Chapter Text
Cyrus was disoriented. This wasn’t his hard wooden bunk, there was no thin straw mattress under him. Perhaps he was on a cloud? The sounds were different too, soft murmuring of voices somewhere far away. There was light, usually the underground barracks were dark as night even with the feeble torches lit. Every morning and every night he navigated the rows of bunk beds and lockers mainly by memory and by touch.
Vaguely he realized something was wrong with his leg. It felt very thick, and wrong. Maybe it hurt? The pain was there and not there. He pried his eyelids open to look, then closed his eyes again for a moment as he adjusted to the bright light in the room.
The infirmary. That’s where he must be. He hadn’t been here before - all his prior injuries had been minor enough to be treated by the healers kits near the training area. They hadn’t warranted the skills of the doctors and magical healers inside the thick, warded walls of House Raunza’s infirmary. He opened his eyes again and looked down at himself. His tattooed torso looked normal, what he could see above the white blanket draped over him. Swirling patterns reached from one wrist across his shoulders and chest and over to his other wrist. He had wanted to get a variety of wild animals as his ink but it might look like he was sympathizing with House Kasheef so he had chosen more ambiguous line work. If he knew what the patterns were suggesting, that was his secret to keep. He certainly had few enough things that were only his.
With effort, Cyrus pushed his attention further out, down the white linens of the bed to where his left leg was elevated, heavily wrapped in bandages instead of blankets and elevated in a sling. Huh. Well how about that.
Cyrus tried to remember how it happened. He must be on drugs for the pain, his mind was fuzzier than usual. He would have woken up in his bunk at the crashing sound of the gong, as he did every morning. There would have been a quick breakfast, then training with Tiam. Tiam usually - but no. Today - or maybe yesterday? - Tiam had waited for them to line up on the training grounds before announcing that Elio would be handling their training today.
Elio was six months older than Cyrus. They had competed all their lives in classes both magical and martial until one day they were examined and … Cyrus lost. A feast was held with Elio smiling at everyone from the head table swathed in the new regal garments that befit his station. Or so Cyrus had heard, he had been busy reporting to the barracks.
This wasn’t the barracks, though. So far it was much nicer. He might feel differently once the drugs wore off. Cyrus let his head fall to the right as he looked around his area and saw curtains partitioning his bed off from the rest of the room, presumably there were other beds in the room. In the infirmary. On a wall nearby the shining filigreed crest of House Raunza loomed over everything. He could hear footsteps of the nurses. He wondered how many others were in here, in other beds. Were they from training too? Had Elio broken more of them after he’d finished with Cyrus?
Cyrus rolled his head to the left to see the other side of his space and realized he could see light yellow fabric in a chair. A knee wearing a skirt? His mother, Merlal. Her chair must be against the wall, her head appeared to be tipped back. She didn’t seem to move so Cyrus decided she was probably asleep. A distant part of him was surprised that she had been released, even temporarily, from her concubine duties to the House.
Everyone had to serve House Raunza, the greatest of all the Great Houses of Gauthmai. House Raunza had birthed them, raised them, fed them, and expected their lives in service as repayment for such generosity. Their greatest hope as children was that they would be found to be skilled enough to serve on the front lines of the war with the Empire alongside their parents and perhaps even Harmas himself. Cyrus saw him once, at a ceremony. Part of him, anyway, since Cyrus had been lined up in the back and had his head bowed as was appropriate for the lower ranks.
Of course there were those who weren't up to snuff. The failed descendents. They could still serve House Raunza. They trained every day. Even if they lacked the powerful magic they should have had, they could use their bodies to fight. To be sacrificed if needed. They could only be sacrificed once, though, so it better be important so that the resources of House Raunza were not wasted.
Cyrus realized too late that a pair of boots had marched their way into the room, heavy and purposeful where the nurses’ lighter footsteps were quietly efficient. He turned his head just as Tiam came into view. Cyrus realized his neck was stiff - how long had he been woolgathering?
Tiam saw Merlal first and stopped short. “Mer-” Tiam interrupted himself to clear his throat. “Lady Merlal.”
Did Tiam know her? It sounded for a second like he did, but Cyrus had never seen them in the same room together in his whole life.
Cyrus heard his mother stir, then she sat forward abruptly. Cyrus’s head floated left again and she came into view. Her honey gold hair was a shade darker than his own shoulder length blond hair. As soon as she saw his eyes were open he was smothered in a hug.
“Ma,” he managed. His throat was dry. His tongue seemed strange too.
“Oh Cyrus,” she said against his chest, her voice thick. “I was so worried.”
“M’okay,” Cyrus managed. “Cept m’leg. Leg’s busted. I think.”
“Your leg is very broken,” Tiam said as Cyrus’s mother finally eased back to stand next to his bed. “Among other injuries. You’ll feel them more tomorrow.”
“A training accident, I suppose?” Her acidic voice was meant for Tiam but her soft gaze never left Cyrus’s face.
“Yes.” Tiam came to stand next to Merlal. Cyrus thought that was very brave of him, or very stupid. “Lord Elio was directed to take on a more hands-on role to be sure the recruits are up to snuff.”
“Recruits,” Merlal repeated scornfully.
Tiam looked down the curtained hallway then put a finger to his lips. “Our privacy is limited here. Mind what you say.”
Merlal gave Tiam a look that spoke volumes and he raised up both hands, yielding.
“M’okay, Ma, really,” Cyrus said. He managed to get his hand to hold hers for a moment before letting his arm drop back to the bed. His arm didn’t usually feel so heavy. He felt warm pressure as she placed her hand on top of his.
“For now,” his mother said. “They’ve got you drugged up to the gills. Sleep is the best thing for you right now, sleep and rest.”
Cyrus mumbled an agreement and let his eyes close. Sleep didn’t take him right away so he let his mind float as he listened to the sounds in the room. A set of footsteps approached and he heard his mother’s voice murmur that he had woken briefly and then gone back to sleep. Another voice said it would be noted in his records, then the footsteps moved away again. Cyrus thought he heard conversations in other areas of the room - this one might be the nurses chatting, that one might be another patient at the other end of the room with a visitor of their own. Half awake and not really paying attention to anything, he almost missed the whisper when it came.
“I did the best I could for him, Merl, you have to know that.”
Silence, and then a whispered, “I know. I do know. I just hate this.”
Somehow he thought she meant more than his injury.
“All the healers and senior doctors have been dispatched out, though I don’t know where. He’ll have to heal up on his own, that’ll buy him some time at least.”
“I’m tired of buying time. Of hoping, of planning and worrying and putting on a good face.”
Cyrus realized his mother’s hand must still be resting on his when suddenly he felt another pressure on top, like another hand was resting on top of hers. She turned her hand over and Cyrus thought perhaps they were holding each other’s hands overtop his own hand.
“You should go,” his mother whispered. “I’m on leave for today at least. You have duties to attend to, even with Elio being more hands on. Perhaps even more so because of that.”
“Come see me tonight.” It was the barest thread of a sound.
Nothing happened for a minute and Cyrus had almost slipped fully into unconsciousness when he heard the booted footsteps retreat down the hallway.
Sometime later Cyrus awoke again. He thought perhaps it was a different day. He felt much more alert than last time, though still not entirely like himself. His leg throbbed. That was probably good. It hurt like he had damaged it, not hurt like the heat of an infection.
Someone hadn’t fully pulled the curtain closed around his bed so he could see people rushing back and forth. The murmured conversations had taken on a much more urgent tone.
“All of them? But surely - how-”
“Some Sun-blighted Imperial arcane secret weapon.”
“But what will we do?”
“Hush!”
There was more talking but Cyrus couldn’t make it out. He wondered what was going on. He also wondered if he could get a drink of water, his throat was dry as the Citadel sands. It took more than one try for him to get his voice to function quickly enough to get the attention of one of the nurses walking by, but when he did the man startled as if Cyrus had bellowed at him.
“Sorry yes how can I-” the nurse started, obviously trying to follow his usual script for interacting with patients. Then his eyes flicked to the wall where a board would be posted with Cyrus’s name and condition. “Y- you! Oh Light above preserve us!”
The man ran off before Cyrus could say anything. You? Cyrus wasn’t anyone special. He’d been told that enough in his life. The name on the board must be correct, his mother had been here before.
The man returned abruptly, this time accompanied by a mature woman who looked like she could give Tiam a run for his money. Probably the head nurse? She stared at Cyrus for a long minute.
Feeling awkward, he gave her a little wave and then chanced his voice again to say, “Any chance I could get a drink of water?”
The woman gripped the curtain like she was going to yank it shut, then said, “Of course, right away, sir.”
Cyrus has never been sir’d in his life. He was still wondering at that when he heard the woman say, not as quietly as she thought she was being, “Fetch him a full pitcher of fresh water and a glass, then stay by his side until I tell you otherwise. You, fetch General Tiam. He’ll know what to do. Our patient may very well be the Scion of House Raunza.”
Surely they couldn’t mean him? Cyrus tried to twist his body around to look at the board above his head until he could at least make out the “Cyr” written neatly on the top line. He laid back on his pillows, then realized he should probably sit up more. He was trying to figure out if he could move his pillow to be more of a back support when his mother burst in.
“Oh, thank the Light Keepers,” she breathed when she saw him. She came to his side and leaned over, adjusting his pillow but also whispering fiercely in his ear. “Now listen, I know you’ve been cooped up here but we haven’t much time. You have been protected because you’ve been here within the walls of the infirmary, do you understand?”
“No,” Cyrus said with a frown. “I don’t understand any of this. What is everyone going on about?”
“I can’t tell you everything yet, someone will soon.” Merlal cupped his face in her hand. “Some very big changes are coming for us all, but especially for you, my sweet boy. Remember who you are.”
This did nothing to put Cyrus at ease. She hadn’t called him her sweet boy since childhood.
“What-” Cyrus started, but several sets of boots marched in perfect rhythm down the curtained hall of the infirmary. His mother stepped back and demurely clasped her hands in front of her, eyes down, looking like the picture of a perfect concubine when the curtain around his cubicle was swept back.
“Recruit Cyrus of House Raunza.” General Sawel stood before him in her crisp white uniform and stoney grey eyed stare. She had four guards behind her on either side.
“Sir!” Cyrus’s arm came up in a salute and his body twitched to get out of the bed only to be immediately reminded that his leg was very awkwardly still in the sling and still very broken.
“Have you been apprised of the latest … situation on the front?” General Sawel asked.
“No sir. No one has told me anything,” Cyrus said. “I just woke up a minute ago and I know everyone seems to be excited about something. Or maybe excited isn’t even the word, I don’t know.” Cyrus shut his mouth, worried he’d said too much from his nervousness. Did the general just want a short answer? Maybe he should have just stuck with “no sir”?
“I see,” General Sawel said. “I will be brief then, as things are moving very rapidly. His Imperial Majesty Harmas of House Raunza, blessed be his name, was cruelly slain on the battlefield at Twelve Brooks by Imperial wizard trickery. What’s more, they were able to somehow reach through him and … slaughter … all his descendents. Except for you.”
Her gaze somehow became even more intense but Cyrus barely noticed it. Harmas was dead? That seemed impossible, he was so powerful. Surely that couldn’t … but it seemed unlikely in the extreme that this was some sort of prank or set up.
“But then who…” Cyrus mumbled as his mind tried to process everything. “You mean Lord Elio and Lady Soleil, Lord Mirri, Lord Ravi … All of them?”
“Yes,” General Sawel bit out. “Leaving only you.”
“Sir, I don’t know how that came to be. I am so sorry for your loss - losses. For all our … But I’ve been within the walls of the infirmary for I don’t even know how long. I don’t even know what day it is.”
General Sawel’s eyes flicked to the walls.
“As I said, events are moving quickly at this time,” General Sawel said before gesturing to the guards behind her. They marched to take positions at each corner of his bed as his mother stepped back, pressing her back to the curtain wall with her eyes still cast down. “We are verifying the whereabouts of all known blood descendents of House Raunza, but it is possible Recru- It is possible that you are now the sole surviving heir.”