Loyalty

Originally written for Writing Battle.

When the honorable King Bo gave us the order, I know he really meant it for me. He gave me the same look he gives the troops when he rallies them up for a battle-- the one after he finishes cheering everyone on, when his eyes pierce into the core of your being as he confesses how dire and delicate the situation really is. It’s one of the few moments his regal, intimidating air slips away and you know how much he actually needs you. It may have been a full room, but it was me that he trusted. It was me that he needed to make a difference. There is no way on heaven or earth that I would fail him, nor a single chance I’d let our noble kingdom fall.

It’s my job to keep my eyes open and my ears listening at all times. I keep my watch every time I’m at the market. I listen closely to the gossip when I go with my family to chapel. Even when birds fly overhead, as heavy and quick as their wings flap, I search for scrolls tied to their legs.

When I heard my father’s friends would be celebrating their daughter’s fourth birthday, I knew I would have to be on guard there, too.

Of course, I couldn’t hold any suspicion towards the little ones. Ingrid was happy to spend her entire party playing with her friends, all of them running in circles and laughing nearly without end. None of them were old enough to think of being traitors.

I kept quietly to myself, close to the walls. It’s easier to observe that way. That’s how I took it all in: some mothers helping to bake, some fathers laughing and chattering about nothing, a few stray parents tending to the children, catching the young ones before they ran out of the house or comforting one of them when they fell.

It didn’t take long for me to notice that some of the children’s parents and grandparents were nowhere to be found.

I followed along the walls, listening, taking in every sound, every innocent childish squeal, every adult hushing, slinking away from the main room and down the long hallway. Silently, I snuck by the restroom, the bedrooms.

Finally, I heard murmurs coming from a guest room. At least far from the joyous party chatter in my mind, I listened in totally on the secret meeting. I settled just out of sight, peeking through the cracked door so I could put faces to the words.

“We can’t just walk in and take him out.” Declared an older woman. I focused in just long enough on the white curls and dark eyes to identify Ingrid’s grandmother.

“Of course not. It could never be that simple.” Ingrid’s grandfather, a grey-mustached man, replied, “The tyrant is too smart for that.”

A red-haired woman chimed in, “Don’t give him so much credit.”

“It’s true. When he crushed Watovya, he proved himself as a strategist. I have to give the bastard that.” Ingrid’s grandfather restated.

Still, the redhead argued, “Those people did nothing to us. Nothing. He just wanted their goldmines. He slaughtered them just for riches. How can you say--”

“I never claimed the man had a conscience, I said he was smart. It took a lot of craft to infiltrate that place, more so to convince so many of our people that it was justified. He’s as intelligent as he is heartless.” Stated Ingrid’s traitorous grandfather. I wondered if he’d have the nerve to speak those words where more could hear.

The redheaded woman sighed. “So how do we do it, then? How do we take him down?”

“I’ll do it.” Jerked away from my rage and plunged into the creeping chill of shock, I heard the familiar voice of my own father. “He already trusts me. I’m assistant to his top advisor. I know where he intends to strike next.”

“Where?” Ingrid’s grandfather asked.

Betraying my king, my father said, “Marprova.”

“No!” Ingrid’s grandmother gasped just as I had the thought to do the same. Though, I didn’t dare make a sound.

“Unfortunately so.” My father continued. “He may think his army respects him, but he underestimates just how many only follow him because they’re too afraid of the penalty for desertion. If I can just convince them to turn against him—”

“Convince them to turn against him?! Tedmund, this man seduced a country into giving up it’s free will. He has a gaggle of jesters and musicians glorifying his every move. He’s even indoctrinating children into doing his bidding!” Ingrid’s grandfather lied. My king is no evil man. I could barely stand keeping my silence as he spun his filth.

My father sighed, “Well, we make a back-up plan then, Yarv. I try to turn some of his men into a unit willing to lead him to doom, and if that fails, we wait until the next holiday, when he’s relaxed and drunken. I know a few that work in his kitchen who would be more than willing to poison his mead.”

“That should be our first plan!” The redheaded woman insisted. I barely heard her through the churning of my stomach.

“No! Imagine his supporter’s reactions. They’ll believe he died valiantly in battle, regardless of the truth. If we have to go the other route, there will be investigations. There will be executions…” My father conspired all too accurately. My entire chest felt as though it could sink underneath the muddy streets outside.

Ingrid’s grandmother volunteered, “In that case, let me. I will be gone soon anyway. Let me be the one to poison him. Not some scullery maid with her whole life ahead of her. I’d rather die making a free Svaaltar than live my last days allowing this nightmare to continue.”

Through the door crack, I saw the old man nod and solemnly take her hand. As though they were so valiant. I had never expected the elderly to be so foolish, so selfish to conspire to end our country’s future.

“You’re so brave, Carlabeth.” The redheaded idiot interjected.

“It would be more like his sous-chef.” My father stated as I committed his treasonous network to memory. “Anyway, if not him-- how exactly do you propose we sneak you in?”

The elderly woman answered, “Everyone knows I’m ill. So you invite me as your esteemed guest. Tell them I wanted to see our oh-so-glorious ruler in the flesh as my last wish before I go.”

“Hmm… We need to hammer out the details, but that actually could work.” My father agreed. “And you’ll have to practice that poker face.”

“We’ll have to figure it out later, Ingrid’s cake is almost ready! I smell it from here!” The old, wicked woman cheered.

As careful as I was swift, I silently left the hall. Back in the living room, Ingrid’s cake was waiting, frosted with little pink flowers all along the top. I knew she would love it.

I couldn’t bear to eat a single bite.

When the party ended, I had to wish all those horrible people well and promise my father that I’d walk home safely as he stayed behind, supposedly to help clean up. But every step away from the party has been heavier and slower than the last. Every moment, my father’s horrific scheme weighs heavier, my stomach churns further. The conversation replays in my head over and over.

Now, I must ask myself the worst of questions. I must ask myself what kind of future the little birthday girl will have because of me. Her favorite stew still lingers vaguely on my tongue. Has the kingdom not provided generously for Ingrid? Why can’t her grandparents see that? Will Ingrid’s life be more torn apart when her kingdom falls, or when her grandparents are put to death? Them, along with my father...

My father always taught me to be strong, to be good and kind. Yet, where is his kindness now? As he schemes with traitors, forcing me into this. If only he didn’t spend so much time at the palace. If only he didn’t listen to senile old fools. If only the king didn’t ask me to be the one brave enough to help him.

My mother would never stop weeping if my father were executed. And yet, if our kingdom falls, what then? How would any of us survive? Would I survive knowing I put my own father to death? How could I live with myself if I knew I let him kill our King?

How could I live in the house my father built without him there? How could I listen to the silence where my father’s advice should be? What world do I deserve to see if I am the one that gets him taken out of it?

I turn towards home, stepping up from the mud onto the cobblestone my king had paved for us. I think of my parent’s endless love. I think of all my father’s hard work. I pass the innkeepers, the bartenders, the shops all open and free, kept safe by the king’s guards. On the wind, I smell a freshly baked rhubarb pie, my mother’s specialty, my father’s favorite treat-- it should be sweet, but the thought rings so bitter it makes me feel sick, my stomach as upset as it would be had I consumed Ingrid’s whole cake. My head buzzes uncontrollably as I cross a bridge my king built. On the other side, I don’t feel any closer to well. People are passing by all around me, yet I feel impossibly far from everything and everyone. I dart away, not looking where I’m going.

Who will I allow to die? Who can I bear to live without?

I fall to my knees in an alley as the putrid thoughts spew out of my throat. With the vomit goes all hope of a shining, perfect future. I heave and gasp for a way out and find none.

There is no life without torment for me now, either way. I was warned this would be difficult, I knew it wouldn’t be easy from the start. But I never suspected this.

My personal future, my own feelings, or the good of us all, everyone throughout the land? That’s the real question.

If I am truly brave and strong, there can only be one answer.

My legs shake as I manage to stand, each step wavering as I head towards the palace. It doesn’t matter that I feel so unsteady. It doesn’t matter that I feel the tears running down my face. What matters is that I rise to meet the challenge, that I rise to make the future as it should be. After all, I will be ten years old soon. It’s past time for me to be certain of where my loyalty lies.

All glory to the Kingdom of Svaaltar.