Chapter 6: Truth Hidden Among the Streets

Aster was confused about a couple things.

For one thing, he didn’t understand how a day so sunny, with just the thinnest wisps of clouds in the sky, could still look so bleak. As he descended the hill beyond the castle gates, he could swear there was some kind of pale tinge to the city skyline, like the colors of a painting left out to dry in the sun for too long.

For another, who was this Ser Rowan? He looked so familiar, but Aster couldn’t place why. Looking at him was driving him insane, because he was desperately trying to figure out why the curves of his face and the deepness in his eyes felt so familiar. But this man was a stone wall, and there were no signs or indications or clues as to why Aster felt like he knew him.

And even if Ser Rowan was a complete stranger, why was it he felt so comfortable around him? If the Tyrant King claimed that Rowan was the best warrior he knew, that had to mean that Rowan was cruel and ruthless, didn’t it? And yet, the entire time Rowan was helping him organize things in his chambers the day before, Aster felt nothing less than comfortable domesticity. He felt safe with this man he barely knew, more so than he had with anyone since—

No, no thinking about that here, he reminded himself. He had to carry himself with the utmost grace and collectedness; he couldn’t be thinking about his lost love at all. He took those memories, his sorrow and longing, and shoved them into a little box in his head, before locking it and throwing the key away.

As he gazed down at the cobblestones under his feet, he began thinking of all the fantasticized rumors he’d been told about this place. The streets were by no means red, the stones were cool-toned browns and grays. Some of the buildings looked like they’d been there for a hundred years. And unlike when they’d rode in the day before, there were people out on the streets, selling wares, doing their days’ work, tripping over the children at play.

Perhaps he’d misjudged this place. The King didn’t even seem as bad as he’d heard, he seemed a lot kinder than people said he was.

“Thank you for accompanying me today,” Aster said to his protector. Rowan walked at his side, his head upright and eyes scanning the streets as they walked along.

“Don’t need to thank me,” he grunted. “The King wouldn’t have let you go out without me.”

Aster had to keep himself from sighing. It was like talking to a boulder. “Still. I appreciate how much you’ve done to make me feel at home here.”

Still not a crack in his rock-like demeanor, but there was the drift of a brown eye to the side to acknowledge him. “Only doing my job, my Lord.”

There was that weird feeling again, like being called a Lord was putting him up on this odd pedestal that he felt he didn’t deserve to stand on. He shook his head. “Ser Rowan, when it’s just you and me speaking, I will permit you to call me simply Aster.”

Rowan’s frown deepened. “If the King finds out—”

“I know it’s improper,” Aster cut him off. “And if the King finds out, I will take full responsibility. But…” His voice wavered and he tried his best to keep composed. “In truth, I have not yet been bestowed the title of Lord. My family only gives the privilege of such a title to the one running the household, and my mother is still in that position.”

It might’ve been a bit of a lie. In truth…he had done nothing to deserve the title. He read his books, practiced his archery, and carried almost no responsibility. This was his first time leaving home without his family. He felt far too inexperienced to have earned the title of Lord.

“As you wish,” came Rowan’s response.

Then, something occurred to him. “Ser Rowan, if I might ask you something that I’ve been thinking about since last night’s dinner?”

“Of course.”

Aster folded his hands behind his back as he walked along. “You said you come from the east, yes?”

“I did.”

“Are you certain of that?” Aster asked, a little sly look growing on his face. “Because the way that you speak is far more reminiscent of where I grew up, in the Southern Provinces.”

“Is it?” He couldn’t discern what the knight was feeling, but the way he was avoiding looking at Aster was suspicious.

“Yes…of course, that doesn’t prove much,” Aster shrugged. “But you said you were from…Galyria?”

Rowan hesitated a moment before grunting in affirmation and nodding.

“That is so odd,” Aster mused. “See, I used to read these books as a child—fairy tales, really. Fantasies about heroes and dragons and princes and princesses and such…but they all took place in the kingdom of Galyria. I had no idea that there was a real place with that name.”

Still, Rowan kept his eyes forward. “Not anymore, there isn’t.”

“Ah…” Aster paused, dipping his head in shame. “I apologize, Ser Rowan. I forgot the King said it burned down.”

Rowan’s stoicism seemed to know no bounds. He didn’t respond to Aster’s apology, but he did speak again, a moment later: “Rowan.”

“Pardon?”

“If you’re fine with me just calling you Aster when we’re alone, I’m fine with you just calling me Rowan when we’re alone.”

There it was again, that little tingle of familiarity and a comfortable, mutual disregard of proper etiquette that neither of them minded. Aster smiled. “Rowan, then.”

***

While the city wasn’t the most lively place Aster had ever seen, there was still a sense of community here. He could practically feel the warmth passing from person to person as they wandered through the streets, and Rowan answered all his questions, despite keeping his stoic demeanor.

As they passed the town square, Aster caught sight of a group of children tumbling in the grass and playing together. They didn’t have a care in the world, and two women, he assumed to be their mothers, looked on idly as they chatted with each other. Happiness seemed to bloom with the wildflowers beside the roads here, and the sight of it made Aster feel like he was in town at home for a second.

So he had to wonder…where did those rumors come from? Were they merely born from wartime bitterness, because victory evaded them? He saw no reason to buy into them if he saw no proof of their validity.

“Rowan,” he said as they passed a quiet park. “May I ask you your opinion on something?”

Rowan nodded, waiting silently for him to ask.

“I heard the nastiest rumors back home,” he began. “That the streets were still stained with blood and the castle was rebuilt with bones…they still call Darreth ‘the Usurper’ and ‘the Tyrant King’, but I’ve seen no proof of it. He has been nothing but kind, patient, and understanding since I got here…so I must ask, what do you think of the King?”

Rowan stopped in his tracks, causing Aster to stop as well. They stood a couple feet apart, facing each other directly for the first time that day. A breeze blew through the trees at the edge of the square, causing the shade the leaves cast to dance across the scars on Rowan’s face. His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t seem to be made of stone this time. They both stood there for a heart-pounding minute, until Rowan began to walk again, brushing past Aster.

“Come with me,” he said lowly.

He wasn’t sure how that was supposed to suffice for an answer, but he had no choice. Rowan was his escort. He hurried along behind him as Rowan seemed to be stomping along at a much more motivated pace than they’d been traveling all day.

They passed more shops and houses, but these ones looked a bit more run down. Less stone, more stained plaster. Some of the walls had bright white patches, and a darker, more weathered plaster around it. Some of the places had old scorch marks licking up just underneath the edge of the roof, where the rain couldn’t wash away soot.

This part of the city seemed far less happy; things were less well-kept, and the people looked far more downtrodden. As they passed one place, Aster noted a couple of Omegas draped in thin silk garments loitering outside. Their eyes followed Aster, as if to challenge his presence on their street. He hurried up his pace to keep up with Rowan.

“Rowan, where are we going?” he asked.

Rowan seemed to notice how nervous Aster was, and adjusted his speed to walk closer to him. Despite the ambiguity around where they were headed—and why Rowan was taking him through what seemed to be a rough part of town instead of just answering his question—his presence was a bit of a comfort.

“There’s something you need to see,” Rowan uttered, his voice rumbling low next to Aster’s ear. “Just stay close to me. It’s just up here.”

Rowan stopped at the last corner, and Aster stopped just behind him. On the corner of the next street was a run-down building surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. There was a little garden in the back, with a group of young children playing in it. All but a couple of them had the same wispy brown hair and similar peachy-toned skin.

“An…orphanage?” Aster asked.

“That’s what it’s supposed to look like,” Rowan said.

Aster was about to ask what he meant, but the question died in his throat as another child ran up the street. He stopped to look at the two of them, and Aster could’ve sworn he was looking straight into the childlike echo of the face of the King. Bright, hazel-green eyes, wispy brown hair, a flat nose and a round face. It was jarring, especially when the little one gave them a gap toothed smile and a wave. Aster looked at Rowan, who had an unfamiliarly soft look on his face. The knight waved back at the boy, and the boy slipped through the iron gate into the mansion’s back garden to play with the other children.

“Rowan…” Aster asked. “What is this place?”

“This is what happens to the Omegas the King seduces,” Rowan explained, gesturing to the house. “They end up here. Their children all go unclaimed by their sire, and they’re prevented from having any more. In exchange for a comfortable life, they’re never allowed to talk about their time with him.”

Aster’s eyes widened in horror and filled with tears as he watched the children play. He saw a woman, presumably one of the Omegas, tending to the rose bushes beside the gate. As she reached upwards, he noticed an odd mark on the inside of her forearm, but he couldn’t discern its shape from this distance.

“What is that…? On her arm?”

“A brand,” Rowan growled. “To tell everyone that she is unable to breed.”

“Why does that—” Aster’s words got caught on the lump in his throat as his body filled with rage. “He did this. This is how he treats his people.”

Rowan finally turned away from the house. “His kindness is a lie. Never forget that.”

Aster nodded, feeling his heart shatter as he watched the children romp and play. By his count, there were at least eight of them, and he hoped there wasn’t the same amount of Omegas living there. Who knew if there were more? His heart ached, and rage pumped through his veins. Darreth was putting on a pretty lie to placate him, to win him to his side so he ignored the horrible things happening in the lower city.

“I won’t doubt again,” he swore. “Is… there anything I can do?”

Rowan scanned his face, then, hesitantly, he said, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet… but you shouldn’t worry about that right now. You only just got here, Aster.”

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to argue with Rowan, to demand an answer from him, but… what purpose would that serve? Rowan was right; he had only been there for a couple of days. There was no way to have established any kind of bond of trust after having just met.

“Right,” Aster sighed. “I apologize for overstepping. Thank you for showing me the city today.”

Rowan nodded, a small smile on his face. “Of course. Ready to go?”

Aster took one last glance over his shoulder at the house, before he nodded and turned to follow Rowan back the way they came.