Welcome to Gaia! ::

Chapter One

I was fourteen when I lost my father’s trust. When I learned what betrayal was. When I learned what lengths a person would go to for power. You’d be surprised to know, I think, that despite this I still love my father. What happened wasn’t his fault. I don’t know if he’ll ever trust me again…but I have hope.

The same goes for my brothers, I have two of them. They don’t trust me either. I’m the only son of his second wife. They are the sons of his first wife. That does cause some tension amongst us—but it’s not why they don’t trust me. In fact, up until that incident, we got along very well. There was no resentment. Father treated us equally, and with my being the youngest, it wasn’t as though I was going to inherit his position. I didn’t even want it. My eldest brother Doyle had that distinction, and Sloan was just as capable as Doyle so…there was no need for me to even consider taking the lead.

Even if I had wanted it, I wouldn’t have gotten it. We each had our place in the family. Mine, currently, was the rebellious youngest son. Certainly before that day I’d still fit that bill. I’d run around the city without supervision, I’d played pranks on my father and his guards. I’d danced the line between mischief and rebellion like a true master.

That just made it all the easier for them to believe I had done it. Certainly, I had provoked father’s temper that very evening, and I had in similar temper vowed some form of childish retribution. But I would never…I hadn’t done it.

Five years ago I woke up in my room to find angry faces staring down at me. My brothers, my father. I sat up, confused and still half-asleep.

“What’s going on?”

“Come with me.” My father said softly, coldly. I was nearly dragged out of bed, my brothers holding my elbows tight like I would run.

“What’s going on?” I asked again. No one would look at me. Something really bad had happened, I thought. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out where we were going, I knew the palace like the back of my hand.

The double doors to the chapel opened with an ominous creak. The very first thing I noticed was the lack of light. The chapel had never been dark before. A jewel the size of a man’s fist refracted light into every corner of the yellow stone room.

Normally.

“What happened?”

“As if you don’t know,” Doyle snarled. The dragged me to the stone altar beneath the stone’s setting and dropped me there. I noted then the missing altar pieces. There should have been four figures. The messengers of each tier of heaven. My father stood in front of me, eyes hard.

“You took the stone. You took the altar pieces.”

“I did not.”

“And you dare lie about it in a house of God?” his face, already cold, grew colder.

“It’s not a lie.”

“Explain then, why we found the stone in your room—broken. The altar pieces stuffed into a trunk and defaced.”

“I would never—”

He raised his hand to silence me. “I would have given you anything you asked for. You are my son. All any of you as ever had to do is ask and you…lie to me. Lies…I never thought any of my sons would tell such lies. The proof cannot be ignored. You have dishonored me, the family. You have committed sacrilege against God. You must be punished.”

I had never lied to my father. Never. It was the one thing he would not tolerate above all else. A liar could not be trusted. I still hadn’t lied to him. I hadn’t done it.

But my protests didn’t stop him. They only further infuriated him. I was the only suspect. I was guilty and I had lied about it. I would be punished.

I was beaten, publicly. I spent a week confined to a small penitent cell beneath the chapel to pray for my soul. But my steadfast refusal to recant my declaration of innocence led him to send me away to be educated at the hands of Leonites, believers in truth, discipline and honor.

As you can imagine, they didn’t think much of me then. Still didn’t. But there was a kernel of respect for my skill in the art of war, and a consensus that I was fairly truthful despite my indiscretion. That’s what they called it. Ridiculous. Five years in the middle of nowhere. Beatings. My father’s trust lost. For a lie I hadn’t told about a crime I did not commit.

“Liam,” a familiar voice called from the doorway of my Spartan room. The voice belonged to a face I’d not seen in five years. My father’s best man, Lucas. “Your highness.”

“Lucas. What brings you to see the leper of the court?”

“Your father has sent me to collect you. It is time to come home.”

“Home?” My heart thudded heavy in my chest.

“Yes sir.”

“When do we leave?”

“As soon as your ready sir.”

“Very well.” This…could he have forgiven me? I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life distrusted and alone. I wanted to prove, somehow, that I was worthy of their trust. Coming home had to be the first step. Though sometimes…what had I done to make my father believe I was capable of lying to him like that? When had I earned the suspicion?

I wanted things to be as they had been before that night. I wanted to be with my family again.

I got up from my desk and took a careful look at Lucas, “What am I walking into?”

“I cannot guess the king’s mind sir.”

“So it’s going to be like that then. Very well.” I had to hope for the best.


The iron gates in front of the square stone of the palace were flanked by guards with rifles. That was a change from five years ago. They still wore swords on their hips, but it was clear the guns were the new first response weapon.

I didn’t think I approved of that. The car took us up through the gates and parked a distance from the front doors. A footman was waiting to open the door and I climbed out of the boxy nondescript car I’d been transported in. Two men stood waiting by the door, and it took me more than a moment to realize who they were.

Doyle had grown into his long limbs since I’d been gone. He had father’s sharp features and the same piercing hazel eyes. He kept his blonde hair shorter than I’d ever seen it fashionable, above the ears and swept back from his face with wax. He wore the uniform of the Royal Army, and wore a pistol on his left hip, a sword on his right.

At least he still drew sword first.

Sloan was boxier, but just as tall. His darker gold hair was long and pulled back from his face, the sharper point of his widow’s peak giving his face a sharpness I’d not seen when I was a child. He wore no uniform, but was dressed the part of a prince. They both looked like our father—I did not. My mother was dead in childbirth with a stillborn sister custom forbid us to name, but in private was called Marie. I looked like her more than him. Though I shared the widow’s peak, my hair was cut long and left loose, the reddish brown parted to the side to conceal the most prominently shared feature. The green eyes, the darker skin, the shorter, smaller build. I was told I still had growing yet to do but…I did not believe that meant I would ever reach the height both my brothers had achieved before I had been sent away.

“Liam,” Doyle spoke softly, warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you brother,” I replied. “Father couldn’t make it?”

“A meeting. He’ll see you afterwards.”

“Of course.”

“In the meantime, you must be tired. Your room is ready for you.”

“My room?”

“Your room. What other room would it be?”

I smiled to cover the moment, “Forgive me, you’re right, it’s been a long day.”

He smiled back. “Of course.”

Sloan looked at me for a long moment, “You’re taller.”

“I’ve grown.”

“Taller than I expected,” he clarified. “I suspect you might even be considered tall by the time you finish growing.”

“My life-long dream come true. Are you a soothsayer now, Sloan?”

“Something like that. We should go inside before the skies decide to go through with their threat.”

Black clouds were starting to mingle in from the east. “Sound plan.”

The interior was unchanged from when I’d left. It was the same somber opulence of grey walls and silver accents. They’d installed gas lights though—that was new. The receiving hall was as intimidating as I always found it, but I was taller now. Sloan and Doyle accompanied me up the central stairs to the east wing where our rooms were, pointing out changes here and there.

A tapestry had been replaced in the foyer, a new portrait in the hall, yes the gas lamps were much brighter than kerosene. It was a non-conversation. Safe. And my room. My room was different. There were no remnants left of the child that had once lived there. It was an adult’s bedchamber. The walls had been repainted a mellow green and the furniture replaced in dark wood. I noted without meaning to that the door no longer locked from the inside, and that the windows were locked tight.

It was a prison pretending to be my bedroom. Lying through it’s teeth. I smiled at the irony. Or was it irony? I wasn’t sure anymore. It was certainly a joke.

“What do you think?” Doyle asked.

“It’s very—different.” There was no reason to start a fight. Not now. I would test the boundaries of this
reinstatement with slow, easy steps.

“All of your books are here,” Sloan said. “Your maps and drawing supplies are in the desk there. I’m sure it will be lived in and comfortable before you know it.”

“And how long will you lock me in at night?” All right, so I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Forgive me.

Doyle didn’t turn red. That was new. “That’s beneath you, Liam.”

“Is it?” I had to know where I stood with them.

“Yes.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “You aren’t the same person you were five years ago. I know that, Sloan knows that. Prove it to everyone else and there won’t be a reason to lock you in.”

“What did I ever do that would make you believe I was capable of all of that? That I would lie to our father?”

“You were always the troublemaker, Liam. I thought—I thought it was just a matter of time before you got angry and did something you would regret. You’ve always had a temper.”

“So, you’ve brought me back now, why?”

“Father thought it was time. Sloan and I agreed. Do you not want to be home?”

“I—I don’t know what I want. Right now though, I want to be alone.”

“All right.” Doyle pat my shoulder and my brothers left me alone to explore the changes to my room. It was sparse, but that wasn’t new. I went to the roll-top desk and rolled it open. As promised, maps and drawings supplies. I pulled out a sheaf of paper and laid them down on the blotter.

Ink, fountain pens, pencils, charcoal, there was a set of water colors. I picked up a pencil and sketched out the layout of the room. It was a habit I’d picked up with the brotherhood. Know your environment. Inside, outside, breathe it. Know it blind and deaf. I doubt my father looked to closely beyond the orders mantra of discipline and honor.

My natural tendencies towards mischief had done me well there. I would not have excelled in the army as Doyle had. I was more of a…back door sort of fighter. If there was a weakness, I’d find it, exploit it and make them regret it. The brothers had called it fighting smart, and I had to agree. Sneaky, yes, dishonorable, not technically.

I’d recited it a hundred times and more, “Within the bounds of honor.” And truth—truth came in many forms. You did not lie to the brethren. You did not lie to your commander. You did not lie to your sovereign. Beyond that…free game. I’d taken to that life like a duck to water. God forgive me, I was not much of my father.

But I did not lie to him. I had never lied to him. One day, I would prove that to him.

In the meantime, I sat down and started sketching out maps of the area to refresh my memory. I wondered how much else had changed while I was gone.


By the time my luggage had been brought up, I had unpacked, bathed and changed, my father was ready to see me. I made notations of alterations to the décor, subtle things really, as I and my escort made the trek downstairs to his study. I took that as a good sign. He never received guests in his study, only family and friends. Of course, a normal father/son conversation would take place in his suite, but I wasn’t delusional, we weren’t that close anymore. The study was the best I was going to get—for now.

My father’s study was very low on books. There was a large desk, and there were shelves, but the focal point of those shelves was a collection of weaponry. Knives, guns, swords…a real trove. If we were attacked, as unlikely as that was, he would be prepared. It gave the entire room an imposing sort of feel.

So did my father. He was an older, sharper version of Doyle. There was gray in his hair and he wore a bit of a beard. He was also not wearing a uniform, instead opting for a somber dark suit. I realized at that moment that my own attire was probably out of fashion. My tunic was buttonless, my pants loose around the knee and ankle, my boots more suited to riding and instead of a jacket I wore an over-robe with wide sleeves and no belt.

It was a desert fashion the brethren had found more freeing than the narrow suits most men wore. You couldn’t conceal nearly as many weapons. My hair was obviously longer than fashionable now, father had his cut short like Doyle’s. I wasn’t going to change though. I liked how I looked.

“You’re taller.”

“Sloan said that too.”

“He has a grasp of the obvious.”

This felt…not like I expected it to. I thought I would feel like a child again. I didn’t. Five years had changed me. Five years had changed him. “He does. I’m impressed. The Sloan I remember couldn’t tell if he’d grown, let alone someone else.”

“I see time has not improved your sense of humor.”

“Why would that have changed?” I took a seat in the comfier of the two chairs in front of his desk. “I am who I am.”

“I see. From the reports I received from the brethren I came to the assessment you had, at least a bit.” He leaned forward. “No further religious upsets.”

I clenched my jaw. “I thought we were going to leave the past alone.” Only in my dreams.

“We are.” He stood up. “Dinner is waiting.”

I sighed, “All right.” Family reunions…fantastic.


Dinner was a near disaster. Every single member of the court was in attendance to gawk at the prodigal son. I tried my best to ignore them, and managed not to walk out in a huff into after the third course.

I had dessert sent to my room.

Yes, that made me look more than a little spoiled and self possessed, but if I heard one more veiled remark I was going to become violent. Yes, I had become better about my temper but I was not God, I did not have to be perfect. We had a pudding for dessert. It wasn’t bad.

I spent a large portion of the hours between sunset and rise walking the halls. The locks on my door were an issue, the ones on my windows…child’s play. I could have picked them with a knife point. But there was no access to the locking mechanism on the door from the inside.

I slept. For a few hours. I woke for prayers, which I took alone, and breakfast was served in the private dining room. I ignored everyone because it was what I had always done in the mornings. I was never a morning person. I still wasn’t, but now it was with prejudice.

“You did well last night,” Doyle said wryly. “Not a single casualty.”

“What were you expecting? I did spend the last five years in a quiet country side school for the sons of nobles. I’m not in the slightest bit militant. Why, I believe I would get a callous if I looked at a sword.” I stabbed my eggs viciously. “Words are my weapons, if I must.”

“Of course,” he demurred. “What was I thinking? You are a useless dandy.”

Dress the part, become the part. Another mantra from the brethren. Really, my father either did no research at all, or the brethren made an offer. I suspected it was the latter. “I am the youngest son, it’s who I have to be.” All eyes in the room turned to me. I looked back at my family and smiled. “What? You think I don’t know? Our beloved emperor has a place for each of us in his empire. My place was written the moment I was born.” I stood up. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Liam,” my father called out. “Do you hate me so much?”

I smiled tightly. “Just the opposite. That is what makes
this so hard.” I turned away from the table and went back to bed.

I'll tell you this: I kept pausing my show to come back and read a little more. Fantastic!