Free The Silvering of Loran by G.B. WREN

liquid on the floor, almost hidden by the bedframe, caught her eye. She bent down to retrieve it, and when she raised it to her eyes, it glistened in the sunlight that passed into the room. The bottle tilted by her hand and she was fascinated with the sluggish movement of the contents. A furtive glance around the room was her first impulse, before she slipped the bottle into her pocket.
    * * *
    A s the Avileen children reached greater ages, the dining hall had become less of a gathering place for family to share meals and conversation; it had transitioned to a utilitarian purpose that was void of the laughter of family, in favor of the formality of guests. But on this day, Gilvius would not sit at the head of the table without the company of the present generation of Avileens in attendance. He had called for his family to join him on this night—for an evening that would ultimately surprise and disappoint those present.
    Loran was the last to arrive. She viewed the variety of food dishes spread on the table, but it was with great unease she took her seat next to her mother. It was rare in these times that her father would insist on all being present, and with his appearance of a man fifteen years beyond his natural age, she feared the worst.
    “I am pleased to see all of us once again gathered in a place that holds great fondness in my memory,” said Gilvius.
    Leanna reached to touch her husband’s hand; her face did not disguise the ache in her heart for his grim appearance. He responded with a weak, but warm smile.
    “Do not fret, my love. I am not yet willing to relinquish myself to eternity. But it is time to consider the ascension of one of our sons as sovereign.”
    The realization that her father would soon no longer guide the Avileen Empire left Loran numb, unable to oppose the inevitable. However, Gervest’s eyes lit up with eagerness and he found it difficult to contain his excitement.
    “Rolam, my son, you have demonstrated your willingness to learn from my advisors, and in doing so, have gained their trust and respect,” praised Gilvius. “You have firmly grasped the intricacies of governance.”
    Gervest didn’t like the direction of his father’s words and slipped his thumb inside his vest pocket—Gilvius responded as if a sudden burst of adrenalin coursed through his veins.
    “The regions outside the eight provinces will require a firm hand to unite them into the empire, and I fear war may arrive ahead of peace, said Gilvius, redirected in his thoughts. “The protection of the eight provinces will need a strong sovereign, with the will to demand submission from our enemies.”
    In their glances to each other, Loran and Leanna exchanged shock of the words Gilvius spoke. Rolam remained attentive to his father’s eyes.
    “You will make an excellent counselor to your brother,” said Gilvius to Rolam. “Guide him well in all matters originating from the council of advisors.”
    If Rolam was in any way disappointed, he did not reveal it to the gathering.
    “As you wish, father, I shall respect your judgment and offer what advice I can to the sovereign.”
    “Gervest, the next council meeting is in six months,” said Gilvius. “At that time I will announce your ascension. Until that day, you would do well to acclimate yourself to the knowledge your brother possesses.”
    “I will not disappoint your vision of the sovereign, father,” Gervest proclaimed, as he removed his thumb from his pocket and wiped a small trace of blood on his pants.
    Gilvius nodded without expression while Gervest beamed. The rest of the family sat in stunned silence.
    * * *
    L eanna propelled herself through the main hall and lifted her dress just enough so as not to impede her hurried pace. Loran followed her and struggled to sustain her momentum—since her shoes persistently slipped on the marble floor.
    “Wait, where are you going?” Loran asked.
    Leanna did not answer, the determined look on her face drove her