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Irene had always been kind. She showed an innate compassion that set her apart from others. In every corner of her village, people spoke of her warmth. It’s why she was revered! Tales told of her generosity, how the Matron would assist those in need, would befriend those who had been casted aside, bring miracles when all seemed lost.
She did not discriminate against the people who needed her…
So what sin had Zianna committed that was so evil that her only wish was ignored?
—
Her boys were worried for their father. Garroth missed the sparring lessons. Zane missed being read to before bed by him. Vylad was too young to miss anything other than his company. They had never seen someone so ill before.
“Hi, sweetie,” Zianna’s head poked from behind the wooden door, a soft smile creating creases near her amazonite coloured eyes.
No words escaped from Garte but his body relaxed as he turned his torso to face his wife. He watched as she gracefully made her way through the door frame and into the stool standing near his plush bed.
Tiredness plagued his eyes. His skin looked grey and his hair was looking like straw.
“Zianna,” his voice was rough yet filled with love, she preferred it when he said it like that, like he always loved her. “I did not expect you so soo—” A violent cough broke his speech and echoed against the warm walls and high ceiling. She could see the bruising from the bloodletting as he held up an arm to dampen the harsh sounds. She nudged the cup of watered down wine and herbs into his hand once his coughing had ceased into a gravelly breath.
His sickness was persistent. Remedy after remedy, no improvement was visible. The doctor had recommended trying a new concoction; tansy leaves, basil, and a single white catchfly alongside his usual herbal drink. All hoped for him to get well. The lord could not die so soon.
—
It had taken two years for him to be declared fit to lead once again. O’khasis was gleeful that its lord was well and the Ro’Meave family was happy— despite both Zianna’s and Garte’s past woes.
Garte had taken his sickness as a punishment from Irene and Shad to be a better man. Garroth had managed to beat his father sparring a handful of times. Zane was old enough to take his own sparring lessons. Despite not being his son, Vylad was just as loved as his older brothers and was beginning to learn to read. Zianna couldn't be any happier. Her prayers of forgiveness for her infidelity had come true.
—
Shouting could be heard from the couple standing near the yellow roses that were encased by orange lilies and small patches of lavender. The garden was once a place of nervous glances followed by sappy words when they were younger.
“You promised you would not treat him any differently!” Rage could not be heard in her words, she should've been angry, she just felt heartbroken for her poor baby.
“And how am I meant to pretend it does not hurt,”
“Do not take it out on him, it is not his fau—”
“He’s a constant reminder of it. Zianna, be serio—”
“No, NO!” She knew cutting him off was petty, however she had to say her piece before he finished whatever ludicrous reason he had come up with to redeem himself, “It is not his fault and you know it, It is mine. It is my actions that you are taking out on him.”
It appears that the warmth that flooded the family after Garte’s recovery was nothing but a fluke.
—
It gets worse before it gets better or it gets worse before all hell breaks loose.
Bouts of shouting matches followed by silence and glares had become the norm inside the grand walls of the home. Garte only seemed to care about indoctrinating the next lord — his eldest, Garroth — to follow his ideologies. He didn't even glance at his youngest nor his wife. Silent treatment was more manageable than loud threats; and brandishings of hidden daggers and polished swords
The people of O’khasis had become weary of the Lord's furrowed brow and permanent frown. He focused only on building alliances with villagers with a want to fight. The city had become a powerhouse. The neighbouring towns were fearful of the prospect of war with O'khasis.
Just like how they were scared of Garte.