Alensar

  His mind oscillated between dreams and not dreams. His heart beat too loud, and then too quiet. Tiny vines covered his limbs. When he tried to move his arms, the vines grew and snaked around him. They sprouted from his nose and mouth–the roots of a tree holding him down. People with large glittering eyes and no mouths would appear. Their blue hands pulled at him until they transformed into giant metal insects, always prodding him.

  His mind drifted into his body like a feather falling on still water. He lay in a soft, warm bed, his skin clean and bandaged. He opened his eyes. A heavy red down blanket covered him, but that was the extent of his restraints.

  The room was large, with a window and furniture of dark wood. A wardrobe and desk sat in each corner. It was plain and tasteful, the only decoration a simple embroidered tapestry of flowers. The sun came in through the window.

  "Ah, Val is awake."

  Alensar glanced up at the young man sitting in a large padded chair with a book in his hands. The scuffed, padded brown chair was the only thing out of place. The man was sharply dressed, in a white shirt and dark green buttoned vest with a noble crest embroidered on the chest.

  Alensar looked around, but apparently, he was the one being addressed.

  "How are you feeling, Val D’Ambrosia?"

  Alensar blinked a few times. Val? Why was he being addressed with a title?

  He put on his best noble accent. "Disoriented."

  "That's to be expected. Are you hungry?"

  Alensar's brow furrowed. "No, but I probably should eat."

  "Very good, Val. I will ring the kitchen."

  The young man walked to Alensar's bed and tugged a cord nearby. He was in his mid-twenties, with cropped dark hair and a clean-shaven face. They were probably a similar age.

  He then stood with his hands folded in the best posture Alensar had ever seen.

  This was not what he expected of the afterlife.

  "Do you need anything else, Val?"

  Until he understood what was happening, he would go along with it.

  "Not at the moment."

  "Very well."

  The servant did not move, and yet somehow appeared relaxed, as if standing still was second nature to him. Perhaps it was.

  Alensar waited for him to do or say something, but he just stood there. Alensar broke down.

  "Could you sit down?"

  "If you wish."

  The servant's face betrayed no sign of it, but he seemed mildly amused. He sat down and continued to stare.

  Yes, he definitely found Alensar's awkwardness amusing.

  Alensar considered testing his ability to command the man, but he was too tired.

  "You don't need to keep staring at me. You can leave if you want to."

  The servant considered it for a moment. "I'm here to keep an eye on you. Laude Granthor told me to do so."

  Alensar wondered who Laude Granthor was, but he thought better of asking. "Of course."

  Another long pause.

  "What's your name?"

  "Jason."

  Fortunately, the maid arrived with some food and spared them further conversation. Alensar tried to sit up. He shook as he tried to lift himself. He pulled and dragged himself up to a sitting position. Without the headboard behind him, he wouldn't have been able to stay upright. He was breathing hard from the effort.

  The thought of begging for help with eating twisted his stomach.

  The teen girl in the same uniform as Jason set down the tray on his bedside table, her gaze averted. She then disappeared with a polite bow. Jason was standing near him the next instant.

  "Doctor's orders are you don't exert yourself. We need to feed you until you're strong enough, and you're only to have soups and other cooked things." He added 'Val' as an afterthought.

  Alensar sighed. "I wish I had the strength to insist otherwise."

  When Jason served him the soup, the hints of amusement were still there, now mixed with pity. The soup was warm and salty, with soft noodles. Food for the gods.

  "Do you know when I will see Laude Granthor?" Alensar asked.

  "When you are stronger."

  "Ah." Alensar ate the rest of the meal in silence. He focused on making sure none of the soup spilled out of his mouth. He ate until his stomach was full, which wasn't the whole bowl. Jason's brow furrowed.

  Exhaustion stopped him from finishing. He closed his eyes. He heard Jason sigh as he helped ease him back to bed.

  ***

  Alensar woke to a pressure in his lower abdomen. He tried to get up, though he didn't have a plan.

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  "Hey now, what's going on?" Jason rushed over and started pushing him back into bed.

  "Gotta piss."

  Jason recoiled, and Alensar rolled out of the bed and fell on the wooden floor. A warm pool of liquid formed under him.

  Funny, he had always imagined hell differently.

  At least there wasn't a carpet.

  "I'll get something to clean you up." Jason rushed to his feet and left. Jason hadn't bothered with the Val bit. Small blessings.

  Alensar only now realized he wasn't wearing clothes, though most of his body was wrapped in gauze.

  While he waited for Jason to return, he looked at his hands, opening and closing his fists. His sense of touch seemed duller, and his arms felt disconnected and heavy, but with no pain. There were bandages wrapped around his wrists, but his hands were bare. They seemed… fine. Hadn't most of the bones been broken? How long had he been sleeping? Even so, hands rarely healed so cleanly.

  Jason returned with two basins on a tray.

  He then placed a towel on the bed and helped Alensar onto it.

  "You can wash your…" Blood rushed to Jason's face.

  Alensar grabbed the damp cloth and cleaned himself off. Thank Nekthor, he had that much strength. Jason handed him another for drying. They didn't make eye contact.

  Jason helped him back under the covers. Alensar was relieved they were no longer touching.

  "Here is a jar if you need it in the future. Next time, let me know when you need help." Jason said from the floor, mopping up the mess.

  Alensar closed his eyes. He knew he should say thank you, but he was too mortified to manage it. He pretended to sleep.

  ***

  Alensar was dozing when someone touched him. His eyes shot open as a scene from a nightmare unfolded. The judge stood before him. On her face was the same stern expression, ready to sentence him to death.

  But it wasn't a dream. He focused on keeping the rise and fall of his stomach even.

  "How are you doing?" she asked.

  "I'm well, thank you, Laude Granthor," he said. "And yourself."

  “You should call me Laude Elaine at your rank.” She frowned. "But your manners are surprisingly good, as is your accent."

  He raised his brows. "With everyone Val-ing around me, I thought I should play along." He switched to his normal accent. "I'm also quite good at being an ass if needed."

  She narrowed her eyes. "No need."

  She spent a long moment looking at him in silence. He didn’t look at her face, but studied her clothing. The square brown jacket and loose tan pants were made of a fine fabric but had no adornment. She was smaller without the flowing judges' robes. She wasn't wearing the glasses anymore.

  He folded his hands on his lap to prevent them from shaking. A prick of sweat was forming on his back, and his wounds ached.

  She pulled out a small cloth sack and dropped something into her palm. She held it out.

  There were three rings there: a battered steel one, a brass one, and one with a large green jewel.

  "Which one is yours?"

  He took the familiar steel ring from her hand and put it on his little finger, the weight comforting.

  Her expression didn't change. "You did not take the D'Ambrosia crest."

  "I thought a phoenix was more appropriate for me," he murmured, trying to understand what she wanted from him. Was this a test? Was she trying to involve him in some con? But a judge? Well, who better, really? Since judges knew the law.

  He pulled the ring off. "But I can take the D'Ambrosia one. You'll have to tell me which it is."

  "The D'Ambrosia crest is a bear, but you should keep the one you have." She tapped a finger against her lips, but the action seemed staged, like she had planned to say this. "For someone claiming the name D'Ambrosia, you don't seem to know much about the family."

  He shrugged. "When a whoreson has a fancy name, he's better off forgetting it."

  Laude Elaine narrowed her eyes. "Interesting thing to say about your mother."

  His heart thumped. He had said the wrong thing. "I... I don't remember her."

  "Yet, you said the name Alensar D'Ambrosia. Why?" Her voice was sharp.

  "Because it's my name." His hands were trembling. Would answering these questions wrong mean he would go back to Tragst? Mild pain blossomed in the middle of his chest that had nothing to do with his wounds. He looked down at his hands and fidgeted with the ring.

  "Look at me."

  He lifted his gaze, afraid. The harsh lines of her face softened somewhat.

  She shook her head. "You look so much like your father when he was young. It surprises me still."

  "My father?" He thought of his Da, but of course, they hadn't looked much alike.

  Laude Elaine tilted her head. "I was close to both Gregor and Oberon when we went to the palace school. I think you are Gregor's son. He disappeared over twenty years ago, but he had a son."

  "I was told that even if I had noble blood, no noble would want anything to do with me." He knew he sounded weak. But he could do nothing. This was a prison, too. Would the shackles come back on if he got stronger?

  "Who told you that?"

  "Someone who knew of nobles."

  "Well, they were wrong. Laude Oberon has asked me to consult with him on his legal situation for several months now. His wife hasn't given him a child, at least not a legitimate one, and is at an age where she won't. His bastard half-brother was never officially acknowledged by their father, and his wife's blood is questionable. Laude Oberon's brother-in-law's family could inherit, but Laude Oberon despises them."

  Alensar tried to follow, but got lost in the litany of relationships. "Can't he just choose someone he likes?"

  Laude Elaine shook her head. "For noble families, inheritance laws are strict, requiring someone by blood or marriage. In fact, it's extraordinarily convenient that you're alive."

  "So he marries again and tries again." Alensar shrugged. "Or sires a bastard."

  Laude Elaine crossed her arms. “That’s risky. If he doesn't manage to have a child, or if the child meets some untimely fate. And if he's not managed to have a bastard by now, he probably won't."

  "So, because I sort of look like his brother and am about the right age, he's choosing me instead?" Alensar laughed without humor. "What game are you playing? He would be an idiot to take me as his heir. I have the mark of the condemned on my neck."

  "We tested your blood. You are of the family."

  Alensar narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean? Does blood mean so much to nobles?"

  "It does." She handed him a small glass vial. "And speaking of your mark, you will apply this to it every day once the bandages are removed, though your shirts will have high collars as well."

  He took it. The glass was faceted, and it was full of a creamy brown liquid. "Looks expensive."

  "It is, so don't waste it."

  He looked back down at his hands. "What do you need me to do? There must be something more to this."

  "First, you must be declared an heir, but it's a title with little power. Think of yourself as a specialized servant. I will ensure that you are educated and cooperative. Your uncle will also need to approve of you. Everything hinges on your ability to impress him."

  "And you think I'm a good candidate for this?" Alensar still didn't believe her. Was she trying to pin some scheme on him?

  "No. You are a terrible candidate for this. But I've been trying to find a way around the inheritance laws, and you are the closest thing I've found, by sheer luck or Helion’s will."

  He winced at her harsh tone.

  She spoke again, "You're surprisingly timid for an outlaw."

  He leaned his head back. "Well, it means I'll be more cooperative, no? What happens if I don't cooperate?"

  "I would think that was obvious."

  The dread in his stomach was consuming him, yet he scoffed. "Ah, a death threat, but of course. At least do me the favor of skipping the torture."

  "I think that much can be agreed to."

  He looked back at Laude Elaine. "So, money or death. Seems hardly a choice."

  "But it is one, nonetheless." Laude Elaine held his gaze.

  "But once I'm known, won't it look bad to kill me? Won't there be a point where I can do what I like?"

  "That's a bold question."

  "It's not like you haven't thought about it."

  Laude Elaine looked away. "Heirs have many enemies. But before you become heir, you will need to prove yourself. There will be time to see what kind of man you are. Cooperating is in your best interest, too."

  Alensar was hit by a wave of fatigue, as if another death threat was just too much, but instead of fear, he just wanted to sleep.

  "One last question." He said.

  Laude Elaine nodded.

  "I would like to go outside. I miss seeing the sky."

  “When the doctor agrees, you can go out as long as you stay within the walls of my property."

  His eyelids were heavy, and his words slurred. "Okay then, I agree to cooperate."

  She came closer, and he startled awake. She took the ring and the bottle from his limp hands.

  "Sleep well," she said softly, pulling the covers over him. He must have been dreaming.