His mother has stopped eating, the High Priest had said. The elder had placed a hand upon Taeg’s shoulder, as if its cool weight would comfort him.

  “It’s because I told her about Kelo.” Taeg stomps up the expansive stairwell of the cathedral with Gideon on his heels.

  “No, Your Grace. She is… not well,” the Chamberlain replies.

  As they climb into the nave, sunlight through the many arched windows along the aisle paints colors on their faces. Particles flicker through the sunbeams. Taeg had awoken to a cool breeze blowing in from the ocean, a small respite when one was required to wear pants.

  “You should have seen her, Gideon. She was distraught, banging on the door, screaming to be let out. I’m not sure how long I can keep doing this,” he says, shaking his head.

  Gideon does not reply. He hurries his ample body ahead to the left transept arm, heeled boots clacking on the stone tiles. Taeg follows to the rear of the transept where the door to his mother’s room stares back at him. A young acolyte is leaning next to it, his bare scalp gleaming in the morning sunlight. He stumbles to his feet as they approach.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty,” he chimes, beaming.

  Taeg ignores him. The Chamberlain, reading the lines in Taeg’s forehead, asks the young man for a key.

  “Of course,” the acolyte says, hurrying into a room across the transept. Moments later, a monk in physician’s robes exits, the boy trailing behind. The monk’s eyes are trained on Taeg, his robes waving as he walks, his long face drawn tight. In his hand, there is a key, a faded bronze.

  “Your Grace,” he nods his head ever so slightly. “The Queen Mother is currently abed. It may be best to-”

  “The key,” Taeg interrupts him, reaching.

  Their eyes meet. Tension freezes the air. “Please,” he adds. His hand shakes as it floats between them. The monk nods silently, moving to the door. He gives Taeg a look of warning, then opens the door to a darkened room. The curtains are drawn over the large bay window where his mother usually stands, gazing over the village of Erah. In the corner, on the four poster bed, there is a pile of covers concealing a slender form curled up in the center of the mattress. Her graying hair is splayed out amongst the linens. Taeg stares, waiting for his eyes to catch the subtle movement of her breath before stepping softly over the threshold. He looks back at Gideon, nodding once, and the Chamberlain enters the room behind him, closing the door with a muffled thud.

  “Mother?” Taeg’s voice feels too loud, echoing off the empty walls.

  There is no reply. The wind rattles the window frame, and the familiar sound of sand colliding with the panes is the only sound. He leaves Gideon at the door, stepping to open the heavy velvet curtains. He moves them aside, one by one, dust dancing in the sunlight, until the room is fully lit. He looks at the Chamberlain. Gideon smiles lightly beneath his moustache. Sweeping his dark hair from his forehead, as his mother was apt to do, Taeg drags his feet to the edge of her bed, heavy with apprehension. He reaches out with a pale hand, wrist bangles chiming together, and touches a shoulder. Her skin is warm, and Taeg exhales.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Mother?” he whispers.

  He hears her stir. Her eyes come around, the color of dried moss, framed with gray-brown hair. Her face is puffy, mouth lined, skin dry. She blinks, clearing sleep from her vision. Her voice cracks.

  “Roen?”

  Taeg brushes her hair from her face. “No, Mother. It’s me.” He hesitates, “And Gideon.” Her eyes seem to brighten.

  “Gideon?” It is a whisper.

  Taeg motions behind him for Gideon to approach. Vilania rolls her body over to face her son as Gideon steps behind him, kneeling on the floor.

  “My ladyship,” Gideon coos, taking her thin hand in his large one. “We bring news that might lift your spirits a bit.” He smiles, moustache curling.

  Taeg finds a chair, dragging it to the bedside to sit. He scans his mother’s features, looking for something that no longer exists. Her cheeks, once full and high-boned, are beginning to hollow out. Her hair is ragged. The High Priest had claimed she was refusing care, that her demeanor had begun to change. She was angry often. Just yesterday, she had ripped a horsetail comb from an attendant’s grasp, hurled it across the room, screaming about her hair being torn from her head. The young boy was frightened and had told the High Priest he did not wish to aid the Queen Mother anymore.

  She remains silent. The covers are bundled around her, but Taeg can see her quivering.

  “We received word from General Nathis this morning,” Taeg begins. He tugs at her blankets, tucking them around her while he speaks. “They will be returning as soon as they’ve discovered what is happening in Tauris. We’ll complete negotiations with Denand as soon as the problem is quelled.”

  Gideon stands, running a hand along his wide belly. “There’s more news, my lady.”

  Taeg looks up at him briefly, then back to his mother’s blank face. “Your son,” he says, hesitating. “He will be returning with them. He wishes to meet you.” He exhales, waiting for the storm.

  It does not come. Instead, she whispers, “Faolan...”

  Taeg shoots the Chamberlain a look, his brows pinched together. Gideo shakes his head, stroking the Queen’s hand. “Yes, m’lady.”

  “I want to go home.” Her eyes drift to the bed below her, closing softly, and Taeg’s heart drops. “Where is Roen?” she whispers. “He hasn’t visited me.” Her high-born idiolect is beginning to fade.

  “Mother, you must eat,” Taeg says, swallowing the panicked anger rising in his throat. He opens his lips to speak, then closes them. He looks at Gideon, who nods. He takes a breath. “I’ll make sure Roen visits you. I’m sure he would be glad to.” He forces a smile.

  The three sit in silence. Leaning against the bedpost, Taeg stares down at his mother, his other hand running absently through his hair. He can hear the heavy breaths of the Chamberlain, who remains on the floor next to the Queen, fussing over her blankets. The moment feels electric. A buzzing sensation roars through his body, yet his feet are planted still. He pulls air through his lungs with intention, trying to settle the sparks under his skin. His body shudders.

  When his father passed, he remembers the Chamberlain arranging meals, hosting council, and attending to the Queen, who had fallen ill at the news, laid up in her bed as she is now. Taeg had been too young to step in, and it was Gideon who took the castle under his wing. It was Gideon who loved his mother when he was too young to understand her grief. It was Gideon who accompanied him to his lessons when his mother could not.

  Taeg reaches down, laying a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Chamberlain,” he says. “Shall we bring her to the gardens?” He smiles softly at Gideon’s round face as it turns to meet his.

  “I think she would love that,” he says, rising to his feet with some difficulty. “The marigolds are blooming, I believe.” He turns to Vilania. “Let’s get you some sunshine, shall we?” The man’s voice never cracks, his composure steadfast. He brushes the wiry hair from his Queen’s aging face, then turns to the door, stamping across the room to inform the monks.

  Taeg watches him go, then returns his gaze to his mother. “We’re in good hands, Mother,” he whispers.