Kings of Deceit - R

[Rosabeth]

***ANJA***

Ovis, for all its power, was beyond drab. Even in the darkness of night Anja could tell that daylight would bring no color, no beauty or extravagance to its skyline. The looming grey castle with its high towers and sprawling corridors stood above the bleak city, the only color coming from the streaks of red that decorated the inner circle. Anya only took a glance out her windows, but it was enough to remind her of how much she detested the city. For the birthplace of kings and the largest city in the country it was certainly nothing to look at.

A knock on the cabin door brought Anja’s attention elsewhere, the ship captain standing at attention in the doorframe. “Lady Anja, we’re ready for you.” Anja followed in silence, pulling her cap down to shield her face.

The journey had taken longer than she was used to, for cargo ships moved much slower than her family’s private vessel. Anja had hardly slept through the journey and the fatigue was beginning to weigh her down. Several days with no more than an hour or two of sleep here or there only to be violently awoken by unusually rough waters had made for an unpleasant trip. She stumbled along behind the captain as they snaked through the corridors of the lower levels. Suddenly the captain stopped in the middle of the hall, holding out a hand to stop Anja as well.

“We wait here a moment.”

True to his word, several seconds later another man came down the opposite end of the corridor. He stopped before them, his eyes grazing over Anja as if he was sizing her up. She glared back. The man seemed unfazed. Moving to the wall and feeling around for something, the man made a sudden grimace, his fingers digging into something as he gave a great push. To Anja’s surprise a piece of the ship swung out like a window, revealing to them the water not five feet below.

“You can’t be serious.” Anja looked down into the black waters then back to the captain, looking for some sign of a poorly timed practical joke. He did not smile. “It’s freezing!” She exclaimed. The breeze coming in through the hole made her entire body rock with shivers. “I’ll die if I jump in. You’re not idiots, you know that.”

“We do, but we can’t risk you being seen. The guard searches all the ships – standard protocol to prevent smuggling. But we know ways around that,” the captain said briskly, “and that’s what Eoin here is for.”

The second man gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m only a lower mage, so don’t expect anything extravagant. This is a common trick we use for smuggling. Well, smuggling people, that is. I can put a simple spell on you to warm up your skin, or at least make you feel warm. It’ll last for about fifteen minutes at most. It’s not going to make this easy, but it will at least keep you from going into shock and your muscles seizing up when you hit the water. You may find it a bit hard to move initially, as the spell only helps so much when it comes to actually protecting you from the cold. Though you can’t feel it the water will still damage your extremities, so be timely. You should be out of the water in less than ten minutes or else you risk serious bodily harm. We’re not far from shore at all, so this should be easy. The southern docks are unoccupied, so find a low hanging one and pull yourself out of the water. Once you’re out you need to get inside and get warm as fast as possible, understood?” His calm demenour faltered, and for a moment he looked concerned. “You do have somewhere to go, right?”

Anja’s glare seemed to answer the question. Without another word Eoin approached Anja, putting out his hands in offering. Anja only stared at him. “Take them,” he pressed. With a sigh, and with little other choice, Anja reluctantly removed her gloves and placed her hands on his. The moment her skin brushed his heat swelled through her body, a sudden jolt of it running straight up her spine. It was a pleasant heat, but still it made her sweat, and already the cabin felt sweltering.

“You feel that?” Eoin asked, removing his hands. Anja nodded, though a sense of dread began to overwhelm her. This magic wasn’t safe, not for her. She’d had lower mages heal her numerous times as a child with no such serious ill affects thus far, but Rhys’ condition had them all on edge. Yet it was not as if she had a choice, and that was the most frightening part of all.

Loud voices and footsteps from above turned all their heads. “I’ve got to get up there,” said the captain. As he turned the corner down the corridor Eoin looked at Anja expectedly.

“It’s time to go. Now.”

Anja didn’t need telling twice. She quickly pulled off her boots, knowing they’d only weigh her down. The opening was only big enough to fit through horizontally, and Anja grabbed tightly to the bottom as she swung her legs outside. She crouched, pushing her torso and head out as well, so that all that was holding her to the ship were her hands and butt. The water below was dark but still, thankfully, but she could only barely make out the southern docks in the poor lighting. Anja took a deep breath, bracing herself for the plunge, but before she could make the leap someone else decided to do so for her.

So low to the water already Anja had no time to process the fall, for immediately after the push she was overwhelmed with the suffocating darkness of the ocean. Her clothes were light, thankfully, and soon enough she emerged to the surface gasping for air. Much to Anja’s surprise the warmth spell held strong even in the icy waters, so much so that it was like taking a lukewarm bath. Yet Anja knew Eoin’s words to be right. As she started to swim she could feel her muscles fighting against her every move, and a few little spasms told her that the shock was not completely feigned off. But Anja was not one to quit. She pushed through the strangeness, focusing only on moving one arm after another, getting her feet to work in tandem. The movement was slow and awkward, but steadily she made progress. After a few minutes the ship was behind her and the southern docks were in better view. Just as Eoin had said, they were deserted. The final stretch was the worst, as with each passing minute the spell wore off a bit more. In the last minute in the water it had degraded so much that the water began to sting her skin, every move painful as the water seemed to drop a degree a second. Finally the dock was at her fingertips, and it took every bit of strength left in her body to pull herself onto the docks, her arms shaking violently with the effort.

Once out of the water, her body soaked and shivering in the winter breeze, Anja wanted nothing more than to lie there and rest. That was not an option. Gritting her teeth so hard she thought she might grind them to dust she forced herself to her feet and then to walk, each footstep more difficult than the last. Yet there was no time, and with feet so cold that each step felt like stepping on shards of glass, Anja forced herself to run. The night was late enough that the streets of Ovis were for them most part empty, and those of looked upon her with shock were easily forgotten. Anja had no idea how much time had passed since she’d been pushed into the water, but she knew from her own pain that the spell had almost completely worn off, only a tinge of warmth in her chest telling her it was not already gone. She had to wonder briefly if in her hypothermic frenzy she was even going the right direction, but there was little to do about it either way. She could only trust in her instincts to lead her. Her brain certainly wasn’t helping.

When a familiar building loomed up ahead Anja almost collapsed from relief. With tunnel vision she used the last of her energy to make a beeline for the house. A small gate separated the courtyard from the street and a single guard stood watch in the night. When he saw her approaching surprise flickered on his eyes, most likely from what to him must have looked like a very raggedy boy staggering towards him. He put a hand to his sword but Anja flung herself at him before he could grab it, grabbing him around the waist and slumping to the ground. He recoiled from the cold of her touch, looking on her with shock.

“I-I-I’m Marino-on. A Marinon. A-a-anja.” Her words could not come out right but she could hardly bother caring. Luckily it seemed the guard remembered her, for his demeanor changed in an instant, and he bent down to scoop her into his arms. Anja let herself close her eyes as she was rocked by his footsteps, It felt unnatural to let down her guard so entirely, but in her current state she could hardly do anything else. Anja knew they were inside instantly, for even in a poorly warmed home on a cold winter evening the air indoors felt like fire to her icy skin.

“Gods, what’s happened to her?” A familiar woman’s voice exclaimed from nearby. Anja’s eyes fluttered open to see Katarzyna Brevik staring down at her in horror. She felt a warm hand on her arm, squeezing with reassurance. “She’s freezing to the touch – draw up a warm bath immediately, and someone gather blankets and dry clothes. Oh Anja, what are you doing here?”

Before Anja could muster the strength to answer she was lain on warm bed beside a fire, and Katarzyna was stripping the wet clothes from Anja’s skin. Naked and shivering she curled into a ball, pulling her knees tightly to her chest. Multiple blankets were thrown on top of her and tucked under her back and legs. Katarzyna sat down beside her and laid her body on top of Anja’s, holding her for warmth. There was no need for words.

Some time later the bath had been deemed warm enough, and Anja warm enough to handle it. The water felt like torture at first, a scalding sensation that made her cry out, but as she descended further in her body accustomed itself to the temperature and the warmth nearly made her cry of joy. Anja enjoyed her few minutes of solitude basking in the heat, but it seemed there was only so long Katarzyna could go without answers.

The woman entered quietly after a few quiet raps on the door, peeking her head around to assess the situation. When she saw Anja alert and siting up in the water she smiled and let herself in. The last time Anja had seen her friend was before Rhys’ wedding, yet Katarzyna had not changed a bit. If anything it seemed she’d grown even more, though she already towered over Anja’s slight frame. She knelt beside the tub, grabbing Anja’s hand. “I’m so glad to see you, though I wish it was in a better situation.”

“Trust me,” Anja grimaced, “so do I.”

“What didn’t you tell me you were coming? You know my parents are loyal to your family. No matter the reason for your coming we’d protect you.”

“We can’t afford trust right now.” Anja saw Katarzyna’s face fall.

“I heard about your brother. I’m so sorry, Anja.”

“I’m not here to talk about my brother,” Anja snapped. It was poor treatment of her friend who’d only ever been kind to her, but Anja’s emotions were especially brittle. “Well, I am, but not the brother you think.” Katarzyna looked intrigued but Anja refused to go on. There were some secrets she could trust with no one, not even her best friend. “I need help.”

“Anything you need, you know that.”

“What do you know about the King’s bastard, Jessa?”

“Jessa? Hardly nothing. I just know that one day she showed up at court and her father took her back. There’s all sorts of horrible rumors about why she returned –“ Anja’s glared daggers at the implication of those words, “- not that I believe them.”

“Do you ever see her?”
“I see her occasionally in passing when I visit court. I certainly don’t ever see her in private.”

Anja allowed herself a small smile. At least she was getting somewhere. “Passing is good enough. Tomorrow we’ll be making a trip to court. I have some business to discuss with my sister-in-law.”

[Mollianne]

“He can’t see me.” Jessa hand shot out, grabbing Nayall’s wrist without thinking. “I have to go.” She spun around, still holding Nayall’s wrist, and tugged at her hood to ensure it concealed her.

“Yes, because that’s the best way to go unnoticed,” Nayall drawled. He came to stand in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She shrugged away from him, and he let her go with his hands held up in conciliation. He whispered, “Calm down, Jessa. He can’t possibly recognise you.”

Jessa dropped her chin, and huffed a laugh at her stupidity. Shaking her head, she finally looked back up at Nayall. His grin made her want to crawl away and hide forever. For someone who prided herself on her brain, she had not used it then. “Right.”

“He’s coming over – to talk to me, Jessa, honestly.” Nayall shook his head in exasperation at the fear in Jessa’s eyes. “Just… try to act normally. And if at all possible, lie convincingly.” Nayall skirted around her and bowed. “Lord Farani.”

Jessa turned around slowly, battling against herself to keep her head up when all she wanted to do was run. Her muscles tensed to keep her in place. At least Khalid had not yet noticed her. He bowed to Nayall, who looked rather pleased with himself. A lord had showed deference to him. “Master Gard. I must thank you again for letting this family stay here.”

“It was no trouble. We are just glad you found them. We would never have known what they wanted.”

“Thank you. Both of you,” he said, turning his gaze to Jessa. She kept her back straight and did not flinch. She did not even let herself smile at herself for managing to keep her head. “You and your wife are very good people.”

“Oh–” Nayall started.

Jessa cut Nayall off by holding out her hand for the lord and curtseying. “Rose Gard, my lord. You are too kind. We are just doing what we feel we have to do.”

She could feel Nayall staring at her in shock. After snidely telling her to keep calm, he was the one who looked like he was going to ruin this for them. She stepped in closer, taking his hand in hers. If she squeezed it a little too tightly, well, Khalid did not notice at least.

“What will happen to the family now?” Jessa asked.

“I shall find them safe passage to Antascia.” His face was drawn. “They cannot return to Barichea, not with things as they are.”

Jessa frowned. “They will not stand out in Antascia, my lord?” To her, it seemed a risky endeavour. Not only that, but she doubted the family could speak Antascian just as they could not understand Etrenian. If whoever had taken the family’s son was looking for them, surely it would not be hard to locate them.

“There is a small settlement of Baricheans in the mountains bordering Barichea. If they are seen, people will think either they or my countrymen came over the border. But so far, they have not been found.”

“They are all refugees?” Nayall asked, finally having recovered himself. And Jessa had thought he was good at deception.

Khalid nodded shortly. It was clear he did not want them to know anything else. But Jessa needed to know. She had to know what he was doing here, and whether he was a friend or a foe. And she could not even ask, for she was aware that Nayall knew more about the situation than he was telling her. If she was his wife, wouldn’t she know as well?

“Master Gard, Lady Rose–” Khalid began.

“Oh, no,” Jessa said quickly, ducking her head and smiling. “I am no lady, my lord. I have no title. Just Rose is fine.”

“I am sorry.” Khalid’s cheeks flared bright red, a sharp contrast to his pale skin. “My Etrenian is not good.” Jessa shook her head, told him not to worry but to continue with what he had wanted to say. Khalid, still suffering from his lingering embarrassment, kept his head down as he said, “You and your family should leave for Antascia also. It is not safe for mages in this city.”

Jessa stared at him. She could not speak, could not even open her mouth. She stared and stared as her thoughts raced and her heart pounded against her ribcage. She wished she could believe he was just talking about Nayall, but somehow she knew he was not. He knew about her magic. He knew. Khalid – he was a Greater Mage. Jessa’s head spun. How had he felt her magic here, surrounded by refugee mages? She could only sense the overwhelming magic in their air, not its origin. He had to have been trained, and well.

Another thought stopped her cold. If he had sensed her in here…

He knew. He knew, and she had no idea who he really was or what he was doing here. Given that he had ingratiated himself with the royal family, she had no doubt it concerned Alrick. Did that make him an ally? Something inside her told her she could not be so sure.

“We can’t leave, not yet,” Nayall said, looking at Jessa. She held his gaze, wishing she had any kind of ability to send her thoughts to him without allowing him to intrude on her mind. All she could do was hope that he knew she needed answers, and which questions to ask if he did not already have the answers she sought. She really hoped he would not keep anything from her now that she knew Lord Khalid was involved. This was something he could not keep from her. “Is there anyone we should be particularly watchful for? Of course the ki–”

“I know only the woman I was working against.” Jessa waited with bated breath following Khalid’s interruption. “And she will not be a problem for you.”

“Why?” Jessa breathed. Khalid stared at her, his eyes flickering with suspicion. Jessa refused to back down, even as her legs felt like they were turning to mush. Was it possible for him to figure out her true identity? Her arms lifted, as if to hug herself, like doing so would keep all her secrets in, but she forced them down. A moment later, she felt an arm around her waist. She nearly pushed him away, before she realised it was Nayall and that she was supposed married to him now. Although the half-hug did little to comfort her in reality, she tried to pretend. “Sorry,” she said to Khalid, “We’ve just spent all our lives in fear.”

“It makes it hard to trust people.” Nayall stepped forward, his arm slipping from her waist. She relished the freedom from his touch, but he soon had her hand in his again. “If you know something that could save our lives, like – I don’t know – the identity of someone who might mean my family harm, it would be better to tell us.”

“She cannot be a problem for you,” Khalid repeated. Nayall stared at him. His free hand moved to his hip, hovering over the hilt of his dagger. Khalid’s gaze was transfixed as he deflated. “She is in the city prison. She will not walk free ever again, I have heard.”

He hurried away before they could press him for more, looking back over his shoulder before he disappeared again into the room where the Barichean family were waiting for him. Jessa barely registered that he had gone, too busy convincing herself she knew which prisoner Khalid had meant. She turned on Nayall. “What do you know?” Nayall hesitated. “Tell. Me.”

Her face was hard, unrelenting. She was not herself, but she did not care. If Khalid’s presence could help or destroy her, she needed to know. Now that Rhys was here, it was no longer just her own life at stake. Jessa no longer had time to be ignored. Before she had realised what she had done, her hand shot out and pulled Nayall’s dagger from its sheath. She held it out in front of her, her hand shaking, staring at the blade. Her gaze lifted, meeting Nayall’s shocked expression. The knife clattered to the ground, causing Nayall to jump away. Jessa didn’t move. Her ears felt like they were filled with a screaming wind, blocking everything out. She inhaled, exhaled, inhaled again, until the blood in her veins stopped pulsing so hard against her skin.

“Did that boy – the Barichean – have magic? Did Alrick take him?”

“That is what the lord told me. But I suppose Alrick can’t do it himself, otherwise people would get suspicious. His mages must be helping him kidnap Barichean child mages.”

Jessa shook her head. Although Nayall’s words were probably true, if Khalid was not lying to them then it was not only the mage ring kidnapping innocents. “I have to go.”

She turned, but Nayall caught her wrist, his fear of his clearly already gone. His expression was blank now. “Don’t rush into anything. And definitely don’t even hint to Khalid that you know anything.”

“I do have some sense,” she said. “I need to go.” Nayall only let her go when one of his lackeys came at his call, a blindfold in his hand. Jessa sighed in exasperation, but let them put it over her eyes without complaint. She needed to get back to the castle now, and she would avoid any delays she could.

An hour later, Jessa ducked back into her room. Laurita barely had time to activate the spell which would prevent Maira from overhearing their conversation with the listening stone when Jessa spoke. “Youhavetohelpmetalktooneoftheprisoners.”

Laurita was at Jessa’s side in an instant. “Jessa, calm down. What happened?”

She shook her head. “You need to help me.”

“Of course.” Laurita frowned. She reached out to take Jessa’s hand, presumably to take her to the bed to sit down. Jessa moved away from her.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, you just need to help me. Now. I need to see one of the prisoners, but I can’t interrogate her on my own. Please help me.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea right now? You need to stop for a second.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head frantically. The last hour had given her far too long to think. Her mind had gone through every possibility, each one more terrible and more plausible than the last. She didn’t have time.

“Just... at least tell me why, Jessa.”

“Because the king knows about me!” The words tumbled out of her in a scream she was not even sure had been intelligible. Laurita stared at her as Jessa’s legs finally gave out. She had not dared voice her fear, and now she had.

“How can he possibly–”

“Why else would he have tried to kill me?” Jessa whispered to the floor. “Why else would he capture Rhys and make me torture him unless he knew it would hurt me?”

“He tried to kill you?” Laurita was outraged. She sat down beside Jessa. “What?”

“The assassination attempt. He ordered it, I’m sure of it. He tried to have me killed…”

“…and pretended that he was the other target,” Laurita finished. “Jessa, are you sure? If the king knew, I don’t think you would still be here.” Jessa shook her head. It did not matter how sensible Laurita was being, Jessa could not even believe in the possibility that she was wrong. It was exactly something Alrick would do. And he would not care about destroying the life and reputation of the woman he had ordered to take the blame for it.

“Will you help me?” She spoke slowly, indicating that any further conversation was pointless. The room was silent while Laurita appraised Jessa. When her friend had still not spoken, Jessa lifted her gaze. “I won’t do anything rash. But if we’re in danger, we need to know as soon as possible.”

“I know. I was just thinking of a plan.” She bit her lip. “Are you staying in your disguise?”

Jessa nodded. “I’m not going out there as myself until I know what I’m facing.” Laurita put her hand over Jessa’s, squeezing her fingers, and then went to stand by the mirror herself. Jessa did not watch as Laurita’s features melted from Jessa’s to someone completely unfamiliar. She only noticed Laurita had changed when her friend cleared her throat.

“The plan: I knock out the guards and we both talk to this prisoner of yours. You’re not doing this alone. Okay?”

Jessa nodded again. The one thing she did not want to be was alone then. She did not want to face this by herself. Of course, the person she most wanted to be with was entirely out of her reach, and in more immediate danger than herself. She forced Rhys from her mind. She would not be able to do what was needed if she let herself think of him. Her heart already hurt too much.

“Let’s go.”

The crept out of the castle, the dark silence eerie and heavy against them. They kept close, although Jessa realised that Laurita was only doing so in case Jessa did something silly. They left out of the servants’ entrance, then ran across the frosted dead grass of the castle lawns. The prison was a black, hulking beast on the east side, rising up over them as they drew closer. Jessa’s chest constricted as they began to slow. An overwhelming feeling that everything could go wrong in an instant consumed her. What if she was wrong? What if they couldn’t get past the guards? What if Magrethe Janes refused to speak – or had been sworn to a secrecy spell? The truth was at her fingertips, but it could dart away from her just as easily.

“Wait here,” Laurita whispered, pointing at a bush. Jessa ducked behind it, peering through the leaves at Laurita as she walked with purpose over to the prison. She had no idea what her friend was planning, how she would explain what she was doing at the cells in the middle of the night. Jessa watched the guards draw their swords as they heard her coming, although they had not yet seen her. Laurita did not falter, but neither did the guards. For a moment, everything was still. The guards stared at Laurita, and she stared back. And then every single one of them dropped to the ground, one by one until Laurita was the only one left standing. She turned around, gesturing for Jessa to come. Jessa jumped up and ran over.

“What did you do?” she whispered, looking down at the guards sprawled at awkward angles on the floor.

“They’re just sleeping. I’ll wake them up when we leave, and they won’t remember a thing. Not even falling asleep in the first place. Come on.” Jessa trailed after Laurita, who bent down until she was at eye level with the keyhole. She placed her hand on it, closing her eyes. A glow radiated from the metal, and Jessa heard a faint click. Laurita stood, brushed down her legs, and opened the door. They both knew there would be more guards within the prison complex, so they treaded carefully down the stairs and through the corridors. Laurita felled any guard unfortunate enough to come across them. Jessa hoped her friend’s spell would last.

Magrethe was being held in a cell along the next row. Steeling herself, Jessa followed Laurita around the corner when the woman told her it was clear. Jessa fidgeted with the sleeve of her coat as they drew nearer and she finally saw the noblewoman sleeping on the cot. She stopped fidgeting, a stony calm settling over her. She was going to get her answers.

Laurita unlocked the cell door and they slipped inside. Jessa pushed the door shut quietly, but it was enough to wake the prisoner. Magrethe looked around blearily, freezing when she saw the two women in front of her. “Who in all Etrene are you? Gua–” Magrethe’s voice was cut off by a flick of Laurita’s hand.

“They’re not coming,” she said coldly.

“If you’ve come to kill me–” Magrethe started, looking at Laurita. Apparently she thought Jessa’s friend was the leader here. Despite her frail-looking, almost translucent skin, and the way her hands shook, the noblewoman appeared surprising determined.

“Why would we kill you?” Jessa asked. “I thought you hadn’t done anything wrong. Someone who has nothing to hide shouldn’t fear an assassin in the night, surely? Or are you confessing to having my brother murdered?”

“Your brother?” Magrethe sat up. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“I know,” Jessa said. She glanced at Laurita. “Show her.”

That odd sensation of her skin, muscle and bone moving and reshaping made her squirm, but it was worth it to see Magrethe’s mouth agape. Her fingers went white as she clutched the thin, threadbare sheet covering her. “What are you–”

“You don’t get to ask questions. Now is the time for you to give me answers. When did you meet Lord Khalid Farani?”

Magrethe stared at her, frowning. “At my family’s ball a few weeks ago.” She spoke as though interacting with a child. “What are you even talking about?”

Jessa blinked, faltering. Unlike in the interrogation room, Magrethe did not sound like she was hiding anything. “Jessa?” Laurita whispered urgently. Jessa only shook her head. Khalid had said… Had she got it wrong and jumped to conclusions? He had not named her.

“I had heard you’d known each other for a while, that he was working with you.”

“The first time I knew of his existence was when the queen told me she intended him for Princess Maira.” There was a bitterness to her voice that had Jessa stepping closer. Magrethe shifted back on her bed. From the way her eyes darted to the side, Magrethe knew she had made a mistake. Her hands begun to shake faster. The woman blurted out, “Who told you I was working with him?”

“Lord Khalid.”

“He’s lying,” she said flatly. “He’s…”

“What?” Jessa snapped. Magrethe was whispering something, wringing the sheet between her hands. Laurita and Jessa shared a glance. “Tell me.”

There was fire in Magrethe’s eyes when she finally tilted her head upwards. “Can you promise me clemency?”

“No,” Jessa said shortly. “Because I was never here. But if you do not cooperate, one of the guards will go to the king and tell him that he heard you confess to everything in your sleep. I don’t think he’ll give you the opportunity to defend yourself.”

“And how will you do that?”

“You know how,” Jessa said. She gestured at Laurita, who raised her eyebrows. “My friend here can convince the guard he heard you talking.”

“If the king knows you are involved with mages–”

“I don’t think he’ll get the chance to know. He won’t listen to you. After all, your assassins used magic, so you are as much involved with mages as I am.” Jessa waited. When Magrethe was not forthcoming, Jessa took another step closer. “Well? Tell me the truth, or keep silent and the king learns the truth he’s just been waiting to hear.”

Magrethe was muttering again. Jessa was about to speak again when Laurita put a hand on her shoulder. Jessa looked over her shoulder at her friend. The woman was watching Jessa as though she was a bull about to charge. It was a look that said she did not know who her friend had become. Yet, there was a small twinkle in Laurita’s eyes, a tiny flicker of pride. Jessa barely cared. With Rhys here, at Alrick’s mercy, she did not have the time to care.

When Jessa looked back at the older woman, she had gone still. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said quietly. “I’m dead whatever happens. I’ll tell you the truth.”

Jessa’s eyes widened. For all her talk, she had not expected Magrethe to give in. She had been interrogated for days and not broken her silence. Magrethe laughed at Jessa’s expression, the sound croaky and vile. It turned quickly into a wracking cough. “Their secrecy spell won’t work on me anymore.” Jessa’s breath caught. Alrick.

“Whose spell?” Laurita asked, even though Jessa already knew the answer. Magrethe’s head swivelled to look at her.

“All I wanted was for my son to marry the future queen of Etrene. He would have her ear, and I would have my son’s. The queen wanted it too, she said. We would both rule Etrene behind our children. We planned it shortly after Maira was born, but she advised me that we should not take the suggestion to the king until the princess was older. Of course, when the queen did ask him, he refused. She managed to get him to agree to an alliance with Elissa, but she promised me she would not give up.”

Her shoulders drooped. “I trusted her. And then I learned Maira was to marry some Barichean lord. The queen lied to me. Betrayed me. I might even have convinced myself something else had happened but that there were only two assassins.” Jessa stared at her, but Magrethe was not even looking at the women anymore, glaring instead at her bed. If she was a cat, she would have been hissing and spitting. At the same time, there was an openness and a sense of relief in the woman that had not been there before. Had the only thing keeping her from talking before been a secrecy spell that had somehow now worn off?

Magrethe was still speaking. “If it had been the Novarians or the Marinons, both of whom would want you dead as well as the king, they would have killed every member of your rotten family, or at least still killed Maira and the queen. There’s only one person who would want you and your father gone, but would spare the queen and her eldest daughter, and that is the queen herself. She came to me, practically laughing as she said that she’d never intended for me to rule alongside her. She’d needed a figurehead, someone who would bring the king’s dissenters to our side. If the king ever found out, no one would learn of the queen’s involvement, because almost no one knew she was involved. She’d beaten me, and I would die in her place.”

“The queen.” Jessa barely got the words out through her gritted teeth. Her head pounded.

Magrethe continued as if she had not heard her. It looked almost as if she was in a trance. “I wasn’t behind the assassination attempt, but I nearly was. I tipped over the edge. My closest friend had betrayed me, had proven she had never been my friend. I wanted her to pay, and I wanted the throne. I contacted one of my assassins–”

“Sophia Darr.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t trust her. That bitch was one of the few who knew the truth about the queen, and she would do anything for her. Even die for her. No, I contacted someone actually loyal to me. I hired him and his two colleagues.”

“Sophia said you hired her, her servant, and another.”

“Then she lied to protect her queen. Either way, someone else I trusted betrayed me. Or Catrice suspected I would try something and learned the truth herself. Sophia probably killed my assassins and her and her servant took their place. Only this time there were now two. Catrice got her own son killed, all because she has always wanted the throne for herself, and doesn’t care who she kills to get it.”

“Why are you talking now?”

“Does it matter?” Laurita whispered. Jessa held up a hand. Her gaze had not moved from Magrethe’s face.

“She’s still betraying me now. Whatever got you rushing over here in the middle of the night about Lord Khalid, it’s something you didn’t like hearing. And considering she was the one who arranged his marriage to Maira, I’d say she’s actually the one you should be talking to about him.”

Magrethe turned away. “Now leave me to spend my last few hours in this world in solitude.” Despite her angry words, Jessa could tell in the way her hands no longer shook as hard, and in the way Magrethe’s shoulders were no longer tensed, that she was relieved. A weight seemed to have lifted from the older woman.

“The king cannot know I was here,” Jessa said to Laurita. “I can’t very well tell him I found something out about her and she’s told me everything.”

“You want me to take her memories too?” Laurita stared at her friend, dumbfounded. “Are you actually asking me that? Jessa, are you sure you’re okay?”

“He can’t know. From there, it’s a slippery slope to discovering the truth,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to check that Magrethe could not hear. “She needs to tell him herself. Tomorrow she just suddenly decides she wants to confess. Leave her with all the anger she feels towards…” Jessa breathed in sharply. “Towards the queen. And hopefully that’ll be enough.”

“Jessa…”

“No. Catrice cannot get away with killing her son, or with anything else she has done. And if she’s tried to kill me once, she might… I can’t die. Rhys needs me.”

Laurita went over to Magrethe. Jessa was not sure why she was so hesitant, when she had been more than willing to remove the memories of all the guards. She waited, watching as Magrethe drifted off to sleep with Laurita bent over her. Her head rang with everything she had learnt, the knowledge dripping through her like poison. Hot anger coursed through her, remembering Catrice screaming that Jessa had been responsible for Harris’ death. Catrice had been behind it all.

[Rosabeth]

ANJA

By morning light the lingering pains died away, and if not for Anja’s memories, the midnight dip in the ocean left no traces of its occurrence. Katarzyna had been a doting friend throughout the night, finding her the warmest clothes she could, absolutely piling a spare bed with blankets, and ordering for the largest, most roaring fire to be lit in the fireplace. It was almost sweltering. At first light Anja awoke to her breakfast waiting beside the bed with a warm cup of tea.

“I’m glad to see you’re up.” Katarzyna stood in the doorframe, smirking at what must have looked like a tiny head poking out from a mound of blankets.

Anja hurriedly threw two to the side, keeping the lightest wrapped around her shoulders. “You don’t have to mother me, you know.”

Katarzyna only laughed. “Oh come off it, I know you like it.” She approached Anja’s bedside, tapping Anja gently on the cheek as she swatted the hand away with a groan. It only made Katarzyna laugh more.

“I’m serious, Kat, I don’t have time for all this. I shouldn’t have even slept in this late. We only have so much time and every moment we waste is a moment that could cost me everything.”

“Anja,” Katarzyna reached out to touch Anja’s shoulder but she shrugged out of reach. Anja felt a twing of gilt as her friend’s face fell, but she refused to be swayed by any emotions. She was here for Rhys, not to see her friend. She was not here to please anyone.

“At least eat some breakfast, alright?”

Anja reluctantly took a sip of her tea and a bite of bread, supposing it was the least she could do to placate her friend. Katarzyna seemed to accept this. As Anja continued to eat Katarzyna sat down at the end of the bed.

“So, what are you here for. Really. And don’t lie to me – you know I know when you lie.”

“Then get ready to be disappointed because I can’t tell you the full truth.”

“I’ll take a half truth.”

Anja didn’t know what she could or could not afford to tell her friend. On principle she generally cautioned on the side of distrust, but she knew Kat to be loyal. Still, she did not trust Kat well enough to believe that sensitive information about Rhys might be overheard by a servant or slipped out during a conversation with some other noble. If the king knew Anja was in Ovis he would have her tracked down, and even if she managed to escape she knew the knowledge that his family was coming for him would spur the king to kill Rhys on the spot. No, the truth wasn’t safe. Not with anyone.

“Rhys is in a bit of trouble, and don’t push me for more information than that. I need to find Jessa. She might have information I don’t currently have. If I tell you any more than that there could be consequences I’m not prepared to handle.”

She could tell Katarzyna was hurt by her distrust but her friend stayed as poised as ever. “Fine, fine. I won’t ask. But…” Anja shot her a glare, though a hint of a smile played on Kat’s lips. “This means the rumors are definitely true, doesn’t it? Rhys and Jessa were really together? I mean, if you’re going to Jessa you obviously don’t think she’ll turn you in to the king, so she’s not against your family! She loves Rhys, doesn’t she? Ah! It’s so romantic.”

“Gods, why do I put up with you? You always were a gossip.”

Katarzyna only shrugged with a sly smile. Anja hated her friend’s smug, self-assured demeanor when she’d gotten a particularly good piece of gossip. Yet at the end of the day she knew Kat to be particularly skilled in the art of dealing with and keeping secrets. No one else’s secrets were safe with Kat’s devious nature, but Anja knew hers to be. Still…it was this kind of behavior that always made her wonder why they were even friends. In reality she already knew – Kat was just like her, just in diferent ways.

“Well, if you need to find Jessa I can find her easily for you. She’s a bit of a loner from what I’ve heard and seen – she apparently keeps to her room most of the time – but she has to come out sometime.” Katarzyna seemed to be mulling over this information and Anja could all but see a plot brewing in her head.

“If there’s no public event at court today how can we guarantee we’ll find her? The royal family’s private wing isn’t open to just anyone. Do you have contacts with a reliable mage? Whenever we’d need a good disguse in Ovis we’d always use Corsis, but we haven’t heard from him in ages. He was always so paranoid he’d change locations multiple times a year, so I don’t even know where I’d find him.” Alrick’s little business with rounding up and brainwashing mages had taken its toll on the Marinon network, something she wasn’t particularly pleased with.

“Unfortunately no. We too used Corsis for some time, but like you we haven’t heard from him in some time. We suspect him to be missing or dead.” Anja cursed. Her father had raised the same suspicions to her not but a few weeks ago. She’d just been hoping they were false. “Many other mages are gone too. It’s a weird thing – some just vanish, others have gone on the run. It’s not safe here anymore and no one knows what’s going on, but regardless your chances of finding a mage powerful enough to do the transformations you need is slim to none.”

“So what, we have no chance?”
“Certainly not.” Katarzyna looked mildly horrified that Anja would think she was so uncreative. “No, we’ll just need to go a bit more basic in our techniques.”

“Such as?”

“Sophie!” Anja looked up startled and Kat’s yell. Suddenly a young servant girl, no older than sixteen, appeared at the door, curtsying.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Fetch me one of your dresses. A plain one, something you work in. Just make sure it’s clean.”

The servant girl looked taken aback. “My Lady?”

Kat sighed. “You heard me the first time. Quickly now!”

Not wanting to be snapped at again, the servant quickly scurried off. Anja raised a single eyebrow.

“Well, if we can’t change your appearance we can at least disguse it.”

“Seriously?” Anja scoffed. “A servant? You don’t think that every noble in this city knows this face? The face that has killed more than one of their friends and family members? What about the royal family? Everyone in this city knows who I am!”

Katarzyna seemed unfazed. “Oh really? Well then, can you describe to me Sophie?”

Anja stared at her friend. “Who?”

Kat’s laugh was always uncomfortable, especially when it was directed at you, for it was usually a laugh at someone’s expense. “See? You don’t even remember her name. The servant girl I just called.”

“Oh. Um, brown hair, brown eyes?”

“Wrong and wrong. Sophie actually bears a good bit of resemblance to Jessa. But do you see what I mean? The nobility looks down their nose at servants. They’re below their station, barely even people in their eyes. No one really looks at them – they’re background decoration, just another face. Even with a face like yours if we can dress you up like a castle servant no one will pay you a second glance, not even the king.”

Though simple, it was a shockingly good plan, as much as Anja hated to admit it. When Sophie came back with the dress Anja had to admit that just the simple unadorned fabric was enough to make Anja look quite different from what she was used to. Anja usually wore her hair in a long braid or elaborate twists and buns weaved with beads and silks, done by her servants, but Katarzyna insisted that letting her hair down would be a much more natural look for a servant and would detract from her face. When taken down Anja’s hair went a bit past her waist, long and black and thick, and Katarzyna brushed it out until her waves were smooth. Anja usually wore kohl along her lashline, a popular trend in Aquena taught to her by her mother. But it was certainly not the fashion in Ovis, and Katarzyna instead insisted she wear a bit of rouge on her cheeks. The formulation was different from what Anja was used to, seemingly just crushed berries, but it was something Kat insisted was quite popular among Ovisian women of all classes. Finally Katarzyna found an old red skirt and tore off a strip, tying it around Anja’s waist like a sash.

“A bit of something red is customary for servants of the royal palace – it signifies that they work for the royal family,” Katarzyna explained. Anja realized with embarrassment that she had not noticed this on any of the servants the last time she was in the palace for the one reason that she did not remember any servants at all, even though they were numerous.

When the makeover was done Kat stood back admiring her work. She gave a nod of approval before leading Anja to a full length mirror in another room. When Anja stepped before it she heard Kat snicker behind her at Anja’s wide eyes. Though she’d not put much stock into Kat’s methods, she had to admit that the transformation, though subtle, was significant. Anja looked foreign even to herself. Of course her face looked the same, but with the reddened cheeks and the absence of kohl on her eyes she looked much younger than she was, much more akin to Sophie’s teenage appearance. Her dark hair drew attention away from her face but also commanded little attention itself, being so unadorned. Everything about her look was so…forgettable. It was perfect.

Given Katarzyna’s status and Anja’s current appearance Anja was forced to make the walk to the palace alone, though she hardly minded as it gave her some time to think out her plan. She was to enter through the servants entrance in the back and then make her way to Jessa’s quarters, though as to which room was her was an unanswered question. From there she was to ask for entry with some mundane request like emptying chamber pots or changing linens, for Katarzyna had said that with the king’s paranoia no servant was allowed in private royal quarters without supervision. Luckily for Anja this worked well in her favor. Yet beyond the simple logistics of the mission, Anja still did not know what she was even to ask. If Jessa was aware of Rhys’ presence in Ovis than perhaps she had seen him, but of what use was she aside from that? The unknowns were maddening, but Anja realized there were few other options.

The servants quarters were not well marked, but Anja found them quickly as she began to notice other similarly dressed servants coming in and out. The door appeared locked, so Anja waited for the next wave of servants to come by and slipped in the door behind them. Once inside the castle Anja blended in seamlessly. It seemed that whatever the organization and hierarchy among the servants was it was well tuned, for everyone went on with their business quietly, paying no mind to anyone around them. Anja made quick work of finding her way out of the winding corridors of the servants quarters, and from there finding the royal’s quarters was relatively easy. Their wing was adjacent to the guest wing, and Anja remembered the layout well from her last visit. However, once in the private wing it became immediately apparent that there were no signs as to which room was which. Every corridor was the same drab grey brick adorned with red banners and dark wood doors. The occasional servant passed silently, but the wing seemed otherwise unoccupied. It was not as if Anja could simply go up to the first door, knock, and hope for the best. Not if she wanted to live through this.

When the next servant rounded her hall Anja sighed, resigning herself to a horrible, but inevitable plan.

“Excuse me?” She called out, altering her voice to be much higher and softer than it usually was. She faked a smile at the woman, a talent she rather excelled at, though the servant didn’t seem to find this reassuring. She stared at her with a bored expression. “I’ve been told to clean out Lady Jessa’s chamber pots. But it’s my first day working in the private quarters and no one exactly told me where her room was.”

If the servant found this request suspicious she did not show it. Instead she looked rather annoyed. She rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Go down that corridor, take a left, and it will be the second door on your left. Make sure you knock loudly; I swear that one is hard of hearing or something, always wrapped up in her books.”

Anja smirked the moment the servant left. Alrick really needed to step up his security. This was almost too easy a feat. Anja quickly made it down the corridor as per instructions, pleased to find it was completely deserted. She ran over the instructions in her head again, double-checking that she’d indeed found the right door before knocking. She knocked loudly, as told, announcing the same made up story about chamber pots in her high pitched, sickeningly sweet voice. Jessa called out too, something about a servant already having been there this morning. Anja chose to ignore it. She knocked again, once more stating her purpose. This time Jessa seemed to accept that this new servant was simply hard of hearing. There was movement from within the room and Anja heard footsteps approaching the door and the latch on the lock turning.

“Someone was already –“ Jessa looked at Anja, and Anja knew her disguse had not fooled her sister-in-law for a second. Jessa was not the type to overlook the servants. Jessa’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide as Anja pursed her lips and folded her arms. Anja opened her mouth but Jessa made a frantic motion to the necklace around her neck, putting a finger to her mouth. Anja narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Jessa hurriedly scrambled with her necklace, running back into the room and setting it beside the fire before coming back to the door.

“I’m being monitored,” Jessa said, some bitterness clear in her voice.

Anja’s eyes flickered to the fireplace. “Can they hear us?”

“No.”

“Good. We need to talk. Now.”

[Mollianne]

Jessa stepped aside as Anja strode into the room. She closed her eyes once the door was shut, her hand still on the doorknob. After the night she had had, Jessa was exhausted. She doubted she had got more than an hour’s sleep for her mind had refused to quieten. Jessa had given up on sleep entirely before it had grown light, and had spent the morning waiting for news that had not come. The only thing to indicate Magrethe might be confessing was that she had received a note telling her that Alrick was unable to meet her in the west wing. Despite her anxiety and her hatred for Catrice, the relief had overwhelmed her. Rhys would be safe – for a little longer, at least. And she would not be forced to… Jessa swallowed hard.

Anja was here; she needed to focus on that. Jessa turned to face the woman, who despite her much more natural appearance still had Jessa hovering nervously by the door. The last time she had seen her had been months ago in Asanos. Their relationship had always been fraught, but never as dangerous as it had been in those days after Anja had found out about her and Rhys. Anja had been ready to kill her, and Jessa was under no illusion that Anja would happily see her dead if she had no use for her.

“Where is Rhys?”

“In the castle dungeons, with I think at least twenty people guarding him.”

Anja raised her eyebrows. “At least the king isn’t making the mistake of underestimating my brother, then. How long?”

“Five days, maybe more.” Jessa’s voice was quiet. She looked down at the floor. Anja barely paused for breath before asking her next question.

“Have you seen him?”

Jessa’s breath caught in her throat. She swallowed hard and did not meet Anja’s gaze. The woman folded her arms and stepped closer to Jessa. On instinct, Jessa retreated until her back was against the door. The doorknob poked into her back. Anja rolled her eyes in annoyance but did not comment. “Have you?” she repeated.

“Yes.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Jessa hugged her arms across her body, while Anja simply stared at her. It felt like she was on display, performing for an expectant crowd waiting for her to speak. But Jessa could not elaborate. After a few more seconds had passed, Anja said, “Do you know of any way he could escape?”

Jessa bit her lip. “There’s a secret entrance, but it requires blood magic. And the entrance is within the castle, so it wouldn’t get him far.”

Anja huffed in frustration, muttering under her breath something that sounded rather like, “Over five days and she hasn’t even got a clue.” Aloud, she said, “Do you know of anyone in this godforsaken city that can help me? Preferably a mage with actual skill.”

Although Anja had plainly meant it as an insult to her, Jessa could not argue with her. “My friend, Laurita–”

“Her?” Anja’s voice was laced with disgust. “Of course she would be here.”

Jessa frowned. Although she knew Laurita had spent some time in Jasrah, she would not have thought she and Anja would have spent any time together. Either that, or it did not take much for Anja to think someone an enemy. Perhaps being Jessa’s friend was enough. “She is a mage, and far better than me. I’d say you need here.” Jessa pressed her lips together. She did not trust Anja – that was an understatement – and it was not really her secret to tell, let alone to someone she did not trust. But Jessa would to do anything to save Rhys. And because Anja was here, willingly talking to Jessa, Jessa knew the other woman would do a lot as well. Which meant she had to trust in that desire if not the person. “There are others too. Laurita would be able to take you to them, but I imagine they’ll only help if you have something to offer them.”

“I have my ways. Rescuing Rhys is what is important here.” Anja uncrossed her arms. “So fine, when can I meet your friend?”

“She visits most evenings. All going well, tonight.”

“Great,” Anja said tonelessly. She moved to the door, but in a sudden burst of defiance, Jessa did not sidle out of the way. Anja glared daggers at her.

“I know you don’t want to admit it, but you do need me to help Rhys.” Anja raised her eyebrows as a flash of dark amusement passed across her rosy face.

“So, the little girl isn’t scared of me anymore, is she?” Anja sneered.

Jessa ignored her. “I already told you the secret entrance requires blood magic. You need me to get you in and out, and to tell you where it is. And I’ve done it before–” Jessa rushed to continue before Anja asked her to explain, “–so I know roughly how to get to Rhys from there. I won’t be kept out of this.”

“And what if the king reads your mind and finds out about our plan?”

“Like you, I have my ways,” Jessa snapped. “You need me.”

Anja’s face was a storm. The two women watched each other, neither willing to back down. Jessa’s hands began to shake, her boldness fading fast. She could not quite believe she had even stood up to Anja. Only a few months ago she had been a cowering wreck whenever she had seen Rhys’ sister. Ovis – this life – had changed her.

“This blood door,” Anja finally hissed through gritted teeth. “If only members of the king’s family can get through it, the king isn’t stupid. You’ll be at the top of his list if we use that entrance. The main entrance would be more likely to keep your cover intact.”

Jessa was surprised Anja would even think of that, given how little care she had for Jessa. “You won’t have a chance of reaching Rhys that way.”

“I can handle a few guards.” Anja paused, then sighed in defeat. “But getting back would be virtually impossible. This other entrance, it is not guarded?”

“There was only one. Of course there are others in the dungeons themselves, but they’re easy enough to avoid, if you’re a mage, or if you have one with you.” Jessa’s thoughts started racing as a barely-formed plan began to take shape in her head. She swallowed hard as she considered the flaw Anja had already pointed out in the flimsy plan – and what she could do about it.

“…listening to me?” Anja said. Jessa looked up, confused. Anja practically growled. “How are you going to hide your involvement in this supposed plan?”

“You need my blood, but it has to look like I haven’t just given it to you. If you… attack me, or rather, you make it look like one—”

“Do I have to?” Anja interjected, almost as if she was bored. Jessa’s heart thumped against her ribcage, and she pushed her shaking hands behind her back. This suggestion was a massive risk. Even if Anja did agree, there was no guarantee that she would not ‘accidentally’ kill Jessa in the fake attack. Jessa would not have the opportunity to defend herself – she would just be dead. To do this, she would have to trust one of the only people she would never have trusted. And she would, for Rhys. If she did die, whether Anja did it on purpose or not, he would be safe.

“You pretend to attack me,” Jessa repeated, and if her words were a little shakier now she tried not to think about it. “You take enough blood to get you through the door and back.”

“And how do you ensure you don’t die?” Anja asked. The way she said it sounded exactly as an eye roll would sound if it used words. “I don’t care, but my brother would.”

Jessa’s heart ached. She pressed the side of her hand to her chest as she bowed her head. Even if Jessa did not care about her own safety, Rhys would never forgive her for dying to save him.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve got some thinking to do then, doesn’t it? Don’t worry too much about it, mind. It won’t be too big a loss. Rhys would get over it eventually, especially when he knows we had no choice, and that you couldn’t think of anything.”

“Goodbye, Anja.” Jessa’s eyes raged with fire. Anja stared at her, a small tilt to her lips showing she was not scared by Jessa’s weakening bravado.

“Until tonight,” Anja said with a falsely pleasant and bright voice. She left before Jessa could say anything else, not that Jessa had anything else to say. She went to the bed and collapsed onto it. Her gaze followed the marks in the ceiling, letting her focus on the patterns calm her and her thoughts. However Jessa felt about it, Anja was right about this plan being tenuous at best. There were a great many ways it could go wrong, and she still had no idea how Anja would even get Rhys through the castle if they did manage to get out of the dungeon. And as this plan was not something they were going to be able to put into action that night, there was no way Rhys could avoid Alrick until then. She had no idea what kind of condition he would be in when they did rescue him, except that it would not be good. Jessa choked back a sob.

She hated him. She hated Alrick more than she would ever hate anyone in this world. She hated all of this. Had it even been worth it? Jessa turned her cheek into her pillow, the tears she had tried to contain rolling down her cheeks and onto the fabric. She did not feel like she had achieved anything for all the time she had spent here. All she had done was help Alrick by uncovering another attack on the throne, lose her brother, and almost lose the person she loved. How had she ever thought that someone like her could actually do something, change the world? It was ridiculous.

Jessa squeezed her eyes shut. Wallowing was not going to achieve anything. It would not get anyone out of the mess they were in. She sat up and pushed a hand through her hair, the ends of which were wet with her tears. She needed to do something. Sitting there alone would only encourage the defeatist attitude at a time when Jessa most needed to be strong. She needed to think. For Rhys, she told herself, she could do this – she must.

Jessa stood and went to splash water on her face. The coolness of the liquid soothed her cheeks. She stared into the mirror, pushing her wayward hair out of her eyes. She stared at her image as if it could answer all her questions and come out with a perfectly formed escape plan in the blink of an eye. A knock on the door broke her concentration. Jessa pressed a towel to her face, quickly drying it before going to the door.

To Jessa’s surprise, she found Maira waiting for her. The princess looked grave. “What is it?” Jessa asked.

“Lady Magrethe Janes,” Maira began. Jessa took in a sharp breath. “She confessed, to everything. Treason, murdering Harris, everything.” Jessa stared at her, dumbfounded. “She is to be executed tomorrow at dawn.”

[Rosabeth]

ANJA

There was little point waiting around in the castle all day waiting to get caught by someone who decided to take a little too close a look at her face. Katarzyna was waiting in the parlor when Anya returned, not even bothering to look up from her book when she heard the door open.

“Well look who didn’t die after all.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very smart,” Anja snapped. Her patience for Katarzyna was far too thin.

“No reason to bite,” Kat said with a tisk. “Did things go well? Was she helpful?”

Anja frowned at the thought. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Katatarzyna silently raised an eyebrow. Anja slumped into a chair with a groan, putting her head in her hands. “I don’t like being wrong, especially about people. Don’t ask.” She could practically feel Kat’s intrigue building. Even if the meeting had at least helped form what was a risky mission at best it had left a sour taste in her mouth. After all this time spent certain that something about Jessa was off, that her loyalties could not possibly lie within Rhys, she had to admit that it was seeming less and less likely. Anja had to begrudgingly admit that she likely had a reluctant ally in Jessa, though that did not exactly give her much hope. Whether or not Jessa’s loyalties lied with the Marinons her usefulness was still pitiful.

Anja jumped in her seat when she peered up from her hands to see Katarzyna kneeling before her, a devilish smile on her lips. “I know that tone,” she said. “You weren’t able to manipulate her. Well isn’t that just a shame. The queen of threats can’t make a simple noble shake in fear.”

If Kat wasn’t her best (and in all honesty only) friend, she would have likely slapped her. Instead she gritted her teeth, swallowing her anger. “Get out of my face or I will hit you.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Kat shook her head, yet Anja noted that her friend indeed did move away. They might be old friends, but Kat wasn’t stupid enough to provoke Anja into a rage. She knew that would be a fight she would lose.

In truth, Katarzyna’s words cut to the truth of the matter. Though Anja knew Jessa was not immune to her intimidation it was clear that she no longer had the desired effect on the woman. Something had happened over the last year to give Jessa some much needed nerve. It did not help that Jessa was well aware that Anja would never dare hurt her, at least not in too severe a fashion. It was clear that Rhys loved Jessa more deeply than Anja could understand, and despite her grievances with her brother Anja loved Rhys too much to hurt him in that way. If Anya was to hurt Jessa Rhys would never forgive her, and Anja knew Jessa would exploit this all she could. Anja frowned at the thought of having to cooperate with Jessa. Yet, thought Anja would never admit it to her face, she couldn’t help but harbor some respect for the woman. If there was one thing Anja admired it was courage. At least Jessa had enough to stand up to Anja, no matter how mediocre her attempts. Still, the idea of a “pretend” attack certainly made the plan somewhat more pleasant. Anja might be perfectly capable of a non-fatal attack, but it would be slow and meticulous and painful. Anja couldn’t lie that that held a certain appeal.

Katarzyna all but force fed Anja lunch – something that seemed to be quickly becoming one of Kat’s favorite hobbies – and spent the rest of the afternoon filling Anja in on all the court gossip and scandals over the last few months. Anja cared little for gossip, but their conversations did fill two purposes. Firstly it entertained Katarzyna for hours. Secondly, and most importantly, not all of the gossip was false. From careful questions of sources and details Anja was fairly easily able to pick out the truth from the lies. Katarzyna had been a valuable friend in this respect for many years. If it wasn’t for Kat’s gossipy and devious ways Anja would not know have half of her family’s blackmail on various Ovisian nobles.

By the time evening rolled around and the sun had set Anja’s had decided to put aside her frustrations. There was no time for picking needless fights when every moment wasted was a moment Rhys could be killed. At precisely seven o’clock she donned a cloak and gloves and set out for the castle. Getting in at night proved to be even simpler than during the day, for many servants had already left and those remaining were tending to the royal family’s dinners and keeping fires lit in all the important rooms. The servants entrance was all but deserted, and so long as Anja kept out of the main wings it was easy to maneuver undetected. When Anja came across Jessa’s room she paused, unsure if she should knock or if that would raise too much alarm for whatever contraption Jessa wore around her neck. As it turned out, knocking was unnecessary.

The door swung open, but this time it was not Jessa on the other side. She’d only seen the face once before, but given the fight that had ensued at the time, it had left a lasting impression. Laurita stared at Anja with no less suspicion than Anja. Jessa sat in a chair near the fire watching the two with anticipation. Anja broke the tension easily by striding into the room without a second glance at Laurita and positioning herself beside the fire with crossed arms.

“So? What’s the plan?”

Jessa and Laurita shared a tentative glance and Anja let out a sigh of frustration. They would be getting nowhere if everyone treated Anja as if she might burst into flames at any moment.

“I’m going to take you to see some of the other mages,” Laurita began, straightening up. “I can promise you they won’t be particularly happy about seeing you there, so don’t try to mess this up. Not that it matters,” she said under her breath. “It’s not like you’re going to be able to convince them of anything.”

“Yes, it’s me we should be worrying about, the one who actually has experience in this sort of thing,” Anja snapped. “You act as if I’m the one who so desperately needs you yet if you two were really as capable as you say you are Rhys wouldn’t still be in prison.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Laurita, despite her harsh tone, looked remarkably calm. “Getting Rhys out isn’t about killing someone and busting in with swords out looking for a fight. Just because you think you’re invincible doesn’t mean you know anything about what this entails. This is not one person’s job.”

“Obviously. If it was a one person job I’d already have Rhys out. But it’s not like you’re alone. If you really have these mage friends of which you speak then why aren’t they helping you? Let me guess, because they don’t care about you.”

From Jessa’s reaction it seemed as if Anja had hit a sore spot. She pursed her lips, looking back to Laurita. “So how about you stop acting like I’m the enemy here and start realizing that plans aren’t all about teamwork and friendship and cooperation. It’s about knowing that everyone has a price. You just have to figure out what theirs is and exploit it. Another guess on my part? A poor bastard and a foreigner can’t pay the price.”

Laurita looked enraged, but Anja ignored her. “I’m not trying to make you made for no reason.” Jessa scoffed. “What I’m trying to get you two to realize is that sometimes the only thing that gets things done is money and power, two things which you two have none of. So why don’t you let someone who understands how these things work hold the reins for a change.”

Surprisingly, it was Jessa who broke through the tension. “Please, we don’t have time for this.” She looked at her friend with pleading eyes. “We have to go now.”

Laurita turned to Anja and pulled out a long strip of cloth. Anja’s hand immediately flinched out. “What is that?”

“We have to blindfold you. No one is supposed to know the location of the camp.”

“You’re not blindfolding me,” Anja insisted, backing away.

Laurita looked less than amused. “If you want to meet these people that you’re going to do so on their terms, is that understood? Jessa will be blindfolded too, so it’s not like we’re secretly leading you to your death.”

Anja did not like having no other options. “Fine, but not until we’re out of the castle.”

Once the three had found a safe, dark location well outside the castle’s walls Laurita blindfolded both Jessa and Anja, though Anja had the suspicion that hers was pulled quite a bit tighter than necessary. They walked for what seemed like ages, and after some time Anja began to realize that Laurita was purposefully taking them in circles. At least the woman was smart, Anja thought. It would have been poor judgment to think that Anja didn’t know Ovis’ layout like the back of her hand. Eventually they stopped and Anja heard Laurita talking to another woman in hushed tones. Soon enough Anja realized they’d passed inside, though she’d heard no door nor felt a change in the ground. When they stopped moving the blindfolds were, to Anja’s disappointment, not immediately removed. In fact they stood that way for some time. Only when footsteps could be heard approaching did Anja feel hands on her head, removing the blindfold in one tug.

It took Anja’s eyes a moment to adjust to the low light, but once they had the sight shocked her. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, perhaps some sort of villainous lair from a story, but whatever it was it was not this. There were people everywhere – lying on the floor, passed out on makeshift cots, huddled around small fires. The people were bedraggled and beyond destitute, looking as though their poor winter clothes were about to disintegrate under one’s touch. Many faces were gaunt and all were ashen, with even more showing signs of disease. This wasn’t a camp as Laurita had said, this was graveyard waiting to happen.

“Who is this?”

Anja’s eyes flickered away from the masses to the figure who stood infront of her. It was a young man, older than her but by no more than ten years. His figure was of average build and height, nothing physically intimidating, but his stature suggested someone of latent strength. He would have looked completely ordinary if not for one thing – his eyes. Anja knew those eyes, dark and piercing. She could not place them at first, like some sort of figure from a distant dream, but then it came to her all at once.

“The prisoner.”

“Excuse me?” The man raised his eyebrows, looking to Laurita as if to ask what she’d been thinking bringing this nutcase along.

“I’ve seen you before. You were a prisoner. It was a long time ago, I wasn’t much more than a child, but I remember your eyes. You looked at me. I was in a carriage riding through Ovis and you and a few other men were chained together like slaves on the far side of the castle. I poked my head out of the carriage as we rode by and you looked right at me. I never forgot.”

The man paused, opened his mouth, and then closed it once more. It appeared she’d taken him entirely by surprise. Suddenly he gave a faint smile. “I do remember that. The girl from the carriage. And you’re right, I was a prisoner. But that was a long time ago. What I need to know is who are you?”

“Why were you a prisoner?”

The man sighed, looking again to Laurita. “Does she refuse to answer questions?”

“If you’re a prisoner I’d like to know why, if I’m supposed to be trusting you.” She could hear Laurita let out a small laugh, coughing to cover it up. The irony of Anja asking about anyone’s crimes was apartment, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t this man’s brother’s life that was on the line. “Answer my question.”

“I was imprisoned for being a mage, the same crime of all of these people,” he said, gesturing around him. “And I certainly paid my time. But I don’t have to answer to you. Now tell me, who are you?”

“Lady Anja Marinon.”

Anja smirked as she heard the room grow silent, all those who’d been pretending not to listen in suddenly revealing themselves. The man’s face hardened, obviously recognizing the name. He jerked his head to the side and suddenly there were hands gripping Anja’s arms, pushing her out of the room. She tried to yell but another hand clamped over her mouth. Her, Laurita, Jessa, and the man were all wrangled into a smaller side room, the door shut firmly behind them.

“Oh yes, manhandling is an excellent way to deal with guests,” Anja snapped. To her surprise it appeared Jessa was smiling. She wondered if this was a common complaint.

“Marinon, did you say?”

“You heard the first time. I don’t suspect you’ll tell me yours?”

“Why have you brought her?” This time the man looked to Jessa. “Have you lost your mind?”

“We need your help,” Jessa pleaded. “She can help me, and I think she can help you too.”

The man scoffed, obviously finding this hard to believe, but he did not immediately order Anja away either. “How much does he know?” Anja asked Jessa, intuitively knowing she wouldn’t like the answer.

“Nothing, really.”

Anja sighed. Of course it would all be up to her. “My brother Rhys is a prisoner her a the castle. We need to get him out. We have a plan but we don’t have enough people, and these two have suggested that you might be of help.”

“Did they?” Nayall looked to Jessa and Laurita, and Anja saw that Jessa’s eyes were watery yet her expression steeled.

“Please,” Jessa whispered. “I know that it’s hard to trust her, but can you trust me? Or Laurita? We need your help desperately.”

Nayall seemed genuinely torn for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. “I’m sorry for your suffering, I really am, but I can’t help. I have more pressing matters and I won’t risk myself or my people for a suicide mission.”

It appeared that his mind was made up already as he turned towards the door. “Wait!” Anja yelled. Nayall stopped midstep, pivoting to cast her a curious look. “I can make it worth your while.”

“Really?”

“Your people are dying. Don’t act like they’re not, anyone can see it. No one here looks as if they’ve had a proper meal in weeks and I can see the early signs of Red Fever.” Nayall’s face darkened, confirming with Anja that he was already aware. Red Fever was named so after the color of the royal family, given that it was notorious for thriving in Ovis’ cool climate. The last outbreak had so overwhelmed the city’s healers that 5,000 people had died. “You might have a healer or two on hand but if an outbreak starts it will wipe you all out before you have the chance to save anyone, and that’s not to mention the general malaise of anyone not already infected. You need medicine and you need food. I can get you both. You help my brother and you’ll have your supplies in three days.”

Nayall looked suspicious. “How much?”

“Enough to keep everyone well fed for three months and enough medical supplies to keep you alive.”

Anja could see that the temptation was strong. It was a generous offer and Anja knew it would take many favors to fill, but the prize was more than worth it. Nayall stood expressionless for a moment, lost in his own thoughts, but Anja knew what he must be thinking. If he was truly the man of the people that he set himself up to be than this was an offer he could not refuse on good conscience. Whatever he might think about Anja he would simply have to push it aside, for they were in a game in which she held all the cards.

“Three days? From your brother’s release?”

“From today.”

“And what makes you so sure I’ll hold up my end of the bargain?”

Anja smirked. “Because you’re going to sign a blood contract.”

Nayall did not seem sold on the idea, but Anja hardly cared. She looked around the room, realizing that it was some sort of office, and quickly found a piece of parchment and a quill lying on a table. Hurriedly she picked up the quill and began scribble down the terms of the arrangement with Nayall looking on skeptically. When she was done she drew two lines at the bottom, one for her signature, and one for Nayall’s. “Laurita,” she called. “Do you know how to make a blood contract?”

Reluctantly the woman nodded. Anja beckoned her over. Laurita read over the contract quickly, nodding to an uncomfortable looking Nayall to assure him that it was a fair deal. Before the man had time to decide Anja hiked up her skirt and removed a dagger from a sheath on her thigh, a move which did not appear to surprise anyone. She looked to Laurita and held out the knife. “Are you going to do this or not?” Laurita looked to Jessa, as if looking for some sort of conformation. When Jessa only shrugged Laurita turned back and gave a firm nod. Anja held out her hand, waiting and watching as Laurita brough the dagger down to Anja’s palm and cut a line across her skin.

Anja hissed at the pain but it was brief. The blood was flowing rapidly and Laurita hurridly dumped out the ink from the inkwell and brough it to Anja’s hand. Anja opened her hand just enough to let the blood run out and into the inkwell. When they were sure enough blood had been spilled Anja put her bleeding hand into a tight fist and picked up the quill with her other. She dipped it into her own blood and carefully scrawled her name on the paper. Both she and Laurita then turned to Nayall who’s uneasy expression had not faultered.

“Do you want your people to die or not?” Anja snapped.

This seemed to be enough to tip him over the edge. He thrust out his hand and Laurita completed the same exercise. Anja couldn’t help but smile as she watched Nayall sign his name in his own blood. For the first time since discovering Selene’s deceit, Anja felt that maybe, just maybe, Rhys had a chance.

[Mollianne]

The ache in Jessa’s stomach had not lessened since the night before, a mixture of worry for Rhys and guilt over Magrethe. For the third night in a row, she had barely slept, and restlessness had pulled her from her bed hours before the weak sun would rise from its own slumber. Jessa knelt on her bed and stared out of the window at the dark lawns and the walls beyond. Past those walls, on Executioner’s Row, the stage and gallows had been erected, awaiting its victim. Jessa swallowed, resting her head against the frigid glass, as if the cold could frighten away her restless thoughts and leave behind the sense that she was doing the right thing. She sighed, fogging up the glass.

Somehow, Catrice was to get away with murder and treason. The anger bubbled at the back of her mind, ever present but pale in comparison to the guilt that wrenched her gut. She wanted to go to the king and demand to know why Magrethe had been charged for everything while Catrice walked free. Surely Magrethe, after telling her the truth, did not want to conceal the person who had betrayed her. Jessa was sure she had not done. So the king was keeping it to himself. Jessa knew she should try to lessen Magrethe’s sentence by telling the king what she knew. He could not deny Catrice’s role if someone else were privy to the details. But by confronting him, he would learn of her prior knowledge, and it was a slippery slope from there.

There was a bad taste in her mouth, but she could not risk herself. And someone who, while not innocent, had essentially done no more than Jessa herself had done against the king, would die for her silence. Jessa hated herself for it, even as she knew she would not do anything. Too many other people needed her. Jessa bowed her head at the justification, at the half-truth. Yes, other people needed her, but she also did not want to sacrifice herself for Magrethe. She also wanted to live more than she wanted to save someone else. She hugged her arms, feeling dirty. But to hide from that truth about herself would be wrong. She needed to come to terms with it. So she valued her life above someone who she barely knew; most people would. It didn’t make it easier to swallow, but Jessa would have to live with her choices.

She leaned closer to the window, until her cheek was pressed against its icy surface, gazing sidelong at the Janes’ house, just visible beyond the corner of the castle. Most of the house was shrouded in darkness, but a single room on the top floor flickered with candlelight. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. There was an entire family in there who had already begun to mourn. Jessa looked away. Although she had not thought of him too much recently, she found herself missing Larend and the friendship they could have had. But she had treated him terribly the last time they had met, and now she would let his mother die.

The sky began to lighten, a day that promised to be grey and overcast. Jessa climbed down from her bed and went to dress with a heavy heart. She did not wish to attend Magrethe’s execution, but the king had demanded the whole family’s presence in order to show a united front against their enemies. Unfortunately for Alrick it was nothing but a show. The du Renes were probably the least unified family in Etrene.

She pulled out her red velvet coat, sure she would be expected to don the royal family colours for the occasion. Everything about this morning was sickening. Jessa bowed her head. She tried to tell herself that Magrethe would have died whatever happened. Catrice had set Magrethe up for everything, and would have made sure she confessed or was found guilty. And Jessa knew Alrick’s patience would have worn thin soon, and in his paranoia he would have sentenced her without proof, just in case the noblewoman was against him.

A gentle tap at the door pulled her from her morose ruminations. One of Maira’s maids stood outside, sent to tell Jessa they were leaving. Jessa nodded and thanked the girl, who scurried off while Jessa pulled on her coat and shut her bedroom door. The family were waiting in the entrance hall, and as Jessa turned the corner onto the landing above the hall, her anger rose to the fore. Catrice stood there, everything in her posture showing a defeated woman. Her face was pale, still stricken with grief for her son. Jessa did not doubt Catrice’s feelings, but she still hated her. That she could stand there, wallowing in her grief when it had been her doing… It was not just anger, though, that shook her fingers and had her gripping the bannisters tightly to stop herself falling as she descended the stairs. This was the woman who wanted her dead, and had nearly succeeded. And next to her—as if he did not know or care what she really was—stood a man who would kill Jessa if he ever discovered the truth. Luckily for Jessa, she had never once felt safe here, so it was remarkable easy to join the family. She kept her head down. No one said anything.

Although the walk was not far, carriages awaited them outside the doors. Jessa luckily found herself in a carriage with Maira and Edmund. Of all the family, they were least her enemies—not that that said much. Still no one spoke, and the air was so thick with tension that even focusing her gaze outside did nothing to distract her. The royals did not seem so much upset about a death as tense about witnessing it, particularly Edmund who had probably be shielded from earlier public executions. Jessa could hardly blame them for that; they truly believed Magrethe had killed their brother.

The carriage rolled to a stop with the sound of the driver calling to the horses. A few minutes later, the door opened and Jessa saw the gallows. The hangman’s noose dropped down from the wooden frame, inciting a coil of fear and disgust in Jessa’s gut. This was wrong. She had to do something, no matter how fruitless.

Alrick stood beside their carriage, his gaze fixed upon the gallows with nothing but satisfaction on his face. His jaw was set. Whatever Jessa would say would not change his mind, and the fierceness in his eyes suggested that if she tried anything he did not like, she would regret it. She held back. Alrick turned his head, his eyes finding his wife who was already moving to her chair. Nothing. Not even a twitch. Had Magrethe not told him? Or was he really just that proficient at deceit?

“Jessa, come,” Maira said, holding out her hand. Jessa followed Maira up the stairs to their places behind Catrice’s and Alrick’s thrones. The royal family would look down on the square from above, while anyone else who came would stand below. Jessa could not conceive of anyone who did not have to coming to witness someone’s death, but there would be those who were friends of Magrethe—however much they may now keep it silent—who would be there as a sign of respect and to give her a friendly face in the last few minutes of her life. There would be those who had been entirely turned against her and relished the thought of her death, too.

A carriage rolled to a stop at the edge of the southern entrance to the square. It was piled high with cases and bags. An expectation hush fell over the square as Graeme Janes and his children emerged from the coach, all of them keeping their heads held high. The sisters had locked arms for support, but their expressions were firm and strong. Jessa did not know how any of them could manage this, particularly young Charine. Only a short while ago she had been so excited to be finally out in the world, able to court and find love like her sister Helene had done.

It was not long before more noble families arrived, some on foot and some by carriage. The man Jessa presumed was Helene’s betrothed made a beeline for her and she collapsed into his arms, a brief moment of weakness. When she pulled back, there was no sign of that weakness in her eyes.

It was only when Jessa saw Larend’s friends that she allowed herself to look at the man himself. Even though his sisters were far younger than him, it was Larend she had been closer to. It was Larend who she had betrayed above all others. Did Larend believe his mother’s guilt? He had done the last time they had spoken. She watched him, standing tall next to his father and talking quietly to him. Jessa was glad they had their backs to the royal stage. It was selfish, but she did not think she would be able to look into any of the Janes’ eyes.

There was a reasonably sized crowd by the time the black coach came into the square, surrounded by guards. Magrethe was yanked from her seat. The guard’s hand on her upper arm squeezed tightly, as if to drag her, but Magrethe went willingly. She was a woman who knew her fate, and from the determination in her eyes and her poise, she had accepted it. She climbed the stairs to the noose almost easily. She may have done wrong, but Jessa admired her then. If it had been Jessa in her position, she was sure she would be a quivering wreck.

The noose was placed over her neck, but not tightened. The king stood from his chair, and the two stared at each other across the square. “You, Lady Magrethe Janes, have been found guilty of treason, murder, and attempted murder, and you shall face execution by hanging for your crimes.” He paused. “Any last words?”

Magrethe turned her head, the loose rope offering little resistance. She looked to her family, huddled together now, and her eyes were wet with tears. “I love you, my children. I love you, Graeme. And to you all—” She looked again at the royal family, but did not pause, “—although it means nothing, I’m sorry.”

Alrick lifted his hand. Quietly to his family he said, “Don’t look away.” The noose was tightened around her neck. Magrethe had just enough time to turn her gaze back to her family before a shout went out and the trapdoor beneath her opened. She fell silently to her death, her neck snapping instantly with the weight of her own body. Jessa turned her head, closing her eyes. She heard the sobs to her right, strangled as if someone was trying to stop themselves, to stay strong. Jessa did not think it was weak to cry for their mother. Rather, the anguish tore right through Jessa and stabbed into her heart. She could not even imagine what the family were feeling.

“Jessa,” Alrick said sharply. She opened her eyes. His eyes bore into hers, sharp like the edge of a knife. “You will meet me back at the castle. We have been neglecting our guest.”

“You can’t—” Alrick’s glare silenced her. She nodded, but inside her head was spinning and she felt sick to her core. Not then. Not ever. Rhys’ plea raced through her mind, fast but clear. Torture him with anything but magic, if there was no way to avoid it. She couldn’t. She couldn’t torture him herself. And she couldn’t ask Alrick not to use his. Not only would he not listen to her, but he would also know then that she was aware of his secret. Until Rhys was safe, she could not let that slip. Whether Anja thought so or not, they would need Jessa to get Rhys out. If Alrick learned the truth, both she and Rhys would be dead without a second thought.

In such a fugue state as she was, Jessa did not realise she was already down the stairs and heading back to the royal carriages. She blinked slowly, and made the mistake of looking up and around. Her gaze locked with Larend’s. The grief in his eyes was drowning and deep. He was beyond tears. Jessa turned away, but not before seeing a flicker of even more pain cross his face. It barely registered in Jessa’s mind. Selfish as it may be, her thoughts now were only for Rhys.

Alrick was waiting by the carriage when it stopped. Alrick helped his children down, but when it was Jessa’s turn his did not let go of his grip on her hand. Jessa repressed her shudder, the intense feeling to pull away and run. They left Maira and Edmund staring after them in confusion. Once they were inside, walking down the west wing corridor to the entrance to the dungeons, Alrick said, an echo of last time when she had begged him to leave Rhys in solitude, “You will not cry.” He waited a moment, and then said, “Unless you think he does not deserve this?”

Jessa did not dare say anything. She shook her head, her gaze dropping to the flagstone floor, watching their feet draw closer to the dungeon. “Well?”

“He does,” she choked out, though her words were little more than a whisper. Her throat closed up, and she could say no more. It had been enough to satisfy Alrick, who quickened his pace. The door to the dungeon was opened and slammed behind them, locking them in a place that held only despair. The same overwhelming horror, disgust at herself, and desolation coiled around Jessa’s throat, choking her. Everything she felt last time she had been here was suddenly there again, as if it had never left. Her head was heavy with pain. She needed something else to focus on. Jessa breathed in deeply, and counted the guards, their positions, anything that could help Anja get in and out of the dungeon without detection. If she was here again, she had to do something.

She knew when they were near, but although she tried to slow down, Alrick sped up, and suddenly Rhys was there again. He leaned against the back wall, half-starved and gaunt, but he sat up a little straighter when he saw them. He barely looked at Jessa, focusing his gaze and all his hatred on Alrick. Jessa was glad of it. She was only just holding it together now. If he looked at her…

“Jessa,” Alrick said, nodding towards Rhys. Her feet began moving towards his cell. Her raging emotions swirled, mixing together into one violent thought. Rhys had done this to her. He needed to pay. His cell door flew open and Jessa stepped inside. She towered over Rhys, her eyes on fire. When he looked at her, she felt nothing but contempt. He could not hurt her as he had done all those months ago. Now she was in control. “Jessa.” Alrick said again.

Rhys screamed. The magic poured out of Jessa and into Rhys, slicing through him. He screamed and thrashed, and suddenly Alrick was there beside her. He put his hand on Jessa’s shoulder and she stopped, dazed and still. Her thoughts felt a millions miles away, trapped in a gauzy web behind the fog. She squeezed her eyes shut as Alrick said to Rhys, “What do you know of the attack on Jasrah?”

Rhys didn’t reply. Jessa did not even know if he could. After a few moments, Alrick touched Jessa’s shoulder again. Her eyes flew open, fixating on Rhys as she let her magic free again. The bursts of magic became daggers in the air, flying for Rhys’ and cutting into his skin. She saw blood, and one of her true thoughts broke free, spoken in Rhys’ voice. Only use half your magic. It warred with the overwhelming desire to make Rhys pay, to help Alrick extract information from him. But Rhys’ voice was stronger, and Jessa, in all her confusion, knew that that meant something. She reined in her magic, pulling it back within her until only a few threads remained. Alrick was still firing questions at Rhys, trying to find where he was weakest and press in. The interrogation needed to stop. Jessa used her last threads of magic on Rhys, ignoring the dreadful taste in her mouth as she did so, shaping them into knives which stuck into Rhys’ hands before disappearing. Jessa’s legs gave out. She gripped the bars behind her, panting as a headache ripped through her. Her head was completely empty. Nausea gripped her as she realised what she had done and why she was so exhausted. She had just fought against Alrick’s magic.

She eyed him, but he was paying her no heed. Had he just thought using her magic—something he did not know she could do, to a limited extent, by herself—had just tired her? Did he not know that she had fought against him? She stayed quiet, wanting to push him away from Rhys as he leaned close, still talking softly, menacingly. He grabbed Rhys by the throat and pressed him against the stone wall. Jessa swallowed a gasp. Alrick whispered something in Rhys’ ear and then dropped him to the ground. He turned on his heel, glancing at Jessa. “Come.”

She stared at Rhys. This was the destruction she had caused, once again. Even if she could have spoken freely, there was nothing she could say. She followed Alrick out of the cell woodenly. She had no more energy to feel. She had tortured Rhys for Alrick again, but this time there was less confusion. This time, she had partially done it of her own free will. Rhys had asked her to do so, but she had not even considered the idea at the time. And now, she only felt dead inside.

[Rosabeth]

ANJA

The entire concept of a public execution was barbaric and cruel, which Anja realized, coming from her, was rich. As the presiding noble family of southern Etrene, the Marinons had the power to deal out capital punishment in accordance with the law, yet in the past 22 years never had they held a public execution. Even for a family whose reputation was one of murder and deceit, public killings were too cruel a punishment. For the accused Anja hardly cared, but with their family she could sympathize. As she looked up from the crowd at Lady Janes’ steely gaze she couldn’t help but admire the woman for her strength in the face of death. Yet the woman must be breaking inside, for the faces of her family looking on and the knowledge that all the city was there to witness her ultimate humiliation would be agony. Who gained from such an act? A petty king who enjoyed humiliating his subjects? This was not an act of justice or revenge. This was an act of cowardliness from a man who couldn’t even tie the noose himself. Anja had been taught from a young age that in order to have the authority to administer punishment one must be willing to carry it out with their own hands.

Still, it was not Anja’s reasoning for coming to the execution to muse over the many corruptions of the king’s reign. There were other more important things to tend to. Anja pulled her hood over her head as she maneuvered through the crowds still wearing Katarzyna’s servant’s dress. The execution provided the perfect cover as Anja walked undetected within the king’s line of vision. Even those that stopped to look as she nudged past barely registered her face, too busy trying to fill their macabre urges with a look at the swinging body. Anja was only a few rows from the front when she stopped next to a portly middle-aged man who reeked of alcohol and whose face clearly needed a shave. He glanced over at her as she approached only to do a double take, his lips turning into a scowl.

“Nice to see you too, Dehonte,” Anja mumbled, keeping her eyes forward to avoid suspicion. She heard the man sigh with distain. Gerard Dehonte was, to put it plainly, a lying, thieving drunkard, but he was also the most reliable source to the Ovisian black market Anja knew. Distantly related to the royal family, or so he said, Gerard’s family had fallen out of favor at court decades ago which he seemed to counter by undermining the Ovisian economy in his favorite way. He was a reluctant partner of the Marinons, reluctant being due to their constant threats and his unwavering cowardess in the face of them. Though he might smell like piss, Anja enjoyed dealing with Gerard. If anything, it was undeniably easy.

“I ain’t got nothin’ for you, if ‘ats what you’re ‘ere for.” His breath smelled so putrid Anja’s nose crinkled and lips curled.

“Charming, really,” she muttered. “Dehonte, I have no time for your shit today so if you could refrain from lying that would be appreciated.”

The man growled. “I ain’t doin’ it. Not this time.”

Anja had expected this and had come prepared. Her dagger hid in her sleeve and she dropped it into her hand, taking a quick step to her left to hold it against his side yet out of view. Gerard hissed and tensed but said nothing, knowing his battle was already lost.

“Would you like trying again?” Anja gave a sickeningly sweet smile.

“What you need?” He grumbled, voice almost too low to hear, though not too low for Anja to miss the carefully added “bitch” slipped in at the end. She pressed the knife harder against his fat.

“I need medical supplies. Bandages, antiseptics, all the common herbs, Red Fever cures-“

“Red Fever?” Gerard interjected. “Is ‘at back?”

“Not if you get me the supplies,” Anja hissed. “Do you have connections or not?”

“I got ‘em. ‘Ow much you need?”

“Enough to supply a hundred or so people for a few months, just to err on the side of caution.”

Gerard whistled lowly, shaking his head with a look of disbelief. “You know ‘at ain’t cheap, yeah?”

“Do I look like I care about the cost?” If looks could kill Anja was fairly certain hers would have decapitated. “Is it possible or not?”

There was a long pause but finally Gerard gave a shrug. “Yeah, I can get ‘em.”

“Good.” Though Anja was short with the man, it was only to hide her relief. “You have three days.”

Gerard narrowed his eyes but grunted, which Anja chose to interpret as submission to her request. “It’ll cost you.”

“I will build a statue of your disgusting self out of gold if it gets you to shut up and do what I say,” Anja snapped. “If I don’t have my supplies in three days I promise I will pay you a very unpleasant visit that will making Lady Janes’ death look like mercy.” Anja didn’t bother sticking around for Gerard’s response. She knew he’d likely already soiled himself at the threat.

The crowd began to disperse as Anja made her exit, and as Anja saw the nobles families begin to load into their carriages she knew she had no time to waste. Acquiring the medicine might have been easy, but getting food would most certainly not be. In late winter food was already a heavily horded commodity and during wartime it would only be more difficult to get. In Ovis there were few noble families that controlled the distribution of food, and there was only one Anja knew for certain would be anywhere near capable of getting her the quanity she needed. Unfortunately, that family was the same whose son she’d murdered less than a year ago. It seemed unlikely they’d be willing to cooperate. Anja was used to that. Luckily, cooperation wasn’t necessary.

Though Lord Palian’s betrayal of Anja’s father’s secrets to King Alrick had severed all ties between the Marinons and the Palians, it had bolstered the relationship between the Palians and the Du Renes. Not as much as Lord Palian likely had hoped, Anja guessed, seeing as it would have become very clear very soon that all of Palian’s information on the Marinons had been planted as a test of loyalty. Still, the Palian’s remained the largest distributor of grain in Ovis and without their help Anja’s plan would have no hope of fruition.

Anja made a beeline for the Palian’s manor, taking every shortcut she knew of on her way there. She stuck to the shadows knowing that the closer to the castle she got the more dangerous her position would be and the higher the risk of detection. The Palian manor was far more guarded than Katarzyna’s home with guards at every entrance, all armed and armored. Fighting her way in would be a poor plan. Anja fingered the small vial in her pocket, the vial she’d been so relieved to see among the stash of things she’d left at Katarzyna’s months ago. Fighting would not be necessary. Once the Palians knew what Anja had done they would give over the food without a fight.

The next while became a waiting game. Anja positioned herself in the shadows with a good view of the manor. She waited impatiently until she saw a carriage pull up to the manor. She caught a glimpse of grey hair and fair skin from the window, knowing from the familiar face that it was indeed the Palians. Lord and Lady Palian exited from the far side of the carriage out of Anja’s view and quickly retreated inside. It was in Anja’s favor that their son, Arno, lingered outside the walls of his home, chatting animatedly with a guard before turning and walking Anja’s way.
Anja crouched and readied herself, knowing this would be perhaps her only chance. Arno grew closer and closer, coming within feet of Anja’s hiding spot near the entrance of an alley. Anja followed him quietly through the streets, waiting for a stupid move on his part. It came quickly enough as he turned down an empty alley, and before he could change his direction Anja sprung from the shadows, kicking out one leg and wrapping it around his ankle. He tumbled to the ground and Anja jumped on his back, pinning him to the ground with her knees and yanking his head back with his hair at a painful angle. As soon as he opened his mouth to yell Anja stuffed the hilt of her dagger into his mouth. He coughed and gagged but without his hands he could not remove it and with his head at that position he could neither force it out. Anja quickly uncorked the small vial and poured it down his throat, and with the dagger hilt in his mouth Arno could not shut his mouth to avoid it. He choked and thrashed, trying to spit it out, but with Anja holding the dagger firmly in his mouth and his head tilted back he had no chance. When Anja was certain he’d had no choice but to swallow she removed the dagger with her leather-gloved hand and stood, allowing Arno to get to his feet.

“YOU!” He spat as he scrambled to his feet, backing away towards the wall. He seemed to have a mid-motion change of heart, suddenly lunging at her, but Anja had her dagger out. He stopped inches from the blade, his fist frozen in mid air and malice in his eyes.

“You’re dead,” he hissed, backing away once more. “When I tell my parents –“

“You won’t be telling your parents anything, because in about two minutes your throat will close so severely you won’t be able speak.”

Arno’s expression was at first puzzled, but as he looked to the empty vial in her hand the realization seemed to come. “You didn’t…”

“Have you ever heard of Lily’s Blood?”

From Arno’s pale expression, he had.

“Why don’t we get you back home? Shall we?” Anja gave Arno a cruel smile, gesturing for him to lead the way. Anja followed closely behind Arno on the way back to the manor with her hood drawn and her head down. When they approached the guards she heard the rustling of drawn swords, knowing all eyes must be on her, but Arno’s expression must have been convincing enough to let them pass. Once inside Anja did not remove her hood but held one hand on Arno’s shoulder, letting him direct her blindly through the house. The only indication to Anja that she’d been lead to Lord and Lady Palian was the low gasp of Arno’s mother and the sound of rustling papers.

“If anyone but you two are in the room command them to leave now,” Anja demanded without looking up. When she heard no voices she lowered her voice. “You will do what I say.”

“There is no one else here,” said Lady Palian, her voice wavering.

Though she had no guarantees that the woman was telling the truth, Anja lifted her head and removed her gasp. The gasps were as anticipated.

“How dare you enter this house? How dare you stand in my presence after..” Lord Palian’s words were cut short at the whimpering of his son.

Anja stared at the Palians without a hint of mercy or remorse. “If you don’t want both of your sons to die at my hand I suggest you hear me out.”

Arno’s whimpers had grown louder, and as Anja looked to him she saw his face was growing red. He clawed at his throat and his mother shrieked at the sight, throwing herself at him.

“What have you done to him?”

“I assume you’re familiar with the poison Lily’s Blood?” Lord Palian turned grey at the mention and Lady Palian let out a sob. “Good, then I suppose you also know that, being a poison native to Aquena you’ll find it impossible to find an antidote in this entire city. In fact, I’d wager that I’m the only person here who has one.”

Lord Palian’s body shook with rage but Anja remained impassive. There was no reason dragging this on longer than it needed to be. There was a job to be done. “Need I remind you of just how your son will die, assuming I don’t give him the antidote? As he seems to be reacting more severely than usual I doubt he’ll live more than another twenty minutes without at least a partial dose, seeing as his throat will close up and he’ll choke to death. Assuming he receives a partial dose he’ll likely make it another day, though he’ll be covered in hives and his fever will sore. If he’s lucky enough to make it to the third day and he still doesn’t manage to receive a full dose he will begin to vomit blood uncontrollably until he dies. Wouldn’t that be terrible?”

Lord Palian reached for his sword but his wife yelled out in protest. Anja gave a tight smile. “At least one of you is smart. I don’t have a full dose on me, if you’re hoping to kill me and loot my body for it. In fact, acting out in any way against me will ensure your son’s death so I’d think carefully about what you’re about to do.” Lord Palian paused, conflict raging on his face, before reluctantly sheathing his sword.

“What do you want?” He spat, his face contorted with rage.

“Food. Grains. Enough to keep 100 people fed for three months.”

Lord Palian balked at the request. “That’s not even possible, you’ve lost your mind.”

“Oh, is it? I think it is. Judging by how fat the nobles enjoy getting in wintertime I’m assuming there’s more than enough to go around if you spread it thin. In fact, if I’m not mistaken three months worth of food would hardly put a dent in your supply.” Anja glanced at Arno, distracted by his distressed hisses and squeaks that were all his throat would allow. “Deliver this to me in three days time and I’ll give you a full dose of the antidote. Choose not to and…well…you’re in for a rough few days.”

At that moment Arno made a strange strangled squeal and Lord Palian seemed to crumble. “Fine!” He hissed. “Just give him the damn antidote.”

Anja smiled, pulling a very small vial from her pocket. She handed it to an eager Lady Palian who poured it carefully into her son’s mouth. The second vial Anja produced she handed to Lord Palian.

“I’ll give you the final dose when I get my shipment, is that understood?”

Lord Palian gripped the vial with white knuckles, refusing to look away from Anja with his hateful expression. “Why did you do it?”

“You have what I want,” Anja said simply, her voice emotionless.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Anja could hardly believe the man’s nerve. To act so innocent, so persecuted – it was obscene. “If anyone is at fault for your son’s death its you when you decided to betray my father’s secrets.”

“They weren’t even real secrets!”

Anja scoffed. “That hardly matters. A betrayal of trust is a betrayal of trust.”

“But why not come after me? Why not my son?”

Anja knew this question had been coming, and it was not one she’d ever felt obligated to answer. But faced with this man’s sickening plea of innocence she was more than happy to provide him with the truth he was searching for.

“What your son?” Anja said, slowly approaching Lord Palian. She could see him flinch away. “Your son was a rapist. I saw it as killing two birds with one stone. Justice was served that day, and don’t think for a second that I regret killing him because I’d do it again. Remember that if you even try calling my bluff with your other son.” Anja flipped on her hood, looking away with disgust. “You have three days.”

[Mollianne]

Laurita crushed Jessa in a hug that did nothing to revive her. She put her arms around her friend, but felt nothing. The day had been long and had well and truly taken its toll on Jessa. Laurita pulled back, knowing something was seriously wrong from the limpness of Jessa’s hug.

“Jessa, you resisted Alrick.” Jessa stared at Laurita blankly. Her friend sighed. “You’re getting stronger–you can fight him, Jessa. You’re no longer powerless against him.”

“Is that what this is,” Jessa said dully. “Torturing Rhys of my own volition. Alrick getting exactly what he wants even though I ‘fought’ him.” She shook her head, adding in a whisper, “Yes, I’m no longer powerless.”

Laurita reached out and took Jessa’s cold fingers in her hands. “You held your magic back. If you hadn’t resisted Alrick, Rhys would have been in a far worse state, and so would you. Rhys wanted you to do what you did-”

“So I helped him?” Jessa’s voice was shrill, breaking.

“To an extent, yes.” Laurita shook Jessa until she looked at her. “Yes, Jessa. Without you, Rhys wouldn’t stand a chance. And, we now know you can resist him—that it is possible.”

“How can you be like this?”

“You think this isn’t breaking my heart? Whenever I think about what might be happening to Rhys I want to cry, does that make you feel better?” Jessa shook her head. “How about knowing that every time I’m not here I’m wondering what Alrick might be doing to your mind? No? But you know what? I’m also relieved.” Jessa stared at her. “Yes, relieved. Because if you can fight him, you won’t become like my brother.”

Jessa dropped her gaze. She had not thought she could feel anything, but with Laurita’s words her stomach lurched. “Laurita…”

“He’s only properly recognised me three times. He’s always mumbling about needing to help his king, his duty, how we need to let him go. We’re trying to break this spell on him, Jessa, but nothing works. Nayall got out because his master died and because his brain hadn’t been-” Laurita exhaled sharply. She let go of one of Jessa’s hands to rub her upper arm absently. Clearing her throat, she continued, “But, we don’t know who Odaren’s master is, or even… if it’d help.”

Laurita stood. Jessa’s hands fell limply to her side as her friend began to pace. “I know all of this is horrible, but you can’t take all the blame on yourself and forget to function. We need you to keep on going, and to stop wallowing. Stop refusing to forgive yourself for things that aren’t really your fault.”

Jessa nodded, which only made Laurita sigh in frustration. “I need to go. I’ll let you know if we make any progress with planning the escape. Anja’s assured us the supplies will arrive as planned, so after that…”

“Okay.” Jessa bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Laurita.”

“Stop apologising. Stop wallowing. That’s all I ask.”

***

The next two days passed without word from Laurita or a summons from the king. Jessa doubted the latter was a good thing. Was Alrick visiting Rhys alone? Jessa had no way of knowing, and after two days of panic and restlessness, she needed to get out of the castle. She penned a quick note to be delivered to Maira, telling her of her walk so that she could not be accused of anything, and then, wrapped up warm in her cloak, she left.

The paths through the castle grounds to the gates were icy, and Jessa was grateful for her sturdy boots. The grass either side of her was white and bowed with frost. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the sounds of the city, but here it was silent. Dead. Jessa wondered if she would ever look at the world without so melancholy an eye ever again.

She turned right at the gates, walking down the cobbled main street of the inner city circle. She realised her mistake too late. Ahead of her, dismounting a horse, was Larend. Jessa stopped, unable to move. She had thought from the luggage on their carriage that the family were going away. She turned on her heel, hoping to slip away.

“Jessa.”

She closed her eyes briefly, but without hesitation she continued walking even when she heard footsteps rushing towards her. Larend touched her arm. “Please don’t ignore me.”

Jessa bowed her head and slowly turned around. She didn’t look at him, instead concentrating her gaze on their feet. She didn’t say anything. What could she really say to someone who was grieving for their mother—a woman who was dead in part because Jessa had made her confess?

“Can we… talk for a bit?” Larend asked carefully. He had stepped away, giving her distance. As if it was her that deserved his thoughtfulness.

“I’m sorry. I have… things…” She shook her head. Lying to him was a disservice to their past friendship. It was selfish of her, especially if he had something he wanted to tell her. “Yes, okay.”

She looked up. Larend smiled, although his haunted eyes showed that the smile was not true, and offered her his arm. Instead of taking it, she walked beside him, back towards the Janes’ manor. There were a few guards at the entrance, but all of the windows were dark. Although it was daytime, the overcast sky kept the world in a perpetual gloom which required the candles inside to be lit. No one was inside. Had Larend stayed behind?

“Where is everyone?” she asked when they entered the dark, chilly house. Larend went to light one of the wall candles, then gestured for her to follow.

“I’d keep your cloak on until I get a fire going,” he advised. “And all the servants left with my father and sisters, except a few guards. My father wouldn’t let me stay without them.”

Jessa bit her lip before speaking, unsure whether she should pry. “Why did you stay?”

“I had some things I wanted to do. My father made me promise I would join them in a month or so.” He led her to a room at the back of the house. The grate was empty and blackened with charred wood, but large enough that it would warm the whole room once lit. Larend grabbed a bucket of logs beside the fireplace and began to arrange them inside the grate. As he did so, he mumbled something about Jessa making herself comfortable on the chairs behind him. Instead, she joined him on the floor and helped him make the fire. He glanced at her in surprise, and then the expression melted into one of gratitude.

Once the fire was blazing, they retreated to the sofa. Larend sat with his legs curled up underneath him, resting his back on the arm of the sofa so that he could face Jessa straight on. Jessa followed suit. It felt too strange, this familiarity and friendship—something Jessa did not think she deserved, but at the same time did not want to give up. Perhaps it was selfish, or perhaps Laurita was right about her shouldering too much of the blame for every horror around her.

“How… are you?” she asked quietly, knowing it was a ridiculous question to ask. Larend sighed and looked at the fire. The orange glow licked across his face, accentuating the lines on his forehead that had not been there before his mother’s arrest. Jessa shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m… I’m just trying to get on with things. I don’t blame my father for wanting to get away from everyone, but we still have business to take care of that we can’t just run away from. So I’m… doing that. Anything to stop me thinking about it, about her and how angry I am.”

“Angry?”

“She lied to us, Jessa. I don’t even know for how long, but she pretended to be content with her position in life. She was ill, yes.” Larend’s voice was little more than a whisper. Jessa shifted, almost reaching out to comfort him. At the last moment, she held back, settling into her seat. “So she wasn’t exactly happy. But she never gave any indication that she wanted to rule, or that she was the sort of person willing to kill for it.”

Jessa turned away, fiddling with the sleeve of her coat. Could she really let Larend go on believing everything he did about his mother? She could not tell him that he was wrong, but surely he deserved to know that his mother’s death was not justice. That although she was willing to kill, and would have gone through with it, she had died for a crime she had not actually committed without any form of trial. Jessa glanced at Larend, then back at the fire, then at Larend again. She stood.

“Jessa?”

She unclasped her necklace. Ignoring Larend who was asking her what she was doing, she placed it by the fire. Hunched over it so Larend could not see, she cast one of the spells that Laurita had taught her, one that could trick the stone into hearing a different conversation. She got it right on the fourth attempt. It was a risk; if Maira asked her about the details of the conversation she would be stuck. But she could hardly cast the silencing spell when she and Larend had been in the middle of a conversation. Pushing down her nervousness, Jessa returned to her seat.

“What-?”

“Your mother wasn’t working alone.” She spoke without any emotion, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before she changed her mind. It was probably not the best way to tell Larend, but it was perhaps Jessa’s only way. She lifted her gaze and saw Larend staring at her blankly. “And I’m almost certain the king knows it and has… covered it up. That’s why there was no trial. I’m not saying Magrethe was innocent, but… She wasn’t—directly, at least—responsible for Harris’ death.”

“What? How?” Larend’s eyes were still on her face, but his expression was entirely unfamiliar to her. He watched her as though he had no idea who she was anymore. Jessa swallowed hard.

“Magrethe was involved in a plot against the king, but she wasn’t at the head of it alone. I don’t know the details, but your mother was betrayed after what I think was years of planning and working together. She lost it and hired assassins, but it was not her assassins that day.”

“How do you know all this?” Larend shook his head, his brows furrowing. “Whose? I-”

Jessa closed her eyes. “I know because… I learned something that I thought was about her. I went to confront her about it, and she confessed everything to me. The thing I learned was…” She was walking into dangerous territory now. Could she really trust Larend, or would he go straight to the king in an attempt to shed any lingering suspicion about the Janes family? She looked at him, and saw the boy she had known all those years ago. The only person who had ever shown her any kindness at school. The boy who had become her friend these last few months. Did their friendship extend far enough? Jessa looked away. She’d already shared too much as it was. She sighed. “Larend…”

“Tell me, Jessa.” Larend shifted closer to her. He reached out, taking her hand. Jessa’s gaze snapped to it, and Larend let go of her as if she had burned him. A long, tense silence cut through the room. Eventually, Larend looked up. “Tell me.”

Jessa swallowed. She could not ask him to promise not to tell anyone. Promises were worthless. Anyone could lie and tell someone they could be trusted. And if someone had to tell you, they were not someone you could trust. Jessa cleared her throat, knowing it was a risk, but also knowing it was one she was somehow willing to take.

“I couldn’t tell the king what I knew or how I learnt it. So I… told her to confess. Everything. I’d hoped she would at least go to trial, or I wouldn’t-” Jessa broke off, a wave of guilt catching her off guard. “Alrick didn’t even give her that. And the woman who betrayed your mother is still walking free, and I have no idea what the king is planning.”

“Who? Who betrayed her?”

“The queen. She was working with Queen Catrice, Larend.”

Larend stood up, taking a step away from her, shaking his head vehemently. “He let my mother die, and she still walks free?” Larend breathed heavily as his hands began to shake.

“Larend, please,” Jessa said. She held out her hand, leaving it hanging in mid-air when Larend didn’t take it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Larend sunk to the floor. For the next minute, there were no sounds but the crackle of the fire and Larend’s heavy breathing. His eyes were dry, but there was no doubt he was distraught. Suddenly, his head shot up and he fixed Jessa to the spot with his eyes. “You… Why couldn’t you tell the king? If someone else knew, he wouldn’t be able to do what he did.”

“Like my voice would really matter,” Jessa mumbled. She did not elaborate. This was getting far too dangerous now.

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“I can’t tell you, Larend,” she pleaded. “I can’t.”

“You think I’ll go to the king?” He glared at her, daring her to tell him she thought he would. “He had my mother killed. He didn’t even let her die quietly. He made a show of it. Whatever you don’t want him to know, I won’t tell him, Jessa. I wouldn’t betray you. I care t-” He cut off abruptly, looking almost shocked at himself. Jessa stared at him, her mouth falling slightly open.

Larend’s breathing eventually slowed, and when he next looked at Jessa, his eyes were almost calm. Determined. “You’re in some kind of trouble aren’t you? If you’re hiding things from the king, then…” He frowned. “What are you doing here, Jessa? In Ovis? Let me help you.”

“You can’t get involved in this, Larend. I’m sorry.” Jessa stood. Keeping her head down, she went to the fireplace to retrieve the necklace. Her fingers just touched the chain when Larend spoke.

“You didn’t come here just because of… what they did to you. Did you?” The truth hit her like a dagger to the heart. She stared at Larend, not even able to open her mouth to deny it. She wasn’t sure if he had just rendered her speechless, or whether it was that she did not want to lie to him. “Why?”

Jessa’s thoughts were racing, warring with each other. If Larend went to the king with any of this, she would be ruined. From that point of view, it didn’t really matter what else she told him. Conversely, he did not have much to condemn her, and if she gave him something else it would only make Larend’s words more plausible.

“I’m sorry, Larend.”

“If you really thought you were making a mistake telling me, you wouldn’t have said a word of any of this. You would have sat there, let me say what I wanted to say, and then you would have gone.”

“I won’t drag you into this. This is my mess, Larend. You’d be far better staying out of it. Even better, you should go to your family and forget about everything here.”

“I can’t do that, Jessa.” They watched each other over the coffee table. The heat of the fire seared Jessa’s back, but she did not move. “I can’t forget y-” He exhaled through his nose. “Are you in danger? Whatever it is, could it get you killed?”

Jessa’s silence answered his question for her. Larend’s face crumpled. Jessa doubted she would ever be able to explain the expression on his face. He barely seemed to be breathing. His fingers, clutching his elbows, turned white at the knuckles. His voice, when he finally spoke, was clear and calm. “Please let me help you.”

[Rosabeth]

ANJA

The waiting was excruciating. Every hour, every day spent doing nothing was another moment Rhys could be killed without any of them the wiser. Anja told herself time and time again that Rhys was too influential a figure to kill, that the backlash his death would bring from her family would be too great a risk to the king’s rule. Of course, that wasn’t true. At any other time perhaps, but with the Lanis twins forcing her family to remain in Jasrah to organize the fight against the insurgency there was little chance of action in Ovis and the king knew it. At one time Anja would have gloated over being her brother’s last hope. How she just felt terrified.

Anja had no interest in staying at the mage’s safe place, and judging by Nayall’s obvious distrust neither did he. Katarzyna was more than happy to keep Anja as a guest, and if nothing else Kat offered a distraction. Her endless gossip about all the nobles at court was at least something to think about, not to mention Anja made mental notes about some of the gossip here and there. Katarzyna might play the part of the charming, shallow lady but in reality she was far more cunning than anyone gave her credit for. It appeared that Anja’s choice of company had been predictable, for two days after arriving a letter from her mother was delivered with breakfast. The resistance was faring well in Jasrah and the Lanis twins, aside from executing a large amount of prisoners and brainwashing even more, seemed to have run out of luck. From her mother’s words it seemed more or less like Jasrah was just a stop along the road, a place for the Lanis’ to gather a following before they made their march to Ovis. As much as Anja would like to slit Miriyam’s throat, the prospect of her taking on the king was intriguing, likely because both she and the king would end up six feet under.

Anja spent much of her day in the safe place, though it seemed that not even buying off their leader was enough to warrant an un-blindfolded visit. Nayall and her spent time each day going over and over plans, some of which were immediately dismissed and others left to ponder. Getting into the prison wouldn’t be the hard part if all they needed was Jessa’s blood. Getting out, however, was going to be a mess. Not only did they have no inkling of Rhys’ current condition aside from Jessa and Laurita’s assertions that it was bad, but they couldn’t administer any magical healing. In all likeliness they’d be dragging a poorly beaten Rhys out of the prison with little way to defend themselves. Nayall had enlisted some of his most trusted mages to help with the escape but Anja wasn’t sure it would be enough. If the king was a mage then certainly some of his guards – if not most – were as well, and though Anja could hold her own in a physical fight she and Rhys would be defenseless against magic. The entire plan was a mess. They’d be lucky to get out alive.

The morning of the third day, the day Anja had promised to deliver the supplies, Anja waited patiently outside the Palian residence. The brisk morning kept most Ovisian’s inside their homes much to Anja’s pleasure. Back alley deals always looked so much less suspicious when there was no one around to see. Just as the sun began to rise Anja spotted movement from the front door of the manor. A sour looking Lord Palian stepped out from his home and after taking a few darting looks around hurried to the front gates. He gave Anja only a scathing look as a greeting, not that she looked at him much better.

“Do you have it?”

Anja pulled out the small vial of antidote from her coat pocket, dangling it in front of him and snapping it away when he made to grab it.

“You know the rules,” she hissed, tucking it out of sight before he could distract himself from the task at hand. Lord Palian glared but reluctantly opened the gates and stepped outside. He nodded to the left and set off at a brisk pace, Anja following quickly behind. They walked for only a few minutes before Lord Palian lead them down an alley beside a bakery. Behind the building was a stack of crates the size of a room and two of Palian’s men standing guard. Anja ran her fingers across the closest, looking to one of the silent guards with expectation. With a nod of approval from Palian the man came forward and opened the crate, then another, then another. The first two were filled with bags of rice, the third flour, the last – to Anja’s surprise – fresh fruit and vegetables.

“Those are from the south. Some of our last shipments too, given the conflict.” Anja could hear the bitterness in his voice. “I hope you know that I’m putting myself on the line for this.”

“That sounds like a concern for someone who actually cares.”

Lord Palian slammed the lid back on one of the crates, glaring at Anja. “That’s 100 people who won’t be fed.”

Anja scoffed at his pitiful tantrum. “As if I care if your friends starve. 100 people is 100 people – at the end of the day someone is getting fed. Are you done with your whining?”

Lord Palian looked affronted but said nothing, his lips a tight white line. Anja grabbed the vial once more and tossed it to Lord Palian, watching with amusement as he wildly fumbled for it midair. “Run along now. We wouldn’t want your son to die, would we?” Lord Palian took a step towards Anja, his fist clenched as if he might strike her, but she was too quick for that. She withdrew a small dagger from under her coat, dangling it casually before him.

“I really don’t think we want to start this because I assure you, you will lose.”

From his expression, Anja gathered he agreed. He turned to leave but after only a few steps he paused, turned on his heel, and spat at her feet. Anja couldn’t help but laugh, and the laughter drove the men away in a huff. After the men were out of sight Anja turned back to the boxes, her hand running along the edges. A dark figure moved in the corner of her eye, creeping through the shadows, but she did not pull out her knife.

“You’re very good,” Anja called out, rummaging through the box of fruit as the figure drew nearer. “I didn’t even see you there. Well done.”

Nayall stood beside her, staring up at the pile in disbelief. “I had my doubts, but I have to admit, you came through.”

“The medicine is being delivered this afternoon, I assure you.”
“I believe you.” If Nayall was having any lingering doubts still they were fully masked by his awe as he stared at the pile of crates. Anja, however, had her attention elsewhere.

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

Anja stared Nayall down with steely eyes. “Tomorrow we get Rhys. Tomorrow at sundown. I have it on good authority that the king will be having a dinner party tomorrow night and it’s the only time we know for certain he won’t be anywhere near Rhys, so we act. Tomorrow you fulfill your side of the contract.”

To Anja’s surprise, Nayall showed no signs of wavering. He extended his hand and shook hers with a firm grip, never looking away for even a second. “Tomorrow it is.”

***

RHYS

The only benefit of the torture was that the more pain inflicted, the longer Rhys slept, and after enough of the king’s visits Rhys had begun to spend most of his time unconscious. Between visits his waking hours were spent attempting to gag down whatever paltry food he was given without throwing up, though so far that proved fairly unsuccessful. Alrick assumed that, like many other prisoners, he had become ill due to the poor conditions of the cell. Rhys knew better. His illness had no natural cause and would not be cured with any medicine. It was the magic. The more magic in his system the more his body began to die. His breathing became more shallow every day, his heart rate slower, and given his inability to keep down food it was clear his stomach was shutting down as well. He was dying and any fool could see it. It was only a matter of time.

As always, Jessa’s visits were bittersweet. Though each sighting meant one more chance to see her and a torture session at least somewhat less excruciating, knowing how she suffered was the worst torture of all. Rhys was ashamed to admit that each time Alrick’s face appeared at his cell bars some part of his mind hoped that it would be the last time, that finally the torture would end his suffering. Was it really better to spend his days enduring the pain for the slim chance at an escape? Was death not a more humane option? Life hardly seemed worth living anymore if this was to be his reality. Yet Jessa’s face was a constant reminder that he had something worth living for. He knew the pain his death would cause her, and he knew that every day she was trying to save him. But he was no fool. No matter how she may try the chances of his release were slim to none, and there were days he hoped Jessa would take pity on him and kill him already. Rhys had once tried to slit his own throat with the small shard of dagger he carried, but found that even with his suffering he could not bring himself to end his own life. He was too much of a coward for that.

Though he had not seen his reflection in some time Rhys knew the effects of the magic had taken their toll. He could feel his face growing gaunt and his body thinner, far more so than could be expected for only a couple weeks of starvation. So when Alrick appeared before him one day, waking Rhys from his sleep, his words hardly came as a surprise.

“You look awful.”

Rhys’ mouth felt like dust and when he tried to speak he instead began a cough that turned into vomit. Alrick watched from afar with disgust, leaving Rhys’ heaving to fill the silence. When Rhys’ body had stopped its convulsions Rhys propped himself up against the wall, staring at Alrick with hollow eyes.

“I don’t suppose you’ve come to offer my release?”

Alrick chuckled, though it was a strange, strained sound, his face tight. “Still a clever one, even now. I must say it’s been surprisingly hard to break you.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Rhys wheezed out, barely loud enough for him to hear. Alrick seemed to have picked it up, for he raised his eyebrows, appraising Rhys’ withering body before shrugging the comment off.

“Regardless, you know why I’m here.” Alrick unlocked the cell, walking carefully through the room to avoid puddles of vomit. He stopped a safe distance from Rhys to appraise him in silence. “You know, this wouldn’t be necessary if you just told the truth.”

Rhys opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it, a sudden thought popping into his head. The king was surprisingly close, closer than he usually got. Likely Alrick hardly felt threatened by Rhys in his weak state, probably not believing Rhys could move much more than an inch at a time. Yet Rhys felt surprisingly good at the moment, as if Alrick’s presence had given him a much needed burst of energy. Rhys’s hand lay flat on the ground with the dagger shard pressed under his palm. His hand slowly curled up, one fingernail prying it off the ground and into his fist. If only Alrick were a little closer… Rhys’ heart began to beat faster as his plan slowly formed. If this were to work he’d have to play all his cards right because there would be no second chance. In fact, it would more than likely kill him.

When Rhys said nothing Alrick took a step back, his eyes narrowed and focused as he readied himself, a look Rhys knew all too well now. Rhys struck out one arm with his palm stretched out, urging Alrick to hold out. He forced up air in a sputtering gasp as if he couldn’t speak, his eyes wide in a panic. It was arguably not his best performance, but at this point Rhys was banking on the king being less discerning than usual. Despite his cool demeanor Rhys knew Alrick was frustrated with the results, perplexed as to why he could not tap into Rhys’ mind as easily as others’. And, as with anyone, desperation is the key to mistakes.

“I’ll…I’ll speak. Please. I can’t-“ Rhys’ words were no more than a whisper, and as he trailed off he pressed his eyes closed, trying to look as ashamed as possible. It was a poor show of emotion, but Rhys was too tired to try any harder. Alrick seemed desperate enough to latch onto the possibility, though, coming a step closer, though still too far away for Rhys’ needs.

“Well?”

Rhys’ mind reeled. Alrick needed to be closer. Rhys needed something else. “Water,” he croaked out, inspired by the dryness in his throat. Alrick sighed but did not deny the request, instead looking to a guard in the background with a nod. Rhys gripped the blade more tightly as he waited, never letting his eyes waver from Alrick’s. Soon enough the guard was back and water cup in hand, Alrick approached again. Though closer, still too tall. Rhys cursed himself. There had to be something else he could do. Alrick looked impatient as he held out the cup, waiting for Rhys to take it. Instead, Rhys opened his mouth just barely. It was a dig as much as an invitation, asking the king to feed Rhys’ by hand, and this fact did not escape Alrick. He scowled, withdrawing the cup. Rhys, however, did not move. He kept his eyes focused on Alrick with all his determination, opening his mouth a bit wider. Finally it seemed that Alrick’s desperation got the best of him, and with a great sigh he crouched before Rhys, tipping the cup above Rhys’ mouth.

The moment the water touched Rhys’ lips he acted. His hand swung out, blade between his fingers in his fist. Rhys felt the blade rip through Alrick’s neck, splattering blood over his hand. Rhys watched as Alrick stumbled backwards, blood flowing from his neck and beginning to pool on the ground. From the looks of it Rhys had cut deep enough to draw significant blood, but not nearly deep enough to sever the jugular. It didn’t matter, though, for the blood was more than enough. Rhys himself was splattered all down his arm and front, the blade itself dripping, and Alrick was a mess. The king’s eyes were wide as he grasped desperately at his neck. Guards rushed forward but Alrick put out a hand, ordering them back. It was an easily mendable cut for a mage as powerful as Alrick, and after what had likely only been seconds the blood flow began to slow and then stop completely, Alrick’s face screwed up in concentration. He sighed deeply, rolling his neck and removing his blood-soaked hand revealing what was now only a small scar. When his eyes found Rhys’ once more they were filled with a rage unlike any Rhys had ever seen. He was beyond murderous – he was insane. Without warning a searing, ripping pain rushed through every part of Rhys, so agonizing his screams were silenced by the blackness that consumed him. His thoughts we on nothing, consumed by the feeling of every limb being ripped from his body as he burned in never ending flames. Somehow from within the blinding pain came flashes of memory. There was Jessa’s face held within his hands, quickly followed by flashes of her naked body, of her lips. The scenes changed so rapidly they formed no cohesive pattern, but Jessa was always there. In some they were talking, in others embracing, and even in some arguing, as if every memory he had of her in his mind suddenly came racing forward. Then it was done as soon as it had started, and with it the pain ended. Rhys gasped for air, his eyes wide and wild as he stared up at Alrick in terror.

It only took a single look at Alrick to know he’d seen everything. Every memory. Every incriminating detail. Even if there’d been nothing cohesive or clear, it was more than enough to confirm Jessa’s lies. Alrick had finally cracked through.

Then came the darkness.

[Mollianne]

Jessa awoke that morning with her spine tingling uncomfortably, as though spiders were running up and down her back. She rubbed at it and squeezed her eyelids closed. Her chest, too, felt tight and odd. When she pressed her hand over her heart, she felt it flutter nervously, mimicking the pulsing at her wrists. Something was wrong. Jessa had a vague recollection of stirring in the middle of the night, dark thoughts at the front of her mind, but she had fallen asleep before they had really taken hold. Presently, Jessa rubbed at her forehead and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. It was probably just the nerves and the relief that they were finally taking action.

Laurita had come to her the previous night, with the news that Anja had declared they would rescue Rhys the following night – tonight – and Jessa’s part in the plan. All she really had to do was contrive of a reason to be out of her room that day so that she could be ambushed by Anja and Nayall on her return. Laurita would be disguised as a maid, so that she could stay with Jessa and alert the guards once Rhys was safely away. Beyond that, Jessa knew nothing of the plan. She wouldn’t have wanted to know even if they had been willing to tell her. She didn’t even know where Anja would take Rhys. It was for the best.

Although she didn’t quite believe herself, she resolved to blame the unease flickering in her gut on those unknown parts of the plan. Then, she stood up and tried to forget about them. Forget about everything, especially the guilt she could see haunting her eyes when she looked in the mirror as she brushed her knotted, dull hair. Today was not the day to think about what she had done to Rhys the night before last. She couldn’t think about what state he might be in at all today, in case she would falter. She could only call silently to Rhys for him to hold on just one more day.

The cold morning air bit at Jessa’s fingers, so she busied herself with making a fire until one of the girls from the kitchen – Erine was her name – arrived with her breakfast. The tray exchanged hands only a little grudgingly on Erine’s part. Jessa made sure to thank her by name, an acknowledgement of the fact that, just as Erine and the rest of the castle servants whispered, that she was nothing like the royals, and that maybe she was below their service, but also that her supposedly unworthy blood did not make her any less human. Erine left without meeting Jessa’s eyes.

She barely ate the food. When Erine returned to collect the tray, she glared down at the half-eaten bread, her lips a hard line. Jessa muttered an apology, but the girl was already leaving. Jessa closed the door, picked up a book, and collapsed into her thin chair by the fireplace. She didn’t read the book.

The hours went by slowly. The plan, as vague as her part was, went through her mind countless times, poking for any holes. The biggest was that the king might learn that Anja would not have attacked to kill, but as long as Rhys was free and far from Alrick, Jessa didn’t much care. Eventually, Jessa could think of it no more. She opened the book and began to read, slowly and absently. A while later, when Jessa’s nerves jumped at every crackle of the fire, she decided it was time to head to the library, where she would stay until Anja and Nayall arrived.

There was a knock on the door just as Jessa rose from her chair.

“You need to wash your hair. You have two hours, you know,” Maira said by way of greeting, giving Jessa a pointed stare until Jessa moved to let the princess into the room. Jessa watched her walk into the room, noticing the slight droop to her shoulders and the pallor in her cheeks. They hadn’t seen each other, in private and up close, for some time. It hadn’t actually been that long, Jessa realised, but it felt like a world away after everything Jessa had done. Maira, on the other hand, had had nothing but her thoughts to distract her from her little brother in that time, and it showed in a way that the princess would not have allowed at Magrethe’s hanging. Maira glanced around the room. “I’ll call for a maid to prepare you a bath.”

“What do you mean, two hours?” Jessa said when Maira returned. Her gut churned, knowing what the princess would say.

“Father’s dinner. I think he wants to test the Ovisian nobles for their loyalty. Now he wants us there, too. I did ask them to relay the message to you.” Maira’s voice was tight.

“No one came. I didn’t realise we would be invited.”

“Neither did I.” Maira’s lips were pursed. It was not just Harris that had cracked her confidence. Jessa’s gaze flicked to the ground. “He doesn’t trust anyone. Not even his own family. Not even me.”

Jessa didn’t have an answer for her, so instead she placed her book carefully on the desk. Alrick had every reason to fear his own family, if one could even call people who clearly all hated each other a family.

“Maybe he isn’t testing us too. Whatever the case, he wants us all there.”

“I c–” Jessa stopped abruptly, realising her idiocy. She could hardly say that she couldn’t make it because she needed to be available to be fake attacked in order to free Rhys, someone she was meant to fear and despise. Maira raised her eyebrows. Luckily for Jessa, the servants arrived with steaming water before she dig the hole any deeper. “I should probably…” She waved at the bathtub.

“Of course.” Maira drew out her words, unconvinced. She left the room with the servants bowing low in her wake.

***

For such a sham of a pleasant dinner, and so small a gathering, the servants had exceeded themselves. The dining table was draped with a pristine cream tablecloth and a rich red runner with delicate gold thread embroidered into flowers across it. At the centre of the long table was a massive arrangement of flowers and candles, woven together so carefully that Jessa could not see the metal structure holding the candles aloft for the roses and lilies. From every sconce around the room, a flame flickered, casting dark shadows into the grooves of the stone. Beneath them, something hung from the bracket that glinted like melting icicles in bright morning light.

Maira nudged Jessa forward. She ran her hands along the back of the chairs as she searched for her name. Thankfully, she was part of the way down the table from the rest of the family, seated between two nobles whose names she had only heard mentioned and never actually met. Jessa bit her lip, unsure whether she should sit. She glanced sidelong at the other end, where Maira, Elissa and Edmund waited patiently behind their chairs. They were not speaking to each other.

Beyond the doors, which were thrown wide, the queen waited to greet her guests. Jessa watched as the king strode towards her. He bent closer to whisper something in her ear. A flash of annoyance crossed Catrice’s face and then she turned on her heel and stormed into the room. She took her place on Alrick’s left, opposite Maira, and rested her hand on Elissa’s shoulder. Jessa looked away and hoped they would not notice her.

Slowly, the guests trickled in. Some Jessa recognised, others she did not. Most of the ones she did were council members, and were seated closer to the king. Jessa presumed that was so Alrick could watch them more closely, given that they were the ones who were most of a threat to Alrick’s throne. Jessa didn’t know whether to take it as an affront or a good thing that she had been placed so far from Alrick’s side. At least he didn’t consider her too much of a threat – perhaps.

Once everyone was waiting behind their chairs, Alrick swept in. He took his seat and then said to the room, “Please, sit.” The chairs scraped against the flagstone floor in a cacophonous symphony as everyone took their place. Jessa adjusted the folds of her unwieldy dress as she sat. She smiled slightly. Even if the circumstances were somewhat horrific, she could not help feeling glad that she would never wear this dress again, with its uncompromising layers of skirt and tight waist, and the red. Du Rene red. Never again. She schooled her lips into a straight line.

The servants entered silently, balancing trays of spiced cold meats and breads. Jessa leaned to one side so the woman behind her could slide her trays into the centre of the table. The breads – an array of golden browns and reds, nutty, fruited and plain – steamed slightly. Jessa waited with everyone else while the king, and then his family, took their share, and then everyone else dug in.

It was not until two courses later, when plates of seared salmon and asparagus had been taken away that the party began to relax and those around her made small talk with their neighbours. Neither of the people sat next to her made any effort to engage her, and Jessa was perfectly fine to ignore them. The clock was ticking in her head, and her thoughts were barely on the food by now. She looked up, at the windows high in the vaulted ceiling. But, of course, the ink black sky gave her no indication of the true time. She hoped that the note she had passed to one of Nayall’s sympathisers had reached them in time, with a warning that she might have been delayed and may even need help with getting out of the room.

She heard someone clear their throat. She dropped her gaze, looking at the man across from her. He wore the uniform of a general in the king’s army. Shouldn’t he be with his men? Jessa supposed they had to return to report to the king at some point. And it wasn’t like many of the nobles would get off their pedestals and actually fight. “Hello,” she said pleasantly.

“You’re the king’s bastard.”

Jessa stared at him. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

She looked towards the door the servants were using. It remained closed. With a small sigh, she looked back at the general. Despite the fact that he had been so abrupt with her, he even had the gall to look insulted himself.

“You were in Novamor right?”

“Yes,” she said tightly. “I’d rather not talk about it, though.”

“Of course. I hear your time there was rather traumatising.”

Jessa’s neck began to tingle. It felt as though someone was watching her, but she daren’t move her gaze from the general. Why would he care about Jessa’s life? She swallowed. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I heard reports that your husband was seen with the Novarian army. Running with them, training with them.”

Jessa remained silent. She breathed shakily, playing her part. “He probably did. We all know he’s betrayed his country and his king.”

The general watched her for a moment more, then turned to speak to the woman next to him. Jessa forced her gaze away, towards the royals. Catrice sat stiffly in her chair, talking to no one. Like her daughter, she looked drained. But unlike Maira, who had done nothing to bring about her brother’s death nor actively tried to have Jessa herself killed, Jessa could feel little sympathy for the queen. She looked at the king. Alrick was engaged in conversation with the nobles seated beyond his family. She could not hear his questions, but the nobles seemed relaxed enough. Whatever he was saying, however he was feeling them out, it did not have any of them on edge. Either they had nothing to hide or Alrick was masterfully tricking them, or maybe using his magic to soothe them – all of those possibilities she could easily believe. Before Alrick could look up and her and catch her watching, she turned away. Not long after, the servants returned with vegetables and roasted beef.

The meal dragged on further, until finally the last dessert dish was taken away and people began to stand. They all followed the king to the grand door behind him, which led to a sitting area. There were too few chairs for the number of guests, but the fire was warm and crackling, and everyone made do. Jessa had no doubt that the drinks all but she had consumed was in no small part responsible for their easy manner and loose tongues. Laughter filled the room. Either the wine had helped everyone to forget Alrick’s motive in inviting them, or Alrick had had the poorest luck in choosing the only group of people in the country who were actually loyal to him.

Jessa loitered in one corner, watching Alrick watch the sycophants clamouring to talk to the queen. His gaze appraised them all, flicking quickly from some but lingering on others. Jessa doubted any of them had anything to do with Catrice’s plot. She may have been found out, but Catrice had been working against Alrick for probably their whole marriage, if not longer, and knew how to hide. Most of her followers hadn’t even realised they were following her. No, Alrick would not find Catrice’s most loyal by looking for the ones who clung to her most tightly. Jessa shook her head, clutching her still untouched drink. She was wondering whether she ought to drink it – the doctors might realise she had no wine in her system when they examined her later – when she saw the general from the dinner sidle up to the king. Jessa downed her drink, wincing at the dryness and the sharp tang, and slowly pushed away from the wall. She might have thought nothing of the exchange, but for the fact that the king and general were not looking at each other and were barely opening their lips to speak. If Jessa had drank as much as everyone else, she might not even have noticed.

Before Jessa could get closer, she watched as a note passed from Alrick to the general. The general stowed it in his pocket, raised his wine glass and headed for a group of men on the other side of the room. Jessa continued walking in the king’s direction before stopping. She grabbed another glass of wine from the tray the servant proffered towards her as if that had been her goal. Then she retreated back to her corner. She eyed the general, who was now closer to her. Every so often, he patted the pocket in which he had put the note. Everything else about him exuded cheer and relaxation, as if he wanted no one to realise he held something important. That, too, could be an act. After seeing the general with the king, Jessa suspected Alrick had placed those he knew he could trust – those he was manipulating with mind magic, she guessed – to talk to the guests when he could not. People who would garner more trust from the nobles than Alrick could. The note could be a ploy to see who would try to take it from them. Jessa stayed where she was. Tonight was not about uncovering Alrick’s secrets, if there was even a real secret to find.

Jessa looked away, and nearly jumped. The king stood beside her. “Tomorrow morning.”

Jessa widened her eyes in question, even though she knew what he was meaning. Her fingers tightened slightly on her glass, and the hand Alrick could not see balled into a fist in her skirts. She bowed her head.

“You will kill him.”

Jessa kept her head down, willing herself not to react. The fingers of her hidden hand jumped, and her heard slammed against her ribcage, but she forced herself to breathe normally. She lifted her head. “I’m not a murderer.”

“Not yet.” Alrick raised his glass to her, and Jessa swore and railed at him inside her head, while outwardly she smiled thinly and raised her own glass. Alrick watched her for a moment more, and then he swept away. Jessa leaned back against the wall. Her heart beat wildly. She needed to leave, now. But she couldn’t. She stared down, watching the white liquid inside her glass tremor. She slowly put the glass down on the table, watching for Alrick. He wasn’t looking at her. She pushed away from the wall, trying to act naturally when her head felt muffled and dizzy. She sidled through the crowd, and barely noticed when a servant collided with her. Red and white wine spilled onto her dress, cold as ice, jolting her. She stared down at the liquid and then up at the servant. The servant was hurriedly pulling a cloth from her waistband, reaching to dab at Jessa’s chest while she apologised again and again.

“It’s okay.” Jessa finally found her voice. “I charged into you. I’m sorry.”

The servant looked up then, just for a moment, and Jessa swore she winked. Jessa didn’t need any more than that to know that the servant from Nayall’s network – or maybe even Laurita, disguised as a servant for the first time that night. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything else. After a moment, Jessa stepped away from the servant, shivering. “Stop it. It isn’t helping.”

“But my lady, your dress–”

“It’s fine.”

“Oh no.” One of the noble women nearby took one look at her and shook her head. “Poor dear, do you know nothing? The dress is ruined.” She gestured to one of the servants. “Take the girl back to her room and help her change. She can’t go around looking like that for the rest of the night.”

“Yes, my lady,” the servant said, giving her a small curtsey. Jessa glanced at the noblewoman. There was something odd about her, too. She had made it almost too easy for Jessa to leave. The servant gestured irritably to Jessa. Well, she was a real servant, at least. “Come.”

[Rosabeth]

ANJA

“Where is she?”

Anja had paced the room so much she’d probably ripped a hole in the rug. They’d had a very tight plan, a plan that required everything to run as smoothly as clockwork, a plan that hinged on every single second they were given, and Jessa was an hour late. An entire fucking hour. Anja was beyond livid. If Jessa’s lateness caused any additional harm to come to Rhys Anja would make sure the girl was living in her own personal, living hell.

“Relax,” Nayall sighed. He had barely moved the entire time, leaning gingerly against the wall with an expressionless face. “We’ve already received word that she was caught up by the king. My people are out there now trying to extract her. There was nothing she could do.”

“Nothing she could do? She should have forced herself to throw up, faked an illness, anything! If I’d been the one-“


“Yes, well you aren’t, are you?” Nayall snapped. Anja stopped her pacing to glare at the man who until this moment had barely even made it known he was there at all. Nayall closed his eyes again, his brows furrowed in some sort of magic fueled concentration. Anja went back to her pacing with a huff. Of course he wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t his brother, after all. This was just a job he did begrudgingly. He did not know her pain nor did he care.

Only seconds later the door swung open and Anja, her heart leaping, only found herself disappointed. It was not Jessa but Laurita, quickly shutting the door behind her. “Quickly, she’s coming, and she’s with another servant.” They all scattered, finding anywhere in the room worthy of a hiding spot – there were few. Nayall opened up the armoire and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Laurita crouched on the windowsill, pulling the curtains to obscure herself from view. Anja simply stood against the wall behind the door.

When the door opened – thankfully without much force, sparing Anja’s nose – she could hear Jessa’s voice shooing away the servant despite protests. “I can dress myself just fine, thank you,” Jessa spoke firmly. Before the servant could get another word in Jessa shut the door. Then came the small scream.

“Shut up!” Anja hissed, pushing herself off the wall. Jessa clasped a hand over her own mouth and her eyes closed in relief.

“You scared me!” Jessa breathed, one hand on her beating chest. Her expression turned worried very quickly as she saw the anger plain on Anja’s face. “I’m sorry I’m late, I had-”

“Save it. I promise you I’ve already heard it.” Jessa looked to Nayall with a worried expression but he only gave a small shrug as if to say ‘don’t ask.’ Anja chose to ignore it. “Now we don’t have much time thanks to you so I’m only going to explain this once. We have to make the cut deep enough to make it look like I was really trying to kill you but did a rushed job of it. Still, we can’t make it too deep or we’ll slit your main arteries and your jugular and you’ll be dead before anyone can get to you.”

Jessa’s eyes grew wide. “Jugular? You’re slitting my throat?” Her voice was high and panicked and Laurita stepped in front of her friend, putting one hand back to push her as far from Anja as she could. Anja rolled her eyes.

“How many of you have killed someone - ”Anja’s eyes briefly gazed over a guilty looking Nayall “- with intention, that is?” Silence followed. “Hmm? Well then, why don’t you leave the finer points of an attempted murder to me then? I’m telling you, anything less than a cut to the throat will look far too suspicious. If you only have a second to kill someone with a knife and you want to be quiet about it you slit the throat so that you cut off both the vocal cords and the blood supply. It’s simple anatomy.” The other three looked skeptical but Anja paid them no attention. “Look here,” she said, pointing to her neck. She drew two lines on either side from her clavical to her jaw. “These are the main arteries – cut these and you’ll have a hard time stymieing the blood flow. And here?” Anja drew another line down the middle. “This is the trachea. Cut this and you might as well kiss her ass goodbye because she’ll suffocate. All of these wounds can be treated easily with magic or with more difficulty without, but if you use magic it’s going to look suspicious and I guarantee you don’t have the training to save a life manually.” Laurita looked mildly affronted but did not argue.

Jessa looked beyond frightened but Anja didn’t particularly care. As far as she was concerned if Jessa really wanted to help Rhys she’d do this and she’d do it without a second thought. Anja would go to hell and back for Rhys – would Jessa do the same? Before Jessa had enough time to back out Anja drew her knife. Jessa took a step back, still behind the protection of Laurita, but from the look on the Novarian’s face Anja knew at least someone understood where she was coming from.

“Secure her in place,” Anja commanded. “Preferably by this chair. We should make it look like there was at least some sort of a struggle.”

Laurita looked to Jessa with sad eyes but said nothing. Even through all Jessa’s fear – so very clear on her face – she seemed to find something within herself to bring forth some calm. Very slowly she made her way to the chair, looking up to Anja with gritted teeth for instruction. Anja nodded downward and Jessa slowly slouched to the ground, resting her neck against the armrest of the chair and holding her hands nervously in her lap. Laurita sat sideways on the chair, grabbing Jessa’s head between her hands and holding it steady. Anja took her place straddling Jessa’s lap to keep her from squirming.

Anja turned to Nayall. “Do you know any spells to take away pain? Anything that might numb the experience?” He gave a solemn nod. “Then I suggest you do it.” As Anja held down Jessa’s body and Laurita her head Nayall came up and gently pressed his hand against Jessa’s cheek, closing his eyes and moving his lips silently. Suddenly Jessa’s face went slack, all fear and tension gone from her body. She looked at Anja with an almost unnervingly calm expression. Even when Anja raised her knife, pressing it against Jessa’s throat, the woman did not even flinch.

“Close your eyes,” Anja commanded. Jessa obeyed. Anja let her knife rip.

Even though the cut was calculated a small amount of blood spurted out onto Anja’s own neck, a sign that an artery had been cut. Maybe even a bit of the trachea. Anja cursed under her breath but knew it was not significant, nothing that would immediately threaten Jessa’s life. The blood began to flow rapidly down Jessa’s chest and onto her dress, soon to be pooling on the ground. Laurita looked down at her friend with terror in her eyes. Jessa did not even react to the cut, still looking forward, but as soon as Anja stood up having collected some blood in a vial Jessa took her chance to peer down. It was a bad decision. Even without pain the sight of a bleeding neck seemded enough to put Jessa into a slightly panic, but Laurita held Jessa’s head tight as to not make things worse.

“Wait a few minutes for Nayall and I to get through the hallway and then go summon someone,” Anja instructed Laurita. The woman nodded without looking up from Jessa. Anja gestured for Nayall to follow and the two slipped out the door. They were alone. As soon as they were outside the door Anja turned to Nayall.

“Can you remove the spell you put on Jessa remotely?” Nayall nodded. “Then do it.”

“I don’t-”

“Don’t you think it would be a bit suspicious if a healer came to Jessa’s aid only to realize she was completely calm and feeling no pain? No. She needs to feel it to be convincing. Do you understand?”

Nayall did not want to do it, that much was clear, but after a moment of hesitation he gave a small nod. Moments later the hall was filled with a strangled scream. It was time to go.

Getting into the dungeon proved to be easy. The book magic worked just as Jessa had said it would, and despite only getting through the opening just in time to barely miss being seen by someone running through the hallway they did indeed make it. The descent was dark and every step had Anja cringing at the sound of their feet against the stone. Both she and Nayall walked with knives held out at the ready, yet as the reached ground level and began to navigate the cooridors they found no need for their weapons. The prison was utterly empty. Though it’s halls were long and it’s size great, there seemed to be very few actual cells, and most of them were empty. It was not a prison for criminals, Anja reminded herself – it was a prison for threats to the king. And, Anja mused, if there were no fellow prisoners to help stage an escape and no way out but through a door that would lead a prisoner straight back to the king, guards were not exactly a necessity.

“Get down!” Nayall whispered. Anja pressed herself against the wall without a thought, Nayall doing the same beside her. “I can feel the presence of magic. It’s fairly strong, maybe enough to be two people though it’s hard to tell.”

“How close?”

“Close. Coming from that direction.” Nayall pointed to the right. Anja, while still keeping herself pressed flush against the wall, shuffled slowly to the corner until she could just peer around the wall with a single eye. She took a quick look but that was all she needed. Two guards – each plated with armor and armed with swords – stood as silent guards about midway down the hall, both staring into a cell. Anja knew without a doubt who was in that cell.

“What did you see?” Nayall asked, tugging Anja back.

“Two guards like you said. Fairly heavily armed though I didn’t see any chainmail or anything on or hear their heads. They’re armed too.”

Nayall closed his eyes in his now common look of concentration, but it did not last long. “Damn it,” he cursed under his breath. “I can’t touch them with my magic, it’s like there’s a wall up.”

“Blood amulets,” Anja muttered. “I’d bet my life on it.” Both she and Nayall’s shoulders’ slumped. They were in desperate need of a plan. They’d been relying on Nayall’s magic for any ranged combat and if they ran in swords held high Nayall would be struck down. Anja had her own blood amulet but she doubted Nayall had any such thing, and without one he’d be vulnerable. If they could break the guards up and fight them one on one Anja was confident she could take the guards, but together would be quite a fight, even for her.

As she silently mused over her plans a small pebble at her feet caught her eye. Slowly she bended down, feeling Nayall’s eyes on her, and picked up the pebble. Before he could say anything against it she flung it down the hall behind them, it’s clattering ringing out impossible loud. Nayall looked at her with wild eyes but Anja put a single finger to her lips, motioning towards the guards.

“Did you hear that?” One of the guards spoke, his armor clanging as he shifted about.

“The king wasn’t supposed to be down here today,” said the other, his voice sounding somewhat nervous. “Go check it out.”

Anja listened to the clanging of armor growing ever nearer, counting the steps until she knew he must be very close. She pressed her back against the wall, her heart pounding in her chest. The moment she saw a sword poking out from around the corner she lept into action. The guard had no time to swing his sword as Anja turned the corner with her dagger raised, slashing with all her force at his exposed neck. The wound made Jessa’s look like a papercut. The guard dropped his sword in an instant and fell to the ground, clutching at his neck which spurted blood like a geyser. His breathing came out as nothing more than a gurgle, blood coming up through his mouth. Anja was already back behind the wall before the other guard could react, wiping off the blade against her dress. She could hear the other guard coming, this time much faster judging by the sound of metal.

“Give me your knife,” she hissed at Nayall, grabbing it from his grip before he had the chance to respond. Taking a deep breath she turned the corner, coming face to face with the oncoming attacker. She let her first knife fly but it missed, the man too far away. In the second that passed the guard was almost upon her, giving her a close enough range that when she released the second knife it stuck on it’s target, lodged into the man’s eyesocket. He screamed and dropped but she gave him no time to make any more noise, yanking the knife from his eye and slitting his throat as well.

When she stepped away from her newly made corpses her hands and the front of her dress were covered in blood. Nayall stared at her with a somewhat horrified, somewhat impressed expression. She paid him no mind. “One of them probably has the key – search the bodies.” Both she and Nayall were well covered in blood by the time Nayall retrieved the key from a pouch stuffed down one man’s shirt front. Anja snatched the key from his fingers and all but flung herself at Rhys’ cell bars. It wasn’t until she’d unlocked the door that she looked upon him.

Anja was not one to easily be taken by surprise, but the sight of Rhys left her breathless. He was barely more than a corpse, his body strangely emaciated for such a comparatively short amount of time in captivity. His body was bruised and bloodied in strange ways, many of the wounds looking self-inflicted. His skin had an old gray palor to it with his eyes sunken into their sockets and his cheekbones more pronounced than was normal. He looked, simply put, dead.

“Gods,” Nayall whispered from behind. Anja threw open the door and threw herself down at Rhys’ side, putting one hand under his head. “Rhys? Rhys? Can you hear me?” His eyes were closed and he made no sound. When Anja put one hand under his nose she barely felt any air. She shook him lightly, pressing her hand to his face. “Rhys?” She spoke slightly louder this time but still there was no response. Anja pressed fingers hard against the hollow of his neck, her heart falling as she felt only the faintest of pulses.

“We need to get him out now!” Anja cried. Nayall moved quickly, putting one arm under Rhys’ shoulders to help life. Anja was about to move to do the same thing until suddenly, with a horrible realization, she realized something was wrong. She could no longer feel his pulse. She pushed Nayall away with a reckless shove, pressing her ear to Rhys’ chest. Nothing. She tried in three different places and each only supported the same conclusion. Rhys’ heart had stopped.

“He’s dying!” Anja cried, her voice so high and frantic she no longer recognized it. She looked wildly at Nayall only to see him close his eyes, the tale-tell sign. “NO!” Her voice came out as a scream and she pushed Nayall back with two hands, nearly knocking his head into the wall. “Do NOT use magic!”

Nayall looked bewildered. “Do you want to save him or not?”

“It will kill him! You can’t use your magic under ANY circumstances, do you understand?” Anja turned back to Rhys, her hands feeling his cold face with a frenzy. Nayall did not attempt to ask any more questions, probably knowing it was useless. Anja’s mind raced but with no clarity. There had to be something she could do. In a brief moment of clarity the solution came to her, something her father had taught her years ago. She’d only ever preformed it once and wasn’t sure she could do it again, but it was worth a shot.

“Hold his head and tilt it back!” Anja commanded, her world suddenly growing clear once again. It was like seeing in tunnel vision, her focus on only one goal, but it was enough to calm her nerves and steady her hands. Nayall was quick to respond. Anja ripped Rhys’ shirt open with her hands, feeling down the center of his chest until she knew she was in the right spot. Putting one hand on top the other she readied herself, taking a deep breath. She began pressing down hard in steady quick movements. Under her breath she began to sing. It was a song her father had taught her, one just the right speed to help her line up each compression in perfect time. Her voice was shaky but it helped her focus on the compressions.

After a number of pumps she stopped, turning to Nayall. “Pinch his nose, cover his mouth with yours and force air into his lungs.” Nayall looked slightly on edge, likely never having tried to resuscitate anyone without magic, but he did not ask any further questions or argue. He did as instructed and Anja could see Rhys’ chest expand with the air. She began the compressions immediately, her hands firmer now, all her anxiety firmly suppressed. They continued this – Anja pressing Rhys’ chest and Nayall filling his lungs – for several more minutes. When she stopped to let Nayall do his part she would put her head to Rhys’ chest listening for a heartbeat. After some time had passed without luck Anja’s resolve began to waver.

“Anja-” Nayall’s voice was pained and Anja did not need to hear any more to know that he had given up.

“No!” She hissed, not faltering in her movements. “We’re not giving up.” She continued to press with more fervor, her movements getting unintentionally harder as she went. Rhys had to live. He had to. This could not be for nothing. “Come on, Rhys,” she whispered. A tear slid down her cheek as her vision began to cloud over. She could feel a sob in the back of her throat but she refused to let it out. She would not give up. “Rhys, you can’t die too. Please.”

Anja stopped her pressing once more, immediately flattening her ear to Rhys’ chest, when all of the sudden his chest expanded more than ever before and she heard a thin gasp for air. “Anja!” Nayall exclaimed, but she already knew. The heartbeat – though weak – was there, pounding away. Rhys was alive.

Anja wiped away her tears with the back of her sleeve, trying not to get blood in her eyes. She and Nayall wasted no time with celebration or even words, both putting their arms behind Rhys’ back and lifting his arms over their shoulders. With significant effort they brought him to his feet, though in his semi-conscious state he was in no way to help them. With Nayall’s help it was much easier to drag Rhys’ along though it was still a significant struggle under his weight. Still, Anja knew it would have been much harder had Rhys not been so emaciated. They made their way through the prison as quickly as they could manage. The long staircase felt like agonizing torture as each step took far too long, but when they reached the top once more at the blood door Anja felt a huge weigh lifted off her shoulders.

“You promise there won’t be anyone out there waiting to ambush us?”

Nayall’s face was screwed up from the struggle to keep Rhys upright. “I can’t make promises but there shouldn’t be anyone. One of my people is masquerading as one of the nobles at the party – we’ve infected her with Red Fever and instructed her to faint and cause a scene. Once a court healer realizes what’s wrong with her they’ll have all the nobles separated and in quarantine. There’s not a chance that the king will leave his quarantine and the rest of my men have been stationed throughout the palace as servants to keep any true servants or members of court out of our path. We’ll be fine, we just need to move.”

Nayall was true to his word. They moved quickly through the residential wing of the castle, taking all the servants passages for the quickest and most concealed travel. They were nearly to an outside exit on the far side of the cast, Anja believing for a second they might escape without a fuss, when a stray servant passed them by. He stopped between them and the exit, staring at Rhys between them with wide eyes and then between the two of them. Before they could stop him he ran to the corner of the room where there stood a large bell. He began ringing it frantical, screaming “intruder” at the top of his lungs. Anja looked to Nayall with understanding passing between them, shifting Rhys’ weight all onto him. She drew her dagger, walked up to the man, and stabbed him through his ribs in his heart. He fell into a heap. Anja was back at Rhys’ side within seconds.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” Nayall remarked. “He was just a boy.”

“That boy isn’t going to ruin this,” Anja growled. “Now move.”

The bell had succeeded in its purpose. Anja could hear many voices and movement behind them as they exited the castle. “Someone’s coming!” Nayall announced just in time for Anja to shove Rhys and herself behind a pile of crates. Nayall ducked behind them and the three of them sat in anxious silence until they heard the guards move by and out of sight. Starting moving again took some effort but somehow they managed to make it to their predecided location. Two of Nayall’s men – one elderly man and a younger woman dressed in peasants clothes – stood beside a cart full of lumpy bags of potatoes and covered with a tarp. Nayall and Anja hoisted Rhys into the cart and put the tarp over him. The man and woman barely acknowledged them as they took off at a slow pace, trying not to draw attention. Anja had procured a small hovel of a house on the very outskirts of town. It was the home to an old peasant man with no family or friends. It was somewhere no one would go and someplace no one would ask questions about. Anja had secured passage out of the city for the old man and Nayall had altered the man’s memories. It was as safe of a place as they could manage. Anja would go to Rhys soon, but she couldn’t yet, not while the castle was teeming with the new knowledge that there had been an intruder.

Well out of sight from prying eyes Anja slumped down on a crate, putting her face in her hands. Nayall approached with hesitation, putting one hand gently on her shoulder. “You did well in there,” he spoke quietly. “It’s done now. He’s safe.”

Anja could not control herself any longer. She began to sob, her body shaking with every sound, and once she started she could not stop.

[Mollianne]

Jessa remembered little of the night’s event but the pain. Flashes came to her in what felt like dreams, as if they were getting pulled from her: a struggle as someone accosted her, their face hidden; the blood, everywhere, the tang of it in her mouth and her nose; a servant, drawn to her by her screams, and drawn away to find help by the sight of so much blood; then nothing. Nothing but pain.

She awoke to the king’s stern face looking down at her.

She could barely move her neck. It was sore, but not painful. Her head felt woozy, and she recognised it as Lesser healing magic, soothing the aches. The wound was not completely closed as it would be with Greater magic, but it would heal faster than without any magical aid. She lifted her hand and carefully touched the side of her neck, feeling the soft fabric wrapped there to keep her from tearing the wound open. Finally, she looked properly at the king.

“What happened?” she asked. She remembered pain, darkness, cold wine on her chest, a knife, roast beef, a note, but it was all jumbled and out of place.

“You were attacked. They were waiting for you in your room.”

Jessa frowned. She tried to sit up, but a man appeared at her side and held her gently down. The king waved him away. He went, but kept on looking over his shoulder as he walked, looking distinctly unhappy. “You remember, don’t you, Jessa? Will you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Jessa shut her eyes, her face scrunching up as she tried to think. But she couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t she remember?

“Did you see who did this to you?”

Jessa tried to think. Her memories felt shadowy and far away. She nearly shook her head, but the moment she tried her neck twinged in protest and she instead whispered, “No.”

“Did they say anything to you?”

“No.”

“Do you know how they knew the way into the dungeon?”

What dungeon? The king wasn’t making any sense. Jessa frowned. The king sighed impatiently, standing up abruptly from his chair. It was the first sign of emotion he had shown. “Don’t you remember anything?”

Guilt blocked Jessa’s throat as she dropped her gaze to the white, bland sheets covering her body. She wanted to help the king, but she didn’t know what to say. “Screaming.”

“What?”

“Screams. And blood, and pain.” Jessa closed her eyes, remembering.

The man, who had not left the room but had loitered by the door, returned upon seeing the distress plain on Jessa’s face. “Your Majesty, I think you should leave her a while. She’s suffering from shock, and I don’t think she’ll be able to help you just yet. She’s only just woken up, and she needs just a couple of hours to get her bearings. That’s all.”

The king stared at the man, looked back at Jessa, looked at the man. He grit his teeth and stormed from the room. The healer’s shoulders loosened the moment the door closed behind him. “Better?”

“Thank you,” Jessa said quietly. She closed her eyes, intending to fall asleep.

“Stay awake, if you can,” the healer said. Jessa opened her eyes, looking at the man with something like frustration. He gave her a wan smile. “His Majesty will be back, and I don’t think I can convince him to leave you in peace again. He wants his answers, and he won’t wait much longer for them.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Even if I knew anything, Jessa, I wouldn’t tell you. It’s best for you to remember on your own.” He shrugged. “Let’s prop up your pillows. And then I can get you something – a book to read?”

Jessa let him manoeuvre her into a sitting position. He guided her back once he was done. The pillows were a warm cocoon around her head and neck. Jessa sunk in further. “A book, please.” The healer nodded, and began to turn when Jessa asked, “How long until it’s healed?”

“Probably half a day, I’d say. I’ll need to rework the spell a few more times, I think. You’ll be free to go by this evening provided you’re careful. And provided His Majesty has finished asking you questions.” He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. “I’ll get you that book. Will any do?” Jessa replied in the affirmative, and the healer left.

The next half an hour passed by blissfully. Jessa devoured the words on the page as though she had not read for pleasure in the longest time. She tried not to think too much about the fact that it wasn’t only the events of the night before that felt as though they were taunting her behind frosted glass, but days, or maybe weeks or months felt blurred and distant. It was easy enough to ignore. Until the memories returned.

She first remembered a necklace. She called to the healer when she first became aware of the new bit of information. “Where’s my necklace?” she asked.

“Your throat was slit, Jessa. You didn’t have a necklace by the time you got to me.” For some reason, Jessa was glad of this news. She hated her necklace. The healer left her to her memories.

She remembered the little details at first. The shadows in her room. The taste of the wine as it went down her throat. She had no idea when these memories were; whether they were the night before or much longer ago. She remembered a friend’s smiling face, and a tight embrace from someone who made her heart ache even as she could not remember either of their faces clearly.

Then Jessa began to panic. She clutched her bed sheets and began to cry. The tears were hot and wet on her cheeks. She tried to force the memories but they would not come. What had her attackers done to her memories? Her hands went to her head, squeezing tightly. The healer had to restrain her as she tried to get off the bed, not caring about her injury. He held her arms in place, soothing her with whispered, unknown words, until eventually she calmed. He released her slowly, still talking to her. He removed her bandages carefully, murmured words that made her neck heat up. Pain flared and then dulled. He wrapped fresh bandages around her neck.

“Are you okay?”

She sniffed and nodded. He eyed her warily, patted her hand, and then left to tend to his other duties.

What had they done to her? She remembered murmurings in a foreign tongue, thoughts and memories slipping through her fingers like cloud as the woman repeated the words over and over. The voice was familiar. A friend. A friend had attacked her? But why?

Rhys. The name came to her in a whisper. Her heart responded to it, fluttering. Her nerves tingled. Rhys. Was he the one whose embrace she could remember so clearly now? A hug so filled with longing and sadness and love Jessa could hardly believe it was for her. But the sadness… a prison cell.

She remembered him. She remembered his cell. She remembered what Alrick did. What he made her do. Fire tore through her and her legs kicked out of their own accord. She glanced over to the door from which the healer would come and go. Although she wanted to scream, she kept her feelings inside. Her fists balled.

Rhys. Was he okay? Was Alrick with him now, while he waited to return to interrogate Jessa?

By the time Alrick did return over an hour later, Jessa was in a state between waking and sleeping, consumed by all the memories she had somehow forgotten. She remembered the attack, but it felt distorted and wrong, unreal in a way the rest of her memories felt solid and true. Without really knowing why but for the vague sound of her friend’s voice in her ear telling her it was okay, Jessa kept her uncertainty to herself.

Alrick did not sit. He stood at the edge of the bed and asked without preamble, “Do you remember now?”

“I didn’t see them. They were just there.” She frowned. The memories swirled, incorporeal and malleable, another reminder that they were not real unlike the others. “I remember trying to get away, but they were too quick. They restrained me and then all I remember is the pain and screaming. I’m sorry. I don’t… I didn’t see them.”

“Where is Rhys Marinon?”

The name was like a blade to the heart, and Jessa couldn’t hide her shock at the question. “You have him. Underneath the castle.”

Alrick stared at her. Her head began to swim. She closed her eyes and scratched at the sheet beneath her to find something to cling to in her dizziness. “I don’t understand,” she managed to say.

When she looked up at the king, his gaze was hard, unrelenting. There was a thin frown line across his forehead. He didn’t know whether to believe her. But she was telling the truth as she knew it. Saying that wouldn’t help her case, so she kept it to herself.

Eventually, the king spoke. “Rhys escaped.”

Jessa’s mouth dropped open. Her heart soared, but she knew better than to let the hope show on her face. The king’s gaze seared into her, watching and waiting for something. Then the intensity in his gaze dropped, and he smiled at her. His smile was poison. “If you remember anything else, you will alert me immediately. Understood?”

“Yes,” Jessa replied, somehow managing to keep the hate from her voice, and the glee that he no longer had Rhys in his grasp. Rhys was free. She didn’t even notice the king was gone until the door slammed shut, and she was left to her relief, all thoughts of her own pain forgotten.

***

Dusk had settled over Ovis by the time Jessa left the healer’s care. Her wound was healed, although the healer had insisted she continue to wear her bandage for a few more days, just to be safe. The hallways she passed through were different that evening. There were more guards, who watched her until she was out of sight. There was no silence in the castle. Jessa hurried on. She didn’t know exactly why, but she felt certain that there would be a message waiting for her in her room telling her where she could find Rhys. She needed to see him. For now, it didn’t matter what had happened, what she remembered doing to him. She just needed him. There had to be a note.

She was unsurprised that there was a guard posted outside her door. She drew closer, expecting him to watch her with the same hawk-like expressions the others had worn, but instead, he winked. Jessa frowned. The guard nodded towards the door. Unnerved, Jessa went inside, shutting the door behind her before she noticed what was wrong.

Someone was in there, the light of the fire illuminating their face. Jessa’s back slammed into the door as the blood at her wrists pulsed madly. She was about the call out frantically for the guard when the woman turned. She recognised the face. It was her friend. It was Laurita.

“I’m sorry, Jessa.” Laurita was beside her in a few strides, pulling her into a hug and smoothing her hair. Jessa hugged her back as her legs gave way. Her true memories of the night before flooded into her with Laurita’s touch. She used Laurita as an anchor. “I had to. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jessa murmured into Laurita’s hair. She had no idea how long it had been since Laurita had last spoken. “I know you did.”

“We couldn’t let him find the memories of us. And we couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Laurita pulled away. Her gaze fell to the bandage on Jessa’s neck. “Are you okay? I thought you’d be back here hours ago.”

“I’m okay. The healer just wanted to keep an eye on me, I think.” She pulled away from Laurita, whose hands gripped her elbows. She sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Her head ached, but at the same time, it felt like her own mind again. She waited a moment, and then said, “Where’s Rhys? Is he okay?”

“He’s okay.”

“You’re lying.”

Laurita dropped her gaze. “He’ll be okay, then. We’re hopeful, anyway. Anja’s with him. He… He’s not awake. Not yet.”

“I need to see him. I need him.” Jessa’s voice broke.

“I know. I’m a little surprised you know. I was half expecting to have to come here and force you to see him.”

Jessa bit her lip. “I need to be there. I don’t know what I’ll say or what I’ll do, but I have to. Where is he?”

“Nayall’s waiting near the southern entrance to the inner city for you. He’ll take you to him. You can stay there as long as you need. I’m expecting to be here all night, at the very least.”

“Don’t you need to be with Odaren?”

“Odaren’s okay.” Laurita was lying again. “He has others to watch over him for one night. Rhys needs you more tonight.”

Jessa stood, grabbing the bedpost to keep her steady. She went to her armoire, taking the serving girl’s clothes Laurita passed to her on the way. She dressed from behind the door. Laurita’s voice called out to her. “You remember what I taught you? I’d stay small. Just your hair colour, eye colour, and maybe change your jawline a bit. I’d do it for you, but you really ought to look like yourself for Rhys.”

Jessa closed her eyes, picturing a face similar to hers as she tried to get the spell to work. She stayed there for a few minutes, willing it to work faster so she could see Rhys. But her need only seemed to make it happen more slowly. Sighing, she went over to the mirror. Her hair was a strange blend of streaky blonde and red, and only one of her eyes had changed. Focusing on her image and the one in her head, Jessa brought her magic to her again, trying to ignore the urgency within her.

“That’ll do, Jessa,” Laurita said. Jessa stopped immediately. If Laurita thought it was okay, she wasn’t going to argue. She turned around, and did a double take upon seeing Laurita with her own face. It was always unnerving. “I’d probably do that spell I taught you to keep the guards from noticing you too much as well. Now, wrap a scarf around that bandage,” she said while wrapping one of Jessa’s spare strips of cloth around her own neck, “and go.”

Jessa didn’t need telling twice. She walked through the halls as quickly as she thought would be appropriate for a servant, using her magic to keep the keenest of eyes away. Soon enough, she was outside. The air bit at her cheeks and her fingers, and she hurried across the lawns, through the castle’s southern gate. The square beyond was brightly lit, and few were outside, so she spotted the man waiting half in shadows easily enough. He did not look like Nayall thanks to Laurita, but he stood straighter as Jessa approached so there could be no doubt it was him.

“Let’s go,” she said by way of greeting. There was no need for this to take any longer than necessary. On the other side of the gate, two horses were tethered to a post. Just how far were they going? Jessa didn’t bother to ask. She simply mounted the horse and let Nayall lead the way to Rhys. She would see him soon. For the first time in months without Alrick hanging over them, without a cell between them. She didn’t know what to expect, except that Rhys was in a terrible condition, so bad that he hadn’t woken in nearly a day. Had they carried him from the castle unconscious? Jessa didn’t dare ask Nayall. They rode in silence to the outskirts of the city, taking a circuitous route that had Jessa on edge. She knew it was necessary, but she just wanted to see him.

Finally, when Jessa was sure Nayall was about to turn down another corner, he dismounted. Jessa hastily jumped down from her own horse. They tethered the horses to a post and walked away. Jessa’s heart began to dance in her chest. But she soon realised that they were now going to walk for who even knew how long. Her heart stuttered in her chest. It was another fifteen minutes before Nayall finally nodded to a nondescript doorway in a nondescript row of houses. Jessa glanced at Nayall, then at the door. Now that she was here, she was suddenly nervous. Her feet barely let her move forwards across the cobblestones. Her gaze was transfixed to the door as she drew closer. Nayall had not followed her.

She climbed the three steps leading up to the door. Unsure what to do next, she knocked gently. The door was pulled open almost immediately, which might have surprised her but for the fact that Anja must have known Jessa would be coming around that time. Anja ushered her in wordlessly, too concerned about potentially being seen to even glare at Jessa.

“Where is he?” Jessa asked. She looked at the door at the end of the short hallway. “In there?”

Anja nodded. “I’ll be upstairs.” She didn’t look happy about it, but she left Jessa alone in the hallway anyway. Jessa wasted no more time. The door to Rhys’ room was ajar, and she pushed it open gently even though she doubted it would disturb him. The door was half open when she saw him. Her breath left her. She was inside the room and sitting in the chair beside his bed before she had even really registered moving.

He looked so small, so fragile and thin and pale. Her heart was lodged in her throat. She stared at his face, at his cheek bones which stuck out more than they had before. He was so different yet still Rhys. Her hand found his as tears dripped off her chin. She held gently onto his fingers with one hand while the other searched for his pulse. For some reason she needed more reassurance than the small rise and fall of his chest that he was alive. She felt it. Jessa closed her eyes, dropping her head to the bed and kissing his fingers, his palm, his wrist. He was really here. They were both here together.

Time passed, though how much Jessa did not know. She kept her head on the bed by his hand, staring up his body at his face. She drank him in, and pressed her cheek against his hand.

Maybe hours later, she woke up without realising she had fallen asleep. She sat up, feeling more rested despite the uncomfortable position than she had done in months. Her neck ached, but she didn’t care. She glanced hopefully at Rhys’ face, but his eyes were still closed. She told herself that he was still breathing, and that he would wake soon. She hoped she would be there when he did, but she also knew that she would have to leave not long after the sun rose. She glanced at the windows. The curtains were drawn, but there was no hint of light peeking through the cracks. They still had time.

“Rhys,” she whispered. She reached for his hand again. “Rhys.” She didn’t know what else to say. She stared at their hands. He was so pale, paler than her. She rubbed her thumb across his knuckles, somehow still managing to marvel at the fact that he was real, and really free.

Rhys shifted. Jessa straightened, her gaze swivelling to Rhys’ face as her hand gripped his a little more tightly. “Rhys?”

He shifted again, wincing. His breath came out shakily. Jessa barely breathed. She watched him, her hand closing even more tightly around his without meaning to. He shifted again, and this time he let out a pained sound that had Jessa releasing his hand as though it was on fire. She even pushed the chair a little farther away from him. It was irrational, she knew, and it probably hadn’t even really been her that had hurt him – at least, not by holding his hand – but she retreated just a little all the same.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“All… you do… say… sorry.”

Jessa couldn’t speak. Her mouth was dry. She stared at him, watching as his eyes opened slowly, just a crack. He turned his head, seeking Jessa out. A small smile pulled his lips upwards.

“I’m sorry,” Jessa said again, finding her voice. She didn’t even know why she was apologising anymore. And then strangely, she was laughing. It was a laugh of relief, and she bowed her head, pressing her hands against her eyes. The laugh turned to tears. “Oh Gods.” She rubbed her forehead with her hand.

“Come. Here,” Rhys said in his raspy, unused voice. Jessa’s head snapped up to look at him. His fingers reached for hers weakly. She reached forward too, and their fingers brushed. Jessa nearly started crying again, but instead she pulled her chair closer again and wrapped her hands around his. She brought his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles while she looked down at him watching her.

“You’re really here,” she said. It was a stupid thing to say, but anything more rational eluded her. “You’re here. You’re alive.” She kissed his hand again, then left her cheek there against their joined hands. “You’re here.”

[Rosabeth]

To wake up to Jessa’s soft kisses and beautiful face looking down on him with such love was the greatest feeling Rhys had ever felt. After all that time in captivity, subjugated to endless torture, he was somehow free. He lay in a bed with clean clothes, a clean body, and warmth. That alone would have been enough. To have Jessa there felt as though he was being spoiled.

“Stop apologizing,” Rhys wheezed, finding his voice raspy and his throat sore. This only seemed to make Jessa cry harder, though Rhys could tell they were tears of joy. “Come here.” Rhys used all his strength to bring one hand to Jessa’s face to wipe the tears from her cheek before bringing her lips close enough to kiss. Her lips were sweet, her skin soft, and Rhys could have died right there of happiness.

“I love you.” His words were whispers against Jessa’s skin but he knew she could hear. She held his hand more tightly, kissing his forehead gingerly.

“I love you too.”

They laid together for some time, Rhys’ fingers brushing through Jessa’s hair as she rested her head upon his chest. It felt so good and so natural yet nothing about Rhys felt natural anymore. He was so very weak to where breathing itself was laborious and just keeping his eyes open a task in its own right. Jessa gave him some strength but it would not last long. He shuddered to think of how it must all look from her perspective. He had not seen his reflection in some time but just his body felt thinner and more frail than it had only days ago. He must be a horrid sight to behold. He wondered vainly if he would ever look himself again, young and strong and handsome. He supposed the look hardly mattered, but to never regain his strength would be an unfathomable nightmare.

“Where am I?” Rhys asked eventually.

Jessa sat up on the bed and looked down at him with a concerned expression. “Do you not know?”

Rhys shook his head. “My last memory is of Alrick, of - ” Rhys bit his tongue, not wanting to continue. His memories were so jumbled anyway that he could remember little more than the pain. “Yours is the first face I’ve seen in the outside world.”

This seemed to make Jessa happy for she gave a small smile, but it quickly turned to sadness once more. “You’re on the very outskirts of Ovis. Anja found a small house to keep you in.”

“Anja?” Rhys tried to sit up but Jessa pushed him down. It was not as if he could make it very far – he barely moved an inch. “What is she doing here?”

“She came to Ovis a bit less than a week ago. She’s the one who orchestrated your entire escape. If it weren’t for her you probably would be - ” Jessa choked on tears and Rhys squeezed her hand. He knew how that sentence ended all too well. He could see that it was not just sadness that plagued her but guilt. Guilt for not being able to help him escape. Guilt for the things she’d done. It was needless, but Rhys knew it weighed on her heavily.

“How did I escape? I don’t remember any of it. I barely remember most of my time in the prison, not that I was conscious much. I’m not even sure how much time passed.”

Just then Anja was at the door with a tray in her hand. She looked so much different than usual dressed plainly in peasants clothes with her long black hair down and unkempt. She smiled her devilish smile as their eyes met.

“Finally!” She set the tray down on a table beside the bed, putting her hands on her hips. “I thought you were going to die on me again after all I did for you.” Her words came with a smirk and Rhys couldn’t help but smile back. Anja seemed in a surprisingly good mood for her usual self, all things considered. When Rhys looked to Jessa he saw that she did not share their same happiness. She stared at Anja with a gaping mouth.

“Die again?”

Anja pursed her lips, turning her attention to the tray of food she’d brought in. “Yes, well, Rhys did have a bit of a weak moment last night. His heart stopped for a while.” Jessa looked horrified but Anja only looked mildly annoyed. “Well obviously he’s alive so Nayall and I took care of it!”

“Without magic?” Jessa’s stare was hard penetrating.

“Yes, without magic, I’m not an idiot. His little affliction does affect me too.” Suddenly Anja turned to Rhys with a raised brow. “She does know about that, yes?” Rhys nodded and Anja turned back to the food. “Besides, there are ways to do things without using magic. Some of us have to learn how to live without it.” Though her jab was pointed Jessa hardly cared, instead putting her hand to Rhys’ cheek and kissing his forehead once more. Anja looked away.

Rhys did not want to drop the subject. Now he was beyond curious. “But what did happen? How did you get me out without me remembering anything?”

Anja handed a bowl of soup to Jessa before she spoke, gesturing towards Rhys. He felt somewhat silly being spoonfed like a child but it wasn’t exactly like he had a choice in the matter. His arms were like rubber.

Anja told the tale quickly but with all the important details, starting from Jessa’s initial hold up at the dinner party – a point she was sure to emphasize – to using Jessa’s blood to get into the prison to killing the guards, recusitating Rhys, and dragging him from the castle between Anja and Nayall. It was a thrilling tale, one that sounded more like it had come out of a storybook than a real event. Jessa listened just as enraptured as Rhys as if she’d never heard it herself. Suddenly Rhys wondered what she’d been doing the entire time. Anja hadn’t been very specific about how she’d taken Jessa’s blood. When he asked the question Anja skillfully dodged, forcing Rhys to drink some tea and keep his mouth full, while Jessa looked quietly down at her hands.

“We…provided her with a very good alibi. A reason to, well, not be needed.” Anja did not meet his eye. Rhys raised an eyebrow. When he turned back to Jessa he noticed her scarf had come loose, beneath it a thick white bandage wrapped around her neck. Jessa saw him looking and hurriedly tightened the scarf.

“What’s that?”

Anja looked away but Rhys could see a very small smirk on her lips. “Yes, well, that would be the alibi.”

Rhys didn’t need much to put two and two together. He felt his blood boil. “You cut Jessa’s THROAT?”

“Rhys,” Jessa murmured, trying to sooth him with a frantic look towards Anja. “I agreed to it. It had to be done.”

Rhys didn’t see why she couldn’t have made a small cut in her palm, why such a drastic measure was really necessary. Though Jessa seemed unfazed by it all – if not somewhat guilty and embarrassed – Rhys didn’t like the idea of her hurt in any way. Really, Rhys realized, what was bothering him was knowing that Anja had probably enjoyed it. Her little smirk did not lie. Still, Rhys knew he could not dwell on the fact, that it was over and done with. He instead decided to unproductively focus on the fact that he’d been unconscious the entire time. So beaten and weak he could not even keep his own heart going long enough for them to get him out. Unable to wake. Unable to stand. He knew he shouldn’t be ashamed of things he had no control over, of the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of someone else, but he couldn’t help it. For so long he’d been so strong and full of life and now he was little better than a talking corpse. In a way Alrick had got what he’d wanted. Rhys might not be dead, but for Alrick’s purposes he was.

Anja and Jessa continued to tag-team force feed Rhys until he could eat no more even though he’d barely had more than some soup and bread. The very fact that he’d not vomited he took to be an accomplishment. Anja took away the tray and Jessa and Rhys talked quietly for a moment until Anja returned, this time with something strange in her hand.

“By the way, when I had some of Nayall’s people clean you up – oh don’t look like you’ve lost your pride, I couldn’t leave you all bloody and dirty – we found this.” Anja held up a small metal shard coated in dried blood. “It was embedded between your fingers.”

Suddenly all the night’s memories flooded back to Rhys in one go. At least everything before the pain, that was. Everything before the darkness. Rhys tired to reach for the metal but could only really raise his arm a few inches off the bed. Jessa and Anja both looked at Rhys with bewilderment.

“Jessa – the dagger. That’s it. I did it. That’s his blood.”

Though Anja’s face was still dark with confusion Jessa lit up with understanding. She grabbed it from Anja’s fingers leaving Rhys’ sister looking mildy offended but mostly annoyed. She turned it over in her fingers, her eyes wide. “You managed to cut Alrick?”

Rhys grinned. “Even better. I slit his throat.”

Jessa had never looked so surprised. “No wonder he wanted you dead.” Soon her excitement turned to dismay as she studied the small shard. “This isn’t very much blood. I don’t even know if it’ll be enough to turn back into a liquid, seeing as it’s all dry.”

“Anja, did you wash my clothes?” Rhys’ heart began to beat more rapidly than it had in weeks. If they had no blood then everything was for nothing. His torture was for nothing. He’d nearly killed himself for absolutely nothing.

“No, I didn’t even know if they were worth washing. I put them in the back to throw away.” Both Rhys and Jessa yelled out and Anja took a step back in surprise. She hastily went to retrieve them, throwing Rhys’ shirt on his lap when she returned. It was streaked with blood and Rhys was sure most of it was Alrick’s. He took a sigh of relief, as did Jessa. Months of planning and finally they’d managed the one task they’d tried so hard for in the most unusual of ways. Jessa grasped Rhys’ hand tightly and brought it to her lips.

“I’m surprised he didn’t kill you on the spot, honestly,” Anja commented. “I mean, he’s not exactly known for being forgiving, is he?”

“He certainly tried to.” Rhys squirmed just think about the retribution he’d faced for that act of violence. The pain haunted him though even the memory of it clouded his mind. “It was the single worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. Worse than being shot or stabbed. I felt like I was being ripped apart. And the feeling of him trying to reach into my mind…” Rhys quieted. Everything was a blur beyond that point. He felt as if there was some crucial part of that memory that he couldn’t access, something the pain overshadowed.

Jessa bit her lip. “He didn’t discover anything, did he? Nothing about…us?”

Rhys began to shake his head but then stopped, freezing up in terror. There had been something. He could feel it now, peeking through the painful memories. There’d been brief reprieves from the pain and in those…images? Memories? What had it been?

“Rhys?”

Slowly Rhys looked up to Jessa, now paralyzed with the fear. The moment he saw her face once more the memories clicked into place. It was her face in them, her face that had broken through the pain. He remembered it now so vividly. He remembered every incriminating memory of his and Jessa’s relationship on display for the king. He remembered the look on the king’s face that he’d once thought had sealed his fate.

Rhys opened his mouth to speak but could find no words, his eyes wide with terror. “Jessa - ” was all he could manage to croak out. Jessa covered her mouth in shock with eyes equally as wide.

“Rhys, you’re not saying, please don’t be saying…”

“I’m so sorry, so so sorry,” Rhys could barely breathe let alone speak and the words were no more than whispers.

Jessa looked on the edge of tears. “What does he know?”

“Everything. Everything about us.”

The only thing keeping Jessa from breaking down seemed to be the hand held over her mouth. She glanced at the window with dread, a very thin beam of grey morning light seeping in through the curtains. Her body was shaking just as was Rhys’, her eyes welling with tears. “I have to go,” was all she managed to whisper.

“No!” Rhys could not physically force Jessa to stay but he gripped her hand as tightly as he could. He could not let her go back there knowing that they were in danger. The very thought put him on the brink of losing his mind. “Please stay. Please don’t go back there, Jessa. He’ll kill you.”

Jessa removed her hand from her mouth to wipe away the few tears that had spilled onto her cheeks. She stared at the window like a condemned man stared at the gallows. “I have to. If I don’t go back now he’ll most certainly know that I’m with you. At least this way I can buy us some time. He may not want to kill me…maybe just…” But she did not know. Rhys could do nothing but hold her hand. Jessa then turned to Rhys and suddenly took his face in her hands and kissed him, her lips trembling against his. When she pulled back she stood up, brushing herself up and looking towards the door.

“I will leave that place soon, I promise you. We’ll find a way, a solution for all this. But for now - ”

Rhys could feel his own eyes welling up. “Please don’t,” he whispered. “Please. I can’t lose you. Not again.”

Jessa’s lip trembled but she gave a small smile. “You won’t. I promise I’ll be back, I – I love you.” Before Rhys could say anything else Jessa hurried from the room, and in seconds he heard the front door slam.

[Mollianne]

Jessa didn’t pause, stumbling down the steps. Nayall appeared like a wraith from nowhere, steadying her. He took one look at her and said, “Your face.”

With all her panic and fear, it took Jessa a few moments to realise what Nayall meant. Then, she clutched his wrist, closing her eyes tightly. The magic came at her call, but without having a mirror to hand to help if she needed it, her efforts were clumsy and poorly guided. “How do I look?”

“Not like you did on the way here. But it would be strange for the same unknown servant to return to your room ten hours later. It’ll do. No one was following us anyway.”

Jessa didn’t waste any more time. She looked lingeringly over her shoulder as they walked back in the direction of the horses. She imagined Rhys inside, but all she could see in her head was the fear in his eyes as she pulled away from him. With a sniff, she turned resolutely around, wiping underneath her eyes for the stray tears.

The journey back was excruciatingly long, though for a completely different reason that the ride towards Rhys had been. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Alrick would do with her, now that he knew. He’d known for at least two days. He’d made no move. All Jessa could be sure of was that he wasn’t going to kill her straight away; she hadn’t been lying to Rhys when she had said that. Still, she was worried for Laurita, posing as Jessa for a whole night with no knowledge of the danger. As soon as they were in sight of the inner city, she muttered brief thanks to Nayall and hurried towards the castle.

“Jessa?” Laurita said blearily when Jessa came through the door. Her friend lay in the bed, facing the door. She rubbed her eyes and pushed herself to a sitting position. Her face changed back to Laurita’s in one smooth motion, and then she saw the look on Jessa’s face. “Jessa? Is Rhys…?”

“He woke up,” she said quietly. A small smile lifted her face as she spoke, but it quickly disappeared. “You need to go, Laurita. And you can’t… don’t come for a few days. Be with Odaren. And… check on Rhys for me.” Jessa turned, leaving Laurita staring at her dumbly while she hurriedly collected the papers Rhys had stolen from Alrick and put them in a bag.

“Wait, Jessa, what? Check on Rhys for you? What’s going on?”

Jessa was pulling out a few of her least worn dresses at random, throwing them into the cloth sack haphazardly to disguise the package as laundry. “You need to take this to him. Don’t worry about bringing the dresses back.”

“Jessa, why can’t you take it to him? What happened between you?”

“I just can’t, Laurita. I have to stay here for a few days. And I can’t see any of you.” Her voice cracked. She couldn’t look Laurita in the eye. “Please.” She held out the bag for her friend, shaking it slightly until she felt Laurita take it from her. Expectation hung in the air. Laurita didn’t move. Jessa sighed and buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m…” A self-deprecating, hollow laugh escaped her lips. Rhys voice was in her head, telling her to stop apologising.

She bowed her head, and when her words came, they were barely a breath, as though speaking them quietly could make them unreal. “Alrick knows. About Rhys and me.”

Jessa heard Laurita’s sharp intake of breath, the sound of the mattress sagging as her friend sat heavily upon it. “Oh Gods. Oh-” Jessa finally looked at Laurita. Her eyes were wide and filled with terror and sadness. She frowned. “You can’t stay here, Jessa. He’ll kill you.”

“He won’t. He hasn’t yet. He probably thinks he can still find a use for me. As long as he continues to think that, it’ll be fine.” Jessa was surprised at the calm in her voice. She knew what she had to do.

“You staying here isn’t going to achieve anything. We have these, Jessa.” She lifted the bag. “This is what we need.”

“But what if it isn’t? What if it’s useless, or not enough? The point of me being here is to have someone inside the castle.”

“Nayall has-”

“It isn’t the same.”

“But Alrick is hardly going to let you go on as you have been, is he?” Laurita said reasonably. Jessa shrugged.

“He’s going to have to if he wants me to think he doesn’t know. I’m still going to eat with the family at their dinners, which Nayall’s people can’t possibly attend. I need to be here, and I need to give all of you time, to recover and to plan. If I’m here, there’s a chance Alrick will slip up and I’ll be there. There’s a chance I can end his rule like he tried to end Rhys’ life.” Her voice was hard. Laurita bowed her head, realising she was fighting a hopeless battle.

“Don’t stay away too long.” Laurita stood, enveloping Jessa in a tight hug. Jessa hugged back just as hard. “And get out the moment anything looks like it’s going wrong.”

“I will,” Jessa whispered. She pulled away from Laurita. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Laurita picked up the bag and was gone. Jessa didn’t let herself dwell on it. She unwrapped her scarf, pulled off the bandages and tested her neck. It still twinged, so she replaced the cloth. It was there more to remind her of her injury and not to strain it as opposed to actually needing it to protect the wound. Then, she changed out of the peasant’s clothes and into her dark purple day dress. Her plan for the day would only ruin her lighter clothing. She loitered in her room until near midday, when the king held audience in the second chamber. She had little used the spy hole since discovering it, but now she vowed to be there every day, just in case. And every day, either before or after or both, she would head down to the west wing, where the Novarian mages had been taken. If he would meet any of his mages, it would be there.

The day passed in cramped spaces and with nothing of any use revealed. As did the next day, and the next. Jessa was tired and sore and nervous, and more than all that she yearned to be at Rhys’ side. Whenever she caught herself wishing she could go to him, she wrapped the guilt for everything she had done to him around her and immersed herself in it, convincing herself Rhys did not want to see her even though she knew it was not true. It was the only way she could stop herself from leaving the castle. And it made her miserable, but it was a comfort, too, to know that she would not accidentally reveal Rhys’ location while he was still recovering. She missed Laurita’s nightly visits, too, but she knew it was for the best. Someone might have seen her friend, otherwise, and thought to follow her to Nayall’s safe house, or else capture her for information.

It was the fourth day after she had spent that sweet morning with Rhys, exchanging kisses and gentle words, and her resolve to stay away was wearing down. She knew nothing about how Rhys was faring, whether he was improving, eating, and how much his recovery was hampered with worrying over her. Laurita had not sent any messages, but Jessa hadn’t wanted that anyway. It just made it even harder. Jessa rested her head against the cobwebbed wall of the nook overlooking the audience chamber. She looked sidelong through the grate at Alrick, who was talking to some nobleman about rice shortages after one of the final shipments had gone missing. It was nothing that could interest her, just like everything else she had heard in this room for the past few days. She knew she would come back the next day and the next, though, just in case.

After a few more minutes, the meeting ended and the nobleman left, passing a man wearing a general’s uniform. Jessa sat up straighter, recognising the man’s white blond hair. He bowed low to Alrick, who gestured impatiently for him to rise. “Is everything prepared?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We will leave for Solridge Bay tomorrow at dawn.”

“What news from the front?”

“They’re preparing to make their retreat in a few days.”

Jessa held her breath. The Etrenians were retreating? Did that mean the Novarians had the advantage in the war? Or was something else at play? And Solridge Bay – what did she know of it? She couldn’t remember anything but that it was on the west coast of the country, about seventy miles from Ovis. Alrick and the general talked for a few moments more and then the latter saluted, bowed and turned around. Jessa pulled back from the grate in case the general looked up at her as he left. A stone shifted under her feet and Jessa pulled back further. It was time to go.

She scrambled back down the narrow passageway, and slipped through the hole which was still partially hidden by the large standing cupboard. Once she was free, she brushed down her clothes to get rid of as many of the cobwebs as she could. She sneezed as dust flew up her nose. As soon as she felt she was presentable, she hurried back to her room. The same guard as the one who had winked at her when she returned from visiting Rhys was posted there. The guard was one of Nayall’s men. She glanced at him pointedly before she slipped inside her room. A few moments later, there was a knock at her door.

“Come in,” she called. The guard shuffled inside. Jessa waited until the door closed behind him before she spoke. “Do you know anything about a general in the Etrenian army? He has blonde hair, is about 6 feet tall….” She gave a small smile as she added, “Wears an Etrenian general’s uniform…”

“I’m not in the army, my lady,” the guard said.

“Of course.”

“What do you need?”

She smiled. “At the dinner a few nights ago, the king gave him something. A note. Is there any way you, or someone else, could find out what it said? It may be nothing, it may be a trap, but…” She shrugged. “I need to know what it said.”

“I’ll try, my lady. Do you know his name?”

Jessa shook her head apologetically. There really wasn’t much to go on. The man nodded once, shortly. “Right. Well, I’ll do my best but I can’t make promises.”

“Thank you. And…” She faltered. The guard waited patiently while Jessa bit her lip. She didn’t trust this man enough to ask after Rhys, but she couldn’t do nothing. “Can you get a message to Laurita Navin for me?” She waited for his quick nod. “Ask her if he’s okay.”

“Yes, my lady.” The guard opened the door and froze. Jessa looked up, her blood running cold.

“Get back to your post,” Alrick growled, pulling the guard out of the room by his shoulder. He fixed Jessa with a stern glare. “What is going on here?”

“Routine check, Your Majesty,” the guard said. “Can’t be too careful.”

Alrick was already ignoring the guard. He beckoned to Jessa. “Come.”

Her chest tightened as she followed him. Did he know she was spying on him? Or did he want her for some other reason? She wasn’t sure what would be worse. Alrick strode purposefully through the corridors, and her blood turned cold with dread when she realised where he was taking her. Only bad things had happened there in the west wing, where none of the other members of the royal family nor the servants ventured. Where no one would hear her scream. What did Alrick want with her?

The corridor led to the circular room with the red plush rug where Jessa had first seen Odaren. Where she had heard him scream. Yes, there really would be no one to help her here. Alrick reached the centre of the room and turned to face her. Jessa waited cautiously at the entrance to the room.

“I need your help with something,” he said, his voice calm and falsely pleasant. Jessa said nothing, just nodded her head. Alrick appraised her for a moment, and his eyes locked with hers. Her lingering trepidation dissolved, leaving her wondering why she had even been scared in the first place. He indicated with his hand to the single chair on the opposite side of the room. “Sit.”

The word reverberated in Jessa’s mind as she moved to obey. The chair was so comfortable she sank into it easily. A smile graced her lips. She didn’t realise that the king had come over to her until she looked up into his face. His expression was pleasant, but something in it made Jessa want to shrink away. But she couldn’t. It was like she was stuck to the chair. Weirdly, it didn’t bother her as much as she thought it should.

The king had something in his hand. Jessa stared at it. It was a small silver ball. There was nothing special about it. What did he want? She frowned, questions clouding her mind. But then something calmed them, and she thought nothing at all. She looked up at the king, waiting.

“Show me.” The words themselves made little sense, but the soothing presence in her mind told her what she needed to do. For a moment, she fought against it, squeezing her eyes shut even as she felt her magic coming to the call she didn’t even realise she was making. It felt wild, but not in the same untamed way it had when she had first tried to use her magic. Then it had been a terrifying beast. But now, there was some order to the madness. She did not have full control, but it was something.

“Show me,” the king said again, although whether he had spoken aloud or just in her head Jessa no longer knew. The magic came out of her, knocking the ball off the king’s hand. It rolled along the stones and out into the corridor behind him. Jessa looked up at him. His expression was fire. All at once, that fire exploded in her head. It consumed her, squeezing her mind and she cried out without hearing the sound. It felt like the world was crashing down on her, the castle stones covering and suffocating her. She felt a monstrous beast clawing at her head and then she felt nothing at all.

Jessa stirred. She opened her eyes blearily and pressed a hand to her head. It ached. She sat by the fire, enjoying the warmth it brought to her toes and fingers. She looked out the window, and saw that it was dark. She must have fallen asleep after talking to the guard. She frowned. She didn’t remember feeling tired. She rubbed at her head, sighing in annoyance. A whole afternoon wasted because she fell asleep. And her head; why did it hurt so much?

[Rosabeth]

When Jessa did not return the next day Rhys worried, but after four days without a word he’d resigned himself to both a relenting paranoia and a reluctant resignation. Of course it was not entirely true that Rhys had no information whatsoever. Laurita had come to visit the second night to tell him of Jessa’s decision and to return to him the papers he’d once stolen from Alrick, something Rhys had decided not to delve into until he was back to some of his former strength. She returned every day since and though her company was pleasant and her humor welcome Rhys could not help but feel that he was only a replacement for Jessa. Her self-imposed isolation was not a popular decision with anyone.

It seemed that any time Rhys was even remotely conscious he was inundated with visitors. Laurita once brought Nayall by, someone Rhys had only ever heard about. Nayall was a relatively reserved man who was average in almost all respects. His dark complexion set him apart from the average Ovisian, but otherwise he was exactly the kind of man one might expect to blend seamlessly into a crowd. It was when Nayall spoke that Rhys realized he was not average at all. Smart and quick on his feet with his words, Nayall kept surprisingly composed even when talking about the struggles of those he looked after. Though they spoke of little more than Rhys’ rescue and generalities, Rhys liked him on the spot. The rest of Rhys’ visits were split between the ever-present Anja and occasional members of Nayall’s party who kept him informed on the surveillance within the castle.

Anja watched over him like a hawk, batting away his hand any time he tried to do anything for himself or even attempt to move. Though smothering, her care did seem to succeed with it’s intended purpose. Every day Rhys felt a little stronger and slept a little less. Even his body seemed to begin to fill out once separated from the magic that had so deteriorated it. Over a handful of days Rhys’ cheekbones looked less and less pronounced and his limbs less gangly, though he was still incredibly slight compared to his previous health. On the fourth day Anja, after tiring of Rhys’ incessant complaints, allowed him a brief trip outside. Each step felt like a mile and his body felt twice as heavy as it really was, but just being able to stand and move gave him immeasurable relief. Anja would not allow him to go to the front of the house for fear of being seen, instead relegating him to the dim alley behind the house. Rhys hardly cared, for as soon as he felt the sun on his skin and a brisk winter wind tussle his hair he nearly broke down on the spot. After weeks in the dark without even the luxury of distinguishing day from night even the dullest of sights was a masterpiece. He stared at the grey sky until his fingers turned numb in the cold and Anja tugged him inside. He went willingly for, for the first time in weeks, he felt truly free.

Rhys leaned against the wall once inside the house, too tired from just that short walk to continue. Anja was there in an instant with her arm wrapped around his waist to support his weight. She helped him slowly back to the bedroom, propped him up with pillows, and immediately went to tend the dying fire. Rhys had been silently observing his sister’s actions for some time now, but something about her kneeling before the fire, looking much more the part of a maid than the noble she was, gave him pause.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

Anja straightened and stopped prodding at the fire, turning to Rhys with a look of dismay. “Oh please, be serious, Rhys.”

“I am!” Anya’s frown grew and Rhys sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, it’s not like we’ve been the best of friends. We’ve all but actively hated each other for the past five, six years. You’ve been as abrasive as ever and I haven’t exactly been fantastic either. Let’s not pretend. It’s only gotten worse since Jessa showed up and you became heir.”

In a rather uncharacteristic move, Anja didn’t yell, or roll her eyes, or respond in any way at all. She stood quietly and moved to the seat beside Rhys, leaned forward, and rested her chin on her clasped hands. Her stare was hard and unflinching. Rhys found it hard to keep eye contact being so scrutinized. Finally Anja let out a long, low sigh and looked up to the ceiling.

“I don’t hate you, Rhys. I never have.”

“I’ve never hated you either. Well, not really. Maybe. There have been days.”

Anja smirked, the first expression that truly looked like her. When she looked at Rhys again her eyes were soft and her mouth almost curled into a true smile. “You’re my only brother now. Just you and me. I guess I just decided that we have to start looking out for each other because – I – I can’t lose you too.” For a moment Rhys thought her lip trembled but it stopped so quickly he wasn’t sure it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

“Do you know why I hated Jessa?”

Rhys wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Hated? As in the past tense?”

Anja shrugged. “I’ve met worse people, but that’s not the point. Do you want to know why I really hated her even after it became apparent that she wasn’t really a product of the king? After mother had decided to accept her into the family? I hated her because she was change. She waltzed in uninvited and you were stricken so quickly I don’t even think you recognized it. All those years with Selene – gone. I didn’t understand what it was about her that had you falling all over yourself but I hated it. It meant that things were changing. It’s not like you hadn’t been disinterested in business for years because you were, it’s that I now had to envision an outside in our home forever. I had to imagine you two having children and moving away and me being stuck with Dima’s stupid ass. I hated the idea. I know it doesn’t make any sense but I hate change. I take out my fears and hatreds on others and you weren’t exempt.

“But then Jessa left and I watched you consume yourself in the war and secretive planning and I realized that you were already lost. You weren’t going to magically come back and be my stupid, twenty-one year old brother again asking me to do him favors so he could go run off with his girlfriend of the week. So I guess I just decided that I had to grow up too. When Dima died it just…it broke something in me. I don’t really know what. I think it was a concrete enough change for me to realize that there was nothing I could do to make things the way they once were. Dima’s dead. He’s not coming back. We are never all going to be together again for the rest of our lives.”

It was so foreign to see Anja so candidly baring everything. It was, Rhys realized, likely the first honest conversation he’d ever had with his sister. Twenty-two years together and until this moment Rhys felt as if he’d only ever known a sliver of the woman who sat before him.

There were still questions on Rhy’s minds, things about Anja that didn’t make sense with the narrative she was spinning. “If this is really all about change and fear and acceptance then what about all the people you’ve tortured, the people you’ve killed? You can’t possibly be taking out personal issues on them, can you? I mean, I’ve called you a psychopath here and there, I’ll admit it, but even that seems insane for you.”

Anja’s lips curled into a smirk and at once it was like the old Anja, the Anja Rhys was so familiar with, was back. She leaned back in her chair and let out a low, harsh laugh. “I never said I was a good person.”

“But then - ”

“I’m not a good person, but I don’t hurt innocent people. Well, not very often anyway.”

“What about that man I saw you slaughter in the alley the day before my wedding? He didn’t even know you.”

Anja practically cackled and it sent shivers up Rhys’ spine. “Oh, him. I’ve actually been dealing with his unpleasant family lately. Almost took his brother down too.” Anja saw Rhys’ disapproving look and rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t look so high-and-mighty. I promise you he’s just as much of an asshole as his brother. Do you want to hear a story about Christophe Palian? It’s a thrilling tale. Once upon a time there was a boy who liked to flirt with girls at court. He’d make his friends and have all the girls swooning like idiots before he dropped some powder in their drinks. Then our friend Christophe would take them to some unused room at a party and rape them. Next thing they’d know they’d wake up somewhere they didn’t know and he’d be gone. So yes, I killed Christophe. But I like to think of it less as a murder and more as a kindness to the world for taking him out of it.”

Rhys had heard his sister say many unspeakably cruel and terrifying things, but never had he seen such malice in her eyes. If she’d been anyone else but his sister he’d likely be terrified. “How do you know this?”

“Katarzyna knows things,” she muttered. “She’d heard the rumors and talked to some of the women to validate it. But why stop with Christophe? There are so many other thrilling tales. How about that dinner party? The one we put on to scare Jessa when we knew she’d be watching? Well, first I believe there was that head. That was the head of Conrad Ellim. Oh yes, he was well loved. What a good man. That is, to others. I think if you were to ask his wife she’d say something different. That man hadn’t been sober a day in his life and nearly killed his wife more times than I can count in drunken rages. I never asked about the children but I’m not sure I even want to know. So when I took his head I saw it as a favor to the rest of his family. They weren’t exactly sad to see him go.

“Who was next? Oh yes, Montigian? Well, to be honest he was guilty of exactly what we said, but I don’t exactly consider cutting off someone’s fingers to be the height of evil. Oh don’t give me that look,” she snapped, seeing Rhys’ judgment, “you’ve done worse, don’t deny it. But Lady Priya? Oh, she was my favorite. Lady Priya was a bit of a sadist, to say the least, and her favorite targets were her servants. Well, slaves are a better descriptor. Those who disobeyed, even in the smallest way, were tortured mercilessly. But the real winning act of Lady Priya was when she drowned the child of a servant who attempted to come to father about her mistreatment of the other servants. Well, when we heard about that I was more than happy to show her the same courtesy.”

The room and gone so silent Rhys could hear his own breathing. If what Anja said was true then everything he’d ever thought about her was a lie. If what she said was true then his own crimes seemed so much more severe. After all, he’d once killed for less than that. He had not realized how heavily he’d relied on comparing his own crimes to Anja’s insanity to quell his own guilt. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

“But…why didn’t you tell me about them? I would never have said some of the things I’ve said to you had I known.”

“It was supposed to be theatrical, Rhys. We were afraid you’d let it slip to Jessa that we weren’t slaughtering innocent people if we told you. You probably would have, to be honest.”

“But why would you want people to think so badly of you?”

Anja laughed. She patted Rhys on the arm as if he were a small child who did not understand a more sophisticated joke. “Power, Rhys. You would not believe the power I’m granted just by some people thinking I’m a psychopath. I’m not going to say I don’t love the fear because I do. I love every second of it. I don’t want to be a hero of vigilante justice, Rhys. Let the people think what they want, because they don’t even realize it but every rumor they spread about me only increases my power over them. It works like a charm.”

Rhys sat in stunned silence for a moment. When he finally regained his voice it came out in a laugh, one that barely even sounded like his own. It hurt his sides but he could not stop it. He wasn’t even sure why he was laughing but it seemed to bring a smile to Anja’s face. He wasn’t even sure he knew his sister anymore, but knowing what he did now he was much happier to be understandably confused than to know the lie.

Not two seconds after Rhys regained his composure a knock on the door startled both of them from their thoughts. Anja froze, her eyes narrowing as her hand inched towards the dagger that set on the table. A special set of knocks had been devised for all visitors – four rapid knocks for Laurita, three slow knocks for Nayall, two sets of quick taps for all others – and this pattern matched none.

“You don’t think - ” Rhys dared not speculate out of fear. Anja did not respond, instead grabbing the knife and creeping down the hallway. The old door to his room swung closed at her exit, blocking Rhys’ view, but as he heard the front door open the sound that came from Anja’s mouth was most unlike anything he’d ever heard. It was almost a squeal…of joy. Rhys sat up straighter in bed trying to peer around the corner with no luck. When the door finally opened the person behind it was the last person he would have expected.

“Mother?”

“Thank the Gods!” Vyserene exclaimed, handing the basket she carried to Anja before practically throwing herself at Rhys. She wrapped her arms around him with such a tight squeeze it was as if she worried he might slink away if her grip was too loose. As if he had anywhere to go. Rhys looked over his mother’s shoulder in confusion, meeting Anja’s gaze with wide eyes. I wrote her, she mouthed back. When his mother pulled back she took his face in her hands, smoothing back his hair with her fingers.

“Oh, Rhys, we were so worried!” Rhys had no time to get a word in before his mother suddenly dropped her hands and sat back, her face stern and her eyes hard. “How could you be so stupid?” Rhys thought he might get slapped as she raised her hand, but it was only to tuck his hair behind his ear.

Confined to bed with his mother now looking down on him with anger Rhys suddenly felt very guilty. He could barely even look her in the eye. He had been stupid, incredibly stupid, and so incredibly unfeeling. The pain his parents must have gone through learning of his capture only days after Dima’s death. Rhys could barely look at himself.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight, I - ”

Apparently one sorry was all it took, for his mother leaned in once again to embrace him. When she pulled back Rhys could see tears on her cheek. She sniffed, almost a laugh, and brushed them away as if they were annoying flies. Standing up and straightening up she composed herself in an instant, returning to Anja’s side and retrieving the basket.

“You look appalling. Just terrible, dear,” Vyserene sighed. Rhys didn’t even bother acting offended. “I’m going to cook you something and you’re going to pretend it tastes like something the servants make and then the three of us are going to decide how we’re going to kill the bastard who calls himself king.”