Attos, the Conquering King. Everyone, even Eric himself, knew who he was. A legendary figure who rose to power amidst a country divided by squabbling kings and queens. He, along with a small force of trusted allies, had lain siege to his own country, toppling one corrupt, lazy ruler after another. In the end, he was the undisputed ruler of a proud, fierce nation of skilled soldiers. These details were covered in A Brief History of Ahya, in the Chapter about Attos’ history. Few even remembered the old name for the country, after it had been renamed in the conqueror’s honor.

Attos had also, Eric reminded himself, been the one who had started the last war. Leading his massive army across the Irindus Ocean, he’d landed on the shores of Zaban and nearly conquered the entire country in a matter of weeks. The druids of Zaban were a peaceful people and had been unable to hold the invaders back. It had only been through the intervention of Tyrman that they’d been saved, and Attos repelled back to his home. He was defeated roundly, so why was he making such a bold, and frankly suicidal move now?

In any case, Eric had been given no time to ask questions or catch up on the events. Samuel, Ehran, and the master named Shiora had sped off at once to the Capital to share what they had learned, leaving Eric to his own devices. At a total loss for what to do, he’d wandered to the only calming, comforting place of solace that was left to him. Emma. He needed time in her presence, to sort through the thoughts that were wreaking havoc in his mind.

“Eric!” She exclaimed cheerfully as he entered the shop, introduced by the bell. She rushed out from behind the counter and threw herself at him, pulling him in for a fierce hug. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”

She pulled away and held him at arm’s length, the smile on her face fading as she caught sight of his expression. “Are you injured? Do you need healing?”

His brain too muddled to make coherent words, Eric merely shook his head. Something about his hopelessness seemed to reach her, for she pulled him wordlessly to the back room. Eric was dimly aware of her calling to someone to watch the shop, and hearing a male voice reply distantly before she steered him into the small room beside the long hall of sickbeds. He sat down on the cot without a word, watching her dully as she closed the door softly behind her.

“What’s happened to you, Eric?” She asked, her face full of concern. “I heard that Rainhall was arrested, but I didn’t hear from you after. I thought you’d been tossed in the dungeon for working for him.”

Eric shook his head again, managing only four words. “I was let go.”

“Well, that’s good,” she sighed, sitting next to him. He focused on the dark green hem of her short dress. “But what’s wrong now?”

Eric shifted his gaze to her face, torn between loyalty and fear. He wanted desperately to tell her what he’d just been part of. He wanted to tell her everything about his meeting with Shigeru, how he’d nearly been killed twice in one week, and most of all, why he was here in Ahya. But something stopped him. Call it stubborn loyalty, or fear of those who wanted him to keep this secret. Either way, he’d risk making Emma a target, and that was something he refused to do, no matter what.

“I can’t tell you,” he said, dropping his eyes. He felt unworthy to look at her, a good person. “I’ve been ordered to keep it a secret.”

“Oh,” she said softly. Unexpectedly, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into another hug. This one was much softer, and the smell of her hair filled his nose. He felt his body go limp in her arms as if she were lifting all the weight off of him. “I understand. But when you’re free to tell me, I want to know everything. I care about you, Eric.”

Eric did his best to nod in the restricted space and put his arms around her in return. She pulled away slightly stare into his eyes, her own green irises gleaming bright with unshed tears of fear and concern. As much as he hated seeing her sad, he found it a beautiful sight. Those green eyes drew him in like a bottomless pool. His brain, as it always did in her presence, slowed down. He felt slow, dumb, and stupid next to her. Then she pulled him in for a kiss.

Sometime after, Eric had fallen asleep on the cot, wrapped arm in arm with Emma. She’d held him close to her, running one hand through his hair, crooning encouraging words as he drifted away. She brushed away his grief and terror without knowing it, leaving only calm and exhaustion in him. It was the best kind of healing in the world, he thought, being held by someone who cared for him. It was just the healing he needed.

Several hours later, or moments later, for he could have no way of knowing how long he’d slept, there was a sharp tap on the door of the small room. He shot bolt upright at once, clearing the bed and drawing his weapons. Emma was gone, evidently heading off to return to work or whatever else. He could hear the breathing of a man on the other side of the door. Then, he heard Emma’s voice.

“Father!” She hissed reproachfully. “He’s sleeping. Don’t bother him!”

“There’s a messenger here for him,” Eric heard the man reply. “I don’t want to keep a Royal Courier waiting.”

A Royal Courier? It was the first time Eric had heard mention of the role, but he knew at once what that meant. He slid the swords back into their sheaths, took a deep breath, and stepped over to the door. He pulled it open to reveal Emma and her father, a thin balding man with wispy gray hair, standing before him. Her father had his hand raised, prepared to knock again, and jumped back into his daughter in shock as Eric suddenly appeared.

“There’s a messenger for me?” Eric asked, not giving the man time to gather himself. “Where is he?”

“He’s in the shop, boy,” the man said. “Come with me.”

Emma looked less than pleased at the turn of events, but Eric gave her a reassuring sort of look. His night spent being held in her arms had soothed him somehow, clearing his head. The fears were still there, but they were reduced, pushed to the back of his mind. He could think logically again, and for that, he was grateful. Her father led the way from the back, and he followed willingly.

A short, extremely thin man was standing in the center of the shop, wearing simple breeches and a tunic woven from the royal colors of crimson and gold. His boots radiated magic, clearly enchanted for his job, and he carried a thick satchel over one shoulder. He looked up as the three entered from the back, and his eyes immediately fixed on Eric’s face.

“Master Breeden,” he said solemnly, stooping into a shallow bow. “I come with a message for you, from the Royal Family.”

Eric could feel, rather than see, Emma and her father sharing a puzzled look to the side. He ignored them for the moment, focusing his attention on the messenger. “I see. What is it?”

The man dug into his satchel and retrieved a thin envelope of parchment, along with a carefully folded sheet. He handed the envelope to Eric and unfolded the piece of paper. With a clearing of his throat that sounded like chalk snapping, he read aloud in a high, reedy voice.

“By the order of Her Majesty Elena Ciayol, Queen of Tyrman, Eric Breeden is to be recognized for his noble service to the Crown and her people. As witnessed by Masters Samuel Bragg, Tobito Tokugawa, and his holiness Bora Bora Ciayol, you are to be granted the title of Chevalier and granted a small estate within the Royal District. This estate, titled Raven’s Hall, shall remain in the possession of you and your descendants for as long as your loyalty remains true.”

Emma and her father let out gasps of surprise, but Eric couldn’t muster a response of any kind. He stood, rooted to the spot by shock, unable to comprehend the weight of the announcement. He stared numbly at the Royal Courier as the man refolded the paper, slipping it back into his bag, and retrieved an elegant golden amulet on a chain. Dropping to one knee, he offered the piece of jewelry, chain first to him.

“What?” He said weakly, finally managing speech. “I’ve been… knighted?”

“Not knighted, sir,” The courier replied. “Tyrman does not recognize or bestow the title of knighthood. Individuals are rewarded for their own initiative in loyalty, without the burden of expected nobility of action. You have earned this title through your own diligent service.

Numbly, Eric took the chain from the messenger’s hand and held it up. The amulet was a stamped copy of the royal crest, a crossed sword and staff placed before half furled dragon’s wings. Whatever the man said, Eric knew that Chevalier was french for knight, and in medieval times, was like a minor nobility. He hadn’t expected this. A large payment for doing his job, maybe, but not a title and an estate.

“Is it..” he said weakly, faltering in his speech. “Is it a big estate?”

“Raven’s Hall?” the messenger said. “No, it is on the smaller side, sir. But it is unmistakably a nobleman’s house.”

Emma came forward and took the chain from Eric’s shaking hands, pulling it over his head. The amulet came to rest on top of his dark blue tunic, glittering in the bright lantern light of the shop’s interior. Her face matched Eric’s shock, but he also thought he saw a look of pride and joy etched among the surprise. She gave him a reassuring sort of smile, and patted the amulet against his chest. Without speaking, he knew she was saying she was proud of him.

“There is another message for you, sir,” The Courier said, clearing his throat again. “It comes from Master Ehran Tokugawa, who requests you come to the Issho-Ni dojo when you have settled into your new estate.”

Eric nodded silently, and the man took his leave. Turning to look at Emma, he let out a nervous half-laugh that expressed his utter befuddlement. She seemed to understand and rushed to the back. Her father called after her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m grabbing my bag!” She called back. “I’ll walk with Eric to his estate, just so that he has some support?”

Her father rolled his eyes, then directed an inquisitive look at Eric. “What is it about you, young man? You’re a stranger to this city, I can tell by looking at you. And why has Emma grown so close to you so quickly? Usually, she’d be on to the next interest by now.”

Eric could only shrug, and Emma was back before he could formulate a reply. Seizing Eric by the arm, she steered him towards the door while speaking to her father over her shoulder. “I’ll be back by nightfall, Father. Watch the shop until then.”

“My shop!” he exclaimed through the closing door. Emma laughed.

Eric couldn’t quite remember the walk to Raven’s Hall, which was about half a mile from Willow’s Respite and the Market District. It was centrally located within the city, and the faces of everyone they passed were nothing but a blur in his memory. He only remembered the deferential treatment offered to him by the Maravino at the gate. Well, that, and the small crowd of people gathered around the front of his new home, all eager to get a look at the newest member of their community. Dozens of finely dressed men and women, clearly raised in a higher class than himself.

As Emma steered him into view, she shifted her grip so that she was linking arms with him, her back straightening and pulling him along. “Smile to your new neighbors.”

He tried, but didn’t think it came across properly.