Massacred Memories

My name is Kieran Quoniera, but not for much longer. Today is my wedding day, the day I shall be joined in formal union to a young woman who loves me and will always fill my life with joy.

I do not love her in return.

Mari is wonderful, a shining beacon across dark water, but love is a powerful word. She professes it for me, has said it many times, and her word is law. I will marry her to give her happiness, just as she has given me happiness; I will make love to her, produce an heir to preserve her bloodline; I will do my duty as her wedded consort, always.

Then I will find some pretext to return to Attica, my homeland. Even if I must take another identity, pretend to be what I am not, I will return to Halavin’s court and take revenge for my love – or die in the trying.

Love. Maybe I am still trapped in the past, even after everything fate has given in recompense. By the Almighty, thirteen is certainly too young to love. Is it?

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We began the trip at dawn, just as the sun crept over the horizon. I wasn’t at all happy about having to rise an hour before the sun, and on my birthday, no less! But the sight of the sunrise cheered me up immediately. True beauty, like a glowing rainbow set aflame by the gods! I was speechless, with no sarcastic comment for once.

I look back upon that memory with amusement, nowadays. How ignorant I was then, awed by a mere sunrise! True, I still admire the sun, but certainly not in the same way. At dawn that day, I was still innocent, a boy. By the same time the next day, I was a man, mature and hardened. The death of a loved one changes you that way.

In any case, I was broken out of reverie by a light tap on my shoulder. I jumped and whirled around frantically before relaxing in relief. It was only Gabe, my cousin and best friend. “Don’t sneak up on people like that, Gabe! You almost made me hit my head on the sky!”

Gabe laughed. “It’s your own fault for being entranced by the sunrise, Kier. Next thing you know, you’re going to start writing poetry!”

My cheeks burned and I made a face, shaking my head violently. “No way, poetry is for girls!”

Cocking his head, Gabe opened his mouth to voice a retort – probably another cutting remark, as his tongue was even more trouble than mine. But I was saved from another unmanly blush by the shrill voice of Hannah, the housekeeper. “Kieran! Gabriel! If you two aren’t on your horses in ten seconds, we’re leaving without you!”

Hurriedly, Gabe and I raced toward Hannah, who was holding the reins of two horses. As we came within sight, Hannah scowled and scolded, “Where were you two? We’re already running behind schedule as it is. Especially you, Kieran. You’re thirteen years old now, you should know better.”

I scrunched up my face, but I didn’t dare backtalk to Hannah. For all that she was a commoner and a servant, she had the authority to get me into big trouble with my mother, Lady Nieta. Father was the strict one, but Mother’s disappointed looks hurt me much more than any of Father’s never-ending lectures.

Hanging my head meekly, I walked past Hannah and mounted my horse, a bronze gelding called Copper. Gabe swung onto his own horse, a gray mare named Fog for her innate ability to blend in and navigate in a heavy fog. We both urged our mounts into a trot; I rode ahead in front and Gabe brought up the rear. My parents rode in the carriage at the middle of the procession, the safest position.

Before, I had always traveled in the carriage, as befitted my rank as heir to Father’s estate. I had only been permitted to ride Copper today as a special privilege for my birthday, and even that small allowance had only been after days of begging. Sometimes I truly envied Gabe, the youngest of three sons. He possessed so much more freedom than I, and yet I knew he envied me as well, for my inheritance and future wealth. We were best friends, but we each longed for the grass on the other side of the (impenetrable) fence.

As I rode in silence – apart from the steady clip-clop of horseshoes – my mind wandered to my parents. Before his marriage, Roald Keon Quoniera was relatively penniless for a noble; however, Nieta Jinul’s generous dowry combined with numerous expensive gifts from King Halavin (Nieta’s first cousin) built up his coffers considerably. In fact, if Mother hadn’t been born female, she would have been next in line for the throne, as her father had passed away long ago and King Halavin had no close male relatives.

Under normal circumstances, my mother and father would never have been allowed to wed. She was an archduchess of noble blood, and he a lower lord. Nieta had already been betrothed to an Ijan prince, but when the prince died unexpectedly in an earthquake, King Halavin took pity on her and gave her free choice of her next husband.

So under extremely improbable conditions, my parents married and had me. I suppose that makes me an extremely improbable child. I should be grateful to be alive, I guess, but frankly, I’m not.

By the time I had finished pondering my family’s convoluted history, we were at the gate of Duke Xilan’s enormous manor. Gabe and I dismounted quickly, racing through the gate and up the winding stone path. I had a head start, of course, but Gabe was a much faster runner. We reached the front porch of the manor at the exact same time, like we always did. As I folded my legs and collapsed tiredly on the ground, the manor door was opened by none other than (the very pretty) Yvenne Quoniera.

Yvenne was the daughter and only heir of Duke Xilan; however, as she was female, she would inherit only her father’s estate and not his title. It was a conflicted subject, for that title would pass to my own father. And though I had loved Yvenne for two years, I was loath to tell her my feelings. We were far enough apart to prevent a genetic catastrophe, but my father’s inheritance was a troubling obstacle.

“Welcome to thy home, my cousins.” Yvenne’s greeting was painfully formal, spoken in an emotionless monotone while sinking into a deep curtsy. As Gabe and I jumped up and brushed ourselves off, I wondered briefly what had changed her so. Only a year ago, Yvenne had greeted us with a smile and a hug.

Remembering belatedly that I had yet to give the ritual reply, I quickly intoned, “I am honored to visit thy home, dear cousin Yvenne.”

Always striving to outdo me, Gabe smiled wickedly and said, “It is always an honor to visit your beautiful home, dear Yvenne.” It was a clever twist of words on the original, enough to elicit raised eyebrows but no reprimand.

I was immediately jealous, because I could see Yvenne biting back a smile. But Yvenne said nothing, another sign that she had changed. A year ago, she would have laughed outright and shaken her head at Gabe’s foolishness; today, she was afraid to even smile. But what – or who – did she fear?

As Gabe and I stepped inside and removed our overcoats, Yvenne led us down familiar marble-laid hallways to the location of each year’s birthday banquet, the Great Hall. We both knew the way, of course – after thirteen consecutive years, it was hard not to remember the way – but apparently acting the hostess was one of Yvenne’s new duties.

The Great Hall was overflowing with people, attesting to the size and power of House Quoniera. Following Yvenne’s silent instructions, Gabe and I parted ways to our respective seats. I sat at the High Table with Duke Xilan and my parents, and to my great luck, Yvenne as well. As a third son, poor Gabe was relegated to a lower table. I could barely glimpse his head from my seat, so far away he was. As always, Gabe’s significantly lower rank brought on a wave of guilt.

The feast lasted for several hours, well into the night. By the time Duke Xilan announced the opening of the ballroom, it was almost midnight and pitch-black outside, a blanket of stars shining bright overhead. I pushed back my chair and stretched contently; I was about to follow the crowd into the ballroom when Yvenne suddenly appeared by my side.

Yvenne’s lovely face was marred with an expression of pure terror, and I was instantly concerned. She began to speak, a torrent of frantic words bursting from her mouth. “Kieran, you have to leave, now! You must leave before – before it happens!” She shuddered. “Go! You must be off these grounds by morning, or House Quoniera will truly fade away in disgrace. Please, go!”

Impulsively, I grabbed Yvenne’s hand. “Come with me, then. I–I love you! I don’t know what happened this past year, but it doesn’t matter. If there really is a danger, come and leave with me.”

Yvenne shook her head. “Oh Kier, I love you too, I really do. But you must go! There’s not much time left, and I am already claimed.” She closed her eyes briefly, as if gathering strength. “Father sent me to the convent. He didn’t have a choice – they blackmailed him. But then they wanted me, said if I went to live with them and eventually married the–the king, they would leave Father alone. I agreed, but Father refused to let me go. He said he would see House Quoniera’s ruin before my marriage to the enemy, and now he will!”

She reluctantly pulled her hand away. “I’m going to plead with them, beg them to let Father live. You must leave now, Kier, before it’s too late! It’s already too late for me, but you still might have a chance at happiness.” With that, Yvenne fled into the unsuspecting crowd.

“Wait! What about Gabe, and my parents?” I called out too late. Yvenne was gone. I almost refused to leave her behind, but I remembered her last words to me. If Yvenne wanted me to run, then run I would. But happiness with another girl, I vowed would never happen. It did eventually come true, of course, though not for many years. I was only thirteen when I made that vow, and too naïve to know better.

I wove through the throng of relatives, distant and close, toward a side exit. Just as I slipped through the door, I saw Gabe, running out of the ballroom at a breakneck pace. Yvenne had warned him as well, then. But it was already too late. As the grandfather clock began its midnight chime, deadly black arrows flew out of nowhere. I quickly looked away, but not before I glimpsed an arrow sprouting from Gabe’s chest and the resulting sea of blood.

I have no idea how I escaped that night. Everywhere I passed, black arrows rained down but never hit me. I didn’t see Yvenne or her father, or my parents, but I saw Copper and Fog ruthlessly shot down along with the other horses in the stables. I had been aiming to find a horse, for escape would be far faster mounted than on foot, but it was again too late.

Yvenne’s warning to be off Quoniera lands by sunrise was fresh in my mind as I headed into the fields. Even pushing myself, however, I barely managed to reach the border when the first streaks of pink appeared in the sky. As soon as I crossed into safe territory, I fell asleep against a tree. Exhaustion had finally taken over; my low stamina would prove to be my downfall.

When I awoke, I was no longer leaning against a tree. Instead, I was slumped against the side of a barred wagon, shackled hand and foot. Several other children around the same age were also in the wagon, all staring intently at me. I looked down at my muddy tunic and pants in dismay, realizing that I had been mistaken for a peasant.

I had been captured into slavery. When the slavers came around to serve the daily meal of stale bread and water, I managed to discover that the wagon was headed to a market just across the border in Sierra. I found that fact ironic; had I tried to enter Sierra by myself, I would certainly been turned back for my lack of a passport. But now this wagon was carrying me to safety, albeit as a slave – for in Sierra, those responsible for the massacre of House Quoniera could never find me.

I have never allowed myself to dwell on the memories of the massacre. By keeping the subject in the back of my mind, I could lock away the overwhelming grief. It was necessary in the world of slavery, for slaves have no time to grieve, or indeed to feel any true emotions. Yet as a result of my self-denial, I have never accepted the death of House Quoniera; of all those who died, Gabe and Yvenne always threatened to invade my consciousness and send me spiraling into painful, unwanted memories.

I lived this way, day after day, until the day my owner died and I was back on the auction block. That day, a girl only a little older than me became my new mistress – and eventually, helped me to find happiness again, just as Yvenne had predicted all those years ago.