around his lover, catching him off-guard. It hit Dakan all at once – how long it had been, how awful the castle was. He didn’t know how much he needed to be held before he was in Tristan’s arms. Here, he was loved. He was wanted.
And he didn’t deserve any of it.
None of this love was real. He refused to accept that when the city’s very foundations were rotten to their core.
“I missed you,” Tristan told him.
Almost none of this love.
Surely.
“I missed you too.”
Tristan pulled away a little to look into Dakan’s eyes, both studying him and adoring him. Whatever he saw in them did not bring much joy. He opened his mouth to say something, but Lauren’s voice interrupted.
“Daaaaad,” she exasperated. “Uncle and Dakan are being mushy again.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Alexander asked defensively.
“It’s every time!”
“Hey, you’re going to be mushy someday,” her father returned.
Lauren gave him an affronted look. “No.”
Tristan laughed, and like the most benevolent plague there was, it compelled Dakan to chuckle too. Lauren was truly something.
It was another typical day with the Sinclairs. Another day, just like always. Another night where he could fall asleep in Tristan’s arms. He could pretend everything was fine, no matter how much guilt weighed him down.
What other choice did he have than to pretend?
/////
Silence.
Dakan felt its sting as dozens of eyes upon him, their faces blank but undeniably judging him. Wasn’t it nice having everything he could have asked for – privilege, love, wealth, a family – when so many rotted under his administration? Ignorant and far too comfortable, the most fatalistic depths of his mind would be proven true. Everything would be taken away from him, burned and smashed, to serve justice for his inaction.
He turned to King Edward, the commandeering derision of the monarch plain for all to see. To him, Dakan was a threat, challenging the age-old nobility carved into granite statues and pillars. A king was not seen to be malevolent, never raising his voice nor anything more than a pen at his subjects, but those jewelled pleasantries barely concealed the cruel apathy of the monster beneath the crown. He wrung blood out of inkwells and yet none came to stain his hands. It was splattered on those who still had a heart to bleed.
Dakan was suddenly held down against a slab of stone, having to crane his neck up to even face his king. His breath laboured against the rock and caught in the panic knotting his throat. “Your majesty, I beg of you… Have mercy…” Where was Philip? Surely he would talk some sense into his father. He looked around frantically, only to find his dear friend was the one holding him down.
“You have served me well, Sir Rhysmel,” Edward spoke. “May you be a more loyal servant in the next life.” Dakan would have much preferred words that were poison than those that were rotten. If he was going to be executed, to be sent off with such little explicit vitriol felt cruel.
“No! Please!” The words were forced from him in desperation, but they did not stall the raising of the axe.
Tears had hardly trailed to his chin before the heavy blade came down.
Dakan snapped upright in bed. He couldn’t move further, instead paralysed by the tremors throughout his entire body. He gasped in the cold air of the night, barely able to see past his own hands. It took him too long to realise he wasn’t dead and that none of that dream was real.
There was the sharp inhale of Tristan stirring beside him. “Dakan?” he said, his voice full of concern. “What’s wrong?”
Dakan opened his mouth to speak but tears filled his eyes instead. A secondary shudder passed through him as he remembered Edward’s face within his dream, how uncannily real it all felt. He let out an inarticulate, frightened whimper into his sheets.
“My love, are you okay?” Tristan placed a hand on his back to try to soothe him, but Dakan trembled at the touch and shrugged it off.
“I’m… I’m fine…” Dakan managed to say. “I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Tristan frowned, wanting to touch his lover to comfort him but instead retreating his hovering hand back into his own lap. He had never seen Dakan like this, so shaken and inconsolable. Out of the two of them, Dakan was usually quicker to reason, but now Tristan was left scrambling for any reason for what was wrong.
“Dakan…”
“I need a moment.” Dakan abruptly rose from the bed and walked out to the balcony. The cold air against his skin did wonders to clear the haunting imagery from his mind, and yet his heart ached as he looked over the lamp-lit neighbourhood. He gripped the railing and cowed his head, the breeze rolling through his hair. His tears stung in his eyes, now freezing upon his cheeks. It hurt, to keep Tristan in the dark so much, but it was the only way to ensure his greatest shame would remain buried.
Tristan, however, made it ever harder for him as he walked out onto the balcony with him. “Talk to me, dear.”
“It’s nothing, Tristan, truly. It was just a bad dream,” Dakan assured him, and yet warm hands cupped his face, forcing him to look at his lover. By the gods, even at his lowest, he could never tire of the way the light painted so softly upon Tristan’s features. His eyes sparkled with love and concern and all the things that made Dakan feel like he was still a person, but there was pain there too.
“Please be honest with me, Dakan.”
More tears built in the ducts behind Dakan’s eyes that Tristan could see shimmering with moisture. His eyes drifted downwards from Tristan’s gaze, his lips trembling as he pressed them shut. He wanted to tell Tristan, to let his tears and grief pour out so that the clouds could clear again, but his mind supplied that cold stone slab, and an agonising limbo awaited what remained unspoken.
“My dear, it was a bad dream. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
Tristan sighed as he stared into Dakan’s eyes, not entirely convinced but not wanting to push Dakan any further. “Dakan… you know you can trust me, right? No matter what, I will always be by your side. You simply have to ask, and I’ll be there.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry.”
“You will be okay, my dear,” Tristan crooned, tracing along Dakan’s jaw until his hands rested at his nape and cradled the back of his head. Wherever he touched, the tension eased, dispelling away the tendrils of the nightmare’s influence. Dakan embraced the contours of Tristan’s biceps and leaned into a kiss. The spots of light throughout the night-doused cityscape had never felt so serene and sacred, as if the view was made only for the two of them. The tenderness of such steady and soft kisses, the gentle breaths shared between them – if there were truly seven wonders of the world, this was sure to be all seven of them.
“If the stars could talk, they would all speak of your magnificence, Tristan.”
“You flatter me, but stars do not speak.”
“Then I speak for all of them. There is no honour greater than being in your presence. You are charming far beyond what any spell could do, you light up the darkness with such brightness that it is no wonder the stars all admire you.”
“You…” Tristan started, but instead let out a laugh, too flustered to speak. “You are ever the flirt. You must be truly divine to be in the good graces of the stars. We should go back to bed now, dear, before those stars fade.”
/////
After the explosion and the car accident, the world simply turned on its head. And Dakan was there, still alive, watching from a distance as Tristan and Lauren coped with the grief. Everything had spiralled so far out of control that Dakan felt like the man who had carved that bloodied message into that corpse. He had to be rational about this – he had such little control over the entire situation that it was laughable to think he felt guilty, but the way he felt… Oh, the way he felt… like detritus was being carved away from his hollowed self until not even marrow remained.
He was waiting to be grieved.
He couldn’t stand Lauren’s gaunt face as she glumly picked at her food. He couldn’t stand to hear Tristan stifling sobs into his pillows every night… when he did sleep, that was. He tried to comfort both of them, but nothing worked. His presence was not helping even those he loved the most.
There King Edward was again, still fresh in Dakan’s memory as if he had never died, but this time, it wasn’t Dakan who was face down on that stone slab. It was Tristan. Philip was nowhere to be seen, instead the executioners were hooded shadows born from smashed inkwells.
In a gutted anguish, he sank to his knees like the obsequious little child he had always been. “Your majesty, stop this!” he wailed. “Am I your advisor for anything at all?! This is obscene!”
“You do not raise your voice towards your king, Dakan,” Edward responded admonishingly.
“Must the trust between us be so fickle, my king? You cannot put me through worlds of grief only to treat everything I hold dear as if it is disposable! For shame!”
“You think of yourself as too important, Sir Rhysmel. That is hardly becoming of someone in your position. You may be a good friend of my son, but your insolence is crossing the line. This is my kingdom, and a treasonous worm such as yourself should know to obey the orders I give you.”
Edward signalled to the executioner, and Dakan stared in horror as the axe was readied. He scrambled at the monarch’s cape, tears flowing out of his eyes like blood would from a stab to the heart. “MERCY! I BEG OF YOU, EDWARD! MERCY!”
But the plea fell on deaf ears, and there was no time left for negotiations. Down came the axe upon Tristan’s neck. Their eyes met for a second, where Tristan’s eyes were still as worry-wrought yet dazzling as they were upon that balcony. Then there was red. Tristan’s headless body could only slump over where his head rolled to Dakan and replaced where the hem of Edward’s cape had been in his clutches.
Dakan snapped awake in a flurry of panic, halfway between asleep and awake. Disorientated and confused, his chest heaved in sharp gasps. Air was drawn in and expelled from his lungs quickly, as fast as the wingbeats of a butterfly. He was suffocating. He needed to breathe. He wanted to breathe. He couldn’t breathe.
Tristan’s head had been right there in his hands. Those bloodied, ink-stained hands.
He didn’t hear Tristan rouse from his sleep, but suddenly he was beside him, holding him as he gasped and coughed and sobbed.
“Hey, you’re okay. Deep breaths, dear, deep breaths.”
Dakan shuddered in several deeper breaths, fighting against himself to try to breathe slower. New tears streaked down his face with each inhale and his stuttered breathing eventually settled.
“I’m sorry…” he wept between shuddering breaths. “Tristan, I’m so sorry…”
“Take it easy,” Tristan told him, rubbing his back soothingly.
“There’s something… I should have told you a while ago,” Dakan said. At this point, his guilt was burning him up too much for it to remain hidden any longer. “The start of the Phantom Scythe… the explosion… it was my fault.”
“You can’t go around blaming yourself for everything-”
“No, Tristan. There are things that I know that I should have… never kept from you.”
Tristan merely nodded firmly, and though he seemed to understand the severity of the matter, he kept calm. “Okay, so we need to talk. Let’s find somewhere to sit, shall we? I’ll get you some water.”
Dakan was a little astonished when he sank into one of the armchairs near the balcony and waited for Tristan to come back with the glass of water he promised. If nothing else, it gave him time to think about how to explain everything and to process that he was finally going to tell Tristan the truth. No matter what the consequences were, he would do the right thing.
Tristan entered the room once again, sure to close the door behind him. “Lauren is still asleep. Here you are.” He handed Dakan the glass, who took it with a soft thanks. Dakan was relieved with how the cool water felt sliding down his throat. He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was, nor how much the panic attack had exhausted him.
Tristan sat opposite Dakan, waiting until he set down the glass on the small coffee table between them before speaking again. “So, what is this about, dear?”
“Tristan… what do you know about what happened to the Snapdragon?”
“The Snapdragon? They were a protest group… much like what the Phantom Scythe is now, but more peaceful. They shared similar goals,” Tristan frowned. “But now that the Phantom Scythe has gained notoriety, there’s been very little heard about the Snapdragon. Radio silence, in fact. What is written in blood is unfortunately more powerful than that written in ink.” Dakan gave him a small nod, but otherwise his silence urged Tristan to continue. “They were silenced forcefully. I thought they must have been killed by the Scythe, as some kind of rival group… but…”
“But…?”
“Ever since my promotion, I’ve noticed how… scarce information is on the Snapdragon. People who spoke out against the monarchy, well, we know how that ended. Those cases weren’t pretty, and there was a lot of hush around everything, but there was a paper trail, at least. With the Snapdragon, it seems like… there was hardly a whisper, like they were erased. Whatever files I could gather from the NSA were altered, classified, or destroyed. This was more than the Phantom Scythe’s involvement, wasn’t it?”
“Exactly, because the Phantom Scythe weren’t a rival group. They are what remains of the Snapdragon. They were betrayed – it was the only reason the Snapdragon broke anonymity, and… King Edward was the one who gave the orders, to kill every last one of them. I had no say over their fate. I was told nothing. I only found out about everything when Allendale was upon our doorstep, when the Leader of the Phantom Scythe sent me warnings. Even then, I couldn’t… I couldn’t say anything. I tried to do something, anything to get Edward, or even Philip, to see reason, but…” Dakan went cold all over again. “We both know what happens to people who speak out against the monarchy.”
“Dakan…”
“I should have known, Tristan. I should have known something was wrong, but I placed such blind trust in Edward. I have been so scared that I may yet be punished for disobeying him. He could take- no, could have taken everything from me.” Dakan shot a meaningful look at Tristan. “And everyone, too.”
“Oh, Dakan… he… he can’t do anything to you now,” Tristan told him. “He’s dead.”
“I know, I know, but decades of cruel sentiments do not die quite so easily. He was the closest person I had to a father. I respected him. I owed him everything. And now… hundreds of people have died because of how much I cowered beneath him.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Dakan.”
“I thought that the castle would be under attack, when it was obvious Edward was going to be at the train station. You and the rest of the police were misdirected because of me.”
“You were grasping at straws. We had no information to anticipate where the attack would be.”
“Because of me… Tristan, why don’t you understand? I don’t deserve to be alive right now. I don’t deserve any of the privilege I have. I don’t deserve you.” His hands fell into his lap, clasped over each other.
Tristan stood, crouched in front of Dakan, and placed his hands over his lover’s, with such earnest warmth in his voice and hands. “Of course you do. Dakan, you cannot let this guilt destroy you. I know how it feels… to feel like every loss is your fault. But I take that pain, and I use it as a reason to make things better. Pick yourself up, my dear, and shine as bright as you always do. You have done great things for the people of this kingdom, and I know you will continue to.”
Dakan looked up at Tristan, tears of sorrow and joy gleaming in his eyes like ripples over a pond’s surface. “Tristan, do I ever say how much I love you enough?”
“You shower me with affections every day. I would be surprised if you didn’t.”
“I… I don’t know how much I can help people, but…” Dakan thought to himself for a moment, long and hard, before he spoke again. “The death penalty needs to be abolished. I will start there. I am sure even Philip knows that it has done far more harm than good. Maybe then, it will lead to something better.”
“And I’m sure, in time, we will get there.”
At long last, there was finally light at the end of this dark tunnel.