Chapter 1987: A Clean Shave

Gilander couldn’t say how long he held Loman’s broken, frail figure. Long enough to feel the ribs beneath his fingers where he shouldn’t. More than long enough to fully grasp the horror of his young lord’s injuries. Injuries that no knight in war would ever have survived.

It was a miracle that Loman was alive at all, even if the young man could never see it that way.

Eventually, the sobs subsided, and Gilander pulled back from Loman enough to look him directly in his eye.

"You look a mess, my lord," Gilander said, doing his best to keep his tone light, even if he couldn’t conceal the deep concern he felt from showing on his face. "Is this how they’re treating you here? If the demons won’t even feed you..."

Before he left Lothian to come here, when he’d pleaded with Empress Ashlynn to allow him to visit Lord Bors’ sole, surviving son, the empress had claimed that Loman was largely receiving the treatment of a guest. He lacked the freedom to leave the Vale of Mists, and he wasn’t to be left alone when he interacted with other people who had come to the Vale from Lothian, but otherwise, he was supposed to be receiving the respect due a visiting lord.

Looking at the state Loman was in, it was hard to believe that was true.

"They bring food, twice a day," Loman said, lowering his head as he found Gilander’s earnest, worried gaze too difficult to meet.

Loman opened his mouth for a moment, as if he intended to say more, then closed it again without speaking. How could he explain that the meals had shifted from fine, hearty meals to simple porridge? Or that the change had come in response to the fact that Loman wouldn’t eat anything else?

Loman couldn’t say when things changed for him. Between the last meal he shared with Ashlynn, when he learned of his father’s death, and now, the idea of eating just... left him. The servants who came to clear away his plates found them untouched. The Master of Kitchens had visited him several times, asking what was wrong with the food, and each time, Loman had no answer for him, leaving the demon cook to guess at his preferences.

At some point, someone must have suggested that Georg appeal to Loman’s sense of routine. The refined dishes vanished, replaced by meals of porridge, buttered bread, and a boiled egg. The sort of breakfast an acolyte would enjoy when they first donned the robes of the church.

Loman still hadn’t eaten more than half of what he was served at any given meal, but he could manage at least some of it.

"What about laundry, or hot water for washing, my Lord?" Gilander asked, looking at a man who was clearly suffering the cruelties and indignities of a prisoner. "Have they taken every blade in this place away from you?" he asked, looking pointedly at the thick stubble on Loman’s jaw.

"They don’t mistreat me," Loman said, shaking his head. "They hate me. You can see it in their eyes when they look at me. Whether I wear my robes or not, they all know who and what I am and none of them want anything to do with me."

There’d been a small, horned body-servant who had offered to help him bathe if he needed help and even offered to help him shave... But how could Loman let people who hated him hold a blade to his neck? How could he subject himself to the mockery of their pity as he struggled with his missing arm?

He’d sent the man away, along with anyone else who made similar offers. It was better that they left him alone.

"I’m only alive today because I’m Ashlynn’s brother-in-law," Loman said with a snort. "But I suppose I’m not even that anymore. Not now that Owain’s dead. Were you there when she killed him?" Loman asked. "Did you see how he died?"

"I was there," Gilander said. "Do you want to hear what happened?"

"Mmm," Loman said with a nod. "I... I need to know." Had his brother met a merciful end? A cruel one? Which would soothe the aching void in his heart?

Years ago, before Loman had gone to the Holy City, before their mother died, Owain had stood proudly with his dull practice blade across his shoulders and declared that he’d always protect Loman. They’d fight the demons together, a knight and a priest, and Owain swore he’d keep his younger brother safe...

The Owain he’d found in his home when he returned from the Holy City was very different from the one he’d left, but somewhere, deep inside, Loman had believed that his older brother would still come to fight with him against the darkness that threatened their home. That his big brother would keep him safe from the real monsters.

Something precious had broken within him when he learned that it had been his brother who was responsible for his father’s death. Now, the broken shards of the relationship he’d once had with Owain tore at his spirit, and he was desperate for something, anything, that would allow him to resolve those raw and jagged hurts.

"I’ll tell you what happened that night," Gilander said, stepping back from Loman to briefly inspect the room before heading to the door and the servant waiting outside. "While I do, I’ll help you get cleaned up," he said.

"You’ll be amazed what a fresh shave and a good meal can do for a man," Gilander said. "Once you’re in shape to face it, I’ll tell you what happened in Lothian. Tomorrow, if you’re ready for it, we can ask Empress Ashlynn or one of the others for permission to take you home."

"You think they’d let me go?" Loman said with a snort. "I already asked when they brought word of Ashlynn’s ’victory’ and left for Lothian with their army. They don’t want me going anywhere that the common people could see me and rally around me."

"Maybe then," Gilander said, thinking back on all the changes that had swept through Lothian City in the days since Empress Nyrielle and Lord Dirar arrived in Lothian. "But there’s no denying that they hold the city now. General Thane could put down an uprising with a word," he said, shuddering at the memory of how the whole city had been made to kneel for Nyrielle’s arrival.

"I doubt you can threaten their plans anymore, my lord," Gilander admitted. "At least, not from within the borders of Lothian. If you want to raise an army to retake your family’s lands, it’ll have to be done from outside, with the Church at your back."

"Do you think that’s what I should be doing?" Loman asked, looking at Gilander with a bewildered, beseeching gaze. "Raising an army to retake the march?"

"I think you should pay your respects to your father," Gilander said. "Your brother too, if you wish," he added, though he sounded uncertain about the latter. "After that... It won’t be too late to decide where you stand once you’ve seen how the people are living under the Empresses’ rule and you’ve heard what happened with your brother and the throne..."

"But first," Gilander said as he guided Loman to the wash basin. "You need a clean shave and a hot meal. Everything else comes after that. Whatever you decide," Gilander said, finally making the decision he’d come all this way to make.

"Wherever you go, and whatever you do, my lord," Gilander promised. "I won’t leave your side."