Caught Between Kingdoms: Saying Goodbye

     It was mid-February. A chilly breeze cut through even the warmest of jackets… and yet. He sat cross-legged on a granite bench in the castle courtyard. Around him, vibrant oranges and pinks faded to shades of grey, before shifting into an inky black night. Serian often said that sunsets seen from the Citadel were even more beautiful. There were those, even from his childhood, that remained just as vivid in memory as if they were happening now. How swirling pink ribbons danced across oranges so bright as to illuminate the sky. He spoke fondly of those times.

     At the centre of the brightest eventide was an outline of the Darigan Citadel. During the wars, its presence hung over Meridell like a dark omen. Some even called it “The Shadow of Despair.” Now that the two countries were at relative peace, the land was a distant decoration in the sky, floating carefree like a hot air balloon.

      Just last week, there was a spark in Serian’s eyes. A confidence that seemed to exude from every strand of his purple and black fur. Now, he scarcely replied. Even Sir Rohane expressed concern—Jeran mentioned it to Lisha earlier—when Serian asked to train alone.

     During dinner, Serian sat in the corner—not that most of the Neopians there noticed. Many kept a safe distance from the tall Darigan Eyrie, preferring to sit with those of their age or class. Lisha, being the Court Librarian and a bookish scholar-mage, spent most of her life focused on details. If changes happened anywhere, she was sure to pick up on them.

     When she approached with a tray of meatloaf, he stood up, a half-eaten plate of food in hand.

     “I just finished.” With a pause, likely from realizing how rude that sounded—either that or Lisha’s deepening frown—he added a quick, “Sorry about that.”

     Before she could reply, he turned away. Lisha couldn’t help but notice how his wings drooped while he walked, or how his normally well-combed purple fur looked unkempt. He pushed the food remnants into a rubbish bin while she skipped ahead, needing twice the bounding footsteps to match his stride, and stood in front of the mess hall door. When she refused to budge, Serian let out a tired sigh.

     “I’m well, Lisha,” he said in a voice that suggested anything but. When her hand rose in protest, he wrapped his far larger fingers around hers, being careful not to harm her with his pointed claws. “I just need some time to myself.” Usually, and Lisha surmised it was his sort of coping mechanism, he turned to wit, humour, even sarcasm to avoid a direct answer—especially if it was about something that bothered him.

      This time, it wasn’t just that his snark had gone away; it was as if someone had stolen it from him.

     “Serian…” she squeezed one of his claws before letting her hand fall slack. “I’ll be here whenever you want to talk, big bro.”

     He let out a sad chuckle as she stepped aside. Pulling open the creaky wooden door, he spared a glance back at the worried Aisha. “Thanks for that, Lisha.”

     ~x~

     Sleeping in the library. That was how she found him next. With a book—one of four—detailing Meridellian census records from over 30 years ago. Three of them neatly stacked one on top of the other and the fourth lay under his forehead. She pushed away thoughts of any damaged pages before creeping beside him. Sensing her approach, the Eyrie’s ear twitched.

     “Serian…” Lisha whispered. When he grunted a reply, but scarcely moved, she lightly pushed his arm. “Serian… wake up.”

     He bolted up with a loud snort, nearly knocking Lisha over in the process. There was a clear look of worry on his face as he instinctively reached for his waist, where his sword would be if he was on patrol, and patted for it helplessly until he realized where he was. After rubbing his eyes, he blinked a few times before finally noticing that Lisha was there.

     “Oh,” there was a crackle in his voice, “it’s just you…”

     Despite having rested on the table, deep bags hung under his eyes.

     “Are you… okay?” When he replied with a non-committal shrug, she added, “were you… having a nightmare?“ It felt awkward to ask, especially given how they had recently saved Sir Rohane from his ordeal with the sleeping potion, but the worry on his face was too grave to ignore.

     He pressed his temples and grimaced, leaving the two in awkward silence before finally relenting, “Everyone has their demons.”

     Lisha felt her chest tighten as she hesitated to reach out. “Do you—”

     “I was trying to find information about someone.” Serian’s claw skimmed the surface of the page through hand-written accounts of names and family sizes. “Someone important to me.”

     “I’d like to help.”

     “It’s fi—"

     “I insist.” Lisha lifted the first book in the pile and placed it on a nearby desk before sliding a chair from her desk to there. “I want to see you happy again, Serian. And if this helps, then I want to be here to help make it happen.” Cracking the cover open on the book, a plume of dust rose from the pages, causing her to cough. “Who are they? A friend?”

     “Was.” There was pain in his face as he said it. “She… was my mother.”

     “I’m so sorry …” Lisha hopped from her seat and gave him a hug. With how tall he was, her head—ignoring her long ears—barely made it up to his ribs.

     His voice seemed to strain a bit as he returned the gesture without complaint, a rarity for him. “I hardly remember her face—she’s been gone a long time.”

     “But you miss her.”

     “I was just hoping to find out…” he swiped the back of his hand across his eyes, “more about her. And if they had any information on where she… rests now.”

     “We’ll find out, together.” Snagging a magnifying glass from her desk, she held it over the text, line by line, and squinted if any text was too small. “What’s her name?”

     “Mariana. Her husband—and my sister’s father—would have been a Neopian named Bernelle.”

     She nodded, spinning the magnifying glass between her fingers. “Got it.”

      The two of them poured over each line, scanning for matching names. Every time something came close, air would catch in Serian’s throat, only to be released when he realized that no. This Neopian was not her. Unlike the Citadel’s records, the Meridellians kept impeccable detail, even going down to the size, appearance, and any other information of note—at least in so far as the scribes were concerned. What the family-owned, how many children they had, their apparent class. It was a sort of summary, one that could be added to or edited over time. After a while, the names all seemed to mix into a muddied jumble. Serian rubbed his eyes furiously, even pinched his arm, all to keep alert.

     M-a-r-i… the first four letters caught his eye. He kept scanning over, expecting to be disappointed again.

     Mariana, no surname. Bernelle Flores.

     The Darigan’s wings hunched up.

     Lisha noticed immediately. “Find anything?”

     He turned the book. Seeing the names below his claw, she shouted for joy, a wide grin spreading across her face that Serian did not reciprocate. After pushing her glasses back, she craned forward to read the text aloud.

     “Mariana, no surname. Bernelle Flores. Married. One daughter, Marielle Flores. You found them!”

     “Yes.” His grip tightened around the binding.

     “Height – 5’2’’; long, red, curly hair with bright blue eyes. Wore dresses with international patterns. Land of origin: Haunted… Woods.” Her eyes flicked from the page. “You mean?”

     “Yes.”

     “Neat!” She hummed with interest. “Oh hey, it says here… that she was peasantry. Her husband was 5’5’’; short, straight back hair; Brown eyes. Wore standard clothing for Meridellian mercantile class, shield emblem of the crown around his neck. Ran flower shop in centre city with family. He… oh, man. He passed during the great sickness and is buried in Evergreen Cemetery in section D-2. Afterwards, as his wife was non-Meridellian and drawing suspicion of”—Lisha scoffed—"foul play? Seriously? She was…” she paused. “Oh my gosh.”

     “Escorted out of the kingdom,” ever the mood ring, the Darigan’s eyes reflected his heartache as he continued where she left off, “never to return. Her daughter was a ward of her Meridellian neighbours until she took over the family business at 15.”

     Lisha choked back tears, covering her mouth with one hand. “That’s… that’s…”

     “Yeah. But if it wasn’t for that, she wouldn’t have met my father. She met him—an escaped Lord Darigan loyalist—in exile.” The Eyrie placed the book on the table, lifted himself from the chair where he had sat for hours, and wrapped an arm around Lisha’s shoulders. “I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

     “No, I’m sorry. How could they—we—do that do your family?”

     “It’s the ugly side of Meridell…” he gave her a light squeeze as she cried into his fur. “Every nation, Meridell and Darigan Citadel included, has good and evil. In between, there is grey… and the capability to change.”

     The two stood in silence for a time while Lisha let out her sadness… until, with a deep breath, Serian added, “I want to visit them—all three of them. And pay my respects.”

     Lisha wiped her sniffles on a handkerchief. “I want to come.”

     This made the Darigan hesitate. “To Bernelle’s grave? Yes. He’s within the city limits.”

     “To all three of them.”

     He shook his head. “Lisha, my parents were in the Citadel when they perished. It might not be safe to come—let alone fly with me.”

     “That doesn’t matter.”

     “Of course, it matters! What if you—”

     “If it means making sure you aren’t alone, I’m coming—and that’s final.” Sensing his concern, she feigned holding her wand of supernova—it was currently in her room—and casting an attack spell she had learned from Mipsy. “Don’t worry, I can defend myself.”

     “I... fine.” It took every bit of energy to force down the swell of emotions that hit him then. He held his hand towards the door, and gestured forward. “I’ll meet you there, at Evergreen. There’s… there’s something I need to do first.”

     ~x~

     Lisha zigzagged through the cemetery’s maze of markers. Her feet left a trail in the fresh snow that had fallen since morning. Different markers covered the graves, all referring to the Neopian’s line of work, their status of nobility, or even their rank as a knight. Section D had low-lying headstones indicative of a humbler station.

      Just as she found row 2, she saw a pair of Neopians. One, her adopted brother, Serian, and the other, his red Usul half-sister, Marielle. The two wore muted colours, albeit his sister had a sort of whimsy to her outfit that proudly displayed her mother’s heritage. Marielle walked with purpose and direction, finding the most direct path to the site. When the three met up, no words were exchanged, only hugs.

     In Marielle’s hands were three bouquets, one of which was full of winter flowers found around the city. She laid it gently at the foot of a grave that read: Bernelle Flores, loving father and husband, florist. A lily of the valley was carved in the centre. Both Serian and his sister bent down to clear the snow from the stone. A few words were spoken by his sister in a language only she and their mother understood, followed by a sweeping motion of her hand. A small flame appeared above her fingertip, one that she briefly held over the grave until the blustery cold blew it out. There was sadness in Serian’s heart for his half-sister then. Although he never knew this Neopian, this “loving father,” the thought of him made the pit in Serian’s stomach grow.

     As they walked from the solemn place, Serian spoke up. “Marielle.”

     The Usul’s ears perked up.

     “I’m going to find our mother, and…” he swallowed. “My father, Lieutenant Dorian, in the Citadel.”

     “I…” Marielle held out the other two bouquets, her voice barely a whisper. “I can’t go.”

     He gently removed the flowers from her hands and guarded them from the weather. “We’d keep you safe.”

     “It’s not safety that worries me.” She chuckled under her breath; a misty cloud escaped into the frigid air. “It’s being in the place that took my mother away. I don’t think…” she pulled her patchwork hood in tighter. “I don’t think I can…”

     The Haunted Woods native Bat Flower rocked gently in the breeze, coupled with the Meridellian Lily of the Valley, and the Darigani Dark Thorn Vine. All of them were tied together by twine in colours representing all three national flags.

     Serian turned his head towards the distant Citadel and his long mane blew in the opposite direction. “We’ll go for you.”

     “Thank you, Serian.” A pained smile crept across her lips as her eyes, just as expressive as her brothers, seemed to shift in colour. “Please tell her this for me.” She stood on her tiptoes to reach her brother’s ear and whispered something that made his brow furrow. He took a step back.

     “What if I say it wrong?”

     “Anything you say will be music to her ears.” Pulling her coat tighter, she said, “But for now, I should return to my warm fire. Serian, Lisha.” She bowed. “You’re welcome at my home any time.”

     “Thanks, Marielle.”

     “No, Lisha.” The Usul turned back halfway. “Thank you.”

     The two of them watched in silence as Marielle walked further into the distance until the last glimpse of her fell over the horizon. Now that they were alone, Serian tightened his grip around the stems.

     “Ow!” he exclaimed, nearly dropping the bouquet in his right hand. A long thorn from Dark Thorn Vine poked his finger, causing it to sting. He sucked in his breath as Lisha came over to investigate. She turned over his wrist and relaxed when she saw only redness around the wound. “Just as well that it hurts.” There was bitterness in his words. “It should hurt, after all this time.”

     “But that’s grief.” She held out her hand for one of the bouquets and when Serian relented, twirled it gently in her hand, being careful not to make the same mistake. “Sometimes it doesn’t hurt at all, while other times… the hurt lingers. It stings just like these thorns.”

     “Heh.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did. “You always do know what to say.”

     She smiled, before turning her gaze upwards. “So, you sure you can fly all the way up there?”

     “Trust me, Lisha.” He spread his enormous wings; they stretched over 6 feet. “That will be the easy part.”

     It wasn’t often that the Darigan showed off his full size—wings and all. Surely, sometimes, she would see him training with Rohane—the Blumaroo seemed to enjoy the challenge of sparring with an aerial partner—but that was usually from a distance. Seeing it up close was enough to give her pause. He really was a lot taller than her. Realizing that she had been staring, she puttered about.

     “Erm, so,” she said, a blush creeping onto her face, “do I just… hop on?”

     “Well, yeah.” Serian’s brow rose as he knelt in the snow; his decorative longsword sat sheathed at his side. “I… I guess I’ve never really flown you anywhere before.”

     “Not… really. No.” She sidestepped behind him, clipping on his tail in the process. He yelped, causing her to hop forward and face-first into his mane. From there, she muttered apologies from the thick of his black fur.

     Still reeling from the misstep before, he squeaked an “it’s fine” before wrapping her legs around his waist. “Okay.” He glanced back. “Are you ready? You’ll need to hold on tight.”

     She gripped his shoulders. “Ready.”

     With a mighty flap of his wings, he lifted skywards. Lisha dug into his fur as the wind rushed across her face, nearly knocking off her spectacles. When her heart stopped hammering, she took the chance to look over his shoulders. Meridell looked… beautiful. Even in the low light, the city was peaceful and serene, like a scene from a picturesque holiday scale model.

     They arrived near the castle, a formidable structure filled with pointed spires and foreboding gates. Unlike Meridell, it was eerily calm, and the clouds were starting to part. Serian held out an arm to steady his adoptive sister as she slid off. More than a few Darigans stared at the scene. A few whispered in harsh voices. Others held fearful looks—one even pointed—before scurrying in the opposite direction. The castle guards snapped to attention upon seeing him, stiffening like rigid boards.

     “General Setarian, Sir,” said one. The Eyrie noticeably winced at the title. “Are you meaning to meet with Lord Darigan? He is currently with the council.”

     “At ease.” Serian sighed. “I only wish to speak with someone from the kitchens.”

     Both Lisha and the guards seemed taken aback.

     “Uh, y-yes, Sir.” The guard opened the door. “You may pass.”

     He held up a hand. “Please. There’s no need for such formality. But… thank you. Truly.”

     The guards shared a confused glance before bowing, as both he and Lisha made their way to the stone structure.

     When he was sure they were alone, Serian’s posture slumped. “Did you see how they looked at me? They’re terrified.” He clicked the roof of his beak with his tongue. “I deserve it though, with how terrible I acted under Kass.”

     Lisha took his arm, gently pulling it from his wet eyes. “They don’t know that you’ve changed, that you’re better now.”

     “Am I better?”

     Lisha gripped his hand. “The fact that you’re asking means you are.”

     He rose his other hand to knock on the kitchen door. “I hope that’s true.”

     There came a clattering of pots and pans and a shuffling of feet before someone finally opened the door. Upon seeing him, a grey-haired, aproned Darigan Yurble dropped the soup ladle in her other hand. When he bent down to pick it up, she let out a squeal.

     “So sorry, General,” she snatched it up in a hurry. “So very sorry you had to see—”

     “Please.” Her eyes widened in response. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

     “I-I—” she froze, although her eyes seemed to linger on Lisha, who had since placed her hand on the small of Serian’s back.

     “I read about Della, how she helped my mother when I was a young child. Her kindness is the reason that I’m alive.”

     Upon hearing Della’s name, the ladle cradled across the cook’s arms. Her features softened a bit.

     “She was a kind soul, yeah, always helping others.” The Yurble tightened her grip on the handle. Shame what happened to her for it.”

     Serian grimaced. “What Kass did—and what Idid as a young adult—was unforgivable. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” When she did not reply, he continued. “Before I leave, I wanted to know if you have information on my parents so that I can leave them these flowers.”

     The ladle fell to her side as she took a quiet step back.

     Lisha held out the bouquets. “He just wants to say goodbye. If you know anything, or know anyone who might know, we would—”

     The door clicked closed.

     “—Oh,” Lisha finished. When Serian’s head hung, she rose his chin to meet her face. “There’s gotta be someone else—”

     “Who?” The words tumbled from his mouth. “My mother was forced to cook for Kass’ army and my father, who had defected after Lord Darigan disappeared, was forced back into service under Kass. The kitchen staff here would have been some of the few who knew my mother, and if they’re unwilling to help, then—”

     “Wait.” The cook had taken off her apron and had switched to a purple and black cardigan. She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. “I’ll take you to her.”

     “You… will?”

     She nodded.

     “Thank—”

     “Don’t misunderstand, Sir. I’m doing this for Della.”

     Serian’s ears fell back. “Right.”

     Lisha kneaded the dusty ground with her sneakers. “Were you two… close?”

     “She was my mentor—taught me everything I know.” She tightened her hand into a fist. “I miss her dearly…”

     The three of them meandered down windy streets. Being the academic, Lisha was torn between taking in the sights of a new place and supporting her adoptive older brother. Her body practically quivered from excitement seeing the impressive sculptures and opulent fountains that filled the city square. But where the cook led them was away from all of that. It was a quiet place, a desolate place, set apart from the world around them.

     A small monument—with fresh stone—stood in the middle containing a list of names. Flowers and trinkets ringed the base. The Yurble walked up to the monument and traced Della’s name with her claw. It was then that Serian noticed another name on the list: Lieutenant Dorian.

     Lisha handed over the flowers and stepped back, gazing at the rows of neatly organized headstones, as Serian bowed his head at the site. He placed the bouquet there and took a deep, shuddering breath.

     “Lord Darigan put this in place a few years after reclaiming the throne,” the Yurble explained. “He wanted some way to remember those who fell under Lord Kass’ tyranny.”

     Serian let out a thoughtful hum. “I heard my father tried to smuggle me out of the Citadel… along with Della.”

     “That they did… Kass made sure to tell Dorian what happened to Della before he suffered the same cruel fate. Such a long drop down…” She shook her head. “Evil, wicked Eyrie, Kass was.” Her eyes widened, snapping back towards Serian. “Oh dear, I spoke out of turn—”

     “I loathe Kass. Say whatever you wish.”

     Her jaw dropped. “You really have changed.”

     “Not enough.” He shrugged. “There’s still much more to learn.”

     Serian recoiled when her wrinkled hand pat him on the arm. “What is life,” the cook asked, “but endless learning?”

     “Then, I must be one of life’s greatest students,” he replied through a tired laugh. “Please, tell me. What is your name?”

     “Aeron.”

     While the two spoke, Lisha located the other gravesite, a modest one with just the name “Mariana” carved into the light granite. A long-worn bandana wrapped around its surface. After Lisha flagged Serian down, he knelt beside the grave. Upon placing the flowers, he whispered a few words and a little flame appeared on his fingertip. He held it there for a while before letting it dim.

     “Do you think she heard me?” he asked. “That they both heard me?”

     A splash of orange colour reflected off the stone, illuminating the little memorial park. The three of them turned around to see a magenta sky filled with pirouetting orange ribbons and a golden glow.

     “Woah…” Lisha’s eyes lit up. Being as high as they were, it felt as if she could touch the sky.

     “I think…” Aeron had tears streaming down her face. “I think they heard you.”

     Serian had held it together until now. As his tears hit the dusty ground, he could have sworn, in the midst of the ephemeral glow, that he could hear two voices. They were whispering the words that he always longed to hear, the words that meant more to him than any treasure in Neopia ever could:

     “I love you, son.”