Page 90 of King's Warrior

The trees surrounding the plot were still dormant. Soon, the area would be resplendent with pink blossoms. They passed a stone bench next to a reflection pool. Grandfather’s massiveheadstone stood next to Grandmother’s smaller, yet more ornately carved one. Three spots stood empty: one for Father, another for Mother, and one reserved for Rufe beside his father’s. What? They’d intended to bury him as firstborn?

Oh, with his brother gone, they must’ve made recent rearrangements. Fresh earth marked Ronwith’s resting place next to Mother’s, currently without a headstone.

“He was so young,” Mother commented in a choked voice.

Rufe put his arm around his mother beneath his father's arm, saying nothing. What could he say? He lowered his head, taking in the moment.He didn’t know how long they stood together in silence before Father led Mother away.

Rufe waited until his parents left the cemetery to murmur quietly, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Ronnie. I’m sorry for a lot of things.” His voice caught in his throat on a sob. He stood by his brother’s grave, tears trailing down his cheeks for the lost time together, a life cut short, and so, so many regrets.

He gave a final sniff and wandered to a faded headstone in the very back of the cemetery, one of the first Ferunds to be buried here, dropping onto a worn stone bench. A statue stood atop the grave marker, a woman with arms flung wide, face weathered away long ago. The Unnamed Goddess kept vigil over one of his many times great-grandfathers.

No one knew much about the Goddess. As far as Rufe knew, she’d never had priests or priestesses to spread the word of her existence. Because she remained unnamed, a very young Rufe had taken her for his own. She could be whatever the believer wantedif she didn’t stand for harvest, war, or other things like the known gods and goddesses.

Rufe’s own personal goddess. “Unnamed Goddess, please see to my brother, wherever he might be.” The fresh tears on Rufe’s cheeks surprised him. Apparently, he had more grieving to do.

Relatives began arriving after noon. Rufe wasn’t required to greet them, so he remained in his room, postponing the inevitable for as long as possible. Those who didn’t currently hate him soon would, and several cousins might gloat right now, thinking they’d be named heir in his stead.

Emma arrived to fetch him. “It’s time, Lord Rufe.” Was she the lone servant who agreed to get him, or had she asked for the privilege?

“Thank you, Emma.” She’d never know how much her friendship meant to him.

By the time he arrived, the formal dining room was almost full, and several attendees appeared to be taking advantage of Father’s well-stocked wine cellar. Rufe entered behind his mother and father, with Father sitting at the head of the table, Mother to his right, and Rufe to his left.

Delicious scents drifted from the kitchen, causing Rufe’s stomach to rumble. Did the cook still make his favorite savory meat pies?

Portraits of his ancestors hung on the walls, with sconces placed between them to light their images in the evening. Now, the open shutters admitted sunlight from two large windows, flanking each side of the hearth, making candles unnecessary.

Several sneers caught Rufe’s eyes when he glanced down at the table. Judging by the frown on Father’s face, he’d noticed, too. Assorted kin sat gathered around the table, all much older than his memories supplied. Funny how he’d grown older but expected everyone else to stay the same.

Servants shuffled in, filling wine glasses and serving roasted venison, potatoes, fish, and other local dishes. Emma shuffled in with one lone meat pie on a plate, which she placed before Rufe. Bless her soul.

Memories didn’t do the pie justice. He finished every bite, ignoring a few envious gazes coming his way. Several attendees spoke quietly among themselves, the drunker ones the loudest. Apple pastries completed the meal.

Once servants cleared away plates and refilled glasses, Father stood. Best to make his announcement while at least half those in attendance stood a chance of remembering. “Thank you all for coming to this tribute for my son and heir, Lord Ronwith Ferund, taken from us far too early.” He lifted his glass in a toast, joined by several others who’d been paying attention and hadn’t already drained their glasses. “My oldest son, Commander Rufe Ferund of the Imperial Forces, has returned to us.”

Half-hearted clapping ensued. Few cheered for a bastard. Rufe braced himself, fully aware of what came next.

Father glanced around the table, gaze stopping on Mother, who smiled and nodded before he focused his attention on Rufe. “Emperor Avestan Aravaid legitimized Rufe as my lawful son and heir.”

Anything from gasps to murmuring to outright rage followed.

Father held up a hand. “If you are at my table, you are family or closely enough aligned to this family for my announcement to make a difference to you. Before you do or say something you’d regret, I’d like to remind you that the next Duke of Haston is in attendance, and he has the endorsement of me, the emperor, and King Draylon Aravaid of Renvalle.”

“Mine too.” A tall, distinguished-looking older man rose, a bit wobbly, from his seat. A fifth cousin, something removed, if Rufe remembered correctly.

“Mine, as well,” said a woman who remained seated. Father’s great aunt on grandmother’s side of the family?

Father continued, “I've made my decision. There is nothing else to be said.” He sat.

The gathered crowd buzzed like angry bees or hissed like feral cats. A few left, some staggering from too much drink. To the remaining individuals, Father said, “We appreciate your attendance this afternoon,” dismissing them.

Far more people than Rufe expected passed by his chair, welcoming him home and offering words of acceptance, some with genuine smiles on their faces. Who knew?

A few asked, “So tell me, Lord Rufe, do you have a duchess in mind?” Their coy smiles said they’d gladly offer suggestions.

Rufe answered each time with, “I’m mourning the death of my brother. I’ll save such thoughts for another time.”

Some slunk off, chastened. Others merely smiled all the more.

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