Broken Soul

Michael

The short greeting in the courtyard took a little over an hour and was only cut short when a light rain began to fall from the sky. The participants were quickly herded into one of the grand ball halls for the promised tea and cake, and now mingled with each other.

What followed was a stream of pomp, tradition, and speeches until Michael finally got to sit down at a table with Tara, Mira, and Theodore. Zen sadly had to entertain his guests as the king and host, but would probably come around at some point.

People let them be for now, and Michael appreciated the opportunity to spend some time with his friends.

"So how was it?" Mira asked. "A real battle, I mean. Was it as glorious or terrifying? I heard so many different things."

Michael and Tara looked at each other before Tara replied, "I would say both. The thrill of battle was unexpected, even if the knights warned me about it. The volume was bad, metal clashing, shouting, and blood rushing through your ears. What really troubled me was the horrid smell of it all. But I wasn't fighting in the front. I was placed with the archers. Michael, on the other hand, was, of course, quickly in the middle of it," Tara finished, and Michael wasn't sure if she was bitter about that rear position or not.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward Michael with expectation in them.

"It is how Tara said, both sounds right," Michael said noncommittally. He had no intention of sharing the extent to which he had gotten lost in the fighting. He wasn't ashamed of enjoying a fight. Fighting had always been exhilarating for him since the day he had fought back against his brothers. He wasn't so sure about it in the framework of life-and-death fights, though, so he pushed that part of himself down as far as possible.

Michael could see that Mira had noticed that something was wrong, so he quickly changed the subject. "I am surprised that no one is coming to bother us."

"Oh, that is quite easy to answer," Theodore said. "They are waiting for Zen to talk to you. After that, they will swarm you, at least the ones that aren't afraid of you."

"Afraid? Why would anyone be afraid?" Michael asked.

"Some have started calling you the bloody count or red count for the way you dealt with your nobility. There are many different versions of events in circulation about what happened, and some are quite gruesome," Mira explained.

Michael sighed. This wasn't a complete surprise. He knew that there would be rumors, and those who were antagonistic toward him would obviously propagate the worst ones. "I hope that Sir Jereos' report takes care of that. I might have to ask Zen to let that one leak or something."

"Speaking of. Here comes the king, and that is our clue to get to safety," Theodore nudged Mira, and the princess quickly followed his example in getting up.

Michael had no opportunity to say anything before Zen and the blond woman he had seen earlier approached him. Michael and Tara bowed to the king before being introduced.

"May I introduce Princess Ophelia Per, daughter of King Ignatius Per of the Perios Kingdom and my fiancée," Zen introduced her.

Michael bowed again, and Tara made a practiced curtsy.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your highness," Michael said.

Ophelia looked at him with emotionless eyes that made Michael uncomfortable. "The pleasure is mine. I have heard a great many things about you, Lord Rowan." She didn't sound overly pleased or like she had any feelings toward this meeting.

"Good things, I hope," Michael tried to lighten up the mood, but she barely reacted.

"King Zenial speaks highly of you," the princess said, but Michael could read between the lines. Zen might say good things about him, but not many others.

Michael's eyes narrowed a bit before he caught himself. "I value the king's opinion greatly, and I assure you that he knows me well."

"I see," Ophelia replied simply.

Zen was looking back and forth between them, obviously concerned, and tried to change the subject. "Have I ever told you of the time that Michael and I snuck into the vaults to see what my father kept there?"

"You have not, your majesty. But I am not surprised, Lord Rowan has a reputation of being... freespirted with rules and traditions, and friends so often rub off on us," the princess crushed her fiancé's attempt to lead the conversation.

"It seems my reputation precedes me," Michael was beginning to adopt the princess's icy tone. "If you may? I have heard that you are a very devout follower of Idas? Is that a rumor to be trusted?"

Ophelia nodded. "It is. I spend much of my time in the temple or studying the holy works. Serving Idas and the church's commandments is the highest duty of his followers."

"Uhm, I hate to interrupt, but there are more people we have to talk to. How about we continue this at another time," Zen quickly interjected.

As the king and his soon-to-be queen left them, Tara looked at Michael with a raised eyebrow. "Is it only me, or did she seem not to like you very much?"

"That is an emerging trend with new acquaintances that I am not fond of." He couldn't help but sigh. Having Zen's wife hate him because of his problems with the church was not what he had hoped their relationship to be. He would have to think of a way to improve upon that, maybe if she got to know him, it would help.

Tara shuffled next to him while he was thinking about different options for improving her opinion.

Michael looked at her as she began inching away from him. "What are you doing?"

"Uhh, leaving you to your fate?" she replied, trying to sound innocent.

"What are you even talking about?"

"Well, father said we will both have a lot of interested parties looking forward to meeting us now that we have moved into the limelight and are both free of any engagements. I have my father for them to bother, but you do not. So, I plan to do the thing you can't as the guest of the evening and hide," Tara shot the explanation out quickly.

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Michael frowned and looked around for a moment, just to see multiple women and men casually strolling in his direction.

"Wait, Tara, don't leave me," Michael said, but his elusive cousin had already sunk into the crowd.

He wanted to curse her, but an elderly woman with a polite smile approached him. "Count Rowan, I wanted to congratulate you personally on your great victory. My name is ..."

From that moment on, Michael was caught in a never-ending tide of fathers, mothers, grandparents, and any other kind of familial position approaching him with some idle small talk before casually mentioning their daughters, nieces, etc.. Most were families of the baron rank, but there were also counts, wealthy merchants, and more.

It didn't take long for him to get thoroughly sick of the fake smiles, subtle or not-so-subtle attempts to push themselves while badmouthing the competition. That whole disaster took an entire hour, and only ended when Michael was getting visibly fed up with it to a degree even the most ambitious person wouldn't ignore.

Thus, now he was sitting alone at a table in the corner of the room, getting some quiet time while the tea party continued. Things had been good lately, but this event reminded him why exactly he hated these events.

"Lord Rowan?" a soft voice interrupted his tired internal ramblings.

Michael sighed and looked up at the woman who was either more bold or more blind than good for her. "I am sorry, milady. I don't wish to be rude, but I am quite tired from the journey and would appreciate a moment of respite."

"Oh. My apologies. I just arrived and wasn't aware. It is just that you resemble your mother so, I couldn't stay away," the woman said sheepishly.

Michael raised an eyebrow at the woman and looked her over. She was of average height, probably in her thirties, blond, but otherwise not very remarkable.

"Bold. No one else thought that invoking some sort of relationship with my parents was a good idea. I think it was a wise decision on their part," Michael said while staring at the woman.

She looked utterly confused. "I am not sure what you mean? But I should probably introduce myself before any misunderstandings happen. My name is Gellia Tylforth."

That last name was familiar to Michael somehow, but he couldn't place it. He did get the feeling that he should listen to what this Gellia had to say, though.

"I am your mother's younger sister. We were quite close, actually, well before she married your father," Gellia explained with a longing expression. "I was heartbroken when I heard what happened to them."

Michael's expression immediately turned cold and uncaring. "My mother never mentioned you, and to be honest, you couldn't have been that close, considering that you didn't even bother to come visit your sister's grave or even write a letter to your nephew."

Gellia smiled sadly and nodded, "I am not surprised at that reaction. The truth is that our father, Mylia's and mine, was a stubborn man, and he refused to accept the marriage that Mylia had managed to secure for herself. Our house is old, relatively speaking, and he didn't want one of his daughters wasted on an 'upstart' like your father in a far-away frontier. When your mother defied his will and married Cedric anyway, our father disowned her and ordered the entire family to cut any contact on the threat of the same fate."

That, sadly, wasn't very uncommon. Noble families tended to drop disobedient members at a certain point; it was barely anything different with Oska. Michael had to wage war with his conflicting feelings. On one side, the feeling of betrayal he had for his mother, who her family had abandoned for such a ridiculous reason, and on the other side, the more calculating part of him that insisted his aunt had made the only reasonable decision. She was a woman after all, and even in his lands, women couldn't survive well without a family; their society just wasn't built like that. Something Michael was working to change.

His aunt continued speaking before Michael could make up his mind about how he wanted to deal with this. "My husband is not an important man; he is a merchant's son that my father dealt with. I couldn't afford the kind of freedom Mylia had. I was so jealous of her, and then I regretted not leaving with her."

Gellia fell silent for a moment, and Michael watched the woman closely. She did vaguely resemble his mother if one chose to look closely.

"Well, the old goat is dead. Had a heart attack a few weeks back, and when I heard about your achievements and the festivities here in the capital, I thought I might be able to regain a connection to my late sister and clear some of that regret and guilt that has filled me for over a decade now."

It was difficult to ascertain the truth of all of that. Michael's gut was telling him that his aunt's emotions were genuine, but that could have many reasons. He just didn't know much about his mother's part of the family. She had mentioned them only twice in Michael's presence, the first time to use her father as an unflattering comparison and the second in a polite reply to a question about her roots. From that, the story about his grandfather made sense, but he couldn't be so sure about the innocence of his aunt.

"Very well. I will give you a chance, but not today. How about we make an appointment for some tea in the coming days, and then we can talk some more. This is not a final decision, and I might change my mind at any point, just so that you are warned," Michael said, trying to keep his expression neutral.

His aunt put no effort into doing the same, and her face basically exploded in a smile, "Truthfully? Thank you. I promise you won't regret it."

She caught herself a moment later and returned to more proper manners. They talked for a few minutes more before his aunt gave him some space.

That space didn't remain empty for long. His uncle stepped into it only a few moments after his aunt had left. He was starting to look like himself again, Michael noticed.

"Why did that woman look so familiar?" he asked while following her through the crowd with his eyes.

"Because that is Aunt Gellia Tylforth. At least that is who she said she was," Michael replied, but focused more on his tea than on his uncle.

Lord Grim regarded him with a long glance and then sat down with him. "I see. So, I assume Baron Tylforth is dead. It's no surprise that the news of a small-time baron in the north of Wyrt matters so little that we haven't heard. What did she want?"

"To reconnect, if I understand correctly. She hasn't alluded to anything she could need from me, at least. Well, except for absolution from her guilt toward my mother, I guess." That wasn't Michael's to give, though, so his aunt would have to deal with her problems herself. "Do you know much about my mother's family?"

His uncle shook his head. "No, Mylia rarely talked about her family, which, from the little she or my brother did say, was understandable. They are an old but unimportant family, with a typical overinflated sense of importance. But to be fair, your mother and I weren't the best of friends, so I am probably not the greatest person to ask."

Michael looked at his uncle, surprised. He knew they weren't close, but that didn't sound like just a lack of familiar feelings. "Was there a problem between you and my mother?"

Now his uncle looked a little uncomfortable. "Sorry, ignore what I said."

"Uncle, spit it out," Michael pressed.

"Well, we didn't start out on the best foot. She came around quite quickly after my brother's first wife died, and I had some strong words for that. We didn't recover well after that." Lord Grim was uncharacteristically squirmy.

"What do you mean she came around quickly?"

His uncle looked at him like he was stupid for a moment. "You never did the math?"

"What math?" Michael asked, but his brain didn't throw him any bones right now.

"The math that says that Lira is only a little over ten months younger than the twins?" Now he was definitely looking at him as if he were stupid.

Michael blinked and checked. It was true, Lira was only around ten months younger.

His uncle was quick to continue. "I was wrong, though; my fears were unfounded. Mylia came with the offer to be a mother to Cedric's children and a wife to him, and she did that. I just thought she was coming to capitalize on his grief, but she was a good wife. We just never fully recovered from the things I said the first time we met."

Michael chuckled at that. "Your fears were partially wrong. I love my mother, may she rest in peace, and she was many things, but being maternal was none of them. She did her best, but being a mother just wasn't what she was good at."

"It is bad taste to talk about the dead badly," Lord Grim noted.

"You do that all the time, you hypocrite," Michael shot back with a smile.

His uncle grinned, "The good thing is that I never have to have any doubt that you are my brother's son, the way you are acting."

Michael chose to take that as a compliment.

As he looked into the crowd, he began to see movement. It seemed like the next round of talks would begin soon.