Kings of Deceit - R

[Rosabeth]

As the days came and passed Rhys fell easily into the routine of his old life, before he’d ever thought of Jessa. Though the changes were too ever-present to be ignored, so much of his life remained unaltered. Days passed much the same in his home with his mother dragging him from event to event and his father always there to cast a stern, though as of late somewhat softened look. Even Anja regarded Rhys with less hostility, though he could not be certain if it was his conversation or merely the lack of Jessa that influenced the change.

Beyond these details, it was his and Dima’s morning sparring that truly made each day feel as though nothing had changed. In the midst of a charged fight, glistening with sweat and taking hard, deep breaths, Rhys was able to forget everything he disliked about Dima. All his annoying habits and disturbing actions melted away until it was just the two of them, facing one another as opponents and brothers.

One morning they dropped their swords, taking to hand-to-hand sparring instead of their usual fencing. Despite Rhys’ training advantage, Dima’s shorter, lighter body moved lithely, and he dodged Rhys’ punches easily. Rhys found himself on the defensive more than he would have liked, and a few of his brother’s well-placed blows were sure to leave sore, angry bruises. As Dima pulled a smug grim after a hit to Rhys’ stomach Rhys used the brief opening to jut out and take a head shot. Unfortunately, Dima was well on his guard and both blocked the hit and stepped into Rhys’ lunge, pressing his hip against Rhys’, kicking out his leg and throwing him to the ground with little effort. Rhys hit the ground with a thud as his breath left his body, his eyes staring blankly up at Dima’s laughing figure above him.

“I don’t think I’ve beat you in ages!” Dima hollered, whooping to himself. Rhys coughed as his breath returned to him, shaking his head in disbelief. He’d become so used to beating Dima in their spars, or at least putting up a considerable fight, that to lose was almost unfathomable.

Dima reached down to pull Rhys back to his feet, his arm shaking as he continued to laugh to himself. “You’re out of practice, Rhys.”

Rhys pursed his lips, the aching in his body letting him know Dima was right. “I’ve been busy with a war,” he muttered, though Dima only scoffed.

“Weren’t you more or less in the army?”

“More or less is the operative phrase,” Rhys corrected. He remembered the long, exhausting runs under the scorching Novarian sun and endless meetings with many nameless faces. After all that there hadn’t been much room for sparring, and Jessa was certainly not much of an opponent. “But I can still whip you in a sword fight.”

Dima chuckled and waved away Rhys’ comment. The brothers moved to the wall, picking up towels and changing back into clean clothes as they chatted aimiable. This was much the same routine that they fell into every morning, but this particular morning Rhys had a question on his mind.

“How well do you know the Lanis twins?”

Maybe Rhys had been expecting more of a reaction, but Dima merely gave the smallest of shrugs, far more interested in lacing up his boots. “I’ve seen them, though I’ve never talked to them. They hang around the poorer parts of the city so we don’t exactly bump into each other very often.”

“But you do know about them?”

“Everyone knows who they are. They’re quite popular.”

“Where are they from?”

“No idea, but they look like northerners to me.”

“What do they do?”

Dima paused his dressing to cast Rhys a quizzical look, only to shake his head and turn back to buttoning his doublet. “Why do you even care? You friends with them now? Anyway, they don’t really do anything. They’re just a group of radicals. Frankly, father thinks they’re just here to divert attention from what’s actually happening, to give the people someone to rally around. They’re quite charismatic, especially the woman.”

“And this doesn’t worry father? That the people should be rallying behind some unknowns?” At first meeting Rhys regarded them as somewhat more prominent figures, and for some time he almost forgot they existed, despite their deal, but after hearing how they’d spoken of him that night on the street Rhys could hardly push them to the side any longer.

“Like I said, they don’t actually do anything, and as long as it stays that way we don’t really care what the people do. Besides, they don’t really say anything against us, just the king. The people know that we’re they’re true sovereign, so why fight against people who seem to just be reinforcing that?”

It was hard to fight with that logic. As the day drew on Dima retreated into the studies to meet with countless people and read increasingly dull documents to tedium. Since Rhys’ stay in Kolonis Dima had taken on his responsibilities, and though he did not have Rhys aptitude for some of the skills it was clear that he thrived off the sheer attention. Each time he was called for by a servant sent from their mother or father his eyes lit up despite his attempts at shrugging the calls off as “nusiances keeping him from more enjoyable tasks.” For the first time in his life he was useful. He was needed. Though Dima’s enthusiasm was infectious, the light in his eyes made Rhys sick with guilt. All these years Rhys and Anja had vied for the attention of their parents while their brother floundered helplessly, the spare child who became more work than he was worth. How they had all misjudged him.

Beyond the guilt he felt over Dima, seeing how efficiently his family worked without his interference felt like a knew knife in the chest every day. Though Dima was slow to learn and slower still to mature he was happy to have a chance at all, and without the incessant rivalry, even Anja retained a cool, collected manner at most times. In fact, she had even held several civil conversations with Rhys without being forced, a feat not to be overlooked. The only one who seemed truly upset was Vyserene, and Rhys knew it was only because she hated to acknowledge the truth before her. With Rhys gone they had fewer troubles. With Rhys showing up to meals and conversing pleasantly with the family yet spending his days in his study or the palace, things ran more smoothly. Rhys laughed to himself, remembering a few words he’d spoken to Tula after his hallucination. I am replaceable. Apparently, he’d spoken more truth than he’d realized. The realization hurt more than he could have imagined, for with it came the acceptance that he’d spent his entire life preparing for and perfecting something he was never intended to do.

Forcing away such thoughts, Rhys shut himself in his study as he did nearly every day. He moved to the small wooden box on his desk, withdrawing the king’s dagger and ring from within as had become habit. Each morning he studied the objects with the highest scrutiny, studied every volume they owned on magical objects, and scoured the library for any information that might lead him to somehow understanding the mystery before him. Each day, just as sure as the last, he failed. It became quickly apparent why it had been so laughably easy to steal such precious objects and documentation that would have been under much heavier protection. The king had no need for security when the objects themselves were mysteries.

Despite having studied the objects a thousand times, Rhys found himself time and time again drawn to the ring’s ornate etching. Deep swirling lines ran through the thick band, almost like overlapping rivers on a map. At first Rhys had thought it was just that, holding the ring against maps of Etrene, Novamor, and Barichea in the hopes of finding an identical pattern to the one found on the ring but with no success. Another time Rhys became convinced that the ring could somehow be opened and its contents would explain it all, but of course after painstaking searching it became clear that the ring had no opening. Now, as Rhys stared down at the ring, he wondered if there was anything special to it at all or if the king had merely been keeping it with the Barichean papers for safekeeping.

A knock on his door withdrew Rhys from his thoughts, alerting him to Dima standing in the doorway, his hand covered in blood. He held up a thick leatherbound book. “I can’t get this stupid thing to work.”

“First off, that is way too much blood. You only need a small cut – are you trying to open a vein?”

Dima grumbled at Rhys’ jab and set the blood book on the table before Rhys, opening it to a marked page smeared with blood. “I tried it but couldn’t get it to work. I haven’t used one in ages and I know mother had you keeping up the book.”

“You don’t put the blood on the page you...ugh, never mind.” Rhys groaned as Dima reached for the book, attempting to smear his bloody hand on the back. Grabbing one finger, Rhys directed Dima’s hand to the book and pressed the bleeding cut to the inside spine, running it from top to bottom. As soon as Dima lifted his hand away the blood on the page disappeared and the letters began to rearrange, creating something readable.

That was when it hit him.

Rhys nearly knocked over his handle in his frenzy as he grabbed for the knife in a frenzy. The objects were not accidentally put together. They were part of a set. Rhys took the ornate dagger in his hand, pressing it carefully against the tip of his finger until he broke the skin, letting the blood run forth. His hands shook as he dropped the dagger and picked up the ring between his fingers and brought it close to his face. Slowly, Rhys pressed his bleeding finger to the ring and watched in pure elation as his blood began to run through the cuts in the ring, making it look as if it was decorated with blood. Dima watched in fascination, asking a thousand questions that Rhys ignored all the same. Rhys could think of nothing but the beating of his own heart and the smile plastered on his face. He’d done it. He’d solved the mystery.

Then Rhys slipped the ring on his finger. The convulsions started almost immediately.

Rhys dropped to the ground, smacking his head hard against the wood floors. He could feel Dima’s hands on him shaking him, he could hear Dima’s voice yelling for him, but all Rhys could think about was the agonizing pain shooting through every nerve in his body. It was as if his very veins were on fire, roasting him alive and working their way out from under his skin. His brain felt as if it was pressing against his skull in a mad attempt to burst. Even his stomach began churning, threatening to expel its contents. Among all the pain Rhys could do nothing but wish for a swift death and hope for some relief.

Rhys continued to writhe on the floor for what felt like an eon until several long, cold fingers slipped the ring off his finger. The effect was instantaneous. Rhys looked around the study in confusion, noticing how Dima watched him with utter horror and even a bit of fascination.

“Ok, what just happened?” Dima demanded, waving the ring in Rhys’ face.

Rhys snatched the ring and slipped it in his pocket. “It’s the blood book! I’ve been looking for an answer all this time and the whole time it was right in front of me.”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Dima, looking more concerned than ever at Rhys’ wild expression. “You were screaming like a madman. What was that?”

Despite Dima’s questions, Rhys could think of only one thing. “It’s just like the blood book, but it doesn’t want my blood. It wants the king’s.”

[Mollianne]

Jessa moved slowly into the room, expecting a guard to burst through the door at any moment. It really had been too easy; someone ought to have seen her. Yet the minutes passed and the room stayed silent. Jessa swallowed and skirted around a large, upholstered armchair before stopping. She surveyed the room. It was a grand entrance. The dark wood walls were decorated with small portraits of Alrick’s ancestors – the ones that weren’t important enough to be showcased in the main galleries on the other side of the castle – which watched her disapprovingly as she looked around. Around the room were old war items, carefully arranged on stands to be both artful and intimidating. Swords, daggers, shields. All covered in dust, displayed purely for decoration. The king may have been with his army now, but there was little chance he was of any use except in welcoming the Baricheans and showing his soldiers that he was among them.

She checked the room quickly, for she doubted the king would hide anything important in the first room, not least because there was not really anywhere to hide it. Aside from the chairs and the stands, there was no other furniture in the room. She pulled a few painting back to see if there were any safes or holes, but soon gave up and went through the door on the far side of the room. Inside, Jessa found another sitting room. This one was cosier and she guessed only those closest to Alrick had ever set foot in it. Without all the faces of du Renes past looking down on her, Jessa felt much more at ease, and began her search, starting with the bookcase in the corner closest to her. She looked for paper slotted between the books that looked most recently touched and regretted that she did not have the time for a more thorough search. She checked all the drawers and under all of the cushions on the chairs before moving to the next room.

Finally, she came to a study. Jessa, feeling a little deflated after finding not a single piece of paper, besides dusty, falling apart books which clearly had not been touched in years, in the rooms she had so far searched, was unconvinced that she would find anything. After all, if Alrick had not hidden secret information in places people would not expect, why would he hide it in a place someone would definitely look? Telling herself to stop being so disheartened – there were still more rooms to check yet – she headed towards the mahogany desk and pulled on the drawers. The first two were locked, and Jessa was loathe to attempt her poor lock-picking skills again. She was surprised when the bottom drawer slid open easily. She held her breath as she looked into the drawer. Lying amidst letter openers and pens was a weathered piece of paper, folded so many times there was barely any room for anything else in the drawer with how thick it was. Strange lines and shapes had been drawn onto the part she could see. Jessa, accepting that it was unlikely to be important if the king had left the drawer unlocked, picked up the paper and moved to the previous room, where she remembered there being a large table.

Jessa unfolded the paper and laid it out. Standing back, she followed the faded lines with her eyes until she recognised exactly what she was looking at. It was a map of the castle. She frowned, stepping closer. After finding her room, Jessa trailed her finger along the paper, following the corridors of the castle. She got as far as the area directly above the council chambers when she paused, leaning closer. There were corridors here that did not exist. She knew that wall, and there was nothing there but stone. The passage was just a wall, as far as she knew. When she looked at the corridor itself, it did not even lead anywhere. There were no rooms off it; it simply came to a dead end. Jessa looked around the rest of the map. There were more of the strange passageways, leading seemingly nowhere and serving no apparent purpose. Some of the passages did not even join the hallways Jessa knew to exist, instead starting part of the way through the wall.

Jessa fished her map of the fourth floor out of her pocket, and turned it over. Grabbing a pen, Jessa made small rough sketches of all of the strange corridors, labelling them with where they were apparently found. This was going to be something she needed to investigate, for there had to be a reason for each of them. She guessed they were shortcuts, and the doors – or other means of entry and exit – had been omitted for some reason. It was likely it was to prevent anyone who happened upon the map being able to find them. The mapmaker clearly had not expected someone like Jessa.

Once she was done, giving another cursory glance over the map, she folded it quickly and returned it to the drawer. Leaning back against the desk, Jessa wondered whether she would find anything else. She looked around the room, then decided that if she did not check she would regret it. The map was certainly a find – and Jessa was confused why Alrick would have left the drawer it was in unlocked when he had all the others – but she would not know whether it was actually useful for some time. And although she was generally a patient person, she could not help but think that she had learnt so little for all the time she had spent in Ovis and for how much danger she was in.

With that, Jessa set about combing through the remaining rooms. When she had only one room left to check, the one she was most hesitant to enter, she had already decided that she would find nothing else. Either the king had locked any important documents away, hidden them more cleverly than she would have thought him capable, or he had taken them south with him.

Jessa sighed and turned the doorknob. She pushed the door open slowly, watching with apprehension as a table came into view, then an armoire, then an elaborate four poster bed over which rich red drapes were hung. Of all the rooms, Alrick’s bedroom had been the one she had hoped not to enter. She could not really say why, except for the fact that even if Alrick invited her to his private quarters, the one room she would never have admittance – nor would ever want to – was this room. However, Jessa forced her discomfort from her mind. She was just a spy with no connection to the king, she told herself as she stepped into the room, and in any case this was foolish.

She closed the door, and her eye was drawn by a little red satin box on the sideboard tucked into the corner of the room. Her breath stuttered, and Jessa walked towards it with a lump in her throat. Swallowing hard, Jessa reached out and stroked her finger along the top of the box. She sat down heavily on the chair next to her, debating whether she should see if it was unlocked. After all, she was almost certain she knew what she would find within it, and did not know if she dared.

It had not been until that moment that Jessa realised one of the main reasons she had not wanted to look through Alrick’s bedroom. If there was anywhere she would find some memory of her mother, it would be in this room. She picked up the box, identical to the one she had taken everywhere with her since her mother had given it to her, and found it locked. Part of her was thankful. The other part of her knew she could not turn away now. If there was something of her mother’s in there, Jessa just could not leave without seeing it.

She got out her lock picks. She smiled a little, remembering that it was with the partner of this box that she had first attempted lock picking. Her smile faded as she recollected how she had deceived Freya, and later Rhys, in that endeavour. With a heaving sigh, Jessa set to work on the box. The lock was a simple one. Nevertheless, it took Jessa longer than it ought to break into it.

Inside, she found a stack of letters, a ring she had never before seen but looked similar to the one in the red satin box in her trunk, a pressed flower, and a small painting of… Jessa swallowed. She was in the painting. There was a younger Alrick, a younger Emara, and Jessa as a baby in her mother’s arms. Her parents were smiling, looking like – a normal family. Staring at that painting, Jessa could not help but think what her life could have been if her father had been a normal man instead of a prince turned king. She had tried to think about it only a little in her life, since it was a pipe dream. Staring at the painting in her hands only made it feel like it could have been possible.

Jessa carefully replaced it in the box and refused to look at it, ignoring the tears rolling down her cheeks. She could not help but wonder why Alrick had kept such a thing. She would have understood if it had been a miniature of Emara, but that she was also included… When had they even had such a thing made? The Alrick who had left her alone all her life would never have commissioned someone to paint something that so obviously depicted them as a family, including someone for which he only felt shame.

She told herself to stop thinking about it. She would likely never know the reasons why. Instead of thinking about it, she picked up the letters. Her heart lurched upon seeing the achingly familiar scribble that was her mother’s handwriting. She traced the uneven lettering, recalling her mother as she wrote, so very awkwardly, so very painstakingly, at the desk in their room. She had held her pen too tightly, and always got frustrated at the results. That she had written so many letters to Alrick despite all of that, clearly said something. There had to be at least thirty from each of them. Jessa wondered how Alrick had his own letters, but supposed he had retrieved them upon Emara’s death. She swallowed.

Jessa warred with herself, wanting to read the letters but also wanting to respect their privacy. She also had no idea what she might find, and the idea of reading something sent privately between two lovers – her parents, no less – was more than a little off-putting. But these words were her mother’s, and she had not heard her voice, even in written form, for twenty years.

Her decision was soon made for her. She heard a sound, a door opening, coming from somewhere else in Alrick’s quarters. Jessa’s heart raced, and she frantically returned everything to the box. She had no time to lock it, and would just have to hope the king thought he had forgotten. Jessa flew to her feet, and then realised that, if she could hear someone else, they would be able to hear her, too. She ran to the door silently, wondering if Alrick had returned unexpectedly. He was not meant to be back for a couple of days, at least. It could not be him, surely. But who else could it be?

She listened carefully, trying to figure out where the other person was. Eventually, she heard the sound of a drawer sliding open. After a moment, she realised it had come from the study, which was directly behind the wall. The bedroom was thankfully long enough that the door did not open out onto that room, otherwise Jessa would be in trouble. She was also grateful that there were multiple ways of returning to the entrance room. It would be relatively easy to get out without being seen.

But there was someone else here. And unless it was Alrick, or the person had a key or lock picks, they had just picked up the map Jessa had found. Not only that, they had headed straight for it. They had known it would be there… Maybe they had already found it before. If it was another spy, it would explain why that particular drawer had been left open where the others had been locked. Who else was spying on Alrick? And why?

Knowing she would probably regret it, Jessa edged out of Alrick’s bedroom, closing the door as quietly as she could and checking her spells from earlier were still in place. She peered into the study, but there was no one inside. They would be in the room with the large table, as Jessa had done. Taking in a deep breath, Jessa darted inside the study and to the door. She peeked around the doorframe, keeping low to the ground. The door partially blocked the intruder, so all she saw was a dark cloak and a pale hand.

The person moved, and Jessa panicked. Glimpsing only a lock of dark brown hair which had fallen free of the cloak, she ran out of the room and did not stop until she had reached the entrance hall. No one followed her, so she could only assume that they had not heard her. Still in a panic, she struggled to get her map of the fourth floor from her pocket. With shaking hands, she checked the guards movements and, after working out how long she had spent in the room, determined that it was safe to leave.

She slipped through the door. The guard beside it was still asleep, and in his hands were some coins which had not been there before. So, the guards had been paid to allow the intruder inside… So much for castle security. Jessa allowed herself a brief moment to wonder why the spy had not considered that someone else was in the room given the guard’s state. She guessed that, whoever it was, they were either inexperienced, or thought that the guard had decided to take ‘turning a blind eye’ rather seriously – perhaps both.

Either way, Jessa did not continue to question it. Whoever it was could hardly tell anyone that someone else had been there without giving away their crime. And they had not seen her, as far as she knew. She continued to reassure herself as she made her way out of the fourth floor in the same way as she entered. After a few close calls, she was in the stairwell. Mindful that she needed to make sure she was not seen anywhere near this place, in case anyone discovered that someone had been in the king’s room, she sidled down the stairs and peered around the corner. There was no one looking, but there were a few people at either end of the corridor. Her spell would protect her as long as they did not look, so she darted across the hallway into the dark corridor directly opposite. From there, she was fine, and Jessa breathed a sigh of relief.

Straightening her shoulders, she walked purposefully out of the darkness – clearly no one had reached that side corridor yet to light it – and went in the opposite direction to the servants carrying trays to their mistresses and masters. When she was closer to the servants’ quarters, one of them called to her. It was the seamstress. “Your dress for the Janes’ ball is ready whenever you want it, my lady,” she said.

Jessa had forgotten about that. She called her affirmation, then returned to her room in even duller spirits than before. The much-anticipated Janes’ ball was finally upon them, and Jessa was not the least bit excited for it.

[Rosabeth]

“Are you sure that’s what it is?”

Alrick’s dagger, it’s blade glimmering faintly in the sunlight, passed between hands over and over until everyone knew its weight in one’s hand, the exact sharpness of its point, and the design of the hilt. Anja held it comfortably, gripping it in her palm like a fighter rather than an appraiser. She slipped the ring from Dima’s hand, despite his protests, and held it up next to the dagger while squinting her eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Rhys sighed. He’d not been keen on the idea of telling the rest of his family about any of the items he’d stolen from the camp, but Dima hadn’t given him mother with the knife in hand, explaining it all, and next thing Rhys knew they were staging some sort of intervention. Once it’d been established that Rhys was not seriously hurt – Vyserene a bit too calmly brushing off Erik’s suggestion that they call for a healer, looking to Rhys out of the corner of her eye – the items in question became the center of interest. Now his entire family sat around a circular table in the library, passing the items back and forth and endlessly barraging Rhys with a series of questions that did nothing but waste time.

“Why would a blood book need a special knife? Or a ring? I don’t get it.” Anja passed the items to her left to their father, giving the dagger a fond glance as she let it slip from her fingers.

“The maker chooses the rules,” said Erik. He slipped the ring on his finger and admired it in the light. “It’s just security measures. Requiring the user to both be wearing the ring and draw the blood with the knife makes it much harder than if all you needed were the documents. Besides, the ring is the holder. If you don’t have a proper book binding you need somewhere to store the blood.”

“Then why is it called a blood ‘book?’”

“It’s just a name.”

“Well it’s a stupid one.”

“That’s not really the point,” Rhys griped. He ran his hands through his hair. This was precisely the reason he’d, to this point, worked alone. The semantics were enough to drive him to insanity.

Anja and Dima bickered pointlessly over blood magic theory as Erik passed the items onto Vyserene who’d been silently poring over the documents all throughout her childrens’ squabbles. Though his siblings were paying no attention to anyone but themselves, Rhys watched his mother in awed silence as she picked up the dagger and pricked her own finger. As the blood began to flow she smeared the droplets into the ring, sucking gently on her finger to stop the flow. Rhys began to protest, to remind her of what had happened to him less than an hour before, but she put up a hand to stop him. Instead of slipping the ring on her finger as had Rhys, she set it in the middle of the table, watching it intently. Rhys leaned closer, trying to get a better look. At first it looked as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but then slowly, so subtly that he might have missed it, the golden embossing began to shift. It changed pattern, the curls furling and unfurling into patterns that were both similar yet wrong. Then, slowly reaching out a finger, Rhys’ mother touched the ring.

“Gah!” She pulled back her finger as if she’d been burned, her eyes flickering to Rhys’. “Did that happen to you?”

“No, but I didn’t wait so long before putting it on. I never saw the pattern change.”

“You touch it. See if it does the same to you.”

Rhys complied, though without any enthusiasm. The moment his skin touched the ring he recoiled in pain. It was not so much a burning sensation rather than a shocking one, a jolt running all through his body and clutching at his heart. Whoever made the ring had definitely not wanted any unauthorized person to use it.

“It obviously doesn’t like our blood. I don’t know why we’re talking as if there’s more than one possibility. This is just a waste of time.” Rhys jabbed at the ring with a pen, secretly wishing it were possible to cause an inanimate object pain.

“Not necessarily.”

Rhys snapped his head up, cocking an eyebrow at his father. “Oh, really?”

“Our blood book will accept a blood payment of anyone in our bloodline. It might be the same for this.”

Rhys stared blankly at his father, the pieces clicking in my mind far too slowly. “Jessa.” His father nodded. “If this will take Jessa’s blood-“

“-then you need to send this to her and have her send you back her blood.”

“Preferably by the bucketful,” Anja muttered under her breath. Rhys didn’t skip a beat with his glare, looking for a book or something hard to throw, but his mother placed her hands on top of his with a small shake of her head.

“What if her blood doesn’t work? What if Alrick’s enchanted it so only his blood will work?”

Erik’s composure was at times a bit too relaxed for the situation, and this was one of those times. His face remained perfectly neutral as he gave the smallest of shrugs, pressing the ring across the table towards Rhys. “She lives in the castle. I’m sure she can figure something out.”

***

It was clear from the shoddy craftsmanship of the tents and the off-putting smell of burning meat wafting over from the fires that the wealthy were not used to manual labor. Rhys dipped a large brush into a bowl of indigo ink, making long, slow strokes on the cloth banner lying on the ground. Victor and Ero stood off to his left where a small group was helping construct a dais in the center of the square. Given that Victor did not seem particularly confident when it came to proper hammer and nail technique, Rhys wasn’t entirely sure the structure was stable. Since no one seemed to be willing to walk across the platform, he wasn’t the only one with those doubts.

“Your F is crooked.”

Freya grinned down at Rhys, standing above him looking down over the banner with a satisfied look on her face. She placed her hands behind her back, slowly taking a turn about the banner. “Your calligraphy is good but your angle is off. You should probably just start over. This is why we can’t trust your kind to do any good work.”

Rhys flicked the ink at Freya but she jumped out of the way too quickly with a small scream. She stuck out her tongue like a child. So did Rhys.

“I don’t get why you don’t have to do this too. You have servants.”

“Yes, but I’m not a noble, am I?” Freya smirked at Rhys’ eyeroll. “Hey, I didn’t make the rules. The festival has been a long-standing tradition. If anyone’s to blame it’s your family. Your ancestors were the ones who started the whole thing. A festival for the working class to celebrate the end of winter. A day for the servants to rest and the nobility to find out what it means to actually have a job.”

“I have a job,” Rhys corrected.

“Being disgustingly rich is not a job.”

“You say potato…”

Freya shook her head with a sly smile and meandered off, undoubtedly catching Ero’s eye. As Rhys turned back to his work a figure moved in his vision. He glanced up, only to find Laurita standing directly beside him.

“Rhys, we need to talk.”

A few bystanders watched the two carefully, a small grouping of boys glaring at Laurita from across the way. Despite the city’s certain acceptance of the occupation, Novarians rarely garnered any positive attention. Rhys wiped off his hands and stood up, glancing briefly at the onlookers before nodding towards an empty street off the square. Laurita followed silently. Once in secluded privacy Rhys relaxed, but it was clear Laurita did not.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m leaving.”

Silence fell. Laurita pursed her lips, looking off towards the crowd in the square. No matter how Rhys tried to capture her attention Laurita couldn’t seem to hold his gaze, her eyes flickering to the ground.

“Where…where are you going to go?”

“North.”

“Laurita, I know you want to find Odaren. Really, I get it. But north isn’t –“

“The queen offered me a position in her army. I accepted.”

Rhys knew what she’d said. He’d heard every word. Still, as he stared blankly at Laurita’s stony expression, her hard eyes and newfound determination, her gaze now firmly locked on him, he could hardly believe what he was hearing. Of all people he suspected would join an army, Laurita certainly would not have been at the top of the list.

“My father’s already out there fighting and for all I know he could be dead. I know that, even if I don’t want to think about it. And Odaren. Oddie… he’s not coming back. Not any time soon. I feel like such a fool, Rhys. I’ve been siting here pining over Oddie, so set on finding him that I’ve lost touch with reality. It’s been weeks, months, and I haven’t heard a word. Wherever he is he’s not here. It’s time I stopped looking and wishing and did something. My entire family could be dead right now. Gods, I hope it’s not true, but if it is…well, I can’t just sit here. I have to do something. Her Majesty heard about my powers and wanted to see a demonstration. When I showed her what I could do, transforming myself into Jessa’s image, she said she’d never seen another mage like me. She asked me to go north with her army, to join her intelligence unit.”

“A spy,” Rhys murmured.

“Exactly. Well, I won’t be the spy, I’ll just be using my powers on the spies.” A small pause followed. “We leave tomorrow – all of us. Even the queen, though she’s going back to Kolonis.”

“Will you be going to Ovis?”

Laurita squirmed, swallowing hard. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Well…if you do…say hello to Jessa for me. And give Alrick hell.”
Much to his pleasure Laurita laughed, practically choking on the sound. She pressed the back of her hand to her lips, shaking her head. Her eyes were glassy and red, and as she began to tremble Rhys realized she was crying. Rhys opened his arms and Laurita wrapped herself in them, gripping him tightly as she half laughed and half cried into his chest. With what Rhys knew was a laugh – albeit shaky – Laurita pulled away and wiped at her eyes, forcing a wide smile.

“What would Oddie say if he saw me. He’d probably tell me to pull it together.”

“Nah,” Rhys shook his head, putting one arm around Laurita’s shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “He’d be proud of you.” Laurita gave a small smile. “I suppose this means you won’t be helping me test my magic resistance?”

Laurita sighed, “Were you ever really going to tell Jessa?” Rhys silence answered for both of them. “It’s ok. I get it, really. Just…just do me a favor. Tell her before it’s too late. Tell her before something really goes wrong, alright?” Rhys nodded feebly and Laurita gave him one last squeeze, patting his arm as she stepped away.

“Am I going to see you again?” Rhys asked. He knew the moment he opened his lips that the question was fruitless. None of them knew if they would make it to the next day. But much in Laurita fashion, Laurita mustered her best grin and nodded with all the conviction she could muster.

“Of course. And the next time we meet I will have a fabulously attractive soldier on my arm. I, of course, will be the one with the war medals, though.”

Rhys chuckled, though the sound was hollow to his ears. “Of course.”

Giving Rhys the smallest of salutes, Laurita turned her back, slipped into the square, and disappeared for what Rhys sincerely hoped would not be the last time.

[Mollianne]

“Mother and Elissa have gone ahead,” Maira said in greeting to Jessa. Jessa had been waiting at the foot of the castle steps, thinking exactly that – that the family had already left to prevent Jessa attending. That Maira had not joined them was not wholly unsurprising, though. The princess would want to talk to Jessa about the Janes, she was sure. Malcolm Janes was, after all, one of the only known conspirators in whatever was afoot in Ovis. “Our carriage should be here soon.”

The girls waited in silence, neither knowing what to say to the other nor particularly wishing to do so. They had formed an uneasy truce since Jessa had returned, but they would never become good friends. Jessa shivered and wrapped her gloved hands around herself. It had been threatening to snow all day. After what felt like an age, while the servants behind them lit the castle lamps lining the paths, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of them. The footman helped Maira inside and then Jessa. It arrived just in time, too, for as soon as the carriage door closed small snowflakes drifted down to the ground.

They left the castle gates and joined the line of coaches leading towards the Janes’ manor. Anyone who was anyone had been invited to the ball, and no one wanted to miss the occasion. Looking out of the window at the falling snow and rubbing her arms to keep warm, Jessa wished they had either decided to arrive early or late – they would not be stuck in such a congested street, freezing cold, if they had.

“Well, while we’ve a few minutes of quiet,” Maira said, turning her face away from the darkened street to face Jessa. Jessa glanced over her shoulder and waited for the princess to continue. “Tonight is going to be very important for us. Every member of the Janes family is going to be here, as well as all of their friends. Even if Malcolm and his friends aren’t planning any illicit activities tonight, or even meeting to discuss such things, it’s likely the people who are friendlier with each other – or the people most fervently avoiding each other for no apparent reason, perhaps – are the ones who are involved. I want you to watch the Janes.”

“Your Highness, I really don’t think any of them but Malcolm are involved. Larend and his sisters talk to their uncle, of course, but not much. They’re certainly not close.”

“I’m not only talking about his nephews and nieces, however. I don’t believe you’ve met Lord and Lady Janes, have you? Larend’s parents,” Maira said. “Lady Magrethe and Lord Graeme don’t interact much in public except at their own balls, and ours. It is them I need to know about, more than anything. They might have counselled their children to take care around their uncle to remove suspicion upon themselves.”

“Then don’t you think they’d take care to keep their distance from Malcolm as well?” Jessa asked. Maira nodded her head, conceding to the point.

“True. Still, there may be acquaintances common to both Malcolm and his brother, or Malcolm and Magrethe. Just keep an eye on them, and don’t be fooled if they don’t talk to each other directly.”

Jessa nodded and turned back to the window. Maira did the same, and they remained like that until the carriage finally arrived at the steps of the Janes’ manor. Their footman opened the door onto the cobblestones and helped the girls out. They ducked their heads against the snow and ran up the steps to the open doorway. A frigid breeze blew into the entrance hall, which was empty save for the guests hurrying over to the ballroom doors. Jessa and Maira followed suit, where they waited to be announced to the room. Their coats were taken from them just before they passed through the door.

“Your dress is lovely,” Maira commented lightly as they walked into the room.

Jessa smiled and tried not to roll her eyes; Maira had had the dress made for her, after all. “You would know.” She glanced at Maira. She wore a beautiful lace dress, the colour of the freshly fallen snow outside, which hugged her body and then fanned out over her legs. “You look very beautiful, too.”

“Of course I do,” Maira said with a wink. She touched her hair, an elegant bun decorated with white drops, checking that it was still in place. Spotting her friends, she said to Jessa, “Enjoy your evening.”

Jessa looked around the room, seeing everyone standing in circles with friends or family. Standing there on her own, she was hit by a wave of loneliness. She wished she could be there with Rhys on her arm, letting people see the truth instead of the lies she had fed them. It did not matter to her that most of the people in the room probably paid very little mind to Jessa’s life, for it mattered to Jessa what people thought of Rhys. It hurt more than she could say that she had added to Rhys’ bad reputation in Ovis. She hated more that she was not with him then.

She sighed gustily, just as Larend came over to her with a smile, wearing navy blue which only reminded her even more of Rhys. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and fought the desire to run. This was foolishness; she had no idea their separation was affecting her so hard in that moment, for nothing extraordinary had happened, and Jessa had already resigned herself to the distance between them.

“Jessa?” Larend said, his smile becoming a frown. “Are you-”

“Yes, of course,” she said, pasting a smile on her face and trying to push the thoughts of Rhys away. It was a futile effort, for the more she tried the harder it became. The musicians had set themselves up on the balcony at the far end of the ballroom and were ready to play, which only reminded Jessa of the last ball she and Rhys had attended. Stop it, she told herself firmly.

“I’d like to introduce you to my mother and father,” Larend was saying, his words almost a question in his uncertainty about Jessa’s state of mind. She nodded, glad of something to distract her.

“And I’d like to meet them,” she replied, taking Larend’s arm and letting him guide her around the edge of the room to where a man and a woman were stood surrounded by guests. They were graciously accepting the attention, thanking the guests for accepting their invitations and exchanging niceties. The woman looked pale and drawn, only exacerbated by the lightest blonde hair Jessa had ever seen, but she stood with a smile and listened intently to the couple in front of her. The man, tall and broad, had an arm around his wife, and checked on her often as he talked jovially to his companions.

Larend skirted around the crowd, pulling Jessa along with him until they were at the front of the group. His parents looked at her, and Jessa hastened into a curtsey. Larend said, “Mother, father. I’d like you to meet Princess Jessa du Rene. Jessa, this is my mother, Lady Magrethe Janes, and my father, Lord Graeme Janes.”

“Ah, Princess Jessa. We have heard much of you,” Lord Graeme said, bowing grandly and taking her hand. Jessa tried not to appear embarrassed at the admission that the family had actually discussed her. Graeme seemed to notice and laughed good-naturedly. Somehow, despite the fact that he was essentially laughing at her, it put her at ease. “There’s no need to be shy about it.”

“Truly, it is good to finally meet you. Other people’s accounts can often be unreliable,” Lady Magrethe added. She smiled then, and added, “Of course, I think I will find what is said of you to be perfectly true.”

She lifted her hand to fiddle with her pendant as she spoke. Jessa watched as it shook slightly and wondered if the lady had recently been taken ill. It would account for her pale appearance, the quiet and slow voice, and the apparent frailty Jessa could see in her. However, she refrained from enquiring.

“I am sure nothing I have heard of either of you will be proven false, either. I, perhaps, have the advantage of knowing your children before now. They have welcomed and included me, and I can only assume they learned that from their parents,” Jessa said. She felt a little awkward. It was bad enough trying not to offend the nobles her age, but it was an entirely different matter when it came to two people who scarcely attended functions save their own. Throughout the conversation, short though it was, Jessa was careful but overly formal. Thankfully, they seemed to take it in their stride, and if Lady Magrethe was a little reserved then Jessa chalked it up to her apparent illness.

Her instincts were proven right when Larend asked her to dance. “Is your mother okay?” she asked when they were positioned and ready to begin. The music started before Larend answered.

“She’s been ill these past few weeks. We weren’t even sure she should attend tonight, but she insisted,” Larend said, clasping Jessa’s hand as they moved through the steps of the dance. “I suppose you noticed-”

“I didn’t mean...” Jessa said hastily, but Larend shook his head.

“No, it’s better for you to know that she isn’t usually so distant with people. Of course, I’m pretty sure you know my mother is one of the ones pushing for Elissa and me to marry. Perhaps that also affected her.”

Jessa was not entirely sure what Larend meant by that. “Your mother is worried you’ll fall in love with every girl you talk to, then?.” Jessa lowered her voice as she continued with a smile. “I suppose anyone is better than Elissa.”

“True enough,” Larend said, but there was an odd look on his face that Jessa could not decipher. However, she did not question it. She was unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

The music finished with a flourish, and Larend led her to the edge of the dance floor before leaving to see his other guests. Jessa lingered on the fringes for a while, and decided to take the time to watch the various members of the Janes family. Lady Magrethe had returned to her husband’s side during the dance, and was talking to guests in the same fatigued manner she had spoken to Jessa. She tried to remember all the faces of the people with which the hosts conversed, but there were so many and Jessa lost track quickly. The rest of the family was harder to find. She eventually spotted Helene on the dance floor, presumably with her fiancé, and a little later on her sister Charine stood up with a man Jessa did not know. Soon after she spied Larend with his friends beside the buffet table, and whenever she looked his way they were still there and did not seem to have spoken to anyone else. It was unlikely there were any envoys between any of the children and their uncle.

As for Malcolm, she still had not found him. If he was there at all – and Jessa was beginning to doubt it – he was keeping very well hidden.

“Princess Jessa?” The words, spoken slowly and uncertainly, were heavily accented. Jessa turned to see Lord Khalid in front of her. They had met only briefly at Arrowbridge, largely because the Barichean lord had acquired a gaggle of hangers-on when he had arrived at the manor. Everyone had been obsessed by him, either for his handsome features that were so unlike the typical Ovisian face, what with his pale face and light brown, wide set eyes, or simply for the fact that he was someone new from a foreign country so unlike Ovis in both terrain, weather and lifestyle. Others still were attracted to Lord Khalid for his relationship to the Barichean queen.

Jessa, meanwhile, had only been concerned with how his arrival and the Barichean troop movement were connected, and why the queen would have sent Khalid to her allies in Ovis. She had come to the conclusion that it was mere coincidence, or that Khalid arriving allowed for some of the soldiers to enter the country unnoticed to the Novarians as part of his private guard.

“Yes,” she said, offering her hand upwards in the typical Barichean greeting. Khalid looked momentarily surprised that she knew it, before placing his hand on top of hers and speaking the Barichean greeting. Jessa mimicked his words; she could not read Barichean too well because of the different lettering, but she could speak it to a reasonably, if stuttering, extent. In any case, Khalid seemed pleased at her effort. “I hope you are enjoying your stay in Ovis, my lord.”

“Yes, I am. They at the castle are very welcoming.” Jessa could not help but notice that his gaze slid to Maira, who happened to be nearby, as he spoke. Jessa raised her eyebrows but said nothing. “Princess, would you like to dance?”

She could hardly say no. Her reason for being allowed at the ball may have been to keep an eye on the Janes, but it would look suspicious if she danced only once the entire night. She agreed and walked onto the floor with Khalid. When the music started, Khalid looked worried. “I am sorry. I don’t know the steps.”

Jessa smiled encouragingly and took his hands. “If you can keep a secret, my lord, neither do I. We can muddle through it together.”

And so they did. They looked to the other dancers and fudged their way through the various steps. They frequently lost their place and were drawing attention for their ineptitude. Khalid did not seem bothered by the gazes upon them, and even made more mistakes for their amusement. Jessa wished she could be so easy, but she was loathe to make errors so publicly. Not only did she dislike it in general, but too many wrong moves and this society was sure to shun her. She was already at a disadvantage from her background and her previous unwillingness to engage in court.

When the dance was partway through, Khalid leaned in with a grin on his face and whispered, “Laugh, Princess. Our version of this dance is far superior to those boring steps.”

His words did draw out a laugh in her, and by the end of the dance, they were both smiling. Jessa did not let herself look at the crowds, deciding that she did not care what they thought. It was one of the few times she had actually enjoyed herself since leaving Jasrah. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. I cannot say I don’t have an ulterior motive, however,” he said. Jessa raised her eyebrows, wondering what he would say. Khalid smiled. “I am very determined to gain the approval of Princess Maira’s sisters. I hope I have won yours.”

Jessa was too surprised to actually be counted as one of Maira’s sisters to do anything but nod and watch as Khalid walked away. Clearly he did not know the true circumstances of Jessa’s birth. She was sure, once he had been informed, that he would not approach her again. Shaking her head, Jessa turned back to the room, finding each of the Janes again even though she suspected it was useless.

This time, however, she found Malcolm as well. He stood with his brother and sister-in-law. They were talking rarely, all facing the dance floor as an excuse. It was clear there was some kind of tension between the hosts and Malcolm. As she watched, Malcolm said something to his brother. Graeme rolled his eyes and, after a moment’s pause, Malcolm stalked away in anger. She watched him weave through the crowds, reach the door into the entrance hall. His coat was in his hands in a matter of seconds and he was gone. No one followed him out.

Anything could be misconstrued, especially when one had not actually heard the conversation, but that, together with the aloofness with which Larend and his sisters treated their uncle, gave Jessa more than impression that Malcolm was not well liked in the family. She doubted any of the other Janes were actually involved in his schemes, and planned to tell Maira when she next saw her.

Given that Malcolm had left, Jessa’s task had come to its end – not that it had really begun. Instead of standing alone, she began wandering around the hall. She stopped briefly with Larend’s friends. They were holding back their laughter as Larend tried unsuccessfully to dissuade Elissa, who had apparently been sent by her mother, from dancing. Presently, Larend looked extremely uncomfortable dancing with the princess, while Elissa was doing everything she could to win him over. Jessa had to agree with the others that the result was hilarious.

After a couple of dances, during one of which the friends teased Larend mercilessly before he was pulled out by Elissa again, Jessa left to continue her rounds. As she watched the room, she saw two familiar women go out through a side door nearby. They were the women who had caught her in the library in Arrowbridge – women she knew by sight, though not name, to be associated with Malcolm and whatever they were planning. Unable to pass up such an opportunity, Jessa followed them.

When the door was behind her, she placed upon herself the spell that would prevent them from noticing her. Then, she tiptoed down the corridor until she heard voices coming from a closed room. The spell would not protect her if they saw her, so she stayed outside and listened. What she heard was brief and segmented, but it was enough.

“-can’t be trusted-”

“In a few days-”

“-a trap-”

“-he’ll never see coming.”

Jessa swallowed, and though she wanted to wait around for more, she did not dare. She rushed back into the ballroom, taking care to enter the room itself quietly before releasing the spell and mixing in with the crowd. As she did so, her mind raced. Whatever they were planning to do to Alrick, they were going to spring their trap soon. She doubted it would be pleasant for him. And Jessa was torn. She could either warn him of the trap and allow him to continue ruling until Jessa and Rhys’ plan came to fruition. Or, she could let this group of people – run by someone who could easily be as bad as Alrick – ruin him and do Jessa’s job for her. She did not know what to do.

[Rosabeth]

In the morning Rhys watched Tula’s ship disappear around the coast. Once he’d been the one to venture out, saddled with far more responsibility than he should really be trusted with, but in the few weeks with the queen he’d become so accustomed to her and her advisors’ support that he now felt far most lost than ever before. As the day carried on Rhys began to notice changes throughout Jasrah in response to the queen’s departure. Word spread fast, and by midday Rhys did not think he was imagining the calm that fell like a blanket. Though the soldiers still kept their posts even they relaxed their postures and took to their duties with less rush than one might expect. Over the many weeks of the Novarian occupation the tensions between the Etrenians and the army had ultimately reduced to nothing more than a low simmer. Civilians largely ignored the army, and in turn the army turned a blind eye. A sort of easy relationship even developed, as Rhys had overheard more than one inside deal between a soldier and a trader, all of which Rhys suspected were treasonous.

Despite the calm, Rhys could not help but feel that he was simply missing the larger picture. The Lanis twins had been strangely absent from society, but more importantly so had many others. Nights in the tavern were oddly quiet, and the streets somehow seemed less crowded. Most likely Rhys was simply paranoid – he certainly felt it. In a city of Jasrah’s size even the absence of a few thousand would only slightly be noticed, and anything less would be no more than a blip. Still, he could not shake the feeling, and that was what concerned him.

All day the nobles, or those commoners they hired under the table, worked tirelessly on the festival’s arrangements, and by night the city square, as well as dozens of winding streets and smaller plaza’s, were alight with strings of lanterns and bonfires. Stages were arranged strategically along the edges of the square but for one large platform in the center. Each held various acts, from acrobats to musicians to dancers, all vying for the attention of the people. The smell of freshly baked rolls, smoked meats, and sweets hung in the air, and the sight of food everywhere had Rhys’ empty stomach growling. Though present, Rhys was not allowed to wander and partake, nor had he ever been. Despite the whole intention of the festival being a celebration of the common man, a toast to the year of farming ahead as the winter comes to a close, his family had found a way to weasel their way into it all. Each year the Marinons sat upon what could only be described as thrones on the central dais, and below them the people lined up. It was much like having an audience at court. The people asked the Marinons for favors, for money and food, and occasionally for pardon from some crime. Though Rhys’ father had the final say on every matter, his family ruled fairly equally, taking turns addressing the concerns and deciding on the matters. It was well known that the Marinons were the king’s of the south, but it was this day that showed just how true that was. Rhys could only imagine what the king would think of their display. He smirked just at the thought.

As he listened to the droning of the people’s concerns Rhys put his hand to his chest, feeling the metal against his chest, concealed by his shirt. With Laurita gone and no other mages he anywhere near trusted enough to practice their magic on him, he’d decided upon the next logical solution – the blood amulet. He’d used it dozens of times over the years without any side effects, but never had he worn it for more than a few hours at a time. This time he did not plan on taking it off until…well, he’d wait and see what happened to decide.

Rhys dropped his hand and sat a little straighter as a small group of merchants crowded on the dais before Anja, relating some longwinded story about stolen goods and reimbursement. They did not seem particularly pleased with their luck, forced to plead with Anja, but to no one’s surprise their eyes widened in surprise the moment she opened her mouth. With a brilliant smile Anja graciously refused their gift, as was customary, and even reached out to take each merchant’s hand in turn. Her voice was soothing, almost ethereal, but there was nothing natural about it. Anja’s words and voice were carefully practiced, her entire nature a mask she took on and off at will. The merchants continued to stare in awe, entranced by her commanding presence yet soothing words. Rhys choked on his own laughter. All heads snapped to him.

“Sorry,” he coughed, hiding his smile with his hand, “something was caught in my throat.” The merchants turned back to Anja, but Rhys’ mother stared him down with an arched brown, sighing and shaking her head as she turned away.

Anja’s pageantry of benevolence and civility dragged on with only Dima’s carefully concealed sideways looks keeping Rhys from falling asleep completely. Rhys felt himself beginning to doze, his eyes flickering shut, when someone before him coughed. As his head shot up he found himself looking into a set of unmistakable eyes.

“Lord Rhys,” Johannes began. He genuflected at Rhys’ feet. The moment paused as Johannes kneeled frozen, all eyes on Rhys waiting for him to gesture the man up. He did not. Rhys stared unflinchingly at Johannes, folding his hands in his lap. Johannes looked up hesitantly, but his eyes showed no confusion or fear. He stared up at Rhys, waiting. The onlookers began to titter in anticipation, and even Rhys’ mother and father began speaking in low, hushed tones. It was like watching a game of cat and mouse unfold before their eyes. If Johannes stood before Rhys commanded, it was an insult to the nobility. If Rhys were to allow him to stand after such a long period kneeling it would be embarrassing on Johannes’ behalf. Neither made a move.

“What are you doing?” Anja hissed under her breath. Rhys subtly raised his hand to her, never breaking eye contact with Johannes. She quieted and sat back in her chair, but Rhys could feel the eyes of all watching him with wonder. After what felt like ages Johannes straightened his back, looking straight at Rhys, and ever so slowly rose to his feet. The crowd began to whisper once more. Johannes stood several inches above Rhys while standing, matching if not surpassing Victor’s great height, and with Rhys sitting he towered. Seeing this, he took a small, subtle step back onto the steep step below, bringing himself even with Rhys. Rhys had to hand it to him, he knew how to play the game.

“What can I do for you today, Johannes? I’m sure you’re aware that our services extend only to Jasrans, so if it’s money or retribution you’re looking for…”

“Nothing like that. Actually, I just wanted to speak with you.”

Rhys smiled weakly. “You may proceed.”

“I think we got off to a rough start. Things seemed like they might work out so well, that we might become great allies, yet…”

Rhys tried to stay composed but could not keep his eyes from darting side to side. For Johannes to speak so openly – if still somewhat cryptically – was an unbelievable risk, yet no one seemed to find it as strange as Rhys. His family remained motionless, staring at Rhys and Johannes with interest but showing no signs of surprise or alarm. Oddly enough, neither did the other commoners. In fact, it seemed like no one else at all had even heard Johannes’ words. Johannes smiled, clasping his hands as he patiently awaited Rhys’ response.

“Johannes, I’m here on business terms only. If you want to –“

“Come, come, you can take a break from all this pomp. Trust me, they won’t mind.” He gestured to Rhys’ parents, both of which had not changed their expressions, except that they now looked slightly bored. That’s when the truth hit Rhys.

“What have you done to them?” He demanded, jumping from his seat and lunging at Johannes. The man put up a hand, shaking his head and clucking his tongue.

“Now, now, just because they can’t hear us doesn’t mean they can’t see us. You’re making a scene.”

Rhys looked around himself realizing that he had indeed caused quite a stir. Those in line backed away with a start, and Rhys’ father was half out of his seat as his mother gave him a sharp look of warning. Rhys shot a glare at Johannes but relented, warily taking his seat. Using magic was a dirty trick. Doing it in the public eye was even more dangerous.

“How are you doing this? Who’s working for you?”

“Someone we met along the way. They’re quite talented,” Johannes said with a shrug. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that your family is currently overhearing a very mundane conversation about the state of Jasrah’s roads. So long as you don’t make another scene we’ll keep it that way.”

An uncomfortable silence fell as Rhys contemplated Johannes’ words. Unless the man was an uncommonly good actor, he certainly didn’t know that Rhys had overheard his and his sister’s conversation the other night. Rhys had a feeling that if he had they would be having a very different conversation. Miriyam had told her brother to make a more “concerted effort” on Rhys’ behalf, but if this was that effort Rhys wasn’t exactly sure this is what she had in mind.

“Does your sister know you’re here?”

Johannes smiled, but the motion was smaller, more forced than before. “She knows. She’s just over there,” he gestured off to the distance, but all Rhys saw was a sea of bodies.”

“Does she know what you’re saying?”

This was obviously the right question. Johannes’ smile disappeared. “I have autonomy.”

“You say that, but –“

“I have my own way of doing things.”

“Of course.”

Another heavy pause followed. Rhys was beginning to see that this would be a pattern in their conversation.

“Look, my sister and my offer still stands. We’re very well connected among the commoners, which is more than can be said for you. You discount them, but trust us when we say that there is strength in the black horse. We have all the same goals, Rhys. We both want to see change in Etrene, we both want to see the king off the throne, and we both want the war with Novamor to end.”

Rhys did not miss Johannes’ careful wording. “You want all the fighting to end?”

Johannes looked surprised, but Rhys had a feeling it was feigned. “We do not wish for any foreign invasions. We are of course in favor of diplomacy.”

You didn’t say anything about internal fighting, Rhys thought, but he kept his thought to himself. Instead, he decided to take a chance.

“The first time we spoke we agreed to help each other, but the terms of that agreement were rather vague. Just tell me what you want. Money? Connections to specific people? Inside information? Power and influence in my family? If you’re hoping for the last I can tell you right now that if you so much as try to put a toe within my family’s domain they will most certainly cut off your head.”

Johannes did not appear swayed by Rhys’ threat. “Connections. As we said, we’re plenty connected to the lower classes, but the nobility is, well, rather hard to crack into.” Rhys snorted. “What we would like, specifically, is names of those you might think could have something to offer to our cause. Information on how to reach them, where we might find them. Daily schedules and the sort. If you could introduce us that would of course be the most beneficial, but we’ll take what we can get.”

“And what would you do with this information?”

“We already have a large enough following to start quite a revolution.” Rhys’ eyebrows shot up but Johannes didn’t react. “But unfortunately, given the way Etrene’s system of nobility is organized, it’s nearly impossible to enact any change, peaceful or violent, without at least a few noble families on your side. The corruption is too entangled with the people. Money buys loyalty, and money is what we don’t have. We’d rather just start with the loyalty.”

The entire conversation felt like a repeat of the first time they’d met, yet something was off. Johannes’ voice sounded slightly more…frantic? Or was it assured? There was a quality to it Rhys couldn’t pin point, but a change had occurred. Maybe it was that the first time it had almost seemed that the twins were simply trying to make a memorable first impression. This time they seemed sincere. The only answer was that their plans, whatever they might be, were not going as well as they had hoped. This time they truly needed Rhys.

Johannes could sense Rhys’ reluctance, a hesitation only fueled by the increasingly bored and anxious looks of all those that surrounded them. The conversation had dragged on far too long, and he could see his family growing impatient. He was not sure what might happen if one attempted to intervene while whatever magic was currently working on them was still placed. Suddenly Johannes took a step towards Rhys on the dais and once again knelt before him. He spoke softly and quickly, but Rhys was now so close that he didn’t miss a word.

“You want specifics? Fine. That we can give. Miriyam and I know all about the king. We know all about his magic and we know all about your wife’s. Yes, that’s right. We know,” he added, seeing Rhys’ eyes widen. “The du Rene’s always extend their invitation to court to the southern nobles at the beginning of the spring, once the roads are good enough for safe travel. If we are able to infiltrate the noble families, convince them to hire our followers as servants and take them to the north when they go to court, then we can get enough of our people in Etrene to make an attempt on the king’s life.”

Rhys was stunned into such silence he couldn’t even think of a response. He gaped at Johannes, mulling over the dozens of horrible ways in which this plan could go wrong. It was bold, undoubtedly, and more than a little haphazard, but Rhys had to admit that if it went well they had a little better chance at success than most assassination attempts. Court was the perfect cover, as many of the nobles took their own servants, and if the current use of magic told Rhys anything it was that the Lanis’ had more connections that Rhys had realized. Still, Rhys could not shake a feeling of warning.

“Another time, then,” Johannes said, breaking Rhys from his thoughts. Rising and taking one swift bow, Johannes turned on his heels, hurried down the dais, and disappeared into the crowd.

It did not take long for the next person to come forth, this time to Rhys’ mother, but Rhys barely even gave the woman notice. He was far too occupied with his own thoughts.

“What was that all about? All that talk of roads? I didn’t even know you knew that much about infrastructure,” Dima whispered. He leaned back in his seat and his eyes began to glaze over as he stared out into the crowd. As Rhys stared at his brother he realized that the Lanis had not been lying. Everyone aside from the two of them was completely oblivious to what had just transpired between them. If they had access to that kind of power… Rhys wasn’t sure who he was dealing with.

[Mollianne]

In the week following the ball, the snows had well and truly set in. Winter may have been nearing its end further south, but in Ovis it was still bitterly cold. The entire castle seemed worried about whether their king would return before spring, although Jessa was sure he would. They had not taken carriages to the front, so although the snow would slow them down they would probably be back in a couple of days. Nevertheless, a few days later than the messenger had said the king would return was enough to throw everyone into a panic.

Jessa was, of course, rather pleased about his absence. The snow had cancelled a good many social functions, and her newfound freedom gave her time to explore the castle. Thus far, however, Jessa had had no success. Wherever the entrances to the passageways on Alrick’s map were, they were hidden well. Jessa was beginning to suspect they might even need magic to enter them. Thankfully, she still had two more to try. The first – one near the second, less grandiose audience chamber – was the one she had been most desperate to find, but it was located in one of the busiest parts of the castle. Whenever Jessa had tried, there had been too many witnesses.

She awoke early, dressing quickly and creeping out of her room and the servants’ quarters. The castle was quiet save for a few guards who nodded at her as she went past. They were not fazed by her early morning wanderings, since it was a fairly common occurrence with Jessa. Before she had married Rhys, she had risen before the rest of the castle every day and retreated to the University. The guards had not yet realised she no longer went there. Jessa was glad that they were so easily lulled into a false sense of security based on her relationship with the royal family.

According to the map, the hidden passageway possibly intersected with the known corridor on the floor above the audience chamber. With nothing of any import down that particular hallway – except the passageway which no one was meant to known about – there was no guard stationed there. Shivering from the cold seeping through every crack in the castle’s exterior, Jessa approached the bare wall. There were no grooves, holes, bumps or loose stones. She felt along the large, smooth stones for any sign that behind it there was anything but thick granite and mortar.

She stepped back, hugging her arms close about her body and wishing she had worn something warmer than a thin dress. Jessa hated winter. With a deep breath, Jessa began looking lower, at the floor and behind the few cabinets that decorated the corridor. Everything she tried yielded nothing and time was quickly running out. Frowning, she pulled the creased and fading map out of her pocket and perused her sketch. She stared at it until her eyes began to defocus. Shaking herself, she looked again.

Frustrated, Jessa decided to have a look at the adjoining corridor. The passage in the wall did not appear to reach that far according to the map, but she was running out of options. Again, she tried everything she could think of to no avail. She was just about to give up and pass the map off as a trick of Alrick’s, something that would instantly catch the eye and draw someone away from any real information. Jessa was reticent to believe it, however, even if the drawer in which she had found it had been unlocked.

She looked up and down the hallway and saw the door about halfway down. Although she knew the door led to a perfectly normal study, she realised she could use it to find out whether there even could be a secret passage within the wall. Glad that no one was around yet to see her, she counted the steps she took to reach the door. Remembering the number, she ducked inside the room and did the same on the other side. The room was shorter by three of her normal strides. Given the thickness of the other walls of the study, Jessa was sure that there was something inside the wall. The map was incomplete, either by accident or on purpose. It ran along two of the walls of this room – the one she was staring at and the one opposite the door – instead of just one. But how did she get to it?

The entrance could be on this side. Jessa felt stupid for not thinking of it earlier. She glanced at the furniture resting against the room sceptically. A huge mahogany cabinet, caked in dust (Jessa could not understand why it was not used for show because it was beautiful), mocked her from the corner of the room. Narrowing her eyes, she decided to start there. If she was to hide a secret doorway, she would make sure it was concealed behind the heaviest thing she could find too.

She was sweating, exhausted, and now grateful she had worn such a flimsy dress by the time she had pulled the cabinet enough that she could see an iron grate a foot above the floor. It was wider and taller than others in the castle. She leaned in for a closer inspection, and noticed one of the nails was loose. She pulled it and the grate swung down. Pressing her lips together, Jessa poked her head through. A delighted laugh escaped her lips when she was rewarded with the sight of a dark, crumbling inner passageway. It was hot, too, absurdly so. Given how clammy she already felt, she was not going to enjoy this. Nevertheless, Jessa twisted and pulled herself through the small grate. If she had been any taller, she would never have made it through. She hissed as she scratched her arms on the sharp rocks and closed her eyes as the hole squeezed at her hips as she heaved herself through. She fell to the floor, and just lay there for a moment to regain her breath.

When she stood and began to walk, she found that the floor was uneven. Gripping the stones on either side of the narrow passage, she felt her way down the first stretch. Even though she was mindful of the fact that she would soon need to turn left, she smacked her forehead against the wall. She let out a pained curse and rubbed her head. The headache was going to be magnificent.

She took her time after that, carefully feeling all around her. When she saw thin strips of light, she grinned in relief. However, her headache spiked painfully and her eyes watered after so long in the darkness. It was only a short distance from the study to the audience chamber – or what she was hoping was the audience chamber – but Jessa had been inside awhile.

Reaching the grate, she was gratified to find herself looking down at a small but imposing room with two high-backed chairs at one end. It was eerily empty now, given the time of day and the fact that the king was not even in the city. She knew, however, that when he was in residence he spent a good deal of time in this room. And given that it was used in a much less formal capacity than the much larger audience chamber at the main entrance to the castle, Jessa hoped she might catch Alrick in some damning situations with his mage ring. He had to spend all that time here for something, and no one was ever allowed in.

Finally, she had found something useful.

Despite the difficult walk back, with the heat and her throbbing heat, Jessa was pleased. She wriggled back through the grate and put the nail back in to hold it closed. It took almost more strength than Jessa had left to push the cabinet back into position, but she was finally done. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she left the room.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked playfully as Jessa closed the door to the study behind her. Someone rested their head on her shoulder. She froze, well aware that she was a mess – covered in dust and sweat, with scratches on her arm and a blossoming bruise on her forehead. She steeled herself, plastered a smile on her face, and turned to face Harris. She had seen the boy so little since her return as he was too young to receive invitations or attend most of the functions Jessa’s new circle arranged, but in that moment she wished he was not there.

“Harris. You’re awake early.”

“I’ve a lesson with Professor Gallard,” he said, watching her oddly. He had definitely noticed Jessa’s unease at being caught. “What were you doing? You look like you were fighting dust and lost.”

Jessa swallowed hard at the mention of Alistair. She had done her best to ignore everything to do with him over the last few weeks. She probably ought not to have done, but she was still not ready to fully deal with or believe what she had learnt about him. Harris frowned, the humour leaving his eyes, when she remained silent and rested a hand on her arm. “Are you okay? You haven’t been to the university since you and the professor went away for a few days. I know he’s worried about you – he’s always asking me about you.”

At least he had momentarily forgotten about Jessa’s current appearance. She smiled at him reassuringly and stepped away from his touch. The concern in his furrowed brow did not lessen even as she said, “Of course. You know how busy I’ve been.”

“Nothing could ever keep you away from the university before. Not even your wedding day.” He smiled briefly before turning serious again. “Not for long anyway. What’s going on?”

Jessa swallowed hard. She looked at Harris, saw the innocence and concern in his eyes and could hardly bear it. What was going on was more that Harris could ever comprehend. What was going on had drawn her away from her old life more than she had even realised until that moment, faced with everything she had once been. Harris was her a few years ago. What she would not give to be in his position.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You were never – never – interested in those stupid balls and parties before. No one would even have been able to drag you to one. And now you’re going willingly!”

“I have-” Jessa did not know quite what to say. “The king wants me to attend.”

Harris’ expression softened a little. Jessa may never have wanted to attend society events herself in the past, but no one else in the family had wanted it either. Still, it was clear Harris did not really believe her. “It doesn’t mean you have to completely ignore your old life, though.”

It did, but Harris did not know that. She shrugged. “Aren’t you going to be late?” she asked, nodding at the books in his arms. Harris jumped a little, seeming to remember what he was meant to be doing.

“Oh. Yes.” He did not move. “Will you come?”

“I’m sorry, Harris, I have some other things I need to do. Another time?”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said. He began walking, but he stopped just before he turned the corner. “If you ever need to talk – about anything. About this-” He gestured at Jessa, clearly meaning her appearance, although she was grateful that he was not prying. “-Or about… Rhys.” He continued on quickly. “Or why you’re shutting out your old life. Well, I’ll listen. I won’t be any help, but I’ll listen. So would Professor Gallard.”

“I know.” Jessa smiled, even though she had no intention of talking to either of them. Especially Alistair. Harris hesitated, slowly returned the smile, and then was gone.

***

The news that Alrick would be there within the hour spread through the castle before the king and his entourage had even reached the city gates. It was two days since Jessa had found the hidden walkway, and since then Jessa had tried to enjoy her relative freedom. She had kept mostly to her room, both awaiting and dreading the king’s return. Whenever she was not thinking about that, she was worrying about Rhys. With the exception of a few vague, short letters they had exchanged, she had not spoken to Rhys since she had seen him after the battle. Jessa knew he was alright and healed, but seeing and knowing were different things. And now that she actually had time to think, she could not stop feeling anxious. And a little guilty at how far from the front of her mind Rhys had been recently. She missed him, more than anything, but their time together almost felt like a dream – it was almost easy to forget it wasn’t.

She was wondering when, if ever, Rhys would be able to arrange another meeting with the man who worked the dream magic when there was a knock on her door. She called them in, sitting up on her bed and setting aside the book she had not even been reading. To Jessa’s surprise, Maira walked through the door. The princess, without saying a word, sat gingerly on the chair by the desk. She scrutinised Jessa for a long moment, who waited patiently for Maira to speak.

“I’ve advised the Janes’ that we won’t be attending their dinner party tonight,” she said, “Father is coming home.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Yes, quite.” Maira grinned. “Do they work themselves into such a frenzy often?”

“I’d say once or twice a week,” Jessa replied with a smile of her own. “I think they’d all be lost without something to worry over.”

“I doubt you’ll have quiet any time soon, then,” Maira said. “Father’s birthday will be upon us in a few weeks, and now that we know he’s definitely going to be here for it the preparations will continue with a renewed sense of urgency.”

Jessa did not doubt it. Although she had never attended any of the du Renes’ birthday celebrations, she knew they were extravagant affairs. The only thing she could see preventing it, or at least lessening its scope, was the war with Novamor.

“I imagine Father is going to want to talk to you about everything you’ve learned since his departure. I know that you’ve reported to me, but he’ll want to hear first-hand.”

“I doubt he’ll be interested in the little I know. I think he has more pressing concerns,” Jessa said. Maira stared at her sternly. Despite Jessa being older by five years, she suddenly felt like a scolded child.

“He’ll be interested. The war is definitely a dangerous threat, but Novamor’s army is still far south of here. If there’s any treason activity within the city, that is no less of a concern. Besides, if Father is returning now, he must be confident that he has left the front in good hands.”

Jessa was amazed at how calm Maira was about the Novarian invasion. She did doubt that the princess would be quite so calm if she saw the size of the Novarian army, witnessed the horror of war, or know of the damning information Jessa herself have given the queen which could ruin everything for Maira’s family. But Jessa kept quiet.

“We may not know much, but it’s more than before. I had thought the Janes’ ball would have revealed something, but I suppose they must know we suspect Lord Malcolm and so were cautious,” Maira was saying. Jessa could not help but shift slightly and avert her gaze. Thankfully, Maira was not watching her otherwise she might have realised Jessa was hiding something.

She had not told Maira about the conversation she had overheard. Her reason was simple: she wanted more time to decide what to do. Her time was running out; if she did not tell the king along with the rest of her report she would lose her chance to do so. There would be no way of telling him later without being accused of treason herself – although keeping it from Maira would hardly be viewed lightly. She had to make her decision: tell the king, winning his trust but helping him to keep his seat on the throne; or stand by as persons unknown possibly attempted to dethrone him, live with the consequences of a ruler who could be as bad as Alrick, and ruin the weeks of planning that she, Rhys, and the Novarians had undertaken.

Maira stood and said, “We should go to welcome Father.”

A few minutes later they were freezing on the top step at the front of the castle. The king and his entourage had just entered the gates and were heading towards them at a thankfully brisk pace. Elissa, standing beside her mother at the other end of the line that made up the welcoming party, glared daggers at Jessa. Harris, who had been pulled away from his books and reminded Jessa of when she first met the Marinon family with ink all over her hands, quietly told Jessa to ignore his sister. Maira rolled her eyes, surprising Jessa at the show of solidarity.

The king pulled his horse to a stop at the foot of the stairs. He dismounted and climbed the steps to greet his family. He looked tired and haggard. “My Queen,” he said to Catrice, kissing her perfunctorily on the lips. She smiled at him, but there was no real warmth in her eyes.

“My King,” she said, and even her words sounded annoyed. Jessa supposed she had enjoyed making decisions on her own in his absence. Now that Alrick had returned, everything would go back to normal.

Alrick moved on to greet his children, with considerably more affection. It was certainly not just exhaustion that had guided his interaction with his wife. Jessa knew there was no love between them, but she was surprised they would be so public about it. Then Jessa realised she had not really seen the king and queen together since Jessa had told Alrick that Catrice was probably involved in Emara’s death and it suddenly made much more sense.

“Jessa,” Alrick said. Jessa curtseyed and was grateful that Alrick made no move to hug her as he had his other children.

Keeping a smile on her face, she said, “Your Majesty.”

“I hear you have some things to tell me. I will send someone to arrange a meeting once I have recovered from my travels.” And then he moved away to greet the last few members of the welcoming party. Jessa waited patiently, her hair blowing in the frigid wind and melted snow beginning to seep into her shoes. Finally, the king had made his rounds and disappeared into the castle. Everyone trundled in behind him and Jessa left without another word.

The message came a few hours later, requesting a meeting in the second audience chamber an hour before dinner – a dinner Jessa was also expected to attend. She sighed and put the letter to one side. Exchanging forced pleasantries with Catrice, Alrick and Elissa was not her idea of a good evening. Not only that, but she had only the rest of the afternoon to decide whether to tell Alrick about the trap or not.

When the knock came on her door, she was still no closer to making her decision. She had, at least, remembered to dress for dinner since she doubted she would have time to change. She wore her plainest light blue dress, feeling content with her choice only because it would annoy Catrice no end. Jessa pulled open the door.

Without preamble, the awaiting servant said, “I’m sorry, my lady, but the king will be too busy to meet with you before dinner. He requests that you join him afterwards, instead.”

“Oh, okay,” Jessa said, but the servant was already leaving. Jessa shut the door, leaning against it and frowning. Why had he postponed?

The second audience chamber. Jessa bit her lip. There was a chance that he was there, doing whatever it was that had prevented their meeting. She debated with herself for a moment, and then wondered why she was even considering staying in her room. She had searched and found the secret passageway for the purpose of eavesdropping on Alrick – and she should use every opportunity. If he was not there, then at least she had tried.

Jessa left before she could talk herself out of it. She walked quietly, trying to remain as unnoticeable as possible. She made it to the study without mishap, and set to work pushing the cabinet out of the way. In the two days since she had last done it, she had forgotten how heavy it was and was left breathless. She looked down at herself, remembering that she was still wearing the dinner dress. There was nothing to be done but hope she had time to change again before dinner, so she crawled inside the grate and made her way through the boiling tunnel to the other end.

She heard the faint sounds of voices before she saw them. The room was designed perfectly for their voices to carry clearly to her. And she recognised both voices. Feeling like she had been punched in the gut, she peered down at the two men below her as the irrevocable truth that Alistair – her oldest friend and mentor – was working with the king sunk in.

[Rosabeth]

Rhys fingered the amulet again and again, tracing its patterns with the tips of his fingers, passing it from hand to hand, anything to distract him from the chronic sickness that overwhelmed him day in and day out. Only a few days had passed since he’d put on the amulet and already the effects of its magic had made themselves known. This head throbbed constantly, his body ached and sagged as if weighed down by some invisible force, and a haze clouded his mind throughout the day. If the physical effects were not enough, the mental effects had made themselves known that morning, and just the taste of what was to come made Rhys wish he could rip the amulet from his neck and watch it sink into the ocean. Paranoia had become his constant companion and every thought no longer felt entirely like his own. After only three days the changes, though subtle, were nearly unbearable. After a week he was not sure if he’d even be himself. He thought of his last suicide attempt daily, wondering if it was only a matter of waiting until he attempted again.

“Are you alright?”

Dima stared at Rhys from across the room. His eyes lingered on Rhys’ amulet but he said nothing.

“Fine, fine,” Rhys lied. He stuffed the necklace back inside his shirt and smiled. The motion felt foreign. “Everything’s fine.”

“Really? Because you’ve been reading that same page for about 20 minutes.”

Rhys had forgot he’d even been reading. The book slid across the desk as he slammed it shut and shoved it away, all the while Dima watched with mild amusement. Thinking of the amulet only brought on another slew of questions. The Lanis’ had somehow used magic on him. Johannes had said they had someone in their employ, but Rhys was not even sure he could trust that assessment. All he knew was the sheer amount of power it would take to fool an entire crowd was far more than he was prepared to deal with. That was what frightened him the most. For some time he’d regarded the Lanis’ as people of interest, but never as a true threat. Now he could not say the same. And if they held so much power then what was their incentive for telling Rhys the truth about their intentions?

“Ok, either you tell me what you’re thinking or I’m going to stare at you until you do.”

When Rhys peered up at Dima he saw that his brother was doing just that. “Stop that,” he groaned, slapping away the arm Dima used to prop up his chin. “You know I hate that.”

“Then tell me what’s going on! I mean, I don’t actually particularly care –“ Rhys frowned but Dima’s expression remained unchanged, “- but I know that if I don’t say anything you’re just going to mope around all day and be a general bore. Not that you aren’t usually a bore as it is.”
Rhys opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he closed it before he could utter a single one. His mouth was dry as sand, his breath refusing to come. He couldn’t do it. Of all he’d told his family he had conveniently omitted anything about his dealings with the peculiar twins. He told himself he did it for their safety, to not concern them when he was uncertain if any concern was even necessary, but he knew that was a lie. He kept it secret because he wanted to keep this one thing to himself. He wanted autonomy over one thing. He needed some control.

“How do you know if you can trust someone?”

Dima’s laugh caught Rhys off guard. Dima shook his head, still chuckling lightly to himself as Rhys glared at his brother. Suddenly Dima’s head snapped up and his laughter stopped. “Oh. You’re being serious.”

“What were you expecting?” Rhys snapped.

“Well, to be fair it was a stupid question.”

“Well?”

“Well… well, you don’t. You can’t know, you know that.” Rhys knew the answer, but hearing it in so many words did not help to calm his nerves. Dima shook his head in pity. “There’s always father’s old phrase. What was it again? ‘Never trust someone who-‘”

“’-has no incentive to trust you.’ I know.” Rhys finished. It was a phrase he’d heard hundreds of times, a mantra drilled into his head from his earliest memories. It was practically the family motto. A reminder to keep everyone and everything at a distance, to be wary of all and trust even fewer. In normal circumstances it was advice to keep them safe, but Rhys did not need safety, he needed an ally. He needed someone he could trust, someone like the Lanis’. But if there were ever two people with such little motive to trust Rhys, it would be them.

“Having second thoughts about Jessa?” Dima asked. From Anja it would have been a question loaded with a hidden threat, a slow boiling anger and suspicion. From Dima it was joke. Rhys didn’t find it particularly funny.

“I’d trust Jessa with my life. I’d trust her with Anja’s life.”

Dima chuckled. “Now that is trust. I don’t know if I’d trust you with Anja’s life.” Before Rhys could even roll his eyes Dima pushed himself up from the table and grabbed Rhys by the arm. “Get up. Now.”

Though Rhys was taller and stronger than his younger brother a determined Dima always seemed to have the strength of three men. Rhys stumbled up from his chair as Dima kept a firm grip on his arm, finally releasing him once standing and shoving him towards the study door. “Go!”

“Where are we going?”

“Out.”

“I don’t want to drink. It’s the middle of the day.” Rhys muttered, glancing back at the desk and wishing he could be left to his thoughts.

“I’m not taking you to drink, I have something better in mind.”

“If you take me to a brothel I swear on all the gods I will throttle you.”

Dima smirked but shook his head. “I’m not an idiot. No, I swear there will be no drinking or prostitution. On my honor.”

“You have no honor.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

Within twenty minutes Rhys and Dima were riding into town, the crisp winter air raw against Rhys’ face. The day was uncommonly cold for this late in the winter and Rhys could only guess how bitter it would be for the Novarians travelling up the coast. Snow was a thing of fairytales in Novamor, and though snow was sparse and uncommon in Jasrah the cold was certainly enough to shock even the most northern Novarian. If there ever was a flaw in the queen’s planning for the war it was entering Etrene in the winter.

The effect of the weather was clear in town, for though many of the commoners continued their work through the cold; any who could manage it were absent from the streets, leaving Jasrah in an eerie quasi-silence. Rhys and Dima passed through quickly heading for the outlying hills. Once they’d passed the last of the outer neighborhoods they broke into a trot, Rhys following Dima’s lead as he turned towards the coast, heading north. They’d gone no more than a minute or so when dark dots began to appear on the horizon, growing steadily larger and numerous, spreading out wider along the horizon with every passing second.

“What is that?” Rhys pointed at the shapes, Dima leaning over and squinting, putting up his hand to block the sun’s glare.

“It looks…well, it almost looks like…”

Dima never finished his sentence. There was no need. As the figures drew closer it was clear that a horde of people was slowly but surely making it’s way to Jasrah. Rhys’ heart lurched in his chest and stopped, his breath held, and for a moment he stared on horrorstruck, seeing only glimpses of a battlefield he’d wished in vain to never seen again. Dima pulled back on his horse’s reins and turned sharp, but Rhys put up a hand to stop him. Though his heart was still gripped in terror and his body frozen, his mind saw what his heart could not. This was no uniformed army marching into battle. The longer Rhys stared to more he saw just how unorganized the group was, no more than a party of vagabonds. But still, Rhys could not ignore their sheer number, which even from a distance he could guess could populate a city.

“Dima, ride straight home. Stop at a guard post and tell them what we’ve seen and then head back home. Tell mother and father. Do not stop for anyone or any reason. Do you understand me?”

Dima’s balked at Rhys’ command. He glanced warily back at the approaching mass, turning back to Rhys with concern.

“Go!” Rhys yelled, his voice taking on a slightly frantic edge that made Dima’s eyes widen. To Rhys’ relief Dima gave a quick nod before he let out a low command and shot off, riding as fast as Rhys had ever seen. Rhys wasted no time once Dima was off, but instead of heading back to Jasrah he began to ride at the oncoming crowd. Rhys was not one to be easily frightened or intimidated, but not even he could pretend to not be apprehensive as he approached a group that stretched so far he could see no end. Once he came within a distance Rhys began to make out individuals in the group, men and women in a disheveled state, some wearing little more than rags. The front line was a mix of men and women, many of whom held children in their arms or babies strapped to their chests. Worn faces, withering bodies, wet and ruined clothes – Rhys could barely stand to look at the misery.

As Rhys drew closer he could hear the murmurs from the crowd, some growing more anxious while others let out cries of relief. The caravan slowed to a near stop just before Rhys reached the front lines. He paused, looking over the people in uncertainty until a woman stepped forward and fell to her knees before him, letting out a high sob that sent a wave of silence across the crowd. Rhys froze, knowing he should dismount but unable to remove his eyes from the woman before him.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice choked. “Please.”

The words somehow broke Rhys from his stunned stillness and he slid off his horse, coming to kneel beside the woman. He gently, hesitantly placed one hand on her back and helped her from the ground, only to realize that the sobs that shook her body were not sobs of fear or sadness, but rather of relief. Her dark eyes met Rhys’ and in them he saw an invisible weight lifted from her being.

Suddenly there were people on all sides of him, all asking a thousand questions, some not even in Etrenian. Rhys could only pick up words here and there, unable to form a full sentence from any of the speakers. Hands grazed his body everywhere as some people tried to grip his arm or embrace him. Not all were so pleased, and Rhys could see many standing at a safe distance eyeing Rhys with wariness he did not fault them for. After all, these people seemed so quick to praise Rhys as their savior when they did not even know who he was, nor did he know anything about them.

“Quiet, please, I-“ Rhys tried to speak over the crowd but only found his voice being drowned out by a thousand other questions. “Please listen to me!” A few of the voices quieted, but most continued their chatter. Rhys stared helplessly at the crowd, finally catching the eye of a tall, looming man who seemed to understand Rhys’ desperation.

“QUIET.”

The voice boomed, impossibly loud for one man, practically echoing across the open field. The questions came to a halt almost immediately, allowing Rhys to breath a sigh of relif.

“I would like to help you very much but someone needs to tell me what is going on. What has happened to all of you?”

The woman on Rhys’ left side loosened her grip on his arm and furrowed her brow. “You do not know? Did none of our messages reach you?”

“What messages?”

“From our messengers. They were on horseback. We’ve sent one every other day. We found the first two dead but…” the woman’s voice wavered and she suddenly stopped, holding her jaw tight as she held back tears.

“I’m sorry, but we haven’t heard anything.”

“Two weeks ago Jenya was attacked. We don’t know by who or why. The Novarians had already passed through week prior, but the fighting was at night and it happened so fast that we can’t be sure. There was fire and men with bows. So much death. There were bodies everywhere and we-“ the woman gasped for air and put her head in her hands whilst another younger woman with long braided auburn hair wrapped the elder one in her arms, kissing her head. The younger woman turned to Rhys, given a small nod of the head in the form of an apology.

“My mother is very upset. We lost my brother that night.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

The auburn woman nodded in thanks. “We are those that managed to escape before the fighting escalated. There’s thousands of us, I could never tell you exact numbers. We’ve been travelling on foot for weeks with no food or water, only getting what we could find or those along the way would lend us. We had no time to take anything. Sir, we have nowhere to go. We’ve been travelling south to escape the frost but we’re running out of places to go.”

The desperation was clear not only on the auburn woman’s face but on that of every weathered and weary human that stretched on as far as Rhys could see. Suddenly Rhys knew what was in the covered carts drawn within the crowd. The purple foot sticking out from one’s covering was enough to answer his question. Rhys’ stomach churned and he forced himself to look away from the corpses.

“You are all welcome in Jasrah. We do not turn away our fellow countrymen. We will find room for you all somehow.”

A few people cheered, but most simply sighed in relief, some beginning to cry while others sunk to the cold ground. The auburn haired woman held out her hand and gripped Rhys’ arm in thanks. “You do not know our gratitude,” she murmured, suddenly sounding overwhelmed with fatigue. “What should we call you?”

“You may call me Rhys. Just Rhys.”

A flickering of recollection dawned on the woman’s face, her hand loosening on Rhys’ arm. “Rhys? As in the Marinon? Is that you? Are you one of them?”

“Please, just call me Rhys.”

[/blockquote]

[Mollianne]

Jessa had slumped on the floor, not caring that the floor was uneven and dirty. She shifted away from a sharp rock sticking into her back, and again peered through the small grate showing the two men below. Her breathing was still heavy from moving the cabinet and hurrying through the passageway, and she could barely hear what they were saying. In that moment, anyway, she still could not get past the fact that Alistair was in the same room as Alrick, shredding what little hope she had not even realised she still had that Alistair was not working for the king. Not only working for him, though. She had never seen the king look as unguarded as he did then, slumped in his chair and listening intently to Alistair like he truly valued what the man had to say. She turned her gaze to Alistair, seeing of worry pass over his face as Alrick shook his head. And she knew that expression. She had seen it so many times directed at her for so long. Alistair and Alrick were friends.

Biting her lip, Jessa moved until she was pressed against the wall. She had come here to find out what the king was doing, so she needed to actually listen to them. She tried to push aside her feelings, tried to ignore Alistair’s face and pretend some stranger was there with the king.

“And what of everything here?” Alrick asked. When Alistair did not immediately respond, he clarified, though Jessa had to listen carefully to hear the word. “Emara.”

Alistair’s expression softened. “Jessa and I left for Pontery shortly after you left. The cousin told us the Bejour family ordered the Falans to leave, and mentioned Emara. He knew nothing else, but for us it was made abundantly clear. After all, the physician did not tend to Emara before her, so could have made no mistake with her. And even if he had, we know the Bejours would not order the family out of the city for it.”

The king nodded. “It isn’t proof, though.”

“Yes. And between the queen and this commoner, who will everyone else believe? Our opinion will be discarded as sentiment.”

“I am king.”

“And she is queen. And a member of the Bejour family. They are not people you want to make enemies of by accusing their daughter of murder, especially of a commoner. They won’t care what you felt for her.”

Jessa’s heart was in her throat. She swallowed hard, feeling the anger rise inside her. The world was cold and unfeeling and brutal. Catrice would get away with what she had done without damning proof, purely because she was queen and her victim had nothing to her name. If it had been the other way around, the commoner would have been hanged without trial. But, of course, they did not have any proof. And though Jessa could not believe it whatever way she looked at it, there was a chance Catrice was innocent. Jessa almost laughed bitterly at the thought, but thankfully had the sense to realise she would be heard.

“Have you learned nothing else?”

“No,” Alistair replied. “In truth, I have not seen Jessa since. She has not visited me, so if she has anything more, I do not know it.”

“I thought you were friends.”

“We are. From what I hear, though, she seems preoccupied with attending all the social affairs in Ovis. She’s quite a changed girl from the last time she was here…”

Jessa bit her lip, heart pounding. Not only was she still furious at the unfairness of everything, but now she realised that someone had found her recent interest in balls perplexing. Although she might have known Alistair would be surprised, before she came Jessa had not anticipated Alistair being in the same room as the king to share his thoughts. She ought to have realised.

She reminded herself that the king himself had asked her to take a more active role in society, and that Maira – on his behalf – had done likewise. She was there to spy on Kieran and Lord Malcolm Janes, and any of their associates. She had a reason, and the king knew it.

“Yes, well,” the king said, sounding unconcerned. Jessa breathed out. “Perhaps she just wants to make some changes in her life after the last few months. To be honest, I don’t think you are a particularly good judge of her character anyway. You were telling me you thought she and the Marinon were getting closer – that you had even spoken to him and he had said he would not hurt her – and you were wrong. Neither did she ask for your help later.”

“Because she was scared for her life,” Alistair argued, but Alrick just waved his hand. Jessa fumed at the king’s dismissal of something that, were it true, would have been devastating. The sudden silence in the room made Jessa look over at Alistair, whose expression was similar to her own. She had never seen him so angry, and that it was directed at the king was unbelievable. He looked entirely lost for words. When he did find them, Jessa had to strain to hear. “You have done awful things in your life, my king, let’s not pretend. And I have stood by, because you are my king and because we have known each other a great many years. But you will not dismiss what happened to her. You will not be so unfeeling. She is your daughter.”

“She is more yours than mine. Always has been.”

“And that is your doing.”

Alrick stood up abruptly, towering above Alistair. “You will not speak to me in such a way,” he hissed. “I am your king and you will pay me the respect I deserve. I will act as I see fit. I am not unfeeling about the girl or what happened to her. It is just not my primary concern.”

“And what is? What could be more important than making sure she knows she is safe and loved? You already sent her off to that monster, and while what he did was not your fault, you sent her knowing it could happen to her. That was why you didn’t have Elissa marry him. And Jessa knows that. Your daughter knows you don’t care about her!”

“Do not question me about my actions. I do what I have to do. Now get out.”

Alistair stared at the king, and for a moment Jessa thought Alistair was going to defy him again. Then, wordlessly, the man picked up his satchel and headed for the door. Jessa watched him go. Just before he opened the door, Alistair turned around and said, “And I will do what I have to. I will stand beside you and advise you whether I like what you are doing or not. But do not make the mistake of believing I agree with you.”

He left before the king could utter another word. Jessa sat back, unable to believe what she had just witnessed. Alistair had disagreed and shouted at the king, and although the man was definitely enraged, Alrick had not had him arrested. He had actually let Alistair say his piece, even though he would not listen to it. He had let Alistair just walk away.

Alistair and Alrick were friends, no doubt about it. It was also a friendship she doubted she would ever understand. The argument she had just witnessed showed her that, even if it had begun in such a way, it was not only a love of Emara that had kept them friends. It was more than that. And Jessa was beginning to wonder just how much Alistair knew – how much he had lied to her.

Alistair knew Alrick had done terrible things. She could not comprehend why he would stay his friend. But that was not really true, Jessa reminded herself as she picked her way carefully back to the passage entrance. She clambered out of the hole and pulled the cabinet back into place.

She loved Rhys, and she knew he had done things she despised. Things she did not even want to think about, but she had chosen to be with him anyway. She knew that, although for some things she would pretend Rhys had not done them for her own sanity, other things about him she had accepted. She could not love him otherwise. She would be loving someone who did not exist, and that was not true. And if she could love Rhys, she supposed it was possible that someone could stand by Alrick despite the cruelty he had inflicted. Jessa wondered whether her mother would have stayed with Alrick knowing his crimes as Alistair had. Or even whether she had loved the king as much as he seemed to love her to this day.

And a tiny part of her, she acknowledged as she entered her room to change, wondered what she might have done wrong. Because why Alrick did not love her at all when he still adored a woman who, no matter how lovely she was, had been dead for twenty years?

***

Jessa was still preoccupied by her thoughts halfway through dinner. Although she was aware that she had not spoken a word since she sat down, she was not in any mood to remedy it. Luckily, she was in the company of a group of people who, with the exception of Harris – and maybe to some extent Maira – hated her and did not want to talk to her anyway. She was grateful to be left alone as she considered everything she had seen and heard not half an hour before. She glanced over at Alrick as she put her fork to her lips, but he was calm and serene. It was like it had not even happened. He was a better actor than they had given him credit. As for Alistair… she had no idea. She was comforted by the fact that after everything she had uncovered about him, he was as disgusted by how Alrick treated her as he had always been. Before Jessa had met Rhys and realised that she was actually worth anything, she had not appreciated Alistair’s defence enough. Now, perhaps, she actually valued it more for knowing he was also the king’s friend. It was strange, but true.

That did not mean she thought she could go over to the university and pretend nothing was wrong. It did not mean she wanted them to be friends. It did not mean that she now believed that she did know who Alistair was after all. No, he was still virtually a stranger to her now.

“Are you alright, Jessa? You’ve been very quiet,” Maira remarked, leaning in as their plates were taken away. Jessa nodded.

“I’m fine. Just a headache,” she said, and she was not even really lying. What with everything going on in her head, not to mention spending a considerable amount of time in a damp and musty passageway, it was beginning to ache. “I’ll probably go to bed as soon as dinner’s over.”

Maira said, “I thought you were meeting my father after dinner.”

Jessa closed her eyes, remembering. “Of course. Well, I don’t suppose we’ll talk for long.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. I’m pretty sure he wants to hear everything you’ve learnt about Ambassador Dunvyen and Lord Malcolm Janes.”

“I’m sure you can apprise him of the details.”

Maira shook her head, then turned to start eating the dessert that had just been placed in front of her. “I’ve already talked to him. He wants to hear it from you. I can’t tell him everything because I wasn’t there. You were.”

Jessa sighed. Something else to look forward to, then.

Dinner passed agonisingly slowly, and then she was forced to retire to one of the sitting rooms with the rest of the family. Harris, who had left her alone during dinner, accosted her as soon as she sat down and chattered away while she tried to listen. He was talking about his studies, and though she was interested, it was nothing she had not heard before, and every time he mentioned Alistair she could not help but start thinking about everything all over again. It was tiresome, and she wished her time with Harris would not be so tainted. He was the only good thing left about this place.

Midway through Harris’ lengthy explanation of the north-south divide in Ovis, a shadow dropped over them and the king cleared his throat. “Jessa, can I have a word?”

Jessa was not Alistair, so she did not argue. She apologised to Harris, who shrugged and looked forlorn. No one else was going to listen to him, after all. “I promise we can talk about all of this another time,” she said to him, just to get a smile on his face. He brightened, and Jessa smiled faintly back. Then, she turned and followed the king.

He led her to the audience chamber. The corridors leading up to it were utterly deserted, and Jessa felt uneasy. Although she doubted Alrick would do anything to her, being alone in a room with someone capable of destroying a person’s mind was not exactly thrilling. When Alrick sat in the same chair he had sat in when he was with Alistair, Jessa tentatively followed suit.

He started by asking her about Emara. She repeated everything she knew Alistair had already said, and when he asked if there was anything else, she told him that she had not had time to look into it further. She felt guilty even as she said it. Jessa tried to remind herself that everything else she was doing required more imminent attention. Even though Catrice needed to be brought to justice, she had gone unpunished for twenty years and so another couple of months was nothing to that.

“I see,” Alrick said.

“I’m sorry,” Jessa replied, looking down at her hands. She hated apologising to him, the man who had never apologised for anything in his life and meant it.

“We are all busy with other things in these difficult times,” Alrick said. Jessa knew he was thinking about the war with Novamor, but did not pry. She did not think she wanted to know whether Novamor was winning or losing. She certainly did not want to think about all the innocent people who were dying for such a wretched king. Alrick cleared his throat. “I suppose you don’t think we would find out anything more useful from the physician’s cousin?”

“I doubt it. Peter told me everything he knew to get me to leave. I doubt he would leave something out and risk me coming back. It would only make it more likely that the Bejours would find out he did not actually leave the country.”

Alrick said nothing. In the silence, Jessa heard nothing but the faint sound of hail on the ground outside, and a quiet scuffling which was probably some poor creature trying to find shelter from the weather.

“Well then. Tell me about Ambassador Dunvyen and his traitorous friends.”

Jessa looked up, swallowing hard. Now was where she had to make her decision. She could just repeat everything Maira had no doubt told the king already, or she could tell him about the trap they were planning. If she did not say now, she would have to keep it a secret forever. There would be no going back from it.

She thought for a moment longer, swallowed again, and started to speak. If Kieran, who was most certainly not a traitor – or, at least, not one who would be working with anyone but her and Rhys – had got himself involved with these people, then there was something he did not like about the situation. And if Kieran did not like it, then Jessa doubted that whoever they were and whoever was leading them would be much better than Alrick.

Of course, it would also help Alrick along with trusting Jessa. That was something she could not throw away. And so she told him everything she had overheard the women say about the trap for the king.

[Rosabeth]

Utter chaos was the only way to really describe the scene in the city as the refugees were led through the streets. Jasrans popped their heads out of windows, lingered at the sides of the streets, and yelled to each other to ask if anyone knew what was going on. Most refugees kept their heads down, embarrassed by the attention and too hungry and cold to even bother wasting energy on anything that was not putting one foot in front of the other. Rhys did his best to give some order to the chaos, but ordering around thousands was simply not possible in such conditions. Instead he focused on the Jasrans, those he knew would heed his commands. The simplest glare at a gawking bypasser had them scurrying in the other direction with their eyes averted. As the mass hurried through the streets, Rhys looked out for every inn and tavern he knew of, anywhere that had floor space to spare. Most owners complied with Rhys’ demand that the refugees be taken in without question, scared just to be faced with a Marinon who presented themselves as less than pleased. The same could not be said for every inn, however.

“Rhys.” The man resting in an armchair by the fireplace looked up with disappointment as Rhys slipped through the door.

“I’d prefer Lord Rhys, if you didn’t mind, Alexander.”

The man stared impassively but reluctantly gave the smallest of bows. “Lord Rhys. Of course. How can I help? Or are you here to inform me that once again my request for lordship has been denied. I won’t say I’m surprised.”

“If only I could be the one to deliver that pleasure.” Alexander glared but Rhys continued. “No, I actually have a serious matter today. Jenya was recently under siege and it’s survivors have fled the city and are here as refugees. We need places to house them. I know you have at least 50 rooms - that could hold at least 300 at least if floor space was utilized. And as many as we could fit could stay in the great rooms - I imagine that would be another 100 if furniture was removed.”

“What, you expect refugees to be able to afford my prices? And people sleeping on floors? This is a respectable institution,” Alexander seethed, looking past Rhys at the crowd outside the window.

Rhys was happy he’d at least found one way to find some happiness in this situation. Any opportunity to anger this stupid, petulant man was a grand opportunity. “Oh no, you’ll do it for free. And I expect you to feed them as well. For that I’ll give you some compensation, though I’m sure you’re rich enough to handle it. I mean, what lord would not have such funds?”

If Alexander was angry before he was positively furious now. “How dare you expect me to work for for free? And for what, vagrants?”

“You will do this because I say you will.” Rhys approached slowly, forcing Alexander to back into a pillar. Rhys rested one hand next to Alexander’s head, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Because if you don’t comply I will personally see that your inn and all other personal holdings are removed and put in the hands of someone more capable, and when the refugees leave town you can go with them. And that is if I decide to be merciful. Am I making myself clear?”

There was no arguing with a Marinon - even Alexander was not so bold or stupid. The loathing in his eyes said more than words, but Rhys knew it was submission.

At Rhys’ word hundreds of refugees poured into the inn, leaving Alexander and his staff swarmed with cold, huddled masses firing off thousands of questions. Rhys himself was nearly knocked down by the rushing crowd as he tried to make his way outside, and just as he made it to the door a woman whipped around the frame, walking straight into him.

“I’m so sorry, someone behind me pushed and I didn’t see y-- Lord Rhys!” It was the woman from before, Rhys realized. The one with auburn hair. She instantly dropped to her knees, bowing her head and wrapped her scarf more tightly around her head. “I did not know it was you. I am so sorry, my Lord.”

“Please, I told you to just call me Rhys. I insist.” Rhys put one hand to the woman’s chin, lifting it up to meet her eye. Her face was dirty and worn with fatigue, but there was something strangely familiar about it, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He pushed that thought aside, extending a hand to the woman as she came to her feet.

“Thank you, my -- Rhys.” She frowned at her error but Rhys gave a warm smile.

“Do you have somewhere to stay? You and your mother.”

“I came here to see if there is room for us. My mother is waiting outside. I told her to come in and get out of the cold but she’s still sobbing and I can’t get her to stop.”

Following the auburn woman outside, Rhys saw the mother held in the arms of another older woman, both crying. Once Rhys might have become irritated at the lack of composure and unbridled emotion, but Rhys saw something in their grief that was now tangible to him. It was an empathy he’d never known, and one he wished he could push away, for it tore at his heart to see such raw despair consuming everything around him. Yet there was hope in it, he realized. The women looked up suddenly, aware of his presence, and once more broke into tears while throwing themselves into elaborate thanks, the auburn woman’s mother taking Rhys’ hand in a vice grip and kissing it repeatedly.

“Mother,” the woman chided, giving Rhys an opportunity to withdraw his hand.”

The mother was even dirtier and worn than her daughter with half-healed cuts scarring her hands and arms. She must have noticed Rhys’ stares, for she quickly pulled her sleeves to hide the cuts, looking ashamed.
“You have done us a great favor, my Lord,” the woman said between sobs. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“It’s nothing, simply my duty.” Rhys noticed the auburn woman speaking quietly to her mother, pointing towards the inn and motioning for her mother to follow. Urged by some unknown force, Rhys felt himself lunge forward, putting a hand on the auburn woman’s. “Don’t go there. It’s...too crowded. And the innkeeper, well, you wouldn’t like him, no. No, I have somewhere better.” The auburn woman and her mother looked between one another with surprise. In truth, Rhys had no idea where this ‘somewhere better’ would be, but he liked this woman, and at a time like this finding good people was something to hold on to.

As they worked towards the central part of the city the crowd thinned enough for the roar to die down and a path to widen enough for two people to walk side by side. Rhys slowed his pace so that the auburn woman found herself walking beside him.

“I never did catch your name.”

“It’s Vymira, and my mother is Vylise. They’re strange names, I know. Old family traditions.”

“Funny, my mother’s name has the same beginning, Vyserne. I -” Rhys stopped dead in his tracks, shocked at his own stupidity. “Where are you from?”

“Jenya, of course,” Vymira spoke slowly, looking back at her mother with ill ease at Rhys’ sudden frantic words.

“No, no, I mean your family. Where are they from originally. Your names - those aren’t Etrenian names. They’re Aquenian.”

Vymira relaxed, obviously taking Rhys’ sudden interest as no more than academic. “Oh yes, my great-great-grandmother, or maybe farther back, I don’t know, immigrated to Etrene so many years ago after a period of political turmoil. She’d met her husband there in Aquena, but as an Etrenian he helped her leave. It turns out she probably should have stayed, seeing as our family gained quite a bit of power after the turmoil died down, but she’d already rooted herself here. The Vy at the beginning of my name is my maternal name, as I’m sure you know since you knew my name was Aquenian. All the women in my family have the Vy…” suddenly the realization dawned on Vymira’s face too. She stared at Rhys with a gaping mouth, both too shocked to move. “Your mother is Vyserene Dunvyen? The princess of Aquena? But mother always told me our shared names were just a coincidence, I never gave it any thought, but our family’s rise in power after my great-grandmother left...” Suddenly Vymira looked as if she might faint. “But that would mean…”

Rhys suddenly remembered why Vymira had looked so familiar. The eyes. She had Vyserene’s same, dark brown eyes, down the the same shape. It seemed like almost too strange a coincidence, but he could not deny what stood before him.

“I think we might be related.”

***

Erik had not been pleased to hear about the refugees, but given Rhys’ and Dima’s testimonies of what they’d seen, and given the circumstances, he agreed with their decision. He’d even delivered and executive order for all those with an income to feed any spare person be required to harbor at least one refugee, and for those with the space to take as many as they could. Rhys took this as a sort of personal victory, though he knew it to be nothing more than a political move. Vyserene, however, had taken far more of an interest in the women Rhys claimed to be their relatives.

“The story is plausible - my great grandmother did have a sister flee the country during the rebellion. Once our family emerged unscathed and she married the prince of Aquena she tried to contact her sister, but all contact had been lost. She’d thought her sister to have died,” Vyserene mused. She spoke as her handmaids dressed her in her winter clothes. At Rhys’ mention of the women she’d immediately insisted on meeting them face to face.

“Perhaps it’s possible she lived?”

“Qutie possible,” his mother acknowledged. “But it’s also possible that this is all a scam, a way to get to us. This information would not be hard to dig up. They’d already know my history, all they’d need to do is a little research.”

“But she has your eyes, mother. Almost exactly. She could pass for my sister if not for her hair. And we all know the red hair to be an Etrenian trait, making the auburn consistent with her story and not exactly something she can fake well,” Rhys insisted. He knew the moment his mother met Vymira she too would be convinced.

Half an hour later, Ero greeted them at the door as they arrived, ushering them in. “Rhys, Lady Marinon.” He gave a small bow to Vyserene. “They’re just through there,” he said, pointing to a door down a lit corridor. Vyserene immediately head towards the door, but Rhys lingered back.

“What do you think? Do you believe me?”

Ero shrugged and rubbed his chin. “It’s convincing, I agree. And I doubt this is some sort of scam, even though it does seem a bit out of nowhere, not to mention the sheer improbability of it all. I’m just wondering…” Ero looked around with care,” “...why do you care?”

“They’re family,” Rhys lied. He should have known Ero would not be stupid enough to believe in his interest in finding some long lost family when he barely cared about the dozens of cousins he did know.

Ero gave Rhys a much deserved look of disbelief. “Don’t lie to me, Rhys. I don’t deserve it.”

“I can’t tell you, ok? Not yet. But please believe me that it’s important, that they are important to me. Can you just take that for now?”

There was a long silence, but with a reluctant sigh Ero shrugged and gave a nod. Rhys have him a firm pat on the back, relieved to keep his secret for another day.

Before Rhys could leave Ero put a hand on his shoulder. “Rhys? Just please be careful. I don’t think they’re lying, but I also don’t think they are here by chance. I don’t think it’s by chance that they were the first people you met. Just...take care.”

When Rhys entered the womens’ room he found his mother standing before Vymira, staring into her eyes with a sort of wonder. Vylise watched with trepidation but dared not move, for Rhys was certain that with his family’s infamy Vylise was scared to death, even of her potential cousin. “Your eyes,” Vyserene murmured. She put down the hand that had begun to creep up towards the girl’s face and shook her head. “I apologize, this is not becoming of me. It’s just…”

“I know,” Vymira whispered. She had the same transfixed look on her face.

“Do you have anything that could prove your ancestry, anything other than your eyes?”

“No. All our belongings are still in Jenya. We had no time to take anything with us.”

“Hmm,” Vyserene went back to her staring, this time circling the girl.

There as a long silence before a “Wait!” echoed through the large chamber. All eyes turned to Vylise, standing at the back of the room holding a ring.

“This is my wedding ring,” she said, holding it out for Vyserene to inspect. “It was passed down to me by my mother, and to her from her mother, and from her from hers. You might recognize it, perhaps.”

Rhys peered over his mother’s shoulder at the ring, and even from his distance he recognized the ring immediately. It was an identical copy to the ring given to Jessa, the ring that held the charm. The main difference was that while Jessa’s ring contained a sapphire, this one contained an emerald.

“My ring!” Vyserene gasped. She snatched it from Vylise’s hand, inspecting it in the light. “It’s exactly the same.” To Rhys’ shock, the two women began to embrace, with Rhys and Vymira left staring incredulously. They began to chat animatedly, like old friends long parted. It was rare for Rhys’ mother to take to someone so immediately, even with her good nature, but Rhys realized that for his mother meeting family was something to be cherished when so far from home.

Rhys caught Vymira’s eye from across the way and motioned towards the door. Out in the hallway away from their mother’s they both relaxed, giving each other pleasant smiles. Today Rhys was able to get a clearer look at Vymira, now that she’d had the chance to bathe and dress in clean clothes. She was quite pretty, though Rhys realized she was quite a bit younger than himself, likely younger than even Dima. The dirt and rags from yesterday had hid the light sprinkling of freckles on her nose and the roundness of her face due to youth. There was something very pleasant and trusting about her, and Rhys couldn’t help but smile more broadly.

“I suppose we’re cousins, then,” she said with a smile.

“I suppose that’s right. It’s too bad your brother could not be here for this. I am sorry for your loss.”

Vymira’s face fell, but she gave Rhys an appreciative smile. “Thank you. I wish he was here too. Your mother would like to see him - he shared our same eyes.”

Rhys nodded along, but despite the niceties there was something more important nagging in the back of his mind. “Vymira…” be began, faltering. He couldn’t bring himself to bring it up, not after what this young woman had been through in the last few weeks.

“What?”

“Have you...have you…?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever had contact with magic? With Greater Magic?”

This seemed to be the right - or perhaps wrong - nerve to strike. Vymira’s expression turned to stone, and she looked towards the room with her mother pointedly.

“No, no,” Rhys tried to assure her, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but Vymira jerked away before he could make contact. “I’m not trying to harm you. I’m just looking for information, nothing more. I swear on my life that I will not reveal anything you have to say to anyone. My family does not give a damn about the law, so I assure you any secrets are safe with me.”

This did not seem to put her entirely at ease, but she still visibly relaxed, her stony expression falling. “Why would you want to know?”

Rhys hesitated. “I can’t say at this very moment, but depending on what you tell me I think the information might interest you as well. But I’ll repeat what I said before. On my honor you will not be harmed or thought badly of for anything you have to say. That is my word.”

Though Vymira bit her lip, Rhys knew he’d made an essential crack in her tough exterior. Rhys reached out to take her arm, leading her into a small sitting room nearby, hoping the atmosphere might put her more at ease. He waited patiently as Vymira wrestled with her conscience, playing with her thumbs quietly as she mulled over her thoughts. Eventually she sighed and leaned in close.

“What do you mean by contact?”

Rhys sighed with relief. “Anything. Have you ever used magic? Had it used on you?”

“You can’t judge me for what I say, because I doubt you are free of guilt yourself. When I was a child I tried magic. Everyone does it, everyone wants that power. My mother warned me against the evils of magic, but of course I didn’t care. I tried and tried and read all the books but nothing ever happened. Meanwhile my friend mastered the lesser magics easily, healing the scratches we’d get on our knees while climbing walls in the city. Me? I couldn’t heal a paper cut to save my life. Everyone I talked to was able to at least do something, if only to be able to say they could feel the magic, but me? I felt nothing, absolutely nothing. It was like magic repelled me.”

If Rhys had been nervous before it was nothing compared to now.

“But Greater Magic?” She continued, her voice dropping to nothing more than a whisper. “I can’t say I knew anything about it until two weeks ago during the attack. I wasn’t at home when the attack began, I’d been out with a friend and I was walking home through some back streets, trying to avoid drunkards in the main streets. As I was walking my foot hit something, and when I looked down it was a body. A dead body. It was just sitting there in the middle of the street as if no one had seen it. It took all I had not to scream, and I only held it in because I heard voices nearby. They were speaking another language so I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but they must have realized I was there because suddenly they switched to Etrenian, talking in perfect Etrenian accents. I tried to be quiet but they knew I was there. They jumped down from a nearby ledge, approaching me. They asked me what I’d seen, and when I’d said nothing they thought I was lying. All I remember is them looking at one another, and then one looking back at me with the strangest expression of concentration. After that things get hazy. I was under the most excruciating pain I’ve ever felt in my life. It felt as if my body was being ripped apart from the inside out. I don’t think this is what was supposed to happen, because they looked at each other with surprise. The pain would not stop, but now it became more intense. I was curled in a ball on the ground holding myself as it got worse, and suddenly POOF it stopped. There was just nothing. I was unconcious. The next thing I remember is waking up later in that street with everything around me on fire and more dead bodies to accompany the one at my feet.”

Rhys held is breath, daring not to breath for the horrible knowledge that by acknowledging what Vymira just said he would have to acknowledge that his worst fears had been realized. This was just one woman’s account, but Rhys knew it in his heart that her fate was his as well - he’d experienced it too.

“I told mama about it when we finally found each other again and she said that the men were likely trying to kill me with magic, though we don’t know how. But somehow it didn’t work. Somehow I survived, if only just barely.”

“Was that all?” Rhys managed to breathe out, the words sounding strangled in his throat. If Vymira noticed she did not comment.

“It was certainly enough! But no, it wasn’t. The next day was...odd. As I and the others who had fled the city were slowly making our way south, I started acting strangely. First I began hallucinating. I was talking to my brother, I was seeing things that weren’t there, it was like nothing I was seeing was real. It frightened my mother so badly she insisted on holding my arm as we walked. That night got worse. I woke up in the middle of the night and started walking. Next thing I know I’ve somehow stolen a sword from one of the men and have it pointed at myself, the tip against my stomach. The man who I stole from thankfully woke up and I spent the rest of the night pinned to the ground. The next day was better, but no one would listen to me. I wasn’t allowed to be alone for a second, not even to relieve myself. My mama insisted it was the stress of what had happened to me and what had happened to the city. I know better. I could feel something inside me forcing me to do those things. I wasn’t even really aware of what I was doing. I felt like a puppet in a show I couldn’t control.”

If Vymira said anything past that point Rhys did not hear it. His whole world was spinning, his heart racing, pounding in his chest. He could barely breathe as his throat closed up, the panic setting in. It was true, then. Everything they’d suspected. The aversion to magic was real, and so were the suicidal tendencies of those who came in contact with powerful Greater Magic. Though this was frightening enough on it’s own, that was not what horrified Rhys. What horrified him was knowing that the one woman he loved was also the one woman who had the power to kill him merely on accident, and that if she ever knew she would never be able to live with herself.

[Mollianne]

“You didn’t tell me about the threat on Father’s life.”

Jessa started, grabbing the nightdress she had just taken off and pressing it to her chest. Maira rolled her eyes, and said, “Come, come, aren’t we supposed to be sisters?”

Maira laughed, but Jessa was surprised the princess would even jokingly refer to them as related. Ignoring Jessa’s discomfort, Maira glided into the room as if she owned it and perched on the bed with only a small amount of distaste for the plain surroundings. “You really ought to move out of the servants’ quarters, you know,” she said idly. Then she focused on Jessa again. “So, you didn’t tell me.”

Jessa did not respond. She shifted uncomfortably, holding the nightdress tighter against herself until Maira sighed and looked away, putting a hand over her eyes. Jessa dressed quickly, picking the discarded day dress hanging over the chair from the day before. When she was done, she said, “I didn’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because—” Jessa faltered. “Because what I heard was so vague and it could have meant anything.” She was floundering. It had been a mistake to tell the king after keeping it from Maira. “For all I know, they could have known I was listening and lied.”

“It’s still a threat which has to be taken seriously.” Maira shook her head. “I should have been told. You were meant to tell me anything you hear. I am the judge of what is important. Not you. And I suppose could forgive you for it if not for our conversation yesterday. Until then, we’d barely seen each other, and you never seek me out. But yesterday, you outright lied to me. What’s going on, Jessa?”

“Nothing. I knew the king was returning and I guess I thought the fewer people who knew before he did, the better. If anyone finds out we know, we’ll lose our chance of learning who’s behind it.” Jessa put her hands behind her back, pressing her palms together and forcing herself not to fidget. Maira stared at her for far too long.

“You haven’t earned enough of our trust to keep things from us and give us information whenever you feel like it,” Maira said, standing up. “I don’t trust you. And Father doesn’t either, certainly not after this.”

“I understand,” Jessa said quietly. She picked at the neckline of her dress, her gaze flicking to the door.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Maira said. “You’re to come shopping with me. Father’s birthday ceremony is in a couple of weeks and we need dresses. And then you, Elissa and I have been invited to afternoon tea at the Janes’ since we could not join them for dinner yesterday. You shall barely have a few minutes’ rest today.”

No time to herself. Jessa pursed her lips and nodded. When Maira looked at her expectantly, she raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“We’re leaving now,” the princess said slowly. “The carriage will be waiting.”

In the carriage, Jessa looked out of the window and picked listlessly at the cushion underneath her. She could feel Maira’s gaze on her but instead of responding she hunched her shoulders and ignored her. The princess’ gaze did not waver, and Jessa’s neck started to tingle. She swallowed and started to tap on the carriage wall. What could only have been a ten minute journey easily felt like half an hour.

The girls left the carriage in silence, and Jessa followed Maira along the streets. She watched as people stare after their princess and then gave Jessa pitying looks as she passed. Their assumption, instead of offending her as it would have any of the nobles with whom she kept company, comforted her. Her time among the Ovisian highborn had not changed her too much.

They strolled past a dozen dressmakers’. Each was stocked with beautiful, but practically identical, dresses. Finally, Maira turned off the street and entered one of the shops. It looked more impressive from the outside than the others, set back from the rest of the street and accessed by wide whitewashed stairs. Pillars painted gold framed the door, while the sign above the door was made with twisted metal, also painted gold, instead of words painted on a piece of wood like the other stores. But the dresses on display in the window looked no better than the rest, although Jessa was certain there would be an exorbitant price difference if this was the sort of establishment that attracted royalty.

Jessa climbed the stairs and peered in the open door, saw the whirlwind of seamstresses as they swarmed upon the princess – some of whom had not even set aside the fabric they had been stitching – and could not tell a word they were saying. Maira seemed to manage; she nodded and let them pull her further into the shop. Just before she disappeared behind a rack of cloth, she turned to one of the women and pointed towards the door. Jessa, realising her absence had been noted, steeled herself and hastened into the shop.

The smell of cloth and dye itched her nose. The woman who had been sent to her hustled her towards one of the alcoves at the back of the store, and then bustled out without a word. Jessa watched as the woman pulled out dresses, tilted her head, then either replaced them or draped them over her shoulder. Apparently Jessa would have no say in the matter. The woman pulled out a particularly flamboyant red dress – why was it so often red just because she was technically a du Rene? – with frills and lace and a puffy skirt. Jessa grimaced as the assistant smiled and added it to the pile on her arm. There was most certainly a gleeful spring in her step as she left the rack and headed towards Jessa. She was doing it to embarrass her.

Jessa would not give her the satisfaction.

She tried on dress after dress, and rejected every single one with perfect grace. She knew she was annoying the assistant, both because she was not rising to the bait as the woman kept giving her dresses more ridiculous than the one before, and because she had rejected even those Jessa knew the woman actually loved. She felt a small amount of vindictive glee, but at the same time she just hated everything. They were too tight, too low-cut, too red, too showy, too uncomfortable. They represented everything Jessa hoped she wasn’t.

“I give up,” the woman declared after Jessa gave back the final dress with an apologetic smile and a shake of her head. She stormed off, leaving Jessa alone. Finally.

Of course, Maira had meant what she had said, and no sooner had Jessa taken a breath than she heard the princess shout her name. Jessa scrunched up her face, rubbed her forehead tiredly, and went to the princess’ call.

“What do you think?” Maira asked. She did a slow turn, the white hem of the dress sweeping the floor as she did so and the skirt wrapping awkwardly around her legs. The dress sparkled faintly from tiny jewels sown into the fabric. Given everything that had been thrown at Jessa, the gown was remarkably simple, but elegant. The tulle skirt was not puffy, and although the sweetheart neckline was not Jessa’s taste, it suited Maira and allowed her perfectly free movement unlike Jessa’s dresses. And mostly importantly it was not red. Was it only Jessa who was forced to wear that vile colour?

“It looks lovely.”

Maira still waited. Jessa bit her lip. “Anything else?” the princess asked. “I had it commissioned specially and I don’t want anything to be wrong with it.”

“It looks nice.”

“Okay, I thought you’d be a better person to bring along that Elissa since she just tells me I look plain in everything and that I have bad taste, but you’re useless. I know you don’t care very much, but surely you can say something more than ‘nice’.”

Jessa glanced at the seamstress behind Maira, biting her nails surreptitiously as she waited wide-eyed for the princess’ verdict. She sighed. “It’s the best dress I’ve seen today. I’m not sure whether white is the best colour, though. Aren’t you going to be outside when the king gives his address?”

“This dress is for the ball afterwards. I must wear red for the official address.” Maira scrunched up her nose. Jessa laughed. Maira did too.

“I know what you mean.”

“It’s awful, isn’t it?”

“It’s just so-”

“Garish, I know. Why couldn’t our family colour be… I don’t know, anything else?”

Jessa shuffled, the laughter dying in her throat. Maira did not even seem to notice what she had said, had probably not even meant it. Our.

“Are you okay?” Maira said after a while, peering over her shoulder at the mirror showing off the back of her dress. Her gaze moved to Jessa, who could not speak and simply nodded. Maira appraised her for a few moments, and then turned away and called over the seamstress. She started pointed at the small of her back, and the seamstress nodded emphatically. They both disappeared, leaving Jessa alone.

She shook herself. One friendly moment and one slip-up did not need to be analysed. It wasn’t anything. To distract herself, she wandered around the shop, trailing her fingers along the dresses, enjoying the softness of silk and satin and the roughness of chiffon under her fingertips. She came to a rack of blue dresses and stopped, staring at one wedged between two voluminous light blue gowns. It was the colour of deep sea, the colour of the sky in the moonlight, and the colour of the Marinon family. Jessa did not even think before taking it off the railing and holding it up. It was a straight dress, practically unadorned, just simple soft fabric and that beautiful blue colour. Perfect.

She looked over her shoulder to check that Maira, who would certainly not approve, was out of sight. Then she looked back at the dress. It was a risk. So risky.

Jessa smiled.

***

“Did you find anything?” Maira asked when they descended the steps out of the store.

“I’m not sure,” Jessa replied.

“Oh, well,” Maira said airily, turning left instead of right as Jessa expected. “I’m sure I can ask the castle seamstress to make something. It won’t be as nice as anything you can get there, but I suppose you don’t mind?”

“It’s fine. I’ll find something.”

“Not today. We’ve got somewhere else to be.”

Jessa raised her eyebrows at Maira’s cryptic tone, but resigned herself to trailing after the princess. She was led far from the upscale shopping district, which was clear when clean stone walls became moss-covered and chipped. The princesses trod carefully, showing her distaste in every line of her body. Jessa was surprised the princess would even venture this far from the comforts of the inner city, without a carriage between her and the dirt. People slunk into the shadows as the past, cowed both by the princess herself and the bodyguards behind them.

Maira turned down a dank alleyway. Jessa followed and almost gagged at the smell of rotten fish and urine. Maira was far ahead, clearly hurrying to get away from the smell. She ducked through a small door, almost hidden by the gloom of the alley. There was no sign above the door, nothing to indicate what lay beyond the dim hallway she could see. Maira gestured for her to come, but held her hand up to stop the bodyguards.

“Princess!” a gnarled man hissed in surprise when the two girls entered the door at the end of the hall. The man came around the counter bowed low. When he smiled, Jessa saw that half his teeth were missing, and the rest were yellowed and chipped. “What can I do for you?”

“I need your help with something. Can we talk somewhere?” she asked, “Privately.”

The man raised his eyebrows knowingly and nodded. “Of course, of course. Come, Your Highness, please.” He tottered into the room at the back of the room, holding the door open for Maira.

“Wait here, Jessa,” Maira said, and followed the old man. The door shut resolutely behind them, and Jessa could not even hear the faint hum of their voices. She looked around the room she was in for clues, but there was nothing. Just a lot of dust, and the smell of fish. What was Maira doing?

Twenty minutes passed and Maira did not return. She tapped her arm, counted all the black marks on the wooden walls around her – and tried not to think what they might be – and thought about all the things she could be doing if she was not there. All she could hear was the sound of her foot rapping impatiently on the floor. When she heard a slight crash, somewhere nearby, she jumped.

“Jessa!”

Jessa looked around at the whisper, but could not see anyone. Swallowing and rubbing her arms, she focused on the door at the back of the room.

“Jessa, up here.”

Jessa looked up at the tiny grate above her head. There was a face looking out, someone she thought she ought to recognise. His face was covered in dirt and he looked half-starved. Clearly noticing her blank expression, he said, “It’s Nayall.”

“Oh.” Nayall, the man who had told her the truth about Irina, the scholar whose mind he had destroyed, and Alistair’s part in it. “What are you doing here? How are you here? Are you following me?”

Nayall shook his head. “No, no. I just want to talk to you.”

“I don’t…” She took a step back. “I don’t like being watched or followed. You’re a creep. Leave me alone.”

“I just need your help. I have Peter Falan with me.”

Although she was still wary, she perked up. “This is about my mother?”

Nayall frowned and shook his head. “I have no idea. A few days ago – I was still in Pontery, gathering my strength after following you across the country, before I started the journey back to my family – when some people came in. They were clearly looking for someone. Me, I thought. So I went to hide, and found Peter. He thought they were looking for him.”

“So who were they looking for?”

Nayall paused. “Probably Peter. They didn’t look like mages, and that’s who the king would have had sent after me. They didn’t look official either. Peter was terrified. He’s here in the city with me. He just wants to know what’s going on. Why you came looking for him and then a couple of weeks later he’s run out of his home. He thinks you told someone he was there, even though he told you he was meant to be in exile.”

“I…” The only person she had told was the king, other than Alistair who already knew. If the king had sent anyone… “Are you sure they were there to hurt him?”

“Pretty sure. We watched them turn the whole village over, scaring the villagers and threatening them when they said they didn’t know anything. They weren’t there on friendly terms.”

“Then…” It could only have been Catrice. She was the only one who would care. But there was no way she could know. Alrick would never have told her, and neither would Alistair.

Before she could say another word, the door opened. Nayall pushed a piece of paper through the grate. Although she wanted nothing more to do with Nayall himself, given that he persisted in skulking around to talk to her, this could be about her mother. Jessa grabbed the note and turned around, pushing it down her sleeve. Jessa pushed a hand through her hair and hoped she did not look suspicious. She glanced up at the grate, but Nayall was already gone. She swallowed, and tried to appear calm.

“Thank you, sir,” Maira was saying, pulling money from her purse and handing it to him. “I am very grateful.”

“’M honoured, Your Highness,” the man said in his croaky voice.

“Come, Jessa,” Maira said, not even glancing her way. As they left the shop, Jessa saw the princess slip something round into a pocket of her dress. They hurried out of the alleyway, and barely even slowed until they reached the main thoroughfare of the city, where everything was again bright and polished and beautiful.

Jessa wanted to ask Maira what had happened, but she knew it would be pointless. They were not friends, and Maira was the heir to the throne. She didn’t have to answer to her. Instead, she glanced occasionally at Maira’s pocket and kept silent.

The carriage waited for them where they had left it. Maira clambered in first and Jessa followed. Once they were seated, Maira knocked on the roof and they began to move. Then, to Jessa’s surprise, Maira reached into her pocket and pulled out two round, golden stones. One was attached to a chain, and it was this one she proffered to Jessa. Jessa frowned, staring at the unfamiliar object, but when Maira impatiently thrust it at her, she took it.

Bringing it up to her face, she examined it. She noticed slight grooves in the gemstone which were invisible at a distance. She turned it around in her hands, vaguely recognising the engravings as letters from a presumably dead language. She thought she had seen it once before, but there was no way she would be able to translate it without books. “What is this?”

“It’s a listening stone. It hears everything you hear. And this one,” she said, holding up the loose stone she held, “is linked to it. Anything you here gets passed to this. It stores everything, so I can listen back whenever I want.”

Jessa looked down at it, trying not to let her panic show on her face. She swallowed and tried to focus purely on the stone itself, not what it represented.

“Obviously you’ve realised you’ll be wearing it. We want to be able to trust you, Jessa. If you truly have nothing to hide as you say, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Jessa nodded slowly, barely listening. All she could think of was that this tiny little stone had basically rendered her useless. What could she do for Rhys and the Novarians if everything she did was sent straight to Maira?

“Of course,” she said out loud. “It’ll make things easier, actually. We’ll be able to recall what people have said, verbatim, whenever we need it.”

“Exactly my thought,” Maira said, smiling though there was a hard edge to it. “I’m glad you understand. Now, you can never take it off, not for anything. It won’t get damaged.”

“So I’m to wear it for the rest of my life?”

“Of course not,” Maira laughed. “But these are difficult times, you know. We just need to know whether we can trust you. When we feel we can, we won’t need to know your every movement. But until then, I’ll be with you as much as possible. Either in person, or with this.”

“I do understand, Your Highness,” Jessa said. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

The royal family stripping her of her freedom, and their nonchalance at doing so, did not need explaining. She ought to have expected it sooner. She wished she could fight against it, and perhaps if she was not actually against the du Renes, she might have. But to further her cause, she would have to grin and bear it, and do the best she could do.

“We should be at the Janes’ soon,” Maira said, looking out of the window. When she turned back, she looked at the stone still in Jessa’s hand. “Put the necklace on, Jessa.”

“Who else will be there?” Jessa asked, complying with Maira’s order with a heavy heart.

“I believe it’s just us and Elissa.” She shrugged. “This is pleasure, Jessa, not business. You’re invited because the Janes want you there. You appear to have made quite an impression on the whole family. Let’s not tell Elissa.”

The carriage turned into the Janes’ grounds. Another palace carriage was already outside the door, and Elissa stood outside it, talking to Larend and touching his arm. Maira, following Jessa’s gaze, chuckled. “Doesn’t he look thrilled.”

Larend, noticing their carriage, hastily moved away from Elissa and came to greet them. When Jessa stepped out, she saw the younger princess glaring daggers at her.

“Princess Maira, Jessa,” Larend said, bowing his head. “My family are inside. I thought I’d come out to meet you.” He smiled at Jessa, who smiled back.

Maira said, “Yes, I’m sure you did. I think my sister wants you, Larend.”

He looked over his shoulder, where Elissa stood with her arms folded still glaring at Jessa. Larend sighed. “I suppose.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s not that bad, Larend. Sometimes.”

“We’ll see how you feel when you’re being pressured to marry someone,” Larend said, belatedly added, “Your Highness.”

“I’m sure I will,” Maira said, too lightly. Jessa frowned and watched Maira climb the steps to the Janes’ residence alone.

“I should go with her,” Jessa said, lifting her hand in Maira’s direction and beginning to head towards her. “Have fun with Elissa.”

She heard Larend groan behind her, and stifled a grin. Inside the house she found Maira handing her coat to the doorman. She watched the princess as she held herself carefully stiff, clearly composing herself. Something had shaken her stony exterior. And if she had not just forced Jessa to wear the necklace, she might have asked Maira if she was okay. Instead, they went into the sitting room in silence, and sat on opposite sides of the room. Maira instantly began talking to Larend’s sisters as if nothing was wrong. Jessa was quite content by herself, and shook her head when Charine waved her over.

Larend and Elissa entered, followed by Larend’s parents. Elissa clung to Larend’s arm, and when he tried to turn towards Jessa she guided him away, shooting Jessa a self-satisfied grin as she did so. Jessa had no idea why, but she had grown tired of trying to discern Elissa’s motives when it came to hating her.

“Hello, Princess Jessa,” Lady Magrethe, Larend’s mother, said quietly, sitting down beside her and offering her tea. “It is lovely to see you again.”

“Please, just Jessa. It’s a pleasure to see you, too, Lady Janes. I hope you are well.”

“I have my good and my bad days,” she said, sipping her tea and appraising Jessa over her teacup. “That is a lovely pendant, Jessa. An admirer?”

Jessa looked down. “Oh, no. I bought it for myself in town this morning,” she lied. Lady Janes leaned forward, touching the necklace. Jessa wondered if she would know what it was just by looking at it. It was doubtful, considering where Maira had had to go to get it. Nevertheless, Jessa held her breath until the noblewoman sat back.

“It’s very beautiful. This world needs a little more beauty these days. But everyone is always so busy for it now.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Jessa said.

Lady Janes laughed, though it was croaky and weak, presumably an aftereffect of her recent illness. Jessa noticed her hand shook slightly as she held her teacup – not enough to make the china rattle, but enough for the keen eye to see it. “Perhaps one day everything will change, and some of that ugliness will disappear with it. I like to think so, and soon.”

“What?” Everyone turned to look at Larend, who had stood and was staring at his father and Elissa in disbelief. Elissa jumped up, taking his arm and looking thoroughly confused.

“Aren’t you happy?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Oh, of course I am,” Larend said. He caught Jessa’s eye, his expression one of disbelief as Elissa seemed to take his sarcastic words at face value.

“I knew you would be!” Elissa exclaimed, turning to face the rest of the room. “Our fathers have finally consented the match. We’re getting married.”

[Rosabeth]

The smell of rotting flesh was beginning to dominate the main camp. In the city square a temporary camp stood around the central fountain, makeshift tents scattered and bunched, anything to keep out the cold. Though most of the refugees found sanctuary among the inns or houses of the cities, some who had come too late were forced to live on the streets, sheltered only by tarps and kept warm with wool blankets and the body heat of others. Among one of the many disadvantages of packing an already very populated city with thousands more was the strain it put on resources. The healers institute was already full to the brim with Jasrans, and thus one had been built, or rather hastily established, in the city center. It was no more than a few sturdy canvas tents with floors of mixed woods and beds brought in from across the city, any spare one that could be offered. Supplies were limited, and as there was no direct water source buckets of water were hauled from nearby wells nearly constantly. But beyond the shabby conditions, by far the worst part of the hospital was the steadily growing mound of severed limbs that decorated it’s front.

Rhys held his breath as he walked through the square, wondering if those who milled about had simply grown used to the horrific stench. The trek from Jenya had been a long and brutal one, and many of those who had not died on the way succummed to frostbite, resulting in fingers, toes, and even whole feet and legs being amputated upon arrival. Burying the parts was the obvious solution, but it was easier said than done in a city like Jasrah. Most streets were paved with cobblestone, meaning a hole could not just be dug anywhere, and one must travel far into the outer city to even encounter large patches of soil, most of which was owned by a liege lord or merchant. To make matters worse, and uncharacteristic frost settled on Jasrah the day after the arrival of the refugees, making the ground hard and difficult to dig. To make matters worse, unlike in Jasrah where burning a corpse was the usual disposal method except for the very wealthiest nobles for whom marble sarcophaguses could be made and placed in family mausoleums, in Jenya custom was to bury bodies, and the families of those who perished after arriving in Jasrah demanded such treatment of their dead. So much to Rhys’ chagrin, until the matter could be solved, the rotting flesh was there to stay.

“Rhys!” Selene looked up from a nearby bed as Rhys pulled back the tarp flaps to the healer’s tent. She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, wiping off her bloody fingers on her apron as she got up. “I’m so glad you could come. I’d hug you, but -” she held up her hands in apology.

“It’s fine.” Rhys took a moment to look around as Selene hurried to a basin of water to wash off her hands. There were beds crammed in at close quarters, nothing to prevent disease spread, but Rhys supposed at this point that hardly mattered. Healers were spread about, but as Rhys noticed most were not those he recognized from the institute. Most were just as Selene, practicing but novice healers, anyone with the ability to seal a cut or tend a fever. But there were only so many of them, for even reaching that stage of magic took a discipline many did not possess. To Rhys’ surprise the majority of the healers were in fact traditional doctors, tending to wounds with cloth and herbs rather than magic. These doctors were common in poorer, smaller villages, but in a city as prosperous and sprawling as Jasrah, they were few and far between.
“Come with me,” Selene ordered, grabbing Rhys’ arm as she reappeared at his side. Rhys said nothing as she dragged him down the aisle, her eyes scanning the rows. Suddenly she spotted whomever she’d been looking for, for she nodded off to the right and pulled Rhys along with her. They were standing before a middle aged man with a worn face and tough hands, callused from hard labor, that felt at the bandages around his middle. When he saw Selene he smiled, though his smile faltered as he looked to Rhys.

“I didn’t want no noble,” he barked, looking back to Selene with a more gentle expression that almost looked like an apology for his outburst.

“I’m a noble too, you know,” she reminded him.

He coughed. “You’re different. You do the people’s work.”

“Only on my off days,” she said under her breath, though she flashed the man another reassuring smile. “I assure you Rhys is here to help. Now why don’t you show him what you showed me?” Selene turned to Rhys and lowered her voice to no more than a whisper. “It’s really rather remarkable. Andrei here came in with an incredibly high fever - turns out the cut on his chest was infected. But when I bent over him to inspect his wound he reached out and grabbed me by the face with this crazed look in his eyes. At first I thought he was attacking me, but then - well, you have to see it for yourself.”

Selene was speaking in riddles. Rhys looked suspiciously at Andrei who sat cross armed, rather put out that he was forced to interact with Rhys at all. But with what was a rather pointed look from Selene, Andrei sighed and gestured for Rhys to lean in. The whole situation was less than trustworthy, but Selene was insistant, and Rhys had to admit he was curious. So slowly, and with much hesitation, Rhys leaned in. Suddenly Andrei’s hands were on Rhys’ head, the fingertips digging into his scalp with an undue pain for the pressure. Rhys gasped, but in an instant the pain was gone, replaced by a world of color. Flashes of light, clips of sound - Rhys’ senses could not focus on anything, his head feeling as if it was made of air. Just as quickly as it had started, it all came to a grinding halt, and what stood before him was not the scene he’d expected. In the distance stood a burning building, unfamiliar to anything Rhys had seen. Agonized and terrified screams filled the smoke-filled air and Rhys watched in perfect stillness as crowds ran past, shoving one another out of the way to get far from the fire. As the third group rushed past Rhys saw it, there, in the distance.

Four sword wielding men advanced on the group, or so Rhys thought. Before they could get too close a fifth man emerged from the shadows. He was tall and dark with short cropped black hair and broad shoulders, though despite this he still looked quite young. Rhys could only see him from the back, but something about the figure struck him as familiar. Suddenly Rhys was moving, though it was not of his own accord. He grabbed a knife sitting on a nearby table, but as he extended his hand Rhys’ heart lept, for the hand that moved without his accord was not his own. But there was no time for thought, for Rhys was already moving, dashing between shadows towards the group of men far less stealthily than he would have liked. As he crept closer to where the men stood he realized they were in some sort of confrontation, though the nature of which he couldn’t tell. The four united men were wearing a uniform of sort, but it was not something Rhys recognized. It bore some resemblance to the Etrenian soldier’s uniform, but it was not an exact copy. Still, it was red and bore the Etrenian crest, and at a distance might be able to be mistaken. But the other man bore no crest, he simply dressed in black from head to toe, no markers to set him apart. Both the dark man and the red men seemed to be behind the pandemonium, yet they did not seem to be on each other’s side.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The dark man’s voice was hollow and deep, strangely removed from his body. The four red men took pause and looked to one another warily. “The King will not be pleased.”

“Piss on the King,” said the tallest of the red men, spitting at the dark man’s shoes. One of his companions put out an arm in warning, another raised his sword against the dark man. “We’re on orders. If you don’t get out of our path we’ll cut you down just like those others.”

Within seconds the tall man was on the ground writhing in pain, his screams blending in with the many others. His three companions all raised their swords, but they too began to scream, all holding their heads. One had the sense to crawl away, but the other two attempted to fight back. This was a mistake. The shortest man fell to the ground instantly without a sound, his body hitting with a thud. He was dead. Then, the second fell alongside the first’s body, just as dead. Rhys gasped and pressed himself up against a wall, his hands grasping at stone. Suddenly his foot caught a stone and the gentle tapping against the streets as it rolled away might as well have been a scream, for it sounded just the same to him. The dark man’s head turned instantly towards him, and Rhys suddenly felt frozen in place. Perhaps it was this man’s magic holding him there, but Rhys would never know, for his own fear kept him just as surely held. He knew that face. He’d seen that face so many times, but never with such a void in expression. The face he knew remained, but the man behind it was surely gone, lost somewhere within the shell of his body. That man was once Odaren.

With every fiber in his being Rhys longed to say something, to see if there was any recognition left in that cold, stony expression, but Rhys could not move his lips. He couldn’t even control his body. Without control he lashed out with the knife and made contact with Odaren’s arm, but Odaren was much better at a controlled fight. He quickly disarmed Rhys, took the knife and slashed at Rhys’ chest. Rhys felt the pain, but he could not focus on it. All he knew was that Odaren was walking away, back into the middle of the disaster that raged around them. Rhys stumbled away, back towards the fallen red men with one hand held to his bleeding chest. Rhys protested against his own limbs, but his body refused to take any orders from this predetermined course. Rhys found himself standing above the men, looking down at the unharmed corpses who stared back at him with lifeless, wide eyes. He had not been able to get a good view of them until now, but their appearance up close was rather striking. All three were blonde, a shade that, though not exact, reminded Rhys much of the twins. They also looked distinctly not Etrenian, despite their apparel. Then, Rhys noticed something. Something small poked out of the breast pocket of the tall man, a small, folded piece of paper. Rhys struggled to get to his knees as he felt the blood loss from his wound becoming greater by the second. His vision was beginning to blur, his head practically weightless. Even so, Rhys found himself reaching for the paper and finally grasping it in his hand. It took every last bit of effort to unfold the paper, but soon enough he held it between his shaking hands, surprised to find that the writing was in two languages, neither of which were Etrenian. The first, what looked like the original, was Novarian, but the second, written in darker ink at likely a later date, was the translation of that text into Barichean. Rhys felt his consciousness fading fast and blackness began to become his world, but in those last few moments Rhys found the strength to read the words.

“Flush them out. It will start in Jasrah. We will meet there.”

Light burst into Rhys’ world in a blinding fashion. The darkness and fire and smoke were all gone, replaced with quiet chatter and calm. When his vision returned Rhys saw that he was exactly where he last remembered, Andrei narrowing his eyes at him with distinct distrust and Selene watching for his reaction with bated breath.

“What exactly was that?”

“Isn’t it amazing?” Selene gushed, remembering only half way through to keep her voice down. “The first time he did it it was an accident. I think he just wanted someone to have his memory in case he died from the infection. But it’s a truly incredible power. I didn’t even know these memory transfers existed.

Rhys began to put together the pieces quickly. “That was a memory? Andrei’s memory? Is that why I couldn’t move or speak?”

Selene nodded. “All your actions were predetermined, you were just seeing it through his eyes. Now Rhys, I wanted to ask you about that note at the end, I couldn’t read it but -”

“Odaren. He was there.”

Selene paused. “Who?”

“The tall dark man. I know him. He’s my friend.”

If Andrei looked distrustful before he was livid now. “No, not like that,” Rhys began hastily. “He was once my friend. He was kidnapped by...some very bad people.” Rhys hoped his pointed look was enough for Selene to figure out what he was leaving out. “We’ve been looking for him for quite a while.”

“Rhys, I’m so sorry,” Selene murmured, putting a hand to his shoulder. “But…”
“The note. It said -” an uneasiness washed over Rhys quickly, his head suddenly feeling as though it was made of air. He grasped at the bedpost and Selene hurridly took one of his arms in alarm.

“Rhys?”

“It said…it said…” Rhys tried to force the words, but he was suddenly so tired, so very tired… “it said to flush them out. It will start in Jasrah. Selene, I think I kno-”

The world went black.

[Mollianne]

“This is really good,” Jessa said, leafing through the pages Harris had proudly shown her that morning. Unlike the last time Harris had tried to talk to her about his studies, she was actually paying attention this time. “Really good. You’ve been working hard.”

Harris nodded excitedly, coming to sit on the sofa beside Jessa. They were in one of the sitting rooms at the rear of the castle, overlooking snow-covered lawns. A few weeks or months ago, they would have been busy with nobles walking the gravel paths and lounging on the grass, the hum of chatter audible in the sitting room, but now the grounds were empty and gloriously silent.

“I don’t ever want to stop. Wherever I go, I take one book or another, and just read. This period of Antascian history is just so fascinating. They’re usually such a placid, neutral country – I mean, they’re the only country who hasn’t really had anything to say about the, you know,” Harris coughed, the rush of words stuttering to an awkward halt, “current conflicts. But their civil war was one of the most violent in history. And there’s so many different accounts as to why it started, and none of them agree. I’m determined to find the truth.”

“How do you suppose you’ll do that?” Jessa asked, smiling fondly – and a little wistfully. She remembered a time when she was Harris, when her research was everything. It was nice that, while her life had been completely torn apart, so much so that the pieces could never fit together properly again, other people’s lives could still go on as normal. Time still went forward.

“Well, I’ll examine all the accounts in my books, but that will only get me so far. As soon as I’m of age, I’ll go to Antascia and talk to the people. Find the truth. I’ll probably just live there – I’m not really needed in Ovis, and Antascia’s meant to be beautiful, far more beautiful than Ovis. There are these natural caves by the coast, and they’re meant to be massive. And apparently the walls glitter and the rock formations look like they were made by man not nature, they’re so intricate. If I never see it, I’ll be so disappointed.”

“You certainly have your life sorted out more than I did when I was your age,” Jessa said, skimming the last few pages of Harris’ essay. “More than anyone your age, probably. You’ll find the truth, and you’ll see those caves so many times you’ll probably be bored of them.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Harris grinned. “About the caves anyway.”

Jessa ruffled Harris’ hair. He squirmed away from her and snatched his work back. Jessa opened her mouth in protest, but Harris just stuck out his tongue. “You deserve it.”

Jessa raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I do, do I?”

Harris nodded, hugging his essay to his chest. He was a picture with his wide eyes and mussed up hair, and Jessa could not help but laugh again. Harris laughed along with her, but his smile did not quite light up his face as it always had before.

“Are you okay?” Jessa asked, sobering.

“Yeah, just… It’s nice to see you smile. And just all of this in general. It feels like the old you, when I’d come and visit you in the library and you were happy. Before – before everything.”

“Oh Harris,” Jessa sighed, opening her arms wide. Harris shuffled closer, his papers still against his chest. The corners dug into Jessa’s shoulder as she hugged the young prince, her friend – the only true friend she now had from her life before Rhys. She squeezed a little tighter. “We’re creasing your work,” she whispered, trying to lighten the mood.

“Why don’t you come to the university anymore?” Harris asked, ignoring her. Jessa swallowed, pulling away from the boy and staring into her lap.

“I just… don’t. There’s a lot going on at the moment, and I don’t have a place there.” Jessa shrugged.

“You do. You could work with Professor Gallard teaching classes, or find a new research area, or anything!”

Jessa sighed again. The last thing she wanted to do was work with Alistair, and the last thing she had time for was to figure out a new direction for her research. Neither of those things was something Harris would understand.

She watched as Harris’ face fell a little more the longer she stayed silent. “I miss you,” he said finally. “You’re always with Maira these days, or out at parties. You hate parties, I know you do. Why do you go to them?”

“Harris…” Jessa massaged her forehead. “It’s complicated.”

“Not really. You hate parties. Don’t go. You love research and the university. Do go.”

She smiled, apologetic but unwavering. Harris slumped against the back of the sofa. Silence filled the air, heavy and hard. The young prince was hurting, upset that the only person in the castle who had never dismissed the things he loved was dismissing him now too. Jessa shifted, her stomach roiling with unease and guilt. Why couldn’t she spend more time with her friend? She could work to get back the du Renes’ trust, further her true cause as a spy, and look after Harris, couldn’t she?

“Hey,” she said, lifting her hand to ruffle Harris’ hair again before thinking better of it. Her hand fell uselessly into her lap. “I’ll come to the university soon. And we’ll meet every morning, just us, and do whatever you want.”

“You promise?” Harris asked, brightening up. His shoulders relaxed and he sat straighter. His eyes sparkled as Jessa nodded. “Good. Come soon. It isn’t just me that misses you being there.”

“I know,” Jessa said quietly. She held out a hand. “Can I read the rest of your essay now?”

Harris grinned, and faked reluctance at handing it over to her. She began to read, and he shuffled closer, looking over her shoulder at his work and occasionally glancing at her face to gauge her reaction. It took twice as long for her to read with him staring, so eventually she gently pushed him away.

When she was almost finished, Harris suddenly declared, “I am never going to marry.”

Jessa let out a bark of surprised laughter, looking up. “What?”

“I’m not going to marry.”

“And why are you even thinking about this?”

“Elissa and Larend. I don’t want that. He seems miserable and she doesn’t even notice. I would much rather be alone and with my books. Everyone seems to change after they get married, and I like myself as I am. And if Father wants me to marry, well, he’ll have to find me in Antascia first.”

“Right,” Jessa said, nodding sagely to hide her amusement. “And what happens if you meet someone in Antascia?”

“I don’t have to marry them. And I won’t, anyway.”

Before Jessa could say anything, there was a knock on the door. Jessa and Harris both turned around in their seats, looking over the back of the sofa as Maira peered through the door. She looked… conflicted. “Jessa, can I speak to you for a minute?”

“Yes…” Jessa said warily, standing up and passing Harris’ essay back to him. She watched him deflate, and felt awful that she was leaving him yet again in the middle of their time together. She tried to reassure him “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He nodded, but it was slow and sad and Jessa knew he did not believe her. Pressing her lips together, she left the room and shut the door quietly. She faced Maira, who had her hands clasped together. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t want to come to you,” Maira said. Jessa frowned. That was not the best start. The princess began wringing her hands, and it was then that Jessa knew that there was definitely something wrong. “But Father won’t listen to me, and I know my mother wouldn’t care either – she’s too busy congratulating herself on finally securing the match between Larend and Elissa. Elissa’s caught up in dream world, and I wouldn’t want to talk to her anyway. Edmund and Harris are too young and inexperienced to really know what to say.”

Maira was stalling. She never stalled. Whether she was lying or telling the truth, she always spoke clearly and to the point. “What is it?”

“Do you think it matters if you already know the man you’re to marry before the engagement?”

“Oh,” Jessa breathed. Suddenly little things started to make sense. Maira rushing off when Larend had snapped at her about being pressured to marry someone. And since then, every mention of Larend and Elissa’s impending nuptials had Maira rolling her eyes or leaving the room. She briefly wondered who it might be, when she recalled the Janes’ ball.

“It’s Lord Khalid Farani,” Maira confirmed. “Father came back from the front rather more aware of his own mortality than he would like, I think. It’s why he’s finally agreed to Elissa marrying Larend. And I guess he heard Lord Khalid was in the city, and decided that some distant cousin of the queen of Barichea was good enough for me. His status is higher than any of the men of my acquaintance here, but he’s unlikely ever to ascend the throne of Barichea. Perfect, in his eyes.”

“Surely you knew your father would arrange a match for you at some point,” Jessa said, leaning against the doorframe and looking sideways at the princess.

“Actually no. I thought he might actually trust me to make my own decision, considering I’ll be ruling this country one day. In fact, he kept hinting as much, up until recently. This war has changed that. And I apparently have no say in it, because whenever I try to talk to him about it he says his decision is final. So, does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” Jessa said. “I don’t exactly have much experience. I met—well, you know how it happened. And I doubt anything would have been different if we had met earlier. We were still forced to marry.” She cleared her throat. “But I suppose we could just look at Larend and Elissa. They’ve known each other for years, and I can’t see that being a happy marriage.”

Maira nodded. Jessa tilted her head. “Is there something specific about Lord Khalid that has worried you? He seemed nice enough at the ball.”

“I don’t know.” Maira sighed, and started pacing beside the door. “I guess it just feels like there’s something strange about him. Like he’s hiding something.”

“Most people in Ovis are probably hiding something,” Jessa reminded her. Maira rolled her eyes, the first thing she had done so far that seemed like something Maira would do. “Just get to know him. You asked if it matters if you know him before you marry. Well, you have the chance to do that. My advice is take it. Unlike me, you might actually have a choice if you decide you really can’t marry him. Or you’ll find that your fears are just a product of rebelling against the idea of being told who to marry.”

“What if he tries to take over when I’m queen?”

“You’d be the queen. Tell him to leave ruling the country to you.” Jessa was surprised at how easily she had spoken. If everything went according to their plan, Maira would never be on the throne. She was lying to her in a way that, a few months ago, she could never have done.

“I know, of course I know that. I just had always imagined that I would be a few years into my reign, established as queen, before I took a husband. I realise that was probably foolish – Father will probably live a good many more years and I will need an heir. I suppose it was a last lingering dream from the young girl in me.” She straightened. “I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. It really is nothing.”

“Losing control over something you thought was yours isn’t nothing. You’re allowed to be upset and worried about it,” Jessa said. She touched the stone necklace, which was listening to every word, every sound. It was one of many times that Jessa had lost control over part of her life. “And now you just need to find a way to take back control.”

As she spoke, Jessa realised that she herself had done that. The king had forced her to marry Rhys, and she fell in love with him. The king had kept her magic a secret, risking her very life, and Jessa was now fighting to dethrone him and get control over her magic. This necklace? She could fight against that, too.

[Rosabeth]

In the beginning there was weightlessness, and then stillness, and then a quiet murmuring that would not subside. Beyond the darkness Rhys could sense there was some light, but it was so far, too far to touch, and so he did not try. He floated in that state of calm, bothered only by the murmuring. Was it a voice? Rhys could not tell. For sometime, for the nothingness too gave no meaning to time, Rhys was content, but it seemed as if the void would allow no such thing. Slowly the darkness began to lift, replaced by a subtle glow that grew and grew into a relentless and blinding light, and the murmur grew louder and transformed from one low hum to a multitude of voices and sounds, none of which Rhys could distinguish. And just like that the weightlessness was gone, replaced by a total feeling of his body. It wasn’t of much use, though, for Rhys was fairly sure he could not move even if he tried.

“He’s awake, mother.”

The voice came from nearby, but Rhys could not determine the speaker. As his hearing adjusted to what he realized now was reality, the voice retained a strange genderless tone. It took Rhys a moment to realize that his eyes were open, for the initial light was so blinding he’d seen nothing else. As his eyes adjusted, however, he realized that the light was not nearly as blinding as he’d thought, and the blurry face that blocked the source helped to block out the bulk of the intensity. There was a soft, gentle face, warm brown eyes, and a voice that was immediately recognizable.

“Rhys, Rhys, Rhys,” Vyserene sighed, placing a hand gently against Rhys’ cheek. “Why is it always you?”

“Glad to know you’re concerned.”

“Well, it seems the fall didn’t destroy your lovely sense of humor,” said another. Rhys knew the voice this time, no longer a muddled mess. He peered around his mother to see Anja leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. Despite her typical apathy, Rhys thought she looked a bit concerned. But maybe he was seeing things.

“My head is pounding,” Rhys groaned as his mother moved, the full force of even the relatively dim light hitting him like a pound of bricks. He reached up to his head only to find it bandaged.

“You hit the ground pretty hard when you fainted,” said his mother, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. “You’re lucky Selene was there to help, and that she was smart enough to move you away until help could be reached. A healthy young man fainting at random raises eyebrows. And it was suspicious.” She glanced away, exchanging a private look with Anja.

“I’m not sick, if that’s what you’re hinting at.” Rhys mustered all his strength, every ounce that had slowly trickled back, just enough to sit up and swing his legs over the bed. His mother helped stable him as he wobbled, touching the hurting side of his head. “It was-” suddenly Rhys felt ashamed, “-well, it was magic. Greater magic.”
“Rhys!” Vyserene groaned. “Why would you do this? Do you seek out this pain for yourself? I thought we’d established that until we get a better understanding of this strange magic within us, whatever it is about us that makes Greater Magic do this to us, that we were to avoid it at all costs? Do you want to get yourself killed?”

The volume of her rant was too loud, but Rhys new better than to shush his mother. He held more tightly to his head. “Well, I didn’t exactly get choice, it just kind of happened.” The worry on his mother’s face had Rhys immediately regretting his words. “I wasn’t attacked, don’t worry. Selene found this man that witnessed some things in Jenya and she wanted to show me. It turns out that his way of “telling you” is implanting you in his own memories. Apparently it was too much for me to handle, that’s all.”

A cold, uncomfortable silence followed, and just from Vyserene and Anja’s expressions Rhys began to understand the implications of what he said.

“It wasn’t malicious magic?” Vyserene asked cautiously, as though she was afraid of the answer.

Rhys swallowed hard. “No. And I’ve experienced much more benevolent magic before without these effects. I think...I think it must be getting worse, that my body is building up a tolerance.”

His mother was not pleased, but in typical fashion kept her composure. She rose from the bed, took a few steps in one way, and then the other, beginning to pace in an uncharacteristic fashion. Even Anja, who often seemed to emotionally detached, looked on in interest. Eventually she stopped, sighed, and smoothed back her hair. “Now is just not the time. I can’t,” she sighed once more, putting a stop to the slight tremble in her voice, “do this right now. I have to be in the city in an hour. Anja, watch your brother. We can’t have any drastic actions from Rhys. And Rhys? You are not to leave the house. Not today. Not for any reason. Are we understood?”

Neither Rhys nor Anja were pleased. “I’m not watching him! I’m not his babysitter, I have things that I need to do! Isn’t this what we have servants for?” Anja complained.

Vyserene’s head snapped towards Anja, her look furious. “More important that making sure your brother doesn’t commit suicide? That is not something I would trust a servant with. Would you?”

If it were not a true possibility, Rhys would feel insulted, but instead he just felt embarrassed. Anja quieted instantly, though her pursed lips showed she was no happier with the circumstances than Rhys. Their mother gave them both one more hard stare, just enough to remind them of how serious she was, before leaving them alone. When the door shut, though, Anja was immediately on her feet.

“I’m not staying here with you.”

For a moment Rhys felt a legitimate swell of panic, at which he was surprised. He was 26 and perfectly capable of taking care of himself. That’s what he told himself, anyway, because the truth that he could lose control at any moment was far too terrifying to consider. “You know mother’s right. You can’t leave me alone, at least not for a while. I’m a ticking time bomb.”

“I’m not going to just leave you,” Anja said, sounding almost insulted. “I’m going to get Dima to do it.”

Rhys snorted. “I’m sure he’ll be very open to that.” But Rhys new Anja’s powers of persuasion. Twenty minutes later Anja was gone and Rhys found himself staring at his little brother.

After a few minutes of silence, suffered largely because Rhys was in too foul a mood to chat, Dima broke down.

“You have to tell me everything. I’ve only heard the rumors. Did you know that some people in town have been saying you’re dead and that’s why no one’s seen you since you passed out?”

“What, if I’m not in the city for an hour I’m dead?”

Dima paused, looking rather confused. “Rhys, you’ve been unconscious for two days.”

Two days. Rhys could hardly comprehend it. Hadn’t he just been with Selene moments ago? Of course, to get him home would have taken some time, but Rhys had never thought it would be more than an hour. Still, the time did explain why his body was stiff and sore, and why even the smallest light caused him discomfort. “So what happened?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there. What happened to you? Anja told me it was magic, that you were seeing someone else’s memory, which I’d just like to add sounds fantastic. What did you see? Was it really that scary?” Dima grinned at his own lame joke but Rhys would have none of it.

“No, I witnessed several people get murdered by my friend, that’s what I saw.”

Dima’s smug expression disappeared in an instant. “Who?”

“His name is Odaren. You’ve never met him, he’s Laurita’s brother. He was kidnapped by some of the King’s men a while back. He’s been brainwashed with magic, turned into some sort of killing machine.” The words themselves tasted like ash in his mouth. Rhys could barely go on. “Anyway, I don’t know where he is, but in the memory I found a note in the pocket of one of the men he killed. It said that they were supposed to “flush” Jenya, that it would start here in Jasrah.”

“That what would start?”

“I don’t know, it didn’t say.”
“Who were the men? The one’s who were killed. Were they the one’s who started the fighting in Jenya? I’ve heard it was Etrenians who were behind it.”

“I don’t know, but they definitely weren’t Etrenian, and they were wearing some bad copy of the Etrenian soldier uniform. Besides, the note was written in Novarian and Barichean, not Etrenian. And...wait, who’s saying the Etrenian’s were behind it?”

“Everyone,” Dima shrugged. “It’s the general rumor. I mean, no one is positive, but there’s a lot of people who swore that the men who were burning the buildings were wearing the king’s colors and insignia.”

That’s not what Vymira told me, Rhys remembered, a frown coming to his face. Someone was lying, and Rhys had the visual evidence to know who. But why would Vymira want to hide the truth? Why would she lie about something like that? But then, what were the chances of their meeting at all? Rhys suddenly felt very uncomfortable

“Dima, the men who were killed, the one’s wearing red? They looked strikingly like the Lanis twins. Not family resemblance, per say, but they had that same ice blonde hair and pale skin. They were definitely not Novarian, and not like any ethnic Etrenian I’ve ever seen.”

“Do you think they’re involved? They’ve been here the whole time, you know that.” Dima seemed less suspicious than Rhys, but from Rhys’ look of concern alone Dima’s expression slowly changed.

Rhys answered honestly. “I don’t know, but it’s suspicious, don’t you think? I mean, everything about the Lanis’ is suspicious, ever since their arrival. I just think it deserves a look.”

Dima considered Rhys’ words, but he seemed preoccupied with some other thought. “Didn’t you say the note was in Novarian, though? Or Barichean? Whichever you said, I can’t remember. The Lanis twins speak Etrenian.”

“It was both languages, actually. The Barichean was written later though, so I think it’s a translation. And you have a point, but I also speak Novarian and Barichean, so the fact that they speak Etrenian doesn’t mean much.”

“They speak without accent,” Dima reminded him.

“Yeah, well they might have been at it for a while. No one knows where they’re from.”

Dima sighed, and it felt almost condescending. “Dont you think you’re reaching a little? That you’re looking for a reason to blame them because you’ve never trusted them?”

Rhys balked. “Do you trust them?”
“No,” Dima shrugged. “But I don’t really trust anyone.”

Rhys felt as if he was hitting the same wall over and over. He’d been so certain he’d come upon something important, but Dima was making him doubt himself over and over. He longed to have Jessa there. She’d understand. But most importantly, she’d be just as wary as he was.

“But Rhys, the note,” Dima pressed, breaking Rhys from his thoughts. “Whoever wrote that note is probably Novarian, if that was the first language written. And since it was translated they probably have Baricheans working for them.”

“The only one’s who the Baricheans work for are the king, and he sure as hell didn’t write a note in Novarian. And it’s not Tula either. Her men had already passed through Jenya. Besides, she’d have no interest in razing a city. Jenya is a poor city of fisherman, not a fort or something to be pillaged.”

“No, that’s true.” Dima looked annoyed with the interuption. “But as I was saying, that means there’s someone behind this who’s Novarian, but at least has Barichean ties. Someone who would want to frame the King for war crimes. But the only Novarian we know who’d be that invested in the war is Tula, and she’s already fighting.”

Rhys didn’t know what it was, but something in Dima’s words clicked in Rhys’ mind, and he was struck by just how blind he’d been. Rhys’ eyes found the silk tapestry that had hung on his bedroom wall for the last 10 years, a gift from the Arcius family. The Arcius’. How could Rhys have ever been so blind? Was it not Ezaria who had told Jessa of her family’s curse, of their true claim to the Etrenian throne and the spell that kept them silent? Had it not been Ezaria who had admitted to circulating mage spies throughout Etrene? And had it not been Ysana who had fled from Novamor with her daughter and husband over fears of war, and more specifically her mother’s actions in such a war? He had been so blind.

“The Arcius’.”

“What?” Dima looked at Rhys as if he’d grown a second head. “No, they’re our friends! They wouldn’t do something like this. Besides, what interest do they have in Jenya?”

“No interest, but Jenya’s not the point. The note said that it would start in Jasrah, not Jenya. They have ties HERE. I don’t know what Jenya’s part in this is yet, but Jasrah is the key. The Arcius family has more reason than perhaps anyone to have a vendetta against the King, against all of Etrene, really.” Rhys had forgotten that Dima did not know about that piece of information, but he had no time to explain. “Just trust me on that one.”

Dima was still incredulous, but Rhys could tell that his own passion was keeping Dima from arguing. Rhys’ mind, however, was racing. Despite his pounding headache and the threat of magic side effects revealing themselves at any moment, Rhys had never felt so alert. The fog that covered the mystery was finally lifting, and the horror of it all was almost too much to bear. Despite this revelation, there was still so much left unknown. How did the Lanis’ fit in all of this? Rhys was not stupid enough to think the two were separate. He had to know.

Before Dima could protest Rhys ran to his closet, hurriedly pulling on the first shirt and trousers he could find, jumping around on one foot as he pulled on his boots. “Dima, what day is it?”

“Friday,” he answered tentatively. “Rhys, what are you -”

“The Lanis twins usually are in the tavern around this time, yeah? Don’t they hold their ‘meetings’ or whatever it is they do on Fridays?”

“Yes, but-”

This was good. If he was quick he'd have plenty of time. “Dima.” Rhys put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. He was sure his eyes were wild but he couldn’t care. He had to do this. “Will you promise not to tell mother? Please.” Dima’s shocked expression didn’t falter, but Rhys knew his brother well enough to know that Dima was not one to snitch. He gave a quick thank you before darting down the hall, unable to get to the stables fast enough. When he arrived he was glad to find that his mother had given no instructions to the stable masters, and as such Rhys’ horse was prepared without question. As Rhys waited impatiently he heard his named called from behind. When he turned he saw Dima running towards him.

“Dima, don’t try to stop me, please.”

Dima laughed. “Me? Stop you? Do I really seem the type? I should be insulted. No. I want to come with. I don’t know what you’re planning on or why you’ve suddenly gone crazy, but I want to help. It’s far too boring around here - I could use a good mystery.”

Rhys’ worries faded, and he nearly smiled. “It could be dangerous.”

“I love a little danger,” Dima grinned. “So, what are we doing?”

“We’re breaking into the Lanis’ house, and when they come home we are taking them hostage."

[Mollianne]

Preparations for Alrick’s birthday were well underway. Jessa had escaped the madness inside the castle by hiding up on the gallery which overlooked the council chambers. She was curled up on a window seat, curtains pulled enough to hide her from passers-by. Although a book rested on her legs, she was not reading it. Instead, she watched as servants filed out of the castle grounds towards the North Gate, one of the two entrances to the inner city where the nobility lived, carrying planks of wood to build the stage for Alrick’s address. The North Gate would be closed until the celebrations were at a close, which Jessa thought was idiotic given how many people it would inconvenience. Nevertheless, the stage was already half-built, and Jessa had no doubt that it would soon be resplendent in all sorts of unnecessary decoration to prove the wealth of the royal family.

Yesterday, Maira told her that she was expected to appear on the stage. She would be apart from the rest of the royal family, alongside the few others who had the honour of standing behind the king, but nevertheless present. Jessa had tried to get out of it, but apparently it was non-negotiable. She had more than a suspicion that it was because they did not trust her. They undoubtedly thought that if she was in the crowd, alone and invisible, she would try and sneak off – though the damned necklace made that practically impossible.

“Jessa?”

Jessa jumped. When she recovered, she peered around the curtain up into Kieran’s face. “Kieran! How did you find me?”

“You’re not particularly well hidden, if that’s what you were going for,” Kieran said with a grin, pointing at her feet. Jessa tucked them closer to her body with a sheepish smile. Kieran raised his eyebrows and sat down opposite her. Unlike her, he did not lounge. Instead, he looked on edge, his back to the wall so he could look both out of the window and into the corridor. Watchful, waiting. When he finally glanced her way, Jessa pointed at her necklace and mouthed ‘They’re listening.’ Kieran frowned, and after a moment nodded. Hopefully that meant he understood.

“How have you been?”

“Oh, you know,” Kieran said. “Doing this and that. Ambassadorial things. And of course there’s the address, which is all anyone seems to want to talk about around here these days. I think they’re taking any chance they can get to bury their heads in the sand and ignore what’s happening further south. But I should stay out of it. I’m Aquena’s ambassador, when all is said and done. It’s not really my fight.”

“What do you know of the front?” Jessa asked, leaning forwards slightly. The last time she had spoken to Rhys, he had been right there, wounded but alive, promising to leave. She had convinced herself he had. It was the only way to get through the day without giving herself over to panic.

“Not much. Like I said, it’s not really meant to be my concern. There’s mass casualties on both sides, and though the Novarians are slowly creeping forwards, the Etrenians are doing a fine job of delaying them. I don’t know anything more specific.”

Jessa nodded. She ached to ask more, to ask if he’d heard from his sister recently, or from anyone in Jasrah. But she couldn’t. Jessa slumped back against the wall.

“Let’s hope it continues in that way,” Jessa said.

They watched the servants come and go, and easy silence settling over them. The winter sun, weak but present, shone down on the icy ground and into Jessa’s eyes. She squinted and turned away. “I don’t know how they all do it,” she said. “All that work in those conditions, and I bet no one even thanks them. Most noblemen just take them for granted. Or they think everything appears magically for them. It’s those people out there that deserve a celebration, not people like us.”

“I’m sure the people will celebrate the day in their own way.”

“Yes, just keep them away from the nobles, right?” Jessa said. She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m just on edge at the moment.”

Kieran did not ask why, merely waited patiently for her to explain if she wished. He knew most of the reason, anyway. “I don’t want to stand with everyone on the stage. I know I’m hardly going to be the focus, not at all, but there will be people who notice me, and there’ll be whispers about why I’m there, and people looking at me… And I know it’s not important – there are so many other more important things, but I’ve never stood in front of so many people before. And I’ve never wanted to.”

Kieran appraised her for a few moments. “I heard you’d be there, but I couldn’t believe for a second you’d accept it.”

“I didn’t want to. Apparently I don’t have a choice.”

“Just don’t turn up,” Kieran suggested, although the grin on his face told her he was joking. No one would let Jessa get away with that. “Okay… Then just keep yourself near the back. That way fewer people will see you.”

“Yes, and fewer people can resent me for being there when they weren’t chosen if they don’t see me,” Jessa muttered.

“Just do what makes you feel safe and comfortable, Jessa.”

“Oh, if only-” Jessa lost her train of thought, too busy watching as a small train of plain black coaches came around the castle from the southern entrance. The coaches were unlike the decadent carriages that usually entered the palace grounds, and coupled with the fact that they had stopped at the back entrance, they caught Jessa’s eye. One by one, people dressed head to toe in black with hoods hiding their faces jumped down from the coaches, and without pause headed into the castle, their backs straight and their shoulders clenched, ready for an attack. They moved as a unit, without talking or looking at each other, as though they had trained together as soldiers. But they could not be soldiers, for they wore no colours nor crests, and there did not appear to be a single weapon between them.

Spies. Magicians.

“I…” Jessa said, glancing at Kieran who was watching her oddly. “I need to go.”

She clambered off the window seat and got caught in the curtains in her haste. Instead of laughing as she might have expected, Kieran was silent. When she looked at him, his lips were straight and his forehead was creased with lines. His eyes, usually light with humour, were deadly serious.

“Be careful, Jessa. Etrene isn’t particularly safe these days.”

“I know.”

Jessa hurried away, feeling Kieran’s eyes on her back. She took the stairs two at a time and, upon seeing no one down below, ran in the direction she had seen the group of mages enter. Her footfalls echoed against the stone walls, and she almost missed the quiet thump of a large crowd moving as one. She grabbed the wall to stop herself, nearly turning the corner and colliding with the first of the mages. Slamming herself against the wall, she watched as the first man appeared from behind the corner. He was dark-skinned, with short black hair… Novarians!

Jessa sidled over to the other side of her corridor, so she could see the mages head on. They did not seem to notice her, eyes blank and staring straight ahead, although Jessa knew that couldn’t possibly be true. They just had not deemed her a threat.

More and more Novarians filed past her, women and men, short and tall, but all with the same dead eyes. None of them were who she was looking for, and the hope in her heart withered like a dying rose. Her best – her only – chance of finding Odaren, and he wasn’t even among this group of Novarian mages.

Jessa rubbed her forehead, disappointed and worried. Where was Odaren? She glanced up and her eyes locked with the man frozen in the middle of the junction between the two corridors. A shiver of familiarity ran through her, but she almost convinced herself she was seeing things. He was tall and broad, like Odaren, and his features matched what she remembered of him, but his expression was hard and unforgiving. She could not see a trace of the man – boy, really – she had known. Jessa took a step towards him, knowing in the back of her mind that it was foolish but unable to stop herself. “Od-”

At the sound of her voice, Odaren’s expression melted into confusion and he turned away, holding his head in his hand. From ahead, there was a slight murmuring as the mages realised that Odaren was not with them. Odaren suddenly gasped in pain, his knuckles straining as he dug his nails into his temples. And then he stopped, becoming still and calm. Without a second glance, Odaren resumed the slow, steady pace of the bewitched mages and followed after them.

He had recognised her, Jessa knew. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have fought against his mind’s captor to stop and look at her. It was Odaren, and the person he had been was still in there, somewhere.

Jessa hung back from the mages, but she could not leave now that she had found Odaren. And she had to know why they were here.

The end of the corridor opened out into a small circular room with a red plush rug in the middle. Waiting in the centre was an Etrenian and a Novarian Jessa did not recognise. They were clearly the ones at the head of this particular thread of Alrick’s mage web. The group stopped just before they entered the room, and the ones at the front moved forwards to talk to the two women in charge. Although she could see their lips move, she could not hear what they were saying. Although she was desperate to get closer, to hear them, the solid weight around her neck reminded her that it was practically impossible. This was not something Jessa was meant to hear.

Quietly fuming, Jessa tried to focus on the people in the centre of the room, watching the movements of their lips. She would only be able to discern one side of the conversation, if at all, since most of them had their backs to her, but it was something. She frowned and inched closer, hoping that the necklace was not more sensitive to sound that her ears.

“It’s just a routine check,” Jessa thought the Novarian woman was saying. “It’s the first time you’ve been to Ovis, and the king just wants to make sure none of you have been swayed away from our cause by your fellow countrymen.”

Jessa heard her blood pounding in her ears. Her gaze slid to Odaren. She could work out what a routine check meant. Alrick was going to probe their minds. He would find the secrecy spell. It was far more primitive than spell on Jessa’s mind to conceal her memories without a trace. This would flare up like a beacon. And the secrecy spell could be broken. It would be hell for Odaren, but Alrick would not care. All of Jessa’s fears were coming to life.

She needed to get Odaren out of there.

The group was already moving, heading towards a door on the other side of the room. The Novarian and Etrenian women stood back, watching the Novarians pass with keen eyes. There was no way she could get to them. They would notice her instantly. She felt helpless, like she had been winded, as she could do nothing but let Odaren walk through the door and to the king. When all the mages were inside, their leaders followed them. The door slammed shut behind them. There were no guards posted at the entrance, and Jessa had a sinking suspicion that that was because the door was locked. She tried it anyway, wiggling the door handle and willing it to be open. They were going to find out everything. They were going to hurt Odaren for it. Jessa could not let that happen.

She ran, trying to picture the castle in her head. There had to be another way into that part of the castle, and there had to be one door left forgotten. Jessa groaned in frustration when she could think of nothing. This part of the castle was so unfamiliar to her, usually abandoned, that she had no idea how else to get inside. She slowed, leaning against the wall and glaring at the ceiling in frustration.

And then she heard the screams, and she lost it. She raced back towards the circular room and practically threw herself against the door. “Stop it!” she yelled, the agony in the screaming voice chilling her. The screams went silent, although her ears were still ringing and she still shook from the memory.

From inside, Jessa heard a voice ask, “What was that?”

Another voice, familiar and hated, growled, “Jessa. Get rid of her.”

Jessa heard the door unlock, and someone pulled it slightly open. The screams had started again, and Jessa did not give the person on the other side a chance to get through and close the door. She yanked it open fully, adrenaline keeping her going, and stormed into the room. Odaren was tied to a chair in the centre of the room, the Etrenian woman standing over him and watching emotionlessly as he arched his back and screamed in agony. “Stop it!”

Alrick was there suddenly, grabbing her upper arm and squeezing it tightly. “Get out, Jessa. Now.”

“No.”

Alrick stared at her, his face turning red. He pulled her closer to Odaren, who was now slumped over, breathing heavily and wincing in pain. “Look at him,” he said, shaking her. “He’s a Novarian, our enemy. We need to know what he knows.”

Jessa did not even flinch at the audacity of the lie. “No one deserves this,” Jessa said, lying just as much as the king. There was one person who definitely deserved it.

“He is an enemy of your country,” Alrick said. He looked at the Etrenian woman. “Again.”

“But… I don’t think he’ll last much longer,” the woman said. Alrick growled.

“Then so be it.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Do not question me.”

Odaren’s screams filled the room. Jessa flinched, staring at her friend as his face screwed up in torturous agony. She twisted out of the king’s grip and flew at the woman, knocking her sideways and breaking her concentration. Then she faced the king. “You can’t do this. You can’t kill him.” She steeled herself, standing her ground and trying to think of an argument that might work with the king. It was almost impossible, when all she wanted to do was blow her cover and take Odaren away from it all. She had to think.

“There are better ways. He’s more useful to you alive. What if he knows more than the one thing he tells you before he…” She couldn’t even say it. “He needs to live.”

Alrick was glaring at her, an immovable, impenetrable wall, and Jessa knew her plea was failing. She looked down at Odaren, sweat pouring down his body, not even moving. He didn’t have the energy to break free, although Jessa knew he wouldn’t even if he could. He was still under Alrick’s control.

“She’s right,” the Etrenian woman said, getting up. “You know she is. You want answers, but you won’t get them. He’s in too much pain to speak. Whatever sp-”

Alrick’s glare shut her up. He looked back at Jessa.

“Please,” Jessa said. “If you feel anything for me – for my mother-” Her voice caught, hating herself for bringing Emara into it even as she knew it was her best chance, “-then you won’t do this.”

The room was silent, watchful and waiting. Alrick’s gaze did not leave Jessa’s. Time stretched on, and still he did not say anything. Jessa waited too, staring him down, proving to him that she was not going to let this lie.

“One week. You have one week to get me the information he has. And if I don’t have it by then, I’ll kill you both.”

[Rosabeth]

The sun was setting by the time Rhys and Dima made it into the city, and in the dim, cool light Jasrah looked like a shell of itself. Every extra square inch of land, be that cracks between buildings or the large central plaza, was covered in tents and makeshift shelters. Yet as Rhys crept through the city he found everything uncomfortably still. The slight breeze rustled the corners of tarps, to expose that there were no Jenyans within. Jasrans still wandered the streets but not in the number Rhys might expect for a city filled far beyond capacity. Those who did remain in the camps looked miserable, though Rhys could hardly blame them. Rhys kept out of eyesight, but as he and Dima ducked into a narrow alleyway Rhys swore an older woman standing across the street looked straight at him, and the hatred on her face was unnerving. Rhys looked away and jogged to catch up with Dima.

“Does this feel strange to you?” Rhys asked.

Dima shrugged. “It’s winter. It’s cold. People are probably all in taverns and inns.” Rhys tried to take Dima’s nonchalance as a sign that he was simply overreacting, but he could not shake his instinct that something was wrong.

The Lanis twins, as Dima informed him, were rumored to live in one of the rooms above the tavern at which they held their informal meetings. It was all rumor, though, as no one had actually been invited up, though given the Lanis’ shady behavior this hardly came as a surprise. Still, Dima assured Rhys he had it on good authority that many people had seen the Lanis’ ascend the stairs after meetings and not come back down until morning. To Rhys it was a good a lead as any.

When they reached the tavern neither of them dared approach the windows or doors, just in case they were spotted by the Lanis’. But after a few moments of waiting with bated breath, Rhys heard no sounds, and when he straightened from his crouch, peering into the window, he was surprised to see only a few people waiting around with no striking blonde twins in sight.

“Well, this will make getting upstairs easier,” Dima noted. Rhys did not see the positive quiet as well.

“Where are they?”

Rhys leaned back against the stone wall and sighed. He couldn’t very well waltz in and ask the bartender where he might find the Lanis twins - given his own high profile and the likelihood of the barman being an informant, that solution was simply asking for trouble. Rhys racked his brain, trying to think of anything that didn’t involve putting a knife to the man’s throat and asking for sworn silence. Then, from the corner of his eye, a streak of black. A young woman, not much younger than Rhys and as beautiful as they came was coming Rhys’ way. Her long, pitch black hair, dark almond eyes and rather plentiful assets made it hard for even Rhys to look away, and that was all Rhys needed to know to be certain his plan was flooproof.

“Miss?”

The dark haired girl turned in confusion, but as Rhys stepped from the darkness her eyes grew wide. She dropped into a deep curtsy, keeping her eyes averted. “My Lord. I did not see you there.”

“It’s quite all right.” Rhys flashed a warm smile and even managed a small laugh. It sounded foreign to him, but the woman seemed not to notice, for he now realized she was staring without shame. She might be gorgeous, Rhys thought, but two can play at that game. Rhys moved slightly closer and reached for her hand, taking it lightly and bringing it to his mouth, never moving his eyes from hers. The woman blushed and smiled, a coy smile of a woman who’d practiced this routine many times.

“I must say you truly are one of the most striking women I’ve ever laid eyes on. Simply exquisit.” Rhys lowered the woman’s hand but did not let it go. He felt a small tinge of guilt, knowing Jessa would hardly like to see him so shamelessly flirting, but somehow he thought she’d understand his motivations.

“Why thank you,” the dark haired woman responded. Though her thank you was sincere, it was rehearsed, like a woman who’d been told this so many times. Simple flattery would not get Rhys what he needed, not with this woman. So Rhys went beyond simple - he went for overt. Still holding the one hand, Rhys slid closer, taking his other hand and bringing it to the woman’s neck and gently caressing with the back of his fingers, keeping eye contact the whole time. Slowly he moved closer, as if to kiss, but moved for her ear. “Might I ask your name?”

Rhys could feel the woman shiver. He was not a vain man, but Rhys knew he was attractive, not to mention the wealthiest young man in the city with the power to do anything he wished. With just a bit of flattery and sensual gestures, there were very few woman who would reject him. As it turned out, this proved to be true.

“Rhian,” she murmured back, fluttering her eyelashes. “Can I help you?”

So eager to please. Though it felt wrong manipulating people in this way, it was just so easy Rhys couldn’t resist. “Actually, you can. I’ll make it worth your while.”

Whether it was money or something a bit more physical the woman had in mind, she immediately flashed a smile. “Anything for you, Lord Rhys.” This was among the man things Rhys loved about Jasran women. Unlike their stuffier Ovisian counterparts, they were blunt, they were never timid, and they knew what they wanted. It was refreshing in times like these.

“See that man in there? The bartender?” Rhys pointed towards the tavern. “See, I have a bit of a shady history with him - too many drinks, you know how it is - but I really need to meet some people in there. The Lanis’. Do you think you could ask him if they’re there? And if so, could you spare some of your charm to distract him, just for a minute?”

Rhian was quick to agree to Rhys’ requests, and within seconds she was on her way into the tavern. As she left Dima emerged from the shadows, just far enough to be within speaking distance. He had a massive grin on his stupid face. “And you call me a flirt? That was incredible. I thought she was going to strip for you on the spot. Is Jessa open to another woman in your relationship? Not that I’d complain-”

“You can shut up right now.” Rhys looked at Dima with a frown but knew before he even looked that he’d be met with one of Dima’s notorious mischievous grins. Before Rhys could say anything else the tavern door opened, and Rhian emerged looking victorious.

“Your friends are in there, he said. Apparently there’s some massive gathering going on in the basement. You know, I’ve heard of them. They’re those political radicals everyone’s been talking about, the ones who’ve been talking about getting rid of the nobility, of starting a new, equal society, of “purging Etrene of the corrupt and unjust” or whatever it is they say. They don’t exactly sound like your kind of friends, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“They’re not. We’re not friends.” Rhys thought about what Rhian said, running over her words again and again in his head. He’d know the twins were radicals, that they wished to overthrow the king just as he did, but a complete destruction of the nobility? A purge? Rhys was not sure this was the type of revolution he wanted. “Thank you, Rhian. Now what we talked about earlier. Just distract him for a few minutes, just enough for me to get by undetected. When I’m back down how about I meet you outside here and we get better acquainted?” It was a lie, but an effective one. She gave a wink before setting off inside.

“If only I could charm my way into any lady’s skirts,” Dima said wistfully as he watched Rhian retreat.

Rhys slapped him on the back of the head. “You could start by being less of a pig. Come on. We don’t have time to waste.”

It was clear from the look on the bartender’s face as Rhys peered through a crack in the door that his mind was clearly not on those who came and went. There were a few people left on the main floor, mostly older men who were far too worn and tired of politics to bother with the Lanis’ games. Rhys nodded to Dima, and the two of them pulled up the hoods of their cloaks. Rhys had not been smart enough in his frenzy to leave to remember his olive colored cloak, and his deep navy velvet cloak felt like a massive arrow pointing straight at him, just waiting to be seen. He pulled the hood down to obscure what of his face he could and wordlessly beelined his way through the tavern for the back staircase, taking care to walk quickly and keep a low profile. None of the patrons seemed to be paying any attention to the two hooded figures, and Rhys could hear Rhian’s flirtatious laugh from across the room and the bartenders enraptured one to match. Once they’d bad it to the staircases, out of eyesight, Rhys couldn’t help but linger. Voices sounded from below, a low murmuring, scattered with what almost sounded like cheers or jests. Rhys’s hand rested on the door handle, but another hand was there to pry his away.

“Don’t. You can’t risk it.”

Dima looked more serious than Rhys had seen in sometime, though he knew it was less an acceptance of the gravity of the situation and more that Dima loved to play the serious spy when times called for it. It was almost like a game to him. Rhys was jealous, in a way. If only he could still see this intrigue and deceit as some sort of thrilling story in which he was the main actor. The scars he bore on his chest were enough to assure him that this was no game.

They made their way up the stairs quietly, wincing at every creak of the old wood. At the top of the staircase was a single straight hallway lined with six doors. “Perhaps you should have figured out which one they’re in before we came,” Dima hissed, but Rhys dismissed him. There were other ways of knowing. He walked slowly down the hall, inspecting all the doors, the frames, and the runner rug. Most of the rooms were as impeccable as could be expected for an aging inn. The floors were well kept and the walls recently painted, with each door looking very uniform to the others. As Rhys reached the last door on the left he paused, something on the floor catching his eye. The carpet was slightly bent as if it had been caught in the door one too many times. It’s color was also ever so slightly darker just before that door, as if dirty feet had passed over it rather recently. Rhys looked loosely at the door, practically putting his eyes right up against the wood. All the handles were scraped and rusted from years of use, but there were smudges on this one that looked new, and scrapes that were cleaner than the others.

“This one.” Dima raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but didn’t question Rhys’ decision.

“How do we open it?”

Rhys looked around, realizing the hall was empty and he was without his lock picking set. He cursed, realizing that he was likely out of options. The hinges were rusty, and with the proper leverage he knew he could break them, but without any metal or even sturdy wood around that option was out. The only benefit of it all was that Rhys knew that a place such as this almost certainly did not have deadbolt locks, not to mention anything larger. Rhys sighed, knowing his move was stupid, but it wasn’t as if he had many options at his disposal. He took a few steps back, readied himself, and with one swift, hard kick smashed through the door. His body lurched forward but he caught himself against what was left of the door, trying to disentangle his foot from the wood.

“You are insane!” Dima cried, but his voice was anything from worried - he looked absolutely delighted. “How did you do that?”

“These doors are all of an inch thick and they aren’t exactly made of quality wood. Plus, the wood is panelled, not in one solid piece. That would be nearly impossible to break through. But a panel? Let’s just say the Lanis’ obviously didn’t have security in mind when they chose this place. Now come help me pry this open before anyone downstairs hears.”
Rhys and Dima worked quickly to tear the broken pieces of wood away, creating a larger opening until Rhys was able to slip through the gap. Dima followed quickly after and ran straight into Rhys’ back, stumbling. Rhys hardly even noticed, for he stared blankly into the room, hardly able to comprehend it all. The Lanis’ room was absoultely covered in things, with “things” being the key word. From massive piles of books and stacks of papers that seemed impossible to accumulate in such a small amount of time to boxes and locked chests to what looked like an impressive jewelry collection, a small assortment of children’s toys, and a tray with an assortment of varying colored liquids.

“Didn’t they ever learn to clean?” Dima joked, knowing very well Rhys was far too distracted to even comment. Rhys knew he had little time, but it was hard to know where to start. He reluctantly went to papers, even though his heart wished to look at the impressive yet small weapons collection in the corner. “Cyanide? Hemlock? Wolfsbane? Oh, even the classic arsenic. It looks like we’ve got some fans of poison in our midsts.” Dima commented as he sorted through the tray of vials and glasses. He picked up one clear liquid, glancing at the blank label. He looked around, seeing an old apple core rotting nearby. He placed it on the tray and dropped just a bit of the liquid onto it, laughing with excitement as the apple instantly began to corrode. “Acids, too. These two know what they’re doing.”

“It would seem so,” Rhys muttered, turning back to his papers. The papers, too, were more than a bit concerning. Pages and pages of signatures, each accompanied by a drop of blood, turning the page into a labyrinthine design of blood. Rhys knew this design all too well. It was without a doubt a blood book, even if of the most rudimentary design. What concerned him more was that the names were not as all familiar. For two people who had boasted for so long of their need to gain support amongst the nobles, there was not a single name of nobility on the list, though Rhys did recognize a few names of merchants, workers, and even a few of his family’s servants. As Rhys flipped through more and more pages and opened each book and journal that laid by, he quickly realized there was nothing here even slightly related to cooperation with the nobility. There were, however, extensive records of the noble families of Jasrah and beyond. Names, addresses, personal information, names of servants, hours seen in and out of their mansions, ties to other noble families, and lists of “infractions.” As he scanned over the files one that sat near the top caught his eye, for it contained a red mark on it’s top right corner. The moment Rhys took a closer look his heart stopped, his blood running cold. It was a file on the Gaille’s. Rhys was not surprised, obviously - the Gaille’s were the second wealthiest family in the city, and with the the second most powerful. Though not nearly as notorious as the Marinons, they were not always well received for their ruthless ways, and their connections to the lower classes made them a larger target than the Marinons. Simply seeing Selene’s name on this paper, this paper that read like a spies report, made Rhys’ blood boil.

Reluctantly Rhys forced himself to set down the papers and preoccupy himself with some others. He scanned the pile for anything that resemebed Novarian, anything the resembled Ezaria’s handwriting. The search was going poorly, but given the sheer quantity of papers it was hard to imagine it going well. Finally Rhys found something of interest, though it was not written in Novarian, but rather Barichene. It was old and delicate, looking out of place among the many new sheets of parchment, and the writing was a hurried scrawl, nothing as practiced as something meant to look official. As Rhys began reading his heart began to race, for this was not simply an old letter, he realized. This was a letter to King Alrick, but it was not from the twins.

“My dear Alrick,

I do not write to you with ease, for I carry a heavy heart. I wish none of this turned out the way it did, but it is far too late to turn back time now, and we must both live with the consequences of our actions. I do not know if you will ever see this message, or if I will ever have the courage to send it, or if I will even be allowed to send it for I have been strictly forbidden from writing you. I hope you do not fault me for what I have done, for I hope you will come to realize in time that it was the only choice. I have given -”

“Rhys! I hear someone!”

Rhys dropped the letter before he could get any further, only having enough time to talk one last look at the signature - Corsyethe Styrke. He too heard the footsteps, growing faster by the moment, and Rhys only had enough time to draw his dagger and press his back flat against the wall by the door before the footsteps came to the door. Rhys looked across the room at Dima who too was pressed against the wall, sword out. Neither of them even dared breathe. Slowly, and with a knife held out, Johannes Lanis stepped into the room. Rhys had no time to think, only to react as he’d been taught so many times. He lunged off the wall, grabbed Johannes right hand and dug his nail hard between the second and third knuckle until Johannes screamed and dropped the knife. By that time Rhys’ other arm was already looped around his neck, his dagger pressed against Johannes’ neck.

“Take one more step and I will slit your throat.”

“Rhys. How did I know it would be you?”

“Lucky guess.” Rhys pressed the knife harder, drawing a small line of blood. “How about you take a seat? Dima?” Dima hurriedly took his cue, grabbing a chair from the corner and bringing it to the center of the room. Rhys allowed for some distance between Johannes’ neck on the knife so that the man might walk, but once he was reluctantly seated the knife was back at his throat. Johannes struggled to move away but there was no use. Rhys straddled Johannes, keeping his legs pressed down as Dima held Johannes’ arms in the back at an uncomfortable looking angle.

Johannes spit in Rhys face but Rhys forced himself not to flinch, instead wiping his face with his shirt sleeve and staring Johannes down the whole while. “This will go much easier if you cooperate.”

Johannes laughed. “Cooperate? Yes, I think the time for that is over. We tried to work with you once, Rhys. You never came through.”

It was now Rhys’ turn to laugh. He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it from the beginning, but the lie was evident now. “You never wanted anything from me, so stop lying. I saw your blood book. What kind of deal are you brokering with the commoners? It’s obviously them you’re interested in, so why don’t you just drop the act. What are you up to? Who put you up to it? Was it Ezaria Arcius?”

Johannes stared back at Rhys with a stony expression, his jaw hard and set. Rhys slapped him hard, the turn of his neck creating another small cut on the neck. Johannes winced in pain but still said nothing. Rhys might have had compassion at one time, but it was all gone the second he’d seen Selene’s name on that paper, on that death warrant. He looked to Dima, nodding in what was a shared language between them in these sorts of situations. Dima twisted Johannes’ arm, pulling up hard until there was a popping sound that made even Rhys wince. Johannes began to cry out in pain but Rhys covered his mouth to muffle the sounds.

“A dislocated shoulder. Hurts, doesn’t it? If you’d like to keep all your other joints in place and your face looking like it does I’d recommend you start answering our questions.”

The pain seemed to have awakened something in Johannes, a sort of anger Rhys hadn’t seen yet. But buried in this anger was also a strange defiance, a look of victory. He smiled the sort of smile that made your skin crawl and your hair stand on edge. A smile of a corrupted man. “You want the truth? Fine, you’ve already guessed as much. We’re in the employment of Lady Arcius. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

It was in fact the last thing he wanted to hear, but it was something he needed to hear none the less. “And what does she want with you?”

“Lady Arcius sees things the same as us, if perhaps somewhat less extreme. We see a world of justice, of those who have committed attrocities, who have lied and cheated their way into power. We see an end of oppression, of a new equal beginning.”

The words were lies. “Lady Arcius wants this ‘new world’ of equality? She’s a noble. Don’t act like she doesn’t cling to her power like the rest of us.”

“I said we see things differently.” Rhys did not doubt that “differently” in this circumstance meant something completely different. “But she wants and end to the du Reine rule just as we do.”

“What do you care about the king for? You’re not even Etrenian, are you? Why should any of this concern you?”

Johannes’ smile shrunk, contorted into a look of hatred. “I am as Etrenian as you are. I was born in a Barichean orphanage in the far north, in a city called Miask. Miriyam and I were abandoned there by our mother, a Barichean herself. We were left with nothing, and when we were old enough we were thrown out to fend for ourselves, left with nothing but the clothes on our back and a single letter from our mother, written when we were born, something they’d never show us. And do you know what it said? What it told us? It wasn’t even a letter to us. It was meant for my father, the father who never knew we existed, given to us by a cowardly woman who couldn’t even write to her own children because she was so ashamed to be a noblewoman who’d given birth to bastards at 16. Yes, we’re nobles too, in a way. Bastards of the Styrke family.”

Rhys could hardly breathe. His heart pounded in his chest as the pieces began to click in his mind. The Lanis’ hatred of the king despite not being Etrenian, the reason why no information on their origin had ever been found, their mysterious powers of persuasion, and most importantly the letter. “Corsyethe.”

Johannes nodded as well as could be expected with a knife to his throat. “You’ve done your homework. Yes, the great beauty of Barichea, the daugther of one of the most powerful men in the country, is my mother.”

“And your father…” Rhys breathed. He could hardly say it. “Your father is King Alrick.”

“Yes. My sister and I are the King’s true firstborns.”

“How?” It was a ridiculous question, but Rhys was beyond advanced thought.

“Like most bastards start - two people who can’t control themselves. Unfortunately, these two people were far too important. A royal and a servant? That happens all the time. But a royal and a noble? Unmarried? Unspeakable. They were just 16, my mother 15 when she met Alrick. They were young and stupid and when my mother goes back home from her visit to Etrene she finds out she’s pregnant. Of course, my grandmother tries everything to abort the child. All sorts of concoctions, herbs, even magic. But nothing worked. Nothing that would not also kill my mother in the process. So they hid the shame and she had my sister and I quietly, and then we were whisked off to the orphanage as if we’d never happened. The King never even knew. But then you know what happened when he found out? My sister and I tried to send the King proof of our existence. We sent him a copy of the letter from our mother, a lock of our hair, a story of the last 16 years. And you know what we got in return? One month later we were tracked down by assassins and nearly killed. Miriyam incapacitated them before they could act and they were dead seconds later when she stabbed each of them in the heart. Our mother, however, did not fare so well. She died of poisoning just three days later. We told our father of our existence, and he attempted to murder us and murdered our mother to keep our existence a secret.”

Rhys was absolutely enamored with the story, hanging on every last word and nearly forgetting that this was not some child’s storytime but a life-or-death situation. “But if you’re Alrick’s child then that must mean that you have magic. And if you have magic why are you even letting me torture you? You could fight me so easily.”

This seemed to be a sore spot of conversation, for Johannes’ face tensed up in a grimace, and not from pain. “Well, there’s a rather strange occurrence that happens among twins born with Greater Magic. Magic begins inside the womb, and where there are two lives vying for that magic it is not always evenly split. Sometimes one life is stronger than the other, and it feeds off the magic of the other as it grows, leaving one powerless and the other twice as strong. I do not have any magic, but Miriyam? Well, Miriyam is a force to be reckoned with. Haven’t you always wondered why it is she that does most of the talking to the people? Miriyam has a way with words, so to say.”

Rhys and Johannes stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Neither dared blink nor move, nor show any signs of weakness. There were a thousand questions that flitted about in Rhys’ mind, some of which he knew would not be answered, but there was one quesiton that stood out among the rest.

“Why are you telling me any of this? What good does it do you?”

Johannes laughed. This was not the laugh of desperation, or of a madman, but of a man who knows when he has won, when he is in total control and cannot help but gloat. “Because it doesn't matter. Rhys, we’ve already won. You might as well give up on Jasrah now because there is no saving it after tomorrow, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. So I feel free to tell you anything, because in the end it makes no difference. You don’t honestly think we ever needed your help, do you? That we actually wanted to gain the support of the nobles? We only said those things to keep you away, so that you would be so preoccupied with that idea of us that you’d never see what was going on right in front of you. The only thing we ever wanted to see the nobles do is hang. Every last one, including your little girlfriend, Selene.”

It was lucky Dima was there, for Rhys may very well have slit Johannes’ throat right there. He instead punched Johannes in the face, feeling the satisfying crack of his nose breaking under his fist. Johannes thrashed in his chair but Rhys would not move. He slashed at Johannes’ cheek, putting a deep gash there that ran red with blood, pooling along with the blood from his nose on his chest. Rhys put a hand to Johannes’ throat, wanting nothing more than to strangle the man, when suddenly a blinding pain shot through all of Rhys’ body. It was like he was on fire, and Rhys instantly fell off Johannes, writhing on the floor in agony.

“Johannes!” Miriyam exclaimed, rushing to her brother’s side as Rhys gasped on the floor, hardly able to stand from the aftershock of the pain. Miriyam pulled Johannes’ good arm over her shoulder, helping him stand and keeping one eye on Rhys. Somehow finding the strength to stand, Rhys clambered to his feet. Miriyam’s glare was fixed on him, and suddenly Rhys felt that stabbing pain again, this time concentrated in his head. His skull felt as if it was about to burst, and the agony carried on for what felt like days as Rhys stared back at Miriyam’s cold eyes. In that moment Rhys wished for death, for a sweet release from this agony, and then suddenly it was gone. Both he and Miriyam saw a motion in the corner, and then without warning Dima rushed at them, his hand extended as he threw a cup of what looked like water into Miriyam’s face. Her screams were terrifying, shrill and anguished as she clawed at her own face. Rhys stared in horror as her face began to melt before his eyes, her left eye a red ball of blood, her skin burned in a horrific fashion. It was no water in that cup - it was the acid.

“Rhys, come on!” Dima screamed, pulling at his arm. Miriyam continued to scream out in pain, and Rhys finally pulled himself away from the horrific sight. He headed towards the door but stopped, hearing voices below.

“Through the window!” Dima exclaimed. He grabbed a candlestick off the table and threw it with all his force at the window, the glass shattering on impact. Before Rhys had time to comprehend anything he was being dragged forward by Dima as the two climbed up on the table and onto the windowsill. It was not a high jump, only one story, and as Rhys and Dima dangled their legs out the window Dima counted, loud and firm. On three they lept.