Kings of Deceit - R

[Mollianne]

Jessa returned to her room to find a dress laid out on her bed and a note on top of it. Glancing at the drawer where she had hidden Rhys’ letter, Jessa went over to the bed and picked up the note.

‘Your dresses, though better than you used to wear, are distinctly Jasran in fashion. This will not do in Ovisian society. I have ordered a selection of dresses for you, some for each event. The seamstress used the measurements for your wedding dress, so if any of them no longer fit you will have to return to her to get them altered yourself. The rest of the dresses should arrive over the next few days. Maira.’

Jessa looked down at the dress. She had no great interest in fashion, and so she was a little surprised at herself that she managed to see some of the differences between this and the dresses Jasran ladies usually favoured. The dress was red, but that was only because it was the colour of the du Renes. It had long sleeves, longer than those found in Jasrah she supposed, to keep her warm in the harsher Ovisian climate. It was made of thick velvet, and when she picked up the dress to examine it more closely, she saw it was lined with silk. The neckline was round and unrevealing, presumably to prevent as much skin as possible to come into contact with the cold air. That, if nothing else, would suit Jessa perfectly. Sown about the neckline was a delicate white lace design, too intricate for Jessa to determine what the pattern was at close range. Much like Jasran dinner dresses, the dress was closely-fitted about the chest and arms and it looked so tight Jessa wondered whether she would be able to fit. It was high waisted, the fabric gathering in the centre. It would hang loosely over the rest of her body, so Jessa would not feel completely constricted. She would be able to walk and sit down, at least. Still on the bed, there was a white, short jacket, made of silk. It was lined with bleached fur for warmth, which was also unlike the Jasran fashions, worn purely to stay the cold when travelling. The dress was beautiful. A bit too elegant for Jessa’s tastes, but it was clearly well made. It would look impressive on a girl who actually knew how to wear and show off dresses to their advantage.

Jessa put the dress back on the bed and went to the desk. She could not deny to herself that admiring the dress for so long had been partly to put off reading Rhys’ letter, for she was sure it would contain bad news. With a sigh, she retrieved the letter and cut open the envelope. His message was scarcely longer than Maira’s had been. She read his words with her heart in her throat. Rhys. What was he thinking? Jessa bit her lip, dropping the paper on the desk and staring at the wall. She swallowed hard. His letter had not told her enough. She did not know anything about what he was doing, why he was going, and how close to the battlefield he would be. She did not know if he was hurt. If he was… Jessa could not even think about it. She would never know until it was too late.

Standing, Jessa took the letter to the fireplace and, after setting it alight, watched the letter burn. As she stared into the flames, kneeling on the dusty stone floor in front of it, she told herself to trust in Rhys. He would not do this if it was not something important, something that would further their cause and potentially end things more quickly. And more importantly, she had to trust that he would be okay. He had to be.

The most selfish part of her wished that he had not gone because it meant that she could not know the next time they would see each other in the dream world. That had been one of the things she had been relying upon until that moment. She would no longer be able to talk to him about Alistair and Irina, as there was no one else in the world with whom she could discuss it.

And for Kieran’s sake, she had intended to alert Rhys to Maira’s task for her. Of course it was breaking Maira’s terms, but it would be far harder to trace it back to her if Jessa had never uttered a word about it to Kieran himself. And hopefully Maira would never find out anyway; Jessa trusted that Kieran would act as normal, to save both of their skins. Not that Jessa actually expected to find anything worthwhile for the princess. If it was the Marinons they were after – and who else would it be? – then Kieran was not the person to turn to. He was close to the Marinons, but the du Renes knew that and could easily get to him. No matter how much Rhys trusted Kieran, he could not trust any of the people in Ovis. So, at least, Jessa could be fairly sure that, even if she did spy on Kieran and could not find a way to tell him, she would not be betraying anything.

But she would find a way to tell him. Because, for Jessa, it would feel like a betrayal if she did not.

***

“You look lovely, Jessa.”

Maira sat opposite her in the coach, resplendent in a red and gold dress finer than anything Jessa would ever own or want to wear. Where Jessa’s neckline was decorated with lace, Maira’s was adorned by a row of rubies which glistened in the light of the lantern just beyond the carriage door. “As do you.”

Maira smiled, and then waved to the footman at the door that they were ready to leave. The carriage jolted as the horses began to move, and Jessa felt unsettled as it rattled along the cobblestone path to the castle gates. She had grown too used to travelling by sea. Maira, on the other hand, looked perfectly relaxed. Once they turned out of the castle gates and onto the road beyond, Maira spoke.

“I have arranged for you to be seated beside Ambassador Dunvyen and Lord Malcolm Janes. The latter is the one we believe Kieran is meeting tonight.” Maira was calm, as if she was discussing a piece of fine embroidery. Jessa frowned.

“I thought the Janes were loyal to the king,” she said. Maira laughed, flicking her fingers dismissively.

“In my experience, people are loyal to a person only for as long as that person has the most to offer them. If that person is always that, then I suppose you are right. But for anyone with ambition – and let’s face it, anyone who is anyone in Ovis is ambitious – loyalty is easily bought.”

“That is rather cynical of you, Your Highness,” Jessa said. Again she was struck by how changed Maira was, but this time it seemed Maira had noticed Jessa’s surprise. She faced Jessa fully with a small, amused smile. The princess shrugged.

“I speak only from what I have seen. I am not the naïve little girl you used to know, Jessa. I know how fickle men and women can be. I know how easily they will turn on their friends, given the right incentive,” Maira said, looking back out of the window at the darkness.

“That is quite a transformation,” Jessa replied, trying to keep her voice casual. She doubted Maira would react well to intrusive questions about how she had come to this realisation.

“Yes, well, I actually pay attention to the world, now. A few weeks in the Marinon snake pit taught me something, even if I didn’t particularly know it until I was home. I needed to start acting like the ruler I will one day be. So I started listening to advisors, tutors, and my father – and learning. Always be on your guard, and do not trust even those you consider your closest allies. Because, in a moment, they could be your worst enemy.” Maira shrugged again, and began playing with a ring on her finger. Jessa did not reply, unable to know what to make of Maira. She was beginning to sound like a woman far older than she was, and the effect was only heightened by Jessa’s memory of Maira giggling when Dima had flirted with her.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Maira said, “Because you need to hear it. Never go into any situation believing a person is loyal to you, especially if you are intending to spy on people. Preconceptions will only cloud your judgement. People have a way of changing the truth if they do not like it, particularly where their supposed friends are concerned.” Jessa could not help but feel like the words were unintentionally hitting too close to home. Her thoughts had turned to Alistair, but Jessa realised that, with the exception of a few moments of doubt, she had believed Nayall was telling the truth about him. Perhaps… perhaps Jessa had already learnt what Maira was telling her. It was not only Maira who had been enlightened by her time with the Marinons.

The carriage stopped outside a house which stood beside the wall of the inner city. It meant the family hosting the dinner was rich and of noble birth, but not as influential as those closer to the castle. Given Maira’s presence at the dinner, Jessa guessed that the family aspired to such greatness. When the carriage door was not opened for them, Jessa looked at Maira.

“We are going to pretend to be on the verge of something like a friendship at all events from now on, Jessa. We need people to believe that I am coming to trust you, and with that trust comes power and influence. People will think that you have my ear and tell you many lies that they want you to report back to me. The lies people tell can often be as informative as their truths. It also grants me the opportunity to be nearby and interrupt you with Kieran, and any other people I ask you to spy on. In reality, of course, you are actually working against me, which you will tell a select few as I instruct. Then, given how you have shown you can hide your true nature from the du Renes, they will believe they, and their secrets, are safe with you. I’ll let you know when you can tell Kieran; I’ve no doubt he will believe you. But not today. And remember: you will not tell him that he is being watched, by you or by anyone else. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“In company, you will call me Maira. Now, come. Oh, and the family hosting is the Gregors. I doubt you’ll speak to them except to thank them for the evening.”

The left the carriage. Jessa walked behind Maira, her head reeling with everything Maira had said. The princess seemed to have no idea that she had described something Jessa was already doing. Clearly, despite Maira’s words that she did not trust that anyone would be loyal, she did not really suspect Jessa was against her. To Maira, testing Jessa with Kieran was probably a formality. She did not think Jessa had the ability to lie to gain the trust of the du Renes. Perhaps that was because Maira could not detect Jessa’s true intent with her newly discovered magic. If that was the case, the young princess was beginning to rely too heavily on her magic and less on the wisdom she had just imparted.

The house was grand, but it was nothing to the Marinons’ home or the Queen Tula’s castle. Jessa barely bat an eyelid at the expensive paintings and tapestries. They were led to the dining room. Before the door opened, Maira gestured for Jessa to stand beside her. Jessa did so warily, causing Maira to roll her eyes. “Remember, we’re friends,” she said quietly as a man opened the door and their names were announced. From all the people milling about the room who had turned to look at them, all doing very well to hide their surprise that Maira and Jessa would be together, it seemed the two princesses were the last to arrive. Jessa ignored everyone staring at her and tried to find Kieran. She spotted him near the back of the room, with a small group of men.

“Don’t go over yet,” Maira whispered, taking her arm and leading her to the circle of women to the left of the room. “You’d attract too much attention if you went to talk to a bunch of stuffy old men.” Whatever Jessa thought of Maira, she was grateful in that moment for having her around. Alandra had taught her a lot, but navigating the social waters of high society was something that was hard to learn, and Jessa had probably forgotten most of it since she had left Kolonis. There were just too many variables to consider, too many ways to offend or start gossip. Jessa could not wait for the day that she could leave all of this behind.

Maira introduced Jessa to the group of women, but Jessa was barely paying attention and so forgot all of their names virtually instantly. She spoke little, letting them chatter around her and essentially ignore her. Maira attempted to include her once or twice, compounding the idea that they were growing friends, but largely the women did not care to talk to someone who hardly spoke back. Jessa could not help it; though not shy, she was not a social person by nature. She did not cope well with idle chatter. Jessa preferred conversations with at least a little purpose.

A few minutes later the bell rung for dinner, and the guests took their seats. Jessa was thankful that Maira was all the way at the other end of the table with the hosts. She would not be able to hear anything Jessa said – not that it meant Jessa could try to fool her. When everyone was seated, Jessa turned to Kieran and could not help but smile. She had not seen him since her first few days in Ovis, and was beginning to wonder if he was okay. Of course, it was dangerous for them to meet too often. And he looked fine, if a little tired, so her fears were unfounded.

“Hello, Ambassador,” she said, leaning to the side as a servant filled her glass with a deep red wine. She thanked the man before he moved past, and then looked back at Kieran.

“It’s good to see you again, Jessa,” Kieran said. He was more reserved than he was used to, but it made sense. Here, Kieran had his role to play, and it was unsurprising that he would be much more guarded. “You look better than when we last met.”

Jessa was surprised. She felt far worse than then, and that was when she had been recovering from illness and had just lied about how Rhys had treated her. Since then, her problems increased day by day. Every so often, her thoughts would drift to Rhys on the battlefield, or to some wild idea about what Alistair could be doing for the king in that moment, or to her mother. Of course, no one knew about those problems but her. Kieran might not even know about Rhys going to the front. And she could not tell him.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” she replied. “And you are looking… well, yourself.”

Kieran smiled tiredly and shook his head. “I’m looking old,” he joked. Jessa could not help but smile back.

The first course was set down in front of them, a warm, thick yellow-green soup of chicken and leek. As they begun to eat, Jessa said, “I didn’t see you at the du Rene ball last week.”

Kieran did not look at her. For a while, he did not respond, carefully focusing his attention on his meal. Jessa bit her lip and turned also to her soup, realising that she had probably made a mistake by being so forward. Kieran in Jasrah would have had no issues with her candour, but this was Ovis. Anyone could be listening. In this case, it just so happened that one of them was Jessa herself. She sighed.

“I think some people thought it would be better if I didn’t make contact with certain guests at that time. Although it appears they have changed their mind now.” Jessa knew that Kieran was talking about her, and the people keeping them apart was probably the du Renes. She wished they had continued with that plan; seeing Kieran again was lovely, but it was ruined by the fact that she had to lie to him. Jessa would rather not see him than that.

“Princess Jessa,” a voice said from the other side of her. She turned to face him. “I am Lord Malcolm Janes.” She already knew that, given Maira had told her. Jessa had forgotten to ask what his relationship to Larend was, however. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she replied, nodding at him. She wished she could say something else, but she knew absolutely nothing about the man. Jessa bit her lip and looked back at her soup, feeling very awkward.

“I believe you know my nephew, Larend,” he said. Jessa was surprised. She had not expected Larend to have mentioned her – what reason would he have had for doing so?

“Yes, a little. He seems like a good man.”

“He is. A very good man. And intelligent too, like the rest of his family. Can’t say I was so blessed, though.” The man laughed and Jessa smiled politely. “I imagine you get on rather well. I hear you’re a scholar.”

“Yes. Although I don’t currently hold a position at a university,” Jessa said. She pursed her lips together and rubbed her forehead. That was another thing she had foregone for a very long time.

Kieran leaned over to join the discussion. “Any university would take you if you wanted to go,” he said. Jessa smiled at him, grateful for trying to cheer her up. He nodded back, and then said to Malcolm, “One of the most dedicated people you’ll ever meet, my Lord. She does not rest until she knows everything.”

“Well, then. If the queen wasn’t so set on her youngest daughter marrying my nephew, I imagine you’d fit right in with the family,” Malcolm said. Kieran tried to laugh at the lord’s joke. He did not seem to notice how forced they sounded. Jessa did not even laugh, and Malcolm looked at her in confusion.

“I don’t think I’m ready for marriage again,” she said quietly. “Not for a long while.”

“Oh, of course,” Malcolm said, and then coughed uncomfortably. “I apologise, my Lady.”

“It’s fine,” she said. The ease in the conversation vanished with her words, and the three returned to their meals. At one point, Kieran reached over and touched her arm reassuringly, and Jessa was grateful for the comfort. He might not have known the whole truth, but Kieran knew enough to know that Jessa was not interested in marrying again for other reasons than just those she was purporting. It had been dangerous to hint at the truth when they had first talked of it, but Jessa had not wanted to let Kieran completely believe her lies. She had been unable to let Kieran think that of his nephew.

The rest of the meal passed by with meaningless conversation, and she barely tasted the food for worrying so much about what to talk about. Jessa did not know what to say to Malcolm, and after his comments she did not particularly want to talk to him. She did want to talk to Kieran, but she was restricted in that by the other people at the dinner and by the task Maira had given her. Jessa hated dinner parties.

Her worries were not just about making polite conversation at the dinner table. At some point, she had to be able to get Kieran alone and also spy on him talking privately to Malcolm, if he even intended to do such a thing. Jessa could not see it herself. Malcolm did not seem like the sort of person to be involved with the Marinons or any kind of conspiracy. There was no reason for it.

Eventually, the last plates were removed from the table and everyone was invited to the Gregor family’s many sitting rooms for drinks. Maira accosted Jessa on her way out, and pretended to talk to her as they walked from the dining room to the front sitting room with the people Maira had been eating with. “I trust things are going well,” she muttered as they collected drinks from the table.

“Yes, it is a lovely evening,” Jessa said. “Although Malcolm Janes’ conversation is not particularly thrilling.” Maira appeared to take the hint.

“It looks like our friends haven’t come here. I would have thought Kieran would have wanted to talk to you,” Maira said lightly as they went to stand by the wall. “Wait a minute and then pretend you’re going to speak to some of the other guests. Find them. I imagine they’re together.”

Jessa nodded tightly, sipping at the wine in her glass. “Don’t drink too much, either,” Maira added, a little louder now. “I wouldn’t want you to get ill.”

They waited for a few minutes, and in that time a couple of people came to speak to the princess. Most ignored Jessa except to comment that they had never seen the two of them together in society before. Maira waved off the comments easily. When the third guest wandered off, Maira said, “Now. And we leave in a hour, so don’t take too long.”

Jessa put her glass down on a sideboard as she left the room, trying to keep casual although her nerves were jangling. She wandered aimlessly down the hallway, following the sounds of voices and passing by rooms when she saw that neither Kieran nor Malcolm were in them. It was looking more and more like Maira’s sources were right and that the two were having a private meeting. But why? Jessa really could see no reason for it, whatever way she tried to look at it.

She continued past one particularly loud room full of booming men playing cards and howling in laughter as they drank too much wine. At the end of the hallway, she heard a familiar voice. After a moment, someone else replied and she realised she recognised them, too. Maira had been right. Jessa swallowed, steeled herself, and then stepped closer to hear what they were saying.

“I’m not a fool,” Malcolm was saying.

“Then think about what you’re doing. This isn’t the way to go about this,” Kieran replied, his voice quieter than the other. He sounded worried.

“You were all for it a few weeks ago when you came to me. What’s changed?”

Kieran sighed. “Nothing has changed. But this is going too fast, and you know it.”

“Yes, that’s true. But now is the perfect time. This opportunity might not come again.” Jessa heard footsteps coming closer to the door. She held her breath and stepped back, wondering what she was going to do if someone came out. She had no excuse to give. Jessa bit her lip, lingering for just a moment longer. She could not, for the life of her, work out what they were discussing. It definitely did not sound like anything to do with the Marinons or Rhys. Jessa hoped she might have been warned if Rhys was planning something big – and even if he was, with him with the Novarian army, now was hardly the opportune moment.

“I just don’t believe that you would decide to do this now. Who’s telling you to do this?” Kieran asked. From Malcolm’s exasperated sigh and silence, it sounded like this was a conversation they had had before. What was Kieran doing?

“You don’t need to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there is a game of poker I am particularly against missing.”

Jessa swallowed and ran down the hallway, looking over her shoulder. Thankfully, the nearest sitting room was not far, and she ducked into it before Malcolm came out. She was lucky, and Jessa suspected that she must have missed the end of the conversation given how long it was before the door had opened. If anything important had been said, Maira would have to get over that.

Jessa went to fetch herself a glass of wine, watching as Malcolm and then Kieran passed by the door before leaving herself. She left the sitting room and leaned against the wall in the hallway. As she stared into her wine glass, Jessa tried to reason out what she had just heard. She felt unsettled, but despite Maira telling her to go into the evening with no preconceptions, Jessa was sure there would be a simple explanation for what she had heard. Now that she was not in fear of getting caught, she realised it sounded a lot like they were planning something that relied on the king being away. What else would be a ‘perfect opportunity’ and would have caught Maira’s attention? But Jessa could not see what would have drawn Kieran to someone who probably wanted the king dead when his own nephew wanted the same thing. Especially someone who was keeping secrets from Kieran about the plan. There was definitely more to this, and Jessa would find out what it was. And hopefully clear Kieran of suspicion in the process.

[Rosabeth]

Rhys slept for almost a whole other day, waking only briefly a few times. Each time he woke he would begin to adamantly protest going back to sleep, arguing that there were important things he needed to do, but each time either sheer exhaustion overtook him or one of the mage healers would place a hand on his head and force him into an induced sleep. It was not only Rhys’ other priorities that made him so opposed to sleep, but the dreams which haunted him constantly. Nightmares as vivid as life itself plagued Rhys each time he closed his eyes, sometimes more horrific reenactments of real events, other times conjuring’s of his worst fears. The worst of all had come only once, but when Rhys had awoke from it he’d been plastered with sweat, his wounds in absolute agony. In the dream Rhys was caught in a maze, alone and without guidance. The only direction came in the form of screams, screams Rhys recognized far too well. There was Jessa’s voice, the most prominent of all, followed by those of his family and friends. He would latch onto one voice, following it through the maze, but by the time he reached them…Rhys refused to even think of what he’d seen.

The morning of the third day after the battle Rhys refused to sleep any longer, though after a very brief attempt it was clear he wasn’t exactly fit for much movement either. The healers helped move Rhys to a chair, and though sitting was not a particularly comfortable position it was far preferred after two days of sleep. Early that morning Tula came to visit, and immediately upon her arrival Rhys demanded to see the battlefield, and to Rhys’ surprise the queen did not argue. Two large soldiers were called forth, one to hold up Rhys on each side, and carried like an invalid between the two the party went to the field.

Even as they approached the top of the hill overlooking the valley, the hill from which Rhys had been shot, Rhys could smell burning flesh. He almost retched, and the scene from the top only made the smell worse. Even two days after the battle had commenced bodies still littered the ground, the scene looking more like a massacre. Those men who were either miraculously uninjured or well enough to work walked through the field identifying those bodies they could and piling them up before catching fire to them. As Rhys watched the men shamble from body to body he wondered what it must be like to come across the body of your dearest friend, only to toss their body into a pyre without a second thought or glance. Rhys thought of Victor and Ero. He was not sure, in that situation, if he could do the same.

“We think we’ve come down to a final body count though we can’t be sure until all bodies have been disposed of,” said Tula, standing beside Rhys. “We believe the number is around 800, lower than initially anticipated, thank the Gods.”

“That’s nearly a tenth of the soldiers that fought,” Rhys said, hardly able to comprehend the figures. Five percent was not an uncommon figure, but ten? And when the casualties were added in Rhys knew the number would only escalate.

Tula apparently could read Rhys’ mind. “2,400 wounded and nearly 500 men missing, either dead, unaccounted for, or deserters.”
Rhys could do the math. All in all there were 3,700 casualties – nearly half of the entire army. They were staggering, unheard of numbers, almost twice that of what might be expected. Rhys could only stare out over the field overwhelmed with death and despair and feel as if a part of him was dying as well. His memories of the battle flooded him, more vivid than he remembered even in the moment. He wondered how many of the soldiers he’d fought beside were now laying dead on the ground.

“Do you think magic was used?” Rhys asked, turning to Tula after he could look over the battlefield no more.

“Undoubtedly,” she muttered. “It’s the only thing that can explain the numbers. Besides, I’ve been talking to some of the head healers and they’ve said they’ve seen some things that can’t be explained by simple swords and arrows. Identical wounds on more than one person, bodies that show no physical damage yet are dead as any other. There must have been a good deal of mages in the army.”

The last question, perhaps the most important of all, still hung in the air, unanswered. As Rhys looked to the queen she stared at him expectantly, almost daring him to ask. “Did we claim a victory?”

“More or less.”

Rhys took a sigh of relief, even if in the present circumstances ‘relief’ didn’t mean much. “Our casualties might be high, but the Etrenians were hit even harder. My army is undoubtedly better trained and it certainly showed,” said Tula, beginning to make her way back down the hill towards camp. Rhys and his human crutches followed close behind.

“But how did we win without mages?” When Tula gave no answer, instead casting Rhys a long sidelong look, Rhys knew the answer. “Ah.”

“I never said we did not have our own mages as well,” Tula said quietly. “If Etrene is going to play dirty I have no moral qualms about stooping to their level. This is war, not a game. There are no real rules.”

If there was anyone who would not judge the queen for her tactics it was Rhys. When it came to ruthlessness Rhys knew a thing or two.

As they returned to camp the queen led Rhys into her tent rather than his, instructing the soldiers to sit him in a large plush chair adorned with cushions of all shapes and sizes. The moment Rhys sunk into the chair he almost cried from happiness at the comfort, contemplating never leaving the chair again. His head tilted back as he began to succumb to fatigue, but when a large weight dropped on his lap it began quickly clear that Tula had other ideas.

Rhys looked down at the bag he’d stolen from Alrick’s camp, suddenly overcome with a dread. At the time he’d thought nothing of the theft, too preoccupied with not getting killed to stop and think about the situation. Looking back a few days later, thinking of the relative ease with which he’d been able to find and access the information, it no longer seemed as exciting. Why would such confidential information be so easy to access? Why would it be in a box that practically screamed for attention, and why would a room containing that information remain unwatched? Either the box was a decoy, the real information being somewhere Rhys hadn’t had time to look, or there was something unseen guarding the information that even Alrick, in all his paranoia, did not believe could be gotten past.

“It was too easy,” Rhys muttered to himself, slowly withdrawing a few of the papers and looking over them with caution, acting as if he was afraid they might explode in his hands.

“What was too easy?” Tula asked, talking half the papers from Rhys’ hands and shuffling through them.

“They weren’t even that heavily guarded, just in a simple locked box. Why would Alrick leave something so precious so unguarded?”

Tula paused, pursing he lips. “Perhaps this isn’t it?” She and Rhys locked eyes, and in that moment they both discarded the idea. No, this had to be it. It couldn’t not be it. If it wasn’t then all this was for nothing. Rhys put his hand to his stomach, feeling the thick gauze bandaging there. This much pain had to be for something.

“How did you open the box anyway?” said Tula, scanning the list of names absentmindedly. “I’ll be duly impressed if you picked it.”

“I, uh, got the key.”

“It was in the room?”

“More or less.”

Tula looked up from the papers now, narrowing her eyes at Rhys. “More or less?”

“Well, Alrick had it and he was in the room so I suppose it was in the room,” Rhys hedged, trying to stay as collected as he could. He could feel Tula’s eyes on him, seeing them widen with his admission.

“Alrick was there and this wasn’t information you thought I should know?” she snapped. “Did he see you?”

“No, no, I don’t think so. I knocked him out pretty quickly,” Rhys amended. Tula’s eyebrows shot up so quickly the looked like they were attempting to leave her face. “I sort of smashed the hilt of my sword into his face.”

“Sort of,” Tula muttered to herself, shaking her head. Rhys watched her for some sort of reaction, wondering if she was perhaps angry, but realizing that her tense expression was actually an attempt to keep from laughing. The look made Rhys laugh, immediately regretting it as his torso protested with sharp pains. Tula shot him a quick glare, muttering something that sounded like “that’s what you get.”

Once the pain wore down Rhys paid more attention to the papers at hand, trying to decipher the messages written. The writing was Barichene, that much was obvious, but that was where all sense ended. The sentences were no more than words strung together in nonsensical patterns, telling Rhys nothing other than that the writer knew how to write in Barichene. Perhaps it’s a code, Rhys though, but the longer he stared at the words the more he realized there was little to no pattern in any of it. If it was in code it was a far more complicated code than Rhys had ever seen.

“The king doesn’t even speak Barichene,” Rhys grumbled as he set the first stack of papers off to the side for Tula to inspect, though from her cursory glances Rhys knew she saw no more in the papers than did he. The papers were far more numerous than Rhys had realized when he’d taken them, yet not a single one had anything but the gibberish. Even the list of names no longer seemed reliable, and Rhys began to wonder if they were real people at all. Suddenly Rhys success was no longer quite so impressive.

After a while longer both Rhys and Tula gathered the papers and put them away, too frustrated with the confusing message to give it any more thought. Tula picked up the bag to place it with her things, but as she began to walk away she paused midstride, reaching into the bag and pulling something out just out of Rhys’ vision. Eyes transfixed on what she held, the queen turned back towards Rhys, showing two objects – a ruby-encrusted ring held in one hand and an elegant silver dagger in the other.

“I don’t remember putting those in there…” said Rhys. He reached out for the objects, taking the knife while Tula continued to study the ring. Rhys thought back on the night he’d taken them, trying to remember when he’d grabbed these items since he knew the bag had been empty when he’d taken it. Surely he’d remember grabbing something of such weight. But as Rhys thought back on the event he realized he’d emptied the entire contents of the box without giving them so much as a second look. Rhys glanced up at Tula, meeting her eye with a concern she shared. There was no way to brush off the documents as wild, unrelated gibberish now – there was something there and the objects had something to do with it.

***

Rhys spent much of his day in the queen’s quarters, though she herself did not, constantly elsewhere dealing with queenly matters. Rhys thought long and hard about the papers, but as the night dragged on he found himself less preoccupied with thoughts of the king’s papers and more focused on other more personal concerns. It’d been a week since Rhys had sent his hasty, vague message to Jessa; surely by now she’d heard of the battle. Rhys looked at his own reflection in the queen’s mirror, dismayed by the damage his saw, how worn he looked. Most of his torso was covered in bandages, and of the skin that was not covered most was purple with bruises that extended to his arms. His face was just as disparaging as his body. Dark circles, almost bruise-like, shadowed his eyes and his face looked slightly gaunt after a week with very little food. It was not an appearance he wished for Jessa to see, knowing she would worry, but he realized it would be better than worrying he was dead.

The queen entered the tent at that moment, looking at Rhys with pity as she watched him look at himself. “It’s not too bad,” she noted as she set down her things. Rhys snorted, running his hand across his chest. “Oh no, not bad at all, I only look like I was ambushed.”

“Well, you were,” Tula pointed out, earning another look of disdain from Rhys.

“You have mages in your army, yes?” Rhys asked, unsure how to go about his request. Tula could sense something was wrong instantly.

“Of course.”

“Do you know if any have the ability to…” Rhys realized he didn’t know what the proper term for it was, “…connect people through dreams?”

To Rhys surprise, the queen did not falter for a moment. She paused, a hint of a smile on her lips, and then left the tent. Several minutes later she returned, this time with a familiar face in tow.

“Indri?”

“Hello again, Rhys,” she greeted pleasantly, doing a sort of half curtsy and bow, apparently having learned of Rhys’ status since their last meeting.

“You’re a mage?” said Rhys dumbfounded. “I thought you were a blacksmith?”

Indri shrugged. “I’m a jack of many trades. Anyway, I heard you need a dreamwalker.”

“Yes, could you connect me to someone? Someone you’ve never met?”

Just as Tygan had, Indri nodded, assuring him this was no trouble. “Just so long as you know the person I can access their mind through your memory of them. But be warned, this isn’t my specialty so I’m not unlimited in my skills. I can only hold the dreams for a short amount of time – no longer than ten minutes – and don’t expect me to do anything fancy.”

“No, no, that’s more than enough. I just need to talk to someone. My wife. I can be quick. Though…” Rhys caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, grimacing, “is it possible you could change my appearance? Make me look a bit less… dead?”

This time it was Tula who answered with a smack to Rhys’ arm. “You can’t lie to Jessa,” she scolded as Rhys winced at the smack. “I know you don’t want her to worry but she deserves to know the extent of your injuries.” Indri didn’t dare argue with her queen, though neither did Rhys. He consigned himself with a sigh, already thinking up his least anxiety-inducing explanation for his appearance.

“Are you sure she’s in a safe location, preferably asleep?” Indri asked as Rhys laid down on a pallet. It was well past midnight so Rhys could only assume Jessa would be asleep, though he knew contacting her unannounced was always a risk. He shrugged and Indri sighed, shaking her head just as did Tula.

Luckily for Rhys Indri did not wait for Rhys to fall asleep, instead pulling him into her dream instantly. At first Rhys did not recognize that he was dreaming, for he was in the exact same location, still lying on his pallet in the queen’s tent, but as he looked around and saw that neither Indri nor Tula was anywhere to be seen, the camp strangely quiet even for the middle of the night, Rhys knew this was not reality. Rhys managed to bring himself to his feet, his hand propping himself up on a table, as he waited for Jessa’s appearance. Not seconds later Jessa walked in through the tent opening, looking rather disoriented and confused until her eyes rested on Rhys. She did not even seem to notice his injuries, instantly running at him and flinging her arms around him, hugging herself to him with a sigh of relief.

Rhys gasped in pain, his wounds screaming out as Jessa pressed herself against them. His legs suddenly weakened, his core too weak to hold his posture up. He clung onto Jessa with his free hand, his other hand gripping onto the table. He could feel his face reddening, embarrassed that he should be so weak. Jessa pulled back in surprise at his sound, her eyes finally taking in his full state. She stepped back to get a better look at him, letting out a gasp and bringing one hand to her lips, her eyes wide in terror.

“Rhys, what happened to you?”

Rhys put on a grim smile. “It’s nice to see you too.”

[Mollianne]

“Yes, Your Highness. Yes.” Jessa was trying her best to keep the annoyance out of her voice, not to slouch, and not to sound bored, but Maira was making it very difficult with her endless, repetitive questions. For the last few days, Jessa had attended dinners, afternoon tea parties, and one assembly following her first time spying on Kieran. Just a few hours ago, she had been at a dinner where she knew practically no one by name and had spent most of it ignoring the whispers about her behind her back. Her task had been broadened to include Lord Malcolm Janes, and by extension, the rest of his family, and his reported friends. She had attended nearly every function at which either Kieran or Malcolm had been invited. She was exhausted, and the smell of wine and tobacco seemed to be permanently stuck in her nose. The only good thing about it was that it had given her little time to worry about Rhys. Jessa hated that there was no way to hear from him, and she could not decide if it was a good or a bad thing that the capital had not yet heard news of the south. There had been rumours of a battle, but they had heard nothing as to numbers of casualties, or to whether Novamor had won or lost. All she knew was that the king was probably still alive; news of his death would spread like wildfire.

“Do you think Lord Larend Janes is involved in his uncle’s plans?” Maira asked. It was yet another question she had heard many times before, and Jessa’s answer was still the same.

“No, it doesn’t look like it,” Jessa said. “From all I’ve seen and heard, it looks like Malcolm Janes is rather separated from the rest of his family. They certainly don’t seek out his company in public, and Larend barely speaks of him. He talks of many other members of his family often.”

“Then it could just be a ruse. They wouldn’t want to be seen to be friendly,” Maira said. Jessa nodded in agreement; that was a valid option. Maira stood and walked around her desk, perching on the surface and looking down on Jessa. She laced her fingers together and rested them on her thighs, before saying, “You’re never going to find out the truth by asking indirect questions about their relationship, or by merely hoping to come across something useful.”

“There may be nothing to find,” Jessa said, some of her frustration coming out. Maira glared at her, and Jessa sighed and added, “Your Highness.”

Maira laughed, though Jessa doubted she was actually amused. At least she was not angry; Jessa had not seen the princess show anger in a long time. She guarded her emotions very well now. “There might not be, I suppose. But it’s more likely that there is.”

Maira pushed herself off the desk and went to sit back down. She picked up a pen and began writing something. Without looking up, she said, “You can go. You’re to rise early in the morning – I’ll have someone sent to wake you. Many of Ovis’ youngest and finest are going to Arrowbridge for a few days, returning just in time for the Janes’ ball. You will be joining them. Find out what you can from Lord Larend and his siblings.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Jessa said, standing and curtseying. Maira waved a hand in dismissal, and Jessa made her way to the door.

Just before she left, Maira added, “My sister will be there, too. It’s probably wise if you keep out of her way as best you can. She’ll only make a fool of herself.”

Jessa nodded and left. She had not been expecting Maira to say that her sister was the one she was concerned would damage her reputation. And it had almost sounded like Maira had warned her Jessa to protect her from Elissa’s cruelty, not just to save face. Jessa walked down the dark corridor, listening as the wind howled outside and shook the windows, and wondered what that might mean. It probably meant nothing. Jessa had always known that Maira and Elissa had never been particularly good friends, although they had always seemed more unified in the past. Certainly Maira had never shown signs of preferring Jessa to her sister, and though Jessa doubted that was the case now, there were hints of it. Perhaps Maira just preferred conversation that was a little less spiteful – or perhaps she just preferred talking to someone who was below her in station and therefore less likely to argue back. She liked Jessa because she thought she could control her.

One day, Jessa hoped Maira would see that she had been fighting the princess the entire time.

As Jessa neared the entrance hall, she heard quiet voices. Considering it was nearing midnight, it seemed strange. Who would arrive this late, unless their presence was meant to be concealed? She slowed, stopping just before she reached the top of the grand staircase. She knew she should just carry on to her room, and had it been a year ago she would have done just that. That was no longer an option for her. Hiding behind a pillar, Jessa peered down at the small gathering of men. In the centre was Queen Catrice.

Jessa frowned, shuffling as close to the edge of the pillar as she could without being seen. She chanced another glance, noting the huge fur coats and pale skin, the wild beards and stocky bodies. They wore no colours, but their appearance gave them away. Baricheans. From the way they held themselves, they looked like warriors. Jessa swallowed. She had heard many tales of the Barichean army. Although not as large or well-trained as the Novarians, they were savage fighters. Many were taken from hill tribes in the south, bordering Antascia, and others were from the harsh climate in the north, used to surviving any way they could. There were some reported to be less wild, trained almost from birth, accustomed to living in cities and not fighting every day for their lives.

Although she could not be certain, Jessa had a pretty good idea why they were here.

The group moved quickly to an antechamber, further proving Jessa’s theory that they were here in secret. Jessa swallowed, waiting for the door to shut firmly behind them. There were no castle guards waiting outside the door. Jessa supposed that, if the Baricheans wanted the queen dead, two guards would not save her. And if they caught someone snooping, the men could easily protect themselves. Jessa steeled herself. If this was something the queen did not even trust her own guards to hear, it had to be very important. She needed to hear what they had to say.

She moved out from behind the pillar, trying to keep casual as she checked every corner for hidden guards. There appeared to be none. She was surprised. Even if they weren’t at the door, she would have expected some to be nearby. If they were there – and they had to be – they were doing a better job at staying out of sight than Jessa would have expected. She could not risk going down the stairs. Jessa pursed her lips and went past the stairs, looking for all intents and purposes as if she was simply heading back to her room. She stopped outside the door above the antechamber and pressed her ear against it. Hearing nothing, Jessa tentatively opened the door. The room was empty. She sighed in relief, shutting the door silently behind her.

Jessa had practiced few spells, but there was one – and it was not even Greater Magic, which was a relief – that she had endeavoured to learn while she had been in Kolonis. Although it took her great effort to hold the spell, and half the time it did not work anyway, she had to try. The spell amplified sounds near the caster, excepting sounds produced by the caster themselves. Of course, even if Jessa did manage to perform the spell correctly, she was not proficient enough to be able to block out all sound but the ones she needed. Jessa was grateful for the relative silence of the castle. Closing her eyes, Jessa focused on the spell, murmuring the words under her breath. She needed it to work, and quickly, for she could not know for how long they would be talking.

It took a few tries, but eventually she began hearing faint noises from the room below. The drip, drip, drip of water coming from somewhere was louder. It threatened to overwhelm the voices entirely. Jessa concentrated harder, trying desperately to block out the noises she did not want to hear. Magic would not help her here; she would have to rely on her own ability to block out the world as she did when she was lost in her research. She kept her eyes closed and ignored every distraction until a few words came to her clear, if quiet.

And they were in Barichene.

Jessa sighed in frustration, nearly losing her focus. She clung onto the voices, reminding herself that, although she could not read Barichene but for a few words, she was better at speaking it. There were no strange letters and symbols to decipher in the spoken word, after all. Her resolve strengthening, Jessa lay down on the floor and pressed her ear to the stone.

“…men?” Catrice asked.

One of the men answered, but although she heard some of what she said, she could decipher none of it. Clearly Catrice had the same problem, for she said, in Etrenian, presumably to prove her point, “Aalem answer.” Jessa lost her voice for a moment. “…time to listen to unintelligible dialects.”

The man who answered, although clearly understanding Etrenian, chose to speak in his native language. Whatever he said, Jessa had little idea what it was. All she gathered was that it was a number, a number that possibly began with a two. Presumably a number of men. But where were they? In Etrene? Jessa’s heart lodged itself in her throat. She had to know how many men.

“Where?” Catrice asked.

“Some Carroe,” he said, the Etrenian city name heavily accented. Jessa breathed hard. They were only a day’s ride from where Jessa had been told the Novarians had reached. “Some Matharne. Some Klanse. Some border. Moving slow and small.”

However many men he was talking about, they were scattered throughout Etrene, all slowly making their way west across the country. Jessa did not need to hear more to know what they were doing there.

“The whole force won’t be there for some time then.”

Jessa stopped the spell. There was no way she was going to know the number of men coming to Etrene’s aid by listening to them speak in Barichene. She stood and rushed from the room. Once she got outside, she tried to keep her pace slow and steady, like she had nothing better to do and nowhere to go. As soon as she reached her room, she locked the door and stared at the handle. Jessa had to get word to Rhys. She needed to warn them. But how? She faced exactly the same obstacles as when she had wanted to tell Rhys that she had been told to spy on Kieran. Only this time, she could not afford to wait.

Her vision went black for a moment. When she came to, her head was resting against the door and she felt like she was about to faint. She went over to the bed, wondering what was happening. She was scared of what might happen, certainly, but this felt like something else. Jessa put a hand on her head, fighting the odd pulling sensation within her. It did not take long before she gave up fighting, as her limbs went heavy. Her eyes closed.

When she opened them, she was no longer in her room. Jessa looked around, terrified. There were tents all around her – an army camp – but she could see no one. The world was silent. Jessa blinked, and in front of her there was a tent with the flaps pulled back wide. She felt something push her towards the opening, and she moved forward slowly. Jessa looked around the room, expecting anything but what she actually found: Rhys.

She ran at him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tight. He felt so solid and she realised what this was, although she had no idea how it was possible. Before she could think too much on it, Rhys gasped in pain. He grabbed Jessa’s hand, squeezing tightly. She pulled back, wondering what she had done. Her eyes widened as she saw how pale he looked. She moved away from him, and looked down at the rest of his body. Bandages covered his body in three different places, and from Rhys’ reaction if nothing else, she knew they were not shallow wounds. Jessa brought her hands to her lips and could barely speak as she asked him what had happened. He grimaced, but did not answer her question.

Jessa breathed slowly, trying to calm herself down. Since she had read Rhys’ letter, she had convinced herself that he would be okay. He was Rhys, and he knew how to keep out of danger – most of the time. His letter had not suggested he would actually be in battle. Had he kept it from her? Surely he must have known. Perhaps he had thought she would have realised what he would be doing. But she hadn’t. She had ignored the possibility and told herself that he was just going to help with strategy or something, something that would keep him off the battlefield. How wrong she had been. And how naïve.

Seeing Rhys nearly double over in pain, she jumped into action, taking him carefully and guiding him down onto the pallet beside him. He sat down gratefully, and Jessa stepped back. She did not dare touch him again. “What happened?” she whispered again. Rhys looked at her, searching her gaze. She said, “Just tell me.”

“I got hit by four arrows,” Rhys said, clearly deciding it was best just to say it. Jessa gasped, her hand pressing against her mouth once again.

“Oh Gods,” she breathed. “How? Why were you out there?”

“I was doing something,” he said vaguely.

“What?”

Rhys looked at her, pinning her with his gaze. “I can’t tell you.”

Jessa watched him for a moment more, and then she turned away in frustration. She stared through the tent flap, watching the complete, unreal stillness outside. She swallowed as the frustration turned to anger, making her stomach roil. She tried to keep it in, knowing Rhys was hurt and did not need an argument, but she found that she could not.

Without turning to look at him, she hissed, “You went out in a battle, got hit by four arrows, and you not even going to tell me why? I don’t even get to know what you were prepared to die for? Do you really trust me that little?”

“This is nothing to do with how much I trust you, Jessa. There are people who could get that information from you whether you wanted them to or not. They’d kill you.”

“If they know enough to think I’d know something about you, they’ll kill me anyway, once they’ve got everything they can from me. Just meeting you in these dreams is enough for them to know I’m still in contact with you and that everything I’ve told them is a lie,” she said, spinning around to face him. Her face was hot with anger and fear. Rhys’ eyes widened. She realised he had never seen her like this. Upon seeing him again, seeing how broken he looked, some of her fury fizzled out and died. Jessa sighed.

“I let you keep things from me in Kolonis. I understand why you have to. I do, and I’m trying to now. But…”

“I know, Jessa,” Rhys said. She could tell he wanted to tell her, and the last of her anger left her. She felt ashamed of herself. Bowing her head, she wished she could take back her words. They had been driven by anger, certainly, but mostly by despair.

“You could have died. And I’d never have known.” They looked at each other, and Jessa put her head in her hands as she felt tears roll down her cheeks.

“Jessa, come here,” Rhys whispered. She went over to him slowly, sitting down on the pallet but leaving as much space as she could between them. Rhys took her hand in hers and said, “Focus on the fact that I didn’t die.”

“Please don’t die. Please don’t do anything like this again. Go back to Jasrah. I know I can’t force you to stay, and I won’t. I’m going to be by your side until the day comes that I no longer can. But…”

“I’m going back to Jasrah as soon as I can. Don’t worry about that,” Rhys said, squeezing her hand. Jessa looked up, watching Rhys’ face. He smiled at her, lifting his hand and brushing away her tears.

She said nothing. All she could think was that she wished, more than anything, that she could go back to Jasrah as well. But saying it would achieve nothing but to make them consider all the dangers that surrounded Jessa while she was in Ovis. And then she remembered the thing she had been so desperate to tell Rhys, and was suddenly even more glad he was leaving the army soon.

“Rhys,” she whispered, catching his hand and clutching it in hers. “The… I don’t know how many men, and there’s no easy way to say this, but I believe Barichea is marching here. To join forces with Alrick.”

[Rosabeth]

Rhys didn’t know what to say in response, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“Shit.”

“I overheard Catrice and some Barichean just a few minutes ago. I couldn’t understand them very well since they were speaking in Barichean… well, mostly. What I did get was that they’re near Carroe, Matharne, um…” Jessa bit her lip in though, looking displeased with herself, “I’ve already forgotten the third, but it was close to the others. They’re coming, Rhys. They’re making their way down the western coast and it’s only a matter of days before they reach you.”

Rhys thought of the battlefield, noting the advantage Novamor had had in numbers. Even with an advantage of nearly 1,000 men they’d still sustained significant losses. If the numbers were any larger, especially if the numbers came from an addition of the Barichenes, a people well known for a culture of violence and war, Rhys could not see this ending well. There was no doubt that Novamor could hold its own, especially with so many mages secretly scattered throughout the forces, but it would certainly make their going slower.

Jessa watched Rhys’ face for signs of a reaction, anxiously gripping onto his hand. “Promise me you won’t stay with them and fight,” she demanded, turning towards him and grabbing his other hand. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Rhys sighed, squeezing her hands back. “It’s not like I’m here for my superior fighting abilities,” Rhys said dryly, glancing down at his wounds. Jessa did not seem to find the joke as funny.

“Then why are you there? What do they want with you?”

It wasn’t as if Rhys was trying to hide anything from Jessa. He longed to tell her of all people, knowing she would have more insight to the king than anyone. If she knew about the documents, if she knew about the knife and the ring, then perhaps she’d know how it all came together. But Rhys was still uncertain if the king had seen Rhys in that brief second before he’d knocked out the king. If he had and knew Rhys connection to the theft he’d surely come to Jessa. If Jessa knew what had been stolen, if she knew anything about Rhys’ connection, then Rhys was not confident she’d be able to hide it. Suspicion would lead to questioning and questioning would end with Jessa dead.

No. He couldn’t tell her. Not yet, anyway.

“You’re just going to have to trust me when I say that it’s very important that you don’t know – not yet. When we get more information I’ll tell you, I promise. For now… well, let’s just say if Alrick doesn’t seem particularly pleased when he returns you can thank me.”

The words hardly made sense to Rhys, much less Jessa, but she consigned herself with a sigh and shrugged in acceptance. Rhys hated to keep these things to himself, but at the end of the day Jessa was a liability. Even thinking that thought made Rhys shake his head at the unfairness of it all. If his injuries and close encounters meant anything it was he that was the liability, not Jessa.

“Rhys, I can’t hold it much longer, you’d best say your goodbyes now,” came Indri’s disembodied voice. Jessa jolted, looking around in confusion.

“Who is that?” asked Jessa, looking up as if hoping to see the voice coming from some god from above.

“Indri, one of the blacksmiths for the army. As it turns out, Novamor’s army is full of unexpected talents. ‘Dreamwalking’ isn’t her specialty so we were only guaranteed a few minutes.” Trying to push aside thoughts of his injuries for a few minutes, Rhys moved his hands to cup Jessa’s neck. They kissed gently, Rhys glad that at least this caused him no pain. As they pulled apart Rhys rested his forehead against Jessa’s. “Once I’m back in Jasrah we’ll be able to talk again. Until then you stay safe and be smart. Whatever you do don’t worry about me. As we both know I’m practically an expert at near-death injuries.”

“I lo-“

With a jolt that felt like searing pain in his head Jessa was gone, replaced with Indri and Tula. Rhys blinked into the dim candlelight, his head still reeling from the unexpected end of the dream.

“Sorry about that,” Indri frowned, putting a hand on Rhys good shoulder. “I’m not very good at ending those things. The strain just gets too intense after a certain point and I can’t hold it any longer.”

“No, no, it’s fine, really. I should be thanking you for doing it at all,” said Rhys. Indri looked somewhat pleased but Rhys could still see the guilt there on her face.

It wasn’t until Rhys noticed Tula standing there, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched over Indri and Rhys with concern, that he remembered what he was supposed to tell her. “The Baricheans are coming,” he yelled, realizing a moment too late just how loud his voice was. He cleared his throat, this time speaking purposefully more quietly. “Jessa says that Alrick is allied with Barichea and they’re sending men down to aid his army. The nearest group is in Carroe.”

“But that’s… damn it,” Tula let out a string of Novarian curses, bringing her hand to her lips in frustration. Rhys could only watch in fascination, not sure he’d ever seen the queen so unhinged. Then again, Rhys wasn’t sure she had ever before considered him friend enough to show any true emotion in his company. Rhys wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or terrified at the rage that had overtaken her expression.

“Did she give any numbers? Any idea with what they’re equipped?”

“No, she didn’t know.”

Tula swore once more, turning to her table and digging her nails into the wood. “If it’s more than a few thousand I don’t know how we’ll manage. My troops in the east are too far away to call over, not in a timely manner. I could bring up some of my men from the south but they’re likely to not get there in time either. If Alrick has control over the entire Barichean army – if you can really call it an army – we’ll be hopelessly overpowered.”

In the uncomfortable silence Rhys realized that Indri had snuck out silently, not wanting to be caught in the path of the queen’s wrath. Though the queen’s rage was a sight to behold, a wildness lurking beneath her her collected demeanor, in that moment Rhys saw a glimmer of fear. He saw a woman who was young and alone, saddled with far more power than she could ever hope to manage. He saw a woman plagued with the thought that her rash confidence might have condemned thousands of her people to death. In that moment, Tula did not look like a queen. She looked like a human.

“We leave tomorrow morning at dawn.” Tula’s voice was so quiet Rhys barely heard her words. “Riding won’t be easy but we have to leave now unless you want to be caught here for the next battle.”

“I don’t think I can ride,” Rhys muttered, putting a hand to his stomach and regretting the decision instantly. If such a light touch hurt then he could only imagine the agony of days on horseback.

No matter what he said,” Tula would not take no for an answer. “If you aren’t fit to ride then we will make you. You will visit the healers first thing in the morning and they shall heal you to the point where you can ride.”

“The healers told me I had to wait another day or two until they could heal me again. They didn’t want to use too much magic, given that I seem to be especially prone to adverse side effects,” Rhys countered, though he knew even before he spoke that his arguments were useless.

“The way I see it you either take your chances with magic or you stay here and wait for the Baricheans to kill you in your sleep.”

At first light, Rhys went to the healers.

***

As the sun began to set at day’s end soldiers began setting up a tent under the protection of a wooded patch some distance from the main road. Rhys and Tula dismounted, leading their horses to a cluster of trees for the night. Rhys could feel the queen’s eye follow him the entire time, suspicious of his particularly chipper mood. After what had felt like an eternity in the healers’ tent, Rhys had emerged with virtually no pain so long as he did not attempt anything particularly taxing. The logical part of his brain knew that using such an overwhelming amount of magic had dangerous consequences, consequences the mages had painstakingly laid out to Rhys as they healed him - paranoia, hallucinations, losing consciousness, hearing voices, madness, and in the very worst cases, death.They’d been opposed to healing him at all, but when the queen demanded something be done they were hardly able to decline her requests, despite their better judgment. He’d been warned that the healing would leave him with a false sense of euphoria, a feeling Rhys had attempted to prepare himself for, but the moment the euphoria hit all former worries were washed away. Rhys hadn’t felt so pleased in weeks, if not months, and throughout the entire ride he’d been unable to wipe the grin off his face. From the moment Rhys had commented on the pleasantness of the weather Tula had proceeded to watch him like a hawk.

“Why don’t you sit down,” Tula remarked, frowning as she watched Rhys with trepidation.

Rhys couldn’t understand her worry, and at her expression he let out a laugh, shaking his head with a goofy grin plastered on his face. Tula’s eyes widened in concern but she said nothing, following him as he moved deeper into the trees.

“Where are you going?” she demanded as Rhys began to pick up his pace. Every few steps Rhys would move a bit faster, going from walk to jog until he was racing through the trees. After days of bed rest, crippled by his damned injuries, nothing had felt so freeing. He could hear Tula yell from behind him, her voice frantic, but he only laughed.

“I’ll collect some firewood,” he yelled back, dodging between trees. “Don’t worry about me!”

Rhys ran until he became breathless, his side protesting in what he knew must be residual pain from his wounds. He broke into a gentle jog, eventually stopping completely and peering around him, realizing he had no idea where he was. The forest was deceivingly large, much larger within than it had looked from a distance, and as the sun dipped lower in the sky Rhys was emerged in darkness. He knew it was not safe to be out in the dark yet Rhys couldn’t seem to find it in him to care, his smile never diminishing. Instead of heading back as he knew was smart he began to wander further, searching the ground for kindling and small logs

After what felt like ages the darkness finally came, the moonlight streaming in through the trees lighting Rhys’ path. As Rhys had carried on the euphoria had begun to wear, and after a time replace itself with a sense of paranoia. Rhys ducked through the trees, minding the unruly roots that stuck up from the ground, ever aware of the sound of every snapping twig or rustle of leaves. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest each time he turned through a new line of trees, convinced there would be someone standing behind one with a knife ready to attack. After some time without alarm Rhys allowed his worries to subside, his hand drifting away from the hilt of his sword.

That was when he heard the voice.

“Rhys?” Rhys halted mid stride, his eyes darting around wildly. He knew that voice as well as his own, smooth and soothing. He’d memorized the way his name sounded on that tongue, the way that voice would come so softly off the ‘s’ that it sounded more like a whisper. Before he knew what he was doing he was walking towards the voice, all thoughts gone but for one. The voice led him east, growing louder with each step he took, urging him on. He began to run. He dashed through the trees, the branches scraping against his arms and cheeks but he paid them no matter, fixated on only one thing.

Suddenly he stopped, the voice disappearing all together. The sound of rustling came from nearby, and before he could reach for his sword a figure stepped out from the darkness and into a patch of moonlight. Jessa.

“Rhys,” she said calmly, smiling at the sound of his name. Rhys stepped closer, unable to think of anything to say. She was stunning in the moonlight, wearing a sheer silvery gown that trailed behind her on the forest floor. Her fiery hair hung loose down her back, strands of curled hair gently blowing in the breeze. Jessa’s hair is straight, Rhys thought offhandedly, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it came. It was just hair – what did Rhys know of hair? The more he thought about it the sillier his thought seemed. No, Jessa’s hair had always been curled. That was right. His mind was simply playing tricks on him.

“Come,” she whispered, reaching out a hand towards Rhys. He took it without hesitation, surprised to find that it was cool, even light, less substantial than he was expecting. But with a single shy smile Rhys found himself grinning back, unable to think properly about anything but her face. Jessa led him from the trees and into a small clearing. At the edge of the clearing was what Rhys saw to be a sharp drop into a ravine, the creek within rushing quickly downstream. Jessa moved to the edge of the ravine, her toes dangling off the edge.

“Jump with me,” she said, her other hand coming to rest on Rhys’s arm. “Jump.”

Rhys looked down into the ravine, seeing nothing but rocks lining the way down. He hesitated, taking a step back from the edge, but Jessa would not have it. She frowned, tugging lightly on his arm and leading him back towards the edge. “You don’t need to worry,” she assured him. “We’ll be safe.”

A sudden scream pierced the air, yelling out his name. It momentarily shook Rhys from his reverie as he struggled to place the voice. It was familiar, yet...it sounded so different from Jessa’s voice. It was louder, more present, and lower in tone. It sounded somehow more substantial. It continued to yell out for him over and over, growing louder each time. Rhys took a step towards the voice only to find himself bombarded with a dozen other voices. They hissed at him, scolded him, told him discouraging words over and over. They were disembodied voices, sounding as if they came from within his own head, yet each was distinct. Rhys recognized his mother’s voice intermingled with Victor’s, hints of Laurita’s pushing through as well. But where were they? As Rhys looked around all he saw was Jessa smiling at him from the edge.

“Don’t listen to the voice calling for you,” said Jessa, suddenly frowning. “It is a lie. It is trying to lure you to danger. The only way to safety is down.”

“Down?” Rhys said, looking once more into the ravine. It did not look particularly safe, but who was Rhys to judge Jessa? Surely she knew more about the area. After all, she had been the one to lead him.

“Down.”

Jessa’s words were so assuring, so soothing, and they were supported by the whispers of the other unplaced voices. All urged him to continue on, to jump into the unknown with Jessa, to trust her every motive. A force seemed to be pushing him forward from behind, though as Rhys walked forward it was his own feet that were doing the traveling. He tightened his grip on Jessa’s hand, smiling to her.

“Together?”

“Together.”

Rhys stepped one foot off the edge.

Two hands grasped wildly at his arm, a voice screaming as he began to slip. His body twisted in midair as the hands grasped wildly at him, and the pain as he arm was tugged violently was enough to alert his body to the freefall. Rhys reached out with his free hand as he slammed into the ravine edge, his fingers finding something to hold onto.

“Rhys!” the same voice screamed, though this time Rhys knew to whom it belonged. Tula was lying on the ground, both of her hands reaching down to hold Rhys’ arm. She was slowly slipping forward but refused to let go. Rhys’ other hand gripped tightly at the rock wall, his feet desperately trying to find a hold. Tula’s hands began to slip from his arm and she cried out desperately, digging her nails into his arm. Rhys let out a yelp and to his relief he saw two soldiers rushing to Tula’s side, pressing themselves to the ground and reaching down for Rhys. One grabbed the arm Tula held onto, the other taking the arm that held desperately onto the wall. With a grunt they both pulled Rhys up until his hand brushed the edge of the ravine. Rhys grabbed at the edge, a rush of relief coursing through his body as both of his hands were firmly gripping something. After a moment of resituating, the two soldiers reached down once more and began to pull up Rhys as Rhys did his best to pull himself up. Slowly his arms came over the edge, followed by his torso, until just enough of his legs came over that he could pull himself the rest of the way.

The soldiers stepped back as Tula rushed forward, falling to her knees and reaching for Rhys.

“What were you thinking?!” she screamed, helping Rhys to his knees. As soon as Rhys was upright the soldiers returned, each putting one of Rhys’ arms around their neck as they brought him to his feet. “You could have died!” Tula continued to yell, her whole body trembling with either rage or fear. Rhys let out a low breath, unable to so much as utter a word. He looked slowly around, dismayed to find that Jessa was nowhere to be seen and slowly realizing with dread as he took one last look at the ravine that she’d never been there in the first place.

[Mollianne]

“Are you excited?”

Jessa looked at the young woman who had appeared at her side. She had met her twice in the last couple of days, albeit briefly. Even if she had not, the woman’s light blonde hair and short stature marked her as a Janes. She was Larend’s youngest sister, Charine. A sweet girl. Still, Jessa could not help but feel annoyance at the question. Of course she was not excited; just hours ago, she had learnt that Barichean savages were marching on the Novarian army, and that her husband – a man she could not show her affection for – had sustained injuries that had very likely come close to killing him after he had been in a battle Jessa had not thought he would fight in. Now, she had to spy on the only people in Ovis who had treated her with any kindness. No, she was definitely not looking forward to this trip.

“I’m very excited,” she said out loud to the girl, smiling. Charine smiled back, her expression eager and happy.

“It’s your first time going to Arrowbridge too, isn’t it?” she asked. “Oh, I’ve heard it’s beautiful there. I wish I could’ve gone last year, but my mother wouldn’t let me. I’d only just started attending society events, and she didn’t want me away from home. I think she wanted to stop me this year, but my aunt is acting as one of the chaperones so she didn’t have much choice. I’m so glad. Arrowbridge is one of the highlights of winter. My sister always talks about how great it is. She might be a little biased, though. She met her first love there.”

“Did she.” Jessa felt a little bad at her lack of interest, for although this trip was not appealing to her, there were many who were awaiting the moment they set off with bated breath. Jessa did not want to bring Charine’s mood down with hers. “Perhaps you shall meet yours.”

“Oh, I don’t care about that,” Charine said dismissively. “I’m looking forward to being away from my mother. I love her, but she does smother me. Not that I’d say no if some handsome strangers sweeps me off my feet. I’m just not looking for it.”

Jessa nodded, before she was distracted by someone entering the town square. She had not realised he was joining them. Before Charine could start talking again, Jessa put a hand on her shoulder and excused herself. She walked over to the man and said, “Kieran! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Kieran grinned and shrugged. “Apparently Lord Harel took ill and they needed a replacement to help chaperone. Why I was chosen I could not tell you. I’ve never been before.”

Jessa thought she knew exactly why, but she kept wisely quiet. She did wonder why Maira had not told her, though. She had implied it would only be Larend and his sisters that she was watching, and from them anyone else who might be privy to Lord Malcolm’s plans. Until now, it had seemed like a bit of a waste for Jessa to go, since there was no indication that the rest of the Janes family were even involved, and she surely would have been better off staying in Ovis. The only reason against it was that she would look out of place in the company of men and women in the older generations. It did not matter that she was probably closer in age to some of them – Kieran was hardly old, even if his job had aged him in appearance.

“I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful chaperone,” she said. Kieran laughed.

“Yes, well, I don’t know about that. And I doubt that is the reason I’m here.” Jessa tried not to look uncomfortable. She had not been able to get any word to Kieran about her task. Her conversation with Rhys had been cut painfully short, and his injuries and the Baricheans had been at the forefront of her mind. However, Jessa thought, there might a chance to do so at Arrowbridge. Maira herself was not attending, although more of her spies undoubtedly were. There would be a moment, though – there had to be.

“Well, I shan’t question it. It will be good to see you more. I missed you in those weeks after I first came to Ovis.”

“Yes,” Kieran said, looking like he wanted to say more but recognised that the square was not a safe place to do so. He coughed and glanced at her pointedly.

Jessa said, “I suppose I will see you in Arrowbridge, then.” The two locked gazes, making sure that both had understood the message that they would find somewhere private and safe to talk once they left the city. Before they could say more, someone called Kieran away and Jessa saw Maira enter the square, her sister trailing behind her. Jessa watched as the two came closer and hoped that Elissa would be distracted by friends. She was not in the mood for the young princess’ jibes.

Thankfully, Maira pointed at some girls on the other side of the square and happily went over to them, apparently having never seen Jessa. Maira straightened her shoulders and came over. “She doesn’t know you’re going yet. I thought it might be a pleasanter beginning to the trip.”

“There’s another person who didn’t know someone was coming,” Jessa said lightly. Maira put a hand to her mouth, laughing quietly.

“Oh, yes. Until this morning, I wasn’t sure our friend would be joining you. These things are planned so far in advance and can be difficult to change at such short notice. I didn’t think there was much point in telling you unless it was happening.”

“And why would you want the ambassador going in the first place?” Jessa asked quietly, keeping her head down as the two started walking over to the coach Jessa would ride in with some of the other noblewomen. Jessa skirted around a puddle left over from the night’s rain, moments before a servant stomped into it in his hurry to load someone’s luggage onto a nearby coach. The sprayed water just missed Jessa and the princess, although Maira still glared at the man before continuing their conversation.

“I want to know everyone who is involved and who isn’t. Let’s see which of the nobles our friend makes contact with,” Maira said, patting Jessa on the arm. “Have fun. It’s a shame I can’t come, but I’m needed here.”

Maira left Jessa without another word, going over to speak to her sister. Jessa stood beside the coach, all alone, and watched everyone busily preparing for departure. She watched the nobles splitting off into groups, and tried her best to memorise as many of the faces in each group as she could. The only people not clustered together talking were the ten chaperones on the trip, who were overseeing the servants as they finished loading the luggage.

After another half an hour, when everyone had finally arrived, the horses had been fed and watered, and the coaches were ready to leave, Jessa finally climbed inside. She was to share the journey with Larend and his sisters, presumably at Maira’s request, and Larend’s close friend Marina. The latter was the first to enter the coach, and she smiled at Jessa upon seeing her.

“Lady Marina,” Jessa said, shifting a little to allow the other woman to sit beside her. “It has been a while since we last met.”

“Yes, Lady Jessa,” Marina agreed. “I took ill after our first meeting and was confined to my bed until a few days ago.”

“Oh. I hope you’re feeling better,” Jessa said, brushing down wrinkles in her dress just as the Janes siblings entered the coach. Larend sat opposite Jessa, grinning at her and then turning to make sure his sisters were properly settled. He seemed to make a particularly fuss of Charine, which Jessa guessed was at the behest of his mother. Charine looked disgruntled and told him to stop fussing. Larend turned to look at her and raised his eyebrows. She couldn’t help but smile back.

“Marina, it’s so good to see you out of your room. And you have your colour back, I see. We were all beginning to get worried,” Larend’s other sister, Helene, said, reaching over and taking Marina’s hand just as the coach began to move. Jessa gripped the narrow windowsill to keep her balance. When she realised Larend was watching her in amusement, she looked him straight in the eye.

“I’m guessing you don’t like riding in coaches,” he said, a smile tugging at him lips. Jessa coughed and hoped her cheeks weren’t reddening. She had no reason to be embarrassed, but it was hard to listen to reason when every person in the coach had turned to look at her.

“I prefer riding on the horse itself. When I lived in Ovis the first time, I didn’t have need for coaches except when I was travelling to various schools. After Ovis, I mostly travelled on foot or by boat. And really, it’s these cobblestone roads which are the problem. Who thought it would be a good idea to build these roads in the middle of a city?”

“Someone who was more concerned with aesthetics than practicality, I’d imagine,” Helene said, and everyone laughed. Then, they were silent for a time, until they left Ovis and the roads turned dustier and muddier, but smoother. Everyone turned to look at Jessa. When she avoided their gazes, they laughed again. After that, the nobles talked quietly about Arrowbridge and relayed all the gossip of the last week to Marina. Jessa, meanwhile, stayed silent, lost in her thoughts. She wondered where Rhys was now, and how he was faring. She wondered also where the first of the Barichean soldiers were, and how far from the Novarian army they were. Jessa guessed they would not attack until the rest of their men had arrived, since small numbers would easily be decimated by the Novarians. Hopefully that would give Rhys time to get far away from the battlefield. She sighed, wishing she could think about something else but knowing it to be impossible. She had thought of little else all morning. Now, more than ever, she wished she was with Rhys so she knew he was safe. Not knowing was just about the worst thing in the world.

“Jessa, are you alright?” Marina asked quietly, when the girls and their brother were too busy arguing about how many times Elissa would approach Larend and force him to dance with her. Jessa wished, for a moment, that she could be one of them. So few worries.

At length, she replied, “I’m fine.” Marina clearly did not believe her. The woman pushed her brown hair behind her ear and then shrugged.

“If you say so.” She turned to listen to the siblings’ conversation, although Jessa noted that she did not join in. She seemed quite content with just listening. She had been the quietest of the group when Jessa had first met Larend’s friends, too. Most people Jessa had met – both in Ovis and in Jasrah – were very sociable, full of life, and loud. Marina was more reserved, and Jessa appreciated her silence. It made a change to the frantic life Jessa seemed to lead these days.

After a couple of hours, when all conversation had been exhausted, they turned the corner around a hill and Charine gasped. “Jessa, look. Arrowbridge!” She pointed out of the window next to her, and Jessa dutifully leaned forward to see. Until she laid eyes on the building, she had not particularly cared, but it was a splendid sight. The building was purest white, like the snow which would soon fall upon it, and Jessa guessed it was regularly cleaned and repainted. There were turrets and spires, reaching high into the sky. In front of the building was a large lake with bridges spanning across it. There was little plant life considering the season, but Jessa guessed it would be bright with colour and greenery in the summer. Nevertheless, the garden made the best it could of the plants which thrived in winter. Compared to the cramped maze that was Ovis, where even the noble houses had been fitted haphazardly into whatever space they could, Arrowbridge was freeing. Behind the grand manor – which was more befitting the title of castle, and was certainly a place Jessa would have preferred the du Renes to have made their home – she could just see a tiny village at the bottom of the valley.

“It’s very beautiful,” she said, meaning it. Charine smiled at her happily, then turned to admire Arrowbridge as the coach turned into the gates and they were led up the drive towards the manor. Out of the corner of her eye, Jessa saw Larend watching her. She glanced at him, a question on her lips, but he just smiled slightly and shook her head.

The coach rolled to a stop and everyone piled out. Jessa stared up at the building; it looked even more magnificent this close up. Unlike the castle in Ovis, it was not dark and imposing. Despite its size, it was welcoming and comfortable. Jessa supposed she also liked it because it had stopped her thinking about all of her problems for a moment – after which point the spell was broken and she looked down at her feet.

She felt someone link elbows with her, and she looked up to see Helene smiling at her. “If you would like, princess, I would very much like sharing a room with you while we are here.”

Jessa nodded wordlessly. Helene smiled. She turned her head and called over a servant, telling him to fetch someone else to carry hers and Jessa’s luggage and to follow her. Then, she turned back to Jessa and said, “I will bring you out of your shell, Jessa du Rene. I have a feeling that when you show the world the true you, the world will be blown away.”

[Rosabeth]

From the moment Rhys was back in the queen’s protection he was not let out of her sight. The soldiers stripped Rhys of all weapons at Tula’s request, even taking the hidden knife strapped to his leg, Tula threatening to have him strip searched when he denied hiding any weapons. When they reached their small encampment Tula moved Rhys’ bed roll near hers so that she might hear should he attempt to wander off again. The two soldiers agreed to take watch shifts throughout the night, one set of eyes constantly focused on Rhys. In truth, Rhys took comfort in the arrangement. The euphoria that clouded his judgment disappeared the moment he fell from the cliff, leaving him with nothing but the horror of what he’d seen. Though he’d acted of his own accord, he’d hardly had a choice. If he was able to walk so willingly to his own suicide he could not trust himself, and that was the most terrifying prospect of all.

Well into the night, long after the queen and one of the soldiers had fallen asleep, Rhys sat awake staring into the crackling fire. The soldier on guard stood silently nearby, and even if Rhys had tried speaking with him he wouldn’t know what to say. He was hardly going to be riveting conversation. Rhys could not even formulate his own thoughts, instead choosing to stare into the fire blankly in hopes that should he do that long enough it might burn some of the more horrific images from his mind. Each time he closed his eyes or so much as contemplated sleep images of his hallucination plagued his mind. In any other circumstance Rhys would have been happy to think of Jessa. Jessa gave him hope. But that was exactly why Rhys so loathed the false image – it tainted her image.

“Can’t sleep?” Tula placed a hand gently on Rhys’ shoulder. Rhys gave a shrug, avoiding the question. It wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep, it was that he didn’t want to face his dreams.

Tula came around the makeshift log-bench and sat down next to Rhys, pulling a blanket close around her shoulders in the chill of the evening. Even in winter gear Etrenian winters were not kind, especially not to those used to the everlasting heat of the Novarian desert. Rhys shrugged off his own blanket, offering it to the queen, but she answered with a shake of the head, refusing to take it.

“You may be a man but you’re not immune to the weather.”

“We can’t let the queen get hypothermia.”

“Neither can we let you freeze to death.”

“I’m dispensable.” Rhys winced at his own words the moment they came out of his mouth, knowing they were in bad taste. Tula frowned at Rhys but said nothing, staring out at the fire. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for what felt like ages, so many unasked questions between them with no one brave enough to ask. Eventually Tula sighed, holding her head in her hands.

“What happened, Rhys? Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t try to do it, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not suicidal. It was just a nasty side effect of my healing,” Rhys grumbled, looking down at his feet.

“Rhys, I’ve seen many people be healed, some with much worse injuries than you, and never once have I heard of someone hallucinating their wife luring them to a cliff to convince them to commit suicide. You have to admit that that’s somewhat hard to swallow.”

They’d gone over this once before, just after Tula and her men had managed to pull Rhys off the edge. Shaken and terrified, Rhys’ answer had been lacking, but none of the information had changed in a few hours. “Just because you’ve never heard of it doesn’t mean it’s not real. I swear to you that I’m telling the truth. I’ve always had bad reactions to excess amounts of Greater Magic. “

Tula’s eyes snapped up, narrowing at Rhys in suspicion. “You’ve always had bad reactions?”

“In Asanos I was stabbed and after being healed I hallucinated Jessa being murdered in front of me, but Jessa was actually in the room with me at the time which made it even stranger. A bit too uncanny, you know?” Rhys shuddered at the very thought of the memory.

Until then, Rhys had thought nothing of his reactions. After all, was it not well known that Greater Magic was known to cause mental harm to those who could not control it? But Tula’s expression, her calculating stare, her pursed lips, even the way she held herself made Rhys begin to question himself. Many people were healed every day by Greater Magic, many with little consequence, yet as far back as Rhys could remember his experiences with Greater Magic were nothing but unpleasant. Even as a child the smallest of healings left him in brief states of delusion, short blackouts of consciousness, and always hallucinations, though never on the scale of what he’d seen with Jessa. The reactions got worse with age, but Rhys thought nothing of it, seeing as the injuries too got worse. But what if it wasn’t to be expected? What if there was something wrong with him?

Tula could see Rhys worry and looked as if she wished to comfort him somehow, though her hands remained in her lap and her expression lightened only a hair. “I did a lot of research into Greater Magic before I lifted the ban, and with all that research came some interesting findings. All of us can access the magic that exists in our world, but some of us – the Greater Mages – can control it on a more intimate level. They’re in touch with magic in ways most of us can only dream of, as if there’s a veil between humans and magic that only they can completely surpass. But for some people the veil is not so much a veil as much as a stone wall. There are people who are unable to access magic whatsoever, those who have a certain natural aversion to it. No matter how hard they try they just can’t seem to feel, so much as use, the magic around us. Tell me, have you ever tried harnessing the lesser magics?”

Rhys squirmed, his stomach churning as he sat in silence. Tula’s points were hitting uncomfortably close to home. “I tried as a child, just as everyone does. I was never very good at it. I just couldn’t get the hang of it.”

“Couldn’t get the hang of it or couldn’t feel it at all?”

Rhys silence answered the question. He thought then of Anja’s frustration at never being able to control magic, having always envied Selene’s natural abilities in the lesser magics. He thought of Dima’s disinterest in the subject all together despite his enthusiasm for just about everything else. Even Rhys mother never used the lesser magics, instead relying on natural healing remedies. Only his father ever showed any sort of skill in the lesser magics, and even that was minimal at best.

“If what you’re saying is true,” Rhys said slowly, trying to work out the idea as he spoke, “then my body somehow…rejects magic? I’m somehow disconnected from that world?”

“It’s fairly uncommon, but yes, it exists. I’ve met people with the same disposition.”

“But I’m married to a mage,” Rhys groaned. “What will Jessa say? Oh gods, she can’t even find out, she’d lose her mind. She’ll somehow blame herself or think that she’s endangering me. She already hates her magic; I can’t imagine what this would do to her.”

“You can’t tell her.”

Rhys balked. “Aren’t you’re the one who told me I couldn’t lie to her?”

“You can’t tell her yet, not ever. If I’m right – which I might not be – you need to understand it better before you tell Jessa anything. There’s no use in everyone jumping to conclusions if it turns out to be something different than any of us expected. I think you need to speak with your parents since you must have inherited it from one of them.”

“It’s my mother,” Rhys said immediately. “My father can use magic.” Suddenly Rhys remembered what Jessa had once told him, that the royal families had all once been mages but some lines had died out over time. Now at least Rhys had an explanation for the Dunvyens. Rhys felt the sting of betrayal, as he thought of his mother, knowing she had kept this secret from him for so long. But the longer Rhys thought of his mother, of all the healing she had subjugated him to as a child, he realized it was likely that not even she knew of the condition. Surely if she had she would have avoided having magic used on her children at all costs. Rhys wasn’t sure if this made him feel better or worse.
The conversation died then, Tula looking more awkward than anything, obviously lost as to what else she could say and Rhys shocked into silence. Rhys picked up a stick, poking at the fire absentmindedly as he hugged his cloak to his body, staring blankly into the fire in a flurry of thoughts. For a while Rhys thought the queen had left, being so absorbed in his own world, that he jumped when she spoke up in the silence.

“You know, I’m actually quite glad that it was the magic that prompted you to jump,” Tula said quietly, picking up her own stick with which to poke at the flames. “I’d worried when I saw you on the edge that maybe…”

“You thought I’d really commit suicide? After all my struggle to just stay alive? Wouldn’t you think that if I was suicidal I might have just let someone kill me on the battlefield? Why would I try to kill myself?”

“I did.”

Her voice was so quiet it was nearly inaudible and she stared down at the ground, drawing shapes in the dirt with her stick. Rhys stared, unsure if he’d heard her right and too afraid to ask. Eventually she sighed, set down her stick, and swallowed hard before meeting Rhys’ eyes with determination.

“I tried to kill myself once. I can understand why you might too.”

Rhys reached out a hand but withdrew it, still uncertain about protocol. He might regard Tula as a sort of friend, but she was still a queen. “Why?” He asked quietly, looking towards the on-duty soldier. The man stood a good distance away, most likely out of earshot, but Rhys was certain this was something Tula did not want being well known.

“Right after my father died it was a very dark time for me.” The queen’s hands trembled slightly as she spoke, playing with the skirt of her dress as a distraction, but her voice was strong with her gaze to match. “My mother was already dead, I had no siblings, and I’d never felt more alone. I had very few friends, and of those who I did had I cut off from my life shortly after my father’s assassination. I couldn’t trust anyone, I hardly left my room, much less the palace, and to me everyone around me was a leech just waiting to use and abuse the young queen.

“I’d always wanted to be queen, but never had I expected it to be so intensely lonely. You have to understand that I had no one to turn to at this point in my life. I was only 24 when I took the throne and still very unprepared for the realities of the position. It was soon after the first assassination attempt on my life that I began to lose my grip on reality. I spiraled into a depression so deep I can hardly even remember if I was really alive. It certainly didn’t feel like I was. Life hardly seemed living when everyone I loved was dead, and if the people so hated me that they wished me dead then perhaps they were right, perhaps I should die.
“One day I was bathing and I held myself underwater. I did this often, just as a method of relaxation. But this time I didn’t come up. I held myself there as long as I could, until my vision began to go black and I was fighting to keep myself under as my body tried to force me to come up. One of my maids noticed and pulled me up, horrified at what I’d done. I begged her to tell no one and as her queen she could hardly betray my word. I was so ashamed with being caught that I didn’t try it again, or I at least told myself I wouldn’t. I thought about it often, though. I fantasied about killing myself time and time again, constantly seeing ways in which I could do it, constantly planning out how I’d go about it. I think my maid must have told someone because from then on I was hardly left alone. My maids suddenly become more friendly and active in my life and it became almost impossible for me to enact any of my plans. And then, after some time, I thought less of killing myself until one day where it never crossed my mind at all.”

The story was too horrible for Rhys’ comprehension, so far removed from anything he’d felt himself that he had a hard time imagining what it might feel like to be so unhappy with your life as to contemplate ending it. As he looked at Tula, the fierce queen, undoubtedly the strongest woman he’d ever met and by far among the bravest, he could not begin to comprehend how one who’d fallen so far had ever risen so high.

Tula gave Rhys a reluctant smile, placing a hand gently on his shoulder once more as she got to her feet, wrapping her blanket close. As Rhys watched her start towards her bedroll he found himself speaking up before he could convince himself otherwise

“Is it an act? What you do everyday?”

Though he knew it to be impossible, Rhys thought he could hear her sigh.

“Sometimes. It never really goes away, those thoughts. There are only good days and bad days.” She looked briefly over her shoulder, meeting Rhys’ eyes for an instant before turning back to her bedroll and lying down. “Goodnight, Rhys.”

[Mollianne]

Jessa leaned back on her bed and looked up at the ceiling. Helene was chattering away at her across the room, putting her many gowns in the armoire as she did so. Jessa had no idea why the woman needed so many dresses for a four day trip, but she was not going to ask. It was not like she would actually listen to the answer. She was much too preoccupied with her own concerns. Chiefly, how she was going to get Kieran alone to talk to him, and even more troublesome, how she would know they were definitely alone. Jessa hoped she might find the answer in a book hidden at the bottom of her trunk. She had brought with her entirely on impulse and was now glad of it.

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you?” Helene asked, now at Jessa’s side with her arms folded. Jessa could not tell whether she was joking or genuinely annoyed.

“I’m sorry, I…” she said, trailing off when she realised she did not have an excuse. Helene rolled her eyes and turned away.

“I was just saying that some of us were going to take a walk around the grounds before dinner. It’s cold out there but it’s always been a sort of ritual. Do you want to come?”

“Oh,” Jessa said. She was about to agree when she realised that this would give her the opportunity to be alone. She sat up straight and said, “I think I’m a little tired from the journey and I don’t think falling asleep in the middle of dinner will be taken very well.”

“If you like,” Helene said with a shrug. She went over to her part of the room, selected one of her dresses and disappeared behind a partition to change. Meanwhile, Jessa stood and went to the window. It overlooked the entrance to the manor, and below she could see people leading away the horses to the stables. The last few members of their party trailed inside, presumably to settle into their rooms after catching up with friends. Jessa rested her elbows on the windowsill and put her head in her hands.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come? My brother and sister will be there,” Helene asked. Jessa frowned, wondering why Helene thought that would entice her. Putting on a smile, she turned and shook her head.

“I just need a little rest,” Jessa said. Helene put her hand on the doorknob, and smiled.

“You don’t need to feel like you can’t interact with us, Jessa,” she said. “Some people might be against you being among us, but most of us are curious about you and why you’re here. And that means we want you around.”

Jessa nodded. So, she thought, she was accepted so people could watch her like an animal in a cage. She supposed it was better than being spurned by everyone outright. After all, she did need to make contacts, even if she was not here to make friends. “I know. I honestly am just tired.”

Helene shrugged again, picked up her cloak, and left the room. Jessa went to the door as soon as it was shut, and pressed her ear to the door to check for sounds. When she heard none, she locked the door and went to her trunk. She lifted the lid and rummaged through the remaining scarves and underclothes she had left at the bottom to conceal the book. When her hand brushed the corner of it, she heaved it out with both hands and tried to ignore the fluttering of nerves. Jessa placed the book in the centre of the bed and spent a few minutes just staring at it.

She had glanced through the pages a few times since she had come to Ovis, but never with the intention of actually learning anything. The little magic she had attempted was found in books that were easily accessible to anyone, though Jessa was still careful about practising Lesser Magic. However, she had left those books in Ovis, and they would not help her anyway. The only Greater Magic she used was the spell every morning to ensure her thought about Rhys and their plan were blocked from Alrick. Jessa briefly wondered how she would manage to do that the following morning, what with having Helene sharing her room, but that was a thought for another time. She was only thinking about it to distract herself from the matter in hand.

Jessa knelt on the bed and shuffled closer to the book. She hesitated with her hand over it, and then, telling herself she was being stupid, lifted the cover. Licking her lips, Jessa glanced down the pages, flicking them over when she found nothing. The work was slow, but around halfway through the book she finally found something that caught her eye and that also did not utterly repulse her. She had seen spells that would affect the victim’s mind to deter them from something, and she had also seen mentions of the deeper mind control that she was fairly sure the king practiced – something Jessa would never be able to do. But this, it might just work. Jessa bent closer, went back to the start of the page, and read carefully. The spell was designed to affect the victim’s eyes, making them unable to see a person even if they looked directly at them. It would do nothing for sound, but it was a start.

Jessa sighed, marking the page and continuing on. She had a feeling that she was not going to be able to find one spell that could do everything she required. Having to learn multiple spells was going to be difficult, and she did not have the time for that. Either she was going to have to compromise, or she would have to risk meeting Kieran in Ovis when she was better practiced.

She came across a spell for muffling sound a few pages later. It differed to the Lesser Magic version that Jessa knew, which altered the volume of all sounds surrounding the caster. This worked on other people, and the more skilled the caster the better they could focus exactly what they wanted to muffle to the victim’s ears. It was certainly not a spell she could achieve in a few days, and by muffling the entire world to anyone who happened near would only arouse suspicion. Nevertheless, Jessa marked the page and moved on.

Eventually, she found her compromise. The spell was not one that would conceal her or Kieran in any way, but it would prevent an eavesdropper from hearing their true words. Jessa bit her lip and read further. She needed to find out if there was any way of knowing what a person would hear. It would not do if one of Maira’s spies was listening and reported the conversation to Maira. When Maira asked Jessa about it, Jessa could tell her something completely different to the other informant. Thankfully, the creator of the spell had thought of that. The caster could choose exactly what the victim would hear. There were three ways of doing it: planning it in advance, thinking the words you want to be projected during the conversation, or linking the spell to a piece of paper and writing the words. Which was easiest? She could hardly plan in advance, because she had no idea how long their conversation would be, although a general idea of it would be a good idea. Thinking the words could cause confusion, and what if Jessa could not remember it later? She would have to write it and write quickly. At least her years as a scholar meant that was something she knew how to do.

Taking a deep breath, Jessa read the paragraphs which detailed how to cast the spell. She reread and reread until she realised that she was just delaying herself. Once again, she licked her lips. This was something she needed to do, and this spell… it would not hurt anyone. It was not the sort of thing Jessa thought of whenever she considered Greater Magic. The only real reason she ought to have for her hesitancy was that Greater Magic left her feeling worn out after the fact, and during… It made one feel powerful, and Jessa knew how easy it was for people to become intoxicated by that and abuse that. Jessa did not want to become one of those people – someone like the king.

She told herself she was being ridiculous. If she did not want to become like the king, then she would try her hardest not to. It was as simple as that. Still, that did not stop Jessa wasting more time by going over to the door and checking that the hallway beyond was still quiet.

Then, with nothing left to distract her, and aware that Helene could return at any moment, Jessa closed her eyes and tried to do as the book instructed. She felt her magic rush to her touch, but it was nothing like those first attempts in Kolonis anymore. It felt much more restrained, and it was then that Jessa realised she really had gained some semblance of control over her magic. The only other spell she did using Greater Magic was so routine that she barely noticed anymore. The magic knew what to do and virtually did it of its own accord. With this, the magic required her guidance, and until that moment Jessa had worried that it would rebel against her touch. But it did not. She felt heady and felt around for the bedpost beside her to prevent herself from falling.

Taking a deep breath, Jessa attempted to guide the magic to her will. At every little sound she lost her focus and had to start again. She tried over and over, the magic complying a bit more with every try. Jessa swallowed, recognising that she was really doing this, that it might even be working… and then she heard a knock on the door.

“Jessa? Are you alright in there? I think the door’s stuck,” Helene called. Jessa’s eyes flew open and she lunged over her bed, grabbing the book. She shoved it in her trunk and shut it as quietly as she could.

“I’m fine,” she said, realising her words were shaky and unconvincing. She rushed over to the mirror standing in the corner, and made her hair look a little more dishevelled so she could pass for having just awoken. “Sorry, I’m coming.”

She went to the door, unlocked it as quietly as she could, and opened it. Helene stood there, cheeks rosy from the cold and her hair falling out of its intricate bun. Jessa stepped aside to let the girl enter.

“I do like Arrowbridge, but sometimes I’m glad it’s probably going to be my last year coming,” Helene said as she took off her coat and sunk into one of the armchairs near the fireplace. “The floors creak, doors and windows won’t open, and some rooms have a dreadful draught - not this one, thankfully.”

Jessa did not respond. She had not been here long enough to do anything but admire the manor, with its light and open rooms and understated décor. She was also still a little bit dazed from practising the magic. At least she would pass for having been sleeping now.

“You missed a lovely walk, Jessa.” Helene turned to look at Jessa, who had sat down in the chair opposite her. “It was definitely cold, and someone was worried the snows might start before we get home, but it was lovely. The spruce trees are magnificent this time of year. And the lake is always beautiful.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Jessa replied.

Helene smiled. “Well, it was probably just as well. Princess Elissa joined us towards the end, and she had heard that you were in Arrowbridge. Suffice to say, she didn’t sound happy.”

Jessa laughed. “No, I imagine she wouldn’t be.”

***

Dinner had been a quiet affair. Helene had advised her that they usually were, especially when Lady Tremont was one of the chaperones as she was this year. Apparently the woman despised anyone talking much above a whisper at the dining table and glared at anyone who dared to defy her. Jessa, who had had a glass of wine at that point, and also had Helene telling funny stories in her ear the entire time, had struggled not to laugh whenever she had glanced at Lady Tremont’s dour face as she chewed on her meat. Helene had also told her that the dancing would be a much more relaxed affair. Lady Tremont never stayed for them, allowing the other chaperones to oversee the activities. And since the evening would take up every room on the ground floor of the manor, the chaperones could hardly be everywhere at once. Helene had grinned smugly when she said that, and Jessa guessed there was a story there but did not ask. The other woman had noticed Jessa’s discomfort and laughed, earning one of Lady Tremont’s famous glares.

Now, however, Jessa could see for herself how much more free the nobles felt away from the dining room. They were all laughing and dancing and drinking. Jessa stood in a corner on her own, quite content to stay out of the festivities for the moment. She saw Kieran at the other side of the room. On seeing that he was engaged by someone else, she stayed where she was. Maira would not approve, but the princess was not there to chastise her.

Charine came over then, a tall man with short brown hair and a confident grin at her side. She gestured to Jessa, who curtsied as he bowed, and said, “Lord Brane, this is Princess Jessa du Rene. Princess, this is Lord Erran Brane.”

“Hello, my lord.”

“Hello, my lady,” Erran said, holding out his hand. “May I have the next dance?”

“I,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charine nodding emphatically. As Jessa knew it would be bad manners to turn him down, she agreed and gave him her hand.

They walked past Charine, who whispered to her as she went past, “Don’t look so glum. He’s singled you out, hasn’t he?”

Jessa wished she could just turn and run, but she was forced to stay by manners and the fact that she had already agreed to dance with him. She closed her eyes as they got into position, only opening them when the music started. Erran took hold of her hands and they began the steps to a dance Jessa had only learned recently. She knew her steps were wooden, and that she was getting half of them wrong, but Erran just brushed them aside. Just as she thought that this was actually okay, the steps in the dance brought the two of them closer. Erran’s hand brushed against her hand as he rested it on her waist. He caught her gaze and held it as they turned, and Jessa swallowed. Seeing the look in his eyes, a similar look to one she had seen when Rhys had apparently started showing interest in her, Jessa grew uncomfortable. She forced herself to stay where she was, but she wanted to be anywhere but there. The only person she wanted looking at her like that was Rhys. She turned her gaze away. Oh, this really was awful. Lady Tremont had the right idea with going to bed as soon as dinner was done, she thought.

Thankfully, the dance brought them out of the intimate hold only a few moments later, and Jessa was grateful that Erran did not linger before moving away to continue his steps. She doubted he was the sort of man who would force himself on her, and she was sure that someone else would readily welcome his advances. Just not her. She blushed as he smiled at her and took her hand. When would the dance end?

She tried not to flee as soon as the last strains of the music died away. She took Erran’s hand and walked away from the floor, heading towards Kieran. The man had an amused look on his face, which lifted Jessa’s heart after seeing him being generally much more serious in the company of Ovisians.

“Don’t,” she said, once Erran had bowed and left and she settled against the wall beside Kieran.

The man shook his head in amusement, his eyes twinkling as he rolled them. “I wouldn’t dare, my lady.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” she said wryly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. A servant went past with a tray of wine then, and Jessa snatched one and drank. Kieran raised his eyebrows. Before either of them could say more, Jessa was approached by another man and, being unable to think of any excuse, she left her mostly full glass with Kieran and let herself be dragged onto the dance floor.

And so it went, for what felt like ages. Some of the men tried to talk to her, clearly trying to find out anything they could about Jessa’s past marriage without overtly mentioning it, while others attempted to flirt with her and made her blush – which only egged them on. Others were mostly silent. After what must have been the twentieth man to dance with her, she decided she liked the latter best, apart from the ones that just stared unnervingly at her. Most of the silent ones were obviously dancing with her only because they felt they should, and Jessa could handle those. Kieran had remained at his post the entire time, and she knew he was watching with delight as she grew increasingly more uncomfortable with the men.

Finally, she was given a moment to rest. “Oh, Jessa. I’m so glad you are here. This would be so boring without you,” Kieran said quietly.

“I’m glad I amuse you, at least,” she said, straightening her dress although there was nothing wrong with it. “Why are they all asking me to dance? No man ever looked at me before.”

“Jessa, you never came to these things before,” Kieran pointed out. Jessa glared at him, although there was no heat behind it. She could hardly be mad at him, not when he was acting more like the Kieran she used to know. She wished the people around her could get themselves drunk more often, so that Kieran could feel safer being his usual self.

“Ah,” Kieran said, pursing his lips so he didn’t laugh. “Don’t look now, but there’s another one coming your way.”

Jessa sighed, ducking her head and trying to surreptitiously see who the man was before they arrived. She was expecting one of the men she had already danced with, for Erran had already come back once. However, she was pleasantly surprised to see a much more welcome face. She relaxed and shook her head at Kieran. “It’s alright. It’s just Larend.”

“Just?” Kieran asked, raising his eyebrows, but Jessa ignored him.

“Princess Jessa,” he said, grinning. He seemed to be well aware that Jessa would rather not be called by such a title. “The next dance?”

“Yes,” she said in relief, thankful that she could dance with someone who was becoming a friend and who had no designs on her like some of the other men. Larend rescuing her from dancing with people she would rather not was becoming a little bit of a trend, she thought.

She took Larend’s hand, and just before she was pulled away she thought she heard Kieran say, “How blind can one girl be?” But since she could make no sense of it, she put it from her mind.

[Rosabeth]

After days of traveling Jasrah was a welcome sight. No vast armies in sight, no bodies scattered across the ground, and most importantly no visible sign that anything out of the ordinary had happened at all. That was one thing Rhys appreciated about his home. No matter what struggles waged on outside its borders, Jasrah remained constant, a neutral territory in a sea of unrest. Rhys took a sigh of relief as they approached the city while Tula beside him visibly tensed.

With two clearly marked Novarian soldiers flanking either side of Tula and Rhys there was very little reason to even bother with a disguise. Tula wore her riding clothes, dressed much like Rhys, but a golden circlet adorned her head, marking her as the queen. Rhys didn’t think she needed the marker. To him, she stood out as a queen from her posture and expressions alone. This of course meant Rhys would have to leave the queen. They did not need any more rumors about his allegiances or actions circulating, especially those that actually held truth.

“How long do you plan on staying in the city?” Rhys asked as he stopped to gather his things before departing.

“A few days, I suppose. I’d like to stay as long as it takes to figure out the items we got from the king, but I doubt that will happen. I have to get back to my country. I have duties.” The queen did not seem very pleased with the circumstances. Rhys couldn’t imagine she would.

Rhys had almost managed to forget about the knife and ring, much less the papers, and upon remembering wished he could forget it again. The last thing he needed was another mystery, another problem to solve, and another headache to keep him up at night. When agreeing to this whole mess Rhys hadn’t realized he’d be playing code breaker in his spare time.

Before Rhys could turn to leave Tula turned to one of her soldiers, retrieving Rhys’ sword and handing it over. He took it gently with thanks and sheathed it, aware that Tula watched him like a hawk the whole time.

“Just… remember what I told you,” she said, watching Rhys feel the grip of hilt, feeling more complete with a weapon on his person. “I know you think you’re alright, but until you figure out this mess with Greater Magic just keep yourself safe. You’re not as disposable as you think.”

Rhys thought of those words long after leaving.

The boat ride to his home felt strange and foreign from the moment he approached the docks. Even the boatman looked surprised to see Rhys, and even if he said nothing his watchful gaze made Rhys feel like a stranger in a strange land. When they approached the manor with all it’s splendor, it’s domed blue roofs looming over the sea, Rhys felt an odd mix of comfort and unease that made him more confused than ever. This was and had always been his home, yet only a few weeks away made it feel like a home from his childhood: comforting, but not quite his, lost to the past. Rhys was a man without a home, a man without a country, and the only thing that felt like home was in the most hostile place of all.

The guards let Rhys in without a second glance for which Rhys was grateful, and even the servants didn’t seem to think it necessary to alert the whole house to his presence. Rhys wandered into the foyer, feeling like an unwanted intruder as his footsteps on the marble floor resonated in the high ceilings. The house was strangely quiet and empty, the only people visible being the servants ducking quietly from room to room, doing their best to go unseen and unheard. Rhys peered into the main sitting rooms only to find no one, next finding both his mother’s and Anja’s studies empty but for the lone servant who tended to Anja’s fire. As he was beginning to believe that he’d somehow managed to miss everyone Rhys heard a voice that made him stop in his tracks.

“Come here, Rhys.”

Rhys stared back at the slightly ajar door to his father’s study at the end of the hallway, mentally cringing. He’d purposefully ignored his father’s room. If there was one person he did not want to speak with, it has him. Still, Rhys knew he could not ignore the call and so with a sigh he continued forward, hesitantly pushing open the door to the study.

Erik sat behind his desk waiting for Rhys expectantly, leaning back in his chair with a pen dangling from his fingers. Rhys’ eyes immediately found what remained of the haphazardly repaired shards of a broken vase sitting behind his father, reddening as he realized it was the same vase he’d broken when finding out that Anja had been named as heir. The day seemed so long ago it felt like a dream, and the issue so miniscule it was nearly laughable.

“How did you know it was me?” Rhys asked, forcing his voice to be casual as he leaned back against the door.

“Your footsteps. You’re louder than your mother and sister and quieter than your brother. I can tell.”

Rhys stared at his father silently, unsure what to say. The awkwardness between them was palpable, yet only Rhys seemed to be effected as his father only tilted his head, scrutinizing Rhys with every look.

“Where’s mother?” Rhys asked finally, looking down at the ground to avoid his father’s stare.

“Out with Anja.”

The silence followed again, and all Rhys wanted to do was crawl away slowly like injured prey escaping its predator.

“I heard about your injuries from the battlefield.”

“How did you…” Rhys asked, catching himself and shaking his head. “Nevermind, of course you know. You know everything. So what is this, a reprimand? If that’s it then I might as well leave now because nothing you say is going to change my actions.”

“Actually, I wanted to say that I was impressed.”

Rhys couldn’t think of a response fast enough to mask his slack-jawed incredulity. “Impressed?”

Erik stood up from his desk and crossed the room to face Rhys, resting against the wall across from Rhys with his arms folded over his chest. “Yes. Impressed. I may not agree completely with what you’ve chosen to do and who you’ve chosen to associate with but I can’t deny that your resolve is commendable. You’re brave, Rhys. You’re far braver than me.”

“Thank you,” Rhys said lamely, still staring in utter shock.

“I think I might have been too harsh on you. You may not be doing what I want you to but I think you’re old enough to make your own decisions, and you’re not being stupid about it either.” For the first time Rhys thought he saw a break in his father’s composure, and for a brief moment even he looked as uncomfortable as Rhys felt. “I’ve always been hard on you and I know that, but I’ve done it for your benefit. We’re not like other families – it’s the nature of our business that we require unfailing loyalty and structure. I know I haven’t been the best father to you and I’m sorry, but you have to know what I only want the best for you.”

Rhys could only nod, and nodding seemed to be the only thing keeping him from asking a thousand questions at once. Never – not once – had his father spoken to him so frankly and sincerely. Rhys almost wondered if there was alcohol involved, looking around the study for an open wine bottle or a half-empty glass.

“I’m not drunk, Rhys.”

“How do you do that?”

Erik laughed, a sound Rhys had not heard in so long he’d forgotten entirely what it sounded like. He smiled despite himself. “When you have children you’ll be able to do it too. It’s an acquired gift.”

At the mention of children Rhys’ went to a different place, and no longer did he feel so amiable towards his father. There was another issue he could not let go unaddressed, one that had the potential to ruin everything that had been said.

“Since you seem to be in a good mood I have a favor to ask you. Well, less of a favor and more of a demand.”

His father raised his eyebrows, his hands once more folding over his chest. “A demand?”

“When this is all over Jessa and I are going to be together whether you like it or not. You were the one who forced me into this marriage and despite your wishes it actually worked out.” Rhys’ father opened his mouth but Rhys would not hear him out, no matter what it was he might have said. He put up a finger, shaking his head. “No, hear me out. I love her, father. I love her. You can think whatever ludicrous thoughts you want about her being loyal to her father or being some sort of double agent but I know her better than you and I know that there is nothing she would like better than to see the downfall of a man who has treated her like nothing since she was a child. Jessa is a good person and she’s not going anywhere, not as long as I’m around. If you or anyone else wants to be a part of my life you’re going to have to get over whatever prejudices you have and treat her as you would treat your own child. If you so much as say a word against her we will be gone. I will not have anyone mistreating Jessa. Jessa is my wife. She is your daughter-in-law. She will be the mother of your grandchildren. She is a part of this family and you need to recognize that.”

“Ok.”

The answer came so quickly Rhys almost missed it. Ok? That was it? It was that easy? Rhys had thought of that exact speech a thousand times, rewording it in his head as he pictured confronting his father, and actually saying it out loud had his heart racing. Never in a thousand years had he expected such a response. Never had he been so confused as to how to respond.

“Oh… well then. Ok.”

“I know when I’ve made a mistake Rhys. I’m willing to try and fix mine.”

Then, awkwardly and without much warning, Rhys’ father leaned over and put his arms around Rhys in a sort of half-hug, half-pat motion. Rhys froze at first but quickly returned the gesture, pulling back uncomfortably as his father coughed, neither of the men looking each other in the eye. When Rhys looked up he saw his mother in the door frame biting on her thumb with a grin, looking immeasurably relieved. When she saw that Rhys’ had caught her eye she rushed forward and enveloped him in a much warmer, much more comfortable hug, grabbing his face and kissing each of his cheeks in turn. She began babbling off in Aquenine, most of it a jumbled mess to Rhys ears with phrases about thanking the gods snuck in every so often.

“I’m just so happy you’re alive!” She exhaled, holding tightly to Rhys’ hand. “When your father told me about your injuries I just…” she shook her head, putting on a smile. “That doesn’t matter now, you’re alright.”

Rhys looked up from his mother’s face to see that his father had disappeared only to be replaced with Anja standing in the doorframe, an unreadable expression on her face. Rhys wasn’t sure if he was pleased to see his sister or simply relieved that she hadn’t made any snide remarks.

“I need to talk to you,” he said quietly to his mother, turning his attention away from Anja.

Vyserene took a quick glance over her shoulder at her daughter. “Darling, can you leave us for a moment?”

Anja huffed and glared, looking about to protest, but Rhys put up a hand. “No, actually, she can stay. It affects her too, I suppose.” This peaked Anja’s interest and she suddenly straightened up, coming to stand beside her mother with wide, expectant eyes. Rhys sighed, fiddling with his hands, unsure where to start. “Have either of you ever had really horrible side effects when magic was used on you? Like hallucinations or blackouts, even for the smallest things?”

Anja and her mother exchanged a confused look. “Yes,” Vyserene answered slowly, “but so has everyone else.”

Rhys sighed, shaking his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean really bad. Have you ever hallucinated someone you love being killed? Have you ever… tried to kill yourself?”

From the look of horror on his mother’s face, she had not, though he was hardly surprised. That would explain why she’d never thought anything of having her children healed. But Anja’s expression was the one that surprised Rhys. Instead of looking shocked or even disgusted, she looked legitimately scared.

“Anja?”

“I thought I was the only one.”

“Anja, what happened?” Rhys asked frantically, his heart beginning to race.

“Remember when I fell off a horse when I was 13 and cracked open my skull on a rock?” Rhys and Vyserene nodded along, his mother looking paler than usual. “Well, after I came back from the healers I had nightmares for a week, but they weren’t nightmares, not really. It was voices in my head that yelled at me, that whispered things to me for hours. Occasionally I’d see something move out of the corner of my eye. And then, when I was warming myself by the fire I felt myself reaching out towards it as if someone was pushing my hand but I couldn’t stop. I burnt my hand in the fire until it was raw and covered in blisters. I never told anyone – I went straight to one of our healers and had them fix it and promise to not say anything.”

Despite the horror of Anja’s story, Rhys felt relief. It wasn’t just him. Tula was right. This, of course, brought on a whole other wave of dread.

“Rhys, what is going on?” his mother demanded, looking between him and a white-faced Anja with alarm.

“I think our family, your bloodline, is adverse to Greater Magic. I think it literally kills us.”

[Mollianne]

Jessa had left around an hour before Helene had told her the party would end, claiming tiredness and sore feet. While true, Jessa had been determined to practise the spell she had found once more before the day’s end. It felt unnatural for her to seek out time to use Greater Magic, and the… eagerness to do it frightened her. The heady rush of power she had felt earlier that day had intoxicated her, just as she had feared, and she wanted that feeling again. The feeling that she could do anything. Her step-family had always told her that she was useless and would amount to nothing. Sensing just how much she could do, if she so chose, was an exhilarating prospect. But as she retrieved the magic book from her trunk and gathered her thoughts ready to practise, Jessa again vowed to herself that she would not let it go to her head. If she had to make that promise before every spell she cast to make sure she kept to it, she would do.

She tried the spell until she heard footsteps coming down the corridor, followed by laughter. A little dismayed that she had not sensed the person’s arrival at all, Jessa hurried to hide the magic book, then climbed into bed. The door creaked open and Helene tiptoed in. Upon seeing the light was still on and Jessa still awake, Helene relaxed and walked over to her bed. “Did you enjoy this evening?”

“Yes,” Jessa replied. Helene laughed as she picked up her nightclothes and went to change behind the screen.

“You danced with quite a few people,” Helene said lightly as she threw her evening dress over the top of the screen.

Jessa shrugged, although the other woman could not see her. “No more than anyone else.”

“Maybe not. But there was also no one else who looked quite as uncomfortable as you did, if you’ll allow me to speak honestly,” Helene said, amusement in her voice. Jessa shifted, feeling awkward. Had everyone watched her and thought she was making a fool of herself? “I think the only time you looked anywhere near at ease was when you danced with my brother.”

Helene came around the screen with a small, almost knowing, smile on her face. Jessa realised where this could be heading, and knew she could not have that line of thinking continued. “I don’t particularly enjoy dancing with strangers,” she said. “I know your brother a little better.”

From Helene’s quickly masked disbelief, Jessa knew she had already made her mind up. There was no point denying it, no matter how much truth there was in Jessa’s words. Until Helene had said it, she had not even considered that her actions could be construed that way. Jessa loved Rhys and did not care to think about anyone else beyond friendship.

“Well... It looked like a couple of the other men who danced with you wanted to know you a little better, too,” Helene said, her voice turning sly and teasing as she got into her own bed. Jessa could not help but blush, partly in memory of the dancing and the men themselves, and partly because of Helene’s words. She wished she could have been nearly anywhere else than having this conversation. She could not tell the truth, she had to allow Helene to believe the lies about Rhys, and she had to listen to the woman talk about these men as if they were actual possibilities for Jessa. She wished she had just gone to sleep when she had said she was.

“I think most of them were more interested in hearing about my time with… in Jasrah, to be honest,” Jessa said. Helene nodded.

“True enough, I suppose. But I think a couple were more genuine. This is the perfect place, after all.”

Jessa frowned, sitting up a little in bed. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, I suppose you might not know,” Helene said, shrugging as she shifted and pulled her sheets around her body. “Arrowbridge always used to be a trip designed specifically to meet future husbands and wives. Two families would arrange for their children to go and the chaperones would guide them through the meeting and initial courting. It was mostly a way to make their children feel like they had some kind of say, I suppose, because they actually met their partner before the wedding day. It’s not really like that anymore, but there’s still that connotation. And a lot of people who meet here do end up marrying, as long as their families find that more beneficial than to ally with anyone else, of course.”

“Doesn’t everyone know each other already? There’s all the balls in Ovis…”

“A lot of people do, but people move in different circles. About the only place you could find everyone here is at a du Rene ball, and a lot of people don’t attend… for various reasons. And even if they did, there are a lot of nobles in Ovis and you mostly stay with the friends you know. Besides, with all the politics in the city, it’s very easy to try and meet someone new and end up offending some old family friend who hates your new friend’s family. Here, anyone can talk to anyone and whenever they like, because we’ve refused to let it be so stifling. It’s very freeing.”

“Your sister said you met your fiancé here,” Jessa said.

Helene laughed, although Jessa could not say why, and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no,” she said, dropping her hand. “That was somebody else. My marriage is very much an arranged one, although we’ve been given a long time to get to know one another and I have grown fond, just as he has of me. But no, he’s never come here.”

“Oh,” Jessa said, feeling foolish. “You weren’t allowed to marry that first man then?”

“I wouldn’t want to. He was rather annoying to talk to,” Helene said with a grin. She turned on her side then. “We should probably get some sleep.”

***

It was after breakfast the next day that Jessa first saw any sign of the suspicious activity Maira was expecting her to find. She watched as a tall, thin woman with a long nose bent down to whisper something in Kieran’s ear, who was sitting on one of the sofas on the opposite end of the long sitting room. He had replied and then she had left, a very serious expression on her face. And Kieran, who had previously been smiling, if it was more subdued than he had been the night before, now wore the same expression. A few minutes later, he had left the room in the same direction as the woman, nodding at two of the other chaperones as he walked. A few more minutes, and they left as well.

Jessa bit her lip. If she followed, there would be too many people to notice her. They would ask her where she was going and she had no excuse to give. There was only so many times she could claim fatigue to get away from the young nobles. And no matter how desperately she wanted to find out what Kieran was doing and clear his name, she knew it would be rude to leave in the middle of a conversation.

“How are you finding Ovis, Lord Khalid?” one of the girls in their circle asked the man who had been the centre of all the attention since his late arrival that morning. He was a lord from Barichea, a distant cousin to the queen of Barichea, and a rather handsome man. Jessa guessed it was more than that which had interested the Etrenians, however. He was something exotic compared to the men they were used to, and they seemed to find the way he stumbled over the Etrenian language adorable. Jessa felt bad for him. He had only just arrived and he was already inundated with questions, and in a language he barely knew as well.

Still, Jessa did wonder at the timing of his arrival. It seemed strange that he would come to Etrene just as the army marched on the Novarians. She did wonder whether it was Barichea’s way of keeping an eye on Etrene to make sure they did not renege on any bargains they had made in return for providing an army.

“What does everyone say to a walk?” Lord Erran said loudly before any more questions could be asked. He sounded a little annoyed at the amount of attention the Barichean lord was getting. Many people readily agreed, despite the cold weather. When Lord Khalid declined, to Jessa’s amusement a few of the men and women changed their mind. The rest of the group that were going stood, and Larend looked down at Jessa.

“Are you coming?” he asked her, realising that she had neither agreed nor disagreed. Jessa bit her lip, and did not let herself look at the door through which Kieran and the others had gone. Now was her perfect opportunity, but if she continued to spurn everyone here, she would feel the effects of it back in Ovis. People would no longer want to associate with her, and she needed to make connections in court that she could later use to weaken Alrick’s position. There were bound to be people here who knew more than they should about the king.

She nodded and stood, following the group out and going with Helene to fetch their coats from their rooms. Everyone gathered outside, looking ridiculous bundled up in coats, hats and scarves. Jessa wondered why they were even bothering, given that it was absolutely freezing. There was a little talk about it snowing before they left Arrowbridge, and being stuck there.

“Wouldn’t want you three to miss your own ball!” someone called to Larend, Helene and Charine, who all laughed. Then, without further ado, they set off on their walk. Despite all Jessa’s best intentions to try and meet some other people, she found herself walking beside Larend. The man smiled at her and offered his arm. She took it as she stared across the lake they were now walking beside.

“It’s so quiet here,” she said. “And pretty. I like it.”

“So do I.” They fell silent for a moment, while Jessa admired the views and the trees Helene had praised the day before. They were beautiful, especially with the frost that whitened the tops of the needles. Eventually, Larend asked, “Are you okay, Jessa?”

She turned to face him. His gaze searched her face as she said, “Of course. Why do you ask?”

He shrugged and looked away, staring straight ahead of it. “I can’t say I really know. The first time we saw each other at the du Rene ball, you just seemed… a little louder, I suppose. Since then you’ve seemed quiet. Is there something on your mind?”

What wasn’t on her mind? “No, nothing. I’m just in unfamiliar territory, and I don’t really know anyone.”

“You know me,” he said with a smile. “You just seem quiet around everyone.” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay,” she said. They fell quiet again, just as they entered a grove of trees on the east side of the lake. The shelter of the trees made the air a little less frigid, but Jessa still wished she had decided to stay indoors. Then, she realised that, although she could not see what Kieran was doing, she could do the other task Maira had set her and find out how much Larend knew.

“Your sister – both of them – seem nice,” she said, wondering how she was going to approach the topic of an uncle who was not even there. It wasn’t as if she could bring him into the conversation by discussing something Malcolm had done the night before, after all.

“Yes,” he said, a laugh caught in his throat. “Though I think they’re being on their best behaviour – Helene in particular.”

“Why?” Jessa asked, baffled. Larend looked at her, his expression pensive, and then turned away.

“No reason.”

Jessa frowned but quickly smoothed out her expression. She wondered what that could possibly mean, and whether it was in some way linked to their uncle. Were they on their best behaviour to cast suspicion off themselves? Or was it something more innocent?

“I’m looking forward to your ball.”

“I didn’t think you seemed too fond of that sort of thing,” Larend said. Then, realising what she said, he turned his face to look at her, grinning. “Does that mean you’re definitely coming?”

“I have a feeling Princess Maira will insist upon it,” Jessa said, watching Larend carefully. All he looked was confused. Either he was a very good actor, he had no idea that Maira was having him family watched, or he was not at all involved in whatever his uncle was planning. “She seems to have taken me under her wing a bit. She’s the reason I’m here.”

“I wonder why’s she done that?” Larend said. “Although I won’t complain.”

“Yes,” Jessa agreed with a laugh. “I suppose, as long as I’m here and around you, Elissa’s much less likely to accost you. Although I have to say I’m surprised she hasn’t taken the time to come and belittle me yet.”

Larend watched her for a moment longer, and Jessa thought she saw a brief flicker of something like disappointment in Larend’s eyes before he looked ahead. “Yes, that’s it. And I don’t think you should complain about that. Let’s just be glad she’s left you alone, and only danced twice with me yesterday.”

Jessa nodded, turning to look at the trees around them. They certainly were very beautiful, and very cosy. She could almost forget about the cold this deep into the wood, even if they were all still on a perfectly maintained stone path. As they walked, Jessa saw the beginnings of a trail between two trees, which after a short distance, opened out into a small clearing. She frowned contemplatively as they walked past, wondering whether it could be a suitable place to try and meet Kieran alone. After all, the manor itself would be too risky as anyone could overhear, certainly as Jessa doubted she would be able to perfect the spell. Out here, the risk would be less. Unless someone specifically followed them, which was almost inevitable, no one would hear them. If her spell was not perfect, it would not matter as much.

Now she just had to figure out a way to get Kieran there without anyone realising they were both gone.

[Rosabeth]

Judging by the incredulity on the faces of Rhys’ mother and sister, they weren’t entirely sold on the idea.

“We use magic all the time,” Anja insisted. “What about the blood amulets? Our blood books? Pregnancy charms? I mean, if magic could kill us then wouldn’t we have noticed something is wrong by now?”

“I thought the same thing, but Tula and I have theorized –“

“You’re on a first name basis with the queen of Novamor?” Anja interjected, her eyebrow cocked at an angle so severe Rhys could feel the judgment.

“Thank you for that unrelated comment. It was truly illuminating,” Rhys hissed, Anja making a face in response. Both quieted as they caught their mother staring at them as if they were particularly bothersome flies.

“As I was saying, we were theorizing that not all magic is the same. It seems as if magic that has some sort of lasting effect – like healing, which can’t be undone – has the worst effect, while temporary charms and such have lesser effects. It also seems that if we’re receiving the effects of a spell but the actual charm is on an object rather than us that we can more easily handle the effects. Think of it as first hand versus second hand magic. Maybe if we were to wear a charmed object for long enough we might see the same effects, but I don’t really know.”

“I wore the ring I gave to Jessa-“ Rhys saw Anja fake dry-heave from the corner of his eye, muttering “ew” to herself, “-for years and never had any effects. At least, none that I know of.”

“But did you wear it all the time or only occasionally and for short periods of time?”

“Well… I suppose I didn’t wear it regularly,” said Vyserene, growing more concerned by the moment. “Still, Anja has a point, even if you insist on arguing with her. We’ve been using magic for years. My family has always relied on magic. Wouldn’t something have happened to alert us earlier?”

There was only so much Rhys could give for proof without them simply taking his word as truth. With a sigh, Rhys pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the bandages that still covered his chest. The healers had fixed most of the internal damage and taken away a good deal of the pain, but the physical scars were still there as proof. Rhys pulled back the bandages on the lower part of his stomach to reveal a raised pink scar that matched the other seven on his torso. Anja looked impressed, but his mother leaned forward and lightly touched one, looking up at Rhys with concern.

“It took a lot of magic to get me in any condition to ride to Jasrah on horseback. Trust me, I now know the meaning of adverse side effects. Has anyone in your family ever been pulled back from death’s door – twice – with magic?”

“I think you’re the only one to win that honor,” his mother relented. “But if this is true, if we somehow can’t deal with magic then how did it begin? Why us? What does that even mean?”

Rhys had no answer to his mother’s questions, though he desperately wished he did. He mentally cursed the king for a whole new reason. If there was not a ban on Greater Magic perhaps this sort of potentially life-saving information might be available. Without first person knowledge they were wandering about in the dark, no closer to understanding than they’d been when ignorant of the issue.

“Someone has to know something,” said Vyserene, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ll inquire after some of our contacts. One of them is bound to know something about this.” Shaking her head in dismay, Vyserene turned to leave, only to stop and turn back to Rhys and Anja with her finger pointed out. “You two – behave. Our family has enough problems as it is. I don’t need any fratricide to deal with.”

With their mother gone Rhys and Anja were forced to acknowledge one another, but it was clear Anja was just as thrilled about this prospect as Rhys. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall just as Rhys’ father had, eyeing Rhys with an air of superiority. “So… you’re staying?”

“I suppose,” Rhys shrugged, realizing he hadn’t given the prospect much thought. “It looks like I’m no longer unofficially kicked out so I might as well, right?”

Anja shrugged as well, pushing off the wall. “As long as you Jessa’s not here I have nothing to complain about.”
Though he’d been expecting no less, Anja’s words still grated Rhys. “Why?” He groaned, running his hands through his hair. “Why do you hate her so much? Why can’t you just be happy for me? I’d be happy for you if it was you.”

“Oh, really? So if I was to decide I was madly in love with the du Rene boy, Edwin, Edward, Ed…”
“Edmund.”

“It doesn’t matter. If I said I was in love with him you’d be happy? Really? You know that’s a lie.”

Rhys couldn’t hold back his eyeroll. “Well, aside from the fact that he’s fifteen…”

“Don’t be a smart ass. You know what I’m saying.”

“Yes, I’d be angry,” Rhys admitted, “but the two situations couldn’t be any more different.”

Anja threw up her hands, approaching Rhys with determination. “No, you don’t get it. The situations are exactly the same. I don’t care if you’re convinced that she hates her father, that she’d never betray you because you don’t know that. You can never know that.”

“You could say the same thing about anyone!” Rhys yelled in exasperation. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to not reach out and strangle his sister. Somehow he didn’t think their mother would think very highly of him. “You can’t trust anyone completely, just like I can’t trust you to not murder Jessa in her sleep.”

“I restrained myself when she was living here,” Anja interjected, Rhys glaring in response.

“My point is that you have to trust people. If you’re going to isolate yourself because there’s a chance that someone might betray you then you might as well just not bother living because there is no one you can rely on completely aside from yourself. That’s just how life is.”

“You’re too close to Jessa. What if she decides that she can’t handle it anymore? What if she decides that being in Ovis is too much to take, or what if later she decides that she can’t handle the reality of the family she married into? What then? You think she’ll just disappear? No, she’ll betray you.”

Rhys began to respond but stopped after only a word, truly looking at his sister. He could see the frantic worry, the anger, the hatred in her bright blue eyes and the way she held her mouth. Suddenly she looked very young, and standing so short beside Rhys she no longer seemed very menacing. Dressed in the finest of silk gowns with her long, dark hair in a delicate plait over her shoulder, she looked just like any other noblewoman. And, as Rhys realized, that’s all she was. He would hardly ignore that she was no ordinary noblewoman, as most women did not take recreation in knife throwing and poison study, nor did they know dozens of ways to kill a man twice their size without even exerting themselves, but aside from those things she was no more special than any other. As Rhys watched his sister stare back at him with so much anger he could not find it in him to be angry in return. Instead he felt only pity.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Rhys answered calmly. “If you can’t trust then you can’t love, and if you can’t love then… well, then I feel sorry for you. Love isn’t a weakness. Hatred is a weakness.”

For the first time in Rhys life, he’d left his sister speechless. She blinked at him, visibly struggling for words and growing more frustrated with herself as she remained silent, unable to come up with a witty retort.

“Oh, and can you please stop with the death threats? You don’t have to like Jessa – I mean, we all know how hard it is for you to like anyone – but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t verbally assault her.”

For once, Rhys walked away with the upper hand and it had never felt so satisfying.

***

The guards and servants had grown so accustomed to Rhys’ sneaking in and out of the Solena Palace that they barely batted an eyelash at him as he hurried in through the back door, slipping up through the servants’ quarters with a nod at a few familiar faces. When he reached the third floor he stopped outside Laurita’s room, giving he door a knock. A few moments later Laurita came to the door, looking rather discheveled and tired until she saw Rhys on the other side.

“Rhys!” Laurita practically threw herself through the door frame, wrapping Rhys in a tight hug. He groaned as she pressed one of her hands to a wound on his back and Laurita pulled away with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I just got excited. I’d heard you were back. I saw the queen this afternoon but she didn’t look particularly thrilled so I didn’t know what to expect. Hey, at least you’re in once piece, right?”

“Right,” Rhys agreed, though he wasn’t paying attention to her words. Laurita looked worn, dark circles under her eyes that Rhys didn’t remember being there, her dark golden skin missing some of its life. Her dress was creased in a thousand places, as if she’s slept in in. She probably had.

“You look awful.”

Laurita smacked him lightly on the arm but gave a small smile, shaking her head. “Odaren,” she said simply, rubbing at her eyes. “We’ve made some progress but-“

“Not enough?”

“Not enough.”

Rhys didn’t know what to say, and honestly there was mostly likely nothing he could say that would make Laurita feel any less terrible than she already felt. Rhys was not a man of profound words. But Rhys did know another way to cheer someone up and it was a method he was most skilled at.

“Come on,” he said cheerfully, grabbing Laurita by the elbow. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” She stumbled along as Rhys urged her down the hall, dropping her arm and going behind her to push lightly on her back until she was both running and laughing. “What are you talking about.”

“I’m getting you drunk. It’s settled so don’t bother arguing. We’re going to go round up my friends and get completely and utterly drunk.”

Laurita looked down at her crinkled dress and felt at her messy hair, frowning up at Rhys. “I look like a mess. I’ve been working all night and all day.”

“We’re going to a tavern, not an audience with the king. Besides, by the end of the night I’ll be so drunk I promise I won’t even be able to tell you what color you’re wearing.”

Rhys could see a slightly hesitance as Laurita tugged on her sleeve, glancing back at her room. Rhys shook his head and grabbed Laurita on both arms, facing her straight on. “Did Jessa ever tell you about my birthday?” Judging by Laurita’s sly grin she knew exactly what he meant. “Well, don’t you want to witness the magic yourself?”

With one last glance back at her room Rhys could feel Laurita’s posture slacken under his hands and she threw up her hands in surrender. “You know what? Yeah, let’s go. I need a break.”

Rhys grinned and threw his arm around Laurita’s shoulder, giving her a light squeeze. She smiled and sighed in relief, looking as if she hadn’t smiled in days. “But why are you so anxious to go?” She asked as they ran down the staircase, narrowly avoiding bumping into two severe looking servants. Rhys smiled again, just to keep up the pretense. As he found, the more he pretended to be genuinely happier, the easier he could convince himself that his feelings were true. Laurita looked up at Rhys with an inquisitive look but Rhys shrugged it off with a bittersweet smile. “Trust me, if anyone needs this night it’s me.”

Just as expected, Rhys’ friends were all gathered around their usual table in the tavern when he and Laurita arrived. They looked up as the pair approached, Freya and Ero yelling out in excitement upon seeing Rhys as Selene and Victor jumped Rhys without hesitation. When Rhys was able to weasel out of Victor’s death grip he saw Laurita already chatting away amiably with Freya, much to his pleasure. If he ignored everything else that was wrong, if that was even possible, the moment seemed nearly carefree. He’d forgotten what that felt like.

“Are you buying us all drinks?” Victor asked as Rhys sat down, finishing off his own wine before speaking. “Because I would be very grateful.”

“Not just drinks – spirits. I need something a bit stronger than wine tonight.”

All heads turned to Rhys, but as Rhys noticed not a single one looked disappointed. Victor’s grin was wide and childlike, Selene raised a single eyebrow in interest, and Ero and Frey exchanged a few muffled words and a laugh. Rhys called over one of the barmen and minutes later there were bottles and glasses enough for all, with drinks ranging from wines to ales to bottles of murkey and clear colored liquids Rhys wasn’t entirely sure he could name. Regardless, Rhys pulled the cork from one such unidentifiable bottle and tipped it back, not even bothering with a glass. The alcohol burned his throat and the taste made his eyes water, but Rhys could feel the warmth spreading through his body already. Victor was the next to join in, clinking his own bottle with Rhys and taking a drink.

“Let the fun begin.”

[Mollianne]

Everyone went their separate ways once they returned from their walk. Jessa, instead of going back to the room with Helene, set off in search of the library someone had mentioned earlier. She decided that it would be a safe place to practice her magic when Helene was in their bedroom. After all, how many people were going to use the library when the point of the entire trip was to socialise, not read?

Jessa went to the top floor of the manor, where she had been told the library was located. She checked each door as she passed, until finally she came to a cosy library towards the end of the corridor. It was a little smaller than she expected, with bookshelves lining the walls and only a few chairs surrounding a single low table in the centre. There was nowhere for her to hide, so she would have to hope no one stumbled upon her. At least the room was in a quiet part of the house. Jessa slipped inside the room, staring at the books for a prolonged moment until she remembered why she was there. Then, she settled into one of the chairs and closed her eyes.

Calling on her magic was so easy after the many times she had practised it. She tried to guide the magic in the way she remembered the magic book telling her to, but like every time before it the magic listened to her up to a point and then lost focus. Jessa groaned in frustration. She had the page in the book memorised. She knew exactly what to do. So what was she doing wrong? Jessa did not even less herself think about the fact that, even if the magic were to miraculously do as she wanted, she would not know for sure whether the spell had worked unless she tested it on someone. She sighed. This was beginning to look like a really bad idea.

Jessa slumped in the chair and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. There had to be something easier than this spell. She did not even know if it would fool anyone – if they were looking right at her, would they be able to tell the words they were hearing were not the same as the ones she was saying? Jessa sighed. She was getting nowhere with this spell, and she was running out of time… There had still been around fifty pages or so in her magic book. Perhaps she would find something easier in those.

Easier, Jessa thought with a scoff. Nothing in Greater Magic seemed easy to her. That was both a blessing, because it meant that it was difficult for anyone who had the ability to learn it well, and a curse, especially when one was working to a deadline. Jessa rubbed her temples and was about to return to her room when she heard voices down at the end of the corridor. She paused, then went to grab a book off the shelf closest to her in case someone came in and wondered what she was doing. After a few minutes, however, Jessa heard another door shut and the voices disappeared. Jessa swallowed and breathed a sigh of relief, resting her head against the bookcase.

Jessa put the book back and left the room. She was just about the close the library door when she heard something that gave her pause. Jessa stared at the door opposite her. Biting her lip, she moved closer. All thoughts about shutting the library door, leaving the hallway and forgetting all about it left her mind. She needed to know what they were talking about. Jessa leaned against the doorframe and pressed her ear close, barely breathing.

“Can we trust him?” The voice was a woman’s, someone Jessa had vaguely heard speaking the day before but could not place.

“Of course we can’t,” the other woman replied with a scoff. “It’s no secret that he is on very good terms with his sister’s family.”

“The Ambassador is not a Marinon himself, though. He’s related to them by marriage and he shows no signs that he agrees with the things they do.”

“But we all know what the king suspects of the Marinons, and of the Ambassador too. The Marinons could have sent him to sabotage us.”

“If the Marinons were going to act, they would have done it years ago. The king just doesn’t see that,” the first woman said. Jessa heard footsteps coming closer and held her breath, but after a moment the footsteps grew fainter again.

“And we’re very lucky that he doesn’t see that. He’s always focused most of his paranoia on that family, and a couple of others. And that’s just another reason not to trust the Ambassador. If he’s seen with us, the king will only start suspecting us of wrongdoing.”

“We don’t have to tell him much.” The first woman paused, and then added, “We just need him for the information he could tell us. Everything he’s said so far has been genuine.”

“Has seemed genuine. My dear, you are too trusting for this. I will not trust Kieran Dunvyen until he proves his loyalty, and she will not either.”

Jessa frowned, leaning a little closer. Who was this other woman they were discussing? She had little time to ponder it for the woman arguing Kieran’s case had started talking again.

“Malcolm trusts him.”

There was a sharp, humourless laugh. “Malcolm does not trust him. He is testing him, and I doubt the Ambassador will pass. After all, why has the Ambassador only approached us now?”

Jessa bit her lip. Whatever these people were involved in, it had been going on for a while, then. Jessa turned back to look at the door. The question had stumped the woman’s companion for she had not spoken since.

“Kieran Dunvyen is most certainly not telling us everything, my dear,” the woman said when the silence had gone on too long and her friend had still not answered. Jessa realised the conversation was drawing to a close. Her gaze dropped to the doorknob as she thought that they could come out at any moment. She glanced down at the corridor as she heard footsteps nearing the door. She did not have time to get to the end before they saw her, and her running away would only prove she had heard everything they said. Jessa ran as quietly as she could into the library and picked up a book. She flung herself into the nearest chair and opened it up, her heart hammering against her chest as she heard one of the women ask, “Did you hear that?”

Jessa looked up briefly. Swallowing, she buried her nose into her book and only glanced up again when she heard a light cough. Jessa peered out over the edge of the book and saw just who had been talking about Kieran. It was the tall woman who had followed Kieran out of the sitting room earlier that day, and one of the other women who had followed soon after. The tall woman looked at Jessa as though she were a rat in her home. Jessa tried not to smile, glad she had decided to leave the door open. She might never have known their identities otherwise.

“What are you doing here?” the tall woman snapped. Jessa raised her eyebrows, then lifted the book.

“I thought that would be obvious,” she said.

The woman fumed and stepped closer into the room, while her companion hung back. “And why would a young thing like you be in the library when you could be downstairs with everyone else, having fun?”

“I’m a scholar,” Jessa said slowly with a shrug. “Reading is one of the things scholars like to do.”

“Now is hardly the time or place for work, my girl. And I know who you are, and you don’t work at the university anymore.” The woman looked smug. Jessa lowered her book, closing it and resting it on her thighs.

“I will always be a scholar. Wherever I am, whether I have a position or not. It’s what I love.” She watched as the woman continued to fume. It was clear she was desperate to know whether Jessa had heard any of their conversation, but if she asked and Jessa had not, then she would only look suspicious. Remaining here and feigning innocence had been a much better plan than Jessa had realised, and she was very glad she had not scarpered. “If there isn’t anything else, my Lady, I’d like to get back to-” She indicated her book, opening it and pretending to read. For a while, she felt the women’s eyes fixated on her, and then they turned around and left without another word. Jessa bit her lip and smiled.

Once they had definitely left the corridor, Jessa pondered for a while on their conversation. She had learnt very little since the first time she had spied on Kieran and Malcolm. All she knew was that it had something to do with the king, and that was mostly an assumption based on the fact that Malcolm had said this was the perfect opportunity – which happened to be while the king was away. Now, she knew that they, much like Maira, did not trust Kieran at all. She needed to talk to him and find out what he was doing.

She left the library and rushed to her room. Thankfully, Helene was nowhere to be found. Jessa got the magic book from her trunk and wondered whether to risk walking through the manor back to the library or risk Helene returning. After a moment’s hesitation, she sat on her bed. The book was too large and conspicuous. If they saw the book, they would wonder what she was doing.

Flipping to the last part she had read, Jessa scanned the pages until she finally found something. It was another compromise, just like the previous spell, and would only help Jessa in determining whether anyone had followed them. It was better than nothing, though. If she knew someone was there she could just talk about something else and no one would be any the wiser. Jessa grabbed a pen and some parchment and copied out the spell. Then, keeping an eye on the door, she hid the book back in the trunk.

She had no idea how long it was until someone would come searching for her, but she hoped she would have at least an hour. She went back to the library, where she pulled out the parchment and read the instructions. It seemed easier than the previous spell, but Jessa supposed that would be true. The other one required a lot more, since it was actually using some form of illusion rather than just searching an area. Apparently, the magic would find a person by briefly linking to the minds of those nearby. It worked at reasonably short range, but Jessa guessed it would find anyone who would be within hearing range.

From the instructions, it looked like she had to guide the magic in a similar way to how she used Lesser Magic in the hearing spell. There were some differences, but it was similar enough that Jessa hoped she would be able to perform the spell to some degree, either by that night or tomorrow.

And so, she began.

***

“You sitting on your own in the corner is becoming a bit of a regular thing,” Kieran said, coming to rest on the sideboard beside her, a drink in each hand. He passed one to her and sipped at his own. Jessa rolled her eyes at him.

“Helene told me what these trips used to be for, and I don’t think much has changed. There are people looking for marriage, people looking for flings… and I’m not looking for either,” Jessa said. She swirled the wine in her glass and then took a gulp of it.

“Too soon?” Kieran asked. Jessa looked away from everyone dancing and stared at Kieran.

“Yeah…” she breathed. She felt awful, having to keep up the charade. It did not matter that he basically knew the things she had said about Rhys were not true, because Jessa had never outright told him that. Jessa swallowed and scratched her wrist with her free hand, checking that the crumpled piece of paper was still there despite knowing it was. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to tell him everything. But even with the spell, which she was so close to mastering and had been practising throughout the day, there was still so much she could not say. Alrick could get hold of Kieran at any time and his mind did not have the same protection as Jessa’s.

“You should probably go and talk to people,” Kieran said, watching Jessa carefully. She cleared her throat and blinked, offering a small smile.

“Probably. But most of them just want to talk to me about things I’d rather not,” she said. Then, seeing who had just come into the room, she added, “I also wouldn’t want to run into her.”

“She did look rather annoyed when Lord Larend sat next to you and his sister rather than her,” Kieran said lightly, giving Jessa a sly smile which she ignored. She was too focused on Elissa, who was clearly scouring the crowds in search of someone. Jessa bit her lip. It was either Larend or her, and Jessa was not in the mood to be found.

She placed the wine glass on the sideboards and pulled down her sleeve until the piece of paper dropped into her hand. Then, she turned to Kieran and said, “I think I’m going to get away for a little while. Have a good evening.”

As she slipped past him, their hands brushed. He glanced at her questioningly but she did not look back as she moved away in search of another room in which she could hide from her step-sister. All she had to do now was hope that, tomorrow night, Kieran would be able to show up.

[Rosabeth]

A heavy coin pressed into Rhys’ palm as he stared down the long table, his eyes transfixed on the empty cup swaying on the other end. Swaying? Rhys blinked hard, rubbing at his eyes. No, the cup was quite stationary. Victor’s booming voice yelled from Rhys’ side and he grinned, shouting back what was meant to be an insult but came out more as a jumble of words. He screwed up his face, pressing his lips hard together and squinting at the cup, finally extending his hand and throwing the coin. It arched in the air, coming down on the side of the cup and hitting with a high metallic thud before bouncing onto the ground. Victor whooped, grabbing a bottle off the table and thrusting it into Rhys’ hand.

“I hate you,” said Rhys, though he took the bottle without hesitation and tilted it back, taking a drink. At the beginning of the evening the foul tasting drink went down like fire – now it was no more than a slight warmth.

“Maybe if you weren’t so bad you wouldn’t be so drunk,” Victor countered with a foolish grin. He was one to talk – he’d had to take to a seat to keep from swaying on the spot. “Maybe you should just give up while you can.”

“Yes, I think that’s an excellent idea,” Selene chimed in dully, putting up a hand from her seat and placing it on Rhys’ arm, pulling him down into a chair with only a slight tug. Rhys shook his head with a laugh and got back up, stumbling over his own feet. Victor roared with laughter, only making Rhys more determined as he approached his friend, grabbed a butter knife from a nearby table, and jabbed it in front of Victor’s face. Victor’s eyebrows shot up and he turned to a table, picking up not only a matching knife but a fork for his left hand. It was an established rule that all patrons of the tavern surrender their weapons at the door to prevent drunken fights, but that had never stopped Rhys.

“Do you challenge me to a duel, good sir?” Victor announced, waving his fork in front of Rhys.

“I do.”

“And what might your name be, most villainous foe?”

Rhys paused, looking down at the butter knife in his hand. “Lord Cutlery.”

“I almost married an idiot,” Selene muttered from behind.

The fighting was quick, partially because a six-inch dull blade made combat rather difficult, and partially because at their level of drunkenness they spent most of the spar hitting each others hands. Laurita watched from the table, her head resting on her folded arms as she giggled incessantly at each and every of Rhys and Victor’s quips. As it turned out, drinking only magnified Laurita’s good nature, and after a drink or two everything was suddenly extraordinarily funny to the Novarian. One strange side effect of her drunkenness was her inability to keep up her fluency in Etrenian, either speaking in a quick mishmash of the language or reverting entirely to Novarian, an effect Freya and Ero found to be endlessly funny. Laurita spent half her night teaching Freya and Ero curses and funny insults in Novarian and the other half listening with rapt interest to Victor’s stories, laughing without fail after each. Victor, used to the dismissal of interest from his friends every time he tried to tell one of his go-to stories, loved the chance to impress someone knew. By the end of the second hour Laurita had easily become the most popular person at the table.

Selene, ever the voice of reason, had been the only one to refrain from idiocy, keeping to just two drinks and instead acting as the moderator to the bacchanalia. Usually Selene found their drunken antics as amusing as any other, but tonight she seemed to watch with a certain amount of disapproval. The longer the night dragged on the closer she looked to breaking a bottle over someone’s head.

As the spar died down, Rhys and Victor laughing at the miniature red welts on their knuckles, Rhys steadied himself on the table and sunk into a chair beside Selene. Running his hand through his hair, Rhys let out a yawn, suddenly finding himself rather tired but in a very jovial mood. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten about the war or Jessa or his responsibilities – on the contrary, the evidence of it all was everywhere. Rather, he couldn’t find the will to particularly care about any of it. What was the point of worrying? The alcohol numbed his thoughts and soothed his worries, and the warm sensation that coursed through his body only put him further at ease. The fuzzy sensation in his head came as a welcome relief.

A few other regular patrons remained in the tavern, speaking quietly with one another or sitting alone with only a mug of ale, but for most patrons the night was well over. Rhys had no idea what time it was though he was fairly sure they were much closer to sunrise than sunset. At the end of the table Freya leaned against Ero, her head resting in the crook of his neck as his head rested against hers. They appeared to be asleep though Rhys could not see how they could fall asleep in such a position. Even Laurita, who for so long had been overly animated, was a victim to the crash.

“Ok, time to go.” Selene prodded gently at Freya and Ero until they awoke, then turning to Laurita who only muttered in Novarian before shooing her away.

“Rhys.”

Rhys poked at Laurita, surprised that even as drunk as he was he could still manage to speak fairly decent Novarian. After enough coaxing Laurita got up and allowed herself to be escorted by a considerably more sober Freya. “Take her home,” Selene instructed as the couple and Laurita made their quiet exit. Her attention then turned to Victor, though with much less compassion. She kicked at one of Victor’s shins until he whined, then reaching over and grabbing one of his bulky arms and pulling sharply.

“You. Up.”

Victor mumbled and shooed Selene away but she persisted, continuing to poke and prod until Victor finally gave in with a massive groan. “Go home, Victor. You’re drunk.”

“I know,” Victor grinned, looking at Rhys and giving him a wink, Rhys laughing along with his friend. Selene was not quite so amused. Her glare quickly persuaded Victor to vacate the premises so not to be on the receiving end of her wrath.

When only Rhys and Selene were left Selene hooked Rhys’ arm over her shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “Time to go.”

“I don’t want to go,” Rhys protested. He didn’t have anything he particularly wanted to do instead, but the chair certainly was comfy…

“And that’s why we’re going,” Selene muttered, hooking her arm around Rhys’ waist.

“I can walk fine on my own,” Rhys insisted, weaseling out of Selene’s grip. She relented, arching an eyebrow and putting her hands on her hips, gesturing towards the door in a silent challenge. Rhys huffed, determined to prove himself, and sauntered off towards the door only to catch his foot on a chair and stumble into a table.

“Oh yeah, you’re not drunk at all. Perfectly sober.”

Rhys’ frowned but allowed Selene to once more hook her arm around his body and act as a crutch, though at over half a foot below him in height it was not the greatest help. The going was slow with Selene refusing to let Rhys go, but he had to admit that his walk was much steadier. The night air and crisp sea breeze seemed to sober Rhys a bit, if only enough to keep him from laughing at menial things or running his mouth on useless topics. Most of the walk was taken in silence with Selene only speaking up to warn Rhys about a bit of uneven ground or a rock to be wary of. In general, Rhys was at an easy peace, but as the silence grew heavier and Rhys caught a glimpse of Selene’s disapproving glances, insecurities began to rise to the surface. He wasn’t sure why they came, or why he cared, but without sober Rhys to filter his thoughts they came tumbling out.

“Am I good person?”

Selene did a quick double take. “Gods, you are plastered.”

“Am I?”

“No.”

Rhys quieted. Strangely he felt… nothing. Actually, he felt pleased, contented even, but he knew that was only the alcohol talking. He could feel Selene’s eyes on him waiting for some reaction. He tried his very best to give none.

“If it makes you feel any better I’m not either.”

“But you’re so good and so wonderful and so…” Rhys’ voice trailed off. There was a word he was missing but his mind was so clouded. A stray strand of Selene’s hair came out of a pin and sidetracked Rhys’ thoughts. “And you have such fluffy hair.” He’d never received a stranger look in response.

“Rhys, you’ve killed people. You’ve tortured people. Your family makes its fortune off extortion and illegal trades – I can’t exactly say you’re good. But look at me. I knew all about what you’ve done and guess what? I didn’t care. Well, I cared, but I suppose I was desensitized. My family doesn’t exactly have clean hands either. So you know what? I’m not good either. But I don’t think that makes either of us bad, does it? Sure, our morality is grey, but what really makes someone bad? You’ve done things you aren’t proud of and you’ve done things that can’t be condoned, but you still fight for those who are being persecuted, you try to act on what’s right, and you are one of the most loyal and loving people I’ve ever known. Does that negate the bad? No. It just means things aren’t so black and white.”

A long pause followed Selene’s speech. Rhys laughed. “You’re so wise. Oh, wise one, impart unto me your wisdom.”

He saw the smack to his chest coming before he even opened his mouth but he laughed anyway as Selene grumbled under her breath. “Why do I even bother talking to you when you’re drunk?”

Before Selene could pull away in her frustration Rhys turned towards her and pulled her into a hug, feeling the surprise melt away as she quickly tightened her hold in return. “I’m not that drunk.” Selene laughed and Rhys smiled to hear the sound. “Thank you,” he murmured into her hair, resting his head. “I needed to hear that.”

As the hug lingered Selene coughed to break the silence, pulling away somewhat awkwardly as she avoided Rhys’ eye, returning to only holding him as his support. They continued on in the dark without much else to say, though Rhys could be fairly certain Selene’s silence came from not wishing to encourage his drunken rants. As they neared the city square near the harbor Rhys spotted two figures in the distance illuminated by the moonlight. A flash of hair as bright as the moonlight itself made the connection in his mind.

“Look,” Rhys announced, pointing out towards the figures. “It’s those twins. The tall ones. What’re their names again? Something starting with a D? No, that’s not right. An S? Why don’t we ask them?” Rhys lurched forward but Selene’s fingers dug into his side and he helped in pain.

“Wha-“

Before he could say anymore Selene clamped her hand over Rhys’ mouth, nodding over in the direction of a stack of crates outside a shop. She tugged on Rhys hand as he stumbled along behind her, kneeling down behind the crates as Selene pressed down on his shoulders. He tried to ask a question but nothing more than a mumble could be heard through Selene’s hand and each sound only earned him a sharp look.

Soon enough the twins came in their direction, their voices just loud enough to hear from behind the crates. Selene strained to listen while Rhys only half-heartedly gave the words any thought, not seeing why some midnight chat was of any interest to him.

“I haven’t heard from her in weeks. Do you think everything’s alright?” The man asked, his voice sounding closer than Rhys had expected.

“If something was wrong I think we would have heard. No news is good news?” Responded the woman. “Does it even matter? We’re more than capable of handling this on our own.”

“Are we? What even are doing, and for who? Is it really worth it? Why can’t we just work on our own? Why do we need her?”

Rhys heard a muffled sound, though he couldn’t place what it was. A silence followed and Rhys thought they’d left but the woman’s voice came before he could stand up.

“We don’t have the resources on our own. She’s helping us out, Johannes.”

“But we haven’t really done anything yet. Well, aside from the obvious.”

“We will. Give it time and the opportunity will strike. Have you heard anymore from the Marinon?”

Selene’s hand clamped more tightly over Rhys’ mouth, guessing he would speak up. However, speaking up was the last thing on Rhys’ mind. Suddenly his interest was peaked and their little game of playing spy seemed all the more important.

“Haven’t had the chance; he’s been out of town.”

The woman clucked her tongue. “Well we need to make a more concerted effort with that one, just make sure to keep him at a relative distance. We can’t let him get too close. I have a feeling he’s not as dumb as he looks.”

“Hey –“ Rhys began until Selene frantically shushed him as quietly as possible. The talking stopped then, as did the footsteps. Selene’s glare was pure death. Rhys could see her chest had stopped rising as she held her breath in anticipation. Rhys realized he was holding his breath as well.

“Did you hear something?” asked the woman. The silence continued, oppressive and oddly loud, but eventually the footsteps began again. “Must have been a cat.”

When the twins’ footsteps were far out of earshot Selene removed her hand from Rhys’ mouth and got up from the ground, brushing herself off. Her look spoke volumes, making the inevitable “I told you so” unnecessary, though Rhys was sure he’d hear it eventually. Not even a night’s worth of drinking could put Rhys at ease now for the twins’ words had put Rhys ill at ease. The conversation had not been condemning, but as Rhys’ mother had always said, nothing good happened after midnight.

[Mollianne]

The last day in Arrowbridge was anything but quiet. Jessa had wanted time to perfect the spell, but as soon as Helene woke her up at dawn that morning she knew she would get little chance. The girl told her to dress quickly and meet in the entrance hall before she ran out of the room. Jessa frowned, performed the memory spell, and once she remembered everything again, she changed quickly into a light blue dress. Then, wondering what was afoot, she went to meet Helene.

When she arrived, Helene was nowhere to be found but there were a few people there. Too late did Jessa see that Elissa was one of them. The princess stalked over to her with her arms crossed and said, “You just can’t keep away, can you?”

“I’m sorry?” Jessa asked, standing her ground. Elissa glared at her. She clearly did not like that she could no longer push her step-sister around. Jessa wondered if that was part of the reason Elissa was being so cruel to her whenever they met. However, Jessa would not give her the satisfaction anymore, no matter how much the words might hurt. Elissa would only come back worse.

“No one wants you here. They’re just pretending to like you,” Elissa said. Jessa kept her face blank. Of course she knew that most of the people who were talking to her just wanted something. If she had come back to Ovis and returned to her previous lifestyle, not one of them would have given her the time of day. Similarly, if Jessa had been married off to any other nobleman than Rhys Marinon they probably wouldn’t have looked at her twice either. Everyone wanted something, and if Elissa thought Jessa did not know that, she was sorely mistaken.

“I know.”

Elissa looked stumped for a moment. “You seem to think some of them like you.”

Jessa raised her eyebrows. “Anyone in particular? Because… your reaction suggests that you think someone is genuinely interested in being my friend.” They both knew to whom she was referring. Elissa’s frown deepened for a second, and then she schooled her expression into neutrality.

“I believe no such thing. Who would want to be friends with someone as lowly, motherless and tainted as you?”

Inwardly, Jessa fumed. She heard a few titters, but by the time she surreptitiously looked over Elissa’s shoulder everyone was blank-faced or not even looking in their direction. Jessa turned away. “I imagine for the same reasons they choose to be friends with you.”

Elissa let out a strange, insulted noise, and everyone else in the room drew in a sharp intake of breath. The weight of expectation in the room was heavy. Jessa began walking away, determined to just go to her room and forget about whatever Helene had planned. If Elissa was going to be there, she did not want to be.

Elissa seemed to recover when Jessa was halfway to the stairs. “You can’t speak to me like that,” she hissed. Jessa looked over her shoulder. “Or walk away when I’m talking to you. You think you’re so important, don’t you? You think that my father is going to accept you into the family when all you did was come running back from the Marinons? The only reason he sent you there was because he needed someone inside the family and you were the only one he didn’t care about getting killed. In fact, he wanted it. He sent you to them because he didn’t want to do it himself.”

Jessa’s gaze flickered to the floor, still facing away from Elissa. The words hurt, but only a little. She had known since the king had told her she would marry Rhys that he had expected she would die soon in Jasrah. She also knew that, if the Marinons had not murdered her, the king anticipated she would die from her untrained magic. There were probably more ways he imagined she might lose her life. Elissa’s spiteful words were not news to Jessa. She knew the type of person the king was better than his youngest daughter ever would.

“And he would have had to live with that choice. Just as the rest of you would have had to live with the fact that you condoned it – even were happy about it. Because one day you’d realise that choice would have ended a person’s life. Someone who had not done anything wrong to you but be born – choices two other people made.” Jessa paused, and turned to face Elissa. The princess looked dumbstruck, although Jessa doubted it was her words that were sinking in. It was more that Jessa was actually fighting back. “The only things you hate me for are things I have never had control over. And you can’t make me feel ashamed about things that I refuse to let define me anymore.”

Jessa stopped, breathing heavily. She knew there would be consequences, one day, for what she had just said. In that moment, it did not matter that Catrice would find out and try to have her punished. After all these years, she had finally fought back against the girl who had always treated her awfully. She felt liberated, even if she had risen to Elissa’s bait and let the princess rattle her. Jessa wished she had spoken out years ago, even knowing she never would have if not for Rhys and Laurita telling her she was worth something.

Elissa retreated to her friends without another word. From the way she kept glaring at Jessa, Jessa knew it was not over. She was even a little surprised that the princess had not continued, until she heard a voice from the top of the stairs and saw Larend and his sisters descend, bottles of wine in their hands. It suddenly became very clear, and Jessa knew she was far from out of danger with Elissa. She no longer felt a victory, although she could not regret what she had said, because she guessed it was only going to get worse.

After a while, the entrance hall filled up with enough people, all carrying wine, that Jessa lost Elissa in the crowd. Everyone was speaking quietly, and after talking to Helene and the other nobles she was with at the door, they left in groups of twos and threes. Jessa did not see Elissa and her friends leave, but by the time the hall was empty but for Jessa, the Janes and Helene’s companions, they were nowhere to be found.

“What’s going on?” Jessa asked as Charine pulled her to the door. They followed the nobles out of the manor and along the same path they had walked before. Jessa eyed the bottles of wine everyone was carrying.

“You’ll find out,” Larend replied, walking beside her and grinning.

And Jessa did find out, about twenty minutes later when she was sat in a circle along with everyone else on the trip, bar Elissa and her friends, the chaperones, and the youngest nobles in the group. Apparently, it was something of a tradition on the last day of the Arrowbridge trip. Everyone who was of a suitable age would meet up in the woods, get drunk, and play games, all without the chaperones knowing where they had gone. Of course, Helene had told her, the chaperones were not stupid and turned a blind eye more than remained ignorant. Helene privately believed that the chaperones kept Lady Tremont in the dark about it all, allowing the rest of them to enjoy their day.

Jessa drank only when someone noticed she wasn’t for she wanted to be completely sober for her meeting with Kieran. She watched as the group grew rowdier and drunker. She had never seen Ovisian nobles act in such a way – but then, Jessa had never really been around them except at formal functions. It was strange, watching as they laughed with abandon and staggered over to friends only to fall over… just generally behaving like Rhys and their friends in Jasrah when they were drunk. She had only ever seen these people as snobbish and calculating. Even when they had been getting drunk in the evenings so far, there was a certain quietness about it. If someone was close to making a fool of themselves they had been taken to their room. Here, nearly everyone had let their hair down. All it took was a couple of hours drinking and games with indiscernible rules

Larend, who had been playing one of those games on the other side of the clearing, staggered over to her and sat down beside her. “I want to hurt him.”

Jessa frowned, wondering what in all Etrene he was going on about. “Who?”

Larend just shrugged, apparently forgetting what he had been thinking about while stroking the rim of his glass with his finger. He stared hard at the remaining red liquid inside. When his hand began to tilt, Jessa took the glass off him and righted it. “I think you’ve probably had enough.”

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Have you had enough?” he asked, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jessa stared at him. Larend was very drunk.

“Not as much as you.”

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head emphatically and looking like her answer was the most important thing in the world. To his inebriated mind it was in that moment. Jessa frowned, waiting for him to elaborate. “Enough of people…” He waved his arms, as if that would finish the sentence where he could not. “People… hurting you.”

Jessa bit her lip, watching Larend thoughtfully for a moment before turning away. She shrugged. “Yes.”

“I heard what you said to E… El… Lissa.”

Jessa smiled sadly. Larend lifted his head to look at her, but his eyes were so glassy and his expression pleasant from all the alcohol in his system that Jessa had no idea what he was really thinking. “It probably wasn’t the best move.”

“I thought you’d had enough,” he said, his conversation disjointed as only someone with too many glasses of wine inside him could have. He added in a mumble, “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Not helping you with her.”

Jessa smiled and touched Larend on the arm. He leaned in slightly and then swayed. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your battle to fight.”

***

She had been waiting twenty minutes. Jessa wrapped her arms around herself and peered into the darkness. She had been using the sensing spell intermittently since she had arrived at the hidden clearing on the other side of the lake, and she had sensed no one. It meant no one had followed her, at least, but it also meant Kieran was not close. Jessa bit her lip, shivering hard, and squinted through the trees at the faint light of the house. She could not hear or see anything, but that was to be expected at this distance. Suddenly she felt incredibly alone.

Jessa comforted herself with the fact that no one could sneak up on her because of the sensing spell. In the past, being so utterly alone in the dark would have been much more terrifying because she had no idea who else might be lurking. Now, she knew there to be no one. She closed her eyes and performed the spell again. Her heart pounded when she felt something at the edge of her senses. Jessa swallowed and readied herself for anything. Whoever it was, they were definitely alone. It had to be Kieran. No one else knew she was here, and no one else would be taking a walk this late at night when it was so cold. Most people were still feeling the effects of that day’s festivities, after all. If there had been any spies amongst them, Jessa had been very fortunate because she doubted any of them would follow.

“Jessa?” It was Kieran. Jessa breathed out a sigh of relief and called back to let him know where she was. He appeared between the trees, looking both happy and worried at the same time, although Jessa was not quite sure how. “Sorry I’m so late. I took a bit of a detour in case anyone was following.”

Jessa nodded. She gestured to the fallen bough on which she was sitting, and Kieran trudged over. Before she spoke, she checked again that there was no one around but the two of them. Feeling reassured when she felt nothing, Jessa turned back to Kieran, who was watching her oddly. She smiled innocently, but he did not seem convinced.

“I’m glad you came,” she said quietly. Kieran grinned, put an arm around her, and squeezed before letting her go.

“And I’m glad you brought me out here, though you couldn’t have picked a warmer time, could you?” he teased. Jessa laughed.

“Only if you wanted to increase the chance that someone tailed one of us.”

“There wouldn’t be much point in a private meeting then, would there?” Kieran said with a grin. Jessa looked at him and could not help but grin back. This felt more like the Kieran she had first met. She relaxed, before laughing when she remembered how tense she had actually been around him in those first days. She had probably never considered that he would be the only person she could turn to in Ovis back then. Then again, Jessa would not have thought anything from the past few months would ever have happened then. She bowed her head and sighed.

She felt a finger under her chin as Kieran lifted her head. She tried to smile, but she was too caught up thinking about everything that had happened to her and Rhys. Jessa had no idea what she should or should not tell Kieran. She wanted to tell him everything. But if the king got hold of him…

“Somehow I don’t think you asked me to meet you just to sit around in silence, as lovely as that is,” Kieran said. He knew exactly how to make her smile. She took his hand and squeezed it.

“I can’t keep pretending anymore. Not with you, anyway,” she said. “Not when it comes to Rhys.”

“Jessa, I already know it’s not what it seems-”

“I know, but you don’t know why, and you don’t know everything. And I still can’t tell you.” She put her head in her hands. Kieran chuckled sympathetically and moved her hands away.

“You don’t have to. Gods know I keep secrets. It’s a way of protecting yourself, your secret, and the people around you. You don’t owe me anything,” Kieran said.

“I love him,” she said, looking up at Kieran. She swallowed as she realised this was the first time she had uttered those words to anyone but Rhys. “I love Rhys, and I hate having to lie about him. I hate what everyone says about him and me, either when they think I can’t hear or even sometimes when they can. And it’s my fault that they do.”

“Jessa,” Kieran said, taking her hands. When she did not look at him, he said, more forcefully, “Jessa, look at me. Whatever you’re doing, I know you have a good reason for it. Okay?” When Jessa nodded, his expression turned sly. “So, love him, eh?”

Jessa blushed. “Yeah…”

“Good for you,” he said with a grin. “I’m glad you finally saw what was right in front of your nose.”

“Hush you,” Jessa said. She looked down at her knees, her happiness at having told Kieran the truth giving way to seriousness as she remembered that there was more than just Rhys to discuss. She used the sensing spell once more before speaking. “Kieran… Princess Maira’s asked me to watch you.”

“Has she,” Kieran said without inflection. When she glanced at him, he was no longer looking at her and his expression had sobered. Jessa swallowed and was about to continue when Kieran said, “I can’t really say I’m surprised. I guess she thought I would open up to you because they know we’re friendly.”

“I suppose,” Jessa agreed, even though he was exactly right. “She told me not to tell you, but no one can overhear us, so she doesn’t need to know. She wants me to report to her with everything you say to me.”

“At least it explains why they’ve suddenly allowed us to be in the same room again,” Kieran muttered. Jessa frowned, turning her head quickly to face Kieran.

“They’ve been keeping us apart?” Of course it made sense. Jessa should have realised, and felt stupid for not doing so. And the reason Kieran had not made an appearance at the du Rene ball, when he should have, was now completely clear.

“My guess is they were testing you,” he said. “If you went out of your way to make contact with me, then there must be something going on. Never mind that there is, but it’s just another example of how paranoid the king is these days. Just because we talk doesn’t mean you’re sending information to the Marinons. But do be warned, Jessa.” He looked at her then, a grimace on his face. “They don’t trust you, not yet. Or they trust you about as much as they trust me. I’m guessing spying on me is just another test for you.”

“I’m sorry, Kieran,” Jessa said. “I… I need them to trust me. I can’t stop doing what they ask of me.”

“Don’t worry, I know.”

Jessa nodded. She licked her dry lips and shivered as the wind picked up. “I overheard part of your conversation with Lord Malcolm at that dinner,” she said, feeling guilty. Before Kieran could speak, she added, “I know there’s more to it, Kieran. Whatever the du Renes want me to do, I’m not doing this for them. I’m going to prove to them that there’s more to whatever you’re doing. Whatever you’re doing with those people, you’re not really with them.”

“Jessa…”

“The people you’re talking to, Kieran, they don’t trust you either,” she said. Kieran nodded in agreement. Jessa bit her lip, but could not keep it in any longer. “What are you doing, Kieran?”

“I’m sorry, Jessa,” he said. “I can’t tell you. I can tell you that the people I’m talking to have every reason not to trust me. Because you’re right. I am working against them. And you can’t tell anyone that because I have very little idea who ‘them’ is. And one wrong word…”

“Kieran,” Jessa said with a smile. “This is me you’re talking to. I won’t tell a soul.”

“I know you won’t,” Kieran said. He looked up. “We should probably go. You first.” He nodded at the clearing entrance. Jessa stood, bit her lip. Before she left, she turned and wrapped Kieran in a hug.

“I’m sorry we can’t talk more freely,” she whispered in his ear. Kieran nodded.

He pulled back, and although she could see he was still troubled, Kieran was grinning now. “Be careful around Lord Larend.”

Jessa frowned, smiling back nevertheless. “Why?” she asked. Kieran’s grin widened.

“If you don’t know, I’m not going to be the one to tell you.” Jessa was about to argue, but Kieran shook his head and indicated the clearing entrance. “Off you go.”

[Rosabeth]

As if his drunken debauchery was not punishment enough, fate seemed to have a cruel sense of humor. By the time Selene directed him home and the servants took him to his room Rhys collapsed onto the floor of the bathroom and expelled most of what he’d drank until he was left dry heaving at the smell of his own vomit. He did not envy the servant who would inevitably clean up his mess. Shakily, Rhys directed himself to his bed, melted into the blankets and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Waking up proved itself to be the cruelest punishment of all. The morning light burned his eyes and his stomach lurched once more, though as there was nothing left inside he simply dry heaved once more. The only solace was in the silence of the house, a luxury he’d never had at the palace. Rhys forced himself up despite his body’s protests, noting as he moved his own fowl smell, a mixture of alcohol, dried sweat, and vomit. He could not draw a bath quick enough.

By the time Rhys managed to clean and dress himself adequately some of his horrific hangover had subsided, but that was most likely just his own smell no longer giving him an added headache. He worked his way slowly downstairs, ignoring the pointed looks and whispers of the servants. After having disappeared from the house for weeks Rhys was sure he’d escalated to the favored topic of gossip downstairs, and his arrival was only fuel to the fire. The only time Rhys acknowledged one of the staring servants was to ask the doorman if his family was still at breakfast. They were. Rhys groaned, wincing at the volume of his own voice. It seemed fate had decided that vomiting up the entire contents of his stomach was not punishment enough.

At first no one looked up from their meal as Rhys entered the room, but that lasted only seconds. Anja was the first to peer up from her plate, and her snort drew the other three sets of eyes. “Rough night?” she smirked. Rhys grunted, too tired to respond, and took the seat opposite Dima who was currently laughing silently with a mouth full of bread. Neither his mother nor father said a word, though he didn’t miss their silent exchange with no more than an eyebrow raise. The look made Rhys cringe and look down at the table, wishing he could be anywhere else. Instead he took a piece of bread and some jam, pausing as the smell of the jam hit his nose. His stomach staged a revolt. No jam, then. Rhys stared miserably down at his bread and his glass of water. It was a pitiful breakfast, but his stomach didn’t seem to object.

His mother was the first to break the tension. “Rhys, if you decide you’re not an invalid I have some things today I’d like you to do. We need someone to –“

“I can’t, actually,” Rhys mumbled between bites, barely keeping from moaning at how good it felt to have actual food in his stomach. “I have to meet with Tula today.”

Rhys wasn’t aware of so many eyes on him until he looked up from his plate into four incredulous stares.

“Who?”
“Oh, um, Queen Tula, that is…”

“You’re on a first name basis?” Anja scoffed. Rhys glared at her from across the table but it seemed that everyone else agreed with his sister’s words. “What, are you sleeping with her?”

“Anja!” his mother hissed.

Rhys rolled his eyes, hardly surprised. “Actually, I got shot and nearly killed for her, thanks.” He ignored her look of surprise, instead grabbing another roll and getting to his feet. “Thanks for the confidence, though.” Rhys started for the door but found someone tugging on his arm before he could make it.

“Wait!” Dima grinned sheepishly. “I was hoping that we could train again, you know? Just like we used to? It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages and… well…”

“Are you going to say you missed me?”

“No, of course not. I hate you. Glad to see you gone.”

“I bet that’s what you said when you cried about my absence every night.”

Dima cracked a smile, and Rhys found that he was grinning too. The brothers laughed and Dima ran a hand quickly through Rhys’ hair, mussing it until Rhys slapped away the hand. It was amazing how quickly Rhys was able to ignore every one of Dima’s flaws, to pretend his brother was not impulsive and foolish and immature. Yet time and time again Rhys did it, because at the end of the day Dima was still his brother.

“Not today.” Rhys noted the fall in Dima’s face. He pushed is brother’s head away lightly, causing Dima to smile. “Tomorrow, though. I promise.”

Dima’s smile lifted an invisible weight off Rhys’s shoulder. Suddenly his murderous hangover no longer felt quite so awful.

Rhys reached the palace later that morning to find that the queen’s arrival created a certain organized chaos the likes of which he’d never seemed. The palace had been a place of pandemonium so long as the army had established it as their official center of operations in Etrene, but it was an quiet pandemonium, the constantly on-edge soldiers and servants going about their business as if a war was not waging outside the palace’s walls. With the queen’s presence, however, the panic seemed to spring to the surface of every man and woman Rhys passed in the halls. The servants were on their toes, making sure not a single speck of dust was out of place, and the soldiers stood even taller with wide-eyed alertness. People moved to and fro so quickly Rhys had to dodge out of the way several times, and where Rhys had once been treated as an honored guest he was now largely ignored, for there was only one person in the palace anyone had time to care for and it was most certainly not him.

By the time Rhys was able to flag down a spare servant and inform them that he was to see the queen, and by the time that request filtered through all the appropriate people, Rhys was already late for his appointment. Eventually he found himself pushing open a large set of double doors and entering a grand study that had hastily been converted into a war room with Tula standing over a map-laden table.

“You’re late.” She spoke without even looking up from her maps.

“Your chain of command isn’t exactly efficient.”

“Yes, well it would seem that my army isn’t prepared for my arrival without notice at any time. Imagine that.” Finally Tula looked up from the table and fixated her gaze on Rhys, narrowing her eyes as she took in what Rhys knew would be a rather shabby state. She stared a bit longer, her gaze lingering on his eyes. Eventually she scoffed, shaking her head to herself before muttering under her breath.

“I was hoping you’d show up sober,” said Tula, giving Rhys a very sharp look.

“I am sober. I just wasn’t sober last night.”

“Semantics,” she mumbled, but Tula seemed to drop the subject, instead turning to a box set on a table behind her. Rhys watched as she withdrew the papers first, then the large ring, and finally the unmistakable dagger, holding the last between her hands, the point resting on her fingertip. “I showed the papers to one of my spymasters – nothing. I showed the ring to a metalworker – nothing. My best weapons advisors sat with me for hours looking at the knife and, you guessed it, nothing. The only conclusive answer so far is that one of my magic advisors was able to confirm that all three are heavily laden with Greater Magic, but we already knew that, didn’t we?”

The queen practically thrust the knife into Rhys’ hand as he reached out for it, probably so frustrated with the entire situation she could hardly wait to unload the objects onto someone else. Rhys ran his fingers across the handle of the blade, really inspecting it for the first time. The blade itself was incredibly sharp steel, but the handle was made of a finely carved red wood inlaid with silver filigree in swirling patterns.

“Well, I can tell you that this isn’t a fighting weapon. The handle is made of wood which means it’s more than likely made for decoration or display.”

“My advisors told me the same,” said Tula, now having moved to Rhys’ side. “I don’t see how that helps us, though.”

Truthfully, Rhys didn’t either, but he was not without guesses. “For one it means that this dagger wasn’t used for combat, but the sharpness of the blade suggests that it’s either rarely used at all or is sharpened extremely often. Either way, it’s well taken care of. Whatever it is, it’s important.”

Clearly Tula was not thrilled with Rhys’ diagnosis, but with a throbbing headache and little sleep Rhys wasn’t in the best of moods to be a world-class spy. Seeing nothing more of interest, Rhys set down the knife and picked up the ring, bringing it close to his eyes to inspect the elaborate design. The ring was made of a brilliant silver with small rubies encrusting the surface in a zig-zag pattern. Between the rubies ran a delicate design etched into deep grooves. Rhys slipped the ring on his own finger, finding it to be slightly too large, a definite indication that it was made for a man. Rhys stared at the ring, some small part of his mind expecting some sort of reaction when he put it on, but found himself disappointed as he only stared at dull, inanimate ring. It wasn’t until he pulled it off that the design on one side caught his eye. Just below one of the rubies was a curving design that seemed to cup the ruby like petals to a flower. It was a familiar pattern, and Rhys grabbed the knife from the table and held it next to the ring, finding the same pattern etched just under the crossguard.

“Look at this.” Tula took the two items from his hands and Rhys pointed to the designs, discovering another set of matching patterns as he looked.

“They match,” the queen said hesitantly. Rhys realized she was looking to him for some sort of explanation.

“Yes, they match. That’s because they’re a set. Look here,” Rhys pointed to the filigree on the dagger, “this is the same silver that the ring’s made of, I’d guarantee it. They were made together from the same materials and probably at the same time too. I’d even wager to say that they’re meant to be used together.”

Tula did not look quite as convinced with Rhys’ hasty conclusion. “Used together? How? Like you’d need to be wearing the ring to use the dagger?”

“I doubt it. What’s the point? Anyone could just use another knife.”

“Are you supposed to put the ring on your victim?”

“Nah, too much work.”

Tula sighed and pursed her lips, throwing up one hand. “Well, this has been illuminating.”

Rhys was not so easily discouraged, knowing that he’d be able to think much clearer when he didn’t feel like death warmed up. “Mind if I take these?” he asked, gesturing to the items on the table. Tula shrugged, clearly just happy that someone else was taking an interest in the mystery. Tula might be a great and clever queen, but it was clear that puzzles were not her favored pastime. Rhys slid the dagger and papers under his cloak and pocketed the ring, knowing he had a long night ahead of him.

There were many other questions Rhys had to ask the queen, a thousand of them about the peculiar conversation between the Lanis twins he’d overheard the night before, but it was clear the queen had no time for him. Just as Rhys had stowed away the items a whole entourage of advisors and military personel spilled into the room, all trying to be the loudest and most commanding of attention. Rhys slipped out silently, knowing with some sadness that his and Tula’s private moments were at their end. Here Tula was the Queen of Novamor and Rhys was Lord Rhys Marinon, and with both titles came responsibilities.

Rhys had decided on going home, but before he could leave the palace he remembered another visit he knew he needed to make, even if the reason for making it made his stomach churn. Rhys climbed the stairs to Laurita’s room, finding her usually open door closed. He knocked hesitantly on the door, wondering if she was in at all, only to hear a low groan from within. When the door creaked open no more than a slit Rhys could see Laurita’s dark eyes peering at him from the crack, squinting into the light.

“Oh, it’s you,” she mumbled, opening the door wide enough that Rhys was able to take in her full figure. Unlike Rhys, it seemed that she had not quite moved to the bathing stage of her hangover recovery just yet as Rhys remembered seeing Laurita wearing the very same orange dress the night before. Her eyes were dull and red with dark circles beneath them as if she hadn’t slept at all. All in all she looked about as bad as Rhys felt.

“You too?” he asked as he entered into the dark room, noticing that a sheet covered the window blocking out most of the light. Laurita nodded dully at his words, looking over at a candle in the corner until it lit of its own accord. She sighed, sitting back down on her bed and holding her head in her hands.

“Perhaps this was a bad time,” said Rhys, unsure of the proper etiquette for addressing those nursing serious hangovers during dire situations.

“Just tell me whatever you came to say. You’re already here.” Rhys noticed that Laurita didn’t seem particularly happy about that last bit.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh lovely, just how I was hoping to spend my morning.”

“Laurita, I know this is bad timing, but I really need you right now, so can you please hear me out?”

Rhys words wiped the grimace off Laurita’s face, replacing it with a mask of concern. Rhys took a deep breath, sighed, and launched into his story. He told Laurita everything the queen had told him about Greater Magic aversion, about the serious side effects that always plagued him, and even about the suicidal episode with Jessa’s phantom. By the end Laurita looked more horrified than Rhys had expected, though certainly less than he knew Jessa would be.

“There doesn’t seem to be much known about this, but given the current circumstances –“ judging by Laurita’s frown Rhys knew she knew he was speaking of Jessa’s own magic –“there’s certain information I need. Like, for instance, my limit.”

“Your limit?”

“How much magic I can handle before I, you know…”

Rhys could see the meaning of Rhys’ words click in Laurita’s mind, and the accompanying horror that followed.

“No, no, no, NO!” she said, jumping to her feet and taking a step away from Rhys. “I can’t. No, I can’t. Rhys, you know I can’t.”

“Who else am I supposed to ask?” Rhys pleaded.

“Anyone!” Laurita gaped, running her hand through her hair and pressing her palm to her forehead. “Rhys, I can’t use magic on you, not knowing that. Besides, given what happened to my mother I don’t really like using my magic on others when it’s not necessary.”

“But this is necessary.” Rhys sighed, hoping his attempt would not be in vain. “Laurita, I can’t trust anyone else with this, you know that. But you also know that I need to know these things. I have to understand this condition. How else am I supposed to stay safe if I don’t know if one little spell might kill me?”

It looked like Laurita was on the edge of hysterics but she held it in well, directing all her confusion and fear into anger. “And what am I supposed to do? Just put you under spells until you die? How will that help?”

“No, we’d start small, of course. Do one or two things a day and I’ll see what kind of reactions I have that night. The next day we’ll try something more severe, and so on and so forth until…”

“…until you nearly die?” Laurita finished, her voice dead. Rhys nodded and Laurita bowed her head, muttering a Novarian curse. When she held her head up again her eyes were tired and unfocused. Rhys felt horrible for wearing her so, but he could not stop, not now. “Jessa will kill me when she finds out.”

“No, she’ll understand.” Laurita raised an eyebrow and Rhys frowned, knowing he was caught in a lie. “Well, I’ll help her understand. Eventually.”

For a moment Rhys thought for sure his hopes were dashed as Laurita pursed her lips, staring at Rhys in utter frustration. After a moment of her silent stare, however, she sighed and shrugged, throwing up her hands in defeat. “Fine. Fine. I’ll do it.” Rhys sighed a heavy sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. “Under one condition.”

“What?” Rhys asked, his voice quick now. “Anything you want.”

“You have to tell Jessa. I won’t do it until she knows.”

[Mollianne]

Jessa returned to Ovis to find the castle abuzz with the news that one of King Alrick’s councillors, Councillor Peronne, had just died. According to the whispers between the two servants carrying her luggage that Jessa heard as she made her way to her room, Peronne had been complaining of headaches for two weeks. Just eighteen hours before he died, the councillor had collapsed. Jessa frowned. Whatever illness had taken him had taken him fast.

Jessa felt sorry for him. Not only did his death sound painful, but no one in the castle seemed to care about the death itself. Everyone was busy discussing rumours as to who would be offered his position. Although the councillors were meant to be of equal position and have equal say in Alrick’s council, it was widely known that Peronne had been the king’s right hand man. A petition had been likely to go unheard if Peronne had not supported it.

For all the speculation, people would go unsatisfied for some time as only the king could appoint the new councillor. Jessa was certain the king would be quite preoccupied by every important man and woman in the city vying for the chance to hint at their choice or to promote themselves. Jessa frowned thoughtfully, thanking the servants absently as they reached her room and left her luggage on the floor. She shut the door behind them and allowed herself a small smile, even as she realised she was just like the rest of the castle because she was no longer concerned about the fact that a man had just died.

This was her chance. Not only was the king not expected back for another few days, at the very least, but when he returned he would be overwhelmed by politics and the continuing war with Novamor. It was highly unlikely that he would notice one girl snooping around. Jessa was relieved. After all, the king had been away for a few weeks by now and she still had not made an attempt to gather information as she had planned. She had been too busy. But there was nothing more important than carrying out the task she had been sent here to complete.

Jessa sat on her bed, wondering how she would break into Alrick’s private quarters. No doubt there was useful information behind that locked door, but it was also fiercely guarded. Not only that, but Jessa’s lock picking skills were temperamental at best. Even if she managed to get past the guards initially, the time she would take opening the door would mean they would find her eventually. If that happened, her cover was blown and she would die. In that moment Jessa realised why she might have been a little reluctant to press on with this task before. It was a huge risk, and hanging back was easy.

But Jessa was not here for an easy life. She doubted she even knew what one looked like.

With a sigh, Jessa retrieved the lock picks from the bottom drawer in her desk. She locked her door and then began practising. This was a problem she knew how to solve, and whatever she could do to lessen the chance of being caught, she would take it.

Jessa blew her hair out of her face as she leant in close to the keyhole. She held the torsion wrench firmly in her right hand and carefully moved the pick inside. As she worked, trying to move the pins, Jessa remembered how difficult this was and just how bad she was at it. Her successes, when it mattered, had always been because her magic had come rushing to her aid upon sensing her distress. While it had worked in the past, Jessa could not rely upon it, especially now she had some manner of control over her magic.

Realising she was not focusing, Jessa scowled at herself and went back to work.

***

A few days later, Jessa had finalised her plan. She had been watching the guards posted outside Alrick’s rooms every spare chance she had found. Between meeting Maira to discuss Kieran and Arrowbridge, and attending the functions and luncheons the princess had requested of her, Jessa had had little time to scrutinise their routines. She had refused to let that diminish her determination, however, and had concluded that early in the morning would be the best time to get past the guards. She would do it just before they changed shifts. The guards on duty then would be tired and inattentive after an uneventful night. And they would hardly be expecting someone to try to break into the king’s rooms when the castle was waking up and there could be multiple witnesses. That was both a blessing and a curse. She could only hope that no one saw what she was doing.

She rubbed her eyes, exhausted after her late night. It was still dark outside, making Jessa wish she could just go back to sleep. It was only the feeling that she was running out of time that pulled her from the warmth of her bed and across the room to the armoire. She quickly changed into a loose, white woollen dress. She snatched the lock picks from the desk and dropped them into the deep pocket at her hip, and put a creased piece of paper and a two folded rags, one thicker than the other, into the pocket on the other side. She looked in the mirror to check that the tools were hidden and then stared at her reflection. The woman who stared back at her looked nervous and frightened. Jessa scowled and shook herself. Her plan was going to work. After all, she had some other tricks up her sleeve that none of the guards could anticipate.

Jessa nodded to herself and closed her eyes. She wished she could stop the habit, since it would only cause problems for her if she ever needed to perform magic in front of people, but she always lost focus if she could see. She concentrated on the magic within her and the spells she wanted to enact, and then painstakingly bent the magic to her will. It was getting easier. That was not to say it was not difficult and tiring, but she was definitely learning spells more quickly. The thought both pleased and bothered her. Jessa had never wanted to be so at ease with her magic for fear of what it might lead her to, but she knew the necessity of it in these dangerous times.

The spells in place, Jessa left the bedroom. She tiptoed as swiftly as possible down the dank servants’ quarters to the castle proper. At the door, she peered out to check for guards and servants. No one would think anything of Jessa frequenting this particular corridor, but if anyone were to learn of someone’s presence in Alrick’s room, it was best that no one even knew Jessa had been awake at that time. In this case, no solid alibi was better than someone spotting her heading towards Alrick’s quarters.

Thankfully, there were no servants and the two guards were facing the other way, standing sentry outside the door to the council chambers. Considering the council was not in session at this hour, Jessa had been a little surprised the first time she had seen the guards there. It seemed strange, at first, to protect an empty room, for no important documents would be kept within. When she realised that they were probably stationed there to ward against anyone gaining access to the room in time for meetings, it made much more sense. Jessa wondered then how often it had actually happened, or whether it was just another example of Alrick’s paranoia.

Jessa bit her lip and ran in the opposite direction. She checked over her shoulder as she rounded the corner, but the guards had not even flinched. Her first spell, one that aimed to stop people noticing her unless they looked her way, had been a success. Jessa did not allow herself a moment of triumph, instead taking the stairs to the fourth floor where the entrance to the king’s rooms were situated. This was where it would get more difficult. Hanging back in an alcove off the stairwell, Jessa pulled out the piece of paper she had put in her pocket and opened it out. On it was a crudely drawn map of the fourth floor, with approximate positions of each guard at various times for the next two hours. Jessa had no idea whether it was correct. A few days monitoring the guards’ movements was not long enough to be certain their paths would not change. Nevertheless, Jessa had not noted much deviance in those few days, so she could hope it would be the same.

The guard posted at Alrick’s door would be the most difficult to get past, but Jessa had a plan for him. As for the rest, she would rely upon her map and trust her spell to keep her unnoticed. She ducked out of the alcove and pushed open the door at the top of the stairwell, seeing the guard walk past right on cue. Jessa swallowed, steeling herself, and slipped through the door. She followed the guard, keeping a few steps behind him. She held her breath, as if she thought the guard would not hear her footsteps but could conceivably still hear her breathing. Even though it was ridiculous, Jessa did not release the breath until she had turned the corner and ducked behind a statue. She was just in time, for a second later another guard appeared at the other end of the corridor and made his way down. He was early, but not by much. Jessa watched him pass, and after checking that he was not looking, bolted down the corridor.

She continued in the same manner until she could finally see Alrick’s door from the corner of the corridor. The guard beside it was leaning heavily against the frame, his chin resting on his chest. At this distance, Jessa could not tell if his eyes were closed, but she would not be surprised. However, she was not sure if she should be surprised at how lax the guard was being. She supposed it was a boring job, standing for hours outside a room. Still, even though the room was unoccupied – Jessa had no doubt the guard would be much more alert if Alrick was actually in residence and therefore in much more danger of being assassinated on the man’s watch – she would have thought the guard would be under orders to stay awake, at least.

Despite her planning, and it had been meticulous, Jessa felt nervous about how easily she had got past all the guards. That she could so easily get past them did not fill her with much hope for the safety of everyone living in the castle, especially as she would have thought the king would have the best palace guards for himself. An experienced assassin or spy would have no trouble infiltrating the palace. All that could reassure her was that the guards were not on form because their king was not actually in residence.

Jessa swallowed, realised she was dwelling on unimportant things and that she could be discovered at any moment, and fished out the two cloths. Unwrapping the thinner of the two, a stoppered phial fell into her palm. Holding her breath, she opened the phial and poured the liquid onto it. With not a moment to lose, Jessa flung the cloth as close to the guard as she could get it. The man jostled briefly, but did not seem to notice the rag on the floor nearby. Jessa waited, and waited, until finally the guard slouched a little more and his hands unclenched. He had fallen asleep.

Jessa ran across the short distance to the door, picking up the rag along the way. Dropping to the floor, she wrapped the rag into the thick piece of cloth and stuffed into her pocket. Only then did she allow herself to breathe, tentatively at first, and fish out the lock picks. Jessa swallowed, looking over her shoulder, and got to work. She had five minutes until one of the guards walked past. Given the time she had practised over the last couple of days, when she was not acting as a noblewoman or marking guards’ positions, she hoped she could do it in that time. Jessa forced herself to remain calm, working methodically.

After a couple of minutes, her calm was gone. She checked the guard beside her, ensuring her was still asleep, then focused on picking the lock for a few moments before she was checking over her shoulder for the patrolling guards. Another minute passed. Jessa swallowed. Her hands began to shake, and the torsion wrench slipped in her sweaty palm. The fact that she knew it should not be so difficult only rattled her more. Jessa closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself down. Then she got back to work, well aware that she had just over a minute and still had a couple of pins to do. Or was it more? She had lost track.

She was trying to find the last pin when she heard footsteps drawing near. Jessa swallowed down her panic, focusing hard on the keyhole and trying not to look behind her. The footsteps grew louder, and she moved the lock pick up and down, forwards and backwards, trying anything to get the pin to dislodge itself and open the door. At the very last moment, when she was sure the guard was about the round the corner and spot her, she heard a faint click. Turning the torsion wrench faster that she had ever moved in her life, Jessa threw open the door and all but fell inside. She shut the door carefully behind her and pressed her ear against the wood. She felt her blood pulsing in her ears as she waited to hear the footsteps, hoping they would not stop at the door. She heard them, coming closer and closer and closer… and then further away. Jessa breathed a sigh of relief, resting her forehead against the door.

Somehow, she had done it. Jessa turned around, surveying Alrick’s private quarters. She was in.