Page 16 of Survivor
Vysar’s hand landed on my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. “You will make a good and just king someday, my son.”
“Wait. What? King?” Lucy sputtered.
I probably should have told her about that, too.
My father seemed to take in our miscommunication with no small sense of amusement. “Allow me to formally introduce myself, my dear. I am Lord Vysar of House Varraik, deposed Regent of Zarpazia.
Lucy’s eyes narrowed on me, the gold in her irises shimmering. “If he’s a king, does that make you...”
“Lord Vraxxan of House Varraik, crowned prince of Zarpazia,” I confessed, strangely grateful there wasn’t a blaster around she could get her hands on.
Lucy planted her hands on her hips, eyes blazing as she glared at me. “What the fuck? You didn’t think this was something you should have mentioned?” she demanded, her voice sharp.
“It had no bearing...” I started to explain, my voice trailing off under her intense scrutiny.
“No bearing?” Lucy interrupted with a huff, her frustration evident. “Your mother, thequeen, is trying to kill me. You don’t think that’s relevant?”
“Perhaps,” I admitted, my voice softening. “But I was too ashamed of her actions to admit to any kinship.” The confession came with a weight that seemed to lift slightly as I spoke.
The fire in Lucy’s eyes dimmed, her anger slowly deflating. “She’s the one who should be ashamed,” Lucy said, her voice now gentler. “You’ve done nothing but protect me. But you should have told me.” Her words were a gentle rebuke but now tinged with understanding.
“I hope you can forgive my remiss,” I said, my tone earnest and sincere.
“Oh, just stop it.” Lucy gave me a playful punch on the shoulder, her touch light and teasing. She possessed little strength, but I still felt her punch shimmy along my nerve endings. “Of course I forgive you. But no more secrets,” she added sternly.
“No more secrets,” I agreed.
Nearby, Vysar watched our exchange with a curious gleam in his eyes. “Come,” he offered, his voice warm and inviting. “You must be tired. I will take you to my home, where you can rest and eat.”
My father guided us along a winding path through the dense jungle, where the vibrant sounds and rich aromas of the lush greenery accompanied our every step. The air was thick with the scent of damp soil and the sweet fragrance of exotic blooms, while the distant calls of unseen birds and the scurry of small creatures provided a melodic backdrop.
When Vysar eventually halted, I feared that his time in exile might have affected his mental faculties. We stood not in a clearing, nor was there any indication of a house or shelter that I could discern. The dense foliage pressed in on all sides, creating a world of green shadows.
“Wow! It’s like the Swiss Family Robinson!”
Lucy’s excited exclamation made me turn, and I followed her wide gaze upward. Through the thick canopy of leaves, the outline of a massive treehouse became visible, perched high above us like a hidden fortress embraced by the jungle. The Swiss Family Robinson, she mentioned, must reside in a treehouse as well. I wondered how many humans called the branches and sky home.
“The jungle doesn’t hold many predators, but the ones it has come out mostly at night,” my father said, a proud smile lighting up his face as he gazed up at his home nestled amidst thetrees. “The Peecha taught me the importance of staying off the ground.”
“We were planning to find shelter in the caves a few parsecs from here,” I relayed, while he led us to a small conveyance. It was an ingenious contraption, maneuvered by an intricate system of ropes and pulleys, designed to transport items from the ground to the treehouse.
“You wouldn’t have lasted a night there,” Vysar interjected with a dismissive snort. “The homdats live in caves.”
I had no clue what ahomdatwas and suspected Lucy didn’t either, but she still shivered for effect.
“This is amazing,” Lucy breathed as we stepped from the conveyance onto a sturdy deck that encircled the magnificent treehouse like an embrace.
Crafted from wood and stone, lashed together with thick vines, and crowned with a lushly thatched roof, the treehouse was an architectural marvel. From my vantage point, I glimpsed the interior living area, cleverly divided into two cozy sections by a stone fire pit recessed into the floor. On the far side of the building, a waterwheel turned languidly, drawing fresh water from a babbling creek below through intricately hollowed tree limbs. The furniture scattered about, fashioned from logs and thatching, appeared invitingly comfortable. To the left of the fire pit, an assortment of wooden and woven bowls brimmed with vibrant heaps of fruits and vegetables, while haunches of dried meat swung gently from the rafters above.
“There are two sleeping areas. Mine is to the right,” my father announced, his arm sweeping out toward the room on the left. Beyond an arched doorway, I observed a spacious room featuring a large wooden and rope bed smothered in layers of soft furs. My stomach felt funny at his assumption that Lucy and I would share the space, but I held my tongue. Lucy remainedsilent as well, which only intensified the fluttering sensation in my gut.
“The bathing area is at the end of the house,” my father concluded his tour, pulling aside a heavy curtain to unveil a room equipped with a basin, running water, a rudimentary expeller, and an impressive tub carved from solid stone standing under a spicket that spouted water like heavy rain.
“You—you’ve got a bathroom?” Lucy squeaked in astonishment.
“We are not savages, my dear,” Vysar assured her with a gentle smile. “Please freshen up. You must be hot and tired. The jungle can be a weary place. I’ll prepare dinner.”
Lucy eagerly took advantage of the bathing area first and for the longest amount of time. I didn’t mind at all. Her contented sighs and melodic hums of pleasure, mingling with the rhythmic splashes of water, filled the air with a sense of peace that made me happy.
