Morgan Rice - Night of the Bold

The new capital, built high up on the cliffs, towered over the sea, and the sparkling blue of the ocean reflected into the city and bounced off of everything. The ancient ruins of the Lost Temple had been preserved, though, and gracefully incorporated into the new capital, adding a sense of history. As he and Cassandra walked down wide, gorgeous boulevards framed by trees and neat rows of grass, he passed soaring, ancient columns, fragments of temples and buildings, the living history of their forefathers everywhere in this place. It gave him a sense of continuity he had never felt in the old capital.

The two of them walked in a comfortable silence for a long time, enjoying each other’s company, neither feeling the need to speak. After all, they had been through so much together, they could nearly read each other’s thoughts.

“My sister weds today,” he finally said to her, breaking the silence.

She nodded back and smiled.

“I know,” she replied. “The entire capital knows. Not only your sister, but Dierdre and Marco, and Lorna and Merk shall wed, too.”

Aidan walked aimlessly, and realized he was leading them to a place he had not expected to go. They turned down a street and he looked up to see before him the wide circular plaza in the center of the city, dominated by a huge monument in its center. He stood before the immense, shining statue of his father.

At the base of the statue was a bubbling fountain, surrounded by fresh flowers, and before this was an ever-burning flame, its flames rippling in a huge, black granite bowl. Aidan felt a wave of sadness as he stepped forward and looked down at them. He could not bring himself on this day to look up at the visage of his father, as he usually did. Instead, he struggled to suppress his tears as he remembered the war, his father’s death, his brothers’ death, the death of so many warriors he’d loved.

White, at Aidan’s side, whined, and Aidan reached down and stroked his head.

“Your father loved you very much,” Cassandra said. “I could see it in his eyes. He was so proud of you. I know he’s looking down on you now.”

Aidan smiled, filled with sadness.

“Our time was cut short,” Aidan said. “I never had time to show him the man I could be.”

Cassandra squeezed his hand.

“Maybe all you were was enough. Have you ever considered that?”

Aidan pondered her words as he took a deep breath and wiped away a tear. He finally turned and squeezed Cassandra’s hand and looked into her eyes. He reached into his pocket, hands trembling as he began to do something he realized he’d been wanting to do for a long time.

“Before my father died,” Aidan said, “he gave me this ring. It was his mother’s, and her mother’s before her. He told me that when I found the girl I love, to give it to her.”

Cassandra looked down, eyes wide with surprise, as he placed it on her finger.

“I hope you shall accept it as a promise ring,” he said. “When we are older, one day, I wish to wed you and no one else.”

Cassandra looked up at him and her eyes welled with tears.

She leaned in and kissed him.

“I would like that,” she said. “I would like that very much.”

Kyra, accompanied by a dozen royal bridesmaids, walked slowly down the wide boulevard, making her way toward the towering altar. Throngs squeezed her in on all sides, showering her with rose petals, and she felt the solemn joy to the air. She wore a magnificent wedding dress, hand-sewn by Escalon tailors who had worked on it for moons, its long train trailing behind her. Holding it was Dierdre, who had become a fast friend, one of the few friends she had left from the Great War. It served a double purpose, as Dierdre was walking down the aisle herself to a waiting Marco. Lorna held it, too, on her other side, as she walked down to a waiting Merk.

As they walked, they passed between ancient soaring columns and beneath the magnificent arches that had been preserved from the days of the Lost Temple. She passed by the old and the new, all commingled in this new capital, the new armory to one side, where all the new knights, in their shiniest armor, came forth to march toward the wedding ceremony. She passed the new Hall of Heroes on her other side, passed the abundant statues and monuments to the Great War, passed the grand new Feasting Hall, the barracks for her new royal guard. She passed a marble statute of Alec, kneeling, thrusting the Unfinished Sword into the Tower of Ur, and Dierdre paused to place a fresh flower in its well.

A solemn tune filled the air, played by royal musicians flanking the aisle, a mix of lutes and flutes and harps. As Kyra listened, it brought back memories, of growing up in Volis with her father and brothers, of when life had been so simple, so filled with hope for the future. She wondered how one person could live so many lives in one lifetime, how one year could give way to such a radically different year, how time could always march on so relentlessly. The tune stirred her soul, honored the dead, and toward its climax, became more hopeful, offering a vision of a new future.

Kyra looked out and saw the massive altar looming before her, a hundred feet high, framed by ancient columns, and at its center, smiling, waiting for them all, Kyle. He was flanked by Marco and Merk, waiting for their brides, too, and they were joined by Anvin, Seavig, Kavos, Bramthos and a dozen of her father’s men, all in full suits of shining armor. Kyra glanced over and saw Aidan and Cassandra seated in the front row, smiling back, Motley beside them, White and Leo at their feet. Off to the side, she saw Andor, snorting contentedly, bedecked in a white shawl for the day.

Kyle stared down at her, and Kyra fell in love all over again. He had sacrificed everything for her, so many times. His love had sustained her through the worst of times, had kept her alive through the Great War, through her father’s death, and beyond. Now, as she ruled Escalon, he would be at her side.

As Kyra finally reached the altar, thousands of eyes upon her, Kyle stepped down and took her hand. As he did, the crowd gasped in delight. Marco and Merk stepped down and took Dierdre’s and Lorna’s hands, too.

As Kyra stepped up to the altar, Anvin, who had been like an uncle to her, smiled reassuringly.

“Your father is looking down,” he said, “and he is proud.”

Seeing Anvin reminded her of her father, and Kyra had to restrain herself to not tear up. Beside him stood her real uncle, Kolva, who stepped forward and laid a comforting hand on her elbow, guiding her the last honorary step.

Standing in the center, presiding over the ceremony, was Alva. Smaller than them all, he wore a shining white robe, and yet his presence loomed larger than all of them.

Alva slammed his staff down on the marble three times, slowly, and the thousands of knights and citizens of Escalon all slowly quieted and took their seats. He raised his staff high in the air, and Kyra could feel the power emanating off of it.

Not a sound could be heard but for the soft, distant crashing of the ocean waves and the whistling of the gales of wind off the ocean, sweeping over the capital.

“Kyra, Queen of Escalon,” Alva began, his voice rolling off the ancient walls, “the one and only great ruler of our people, it is my great honor to wed you today in matrimony to Kyle of the Watchers, another selfless hero of our people and our time.”

Kyra felt Kyle squeeze her hand, while Alva turned to the others.

“Dierdre, you shall be wed to Marco, and Lorna, you shall be wed to Merk. These three couples have chosen to wed on the same day, and this shall serve as a sign of a new Escalon, a foundation for the new generation to come.”