24 reconciliation

Back underground, Rian had to take a moment to process this revelation.

"Hold on... what do you mean, it's the townspeople who came up with the Tradition?"

Master Willdyer released a long breath. "It's a long story. Have you ever wondered why we live so close to Witherblaire? If we're the governor of Hiraeth, we should be living in a safer place, which is far from that forest, don't you agree?"

Rian pondered about this and nodded, following his explanation.

"We live so close to danger because we have to protect the town. But not in a heroic way," he continued, gloom shrouding his weathered face. "We're more like shields at their disposal. Whatever hits the town, hits us first."

The teenager narrowed his brows in fright. "So the town is... using us?"

Master Willdyer nodded. "The Willdyer family is the sole governor of Hiraeth, that's what's known to all the other towns—even as far as Efficson. But in truth, it is the people of Hiraeth that are controlling us, and we are under their mercy."

"Why? Why are we under their mercy? What will they do to us if we didn't comply? Kill us?" Rian pressed on.

Master Willdyer looked at him, and Rian had never once saw his father's face so pale; it was like his soul had been sucked right out and left nothing but a hollow shell. "It's worse than that. We... the reason why we're kept alive, is because we have the Blessed blood in our veins. If we don't listen to the people, they won't kill us, but they'll treat us like animals. I'm talking about breeding, Darian."

The young man felt sick to the stomach. "W-What? Breeding?"

As he connected the dots together, filled in the missing pieces of the puzzle, Rian finally came to the conclusion. "So... the Tradition is to ensure the Willdyers always have Blessed heirs. But that's only if we follow it all the way. If we break the Tradition, the townspeople will resort to breed us like animals to mass produce Blessed people to serve the town. Am I... am I right?"

His father looked down. "That is correct. The Tradition is their mercy towards us. We live such a luxurious life in exchange that we follow it to a T. We act as responsible governors on the outside, funding the town and making sure it prospers. We always gave them the best—not because we are their leader, but because we are their slaves."

Rian turned to the nurse. "And you knew? The servants, maids, all of them?"

"Yes. The only ones who are not aware of this are those below the age of twenty. You were going to know this soon either way," Nurse Rosetta said, looking guilty. "Your servants and maids are mostly people who wronged Hiraeth in some way, and are sent to work in the manor as punishment. That's why you see Sir Felluor treating them like they're his slaves, because he knows he has power over them here."

She raised both her hands suddenly. "But I didn't do anything wrong. I'm really sent here to look after the family. And after getting to see how you live your lives... it's really horrible, what the town is doing to you."

Rian got up abruptly and went to his study desk, using his elbows to scavenge for paper. He flipped the stained music sheets over and bit a quill pen, trying to write out words, but they only ended up being squiggly scribbles.

Nurse Rosetta rushed over. "Rian, what are you writing? Why are you writing?"

"Careth. Careth needs to know everything. Everything!" He said with the writing tool in between his mouth.

The nurse took it out of his mouth and wrote it in his place. "Okay, I'll write it for you. Just calm down, all right? You'll hurt yourself the more you move around."

Rian paced around as Master Willdyer entered the common area. Seeing his son in such a distressed state, he opened his mouth to apologize, but Rian put up his index finger.

"Don't bother. I will never forgive you for what you did to Michael. And I will never forgive grandfather, and myself," he said with finality.

Master Willdyer had a hard look on his face. "That's all right. But I hope we can communicate better, just for now, for Careth."

Rian scowled at him. "Oh, for Careth, huh? You know when you said that, you sounded so gentle. I've never heard that voice before in my nineteen years of living till now."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying when it comes to Careth, you act all fatherly as if you actually care about him. But when it comes to me, what do you do? You lash out at me because I'm not doing what you ask, you treat me like some defect, and... you helped grandfather kill my best friend."

Jealousy dripped from his words, and as Rian threw his head back in mad laughter, a glint of hysteria flashed in his eyes. "But too bad, I'm the one who's Blessed, not him! I think if we switched places, you would throw me out as soon as I was born, right? If I was the one dying tomorrow, you probably wouldn't even bat an eye, right?"

His father, Terrell, was at a loss for words. For all this time, guilt had been accumulating like snow in his heart, forming an ever-growing snowball as it rolled down the hill of time. It was this moment when the snowball had crashed and split open, and Terrell was unable to control his guilt any longer. He went forward timidly, locking eyes with his son who dreaded his closure, but in truth, ever so yearned for it.

Terrell wrapped his arms around Rian, minding the bandaged hands. He pressed his son against him tightly, as though wishing it would melt away the snow in his heart.

"I'm so, so sorry, Darian. I'm sorry for everything I've done to you. I made terrible decisions, and I was never a good father for you," he said, emotions leaking out of his stone facade. "You are my son, and I do love you. I will never, ever, want you to die at all. I'm sorry for all the hurt I brought upon you that would make you say that."

Rian stood with his arms by his sides, ignoring the pain that gnawed at him as he clenched his fists. The words his father just spoke almost broke him, but for his pride, he held back the tears and looked away, blinking rapidly.

"I still won't forgive you for what you've done, but I appreciate your apology," Rian breathed, and rested his head on Terrell's shoulder. "I appreciate what you said. And I'm sorry, too."

Nurse Rosetta grinned at their warm reconciliation. She folded the paper and waited for them to get comfortable, before she spoke. "Now that you two are on good terms, I suppose we should plan on how to get Careth out of here, for real."

For the rest of their time underground, the trio discussed and exchange ideas, conceiving a plausible plan. They did not stop to think about anything else, for this was their last attempt, and their last chance of keeping Careth alive.

—

One day before the tea party.

Careth pressed his toes gently on the floor, and with the support of his bed, he inched a few steps forward, and soon was able to walk normally, albeit looking a little clumsy.

'The medication worked wonders. I have no excuse to say I can't dance now,' he thought, and rehearsed a few steps. Careth stepped and twirled, his hands extended outwards as if holding onto a partner. After a light practice, he sat back on his bed, and resumed contemplating.

Now that he knew he would ingest the poison through drinks, Careth felt safe as he knew what to look out for. But as he ruminated, second thoughts started to seep into his calm mind. What if Sir Felluor caught on about what he revealed? What if he poisoned the food instead, and not the drinks? Or what if he poisoned the drinks because Careth thought he wouldn't poison the drinks and would poison the food—

"Ahh! This is so frustrating!" Careth cried and kicked the bed with his good foot. He looked out the window, wishing to see a sign, or anything, that could indicate that Rian and Merry were watching over him.

But alas, all he could see was the golden meadow swaying under the afternoon sun, and he fell back onto the bed in defeat.

"If I can't figure out which is poisoned, then I'll just avoid it completely," he said to himself. "Maybe... I can make a scene. I can spill the tea everywhere so I don't even have to drink it. Then I'll just excuse myself to the bathroom and run away from there."

He sat back up, brows knitted in thought. "But I have to get to Father's room in order to retrieve my survival sack. And I don't know which room the tea party will commence either." Careth sighed; once again there was an obstacle in his path. "I guess I'll have to improvise."

Careth tried to come up with a more meticulous plan, but the more he thought, the more he grew unconfident in himself, and he stopped thinking altogether. As he tossed and turned, he felt an invisible force pressing against his chest, making his breaths come short and shallow. Gruesome thoughts invaded his mind, and Careth envisioned himself lying on the floor, tea spilt on his clothes, and the surrounding crowd just standing, watching the young heir suffocate to death as their entertainment.

'Stop! Stop thinking about it,' he commanded himself out of will. Careth got up, his heart still beating fast, and approached the cupboard. But when he remembered he had returned all the storybooks since the first escape attempt, Careth cursed under his breath.

The boy went to his door and swung it open, glaring at the two burly guards positioned on each side. "I want to read something. Could you get me a book from the library?"

One of the guards with more shiny armor than the next responded. "Sure. What do you want to read, young master?"

"A Series of Unfortunate Events, book eight."

He blinked. "But isn't that for children?"

Careth punched the door, startling both the guards. "So? I'm dying tomorrow, and you still have the audacity to make fun of my interests? You think it's a waste of time that I read, don't you? Well, I'm stuck in this room and I can't do my duties anyway, so why can't I just do something I enjoy before I leave this world forever, huh?"

His replier was shocked at the heir's sudden outburst. Gathering himself, he stalked down the hallway and said, "Understood, young master. I'll get you the book right away."

Careth huffed and closed the door loudly, waiting at the bottom of his bed. A few minutes later, he heard a knock and retrieved the book the guard gave him, but upon reading the cover, Careth threw it aside.

"I said book eight. Eight! You gave me book six!" he yelled, and was overwhelmed with unfamiliar rage. "Can't you even read? Don't you even feel ashamed of yourself by making such a simple mistake? It's crazy to think I'm the one dying instead of you."

The guard remained stoic. "Young master, I apologize for mixing up the book. But you should know that shouting at me will not do anything to change your fate. In the end, you can only blame yourself, and not anyone else."

He closed the door, not bothering to obtain the correct book. Careth muttered a few more insults to the guards outside, but it was all muffled by the block of wood in between them. Nevertheless, he could still pick up the exchange between the adults.

"Did you see that? He went absolutely mad."

"Yeah. He's starting to act like the grandmaster. Always losing his temper."

"I'm glad he isn't Blessed. Otherwise we'd have another Willdyer treating us like dogs."

Careth picked up the abused book and curled up on his bed, re-reading it for the fifth time. As he glossed over the familiar lines and phrases, he remembered the times where him and Merry were so engrossed with the story, Careth would purposely stop at thrilling moments and Merry would always tackle him until he finished reading it aloud. He remembered her eager gaze on him, listening to him intently, and Careth felt happy that someone had shared his love for stories, no matter if they're for children or ages above.

A tear slipped and dripped on the pages, creating a stain that spread over inked words. Careth closed and embraced the book, hugging it together with his knees.

"I miss you, Merry."