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“I say, my dear boy, you really are a lifesaver. Crystals make it so simple and those born with the gift make it look so easy, but Founder knows this old man would have taken years to figure a fraction of this out on his own. And I’d be little use to our Arch Duke then.”
Biast looked away from the blade of his knife; the one that Gav had given him that he’d been in the midst of tending. Left to his own devices in Rosalith while Clive and the Lord Commander headed south to collect the Telamon girl, with Jill needing no further aid in keeping watch on the city and their traitorous prisoners reduced to cinder, he’d sought to busy himself in the most productive way he could: by furthering the assistance he’d been able to give to Gav, Oscar, and the Warden of Port Isolde in gaining a grip on the magic they’d been granted. All told it had gone well enough. They’d all made progress, to varying degrees, though Gav-with the advantage of a prior session-had made it the furthest.
“Clive isn’t like the emperor.” He said, folding up the soft cloth and setting it aside. Sliding the dagger back into his belt for good measure and adjusting his position on the wall of the courtyard until he could spring away if need be. Force of habit after the time he’d spent in the Imperial army: the less they could catch you the less you had to bear. “He cares about people, not what they’re worth to him.”
Byron laughed and nodded, his expression shifting into something half fond and half sad. “That he does, Founder bless him. And in that regard he’s every inch his father.” He said. “If only Elwin had been a bit more forceful. A bit less skittish of rocking the boat. Maybe then none of this would have happened.”
“If he’d been married to another woman?”
“Perhaps that as well, though for all the suffering she wrought, I can’t wish for that.” Byron said. “Because without her I’d never have gotten my nephews: Clive and Joshua because she is their mother, and you because Clive wouldn’t have existed to pull you out of the front lines.”
That was right, he was a Rosfield.
It seemed like that sudden realization would come back around to him, periodically, for some time yet.
It was strange to realize the name was more than just a gesture. That he’d actually be included; considered family. It wasn’t something he was familiar with.
Having lived the way that he had in Sanbreque, taken from his home and marked before he was old enough to remember anything, he’d believed that something like ‘family’ was a privilege reserved for those born without magic. Those who were people instead of tools.
“Is it hard?” He asked, if for no other reason than to move the conversation along. “Living without them?”
Without his brother, who’d been away on his own when he’d been betrayed and cut down. Much like Clive was away now. The thought made his fingers itch for the handle of the knife he’d just stowed away. Biast resisted the urge to draw it, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Never mind the fact that Clive, unlike his father, was a Dominant. And in the company of not only loyal Shields but another Dominant who’d demonstrated on many occasions that he’d happily hand out levin to anyone who attempted to lay a finger on the man. Still…it was better he didn’t think too deeply on these things or he’d pace a ditch into the courtyard before Clive returned.
“Time makes it bearable, but I can’t say I’ll ever get used to not having him there. Or little Joshua for that matter.” Byron said. “It’s a bit easier than it used to be, though. Knowing Clive, at least, lived and that he has so many people who are willing to look so closely after his safety. That he won’t have to meet the same fate as Elwin even if he did take his place on the throne.”
Uncertain how to respond to that, especially aware as he was that the Phoenix was actually alive, and that Clive had yet to tell his uncle as he couldn’t bring himself to voice the notion that his little brother wanted him gone, Biast settled for making a faint noise.
“One’s place is actually what I wanted to talk to you about, my boy. Knowing Clive as well as I do, both his background as a Shield leading to him not receiving the education on the matter that he arguably should have and his lack of care for such formalities, I very much doubt he’s informed you of what the position of ‘brother to the Arch Duke’ truly means.”
Clearly, Biast’s blank look was confirmation enough of his assumption because Byron continued.
“You’re next in line for Port Isolde, to begin with. Which means you’re given the responsibility of not only overseeing the lifeblood of Rosaria’s trade with other nations and the outer continents but with her defense from the sea. But the most important reality of your position, and the one I doubt would have been mentioned to you in any capacity, is the fact that, until Clive has a son of his own, the heir to Rosalith is you.”
He hadn’t been informed of that.
Likely because Clive had always known it wasn’t true with Joshua alive.
Greagor’s graces, depending on how they were able to resolve the matter with the Phoenix, and if the end of that conflict was peaceful, he might end up trapped in that position anyway.
“Cid has a daughter. Why wouldn’t it pass to her instead?” He asked. “I’m marked. I kept it for a reason. I won’t change that. Even in Rosaria, even with the bearers freed, they wouldn’t take one as a Duke.”
“In the past, before Sanbreque ripped us apart and dismantled the nobility, I’d likely agree with you. Preposterous as it is when there’s so little difference between a Dominant and a bearer. But now things have changed. The people of Rosaria have far more say now than they ever have before. There’d be some dissenters, just as there were for Clive, but the majority would be willing to give you a chance. And, Founder willing, it will be a long time yet before Clive is no longer capable of ruling.”
“And that he’ll step down instead of dying.”
Byron hummed. “That would be my highest hope for him. Metia knows it’s been a long enough time since the last Duke in our line who was able to peacefully abdicate and live out the rest of his natural life. Six generations. Seven.”
“Too long.” Though he couldn’t imagine either Clive or Cid settling into retirement. Even in their later age they’d be at the front with their noses in it until they simply couldn’t anymore. “He’ll make it through the war, and whatever Tharmr is planning to pull. We’ll make certain of it. Even if we have to bury them beneath the bricks of their own kingdoms.”
Life in Valisthea was no fairytale, especially in a time where over half the land was ravaged by the Blight. There was no guarantee of happy endings; with his background as a bearer slave, regarded as property and used however those nearest him saw fit for most of his life, Biast was painfully aware of the reality of that much. But what little was in their power to do to ensure that the Arch Duke lived would be done, and it would be enough.
All they could do was believe, and hope their faith proved sufficient.
“Hopefully things needn’t go that far. But, by now, at my age, I’m not fool enough to believe that it will be easy to pry justice from the dragon’s jaws. Nor do I suspect a warlord like Odin to ever pass us over. But enough on that matter; if you would, there’s one last thing I’d offer advice on. Provided you can bring yourself to humor an old man.” He said. “Now, I was quite the one to get around when I was your age. Founder knows that Elwin would scold me for it, especially those instances he called ‘dangerous fraternizing with loosely allied nations’ though really I think he just wasn’t fond of Dhalmekia’s Field Marshal, for all that there was never a concern for bastards. So far be it from me to dissuade a young man from going after the affections of another, at least when they haven’t such an age gap between them, but I fear I’d be remiss if I didn’t speak to you on the matter. Especially since I doubt anyone in your past bothered to do so.”
Biast had a hard time recalling ever being so lost in a conversation as he was at that moment. “About?”
“Safety, my boy. For all that it might be true there’s no concern for a child out of wedlock there’s still measures one should take to ensure matters stay safe. Clive had a far more experienced partner to look after him but the two of you don’t have the benefit of that, so, as the remaining adult in the family, the discussion falls to me.” The older man chuckled and scratched at his beard for a moment before shaking his head. “And to think I’d once believed I’d be exempt from this, with no children of my own. Damn you, Elwin. I’m sure you’d consider this my recompense for my wild youth.”
It registered, then, what the matter of discussion at hand was. A notion some of the other bearers had laughed about, groping for any means of deriding the soldiers that had them pinned beneath their boot whenever they could, while away in the false safety of their own company. That they, in their much softer lives with warm hearths and warm homes, would require second hand tutoring on matters his kind learned first hand with bowed backs and fingers scraping in the dirt. It was a position he’d never imagined finding himself in.
Driven to his feet, more so by a sudden flame of embarrassment than the worn-blunt memories of his oft unfortunate positioning in one of the many imperial camps he’d been assigned to throughout his slavery in Sanbreque, Biast leapt off the wall. Doing his best to ignore the amused glint in the older Lord’s eyes as he scrambled for an excuse before spitting out something about Jill requesting his aid and forgetting the time. Scurrying free of the courtyard and out of the bright sunlight with a burning face and Byron’s barking laughter ringing out behind him.