Interviewing a Fallen King
Today is release day for a new book that I’m super excited about!
King Torrin fought a battle he couldn't win.
The sole survivor of a bloody war, his only choice now is to look for help in dark places.
Cyprian wants to change his ways--and Torrin is just what he needs to do it. Together with a ragtag bunch of allies, they'll piece Elyndia back together.
Maybe, if they're lucky, they'll mend their own souls too.
I've never had an escort into a storyworld before. Usually my InterFiction Gazette badge gets me right to my subject, but apparently there are some interfictional accords with the people group hiding in Zaraya and my newspaper. The guard leading the way has not said much, just, "Stick close to me if you don't vant to get speared."
Not very comforting.
He leads me to a small barn. The air is thick with the sounds of goats bleating, chickens squawking, and... wait... are those... DRAGONS? I blink as my eyes adjust to the dim light and see that, yes, there are a myriad of differently sized dragons wandering around, one is lounging across a hay bale, some are drinking from a nearby trough. I feel like dragons in a barn is not the wisest decision, but my thoughts are interrupted by the guard pointing me toward a young man.
"That's Torrin Slater, over there."
I thank the guard and approach the young man cautiously. He's thin, scrawny, actually, and a couple of inches shorter than me. He glances up at me, his brown eyes darting across my face and then away. He turns his face and I see a welter of scars along his face and running down his neck to the collar of his homespun shirt.
"Isn't it dangerous to have dragons in a barn full of hay? Don't they want to eat the chickens and goats?" I burst out, exceedingly unprofessionally. I grimace at myself. It's not like I haven't done this before, I've seen all sorts of fantastical things on my various assignments from InterFiction. But really, dragons in a barn like farm animals... with farm animals... it suddenly seems like the strangest thing I've ever seen.
He jumps a little, pausing in cleaning out the stall, then grins. "No. The triallas--er, the bigger dragons--are well trained. And--" One of the smaller dragons scampers over his boots, chasing a cricket. "The little yasil dragons don't breathe fire. And they eat plants and insects, I think." He flushes, rubbing the scars on his neck. "Apologies. I don't know a whole lot about them."
I’m sure that my face is as red as a standard dodge-ball. I stick out my hand, trying to reclaim some semblance of the professional fictional reporter that I am. "Forgive me, I should have introduced myself first. I'm Jenelle Schmidt with the InterFiction Gazette. Can I ask you a few questions?"
He dips his head, a little hesitantly. "I suppose. I'll try and have the answers you need."
I study my notes in an attempt to regather my wits. "Can you tell me a bit about yourself and what you're doing here in Zaraya?"
Torrin bites his cheek, leaning the pitchfork against the stall dividers. "I was rescued from a battlefield and brought here. As for myself...there's not a whole lot to tell, I suppose. I was a king, and now I'm not." He waves over himself--the pants rolled up at the hems and held on his skinny frame with a length of rope, and a too big, sleeveless tunic swallowing him whole. "Surprising, huh?"
I give him a strained smile and wonder if there’s any way to respond to that without creating an interfictional incident. I decide to ask my next question: "Do you have any family? What are they like?"
He flinches at that, clearing his throat. "...No, I do not. Not anymore."
Oh boy. I’m batting a thousand here. I scan my notes quickly, trying to find a less sensitive question that won’t send him on a run for the hills. I need to get a good interview, as the Gazette management has been a little prickly lately. Oh, here’s a safer topic. "Would you be willing to tell my readers a little bit about Zaraya? What is it like to live here? What do people do for fun? What big events are happening in your world at the moment?"
"I suppose I can." He jumps when the little dragon from earlier gets into it with a chicken, both of them wanting the same cricket. "It's...very different living here. I grew up as a prince. To go from that to now living amongst farmers and having to work for my food," he chuckles, "was a shock. But a good one, I think. As for fun, well, Raevyn tells me they hunt, swim, train their dragons. And have big parties. There's one coming up now, celebrating Raevyn's coming of age. It'll be the first party here I've seen, so I'm looking forward to it." He rubs his chin, thinking. "And for big events, well, my country was taken over by the Achians and we--I--am trying to figure out a way to get it back."
There is a lot to unpack there, and he seems a little sad now. But more determined, and less prone to bolt if I ask something a little more personal. "I understand that you recently had a fairly serious accident. Can you tell me what happened?"
He's quiet for several moments, watching one of the goats sniff at the pitchfork. I worry that I pushed him too far.
"War," he says at last. "That's what happened."
I hesitate, wondering if I should ask a follow up, but his posture is stiff and forbidding, and for a moment, I can see a glimmer of the king he was. So I move on to a lighter topic. "If you could spend a day doing whatever you wanted, what would you do and why?"
The faintest hint of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. "Probably go back to pranking my brother with my best friend. Just...live a normal, carefree life one last time."
I smile back, encouraging his good memories. "Speaking of friends… can you tell me about them?"
"Well, there's Raevyn--she's loud and protective. And Briley...she's like everyone's older sister. I love them both dearly. As sisters," he adds quickly.
I conceal a smirk. A budding romance he’s been teased about, perhaps? "What would you most like to do or be? If you could be guaranteed success, what dream would you chase after?"
"I would take back my home country, and then seek out a peace treaty between us and the surrounding countries, and put an end to the slave trade and assassins. Nobody deserves that kind of life."
I nod earnestly as my badge begins to glow. “I hope you manage it. One last question before I go. If you could ask your author one question, what would you ask?"
He runs a hand through his hair, thinking. "I assume spoilers is out of the question, so...I would ask her why she had to make me so small and puny and ruin my hand." He raises his right hand to show two missing fingers. "And ask her if she intends on making it easier on me anytime soon.”
I give him my best sympathetic smile. “I’ll ask. But I can’t guarantee she’ll answer. But remember, even though we are sometimes asked to walk through the fire, we never do so alone. Trust your author.”
He gives me a narrow-eyed look, but doesn’t respond. My badge blinks furiously, and the world of Zaraya fades from view.
About the Author
Olive lives on a small farm surrounded by way too many birds of all kinds. When she's not serving as a perch for her chickens or listening to a screaming sun conure, she's either cooking or typing away furiously at her ever expanding fantasy world.
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What do you think, dear Reader? Sounds like a fun adventure to me! I’m definitely interested in learning more about Torrin and I wish him the very best in trying to reclaim his kingdom.
What is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to endure? We all have our own fires to walk through, and that's why I’m so grateful for the story of Hananiah, Azariah, and Meshael in the book of Daniel. They walked through literal fire, but they didn’t have to endure it alone. Dear Reader, you are never alone. I don’t know who needs to hear this today, but you have a Creator, the True Author, walking in lockstep right beside you, and He does not leave you to face your fires alone.