House of Ash and Gold

The storm broke at midnight, as though the sky itself meant to split the keep in two.

Cael Ashveil Varissen would not remember that night, but it would follow him all the same.

On the tower's high floor, the midwife muttered curses under her breath as she pressed one last time on his mother's belly. Lady Liora Ashveil Varissen's skin had gone pale as parchment hours ago.

"Push," the midwife hissed.

Liora bit down on a strip of linen and refused to scream.

Lightning lit the sky. The stones underfoot shook, and bits of white dust fell from the ceiling. At that exact moment, Cael took his first breath and cried.

The midwife caught him, muttering a prayer under her breath.

He looked so fragile.

Another maid stepped forward with a cloth, but froze when she saw Liora's eyes staring glassy and fixed on the cracked ceiling.

"Too late," one of them whispered.

Too late.

The baby's thin cries filled the room as the midwife cut the cord and swaddled him.

...

Hours later, after the body had been carried away and the boy cleaned, a nursemaid sat with him by the tower window. The storm had passed, but the scent of wet stone still lingered.

"Little lord," she murmured, not unkindly, "you've no mother to feed you now. You're small and frail, it's a miracle you've hung on this long. Luckier still you're a boy... though with your father, I don't know if that's any kindness."

She peeked down at him in her arms, and for the first time he opened his eyes. They were pale and watery gray, undecided on what they wanted to be.

"Don't look at me like that," the woman muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

The door creaked open and Baron Edric Varissen strode in, his black cloak cutting through the candlelight. His face was taut with something unreadable. He barely glanced at his wife's empty bed before his eyes found the child.

"Does it even cry?" he asked.

The nurse straightened, clutching the bundle. "Weakly, my lord. But… alive."

Edric studied the small, swaddled figure in her arms for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he drew in a short, sharp breath and said,

"If he's to carry my name, he can't stay like that for long."

...

By morning, the servants whispered about the storm and the birth in equal measure.

Some said lightning struck the chapel roof the moment the boy cried. Others claimed crows had circled the keep for three days beforehand.

One chambermaid swore she saw black veins crawling up Lady Liora's arms as she died, though no one else admitted to it.

By dawn, the body was gone, the blood scrubbed away, and the maids hummed at their work as if nothing had happened.

But the boy was sent to the tower.

...

When Cael was old enough to remember, the tower already felt like a prison.

At five, he sat on a narrow stone bench by the window, watching his half-brother Jorlan training in the yard below.

Jorlan's hair gleamed gold in the sunlight. His sword flashed even brighter.

Steel rang out as Jorlan knocked his sparring partner into the dirt. The squires and men-at-arms around them cheered.

Cael pressed his forehead to the glass, squinting.

"Don't strain your eyes," the nursemaid, Matilde, said as she came in with a tray of bread and milk.

"I want to watch," Cael said.

"You're not made for it."

"Why not?"

Matilde paused, then shook her head. "Because the wind could knock you over and you wouldn't even see it coming, that's why."

Cael scowled at the tray. "My eyes are fine."

"They are not. You trip over your own feet half the time after dark, and you can't even tell me what color your cloak is most days."

He crossed his arms. "Then how can I see him?"

"Because the sun's out and he's hard to miss, little lord. That's all."

Outside, Jorlan finished his bout and thrust his sword in the air, drawing another cheer.

Matilde caught Cael's chin between her fingers and turned his face toward her.

"Stop staring. Eat. Maybe you'll grow enough to stand out there someday. And if you're smart, you won't bother."

...

That evening, Edric came to the tower.

Cael stood when the door opened, as Matilde had taught him.

Edric didn't look at him.

He went straight to the window, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared down at the yard. Jorlan was still sparring by the torchlight.

"You are weak," Edric said at last.

"Yes, Father," Cael answered quietly.

"Look at him," Edric nodded toward the yard. "That is what this house needs. "Not a boy who'd collapse before the first blow even landed."

Cael swallowed, forcing himself to look too.

Jorlan was smiling down at his opponent, sword resting easy in his grip.

Edric finally turned. His gaze settled on Cael as though weighing how much work it would take to make something of him.

"The name Ashveil," he said, slowly, "once meant something. That was before your mother's family squandered it chasing illusions. Don't follow her path."

Cael said nothing.

Edric leaned closer, his voice dropping lower. "Better to die an honest fool than live as a cursed one. Remember that."

Then he left.

...

Afterward, Matilde came and sat beside him on the bench.

"Your mother wasn't a fool," she said softly.

Cael glanced at her.

"She was clever," Matilde went on. "And she knew she might not live to tell you everything herself. So she left you something for when you're older."

"What?"

"A letter and a locket, both tucked away for now."

"Why?"

Matilde hesitated, then she rubbed his shoulder once and stood.

"Because you're not ready," she said.

...

That night, Cael lay awake on his narrow cot, staring at the dark ceiling.

He heard the faint hum of the wind through the cracks in the stone, but beneath it… something else.

A whisper.

It was faint, curling at the edge of his hearing.

He sat up.

The window gleamed faintly in the moonlight.

He padded over and pressed his forehead to the glass.

The whisper sharpened, just for an instant, into words:

"…blood… and gold…"

He stumbled back, his heart hammering.

When he turned, Matilde was standing in the doorway, holding a candle.

"You heard it, didn't you?" she asked solemnly.

Cael swallowed.

"Yes," he said.

Her expression tightened, though her voice stayed calm.

"Then it's started," she murmured.

...

The next morning, Edric summoned him downstairs.

For the first time in his memory, Cael stood in the great hall.

Jorlan waited beside their father, padded jack tight with bracers gleaming.

Edric led them out into the yard.

"Go stand over there. Watch closely," he ordered, not looking at him. "This is how a man earns his place."

The men-at-arms formed a rough circle.

Jorlan raised his blade and saluted his opponent, a much older squire who charged at him without hesitation.

Cael squinted, trying to follow the movements.

At first, the clang of steel was all he could hear, but then faintly the whisper came again.

Not from the air this time, but from the yard itself.

When Jorlan's blade swung wide, Cael saw... just for an instant... faint threads of light trailing from the sword's edge to the ground.

No one else reacted.

The threads vanished as quickly as they'd appeared.

But Cael's breath was caught in his throat.

He could still hear the whispers.

When the bout ended and the circle of men erupted in cheers, Edric turned to him.

"You see now?"

Cael forced himself to nod.

"Yes, Father."

Edric's expression hardened, yet he kept his eyes locked on him.

"Then stop clinging to walls and watching like a ghost," he said,his voice carrying just enough for everyone to hear. "If you mean to carry this name, start acting like it belongs to you."

Jorlan grinned at him.

Cael held his gaze until Jorlan finally looked away.

...

That night, back in the tower, Cael stood again at the window.

The whispers were faint but steady now, murmuring about blood and gold.

When he closed his eyes, he saw the faint threads in the yard below, glimmering where Jorlan had stood.

And for the first time, he wondered what else he might see if he dared to keep looking.