Bruno

What goes on in the great hall reminds me of the feast of the morning after the rebellion. The same chaos, the noise, the tables loaded with food; the same loud crowd, some still wearing clothes stained with blood of their enemies spilled in the recent battle. Some sport bandages and casts, but the wounds do nothing to prevent them from enjoying the food or roaring the songs together with the others. If anything, after a close brush with death, they seem to feel more alive than ever.

I enter unobserved through one of the back doors I've been using during my short time as a castle servant. I can see the dais from the side. About half of the people sitting by the high table are unfamiliar to me. I do recognize a few of the most ardent supporters of Oliver, and at the far end of the table, I spot Philto. He still looks out of place, even though not nearly as scared and lost as on the night I have left Syra in his care. He's probably occupying the position Mortimer did before, providing healing and advice for the new rulers.

I consider approaching him after the feast and asking about Syra, but then I notice her. She appears from the back door leading to the kitchens, carrying a large basket with breads. She looks pale and unsmiling, and a headscarf covers her head, probably hiding her hair that had to be cut short to take care of her wound. Still, she's alive and well, and it's the first time today that I feel good about anything.

She places the basket on the table and moves away without noticing me. I consider leaving the hall myself, but then Oliver's voice comes over the noise.

"Bruno!" he calls from the dais, where he sits between Aurelia and Rollo. "Come here!"

I obey. People stare at me, and the noise decreases a notch as I ascend the dais. They know who I am and what I did. They are probably wondering why I'm being invited to the table instead of being thrown in the dungeons. Aurelia, who's been talking to someone sitting to the other side from her, turns to look.

"Bruno is joining us for the meal before he leaves," Oliver announces.

I stop next to him. Most of the crowd are still busy eating, singing and talking, but those who did notice my presence stare at me heavily. Others grin suggestively, and I like that even less than the frowns.

"Well," says Oliver, looking around the crowded high table, "where do we put you?"

"No need," I say. "I'm not hungry. I'll be leaving now."

Thoughtlessly, I place my hand on his shoulder and squeeze, an old friendly gesture. He looks up and puts his hand on mine, and there's a moment when our eyes meet that feels painfully intimate, as if there's only us in this hall, as if we are, once again, two boys, two best friends.

He looks away and clears his throat. "Let's just drink to your health, then." He pushes his chair back and gets up to his feet. "I'll stand with you. Pour that one for me." He nods at one of the bottles on the table. "It's my favorite, so I only drink it with my favorite people."

"In such case, can I have some, too?" Aurelia offers her goblet.

Oliver looks down and returns her smile. I pick the bottle and pour them some wine, and then fill another goblet for myself. Aurelia raises hers in my direction.

"You've been a good friend to Oliver," she says. "We weren't destined to become friends, but I'm sure you always had his best interest at heart."

My throat constricts, refusing to produce any words, so I only nod.

"To friendship," says Oliver, and upends his goblet. I bring mine to my mouth, but then my eyes fall on Aurelia. She sits with her back straight, the rim of her goblet pressed to her lips—but she's not drinking.

Suddenly, I feel very cold.

"Oliver," I croak, "don't!"

But it's too late. The goblet slips out of his fingers and hits the floor with a clang. His fingers wrap around his throat and his mouth opens wide, his eyes popping out of their sockets. I'm vaguely aware of the sounds of benches being pushed back and people jumping to their feet, of their questioning voices, but all the sounds blur for me into some undistinguishable noise. All I can see is Oliver's face distorted in agony. His knees buckle, and he goes down, still staring in front of him, clasping his throat, oblivious to everything around him.

Multiple hands catch him before he hits the ground. Then then they lower him to the floor, and he lays there, jerking in convulsions. He's silent now, or maybe I can't hear him due to all that meaningless noise still filling my ears. Then, there's a blur of motion, and Philto's red robes flash in front of me. He kneels next to Oliver, leaning over him, asking something, his fingers probing at Oliver's eyelids, prying his mouth open.

Then, comes a sharp scream that somehow snaps everything back into focus. Aurelia drops to her knees, pushing Philto away, and wraps her hands around Oliver's now unmoving body. Then, she begins to wail. It is hard to grasp how her miniature body can produce such loud sounds. Those around her take a step back, giving her space. The hall is filled with cries and shouts and the thumping of hundreds of feet as people leave their places to see the source of the commotion.

"No! My husband!" Aurelia screams. "My love! No!" She raises he tears covered face and looks at the men surrounding her. "What am I going to do? How could he leave me, now that I'm carrying his baby?" Then, her eyes stop on me, and turn into two angry slits. She raises a shaking hand and points at me. "He! He poured the wine! He wanted to kill me, Oliver, and our unborn baby! He never wanted Oliver to rule! He wanted to take his place!"

Her words are still traveling to me through the fog of confusion that fills my mind when something hits me in the back. Then, I'm on the floor, and multiple hands grasp me, multiple feet deal blows, multiple voices roar their anger. I curl into a ball, wrapping my hands around my head, and submit to the beating, just waiting for all of this to be over, since there's nothing left for me worth living for, anyway.

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