The Grey Ones
The Dark Before the Dawn: XII

KASETHEN

The advisor celebrated with his brothers and sisters, indeed, but the victory was bittersweet. He had not seen the destruction in the city first hand, but he had heard of it in great detail. He wasn’t surprised the Vasaath chose to utilise the citizen’s unrest and growing contempt, but he would have advised against it—and perhaps he would have been able to sway the general.

People who had gotten a taste of absolute freedom, no matter how chaotic, would not bow down easily. The Vasaath’s solution was, of course, to kill all who refused to bow, but that would only trigger the rest. Such situations required delicate politics, something Kasethen knew the general was not apt to practice. So, while everyone else saw victory, Kasethen only saw the tedious work that lay ahead of them.

When he watched his friend and leader intently chase after Lady Juniper, he let his smiling face fall and exchanged it for a frown. He was still sore and bruised, and in his heart, there was a hole torn open, one he thought had healed a long time ago.

When he woke up that afternoon, in a warm bed, he had thought it was a dream at first. He had called out for Tiku, but once he had realised that he was no longer down in the dungeons, that he was no longer on the verge of dying, Tiku had disappeared.

It had saddened him, and he had felt profound loneliness. As he sat amongst his brothers and sisters, that loneliness was still there, growing like a dark hole. He knew the looks the Vasaath gave to the young lady, and he wondered if he would ever experience such a feeling again. He thought he had accepted that Tiku was no longer with him, and that he had even moved on from the grief, but seeing him down in the darkness had opened up a wound inside of him that he now knew would never heal.

He wasn’t all in his right mind when he made his way back down to the dungeons—all he could think of was that he wanted to see Tiku, just one more time. He knew he had begged for his forgiveness, that he had wanted to live, but knowing the emptiness that was a life without him, he just wanted to see him one last time.

The smell was repulsive, and the sounds from the prisoners made him cringe; every lash, every hit, every kick; the thirst and the hunger, the shackles, and the painful breaths—the memories were fresh, the wounds still healing.

He wondered how long the other prisoners would be permitted to live. Duke Arlington would not be executed until the Triumvirate had gathered to pass his sentence, but the rest of the prisoners would have the chance to plead their case with the Vasaath before he would pass his judgment. Kasethen was quite certain, however, that his friend didn’t have much compassion left for the mainlanders, and it wasn’t likely that he would grant any of them pardon, not even if they submitted to the Kasenon.

As he walked through the blackness, his senses on edge, he noted a boy sobbing in a cell much like his own. He stopped outside the door and the boy quickly silenced and looked up, blind in the dark.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, his voice thin.

“It’s only me, Sebastian,” said Kasethen softly.

“Oh.” While drying his eyes, Sebastian pulled his knees to his chin. “Why are you standing in the dark?”

“I don’t need light to see.”

The boy huffed. “Freaks.”

Kasethen chuckled. “And here I was thinking humans were the strange ones.”

“Have you come to kill me?”

“No.” He sighed. “There will be a trial for you and your father once the Vasmenaan and the Vasenon have come. It will lead to execution, of course, but the trial will determine how you die.”

The boy burst out sobbing again and hid his face in his hands.

Kasethen tightened his jaw. He felt uncomfortable thinking about this young man dying—if he was a criminal, his only crime was to be the son of the Duke. He sighed and grabbed the bars.

“There might be a chance for you to live,” he said, no truly knowing why he lied to the boy. “If you submit to the Kasenon and promise your absolute devotion, you might be spared.” Or at least, he thought, he would receive a merciful death.

Sebastian snivelled and gazed up. Despite the dark, Kasethen could see his reddened eyes.

“My sister has already tried to convince me to sell myself,” he spat. “But why would I do that? It would only be your general’s gift to my sister, not to me.”

Kasethen creased his brow. “What?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” He snivelled again, but when Kasethen was silent, he scoffed. “Apparently, your general has promised my sister that I’d be spared if I only kneeled. Why would a Warlord promise something like that to an enemy?”

A corner of Kasethen’s mouth curled upwards; the girl must have truly melted the Vasaath’s heart, a feat Kasethen thought nearly impossible only a year ago.

“Love,” he then said. “He loves your sister, and your sister loves you. That is your protection.”

The boy snivelled yet again. “Love is not real.”

A sharp pain shot through Kasethen’s heart at the bitter comment. This young boy had been so deprived of love that he, still in his teenage years, didn’t believe in its existence. He sighed. “Of course it is. Your sister loves you with all her heart, even if you can’t see it.”

“Well, where is she then?” Sebastian spat, his voice breaking. “She promised to be back with food and a blanket, but she hasn’t come!”

Kasethen sighed. “I’m afraid she is detained. It’s not her fault. I could go and fetch it for you, if you’d like?”

“Don’t bother,” the boy muttered. “I’m going to die anyway, so I might as well freeze or starve to death. Makes no difference, does it?”

“So you won’t take the chance to save yourself?” Kasethen asked.

“I’m not a fool,” Sebastian scoffed. “I’ll never come out of this alive.”

“You don’t trust your sister?”

“Oh, I trust my sister,” said Sebastian. “She has a good heart and would never lie about something like that. Your general, on the other hand, I don’t trust.”

Kasethen nodded. “You’re wise not to trust strangers. But would you trust me, then, if I vouched for the Vasaath’s honour?”

The boy was silent for a moment, before he muttered, “No.”

Kasethen sighed again. He did not blame the boy for not trusting any of them—indeed, from his point of view, Kasethen’s people were nothing but warmongering invaders. But looking at the boy in the darkness, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for his condition. Likewise, he could sympathise with him, having been closed inside a prison himself merely a day earlier. He steeled himself and turned to leave the dungeons.

“Where are you going?” Sebastian called after him in the dark, his voice desperate.

“Don’t you worry, boy,” Kasethen said. “I’ll be back shortly with some food for you.”

“Do you promise?”

Kasethen halted and glanced over his shoulder. The words seemed to echo even though there was no echo, and Kasethen sighed.

The boy had scrambled to the door and clung to it blindly.

Kasethen nodded. “I promise.”

He then hurried back into the hall where the festivities were held. Spirits were still high and without the Vasaath’s presence, the soldiers had turned bold and daring, drinking more than they should and trying the mainlanders’ boundaries in scandalous ways.

Kasethen ignored the rowdy and loud soldiers and gathered some food from the table and wrapped it in his robes before he grabbed a jug of water and returned to the dungeons. He brought with him a torch this time, to make it comfortable for the boy, and when he saw the boy again, he could see relief in his eyes. He truly thought he would be left alone in the dark again.

Kasethen stayed with him for a good while, keeping him company as he ate and drank until he was full. They didn’t speak, but Kasethen could sense that the boy was afraid to be left alone.

“Do you want me to fetch you a blanket?” Kasethen asked, breaking the silence.

“No,” Sebastian muttered.

Kasethen sighed. “Very well.” He rose and heard the boy scurry to his feet as well.

“Are you leaving?”

“It’s late,” Kasethen said, “and I’m still not fully recovered from my stay down here.” He saw the fear and the uncertainty in the young man’s eyes, and he furrowed his brows. He knew the fear of not knowing how long one’s stay would become, or if one would be awakened by a crude kick to the guts. “You will not have to worry about being beaten,” he then said. “We, unlike your presumptions, aren’t savages.” He sighed and shook his head—prisons were torturous, but the uncertainty was even more so. “I’ll leave the torch. It might be a comfort.”

But Sebastian’s face turned into a scowl. “I don’t need comfort.”

Kasethen eyed him, scrutinised him, and scoffed internally at the mainlanders’ ridiculous interpretation of strength. Asking for a blanket on in a cold and damp cell was not a sign of weakness, but self-preservation—but if the boy wanted to be stubborn, Kasethen would not press the issue further.

“Good night, Sebastian,” he said and left the dungeon.