Page 3 of The Concubine King
The man clicked his tongue and glanced around the hamlet, eying a pile of goat manure sitting to the side of a hut.It occurred to Ethyr that he must be the head priest, but a name was far from him; everything to do with that life was far from him.The news they got of kings and priests and royal gossip were snippets of third-party hearsay from a villager’s occasional venture to the market and the twice-yearly festivals when the whole commune gathered together.
“I imagine it won’t take you long to pack,” the priest said.
“Pack?”
The man leveled a contemptuous stare back at him.“Yes.We must return to the palace at once.Or did you think you could be king from… here?”He spoke the word as a thinly-veiled replacement for one more insulting.
“I can’t be king at all!”Ethyr cried.
“Please, sir,” his aunt rasped, voice strangled with tears.“You cannot take him from us, he is our only child.”
“If it were my decision, I would not,” the man said brusquely.“But it is not mine.The gods have spoken.They will take what they want if it is not given to them.Do you dare deny the will of the gods?”
Tebhen reached around Ethyr, resting a hand on Deian’s arm with a pained, resigned expression.Ethyr looked between them, choking on his disbelief.Everyone was staring at him like they'd never seen him before in their lives.He turned to Mikel.He stood straight-backed, framed by the uneven line of his doorway with an arm around his younger sister clinging to his tunic.The confused anguish on his face gave no indication that he was about to stand up for him.
“I cannot be king,” Ethyr said again, desperately.Desperate for someone to tell him this was a mistake or a terrible joke, or to wake him up from a dream.
“Ethyr,” Tebhen said softly.Ethyr looked at him, agonized.“If it is the gods’ wish, there is no protest, no war big enough that can deny them.”
“Your father is right,” the priest said.“If you care for the lives here, you will do as the gods command.You must become accustomed to putting others’ lives before your own.If you have to start on this level, so be it.”
Ethyr shook his head.“But… can’t I bring them with me?”
“The village?”the man asked in disgust.
“No!My aunt and uncle.I’m the only family they have left.”
“Family,” he said the word like it was beneath him, “means nothing to you now.Your life is dedicated to the gods, you have no attachment to any others.”He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.“To put me through this, at this time in my life…” He trailed off into a mutter and gestured.The female guard stepped forward.“Poyut will escort you to get your things… if you have any.”
Ethyr didn’t move, still expecting… something.Anything.Someone to tell him he didn’t have to do this.
“Come,” Tebhen said quietly, pulling his elbow.“Let’s gather your things.”
Ethyr followed blindly, hand still clutching Deian’s.He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held it like that; years and years ago, when he was a boy and it seemed a safe anchor in a world so much larger and louder than him.Now it felt as small and helpless as he did.
The guard followed, as did the eyes of the villagers, as they walked through the village center, which was nothing but dirt and chickens and a small well.A trodden path led to their hut, the same as all the others around it: more thatched roof than stone wall, a single circular room inside with a fire pit at its center, clay storage built against the sides, and a few woven baskets.
Ethyr stood in the doorway while Tebhen walked inside and gathered the few things Ethyr could claim as his own: the woven belt Mikel had gifted him, a sleeved undershirt and tunic, his stockings and cloak and mittens.Each item Tebhen lifted out of the baskets brought a new pang to Ethyr’s heart, remembering the days upon days he had watched each one carefully crafted by Deian’s gentle hands, his excitement building as they came to life.Every twist of the drop spindle to create the yarn, every weave of Lifaya’s borrowed loom, every stitch of the needle, she had imbued her love into.Deian leaned her face into his shoulder and began to weep.
Tebhen gathered it all into one basket and brought it over.Ethyr reached out to take it but the guard stepped forward and grabbed it instead.
Tebhen patted Deian’s back, his own face tense to hold back tears.“We always knew he was destined for greater things than our small village,” he told her.“There is no higher honor we could have asked for.”
‘Honor’ was the last thing Ethyr would describe it as.‘Unjust’ felt more apt, or perhaps ‘punishment’.The gods chose a king from priests who had trained their whole lives for the opportunity.Even Ethyr knew that.Why choose some random nobody from the edge of the kingdom?It was unfair.Unfair.Unfair!Ethyr wanted to scream it.But his mind felt trapped inside his body, which could do nothing but stand amongst the stone walls that constituted his whole life.
Tebhen drew Ethyr into his arms and kissed him in the crook of his nose like he used to when he was still small enough to sit in his lap.Then he clasped Ethyr so tight he could hardly breathe.
“Be strong,” he whispered.When he pulled away his eyes were wet.
Tebhen tried to tug Deian away but she brushed him off and threw her arms around Ethyr, sobbing.
“The gods gifted you to us when we could have none of our own,” she said, barely coherent through her tears.“They could not have given me anything I would cherish more.”She sniffed loudly, leaning away and wiping her face only for more tears to replace the ones she dried.“I will take it as a mark of their benevolence that I had you at all, and not cruelty that they steal you away.”She planted hard kisses on his cheeks, leaving them wet with her tears, and hugged him again.
Ethyr hugged her back on reflex alone.He still felt numb.Tebhen pried her off and held her back.
“You know that we love you,” he said firmly.“Remember that we always will.”
Ethyr nodded.
