Moonwater Perfume/Written under the cloud of Darkness

"He wanted me dead..”

Mother of Eternity, this was the most horrific statement I have ever heard uttered.

“My own father.” He sat on the floor of my bedchamber, gripping the carpet in his fingers as a means to hold onto something solid, to keep his rationality, if only barely. His knuckles went white as they tightened around the fringe cording. AI wasn’t supposed to be alive. I was a curse.”

His own father wanted him to die because he is Force sensitive. At the time of the Republic’s fall, the Purge began, and continued unabated for three years. It still might be going on even as I write these words, but the most intense activity took place in the years immediately after the pall of the Empire descended upon the galaxy. Back then, the Inquisitors might swoop down upon Deiu if Josym was allowed to take even one breath. Or so the Prestat obviously thought. Of course he wasn’t afraid for the existence of the manse, or for any of his own flesh kin, though he must have known if the Empire were to darken the Quodris hearth, they would very well do harm to Reunahn, along with his other siblings, and even his widowed mother. Guilt by association is a time-honored reason for executing those one might view as treasonous, even if that association happened to be through marriage, so even his wife would be in danger of arrest and what inevitably follows it. With this in mind, it made sense to the Prestat to destroy anyone who could destory him. Everyone in his circle was a threat.

Especially his son.

If it weren’t for the intercession of Lord Arcadin, Jos would not be here. Lord Arcadin had just been elected Head of the Council of the Ancients when he found out from his sister that her husband wanted to put her unborn child to death. Through the grace of the Maiden, his uncle invoked the Law of Primogeniture. Under this code, the life of the heir is held to be sacred above all other affairs of the Establishment. Any unnatural death must be investigated. The methods of detection are thorough, almost on par with those of the Empire, and the faintest stench of murder would be found. (The execution of twenty Prestats within the last three hundred years is excellent proof of this fact).

"Do you want to know something else?" His voice was shaky, and I knew there was something terrible he wanted to reveal. Jos needed to talk. The burden of knowledge could ruin his mind and soul. For his sake, I endured more terrible words.

"Tell me."

He lay down on the carpet and turned away from me. "A hole in the earth," he said softly. "That was where he wanted to put me."

Dear Holy Light..."Do you mean the rubbish dump used by the kitchen staff?"

"Yes." He paused, to swallow away a sob that I knew he did not want to let out. "That hole, two meters down in the terrana, with the rusted grate over top." He shivered. "Well, he took me out to the courtyard." He turned towards me, and those magnificent eyes were so burdened with the weary grief of awareness. "And he took me to that hole, with his seventh glass of blackstar claret in one hand, so he was immune to any misgivings about letting his son know that he wanted to toss him into the oubliette on the day of his birth."

I flew off the bed and went onto the floor. Then I pulled him towards me, placing his head in my lap. I can't alter the past, and there's nothing I can do to shatter the ice and stone gathering around him...around us. I can’t defend him from harm. I can’t rip the poisonous knowledge out of his soul. All I could do was cradle him in my lap, like a child.

“Dearest, dearest.” I stroked his hair, pushing away those tears that rolled down his cheeks. He was worn out; pale, completely devoid of the spark that I’ve come to cherish.

That was two hours ago. Now, he is in my bed, temporarily asleep. I have the urge to grab something with a serrated edge and dash across the manor into the Prestat’s sanctum and slice into his throat, or cut through his ribs and tear out his black heart, if that bastard has any heart at all.

No, no, this is not the time to be ridiculous. Retribution will gain me nothing...or Josym...maybe some day...

Part XIV

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