Two Hundred Years Ago
"Father, I bring good news."The scent of Cilin Oak and old parchment enveloping him. Victor de Caen looked up from his ledgers, his brown eyes—the color of rusted coin. "Clare is with child again, and the doctors confirmed it– the babe is Aurumtouched."
"By the Glass Heavens!" Victor stood so fast his chair scraped the stone floor. "I hope you ensured that the doctor can be trusted?"
"Of course, Father. She's Clare's own Yaya."
"Son, this is good. Finally." Victor went to the lacquered desk and uncorked a ceramic bottle of wine with a victorious pop. "With an Aurumtouched heir confirmed in the second generation, the Law is unlocked. We can now petition the Crown for High Noble Conquest."
He poured two glasses, the deep red liquid catching the light like blood.
"We fund an expedition to widen the Kingdom's borders, claim new land, and build our own city. A Caen City. All those petty houses that snipe at our heels? They'll be gnawing on dust while we forge a legacy."
High Noble Conquest. The three words echoed in Rox's mind with the weight of a decree. It was the ultimate gamble: to drain the family's coffers funding a private army. To conquer wild lands beyond Tamas and sculpt a new city from nothing. The thought was enticing, but the road to it was not going to be easy.
"Tonight we shall party! Summon your brothers and sisters, and we shall celebrate this glorious occasion."
"What is all this noise?" Ilya's feminine voice filled the room. "I could hear it from my chambers."
"Darling, Clare carries an Aurumtouched child."
"Thank the Glass," Ilya breathed, sweeping Rox into a fierce embrace. "Celebrations! I shall go to the chef and have him cook the finest cuisine." Ilya hurried out of the room in the direction of the kitchen.
***
The long table groaned under platters of sea bass and spiced rice, but it was nearly drowned out by the louder groan of nineteen voices—Rox's fourteen siblings, his father and mother, his wife Clare, and little Lucy—all talking, arguing, and laughing over one another in a wonderful, smothering cacophony of home.
"Finally, a good reason for battle!" Lac—one of Rox's sisters—said, forming a bronze knife in her hand–indicating she was Brazenmarked–and slamming it point-first into the table.
"Hey!" Ilya scolded. "That's Cilin Oak! Don't spoil it!"
"Mum, what is Aurumtouched?" Lucy tugged on clare her voice not too loud. "Kaya Blut said it."
Kaya—the Tamajan word for Uncle.
"Oh dear, Aurumtouched is a human born with gold teeth." Clare answered, stroking her hair.
"Are you Aurumtouched, Mum?" Lucy peered at her mum's mouth. "But you don't have gold teeth."
"No, my love, I am not. I am Fleshborn like you, dear." Clare patted Lucy on her head.
"House Caen!" Victor stood up, clinking his glass with a spoon. "A toast to my son Rox Ul de Caen!"
He raised his glass, as did the other people on the table, except Lucy.
"Finally, House Caen will become the legacy that it should be! Glory to the Sovereign Caesar! Glory to the Glass!" he said and took a sip.
Rox took a slow sip of wine, the taste of oak and dark berries lingering on his tongue as he watched Calat—the third-born—murmur an excuse and slip from the table in a direction that wasn't the lavatory. The space where he'd sat seemed to cool instantly.
Where does a man go when the feast is at its peak? Rox wondered, draining his glass before the thought could fully form.
"Tomorrow we shall go fishing in Ocela," Victor said in a low tone to Rox. "Not too far from Ventil."
***
The next morning, Rox got up at the crack of dawn.
I drank too much, he thought, holding his head. Even though he was a Silverstone—known for holding their liquor—he still felt the hangover as he prepared to follow Victor to Ocela. He went to wash himself.
When he was done, he went down to the front of their house where Victor was waiting in a well-furnished caravan with glass windows and pristine iron doors that only Nobles could afford.
"Rox, my father took me fishing after I became a Noble in the last Holy King's War," he said, putting his hands on Rox's shoulder. "It is tradition in our family to celebrate milestones with ale and the fish you catch." He placed his hand on the ale beside him.
Two hours later, they got to the port of Ocela. Rox stepped out of the caravan and cringed at the smell of salt that flooded his nostrils. He followed his father to the boat hire.
"I would like to rent that Dory," he pointed to the small flat-bottom boat with high sides.
"For you, My Lord, I give you just five hundred Cowries," the boat hirer said, and Victor handed him the money with an extra twenty Cowries.
"For your troubles."
"Oh, may the Glass protect you, Lord." The man said as he stood up to untie the boat for them.
"I like to fish; it calms my nerves and helps me think," Victor said as they rowed into the calm bay. He cast his line.. This area only had Fleshborn fish, so there was no need for Reculators to catch them. "We will need to make plans. With you—already a Colonel—and me, a General, we can confidently raise an army for the Conquest."
He reeled the hook back, catching a Viquin—the scales themselves were chewable and helped with back pain—and placed it into a bucket of water.
"It should take us about five years to be ready, but by then we will definitely be able to petition for the Conquest. Have you thought of names?"
"Yes, I have been thinking of naming him after Grandfather 'Bright' or Grandmother 'Mica' if it is a girl."
"Yes, that is good. I always wanted to continue their names," Victor said. "I can't wait to teach my grandchild how to command gold as I do."
Rox knew his father was one of the most prominent Aurumtouched soldiers who was once placed second in the Tamatanium Tournament years back, losing only to an Adamanthe.
"Yes, that will be wonderful, Father."
They fished until the last bucket was full, its sloshing weight a final, satisfying note. With the sun climbing higher, they turned the boat—heavier, lower in the water—and began the long, steady row back to port, their earlier energy settled into the slow, familiar pull of the oars.
After they got to the port, they found a bench overlooking the coast and sat.
"This is the fun part," Victor said, removing the ceramic bottle of ale from his bag. "Well, drinking is always fun. But first." He opened the bottle and poured a splash into the sea. "Always pour one for the generations before. A sign of good luck."
And so Rox did the same thing. They got the fire going and started roasting the fish till it was crisp golden brown. The aroma drew eyes, including those of a skinny, rag-clad child, his face pale with hunger.
Victor beckoned him over. "Here. Eat." He offered a skewer. "Slowly."
The boy snatched it, devouring the meat with desperate speed. A bone caught in his throat. He choked, face bluing. Rox was up in an instant, offering his water goblet.
"Drink. Slowly now." He rubbed the boy's back until the coughing subsided. Rox reached for his coin purse, but Victor's hand closed over his wrist. The boy, gasping, scurried away.
"Why did you stop me?" He glanced at his father.
"Think it through, Son. If you give him money in this type of place..." He looked around. "With people watching, best case scenario, some thug takes part of the money from him. Worst case, the boy gets killed and all the money gets taken away from him. Never mistake ignorance for kindness."
Rox's hand, halfway to his coin purse, fell back to his side. The truth of his father's words landed in his gut, heavier and colder than the iron coin he'd meant to give.
That night, they stayed as guests of the local Noble, Burot Jan Vion, who welcomed them with open halls and fine sheets
***
"Rox, wake up!" Victor shouted.
Rox jolted up, sluggish from sleep and the residue of wine. "There was a fire back at home!"
Fire? How did that happen? He gathered his thoughts.
"How did this happen?" Rox asked.
"I do not know much, but we must get going."
Victor walked to the door with Rox following from behind as they entered their caravan.
"Lent. Ride fast," Victor commanded the driver, his tone leaving no room for breath.
The carriage lurched into motion. As the landscape blurred past, Rox's mind raced against the pounding of hooves. A kitchen accident. A faulty lamp. It must be contained. Clare is sensible, Mother is organized… the servants are diligent. There will be no casualties. Everything will be fine.
An hour later, when they were drawing closer to the Caen House, a torrent of smoke could be seen coming from the estate even from miles away.
As they got to the street where their house stood, it was quite obvious that the damage was catastrophic. Passersby stood frozen, hands pressed to mouths or heads, their horrified glances skittering away from Rox and Victor as if the tragedy were a contagion.
"What happened?" Victor asked the guard standing in front of the gate.
"Lord Victor…" the guard choked up.
"OUT WITH IT! I SAID, WHAT HAPPENED?" Victor shouted.
"Well... My Lord, we're still not sure what caused the fire..." the guard stammered as Rox walked past him, into the compound.
It was painted in two colors: charcoal black and the dull, aching red of cooling embers. The smell was a physical presence—a cocktail of burnt wood, and melted glass.
Where are Clare and Lucy? he thought as he got closer to the house–well what little was left of it.
Three figures emerged from the ruin, their shapes grim and purposeful. They carried bundles wrapped in singed damask—tablecloths, perhaps, or curtains. As one turned, the fabric shifted revealing a dangling hand.
It was small. Blackened. Clenched.
On one finger, warped by heat but unmistakable, was a simple band of iron. The ring he had forged for Clare on their betrothal day, humble because she said vows mattered more than emeralds.
Then it hit him. He felt his soul dissipating as though turning to ash. A sharp pain hit his chest as he walked over to the cloth where the hand with the ring that looked like his wife's was.
It can't be her, he thought. She gave her ring to someone else. No no no no no.
"My Lord," one of the guards said, snapping him out of his trance. "We were not able…"
"Where is Lucy?" he asked, almost afraid to let the words slip out. "My daughter. Where is she?"
"My Lord, that's what I wanted to tell you."
He wants to tell me what? Why does he need to tell me anything? She is alive, right?
"By the time we came, the fire had already spread across the house. And it was impossible to just enter, even for a Silverstone."
What is this? What is he saying? I asked a simple question. Why is he telling me this?
"So after reducing the fire... unfortunately, when we entered the house, everything was burnt. With all its residents."
As Rox heard the last word, he wished he could live in the moment just before the word was said. The moment of uncertainty where maybe they were still alive.
He knelt down and looked to the ground.
Wait. How? Why?
His mind went blank. He glanced at his father who was still at the gate, but he was holding a wrapped cloth in his hand like the one that was on Clare. He watched his father drop the cloth, revealing a darkened silver skull that broke off the skeleton upon impact. He watched as his father hit the wall that held the gate. The wall didn't just crack; it smashed, pulverized into dust and rubble. The shockwave of the impact rippled outwards, a tremor felt in the roots of the city blocks away.
Who did this? Nobody knew apart from people in the family. The maids could not leave the house without permission, which he didn't recall his dad giving anyone. His siblings hadn't gone home either.
He glanced at the other pile of bodies, counting thirteen in the pile where his siblings' remains were.
Wait. Thirteen? I thought they said all residents?
He stood up, still feeling weak in his knees, as he walked to one of the guards. "Where did you put the body of my last sibling?"
The guard looked confused. "We only saw sixteen bodies in the main chamber. Two appear to be your wife and daughter..." he continued with a solemn voice, "...one was your mother, and the rest were your siblings. We didn't see fourteen."
Wait. So one of them survived? Where are they? He looked around.
No... they said no residents survived.
His spiralling landed on one thought.Two nights ago, Calat excused himself early for some reason Rox didn't understand then. But now he remembered that yester-morning, he noticed that the Decatis was warm, as though someone had used the communication device for something the night before.
My head hurts. I need to rest.
He walked to his father who was kneeling on the ground as tears rolled down his face.
"They have finally done it," Victor said, laughing through the tears. "They have taken away my joy."