4 — A Vaelthorne Welcome

Cassian adjusted himself in the mirror, wincing at the clothes Lady Belle had fitted him with. His ash grey undershirt prickled at his skin under his high collared charcoal leather tunic. Subtle silver stitching ran around the seams. A dark leather shoulder mantle held his dark woven cloak. It was layered with feathers near the shoulders, creating the silhouette of folded wings down the back. A silver ring adorned his index finger, the crest of House Vaelthorne engraved on it. The diving black crow, a silver dagger in its beak.

Cassian sighed. 

‘Itchy.’

He looked out his window. Grey skies cast a constant half shadow across the Westfold cliffs. The colorless sea waves sprayed the dock with salty mists, as the croaks of a flock of crows echoed in the air. The familiar smell of salt and stone eased Cassian, just for a moment.

Suddenly, a knock on his chamber door interrupted his rarefound peace. 

He sighed to himself as he took his eyes away from the window, straightening himself in the mirror. “Come in.” 

A large man entered, black steel up to his neck. He stood tall in the doorway, his hand comfortable on the hilt of his sheathed longsword. The crest of Vaelthorne on his chestplate glimmered in the candlelight. 

“Lady Belle, ordered me to fetch you, my lord.”

”Don’t call me that, Becker. Just my name is fine.” Cassian spoke as he finished in the mirror and walked up to the Captain. 

Becker bowed his head slightly. 

“Well, I can’t be more dressed than this, so let’s get this over with.”

Cassian followed Becker out to the dimly lit hallway. Tapestries of previous Vaelthorne lords decorated the walls with iron sconces to bring them to light. Before the turn at the end of the hallway, Kraven Vaelthorne—the lord founder—stared at Cassian with his gleaming tapestry eyes. Behind him in faded paint sat a beached ship, its sails torn and unraveling from the masts. 

Cassian felt the tired eyes follow him when he passed it, but he kept the gaze as he always did. It shook something deep in his core. Something he did not quite understand, but he never wavered. 

They approached a great pinewood door. 

Becker pushed it open and the old wood groaned in response. 

Cassian swallowed. 

His head hung low as he entered, his boots sending echoes up to the rafters. He walked up to the raised platform that held the duke’s high seat. The subtle shuffling of bodies didn’t invite his eyes to raise, rather their presence felt like a weight on his head.

”Look at me, son.”

The deep voice sent a shiver from Cassian’s neck to his tailbone. Reluctantly he obliged, jaw tight.

Duke Hetark Vaelthorne. His age had not diminished the sharp precision his eyes held. He peered into Cassian’s, still and measuring. Behind him, the window that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, a depiction of a large crow was painted on the glass. 

Mordryn.

Hetark walked down the steps with slow, heavy thuds and wrapped his large arms around Cassian. 

The smell of oak seeped into his nose at his father’s embrace. Not the fresh kind, but rather the oak of a barrel that had been trapped in a dark basement for too long. He felt the fur cloak prickle at his cheek. The embrace was practiced, cold. Cassian did not feel any hint of sincerity.

When they parted, Cassian met his father’s eyes with a flat smile and a nod. 

“Ricard told me about your accomplishment,” Hetark said and paused after before continuing, “You will be a crow one day. But you have a long road ahead of you. Ricard also informed me about your outburst, but such matters we will iron out of you.”

Cassian bowed his head. “Yes, father.”

Hetark said nothing after that, just a gesture of his hand, ordering him to take his place next to Ricard.

Cassian obliged silently. But before he could make his way up the steps, Lady Belle cleared her throat in protest. He paused and showed his hands, palms up, while avoiding her eyes. 

She studied him, scanning his clothes, his hair, his hands. She judged him up and down. Her gaze noticed Cassian’s eyes—that were locked into nothingness—then she snorted. She waved her hand with the roll of her eyes. 

Cassian noticed Ricard had been holding his breath during Lady Belle’s scanning. His shoulder finally sank, when his little brother was approved and by his side. 

“Thank you, Lady Belle,” Cassian said with a bow, in a practiced manner. He heard her silent sigh after he straightened himself.

”Let us begin,” Hetark said, walking up the steps to take his seat in the high seat.

The hierarchy was present in their placements. The Duke, seated in the tall straight-backed chair. Beside him Lady Belle stood almost just as tall. A step down stood Ricard, then Cassian last, furthest.

A deafening silence came over the empty great hall. The small pattering sounds of a dozen talons echoed softly above them in the dark rafters. Small glints occasionally appeared in the shadows if one stared long enough. 

Duke Hetark cleared his throat and waved a hand. “Bring him in.”

The doors once again opened. Two guards held a battered Lord Ingram between them. He had been stripped out of his regal attire and into a simple white tunic, chains restraining his hands behind his back. They brought him to his knees before them with force.

Ingram raised his eyes slowly. Old blood dried above his swollen right eye, and his lower lip was split. 

“Lord Ingram,” Hetark started, staring down at the man who barely had the power to hold his head up. “You do realize why you are here. Do you not?”

Ingram did not reply.

A low growl hummed from Hetark’s chest, but he remained calm when he spoke. “You thought we would not find out about your treachery against the crown? Plotting with the Red Cloaks was a grave error, my lord. How much did you pay those mercenaries? And for what purpose did you have for them?” 

Ingram remained quiet, only the sound of his raspy breaths left his mouth.

”As your duke, I demand you speak.”

Ingram spat. A small pool of crimson splashed on the cold stones. 

Hetark leaned back in his chair, subtly scratching at his armrest. “My grandfather helped yours in the Blackblood plague when your people were starving, dying. We saved your city and your lineage,” Hetark said, “and this is how you show your appreciation!” He slammed a fist into the armrest. 

Ingram flinched.

”You know nothing…” Ingram muttered, “…nothing of my family.”

Hetark remained expressionless, his eyes cold and sharp. “Do you know who you are talking to, rat?” He hissed in a whisper as he leaned forward. “I know everything.”

Ingram swallowed. 

The polished stone floor began to vibrate. The glass of the windows shook in its frame. A hum built slowly. Louder. Suffocatingly it commanded the air with a crippling grip. A large shadow grew taller from behind the large window behind the steps. It rose until it stripped the hall of sunlight. When the shaking ceased, the sound of stone-trembling breaths pulsated through the room. Every inhale and exhale made the air in the room shift.  

Ingram stared at the large creature outside the window, liquid flowed down his legs and formed a pool where he sat. 

“Vaelthorne was built upon the foundation of one power,” Hetark began, “Knowledge.” The large shadow outside the window loomed behind him. “The oldest creature on this earth. He has seen kingdoms rise and fall with his own eyes. He flew across these lands long before we inhabited them. And when you have a friend as old as that…”

Ingram whimpered as Hetark slowly walked down the steps.  

“You better pray you don’t have dirt on your hands,” he whispered. 

Cassian swallowed. ‘Mordryn.’

“My lord duke!” Ingram bursted out, “forgive me, I have been a fool. I was a fool to pay the Red Cloaks. I plotted against you, forgive me! I will send them away, tell them I no longer have any need for them. You will not find me an enemy any longer!”

“You do not listen, Lord Ingram,” Hetark said, leaning closer to Ingram’s face. “There is nothing you can tell me that I do not already know.”

A paleness consumed Ingram’s face as his eyes widened. 

“You are to be sent to the Crownlands and face your consequences in the presence of the  High King. The four duchies do not have room for traitors. So go there and die. That is all you can do for us, my lord.” Hetark walked back to his chair and took his seat again. “Take him away. And clean up this mess.”

Ingram sprawled as they dragged him across the stone. “No! You cannot do this!”

His screams echoed even after the doors closed behind them. 

Hetark sighed. “Pathetic,” he said, rubbing his forehead slowly. “Wife. Ricard. Leave me with Cassian for a moment. There is a matter that does not concern you I need to address.”

Without a huff of objection Lady Belle got to her feet. The clicking of her heels on the stone rapidly left the hall. 

Ricard however, stood a moment longer, his eyes on Cassian. He gave his brother a flat smile and a warm hand on the shoulder without a word. His eyes glanced slightly over to his father before he controlled himself and kept them to himself. 

The room fell quiet once again when the hall emptied, even the pattering talons above them had ceased. As if the birds quieted to listen.  

“Come before me, son,” Hetark ordered.

Cassian obliged.

”Ricard told me you had your first taste of blood, and it troubled you greatly,” Hetark started. Then as Cassian was about to speak he continued. “But that is okay. We are not machines. We are still human. We laugh, we cry, we love and we get angry. However, it is how we deal with those feelings that makes us crows. Do you understand?”

Cassian nodded. “Yes, father.”

“You put your brother at risk.” His tone darkened. “I cannot have a son who cannot do the work of crows. One mistake and we lose everything. We have one power. One power that keeps the kingdom in check. What is that power, son?”

“Knowledge,” Cassian replied practiced. 

“Knowledge,” Hetark confirmed with a slow nod. “But also secrecy. If we are exposed, we lose our grip on that knowledge. Now tell me boy,” he straightened himself in the chair, “What happened?”

Cassian searched his mind in a panicked moment. The lump in his throat grew painfully large. 

“Let me make it clearer for you. Why did you panic in a public area, filled with prying eyes and enemies,” Hetark’s tone grew dark. 

“I…uh,” Cassian faltered, then collected himself, “I do not know.”

His father scowled at him, a long exhale leaving his nose. 

At the silent pressure, Cassian scrambled up words to save himself. “It was like a dream. Ricard told me I was just having an outburst from killing that boy, and assuming his identity. But I do not know why it felt so real. It was like I was someone else for a moment. Then when it all passed, I didn’t know how to take what I had felt, so I panicked.”

The darkness on Hetark’s face lifted subtly, but it was noticeable. He exhaled to himself, running a hand over his mouth. Like he was pondering how to word out what he wanted to say. His eyes wandered the room, then finally. “You felt something that you don’t remember feeling. But someone else did feel it, and you were that someone else for a moment.”

Cassian hesitated, trying to piece it together. “What do you mean, father?”

“Have you heard of Echo, boy?” Hetark asked, his gaze stabbed into Cassian’s. Silver on black. 

Mordryn’s oppressive silhouette shifted slightly outside the window.

Cassian frowned. “E-Echo? Like in this room when we speak? What does that have to—”

“Ackh!” Hetark cursed, frustrated at his own words. “No, boy. Listen. You live as someone else. Just for a moment. But not the whole moment, it comes in fragments. And those fragments stab into you like a knife, you feel it as if you were there yourself. It stays with you, engrained into you like hot metal on skin.”

Cassian found himself lost in his father’s words. They made sense to him, but he questioned inside himself, how did his father know?

Hetark sat silent again, deep in his own mind. He muttered into his hand. “It cannot be…” 

“F-Father?” 

Hetark completely ignored his call. “You need to keep this to yourself. This does not leave this room. Do you understand?” He raised his voice at the end. “Raziel will know what to do with this… Yes… Yes.”

Cassian faltered. “Raziel?”

Hetark ignored Cassian’s confusion. “How did it come to him? He is a bastard—” 

The words pricked at Cassian’s heart. 

“It was supposed to be Ricard—”

“Father?” Cassian tried again. Then finally caught Hetark’s eyes. “What is going on?”

Something shifted in Hetark. 

He got to his feet and walked down the steps onto the stone floor. His hand moved to his hip and he drew his blade. The ring of the steel rang in the hall. He whistled short and hard. The flock of crows descended from the rafters above them. They all gathered in front of him, hovering. With a swift and precise slash, feathers flew wildly as dozens of carcasses flopped onto the floor. Then he muttered to himself as he turned back to Cassian, his sword hanging low in his grip. His eyes locked onto Cassian. “No one can know.”

The Duke of the Westfold was no longer there. In his place stood a frightened man, scrambling for control. 

For the first time in his life, Cassian saw fear in his father’s eyes.