"A letter" by Andrijana Ignjatovic

A letter

The storm whirled outside the heavy wooden gate and small flakes of snow were dying on the cold stone floor. Devian's boot heels thundered on the floor as he walked with heavy steeps. He opened a dark wooden door and welcomed the sudden warmth. In this corridor lights burned in every chandelier and thick carpets chased away the cold from the stone foundation. Devian entered the assembly room to his right and smiled with satisfaction when he saw a warm fire burning in the hearth. He unbuttoned his thick fur-lined woolen cloak and the thick leatherjacket that protected him from the winter’s cold grip. He put the black leather gloves on a small table and sat down heavily in a chair close to the fire.

The winter storm had made the food deliveries harder and news traveled at a slow speed due to the chaos snow always brought. The rebuilding of Vinya had to wait until the snow began to thaw. The war with the Nimbars had come as a surprise for most Voronns. A long time had passed since scouts had been posted in the dense Vinyaforest and the Nimbars had managed to get in deep amongst the thick black tree trunks before anyone had noticed them. Luckily the destruction had stopped at sixty-seven dead and a few houses that had been burned to the ground in the part of Vinya closest to the forest. When the fog of surprise had diminished the Voronn soldiers had stood their ground against the Nimbar troops for five days until reinforcements arrived from the Voronns in Morcal. The battle with the Nimbars had given Prince Morgan another reason to tighten his rule in Thalia when he eventually became Dim´lar. Devian didn’t mind a firm rule if Morgan could do it with a sense of discretion. And in the north at Sendar’s Tears Tassol were causing trouble again.

Devian absentmindedly played with his hair. His thumb followed the white hair near his temples that glowed like a scar in his otherwise raven dark hair. Many times when he was younger he had cut off the white but it kept growing back. Now he didn’t touch it. Ever since he got the message that Fallien had fallen in battle near Merim Lake he didn’t have a reason to cut of his white hair. The worst imaginable had already happened. Devian's thoughts were shattered by a knock on the door. “Enter,” he said.

A servant entered in the dark green and black livery, the colors of House Villar.

“I come with refreshments, my lord.” The woman approached Devian and made a curtsey before putting the tray on the small table. She poured him hot, spiced wine in a silver goblet and handed the goblet to Devian. When he received it she took a step back, and saluted him with tied fist on her breast. Devian raised his eyebrow in surprise. His servants were seldom this formal but with a wry face he suddenly remembered the reason. “You can retreat to your quarters, Sariah.” The woman made another deep curtsey and glided soundlessly out of the room. When a soldier had delivered the message that Fallien had died in the battle’s tenth day Devian had acted uncontrollably and in anger slapped a servant. Since then every servant in the household tiptoed around him, afraid to be the cause of their master’s unjustified anger. Devian downed his spiced wine and rose from the chair.

The servants carried bucket after bucket with heated water to the wooden tub that stood on the stone floor in the middle of the room. Devian’s clothes were on top of a wooden chest and he waited naked for the servants to finish. Impatiently he wavered off the servants who where supposed to help him bathe. Today he wanted to bathe alone and in peace. With a hissing sound Devian lowered himself into the heated water. He had braided his dark hair and fastened it with a headband so it wouldn’t get wet. In the water Devian let out a sigh of satisfaction. He hadn’t been able to relax completely in the weeks that had passed. His muscles were hard as iron, but now the warm water made them softer. Devian took a pumice stone and scrubbed away several days’ worth of sweat and dirt, and then soaped his sore and aching body.

Devian enjoyed the serenity and finally closed his eyes.

When he woke up the water had gone cold. Devian scrubbed himself clean, got out of the tub and dried himself. He opened the wooden chest and put on a pair of new soft trousers and a white shirt with green silk embroidery climbing up his sleeves. Finally he put on the soft kneehigh boots padded with an extra layer to keep the cold at bay. The hunger made his stomach ache so he headed to his private room for some food.

Devian closed the door behind him and pulled away the headband so his hair could flow freely down his shoulders. He rubbed his temples and headed towards the gilded desk standing across the room by a large window. Halfway there he froze. For a Voronn vigilance was a virtue and suddenly his own room seemed unfamiliar. He felt a gnawing anxiety begin to rise in him but he brutally suppressed it. Self-control was a virtue. With determined steps he walked across the room to his desk. The only light in the room came from the fire in the corner and from the few candles that where scattered in different places. His look fell on a bundle of maps and books, describing southeast Thalia, the Theronin cliffs and the east coast up to Voronnel´s caves. The angle of the papers, books and maps were wrong. Devian couldn’t explain it in another way. He looked around. The left corner of a rug had been folded. A candle had been knocked down and the hot wax had formed a small monument on the floor. Devian turned his gaze towards the bed, and he noticed he was sneaking. The thick carpets muted his steps. The bed was untouched with its thick blankets, covers and pillows stuffed with down. Devian dropped down on one knee as if to adjust the laces on his boots. Instead his hand reached under the bed and found the knife’s handle, hidden and strapped under a beam.  With hard determination and the knife in a tight grip Devian approached the large closet with two doors, which covered a good length of the wall. The sweat had made his shirt moist. Devian exhaled without a sound and looked at the closet. The doors where slightly opened. Devian opened the door with a jolt and saw two sapphire blue eyes gleam in the darkness. Devian cried as he thrust the sharp edge of the knife into the darkness. A cry in the dark space erupted, echoing his own.

The heavy body collapsed in his arms and Devian’s teeth rattled as he plunged headlong to the floor. He quickly got up on his feet to defend himself but the man’s body remained on the ground. Devian breathed heavily and looked in confusion at the man who had been hidden in his closet. He wore soft, dark brown, leather trousers and a white, torn and dirty shirt. The sleeves had green embroidery. The man’s black hair was sprawled around his head like a fan. Devian pushed the man aside and rose to his knees. A light caught his attention. A ring with a green rock glistened on the stranger’s right hand. Devian squinted and took the dying man’s hand in his. The ring was shaped like a hawk. His eyes widened. A cold terror began to rise and creep up his spine. Devian let out a low moan. At the same moment, as if through a fog, he heard the voice of Sariah out in the hall. Her heels thundered on the stone floor. With a crash the door swung open and Sariah was there, breathless and eagerly holding a tiny letter in her hand. She begged for forgiveness for that she in this improper way had disturbed her master but froze. The thick cream-white paper fell to the floor and Devian saw that the seal was a green hawk, the seal of Villar. Devian turned his attention to the body again and looked at the pool of blood which coloured the floor red. Gently he turned over the man. The face staring up at him was his own, his twin. The beautiful blue eyes were widened in shock and surprise. The black hair smooth as silk and a mouth beautiful enough to be a woman’s were familiar to him. With a hand that trembled, Devian caressed his brother and picked him up in a clumsy embrace and held him tightly. He rocked his brother back and forth while he hoarsely whispered: “Fallien…Fallien…”. Sariah went up to him but he pushed her away harshly. He suddenly stopped rocking his brother and gently placed him on the floor. He adjusted Fallien’s shirt and buttoned it. With fingers coloured by blood he combed his brother’s hair and tied the laces on his left boot. Crawling across the floor he tore the letter from Sariah and quickly glanced through it. The man that had died and who everyone assumed was Fallien apparently was a noble from one of the lower Houses in Coven’s village. In the heat of the battle there had been a mistake. Devian felt like he had ashes in his mouth and his heart pounded violently against his ribcage. His brother was alive. “Devian.”

Devian flinched and quickly turned towards his brother. Fallien looked at him with dim eyes. “I am home now. We won the battle.” Devian took his brothers hand and squeezed it. It was alarmingly cold. “Devian. I thought I could surprise you…” Fallien’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I love you,” Devian said. Fallien’s silence was deafening. In that moment Devian abandoned the discipline and self-control that his people prized so highly and roared cried out his grief and sorrow. He screamed and cried for the brother he thought had been dead. He cried for the brother that had risen from the grave and had returned to him, only to die by Devian’s own hand.