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Jaron's POV
In Carthya, the last day of the year had always been loud, crowded, and ceremonial to the point of exhaustion.
When I was a child, it meant a banquet large enough to swallow the castle whole and with every noble in the land crammed into one hall, pretending to like one another while watching me carefully, as if I might cause trouble at any moment. The castle was crowded with nobles who wished to be seen welcoming the new year under the king’s roof. Music echoed through the halls until the candles burned low, and servants staggered under the weight of trays that never seemed to empty themselves. My family had celebrated every year without fail. Every lord and lady in the land came dressed as if the saints themselves were attending.
The following morning was always worse. Mostly because the next day was reserved for the Saints which meant I would have to enter the chapel with my family and listen to the priests preaching their sermons and especially because every year, after exchanging well-wishes, many of those priests would usually add with a tight smile that they hoped I would not cause trouble this year. They often said all within my hearing, too, which seemed unfair. They even sometimes phrased it as a prayer.
The first day of the new year began with offering prayers in the chapel for the coming year which were solemn and hopeful. We prayed to saints who were said to be merciful, wise, or forgiving, depending on who was asking. It was followed by the exchange of wishes while resolutions were announced with confidence. And almost every year, someone would add, with a hopeful glance in my direction, that they wished I wouldn’t cause any trouble, so the saints might bless us all.
In the chapel people would bow, smile, and murmur their hopes for peace, prosperity, or favor from the Saints and then, inevitably, they would add that they hoped I would not cause any trouble this year. They usually suggested that ought to be my resolution. It never was. If I had ever made such a resolution, I would have broken it before breakfast. I learned early that resolutions are promises people make when they are confident the Saints are listening. Which is why I never made resolutions. I knew better than to promise things I wouldn’t keep. Also I doubted the Saints had much interest in me, and I suspected, the Devils, if they were watching, usually found me entertaining. Making a promise I knew I would not keep seemed rude to both sides.
During the four years I lived as Sage in Mrs. Turbeldy’s orphanage, the first and last days of the year passed like any other day of winter. Which meant they were usually cold, hungry, and noisy. On the first day of the year the boys mostly fought over the New Year’s breakfast, which was never as generous as promised. And someone there always lost a shoe. If there were prayers, they were brief and mostly desperate. Celebration was more about survival in the orphanage. The boys there cared less about prayers and more about who would get the larger portion of breakfast and new year’s resolutions, if any were made, usually involved stealing someone else’s bread.
This year, just like the last year, had been impossibly long and different.
I had saved a captive kingdom across the sea, watched my castle shatter and rise again and defended Carthya against foreign invaders. The Prozarians had occupied my castle only months ago, and though most of the damage had been repaired, the memory of it still lingered in the stone. This year, I had also discovered a hidden treasure belonging to the first three rulers of Carthya beneath my own castle and after the Prozarians had left Carthya, I had also broken my betrothal to Imogen that had been unraveling long before it was officially ended. It had been a decision that was necessary, painful, and long overdue.
And also my brother, Darius was alive and was home. We were together again. That alone made this year unlike any other. The castle felt more like home again, though not entirely and perhaps it never would.
For all these years Darius and I had welcomed the new year apart. For four years Darius had been in the castle with our parents while I lived as Sage, and then last year I had believed him dead alongside our parents. Though his return did not erase the sadness of missing our parents, but it had healed something I had not known how to name after the day I had learned my parents were gone. His presence in the castle made the halls feel closer to what they once had been. It didn’t undo the past, but it softened the sharpest edges of it. Darius and I had spent five New Years away from each other. For the first time in all these years we would be welcoming the turning of the year together again.
Also next year, near the end of spring, months from now, I would be entering my third year as king, which seemed impressive until one counted how much of it had been spent trying not to die. Nearly two years were already behind me, though at times it felt far longer than that.
So yes, the year had been long. And no, I didn’t want to end it with another speech about duty and gratitude while everyone watched to see whether I would behave. Tonight, I wanted none of the old ceremonies. I had no desire to celebrate this the way we always had.
The idea came to me on an evening when Tobias and I were both too tired to have a single rational thought. I joked that I might start experimenting with gunpowder again for amusement. Tobias, equally exhausted, mentioned how different metals, when mixed properly, could change the color of an explosion. He said he had read about it in a book. Though he doubted anyone would be foolish enough to try it. Naturally, I decided that meant it was worth attempting.
I remembered that conversation now as the celebrations thundered on behind me. Tonight, I intended to test it and see if he was right.
The celebrations were well underway as midnight approached. The great hall was alive with conversation and music. Tobias and Amarinda sat together near the dais, Amarinda radiant and laughing softly at something Tobias had said with scholarly seriousness. They got married this year and were close in that newly married way they still pretended not to notice. Fink darted between guests, excited by the noise and the sugar, narrowly avoiding Roden’s attempts to keep order as Roden rotated the guards. He was attempting to sneak extra pastries with Nila, now. Mott lingered nearby, pretending not to watch me too closely. Though sometimes I caught him staring at me with an expression of a man who had learned, through bitter experience, not to leave me unattended for too long.
Kerwyn moved with practiced dignity among the nobles, and Harlowe spoke with some of the regents with his calm and steady presence. Darius was talking to one of his friends near the table.
The regents clustered together in their usual arrangements. Even Master Westlebrook and Master Beckett appeared relaxed and were deep in discussion as Lord Beckett described, at length, the improvements he intended to make to a road no one used. Lady Orlaine was speaking earnestly to anyone who would listen and Lord Mead nodded gravely, whether or not he understood the conversation. Mistress Kitcher proudly displayed a new wig that no one had asked about and that no one dared comment upon too honestly.
It was when the celebration was nearing its height, I slipped away.
The gunpowder was stored well beyond the castle walls, for reasons that could be summarized entirely by my name. The bags were carefully placed away by people who had learned, wisely, that keeping explosives near me was a poor idea. My experiments had destroyed more than a few things across Carthya while learning how to use gunpowder, and the regents feared them. All of my experiments had left their mark on Carthya in more ways than one and almost everyone, including some of my friends were afraid of them, with good reason of course. Last year I had accidentally destroyed enough property to be remembered fondly only by masons. Some people feared my explosions more than my enemies ever did.
But I was not careless now. I knew how to use gunpowder now. I had used gunpowder in war, blown enemy ships apart and even fired a cannon at my own castle and for good reason. I had a better understanding of it than I ever did before now. I understood exactly how much to use to cause a safe explosion. Tonight, I knew exactly what I was doing. At least, that was what I believed.
Tobias's explanation echoed in my thoughts as I mixed the gunpowder with finely ground metal, careful with the proportions. I worked quickly and carefully, mixing it with fine metal filings as Tobias had described. After that, I adjusted the fuse and checked the distance. I was nearly finished and was retreating after I had lit the fuse, when a familiar voice cut through the night.
“There you are.”
I winced. “Mott.”
I turned to find Mott standing behind me, arms crossed, his expression already forming into a lecture. “What are you doing here, Jaron?”
“I am doing an experiment,” I said.
His eyes widened slightly. “You’re experimenting with gunpowder again?”
“Technically, yes.” Then I sighed. “I thought you trusted me by now.”
“I trusted you when you said you were done blowing things up. I thought you’d stopped doing this.”
“I said I would try to stop destroying things in Carthya, accidentally, almost.” I corrected. “This is different.”
“Jaron—”
“If it works,” I added, “it’ll be colorful.”
That did not reassure him.
“You are not accidentally exploding anything again, Jaron,” Mott said firmly.
He again opened his mouth, no doubt to explain exactly how dangerous I was being while I opened my mouth to argue when the fuse hissed louder. I turned to see that it now burned lower than I had expected.
“We should move,” I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. But just then I stopped as I heard another voice.
“Who’s there?”
Roden emerged from the shadows and stepped into view with his hand already on his sword. He was clearly in the middle of a patrol and was probably expecting trouble. He froze when he saw me and then frowned. “Jaron? What are you doing out here?”
“I’ll explain later,” I said, seizing his sleeve and dragging him with us. “Preferably after we survive.”
Roden groaned at that. “What did you do now?” he demanded, allowing himself to be dragged anyway and probably bracing himself for the worst news.
“I have done nothing yet,” I said. “That’s the point.”
“He was using Gunpowder again.” Mott sighed as he followed us.
“You can lecture me later Mott,” I called over my shoulder to Mott who was still muttering darkly.
Roden stared back at the setup in dawning horror. “You did what tonight?”
We barely had time to step back before the fuse burned down. “Close your eyes.” I told them.
We closed our eyes. But to my disappointment, nothing happened while I slowly opened my eyes. For a moment, I thought Tobias’s theory was wrong. Then the sky burst open. When I heard the noise above us, I looked up. It seemed like the sky had bloomed that time. The sound was not violent, but deep and echoing, rolling across the fields and toward the city of Drylliad. Light burst overhead, scattering color across the darkness, gold, green, and brilliant red, unfurling like flowers made of fire. Red bled into gold, gold into blue, sparks cascading like falling stars. The night itself seemed to catch fire, not in destruction, but in wonder. For a moment I forgot to breathe. I was stunned by the sight.
Roden stared beside me and his mouth practically fell open. Even Mott seemed to have forgotten to scold me. They were both speechless.
I had never known gunpowder could do this. Looking at the expression of my friends standing beside me, surely neither had they known that.
This was gunpowder that had shattered walls and ships and lives. This was the same powder that had brought fear and fire across battlefields. The same substance that had filled the fields with smoke and screams. I had used it in battles to defend my kingdom and reclaim what was taken from me.
And now it painted the sky anew with wonder.
Outside Jaron's POV
Inside the castle Tobias had been in the great hall, fighting sleep. He yawned as the bells marked midnight, exhaustion heavy on his shoulders until Fink suddenly shouted from the courtyard.
“You all should come here outside!”
When Tobias came to the courtyard, being already irritated and looked at Fink. “What is it, Fink?”
Amarinda joined them and stood beside Tobias. Fink pointed up toward the sky.
“Look! The sky is sparkling!”
Tobias frowned at Fink, first and then when he followed his direction, something like awe crept in despite himself. His annoyance vanished as he stared upward.
Lights danced overhead, blooming and vanishing, scattering brilliance across the dark.
“How did this… ?” Tobias asked, clearly at a loss of words.
Amarinda spilled into laughter as she tilted her head back, her eyes bright. “It must be Jaron,” she said, smiling. “He said he wanted something different this year.”
Fink bounced on his heels. “They’re beautiful. How did this happen?”
Tobias frowned, recognition dawning as he studied the colors. “Metal powders,” he murmured. “I told him once how they can be mixed with gunpowder creating different colors, but I never expected that he would… I didn’t think it would work like this.”
Fink’s eyes were wide. “Jaron used gunpowder again? He always destroys things whenever he does that. But this is… it’s like… ”
“Like the sky is celebrating,” Amarinda finished as the three viewed the fireworks.
Around them, regents and nobles spilled into the courtyard, voices rising and overlapping in confusion and awe. “What is happening?” One of them demanded.
Lord Hentower grew anxious. “Is it an attack?”
“An explosion,” Lord Mead said uncertainly. “But… above us?”
“An explosion in the sky? Are we really being attacked then?” Lord Beckett panicked.
Harlowe watched quietly, a smile tugging at his mouth. “No,” he said at last. “That would be His Majesty. It seems our king, Jaron has chosen his own way to mark the year’s end.”
Nila who was standing beside her grandfather got excited when she saw the sky.
“It’s so pretty!” she smiled.
Mistress Kitcher, who had once flinched at the sound of Jaron’s experiments, clasped her hands together. “They’re lovely.”
Meanwhile in the kitchens, Cook and Errol slipped out to see for themselves.
“I knew it,” Cook said fondly. “It has to be the boy’s work, if ever I’ve seen it.”
Errol laughed. “Of course it’s Jaron. It could only be him.”
And in the city beyond the castle walls, people paused in the streets, gazing upward in wonder. Across Drylliad, people stopped in doorways or looked out of the windows of their houses, watching the sky burn with harmless fire. Everywhere, the lights were seen and admired by all. The children were pointing at the sky and laughing. The night briefly had transformed into something bright and strange and hopeful.
Somewhere in a quiet corner of the castle on the balcony, Darius stood beside Kerwyn, both of them watching the sky. Darius smiled, knowing without doubt who was responsible for this.
Kerwyn inclined his head. “He’s done it again.”
Darius smiled. “Only this time, he didn’t destroy anything.”
And above them all, the sky bloomed once more, bright, fleeting, and impossible to ignore ushering in a new year that, for once, did not begin with trouble.
Jaron's POV
The year turned, and I welcomed it, with light, color, and a moment of wonder that belonged to us all. By the time the last light faded, it was past midnight. Silence settled around us.
“It’s past midnight,” Mott said finally.
Roden turned to me and grinned. “Happy new year, Jaron.”
I smiled back at Roden, feeling oddly still. “Happy New Year.”
Then I turned to Mott, “And to you too, Mott.”
Mott only smiled and said, “Happy new year, Jaron.”
“So… What’s your resolution?” Roden asked me. Then he answered first. “My resolution is to be a better captain of the guard so that Carthya will have an army strong enough to always keep it safe and free.”
Mott nodded in approval. “That's a worthy aim.”
Then he and Roden looked at me to know my resolution.
I considered it for some time. “I plan to make fewer enemies this year.”
Mott sighed. “How about no enemies, Jaron?”
“I know what I said, Mott,” I replied.
Roden smirked. “And our other one? The next time we fight—”
“I will be the one who wins,” we said together. Then we stared at each other.
I raised an eyebrow. “That,” I said mildly, “might be a problem.”
Above us, the sky had returned to its ordinary darkness but it felt different now and so did the year ahead.
Outside Jaron's POV
Somewhere back in the castle, Tobias bent down to Fink. “What about you? What's your resolution?”
Fink beamed. “I’m going to build a rat family for my rat Runaway.” He said proudly.
Tobias groaned. “Jaron will hate that. You know he hates rats, right?”
“I know,” Fink said knowingly.
Amarinda laughed. “But you have to admit, Runaway is adorable.”
Tobias stared at her and protested. “You can’t be serious, Princess.”
But the year had already begun and somehow, for once, it felt like the saints might be watching over us after all.