Hézo
— Mother! cried Imany.
Hézo spun around sharply, his features frozen in a mixture of rage and disgust. She stood there, draped in her icy majesty, her face serene as though she had nothing to answer for. Queen Dyandra. He had always despised her… but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to reduce her to ashes.
She observed them, almost amused, as if congratulating herself on their belated discovery.
— Why? Hézo whispered, his throat tight. His voice rose into a hoarse cry. — WHY?!
Dyandra ignored his question, preferring instead to address her daughter in a soft, falsely concerned tone.
— Imany… weren't you supposed to be resting?
Hézo raised his sword in her direction, his hands trembling.
— Why did you do this to my mother?! he shouted. — I thought she had been gone for years… while you were torturing her in the shadows! She didn't deserve this! Release her!
Dyandra let out a short laugh, as cold as it was cruel.
— Your mother… made the mistake of standing in my way. She and her bastard son. Godless commoners with no future, peasants who dared to covet power in a sacred bloodline.
Hézo clenched his teeth, his knuckles white with strain. He tightened his grip on his sword.
— You're going to regret this.
— And what do you think you can do, little fallen prince? You are nothing. You have no gift, no right. You are nothing but an insect.
Hézo lunged, weapon raised. But Dyandra vanished into a swirl of shadow, reappearing behind him. She chanted an incantation: a searing light formed between her palms.
Imany rushed forward, throwing her arms out to stop her.
— No, Mother, stop!
Dyandra shoved her violently aside. Imany crashed to the ground, her head striking the wood with a dull crack.
— I'm sorry, my dear. But sometimes, children must let grown-ups settle their disputes.
She shot Hézo a murderous glare.
— Look at what you're making me do to my own daughter… You'll pay for this.
She darted at him, seizing his head. He struggled, breaking free just before a blast of fire reduced an entire section of the room to ashes. Hézo struck her with a brutal kick to the stomach. She staggered. He struck again. She growled, enraged.
But this time, instead of striking him, Dyandra aimed at the chained woman's body. Hézo's heart froze.
— No…
He turned his eyes just in time to see the blazing arrow shoot forth.
Imany leapt again. She threw herself in the way. The incandescent bolt pierced straight through her stomach. A geyser of blood splattered across the queen and Hézo. The air reeked of charred flesh.
— Run! Imany gasped. — Go! Save her!
Hézo faltered. He wanted to help her, to hold her, but his mother… his mother was dying. And Imany was right: he had to flee. Now.
He left behind the blood-red glow of the scene and carried his mother in his arms, wrapped in her blanket. Before disappearing down the stairs, he cast one last glance back. Dyandra, on her knees, held her daughter against her, her face undone by a rage laced with panic. Imany was her treasure. And she had mortally wounded her. Because of him.
***
Hézo's head felt as though it would burst. He had to think quickly. He couldn't take his mother to the infirmary without risking her life. Every healer in the palace obeyed the queen. One gesture from her and they would finish her off without question.
Unless… a higher authority intervened.
His father. The Governor. Cold, distant, nearly absent for years. But could he really turn his back on the woman he had once loved so deeply? On their son, now ready to do anything to save his mother? This might be their last hope.
Hézo ran through the palace corridors, breath ragged, his mother clutched in his arms, her trembling body hidden beneath a white blanket. He returned to his chambers, covered her more tightly, then raced toward the throne room.
Whispers rose in his wake. Eyes turned on him, confused, anxious, shocked.
The guards blocked his path.
— The Governor is no longer here. He went to the infirmary. It seems… Princess Imany is gravely wounded.
The two men cast uneasy glances at the bundle Hézo was carrying.
Without a word, he slipped past them and dashed in the opposite direction. It was better this way. If the Governor was at the infirmary, he would see with his own eyes what Dyandra had done. She would have no mask left to wear.
Hézo's heart pounded wildly. He was only a few steps away. He looked down at his mother.
Her breath was shallow. Far too shallow.
— Hold on… please. We're almost there.
When Hézo stepped through the infirmary doors, an icy chill swept over him. Every gaze turned toward him, hard as stone. Imany lay on a cot, surrounded by three physicians working frantically to compress the wound. Blood still seeped through the bandages. But she was alive. She would make it.
— Father! Hézo cried, his voice thick with anguish.
A heavy silence followed. Nozin Arini, the Governor, slowly turned toward him. His dark, impenetrable eyes betrayed no emotion.
— Is it true? he asked in a voice like ice.
— You must save my mother! Hézo cried out. — She's still alive. I beg you!
He rushed forward and laid the curled-up body of the woman onto an empty bed. He pulled back a fold of the blanket, his fingers trembling slightly.
At the sight of her tangled hair, torn in places, the scars etched into her skin like a story carved by force, something broke inside him.
A memory surged. Another time. Another version of the two of them.
***
The evening sun bathed the room in golden light. Hézo, only five or six years old, sat on the floor between his mother's knees. She gently untangled his thick hair with a wooden brush, humming a wordless melody. Her long, brown, coiled hair floated around her like a living veil. Her presence had always carried a mysterious aura, as though she belonged to a parallel world, just at the edge of his own.
— You know, Hézo, hair is like the light we carry, she said, softly blowing on a stubborn strand. — You have to take care of it, treat it gently, the way you would a star.
He had chuckled softly.
— Even boys have to shine like stars?
She set the brush aside, placed both hands on his shoulders, and looked him straight in the eyes — grave yet tender all at once.
— Never let anyone extinguish your light, alright? Never.
Then she pressed her forehead against his. She always did that. It was her secret gesture: forehead to forehead, eyes closed. A silent pact.
***
— Look at what Dyandra did to her! Hézo growled, his voice breaking. — Healers, I beg you, help her!
But none of the physicians moved. They only exchanged uneasy glances.
Suddenly, Hézo's collar was seized in a brutal grip. He choked, his heart hammering. His father loomed before him, radiating a threatening, almost inhuman aura.
— Father…? he stammered.
— The crime you have just committed is unforgivable, Nozin growled. — You attempted to take the queen's life… and your sister paid the price.
— What?! Hézo staggered. — No! That's a lie! It was Dyandra who tried to kill me — Imany saved me!
But Nozin shook his head.
— Your sister's blood was found on your sword. The physicians confirmed the wound came from a blade. No trace of noun was detected.
— Impossible! Hézo screamed.
He scanned the room. The physicians' averted eyes. The scorn etched on Dyandra's face and her daughters'. The cruel indifference of those he had once called comrades. And the queen's smile. That smile… he wanted to tear it from her.
— You're all complicit! he shouted. — You let this slaughter happen! My mother is living proof of your crimes!
He turned back to his father, his voice cracking with despair.
— Father… if you let her live… she will tell you the truth. Dyandra locked her away for years. She tortured her…
But Dyandra burst into tears. A flawless performance.
— How dare you defile me so? she retorted, outraged. — Your mother? That harlot I endured for years? My daughters are worth a hundred times more than you! And you want me to believe that wretch is a victim? You wounded my daughter and now you throw a corpse in my face as if it were an offering?
Hézo faltered. Everything blurred. His last hope… was slipping away.
— Father… please.
But Nozin Arini turned his gaze aside.
— Enough. Take that corpse and leave this room at once.
The words struck Hézo like a slap.
— My husband… murmured Dyandra, her tone falsely sweet. — This child must be punished. He nearly killed me. He harmed our daughter.
— You're right, Nozin replied coldly. — Guards! Seize him. And rid me of that woman.
— No! Leave her! Hézo fought, screamed, wept. He clung to his mother, refusing to let go. But they dragged him away by force.
***
Kneeling in the throne room, still clutching his mother's body, Hézo lifted his head. Everyone was there. His kin. The traitors. Those he had once loved, admired, respected.
The griot stepped forward with solemn grace, his deep voice filling the hall, echoing against the onyx columns and the frozen stares.
— Hézo Arini, first-born prince of the Fire Tribe, stands accused of attempted assassination of Queen Dyandra Arini, and of grievously wounding Princess Imany Arini. For these crimes… he is sentenced to exile.
The ground seemed to split beneath his feet.
Sounds grew muffled. The griot's words dissolved into a sea of buzzing. The world around him slipped away, faded… He heard nothing — nothing but the breath of a memory.
***
It was a clear morning.
Nine-year-old Hézo had just finished early training and was walking down the corridor leading to the kitchens when raised voices caught his attention.
A noble in ceremonial garb was shouting at two young servants kneeling before him, visibly terrified. The younger was just a child.
— You soiled my tunic, you filthy little vermin! he roared, arm raised, ready to strike.
— Enough!
The voice cracked like a whip. All turned to see her.
She stood tall and straight as a spear, her coiled brown hair wrapped in an emerald turban, a long gown with golden hues flowing around her. Her beauty commanded silence, but it was her gaze — sharp, imperious — that commanded respect.
— Touch him, and it is me you'll strike.
Her voice was calm. Dangerously calm.
The noble hesitated, stammered, then lowered his eyes. Without a word, he turned on his heel and left. Hézo's mother helped the young servants to their feet herself.
A little later, she joined Hézo in the greenhouse. He had been watching her for some time, pensive.
— Weren't you afraid? he asked her.
She let out a small laugh, plucked a stem from a thorny plant.
— Fear doesn't stop me from acting, Hézo. It only reminds me of what's at stake.
Then, sensing the weight of her words, she knelt before him, her eyes shining with a flame he had never seen before.
— One day, you will be king. And when that day comes, you'll have to choose: follow fear… or do what is right.
He swallowed, uncertain.
She traced an invisible circle on his forehead with her finger, as always.
— Even when everything seems to collapse, remember this: it is justice, not fear, that will make you a king.
***
— Father! he pleaded.
But Nozin did not flinch. He looked at him as though at an intruder.
— Leave. You are no longer welcome here.
Everything collapsed.
And as Hézo crossed the palace gates, his mother's lifeless body on his back, the wind seemed to whisper the echo of his defeat. He did not yet know where he would go. But one thing was certain.
They would pay.
One day.
All of them.