Chapter 1314: A boy’s duty(1)
Sieges ruined armies. He knew that well. If it were not by steel, arrows, and catapulted stone, it would be by the slow, rot-scented creep of hunger and starvation.
Basil understood that perfectly. Just as he knew that all the Crownless Prince of Oizen had needed to do was show a single ounce of iron spine, and what was now Yarzat’s greatest, most dazzling glory would have turned into a catastrophic defeat.
Things could have so easily gone the other way. His father might have been forced to turn his bleeding army around and march home with nothing to show for it, never with a kingly crown on his brow, and never with Oizen in his pocket the fortnight after.
But things had not gone the other way. Cowardice had prevailed in Prince Sorza, and now, Basil had his own grand prize.
Lord of Oizen. His father had given him the title the very day their banners were hoisted over what was once the sovereign seat of power for a principality of the south. He supposed he should have been thoroughly elated by the news; men would have gladly butchered their own kin to behold such a prize. The fortress even possessed two magnificent sets of walls, which was one more than what shielded Yarzat itself. Yet, truth be told, Oizen felt like something distant and puny compared to the absolute master-mantle he would one day cloak himself with as heir to the kingdom.
Basil knew that well, just as he knew that royal birth was as much a heavy duty as it was a blessing. Every soul under heaven had to toil toward their own purpose. Little or big, they all had their roles to play. Even little Rosalind had hers, and since she seemed entirely determined to shy away from it, it was her older brother’s duty to firmly remind her.
Though, as with most things involving a six-year-old girl, it was vastly easier said than done.
"But she is so weird! Always so silent!" Rosalind chided, her tiny hands balled into furious little fists against her velvet waist as she glared up at her older, infinitely patient brother.
"I asked you in kindness to be more understanding, Rosalind," Basil spoke, pitching his voice into what he desperately hoped was a soothing tone.
"But she is too weird!" her complaints continued, her high-pitched voice rising to match the frantic trill of the latest wedding flutes. "She won’t play tag, she won’t even talk! I told her to run, and she just stands there like an old stone statue. Watching me. Just watching! Not saying a single word or making a single noise. And her hair is all matted and yucky like a bird’s nest, and she’s just the most boring girl in the whole wide world!I don’t want it"
Basil let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. As much as she did not want to play with her, Basil did not want to deal with his siter at the moment.
Personal preferences did not matter; everyone had their duties.
Their uncle Laedio had gone completely out of his way to ask in deep, solemn kindness for Basil to look after the girl. Adopted as she may be , he had named her his daughter, which made her a cousin to Basil. He had promised his uncle, on his honor that he would shield her and integrate her into the court. Even if he hadn’t sworn it, a prince of Yarzat did not break his word.
"Rosalind, listen to me," Basil said, kneeling down on the grass so he was at eye level with the stormy little princess. He reached out, gently unballing her tiny, angry fists. "She has had a very long, very scary journey to get to this palace. You are a princess of the realm. It is your job to show her how a lady behaves. I need you to make an effort. Go back over there, take her hand, and try to find a game she likes.She needs friends...."
Rosalind’s lower lip thrust out so far it was a wonder she didn’t trip over it. "No! I don’t want to! If I give her my doll, she’ll probably just stare at it until it turns into a frog. She doesn’t even know how to laugh, Basil! Why do I have to play with the quiet girl when all the other girls are eating the honey cakes and playing?I want to play with you and Whitey!’’
"Because I am asking you as your older brother," Basil said, his voice softening as he placed a firm, grounding hand upon her shoulder. He knew his little sister was fundamentally a kind child. He knew that well.
Just as he knew she was as willful as a stubborn mule when she didn’t get her way.
"She has no friends because she doesn’t talk!" Rosalind huffed, crossing her tiny arms tightly over her chest. "And she isn’t even Uncle Laedio’s real daughter! She is just some dirty orphan he picked out of the street. She has no blood of ours!"
Something cold and sharp must have flashed across Basil’s eyes then. He didn’t mean to look at her with the harshness of a judge, but he couldn’t help it.
A panicked wince that crossed his sister’s expression told him she had felt the shift. Did she realize what she had just said? How incredibly cruel she sounded?How bad?How callous?How insensible?
That was no matter. She was a child of the royal house; she needed to learn.
He extended his palm. "Give me your hand, sis."
She obeyed, though her lower lip trembled. She was a sweet girl at her core, playful as a pup and willful as a cat, but right now, she was being a brat.
Basil took her small hand and deliberately pinched the soft skin on the back of it.
Rosalind yelped,as high pitched as a cat being kicked, and instantly started wailing on him. Her tiny hands balled into frantic fists, raining a flurry of harmless blows down against his arm, his chest, and his face. But she was only six, and he was thirteen, a prince already training with heavy wooden longswords. He didn’t even flinch. He let her strike him, only stopping when bright, angry tears finally bloomed in her eyes.
He released the pinch but kept a strong, unyielding grip on her forearm, pulling her closer to his chest so she had no choice but to listen.
"Uncle Laedio named her his daughter. That is all you ever need to know," Basil whispered with an intensity that cut right through her sobbing. "We do not share a single speck of true blood with Uncle Asag, Uncle Jarza, Uncle Laedio, or Uncle Egil, for that matter. Does that make them any less of our family?"
"You hurt me!" she cried, big tears fat on her flushed cheeks. Completely missing what he was trying to convey. "I’m telling Mother! I am telling her!"
"Scraps," Basil replied coldly pulling her down so that he would set her face to his in his kneeling position. "Those were mere scraps compared to the immense pain you would have delivered straight to our uncle’s heart if he were here to hear your tongue.Go cry to mother if that will feel better."
She tried to twist away, crying out again, but Basil grew thoroughly tired of the tantrum. He reached out, grabbed her other flailing arm, and firmly locked her in place until she stopped squirming.
"None of our uncles are of our direct blood, Rosalind, and yet our father would have perished a long time ago in the mud without them. His blood would have seeped into the ground during the wars,his body turned cold, and you and I would have been made miserable orphans before we ever learned how to walk. The absolute least those men are owed by our house is our highest respect. All of it and more."
At long last, she stopped resisting, probably realizing how futile that was.
It made him want to puke at what he was doing. But that needed to be done.
Her tiny frame went slack in his grip, though the silent tears did not stop flowing down her cheeks. It cut Basil deep to hurt her like this, but by all hells, she needed to understand.
He leaned in closer, his thumb wiping a tear from her cheek, though his gaze remained ironclad.
"Before Uncle Laedio marched out with his vanguards, he did not go to our father, and he did not go to our mother," Basil nailed the truth into her. "He came directly to us. He asked us to look after Mesea. He asked us to be her friends, to shield her, and to welcome her into our halls. Not the King, not the Queen. Them. He trusted our honor. Now, are you going to prove to our uncle that his trust was a mistake, are you going to tell all how much of a brat Alpheo’s daughter is?How cruel she is?’’
Her dark curls flyied as she shook her head.
"Will you behave?" Basil pressed, his voice steady but demanding.
She nodded, with a tiny and reluctant bob of her chin.
The Prince let out a long, heavy sigh. At her heart, she was a kind child; he knew that well. He had seen her share her sweets with the kennel pups and weep over a bird with a broken wing. Relying on that fleeting goodness, he released her forearms, entirely against his better judgement.
He had temporarily forgotten that she was also a gnatty brat.
"It hurt!" she shrieked, stumbling back a step. Her red, watery eyes flared with furious, dramatic venom as she preparing to flee. "I hate you. You are bad! And I hope you die!"
She spun on her heel and began sprinting across the manicured lawn, but the tantrum wasn’t fully spent. She skidded to a halt a dozen paces away, turning her tear-streaked face back toward him one last time to scream above the distant sounds of court.
"If you want to play with that weirdo so much, then go do it by yourself! You can be silent to death together for all I care! I hope you never come back either! I’m never, ever playing with you again!"
With that final, theatrical declaration, she turned around and kept on running, her little velvet skirts bunching around her knees as she vanished into the palace hedges.
After that Basil stood alone on the grass, his arms falling slowly to his sides. He knew that she did not truly mean those words, she was six, and did not know any better, but the sting of them pricked at his chest all the same. No one liked to be hated by their own blood.
Still, as he smoothed down the front of his tunic, he had to admit there was at least a shred of sensible logic buried within her childish screeching. If Rosalind wouldn’t do it, then the burden fell squarely on him.
He, too, had to do his duty.
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