Episode 50 - Demise Part 4

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  Welcome to the podcast, to a podcast that you seem to think is educational or informative in some way. And I don’t know if I agree. I can see your perspective, sure. Your mind was bound to form that connection. After all, you’re double majoring in media studies and criminology, and you’ve got some pretty bold suspicions. Bold, I said. Not inaccurate or accurate, I’ll have you note. Yes, note that. Write that down. I’ll wait. (Pause)

You are at a point in your life where so much of the world around you is carefully selected and curated to maximize the educational potential, and as a result of that, your eye is trained to see everything in the larger world as a potential lesson. Everything you’ve known so far is educational, so it must be that everything out there is educational. So it goes. The logic is simple and straightforward. It’s also naive and somewhat childish, not to be insulting. I think you took it as an insult. I’m sorry you feel that way. I only meant to say that I understand your logic and where it came from. But I will also add that I want you to keep it. 

Because being childish isn’t an insult, in my mind. It’s not a negative trait, something to overcome or push past. That’s how we, generally speaking, talk about and characterize childhood. We think of it as the lesser state of being, but for those of us who hardly ever had a childhood or who never really knew what such was like, there is something enviable about it. It is a coveted prize that we will never have.

Yes, I’ve heard that you can still tend to your inner child. You can offer them the trappings and draping of a childhood, but their scars will always remain. The hurt will remain. The damages done to the lenses of one’s inner eye never really heal.

There is something difficult if not brutal about the realization that the happenings of the world around us are not always education or for our benefit in one form or another. The first time you encounter how arbitrary and random it all is, the realization will sting. The resulting cut will be the deepest one you will ever know. It cuts down to the foundation of you, a foundation that likely still saw the best in everything and everyone. And while that skepticism may have its practical benefits, I hate it. I really do. It gets in the way so often. 

And of course that sounded like an excuse. 

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The stinging chill in the queen’s voice stayed with Princess Eathebel long after Queen Evanora returned to her own chambers. The effect surprised the princess as she lay in bed in the quiet of a typical night in the castle. Princess Eathebel prided herself on being an immovable force. She thought herself untouchable in every sense of the word. She could guard her emotions, and Wane could guard her physical body. That should have been enough. That should have been everything. But if it was, then why had her breath caught in her throat? Why was her heart pounding? Why was she frightened?

Maybe it was just about her lost babe. Maybe this was the long neglected grief coming alive again. But if it were that, then it brought with it matters that could not easily be resolved. After all, there was a reason Princess Eathebel had lost her daughter. Several, by some counts. But all of those reasons pointed back to the queen and to the fractured nature of this family. 

Beside the princess, Wane slept soundly. He had asked about her distress as a dutiful soul would with his beloved, but she had dismissed his question with a wave of her hand. 

“It is nothing,” she had said. “A woman’s issue.”

And it was. Although her comment might have alluded to a woman’s body and the many trials within it, the princess had really been alluding to a woman’s rage. It was a dangerous thing to be on the wrong side of. Princess Eathebel knew that well and in so many ways. 

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But there are things to learn here. Maybe I don’t have all the answers, but you might be able to find them in the mess of which I speak. I just need to tell you about them so that you might consider looking. 

On one hand, I wonder, often, what makes a moment impactful. It is a thought that is never all that far from my mind, but it comes up with added force when I think I have done or said something reminiscent of a relative, especially any on my father’s side. We aren’t close. I hate the resemblance. And yet, it remains. I still act like them. And maybe it is really just genetics, but I don’t know. I know the disgust remains. 

On a related note, I wonder what it is that makes a moment the most impactful you will ever have and if it is ever something you could be aware of as it all unfolds. Then again, maybe there is something wrong with the premise of that. I doubt it could be a singular moment that completely changes you. There has to be more to it than that. It has to be something long term, something sustained. It wasn’t one wave of water that dug out the Grand Canyon. It was a gradual process, the slow but consistent brush of water against the surface that made the landmark what it is today. I suppose it would have to be the same sort of process for people. We are organic forms, not entirely unlike the rock. The differences really only give the rock an advantage, if you think about it. It doesn’t chip away at itself because it thinks doing so will make the water happy. 

I wish I was a rock, you know. Sentience and fleshiness haven’t done too much for me. 

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The title sat heavily on Vernin’s brow. With every passing moment, he grew to hate the weight more. But even a restful night of sleep did little to help him. 

He hadn’t expected to sleep at all in the king’s castle, in what he thought of as a den of vipers, one of whom had killed his brother. But the exhaustion had taken hold, and so, against his better judgment, Vernin had drifted off to sleep with his dagger clutched firmly in his hand. 

No one would think to harm a duke, some might say. They are the rare sort of lords who live under the protection of not just the king but his guard as well. And so, it would make sense that Vernin found it in him to rest only after he had been crowned. But the title had done little to protect Jemes. It had done nothing, in fact. 

Regardless, Vernin emerged from his chambers the next day with more energy than he had shown across the past few days. And it was noticed. Once it was noticed, it was misattributed to the perceived achievement and the favor bestowed upon him by the king. It made sense to those who did not know of Vernin’s carefully masked disdain. It was in line with the world as they understood it to be. And so, they were happy passengers to their own assumptions. 

The governess to the young princess was especially taken by the sight. Vernin caught her eye as he strolled through the castle hallways, seeking her out. He had truly meant to see her. He had carefully learned the young princess’s routines and knew that–at that time of day–her governess would be handing her off to one of her tutors. Vernin knew he couldn’t speak to the girl outright. It was better to ingratiate himself to those in her inner circle first. The young governess and her wandering eye were perfect starting points. 

As the young princess wandered off, Vernin approached the young woman. Lady Tifaine, he remembered. Her name was distinct, a hint that she was not from that part of the world. And indeed, she was not. She was the daughter of one of the young princess’s tutors, not the one the young girl had been presented to but one who had already left the court. She was lonely, Vernin suspected. And that made her useful. 

He noticed the bright blue dress she was wearing. Vernin complimented her on it. 

“It is quickly becoming the fashion,” she said. “Thanks to Your Grace.”

The necklace, he realized. That brought the color to the court and to everyone’s imagination. It had been a sacrifice. He did not want to give up the last piece of his mother he had left, but his brother had always been more important to him than the mother who had died young but gave him up long before that. It gave him an advantage, but it was an expensive one.

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“I am glad to know that,” he told her. “As it meant seeing you in this color.”

“I am surprised that Your Grace is still here.”

“Oh? Do you not wish to have me around?”

A flush filled the young woman’s cheeks. “No, it is not that. But should you not return to your duchy?”

He held back a scowl. “Why would I leave?” he asked, feigning a sense of innocence.

“Is it not your home?”

He paused. “I believe my home is with my family, milady.” 

He had been thinking of his brother when he made that remark. The former duke was to be laid in the royal crypt, much to Vernin’s dread. But as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. It was not a good look to dwell in the past and what one had lost, especially in light of such a generous gift from the king. And even if the young girl before him were not a spy to be used against him, undoubtedly, there would be many around who were. Some seen and others not.

Quickly, Vernin added, “Soon to be and otherwise, of course.”

There had been talk of him being betrothed to his brother’s bride after all. It was just a rumor, one that the lady before him had undoubtedly heard. And while there was no credibility to it–and no desire on anyone’s part to go through with a marriage made possible by a technicality–it gave him a reason to stay. And a reason to draw close to his supposed niece. 

Vernin smirked to himself. How brilliant he was, he thought.

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Family is undoubtedly important. It is the safety net for so many people. It is the place that many can rest their hat and body when life gets too rough. It is the people who fight on your behalf when situations get dicey. And for me and so many others, it is the collection of people who made you who you are. You can spend your entire life trying to undo their handiwork, and you may even succeed, but the need for such effort speaks for itself. 

I learned that family was important at an early age. For all the reasons listed above excluding the latter most. You see, it didn’t matter if they made you who they were or that you technically had some sense of veto power in that identity, a power that you could only yield once you got older. It didn’t matter because you would never really be able to shed their influence. And there was no need to. It would be ungrateful to do so. After all, didn’t they keep you alive?

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King Ezin felt his wife’s rage follow him wherever he went. He wanted to speak to her and assuage her fears, but he did not have the words at first. It was only once he realized that they would never come to him that he sought her out and–on his knees–made his thoughts known. 

Queen Evanora had picked out thick carpets for her quarters. They had reminded her of home, and at that moment, the king was very grateful for the queen’s sentimental nature. For he spent quite a bit of time on knees.”

“It is not a game to me,” the king swore. “It is a balance.” 

When the words left his lips, they had felt profound, but Queen Evanora did not hear them that way. She did not want balance. She wanted results. The king had to reason with her, he knew. He had to make her see the truth he knew all too well.

“She is to be my heir, remember?”

The queen’s chest still heaved, but she held her anger back. “I do remember,” she replied.

“And it will be hard for the kingdom to accept a woman,” the king explained.

Queen Evanora did not react. She stared right through him and moved not a muscle in her face. In her kingdom, it would have been nothing. Women could rule. Women could hold the throne. Women had held it, had ruled over the great kingdom for any number of years. But here, the world was on its head. Here there was no regard for women as monarchs or often as people. 

“We have to be careful,” the king said. “We have to always be careful. Every step I make, I swear to you, is to protect my daughter’s crown. We cannot let anyone think that we did not love the duke and his brother. We cannot let anyone even guess what we have done to them. Or to anyone. If we make them martyrs, it will be the end of us. So we have to keep our secrets. We have to protect our daughter’s future.”

And in that, the queen believed. 

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Family taught me to hold it together. Family taught me to hold together. We had to hold  together. We were each other’s support networks in a world where our future was in doubt. We needed protection and couldn’t expect it from anyone else. 

The world was cold and unfeeling. Ironically, we were great examples of that. We were prime examples of that. We were the embodiment of that. And so our point was proven, just not in a great way.

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King Ezin loved his daughter. No one in the kingdom could doubt that. No one in the kingdom would doubt that, lest they lose their head. But love did not make a monarch, they would think to themselves without stopping to consider what it was that did make a monarch then. Certainly anatomy was not the end of it all, but to hear them talk, it might have been. 

Regardless of the lack of thought, many in the kingdom prayed for a prince. The lords were the first to change the wording of their plea. After all, it was increasingly clear that Queen Evanora was not about to have another child–whether unable or unwilling–and that she had no qualms or concerns about her daughter taking the throne. It would be foolish to continue hoping that her mind or body might change. But, on the other hand, there was another who may deliver the promised prince. Assuming, the king married her off, of course. And on that, the clock was ticking. 

Vernin would do, they all thought. He was not ideal for a number of reasons–pedigree and temperament being obvious ones–but he would do the job. It would work. And to a great extent, the marriage contract was already written. The only thing to do was change the groom’s name. 

When the lords whispered about such things, they thought they were being clever. They thought they did so in carefully obscured and impossible to see corners, but King Ezin knew those corners well. He had used them himself. 

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Family taught me to stall. It taught me that if you draw out a point, you will likely not get to it. And that is one way to side step the human urge to tell the truth. Because that’s the thing with humans, something like that occasionally seeps out. The truth leaks out. We aren’t inclined to keep it in. But we also aren’t inclined to help each other. At least in my experience. 

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Aishi Online is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, produced, performed, and edited by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. If you like the show, please leave a review, tell a friend, or donate to the show’s Ko-Fi account.