Kings of Deceit - R

[Rosabeth]

Tygan had warned Rhys that it would take some convincing to assure Jessa that though this was a dream it was still real. Most people under Tygan's influence were not aware that another was controlling their dream, and as such, the process was rather different. They'd picked this space - a simplified version of the very room Rhys currently slept in - for that very reason. Choosing a place from either Rhys or Jessa's memories would make it difficult to convince Jessa that this was not merely a figment of her unconscious mind.

Rhys became ultra-aware of Jessa's eyes on him, sweeping over his body and his face with an intensity that sent a pleasant chill across his body. Unfortunately, this was not a private moment. Tygan was still there, if if with no physical form, and each word and action was just as present to him as it was for Rhys and Jessa. But Rhys refused to let the observer ruin the moment, for Tygan or no Tygan, it truly was Jessa wrapped in Rhys' arms.

"This is real," said Rhys. He lifted his hands from her waist to her face, letting his thumb rub her cheek. Jessa smiled and closed her eyes, leaning into the touch, but it was clear she believed in the reality of the situation no more than before. Rhys gently took Jessa's hand and lead her to the cushions that sat on the floor, offering her a place to sit. She did so without comment, but her frown suggested that she did not quite understand why she was taking direction from a dream. Once seated, Rhys took her hands in his, looking Jessa in the eye. "You've been brought here by magic. What you see around you is a dream, but us? Our words, our actions, our thoughts? They're completely real. In reality I'm sleeping in the sitting room of a man named Tygan, the man who's controlling this dream, and you're still asleep in your bed in Ovis. But that's just our bodies, and you need to know that. Our minds are together. Everything that happens in this dream you will keep in memory just as if it had happened in real life. For all purposes, this is real."

The information was overwhelming, and Rhys was hardly surprised that Jessa looked more confused than accepting. She looked down at their entwined hands, turning her hands over in Rhys' until her palms were facing up. When she turned her gaze back to Rhys she was once more frowning, this time shaking her head. "It's impossible," she muttered, pressing on hand to her temple. "This is just wish fulfillment. You're not real."

"Jessa, since when have you ever questioned if you were dreaming in a dream? It always feels real until you wake up."

This question gave Jessa pause, for she gave a reluctant nod of agreement. Still, Rhys knew an inquisitive person like Jessa would hardly be so easily convinced. "Now please, don't worry. I promise he's on our side."

Jessa began to question Rhys' meaning, but before she could get an answer, Tygan had appeared from thin air beside them on the cushions, sipping pleasantly on what looked like a cup of tea. Jessa let out a high-pitched scream and jerked back, moving as far as possible from the silent figure to her left. Rhys couldn’t help but laugh, even though that earned him a scathing look. "Jessa, relax. This is Tygan. He's here to help. This whole dream is his doing." Jessa eyed Tygan with suspicion but Rhys could see her jaw unclench and her shoulders relax. "He's the one who was able to connect our minds in this shared dream."

“Pleased to meet you,” Tygan murmured with a nod. Silence followed as he sipped at his tea, giving Jessa’s stare no attention.

“If this is real-”
“It is.”
“-then… he… is in my mind? He’s controlling me?”

The guilt washed over Rhys immediately. In his excitement he had not even stopped to consider Jessa’s thoughts on the matter. Trapped in a dream state, surrendering her unconsciousness to another she did not even know – Rhys had forced Jessa to lose her autonomy without her consent. He could see the theory bothered her from the very way she began to regard her surroundings with suspicion, even going as far to study Rhys with a sort of distrust. For someone as sensitive about magic as Jessa, this was beyond intrusive.

“I… yes. Yes he is.” Rhys looked away in discomfort, overcome with shame. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think about it. I should have asked you, of course. I could have explained the situation to you, sent you a letter or something, but all-” Comforting arms wrapped around Rhys, stopping him mid-sentence. Jessa stretched up and kissed his cheek, stroking his neck as she faced him, only inches away. “It’s alright.” It did not look all right, for her smile was forced, but Rhys did not argue. “For this? For this it is worth it. To be with you I’d go through far worse.”

There was no more to say on the matter and so an awkward silence fell over them all. So many days had passed since their last meeting, yet now that they were face to face, so to say, Rhys felt as if his throat had closed off and his words turned to dust in his mouth.

“Tea?”

Rhys and Jessa looked at Tygan – who Rhys had nearly forgotten was there – only to see a serving tray had appeared out of thin air on which two cups of tea rested. When neither of them moved to accept the offering, Tygan set down the tray between them, picked up his own cup, and took a sip as if to prove a point. Rhys hesitantly took the cup between his hands, surprised to feel the warmth radiating from within. As he brought it to his lips and took an apprehensive sip the tea burned his tongue. The pain was so real, so tangible, that had the cup not appeared before his eyes Rhys would have questioned the fantasy of it all.

“If this is a dream then why can we drink?” Jessa asked between sips, for Rhys’ example seemed to have spurred her on.

“You can do anything in a dream, but that doesn’t mean it will be real when you awake.” Tygan looked to his side and picked up a pastry Rhys was sure had not been there moment before. He bit into it, chewed, and swallowed, then offered another to Rhys and Jessa. “You may do anything you wish in this dream and the dream will respond to your wishes like reality. When you eat you will taste all the flavors you would in waking, and you will feel hunger and fullness just the same. But when you wake it will be as if it never happened. You cannot feed the hungry in a dream. Here you can feel but cannot do, if that makes sense to you.”

You can torture but cannot kill, Rhys thought, though he did not speak his musings aloud. Therein was the danger of the dream. What sort of mental torture could one enact on another with this power? What manipulation could they provide without the victim knowing? Rhys had no doubt Jessa would be thinking the same things, more fuel to her distrust of magic, but Rhys could only hope the gratitude of their meeting would overshadow any negative feelings.

As the explanations ran their course, Tygan bid his farewell and left Rhys and Jessa in peace, though there was no ignoring that he was still there, even if he took no physical form. The thought was uncomfortable, but it was certainly better than nothing. For some time Rhys and Jessa spoke of little of consequence – in fact, they spoke little at all. Jessa leaned against Rhys’ chest, holding his hands in her lap as Rhys rested his head atop hers. It was a silent affair, but Rhys felt no need for words. With all the horrors of recent events, this was the most solace Rhys had seen in weeks.

As it was, there was no avoiding certain topics. Rhys had written to Jessa the day after the massacre, but she had certainly not received it yet, and it was unlikely much word had yet reached Ovis.

“Two days ago there was an attack in Jasrah.” Jessa snapped up from her rest, looking at Rhys in alarm. “Selene and I were out of the city when much of it happened, but when we came back the square was empty, and by the time we were able to fight our way into the palace the commander had been attacked.”

“Fight?” Jessa knew what Rhys meant by the word, but Rhys could tell she was hoping her assumptions were wrong.

“Kill,” Rhys admitted. Jessa nodded, closing her yes. Rhys relayed the story to her, explaining how the citizens had banded together to overtake the military forces, unknowingly trap them in the barracks and attempt to burn them to death. Jessa winced and sighed throughout, but there was definite relief when he assured her that all those she knew were safe. Even when his story ended, Rhys felt acertain guilt at leaving out one detail, something he knew he had an obligation to relay.

“You remember Lord Valeys? The man from the theatre?” That had not been a pleasant night for either of them, and Jessa winced at the memory but gave a nod. “He was one of the leaders of the attack and I… I killed him.”

[Mollianne]

Jessa closed her eyes. She did not really know how to react. However briefly, she had known Valeys. There was something about hearing of the death of someone she knew, rather than someone anonymous. And yet she could not make herself feel pity – not for him, at least. His family she certainly felt sympathy for, for losing a relative was one of the worst things. But Valeys had betrayed them, had led an attack and killed people who had been following orders from their queen.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he-”

“No,” Jessa said, shaking her head. She rubbed her forehead. “No, I meant why did he attack the palace?”

“I don’t know. He died before I could question him properly.” Jessa bowed her head and nodded, although she was not at ease. She wondered why Valeys would have done such a thing. From the meeting in the theatre, he had seemed to be entirely against the king. This move, looking at it from the outside, could appear very much like Valeys was working with the king to get rid of the Novarians. Jessa had no doubt that this was not the case, but she could not think what else it might be. She did not know enough of politics, or Valeys himself. Not that Rhys knew the reasons either.

“I,” she began carefully. “I could try and find out if there is a connection between Valeys and anyone here in Ovis. I’ve, er, recently begun attending balls. I’m not saying I’ll find anything, but – it’s worth a try.”

“Balls?” Rhys grinned. Jessa rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you loved that.”

“I didn’t offend anyone at least. Alandra apparently did teach me something. It’s only been the one ball so far, held at the castle, although I found out before I went to bed that I’ve been invited to the Janes’ ball in a fortnight. Do you know anything about them?”

“Janes? A northern family, I believe. Reasonably influential. Beyond that, no. I don’t have much to do with many northern families, particularly those that are closer to the king.”

“The Janes are loyal to him, then?”

“I believe it’s more a connection with his wife, but...”

Jessa sighed. That could mean anything, then. It was not particularly important, however. Jessa did not intend to spend much time around the family – she could tell the queen and Elissa would not be pleased. She had no idea what they might do.

“So, what did happen at the ball?” Rhys asked. She could tell he was more than happy to think about balls than what was happening in Jasrah. Jessa could not blame him.

Jessa hesitated. “The king asked me to, ah, dance with someone.” Rhys straightened, looking worried based on her tone rather than her words. “Daryl Mont. His family is one that your list said the king did not know about.”

Rhys had gone quiet. Jessa bit her lip and placed her hand over his. “I don’t know how he knows the connection, but he does. Perhaps it’s because of his magic. It isn’t as if you ever thought you would need to conceal your allies from magical surveillance. But…” she hastened to add, “I’m sure there are some we can still trust absolutely. I certainly don’t believe the Monts have betrayed you, even if the king has found out. Daryl seemed terrified. I must say I’m confused you have so much trust in the family. He’s useless at hiding anything.”

“I’ve heard of Daryl, but that’s all. His family said he was a weak link. I don’t think he was ever particularly involved.”

“But still involved nonetheless. And Alrick knows he’s their weakness.” Jessa sighed, rubbing Rhys’ hand with her thumb.

“At least we can suppose, if he asked you to try and get information from him, Alrick trusts that you are telling the truth. You’ve done well,” Rhys said. Jessa smiled weakly. It was true. There were probably many others he could have asked to watch Daryl; that he had chosen her, expecting her to use whatever inside knowledge she had, was reassuring. Unless it was a ruse and he had already figured out their plan, Jessa was safe – for now.

“And I can keep the king from discovering anything important. But, I will have to give him something, else it’ll be suspicious. You’ll have to advise me.” She remembered, then, the missive she had sent to Rhys about another one of Alrick’s requests. Surely Rhys had already responded, but Jessa had not yet received such a letter. “What did you think of Alrick asking me to find an ally of yours who would be willing to talk?”

Rhys grinned. “I know just the person.”

Jessa raised her eyebrows. She sensed the mischief in his voice, and was glad of it. Too much of this conversation had been heavy and sad. They were together again, mentally if not physically – even if Jessa was not exactly comfortable with it all – and they ought to relish that. She said carefully, “Oh? Who?”

“Me.” Rhys winked at her. “I shall take some name, and I shall be your informant.”

Jessa laughed, shifting on the cushions and resting her head on Rhys’ shoulder. They fell silent. Rhys played absently with Jessa’s hair while she entwined her fingers in his. She felt the coldness of metal against her skin, and looked down to see a familiar ring on his fingers. She swallowed hard and lifted his hand to her face. Rhys turned to look at her and kissed her forehead.

“You’re wearing it,” she said, her voice barely more than a breath. Her brows furrowed. “But what if someone starts asking questions?”

“I’m not wearing it on the right finger. As long as no one looks too closely – and if a person was to do so, they’d be the kind of person I’d take it off before meeting anyway – I’ll get away with it.” Jessa was hardly listening. Instead, she moved her finger around the ring, feeling the small bumps where the two metals – made from their separate chastity rings – met. She wished she could wear her own. But, even if she could have done without arousing suspicion, hers was still in Jasrah.

Rhys turned his hand and touched her chin, lifting it so that he could kiss her. Jessa shifted to face him better. Her hands cupped his neck. Her heart lurched painfully with the realisation that this was the first time they had properly kissed in weeks – and it was not even real. She suddenly became painfully aware of being watched. She had known that Tygan must have been watching if he was controlling the dream, but she had managed to put it from her mind. Now, although she wanted very much to think of nothing but her and Rhys, and the way his hand caressed her collarbone, she could not. She could not put from her mind that Tygan could control her at any moment, if he chose.

She pulled away, coughing and dropping her gaze. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. Rhys tilted her head so he could look at her. He shook his head.

“You don’t need to be. I understand.”

“Can we trust him?” Jessa asked. Although the question preceded nothing, it was obvious to whom she was referring. And after everything they had discussed, and since Tygan clearly knew the truth of their relationship, Jessa hoped Rhys would say yes. Instead, he said nothing.

[Rosabeth]

The truth of the matter was that there were very few people they could trust, and Tygan was not one of them. Rhys was well aware he was taking a leap of faith in entrusting this unknown with information that could very easily send Jessa to an early grave. After all their careful planning this move was brash at best.

"Laurita trusts him." It was clearly not the desired answer, but it was the most truthful.

"And do we trust Laurita's judgment?"

Rhys understood Jessa’s true meaning. Laurita was among the friendliest of people Rhys had ever met, and her good nature made her one quick to trust. How could they trust her ability to judge others when she had befriended Jessa and Rhys so quickly with no knowledge of either of them? But Rhys knew better. Jessa had not seen Laurita’s fury. She had not seen how bitterly she had lashed out against those who attempted to restrain her when she longed to seek out her brother. She had not seen the hatred in her eyes and the desperation Rhys knew could lead to unforgivable actions. She could hardly be so open with her heart and her mind when death was on the line. That was the Laurita Rhys could trust.

“Absolutely.”

Jessa said no more on the topic, though Rhys knew no amount of assurance would ever make her comfortable with the invisible presence that watched their every move. A presence that could manipulate them in any way it wished. But Rhys did not fear this man. He did not trust him – not in the way Jessa might wish – but Tygan could only keep them in the dream for so long, and should he attempt anything strange Rhys was more than willing to show him his own dangerous skills.

Though it felt as if they’d only been reunited seconds ago Rhys knew that they must have been in the dream for a considerable time. Intruding on Tygan’s generosity for too long could have unforeseen consequences, and Rhys was not one to test fate in such dire times. He thought of the days ahead and the work left to be done before the ball, all the people he must contact and the preparations to be made. Not to mention his duties to the Novarians including countless war counsel meetings, hundreds of maps to look over, and information to pass. And what of the twins? They’d gone surprisingly silent for some time, and though they’d reached a sort of agreement Rhys had yet to see the benefit of the alliance since the initial siege of the city.

“It’s time to go,” Jessa said, guessing Rhys’ thoughts from his troubled expression. Rhys gave a solemn nod, his lips twitching up into a smile as Jessa stroked his cheek with her hand.

“Will we be able to meet again?”

“I believe so. Tygan offered to host these meetings once a week. Though Tygan did tell me to warn you that you must make certain to be asleep at the specified time, or at the very least alone. Should he connect our minds while you are still conscious you will lose consciousness against your will. Anyone around you would just see you faint, but should another magic user be around the will be able to tell what is happening if they prod enough.” It was understood that they spoke of Alrick, but Rhys had been very careful to let no such information slip into Tygan’s hands. No matter how much Laurita trusted him, Rhys trusted that information with only those on who he could rely without question.

“Next week, then?” Jessa said. “At this same time?”

“At this same time,” Rhys repeated, the prospect making his smile broaden. Then, because he they only had moments left, Rhys enveloped Jessa in the tightest embrace he could manage. Jessa let out a small laugh, pushing against him to loosen his hold, but there was no laughter as she held him back as tightly as she could, pressing her face into the crook of Rhys’ neck.

“I love you, Jessa.”

Jessa pressed a kiss against Rhys’ neck before letting out a shaky breath. “I love you more than you can imagine.”

Rhys smiled. “I find that hard to believe.”

The strangest feeling followed, a gradual weightlessness that started in his limbs and worked its way to the rest of his body. Jessa began to grow fuzzy and their surroundings faded away into a shapeless blur. Rhys quickly pulled Jessa into one last kiss, his hands rough on her face, but it lasted only a second before Jessa dematerialized before Rhys’ eyes and he was trust into darkness.


“Something to drink?”

Rhys blinked into the light. The language was foreign, but still he recognized the words. Slowly, and with an embarrassing amount of effort, Rhys pushed himself off what he saw to be the hard floor and into a sitting position. Tygan’s wife crouched beside him, a small steaming cup in hand. Rhys smiled weakly and took the offering, taking a sip of a aromatic spiced tea. The woman seemed pleased with this action and went then to helping Rhys to his feet. As soon as he stood Rhys swayed on the spot, an implacable grogginess taking over his whole body. Though his vision was improving rapidly, making it easy to see that he stood in the same sitting room from the night before, his movement was slow and stiff.

“It takes a little getting used to.” The woman nodded to herself as she spoke and reached out to pat Rhys gently on the arm. “If you’re to do this regularly your response will improve each time.”

“I thought I was asleep,” Rhys groaned, massaging his temple with his free hand as he took another sip of the strong tea.

“You were, but that doesn’t mean the dreams aren’t taxing on the mind. It’s not like a normal dream. Magic does things to the mind; there are side effects. You should see the toll it takes on Tygan. He’ll be sleeping for a while yet.”

Rhys realized how silly it was for him to not even take into account the physical repercussions of these controlled dreams. He’d jumped at the chance to see Jessa without a second thought, without even stopping to think how it might hurt them. Of course, he didn’t particularly care about Tygan’s troubles – he valued the man’s help and that was the extent of his care. But he thought of Jessa, wondering how she might be faring and hoping that she had no early morning engagements.

After a few minutes left to readjust to his surroundings and wear off the magic-induced sleep, Kelire, Tygan’s wife, saw Rhys to the door and wished him well, asking him to pass on some message to Laurita, though Rhys forgot the message almost as soon as he’d left. The walk back to the palace was disorienting, leaving Rhys to feel very much like a newborn calf learning to control its own limbs. He didn’t even wish to think about how badly he would be beaten if someone attacked him at that moment, though luckily the ample amount of soldiers who guarded the city were sure protection against such a thing. By the time Rhys reached the palace his body was almost back to normal, though his mind was still clouded. It was much like the morning after a long night of drinking but thankfully without the nausea.

Rhys smiled at the thought of sleep, the only thing between him and his bed being several fights of stairs, but as soon as Rhys saw a soldier approach him at the doors he knew there would be no sleep in his future.

“Lord Rhys, you have a visitor upstairs in your chambers.”

Rhys groaned. He was in no mood for socialization. “Send them away and tell them to come back another time. Perhaps later in the day.”

The soldier grimaced. “I don’t think I can do that, My Lord.”

“And why is that?”

“The visitor is Lady Marinon.”

Rhys did not move a muscle. And then, after several long moments of deliberation, Rhys moved faster than should have been possible for someone in his state. Rhys took the stairs two at a time until he arrived breathless at the door to his study, one hand hovering over the door handle. Why? After weeks of nothing, not a single word, why would his mother come to speak with him now? He could only think of unfavorable outcomes to this conversation.

“You can come in any time, Rhys.”

His mother’s voice made Rhys jump but he followed her words. She sat silently at his desk, hands clasped on top of the surface and eyes forward, looking regal and mighty. As soon as Rhys entered, coming to an awkward pause feet before his mother, her hand picked up a small letter from the table and held it up between two fingers.

“Care to explain?” There was a coldness to her tone that did not bode well with Rhys. It was so unlike his mother, so emotionally detached. Rhys studied her face, ignoring the paper in her hand and instead staring at the darkened circles that formed under her eyes and the tension in her lips. Slowly his eyes flickered away from her features, coming to rest upon the letter held in her hand. “Ah,” he muttered. It was impossible not to recognize.

“Lord Rhys Marinon cordially invites you to the Solena Palace for a masquerade, to be held then evening of the 20th.” His mother flicked the letter to the side, forcing Rhys into the most unpleasant eye contact. “When, exactly, was it established that I am not to receive invitations to my own son’s balls. When was it decided that our family is to act alone, that we are not even to be consulted in these choices?”

“When I was cast out of my own family, that’s when! When I realized you didn’t give a damn about me, only about our ‘family’.” Rhys snapped. He regretted his words almost instantly, but they had slipped off his tongue too easily. His mother sucked in a breath but said nothing, her jaw set as she stared at Rhys intently. “That’s not what I meant,” Rhys mumbled, pressing his fingertips to his forehead.

Vyserene pushed back her chair and shot up, rounding the desk to stand toe to toe with Rhys before giving him the smallest slap across the cheek. The movement was so quick and light Rhys hardly felt it, partially because in the next few seconds he was enveloped in his mother’s hug. “Don’t you dare say we don’t care for you, most of all I,” she whispered, hugging him more fiercely. Rhys took a sigh of relief as he returned the embrace, for a short time feeling once again like a child. When she pulled away Vyserene’s face was once more a mask of seriousness.

“You talk of our obsession with family with distain because you are young still. You believed in it for many years because it was what you were told, but you will never believe it like we do until you witness first hand what can happen when you are alone and when you are vulnerable. You need us, Rhys. As individuals we are powerful, but as one entity, as the Marinons, we are indestructible. And this mess with Novamor will only end badly for those who take sides.”
Rhys let out a breathless laugh. How many times had he heard such similar speeches from his father? The importance of the family, the power in unity, and on and on the lists went. “Perhaps you’re right.” At his mother’s change in expression Rhys instantly amended his words. “You’re most likely right. But there are things that are worth taking sides on, even if that means going on my own. I believe that.”

“But you don’t understand,” his mother sighed, throwing her hands up in frustration. “If our enemies see us as divided, if they even thing for one second that you are not with us, our entire family is weakened. And one weakness is all that’s needed for an utter downfall.” His mother reached out to his face, cupping his cheeks in her hands. “Our perception is everything. Our reputation is our power.”

Having his mother this close, to know that she did not hate him as one part of his mind suspected was a relief, but no matter how wholeheartedly he agreed with her words or wished to appease her he knew he was too entangled now to even entertain the idea of stepping away. Rhys gave a weak smile. “Then perhaps you should come to my party and put the rumors to rest.”

This was not the answer Vyserene had been looking for, but it was the only answer she was going to get. She gave a resigned sigh, reaching into her skirts and pulling out a small pouch. She pressed it into Rhys’ palm, closing his fingers around it. “You might find you need it at your party if the information about your involvement with the Novarian army and the attach on the palace is correct.”

Before Rhys could look into the pouch Vyserene placed a kiss on his forward and strode out of the room, commanding an awed sort of reverence from the guards outside, their bows clumsy as she stormed past. Once she was out of sight Rhys looked down at the silk pouch and pulled at the drawstrings, emptying the contents into his hands. He recognized the large gold ring immediately, and without even inspecting the contents of the small vile beside it her knew what it contained. He pressed a latch on the side of the ring and the top swung open, revealing a sharp point. Carefully covering the point Rhys slipped the ring on his finger and stowed the vile in his pocket. As he was about to stow the pouch he felt a weight from within, and he once more shook the pouch into his hand. This time a small silver ring fell into his hand. He could not understand how his mother could have possibly known or how she’d even found it, but Rhys had learned many years ago to never ask questions when it came to his mother. Sitting in his hand, undoubtedly the strangest gift he’d ever received, was Jessa’s wedding ring.

[Mollianne]

Jessa sat up in bed and leaned against the wall. She felt disoriented, weary, and alone. Even though it was ridiculous, part of her expected to find Rhys there in her room. The dream had felt so real – too real to be a dream. And even though she had been so happy to see Rhys in front of her, it was now so much harder to be away from him. But Jessa had a job to do, and she realised during her conversation that she really had achieved so little for all the time she had been here. She should have been searching the castle, using all those methods Rhys had tried to teach her, finding anything that could weaken Alrick. The last time she had spied on him was when she followed him to her mother’s grave. And while it seemed that she was gaining Alrick’s trust, she had really nothing material to show for it.

Jessa rubbed her eyes and got off the bed. Feeling groggy, she checked the door was locked and then went over to the small fireplace. After a few minutes, a fire burned in the grate, providing warmth against the drafts in her room. Then, she went over to the desk. She pulled out a piece of parchment and quickly wrote a few sentences on it, holding the table tightly as the chair wobbled beneath her. She sighed, staring at herself in the small, dusty mirror to her right. She hated this; she hated how routine it had become. Jessa closed her eyes, blocking everything out except what Betha had taught her.

When she opened her eyes, Jessa stared around in confusion. She was in her room, but this was not her room anymore. She lived in Jasrah now, with the Marinons. Jessa scowled just as her gaze fell on the piece of parchment in her hand. She lifted it up to her face and read:

‘Do not leave this room until you remember. All going well, it’ll be soon. Don’t force your memories. If you don’t remember in an hour, burn this letter. I’ve already lit the fire. Then, and only then, can you leave. Do not talk to anyone, just get out of the castle. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Go to Jasrah and find Rhys. He will help you.’

Jessa frowned. The hand was hers but she did not recollect writing such a thing. Should she trust it? Jessa looked over her shoulder at the fire, verifying that it was actually ablaze. She sighed. What couldn’t she remember, and why couldn’t she remember it? Jessa read the note again. Don’t force your memories… That was easy to say. Jessa swallowed. Had something horrible happened? Why was she in Ovis? She felt light-headed, and she was unsure if it was from all the questions and the confusion, or from the strange fatigue which felt like she had been awake two nights in a row.

She nearly fell off her chair. Jessa blinked and shuffled over to the bed. She lay down, smothering her face in the pillow and tried not to think about anything. It seemed like her best option.

After what felt like an age, but was only around fifteen minutes, her memories came back in a flood. She curled up, scrunching her eyelids together. When it no longer overwhelmed her, Jessa stood and went to burn the note she had left for herself. She swallowed hard as she watched the edges curl and blacken. It really was a dreadful start to her day. But it had to be done. She needed to keep up the spell to make sure Alrick could not discover the truth. Jessa just wished the memories would return slightly more pleasantly.

***

Alrick had been locked away in his council chamber when Jessa went to check on him. Despite that giving her the perfect opportunity to snoop around the castle, Jessa had no idea where to begin. Besides, she could see guards posted on every corner and there were too many servants around. She would get nowhere before anyone stopped to question her. Jessa sighed, feeling her resolve after talking to Rhys slip away from her. She walked along the gallery above the council chambers, where she had been reunited with Kieran. Jessa had not seen him since. He had not been at the ball. Jessa bit her lip, hoping that was a common occurrence for Kieran. She shook herself. Kieran was okay; nothing had happened to him. She had probably just missed him at the ball. There were so many people there after all, and Jessa had been focused on Daryl Mont.

She passed by a window. Figures wandered the paths in the castle gardens. Jessa would have thought it too cold for the nobles to be outside. She looked up, seeing the clear sky and the weak sun. It had been the first time she had seen the sun since she had arrived. Jessa turned on her heel and returned to her room. She pulled on her cloak, knowing that the day would not be as warm as it appeared. But it was pleasant enough for people to meet up for walks. And that meant lords and ladies who Jessa could happen upon and casually question about Alrick. It would, at least, give her something to do until she thought of something better.

As soon as she got out of the castle, she pulled her cloak closer to herself. She had underestimated the briskness in the air, although she should have expected it. It was winter, after all. Despite that, there was a startling number of people wandering the castle grounds. Some were alone and some were in groups. Jessa stepped out and began walking in the opposite direction to how she saw many people were going. She decided that it would give her a better opportunity to seek people out – or let them come to her. Jessa felt rather uncomfortable introducing herself to strangers, especially when she knew that was not exactly the done thing.

It did not take long for Jessa to come to the conclusion that this had been a very bad idea. She was cold and any time she caught someone’s gaze they looked away from her. No one wanted to have anything to do with her. It was nothing Jessa had not expected, although she had also anticipated some curiosity from the aristocracy at her sudden introduction to their circle, especially given how she had so obviously avoided it for most of her life. But no one seemed interested – or no one wanted to risk losing favour with the queen and her second daughter for fraternising with Jessa. Jessa rolled her eyes, and was about to head back inside and find something else to do when someone called her name. She turned, shading her eyes and squinting at the person in the distance. Jessa shook her head. Of course.

Larend waved her over. She went warily, noting the young nobles just behind him. Recalling her meeting with the queen the night before, Jessa guessed this was probably a bad idea. However, it was Larend approaching her, not the other way around, whatever Catrice chose to believe. Once she reached Larend, she gave him a small smile. He turned to address his friends.

“This is Jessa, which I’m sure you know,” he said to them. He looked back at Jessa. “Jessa, this is Aneira, Kaman and Marina.” He indicated each of them in turn. Jessa nodded at them, unable to stop herself feeling intimidated by them. Larend gestured towards the tall girl closest to him. She had brown hair which ended at the middle of her back, which only made her look even taller. She rivalled the height of the man beside her, and towered above Larend, Jessa and the other girl. “Aneira went to King’s School too. I was just telling her that you didn’t recognise me at the ball. That was a little awkward.”

Jessa watched Aneira for a sign that she disliked her. After all, so many of the girls had teased Jessa about Larend. She remembered Aneira even less than Larend.

“Everyone called you Larry then. I’m not really surprised. After the way everyone treated her there, I don’t blame her for trying to forget all about it. Although perhaps she’s just embarrassed…” Aneira grinned at Larend. “I mean, I would be if I’d ever liked you.” Larend instantly glared at his friend in mock offence. The two friends began bickering, and the other two joined in after a moment, egging them both on. Jessa was forgotten. Despite that, she could not relax around them. Not even when she realised how much they reminded her of Rhys’ – her – friends back in Jasrah.

“Jessa, right?” Jessa looked up from her feet, surprising to see the other girl, Marina, looking at her. She held her hand out towards her, and Jessa fumbled to shake it.

“That’s right.” Jessa tried not to roll her eyes at herself. All of Alandra’s training had been a waste. Eloquence, Jessa.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” Marina said. Jessa held her breath, expecting the worst even as she suspected Marina would be too well trained to actually insult her. Marina shook her head, sensing Jessa’s trepidation. “I meant your teaching, actually. My youngest cousin is a student at the university. You taught him before you left. He liked you.”

Jessa smiled. She appreciated Marina attempting to welcome her. It was nice, after she had been ignored all morning. She could not know whether Marina would become a friend, or whether she had an ulterior motive, but it did not matter in that moment.

Eventually, Larend and Aneira’s argument fizzled out and they invited Jessa to walk with them. Jessa said little, letting them talk around her. She listened carefully, in case any of them mentioned Alrick. She did not expect much. These were young nobles, interested more in people their own age and the dramas found there. Or, at least, that was what they wanted her to believe. All she learnt from their conversation was that Aneira and Kaman were married, not just friends as she had previously assumed, and that they were very excited about the Janes’ ball.

“Did you get the invitation, Jessa?” Larend asked, while everyone else seated themselves on the grass at the front of the castle. They’d grown tired of walking. Jessa nodded. Larend’s eyes lit up. “So you’re coming?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jessa said, thinking of Catrice essentially forbidding her to go. She wanted to go, though. And not just because it would be a good place to find contacts and it would get her away from the castle. No, she also wanted to go because Larend clearly wanted her to, and from the faces of his friends, they appeared to want her there as well. It felt strange, being wanted by people in Ovis. And by someone who had once been the only person she had ever had any real feelings for, before Rhys, even if they were never returned. She shrugged. “I’ll try.”

“Bet the precious Princess Elissa kicked up a fuss, right?” Aneira said, grinning conspiratorially at Jessa as she sat beside her. Jessa just shrugged again. Aneira laughed. “I knew it. I told you there were daggers in her eyes when she saw you two dancing, Larend.”

Kaman laughed. “In her eyes you’re already married to her, Larry. Although, let’s face it, it’s probably only a matter of time. I doubt your father can hold off the queen of Etrene too much longer. Especially when most of the rest of your family is all for it.”

Larend groaned and buried his face in his hands, which only made his friends laugh again. Jessa said, “It was only a one dance. You must’ve danced with loads of other people.”

“A few.”

“And Elissa glared at them all. None quite as much as you, though,” Aneira said.

Jessa might have responded had a familiar figure not caught her eye. She frowned, sure that she had made a mistake. She watched as Alistair looked from side to side and then hurried across the grounds to the side gate leading to the university. He kept his head down, clearly trying not to be noticed. But Jessa had noticed him. She frowned, staring at the gate long after Alistair had disappeared. He had as good as told her that he stayed as far away from the castle – or at least anywhere Alrick might be – as he could. Unless she had just assumed that, he had lied to her. She might not even have thought it strange except that he had obviously been trying to stay inconspicuous. She might have thought he had met Harris. But his behaviour suggested something else. Jessa did not know what to think.

You have no friends in Ovis. Jessa swallowed. She had somewhere she could try for answers. Her hand absently went to the concealed ring on the necklace she wore. Jessa did not know why she had decided to keep on wearing it, and had never thought she would use it. Trusting a man whose name she did not even know was foolish at best. He could tell lies as easily as anyone. But…

“Jessa? Are you okay?” Larend asked, bringing her back to the group of people watching her. She swallowed.

“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile and feeling anything but.

[Rosabeth]

From the dozens of crystal chandeliers lit with hundreds of candles to the moonlight streaming in from the night, the ballroom absolutely glowed. On the floor below hundreds of nobles mingled, danced, and drank themselves silly, many more filing in through the grand entrance every minute. They modeled the latest fashions, everything from the heavy brocades of the north to the light, sheer fabrics of the south, fashioned in every cut imaginable from full gowns to breeches made from silk. But what really made the ball spectacular, an event not to be missed, were the elaborate masks worn by every guest. If ever there was a theme to attract attention, it was a masquerade, and Rhys’ plan had not disappointed.

The sheer conspicuous wealth in the room was almost sickening, but it assured Rhys of one thing – the nobles had arrived. From the onset many had been suspicious of Rhys’ invitation, especially given that it was common knowledge that the palace was being used as the headquarters for the Novarian army. But such an invitation was hard to pass up, and the vast majority of those invited could simply not abate their curiosity. The turnout was astounding, and given the sheer number of attendees Rhys was fairly certain there were more than a few uninvited guests.

The rumors of Rhys’ break from his family and his involvement with the Novarian began brewing almost the instant Rhys returned to Jasrah, and the reports that he was no longer living at home only added fuel to the fire. But Rhys had been extraordinarily careful about quelling such rumors, going well out of his way to avoid entering the palace in any public, visible entrances and staying well away from any Novarian officials in public. Upon seeing that there were no Novarian soldiers present at the ball many of the rumors subsided almost instantly, the new assumption being that the Marinons had simply bought off the Novarians, paying some exorbitant amount for access to the palace. It would hardly be a stretch of logic, given his family’s past uses of its fortune. But of course there were soldiers present, not that anyone would suspect. Long navy blue silks hung from the ceiling, and hanging from the silks, twisting about and hanging low with nothing but their legs wrapped onto the silks, were several of the soldiers. Rhys had been pleasantly surprised to learn that amongst the straight-faced soldiers were many a man and woman with particularly interesting talents, and a few former acrobats had especially caught his eye. They were the wonderment of the entire nobility, lords and ladies standing below with their heads turned towards the ceiling gaping in awe, completely unaware that should the situation arise the lithe acrobats would no longer be so whimsical.

Rhys leaned against the balcony, watching the nobles like a hawk, ready to swoop in at any given notice to kill his prey. But in the world of titles, extreme wealth, and questionable loyalties, taking down one’s prey was not always accomplished through bloodshed. Rhys watched as Lord and Lady Coeuran – sporting two matching masks made of coiled wire wrapped in fine emerald silks – helped themselves to two generously filled wine goblets, undoubtedly already a bit past tipsy. The nobles were well known lushes, and Rhys could only grin each time they took another drink, knowing that with each drop another one of their secrets inched to their lips.
The only person drawing Rhys’ favorable interest was Laurita who, to anyone’s eyes but Rhys’, was completely unrecognizable. Her dark, bronzed skin was gone in place of a fair complexion, her dark hair replaced with a vibrant red. Even her facial structure was changed, her sharp cheekbones and straight nose softened and her jaw rounded out. The only recognizable feature left was her dark eyes, left completely unaltered. The appearance put Rhys on edge, and the first moment Rhys saw her he’d nearly run into a wall doing a double take. She bore a remarkable resemblance to Jessa, though on closer inspection the similarities were less astounding, aside from the identical shade of red hair. From a distance, and wearing a black mask, he could easily pretend it was Jessa. Something about that made him uneasy.

“My, my, I must say this is the most exquisite ball of the season. Absolutely breathtaking,” a high-pitched voice whispered in Rhys’ ear. He jolted, but before he could turn a hand slipped around his waist.

“And have you seen Lord Rhys? What I wouldn’t give to see him without all those clothes. The things I would do to that man…” a second voice whispered, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. This voice was not so composed, and the falsely high pitch cracked like a young boy’s, and when it did Rhys recognized the voice slipping through. He spun on the spot to face Ero and Victor, both howling like madmen.

“You asses,” Rhys hissed, slapping them both upside the head, though he couldn’t fully suppress his grin as the two of them continued to laugh themselves silly.

“You should have seen your face!” Victor cried, doing a wild impression with his eyes growing wide in shock. Ero mimed the expression, and together they all but feel on the floor.

“Yes, yes, you’re both masters of humor,” Rhys sighed. “More importantly than your hilarious pranks, have you identified all the nobles? Did you give them my message?”

Ero looked up from his doubled-over laughter with a red face but gave a nod, quickly trying to compose himself. “I got to all of mine, though you should really pay us for our work. Spotting these people while their masked is next to impossible. I must have had to ask a thousand people before I found them.”

“Somehow I think you can live without the money.” Rhys rolled his eyes but thanked Ero regardless. Finally Victor managed to control his laughter enough to speak.

“I spoke to all of mine, all except Lord Priya. Lord Montigian told me he wasn’t in attendance. You’d think I’d asked Montigian to chop off his own head with the look he gave me when I gave him your message. I don’t know what you did to that man but you are certainly not among his favorite people.”

The news was hardly surprising, and Rhys was only happy Montigian had even decided to show. He certainly did not fault Lord Priya’s absence. After all, it had been his wife who’d been so brutally murdered by Anja at the Marinons’ dinner party nearly a year ago. Montigian had managed to escape the dinner alive, but he’d left with four less fingers than he’d arrived with. The memory of the dinner made Rhys’ stomach churn, yet remorse or guilt, what any sane person would certainly be overwhelmed with, were nowhere within him. He was not sure if that was worse than the acts themselves.

After Rhys thanked his friends Freya appeared from behind them, carrying two goblets of wine. She handed one to Ero kiss before coming over to Rhys and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek in greeting. “It’s lovely Rhys, really. I have to say, I didn’t think you had it in you to throw a party without your mother’s help. I’m impressed.”

“I’m insulted you don’t trust my skills.”

Freya smirked, taking a sip of her wine as she moved to Ero’s side, letting his arm slip around her waist.

“Are you not with Selene?” Rhys asked, suddenly realize that Selene was nowhere to be seen.

Victor was the first to chime in. “I saw her just a few moments ago, down on the first floor. There she is,” he said, pointing over the balcony to an area on the far wall not far from the entrance. “She’s the one in purple speaking your sister.”

Rhys nearly dropped his drink. He ran to the railing, following Victor’s outstretched finger until he found Selene standing against the wall, caught in what looked like a heated argument even from a distance. His eyes quickly darted to the figure next to her and his stomach lurched, sure with only the smallest glance that Victor had not been lying. Clad in an embellished navy blue gown and a silver mask, was Anja. Rhys could see Victor watching him tentatively but Rhys paid his concern no mind. “Hold this.” He thrust his wind glass into Victor’s hand and stormed down the stairs before his friend could say another word to discourage him.

Dozens of people attempted to stop Rhys on his way down the stairs, mostly simply complimenting the ball, and Rhys very rudely ignored them all. But he hardly cared, for the only thing he thought of was Anja not fifty feet away and how badly he wanted to strangle her. As he approached he could overhear the conversation enough to know that, unsurprisingly, it was not genial.

“Brother!” Anja exclaimed warmly, catching Rhys’ eye as he came to stand next to her. Her expression was calm and composed, her smile so wide and genuine it could fool even the smartest man. But Rhys knew better. “I was just telling Selene here how exquisite she looks in that dress and how much I’d hate for it to get bloodstained.” Even her last words, so obviously filled with malice, came out sounding sweeter than honey.

A weaker woman would have cowered in fear, but Selene had never once batted an eyelash at Anja’s threats. She simply smiled back, going so far as to give a slight curtsy. “I was simply thanking the Lady Anja and reminding her of my skills in the art of healing. She really should let me teach her a thing or two about healing, for it would be a shame for her pretty face to become disfigured in some horrific… accident.”

Anja looked as if she might stab Selene right then and there. Rhys, however, had other plans. He grabbed Anja’s arm a bit too tightly, yanking her to the side. “Excuse us,” he said to Selene who merely tipped her head before disappearing into the crowd. Rhys tried his best to pull Anja as far from the hearing of others as possible, but fighting Anja’s power was not easy, not even when the physical odds were so overwhelmingly in his favor.

“What are you doing here?” Rhys hissed, feeling the anger bubble up. Anja’s pretense was lost in a second, her cold, hardened expression falling over her face like a mask. It was easy to see even behind the real mask she wore.

“What do you think you’re doing? If you’re going to have some bout of rebellion then by all means do it, but this? Rhys, people are starting to notice that our family is split.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“YOURS!” Anja growled, her hand inching out as if to strike but recoiling in the last minute. She took a long shaky breath, allowing herself to compose. “We cannot afford for people to think we are broken. You know just as well as I do that our power comes from our unity. Alone we are intimidating, but together? Together our family has controlled this city for centuries. I will not let you and your idiotic wife rip this all apart because of some romantic fantasy you have about justice and truth!”

Her cry had drawn some eyes, but with a quick glare they turned away, though Rhys knew they were still listening in. He drew Anja closer, whispering close to her ear.

“Perhaps it’s not a fantasy, perhaps I’m the one in the right here. And besides, it’s not I who withdrew myself from the family, it’s father who decided to all but disown me.”

“With good reason,” Anja jabbed. Rhys chose to ignore her words.

“Now listen,” Rhys hissed, looking around quickly to make sure their conversation was private. “I have a meeting with some of the nobles and I need you to either stop threatening my guests or leave. If you do not leave I will have you escorted out, and I promise you it will not be pleasant. Am I making myself clear?”

There was a long pause, filled with nothing but the sound of Rhys and Anja’s breathing. Then Anja relaxed her arm and pulled it from Rhys’ grip, standing a little straighter as she inched away. “Crystal,” she said. In moments she was gone, though Rhys knew she wouldn't be far.

Even as he walked away Rhys could still feel his body trembling with rage. He was so lost in thought, going over a thousand things he should have said to Anja as he rushed through the crowds that he quickly realized he’d forgotten where he was going. Somehow he’d wandered into a sitting room, empty but for a small party who sipped at their goblets, speaking in hushed tones around a fire. There was one other in the room, standing against the far wall with her back towards Rhys. She wore a deep green gown with golden bands on her arms and her dark hair piled in elaborate braids on her head. None of this was out of the ordinary, but her skin most definitely was. She was, by all accounts, distinctly Novarian. Perhaps she was a soldier, Rhys thought, who had managed to slip into the ball, but he found it hard to believe a soldier would own such finery. Everything from her clothing to her hair and posture was the mark of nobility. He approached slowly from behind, trying to glimpse her face, though it was obscured by a golden mask to match her bands. He stopped a few feet away, giving a small bow.

“My lady, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Oh, but I believe we have, Prince Dunvyen.”

Rhys drew in breath, for the voice was unmistakable. Standing before Rhys, alone and in disguise, was Queen Tula.

[Mollianne]

While Larend and his friends talked, Jessa rubbed her fingers around the invisible ring’s smooth surface. She swallowed, knowing she should make her excuses and leave. But… Jessa felt like she was nailed to the ground. Or, more like, frozen in fear – the fear that she was going to lose her first true friend. Jessa preferred to stay where she was and let that fear go untested. After all, it was rather dramatic. Alistair was still her friend. He probably always would be. So why did she find it so difficult to stand up and go and ask him for herself? She did not need a stranger who had broken into her room at an inn just to concern her with cryptic words. He had not even told her how she was meant to use the ring to contact him.

“Jessa, really, are you okay?” Larend asked, touching her arm. Jessa looked at him and then the rest of his friends. She slowly shifted away from Larend’s hand, nodding as she did so. They did not look convinced.

“I’m okay. It’s just a little headache.” Jessa realised she had found her opportunity to leave. She hesitated, then said, “I think I might go and rest, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course,” Larend said quickly, tilting his head back to look at her as she stood. He glanced at his friends, and then turned back to Jessa, who had sensed Larend had something more to say. “If you are able, my friends and I would like it if you joined us tomorrow afternoon for tea.”

“I… Yes, I shall try,” Jessa said. Her acceptance was more because she was flustered than anything else. Larend grinned at her response.

“From the main castle gates, turn right. I live in the fourth house down.”

“It’ll be lovely to see you again, Jessa,” Marina added. “And I hope you feel better soon.”

She left after giving them all a weak smile. Jessa felt a little bad at how she had already started lying to them, having barely known them an hour, but it was necessary. Anyway, she was not here to make friends. If she did – well, then they could be useful. They knew this world far better than she.

Knowing it would be strange if Jessa went straight to the university, she headed for the castle. As she walked, her hand kept moving to touch the ring. She half-wondered if there was some kind of spell on it which meant she could not stop thinking about it now that she was considering needing it. Jessa shook her head at her thoughts, and then frowned as she heard a commotion coming from the castle courtyard. Instead of going through the main entrance, Jessa went past it and through the short arched tunnel to the square. In the centre, stable hands and servants bustled around, preparing horses and men. Upon seeing Alrick, surrounded by his personal servants and his family, Jessa’s frown deepened. Clutching her necklace more tightly, she tentatively went to see what was happening and why it looked like the king was leaving.

Harris brightened when he saw her, but none of the others even noticed her. They were focused on the king. Jessa ruffled Harris’ hair, earning a disgruntled, “Hey, I’m not a child,” from him. Bending a little to speak in his ear – and hadn’t he grown! – she asked, “What’s going on?”

“Father received a letter from our army in the south asking for his urgent assistance. He’s leaving right away.” Jessa could see that. She straightened and took a few steps back. Whatever she felt about the du Rene’s as individuals, she was not going to ruin their farewell just by being there. Even if she hoped that Alrick would not return.

It did not take long for Alrick to spot her. He murmured something to Maira and then moved towards Jessa. Jessa looked past him at Catrice and Elissa, who were glaring daggers at her. She was not surprised. What was surprising was that Alrick was actually publically acknowledging her. He had done that only once before, when he found a way to get rid of her by marrying her off to Rhys. That had been false attention; this was much worse.

Just go, Jessa thought. She did not want to hear what he had to say. She wished she had just gone inside and learnt the news later.

Alrick touched Jessa’s hand, shielding the movement from his family with his body. She glanced down, seeing a crumpled piece of paper in his fist. She uncurled her fingers and Alrick passed the note to her. Jessa looked up, a question in her eyes. His face was hard.

“You had not brought me news, so I took matters into my own hands.” Jessa could not tell if his words were a reprimand or not. “I trust you’ll know what to do with it, since I am unable.”

Not waiting for a response, Alrick turned on his heel, kissed his wife on the cheek as he passed her, and went to mount his horse. Jessa watched as he called to his men and they left, claiming they would return within the month. Jessa watched until the family turned and went into the castle. Only then, with no eyes on her, did she allow herself to look at the parchment.

‘His cousin lives half a day’s ride from Ovis, heading east, in a village called Pontery.’

Jessa swallowed, brushing her fingers along the words. The world had gone silent around her. She swallowed again, balling the piece of parchment up and crushing it in her fist. Taking a deep breath, Jessa ignored the sting in her eyes and went inside. As soon as she reached her room she started the fire and burned the note. It was not like the words had not been burned into her memory.

It was too late to ride out today, and she already had so many other things to think about. Jessa sat heavily on her bed, feeling overwhelmed. She wanted to drop everything else and go and find out if this cousin knew anything about her mother’s death. It was unlikely, but it was the best they had. But no, she had to stay. She sighed.

She felt a strange prickling sensation in her hand. Jessa looked down, realising she was still holding the ring. Despite the fact that it was invisible, it appeared to be glowing. Her heart raced and she yanked the necklace off her neck. The ring slipped off, becoming visible as it fell, still glowing faintly. Jessa stared at it for a moment, wondering what was going on. Then, she slid off the bed and knelt on the floor. She picked the ring up and examined it. Apart from the glow, she could see nothing different.

Jessa lifted it closer to her face and thought she heard something. Frowning, she brought it to her ear. The words suddenly became clear and loud, the voice vaguely familiar. She presumed it was that of the man who had given the ring to her – who else’s would it be?

“Tomorrow as the sun rises on Herin Hill. You have made the right choice.”

The words repeated a couple of times, and then the voice faded away. There was a pause, and then she saw a flash out of the corner of her eye and cried out in pain as the ring began to burn. She dropped it on the floor and shifted away from it, staring in surprise as it turned to ash in seconds. Magic, Jessa decided, was unbelievable. She could study it for her entire life and she would have barely scraped the surface on what magic could do. Its unpredictability was one of the reasons it scared her.

Once the shock had faded, Jessa wondered what she should do. The man had said she had made the right choice, but in reality she had made no decision at all. She had no idea how she had contacted him, and she was not ready to hear what he had to say, whether they were truths or lies. Jessa did not even know if the man had even meant Alistair, and that had been her only reason for considering meeting him. And the best person to find out what her friend had been doing at the castle was to ask Alistair himself – which she had been going to do. And, Jessa reminded herself, she still should.

She left quickly, going out through the servants’ door to minimise the chance of running into Larend and his friends. Jessa raced across the grounds and across the road to the university. When she reached Alistair’s new office, he was nowhere to be seen. Jessa bit her lip and flung around, heading back the way she had come. She asked anyone she passed if they knew where Alistair was, and eventually she was told that he was teaching on the top floor. Jessa thanked the girl and took to the stairs. Once she reached the top, she could hear Alistair’s voice drifted from the open door halfway down the corridor. Jessa slowed her pace and entered the room quietly. Thankfully, the door was at the back of the room, and everyone was so engrossed in the class that no one saw her as she sat down in a vacant seat at the back of the room.

She listened idly as Alistair talked about the founding of Ovis. It looked like he could still teach history – probably heavily monitored – as long as it did not come close to mentioning Greater Magic. The Barichean Wars were probably left well alone. It did not take long before Jessa got caught up in what he was saying and began paying attention as he described Ovis’ beginnings. Jessa felt like she had been thrust back to her time as a student, hanging on to her professor’s every word. Alistair really had been the best teacher she had ever known, and it was cleared he loved it. This man spoke with such genuine love and truth, and he had made her love everything he did too. She glanced around the room, and could see the same look on their faces that had been on hers all those years ago, and knew that the same had happened to them.

All too soon, when Jessa had nearly forgotten why she had come in the first place, Alistair finished the lecture and dismissed the class. He looked straight at Jessa, and she realised he had known she was there all along. She had been silly to think otherwise. She smiled at him sheepishly and stood, weaving through the tables to him as he packed his chalk and notes into a bag. “Interesting as always, Alistair.”

He smiled. “Perhaps you should tell that to some of my students. There were definitely some falling asleep.”

“More who weren’t,” Jessa said, perching herself on his desk. Alistair shook his head at her and pulled his bag onto his shoulder. He looked at her intently.

“What brings you here, Jessa? And don’t say you wanted to hear my lecture because I won’t believe you.” Jessa tried to smile but she couldn’t. She pursed her lips and looked down at her feet. Jessa felt Alistair’s arm press lightly against hers as he came to stand beside her. Concern laced his voice as he asked, “Jessa, is everything okay?”

“Yes, um,” Jessa said. She rubbed her forehead. “I… I saw you leave the castle today.” She did not dare look at Alistair to see his reaction. “You… looked like you didn’t want to be seen.”

Silence. Jessa swallowed. Why didn’t he say something, anything, to stop her overreacting about this? She waited, and still he did not say anything. With every passing second she could feel a wall growing bigger and bigger between them. She wished she had not said anything. Jessa rubbed at her eyes and stood up quickly. She should have just gone to Pontery and damned the late hour she would have arrived. She should have just trusted Alistair and left well alone.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, starting to go. Alistair grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She turned to face him.

“The king called for me a few days ago, Jessa,” he said. Jessa pulled her arm from Alistair’s grasp, and he let her go willingly. His hand dropped limply to his side. “You can’t really ignore the king when he asks for you specifically. He wanted my help on something you were helping him with, but since he had asked you to do other things, he thought you might not have time. I went today to give him what I had found.”

Jessa sucked in a breath. It was Alistair who had found the cousin of the man who Jessa believed had lied about her mother’s death. “I could hardly have said no to the request. Not when you and your mother are involved.”

Jessa nodded slowly. “Oh.”

“It’s okay, Jessa. I wouldn’t have known what to think either, after I told you I was keeping as much distance as I could from him.”

“He’s had to leave,” Jessa said. “I… He gave me the information to…” Jessa shrugged. “Will you come with me?”

Alistair smiled sadly and nodded. “Of course I will.”

[Rosabeth]

"Surprised?"

The queen's words pulled him from his stupor, and Rhys realized he'd been staring dumbly for far longer than was appropriate. He began to kneel but the queen's hand shot out and grabbed his arm, stopping him mid-motion.

"Have you lost your mind?" she whispered, giving a quick glance around the room. The others present were too involved with themselves to have noticed. She tugged quickly at Rhys' arm until he straightened back up. "I would like to keep my anonymity if you wouldn't mind."

Rhys felt his cheeks burn and he nodded, hardly believing his own stupidity. It was so out of character for him to have made such a glaring mistake. But then again, Rhys had hardly been expecting this turn of events. The queen stared expectantly at Rhys, her eyebrows inching up as he took no action. Then the queen sighed, lifted one hand, and Rhys realized what she'd been waiting for. He took her arm hastily and led her from the room, taking care to walk no more quickly than he would have with anyone else.

"Good," the queen murmured as they moved from the small sitting room back onto the ballroom floor. "Now lean in close and pretend to whisper something in my ear." Rhys did as instructed, though he couldn't quite see the point of it. Suddenly, queen laughed. No, giggled. It took all of Rhys' composure to keep his face straight, for he was reeling on the inside. Then the queen smiled shyly and rubbed Rhys' arm with the hand resting on top. Rhys looked around and saw a few people staring, though none seemed any more alarmed than they would have been had Rhys been with anyone else.

"And now I whisper something to you, and you pretend to laugh," the queen murmured. Though nowhere as convincing as the queen's, Rhys made his best attempt, surprised at himself that it came out far more convincing than he'd expected. A true smile followed.

"Isn't this drawing attention to us," Rhys whispered after a few more paces about the room. The more they interacted the more people began to watch, though Rhys noticed that their attention waned quickly until no one took more than a cursory glance their way.

The queen smiled, going as far as to nod at several passing men. "That would be the point," she agreed, turning back towards Rhys. "You see, if we act as if we're acquainted, no one with think anything of it. They will see us, but once they've seen us once they'll have no further interest in some mundane chatter. It's far easier to hide in a crowd than it is to sneak off and hope no one will notice."

Rhys smiled despite himself. She spoke like a true spy. She was far cleverer than she was given credit for.

"You must tell me why you're here."

At first the queen did not respond, instead picking a wine glass off the tray of a nearby servant and bringing it too her lips, taking a much longer drink than was socially acceptable for someone of her standing. Then she shook her head and stared at Rhys. "Not here," she said. She took another drink. "The temple on the north side of the city, the one with the marble arches - you know of it?"

"Of course."

"Meet me there later tonight when your guests are all gone."

"That could be very late," Rhys pointed out.

The queen only shrugged. "Then I suppose I shall have to say many prayers." Tipping her glass back and downing the rest of the wine in one gulp, the queen handed Rhys the empty glass, turned on her heels, and disappeared into the crowd.

For what felt like ages Rhys stood still like a statue, holding the queen's glass and staring off into the crowd into which she'd disappeared. A drunk woman suddenly knocked into Rhys, spilling a bit of her wine onto his shoe. She giggled, hiccuped and gave the quickest of apologies before teetering off into the crowd, but the encounter was all it took to snap Rhys back into reality. And for Rhys, reality meant facing the nobles waiting for him three floors above.

When Rhys arrived outside the room, Victor was already there waiting for him.

"They're all there," he said, giving Rhys a slap on the back. "Should I be concerned about possible... noise?" Should I be worried about screams was the real question at hand, but Rhys smiled at Victor's choice of words. Unfortunately, he could give to straight answer. Not even he knew what to expect.

"Be prepared for anything."

Victor gave a solemn nod. "Just... be careful in there, yeah?" Victor squirmed, looking uncomfortable even saying these things. "You're going to be vastly outnumbered and if you need anything just yell and... well..."

"You don't need numbers when you have fear on your side," Rhys rambled off, reciting a phrase he'd heard a thousand times from his father. But Rhys smiled, looking warmly to his friend. "Thanks, Victor."

Taking a long, deep breath and wiping all emotion from his face, Rhys pushed the large double doors open, their creaking announcing his arrival. Fifteen pairs of eyes snapped up to Rhys, and all fifteen of the nobles seated at the long mahogany table recoiled at his presence. The doors slammed shut behind him, and instantly it felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. Rhys could see the panic already setting in on the faces of the nobles waiting anxiously for Rhys' actions. He could see many of them regretting having even showed, but both he and they knew that showing and facing their fate was a far safer option than not showing at all. The repercussion for such a dismissal would be grave.

Rhys took his time approaching the table, moving almost painfully slowly along the edge, walking as close to the nobles as he could. As he neared the empty seat at the end he lifted his hand and let it trail along the tops of the chair backs, brushing lightly against the necks of those seated. He could feel them recoil at his touch, and Rhys smirked to himself. They were so easy to manipulate, nothing more than puppets. It was pathetic how easily they crumbled. He finally reached the chair, pulling it out with an agonizing scrape, and then sitting himself gently down before folding his hands on the table and looking out at his guests.

"Welcome," he said with a grin, his voice as smooth as honey but with an unmistakable venomous edge. He could hear it himself, and it nearly made him wince for the sound reminded him so much of his sister. "I trust you're all enjoying my party." There were a few muffled sounds of agreement, but for the most part everyone kept their eyes to the table, too terrified to meet Rhys eye. "Now now," he scolded, as if speaking to children, "don't be afraid. Come on then, look at me." No one moved. "LOOK AT ME!" Rhys boomed, slamming one fist down on the table. He saw the jolt go through the others like a lightning bolt. Slowly, one by one, they looked up.

"Very good. Now take off your masks."

"My Lord, you asked us to wear them," one woman spoke, her voice timid and nearly inaudible.

Rhys looked at the woman with contempt. "And now I'm asking you to take them off. Do not make me ask again. If I have to remove them for you I might remove them with your head."

That was enough to see an action. The nobles scrambled to pull off their maks, their fingers shakily pulling on the ribbons. In seconds, fifteen masks sat on the table and fifteen familiar faces stared back at Rhys. He looked to each, happy to see that Victor had been telling the truth. They were all there, all except the one Rhys already knew would be missing.

"I see Lord Priya decided not to show. Pity. I suppose I'll have to pay him a special visit." Rhys saw Lord Montigian's face drain of all color. In truth, Rhys had no plans of seeing Lord Priya at all. Perhaps he would catch him on the streets and give him a strongly worded threat. But in truth it did not matter what he did. The thought of what might happen was more than enough to strike fear into the hearts of those present.

"So, let's get down to business. You're all familiar with Lord Valeys. I believe you're all aware of his death as well. Terrible loss."

"You had him killed!"

Rhys watched Lord Montigian's chest rise and fall, his face red with anger. He knew the two had been close friends.

"Yes, and what of it?"

Apparently, Montigian had not been expecting admittance. And apparently he had no answer. He stared blankly back at Rhys with no more words.

"Your tantrums do not interest me," Rhys sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. Prior to beginning the meeting Rhys had been somewhat nervous to face a mob of those who wished to see his head on a spike for many reasons, but after only minutes Rhys was at ease. These nobles were nothing more than spineless wastes of space, ready to throw anyone to the dogs if it meant saving their own skin. Rhys despised them. It was hard to feel pity for their fear.

"What do you want with us, Lord Rhys?" Lady Corsia asked calmly. She showed far more courage than her fellows, though Rhys did not miss the slightly tremor in her hands as she laid them on the table. "What have we done?"

"Lord Valeys orchestrated an attempted slaughter of the entire Novarian army. He trapped a thousand men in a building and lit it on fire. He killed Etrenian servants and innocent civilians while attempting to sack the palace. This is something I will not tolerate. We do NOT kill innocent servants and we do not massacre those who pose us no threat."

Several voices raised objection and a low murmur buzzed about the table. "They are not innocents!" One lord yelled. "They've invaded the city. They are a foreign army. They have no right to be here."

Rhys threw back his head and laughed, just for added effect. "Since when have any of you been patriots? Not a single one of you has served in the King's Army. Not a single one of you would care if the king died. In fact, I'm fairly certain you'd all rejoice. Jasrah has been its own state for hundreds of years, no matter what the king might think. We do not answer to the king and he's well aware. If the Novarians are here in peace, showing no violence towards us and only wishing to defeat those we already consider our enemies, then what objection could you possibly have?"

"We do not want them," Montigian chimed in, receiving a round of approval from the others. "And why should you care? Are you fraternizing with them?"

Rhys rose slowly from his chair, keeping his eyes fixed on Montigian. The man steeled himself, his chest puffing out slightly, but as Rhys made a movement in his direction he could see Montigian's resolve waver. "You're rather confident for a man of your position, considering your history with my family. You know, considering your hand situtation." Rhys gestured to Montigian's deformed left hand, nothing more than a stump with a thumb after Anja had sliced off his fingers nearly a year ago.

"You're not even with your family any more. Everyone knows you haven't been living with them since you returned to Jasrah. Everyone's heard the rumors. You're disgraced," Montigian hissed back. Rhys was secretly impressed with the man's courage, though he knew it was only a front, and he knew exactly how to shake it to its core.

"Is that so?" Rhys raised his eyebrows, coming to stand behind Montigian. He placed both his hands on Montigian's shoulders, squeezing lightly. "That's funny, you'd think I'd be aware if my own family wasn't associating with me. In fact, I think you'll find that my sister is here tonight. Perhaps you saw her?"

"You're bluffing," Montigian snapped, though the flicker in his eyes showed that he was no longer so certain.

"He's not," another lord answered, looking warily between Rhys and Montigian. "I saw the Lady Anja with my own eyes not half an hour ago. I saw them speaking."

Rhys could feel Montigian's shoulders slump beneath his grasp. He could feel the courage drain from the man's body like blood from a wound. "See?" Rhys smiled. "Just like I said. Would you like me to invite her to our little party? I'm sure she'd be happy to even you out, if you know what I mean." Rhys reached down and ran his fingers across Montigian's right hand. The man yelped and then caught himself, glaring at Rhys. Rhys snickered.

"You're a coward," Montigian growled. "It's always your bitch of a sister, your idiot brother, and your father who carry out the dirty work. Lord Rhys would never lift a finger. You might get your clothes bloodstained. These are just empty threats."

Rhys knew Montigian was grasping at straws, playing ever last card in his hand in hopes that something was true. Unfortunately for him, he had once again drawn the wrong hand. There was no winning move against Rhys - he was already cornered in a checkmate, and his childish insults would not help him. With a sigh, Rhys drew the dagger from a sling on his side and brought it down hard on Montigian's good hand, piercing the table beneath. Montigian screamed out in pain, thrashing in his seat as he stared horrified at his hand. He swore over and over but Rhys refused to remove the blade. Unlike his sister, Rhys got no pleasure from this form of torture. His stomach lurched slightly at the though of what he'd just done, but it changed nothing. Some things must be done.

"Good, then we've come to an understanding." Rhys looked to the rest of the nobles, all of which showed no signs of defiance. They all knew what Rhys' action meant - he was not simply playing games with them. They would follow his command, or they too would meet the same fate. "My family is just as strong as ever, and it is not just me that asks this of you. Consider it a request on behalf of my father. In fact, consider your obedience insurance against a massacre of your own." Every word about his family was a lie, but so long as they did not look into it, so long as they stayed suppressed in fear and continued to ask all the wrong questions, they would never know. "I am well aware that all of you were instruments in the attack on the army, but I am willing to overlook your part if you meet my conditions. You are to show no malice or violence towards the Novarians, nor are you to do anything of an ill nature towards any Etrenians you think may be involved with the army. In fact, you are not to so much as speak to any of them. You will receive instructions directly from me or one of my trusted sources. You will follow said instructions exactly and without question. You will report to me on any suspicious activity regarding any goings on in Jasrah, and you will tell me if you see anyone attempting to try anything against the army again. Failure to meet these conditions will result in your death. Am I clear?"

Every noble agreed instantaneously, and Rhys knew from their hopeless, terrified expressions that this time there would be no betrayals.

"Excellent." Rhys withdrew the dagger from Montigian's hand in one swift movement, causing the man to cry out once more. He wiped the blood off on Montigian's jacket, working slowly for all to see. "You can expect instruction within the next day."

Rhys slammed the doors on his way out.

***

The temple grounds were deserted as Rhys made his way up the steps towards the marble arch, hearing no sounds but his own footsteps in the dark. Moonlight streamed in through the glass dome that topped the temple, illuminating the marble floors with its glow. At the very front of the temple, resting below the altar to the Goddess of Death, was a single candle flickering in the darkness. Beside it kneeled the queen. Rhys approached slowly, his every footstep sounding like a oom in the dead silence. The queen did not once look up from where she kneeled as Rhys drew closer, and once he'd come behind her he too kneeled down beside her.

"You needn't worry about violence in Jasrah. I've taken care of it," Rhys began. "Jasrah will be safe to your people from now on."

At first the queen did not respond, nor did she acknowledge his words. "This is a lovely temple," she said quietly, picking up a stick of incense from a box at her side, lighting it in the candle, and setting it on the altar. "Do you come here often?"

"Only on days of celebration," Rhys answered quietly, confused at the change of conversation.

The queen did not look towards him, but Rhys could see her eyebrows raise from the corner of his eye. "Do you not believe?"

"I'd say I'm more of a skeptic."

"I believe," said the queen. She spoke with no reserve, with a clear, resonating voice. With such authority, her words made Rhys question his own beliefs, for she spoke with the voice of a Goddess.

Rhys paused, carefully weighing his next words. "Do you still worship? Even after your father's assassination? Even after war?"

He thought he could hear the queen sigh, but the sound was so faint it could have been his own breath. "I do not worship - I discuss. I ask them questions and they listen. Occassionally they answer." Rhys had a hard time believing that. "But no, I don't worship. The gods are not infallible. They don't deserve our worship. If they are our creators then do you not thing they should answer to us for the mess they created?"

A silence passed as Rhys mulled over her words, but he had little time to think too hard for the queen had risen to her feet and beckoned for Rhys to follow. "I did not ask you here to discuss religion," she said, picking up her candle as she began to move towards the next altar. "I came to Etrene because I am needed on the southern front. My army has made it half way, and those who move through the center of the country are finding little resistance. The going is slow, for there aren't many roads that way, but Alrick's army is weak there. It seems that the king prefers to keep his army on the road for quicker movement, and my soldiers who're moving along the coast have seen the greatest losses. I'm to meet them in several days time and help orchestrate a movement to a safer path."

"What do you want from me?" Even with her words, Rhys couldn't see how he factored into the picture. He was only helpful in Jasrah.

"I want you to come with me."

Rhys balked. "To the front?"

The queen nodded. "To the front."

Though Rhys attempted to conceal his wariness, it did not go unnoticed. The queen continued. "You have influence outside Jasrah, far more than I think you are willing to admit to. If you accompany me you could help bargain with the locals. You could get information on the best paths for us to take, gain us informations about the movements of the Etrenian army our scouts cannot gather, things that perhaps Jessa is unable to acquire." The queen paused her pacing, turning to face Rhys. "I was also hoping you would act as my guard."

"Don't you have a guard? One that's actually trained?"

When the queen smiled Rhys saw a sort of sheepishness there he'd never seen before, and suddenly the pieces clicked together.

"You travelled to Etrene alone? You're the Queen of Novamor! You can't travel unaccompanied into enemy territory!"

"I didn't travel alone, I simply slipped out of my guards' watch. It's much easier to go unnoticed when you don't have soldiers surrounding you at every turn. I'm perfectly safe, I assure you. I'm more than able to take care of myself."

Rhys had no doubts about that.

"So, will you do this?"

It was lunacy, the entire plan, but Rhys didn't see that he had much of a choice. The queen could hardly travel alone in unfamiliar land and it was certainly true that of all people, Rhys was the most likely to be of any help. He wished he could pick up both himself and the queen and shake sense into them both, pointing out what a flawed, idiotic plan this was, how dangerous it would be for Rhys to get anywhere near a battlefield when so many people would love to send an arrow through his head. But Rhys had never prided himself on his intelligence.

"When do we leave?"

[Mollianne]

Jessa barely slept that night. She tossed and turned and went in and out of sleep every few moments. It was still dark when she gave up and stared at the ceiling, her sheets pulled up to her chin to stay the cold. She thought about putting on the fire, but once she stood up, she would end up going to her desk and reading, and then she would definitely get no sleep at all. She sighed.

What should she do? She and Alistair had arranged to meet about an hour after she was meant to speak to the stranger. It would take about half an hour to get from Herin Hill to the castle, which would only give the man half an hour to say what he wanted. Jessa had no idea whether that would be long enough. But the bigger issue was that Jessa still did not know whether to go. When she and Alistair had arranged the time, she had dismissed the stranger’s meeting without a second thought. As soon as she had returned to the castle, had sat in her room for a little while, doubts had crept in. And now she could not stop thinking about it.

She could write a note to Alistair rearranging. However long it took with the stranger, they would still have time to get to Pontery. Probably. Jessa turned onto her side and fixed her gaze onto the corner of her desk. In that moment, she knew her decision had been made long ago. Jessa had wanted to find out the truth about her mother’s death for so long, and now that the moment she might get closer to that was here, she did not want to delay it any longer. And meeting a stranger, alone, and trusting his word? Jessa scoffed. If he really wanted to talk to her, he could come and find her.

Her decision made, Jessa snuggled into her pillow and tried to sleep. By the time she woke up, she could see early morning light peeking in through the crack in the curtains. She waited for her head to clear, then pushed herself off the bed. Jessa felt so groggy, and a familiar indecision and guilt settled in her gut. She reminded herself that she had made her choice, and then got ready for the day’s ride ahead. At the last minute, realising another engagement she had had, Jessa wrote a letter to Larend, apologising for the fact that she would not be able to attend that afternoon. She would give it to someone on her way out to deliver.

Alistair was waiting at the castle stables when she arrived. He smiled at her and handed her one of the horses. She took it with a small smile of her own. She swallowed hard and stared out the stable door. Alistair touched her shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Jessa nodded. She did not trust herself to speak. They mounted their horses silently and left the stables on the road side at a slow walk. Jessa was so tired and nervous about what was coming that she barely paid attention, trusting Alistair to navigate them out of the city. Once they were out, the fresh air rejuvenated Jessa. They nudged the horses into a gentle trot and were on their way. Jessa did not look behind her. She certainly did not think about a man waiting for her on a hill on the other side of the city. She was glad she did not have to see it and feel that guilt again. Out of sight, out of mind.

The north of Etrene gave an easier ride than the south, with its gentle hills. However, they soon came to a large wood, which stretched out as far as Jessa could see on either side, and Jessa decided she had spoken too soon. The trees were densely packed, and despite the daylight, she could hardly see a few metres into the wood. She glanced at Alistair. “Let’s just get this over with,” she said quietly, then got off her horse. She stroked his nose as she took his reins in her hand. There was little chance of being able to ride in the wood. The branches hung low, and the horses needed a rest from carrying them anyway.

The going was slow and tough. Jessa tripped on a root and nearly fell, pulling hard on the horse’s reins and scraping her hand on a nearby tree. It whinnied loudly and shook his head. She turned and whispered apologies to the horse, stroking him with her stinging hand.

“Are you okay?” Alistair asked, appearing at her side. He took her hand without waiting for her response, brought it close to his face and examined it.

“I think I’ll live, Alistair,” Jessa said drily, taking her hand back and wiping the dirt off carefully on her dress. “Come on.”

As they walked, more sunlight mercifully began to filter in from the trees as the sun rose higher in the sky. They could see more clearly now, avoiding the darkest parts of the forest in case anything dangerous lurked there. Jessa did not know much about the forest, but there were some nasty creatures that lived there. Mostly there were nocturnal, though. Jessa could not see her and Alistair returning to Ovis until the following day. She was not coming through here at night.

When they had reached what Alistair had said was halfway through – how could he tell? Jessa did not even know if they were going in the right direction anymore – Jessa thought she heard something. She whipped around, peering into the darkness. She heard the sound of a fallen branch cracking and turned her head. Jessa could not see anything. After a moment, something ran near her feet and she jumped back. Jessa rolled her eyes at herself and went to catch up with Alistair. She was being ridiculous.

They were in the woods for at least another hour, and Jessa was so grateful when she saw the trees thin and light streaming in. She and Alistair shielded their eyes. Once they were out, Jessa looked around. The hills looked no different to the ones on the other side of the forest. She bit her lip and turned to Alistair. “Are you sure we didn’t just go around in a circle?”

Alistair laughed and pointed at something in the distance. Jessa squinted, and could just about see the top of some kind of rock. “See that? That’s the statue of Ramia du Rene, the first du Rene queen and the ruler who ended the Barichean Wars.” Alistair coughed. “I don’t think that was on the other side.”

Jessa smiled. Alistair continued. “There’s a village nearby. I’m getting hungry. Should we go and get something to eat?” Jessa was still staring at the statue. “Jessa?”

“Oh, yes,” she said absently. She glanced at Alistair to see a wide grin on his face.

“Okay, how about I go and get us some food and you can admire the statue more closely.”

They got on their horses and made for the statue. Alistair continued past with a farewell and Jessa came to a stop. The statue rose far above her head. It was heavily weathered, but she could still just about make out the woman. Jessa took a step back. This woman had not been born at the start of the Barichean Wars, and so had not directly taken the throne and banned magic, but she had known about it and kept it secret. Just like all of her descendants. Jessa could not help but hate her a little. Jessa wondered how many people Ramia had had killed after the Wars, for having Greater Magic or for knowing a little bit more than they should. Ramia might have helped end the bloodiest – and least-documented – war in history, but Jessa highly doubted the violence had really ended there. It had just been more subtle. Personal vengeance disguised as execution, claiming treason and criminal activity.

Alistair broke her musings with her return. He handed her some bread and cheese and then looked up at the statue himself. “You looked like you were thinking pretty hard there.”

“Yes, just… wondering what life would have been like for her.”

Alistair grimaced. “Probably not the best. Even when the Wars had officially ended, there were still many smaller revolts and conspiracies to overthrow her. Despite all she did, there were many who did not like her.”

“How do you know all of this?” Jessa asked. She had always been trying to find more information about the time during the Barichean Wars instead of after, but she was a little surprised there was so much to find about Ramia – even if it was really barely anything at all. Her surprise was mostly in that the history did not seem to shy away from saying people hated her. Surely that would just lead to further digging?

“It was years ago. There was a lot more information on the Wars when I was young. It grew steadily harder to find accounts as our department grew – and as we pieced together more parts of the puzzle.” Alistair smiled sadly. “I doubt anyone around here even knows who this statue is anymore. I doubt there are many who even know who Ramia is besides an old queen anymore.”

Alistair looked sad. Above all, Jessa knew he loved to share his knowledge with the world. He hated any part of history to go forgotten. Jessa did, too. She moved her bread to her other hand, eating it slowly, and rested her free hand on Alistair’s shoulder. Alistair sighed.

“Right, well,” he said. “Eat quickly. We should reach Pontery in a few hours.”

***

Alistair was not wrong. The sun had just crested its path and was gradually moving back down when they finally saw Pontery on the horizon. Jessa was exhausted. They had passed through more woods, thankfully small than the first, and had not eaten since their meagre meal of bread and cheese. Adding to her lack of sleep and the fact that they were now within touching distance of the doctor’s cousin, Jessa was irritable. Alistair had stopped trying to talk to her. Jessa felt bad, taking it out on her friend. She just could not stop herself.

The inn was on the outskirts of the town, in prime location for travellers who were just passing through. A small stable stood off to the left. Alistair looked at Jessa, seeing the crease in her brow, and said carefully, “I’ll go and talk to the innkeeper about a room and where we might find this man. Could you take the horses to the stable?”

Jessa did not think she had much choice, and she could see where Alistair was coming from. She would not want to talk to herself right now, if she was the innkeeper. With a sigh, Jessa collected the reins of Alistair’s horse and guided the pair to the stables. She paid the stable boy to take and look after them. From his wide eyes, she had probably given him more than he had been given before. He thanked her happily and rushed inside, taking the horses with him. Jessa sighed and went to sit on a tree stump to wait for Alistair. She glanced around, noting how quiet Pontery seemed. She liked it. In the distance, she could hear the faint sound of the village children laughing and playing. Apart from that, it was comfortably silent. It soothed her, just a little.

A couple of people entered the inn before Alistair came out. One looked at Jessa just before he disappeared inside, probably thinking she was a beggar with her ripped clothes after the adventure in the forest. Jessa turned away from the man almost as soon as she noticed him. She did not care what he thought.

“Jessa,” Alistair said. Jessa stood and looked at Alistair expectantly. “I think I have his house.”

Jessa swallowed and followed Alistair. He asked her a couple of times if she was okay, and each time she nodded tersely. She was not okay, not at all. They walked along the cobblestone streets. Jessa saw the children she had heard. They weaved in an out of the few people walking by. One girl nearly ran into Alistair, yelling sorry as she raced past, her friends in hot pursuit. Jessa bit her lip. She had never known a life like this. She thought she might have liked it.

Alistair turned onto a side street and stopped outside a faded red door. He knocked a couple of times. They waited, and when nothing happened, Alistair knocked again. This time, they heard a gruff voice say, “Alright, alright,” and a moment later Jessa heard the door unlock. The door cracked open, and Jessa just about saw the long crooked nose of the man inside. “What do you want?” he said, speaking so fast his words slurred together.

“We have some questions about your cousin,” Jessa said, her voice sounding hard even to her own ears. The man stared at her, fear plain on his face.

“I have nothing to say to you people,” he said, and slammed the door shut. Jessa and Alistair looked at each other in alarm. Jessa realised she should not have begun so forwardly. Then, Jessa’s heart began to race. He definitely knew something. Jessa moved in front of Alistair and banged on the door, no longer feeling remotely tired.

“We just want to talk to you,” she called, trying to keep her voice calm. “We’re not going to do anything to you. It’s just a couple of questions.”

Nothing. It was as if the man was not even inside, it was so quiet. “Please,” Jessa added, knowing she was beginning to sound a little desperate. Alistair tried to pull her back.

“We’ll just try again later.”

“No,” Jessa nearly shouted. She yanked her arm from Alistair’s grasp. “No.” Her voice broke. “I’m not leaving. I need to know what happened to her. If he knows anything about it, Alistair, I’m going to find out. You might not care, but she’s my mother.”

She breathed heavily, staring at Alistair straight in the eyes. He stared right back. The moment stretched out, and then he said, “I care.”

Jessa deflated, looking at the ground. “I know. I know. I’m still not leaving though.”

She turned back to the door, despite Alistair’s disapproving face. She knocked again. “I hope you heard that. I will stay out here for the rest of the day and all night if I have to. You know something. You do. I promise that I will protect you from whatever you think is going to happen to you if you tell me. I’m here in the king’s stead.” The last was a desperate attempt to get him to listen, she knew. It was not a lie, but she was here for herself more than Alrick. However, knowing the king was behind her might make the man feel he had to talk to her. He might feel like she could actually protect him.

It worked. The door cracked open and the man stared at her. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jessa du Rene, and this is my friend, Alistair.”

“Never heard of you.”

“I’m the king’s illegitimate daughter. My mother was Emara Pryor.” She saw his eyes flicker, and she knew she had him. The man shifted a little. She said gently, “I just want to ask you some questions.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“You don’t even know what I want to ask you yet,” Jessa said. She saw the man wince as he realised his mistake. “I thought so. Now, can we come in? I don’t think you want to have this conversation out here.”

The mam slumped and opened the door wider. Jessa slipped past him, thanking him as she did so. Alistair followed behind her. He whispered in her ear, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

She looked at him, frowning in question. He chuckled and said, “Well, that was a little manipulative of you, wasn’t it? You can’t promise protection, especially as the king won’t be back for weeks.”

She had learnt from the best. Rhys had taught her well. Jessa shrugged. “I don’t intend for Catrice to find out that I know until it’s too late. He won’t need protection.”

“You’ve almost convinced me,” he said as they sat down on the threadbare sofa in the small room. Jessa glanced at the man, but he did not appear to have heard them. He was too busy poking his head out of the door and looking both ways before shutting and locking it. He turned to face them, eyeing them warily. Jessa did not waste a moment.

“What do you know about my mother’s death?” she asked. Alistair looked at her sharply, but she did not care.

“Nothing,” the man said. Jessa pursed her lips. She did not believe him, but there was no point in pressing him too hard. It would only make him close up completely. She changed tack.

“What’s your name?”

“Peter.”

“Hello, Peter,” she said. This was how the conversation should have begun. Now, Peter was only on the defensive.

“Your family used to live in Ovis, didn’t they? Do you know why they moved?”

“We all moved,” he said shortly. “After Rod died.”

“Rod being Rod Falan, one of the old Bejour family physicians?” Alistair checked. He leant forward and held the other man’s gaze. After a pause, Peter sighed and nodded. Alistair nodded, too. “His services were stopped shortly after Emara Pryor died, correct?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know when she died, and I just heard that Rod wasn’t working for them one day.”

Jessa scrutinised him. It looked like he was telling the truth. Perhaps he did not… directly know anything about her mother. Except he had definitely recognised her name.

“Why did you leave after Rod died? Surely you all had work in the city,” Jessa asked. She frowned. Peter looked away, fiddling with his hands. She waited patiently as he moved into the room and sat down on an armchair which was even more worn than the sofa. He picked at the threads on the right arm. The motion looked so practised that Jessa was surprised the chair had any fabric left on it.

“We… Yes, I suppose. Most of us just didn’t want to stay in Ovis after he died. We just needed to leave.”

“Few people just leave,” Jessa said lightly. “It couldn’t have been easy, everyone and their children packing up their homes and moving everything far away.”

“You’re the one living closest to Ovis, as far as I can tell,” Alistair added. Jessa glanced at her friend, then looked at Peter again. She needed to catch every single reaction he had to their words. At the moment, he looked uncomfortable. His gaze was locked on the fire flickering in the dirty grate.

“I didn’t want to stay, but I didn’t want to be too far either.” Jessa frowned. There was something off about his words. Jessa would have thought so even if he had been a random stranger she had met on the street. She shifted forwards on the sofa until she was perched on the edge.

“Why not?” she asked. “Wouldn’t you want to be with your family? You’d been around them all your life in Ovis. Why would you suddenly want to live your life like this? Alone.”

Peter dropped his head. She saw anguish on his face and wondered if she had pushed too far. Jessa bit her lip and sat back. Perhaps Alistair was better at asking the questions. Jessa asked all the wrong ones and just made Peter clam up. She was too close to this; she needed this too much.

Alistair turned to her. “Perhaps we should go, Jessa.” Jessa bit her lip and looked at Peter. He seemed lost, staring listlessly about the room. He appeared to have forgotten they were there. They were not going to get anything out of him, not like this. Jessa’s resolve at staying until they got answers fizzled.

She nodded. “We can come back in a few hours.”

“Or tomorrow.” Alistair’s tone brooked no argument. Jessa sighed and nodded. They stood. Jessa went to the door but Alistair hung back. He smiled sadly at Peter and patted him on the shoulder. Alistair had reached Jessa’s side when Peter surprised them by speaking. Jessa turned, stunned.

“Rod’s wife told me the whole family had to leave. All she said was that the Bejour family wanted us gone because of something that had happened with Rod. She mentioned something about a girl – your mother. I didn’t know she’d died. All I know is I was meant to leave the country like the rest of my family. And I didn’t.”

That was all Jessa needed. She breathed, “Thank you.”

Peter looked at them. His eyes were filled with fear and sorrow. “Don’t thank me. I just don’t want you coming back here, bursting into my life and bringing back the problems I’d rather forget. That really is all I know. I hope it isn’t enough to scare them. I hope they don’t find me.”

Jessa bit her lip. She felt a little ashamed of herself. Although she thought he would be fine, she could very well have put Peter’s life in danger by coming here and making him speak. She stepped towards him. “I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Knowing there was nothing more to say, Jessa and Alistair left.

[Rosabeth]

Despite Rhys’ better judgment, the queen had demanded that they leave shortly after dawn, and Rhys’ couldn’t exactly argue with her wishes. He’d spent much of the previous night writing hasty instructions to be delivered to the nobles, as well as a vague explanation of his plans to Jessa. He had thought of sending nothing, not wishing to needlessly worry her, but as he considered that he was walking into a war zone that was sure to be littered with men who would be more than pleased to bring the king his head on a pike under the ruse of a wartime “confusion”, he thought perhaps worry would be better than the alternative. As the sun began to rise over the horizon, Rhys lounged against a shop wall, trying to shake off the fatigue and the unpleasant side-effects of a night of too much drinking. A dull throb refused to go away, and as the light grew more intense so did Rhys’ curses. Finally the queen appeared from one of the connecting streets carrying nothing more than a small rucksack. She concealed herself well in plain clothing and a light headscarf to draw attention from her face. Dressed so common without adornments or golden crown she was nearly unrecognizable.

“Is this all you’ve brought?” Rhys asked, gesturing to the bag slung over the queen’s arm. She gave a nod, taking a step away when Rhys tried to take it from her.

“I may be a queen but I can take care of myself,” she argued, pulling the bag more closely to her body. Rhys said no more.

Their walk to the outskirts of the city where the public stables were housed was taken in near silence, the queen apparently having nothing to say and Rhys having so many questions that he couldn’t seem to voice any of them. As they got further from the city center and the morning drew on more and more people began milling about the streets, and though the occasional bypasser would cast a strange look at the queen, sensing something out of place, a passing glance was the most of their worries. Still, even the slightest look put Rhys on edge.

“I still think we should have left at night,” Rhys said quietly as they passed an elderly woman whose beady-eyed glare followed them until they were out of sight.

The queen shook her head and sighed, leaving Rhys unsure if he was supposed to feel insulted. “You think like a spy, always sneaking around, not trying to get caught. My security advisors would agree with you of course. They’d demand a full guard with a constant watch, movement at night and bribes to silence anyone who sees anything. But what’s the use?” The queen tugged at her headscarf and gestured to her dress. “If I hide in plain sight I can travel when I want, where I want, and with whom I want. Most people are far too absorbed in their own lives to care about someone they saw on the street for a few moments. Besides, I haven’t been recognized yet, not even in Kolonis.”

“You talk as if you do this a lot.”

When Rhys looked to the queen he saw that she wore a sly grin but gave no answer, instead quickening her pace and leaving Rhys to catch up. Rhys ducked his head and smiled to himself. To see the queen behave like a normal person was to see a person behind the façade. His smile faltered as he wondered if it was her father’s assassination and rise to power that had hardened her so.

As they neared the edge of the city they passed by a small market, and two willowy figures passed through Rhys’ vision, so quickly as to almost be missed. Rhys’ gaze followed them through the stalls until they stopped next to a young woman setting up shop. She looked up in surprise as they stopped, and as she glimpsed their faces her expression darkened, suddenly looking about in alarm. The tallest figure reached out to the woman and placed something in her open palm. She looked at it quickly before tightening her fist and placing whatever was inside in the pocket of her skirts. A few low, quick words were exchanged, but the woman scurried off moments later, the whole exchange having taken not even half a minute. When the two figures turned to one another, discussing in hurried whispers, Rhys noiced a lock of nearly white blonde hair peak out from under the woman’s hood, and suddenly Rhys put a name to the face. In that same moment, Rhys realized he was not the only one who’d recognized the other’s presence.

The twins turned towards Rhys and stared in silence, gauging him just as guarded as he gauged them. Ever since Rhys’ first few initial meetings with the Lanis twins things between them had been reserved at best. Their alliance had proved to be a bit less than hoped for, but as Rhys had quickly found out there was not much of an alliance to begin with. Rhys had stayed true to his word, giving the twins some information on how to get in contact with some of Jasrah’s elite and where to find certain resources, and in turn the twins had informed Rhys of all their meetings as well as lists of those dissidents they’d gathered information on in Jasrah. But despite this exchange of information it became quickly clear that the twins were not only fiercely independent but extremely solitary.

Miriyam gave a slow nod in Rhys’ direction while Johannes raised his hand slight in acknowledgement. They both looked at the queen then, looked to each other, and left without a word.

“They recognize you, I can tell, ” Rhys muttered, turning back towards the stables and attemping to urge the queen forward without actually touching her. Unfortunately for him, the queen was frozen on the spot, and no amount of coercing would move her from her spot.

“Do you know them?” Rhys tried to mask his surprise at the queen’s voice, suddenly quiet and calculating.

“Miriyam and Johannes Lanis. Apparently they arrived while I was in Novamor. They’re more or less the leaders of the revolutionaries in Jasrah, if we even have revolutionaries. They’re not fans of the king, needless to say.”

The queen pursed her lips, still staring off in the direction the twins had gone. “And you’re friends?”

“More acquaintances than anything. They’re sort of strange, don’t you agree? There’s just something…off about them but I can’t put my finger on it.” Even when Rhys finished speaking the queen continued staring, unfazed by his words. “Do you know them, Your Majesty?”

“Mayb- no. No, I don’t.” The queen must have realized her words were hardly convincing and she shook her head, recomposing herself. “They look strangely familiar, that’s all.” Rhys tried to coax more information out the of the queen but it became quickly apparent that the subject was closed. Still, it would take a fool not to notice how the meeting had affected the queen. It was the closest Rhys had ever seen her to looking afraid.

They procured horses quickly, securing the strongest and fastest available with a little bribery on Rhys’ part, though judging by the stable master’s shocked expression upon seeing Rhys he probably could have just taken them without a fight. After securing their things they made their way quickly out of the city limits, and once on the road headed north along the coast line the trip was just a matter of distance. It was a three-day journey to the city of Surenye, just south of where the Novarian army was currently camped, but with their conditioned horses they were able to scrape by in just two. Most of their travels were filled with silence as they rode, but occasionally they would break into idle chatter, and it was in those moments, speaking about things of little consequence, that Rhys realized for the first time why the queen might wish to travel without a guard. He doubted her subjects and servants would offer much in the way of conversation or any normalcy. Friendship seemed to be something forfeited when taking a throne.

They passed through Surenye early the third day, and it wasn’t much further until they reached the camp, and immediately it became apparent just how formidable this army was. Tents lined the horizon, and as they drew near camp Rhys stared slackjawed at the rows and rows of tents, populated by what must have been several thousand soldiers. Many of the soldiers sat around slow burning fires eating their breakfasts while the rest either tended to their equipment or wounds. Unlike the Etrenian cities, the queen was not able to pass through the camp unnoticed. As their horses drew near the edge of camp three men sharpening their blades looked up from their work and the recognition was instantaneous. The word spread like wildfire, and audible buzz sweeping through the camp until it was absolutely alive with the news. Rhys and the queen dismounted just inside the confines of the encampment, and as soon as the queen’s feet touched the ground the soldiers in a sweeping motion that brought the entirety of the army to its knees.

The silence that followed was unnerving. The queen transformed before Rhys’ eyes, removing her head scarf with one hand and extending the other to the line of soldiers, touching their outstretched hands. With those simple motions the crowd exploded, the solemn silence of her arrival turning into a frenzy of excitement as the queen and Rhys were led deeper into the camp. Despite their station, struggling day by day to survive in an unfriendly foreign land, tending to wounds with far too few healers to tend to each injured man, it was clear that the queen was utterly adored. From every smile she gave, every hand she shook and each step she took, the Queen of Novamor was an icon to her people to be revered and loved. If King Alrick was not already frightened by the sheer size of her army, it was the utter devotion of her people that should send him running for the hills.

Despite the crowds, they eventually made it to the center of camp where a familiar face greeted Rhys.

“Your Majesty,” said Captain Tumar, kneeling before his queen and kissing her hand. When he stood he extended one hand to Rhys, giving him a faint smile. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Rhys stared blankly back, wondering if perhaps he’d misheard. From the corner of his eye he saw the queen shoot her captain a threatening look and watched as Tumar’s face grew red, the embarrassment in this obvious slip clear to all. So the queen had lied. The question now was why was Rhys here? Looking around the war zone, Rhys couldn’t think of any answer that he’d like.

Rhys had no time to ponder the question, for Tumar swept them into his tent before yelling at the other soldiers in a long-winded Novarian curse, waiting for them to scatter before returning to his new guests. Inside the tent were several other men and two women, all donning freshly polished armor bearing the Novarian seal. They greeted the queen in much the same fashion as Tumar, and after seeing to their sovereign gave Rhys a quick greeting. Once all were introduced they drew their attention back to the tactical maps strewn on a large table in the center of the room, allowing Tumar and the queen some privacy.

“I was beginning to think you might not make it in time,” said Tumar, moving to a small pitcher and pouring the queen and Rhys a glass of wine.

“Have I ever been late?”

Tumar did not argue that point. “Still, I’m glad to see that all went well. The meeting will occur sometime this afternoon, though the king’s men were rather vague about the time.”

Rhys nearly spit out his wine. “The king? Alrick?”

“That would be the only king,” the queen retorted.

Rhys looked back and forth between the queen and Tumar, hoping that someone would have the decency to tell him what was going on, because at the moment Rhys was beginning to realize that he’d been severely under informed. Tumar quickly came to the same conclusion, frowning at the queen with a frustrated sigh. The queen appeared unmoved, taking another sip from her cup without so much as acknowledging Rhys’ question.

“I take it Her Majesty didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Rhys groaned, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“King Alrick is meeting with Her Majesty this afternoon. We’ve arranged peace talks.”

“Peace talks?” From Tumar’s sigh it seemed that he was just as skeptical of this claim as was Rhys.

“More or less.”

[Mollianne]

Neither Jessa nor Alistair had spoken since they left the house. They had returned to the inn in silence. They had sat down at a table, hidden in the corner, in silence. An hour later, drinks in front of them, they were still silent. Jessa did not feel like speaking; she did not know whether Alistair felt the same or if he knew she wasn’t willing. She stared at the liquid in her glass and wondered why they had not separated once they reached the inn. Jessa pushed her glass away and stood up. Alistair started and looked up, his eyes slowly focusing on her. He had been somewhere else for the last hour. Jessa swallowed.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said simply. When it looked like Alistair was getting ready to stand too, Jessa put out her hand to stop him. “Alone.”

Alistair frowned but sat back. She could feel his eyes on her back as she left, and Jessa thought that he might try and follow her as soon as he thought she would not notice. Jessa quickened her pace, walking past the stables and into the fields surrounding the village. The crops grew long and tall, partially concealing her and tickling her arms. She navigated the field carefully, not wanting to damage the village’s food. On the other side, there was a pasture. Jessa climbed over the short wooden fence, not caring if it tore her dress. It was already ruined after all.

Jessa had walked halfway across the field, heading towards the southern tip of the village, when she realised there was someone else there too. She slowed her pace, just as the man turned to face her. All colour drained from her face. She knew this man. Jessa took a step back, and then another, and then she turned around a rushed to the fence. She had her hand on a post, ready to pull herself over, when the man pulled her back.

“You missed our meeting.” His expression was serene, a small smile on his lips, as if he was discussing the weather or something equally mundane. Jessa scowled and pulled her arm away from him. She felt backed into a corner. “Not that I expected you to show up, not after you went to see him yesterday.”

“You’ve been following me,” Jessa said through gritted teeth. Her eyes narrowed into slits. She remembered the man she had seen watching her when she had first reunited with Alistair. After that, she had not noticed anyone watching her again and so she had thought she was being paranoid. She had been wrong. Jessa gripped the fence to calm herself down.

“I suppose I have.”

“Get away from me.” Jessa turned and clambered over the fence before the man could reach out to stop her. She felt a light tug on her dress just before she reached the other side, but it was not strong enough to hold her back.

“You contacted me, Jessa. Whatever you think now, you wanted to speak to me at one point. The ring wouldn’t have worked otherwise,” the man called. Jessa slowed to a stop, her body tensing. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, hating her curiosity.

“What do you mean?” she asked, keeping her back to him. She heard the sound of someone landing on the ground behind her. However, the man made no other move towards her. Jessa let out a deep breath.

“Exactly what I said. You needed to genuinely, without doubts, want to hear what I had to say.”

“There wasn’t a single moment when I didn’t doubt going to you,” Jessa said, her voice as cold as ice. The man laughed.

“Not according to the ring. You wanted to talk to me, but your fear of the truth held you back. It still is.”

Jessa turned around. She took two slow, deliberate steps towards the man and then stopped. They stared at each other, neither one backing down. Jessa could not even say why he riled her so much. She could only attribute it to the way he talked as if he knew everything about everyone, as well as everything else she was dealing with that day. She did not need this.

Eventually, Jessa said, “You said you didn’t think I would turn up because I went to see him. You mean Alistair? Why would you think I wouldn’t come because of that?”

The man shrugged. He was infuriating. “If you don’t know…” Jessa balled her fists and let out a huff of frustration.

“Why did you even follow me all the way here if you’re still not going to tell me anything useful? Maybe that’s why I didn’t meet you. Maybe I realised you were just playing me for a fool and didn’t actually have anything to say. Or maybe, just maybe, I had something I decided was more important to do!”

The man leaned back, clearly not expecting the ferocity of her words. Jessa sighed, closing her eyes and trying to keep calm. She was lashing out, but it was not really this man – however awkward he was being – that she wanted to take her anger out on. It was someone completely different. Jessa deflated. Refusing to glance at the man, Jessa walked to the fence and rested her arms on it. After a moment, she heard the man join her.

“Why did you come here?” she asked in defeat. She was tired, so tired, of this.

“I thought we’d already come to the conclusion that I’m spying on you,” the man said lightly. Jessa shook her head, partly in exasperation and partly – surprising herself – in amusement.

“Making sure I don’t do anything stupid?”

“No. Just watching while you do.”

Jessa glowered. Instead of looking at him, she lifted her face and stared straight ahead, watching the trees sway in the breeze, watching the clouds move across the sky. Anything other than him.

“I know what I’m doing,” Jessa said. Except she didn’t. She had no idea what she was doing. She had learnt virtually nothing since her arrival in Ovis, and she had left the city as soon as an opportunity presented itself to change that. But, of course, she was not about to admit that to him. From the way he scoffed, he seemed to know it anyway.

They fell into an awkward silence. Jessa was beginning to hate it; there had been too much silence that day. Too much gone unsaid. Too much she still did not know. She sighed, picking at a splinter in the wood.

“Who even are you?” she said, finally relenting.

“I’m no one, really,” he said. Jessa decided he was only doing this to aggravate her, and she would not give him the satisfaction.

Jessa looked at him, her face blank. There was a small smile on his face again, taunting her, daring her. Jessa decided she was not going to let him evade her anymore. “Answer the question. I can’t even consider trusting someone when I don’t even know their name.”

His expression changed subtly. He straightened and his smile turned a little more genuine. It seemed that even the promise of Jessa trusting him was enough.

“I lived in a small village like this one once. Even smaller, actually.” His eyes had dulled. It was the first time Jessa had seen him look anything other than smug. He turned away from her, staring into the distance. The wistfulness in his eyes did not waver. “I lived with my mother and grandparents on their farm. I was a good farmer. It was good, honest work and I loved it. I’d never wanted anything more, except-” He stopped himself, and Jessa did not press. Whatever he was thinking, Jessa guessed it was intensely private. She was surprised he had even said as much as he had – even if he still had not answered her actual question.

“What happened?” she asked. He did not act or look like a farmer. She did not know what he looked like, but he had certainly seen more of the world than he would have done in that profession, and it appeared he had not liked what he had seen. Jessa had to agree with him.

He did not speak for a long time. “I was taken away from my family just like my father had been. I’d just turned sixteen. I was taken to Ovis – taken to die. But… the day before I was meant to die, the king came and offered me a choice.” Jessa gripped the fence as her heart began to beat hard in her chest. The man looked down, his face anguished and clearly reliving the moments he had thought had been his last. “I wish I’d chosen to die. The things I’ve done…”

His voice cut off, and he bowed his head. Jessa bit her lip, regretting asking him even if she had not expected him to answer. She did not know what she ought to do. Trying to comfort him felt awkward, and there was nothing she could say anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Jessa asked, frowning. He looked up and stared straight at her. She barely recognised him as the same man from before. If she did not know better, she would have said this was someone else.

“I… Your friend Irina…”

“I know,” Jessa said, realising she did know. She had known as soon as he had told her Alrick had taken him. If she was being honest with herself, if she had not tried to put this man completely out of her head, she would have known it much sooner. He had mentioned Irina the first time they had met. It was obvious now that he had been the one who had made Irina lose her memories. But it was also plain that he had not wanted to do so.

“I’m sorry. I had no choice. I barely even knew what I was doing when I was under my master’s influence. I just did things. It felt… like the right thing to do. I’m sorry.” Jessa shook her head.

“How… how did you get out of it?” she asked tentatively.

“The old man went and died. I saw my chance and took it. I was with one of the girls at the time but we got separated after a couple of days. I don’t know what happened to her. All I know is the others, who were too confused after the spell lifted to run, were all rounded up and are back as they were. Puppets for Alrick. I just got lucky, and have been around these people much longer than the rest so I know how to avoid them better.”

There was a pause. The man turned around and leant back against the fence. The weak sun shone down on his face. Jessa turned too, facing him. In the silence, Jessa considered that if this man had shown this side to him when they had first met, she would have listened to him long ago. This man had done things, had seen things, knew things, and he was hurting. Jessa guessed that the other side to him was his way of protecting himself. It was his way of forgetting everything that had happened in his life.

“I saw you once, when I’d just been to see Irina. I’d usually go every day, although the times you thought she was getting better were just times when I hadn’t been able to visit. But that’s how I knew who you were. And I asked about you, so when I got out of there I thought that, if I could find you, you might listen.”

“You asked about me?” Jessa asked slowly, her voice low. The man turned to her, realising his slip. “Who did you ask?” Her words were little more than a breath. With a sinking feeling, she thought she already knew. Because who else could it be?

“Do you really want to hear this, Jessa?”

She could not speak. She opened her mouth but no words came. Instead, she nodded. The man smiled, a hint of his previous character coming through. His smile turned to a grin as he said, “Then my name’s Nayall.”

Jessa could not smile back, even if she appreciated what he had said. She swallowed, holding her breath until Nayall decided to speak.

“I asked your friend. I wanted to know if you would be a problem, either from asking too many questions or making it harder for me to come.”

Jessa heard a rushing sound in her ears, like the wind howling across the sea. She gripped the fence tightly as her knees weakened. Even though she had been expecting the words, Jessa had not been prepared. Not at all. She had hoped until the last second that it would be someone else.

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because if I didn’t do my job properly-”

“No,” she said, “No, why Alistair? Why was he doing it?”

“He was the one keeping Irina. He would watch her and if she was showing signs of her memory coming back he would inform me.”

“No!” she shouted. She rubbed her cheeks and her fingers came away wet. Nayall turned towards her and she stepped hastily back. “You’re not listening to me. Why was Alistair working with you? Why would he do that? Was he spelled, like you?”

Nayall opened and closed his mouth like a fish. He shrugged. “I… I don’t know.”

“Tell me the truth,” Jessa demanded, pulling her arms about herself and trying not to cry. This was not happening. He was mistaken, he had to be. Or Alrick had got to Alistair somehow, and turned his mind against him. There was a reasonable explanation.

“I don’t know.”

“You told me I couldn’t trust anyone in Ovis, and you meant him. You meant my friend. You do know. Tell me.” Jessa’s words were hard, and cold, and quiet. Nayall watched her for a moment. He swallowed.

“I don’t… It’s hard to tell, particularly when you’re under the spell yourself. But… I got the feeling that if he was, it wasn’t much. Just a gentle nudge here and there. He did genuinely want to help Irina, though. He didn’t like to see her like that which was why he insisted he kept her – because he knew he could keep her safe. She would have been treated far worse with anyone else.”

“You two had a lot of time for talking then, did you?” Jessa said spitefully. “You both sat around discussing the morality of your actions while you ripped Irina of her mind, of everything she’d ever known. And I suppose Alistair was keeping her safe when he took her to Ovis? Why did he do that? Do you know that too?”

Nayall did not respond for a while. Jessa breathed in and out heavily, wanting with all her heart to run far away from this man but needing to hear everything he had to say. Needing to understand even as she knew she never would.

“She wasn’t under my influence. Although she’d never be what she was… I’d… I’d damaged her too much for that…” Nayall swallowed, closing his eyes and burying his head in his hands. “She might have regained something. But she needed more help than she could get in Jasrah. So suddenly losing my influence, she wouldn’t have been able to cope. But I haven’t asked him. I don’t know why he took her back there. He never seemed to want to before.”

“So you believe he did it as a kindness?”

“Maybe. Or everything he had said to me had been a lie. I don’t trust him, Jessa. Not as soon as he did that. And if I were you-”

“Don’t tell me what to think. Don’t. You kept this from me when you should have told me. I can’t trust you. You could be lying. Someone could have sent you to make me doubt Alistair.”

“You don’t believe that,” Nayall said simply.

“Don’t I? Are you reading my thoughts?” she asked, just as she realised he very well could be. “Why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn’t. So take this.” He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to her and she took it warily. Flipping it over, she saw it was a drawing of him – bad, but recognisable. “When you get back to Ovis, go to the address at the bottom. Ask Irina whether she recognises me, and if she does, whether she’s ever seen me with Alistair before. She’ll probably remember, given that I was always there at her most lucid.”

Jessa swallowed, staring at the picture and the words scrawled underneath it. When she looked up, Nayall was walking away. She bit her lip and looked out towards the village, peaceful and beautiful. Nothing like what was going on in Jessa’s head.

Alistair… Alistair knew. Alistair knew about Greater Magic, and he had pretended he didn’t. Jessa had no idea whether she knew Alrick had it, although she guessed he didn’t – the chances of Alrick telling anyone and letting them live was rather slim – but he knew about the magic all that time she had been trying to find out about it.

If Nayall was telling her the truth. But even though nothing could keep her from visiting Irina and see if she could refute Nayall’s claims, she had the sinking feeling that everything he had told her was absolutely real.

And she had just lost the first person she had trusted since her mother’s death. She had lost her safety net, the one person she had always been able to turn to and rely on. She had lost her friend.

[Rosabeth]

By midmorning the queen was whisked away to another round of meetings with advisors and commanders and the like, leaving Rhys to fend for himself. But Rhys barely had a moment’s rest, for almost instantly a hand clamped down on his shoulder and began pulling him in the opposite direction.

“You’re the one who came with the queen, yeah?” asked the soldier, eyeing Rhys with suspicion. “Come with me, then. We’ve got to get you sorted out. It’s Her Majesty’s orders.”

In a few short minutes Rhys found himself standing inside a large tent made into a makeshift armory, littered with dozens of weapons of all means and a good deal of armor. The man accompanying Rhys cleared his throat, drawing the master of arms’ attention to the very out-of-place Rhys. The stoic man gave Rhys’ body a once over, ordering him to spin about before giving a grunt Rhys could only interpret as some sort of sign of approval. After rummaging through a mound of crumpled cloth the man withdrew a linen tunic and pants, tossing them at Rhys with a command – strip. Rhys pulled off his cloths, soiled from travel, and slipped on the new garments. The master of arms gave Rhys one more cursory glance before setting a pile of armor on the ground by Rhys’ feet, using the opportunity to inspect Rhys’ feet and procure a pair of leather boots. After giving a nondescript gesture towards a woman stringing a bow in the far corner, Rhys was left alone to ponder the armor with more questions than he’d started with.

On top of the pile was a chain mail tunic, and underneath were a set of greaves, gauntlets, and a leather breastplate embossed with Novarian symbols. The set was elegant in a way, the metal glimmering in the light, clearly newly polished. Rhys ran his hands over the chain mail, feeling no imperfections in the small links. As he raised one of the greaves to further inspect the small etchings on the outer surface Rhys’ heard a voice from nearby. The woman tending to the bows watched Rhys from across the tent, a small smile tugging at her lips. She spoke again, but Rhys realized this time that he had detected no words initially because she spoke in a language he had never heard. It was Novarian in origin judging by a few familiar words, but the dialect was wholly foreign to Rhys’ ears. The woman laughed at Rhys’ dumbfounded expression and set down her bow, coming to Rhys’ side and picking up the other greave.

“It goes on your leg,” she said in Novarian.

“I know,” Rhys added hastily. “I’ve worn armor before.”

“Ah, you must be the Etrenian everyone’s been talking about,” the woman said upon noticing Rhys’ accent. “Are you to join our forces, then? Have you defected from your side?”

“I’m just here as a matter of business with the queen, though now I’m not so sure.” Rhys raised the chain mail once more, the weight of it feeling foreign in his hands.
The woman stared at him expectantly, sighing when Rhys set down the armor. “Well, put it on already. Obviously someone wants you to wear it.” Rhys couldn’t disagree, pulling on the chain mail with surprising ease and topping it with the leather breastplate. The woman helped fasten the greaves while Rhys pulled on the gauntlets, flexing his fingers to get a feel for the unfamiliar armor.

“Well?” The woman asked, taking a step back to observe Rhys. He jostled about in place for a moment, surprised to find that the armor was impressively light on his body, even with the layers. “It’s nice, is it not?” said the woman, slapping Rhys on the back. “Some of my best work, in my opinion.”

“You made this?” Rhys realized a moment too late that his surprise might be interpreted as insulting, but the woman only gave an appreciative nod.

“Well, I made the chain mail, not the armor. It’s my specialty, that and bows. I’ve been working in the service of the army for ten years now. It’s the finest you’ll find in Novamor, if I do say so myself. But that’s not important, let’s get you equipped.” The woman moved back to the walls of the armory, inspecting a small collection of swords with a heavy concentration before eventually selecting one and bringing it to Rhys. She placed the hilt in Rhys’ hand and ran her hand down the blade before stepping back and admiring Rhys with a self-satisfied grin. “Well, even if you’re not a soldier now you can at least say you look the part.”

“What’s your name, anyway?” Rhys asked.

“Indri. And you are?”

“Rhys. Just Rhys, don’t listen to the others.”

Indri flashed another smile and took Rhys’ hand to shake. “Well, Rhys, if you don’t die please come back and let me know. And if you do, then at least I know my armor isn’t working.”

Before Rhys could so much as give thanks or say a goodbye, Captain Tumar appeared at the door, and from his grave expression Rhys knew the time for pleasantries was over. The captain walked quickly through the camp, all but pushing over the men in his way as he worked to speed up his pace.

“Where are we going?” Rhys asked as she jogged to keep beside the captain.

“The king decided to arrive early for once in his life which means we have about ten minutes to prepare for the meeting and get you into the formation.”

Rhys had no idea what this formation was the captain spoke of, but just the very word put Rhys on edge. “Formation?”

“You didn’t think we dressed you all up like a soldier for your amusement, did you?” For the first time the captain gave Rhys a proper look, his face screwing up as he squinted into the sunlight. “Where’s your helmet?”

“My –“

“Never mind,” the captain grunted. He stopped suddenly, approaching a soldier who sat on a block of wood near a tent sharpening his blade. “You there, you’re helmet.”

The soldier stared back in confusion for one moment too long, nearly shooting into the air as he fumbled to pick up his helmet and hand it to his commander. The captain in turn handed it to Rhys. “Don’t forget to get a new one from the armory,” he said to the boy without so much as a sideways glance.

Rhys kept the thin helmet under his left arm with his right hand still firmly gripping his sword as he and the captain plowed through the rest of camp. Once they reached the empty fields beyond Rhys could see that what he’d taken to be an endless plain was actually an incline leading up to a wide, flat topped hill dotted with dark figures. They hurried the half-mile or so to the top of the hill, joining the rest of the queen’s party. The queen herself stood far in front of the soldiers who assembled a small line along the edge of the broad hilltop, staring off towards the advancing party from the north. Captain Tumar jabbed Rhys quickly in the side, pointing to the helmet tucked under Rhys’ arm. Rhys hurriedly slipped it on before taking his place beside the other identically dressed soldiers. With his full set of armor and a helmet obscuring his most identifiable features, Rhys realized that even at close distance it was unlikely that the king would so much give him a second glance.

As they waited for the king’s party to arrive, Rhys looked over the queen’s party, noting a few people he’d never seen before. Tumar and another captain stood on either side of the queen, but further back, just to Rhys’ left, stood a small gathering of advisors, though one in particular did not seem to fit the part. She was a young woman, younger even than Rhys, who did not dress in any protective clothing, wearing instead a simple green dress with her dark hair laying loose over her shoulders. Just then the queen turned back briefly, looking directly at the unfamiliar young woman and giving her a curt nod. Rhys studied the young woman then, noting how her face changed, the worried lines that creased her features smoothing out though her hands tensed into fists. Her eyes fluttered shut for a short moment, and when they opened once more she was staring fixedly at the queen with the utmost concentration. It did not take much imagination to realize what was going on, and he was surprised he had not thought of such a thing sooner. The queen had brought magical protection, and considering what they knew of the king it was practically a necessity.

The moment King Alrick’s entourage reached the top of the hill an utter silence fell over both parties. Even Rhys found himself to be holding his breath as his eyes laid upon the face of the man who’d orchestrated the kidnapping of hundreds of Etrenian and Novarian nobles, who’d murdered countless innocents who simply knew too much, and most horrendously in Rhys’ eyes neglected and mistreated Jessa since childhood and would most likely have no qualms about slaughtering her too should the truth be revealed. Rhys could feel himself rage with rage. He was so close now, close enough to see the details of the king’s face and the designs on his clothing, and all Rhys could think of was how easily and quickly he could slit the king’s throat. Instead, Rhys forced himself to listen.

“Queen Tula,” Alrick greeted, his voice as hard and emotionless as ever. His face remained emotionless as he extended a single hand towards the queen.

“King Alrick,” the queen responded, the venom in her voice carefully concealed behind a composed front, though it could hardly be considered warm. She took the king’s hand firmly and shook, her eyes never once leaving his.

The physical difference between the two sovereigns alone was startling. Juxtaposed against Alrick, Rhys realized just how young the new queen truly was. Whereas Alrick’s hair was greying, his skin beginning to wrinkle about the eyes and his body noticeably less youthful than he had undoubtedly been at the start of his reign, Queen Tula was the picture of youth. Barely thirty and easily passing for younger, her dark hair was long and thick, her skin luminous and unblemished and there was an unmistakable spark of youth in her eyes. Alrick stood at about Rhys’ height, towering over the queen who stood several inches shorter than even the other women in her party, yet somehow the queen seemed nearly as tall in Rhys’ eyes. But beyond the physical differences, it was strange to think that the queen Alrick so hated and feared was easily young enough to be his daughter.

As four servants approached, two holding a small table between them and the other two carrying simple wooden chairs, Rhys could hear an audible sigh of relief from the soldier who stood to his left. To the actual soldiers, those whose lives were dedicated to the protection of the woman before them, simply seeing the formalities continuing without any unexpected assassination attempts seemed to be more than enough to bring relief.

Once the table and chairs were set the king and queen took their seats simultaneously, each one consciously making sure to neither be the first nor last to sit, resulting in their actions being strangely synchronized. They watched each other for a moment in silence, studying each other’s mannerisms and expressions with the utmost detail yet both trying very hard to not let their scrupulous gazes attract too much attention. Even without words the scene was wholly captivating. Rhys couldn’t take his eyes away.

“I thank you for meeting me here today,” Alrick began. When the queen gave no response or acknowledgement he continued, albeit slightly put off. “I assure you I come in peace today.”

“Of course.” Despite her words, the queen’s very voice made it quite clear she took his empty assurances with a grain of salt. “Then I assume you have come to negotiate a treaty. I can tell you right now there will be no such treaty.”

Alrick had clearly been expecting this response. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You have not even heard what I have to say.”

“Then let me make this quite simple – do you deny the allegations that you have orchestrated attacks on my people within and outside my borders?” the queen asked, her voice hard and short.

“Of course.”

“And do you deny the allegations that you have used illegal means to deny my people of their free will and to subjugate them to what is essentially slavery?”

“Yes, I do deny it.”

Queen Tula took a long breath, leaning in closer towards Alrick. “And do you deny that you have attempted to have me assassinated on five separate occasions in the six years of my reign?”

Whatever the king had been expecting, it was not this. Despite their attempted composure both the king and queen’s parties stifled gasps, and even Rhys found that he’d momentarily stopped breathing. That the allegation was true would hardly surprise Rhys given King Alrick and Queen Tula’s tumultuous and short history, but that the queen would openly state the accusation when he had never before heard of an attempt on her life was shocking.

The entire gathering waited earnestly for the king’s response, and despite Alrick’s best composure and stoicism, Rhys did not miss the clenching of his jaw or the slight shake of his chest as he drew in a breath. That the queen had managed to catch him so wholly off-guard deserved an honor in its own right.

“May I ask what proof you have to these allegations?” he stated calmly, his eyes so fixated on the queen Rhys was not sure if he was blinking at all.

“Certainly. During a speech I gave in Kolonis during the first year of my rule an archer attempted to shoot me as I was exiting my balcony. He instead hit one of my guards, and when we inspected the arrow we discovered that it was made of spruce wood. As I’m sure you know, the spruce tree does not grow in Novamor, though it is quite common in Ovis.”

All eyes rested on Alrick, but he did not flinch under pressure, though Rhys was sure that inside he was boiling with rage.

“In my second year I was nearly poisoned twice at banquets. Fortunately I was able to detect the poison before I drank the wine. The first servant who had poured my drink was questioned and found to not be a servant in my household at all. When we investigated further we found that he was actually a trader in Asanos who frequented the southern cities of Etrene. He was fluent in Etrenian. The second poisoner was a woman of my household but who we found had recently taken leave to give birth. As we found out later she had spent much of that leave unaccounted for.”

“I hardly think that’s sufficient evidence,” Alrick interjected, his composure beginning to crumble as his voice lifted on his last word, breaking his monotone. The queen simply gave a dull smile, ignoring his words.

“The fourth attempt happened my fourth year. One of my ladies in waiting attempted to smoother me in my sleep. What she didn’t know is that I keep a knife under my pillow. I stabbed her in the arm. When she’d been detained and questioned it seemed as if she couldn’t recall ever having don’t what she was accused of. I’d always found that strange, yet I find it less strange now.”

“And the last?” Alrick asked. His voice was short now, clipped as he hurried through his words. Her last words had visibly rattled him, for it was the first time the queen had acknowledged that she was very much aware that the king was using Greater Magic.

“The last was just this year. I was greeting my people on the streets of Kolonis when I was stabbed just outside a discreet entrance to my palace. The man we caught was carrying a blank slip of parchment once again made of fibers that do not exist in my country yet exist in Etrene. We also noticed faint markings on the paper that resembled your sigil.”

This was the first allegation to which the king seemed to take with less severity. Even a small smile passed over his lips, though it was gone almost instantly. “Do you have any proof that you were ever even stabbed?”

Rhys heard a hushed whisper among the soldiers, appalled that the king would ask such a thing. However, it appeared that the queen was prepared for such a request. She brought her hands to her gown, slowly beginning to undo the laces that went up her sides to the shock of even Alrick who watched in open shock. No one said a word to stop her, not that they could have, and when the queen had undone the laces on one side of her gown down to her waist she pulled at her chemise until her bare skin was visible. There, stark against her olive skin, was a prominent pink scar running just below her ribs.

In the stunned silence that followed Queen Tula carefully retied her dress, her face as calm as if she’d only just shown the king a particularly fine piece of jewelry. Though the king was visibly shaken he handled the situation far better than Rhys had expected, in a few moments composing himself to the point where he was able to muster up a fake look of indignation.

“I fail to see how any of this proves my guilt in a crime I assure you I did not commit,” he insisted, his eyes narrowing at the queen.

“Whether you see proof or not is irrelevant, King Alrick. You asked for my allegations and I presented them to you. Now, should you admit to any of my allegations then perhaps peace talks can continue, but until then I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do.” The queen’s eyes never softened nor did her voice, and with each word it grew a bit more authoritative.

Despite her commandeering presence, Alrick did not seem fazed. He’d regained his composure, and Rhys watched as his lip twitched into a smile, though it was certainly more malevolent than friendly. “You’re making a mistake.” He said simply, looking back at the soldiers waiting several yards feet behind them. “This war will only kill more and more men, and all for what? A disagreement? Surely we can work through our struggles without bloodshed.”

Rhys thought he saw a flash of doubt in Queen Tula’s eyes, her posture drooping ever so slightly. He knew she was considering the truth in Alrick’s words. But the queen would not be so easily swayed.

“I’m afraid this is the way until we come to another compromise.”

“So be it.”

After what felt like a millennia in suspended silence, both monarchs sizing up the other through nothing more than stares, they both stood from the table and once more shook hands, though this time they touched with such lightness it was as though they expected the other’s hand to be made of fire.

“My army will hold any attacks for the next three days as a show of my dedication to furthering our discussions of attaining peace,” said Alrick, his voice so clear and strong that even Rhys did not doubt it’s truth for a moment.

“Thank you,” the queen responded curtly. With nothing else to say, both monarchs turned on their heels and marched back to their respective parties. Queen Tula shot past her soldiers, immediately falling to step with her advisors as Rhys and the others hurried to catch up.

“He’s lying,” the queen spat through gritted teeth. “He’ll never hold for three days – I’d be surprised if he held for one.”

“What would you like us to do, Your Majesty?” Tumar asked, every other advisor waiting with bated breath for her answer.
The queen did not even pause to think. “Prepare our forces tonight. If he doesn’t attack this night then we will.”

[Mollianne]

It was cold. The last few days had been surprisingly pleasant for this time of year. But as soon as Jessa had opened the door to the inn that morning, before anyone else had awoken, she knew the weather had taken a turn for the worse and returned to her room to fetch her winter cloak. It still was not enough to protect her from the brisk, early morning wind, she realised, as she walked over to the tree stump she had sat on the day before. The grass, covered in frost, crunched under her feet. The air was damp, threatening rain. The journey back to Ovis would not be a pleasant one.

In more ways than one.

Jessa scowled at her thoughts and tried to push them away. She focused her gaze on the wood far in the distance, but her head slowly turned to look at the stable. It would be so easy to just find her horse and leave before anyone knew she had gone. Jessa forced herself to look back at the trees, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders and huddling into herself as she did so. She had thought of little else last night – just slipping away and never seeing Alistair again. She would go back to Jasrah and forget about her part in the plan – Tula and her army would eventually get to the king. But the more she had thought about it, the more she had known it was a bad idea. So many innocent lives would be lost on that path, lives her part in the scheme could save. She had to follow through, and she had to pretend to Alistair that everything was okay lest he get suspicious. And when she had reached that conclusion, Jessa had realised that thinking about running off had only been to distract her from the thing she most wanted to forget.

Alistair had betrayed her. He had lied to her for who knew how long, and it hurt. It hurt more than Alrick ignoring her all her life, it hurt more than Elissa’s remarks, it hurt more than Rhys’ using her in the first few weeks of knowing him – and even his secrecy with certain aspects of his part in the plan, because it made sense that she could not know. This was the worst, because Alistair had been there for her during nearly all of the bad things in her life. He was not meant to be a bad thing, too. He was just meant to be Alistair, her friend and colleague. He was the one who she had overheard taking Rhys aside and warning him that if Rhys ever hurt her, he would have Alistair to deal with.

Jessa sniffed and rubbed her nose. Her fingers were like icicles, so she curled her fingers into fists and pulled her sleeves down over her hands. This was doing her no good, thinking like this. But she could not stop now she had begun. Things Alistair had said to her over the years, both things that implied he cared about her and things that retrospectively hinted at loyalty to someone else, kept creeping up on her: telling her that she was worth someone’s love; his gradual change of heart when he went from always taking her suspicions about strange records of the Barichean Wars seriously, to telling her she was seeing things that were not there. The last certainly made more sense now, if he had known that the king did not want history to be uncovered, even if he had not known why.

But… Alistair had always refused to let her believe she deserved Alrick’s inattention. He had made her look him in the eye as he told her that Alrick had neglected and emotionally abused her. He had told her over and over that she was worth more than the du Rene family made her believe. He had seemed genuinely furious when Alrick had banned research into history. That man hated Alrick. That man existed. He had to. She would not believe he had said those things just to get her to trust him. She couldn’t. It was the only thing she had to cling to, but cling to it she would until she had irrefutable evidence that Alistair was working for the king and that everything, and not just some things, he had said to her was a lie.

That did not mean that she felt she could face him. She barely wanted to look at him. Jessa did not think she could ever trust Alistair again. She wished Nayall had waited until she was back in Ovis so she would not have to travel with Alistair. Pretending she knew nothing about this was going to be one of the hardest lies she had ever told. Jessa swallowed and set her jaw. It was not the hardest. No, that had been when she had stood in front of the king and said Rhys had abused her. And she had survived that. This she could do.

Jessa did not move until she heard the sound of the shutters being pulled open by the innkeeper, signalling the start of a new day. Jessa stood and walked slowly to the inn door, fairly sure that Alistair would already be downstairs. She had only seen him once since Nayall’s revelation, when she had returned late that night. He had clearly sensed that she was not in the mood for talking, so had just told her they would leave straight after breakfast. Jessa had nodded and scarpered. Presently, Jessa put her hand on the doorknob, braced herself, and then went in. Sure enough, Alistair was sitting at the same table as the day before. Jessa went over reluctantly.

Alistair looked up as she approached. He smiled tentatively, but the expression dropped off his face as soon as he saw hers. “How are you?” he asked as she sat down.

“Fine,” she replied shortly. Jessa swallowed and inwardly chastised herself. If she was pretending to be his friend, she was doing a poor job of it. At least she did have another excuse, one that had been overwhelmed by Alistair’s secret, but nevertheless something that still affected her and would be enough to keep Alistair from getting suspicious.

“I know it’s hard, Jessa. It’s hard for me too,” Alistair said. Jessa tried not to scowl. She wanted to yell at him for daring to commiserate with her. How dare he act like any of this was even remotely the same for him; Emara had not been his mother and he had never been betrayed by his friend. “We will get to the bottom of this, Jessa. I promise.”

She nodded. After all, she had no intention of resting until she had proved Catrice’s involvement in her mother’s death. However, Alistair’s words had another meaning for Jessa: she also would not stop until she knew everything about Alistair’s connection to the king.

They received a light, bland breakfast and ate in silence. Jessa was grateful for the fact that it seemed she was not expected to speak, because she doubted she could string more than a couple of words together just then. She knew she could not keep so quiet for the rest of the day, but until she adjusted to being around Alistair and not wanting to yell and demand explanations – which she doubted would ever happen, but the urge would fade – Jessa could not say anything. She finished quickly and went to collect her belongings from her room wordlessly. Then, she went to the stables and collected hers and Alistair’s horses. Soon, Alistair appeared and they were on their way.

***

Jessa was more thankful than she thought she would ever be in her life to see Ovis rise up in front of her a few hours after midday. The journey had been dreadful, full of awkward silences and stilted attempts at conversation, and it was only made worse by the short bursts of torrential rain which had persisted throughout the morning. Jessa knew that Alistair was mightily confused with Jessa’s continued avoidance of every topic he tried to discuss with her, and she knew that she had miserably failed at pretending they were still friends. Even after knowing Alistair had no compunctions in lying to her, it was difficult to do the same to him. Jessa just could not forget, however much she wanted to, the years she had thought they were friends. She still felt that sense of loyalty towards him, and Jessa hated it. She wished she could hate him, but although she was certainly very angry and did not like him in that moment, mostly all Jessa felt was confusion.

Just before they entered the city, Alistair rode closer to her and put a hand on her arm. “Jessa?”

She looked at him, noting his confusion and hurt expression, and tried not to feel any sympathy. He had brought this on himself. “Yes?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm and light. It seemed to work; a tiny amount of tension in Alistair’s shoulders loosened with her words.

“Do you want to talk about it? You haven’t seemed the same since we spoke to him,” Alistair said. She could tell he was choosing his words carefully in case Catrice had anyone watching the city entrance. Jessa doubted she did, and was even more sure that they had not been followed to Pontery. For now, at least, Peter and his secret was safe.

Jessa sighed. Now was the real test. She had to say something now. Alistair would not believe her if she brushed him off again. “I don’t know,” she said. “She definitely wanted to keep something hidden, and I know it’s that. But… we’re no closer to having proof. I don’t know if we ever will.”

Alistair smiled sadly. “We’ll find something. Even if we have to go all across the lands finding every member of that family.” The idea was ludicrous. Catrice would be on them like a cat hunting its prey if they did that. But she wanted to believe that Alistair was right about there being a way.

And then a moment later she realised she had let her guard down, and resolutely turned to face forward. “We should go. Someone surely knows we’ve been missing for the last day and a half by now.”

Alistair nodded and they entered the busy streets of early afternoon Ovis, people rushing around on errands before the rain started again. Despite the crowds, they reached the castle stables relatively quickly. They handed their horses back and then stared at each other awkwardly. Jessa tried to smile at him, but she was sure it came out looking rather forced. “I’ll see you soon, Alistair,” she said quietly, hoping that ‘soon’ was very far away, and then hurried away without waiting for his response. She felt his eyes on her back as she left, but did not look back.

She had barely stepped inside the castle doors when a young woman appeared beside her and told her the queen wanted to see her. Jessa’s stomach lurched, and she followed after the servant with her heart in her throat. What if she had been wrong, and Catrice had had them followed? It was possible that she had heard about their investigation into Jessa’s mother’s death, although Jessa had barely done any research and had not spoken to anyone about it. And she was fairly sure Alrick could keep it from his wife. Catrice did not know about her husband’s magic or his army of mages, after all; she doubted Alrick trusted or cared for his wife enough for that.

Jessa frowned when she realised where the servant was taking her. It was to the same room she had had her audience with the king when she had returned to Ovis – the king’s throne room. Why would Catrice be meeting her there? Yes, Catrice would oversee the day-to-day running of the kingdom until Alrick returned, but Jessa doubted he would have sanctioned Catrice use of this room except in very special circumstances. There were plentiful audience chambers in the castle, as well as the sitting rooms Jessa knew the queen frequented. To Jessa, it seemed very much like Catrice had let the power go to her head. She wondered if there was more to it.

The guards outside the door were as stoic as usual. They did not seem at all surprised that Catrice was in the throne room – something Jessa was sure Alrick did only rarely. She waited patiently until they opened the door. Jessa looked into the room, and could not help it when her eyes widened. The queen even had the audacity to sit in the monarch’s chair, rather than that of the royal consort. That was certainly not allowed. Jessa was instantly wary. Part of her wondered if the queen had received a letter telling of Alrick’s demise, but if that was the case then Maira would be queen. And Jessa doubted that if Alrick had been killed, a letter would have already arrived, since she also doubted Alrick would have been attacked before he reached the south. So, no, the queen was just overstepping her boundaries. She wanted Alrick’s place, and she always had. Jessa was just a little surprised that she would be so forward about it so quickly.

Of course, this show could be purely for Jessa’s benefit, to scare her and so Catrice could show her that she had power if Jessa did not bend to her will. If that was the case, Catrice would easily be able to deny ever having done such a thing. As Jessa got closer, seeing the way that Catrice did not seem entirely comfortable in the chair, she wondered if that was exactly the queen’s intention. Still, it would be wise to keep a closer eye on the woman during Alrick’s absence. When she reached the queen, she waited patiently for her to speak. Instead, the woman glared at her until Jessa curtseyed. Only then did she deign to start.

“I have been informed that you left Ovis yesterday and have only just returned. It seems your friend from the university went with you, but neither of you explained to anyone where you were going. What exactly were the two of you doing outside the city that could take so long?”

Jessa watched Catrice closely as she spoke. She was no expert in reading people – the situation with Alistair had taught her that – but Catrice sounded genuinely worried. The queen clearly suspected it was something to do with her, because she seemed to believe every secret in some way led to her, yet she did not know what it was. They had not been followed. As long as Jessa was careful, she hoped the queen would never know to send someone to Pontery to silence Peter. Jessa thought fast.

“Alistair wanted to show me some of the old landmarks near Ovis. Until I left Ovis for Jasrah, I had barely been more than a couple of miles out of Ovis, and had never seen them. We may not be able to research our history anymore, but that doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate the sights this part of the country has to offer,” Jessa said. The lie was not the best, but Jessa had been taught how to tell even the worst lie with enough confidence for it to sound like the truth.

“Really? And what prompted this spontaneous trip?” Catrice asked mildly, not at all convinced.

“When I visited Alistair the day before, he said that I looked rather worn, and thought that a day or so out of the city might do me some good. I didn’t particularly like the idea until he said that we could turn it into something of a history lesson. We saw the statue Ramia du Rene, the first-”

“Yes, yes,” Catrice said with a wave of her hand, suddenly sounded rather bored and much more convinced. Jessa was grateful that the queen had no time for Jessa and no real interest in history. If Catrice had cared enough to hear more, Jessa’s story would have quickly grown much less convincing. As it was, Jessa was infinitely glad the Queen Ramia’s statue had been on the way to Pontery and had accidentally given credibility to her lie.

“Was that all, my queen?” Jessa asked sweetly.

“Yes,” the queen said curtly. Jessa made sure to curtsey again and then turned around. Just as she did so, Catrice spoke again, her voice saccharine. “Do not leave the city again without informing me. If something happened to you and no one knew where to find you… well, that would awful.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jessa said quietly, looking over her shoulder. The queen nodded, her eyes hard, and waved her hand in dismissal. Jessa hurried from the room, barely breathing until the door shut behind her.

It did not take very long for Jessa to realise the queen intended to make sure Jessa never went anywhere without her approval again. The next morning, when Jessa went to get some breakfast, she saw someone hiding in the shadows, clearly watching her. They had quickly moved on, acting nonchalant, but Jessa had not been fooled. After that, the spies were a little more inconspicuous, but Jessa knew they were there. Any chance of attempting to look through Alrick’s private quarters was lost until she managed to shake her pursuers, and it also left her unable to visit Irina. Although Irina did not have anything to do with Catrice, Jessa did not want the queen finding out. In part, that was because it increased the chance of the information reaching Alrick, but also simply because Jessa did not want Catrice knowing anything remotely significant about Jessa’s activities. She made sure every moment of that day was incredibly mundane, so that Catrice would likely lose interest in her.

Jessa did not see her chance to escape her followers until early on the third day after she had returned to Ovis. Feeling no eyes watching her, and making sure to surreptitiously check every hiding spot, Jessa made her move. She went quickly, heading for the empty laundry room and selecting a clean pair of servants’ clothes. Jessa changed quickly, making sure to put Nayall’s picture – which she had been carrying around with her since he had given it to her – in the pocket on the side. Then, Jessa wondered what to do about her hair. She would only draw attention to herself if she wore a hood indoors, and the longer she faltered the more likely it would be that the spies appeared. Jessa sighed, and simply twisted her hair into a quick braid, a style in which she rarely wore her hair. It could be enough to fool someone until it was too late, although Jessa was not hopeful. She was more hopeful that, even if someone did latch onto her tail, she would lose them in the streets of the city.

Although she did not feel truly settled, and aimlessly wandered the streets of Ovis for a good few hours in the aim of losing any possible pursuers, Jessa was reasonably convinced that no one was with her when she finally turned onto the street with the small hospital Nayall had written below his portrait. She checked her pocket to ensure the picture was still inside, and then at the last moment she turned into shop selling a mishmash of clothes, wigs, lotions and potions. She selected a dark brown wig and a dress which looked reasonable enough for a noblewoman. It was not at all to Jessa’s tastes but it was definitely similar to that of a certain noblewoman she knew. She bought the items and asked for somewhere to change. When Jessa stepped out of the shop, she was sufficiently unrecognisable. Enough that she was sure that, when the hospital was bound to alert Alrick that someone had tried to visit Irina, it would not easily be traced back to her. Then, she headed for the hospital and went to ask someone about Irina. The hospital was so small that the first person she came across knew who Irina was, although the nurse tried admirably to act as though she did not know.

“I know she’s here,” Jessa said, although she had not known any such thing until the woman’s expression had confirmed it. After all, Alistair had told her that he had taken Irina to her family, not to some strange hospital. The fact that she was really here gave more strength to Nayall’s story and made her lose that little bit more faith in Alistair’s innocence. “I’m a friend. I just want to see her.”

“I’m sorry, miss,” the nurse said, shaking her head. She seemed to have given up pretending Irina was not there, if her next words were anything to go by. “She’s to have no visitors except her family. Her doctor’s orders.”

“Have her family been?” Jessa asked.

“Someone visits.” And Jessa doubted very much it was a member of her family. Jessa pursed her lips.

“Can I see this doctor, please?”

The woman sighed, but she nodded and left. There was no real harm in letting the doctor say exactly what the nurse had already told her, and so the nurse had clearly accepted just to get Jessa off her back. Jessa waited patiently, and after a while she wondered if the nurse actually had any intention of returning. Finally, however, she did, with a harassed looking doctor in tow. The man came to a stop in front of her and said, without waiting for her to say anything, “My patient is not allowed visitors.”

“Why?” Jessa asked. She was gratified to see the man falter, but he recovered himself after a moment.

“She is much too ill. I’m afraid she is not the friend you knew, and it will only be upsetting for both of you.”

Jessa stared the man down, doing her best impression of a woman who was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer. “Do you know who I am?” she asked carefully. The doctor shook his head, although he looked a little worried. The nurse looked between them and then excused herself. “I’m sure you have heard of the Marinon family…” Jessa trailed off, letting the man come to his own conclusions if he had indeed heard of the powerful, deadly family. “I’ll spell it out for you. I am Lady Anja Marinon and if you do not let me see Irina Balis, something… very unfortunate might just happen to you.”

[Rosabeth]

From the moment they returned to the camp the queen retired to the captain’s tent and had not exited yet. Advisors and officers came and went, none looking particularly pleased upon exiting. For a while Rhys sat nearby and watched the proceedings but as the afternoon drew on he grew tired of it. Rhys wandered alone through the camp aimlessly for much of the afternoon, using the time to collect his thoughts. Though the peace talk had been mostly for show it had not been entirely useless. For one, merely watching the king and queen’s interactions was a show in and of itself. They weighed and measured one another with glances and posture, and their speech alone spoke volumes. But more importantly, Rhys now knew the queen’s personal stake in this whole matter. Though Alrick might try and deny that he’d ever tried to kill the queen, Rhys didn’t doubt the accusation for a second. And with unknown numbers of mages at his disposal he had an unlimited number of attempts, even if it meant his assassins were not particularly skilled. What surprised Rhys most of all was just how calmly the queen spoke of the attempts on her life. For a woman who’s own father had been murdered by one of his own men, multiple attempts on her life in a similar fashion sounded like an absolute living nightmare.

As the sun began to set and the fires were lit, Rhys witnessed for the first time in his life what war might look like from the view of a soldier. Unlike Rhys, most of these soldiers were not so fortunate to own chain mail, and most of those who did were officers or a wealthy noble. Most of the men wore no more than basic leather armor issued by the army, though the amount covering their bodies depended on their station with some wearing no protection at all. Rhys could easily spot those from the front lines as many had full body armor, some even made of metal. The archers wore far less, keeping to a simple scaled leather vest and helmet with the occasional arm or leg plates. Despite the vulnerability, the soldiers remained in far higher spirits than Rhys might have suspected. They laughed and joked and generally continued on with their day. If it were not for the weapons littered about the camp and the officers continually running about barking orders, Rhys wouldn’t even know anything was happening.

Rhys couldn’t stand it. It had always been so easy to accept people’s deaths, to shrug them off without consequence or to rationalize those he caused. Even with those he knew, those he murdered, he thought little of their deaths. But as he watched scores of soldiers, so many no older than Dima, ready themselves for what they all knew would be a certain bloodbath, Rhys simply could not take it. For those men long trained in the military arts battle was something they relished. For the rest it would be a nightmare.

“Lord Rhys?” Rhys turned, an unfamiliar officer standing at attention close behind. “Her Majesty requests your present. I am told it is urgent.”

Rhys made his way back to the guarded tent, surprised to see Tumar exiting just as Rhys approached. Upon seeing Rhys he paused and, unless Rhys was imagining it, gave him a look of pity accompanied by a pat on the shoulder before leaving. Suddenly Rhys was a bit more wary of what waiting for him inside the tent.

“Your Majesty,” Rhys greeted, kneeling. Queen Tula stood over a tactical map on the table in the center of the room, tracing a certain pattern over and over. When she saw Rhys enter she barely looked up, instead raising her hand to gesture for him to stand. Rhys tentatively moved over to the map, looking at a sketch of the hilled plains where the camp was set up.

“I’m not going to start with any formalities. I have a task to ask of you and you’re not going to like it.” The queen frowned as she spoke, and Rhys realized that she was uncomfortable meeting his eye.

“Does this have anything to do with the look of pity I just received from Captain Tumar on my way here?”

It didn’t take any admission for Rhys to know that he was right. He groaned, suddenly wishing there was some alcohol nearby. He spotted a half filled wine glass near the edge of the table, but when he reached for it the queen slapped his hand away.

“Not for you – not tonight.”

Nothing thus far had made him more nervous.

“This path is far too dangerous to continue to travel. Too many of Etrene’s cities lie on the coast, and unfortunately the best roads all follow this path. But if we attempt to move further inland we’ll be going in completely blind. We have limited knowledge of the Etrenian army’s size, of its organization, or its travels. We’ve had to pull back on our spy network in Ovis, which has left us blinder than we’d like. We need to know what the army has planned – we need inside information.”

“I can ask Jessa to search for something,” Rhys offered, unsure why the queen seemed so concerned over something with so many possible solutions. “My familiar has spies in Ovis as well and I’m sure they could dig something up.”

The queen smiled, but it was a smile of pity, and Rhys had had just about enough of that look today. “That’s not all we need. What we do need isn’t something your spies can find. One of our spies in Ovis is particularly close to the king and has reported that the king keeps certain papers close to him at all times, apparently even traveling with them.”

“So he keeps secrets? This isn’t anything new,” Rhys sighed, growing weary of this explanation. The queen was keeping something from him and he’d rather just hear what it was now rather than later.

“But a secret so precious that he can’t leave it behind in Ovis for even a few days? Something so guarded that he wouldn’t even trust it to the protection of his guards in his own chambers? What do you know of that’s that important?”

The answer was so glaring Rhys could hardly believe he hadn’t seen it immediately. “The mages.”

“That’s what we thought too, but we have no proof. But if that’s it, if he does have information on this so called ‘mage ring’ then we can’t afford to not get it. Not only could it protect my army but it could potential help those currently under his control. If we can get rid of his mages, we can dispose of the king. We need that information.” The queen spoke her last words with emphasis, digging her fingers into the table. She watched Rhys with such intensity that he knew she was waiting for a reaction, for him to piece together the puzzle, to know what she was asking without actually saying it. And after mulling over her words again, Rhys finally did.

“No, no, no you cannot be serious.” Rhys blanched, staring blankly at the queen in the hopes that he was just misunderstanding her words. “You want me to get the information? You want me to sneak into Alrick’s camp and steal from him right in front of his nose?”

“That’s why you’d go during the battle,” the queen explained, not letting Rhys’ slack-jawed disbelief derail her. “There’s a good chance he’ll be out of the camp, though of course not on the front lines.”

“A good chance?” Rhys said wryly. If only his father was there to hear such a makeshift plan. He might just have a heart attack at the sheer gall of such a spontaneous plan. Rhys had been part of many such plans in the past, but they’d all been developed for weeks and months in advance, the subject carefully tailed long before they ever made a move, especially in such a high-risk situation. But something like this, something with next to no planning, a high rate of failure, and a subject who happened to be the most heavily guarded person in the entire country… well, this was insanity.

“You do realize who I am?” Rhys said, grasping at straws. “The king hates me. If he sees me I’m going to be killed. What a better excuse to have me killed than during a war where it can easily be brushed off as an accident?”

“Then don’t get caught.” Rhys gaped but the queen was quick to elaborate. “Look, I realize that this is dangerous. I wouldn’t lie to you and I’m willing to admit that your chances of survival are not good, but they’re better than anyone else’s. You are a trained fighter, Rhys. If anyone could stay alive on a battlefield it’s you. You’re also a trained spy and the only person in my army that is an Etrenian. Another of my men would be caught instantly if he were so much as heard speaking. So long as you say away from the king and his advisors you will not be recognized. You’re smart, you’re quick, and you’re more clever than I give you credit for.”
It was obvious that the queen would say anything at this point to convince Rhys to go through with her plan, but Rhys could tell she was not lying. She truly believed he was capable. Unfortunately, Rhys wasn’t so sure himself.

“What would you even want me to do?” he asked, hoping she didn’t take his question as agreement.

“First we’d need to get you disguised. Once the fighting commences find the body of an Etrenian soldier, drag him away, and take his uniform. I can have my men cover for you while you do this.” Rhys grimaced at the thought of wearing a dead man’s clothes. “Then you’d need to run to the Etrenian camp. A horse would be faster but it’s far too conspicuous. Once you get to the other side seek out the king’s tent and pray to the gods that what we want is there.”

Rhys had never heard a more pitiful plan. “I’ll be shot by one of your own archers!”

The queen nodded. “It’s a possibility.”

“I- this- I-“ Rhys was stumbling over his words, trying to think of someway to convey that the queen was absolutely out of her mind but all his words came out like mush.

Suddenly the queen came around the table and, to Rhys’ surprise, took his hands. Despite being suited in armor looking far more formidable than he’d ever seen, when Rhys looked down at the queen all he could see was a desperate woman looking for an answer. “If there’s any chance that we can get this information you have to know we need to take it. If there is any way I can end this war sooner I must take it – it is my duty as a queen. The closer the army gets to Ovis the harder the fighting will get until we reach a stalemate. I may have a larger, better-trained army, but the king has his own hidden army of magic that no number of swords can eliminate. The sooner we figure out how to get rid of them, the sooner we can finish this and the better your chances of ever seeing Jessa again will get.”

It was a low blow, but the queen knew she had him. She was right, Rhys realized. If the war reached a stalemate then Jessa would remain in Ovis indefinitely, and the longer she remained there the more likely she’d be caught. It was a selfish reason for agreement, but Rhys didn’t care.

“Alright. I’ll do it.”

***

Wind whipped through the evening, chilling Rhys to the bone, but in his state he barely noticed. The entire army, nearly 8,000 men strong, stood silently in the vast stretch of land between the two camps. The land was mostly flat but for a single low hill in the center where the king and queen had met that day and a higher hill behind them, blocking the Novarian camp from view. It was there that most of the ground archers stood, looking over the valley from on high. It was approximately a mile to the Etrenian camp, and once the fighting began Rhys would have very little time to cover that distance. Rhys looked to his left, seeing thousands of mounted riders and knowing that if he was to turn around he would see thousands more on foot. He gripped at his sword, feeling far to exposed despite being one in a crowd of thousands.

The time began to drag on and on until it felt as if they’d been waiting for a command for hours. It was sometime past midnight and the sky was black as pitch, all but for the moon which, luckily for the army, shone especially brightly that night. Visibility was fair, but from a distance Rhys realized it would be quite difficult to see who was on which side. Rhys desperately hoped luck would be on his side. As time passed the men seemed to grow even more quiet, withdrawing into their own anxieties and fears, either too terrified or fueled with adrenaline to speak. The silence haunted Rhys as he was forced to listen to his own breathing, something that had the unfortunate side effect of increasing his nerves even more. When it felt as if an eon had passed, Rhys saw a single rider hurtling towards them through the dark. The archers all drew back their bows but Captain Tumar, poised on his horse on the front lines, held up his sword to halt fire. It was their scout, and from his speed everyone knew his news before he spoke it.

“They’re coming,” he yelled above the crowd. “They plan to attack.”

With those words he captain gave the command and the army began to move, ready to meet the Etrenians in the center of the field. For a time they saw nothing, continuing to move closer and closer, but as they began to approach the hill in the center they realized they were no longer alone. Waiting on the top of the hill was a single mounted rider standing still as stone. As they grew closer Rhys could see that his eyes had deceived him before. The man on the small swell of ground was not alone. Flanked behind him in droves, stretching just as wide as the Novarian army, were the Etrenians.

All movement stopped, and for a moment that stretched into eternity, the two armies stared at one another from a distance, neither seemingly willing to make the first move. The horses neighed, anxious to run, and the men shifted from foot to foot, gripping their weapons with all their wind-chilled fingers. Then with one word ringing out clear in the night, the Etrenians received their orders.

That was when pandemonium struck.

Rhys was immediately swept up in a frenzy, hearing nothing but the sound of hooves and feet on the ground, the cavalry charging ahead while the foot soldiers hurried behind. Cries filled the air, and as Rhys continued to run forward in the swarm of soldiers he heard the first clash of swords. He refused to look up, to see the fighting, knowing it would only discourage him. Rhys forced himself into a sort of tunnel vision, letting the adrenaline move his feet for him and extinguish all needless fears. He was lethal in a fight; why should this be any different?

Before long the foot soldiers met the front lines and a flurry of swords and spears commenced. Men all around Rhys raised their swords, beginning to fight, and Rhys realized he was no different. Someone swung from his left and Rhys raised his sword in a block, maneuvering out with a twist and hitting the man hard in the side. With his chainmail the sword did not pierce the skin, but the force was enough to send him to the ground. Rhys knew, were he a soldier, it would be expected of him to kill the man, but instead Rhys only ran on, hoping the hit was enough to keep him occupied for a few seconds. He didn’t get much further by the time the next blow came, but this time Rhys had no time to defend himself. The blow came down hard on his shoulder and the pain was so blinding Rhys fell to the ground, gritting his teeth hard against the pain. The soldier swung again, aiming for the neck, but Rhys was able to block, using his legs to kick the man back. He scrambled to his feet, quickly parrying again as the man struck hard from the right. Rhys’ hits were well placed and far more accurate than his opponents, but the man was quick and strong, and Rhys found himself on the defensive time and time again. After a few more parries Rhys saw his opening, aiming low for the leg as the other man aimed high, but before he could make contact the man stumbled, falling forward so quickly Rhys barely had enough time to jump out of the way.

“You’re Rhys, yeah?” yelled a Novarian from where the Etrenian had just stood, his sword raised. Rhys looked down at the soldier beside him and saw the blood draining from his neck, realizing the Novarian had been the one to make him fall.

“Yes,” Rhys answered, breathing heavily. He looked around but saw no other approaching soilders, all already engaged in a fight.

“The queen informed me of your mission. I’m here to guard you,” said the man. Rhys breathed a sigh of relief. “See that line of trees over there?” said the soldier, pointing to a lightly wooded area just to the right. Rhys nodded. “Move the body that way.”

Rhys wasted no time, but as it turned out Rhys’ combatant was significantly heavier than he looked. Rhys kicked away the man’s weapons to lighten his weight and hooking his arms under the man’s arms, began to pull. He could only imagine how strange it must look. Despite the weight Rhys pulled as quickly as he could, his fellow soldier keeping watch as he went. They quickly reached the line of trees, and as soon as Rhys was behind the cover of darkness be began to strip the corpse. Rhys stripped and changed quickly, pulling on the soldier’s tunic with a grimace feeling the warm blood pressed against his back and arms, sticking to his body. They were of close enough size that the clothes fit well enough to raise no eyebrows, though Rhys was dismayed to find that the man was equipped with less armor than he. But he knew less armor meant more speed, and with a prayer to no one in particular, Rhys discarded his chain mail. His life was in fate’s hand now.
“Do I look alright?” Rhys asked, stepping out from the woods to face the Novarian. Instead, Rhys looked upon a corpse littered with arrows. Rhys’ blood drained from his face, and without thinking for another minute he began to run. All around him Rhys could hear cries and grunts and screams, the sound of metal on metal filling the air, but he would not let himself hear anything but the sound of his own feet and breath. Bodies littered the ground around him but Rhys refused to look, seeing only what was immediately before him. The moment he broke onto the Etrenian side he took a sigh of relief but did not stop running. Surely a soldier running in the wrong direction would draw some attention, but as Rhys saw it there was not a set of eyes to spare. The Etrenians were outnumbered, and as such there was not a single soldier not either in combat or dead on the ground. After a few minutes of running Rhys could see the Etrenian camp in the distance, and though his lungs burned and his body ached he would not allow himself to slow. The closer he got to camp the thinner the crowds became until he was nearly running in open land. A small pocket of soldiers was the only thing between Rhys and the camp, and as he approached he realized he was not going to pass by unnoticed.

“Hey you!” The tallest man waved his arms in Rhys’ directions, his voice frantic. “Help! Please help!”

Rhys slowed his run upon seeing the men in the light. One man laid convulsing on the ground, his entire front soaked with blood. “Please, help me!” the man cried again. Rhys paused, looking around and finding himself so close to the camp, but with a sigh moved to the man. The soldier was trying in earnest to lift his fellow but as Rhys drew close he could see that the man was bleeding from his arm quite heavily. “I can’t lift him, not with this damn arm.”

Rhys could turn back now. If he ran he would be clear. Even if these men found something suspicious about his behavior, neither was in the condition to chase after him. But as Rhys looked at the desperate man and his dying friend, Rhys realized that they might be his best chance at success.

Without another word Rhys bent down and lifted the bulk of the body at the arms. “Can you get the legs?” he asked the man, getting a quick ‘yes’ and a flurry of thanks. They moved quickly through the remaining land, becoming enclosed in endless rows of tents in minutes. Rhys let out a sigh of relief, sure to be interpreted by the other man as relief for being close to the healers. The healing tent was close by and as they reached the front Rhys set down the bleeding man, refusing to go inside. If any of the healers were to see the massive amounts of blood on his body they surely wouldn’t let him leave, and if they were to discover he had no wounds …

“Can you tell me where I can find the king’s tent? I’m to deliver a message to the commander.” Rhys hoped his running was enough alibi to make the story believable. Judging by the look of relief on the soldiers face, he bet the man would have said anything.

“It’s just down this way and to your left. It’s red – can’t miss it.”

Rhys was gone so quickly the man didn’t have time to give thanks.

Within the camp Rhys moved at a much slower pace, creeping along the edges of pathways and keeping flush to tents, attempting to stay as silent as possible. The camp was all but deserted, and Rhys did not wish to answer to any questions about why he had deserted the battle. As he turned the corner, just as the man had said, he quickly found what he was looking for. In a mixture of tan tents, the king’s blood-red structure stood out well. Rhys moved quickly to the tent, lurking just outside but not daring to enter. He put his ear to the canvas, listening in the best he could. Though it was silent at first, a shuffle, the sound of someone pacing, quickly alerted Rhys. Holding his sword at the ready, Rhys pried back the flaps of the tent just a hair to see inside. To his immense relief it was no the king within but rather what looked like a guard. He was formidable to say the least, but Rhys was simply not concerned. He waited, biding his time until the guard began to pace once more, turning his back to the entrance. Rhys knew this was his only chance. He slipped into the room as silently as possible, crouching as he moved forward until he was only feet away from the man and then, forgetting all stealth, rushed forward and grabbed the soldier from behind. He pulled back on the man’s head until his neck was exposed and without thinking brought his knife up and cut the man’s throat. The soldier dropped dead almost instantly, convulsing as the blood drained. Rhys thought not of his kill and instantly ran to the table in the center of the room knowing that he had only minute until someone else – possibly the king – returned.

The table was littered with papers, but luckily those he needed were in clear view. He quickly folded up the maps and battle plans, grabbing a bag he found on another table nearby to store them. Unfortunately, the rest of his mission was not so easy. He had no idea what these so called papers might look like or what they would even say, and with little time left Rhys was rifling through the papers as quickly as possible, barely giving any more than a moment’s look. Most were meaningless, just hoards of letters of which Rhys only grabbed the most interesting. After Rhys was almost certain he’d seen every paper on the main table he continued to the next table. He searched just as quickly, only to be dismayed to again find nothing of what he was looking for. Rhys’ anxiety was high, and just as he was about to fly a flag in surrender a silver box caught his eye. It was locked, unsurprisingly, and no matter how hard Rhys attempted to hit it or break it with his sword it simply would not budge. With no lock picking kit in sight, Rhys realized he might have to carry it.

A sound from outside sent a chill up Rhys’ spine. Someone was approaching the tent quickly. Rhys let out a low curse and ran to the entrance, pressing himself close against the wall. He raised his sword hilt, readying himself. A hand grasped the flap and drew it open, taking a step into the room, and Rhys drew back his arm and rammed the hilt of his sword into the intruder’s face as hard as he could. The body dropped to the ground unconscious, and Rhys almost cried out as he recognized the face of King Alrick.
Rhys had no time to think about how he’d just assaulted the king, watching as blood ran down his head from Rhys’ hit. Rhys instantly began searching the king’s pockets, praying silently that the key would be there. Each pocket came up empty, and just as Rhys was about to cry out in frustration, he saw it. A necklace hung around the king’s neck, and from it a single silver key.

Rhys yanked the key from the king’s neck, breaking the leather tie, and hurried to the box. His hands trembled as he slipped the key in the lock, letting out a sigh of relief as it clicked in his hands. As soon as he opened the chest, he knew it had all been worth it. There were names, hundreds of names on lists, as well as handfuls of other papers. The papers were all written in Barichene, likely to dissuade any onlookers, but Rhys only smiled to himself, happy for once in his life he knew the damned language. He took the whole box and emptied it into the bag he held, dropping it back onto the table and sprinting out the room. Just as Rhys reached the entrance he stopped, looking down at the king’s unconscious body. He could do it now, he thought. He could kill the king. A simple sword to the chest would end it all. Or would it? Rhys hand gripped on his sword, inching towards the king unconsciously, but Rhys never got the chance to decide. Voices sounded from outside the tent and Rhys knew he’d missed his chance. He sprinted.

Outside the tent were two guards, but it was too late to turn back. Rhys sprinted at full speed, and luckily, given his disguised, the guards did nothing… not until they saw the king. Rhys ran faster and faster, his body protesting to the point where he thought his heart might burst from his chest, but he knew he could not stop. Yells came from behind and Rhys knew it was only a matter of seconds until the soldiers were on him. As he reached the edge of the camp he nearly cried in relief as his eyes fell on a single horse without a rider. Rhys swung himself up into the saddle, kicking hard on the horse until it shot forward. He kept low against the horse as he rode hard across the field. He could hear the shouts behind him but he ignored them, thinking of nothing but the space ahead. Faster he urged his horse, just a bit faster. In what felt like ages but most have been only a minute or two Rhys reached the fighting which had not let up a bit. He rode along the outside, trying to avoid the soldiers as he barreled through. More than one man had to jump to the side to avoid being hit, but all Rhys could think of was the safety up ahead. He was so close to the camp now, and as the yells subsided he breathed a sigh of relief. Then he was hit with an arrow. It stuck in his shoulder and he hissed but carried on, knowing he couldn’t stop. Then he was hit again, this time in the abdomen and again and again, his leather armor littered with arrows. Though the armor was enough to keep the arrows from going through his body completely, they were not enough to stop penetration. Rhys felt the blood seeping across his chest, and as his vision began to cloud he let go of he reins, falling from his horse as he slipped out of consciousness.

[Mollianne]

The doctor’s eyes darted from side to side. He could not look at her, fear clear on his face, but neither had he yet moved. Jessa was sure he was deciding whose wrath he would rather face: that of the king or that of Lady Anja. Jessa certainly would not have wanted to be in his shoes if she really had been Anja. Both of his options were grim. Still, Irina had no information the king would be particularly concerned about people knowing, not since Nayall had all but destroyed her mind. Jessa was fairly sure that Irina and her colleagues had not discovered that Alrick had Greater Magic and had only knew something about the Arcius family. It was hardly damning information. And besides, the king was not even in the city and would learn of this meeting long after. Anja, meanwhile… Her reputation was clearly well-known even in this part of Ovis, where it was unlikely the doctor or any of his acquaintances had ever had dealings with her. And, as far as the doctor knew, Anja was right in front of him – so she was a much more pressing problem.

“I do not have all day,” Jessa said, trying to imitate Anja as best as she could. It sounded nothing like her at all. Normally Jessa would have been pleased that she could never emulate Anja’s particular brand of insanity, but she rather needed it then. “I see two ways of getting this done as quickly as possible: either you take me to her now, or I will be forced to use this…” Jessa pretended to reach into her pocket, feeling sick at every word she spoke. The doctor’s gaze fell on it as he stiffened in fear. “And then I find Irina myself.”

The doctor was still staring at Jessa’s hand in her pocket. Jessa coughed pointedly, removing her hand, and said, “The choice is yours.”

“Y-yes,” he said, turning and hurrying down the hallway. “Just… Just follow me.”

“Thank you,” she said, in a mock sweet voice that implied he had made the right decision. Of course, Jessa had no idea what she would have done had the doctor stood his ground. There was no way she could have followed through with her threats and that would have left her in a very difficult situation indeed. She felt relieved, although Jessa still could not quite believe she had actually pretended to be Rhys’ sister. Rhys would have laughed at her pathetic attempt. Jessa pushed the thought from her mind as the doctor came to a stop outside a door. She needed to be completely focused on this. Now was the time she may very well be able to verify Nayall’s story. It did not matter that Jessa had already made her mind up. What did bother her was how little convincing it had taken to make her believe Alistair’s guilt. But Jessa knew what Alrick could do all too well. Although she was sure Alistair did work for the king, she was similarly certain there was more to it. The king had to be using magic on him.

Of course, seeing Irina was not going to prove that. No, she was visiting Irina partly to make sure Nayall had not lied, and partly because she simply wanted to check on her old colleague. Irina’s life was one no one deserved, and she needed every friendly face she could get.

“Five minutes,” the doctor said, rather bravely. He opened the door for her and Jessa stepped through, nodding her acquiescence. It might not have been something Anja would have done, but Jessa no longer cared. She had used that name as much as she cared to, and the doctor had gone along with everything she asked. Jessa would not push the issue now. However, when the door did not close behind her and she could feel the doctor’s gaze on her back, Jessa turned and looked at him expectantly.

“Yes?” she asked impatiently. The doctor started, his hand still on the doorknob. She glanced at it pointedly and, after a moment’s hesitation, he hastened to shut the door. There was a window beside the door, and the doctor appeared on the other side. Jessa knew she would not be able to have complete privacy, so she just hoped that he would hear as little as possible. Jessa sighed, and then turned to face Irina.

Who was staring right back at her.

The woman’s eyes were wide with fear. She clutched the sheets to her chin and watched as Jessa came closer. Jessa could see no recognition in Irina’s eyes, and her heart fell. Irina was not going to be able to tell her anything. Jessa pulled out the chair beside the bed and sat down, knowing she still had to try. She had come all this way, and worn this ridiculous wig after all. And, if she was being brutally honest, the longer she was able to stay with Irina, the less she would think about Alistair and his betrayal. Alistair might have been the reason Jessa had come to the hospital in the first place, but seeing Irina was enough to drive those thoughts out. The woman looked nothing like Jessa remembered. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, her arms were thin, shaking with even the effort of keeping her sheet on her body. Jessa wondered how Nayall’s spell had affected her in this way, or how the doctors could leave her in this way. Jessa bowed her head, realising she probably knew the truth. Irina had given up on life, unable to face the confusion of recognising nothing in her life. Jessa swallowed. She did not know if she could even ask Irina her questions in case her questions hurt her more. Jessa could not know what it was like to be told you should know something about your own life but find it impossible to recall it for yourself.

“Irina, I…” She faltered. “Do you know me?”

The woman, whose gaze had drifted since Jessa had gone so long without speaking, looked back at Jessa with a start. She seemed to have forgotten Jessa was there. The fear returned. Jessa repeated her question, but was met with Irina’s blank stare. Jessa swallowed. It was heart-breaking. As she watched, Irina’s face scrunched up, as though she was trying her hardest to remember. Jessa put up a hand, not wanting to put strain on Irina’s weak mind. “No, it doesn’t matter. Really. I’m just a friend.”

Jessa realised she had said the wrong thing when Irina continued to try to remember who Jessa was. She reached forward and put her hand on Irina’s. The woman flinched back, glaring at Jessa. “I’m sorry,” Jessa said. “You don’t know me.”

Irina’s face relaxed, no longer searching her few remaining memories for Jessa’s face. However, she now looked more on edge for having a stranger in her room. Jessa swallowed. She felt awful about needing to do this, but she promised herself she would not press Irina. She would ask once and then leave it alone. This was not worth distressing Irina, not even if it had been the only way to prove Alistair was not her friend. Tentatively, Jessa withdrew the picture from her pocket. Irina, noticing the movement, stared at it like a cat watching a dog. Biting her lip, Jessa turned the picture around.

The effect was instantaneous. Irina recoiled, and was only saved from falling off the bed by the wall behind her. Jessa stood hurriedly and rested her hand on Irina’s arm, but she thrashed against her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Irina,” Jessa whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at the window. The doctor was glaring at her, and she could tell that the only thing stopping him coming in was the thought that Jessa would slit his throat if he did so. She shook her head at him, trying to convey that she had control of the situation. That, however, could not have been further from the truth.

She whispered calming words to Irina for the next minute, knowing her time was running out, until at last Irina breathed more easily and then was still. Jessa sighed and sat back down. The picture proved Nayall had not been lying about something, at least: he had done enough to Irina to illicit such violent fear from her, and he had done it enough times that she still recognised his face. And it confirmed that Nayall had visited her to do so, rather than doing it the harder way from a distance. To Jessa, that meant Alistair must have seen Nayall, since he had spent every moment he could with Irina. And if he had not stopped the mage, then he had been complicit.

“Do you remember Alistair?”

“Alistair, Alistair,” Irina said quietly, her fingers frantically pulling at her sheet. “Alistair and the man, always talking, always whispering. I… I forget.”

Jessa swallowed hard. It took all her strength not to leave in that moment. But she could not be selfish, and she could not leave Irina in such a frenzied state. “Irina?” she said carefully. The woman slowly looked at her, but her gaze was unfocused and Jessa was certain the woman was not really seeing her. “Irina, they can’t hurt you. They can’t ever hurt you.”

“He visits. He comes, every day. Someone new. And Alistair.”

Alistair still visited. Jessa stared at Irina and tried not to cry. This was not about her right now. Alistair was Irina’s only visitor, if the nurse had been telling the truth about one man visiting. That meant Irina’s family did not know where she was. An entire family ripped apart to keep the king’s secrets. Jessa swallowed. Another family, because there were so many others throughout Etrene who had suffered the same fate. The world suddenly felt as if it was pressing down on Jessa’s shoulders. Even if they did manage to rid Etrene of Alrick, would anything ever be the same? Would they ever be able to recover from his tyranny? He had left so many open wounds in his hunger for power and Jessa did not think they would ever have enough people or time to heal it all.

“I’m so sorry, Irina,” Jessa whispered, just as the doctor opened the door and ordered her out. Jessa left silently, letting a nurse pass through first. She watched from the window as the nurse tended to Irina, calming her down and acting like everything was normal. Fixing everything Jessa had just broken. Jessa felt ashamed of herself. She left without another word. And although she wanted to go back another day to try and help Irina, she knew she could not. She would only make it worse.

Jessa found somewhere to change back into the servant uniform, and walked back to the castle in something of a daze. She could not stop thinking about Irina, what Irina had confirmed, Alistair, Nayall, and then back to Irina. Everything felt so hopeless, and for a moment Jessa wished she had Rhys had never come up with this plan. But she would only be living in ignorance had she stayed in Jasrah and resigned themselves to Alrick as king. She would be doing a disservice to the people of Etrene, both those directly and indirectly affected by the king’s madness, and also to herself. Jessa could not let this continue. Irina’s fate had shown her that, because she couldn’t let another end up the same. And so although she wished she had not seen it, she was also glad that she knew what she was facing.

She entered her room and changed into her normal clothes. She was about to return the servant’s clothes when she spotted a letter on her desk written in a familiar hand. She dropped the clothes on the bed and rushed over to the desk. Her heart beat faster as she confirmed the letter was definitely from Rhys. It was a little surprising, since they had arranged to meet in the dream in only a couple of days’ time. For Rhys to have sent a letter, it must have been urgent. Jessa doubted she would like whatever was written within.

Before she could open the letter, however, there was a knock on the door. Frantically, Jessa hid the letter in the drawer and called for the person to enter.

“There’s a man waiting for you in the green sitting room, lady,” the woman said, with a curtsey that implied the woman had anything but respect for Jessa’s position. Jessa did not bat an eyelid, used to the servants mocking her, subtly telling her they did not see her as a noblewoman. It did not hurt her because Jessa did not see herself as one either. She was a servant’s daughter more than a king’s. And her marriage to Rhys, while making her a more official noble, had not changed anything in the castle servants’ eyes. “He’s been waiting a while.”

Jessa nodded, ignoring the reprimand, and went to meet whomever had come to visit. She wondered who would come to see her and not the princesses. When she neared the green sitting room, Jessa heard voices. All of them she recognised, and one of them made her wonder whether she should just turn away now. She was in no fit state to interact with Elissa, not when her head was still buzzing with everything she had learned in the last couple of days. With a sigh, she grit her teeth and entered the room. Larend, after all, had apparently come to see her and she was curious.

“Jessa,” Larend greeted when he spotted her, relief plain on his face. Elissa sat opposite him, leaning forwards and twirling her hair in her fingers. She stopped in the middle of her sentence and looked over her shoulder at Jessa in annoyance – both at being interrupted and presumably just because it was Jessa.

“So nice of you to finally show up, after Larend came all this way to see you. But as you can see, we’re fine here without you, aren’t we Larend? Maira?” Elissa said, and then turned away from Jessa and resumed retelling her story. It was clear no one else was listening. Larend was still looking at Jessa, and a quick glance at Maira showed that the eldest princess was too. The princess’ eyes were thoughtful, assessing Jessa in a way she had never seen Maira look at anyone. Jessa realised that she had barely seen the princess since her arrival. The last time she had properly spoken to her was when she had left Jasrah, and she had been a giggling little girl then, hanging off Dima like a piece of expensive jewellery. The gaze made her feel uncomfortable, so she turned back to Larend.

The lord stood, causing Elissa’s voice to trail away indignantly. “Larend! I hadn’t finished,” she whined. Larend had walked past her, and rolled his eyes for only Jessa to see. She could not help but smile, even with everything going on in her head.

“My friends and I missed you at tea the other day. I would have come sooner to see how you were, but I have had a busy couple of days.”

“It is fine, my Lord,” she said, feeling a strange sense of formality that had not been there the last time they had met. From Larend’s frown, she knew it was only her who seemed to feel the need for it, and Jessa supposed it was because she remembered Catrice’s warning to stay away from Larend. “I have been busy myself.”

“What is this?” Elissa demanded to know, getting up and coming to stand between Jessa and Larend. Out of the corner of her eye, Jessa saw Maira raise her eyebrows and shake her head in exasperation at her sister.

“I invited Jessa to join my friends for tea, just as I said.” Larend stared at Elissa as if he thought her dense or deaf. It was clear from his reaction, if the discussion with his friends had not been enough, that he did not share Elissa’s same desire to marry. In fact, it seemed very much the opposite. Jessa could not help but smile. Elissa was a great beauty in Ovis, and it was nice to know that some people could see beyond her appearance and her position to the spiteful girl underneath. Jessa’s estimation of Larend increased tenfold with that single look.

“Why didn’t I receive an invitation? I’m your friend, am I not?” Elissa was saying, looking extremely put out.

“It was only meant to be a small gathering, my Lady,” Larend said, trying to placate her. Elissa just glared harder, putting her hands on her hips. “For tea. I know how much you find that tedious, otherwise I would have extended the invitation to you and your sister.”

Jessa knew that was the wrong thing to say before Larend had even said it. Elissa’s cheeks went red. She pointed at Jessa and said, “What’s so great about her? Her mother was a servant, she married into the worst family in the world-” Jessa raised her eyebrows at that; clearly Elissa had forgotten that Jessa had not chosen such a thing. “-And I daresay she’s the ugliest girl in the city.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I’d say she’s as fine as any noblewoman in the country,” Larend said lightly. Jessa went slightly red, although she knew the compliment was largely just to frustrate and chastise Elissa for saying such a thing.

“Elissa, I think it’s time you left. Jealousy isn’t a good look on you.”

“You wear it so much better, sister. Let’s face it, you’re no prettier than her.”

“And when you are spiteful, you are just as ugly. Go and calm down. I’m sure mother could use your help with something,” Maira said, dismissing her sister. Elissa fumed for a moment, then looked at Larend.

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I spoke out of turn. I look forward to seeing you at the assembly tomorrow.”

As soon as she left, Maira looked idly at Larend. “I honestly don’t know why you put up with her for even a second. I swear she’s got worse with age. Mother telling her she’s Etrene’s greatest gift at every opportunity has ruined whatever goodness she had in her. And don’t you dare defend her,” she added when she saw Larend open his mouth. “I saw your face. I know you’re thinking the same.”

“She was sweet enough as a child,” Larend said, trying his best to be complimentary.

“But she isn’t a child anymore.” Maira raised her eyebrows knowingly, and Larend bowed his head at her to concede her point. “Anyway, I believe you came to speak to Jessa for a reason.”

Jessa turned to Larend, waiting expectantly. He just shrugged. “I just wanted to see if you were okay, really,” he said lamely. “But I can see that you are.” He paused, clearly seeing something in her face. “Well, well enough, anyway.” Jessa nodded tightly, trying to keep back all the thoughts inside her head. It had been easier to do so when Larend had not been looking at her with such concern.

“I am,” she said. “But is that all? I would not ask you to come all the way to the castle just to check I am okay. A letter would have sufficed.”

“It is hardly out of my way,” Larend said, shuffling his feet and picking up a glass of wine that was on the table behind him. “But I suppose you have caught me. I also came to ask if we will be seeing you at the assembly tomorrow.”

Until Elissa had mentioned it earlier, Jessa had not even known such a party had been arranged. She said inarticulately, “Oh, I…”

“She will be there,” Maira said, saving her. Jessa could not hide the surprise in her expression as she looked at the woman. Maira just stared back at her for a moment, as if daring her to disagree. When Jessa continued to watch her wordlessly, Maira looked back at Larend. “Who would miss it? Not that it as grand as your ball promises to be. Now, if that really is all, I have to speak to Jessa.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. What did Maira want with her? Larend, realising that even if he did have more to say, he was not going to be able to say it now. He said his goodbyes to the two women and then left the room as quickly as possible. With him gone, the tension in the room tripled. Jessa watched the princess warily.

“Please, sit,” Maira said, moving over to the sofa that Larend had previously occupied. Jessa hurried to comply, sitting in the chair Elissa had been. She waited for Maira to speak, and was again struck by how different she seemed. Maira had become a woman since their last meeting. More than that, she seemed like someone who could command, could rule. Her father had clearly been training her.

“My mother may be acting monarch while my father is gone, but that does not mean my father left her in charge of everything. I know that you were asked to keep an eye on Daryl Mont at our ball a week ago. He has not appeared in society since, and in any case my father has another more important task for you. The Mont family, if it is true that they are connected to the Marinons, are probably not close enough to them to really have much information. Did you get that sense?”

“I… yes,” Jessa said automatically. She still had not quite got over Maira’s transformation. And from the looks of things, it seemed like Jessa was not the only one who Alrick was getting to spy on his suspected enemies. It sounded very much like Maira was doing the same thing. “He seemed foolish. I doubt it would take much to get him to talk, so I doubt he would have much to do with the Marinons.”

“Indeed. Well, as I said, we have another person in mind for you. We are aware that it might be difficult for you, given the nature of your relationship to the Marinons,” Maira said, giving a small sympathetic smile. “And I have also heard that, despite that, you consider him something of a friend. After all, I suppose it wasn’t him you hurt you, even if his sister’s family did. But my father doesn’t trust him, and neither do I. Given the relationship between you, he might let his guard down around you. I’m sure you already know who I mean.”

Jessa nodded, feeling as if her day could not get any worse. “Ambassador Kieran Dunvyen,” she whispered.

Maira nodded, her gaze turning shrewd upon hearing Jessa’s defeated tone. “I hope this won’t be a problem? Whatever he was to you, he is now considered an enemy of your king and should be treated as such.” She waited until Jessa nodded. “We have reason to believe he is going to make contact with someone at a dinner I am attending tonight. You shall accompany me, and say whatever you need to to make sure that Kieran trusts you. If you can, which would surprise me, get him to tell you his plan, or even part of it. Of course, it is not just at this dinner. You will be watching over him until my father returns and says otherwise. Anything – and I mean everything – he tells you, or does, you must report to me. If I find you have left anything out, or you have told him anything about what you are doing, you will be suspected of conspiring with him. I will know if you have tried to hide anything from me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Jessa said quietly.

Maira smiled and then stood. “Good. I will meet you in the courtyard to go to the dinner at seven. If you are not there, I will leave without you. But if you do not show up within half an hour of my arrival, I won’t be pleased.” She stared significantly at Jessa, and then, like everyone before her, left the room. Jessa fell back against the chair, her head reeling.

She knew she had no choice. She knew Maira would have her watched, far more closely that she had with Daryl Month. Jessa knew she was going to have to do this for real. But that was not all that bothered her. When Maira had been speaking, Jessa had felt something. Something in her mind. And she knew that Maira had learnt about her magic. It was probably recently, given that she was not yet skilled enough to hide the use of it from someone else who both had Greater Magic and was looking for it being used on her at every moment, but long enough ago that she had a reasonable control of it, helped by years of the normal magic training she had presumably received. Jessa had certainly felt calmed and obliging for a moment there, although she could easily have shaken it off if she had not wanted to alert Maira. Still, the news was alarming, although it certainly explained some of the changes Jessa had detected in the king’s eldest daughter. Maira had suddenly become much more dangerous than Jessa could have perceived. And not only that, but what else did Maira now know?

[Rosabeth]

Noise. So much noise. Screams and groans and a distant roar he could not place. There was light, too. It burned at his eyes. So much light. And pain. There was pain. It radiated throughout this body, so intense he could hardly speak.

“Can you get the armor off?”

“Not with the arrows still in him.”

Rhys did not recognize the voices. He could barely register them. He tried to open his eyes but found them to be heavy as stones, only able to open enough to see the light. Rhys tried once more, only finding it to be useless. With the pain becoming more intense by the moment Rhys succumbed to the wooziness that dulled his mind, hoping it would dull his pain.

Then someone slapped his face.

“No, no, don’t go to sleep on me.” Someone’s hands gripped Rhys’ face hard and he struggled against the pressure. “That’s good, just keep conscious. Kal, where are the mages? I need someone here or this one’s going to black out!”

“They’re busy, I told you already!” yelled back a second voice.

The first voice cursed, the hands gripping more tightly on Rhys’ head. “Can you open your eyes for me?” Rhys groaned, instantly regretting it. The movement sent a ripple of pain throughout his chest and he sucked in a scream. Carefully, trying to do no more than breath as lightly as he could, Rhys pried his eyes open. The light flooded in at once, far brighter than it’d been earlier, but Rhys forced himself to keep his eyes open, squinting at the light.

“Excellent,” the voice murmured. Rhys stared at the face that hovered over his own, wishing his eyes would focus already so he could make out a face. The process was slow, but sure enough the shapes turned into features and Rhys realized that he was looking at a woman’s face. Her face was round and soft with small eyes that squinted down at Rhys, a perpetual frown on her face. Her dark hair was tied up in a headscarf but a single curl hung down on her cheek. Rhys reached up towards it unthinking, his mind a jumble of incoherent thoughts, but the woman caught his hand before he could get it more than a foot off of whatever it was he was laying on.

“Don’t move,” she ordered gruffly. “It’ll only hurt. Just stay still, alright?”

Rhys didn’t bother nodding, not that he felt he could. Instead, feeling slightly more conscious, he turned his head slowly to the side, looking towards the moans he heard from his left. That turned out to be a very, very bad decision. Rows and rows of men – and the occasional woman – laid on stretchers and cots, dozens of healers huddled around them with everything from clean linen to strange metal contraptions in their hands. Had Rhys thought nothing of this makeshift hospital and turned his head he would have been blissfully ignorant, left to contemplate only the growing pain in his abdomen. But as he looked more closely he saw that the man next to him was missing an arm and Rhys was staring right at the still-bleeding stump. Rhys’ stomach instantly turned and he retched. The movement was like a stab to the gut and Rhys couldn’t help but scream out in pain, feeling as if his insides were being torn from his body. That was when Rhys came to enough to look down.

Four arrows were sticking out of his body, one near his face at his shoulder, another near his side, and two in his stomach, one near his hips. If he were not already screaming he would have started just from sheer panic. Suddenly the memories came flooding back, images of riding at a line of archers and being pelted with arrows, his last memory being nothing more than the searing pain of an arrow shooting through his flesh. He had lived, apparently, but at the moment Rhys wasn’t sure that that was the desirable option.

Rhys’ screams had alerted not only his healer but several others, one of whom, a middle aged man with skin as black as night, came to the aid of his healer. His hand pressed against Rhys’ abdomen, steadying his body as Rhys began to convulse.

“We need to get the arrows out now or we’re going to lose him. Look at his face – he’s pale as a ghost. I think this one’s pierced the stomach,” said the man, pointing to the arrow in the middle of his abdomen, “and this one might have pierced his lung, though he seems to be breathing alright so he might have gotten lucky.”

Suddenly the man’s face was right next to Rhys’, his hands sliding under Rhys’ head and back. “Can you sit up?” he asked, though considering Rhys’ moans he hardly was in the condition to answer. The man seemed to take that as a yes. Slowly, the man pushed Rhys up into a sitting position though it intensified the pain tenfold, sending such blinding sensations throughout his body he was sure he would blackout, his vision turning to nothing but whiteness for a moment. When his eyesight returned he saw that the woman had retrieved a knife, and though Rhys protested as she brought it near him he found that she took it to the arrows, not his body. The man held the arrow tightly as the woman sawed off the feathered end, Rhys doing his best to not scream out in pain. The hospital was already full of that. Thankfully the woman made quick work of it, taking off each end in just a manner of minutes. Despite the pain, Rhys almost felt as if he could take a sigh of relief. It seemed, however, that no such relief was in sight.

The woman handed Rhys a wad of linen, to which he only stared. “This is going to hurt. A lot. But whatever you do keep as still as possible. We’ll try to keep you still but you’re going to have to help us, alright?” Rhys felt sick at their words but gave a timid nod, knowing he had no other choice. The woman nodded back, grabbing his hand that held the wad of linen. “When I tell you to you need to press this on your wound, alright?”

“Shouldn’t you be having a healer do this?” Rhys asked, his voice more raspy than he’d anticipated.

The healer smiled grimly. “We’re a bit overwhelmed right now. Trust me, in ideal circumstances you wouldn’t even be conscious for this next bit.”

Rhys had never heard more horrifying words. There was no time to prepare himself, though, for the next thing he knew the healer was handing the knife to the man who held Rhys by the back. “You ready?” she called, waiting for the man’s response. Rhys felt the man shift behind him, putting up one knee against Rhys back to keep him still. “Ready,” he called. The next motion happened so quickly Rhys had no time to react but to scream out in the worst agony he’d ever felt. The healer pushed the arrow further into his body, working through what he knew to be his organs, until with a horrible tear the arrow came out through his back. The second healer worked as quick as lightning, cutting off the tip of the arrow before pulling the entire thing through Rhys’ body and out his back.

“Apply pressure!” the healer yelled, and it too Rhys a moment in his delirium to realize that she was talking to him. Moving slowly, his hand shaking uncontrollably, Rhys pressed the linen to his stomach, feeling the blood rush down his front and flood the wad. The healer quickly took a long strip of fabric, tying it around his body and securing both the pads on the exit and entrance wounds to his body. Once those were secure she moved on to the next arrow, beginning a new cycle of indescribable agony. With each passing moment Rhys both wished for a swift death to end the pain while giving out a silent, desperate plea to anyone – gods or not – to let him live. With each arrow’s removal Rhys’s pain subsided, though the conscious part of his brain knew that was only because he had lost so much blood he was certain there was more on the ground beneath him than in his body. The arrow in his shoulder was the last to be removed, Rhys gritting his teeth with tears in his eyes as it was carefully dug out, unable to be pushed through bone. The moment he felt it come out he felt a surge of blood and saw the horrified expression on his healer’s face.

“Oh gods, it must have punctured something,” she whispered, pressing cloth to the wound as hard as she could. “Somebody help! Kal, I don’t care if the mages are amputating a damned leg, you get me a mage right this instant or we’re going to lose him.”

“It’s a miracle he’s alive at all. Maybe he wasn’t meant to survive?”

Rhys could see the fire in his healer’s eyes, pure rage coming over her like a wave. “I don’t fucking care if he’s supposed to live or not, he’s an agent of the queen and if we let him die we’ll have her to answer to. Now get me a mage!”

Rhys never got to hear the rest of the argument, for seconds later the blood loss took him into unconsciousness, to him a welcome release.

***

For all Rhys knew he’d been unconscious for days, perhaps weeks, for when he awoke his body was stiff and painful and the light that surrounded him came from the sun, not rows of torches and lamps. The screams he recalled, the horrible agonized moans of good men dying gruesome deaths, were all gone, only the low muttering of voices to add any noise to the silence. Rhys let out a small groan, trying to move but finding his body almost too sore to do even that. Suddenly the muttering stopped, and as a hand rested gently on his arm he slowly opened his eyes. The queen stood above Rhys, her face a mask of concern as she looked down upon him.

“How do you feel? The healers gave you some rather powerful concoctions, things I’ve only ever heard about. According to them you should barely feel any pain at all.”

“Could be worse,” Rhys groaned, his induced coughing surprisingly not causing any pain. Though his aches were certainly nothing to bat an eyelash at, it was far less than most injuries he was used to, and compared to the pain of his conscious surgery it was almost pleasant. “How long has it been?”

“A day. The mages put you under some very heavy sedation. You’re bleeding was very bad once they were able to remove the arrows in your stomach. Apparently by the time the mages reached you, you were on the brink of death. They were able to seal the wounds enough to stop the bleeding, but even that required quite a bit of magic on their part, considering the extent. I’m afraid you’ll probably see the consequences of that,” the queen explained. Rhys grimaced, remembering the last time he’d experienced the adverse effects of Greater Magic. In Asanos he’d watched Jessa be murdered right before his eyes. If this was anything like that he could only guess at how horrifying the hallucinations might be.

The queen pulled over a chair from out of Rhys’ sight, bringing it up to Rhys bedside and taking a seat, folding her hands on the mattress near his side. She looked Rhys in the eye for a moment, quickly averting her eyes to stare off at the far wall. She coughed lightly, clearing her throat before bringing her eyes back to Rhys and, to his surprise, taking his hand in both of hers.

“I just wanted to say that my country owes you a great debt, regardless of the contents of your findings. You’ve put your life on the line for not only me but all my men. That is a truly selfless act. I cannot fully express my gratitude for your sacrifice.”

Rhys let his eyes close in his fatigue. “A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice.” Even with his eyes closed he could sense the queen smile.

“I know,” she agreed quietly, squeezing his hand, “but I’m a queen. There’s certain formalities to follow. But truly Rhys, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“It is my duty, Your Majesty.”

“No, it’s not.” Rhys forced his eyes open at her words, surprised to see an intensity in her eyes replacing the gentleness that had been there only moments before. He propped himself up as best as he could with one arm, his other held in a sling. “It is not your duty to do anything for me – you are not, nor have you ever been, my subject. You are not bound to do anything for me.”

If he was less tired, less taken by the pull of whatever drugs it was they were feeing him, Rhys might have come up with something more witty or elegant to say in response. Instead he gave a simple, sloppy shrug. “Your Majesty,” he mumbled for no particular reason, feeing the pull of the sedatives.

“There’s no need to call me that.”

Rhys blinked into the light, wondering if he’d heard her correctly. “Your Majesty?”

“It’s Tula,” she corrected, staring him in the eye. “I think you’ve earned that right.”

“Tula,” Rhys muttered. The name felt foreign on his tongue. In honestly, he preferred the formality, but still the word “Tula” had an appeal. There were very few people allowed to address the queen so informally and Rhys could name none of them. Even in a half conscious state Rhys was sentient enough to realize the gravity of this moment.

After some time of comfortable silence in which Tula had taken to pacing what Rhys had realized was a private tent, Rhys came to a stark realization. “You got the bag?” The words came out in an indistinct mumble but Rhys hoped it was enough to be understood.

Saying nothing, Tula stood from her chair and moved across the room, picking up something from the ground before returning to Rhys side and dropping his bag on the cot by his side. “It’s all there, every last thing. I’ve looked through it but I’m sincerely hoping you understand it. It’s all gibberish to me.”

More than anything Rhys wanted to rip through the information, take in every last word and letter and discover what exactly he’d found, but he also knew that given his mental state there was no way he could so much as read a whole sentence. His head was cloudy, his body half numb, and his consciousness barely there. It was a miracle he could keep up a conversation. Tula seemed to realize this, picking up the bag and setting it beside Rhys’ cot and readjusting his blankets.

“You should rest. We need you to be a bit more capable than this,” she said, gesturing to his body. Rhys frowned, wondering just how much longer it would take to be “more capable.” Greater Magic worked quickly, and if they’d been able to seal all the wounds then half the battle was won already, but Rhys knew that overusing magic in healing was greatly frowned upon. He’d never be allowed more than one or two healings a day, and that was only enough to accelerate his healing, nowhere near the kind of progress he’d like to see. But Rhys knew he had no choice, and so he gave into his fatigue, letting himself drift off.

“One last question,” Rhys mumbled, feeling himself slipping off into sleep as he spoke.

“Yes?”

“How many men died?”

He could hear Tula’s pause. “We don’t have exact numbers yet. They’re still clearing the battlefield of bodies.”

“How many are projected to have died?”

Rhys heard a sigh, knowing long before Tula answered that the answer was grim. “Nearly 1,000.”