Kings of Deceit - R

[Mollianne]

The next morning, Jessa awoke shaking from her nightmare. Even now, she could see it so vividly in her still aching head. Rhys, on the floor, blood pooling around the wounds in his neck and stomach and chest and leg. She stood over him, a knife coated in blood in her hand, shaking. She herself was covered in Rhys’ blood. She had killed him, and she had wanted him dead. In her dream, she had hated Rhys more than anything. Presently, Jessa pulled her legs to her chest. She pressed her face against her nightdress, which her tears immediately began to soak. Her shoulders shook, and though crying made her headache worse she could not stop. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t get the image of Rhys out of her mind. She lifted her head and pressed the heel of her hands against her eyes.

There was a knock at the door. Probably a servant with breakfast. Jessa whispered, “Oh Gods.” She didn’t want to face anyone and she certainly had no appetite. She dropped her chin back to her knees, staring blankly at the bed sheet.

Then the knock came again, followed by a voice, “My lady? Are you okay?”

It was the guard who worked for Nayall. Jessa wiped her eyes and set her jaw. The time for wallowing was past, for if the guard was calling on her, he either had a message from Laurita or news about the general. Neither she wanted to ignore. She sniffed and tried to push her dream away as she padded over to the door. It didn’t work, but at least she was doing something now.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she pulled open the door. She lifted her gaze to the guard’s. His expression was filled with concern, particularly when he saw her red and puffy eyes, but he held his tongue. At that moment, a servant came passed. For their benefit, Jessa asked, “Is there anything I can help you with…”

“Duan.”

“…Duan?” Jessa finished. She eyed the servant out of the corner of her eye. He seemed harmless enough, paying Jessa little attention as he made his way to the end of the corridor. Jessa felt something touch her hand, and she flinched before realising Duan was trying to pass her something. She took it carefully, slipping it up her sleeve.

“A man came calling for you this morning. He wouldn’t say his name so he was turned away. A short nobleman, blon-”

“Larend,” Jessa said. She nodded, forcing out a smile as her back tensed. “Thank you, Duan.” She shut the door before he could say anything else, then leaned against it. She hadn’t expected Larend to come, not after their last meeting. Jessa hadn’t understood why he had been so determined to help her, but she hadn’t been able to accept it. So she had ran. Jessa closed her eyes in shame. She always ran. When would she stop running? Or, at least, start running in the right direction?

She shook her head. For whatever reason Larend had tried to see her, it couldn’t have been too important otherwise. He could wait. Jessa pulled the note from her sleeve and smoothed it out. It was in Laurita’s hand.

He’s fine.

There was nothing else. Jessa swallowed against the hurt in her chest. She had brought this upon herself. Laurita’s frustration was clear in the jagged spike of her e’s and f, and in the shortness of the message, and Jessa couldn’t blame her for it. It hurt, but it was Jessa’s own doing. She began to crumple up the note, when she saw the faint writing on the other side. She lifted it closer.

Soldiers leaving city.
Guarding five wagons.
Cargo unknown.

At least, Jessa thought that was what it said. The letters were squashed together so they would fit on the scrap of paper. Jessa screwed the paper into a ball and threw it on the fire. She watched it burn, and then she went to get dressed, her head full of questions. Knowing there was an hour before Alrick’s audiences, Jessa made for the library. She had to know why the general was marching for Solridge Bay. What was there?

The library was silent, the dust in the air thick. Jessa sneezed as she strode over to the far corner of the first room where she would find all the atlases of the known world. She reached above her head for her favourite and dropped it onto the desk in the nook beside the shelves. Dust flew up around her and into her nose. She sneezed again.

She leafed through the pages until she found the one she was looking for. The map of north-western Etrene spread before her. First there was Ovis. She followed the southern road down with her finger, then continued past it when the main road dipped to the east. A little below it was the coast, and in small letters, she found Solridge Bay. A number followed the name, and Jessa flipped to the page. An artist’s sketch greeted her, showing her the valley leading to the sea. The river that had once flown through it had long since dried, leaving behind a rocky, sea-slicked ground and the cliffs rising above it. A foul, sickly taste rose in Jessa’s mouth as she realised what it was. A perfect place for an ambush, if the Novarians had nowhere else to run. Jessa’s heart was in her throat as she slammed the book closed and scrambled to her feet. She shoved the book back in its place.

She hurried, as much as she was able without arousing suspicion, back to her room. She was careful to avoid anywhere Alrick could be at that time. If he found her, he might read her mind and learn what she knew.

Duan stood at his post by her door. She nodded at him, flicking her gaze between him and her room as she pushed open her door. The door clicked shut as she went to her desk and grabbed paper and a pen. She scribbled her message quickly, the letters messy and barely legible. She folded the note and kept it hidden by her palm as she leaned forward and pushed the glass sitting at the edge of the table onto the floor. It shattered on the stones. As if on cue, Duan pushed open the door, looking about frantically. “My lady, are you okay?”

She waved off his concern with a wave of her hand, letting him see the piece of paper tucked in her palm. “I’m fine. The glass just fell is all.”

Jessa bent to collect the broken shards. Duan joined her, although she protested his help. As they cleared the mess, she slipped the note to him. She could only hope Nayall’s people could get it to the Novarians before it was too late. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Duan unfold the note carefully. He read it, his eyes going wide. He blurted out, “You’re-”

“Yes.” Jessa’s voice was high and tight. She glared at Duan pointedly; she hardly wanted him shouting her association with Novamor to the world. It did nothing for the niggle at the back of her mind, the one that whispered to her that everything she had learned might be fake – a trap to prove she was committing treason. It didn’t really matter; too many lives were at stake for Jessa to stand by.

Shaking her head, Jessa stood with the pieces of glass held carefully in her hand. After throwing them away, she turned back to the guard. His expression was wary and confused, but there was also admiration in his eyes that made Jessa turn away. She didn’t need or want to be admired. Hurriedly, she said, “Thank you, Duan. That’ll be all.” She put her hand on the open door, nodding to it for good measure.

Duan pushed the note under his sleeve as he returned to his post outside her room. Alone, Jessa pushed aside the nerves bubbling in her chest. She hated that she had no control over the information anymore, that she had to trust someone else to deliver it soon. It was out of her hands.

***

“Jessa.”

Jessa jumped at her name, her blood running cold with dread. She turned to face Alrick, who stood at her door. Trying to calm her racing heart, she got to her feet and curtseyed awkwardly. What did he want? And how had she not heard him open the door?

“Your Majesty?”

He turned around, gesturing over his shoulder for her to follow. Jessa stayed where she was, a strangely familiar foreboding creeping over her. She swallowed and tilted her chin as Alrick twisted to face her when he realised she wasn’t followed. “You will come with me, Jessa.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Out.” He turned around, his voice hard as he added, “You will come.”

Like a loyal dog, Jessa followed. True to his word, Alrick led her out of the castle through the servants’ door. Immediately outside was a darkened coach. Jessa stopped dead in the doorway, taking in the scene that lay before her. Alrick staring at her, his gaze as hard and unrelenting as stone. The coach, dark and nondescript, its destination unknown. Its door was held open by a young girl whose gaze was blank. Jessa swallowed. She knew what that meant. And she knew she couldn’t get into the carriage.

But she didn’t have a choice. Alrick stalked over to her, placing his hand on her back and giving her a small shove. Jessa stumbled, catching her fall on the handle on the inside of the door. She looked over her shoulder at Alrick and his impenetrable expression. He had her trapped. If she tried to run, he would stop her as easily as he would a fly – that was, if she even managed to take a step before he used magic on her to force her inside. She turned back to the coach and climbed inside. Better to do as he wanted of her own volition when her mind was still her own.

Alrick pressed in as soon as she was seated. He hit the roof and the coach lurched into motion. The coach rocked over the cobblestones, and with every jerk Jessa dreaded what was to come just a little more. She kept her gaze resolutely away from the king, staring at the drawn curtains and wondering where they were going. And why. Her skin itched, knowing the king was watching her. She fidgeted with her hands but still refused to look at him.

After a while, the coach tilted upwards and slowed. A hill. There were few in Ovis, and she knew they had not yet left the city because she could still feel the jerking from the cobbles. She gripped the cushion beneath her legs, digging her nails into the velvet. A few moments later, they rolled to a stop. Still, Jessa didn’t glance at Alrick. She felt the slight warmth of the sun on her skin as light flooded into the carriage.

“Get out,” Alrick said, now standing outside the carriage. Jessa waited as long as she dared before doing as Alrick said. She forced herself to look at him as she slid to the exit. As soon as she was in reached, the king snatched her arm and pulled her outside. Her leg scraped along the doorframe, and it was all Jessa could do not to wince. When he let go, her skin was white and ached just as her leg smarted. She kept her expression smooth and looked around. Her heart sank. She knew where she was.

Alrick was already heading up the small alleyway that lead to the cliffside that held her mother’s grave. Jessa swallowed hard. Her feet were rooted to the ground. She watched the king stride to the end of the alleyway and then disappear behind the houses. And then she realised; he was no longer watching her.

Springing into action, Jessa twisted around and made to run. But the girl from before stood in her way. There was still no expression on her face, no sign of anything. Jessa moved to the side and tried to run, but the girl, unobstructed by heavy clothing, was faster. She reached out and manhandled Jessa towards the alleyway entrance. Jessa violently shook her arm but the girl held fast. Her grip dug into Jessa’s skin until she gasped in pain. And then there was nowhere to go but up, boxed in as she was by the houses on either side and Alrick’s mind-controlled servant behind her. She cursed her uselessness as she walked, fear clutching her heart.

Beyond the alleyway was the short, twisting coast path that led to where Alrick now knelt. The ground was slick with mud from the winter’s snow and rainfall. The hem of her dress dragged and by the time she reached Alrick’s side, it was thick with dirt.

“Sit.” Alrick did not look up at her. When Jessa did not immediately acquiesce, the servant came over and pushed on her shoulders until Jessa dropped to the ground. The girl was strong. Jessa looked over her shoulder at her, but the servant now stood stoically at the start of the path, staring straight ahead. Jessa looked away and her gaze was drawn to the stone in the ground. Her mother’s name had weathered afters years of battering sea winds, but it was still just about visible. Jessa swallowed hard. Why had the king brought her here?

“Do you think your mother would be proud of you?”

Jessa’s heart fluttered in warning. She tried to speak, but her breath caught in her throat. Swallowing, she said, “I can’t know. I barely knew her.”

“You don’t think of how she would react to the things you do? How it would affect her had she lived?”

The lump in Jessa’s throat grew bigger. “I can’t possibly know it. And worrying how someone who is no longer here would think of me is no way to live.”

“Perhaps it should be.”

“Do you live by it, then?” It was a dangerous question, and one Jessa knew he wouldn’t answer as soon as the words fell from her lips. The king’s chin lifted and he stared at her. His eyes were cold.

“Your mother would have fought your marriage to the Marinon.” Jessa stiffened. A piece of dying grass she had torn from the ground fell limply from her hand. “I ignored her then.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Jessa said, as firmly as she could manage. The king’s gaze did not move from hers. She felt a pressure growing behind her eyes, and although she wanted to blink, she found she could not. Silence, heavy and tense, descended over them as Alrick’s gaze grew sharper and his fist clenched. After a few moments, he tore his gaze away and Jessa could breathe again. She sucked in air, her head drooping. She rested it in her hands as her temples throbbed.

“Memories. Strange things. It is remarkable how two people can witness the same thing and have completely different ideas about it. The way one person believe a kiss to be of love and the other believes it to be a nightmare.” Jessa didn’t look up, didn’t react. She couldn’t. “The way one sees an act of kindness when really it was just that, an act.”

Memories came to her, then, unbidden. For a brief moment, she thought the king had pulled them from her mind, but he could not have done, for they were ones hidden behind the memory block, the ones the king could not even know were there. Rhys, smiling at her as her world fell apart when she learned she had caused the death of an innocent man. His grin leeched into her skin. Instinctively Jessa closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her legs, but it did nothing to stop the memory. She told herself Rhys had changed, but in the face of that unrelenting glee at her sadness, it was almost impossible to believe.

Another memory. Merai, choking the life out of her. Rhys, lifting his sword. Jessa’s vision blurred as she gasped for oxygen, but right before the hands left her throat she felt the steel edge of a blade against her skin. Presently Jessa’s brows furrowed. The memory clung to her, but something about it seemed wrong. What was it? She couldn’t tell. She watched as Rhys left the room, leaving her alone with Merai. Leaving her to pick herself up from the floor as she wheezed.

She barely had time to breathe before she saw Cair’s face in her mind. She gripped the ground as fear gripped her heart. Rhys stood behind him, a knife in his hand. The Jessa in the memory cried out for her friend, but it was not Cair for whom Rhys was aiming. Cair jumped in front of her and the knife pierced his shoulder. It had been all they could do to escape before Rhys attacked her.

Cair, dead in a chair. He was her friend, she remembered, and Rhys had killed him. Cair had wanted to help her get away from the Marinons, and Rhys had destroyed that hope. Rhys laughed, the sound echoing in her mind as the memory faded.

It was some time later now, for she could see Kieran standing beside Rhys and Selene. Kieran’s voice floated to her from her hiding place. ”I'd always liked you two together.” Jessa frowned at the unfamiliar scene. She did not remember it, but here it was in her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. The memory continued, and Kieran left Selene and Rhys alone in the shadows. They kissed passionately, but unlike the time she remembered in the library on her first night in Jasrah, there was no desperation. It was familiar, as if it happened often. Rhys had told her that Selene and he were finished after that day, but she could see now it had been a lie. Selene, eventually, pushed him away. She heard her tell him that what they were doing was wrong, that he had to learn to love Jessa. Rhys words came without pause. “I can’t.”

Rhys and Selene, saying goodbye as Jessa and the rest of the Marinons waited on the ship that would take them to Novamor. They held hands and stood too close, but no one seemed to notice. Not even Jessa, but now it was clear to her. Jessa pushed the memory away, but another took its place. Niraya now, sitting alone with Rhys on a rooftop. This couldn’t possibly be her memory, and yet it somehow was. Jessa pressed her hands into her eyes, confusion welling inside her. She remembered this, she was sure, or else how could it be her memory? She listened as Rhys and Niraya talked of Selene, saw the way Rhys smiled and the way it turned to ash when Niraya questioned him about Jessa. He laughed at Niraya’s suggestion that Jessa clearly had feelings for him. The cruel sound ripped her heart in two.

Then she and Rhys were alone, in a room grander than any she had seen. Rhys leaned forward and kissed her, and though the kiss was sweet, Jessa now saw it as the poison it was. Rhys pulled away and left the room. The memories faded, leaving Jessa’s head spinning.

Come with me, a gentle voice said in her mind. Jessa stood willingly, taking the hand she saw in front of her. They walked to the edge of the cliff, and Jessa stared down at the sea crashing against the rocks below. She peered closer, her feet teetering over the edge. Stones plummeted down. A hand yanked her away from the edge. “You don’t want to die, Jessa,” the king said in her ear.

Jessa’s heart was racing as she realised where she was. What was she doing here? She stumbled backwards, knocking into the king. She shook terribly as she pushed herself away from him. The king waited patiently, a calm and gentle expression on his face. Jessa hunched over like a timid cat about to scarper. “What-”

“You’re okay now,” the king said. He reached out. “Let’s take you home.”

Jessa took a step away from him. For a moment, the king’s gaze flickered into annoyance before the mask descended again. He held out his hand again. “Let me help you.”

Jessa dropped her gaze, finding herself looking down at her mother’s gravestone. She remembered then, the long, cold nights after her mother’s death. She remembered someone holding her in a warm, comforting embrace as she cried. She remembered soothing words whispered in her ear by a familiar voice, singing lullabies to help her to sleep. Her eyelids flickered, and in the moment before she succumbed to sleep, she saw the king’s face – her father’s face – looking down at his young daughter fondly.

She was not so young now, but she felt as fragile and disoriented. Her head ached, and she had no idea why. Her father still held out his hand, waiting for her. She took it slowly, and let him lead her away.

[Rosabeth]

Time passed and life went on. It was not a usual life, nothing Rhys had ever known, but as a week came and passed since his escape things slowly began to go back to normal. By a week his legs were working fairly normally, and though he was still confined to bed for most of the day by his mother walking was far less arduous. His heart grew stronger by the day - though it was still too slow – and breathing became second nature rather than labored. In a single week he’d gained back a good deal of the weight he’d lost, though given how little he continued to eat it could not have been all from food. It was as if the magic had quite literally eaten him bit by bit, hoping one day to leave him as nothing more than a skeleton. Rhys’ mother interpreted the damage done by magic a bit more literally than did he, and as such nothing containing magic was allowed anywhere near him, including people. Laurita continued her visits but only to speak with Vyserene and Anja. It was a ridiculous rule in Rhys’ eyes, but given his rapid recovery he had no evidence against its effectiveness.

Most days were spent in relative solitude, Rhys being encouraged to sleep as often and for as long as possible. In his waking hours he played cards with Anja and reminisced about his childhood with his mother, and for some time it felt as if he was living someone else’s life. He watched his mother struggled to cook – in honesty he had not known she knew how– and Anja protest at washing the clothes, the two of them disappearing to market each day with their faces’ concealed, and he wondered if this was the life he’d never known, a life without politics and danger and cutthroat competition. It was a pleasant reprieve but it would not last. This was not the life he’d been born into. There was to be neither peace nor normalcy in his life. Outside war waged and danger awaited and there would be no rest of it. That was Rhys’ life – not this.

Rhys woke up one morning to find that the bitter chill that usually greeted him was absent, and through the drawn curtains Rhys could see a rare beam of sunshine. He drew himself from bed and carefully peaked out the window. The sun was up – a rare occurrence in an Ovisian winter – and some of the snow was beginning to melt. Rhys felt a brief flutter of excitement at the sight of spring before realizing what it meant. With no snow and frost both armies would move more quickly, and though a warmer climate meant better conditions for Novamor, it also meant easier movement for Etrene who already had the upper hand on the terrain. Spring meant the quickening of the war and whatever that would bring.

The house was silent as Rhys slowly went from room to room. Anja’s usual place in the drawing room was empty, but it was far from uncommon. Ever since their mother’s arrival Anja had spent much of her time with Laurita and Nayall attempting to track down a dream walker like the one Rhys and Jessa had once used. His mother had used one shortly after Anja left Jasrah to attempt to locate Kieran. She’d spoken to him while he’d been imprisoned in the same place as Rhys, but according to her he’d not seemed particularly concerned. He’d noted seeing Rhys, of hearing his screams, and spoke little of himself. Alrick had visited him twice, both times to question him, but both times Alrick had come up with nothing. Unlike with Rhys there was no torture and Alrick left with little fanfare. It appeared that Kieran was little more than a piece in Alrick’s more elaborate plan but of no real use. Rhys wagered the lack of torture was likely due to a hesitance to involve Aquena in Alrick’s already stretched-thin war. The last thing Alrick needed was a fleet of Aquena’s notoriously fast warships at his coast all because he laid a finger on a prince who was only eighth in line to the throne. Still, they had no idea whether he remained in the dungeon, had been tortured due to Rhys’ escape, or had quietly been released, and Anja had been going positively mad with the uncertainty.

Knowing exactly where his mother would be Rhys lazily made his way to the kitchen, the smell of freshly baked wafting into the hallway. He hovered in the doorway, his mother’s back to him, waiting to announce his presence when he saw it. At first he noticed nothing, there being no sound, but then he saw it again. Her shoulders heaved, her whole body trembling as she stood against the table with her hands pressed out flat. Her head was hung and every so often one hand would move to her face and Rhys would hear a strange strangled noise. It hit him with a sad realization, one that took far too long to come to given that it was such a foreign sight. His mother was crying.

Rhys made no sound or movement but eventually his mother seemed to sense his presence, she turned quickly, wiping at her eyes quickly to eliminate all evidence of tears even though her eyes were still red and sore looking. She shook her head and took a deep sigh, straightening up. “There’s bread on the table and I’m brewing some water for tea, so you - ” her voice caught mid sentence. She put one finger up to her lips, maybe biting it, and pressed her eyes closed.

“Mother - ”

“I’m fine.”

Rhys knew a lie when he heard one, but in this instance he did not even need to hear her words to know the truth. Before she could get another poor lie out he wrapped his mother tightly in a hug. In all his memories it had been him wrapped in his mother’s arms, so much smaller and only a boy, and now it was he who felt like the adult. She buried her face in the crux of his neck and began to sob, a full-body shaking sob that left her gasping for air. It was terrifying for Rhys to see his mother so bare and cut down, so unlike the unbreakably strong larger-than-life woman he’d believed her to be all his childhood. Yet it was not that she was no longer strong. She was by far the strongest woman he knew, yet she had also known unbelievable grief. Just the fact that she continued on each day as if nothing happened, carrying on for everyone around her, was proof enough.

When her sobs quieted and her shaking calmed she withdrew from Rhys’ arms but held his hands still as if holding on for dear life. Her eyes were hollow and red and her face slack. When she looked at Rhys her lip trembled, her grip on his hands growing tighter.

“No parent should ever have to bury their child.”

Rhys’ heart sank. He too woke up each morning only to face the reality that Dima was gone from them forever. He too felt the pain of loss that would never heal. He knew what it was like to lose someone he loved. What he did not know was his mother’s pain. He did not ever want to know that pain.

Suddenly his mother’s face morphed into almost a smile, though a cold one at that. A laugh followed, but it was hollow and hard, cutting deep like a knife. “You know, I thought it was a joke. Something your father used to talk about like a child’s ghost story. Not something to be taken seriously. ‘The Marinon Curse’ was what he called it. A curse placed on this family as a sacrifice to the Gods for the wealth and power bestowed upon us. Each generation a child would be taken – murdered, usually – as payment. Of course, no one really believed it was punishment by the Gods. No one believed in the Gods. But it happened. You know of your uncle’s death, the death that allowed your father to become heir. And his father’s brother as well, and his grandfather’s sister. On and on for the past eight generations. One child each time killed in needless fighting, in assassinations, in murders and even by accident, but without fail one would die before their twenty-fifth birthday. Of course, when I had children I never thought it would happen to me. I thought all the deaths were preventable if only the children stayed out of street brawls and kept safe from those who would seek to harm them. They’d stay safe if I trained them to fight and protect themselves. But what good did that do? Dima had no chance to fight for his life. He was stabbed from behind by a coward.” Her voice shook, ringing out as deep as a man’s voice.

Rhys felt the pain in every word clawing at his own chest. He could not bear to look away or withdraw his hands, frozen in place by his mother’s stare. She shook her head again and repeated that same strangled laugh, this time broken by a sob threatening to come out.

“It’s no curse, though. There’s never been a curse. This is the price we pay for what we have. No man comes to power without making enemies, without feeling loss. If I could…” Rhys’ mother paused on her words, biting her lip. “Well, no, I wouldn’t. I was about to say that if I could go back in time to when I was only twenty, when my family was first arranging for my marriage, I would say no. But I wouldn’t. I love your father and if it weren’t for him I would not have you or your sister or your brother. I would not give you up for anything. But the power? The money? It’s not worth this pain. Nothing in the world is possibly worth this pain.”

Rhys’ face was then in his mothers’ hands but she no longer held on with a tight, fearful grip. She brushed his cheek gently, and as she looked into his eyes with the slightest smile he wondered if she was seeing him or Dima. “You will have children one day, Rhys, and then you will understand. And whatever you do please do not put them in harms way as I have done with you.”
Rhys could hardly bear it. “Please don’t blame yourself.” He rested one hand on hers, trying to manage a smile. “You have been the best mother I could have ever asked for. This is not your fault. It is not your fault that Dima was murdered.”

“But was it not our fault that we killed many who also had families who grieved for them?”

This silenced Rhys. There was no good response; there was no way he could act as though their situation was special. Perhaps every death on their hands had not been done in cold blood as had Miriyam’s murder of Dima, but that did not make them blameless. No matter what Anja said and no matter what justifications they made, they were all killers too. They were not good people – they never had been.

“Don’t let this take over your life,” his mother sighed. “Not as your father has done. It’s not worth the grief you will surely feel. It is not worth the sacrifices you will have to make. When this is all over – and it will end – I want you and Jessa to leave this. I don’t care what you do or where you go, but please give my grandchildren the safety and the life I wish I would have given you.”

It was not until her final words that Rhys’ sadness began to manifest into something completely different. The anger that welled up in him was completely unexpected yet consumed him entirely. This war was not his mother’s doing. Novamor’s move on Etrene, the Lanis’ takeover, his own capture and now Jessa’s danger were all responses to his actions. It was he who had a hand in all this suffering and misfortune, not his mother. It was he who was going to end this.

“Get some water.”

His mother’s expression grew bewildered but at that point he was no longer focusing on her. He moved as quickly to his room as possible, heading straight for the blank sheets of parchment and his old bloodied clothes topped with the ring and the shard of metal still coated in Alrick’s blood. When he returned to the kitchen the table had been cleared and a small cup of water set out. His mother waited expectantly, likely already guessing his plan. He set the clothes off to the side and grabbed a plate from a cupboard. The blood was coated thick and was easy enough to scrape off with only a fingernail onto the plate. His mother took his old shirt and began working on the newest bloodstains first, dampening the cloth before ringing it out into a small bowl. It left but a watery substance only half blood, but Rhys guessed that would be enough. When she was done Rhys added the dried blood into the wet mix and stirred it all together until it was somewhat redder but no thicker. Rhys knew little about this sort of magic. He knew of blood books and jewelry but had never seen loose pieces of parchment so enchanted. He laid them out neatly, unsure if they were all bound with magic or if they contained anything at all.

“Are you sure this will work?” His mother asked as she handed him the bowl.

“No.” Rhys took a spoon to the blood, withdrawing only a few drops worth. He stared at the parchment, unsure how to continue. He reached for the ring, but as he moved to slip it on his finger it was pried from his grasp.

"Not in your condition." With a reproachful stare his mother reached out and took the blood from him as well, pouring it carefully into the crevices of the ring's engraving before sliding it on. A lack of agonized screams was all Rhys need to know that the magic was working. The moment his mother's hand grazed the first sheet of parchment she let out a low gasp. To Rhys nothing had changed. The parchment remained blank to his eyes, but it was clear his mother was seeing something very different. She reached out with her other hand for the largest sheet, crouching down until her nose was nearly touching the paper.

"Ok, you have to tell me what's going on."

"It's very strange," she breathed, her eyes narrowed. "To be perfectly honest I'm not sure what I'm looking at. It's a map of Novamor, clearly, and that one," she pointed at the sheet on her left, "looks to be Barichea. There's groups of dots that seem to be...vibrating? Some seem to be moving very slowly across the page."

"Can I please use the ring? This is torturous."

"Do you have no sense of self-preservation? After what happened to you do you really -" Her words faded into the background, for at that moment Rhys' hand laid on top of his mother's and the papers came to life. Rhys' hand tightened into a vice grip, ignoring his mother's protests. What lay before him was exactly as she'd described. Intricately drawn maps filled the pages before his eyes. He grazed each sheet with his free hand, watching in awe as they all came to life before his eyes. It was the whole world mapped out before him. Not all sheets were maps, as he soon realized, for one by one sheets began to fill with writing. Half remained blank, simply parchment he’d grabbed on accident, while others filled with a roster of unfamiliar names. Rhys’ heart began to beat faster than it had in weeks. He and his mother locked eyes, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Reluctantly Vyserene turned over her hand, allowing Rhys to weave his fingers with hers. In that moment it was as if a film had been removed from his sight and the world was immersed into illustrious detail. Rivers and mountains were drawn with beautiful precision, cities detailed down to individual alleys and buildings in the smaller maps. The sudden feeling of nails digging into the back of his hand pulled him from his reverie.

“Rhys, look at this!” his mother exclaimed, handing him the largest piece of parchment in the mix. It was so unlike the others they might have been entirely different things. Whereas the others had but five or six stationary dots this one had at least a hundred dots buzzing about. It was a map of Etrene, but as Rhys quickly realized only of the northern half. The largest concentration centered on Ovis with two of the dots - both inside the castle – were labeled. They were unfamiliar to Rhys yet, as none of the other dots were labeled, must have held some importance.

“Jasrah’s on this one." Another map slid in front of Rhys. Much like the map of northern Etrene this one had a fair number of marks, but not as many as Ovis. Still, Rhys recognized immediately the parts of the city where two more labeled dots roamed, recognition dawning as he read the names. A fifth and sixth map showed Aquena and Antascia, though their appeared comparatively sparse. Rhys brown furrowed, his eyes flickering back and forth between the maps, sure he was missing something. By the time the truth dawned he felt like a fool for not seeing it immediately.

“It’s Alrick’s men. His mage circle.”

His mother stared at the maps in surprise, clutching the one that showcased Jasrah. “All of them?”

“All of them. And he’s even been as kind as to mark his commanders.” Rhys could hardly believe their luck. This was better than anything he’d been expecting, anything he could have possibly dreamed up. With this information they might actually end this war. Many groups of dots moved along what Rhys knew to be terrain occupied by Etrene’s army. Even if there was no other information to be drawn from the maps, what Rhys held was essentially a look into Alrick’s mind, a fully animated view of his battle plans and the movements of his most dangerous soldiers. With these maps Novamor could not only end the war, they could win it.

[Mollianne]

Headaches weren’t supposed to last this long, were they? Jessa pressed a cool glass of water against her head and sighed. She stared at a knot on the corner of her desk. It was not long before her eyes began to water. She squeezed them shut and tried to ignore her pounding head. Even the coolness against her brow was not helping. Jessa set the glass down clumsily on the desk, wincing as it knocked loudly against it. After a moment, there was another knock. Jessa frowned hard. She hadn’t done that.

Another rapid succession of knocks, this time much more insistent. Oh, the door. Jessa rubbed her temples and ignored the nerves fluttering in her stomach. She was fine. It was just a bad headache; that made it difficult to think.

“Come in,” Jessa said. She winced, though she knew she had not spoken loudly. A servant pushed open the door and curtseyed perfunctorily. She thrust the breakfast tray towards Jessa, barely making sure Jessa had a grip on it before letting it go. Jessa bit her lip. “Sorry, I didn’t hear.”

The girl ignored her. She indicated the tray with a nod. “You’ve a letter too. Good day, my Lady.”

She was gone before Jessa could thank her. The door swung shut with a bang, making Jessa gasp. Rubbing her brows again, Jessa glanced at the letter on the tray. Without even picking it up she knew it had been intercepted. Whoever had read it had not even bothered to reseal it. If that was how the king wanted to play it, Jessa was not going to argue. She lifted the letter close to her face and read her name: Princess Jessa du Rene. Oh, she hated that name. The hand was not one she recognised. She flipped it over and slid the parchment out of the envelope.

Dear Jessa,

I know that, last we spoke, things were a little tense between us. But I’m worried about you, Jessa. I heard about the attack and you’ve barely been seen since.

If you would, meet me in the castle grounds by the south gate at midday. I’ll wait for you for half an hour. There’s a nice little pond down there, and maybe it’s thawed by now.

Don’t reply. Just please, meet me.

Yours,
Larend.

Jessa set the letter aside. The last time she’d spoken to Larend, she’d told him that the king had let her mother die and allowed Catrice to walk free. She’d told him that she had known about it and done nothing. Yet despite all of that, even at the time he had worried about her. He’d asked whether her secrets would get her killed, and wanted to help, but she’d refused. He had just lost his mother – and for the very same cause that would probably end in Jessa’s death too. Larend would be too closely watched by the king. How could he help her and not just get himself killed instead? Jessa didn’t want his blood on her hands. He was her friend.

She glanced at the letter again, then put her aching head in her hands. She remembered Laurita’s words. Do you know he won’t want to see you? Have you asked him? Or have you just made that decision for him, Jessa, because you don’t want to face him? They had been meant for Rhys, but in the end in was the same. If Larend wanted to get involved in this, it was his choice and not Jessa’s. Jessa needed allies; it was one of the reasons she had come to this wretched city. Larend was someone she could trust. He was the only person she knew who definitely had a reason to be angry with the king. Sure, maybe he was being watched, but the king had deemed his letter to Jessa innocent enough, so perhaps he did not view Larend as a threat.

And if it turned out that Larend simply was worried about her health? Well, maybe the fresh air would do her head some good.

Still, when midday came, Jessa found herself hesitating. She was dressed, her winter cloak wrapped tightly around her and a hat on her head to stave off the cold, but she just stared at the door. What would she tell him? Could she really trust him?

With a huff, Jessa pulled open her door and stormed down the corridor. She was being ridiculous. If she could not trust Larend with any of this, she wouldn’t find a soul in Ovis who she could either. She hurried out of the castle and into the weak sunshine. She stared up at the sun, basking in its glow after months of grey, but a sharp pain behind her eyelids reminded her of her headache – as if she could forget. She bowed her head and set off down the path towards the south gate. The withered grass was bent with the frost, but the snow was surely melting. Spring would soon be upon them. Would war soon be too?

Jessa looked up as she neared the south gate. The pond Larend had mentioned lay a little to its left, and sure enough Larend stood beside it. As Jessa came closer, her footsteps crunching the gravel, he did not even react. It was not until she was practically beside him that Larend looked over. Their gazes locked, and Larend smiled. Relief shone in his eyes. She had not even greeted him when he pulled her into a hug. Jessa stiffened, just for a moment, before she told herself it was foolish and hugged him back. Larend, who had clearly been about to pull away, instead whispered, “You came. You’re okay.”

Jessa stayed in his arms for a heartbeat more. She had never been one for hugs, but she had grown used to it with Laurita. She had missed having someone who cared, even if it was her own fault that that was the reality of her life now. Jessa pulled away from Larend and cleared her throat. “I’m okay.”

Larend’s gaze dropped to her neck. She had forgone the bandage a few days ago, and the wound was no more than a scar. Still, when Larend looked back up at her, he looked worried. Jessa waved her hand. “It’s nothing.” Larend just raised his eyebrows. “Well, obviously it’s not nothing. But I’m still here.”

Larend opened his mouth, but barely a breath later he shut it and looked back out at the pond. Jessa breathed a sigh of relief. She really did not want to talk about that night. At all.

“Jessa-”

“Should we take a walk?” Jessa interrupted, gesturing to the path that meandered around the pond and then broke off to hug the walls surrounding the castle grounds. Larend’s smile was a thin line, but he nodded and proffered his arm for Jessa to take. They walked in silence for a while, only broken by the faint sounds of the castle and city beyond in full life, happy that winter was drawing to a close. She could feel Larend getting more and more antsy as they walked. They were nearing the west gate now.

Inevitably, Larend broke. He said, under his breath, “I didn’t just ask you to meet me for a nice walk.”

Jessa nodded. Any illusion she may have had that Larend had just wanted to check she was okay had evaporated when he had said her name. But the castle grounds were not the place. Instead of replying quietly, Jessa spoke normally. “You’re right, of course. It’s too cold to stay out long.” Jessa shivered. “Should we head inside for some tea? It looks like we’re closer to your house than the castle now.”

Larend looked behind him, and then at Jessa. She smiled at him innocently. Jessa had not lied. The castle grounds were so expansive that it really would be quicker for them to simply duck out of the west gates and take shelter in the Janes’ manor. Larend shook his head, and Jessa guessed he had realised what she was doing. Her smile faltered slightly. Was she really doing this?

“Come on, then,” Larend said. Together they left the castle, but Jessa could not help looking back. Inside there was safety and relying only on herself. Out here, she had to trust someone. She glanced at Larend. His jaw jutted forward in determination, and there was a surety in his eyes as they climbed the steps to his front door. She had chosen the right person. She knew she had.

Larend’s house was dark. Jessa remembered that all but a few guards had left with the rest of the family. He gestured for her to follow him, turning off the main hallway into a small sitting room. Unlike the last time she had been there, the fire still burned in the grate. One of the guards waited beside it, presumably to ensure it did not set the house ablaze.

“Thank you, Rowan,” Larend said, dismissing the guard. Jessa looked at Larend. Of course he would be the kind of person to know the names of the people in his employ. Jessa wondered if Elissa could name even her handmaiden. Despite the terrible circumstances under which it had happened – Jessa swallowed hard, refusing to think of him – she was glad Larend and Elissa would no longer marry. Perhaps they would have been fine. Jessa had never expected anything in her own marriage to turn out as it had – although she wasn’t really sure what that was anymore. Jessa’s world spun, and she pressed a hand to her head as it throbbed painfully. Now was not the time. Jessa moved, busying herself with putting more firewood on the fire. She could feel Larend behind her, waiting. They were both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Larend sighed. “What changed your mind?”

Jessa bit her lip, carefully placing the last piece of wood down before straightening and facing Larend. “You have as much of a right to choosing the future of this country as I do, as anyone.” Jessa shrugged. “The only reason I couldn’t tell you was because I didn’t want to put you in danger. But that isn’t my choice.”

She took a step forward, keeping her gaze firmly on Larend even as she wanted to look away. “You have to know, Larend, this is more dangerous than you can possibly imagine. What I’m doing… You shouldn’t choose it lightly. It’s… taken so much from me, but I went into this knowing that would happen and was willing to accept it so that Etrene can be better. You-” Jessa shook her head. She didn’t know what else to say. She watched Larend helplessly.

“If you’re in danger, I can help-”

“No, Larend,” Jessa burst out. Her hands flailed uselessly at her side. “That isn’t what I need. I need to stay here. This is where I have to be. I know this isn’t making any sense.” Finally, she turned away. She sat heavily on the sofa. A moment later, she felt the cushions dip as Larend sat beside her.

She had to trust him. But before Jessa could speak, Larend asked quietly, “Are you going to kill him?”

Jessa stared at him. His eyes were flinty, and behind that Jessa could see anger. She shifted slightly. She may not have known Larend all that long, not really, but she had never seen Larend like this. She swallowed, clasped her hands together to stop herself fidgeting. “He doesn’t deserve his throne. He’s done so much – he’s evil, Larend. I don’t think I can know or imagine all the horrors he’s caused. The people of Etrene need him gone. They need to know the truth and get the justice they deserve for the crimes he’s committed against them.”

“What crimes?”

Where did she start? How much could she say? Jessa shook her head. “I- He…” She just had to say it. “Our king would have you believe that Greater magic is a crime, punishable by death. His men go around the country, and they rip people from their lives and families. They think they’re going to die, for a simple accident of birth. Their families will never see them again. But Alrick, he – he doesn’t want them dead. He gives them a choice: work for him or die. They choose life but what they end up with isn’t a life. They have no free will, only a mindless need to serve him and terrorise the people into submission. The king is a hypocrite, Larend. He’s gone to war with Novamor because they lifted the ban on magic when he forces mages from all over the world to commit atrocities on his behalf. He doesn’t hate magic – he just wants to be the only one with that power at his disposal.”

Jessa couldn’t tell him that Alrick was himself a mage. Maybe she had hinted at it, but for now, she could not reveal that. She glanced at Larend nervously. His eyes were closed, his brows furrowed. Did Larend even know Greater magic existed? Surely he knew of it, but only from recent stories about Novamor.

Larend said nothing. Jessa waited, hoping she hadn’t made a mistake. No, she knew she hadn’t. Larend was a good person. But she couldn’t take the silence. “Etrene needs a better ruler than him. We need someone who won’t lie to us, use us and hurt us.”

“Did my mother know?” Larend asked suddenly. Jessa blinked.

“Larend, I… I don’t know.”

Larend nodded. Then he kept nodding. Jessa doubted he even realised he was doing it. He stood and went to the fireplace. She watched him watch the flames lick at the charring wood in the grate. After what felt like an age, he turned to her. His eyes had flames inside them and Jessa was transfixed. “There’s more, isn’t there?” Jessa opened her mouth but Larend put a hand up to stop her. “I don’t want to know, not yet.”

Jessa clung to that word. She kept her gaze on Larend as he came back to the sofa and sat down. “What do you need me to do?”

Jessa bowed her head and let out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding in. She reached out and took Larend’s hand. They looked at each other, and Jessa saw her determination mirrored in him. “I don’t have much power here-”

Larend laughed mirthlessly. “I think you’re a bit too late coming to me there.”

“You still have more influence than I do,” Jessa insisted. “I’m nothing here. But you know these people. And we need allies. If we’re to overthrow the king, we need the nobles on our side, both to get rid of him and to support whatever comes next. I don’t even know where to start.”

“My mother.” Jessa stared at him. Larend swallowed hard. His mother’s death was still so fresh. Jessa gripped his hand tighter and she felt him squeeze back. “She can’t have been working alone, right?” Jessa nodded. She knew that to be true. She’d spent most of her time in Ovis spying on people for Maira. “Maybe somewhere in all of this,” he said, gesturing at the house with his free hand, “Maybe she left something.”

Jessa doubted Magrethe would be so kind or so foolish to leave anything that could link her and any other nobles together, not in any obvious way, but she didn’t say so. “Maybe. But you know more about these people than you think, too. You may not even think about it, but you know which families stick together, who hates each other, things you can only know after spending your life in this world.”

Larend nodded. Jessa got the feeling that Larend just wanted an excuse to look through his mother’s belongings. She could hardly blame him. She cleared her throat, drawing his attention. “I should probably go. I shouldn’t be out of the castle too long.”

“Oh, right.” Larend nodded and stood, pulling Jessa up with him. She coughed and withdrew her hand from his. They walked out of the sitting room and back into the dark hallway.

“I’d probably stay away from the castle for a while,” Jessa said quietly.

“I wasn’t planning on going there anyway. I don’t think I’m particularly welcome.” Jessa hummed in agreement. She had her hand on the doorknob when Larend touched her shoulder hesitantly. “I’m not the only one who should really stay away.”

Jessa smiled sadly. “I’ll be fine.”

Before Larend could say any more, Jessa opened the door and left. She pasted a smile on her face. “Thank you for the tea!” she called with a wave, before turning to the street and heading quickly for the castle. She did not slow until she was back within its walls.

In her room, there was another note on her desk. A shiver of fear ran down her back. It was a hand she knew, and a hand she loathed. She bent down to read it and then wished she hadn’t. He wanted to see her, immediately. Jessa took a deep breath and twisted on the spot. Her return to the castle would already be noted, so she doubted the king would leave her alone. Better to face him on her own terms.

As she walked through the halls, she tried to tell herself that he couldn’t possibly know what she had told Larend. Could he? And even if he did, would he do anything about it? He hadn’t done anything to her yet, as far as she knew. But Larend… No, Alrick did not know anything. Not yet.

She reached the door to his office before she was ready. She steeled herself, but before she could knock she heard a voice from within. “Come in.”

Jessa swallowed and pushed open the door. When Alrick saw her, a slow smile lifted his lips. Jessa swallowed again. There was nothing good in Alrick’s expression. Jessa wished she had not come, but she forced herself to move into the room. Alrick nodded at the chair and she sat heavily. She watched the king as he lifted a ream of parchment and handed it to her.

“What is this, Your Majesty?” she said quietly, taking it from him. She did not dare look down and read it for herself.

“Your freedom.”

Jessa’s mind raced, and she glanced down. She blinked, reading the words over and over without any comprehension. This… wasn’t happening. “You can’t do this without him.”

“Jessa, I’m the king. I can.” He handed her a pen, and Jessa took it silently. “What are the Marinons going to do? You’re no longer useful to them. Your marriage to Rhys Marinon is all but gone.”

Jessa nodded, but her throat tasted like ash. She remembered what Rhys had said once, that he barely even remembered they were married most of the time, that it didn’t feel like they were properly married. She stared at the words, at her name requesting divorce from Rhys. This wasn’t what Rhys had meant, she knew. It wasn’t what she wanted. The king knew it too. Jessa breathed shakily.

“You sign here,” Alrick said, pointing at the line. He was enjoying this. Jessa didn’t move.

It didn’t matter, she tried to tell herself. It was just a piece of paper, just as their marriage had been. It didn’t take away anything. But even as she thought it, she wasn’t so sure. Fears she hadn’t realised she still held were coming back to her. Would Rhys really want her if he wasn’t forced to be with her?

And then there was her magic. What she could do to him… Without her, he would be safer. He might refuse to admit it, but if he had a way out…

Jessa loved him, more than anything, and maybe this was the best thing she could do for him. Give him a choice at the end, just as Laurita had said.

Jessa picked up the pen and signed her name.

[Rosabeth]

Day by day Rhys regained his strength, and day by day he grew more restless. It felt as though he’d gone from one prison cell to another. From the moment he’d seen the maps illuminated before his eyes he was simply waiting around in anticipation. He’d written to Tula in urgency and though he knew his information would be a top priority each day that passed without word only increased his anxiety. He needed to feel useful again. He needed to do something. Sitting in the old house day in and day out was as much a torture as any he’d known

Thinking so disparagingly about his mother and sister’s care always filled Rhys with guilt. He should be grateful, he knew, to have family who would risk everything for his protection. He was grateful. He too knew that the house that felt like a prison to him most likely felt like a refugee to his mother. Isolation meant safety, and safety meant life. At the end of the day that was all Rhys knew he could ask for. Even still, Rhys could feel his sister growing just as restless day by day. She was even less used to this sort of restriction than he and their seemingly cordial relationship decayed by the day as her mood soured. Even his mother appeared increasingly anxious. He knew they both thought of his father and Jasrah. They’d only received word from him once since their arrival in Ovis, a short letter that carried little good news. While the fighting had ceased shortly after Anja’s departure the city was still a shell of its former self. The Lanis’ remained, their control absolute and their retribution fierce for those who stepped out of line. Rhys’ father did what he could but with so many noble families ripped apart by the bloodbath there was only so much to be done. Rhys ached to go home as much as his mother and sister, yet he knew he could not. His place was elsewhere. His place was on the battlefield.

Rhys sat in a chair near the only window they dare open, a spot he’d claimed from the moment he’d been allowed out of bed. Though a book sat in his lap it was ignored, having been open to the same page for an hour. Rhys had no focus these days, his mind constantly wandering. He thought often – mostly, if he was to be honest with himself – of Jessa. He’d heard nothing since their last meeting, not even secondhand through Laurita. If something was wrong you’d hear, he reminded himself. Jessa might not be popular at court but any major news involving a child of the king would be bound to spread instantaneously. Still, he could not help but worry. If even Laurita had proved unsuccessful at reaching her surely something was wrong. When they’d last talked Jessa had been visibly upset at his condition, horrified at the prospect of Greater Magic’s toll on him, but surely that could not be it. Surely she would not cut herself off purely out of misplaced guilt for his condition. Rhys sighed to himself. Of course she would. It was so very Jessa.

A rap on the door pulled Rhys from his thoughts. Anja appeared from seemingly nowhere in an instant, looking to Rhys in bewilderment. She crept to the door, peering through the eyehole before letting out a shriek that left Rhys feeling half deaf. She yanked open the door and was instantly pulled off her feet with a laugh. The moment Rhys saw the visitor a week’s worth of worry and anxiety swept away, his spirits soaring.

“Kieran.”

Kieran turned at hearing his name, pulling away from Anja’s embrace. By the time he made his way across the room Rhys had all but thrown himself at his uncle. He hugged Kieran tightly, a wave of relief rushing over him. Kieran was alright. Kieran was alive.

“Rhys, you’re…thin.” Kieran held Rhys out at arms distance, looking him up and down with a look Rhys knew all too well at this point. He was used to being inspected. He could practically predict the comments.

“Yes, well, compliments to Alrick.”

“You look tired.”

“I try not to sleep much anymore.”

An awkward silence enveloped the room as Kieran watched Rhys with trepidation. The unasked question hung between them and they both knew it.

“Just say it,” Rhys finally sighed. “Everyone else has. ‘Why did you come, Rhys? Why didn’t you tell someone?’” Rhys grimaced at his own tone. Kieran did not deserve his bitterness.

“I wasn’t going to.” Kieran smiled, putting a hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “You were brave, Rhys. A bit reckless, I’ll give you that, but brave. You did the right thing. I can’t fault you for that. I should be so lucky to have someone willing to go to such lengths for me. That I should have so many people willing to do so much.”

Rhys looked up at Kieran’s last words to see his mother standing in the doorway, tears brimming in her eyes. She rushed to Kieran, throwing her arms around him.

“Vysa, Vysa,” Kieran murmured, pulling Rhys’ mother closer. “I’m so sorry. I cannot imagine. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I should have been there for him. For you.”

It was clear they were not talking about Rhys anymore. Rhys shifted uncomfortably where he stood, catching Anja’s eyes across the room. She was fighting back tears. Emotional closeness had never been their forte, but when Rhys moved closer Anja closed the distance between them, resting her head on Rhys’ chest. It was such a foreign move for the two of them yet Rhys found himself stroking her hair as he felt her begin to shake. Even at the moment of Dima’s death in all her anguish Anja had not been this vulnerable. The strangeness of the moment was the only thing keeping Rhys from crying himself, his composure slipping with each of Anja’s sobs.

All throughout the afternoon the house stayed in a quiet reverence. Kieran was quieter than Rhys had ever seen him, his eyes empty of their usual excitement. Though Dima’s death had been more than a month ago at this point Rhys realized this was likely the first time Kieran had been able to truly mourn. Between his own time in the dungeons and his questioning by Alrick Kieran would have never had a true moment of peace. Rhys had spent so much time consumed in his own grief he’d never stopped to think that Kieran must have been silently grieving too. Kieran, always the ambassador, had always been there to hold everything together, to be the voice of reason when there was none. In this moment that Kieran was gone. This was a Kieran finally allowed to feel.

As the sun began to set another knock on the door awoke his family from their somber state. This time it was a knock they knew well. Anja sprung up to answer but Rhys was there first, holding out an arm. His mother frowned but Rhys would not hear her disapproval.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, much to his mother’s exasperation. “You can’t keep me away from mages forever. I’ll live.”

When Rhys opened the door Laurita looked as excited to see him as he’d been to see Kieran. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug tight enough to cut off his air supply. She grinned sheepishly as she pulled back, unable to pull the smile from her face. As she looked at the somber faces behind Rhys her smile faltered, replaced with embarrassment.

“I, uh, didn’t realize –“

“Don’t worry about it.” Rhys was happy for a distraction, especially one that came from a person he’d not seen in far too long. He ushered her quickly through the hallway to the backroom. When they were out of the watchful eyes of his family Rhys sighed, sinking into a chair. “I really hope you have good news.”

When Laurita pulled out the letter Rhys recognized the seal immediately, snatching it from Laurita’s grasp faster than was probably polite. He read quickly, his pulse quickening at the words. The queen was coming back to Etrene. She’d be waiting for him in less than a week. Rhys let out a sigh of relief. As he scanned the rest of the letter his heart skipped a beat as he read over the last few lines again and again.

“Good news?”

“Excellent. Better than I’d hoped. She filled my request.”

Laurita raised her brow. “Your request? Since when does she take requests?”

“I asked if it would be possible to have Ezaria Arcius arrested and brought forth for questioning. Apparently it’s more than possible. She’s being brought to Etrene.”

“Arcius?” Laurita mulled over the name, some recognition showing in her face. “From Asanos?”

“I believe she’s the one responsible for sending the Lanis’ to us.”

Laurita’s expression darkened at the mention. She had not been there for the massacre but she remembered the twins well. She may not have shared the same relationship with them as did Rhys, but he knew she must feel some betrayal. After all, she had trusted them to an extent too. She’d been there with them when the Novarian army arrived at Jasrah. She’d fought beside them.

In their silence Rhys couldn’t help letting his mind wander. Perhaps there was other information Laurita could give.

“You haven’t…”

“No.” The answer was swift, understanding dawning immediately. Laurita gave Rhys a half-hearted smile before frowning to herself. “She won’t let me see her. I think because she knows anything she tells me would get back to you. I don’t know why she’s being like this. I know she’s upset, but this?” Laurita threw up her hands in frustration. “This is dangerous. She’s never isolated herself like this before. What if it’s Alrick’s doing?”

Rhys did not want to think of that option. “Have you seen her?”

Laurita nodded and Rhys took a sigh of relief. “When I’m at the castle I see her from time to time, though I doubt she sees me. I change disguises often. She looks alright, Rhys. Not particularly happy but then again, neither do you. No one is right now. She’s safe, I suppose, and that’s all I know. She shouldn’t be doing this to you; it’s cruel.”

It was some comfort to know Jessa was safe and Rhys let himself think only of that. Laurita watched him expectantly, waiting for some kind of reaction to match her own frustration, but Rhys had not the energy. If Jessa needed time then time was what she would get. Rhys was well acquainted with waiting. He could wait a little longer.

If Rhys looked worn, Laurita looked just as bad. Her duties were clearly getting the better of her and he knew seeing with Jessa was one solace in her life. Rhys might be suffering but he at least had his family. Laurita had no such luxury.

“Laurita? Is Odaren…?” He paused awkwardly. There was no good way to breach the topic. Laurita shook her head.

“The same, mostly. Nayall is trying to help the best he can but there’s only so much to be done. Nayall escaped when the bond was broken so he doesn’t have much experience with those still under the spell’s control. He thinks the only way to get Oddie back is probably to kill whoever forced him into this position, but that might never happen.”

Rhys should have offered Laurita some sort of comfort but his mind was a million miles away. Nayall.How had he forgotten about Nayall? All this time spent focused on the maps, plotting as to how to use the information, and not once had Rhys thought to ask the only man known to have escaped a ring himself. He was a blind fool.

“Do you see Nayall much?” Laurita nodded in answer. “Could you ask him something for me? Today?”

“Rhys, what’s going - ”

“I’m leaving for the queen’s camp at nightfall. I have information regarding Alrick’s mages, a way to potentially break the chain of command. I think Nayall might be our best bet at being successful. Please, try to convince him to meet me. I know he has duties here but - ” Rhys paused. It felt manipulative to say it but Rhys was desperate. He needed to use every bit of persuasion at his disposal. “- there’s a chance he could help us find the person who enslaved Odaren.”

The words had their desired effect. Laurita’s eyes searched Rhys’ face for any hint of a lie, desperate to believe in what he said. Rhys stood silently, hoping he’d done the right thing. Finally, with a shaky breath, Laurita nodded. “I’ll go to him immediately. You’ll have your answer by nightfall.”

The moment Laurita was out the door Rhys began to pack. He stuffed what few possessions he had garnered at the house in a sack, careful to keep Alrick’s maps from ripping in his haphazard efforts. As he grabbed a pair of trousers he felt something hard in one of the pockets. He frowned. He did not remember having anything in the pockets. Reaching in, the moment his fingers clasped over the object his heart stopped, recognizing the smooth metal instantly. It was his wedding ring. No, it was both of theirs. He held the two rings in his open palm, tracing their edges with his fingertips. He’d left them in Jasrah before leaving for Ovis, knowing he couldn’t be seen wearing his. He closed his fist around them with a smile. He knew without asking it was his mother. Somehow she’d known. She always seemed to know. Without a second thought Rhys slid his onto his ring finger. Jessa’s…he stared down at the ring, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. A thin strip of leather sitting on the dresser caught his eye. Perhaps it was a silly thing to do but Rhys could not find reason to care as he slid the ring onto the leather, knotting the string behind his neck. He tucked the ring under his shirt, feeling the cool metal against his chest. If this was to be his sole connection to Jessa then he would take it. If he could feel like some small part of her was there then he would cherish the thought.

No sooner had he tucked away the ring he heard a cough from the doorway. Kieran stood under the arch watching Rhys speculatively. “Going somewhere?”

Rhys looked down at his pack with embarrassment. It did, he realized, look like he was running away. If he was being honest with himself that assessment wasn’t far from the truth.
“I received word from the queen. I’m needed at the front. I need to show her what I’ve discovered.”

For a long moment Kieran said nothing, looking backwards towards where Rhys knew his sister and mother to be. When he finally spoke it was with a sigh and a smile. “Let me come with.”

“What?”

“I’ve lived in the castle for six years. I’ve never exactly been a confidant of Alrick’s but I know how court works. I know more than you might think about how Alrick himself works. And, in any case, should anyone need knowledge of the layout of the castle or the best way in…well, I have plenty of experience with that too. Rhys, you’re not the only one who wants to feel useful. After the last few weeks, well, I’m out of a job and I want to help.”

Rhys couldn’t pretend to not enjoy the idea of having Kieran there yet something caused him to pause, narrowing his eyes at Kieran’s innocent expression. “Is that really why you want to come?”

When it came to Rhys, Kieran had never been a good liar. He smiled ruefully. “Your mother may have asked me to keep an eye on you.” Rhys groaned. “You know she has your best interests at heart,” Kieran chided. “Her and Anja have been speaking about returning to Jasrah. They miss your father and if what Vyserene has told me is correct, he needs as much help as he can get. If they were to leave knowing you were not entirely well, knowing someone wasn’t looking out for you, I don’t think my sister would be able to forgive herself. Let your mother just have this one thing. Give her this peace of mind.” Rhys could only sigh in resignation. He knew he was being selfish yet Kieran’s word stung worse than Rhys could have thought. Rhys threw his hands up in surrender.

“When do we leave?” Kieran’s tone was positively cheerful.

“Nightfall. Pack your things. It’s going to be a long ride.”

Later that evening after a tearful goodbye that left Rhys feeling like the world’s most ungrateful son Rhys and Kieran stood at the door, cloaks pulled up to obscure their faces. Rhys itched to step out that door for the first time in weeks. His heart raced, knowing freedom was only moments away. His mother kissed his forehead once more, squeezing his hand as she pulled away. No one spoke of the underlying truth, but from their expressions he knew they were all thinking the same thing. If things went poorly this was the last time they’d likely see each other. This could be the end. Rhys pushed away those thoughts, turning away from his mother knowing if he looked at her for one more moment he would lose the composure he’d so carefully built up. Before he could lose his nerve Rhys swung open the door.

Someone was already there.

Nayall’s dark face looked up at Rhys, his eyes flickering between Rhys and Kieran with interest before settling back on Rhys with a tight-lipped expression. Rhys noticed he’d come prepared. He breathed a sigh of relief, mentally reminding himself to thank Laurita the next time he saw her.

“Let’s go.”

The left without another word.

[Mollianne]

Jessa stared at the invitation in her hands, taking none of it in. Maira coughed. “Well, what do you think?”

Jessa shrugged, handing it back to Maira. The princess took it and put it down on the desk behind her. “It’s not like I really want to be doing this, either,” she said, “but it keeps my mind off…” Maira pressed her lips together. “We are the royal family, and we have certain traditions we must uphold no matter what. And, well, the spring ball is such a tradition.”

Jessa glanced out of the window, looking at the snow on the ground below that still refused to melt. Maira followed her gaze, and waved her hand. “There’s little point in celebrating the arrival of spring after it has happened.” She lifted her hands, palms facing up. Jessa said nothing. She did not even move to look at Maira. There was nothing to celebrate about the coming spring. Nothing. Jessa lifted her gaze to the hills rolling out from the south of the city. Somewhere out there was war. Somewhere out there, people were dying. Yet from inside the coddling arms of the inner city, one would not know it. No, here there were celebratory balls.

“Jessa?” Maira’s voice was sharp. Jessa tore her gaze from the vista and looked expectantly at the princess. “Did you hear me? You’re to meet with the castle dressmakers after this to get started on your dress.”

Jessa nodded, and made to turn away. Maira tsked to get Jessa’s attention. Wearily, Jessa focused on the princess again. “Don’t forget something black.”

Like Jessa would do such a thing. She turned away without even responding to Maira. The princess sighed gustily and turned to her desk. “Go now to the dressmakers. I have preparations to make.”

Jessa got up wordlessly and made her way to the door. She had her hand on the doorknob when Maira said, “I know it’s too soon. But this would be-” Maira’s hand covered her eyes for a moment, and then she almost growled in frustration and shook herself. When she spoke again, her words were quiet. “It’d be his first spring ball. I think he’d want us to try and enjoy it.”

Jessa knew Harris would not care one iota about the ball, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to talk about him, not with Maira – not with anyone. Jessa turned the handle and had one foot out of the door when Maira added, “It’ll be your first event as a newly unmarried woman. Perhaps it won’t be as bad as you think.”

Jessa could not get out the room fast enough. She strode quickly through the grey corridors of the castle until she felt she was far enough away from Maira and any potentially prying eyes. She ducked under an arch which framed a bay window looking out of the north of the city. Jessa sat on the sill, feeling the iciness of the stone through her dress. She pressed her head against the glass and closed her eyes, choking back a sob. She could not cry. She would not cry. Jessa tried to tell herself it meant nothing. The dissolution of her marriage didn’t change anything – neither the good nor the bad. But she kept replaying it in her head anyway, that moment of signing her name. Alrick had snatched it away as soon as she’d lifted her pen, as if she could change the ink already drying on the page if she’d had a moment longer. She wouldn’t have changed it if she could. She was doing this for Rhys. Let Alrick’s smug glee haunt her nightmares.

Rubbing her eyes, Jessa allowed herself a moment to compose herself and then left the alcove. Whether she wanted to or not, she had a ball to prepare for and a seamstress waiting for her. It was rude to keep the woman waiting. She was only doing her job.

Jessa could hear voices as she approached the dressmakers’ workshop. As she drew level with the door, one voice rose above the others, shrill and petulant. Jessa almost turned away. She did not have the patience for Elissa.

“Can you do nothing right?” The screech came clearly through the door, doing nothing for Jessa’s ever-present headache – which at least had become more of a quiet pain recently. Jessa shook her head. She would not leave the poor dressmakers to deal with Elissa alone. Slipping into the room, Jessa ignored the tingle in her nose at all the fabric strewn about the room. In an second smaller room, Elissa stood on a stool. She looked tiny compared to the red dress that fanned out from her waist with the aid of what must have been a truly enormous hoop skirt. A black sash draped over her left shoulder to her waist, where it disappeared into the folds of her dress before looping around her back. It was the sash Elissa was fiddling with. To Jessa – and to many of the girls flittering around her who were eyeing the skirt dubiously and trying to manoeuvre around it to reach Elissa – the sash should have been the least of Elissa’s worries.

“Of for the Gods’ sake, stop,” Elissa cried, slapping a young girl away from trying to move the pin at the shoulder of the slash slightly to the left. Jessa could only presume that Elissa had complained about it only moments before. The girl shot away and bowed her head. Elissa didn’t care, continuing her tirade. “This is all wrong. Do none of you simpletons have any clue? This colour is all wrong.” She lifted her skirts. “You’re making me look ridiculous. I need this to be perfect.” She fingered the sash, and Jessa saw her hands shake. “My brother needs this to be perfect.”

All the girls bowed their heads, clasping their hands together. As one, they pressed their knuckles to their foreheads, giving their respect to the dead. Jessa just stared, momentarily forgetting Elissa. That was for her brother. He was too young for such a gesture. Jessa swallowed hard. The moment passed, and the girls began trying to appease Elissa once more.

“Just get it off,” she screeched. Jessa winced. The girls scrambled to help her. “I cannot possibly show my face wearing this. What even are these stitches? Did your mothers die before they could teach you a simple backstitch?”

One of the girls sucked in a breath, and another immediately left the princess’ side to grasp the other’s hand. The rest looked over with concern, but Elissa was still yelling for them to get her out of the dress so they could do little more. Jessa had had enough.

“Who do you think you are?”

The girls froze, their faces snapping to Jessa’s. Elissa was facing away from Jessa, but she heard the snarl. “Who said that?” Elissa’s voice was dangerous. Before she could turn on the girls, Jessa strode into the room and came into Elissa’s line of sight. The effect was instantaneous.

“Get OUT.” She looked at the girls, all of whom were still rigid with fear. Their gazes were fixed on Jessa, eyes wide. “Get her out of here!” No one moved. Elissa screeched again.

Jessa tried to speak calmly, but she could not stop her voice from shaking. “I know you’re hurting. I know you want to honour,” Jessa’s words faltered, “Harris as best you can. But-”

“You have no right to speak about Harris!” Elissa’s eyes were wild. “Not after what you did.”

Jessa felt like she had been punched in the stomach. Words failed her. Elissa glared at her, her eyes shining, until Jessa looked down. She heard the flurry again as the girls rushed to divulge Elissa of her ridiculous gown.

Jessa knew what she had done. She knew. She knew it was partially her fault. She could never forget that. It should have been her. Yet- “He’s my brother just as much as yours.”

Elissa was free of her dress, and she stepped off her stool and stormed over to Jessa until they were so close Jessa could see the freckles powdering Elissa’s nose. “He’s my brother. He was never yours.”

Jessa was done. She was not going to have this conversation. “Do you not realise the damage your words can do?” She gestured to the room, to the girl in the corner surrounded by the others. “Do you not care?”

“You,” Elissa hissed, “cannot speak to me like this. I’m telling my mother.”

“Good.” They stared at each other, neither willing to back down. Then Elissa clicked her fingers and ordered someone to fetch her clothes. They dressed her quietly and efficiently, all while Elissa continued to glare at Jessa.

Once she was dressed, she said, “This is not over.”

And she was gone.

Immediately Jessa could feel the tension lift in the room. She rubbed her head, then lifted her gaze to find six pairs of eyes staring at her in something like wonder. Jessa waved them away, instead walking tentatively to the girl still in the corner. The two girls with her stepped aside.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently. The girl sniffed and nodded, clearly putting on a brave face. She couldn’t be more than fifteen.

One of her friends leaned in to Jessa and whispered, “Her mother died when she was five, my lady.”

Jessa glanced back at the girl, her heart going out to her. She reached out and touched her hand, just barely with her fingertips. “Then I suppose we have something in common.” The girl looked up, brushing a hand under her reddened eyes to wipe away the tears. The expression in her face was so broken that Jessa didn’t quite know what to do. “What’s your name?”

“Elodie,” she breathed.

“Well, Elodie,” Jessa said, pushing past her own hesitance and taking the girl’s hand. “How about you help me design my dress? We shall make it the envy of the ball, and when everyone comes to tell me how beautiful it is, I shall tell them your name.”

Elodie’s eyes widened. She nodded mutely and let Jessa lead her into the main room. The rest of the girls stayed behind, but Jessa could feel their gazes on her back as she watched Elodie flitter around the room, rubbing fabrics between her fingers and testing them side by side. It was not long before the other girls joined her, and a tentative chatter began as they discussed. Jessa leaned against the wall, letting them work. Occasionally one would look over at her, and the slight awe Jessa saw in their faces had her feeling more than a little uncomfortable. Had these girls really seen such little kindness in the castle that someone asking them merely to do their job – rather than ordering – was worthy of such attention? Jessa felt ashamed herself.

The next morning, when the maid came to give her breakfast, she curtseyed and said, “Your breakfast, my lady. The bread was freshly baked this morning.”

Jessa smiled, and thanked her. The woman nodded and left. Jessa stared at the door long after she was gone. There had been… no animosity. She had called Jessa Lady without hesitance, and though it didn’t sit right with Jessa, she couldn’t help but smile. A moment later the guilt returned. She had spent all of these years refusing to let the servants help her, thinking that no one was so important to need people for their every whim. But in her own way she had ignored them, and they had decided she thought herself above them.

One kindness. Just one moment of actually listening to them, and already the news had travelled. How irregular had Jessa’s actions been? How many of the servants had been belittled by Elissa? How many of them believed they were worthless because of the royal family’s actions? How many were overlooked?

Jessa paused. The servants. They were everywhere in the castle, silent observers who the royals took for granted. But if one small gesture already had them thinking kindly on Jessa, then how bitter might some of them be at the way they were treated every day?

“Duan!” Jessa called. Only a moment later the guard rushed into the room, prepared for some kind of attack. “Oh, no, I just wanted to ask you something.”

She indicated the door, and Duan closed it. Jessa gestured for him to come over, and as she wrote on a piece of parchment lying around on her desk, she asked, “Are you happy with your position, Duan?”

The guard seemed taken aback. “Yes, my lady. The work is good. Is… that all?”

Jessa finished writing, and gestured impatiently for him to read. Duan bent down, then glanced at Jessa. “There are enough, my lady.”

Of course, Jessa had not expected Duan to give her the exact numbers of Nayall’s people who had infiltrated below stairs. Nevertheless, she sometimes wished her position was not so fragile that getting information from them was like drawing blood from a stone. With a sigh, she put her pen back to the paper. Duan watched as she wrote this time, and each time she glanced up at him his eyebrows rose higher and higher.

Is it possible that they could start spreading some rumours about me? And about the king? Just something small, just to test the waters? See if it’s possible that any of them can be persuaded to our side?

Duan smiled. “Yes, my lady.”

Jessa smiled back. After all, there were a great many more servants in the castle alone than there were nobles in Ovis. Not to mention their families and friends. Dozens of people far beneath Alrick’s notice, in a way that Jessa and Larend never could be. He would not see it coming.

[Rosabeth]

Rhys’ pace was relentless as they made what should have been a five-day journey in only four. Nayall never once complained, nor did he say much of anything. He rode in almost near silence with a focus unlike Rhys had ever seen. Rhys dared not ask from where his discipline came, though he was fairly certain he knew the answer. Kieran protested only at night when Rhys pushed to continue on beyond what was rational. Rhys felt guilt for the grueling pace he pushed on the others yet he found himself doing it anyway. After weeks of sleeping day and night sleep became the enemy. More often than not it refused to come, and when it did it plagued his mind with nightmares. Rhys much preferred the exhaustion he accepted as the alternative. At least it meant he was free to think and do as he pleased. That alone was the greatest relief he could have asked for.

Tula’s camp lay near the western coast, just south of the city of Mariales. Rhys remembered the city well. As a child he’d visited often, always under the guise of calling on family friends. In actuality the city was a checkpoint for much of the goods smuggled between Ovis and Jasrah, overlooked by his father, but to Rhys the city was a childhood play place. He remembered the square tower, looming high above the city with its winding staircases winding him after only a few flights. Still, he and Anja would race to the top each time, falling breathless to the floor when they reached the bells at its zenith. Now as Rhys passed the city it was nothing but a shell of itself. The bell tower stood alone among abandoned houses and streets as silent as the dead. The city had long since been abandoned, and from the surrounding countryside Rhys knew why. Fields of wheat lay blackened as far as the eye could see, covered by only a thin layer of snow - scorched earth. An entire city’s food supply burned into ash simply so the Novarian army could not eat it, it’s water likely poisoned as well. Rhys could only stand to look for a moment before he turned away in disgust, urging his horse onward. There was truly nothing Alrick would not do to save his own skin.

After days of nothing but empty horizons, seeing the tents of the army’s camp was a welcome sight. It did not take long for sentries to spot them and by the time they neared the camp’s borders a small entourage awaited them. From the moment they dismounted a flurry of soldiers surrounded them, rummaging through their packs and patting them down from head to toe. Kieran, ever the ambassador, rode completely unarmed and was waved through nearly instantaneously. The soldier assigned to Rhys found his concealed daggers immediately, handing them to another soldier who disappeared into a tent. Nayall too had come armed, and to Rhys’s surprise more heavily than himself. Once they’d been stripped of all weapons – real or potential – a soldier beckoned them to follow. Rhys held his pack closely to his body as he ducked through the growing crowd of curious soldiers whispering amongst each other at the arrival of the three Etrenians. Rhys could hear snippets of their words as he moved. It was clear that some of the soldiers recognized him from the last time he’d been at camp. Though he tried to ignore the whispers one word stood out among the rest, repeated over and over. A word that, despite his knowledge of Novarian, he did not recognize. Riyashal. Rhys had no time to think on the matter for in that instant they were shuffled into a tent, leaving the crowd behind.

A throne, composed of simple wood and drapery without a carving or jewel in sight, sat in the middle of a vast tent, and on the throne sat the queen herself. Tula peered up from a piece of parchment, waving away the advisor who kneeled at her side. With him half the tent’s occupants left, leaving Tula alone save a small guard at the door. She smiled at Rhys with a glint in her eyes, her fingers brushing her lips in a stifled laugh. Kieran coughed beside Rhys. That was when Rhys realized that he alone stood as Kieran and Nayall kneeled before the queen. Rhys dropped as quickly as he could but Tula only laughed, waving the men up.

“Rhys, you’re looking well.”

Rhys scoffed. “You’d be the first to say that, Your Majesty.”

“’Well’ is a relative term,” Tula replied with a shrug. “For someone who went through what you did I would have expected worse.”

“You should have seen me three weeks ago.”

Though Rhys had meant his words only in jest, he could see a flash of discomfort on Tula’s face. She smiled then, a true, warm smile. “I’m glad to have not seen that, then. It is good to see you alive, to be quite honest. When I’d heard you’d been captured I won’t pretend I didn’t expect you to die. I’m glad to be proved wrong.”

Thoughts of their ride to Jasrah after the first battle flickered into Rhys’ memory. Tula had almost seen him die once; Rhys wondered if she was thinking of the same thing. Before he could think too much on it Rhys moved to Nayall, ushering the man forward.

“Speaking of my capture, Your Majesty, I’d like to present the man who had a part in saving my life. This is Nayall…” Rhys turned to Nayall, his brow furrowed. “I realize I don’t actually know your last name.”

“Nayall will do just fine, Your Majesty.” Nayall’s bow was just as low and long as it should be without a single flourish. It was oddly militaristic.

“Nayall has organized a refugee camp for mages in Ovis. He’s a mage himself and, as far as I know, one of the only people to have ever escaped from Alrick’s mage ring.” Tula’s eyebrows shot up as her eyes flickered between Rhys and Nayall.

“Is this true?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Nayall stared forward with focus, his expression unreadable. “I spent eight years under his influence. When my superior died I was able to escape, though no one else in my ring had the same good fortune.”

Though Rhys had known vaguely of Nayall’s history he’d never heard it expressed in any concrete terms. To spend eight years of one’s life as a slave to one’s own mind, forced to kill and commit the unspeakable without even the ability to resist. It was a horror Rhys could not imagine. Alrick’s reign had spanned two decades, not to mention the reign of his father before him. Who was to say there were not those out there who’d been enslaved their entire lives?

“You are most welcome here, Nayall,” The queen’s somber tone implied her thoughts had gone much the same direct as had Rhys’. She glanced then at Kieran, clearly keen to move on to a less depressing subject.

Kieran needed no introduction. Before Rhys could get a word out Kieran strode forward and swept into what was likely the most elegant, poised bow Rhys had ever seen. He extended his hand out to Tula who, looking sidelong at Rhys, tentatively took it. In a move that left Rhys in awe, staring at his uncle in utter amusement, Kieran brought the queen’s hand to his lips. “My Queen.”

Rhys coughed to cover his own laughter. “Your Majesty, this is my uncle, Prince Kieran Dunvyen.”

Understanding seemed to dawn at Rhys’ words. “Your uncle?” Tula turned back to Kieran with more of a smirk than a smile. “Your reputation precedes you, Prince Dunvyen.”

“All good things, I hope? And please, call me Kieran.” Kieran’s grin was infectious and Rhys found himself smiling too.

“Your nephew speaks highly of you. I can see why.” Rhys could not quite read the queen’s expression, but for a moment he could have sworn it looked almost like a blush. It was gone in an instant.

As Kieran returned to Rhys’ side Tula rose from her throne and gestured to a large table in the corner of the tent. “These introductions are all very nice but I believe we have business to attend to. Rhys?”

Once the four of them had circled the table Rhys emptied most of the contents of his sack into the center of the table. Kieran immediately reached for the ring, holding it towards the light as he studied it’s engraving. Tula seemed rather more interested in the vial of watery blood.

“Do I want to ask how you got this?” She shook the bottle, grimacing as the liquid sloshed about. Rhys chose to ignore the question. Snatching the ring from Kieran he opened the vial carefully, bringing the ring and it close to his face as he placed a single droplet into the ring’s ridges. Tula watched in silence with a studious expression until Rhys placed the ring in her palm. She stared at it skeptically for a long moment, long enough for Rhys to wonder if her reluctance came from knowing she would be wearing something of Alrick’s. Eventually she placed the ring on her thumb, her other fingers all too small to fit the ring. Rhys placed the maps he’d marked – those of Ovis, Etrene, and Kolonis – before Tula. She stared perplexed at Rhys until he took her hand and touched it to the page.

Her reaction was instantaneous, just like that of his mothers’. Rhys’ hand still touched Tula’s, and as such he watched as the maps once more drew themselves before his eyes. The dot placements were different than the last time he’d looked upon the maps but they looked no more numerous. Kieran and Nayall watched Tula’s reaction with confusion, looking between her and the papers in rapid succession. Rhys held out a hand to Nayall who, seeing Rhys’ own hand on the queen’s, took it without question. His eyes lit up and his own hand was held out to Kieran without needing telling. Rhys realized how odd it probably looked from an outsider as the four of them stood around a table holding hands, gazing with awe at pieces of parchment that were either blank of full of nothing but incoherent scribbles.

“This is incredible,” Tula breathed. Her eyes darted between the maps, but mostly they focused on Etrene. There were two groups of dots – one not more than 60 miles from the camp and another roving not far from there – that her eyes followed like a hawk. “Each dot –“

“A mage. The labelled ones are the highest commanders, or so we think.”

“Tering. I remember him.” Nayall’s words were no more than a whisper as he let go of Kieran’s hand, pointing at one of the labeled dots moving slowly westward from Ovis. “I met him once a long time ago. He’s one of the king’s most trusted mages. I’ve thought about him ever since I was freed. He always seemed so lucid, less like the zombies the rest of us were. I wonder, maybe…maybe he wasn’t under Alrick’s control, at least not totally. Maybe Alrick really trusts him. Maybe he joined of his own free will.”

It was the most Rhys had heard from Nayall in days. Nayall’s fascination was as clear as Tula’s and Kieran’s as he studied the maps, but there was something else behind his eyes. A sadness Rhys could not quite place, but one that made him feel as though he was intruding on a deeply intimate moment. Tula could obviously see it too. She straightened herself, letting the connection break between them all.

“Rhys, Kieran, might I have a word with Nayall in private?” Nayall did not even look up at the queen’s words. Rhys nodded silently, pulling his uncle along with him out of the tent. The sun was setting ouside and the crowd of soldiers who’d once observed them from the sidelines seemed to have scattered. Rhys took a deep breath of the cool air, happy to have a moment of peace. Before Rhys could turn around Kieran was beside him, one arm wrapped around his shoulder pulling him away from the tent.

“Come, let’s take a walk.” Kieran smiled, far too chipper for someone who’d only moments before been looking at a map of Alrick’s greatest crime. Nothing seemed capable of wiping the smile from his face. “Now, how about you tell me more about the queen.”

---

A cool breeze swept through the camp that night and Rhys found himself watching the rustling of the tent as the night went on. Sleep refused to come and when it did it came with no relief. Nightmares plagued Rhys every time he closed his eyes. It wore on him, sleepless night after sleepless night, but exhaustion was better than each time he awoke sweat-covered and shaking. Rhys rolled onto his side, watching Kieran sleep peacefully nearby. How late it was Rhys did not know but the thought of lying awake one more moment drove him mad. Moving as quietly as he could Rhys slipped out of his bed roll, pulling on his boots and stepping out into the night.

The camp’s silence brought an unexpected peace to Rhys’ mind. The few guards posted throughout the rows of tents paid him no mind as he wandered, far more concerned with crouching over their fires to protect them from the wind. Rhys had not meant to go anywhere particular in his wanderings yet he soon found himself standing in front of Tula’s tent. To his surprise the faint glow of candlelight crept out from the gaps in the canvas. It seemed he was not the only one with a restless mind. Without thinking Rhys found himself approaching the tent, only to be stopped by the two attending guards who eyed him with suspicion. Before Rhys could get a word out the tent flaps were pulled back and Tula stood before him, appraising him with mild surprise. Wordlessly she turned on her heels retreating back into the tent. Rhys knew he was to follow.

Tula sat at a small wooden table, running her fingers over a deck of cards. An empty chair sat before her and with a small gesture she beckoned Rhys forward. As Rhys sat down before the queen he realized this was the first time he’d seen her informally, the first time he’d ever seen her look more like a woman than a queen. Her long pitch black hair was loose, grazing her hips, and from the robe she wore to the disheveled cot behind her she appeared to be as restless a sleeper as Rhys.

“Can’t sleep?” Her quiet voice pierced the silence, shaking Rhys from his thoughts.

Rhys rubbed his temple. “I haven’t been able to sleep soundly in weeks. Not since…” Rhys’ mouth turned to ash, unable to go on.

“I understand.” Tula stared at the playing cards in her hand, placing one down in some game Rhys did not recognize. “I was with my father when he died, did you know?” Rhys shook his head. “I thought about it every day for months. I barely slept, I barely ate, it was…traumatic puts it lightly. The only thing that helped me sleep were the mixtures my healers concocted for me. I realize me saying this likely isn’t going to help, but it will pass. It will get easier with time, Rhys. Trust me.”

He knew the truth in her words but in the moment the message of hope was lost. He laughed though it came out as more of a strangled noise, his throat closing up as he tried to push away his traitorous emotions. “I just…I can’t get his face out of my mind. It’s always the same nightmares over and over. Those eyes. It’s just like it was when he died, but in my nightmares he’s staring right at me, like he’s asking me to save him but - ”Rhys choked on his words. He buried his face in his free hand, clutching the table with a vice-like grip with the other. He would not let himself fall apart in front of Tula. He could not.

A gentle hand laid upon his, Tula’s soft smile there when Rhys looked up. Silence loomed over them for a time until Rhys found his breathing calmed. When Tula removed her hand her demeanor instantly shifted, sitting a little taller in her seat as she began to shuffle the deck of cards.

“You need some cheering and I need something else to occupy my thoughts. Will you play with me?”

With the cards laid out before him Rhys recognized the game. “We have nothing to bet.”

Tula scoffed. “As if you have anything I could want. You know, gambling isn’t required to play cards. But you’re right, a game is always more fun when there’s something at stake. How about this for a proposal – if I win, you must tell me something I don’t know about you. Something embarrassing, or something secret, that much is up to you. If you win, I’ll do the same. Is it a deal?”

Somehow Rhys found he could smile. Though the terms of the game were silly and mundane it was perhaps just what he needed.

Though perhaps it should not have come as a surprise, Tula was a keen player. Her face gave nothing away, every move taken with calculated precision. After a long and arduous hand Rhys was not surprised to find himself the loser. Tula leaned forward expectantly, her hands folded beneath her chin.

“When Jessa and I were first married, right after we’d arrived in Jasrah, she walked in on me and the woman I’d originally intended to marry in a…well…let’s just say that had she walked in a few moments later we probably would have been naked.”

Tula pursed her lips in a very tight grin and Rhys could see her suppressing laughter. “So the noble Prince Dunvyen was not always so noble?” Rhys rolled his eyes. “I mean, I knew of your family’s reputation before we met, but to commit adultery so soon after your marriage? Now that is a salacious scandal.”

“I didn’t even really know Jessa then, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Rhys mumbled, feeling his cheeks flush. In truth Rhys felt ashamed at the memory, and it was clear from Tula’s amused expression that she was relishing watching him squirm. Before Rhys could get too uncomfortable Tula began to deal the next hand, shaking her head with a grin.

The second hand was much like the first, as was the third. They played until Rhys found himself unable to think up anything of consequence Tula might find interesting about his life. By the end of the sixth round Rhys sighed with relief as the final card was turned over, revealing Rhys as the victor. He grinned at Tula, sitting back in his seat with hands clasped in anticipation. While Rhys had taken some time after each round to think over what to say Tula seemed to have no such internal conflict.

“Did you know there are rumors about us?”

“Rumors?”

“That I’ve taken you as my riyashal.”

Rhys remembered that word, the word he’d heard repeated by the soldiers as he’d arrived at camp. Despite his ignorance on the matter, Rhys was smart enough to know that he probably wouldn’t like its meaning.

“It’s slang from Kolonis. It means ‘lover.’ Well, that’s the polite translation, anyway.”

Rhys groaned, throwing his head back. Anja had said as much to him some time ago. A pointed jab meant to provoke him, and one he’d dismissed with ease. Had she been right? Was this not simply an accusation of Anja’s own making but a widely held belief?

“I heard the soldiers saying that today when I arrived. I heard it…a lot.”

Tula shrugged. “It started after the first battle. I think people grew suspicious when the healers put so much effort into you, an Etrenian, over some of my soldiers. And the fact that we both came and left together? Well, you know how the rumor mill works. I doubt you coming here tonight will help matters, should word get out.”

The notion that people might think Rhys to be unfaithful, that they might believe the queen to be a woman willing to sleep with a married man, was deeply uncomfortable. They might only be petty rumors circulated between bored soldiers, but they did not sit well. “Do they bother you? The rumors, I mean?”

Tula stared at Rhys with a peculiar gaze. He could not place the look yet a chill ran down his spine regardless. Gingerly, Tula shrugged her shoulders, her robe sliding down her arms until it pooled on the ground. Rhys’ could only stare slack jawed at what he saw before him. The queen of Novamor sat before him in nothing but a thin silk nightgown that left little to the imagination, clinging close to her every curve. As Tula stood Rhys felt his heartbeat quicken and his breathing catch. His mind spun wildly at what was happening yet he found himself unable to look away. Slowly she stepped around the table and rested a hand delicately on his shoulder.

“Are you surprised?” Her voice was little more than a murmur, her breath hot on Rhys’ ear as she leaned in close. “Think of it. The queen of Novamor and the heir to the Marinon line. The very idea is seductive.” Tula’s fingertips grazed the back of his neck. She moved behind him then, reemerging a moment later to his left. Rhys kept his gaze firmly forward but could not ignore how she positioned herself just within the edges of his line of vision, making it impossible for him to look away. His breathing became so shallow he was surprised he was still breathing at all.

“Your Majesty,” Rhys’ words were slow and muddled, his thoughts an incoherent mess. This could not be real. Panic swelled inside him with her every move. “You’re not saying –”

“Am I not?” In that moment she moved directly before him, leaning back against the table. Rhys could feel his cheeks flush bright crimson as he tried to stop staring, knowing it was exactly what she wanted him to do. He was not blind – Tula was unquestionably beautiful, a fact of which she was clearly aware. While he knew he could not fault himself for what was only a natural response he could not help but feel ashamed for how his eyes lingered longer than they should and how his every nerve felt on edge. He was horrified to think of what Jessa would think were she there. Suddenly Tula’s fingertips were against his chin, tilting his head up to look at her.

“Your Majesty, this is not, I mean, this is – “ Rhys could not find the words. The feeling of her hand against his neck made it impossible to think straight. He felt as if he might implode on the spot. “You know my feelings. You know I’m married. Gods, you’ve even met Jessa. You cannot possibly – “ Rhys’ words threatened to get away with him, his mouth moving faster than his mind, but in that moment he saw a grin creep across Tula’s face. A moment later she was laughing. She covered her mouth with a hand as she shook her head, patting Rhys on the shoulder as a mother might to a child.

“Oh Rhys, it was really too easy. You should have seen your face. I’m sorry, really, but it was too good an opportunity to let pass.”

If Rhys’ heart stopped he wouldn’t have known, for time itself seemed to have stopped. He watched as the queen picked up her robe and slid it on, hugging it against her body as she continued to laugh to herself. By the time Rhys understood what was occurring his flush had increased twofold.

“You’re teasing me. Oh, thank the Gods.”

Tula’s reproachful sidelong glance pierced like a knife. “Do you really think I would involve myself with a married man, not to mention one in my employ in the middle of a war? Rhys, be serious. Even a queen has limits. I just wanted to watch you squirm, which I must say worked better than anticipated.”

“Then the rumors?”

“Nothing more than the bored whisperings of soldiers who need something to entertain them. Pay them no mind, they’re nothing of consequence. It’s simply the price you pay for being a public figure.”

With his sigh of relief Rhys felt as though all energy had left his body. Despite all his discomfort and anxiety, Rhys could not help but smile at his own folly. He had been played for a fool. How quickly he’d believed her every word. From her perspective he admitted it was probably quite humorous.

A sudden wash of fatigue overcame him, and with it he rose to leave. Tula smiled from behind the table, shaking her head with a small chuckle. Rhys was nearly at the door to the tent when an intrusive thought crept into his mind. He paused, resisting for a moment. His curiosity got the better of him in the end.

“I know it was a joke, but was any of it true?”

Tula lifted a single eyebrow, cocking her head to the side. “You flatter yourself, Rhys.” Rhys glanced away sheepishly. “But I’ll admit, you have your charms. But no, I do not think that way of you.” His sigh of relief was audible and he was sure he heard Tula’s low chuckle in response. With no more than a shake of his head in disbelief Rhys turned to leave, only to stop once more at Tula’s words.

“It would seem I have a soft spot for Dunvyen princes.”

Rhys turned slowly, not understanding her meaning. Tula only smiled. “Your uncle is charming, Rhys. Perhaps I should redirect the rumors.” With those words Tula rose from her seat, dismissing Rhys with a flick of her wrist.

“Get some sleep. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

[Mollianne]

“Oh,” Larend said on opening the door and seeing Jessa on his doorstep. “I wasn’t expecting-”

Jessa bit her lip. “Sorry, I can go…” She turned, and had one foot on the step below when Larend called her back.

“I didn’t mean that.” He gestured behind him. “Come in.”

Jessa bowed her head and ducked through the door. She was surprised to see the candles down the hallway were lit, so used she had become to Larend’s home in darkness since his family had left the country. Switching the basket she carried to her other hand, Jessa shrugged out of her cloak and draped it over her arm. She lifted the basket to draw Larend’s attention. “It’s from the castle kitchens. They let me steal some things for the ball tonight.” The servants had been more than accommodating over the past few days, much to Jessa’s discomfort. “I didn’t know what you would like best, so I just got some of everything they offered to me.”

She handed the basket to Larend with a small smile. Larend would not be attending the spring ball, both because he had not been invited and because he had doubted anyone would want a member of his family there even if he had received an invitation. Though the official line was that the ball was, as usual, to welcome spring, it was widely acknowledged that the ball was dedicated to Harris. Even though it should not have been an issue, Jessa wasn’t surprised at Larend’s decision. She suspected that it was in no small part because he didn’t particularly wish to see the king.

Larend took the basket from her and began rifling through its contents. His hand stopped, picking out a small, triangular shaped pastry. “My favourite,” he said, eating it without pause. When he finished, the smile he gave Jessa had her shifting awkwardly. It was such a small thing for such a response. Larend touched her hand hesitantly. His voice was earnest. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” she said. Clearing her throat, she asked, “How have you been?”

Larend watched her for a moment, and then shrugged. He gestured for her to follow him. “I’ve been sorting the house. My father told me to sell everything because there was no point bringing anything with me when I join them in Antascia. I guess I’ve, ah, been putting it off.”

At this point, he’d wandered to the stairs and begun to climb. It took him a moment to realise Jessa was not following. He looked over his shoulder at her, eyebrows raised in a question. Jessa stood at the foot of the stairs with a hand on the bannister, and she refused to meet Larend’s gaze. “I. When do you leave?”

“I don’t.” Larend’s brows furrowed. “I need to be here.” He joined Jessa, stopping on the step above hers. He lowered his voice. “We’re going to make the king answer to his crimes. And who else is going to try to keep you out of trouble?” He smiled, but the slight shake in his voice meant the joke felt flat. “I never told my father when I would join them. I will do, maybe, but Ovis is my home. And this is too important. But all this stuff-” He gestured at the house. “-I don’t really need it, and my family need the money after-”

An awkward silence fell over them. It might only have been seconds, but it felt so much longer. Jessa said, “Do you need any help?”

“Don’t you have to prepare for tonight?”

“I’d rather not.” Jessa gestured up the stairs, and was thankful that Larend didn’t press her any further. Though the servants had warmed to her, it had made Jessa’s day in the castle little more bearable. She was dreading the ball, despite knowing that the revival of court life would allow her to make connections. It was a task she had neglected since her arrival, having got caught up in spying on court for the du Renes under Maira’s watchful gaze. Now that the king surely no longer trusted her, she would have to act more carefully but he would also have no orders for her. Nevertheless, this particular ball was one she could miss. Harris had never cared about balls, and yet they were using his name and his memory. They didn’t know him at all. She knew they were grieving – he had still been their son and brother – but their constant justification for throwing the party was wearing thin. It was as simple as the nobility expected such a celebration of spring and so it should happen. Now, Jessa would have to endure strangers reminding her that Harris was gone every second. She swallowed hard.

“I’ve not much left to do,” Larend was saying. “Just my parents’ room and my mother’s study. I know I said I wanted to see if my mother had left anything, but in the end I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, I guess.”

Jessa still doubted there was anything to find, but she nodded. “So, which first?”

She couldn’t say she was surprised when they entered a bedroom rather than a study. Larend loved his mother, but she had still lied to the family probably their entire lives, and she could see why Larend did not want to be in a room surrounded by things that had been entirely hers. Jessa surveyed the room, feeling only a little uncomfortable to be in someone else’s bedroom. Her gaze stopped on a haphazard pile of – were they clocks?

“What’s this?” Jessa asked, walking over to them.

“Oh, I… My mother was a bit of a collector,” Larend said. He hadn’t even looked over. Instead he was pulling clothes out of the armoire and throwing them carelessly onto the bed. Jessa looked back at the clocks. Surely there was enough for two in every room. No one needed that many. Shaking her head, Jessa went to help Larend empty the wardrobes.

Once they were done, Larend went in search of some sacks to hold everything, waving his hand and muttering something about the dressing table as left. Jessa wandered over to it, and brushed the dust off the mirror with the back of her hand. Without Larend there, she didn’t dare open any of the drawers, so she stood there awkwardly and eyed the perfectly placed bottles of perfume and cosmetics with unease. On other side, there was a small painting of the Janes’ family. It must have been done years ago, for Larend was still a child and his youngest sister a toddler in her parents’ arms. His mother looked so different, and it was not just in age. Jessa tilted her head. Maybe the painter had just been instructed to paint it so, but Magrethe Janes looked healthy. Jessa had never seen her as anything but pale and worn.

Larend had come upon her without her realising. She glanced at him and saw him staring at the painting. His eyes were bright. He lifted his hand as if to touch it, but then let it limply fall to his side. Jessa hesitated a moment before taking his hand in hers and squeezing. Larend started, his face turning to stare at their hands. After a while, he whispered, “When did it all go wrong? What happened, Jessa?”

It was not a question that could be or wanted an answer, so Jessa kept silent and simply offered support to her friend. Larend swallowed, his eyes drawn back to his family. He gripped her hand tighter. “I think,” he said before his voice broke off. “I’ll do this by myself, later.”

Jessa nodded, slipping her hand out of Larend’s grasp. “Right. I should probably get back anyway…”

“No, I… meant we should try my mother’s study. Maybe.”

“Larend, I really don’t-”

“I know. I know you don’t think we’ll find anything. But I know my mother. She was ill and it made her forgetful – or, well, absent-minded. She wrote everything down, Jessa. There’s something. There is.”

“Okay,” Jessa said, lifting her hands. “Okay.”

Larend deflated, apologising under his breath. Jessa waved him away. Together, they headed to Magrethe’s study. The door was shut, and Jessa waited patiently while Larend clearly worked up the nerve to go in. With a huff and a shake of his head, Larend turned the doorknob and walked in. Jessa followed. It was smaller than she expected. She nearly ran into Larend, who had stopped in the middle of the room and was looking around.

“My mother spent so much of her time in here,” he said quietly. “I guess I was expecting… more.”

There was nothing to say to that. “Where do you want to start?”

Larend told her to start with the desk while he emptied out the cabinet at the back of the room. Jessa sat on the chair, surveying the desk in front of her. Magrethe had sat here every day. That… was an unnerving thought. The desk was mostly bare, but for a quill and inkwell. Above it was an ornate cherry wood clock, its edges decorated with gold filigree, with a polished pendulum swinging beneath it. It had a loud tick, which would only frustrate Jessa and distract her from her work. Apparently it hadn’t bothered Magrethe. Jessa pulled open the bottom drawer, emptied the contents into piles for Larend to sort through, and worked her way up. The top drawer was a mess of loose parchment and pens. Jessa scooped it all out, dropped it on the desk and was about to close the drawer when she paused. She tilted her head, looking at the front of the drawer and then peered inside. She tapped the bottom with her hand. It wasn’t hollow, but maybe further back… Jessa moved her hand, tapping until she heard the tell-tale sound of something definitely hollow. By this point she had drawn Larend’s attention.

“What is it?” he asked, coming over to her. Jessa bit her lip.

“You know your mother better than me,” Jessa replied, even though that was obvious. Larend frowned. She gestured at the draw. “There’s a false bottom at the back.” She ran her hand along it, detecting no grooves. “No idea how to open it.”

Larend left without responding. Jessa stared at the place he had previously stood, eyebrows raised. “Okay then…” She looked back at the drawer. A few minutes later, Larend returned. What he carried in his hand had Jessa doing a double take. Even though logically she knew what he was going to do, she still said, “What the…?”

Larend pulled the drawer out of the desk and placed it on the floor. Then smashed the axe down, aiming for the inner edge. The wood splintered. After a few more hits, he was through. Jessa, who had been staring in something like shock, moved out of the way to avoid any flying bits of wood. Once Larend was done, he said, “There. Open.”

Jessa couldn’t help but laugh. She shook her head. “I guess that’s one way of doing it. Where did you get the axe?”

“Need it for firewood. Since the servants all left, that’s been up to me.” Larend removed the stray wood slices that were the remains of the drawer. Inside were two red books, covered in sawdust. The one on top had not been so lucky as to avoid Larend’s attack and the front half of it had been cut in two. Larend smiled sheepishly, handing Jessa the one that was still intact. He put his own on the table and opened it to the first page, taking care to keep all the loose page halves with the corresponding page in the book. He stared.

“It’s a diary. My mother’s.”

Jessa raised her eyebrows, opening hers too. She found the same thing. Why was Magrethe hiding diaries? Larend frantically flipped through the pages, clearly expecting to find something about his mother’s recent activities. After a while, he stopped. “From years ago. She mentions Charine’s-” He lined up the loose piece of paper corresponding to the same date. “-birth here.” Larend sighed.

Jessa had been idly flipping through hers, too uncomfortable to read the diary of a woman she had barely known even if there was something incredibly suspicious in keeping them so hidden, but now she stopped. Charine was quite a lot younger than Larend, wasn’t she?

“What date was that?” She leaned over and looked herself. She frowned, then looked back at the diary in her hands. She flicked through the pages slowly, then did the same for the ruined diary.

“What?” Larend asked.

“Your mother stopped writing in this one,” she said, lifting hers, “and started writing in that one. Then she went back to this one a few years later. I mean, maybe she lost the first one for a while, but these dates… They’re really irregular. The ones in this second one are fairly regular, pretty much once a week.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know.” Jessa shook her head. There was no reason to keep a diary so hidden away. “I don’t think this one is a real diary.”

***

In all the balls Jessa had attended, she had never wanted to be somewhere else quite as much as she did for this one. Not only were Magrethe’s diaries on her mind, but everything about the ball felt awkward and forced. The guests talked and danced, but it wasn’t with quite the same amount of humour and laughter that had accompanied every other event Jessa had attended. One might have thought that the war was plaguing the Ovisian nobles’ minds, but from the snippets of conversation Jessa had heard, there was little mention of it. No, she guessed it had more to do with the du Renes. The king had not even yet appeared, and the queen and her children were largely keeping to themselves since they had finished formally greeting their guests. They talked only when someone approached them. Harris’ presence was weighing deeply over the room. Jessa couldn’t bear it. After only a few dances, where the men had been far too forward for her since news of her divorce had reached court, she had retreated to this corner. She knew she ought to interact with people, to try to figure out who could be potential allies and who was certainly loyal to the throne, but she found she couldn’t. Maybe later, when the drinks flowed more freely and people relaxed.

“You look very lovely tonight, Jessa.”

Jessa started at the voice. She looked to her left to find Aneira, one of Larend’s friends, giving her a small smile. “Oh,” Jessa said, looking down at herself. Perhaps for the first time, Jessa actually agreed with the woman. Elodie had really done an excellent job, creating a simple dress that did not make Jessa feel uncomfortable while also not being too plain. “The blue is beautiful, isn’t it? One of the castle’s dressmakers, Elodie, made it,” she added, remembering her promise.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Aneira asked. Jessa waved her hand in acquiescence and Aneira leaned against the wall beside her. “In truth I’m sort of hiding from Kaman.”

“Why would you be hiding from your husband?” Jessa asked in surprise. Aneira sighed gustily.

“Because he’s an overprotective fool. I swear I can’t do anything without him offering me a chair or something. It was sweet at first, and I know he’s just nervous and worried about me, but honestly I’m fine.”

Jessa was definitely missing something. She stared blankly at Aneira. The woman put a hand to her head and chuckled. “Oh, I suppose you don’t know. I’m pregnant.”

“Congratulations,” Jessa said. Aneira beamed. “I’m sure he’ll calm down soon.” Jessa had no idea whether that was true. Obviously she had never been in Aneira’s situation – and maybe she never would.

“Gods, can that day be now? I swear when he finds me he’ll insist on us leaving early. I’m staying for the show, and he can’t stop me. I haven’t left the house in days.”

The show. Jessa had heard about the spectacle the du Renes arranged each year for the Spring ball, but only in very vague terms. All she really knew was that they were so good, packed with drama and dazzle, that they were remembered years later.

Aneira had turned quiet, and Jessa looked to her with a question in her eyes. Aneira glanced around, then said quietly, “How is he? I’ve not seen him since… Well, my parents think I should avoid him for a while. Obviously I’ve not listened, but the few times I have been out recently, he’s either not in the house or refusing to answer the door to me. But I know you’ve seen him.”

Aneira had not looked at Jessa as she spoke, but her hurt was clear in her voice. Jessa felt awful, that Larend had talked to her but not one of his oldest friends. She said lamely, “He’s… coping. I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your doing. I think he just knows my family don’t want me associating with him. It’s so ridiculous. He clearly hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Jessa nodded, but the conversation was quickly turning to dangerous territory. Luckily, she was saved from further interaction by Aneira pulling Jessa in front of her. “What-?”

“Kaman,” she hissed. Jessa looked out onto the main floor, and sure enough she spotted Aneira’s husband on the fringes of the crowd. He was coming straight towards them.

“I think he’s seen you,” Jessa said, a teasing note in her voice. Aneira sighed. She came out from behind Jessa just as Kaman reached them.

“I’m fine,” she said huffily before Kaman could even open his mouth. He raised his eyebrows in mock hurt.

“I just wanted to tell you the king had arrived and the show is probably going to start soon. I thought you might want to sit at one of the tables before they’re all gone.” Aneira rolled her eyes, but Jessa could tell that she was actually grateful for her husband’s thoughtfulness – and presumably the fact that he wasn’t telling her they should leave. Aneira took her husband’s arm and then looked back at Jessa.

“Will you join us?” Jessa nodded. As no official announcement had yet been made, the three managed to find seats relatively easily. When Jessa looked over to the dais where the king and queen’s thrones sat, she saw Alrick and Catrice were taking their seats. A murmuring broke out over the crowd, and without being told they began to clear from the floor, scrambling for the last seats or standing on the fringes. Not long after, the music stopped and silence fell over the crowd.

A lone man walked out, wearing a cloak of pure black and holding a single lantern in his hand. He bowed flamboyantly before the king. “This is the story of the birth of the seasons.”

Jessa straightened in her seat. The man turned in a sweeping circle, taking in his captive audience, and then in a quiet voice that made everyone strain to hear, he began. “At first, there was only darkness.” With his words, the ballroom went dark but for the lantern in the man’s hand, and from the choice of the man’s clothing, he had been rendered almost completely invisible. A few people gasped in shock. “From the darkness came the Mother. The Mother was kind and good, and with Her hands alone She built the ground below our feet. When She was done, She waited for others to share the new world with Her.”

Jessa knew this story. She had read it for one of her classes at university. Though many she knew of in Etrene no longer believed in the old Gods and their religion, she had been fascinated by their stories. The commoners, she knew, would tell them to their children to comfort them when they were scared. This particularly story was told on the darkest, coldest nights of winter and would bring hope that one day soon the cold would end.

Jessa, and the rest of the nobles listened in enraptured silence as the man told of the birth of the first three seasons. It was just as Jessa remembered it. Winter came first, born from the lonely tears of the Mother. With the man’s words, Aneira gasped and pointed upwards. Pinpricks of light floated down to the ground. As them came closer, Jessa realised the lights were attached to people hanging from falling ropes, who landed gracefully on the ground and knelt before the final falling light, larger than the others, illuminating the face of a beautiful, blonde-haired woman with an expression as cruel as Jessa had pictured.

The man told them of Winter’s obsession with frost and death, and how the Mother had grown fearful of her. She had ran, and created Spring from a lock of her hair, bringing with it life into the world for the first time. In the real world, the winter dancers had ran off, replaced with others dressed in the colours of spring. They moved together as one, an intricate joyous dance Jessa tried to follow but quickly became a blur of movement and awe.

When Winter had learned of Spring she had been enraged, but at first meeting the two goddesses had fallen in love, Spring softening Winter’s cruel heart, and it was not long before they brought Summer into the world. But Summer, with her capacity for both nurturing life and causing death from the intensely hot sun, reminded Winter of her need for death. The Mother saw how this could change her first daughter and also ruin Summer, so she sought to separate them by creating a final goddess.

Jessa could barely follow the dancers before her. The lighting was still weak, so she could only see them by the glow of their costumes, and in any case their dance could not hold her attention as well as the man speaking could. “…She came across a gigantic weeping willow, its drooping leaves browning under the onslaught of Summer’s hot days. The Mother sat at the base of the trunk and felt the willow dying. She felt its hope that it would live and knew She had found Her new soul, Autumn. The willow changed. She was the most beautiful of the Mother’s children, her gentle face full of kindness and hope, her hair the same reds and oranges of the leaves that had adorned her previous form.”

The lights in the ballroom were suddenly lit once more, making Jessa squint. In the centre of the room, the four sets of dancers had come to together in a circle. Winter, then Spring, then Summer, then Autumn. The goddesses for each were held aloft, brought down in turn to show the passing of the seasons. Each set of dancers performed a small dance each. When it was Autumn’s turn, the spring dancers moved too, and the Spring goddess stared at the Autumn goddess as she performed her dance. The man told them of Spring infatuation, of how Winter could not learn the truth. But when spring rolled around again, the goddess could not hide her affection.

“Spring was so enamoured that she planted a flower in the ground, one the colour of Autumn’s hair. Autumn saw the flower and she knew it was Spring’s gift, for in her heart there was also love for the one she could never see. The days of Autumn drew on, and soon Winter’s reign would begin. Autumn could not bear for the flower to die in Winter’s clutches, so she took it from the ground and hid it in a box where it could be kept safe until Spring came again.”

Jessa sucked in a breath. That was not how the story went. It was not a box. Her gaze shot to Alrick, but his face was calm. As she watched him, the dancers before her forgotten, she saw him take Catrice’s hand. She glanced at him, more of a flicker of her eyes, and she saw his knuckles whiten. Jessa swallowed. The box. Her mother. Her mother was Autumn.

The man was still speaking, heedless to the thoughts racing in Jessa’s head. What was going on? “But Winter had seen her lover’s preoccupation, and as her hatred of Autumn for keeping her away from her daughter was already set, it only fuelled Winter’s desire for revenge. She came early from her slumber, to Autumn’s surprise, and she took from Autumn her last days.”

Wrong again. Winter had tricked Autumn over many years into giving her more days in exchange for promising to help her meet Spring for the first time. Jessa’s heart pounded. Took her last days. Her mother’s death. Jessa stared at Catrice, but the woman looked just as serene as she did before. Did she not see? Jessa doubted it.

The Autumn goddess now lay on the floor, her entourage of dancers gone. The story continued, describing Winter’s obsession with power through word and dance. Winter had grown so mad with need for power that her gaze had soon turned to destroying Spring. Jessa couldn’t breathe. What had Alrick arranged?

The man’s voice had grown dark. The dancers grew still. “…It did not take long for Spring to learn of Winter’s treachery. And so, when Spring finally came, she greeted her old lover with all the affection she had once held for her. They embraced, and in so doing Spring ripped out Winter’s heart and held it aloft. Spring showed her three visions. The first, of the past. The Mother, when the world was new, destroying the world She loved with Her lonely, anguished tears. The Mother, Her eyes bright as she gazed upon Her first daughter for the first time and realised She was no longer alone. The second, of the present. The Mother, reduced to nothing under Winter’s relentless torment of the world. Autumn, gone. The world, dying under Winter’s oppressive rule.”

“The third, of the future. Summer, the daughter Winter loved, running away with Spring to a place a goddess without a heart can never go, both lost to Winter’s greed. Then Winter, dead in the snow. Finally, the world, dead, a frozen wasteland. The Mother, alone once more.”

There was not a dancer left standing now. They all lay sprawled on the floor. Even as the man finished his story, once again so different from the original, they did not rise again.

“Winter begged for the future to change, for her life to be spared. Spring said nothing. She put Winter’s heart in a cage and locked it, for Winter could not be let loose on the world uncontrolled again. Winter was Spring’s.” The man continued, talking about how the world was brought back into balance under Spring’s guiding hand, but Jessa was no longer listening. The story was wrong, and it had been meant for Catrice. She had not reacted at all. Her hand was still clasped in Alrick’s, and he leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Still, nothing. If Jessa had not known the queen to be a consummate actress, she would know it now. It was terrifying. Surely the story had affected her. The king had all but told her that he knew everything and would take everything from her should she go against him again. She looked away from the royals and glanced at the faces of the nobles around her. Most had probably never heard the story before, and nearly all were still completely engrossed in the story before them. A few looked confused, perhaps thinking that the story was not quite right, but Jessa couldn’t say.

With a final bow, the man finished his story: “And it was so that the Seasons were born.”

There was a long pause. No one clapped. Jessa’s gaze returned to the king and queen. After a beat, the queen removed her hand from the king’s. Perhaps to Jessa only, the movement seemed slightly more aggressive than it should. Had her mask fallen, just for a second? The queen was already standing, a smile on her face, and she began to clap. The silence broken, the nobility – and Jessa – joined in.

As she clapped, her gaze was drawn to the fallen dancers, who were only just beginning to stand to take their bows. She saw Alrick sitting above them. The picture he had made the troupe paint spoke of his wife causing this destruction, but Jessa could see only him, standing before a ruined world.

[Rosabeth]

The only thing crueler than Tula’s teasing was the headache that greeted Rhys when he woke up the next morning. Light flooded the tent, pulling Rhys from what was already restless sleep into what felt worse than many hangovers from his past. Rhys groaned, rolling over and burying his face into his bed roll.

“Finally, you’re up!”

Kieran plopped down on the bed roll beside Rhys, yanking down the blanket without warning. Rhys rolled over onto his back swinging his arm blindly but Kieran caught it easily with a laugh. Before Rhys could open his eyes something was in his hand.

“It’s breakfast. You missed it, but lucky for you, you have the kindness of my heart to keep you fed.” Rhys squinted into the sunlight, a blurry brown lump slowly coming into focus. He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, popping a chunk of what he now recognized as bread into his mouth before Kieran took the rest away only to replace it with a small ceramic bowl. “It’s decent, but don’t ask what it is. I don’t know, and I don’t know enough Novarian to understand what they said when I asked.”

Kieran rose from his perch only to fall into his own bedroll, laying back with his hands behind his head. “You know, I ate breakfast with the queen this morning while you were sleeping. She didn’t seem particularly surprised that you never showed up; said something along the lines of ‘I’m sure he had a very busy night.’” Rhys choked on his food, wheezing as he reached for some water to force down as Kieran watched with amusement. “Interesting woman. Want to know one of the first things she said to me? ‘Stick to Etrenian. Your Novarian leaves something to be desired.’” Kieran laughed at himself, shaking his head with a grin. “You know, you get so used to people bowing and scraping at court I almost forgot what it was like to be criticized.”

“I bet you loved it.”

“Every second.”

“You’re besotted and you only just met her. You’re like a prince in a fairy tale.”

“First, I’d like the record to show that I am a prince –“ Rhys couldn’t help but snort “- and second, I don’t deny the accusation. Come on, Rhys. You have to admit she’s stunning, not to mention one of the most quick-witted women I’ve ever met. I think I was insulted about ten times over breakfast yet somehow left feeling like I’d been complimented. How does she do that?”

Before Rhys could give a response a figure loomed in the tent entrance. It was a soldier though no one Rhys recognized. He stood at attention appraising Rhys and Kieran a moment before giving a curt bow. “Lord Rhys, Her Majesty wishes to speak with you.”

“Did she mention what about?”
“No, my lord, only that it was urgent.”

Rhys looked to Kieran, wondering if the queen had spoken of anything that morning. From Kieran’s bewildered expression she had not. Rhys quickly pulled on the cleanest clothes he had before following the soldier who led the way at far too quick a pace for so early in the morning. The labyrinthine passages of the camp were seemingly endless as Rhys and the soldier ducked this way and that, following a path Rhys knew he’d never remember in this sea of identical tents. Eventually they neared the edge of the camp, approaching a rather large tent with a small group awaiting them outside.

“Rhys.” Tula stood in the middle of a small group of unfamiliar soldiers. They stood at attention upon Rhys’ arrival, each taking a small step aside as to allow him and the queen a small amount of privacy.

“What’s going on?”

“Ezaria Arcius arrived this morning. I thought you’d want to see her as soon as possible.” Tula gestured to the tent behind them. “She’s just in there.”

Rhys’ eyes lingered on the tent, his pulse quickening. Even though he’d known he’d be seeing her he’d never fully planned out what he wanted to say. A thousand questions bombarded his mind at once, each only half formed, disappearing as soon as another more pertinent one took its place. So many of the questions could be asked with only one word – why? Why the Lanis’? Why Jasrah? Why, after so many years of loyal friendship, had one of the Marinons’ dearest friends sent a viper into their home?

The only question to pry Rhys from his thoughts was that of the soldiers who stood just behind Tula. Rhys nodded pointedly at the entourage. “Who -?”

“Protection. In case something should do wrong.”

“I know Ezaria well. I doubt she’d try to hurt me, especially not here.”

Tula did not appear convinced. “Should you need anything just yell. The three men are just soldiers, they can restrain Lady Arcius if necessary. The woman is a mage should things get more…dire.” Rhys did not know what could possibly be considered dire, but he did not want to ask. “I’ll be nearby, so should anything happen that I should know about let Raybien know and she’ll come find me.”

Rhys turned to face the tent, steeling himself. He knew if he was to get anything of value from Ezaria his questions must be focused and his demeanor in control. Yet, if the anger that began to swell up inside was of any indication, Rhys knew this would be easier said than done. For this one moment Dima could not be dead, for if Rhys thought about it in Ezaria’s presence he knew his emotions would take control. He could not let his pain control him.
Ezaria Arcius looked the same as Rhys remembered, if not a little worse for wear. Tied to a chair in the middle of the room Ezaria looked up as Rhys entered, her eyes hollow. The moment their eyes met Rhys felt rage being to bubble up inside, a feeling he tried to force away as he took a deep breath. Her expression was pathetic, her empty eyes flickering down to the floor. Shame.

“Ezaria.” For as shaky as Rhys breath was, his words were remarkably steady. He would not let her pity sway him, not even for a moment.

“Rhys, I am so –“

“Don’t you fucking dare say you’re sorry.” The words lashed out like a whip before Rhys could stop them. Ezaria flinched, visibly shaken.

“I know my words are empty, and I know you will never forgive me, but if I could just explain –“

“Explain? Explain what? Explain why you lost your mind and sent two psychopaths to Jasrah to slaughter our city? Explain why you sook out these people in the first place? Explain why you are still trying to get revenge for something that happened hundreds of years ago to people you never met?”

What had intended to be an interrogation very quickly spiraled out of control yet Rhys could not seem to stop himself. Every time he looked upon Ezaria’s pathetic expression he saw Dima and the Gailles and the smoking shell of his family home. He heard the screams and felt the pain of that night in every fiber of his being. For Ezaria to sit there so quietly with nothing but apologies to offer…Rhys steadied himself against a table, taking in a measured breath. If he was unable to maintain even a semblance of control this entire interrogation would be for nothing and he would walk away with nothing more on the Lanis’ than he’d had before.

When Rhys finally gained the composure to turn back to Ezaria her face was contorted, her lips pressed tightly together and trembling. They opened and closed, her throat moving as if to speak yet no sound escaped her lips. Her wide eyes told the story her voice could not and Rhys felt stupid for having forgotten. The curse. Jessa had told him of the spell that kept the Arcius’ bound to keep the du Rene’s secret. They’d been able to speak freely among Jessa, but they’d have no such freedom with Rhys. This situation would take some imagination.

“Is this about the secrecy spell? The reason you look so pained right now? If it is, nod your head.”

For a long moment there was nothing, and then Ezaria nodded slowly, looking somewhat surprised by it. Rhys sighed in relief. It seemed the spell only stopped the Arcius’ from talking about it, but that did not mean they could not reveal information through other ways.

“Ezaria, I’m going to ask you a series of yes or no questions. If the answer is yes, nod. If the answer is no, shake your head. Do you understand?” A nod. “Good. Did your plan, whatever it was, begin because you were looking to seek revenge on King Alrick and the du Rene’s” Another nod. “Did you plan on hiring a mage with the intent to send them to Ovis?” Nod. “Did you plan on having them assassinate King Alrick?” A long pause followed by a nod. “Did the Lanis’ know about this connection between you and the du Rene’s? Is that why you bonded, over that mutual connection?”

This time Ezaria gave no indication one way or the other, instead staring at Rhys with a quizzical look. It was not that she had no answer, Rhys detected, but rather that she didn’t seem to understand the question. It had seemed a simple enough question to Rhys yet from the way Ezaria now stared at him it was as if she thought him stupid. Suddenly Rhys understood.

“You didn’t know.”

Finally Ezaria spoke, the conversation apparently far enough from the du Rene’s secret for her voice to return. “What don’t I know?”

“The Lanis’ – they’re Alrick’s children. They’re his bastards.”

Rhys needed no confirmation that the revelation was new to Ezaria for her face said everything. Of course she wouldn’t know, how could she? It was not as if it was information the Lanis’ readily offered to anyone willing to listen. Still, Rhys doubted Ezaria had so much as asked as to why these strange foreigners from a country that had only ever maintained good relations with Etrene held a death wish for its king. No, her desperate search for revenge had blinded her from reason.

“I swear I didn’t know. If I’d known maybe…”

“What did you think was going to happen, Ezaria? Did you think you were going to be queen? A Novarian, a person no one outside my family has thought about in centuries? Did you really think that was a possibility?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Ezaria hissed. Her face grew red, lips trembling as she seemed to hold back words. Something in her had snapped. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I was to fund the Lanis’ trip to Ovis and their time in Jasrah. They were just supposed to stay there for enough time to find accomplices and then they were supposed to leave. Jasrah was always just a stop, never a destination. Do you really think I told them to burn the city? Do you think I would order them to kill innocent people? Things got out of hand and I didn’t know what to do. I can’t control them, you know that.”

Things got out of hand. Rhys scoffed, incredulous that Ezaria could so casually dismiss the slaughter of his friends and family as if it was just a plan that hadn’t gone quite right. “What exactly did the Lanis’ say to you when you met with them? Did they tell you what their plans were in killing Alrick? Surely you wouldn’t throw money at them without even asking. You might be desperate but you’re not stupid.”

“They came to my house one night…no, it wasn’t night, was it? Um…they, uh…” Ezaria’s thoughts trailed off as her eyes flickered away from Rhys, staring off into the distance with her brow furrowed in thought.

“Ezaria?”

“I, uh…” Pressing her eyes tightly closed Ezaria shook her head. “What did they say?”

Realization dawned and Rhys sucked in breath, staring at Ezaria. Miriyam obviously did not find her involvement with Ezaria secretive enough worth protecting or Ezaria would have never admitted to it. This confusion, the muddled words, the pained look on her face…there was something there, something Miriyam had thought worthy of hiding even from Ezaria. Rhys needed to know what it was.

Raybien, the somber looking mage Tula mentioned, was at her post outside the room when Rhys ducked out his head. She glanced at the other soldiers, likely wondering if Rhys was done, but he only shook his head, beckoning her inside with a finger. She slipped inside the tent silently, nodding to her confused looking partners. Once inside Rhys gently pulled Raybien off to the side, far from Ezaria’s hearing. “Can you tell if someone has some sort of memory spell on them? Something that would block them from accessing their own memories?”

“Generally, yes, especially on someone who’s not a mage. A mage can place another spell on top of the memory one, something to obscure the original spell from view. That needs constant maintenance, though, so it’s not feasible on someone without magic like her,” Raybien nodded to Ezaria.

“Can such a spell be removed by someone who’s not the original mage who placed it?”

Raybien bit her lip with a sigh. “That’s more complicated. It’s dependent on a lot of factors: the strength of the mage who placed it, the strength of the spell itself, and how long ago it was placed. Memory spells wear off over time, so if a mage wishes to hide something they must re-perform the spell every so often or else it will disappear on its own. That process can take anywhere from days to years, depending on the strength of the mage, but it will always deteriorate with time. Memory spells aren’t created equal. Think of removing one like trying to pick a lock. The less tumblers the lock has, the easier picking it will be. If a mage has reason to believe someone would come looking for this memory, that any other mage could possibly know about it, they’d made the spell very complex – lots of tumblers, so to say. If they’re not worried that the memory would be of any interest to an outsider it will be simpler.”

The prognosis was not hopeful, but there were a few factors in his favor. As far as Rhys knew the Lanis’ were not making frequent trips back to Asanos, so the likelihood that the spell had never been recast was high. If Miriyam was anything like her father Rhys was not hopeful that she had cast an easy spell to break, but he also saw no reason for her to be worried that someone would come after Ezaria. “Can you try? Please?”

There was hesitance in Raybien’s expression and her eyes fell on Ezaria with a certain pity in them. Finally she nodded, though she did not seem particularly happy about it. As she approached Ezaria the woman eyed her with marked suspicion, her eyes narrowing into slits. Raybien’s movements were slow and obvious as to not frighten Ezaria, but the moment her hand reached out to touch Ezaria’s head the woman jerked away, thrashing in her chair.

“Don’t touch me!” Ezaria’s gaze flashed to Rhys. “Who is she? What is she doing?”

“She’s not going to hurt you, just sit still. Please.” Ezaria was not listening. She jerked violently in her restraints but it was a fruitless effort. There was nowhere for her to go. The moment Raybien’s hands fell on her head Ezaria began to scream in protest, drawing in the rest of the guards.

“Her Majesty. Get her. Now.” Raybien’s command was tense but her face serene, her eyes now pressed shut in concentration. The soldiers needed no second telling. One shot off immediately, leaving the other two hovering at the entrance with swords drawn.

“What’s going on?”

Raybien’s jaw tightened, her head cocking to one side though her eyes remained shut. “There’s definitely something there; I can feel it. It’s…complex, yet somewhat…haphazard, almost.” Rhys did not understand but he asked no questions. Time seemed to drag on, but with each passing moment Ezaria’s screams faded away, her thrashing becoming nothing more than fidgeting. The only thing left after a few minutes that spoke of her fear was the wide eyed stare fixed on Rhys.

A commotion behind him made Rhys turn to see Tula standing at the tent entrance watching the scene before her with confusion. She strode quickly to Rhys’ side, her eyes never leaving Ezaria. “What is this?”

“I was questioning Ezaria and I realized there’s some sort of spell on her mind, something blocking her memories. Raybien is attempting to remove it.” If Tula disapproved of Rhys’ actions she said nothing, falling silent instead.

Time seemed to stretch on forever though for all Rhys knew they’d been standing there no more than few minutes. Sweat began to roll down Raybien’s brow, her face contorted in concentration. Rhys could not imagine what she was seeing in that moment. The silence in the room pressed down on them all, no one brave enough to so much as cough. At last the silence broke as Raybien let out a great sigh, collapsing onto the floor. Fellow soldiers rushed to her side in an instant but Rhys and Tula dared not move, their eyes still fixed on Ezaria. A moment later she gasped, a loud raspy noise that shook the very air, and her already wide eyes looked as if they might burst from her skull.

“Ezaria?” Rhys took a careful step forward. “Are you alright?”

Ezaria’s body trembled, her once shallow breathing quickening moment by moment until she was all but hyperventilating. Her wild eyes no longer looked at Rhys but fixed off in the distance, staring at some unknown horror. Rhys took another step, now only feet away. “Ezaria? Do you remember meeting the Lanis’? What did they say?”

“I was there, outside in the hallway.” The words came in a jumble, so quick Rhys almost missed them. From the corner of his eye he saw Tula step closer as well. “They wanted a moment alone. Then there were words, lots of yelling.”

Rhys and Tula exchanged a quick glance. “Who was yelling?”

“The man. He was yelling at the woman. I can’t remember exactly, but he was very angry. There was something about it being too dangerous. They’d get killed. It was reckless. I could hear someone moving, there was a crash, and then…nothing. I waited for a minute. I was scared. There was no sound for a while so I went in.

“I didn’t know what I was looking at. The woman was kneeling at a the table, writing something. At first I thought it was a letter but…” Ezaria’s words trembled and Rhys thought he saw tears welling up in her eyes. “It was blood. She was writing in her own blood. Her arm was cut open, bleeding everywhere. I don’t think she saw me at first. I could see it wasn’t a letter she was writing, it was just a word – du Rene.”

Every hair on Rhys’ body stood up. His head began to swim. He did not know much about blood magic, only that which his family used – location spells and the like. This was not something that made any sense.

“She had a dagger with her, the one she used to cut herself. I saw her place the dagger over the name, but not before she ran it all over her arm, coating it in her blood. It was so strange. I don’t know what happened after that, only that she looked as if she was concentrating very hard on that dagger. That was when I saw her brother passed out on the couch. I must have made some noise because that’s when she saw me. After that…nothing.”

“Oh Gods, no.”

All eyes turned to Tula, standing beside Rhys with one hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. The other soldiers looked as bewildered as Rhys at Tula’s sudden terror, the way her chest rose and fell in the same panicked motions as Ezaria’s had only minutes ago. Rhys grabbed Tula’s arm, shaking. “Tula? What is it? Do you know something?”

Her hand slowly peeled away from her mouth, fingers grazing against her trembling lips. “I did a lot of research into Greater Magic before I lifted the ban. In all my reading I only ever came across one book that went into much detail about blood magic. Most just talked about location spells and blood amulets, the usual uses. But this book…there’s more to it. It only talked about it in theory. The magic was described as so volatile, so dangerous that even the strongest of mages dared not use it. The control it required, the immense amount of power…no one would be foolish enough to attempt it.”

Rhys could hear nothing but Tula’s words, a faint ringing in his ears drowning out everything else. He did not want to know, and yet… “Tula?” His hand squeezed harder on her arm.

“It didn’t have a name,” her voice was low, barely more than a whisper, “the book just explained it. It’s a way of killing an entire bloodline at once. The caster uses their target’s blood to mark them, and then binds the weapon with both of their blood. When they use the weapon to kill someone in that bloodline…everyone in the bloodline dies.”

“No, no, no, no, no.” Rhys clutched at his head, suddenly feeling as though it might burst. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. It made no sense. “But Miriyam – she’s part of the bloodline too!”

Tula nodded, her eyes void of all emotion. “That’s why she was able to use just her own blood – it acted as both the target and the binder.”

“But she’ll die! She has to realize that if she kills one of the du Rene’s it would kill her too.”

“Unless she thinks she found a way around it,” Tula muttered. “Does she seem like the kind of person to self-sacrifice?” Rhys shook his head. “Then she obviously thinks she’s immune somehow. It’s possible, I suppose. If she managed to even get this far without the magic backfiring on her she’s obviously much stronger than we thought. Apparently she doesn’t care if her brother gets caught in the crossfire.”

Rhys dropped to the ground, his head buried in his knees. After all the lengths they’d gone through to keep Jessa safe, all the spells and secrecy, she was no safer than she’d ever been. Rhys’ breath ripped from his chest as he began to hyperventilate but unable to control himself. The Lanis’ never wanted revolution. They never wanted a war the way the Novarians did. He thought back to that first time they’d met and the deal they’d struck – Rhys would give them information on the Jasrahn nobility in exchange for allied assistance. If only one of the du Rene’s need die for the magic to work then the Lanis’ did not need an army with which to fight Alrick, they only needed access to court. The nobility. They had not punished the nobility as some sign of solidarity with the commoners. They had killed off those who had refused to help. He’d been such a fool, leading the Lanis’ straight to their greatest resource without a second thought.

Hands were on Rhys’ shoulders and a voice called out to him yet Rhys paid it no mind. In all its torment his mind could only think of one thing – Jessa. He had to get back to Ovis. If he didn’t stop Miriyam before she reached Court Jessa would die, and there’d be nothing he could do to stop it.

[Mollianne]

The morning after the ball, Jessa left the castle before anyone else had risen. Only the night guards were there to see her leave. The morning air bit at her cheeks as she wandered aimlessly through the castle grounds. Before she had fully realised where she was going, she found herself outside the castle walls and staring up at the university before her. For so many years of her life, Jessa had called that building home and yet she hadn’t visited in months. Harris’ voice was in her head, asking her to come. Then her response, promising she would soon. Jessa sniffed, hunched her shoulders, and walked up the steps. She was not going to think about that. She was only going to think about the fact that the university was a quiet, relatively private place to study. Jessa hitched the bag further onto her shoulder.

Unlike the castle, the university tended never to sleep and so the hallways were brightly lit. A few students shuffled around, clearly having spent the entire night studying, but no one paid Jessa any attention as she wandered down the hall. Just… taking it all in. Harris had been right. This is where she belonged. But for now, there were more important things she had to do.

Jessa headed for the library, only looking over her shoulder occasionally. It wasn’t until she was safely through the door and in the stacks that she released a breath she had not realised she’d been holding. It was foolish, she knew. It was far too early for him to be around, let alone actually cross paths with her. She would not see him. She had managed to avoid him for months, and that was not about to change now. Jessa hoped.

She found a quiet corner of the library and sat down. Larend had let her take one of Magrethe’s diaries – the one he hadn’t destroyed – for her to study. If Jessa was right and this was written in some kind of code or with a cipher, then she needed to crack it. It was something she’d had some experience in, given she had been a quiet child who had kept to herself and loved solving difficult problems. She’d managed to decipher some of the Marinon’s blood book all those months ago, and she doubted Magrethe would have written something more complex than that. She had probably relied more on the casual observer taking it to be a true diary. If she and Larend had not found two, they wouldn’t have given it a second glance.

The diary entries were not overly long, and Jessa finished reading them just as light began to filter through the windows high above her. She rubbed her sore eyes. Although she had been unable to sleep, she was exhausted. She was only grateful that her headaches had stopped, for now. She sighed, looking up at the ceiling. She wished she had the other diary with her so she could compare the sentence structure. But if that one was actually a real diary, Larend deserved to have it. Jessa couldn’t have taken that from him the same day they found it.

She pulled out some parchment and a pen from her bag and, using the first diary entry, started writing out possibilities for the code. It was best to start with the simplest, so she wrote out the first letter of every sentence, then the first letter of every word, and so on. It was a mess of letters. There was a chance that there was a cipher for one of the random strings of letters, but given that she had no idea how the individual letters might be broken up into words that she could then try to decipher, she couldn’t easily follow through with the task. She tried for a bit, shifting the letters by a set number, but it was still nonsense.

This wasn’t working.

Jessa sat back, frustrated. Logically she knew she’d only been working on it for a short time, and if she had already figured it out then Magrethe may as well not have bothered at all. Honestly, she was annoyed at herself, that she had pulled away from research – for very valid reasons – and now her patience was wearing thin. Before, she could have sat for days and just worked, but now she did not have that luxury. Whatever Magrethe had thought important enough to hide, Jessa needed to know what it was. Furiously, she crossed out the lines of useless letters she had written. She rubbed her forehead and, with a sigh, looked back at the diary. Surely she could figure it out.

“Professor Pryor?”

Jessa started, accidentally drawing a thick black line up the parchment. She sighed, and turned to look at the girl hovering by the nearest bookcase. She had a book cradled in her arms and looked vaguely familiar. “Sorry!” the girl said, biting her lip.

“No, no.” Jessa waved it away. “Are you okay?”

“Yes! I just… saw you, and thought you might be back?” The girl’s eyes were wide, hopeful. One of Jessa’s old students, probably, explaining why Jessa thought she had seen her before.

“Oh, no,” she said. The girl’s face fell. Jessa looked away, biting her tongue so she didn’t say something stupid like she might come back at some point. Jessa knew that would not happen. There was no place for her at the university after the king had destroyed her life’s work. And if she even lived to see the king gone, she would not stay in Ovis. Nothing she cared about was here.

The girl had come closer, tilting her head curiously at Jessa’s work. Since it would be suspicious to hide it – and there really was nothing incriminating in the pages spread before her – Jessa left it where it was. Clearly the girl was too nervous to ask one of her teachers what she was doing or whether she could take a closer look. She glanced at the pages then back at Jessa. Timidly she said, “Have you spoken to Professor Maneva? He, er… dabbles in cryptography.” She glanced at Jessa again, wondering if she’d spoken out of turn.

“Really? No, I haven’t. Do you know where I might find him? What time even is it?”

The girl flustered at Jessa’s reaction but dutifully answered her questions. She then excused herself, claiming her friends were waiting for her, and ran off. Jessa barely noticed, too busy packing her bag. She’d been in the library longer than she had thought, but at least that meant Professor Maneva would be in his office – or teaching, she supposed.

She left the library, intending to reach Maneva’s office within a few minutes. She walked down the hallways, but soon her footsteps slowed with uncertainty. Having been so sure she knew the university like the back of her hand, realising now that she did not was disconcerting. It was true that she had not really frequented this particular wing, but it also hit Jessa just how long she had been away from this place. After another few minutes of aimlessly wandering, she gave up and asked someone for directions.

Maneva was not in his office, so Jessa stood around awkwardly waiting. Thankfully no one else was around to see her – both because she looked rather odd pacing the width of the corridor, and because she didn’t particularly want knowledge of her speaking to a cryptographer spreading lest it reach the king. After maybe half an hour, someone appeared at the end of the corridor. Even though he was stooped with old age, he was tall. Jessa felt tiny in comparison. He didn’t even seem to notice her as he came towards her, fishing in his pocket. He stopped outside Maneva’s door, finally pulling out a key with gnarled fingers. Jessa hung back awkwardly, realising she probably should have spoken early and would now only startle the man. So she waited as he shuffled into his office, then waited a few moments more, and then she knocked on his open door. At this point, he was seated behind his desk. He looked up at her.

“Office hours are after lunch.”

Jessa was thrown. Did she really look that young? She stood a little straighter. “I’m not a student, Professor Maneva.” She hesitated, once again considering whether the king could find out about this. Her real name was too recognisable. But her mother had loved a certain flower, and Jessa liked to remember her mother calling her it, too. She’d used it once before, when she had been cornered by Khalid Farani when visiting Nayall’s safe house. “I’m Rose, visiting from Bordunne?” Of course Maneva stared at her blankly. At least that meant he didn’t actually recognise her, either. “I suppose my letter got lost. I heard you knew something about cryptography-”

“Something?” he barked and laughed. “Something, indeed. Who cares about the years I spent during the Reynmi war, deciphering hundreds of damned intercepted messages from the Tamirids?”

His absurd height made sense now, at least. He was from Aquena. Jessa widened her eyes and she lifted her hands conciliatorily. “I didn’t mean-”

“Well, I suppose I shouldn’t expect some Etrenian to know. Wasn’t even your war. Long before you were born.”

“Right…” Jessa said, grateful that the ire in Maneva’s voice seemed to have lessened. She pulled out the diary from her bag. Maneva’s eyes were drawn to it instantly. “I’ve been trying to crack this for months.”

Maneva gestured impatiently for Jessa to pass it over, and she did so hastily. He rifled through the pages and then eyed her, disappointment clear in his eyes. His voice was monotone. “This is a diary.”

“No,” Jessa said, leaning over. “I’ve figured out that much. The dates are strange. They stop around here and start again years later.”

“Some people are fickle with diaries.”

“There’s another diary. It reads differently, and the dates start a bit after these end but the book isn’t filled by the time they start writing in this one again.” She spoke fast, probably faster than he could really comprehend, but he did not ask her to repeat herself. He looked down at the diary again, flicking more slowly between the pages.

“Do you have this other diary?” he asked, holding out his free hand.

“Oh.” Jessa smiled in embarrassment. “I didn’t think. It’s with my colleague. He’s in the city.” Jessa sent a silent apology to Larend.

“I’ll need you to bring it to me. Then I can compare them for myself. You’re sure they’re written by the same person?” Maneva peered up at Jessa, keeping the book open with one hand.

“The handwriting is identical, and they were found together.” Although she answered his question, that wasn’t her primary concern. She hadn’t meant for Maneva to decipher the diary, only to ask his opinion. But then, it would very likely be solved much more quickly if she left it in his hands. But she was certain that whatever Magrethe had wanted to hide was something that had to be kept from the king. She didn’t know Maneva or his affiliations. He may not have been Etrenian by birth, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t loyal to the country in which he lived.

“You will send the other diary to me?” Maneva was asking. Jessa floundered, making Maneva raise his eyebrows. “I suppose you would like to tell me the information you think you’ll find is sensitive and whatever I should find shouldn’t be shared with anyone?” Jessa stared at him, unable to respond. “I think you’ll find I have experience keeping secrets, and I have no particular friends here. In fact, things are a little – frosty, shall we say, since Ambassador Dunvyen was arrested. True, I heard he’s been released now-” Jessa’s heart leapt. She had not heard such a thing. “-but, perhaps understandably because of the war, Etrene does not look kindly on foreigners at the moment.”

Jessa nodded. She couldn’t trust Maneva, but she could read what he was trying to say even if she was confused that he would immediately assume it was something she didn’t want the king knowing. Still, if he was as good as he had boasted, he would figure out the diary’s true message before she could. “I’ll have my colleague send it to you as soon as possible.”

“Good.” His tone was short, a dismissal.

“Thank you,” Jessa said. Before she left, she wrote down Larend’s address. It wasn’t much better than giving him the castle, but there was nowhere else for it. She handed him the scrawled note. “If you could send any update to this address.” He nodded, and Jessa turned to leave.

“I enjoy a good mystery. So thank you,” he said. Slyly, almost so quietly Jessa did not hear him, he added, “Jessa.”

Of course. That was why he had made his assumption. She turned slowly to find him watching her with a small smile. She couldn’t help but ask, “Am I that bad a liar?”

“Actually no. You might have convinced me. But I’ve seen you around before. And-” He slowed, measuring her as he continued, “-at King Alrick’s birthday address. And then, of course, this address belongs to a noble.”

Jessa swallowed. Right. It was time to go. “Thank you, Professor.”

She made her way back through the corridors and soon found herself back at the library and on familiar ground. Lost in her thoughts as she headed for the exit, she did not hear at first when someone called her name. Then suddenly he was right in front of her. Her heart stopped, and she just stared. He did too.

“Jessa?” Alistair said.

“Alistair,” she said quietly. Before she had time to do anything, he had come closer and taken her hand. She stared at it. How could she be this unlucky?

“I’m so sorry, Jessa.” For the briefest moment, Jessa was confused, and then like a ton of bricks she realised what he meant. They hadn’t seen each other long before Harris’ death, so of course he meant that. She shook her head, more to do something that with actual purpose. “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’m okay. But I really do need to… go.”

She pulled her hand out of Alistair’s grip and sidestepped him. She heard Alistair sigh, and anger boiled inside her. He had no right to be upset with her. Jessa did not look at him. She didn’t want to argue with him. She didn’t want him anywhere near her.

“We miss you, Jessa,” Alistair said before she could get very far. She stopped, closing her eyes. “I miss you. You do know you’re always welcome to visit us?”

She nodded. “I will. Soon.”

“Next week?” Alistair pressed. Damn him. Couldn’t he just leave her alone? But she knew she couldn’t refuse now, not without arousing more suspicion. She didn’t need him running to Alrick about this. Of course, it was just as likely that he would divulge any conversation they had anyway. Well, two could play at that game. He would not get anything noteworthy to share with the king – nothing that was true anyway. She turned around, and smiled at her lost friend. The man who had betrayed her, and the man who was probably closer to Alrick than any other alive – if Alistair’s unchecked admonishment of Alrick when she had seen them together was anything to go by.

She could use that. Alistair was no longer her friend, so there was no reason to feel guilty.

“Yes, next week.”

Alistair’s face brightened. “Great. I’ll send a note with details?”

Jessa nodded. “I really do have to go.”

She turned and left before Alistair could keep her there any longer. Although she might force herself to deal with him, today was not that day. She had not had time to prepare.

His note came the next day, her foolish hope that it was from Maneva via Larend dying as soon as she read her name. She barely paid attention to the missive, only noting the date and time before putting it aside. She had no care for anything else Alistair had to say, not then.

The days passed with Jessa very much on edge, waiting every hour to hear from Larend. Of course she knew it would take time to decipher the diary, and Maneva had other commitments too, but reason did not stop her from worrying. She kept mostly to her room, though perhaps she ought to have eaten dinners with the royals, and each day servants would inquire after her health. It was so strange for them to care but it was promising too. She hoped that it was partially fuelled by the rumours Duan and Nayall’s people were spreading, but it equally could just have been the news that she had stood up to Elissa for one of their own. Either way, she would welcome their warmth and hope it led to something more.

On the fifth day, there was a knock on the door. Jessa tiredly waved them in. She saw the envelope in the man’s hand and her heart rate accelerated. Although she wanted to rip it out of his hand’s, she took it slowly. It was from Larend.

“Milady?” the man asked. Jessa looked up from the envelope and watched the servant expectantly. She felt awful, but she did not have time for this.

“I’ve been ‘earing some things, milady.” He looked over his shoulder. “I has a friend, y’see. I ‘eard you know of somewhere safe for ‘em. And they, er, wanna help.”

Jessa’s breath caught, for an entirely different reason that Larend’s letter. Whether the man truly meant a friend or himself, it meant at least some of the rumours were working. The mages, at least, used to hiding from the law, would come to their call. Slowly, she nodded. “Speak to Duan. He’s just outside, but I wouldn’t speak to him now. I’ll tell him to meet you – or your friend – at the south gate at nine.”

“Thank you, milady.” The man bowed and left hurriedly. Jessa hoped briefly that the man could compose himself before arousing attention, but she was quickly distracted by Larend’s letter. Her heart in her throat, she lifted the parchment out of the envelope.

It wasn’t long. It didn’t need to be. It’s done. Meet tonight? -Larend.

[Rosabeth]

The letter weighed heavy in Rhys’ pocket, just as it had for the past three days. He’d thought perhaps time would help sway his mind one way or the other, but the longer he remained indecisive the worse the indecision became. The night after Ezaria’s revelation Rhys had composed two letters – one to his family and one to Jessa. The first had been sent off with a messenger the moment his pen left the parchment, but the second…the second he could not bring himself to send. One part of him, the rational part, knew it to be cruel to keep this information from her. Rhys knew that were their places reversed he would want to know. Yet it was not the rational part of him that kept the letter. The panic the very thought of Miriyam’s plan brought on was enough to drive him to distraction, and he was not even on the receiving end of the spell. Rhys could not bear the thought of Jessa knowing that her worries were far greater than Alrick’s unpredictable retribution. Alrick knowing of their relationship was torturous enough without this. Rhys couldn’t do it. It was unfair and it was selfish but Rhys could not be the one to bring more pain into Jessa’s life. His recklessness and stupidity had done enough damage.

Rhys wandered through the woods, following the path that had been etched into the ground by the thousands of soldiers who walked it each day. It led to the large pond where most of the army had taken to bathing, but this late in the day in these temperatures few were willing to brave the icy waters. It meant Rhys would be alone. He’d kept out of the main camp the best he could, avoiding Kieran and Tula’s pitiful looks. They did not know what to do or say, but their quiet concern was a thousand times worse than anything they could say. He’d taken to picking up any odd jobs that kept his mind occupied, but Rhys was an outsider in camp and largely unneeded. Rhys felt guilty for wishing it, but each day he hoped silently for some conflict, some battle he could throw himself into. He needed this war to end, and each day that they sat and planned and waited only put him more on edge.

The quiet sound of footsteps drew Rhys from his thoughts. He spun, sighing as he saw Kieran headed his way. He needed neither his uncle’s pity nor concern.

“You know, I’ve heard hypothermia is an unpleasant way to die.” Kieran held out Rhys’ cloak with a shake before throwing it into his arms. “It’s late, Rhys, and it’s getting dark. You should come back to camp.”

“I’m fine.” He could hear Kieran’s quiet sigh of frustration and for a moment felt a twinge of regret. Rhys shrugged on the cloak, if only to get the smallest of smiles from his uncle.

“Rhys, I know you don’t want to talk to me, and that’s your choice, but you need to talk to someone. This isn’t like you. You’ve barely spoke in days. I know it’s hard, but this isn’t a healthy way of dealing.” Rhys shrugged, unwilling to look Kieran in the eye. He didn’t need any more guilt than he already felt. “So if you’re not willing to talk to me, I brought someone who at least wants to see you.”

Rhys hadn’t even noticed that there’d been someone standing behind Kieran the whole time. As his uncle stepped aside Rhys found himself smiling despite himself. “Laurita!”

She looked much different than Rhys remembered. Her Ovisian servants dress and Novarian clothes were both gone, leaving her clad in all black with short cropped hair. Rhys had known the nature of her station in Ovis, but it was not until that moment he truly realized what she was. A spy. A soldier. The same woman he’d met in Asanos, what now felt like a lifetime ago, yet so changed.

“You’re staring.”

“You cut your hair.”

Laurita shrugged, running her hand through the short lengths that grazed her jaw. “It’s easier this way. I don’t have to keep putting it up. Besides, I spend half my time looking like someone else entirely – I half forget what I look like in the first place.” Rhys’ eyes went to a glint of metal at Laurita’s hips, a dagger sheathed there.

“And you’re armed?”

“Times have changed.”

An uncomfortable silence fell and Rhys looked around, realizing Kieran was nowhere to be seen. Laurita held out her hand and as Rhys approached she hooked their arms, practically dragging Rhys back towards camp.

“You said you were coming but I didn’t expect you here so soon.”

Laurita’s lips pursed, her eyes hardening as she looked ahead. “Yes, well I’d intended to do some things before I left but…it didn’t work out.” Rhys knew what her words implied without asking. Any hope he’d secretly held vanished, a pain tightening in his chest. “She’s being ridiculous,” Laurita seethed. “I know she’s upset but did she ever stop to think that we might all be? She’s being selfish. And here I am, her friend, being forced to find out about your divorce from the gossip mill. She couldn’t even tell me that?”

Rhys could hear his blood rushing in his ears, his breath sucked away as he stood rooted in the spot. Laurita looked up at him in confusion, realization dawning a moment too late. Her mouth dropped in a horrified expression. “I’m so sorry, I thought you knew. I figured someone would have heard and said something. I guess news only came out right before I left so it might not have reached camp yet.”

The word hung in the air, turning Rhys’ mouth to ash. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t think it. It couldn’t be true. “My divorce?”

“The king sanctioned the divorce just after you left Ovis. As marriage are public record I was able to ask around until I found someone who worked in the archives who’d seen the document themselves. It’s real. It…has Jessa’s signature.”

So this was it, Rhys thought. Alrick’s punishment. Rhys supposed he ought to be relieved that Alrick’s retribution had been so mild, yet it was difficult to find any positives when it felt as though Rhys’ life was collapsing around him. There was a sort of poetic brilliance in the move. To the nobles in Ovis the divorce likely came as no surprise, Rhys’ reputation likely being one of the great villain who had treated Jessa so cruelly in their ill-fated marriage. At court it meant nothing more than a legal indication that Jessa could be once more thrown at other men by her father, free to marry for his strategic convenience. To the rest of the world it meant nothing – to Rhys it meant everything.

“I’m sure she didn’t have a choice,” Laurita offered, looking desperate to ease Rhys’ pain. She placed her hand gently on Rhys arm, unsure of how to continue. “Refusing would have been far too dangerous.

Rhys nodded along to Laurita’s words. They were true enough, that he knew. Alrick would never give Jessa a choice in the matter, much like he’d given her little choice in the marriage. Still, Rhys could not help but let his mind wander to other possibilities. It hurt to even consider the idea, but maybe the situation was not as forced as Laurita made it out to be.

“Do you think it’s her guilt?”

Laurita furrowed her brow. “What?”

“This all started - Jessa’s silence, I mean – when she found out about my aversion to magic. Maybe from her perspective this is all to protect me? If she’s not around me she can’t hurt me, right?” Rhys laughed, but it was a forced, cutting sound. He knew Jessa. As much as it hurt him to think about, this was something she would do, something that would seem logical in her mind, even if she knew Rhys would hate the very idea. He could not fault her intentions, even if their results were infuriating.

If it were possible, Laurita looked more frustrated than Rhys. The string of curses she let out were so quick Rhys only picked up half, some sounding like a strange mix of Novarian and Etrenian. Her grip on Rhys’ arm tightened and she began to walk again, her face set in a dark expression.

“It’s funny – well, it’s not really funny at all – that Jessa should be so worried about hurting me. I’m the one who’s hurt her. It’s my fault she’s in danger, it’s my fault she ever went back to her damn father in the first place. It was my idea.” Rhys let out a shaky breath, running his free hand through his hair. They neared camp and Rhys focused on a distant campfire, watching its flickering flames to calm his mind. “If it wasn’t for me none of this would have happened. Maybe, just maybe, I could have stopped them if I hadn’t been such a fool, and now Jessa has to pay for my idiocy.”

“Rhys, Rhys, you’re not making any sense. What are you talking about?” Laurita turned before Rhys, putting her hands out to stop him. Rhys felt as though he was losing control again, just like the night he’d found out about Miriyam. He’s hands shook as he withdrew the letter from his pocket, thrusting it into Laurita’s outstretched hands.

“Just read it. It was meant for Jessa but…I can’t…” Rhys choked on his words. He couldn’t say it. The thought already plagued his mind day in and day out - saying it would make it too real. As Laurita broke the seal, her eyes quickly scanning over the letter, Rhys walked away towards the fire. It was tended by one lone soldier, but upon his seeing Rhys’ expression he quickly got up from the log where he sat and disappeared into a nearby tent. Rhys sat down beside the fire, watching the embers with a forced intensity. He knew Laurita was near but he could not stand to look at her face and see the same pity at his desperation that he’d seen from everyone else. Soon Laurita sat beside him, holding the letter outstretched. Rhys took the letter back, its weight far more than it should be. For several minutes she did not speak, seemingly as fixated with the fire as Rhys. When Rhys dared to look up, looking for some sense of reaction, he only saw Laurita’s stony-faced gaze, the fire reflecting in her eyes. Her expression was not one of emptiness, like Rhys’, but rather anger.

“That is horrific.” Laurita’s voice was low and controlled, only a slight shake to her hands indicating her true rage. “An entire bloodline…there’s no knowing how many people that might kill. Children will die, babies maybe…I can’t even imagine how someone could do something like this.”

“I don’t think Miriyam has many moral qualms,” Rhys muttered, poking the embers with a twig and watching the fire crackle. “I’ve sent word to my family. If the Lanis’ are still in Jasrah they’ll hopefully be able to keep tabs on them, let me know if they’re moving. If they’re already gone…I…I don’t know. I’ll figure out something. I can’t let Jessa die. I can’t. If she dies - ” It was not a statement Rhys could finish. He pressed a hand to his forehead, his head throbbing as he pressed his eyes shut. When they opened the world was a blur, the fire just colors dancing in his vision. He blinked away the tears, his vision slowly coming back. Laurita stared at him in surprise, obviously unsure of what to do. She reached out, slowly and tentatively, but Rhys only shook his head. He stared at the letter still in his hands. Without another thought he threw it into the fire.

“What are you doing?” Laurita looked between Rhys and the fire in wide eyes, getting to her feet.

“She doesn’t need to know. Not yet.” Rhys turned away from Laurita’s incredulous stare, unable to meet her eyes.

“Doesn’t need to know? Rhys, it concerns her. She has a right to know. You can’t keep something like this from her. I let you tell her about your aversion on your terms, in your own time, but this? No, this is different.”

“I can’t do it. I just can’t. I can’t be the one to bring her any more pain. How am I supposed to tell her when I can’t even handle this myself? Look at me – I’m a mess. Don’t think I don’t know. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy but Gods, I didn’t know it was going to be this hard. I didn’t know it would feel like this, this hopeless. It hurts, Laurita. And this guilt? It’s this weight on my mind all the time and I feel like it’s just going to break me the longer it’s there.” Rhys was suddenly on his feet, his whole body shaking. Before Rhys could make another move Laurita was there, her hands on his arms, looking up at him with a fierce intensity.

“Rhys – this is not your fault. Miriyam is not your doing. This would have happened regardless of whether you were there. Jessa is lucky you love her and that you care. Rhys, if it wasn’t for you we wouldn’t even know about this plan, and then where would Jessa be? Probably six feet under. You need to let this guilt go - it’s killing you. Please. I know you, and I know you’re stronger than this. You can do this. We can. Please.”

There was no time for Rhys to think or respond. Someone else was there – a soldier – watching them uncomfortably from a distance. At their sudden silence the woman approached, giving a curt nod. “Pardon my intrusion, but Her Majesty wishes to speak with you. Both of you.” Rhys was relieved for the intrusion, following the soldier happily, but Laurita sulked behind, looking as though there was more she wanted to say.

Rhys had not known what to expect in Tula’s quarters, but if he’d expected a private meeting he was sorely mistaken. There were already at least ten people in the tent by the time he and Laurita arrived, all huddled around what Rhys could only guess were the mage ring maps. Tula barely glanced up at their arrival, beckoning them to her side with her finger. Nayall stood to her left, giving Rhys a silent nod of acknowledgement – and a more enthusiastic smile to Laurita – as they came to stand to his side.

“What’s going on?” Rhys whispered, Tula seemingly too occupied with some small quarrel between two captains to look their way.

“I’m not entirely sure, I only got here a few minutes before you. They’ve mostly been arguing about what to do about the ambush.”

“Ambush?” Rhys and Laurita spoke in unison, equally startled.

Nayall nodded, ignoring their surprise. “I received word from one of my agents in the castle a few weeks ago. Word passed on from Jessa, I believe. There’s an ambush being planned at Solridge Bay. Apparently no one in the higher ranks can come to a consensus about what action to take. They need to clear out the bay for the navy, but they can’t exactly send soldiers into a dangerous and unknown situation.”

“You didn’t think to mention this on our ride here?”

“It never came up.”

“Gentlemen!” Tula’s voice was commanding, quieting not only Rhys and Nayall but the two captains who had not stopped their bickering. “If you wish to continue arguing please take it elsewhere. We have other more pressing matters to attend to.” Tula began clearing the table, placing what Rhys could only suspect to be a map in the center, though it remained blank to his eyes. Nayall must have noticed Rhys’ confusion for he grabbed Rhys wrist, the map suddenly coming to life. It was different than Rhys remembered, the focus fixed on a city south of Ovis. He did not ask how they’d managed to manipulate the map.

“Do you recognize this city, Rhys?”
At first Rhys had not. He’d only visited some of Etrene’s smaller cities a few times in his life, mostly as a service to his father. Most of them ran together, but one feature on the map sparked some memory. The city sat between two rivers, one flowing north towards Ovis and the other west towards their camp. Ferande, he remembered. He’d been there once before though not for many years.

“It’s a trade hub. My father used to use the northern river to smuggle goods in and out of Ovis.”

Tula smiled with a nod. “Exactly. If we can get a hold on Ferande, we can use the river. We’d be able to move our own supplies from the western coast inland in half the time with the western river, and we’d be able to move on Ovis with a much more substantial force if we weren’t beholden to the supplies we could carry. It’s a strategic necessity, and Alrick knows it. Look here.” Tula’s pointed to a cluster of dots on the page centered in the city; at least 20 or 30 from the looks of it. “It’s well guarded. Our spies tell use there’s a military force outside the city, but it’s nothing we couldn’t manage. That is, so long as there aren’t any mages getting in our way. There are likely mages within the army, ones we can’t see on the map, but they won’t be stationed in strategic places the way these are. Those we can handle. These? Alrick’s personal army? They could ruin any assault we plan. We need to take them out beforehand. That’s where you come in.”

Rhys realized Tula was not only looking at him, but at Nayall and Laurita as well. The three looked between each other with surprise. “Us?”

“Not just you; I would send you with reinforcements, skilled soldiers who have been on this type of assignment before. You would take the map with you – I would like Laurita to be the one in charge of that – so that you may monitor the location of the mages. Nayall has experience with these sorts of mages and I trust will be able to provide experience the rest of you cannot. If you keep a low profile and act quickly it should be fairly simple.”

It was not difficult to understand what was going unsaid. “This is an assassination mission, isn’t it?”

Tula did not flinch. “If you want to call it that.”

Rhys should not have been surprised. Was this not his skill set? Had he not been trained to fight, to be able to kill without remorse? Still, the thought of being an assassin did not sit particularly well. He glanced to Nayall who was seemingly far less resigned to his role. His brow furrowed, Nayall stared at the map with confliction clear on his face. This was a war, a war against a man Nayall had many reasons to hate, yet Rhys knew what was plaguing him. He’d been one of them, once. The mages may be threats, but Nayall understood far more than the rest of them the humanity that lie within. Rhys was sure that the thought of killing them invoked memories Rhys was happy to not be able to share. Finally, Nayall looked up from the map with a solemn nod.

“Excellent. You should be able to reach the city in two days. If you leave in the morning you should have some time to rest when you get there before infiltrating the city at nightfall. I’ll send additional instructions before you leave after I’ve conferred with my generals.” Tula nodded to the nameless soldiers who hovered nearby, soldiers Rhys could only assume would be their companions. They left without a word, as did the feuding captains and a few others Rhys had paid no mind. It was as Rhys began to leave that Tula was suddenly there at his side, grabbing his wrist.

“I need to speak with you a moment.”

Laurita paused near the tent entrance, looking back at Rhys in question. He shook his head, Laurita taking it as her cue to leave. When they were alone Tula leaned in close, her voice low though there was no one else around.

“I need you to keep an eye on Nayall. We need him for this and I do not doubt his capabilities, but I also do not doubt that this will be difficult on him. If he hesitates, if it looks as if he might be feeling too much sympathy for the mages…”

Rhys knew why he’d been asked to go without her needing to tell him. He was a Marinon – this was what was expected of him. “I have to finish the job.”

[Mollianne]

“This is…” Jessa shook her head, sinking in to the chair behind her. She glanced between Magrethe’s original diary entry and Maneva’s translation. He’d translated a few throughout the diary, just to be sure that the cipher was the same across all of them. The rest were up to Jessa and Larend.

“Basically nonsense,” Maneva interjected. “None of it tells you anything.”

Larend glared at him. “It tells us something.”

Maneva raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Like what? That some nobles are more loyal than others? Oh, and here’s some blackmail material for the ones that could be persuadable. But good luck knowing who to approach because she’s carefully left that information out.”

Jessa ignored them. Both were right. Jessa had not truly expected anything on this scale, a definitive encyclopaedia of, presumably, noble families and their various allegiances. Yet without being able to match names to the entries, the information was basically useless. Jessa didn’t think it was hopeless, though. They had Larend, who knew, at least, the Ovisian nobility and could maybe deduce some of the families’ identities from Magrethe’s passages. And there were those dates… Jessa was sure there was something in them. As she looked more closely now, she noticed some of the numbers denoting the months had been changed, but the original number didn’t even relate to a real month. If it was only once or twice Jessa might dismiss it. But how could someone get it wrong so many times?

Larend and Maneva were still bickering. Weren’t they meant to be adults? Jessa sighed loudly. “Can you please shut up?” They stared at her. Maneva looked thoroughly outraged that she, someone far younger than him, was chastising him. Jessa pushed on regardless. “I’m trying to think. Someone has to make sense of this-” She could see Maneva was about to interrupt her, so she raised her voice and continued. “-because Lady Janes would not have written this down for nothing, okay? So thank you, Professor Maneva, for your work. I truly, truly appreciate it. But right now I’m going to sit here and translate some more of this, and you two are going to do something other than arguing where I can hear you. Please.”
Maneva gaped for a good minute, and then said, “Well.” He moved to the door.

“Really, Professor, thank you. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

The man just harrumphed. “I know.”

He left. Jessa closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. Had she insulted him terribly? She began to stand up but Larend put a hand on her arm. “I’ll talk to him. You have work to do.”

Jessa bit her lip but she nodded. Larend smiled at her. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jessa said, waving him away. Her attention was already back on the diary. She picked up a pen and turned to the first entry Maneva had not translated. Maneva had explained that the first word of each diary entry was the key. She counted the number of letters in the first word. Six. From there, she would take the first letter of the first word, the second of the second word, and so one, returning to the first letter when she reached the seventh letter. It was long, boring work to count out each of them and she was unsurprised that Maneva had left most of the task to them. She couldn’t even imagine the effort it would have taken Magrethe to write these messages within passages that could, at first glance, pass for real diary entries. Sure, upon closer inspection some of the sentence structures were suspect, but it really was quite a feat.

Jessa had no idea how late it was when she had finally reached a third of the way through the diary. She probably ought to care, since her absence from the castle might be noticed, but she was absorbed in the decryption. The information that lay here, tantalising her with the promise of allies, was both infuriating and amazing. Her eyes were beginning to get sore, and she could feel a headache coming to warn her that she really should sleep soon, but she could not pull herself away.

Jessa turned the page, catching a glimpse of Larend’s name on the page. There had been some mentions of Magrethe’s children in the diary – antics from their childhood, though Jessa had no idea as to their truth – but not very many. And… Jessa frowned, pulling the diary closer. There was no date attached. That was odd, wasn’t it? Had Magrethe simply forgotten? Jessa rubbed her eyes and read the passage.

Tonight, Millicent admitted Larend injured Helene a few days ago. I’m positively enraged. Larend will not get my consent to play with the Petrave boy any time soon. I am appalled and sure that boy leads Larend astray. Larend used to be such a sweet and mindful boy.

As she read, she translated the passage, hoping Maneva’s decryption key would still work even though it already did not follow the mould of the previous entries. A minute later, she saw that it did. TIMEREVEALSALL.

Jessa blinked, and sat back. “Larend?” she called, unable to hide the growing excitement in her voice. This meant something. This was not the same repetition of loyalties and information about anonymous nobles. Larend appeared then, breaking her thoughts.

“You okay?” Larend grinned. “Thought it was best to stay away after that impressive display of yours.” Jessa barely heard him, waving him closer.

“Read this,” she said, showing him the decrypted message. Larend frowned.

“What does this have to do with anything?” he asked.

“Larend,” Jessa said, her voice turning breathy in her excitement. She picked up the diary, thrusting the page into his face. Larend jerked back. “There’s no date. There’s no date because this isn’t talking about one of the noble families. The dates represent the families. I’m sure of it. ‘Time reveals all’.”

Larend shook his head. His fingers clutched the paper until it crinkled at the edges. He glanced up at Jessa and held her gaze. “The clocks.”

Jessa stared at him. What was he talking about? He widened his eyes at her meaningfully, and she realised. She echoed, “The clocks.”

Almost carelessly, they left the diary and Jessa’s decryption on the table and raced out of the room. Jessa followed Larend up the stairs, but hesitated when he turned to go to Magrethe’s study. Jessa waited awkwardly. A few minutes later, Larend came back with the unwieldy clock in his arms. He peered over it at her as she came over to help him carry it. It was far bulkier than it had looked on the wall. Larend immediately turned in the direction of his parents’ bedroom. He kicked the door open and they carried it inside to join the other clocks in the corner. Once they placed it down, Jessa shifted uncomfortably. Now what? Once again she was trespassing on Lady and Lord Janes’ private rooms, and there was a pile of clocks just ticking at her. She couldn’t help but laugh.

Larend, who had been staring intently at the clocks, looked up. “What?”

“I don’t know. This is just one of the most nonsensical situations I think I’ve been in.”

“It’s pretty weird,” Larend agreed affably.

“We don’t even know what we’re looking for.” Jessa folded her arms and glared at the clocks.

Larend looked at her sidelong and laughed at her expression. “I don’t think it’s their fault.” Jessa waved her hand at him but did not take her gaze from the clocks. What secrets were they hiding? How did they find them?

“Maybe…” She shrugged and pushed a hand through her hair. She was clutching at straws when she said, “Do you think they have to be arranged in some kind of order?”

“I highly doubt my mother was going around, gathering all the clocks and arranging them. Some of them are heavy. And someone would have seen her.”

“Alright, alright. I knew it was silly.” But all of this was, so it seemed fitting in a way. Jessa and Larend looked at each other then back at the clocks. That ticking really was unnerving. They stood in silence for a while, until the ticking was all Jessa could hear in her head. It was then that Jessa actually paid attention and realised the time. “Gods, Larend. It’s after midnight!”

Larend blinked, realising it too. Jessa rubbed her forehead. “Someone’s going to have noticed.” She didn’t need to say who. Of course he would know. And though he had clearly had someone read all of her letters and had let them through, she doubted that he did not suspect something was amiss. Larend was the son of a known traitor, and she… Well, he knew she’d lied about why she was in Ovis, at the very least, and probably Rhys’ association with the Novarians. To be with Larend, alone, at such an hour was hardly going to allay Alrick’s suspicions. “I should go.”

She was halfway out of the door when Larend said sharply, “Jessa.”

Jessa turned. Larend had moved, standing closely to one of the clocks and peering at it. His wave to Jessa was emphatic and excited. Forgetting her qualms, Jessa went to join him. “What-” She didn’t need to finish. Larend was pointing, but she didn’t need that either. The minute hand of the clock pointed towards the three, and it was glowing. Jessa nudged Larend out of the way, crouching down and practically touching her nose to the clock face. Behind the number, faint but there, was a letter. She could barely make it out. Larend pushed back in, and his hair tickled Jessa’s cheek as he peered at it.

“C. It’s a C.”

“Paper,” Jessa demanded. Larend ran off, and she heard clattering behind her as he rummaged through the drawers for anything they could write on. He came back just as the minute hand moved off and the glow faded. The letter disappeared. Jessa gestured impatiently for the parchment and pen, and quickly wrote down C – three?. She handed it back to Larend. Then she sat back and stared once more at the clocks. Waiting. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. Nothing.

Her excitement faded, and with it she remembered that she really ought to go. She glanced at Larend, a question in her eyes that didn’t need to be voiced. Larend nodded. “I’m not sleeping tonight, that’s for sure. You really better go.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow. Probably.” Larend’s gaze shot to her at that, full of fear and concern. She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Just… If he is suspicious, it might be better to stay away.”

“If anything else happens, I can write to you what I find.”

Jessa shook her head again. “No. You start sending me random letters and numbers and he’ll really start thinking something’s wrong. If I can’t come myself, I’ll find someone else who can.”

Larend nodded. With nothing left to say, Jessa looked lingeringly at the clocks one last time, and then hurried out of the room.

As Jessa drew closer to the castle, she wondered what would happen, if anything. Maybe she was overthinking this. There were still a few lights on in the castle, and it was not so very lately, was it? They came back from the balls far later that this sometimes. She was just nervous because she was exactly guilty of wrongdoing, but that didn’t mean the king was actually suspicious. ‘Yes, keeping telling yourself that,’ she thought.

She was not even through the door when one of the guards moved to block her. “Lady Jessa,” he said without inflection. “The king has requested your presence in the west wing as soon as you arrived.”

Jessa swallowed and nodded. “Of course. Thank you.”

His message passed along, the guard stepped away and let Jessa slip through the door. Immediately she felt eyes watching her, though she could not see anyone. If she had had any notion of pretending she had not received the king’s message, she would not do so now. Looking longingly at the corridor that would lead to her room, she turned in the opposite direction and headed for the west wing. She hadn’t been there since she had discovered Odaren. Jessa paused. Had she? Her head ached dully, surprising her after a few days of peace, and she rubbed it absently as she walked into the darkness of the forgotten wing of the castle.

Flickering light at the end of the corridor revealed the circular room with the deep red rug. The light came from the fire in the grate. She was alone. She hovered awkwardly at the entrance, wondering if there had been some mistake. She thought about turning back, but she could still feel those gazes prickling at her neck, and eventually she moved further into the room. The only sound was the crackle of the fire. She watched the flames dance, waiting. For what, she didn’t know. She doubted it would be good.

She heard footsteps, slow and deliberate – the king. Jessa straightened and turned to face the entrance. The king seemed to fill the whole doorway, though in reality it was too wide. Jessa withered under his steely gaze. He came into the room, flicking a hand at the lone armchair. “Sit.” Jessa did. Her back was to the king now, and she could practically feeling him prowling behind her. After an age, he came into view and stopped in front of her. “You’ve kept me waiting. I didn’t realise Larend Janes was such scintillating company.”

Jessa didn’t know what to say, so she decided it wiser to keep her mouth shut. After a few moments of silence, the king raised his eyebrows. “I must say I’m surprised. So soon after your divorce, too.”

Jessa’s mouth fell open unbidden. Part of her knew he was just trying to goad her, to get her to admit it wasn’t like that, so after a moment she just shrugged. Her mouth was dry, and she apologised silently to Rhys for this lie.

The king folded his arms, clearly unhappy with Jessa’s lack of response. “What would people say if they heard you were spending so much time alone with an unmarried man? What would Rhys Marinon say?”

“I imagine nothing, since as you said we’re divorced now. He has no reason to care.” Jessa could barely say the words. Her stomach fluttered with fear and her mind raced. If the king was acknowledging he knew more about Rhys and Jessa’s relationship that she was meant to think he did, this was very, very dangerous.

Alrick just hummed. “I will not allow you to bring scandal to my doorstep. And I’m sure you’re fully aware the Janes boy is unsuitable.” Jessa gripped the arm rests. She knew where this was going. “But if you insist on this, then I will insist upon you remarrying. Soon.” Jessa could barely breathe. No. Alrick smiled slightly. “Yes, I have someone in mind already. I’m sure you’ll get on very well.”

Jessa did not give Alrick the satisfaction of who it was. It didn’t matter. She didn’t want anyone. Alrick came towards her, taking her hand. She looked up at him, at his smile, and… really, what was the problem with marrying again? She was remembering now – why did she keep pushing the truth away? Rhys didn’t love her. He loved Selene. She had walked in on them. Rhys had toyed with her, making her love him. Probably he laughed about it with his friends. These memories… they hadn’t been there before. Her head burst with pain and she arched her back as she screamed. The pain subsided as quickly as it had come, and with it, she knew the memories had been there. She just pushed them away, wanting desperately to believe hers and Rhys’ love had been real. But it hadn’t. It had been a game.

No. No, it hadn’t. Dimly, she felt Alrick’s grip on her hand tighten. He pulled her, and she was forced to focus on his hard gaze. “Enough of this.” He dropped her hand and stalked towards the fire. Jessa stayed in her chair, awkward and hazy. There was… something important that she should remember. She rubbed her forehead. The pain behind her brows was unbearable. When had that started again? She was sure she had been fine a minute ago, while she awaited her father.

She blinked, noticing that her father had arrived and was by the fireplace. When had he got there? Slowly she stood and went over to him. Tilting her head, she watched him watch the flames. He looked less like a king than she had ever seen. He looked like… her father. There was a strange foreboding in her gut, but she pushed it aside.

“Will you do something for me, Jessa?” her father asked. Jessa nodded without hesitation. The king smiled, passing her a dagger. She stared at it dumbly.

“What-”

“Cut yourself.”

Jessa stared at her father. She shook her head. “Why?”

“For me.” Jessa looked between her father and the dagger. She couldn’t see any reason to do such a thing. What did it prove? Before she could think further, her father stole the dagger from her grasp, placed it against her skin, and drew it up her arm. She watched in fascination as blood welled from the wound and dripped down her arm onto the floor. “Did it hurt?”

She shook her head. The king forced her fingers around the hilt, and when she looked back at her arm there was no wound. She looked at Alrick. “Cut yourself. Do you trust me? It won’t hurt.”

Jessa didn’t understand. She shook her head again. Her father sighed. “I need you to prove to me that I can trust you. That you are my daughter. Do you understand?”

She still didn’t. Alrick exhaled heavily, ripping the dagger out of her hand again. He sheathed it, then turned to face her. “You want to help me, don’t you, Jessa? I’m your father.”

She wanted to agree, but something stopped her. Or was it the other way around? Jessa pressed a hand to her head as the room swayed. “You will help me, Jessa.” She tried to focus on her father, but the world was going dark. Had the fire been extinguished? She did feel quite suddenly cold. She pressed a hand against the mantelpiece in an attempt to steady herself. It wasn’t helping. She wasn’t sure if her father’s words were real, or whether they were in her head. “Soon, you will want nothing else.”

[Rosabeth]

By daybreak the encampment was gone, leaving a sea of soldiers in its place. It was formidable force – at least three times that of what Rhys had seen at the battle all those months ago – but Rhys had no time to marvel. The Novarians prepared to march that day, following Rhys’ group at a delay. No party awaited in the morning to brief them upon their departure, only a letter from Tula and supplies to last until the rest of the army caught up. It was an unceremonious send off, but then again, Rhys doubted much praise was ever laid on those who planned on cutting the throats of sleeping men.

Just as promised, Rhys, Laurita, and Nayall were not sent out alone. A small group of soldiers greeted them in the morning – three men and two women – but beyond their profession Rhys could guess nothing else. They spoke little, kept to themselves, but most of all were clearly unshaken by the task before them. It was clear – and not just from the illustrious arsenal between them - they were no strangers to these sorts of unsavory assignments.

Both days rides to Ferande were unremarkable, made in near silence cut only with questions of logistics and planning. They stayed close to the river, knowing it would lead them straight to the city. Rhys did not mind the quiet for it brought him some peace, but he could not help regarding Nayall from time to time. Nayall did not look quite as unfazed by the solitude as did the others. His grip on his horse’s reins seemed to grow tighter by the hour, his stony, unreadable mask cracking from time to time. Rhys could understand the anxiety. What was an unpleasant but unsurprising assignment to the rest of them was a revisiting of Nayall’s worst nightmare. Nayall had spent so long in Alrick’s web of control that to face it once more, to be forced to kill those who were in the very position he’d once been in…it was a feeling Rhys could only imagine.

They reached the woods on the outskirts of Ferande by sunset of the second day, the bare trees looming up above a welcome solace. The ground was dampened with frost, a poor place to light a fire and a poorer place to sleep, but Rhys cared about neither. Fire would only draw attention and a war was no time to complain about sleeping conditions. Rhys dismounted, groaning with relief as he stretched out his stiff legs, waiting for the others to follow his lead. It did not take long for the rest of the party to copy, and soon enough the eight of them were splayed out on rocks and tree stumps and logs, trading their dry clothes for a moment of relief. Laurita sat down beside Rhys with the maps held out before her, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Look.” Laurita grabbed Rhys’ hand, pointing to a clump of dots on the map that now illuminated itself to Rhys. “I’ve been monitoring their movement every time we’ve stopped. See how they’re in groups? It’s strange, they haven’t seemed to move at all, not in two days. They were in this exact same positioning the last four times I looked. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

“The fact that this exists at all is strange. I hadn’t given it much thought beyond that.”

Laurita shook her head with dismay. “Well it’s not normal. People move. Why aren’t they moving? Or are they just not moving enough for it to show up on the map. This isn’t exactly the world’s most detailed map, but I’d expect something.”

“They’re at their stations. They can’t move.”

Rhys and Laurita’s heads swiveled in surprise to see Nayall sitting behind them. He was not even looking at them, his focus on re-lacing his boot. “It’s common for Alrick’s mages. When we’d get sent on assignments we’d be told to stay in one place until further instructions. I remember the first time it happened when I was in Ovis. I sat in place for hours, unable to move. I mean, I suppose I could have moved, but something in my head was telling me I didn’t want to. It’s an easy way to keep a group organized for long periods of time.”

Laurita looked as horrified as Rhys felt. “So they can’t move? At all?”

“No, they can move, but something needs to change in their environment. It’s not as if we’d be able to waltz right in and kill them all without anyone making a sound. They’d fight back. They just won’t go wandering off.” Nayall looked up then, frowning at what Rhys knew must have been his and Laurita’s expressions. “Stop giving me ‘the look’.”

“’The look’?” Rhys asked.

“’The look’. It’s the look I get every time I so much as mention my time in the mage ring. Everyone looks at me like they’re afraid to say the wrong thing, like I’ll fly into a rage or burst into tears. It happened. It was a part of my life, but I’ve moved on. I don’t need sympathy.” Nayall’s voice was strong but something in his eyes, the way they shifted away as he spoke, said more than he was letting on. He might not admit it, but Rhys knew this was getting to Nayall. Perhaps he’d moved on from his experience mentally, but there were still obvious emotional ties. How could there not be? Nayall shook his head with a sigh when neither Rhys nor Laurita stopped their staring. “Never mind.”

Nightfall came quickly. Rhys could feel his fingers slowly numbing as the night grew colder, but he could not afford to think about it. They sat close around the map watching as Nayall drew a path with his finger, tracing along the river and into the city. There were sure to be sentries positioned throughout the city on the lookout for incoming Novarian forces, but a few figures would be almost impossible to see in the darkness. It was not approaching the city or finding the mages that would be the difficult part, it was keeping alarm from being raised. One wrong move and one botched job would mean the difference between an assassination and a battle, one they were ill-equipped to fight. Nayall knew the patterns and habits of the mages, all the best ways to act quickly without drawing their reactions, but it was no longer the mages they feared. An unspoken thought weighed heavily on their minds. Where the usefulness of the maps ended was where they might all find their ruin. There was no saying that what only looked like five mages on paper was not really five mages among an entire regiment of the king’s men waiting in the wings. There was little way to know what they faced beyond the map.

As they readied themselves to leave Rhys saw Laurita shift uncomfortably on her feet, one hand fumbling with the folded map while her other hand grazed her dagger with reluctance. “You don’t have to kill anyone,” Rhys whispered, putting one hand lightly on her shoulder. “You’ll be our guide, not an assassin. You just need to protect yourself.”

Laurita smiled weakly, nodding unconvincingly to herself. “I know, but it’s not that. I could kill in self-defense, I know I could, but…this doesn’t feel like self-defense. I know it’s to protect the army, but I can’t help but…” she looked to the ground, shaking her head. “I keep thinking ‘what if this was Odaren?’ And really, aren’t all of these people Odaren to someone? It just feels wrong, but I know there’s no other way. I keep trying to remind myself that these people are gone, in a sense, but that doesn’t really make it easier.”

There was nothing Rhys could say that he knew would lessen Laurita’s qualms. She left his side then to confer with Nayall, leaving Rhys alone with his uneasy thoughts. Despite all the hurt he’d caused in his life, Rhys had always taken some semblance of comfort in knowing no one he’d hurt had ever been truly innocent. He’d tried to brush off these deaths in the same manner, knowing that those they killed had likely killed themselves, that they’d hurt others under Alrick’s command, but it was impossible to ignore that given the choice most would never choose such a life. If he did not see Nayall as deserving of such a death, knowing what he had done all those years, how could Rhys bring this fate upon those no different than Nayall? Rhys pushed those thoughts back. There was no use thinking in moral terms. This was war. War was never fair.

They walked as a group silently through the trees, the soft sounds of wet leaves beneath their feet the only clue that anyone walked these woods. Rhys ducked his head, pulling up his cloak as he stepped out from the trees into the open land, the city lying in wait ahead. Any walls which may have existed outside Ferande centuries before were long gone, only a barrier to trade on the rivers. For this Rhys counted them lucky. The city stood in darkness and silence, only a handful of windows lit by candlelight. The group moved smoothly and quickly as one dark mass. Rhys kept his head down for the most part, allowing himself only brief glances up. If any sentry had seen their movement they’d not made themselves known nor had they set off any warning signals. They reached the outskirts of the city quickly, ducking into a blackened alley near the river’s edge. They huddled together against a wall with Laurita in the center, painstakingly quietly opening the map.

“There’s three groups,” Laurita whispered, pointing to the three locations. Two were on the western side of the city, small groups of maybe five or so each. Rhys squinted at the maps in the darkness, only the faint moonlight providing any illumination. He could not tell exactly where these groups resided, only a faint outline of the city giving any indication as to their more precise location. “Given the numbers I’m guessing these periphreial groups are only designed as sentries. This group,” Laurita gestured to a much larger cluster of dots on the east side, “is likely the bulk of the force. If there’s a hierarchy this is also likely where the leader is.”

“So we focus on the leader’s group first?” One of the soldiers asked, sounding far more confident than Rhys felt.

Nayall scoffed. “Only if you want to get killed. Take out the smaller groups first. If you get caught up trying to take out the larger group first the smaller ones will be there before you have time to escape, and then you’ll really be in danger. It’s a common tactic the groups use. All their minds are connected to the leader, at least loosely and if they’re within range. If you alert the leader everyone else in his chain of command will know about it instantaneously. No, Rhys and I will scout out the larger group and wait for word from Laurita that the smaller ones are taken care of.” Nayall turned to Laurita with an expectant look. “You can do that, right?”

Laurita frowned, staring at Nayall with near indignation. For a moment there was silence, and then the quietest of laughes escaped Nayall’s lips as he lightly shook his head. “That was harsh.” Rhys stared in confusion, happy for the darkness when he flushed, realizing far too late that that exchange he seemed to have missed had been passed silently between Laurita and Nayall’s minds.

Tula’s soldiers seemed less than enthralled by the plan. “You can’t go just the two of you!” The taller woman hissed. “You’ll be outnumbered.”

“That’s why we’ll wait for you,” Nayall assured her, though something on his face made Rhys question whether he was being truthful. “You five can make easy work of the peripheral guards – it’ll be one-to-one – and by the time you catch up with us we’ll have staked out the location and will hopefully have a plan established. I know how they operate – intimately. I need time to observe them. Just trust me on this one. It will be better this way.” The soldiers did not look convinced with Nayall’s plan but they gave no resistance, resigning themselves with reluctant nods.

The rough outline of the city on the map gave some clue as to the true locations of the mage groups, but not enough for any true confidence, and with little else to study the five soldiers slipped silently into the city. With them gone Rhys and Nayall looked between one another, and understanding passing between them. It was now or never. As Rhys turned to peer out beyond the alley a hand gripped his arm, tugging him backwards. Before he knew it Laurita’s arms were wrapped around him in a crushing hug. “Be safe,” she whispered, her hold tightening even further. When she released him she turned to Nayall, throwing her arms around his neck. As Nayall pulled her in Rhys realized he’d never seen Nayall show that sort of emotion. Rhys knew he and Laurita were friends, or at least acquaintances, from their time in Ovis, but somehow it had never occurred to him that the quiet man, so often seen alone, might have ties to this war beyond a personal vengeance against the king. As Laurita and Nayall pulled apart she gave a small smile to the two men before pressing herself against the wall, all but disappearing into the darkness as they wandered into the city.

For its eerie quiet Ferande might as well have been a ghost town. Not a soul walked the streets, the only sounds from the slight breeze that rustled shutters and whistled faintly through the alleys. They likely could have walked straight through the streets but Rhys and Nayall were not naïve enough to take the city’s silence for granted. They slinked close along walls, stealthily sliding between buildlings. Rhys tried to think of the map in his head, wishing there was a more detailed version to go off of. The eastern grouping sat near the edge of the city right on the river, but not knowing the streets Rhys had no idea what that could entail or how many buildings might be suspect locations. He and Nayall could only continue east with hopes that something would catch their eye once they were there.

Ferande was but a quaint town compared to the massive scale of Ovis and Jasrah, but each second that passed made it feel a hundred times its size. Rhys cringed at the sound of his own boots on the cobblestone roads, each step feeling like thunder to his ears. Suddenly there was a rustling from around the corner and Rhys held out a hand to stop Nayall, his heart thudding in his chest. His hand slid to his waist, fingers gripping at his dagger as he crouched in anticipation. The waiting felt like an eternity as Rhys listened for any further sounds, but there was nothing. Rhys slowly peeked his head around the corner only to look down an empty street, the source of the phantom sound seemingly gone. They had not seen a single other person yet the paranoia pressed heavily down on Rhys, his head on a near constant swivel. The conditions thus far were far better than they could have hoped for, yet it was how well it was all going that caused so much anxiety.

From the faint and distant sound of the river Rhys knew they’d reached the city’s edge. As Rhys looked hopelessly at the long row of houses that lined the river, their identical dark exteriors revealing nothing of what lie within, Rhys felt Nayall’s hand grip his shoulder. Nayall was staring at one of the houses, a four story unremarkable grey structure, with fixation. “There,” he whispered, extending a steady finger. “I can feel it. There’s an energy, it’s hard to explain. There’s so many of them I can feel their magic emanating. It’s faint, like they’re all trying to conceal it, but there’s so much.”

“Can you tell from where within the house it’s coming?” Rhys whispered back. Nayall only shook his head instead gesturing for Rhys to follow as he slipped out from the alley where they crouched.

There was nowhere to hide before the looming row of houses and Nayall and Rhys moved as quickly as possible, feeling naked out in the open on display. They all but sprinted towards the back of the house, trampling through the empty flowerbeds to dampen their steps. As expected a servant’s door awaited them in the back. As silently as he could Rhys reached for the door handle, giving it the smallest of turns only to confirm it was locked. Before Rhys could even stop to think Nayall was taking of his own cloak and wrapping it around the hand which gripped his dagger. Rhys immediately recognized the move, his stomach lurching in dread. He reached out to grab Nayall but it was too late, the small window near the door shattered into a million pieces with Nayall’s punch. Rhys watched in wide-eyed horror, immediately drawing his blade, but the expected hysteria never came. There had been no noise. Shards of gas littered the hallway inside the house yet no one from the inside came running. It was as if nothing had happened, the only evidence being the now-empty window frame.
Rhys gaped at the scene but Nayall only shook his head, warding off any questions. Rhys shut his mouth and followed Nayall quickly through the small window, contorting his body uncomfortably to avoid the glass shards that stuck out in every direction in the frame. The interior of the house was just as dark and dreary as the exterior, a dark wood staircase leading into a blackened hallway above. Rhys turned to look down the hallway to his left, only to find Nayall was already walking ahead as though drawn to something Rhys could not sense. He tiptoed over the glass and followed in Nayall’s shadow, blindly trusting the man to know where he was going. As they turned a second corridor Rhys saw a faint flicker of light emanating from a room ahead, its door ajar. There was a voice. Nayall’s head whipped back staring at Rhys with wide eyes. They took a few steps further, the voice becoming stronger as they drew closer to the room. It was two voices, Rhys realized – one male and one female. Practically pressed flush against the wall Rhys and Nayall slid close to the partially open door, barely able to peer in through the few inches of light.

The room was some sort of study, though Rhys doubted its true owner lived in the house anymore. Sitting at a large desk sat a tall, slight man with red hair much the same color as Jessa’s. He seemed to be listening to the woman with disinterest, looking through a few sheets of parchment on the desk. “Sara,” the man suddenly interjected, looking up from his papers. Rhys could not see his face well from the doorway, but his jaw and cheeks were angular, almost to the point of being gaunt. “You will not speak. Is that understood?” Rhys heard no response. “Good. The King is growing impatient with you. Your control is less than ideal, your numbers too. What your men did at Mariales was sloppy, undisciplined. He cannot afford any slip ups, not now. The King feels they might fare better under more reliable control.”

Rhys thought he heard the woman let out a small squeak. “Eadrin, what are you saying?”

“You are a liability to the King. He cannot risk it at this time.” The man’s words were brisk and cold, almost inhuman sounding in their even cadence. Rhys lurched as he heard a strangled scream, grasping onto Nayall’s shoulder to keep from making a sound. The man was staring at the woman and the screaming continued, a strange choked sound. It grew fainter and fainter and suddenly a thud echoed throughout the halls. The man, Eadrin, looked back at his papers. Rhys knew the woman was dead without needing to see.

Rhys frantically tugged on Nayall’s shoulder but Nayall seemed stuck in place. He slowly turned to Rhys, his jaw tight and an empty pain behind his eyes Rhys could not place. Slowly he began to move once more, retreating back through the hallway and up the dark staircase. At the top of the staircase light could be seen from one door at the end of the hall. Rhys’ hand tightened on his dagger as Nayall drew to the closest door, looking to Rhys for a nod of confirmation. Rhys swallowed, wishing desperately to leave, to never know what lay behind the door. He nodded regardless. Nayall pressed the door open gently, silently, revealing what looked to Rhys to be a barracks of sorts. The room was open and spacious with two long rows of beds, ten to a side, crammed together. Their entrance did not seem to draw anyone from their sleep and Rhys looked to Nayall with a creeping dread. It was almost too easy. Rhys had not known what to expect, but to walk in so easily and be presented with such easy targets seemed too good to be true.

Slowly, Rhys walked through the aisle between rows, approaching the bedside of the furthest man. He slept seemingly peacefully, though Rhys could not help but find it strange how each man and woman slept perfect on their backs, all straight as boards. He glanced to Nayall, seeing how the other man looked down the row with disgust. As Rhys looked back down at the man below him he did not know if he could do it. The hand which held his dagger shook as he brought it out before him. He could not think about it. If he thought about it he would be unable to do the task. He turned to Nayall then, seeing Nayall positioned in just the same way. They looked between each other with a mutual sense of horror and disgust, yet they each nodded, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Rhys closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and said a silent prayer to the gods he had not believed in since he was a child. If any of them were real, he hoped they would understand. He hoped someone would understand.

With one swift movement Rhys’ left hand clamped over the mage’s mouth as his right sliced his throat. The man’s eyes flickered open but there was no time for him to react. The cut was too deep and the blood flowed like a river. Warm and thick it coated Rhys’ hands, some going as far to hit his chest in the initial cut. The metallic smell cut through the air and Rhys heaved, holding his free hand to his stomach. He could not think. He turned away from the first man and moved to the second. He’d been lucky with the first – a clean cut, no time for reaction. He might not be lucky with the rest. Rhys turned to the second – a young woman of about his age – feeling the cut of veins and flesh with the cut of his knife. After the third person Rhys had completely detached himself from his actions, as if watching from out of body. He moved methodically between bed to bed, unable to think about what it was he was doing. It was not until the fifth bed that Rhys’ resolve faultered. He looked down at the mage and nearly yelled out. At a glance she could have been Jessa. She was young, perhaps only 18 or 19, but she bore such resemblance Rhys found himself standing above her in horrified shock. What was he doing? Rhys stared down at the blood on his trembling hands, his breath shaky. He looked frantically to Nayall, seeing the row of bloodied bodies the trailed behind him. Rhys took a step backwards, his foot hitting the bedframe with a thud. Nayall’s head swiveled around, his eyes wide. No. Suddenly a scream pierced the air and Rhys turned back to the redheaded woman, her eyes wide as she stared at Rhys.

Pandemonium erupted. A searing pain shot throughout Rhys’ body and he cried out, falling to his knees and dropping his dagger. He could not think. He could not breath. The pain threatened to split his head in two but Rhys still reached out desperately, blindly, for his dagger. Suddenly the pain stopped and Rhys all but collapsed onto the floor. Nayall was there, standing above the body of the redheaded girl with blood on his face, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“GET UP!” He screamed, turning in the moment to slash at a man who came at him from behind. Rhys frantically grasped his dagger, stumbling to his feet with his head still ringing. Two men and a woman descended on Nayall, his face screwed up in a look unlike Rhys had ever seen. Rhys ran to Nayall’s side, lurching forward and hitting the largest man in the face with the hilt of his dagger. The man’s nose crunched under the blow but he did not stop. Rhys felt a tingling in his head, something tugging at his mind. His hand twitched downward, lowering his dagger just in time for the man to strike a blow. Rhys stumbled backwards at the impact, his face throbbing in pain. There was no time to think about the pain. The man came at him again but this time Rhys was ready, ducking at the swing and pushing his weight into the man’s stomach until he lurched backwards. Rhys took his chance then, stabbing the man in the stomach. As the man toppled Rhys did not wait to land the final blow. He turned back to Nayall, grabbing one of his assailants from behind and slicing her neck, her body dropping through his arms.

Before Rhys could turn to Nayall’s second attacker Rhys felt his body light on fire. He screamed, holding himself against a bed as he slumped to the ground. He was dying. Surely, he must be dying. Every part of him burned in mind-numbing agony and he began to convulse. As soon as the pain started it stopped, just as before, but this time Rhys knew why.

“Eadrin!” Nayall yelled out, standing above Rhys. Rhys stared blearily up, gaining some semblance of control over his body. The redheaded man from the study stood at the door, staring at Nayall with a strange, twisted expression. His hardened expression of rage faltered for only a moment, but the change was undeniable. This man who looked every bit the hardened soldier sudeenly, for but a fleeting moment, looked softened and confused.

“Nayall? But you…but you’re dead.” The man squeezed his eyes and shook his head, suddenly letting out a low groan. “NO!” He lashed out, seemingly speaking to no one. He gripped his head, his sounds becoming more animalistic with each passing moment. Nayall’s hands trembled at his side, his jaw tight and his eyes wild, as if on the edge of tears. His gaze never flinched and with each passing second Eadrin’s sounds became more pronounced, turning into guttural screams. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he stared at Nayall with a desperation unlike any Rhys had ever seen. His silent plead went unanswered.

“I’m sorry.” Nayall’s voice was ragged, a half sob ripping from his chest. “I’m sorry for what you became.” A finally scream erupted from Eadrin and suddenly he went limp, blood running from his eyes and ears as he fell to the floor with a thud.

Nayall dropped to the ground with a cry. His dagger fell on the hard wood, the thud the only sound in the new silence. Rhys could hardly move, the pain still so present even if it no longer ripped his body. Slowly he looked around the room, wishing instantly he hadn’t. Bodies littered the floor and the beds, blood running across the floor like a river, pooling in the low points of the floor boards. Twenty or more men and women all dead, murdered in their sleep and at Rhys’ hand. Had he the time to contemplate the horror he would have, but everything went black before he had the chance.

[Mollianne]

Jessa stared at the door. She was already late but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She couldn’t bring herself to knock. She had spent the last few days convincing herself that she could make this meeting work in her favour, but knowing Alistair was on the other side of the door was entirely a different thing. Even after his years of lies, Jessa didn’t know if she could sit there and lie to him. But this wasn’t about her. This was so much more. Jessa knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Alistair called. Steeling herself, Jessa pushed open the door. Alistair was already standing, fetching his cloak from the stand. He looked at her and smiled. “I did wonder if you might not come.”

“Of course I came. It’s been too long,” Jessa said. Alistair’s office looked the same as it always had. The bookshelves took up the whole wall behind his desk, and still the shelves were bursting with books. An overview of practically the whole of history could be found in this one room. It awed her. Her own collection had been expansive, and if she hadn’t left for Jasrah it would one day have rivalled Alistair’s. Instead, she had donated most of them to the library or to any students who had wanted them. She hadn’t been able to take them with her.

When she looked back at Alistair, he was smiling fondly. Jessa eyed him warily. “What?”

“Just… you have the same expression as you did when your mother brought you during one of her lessons. You wouldn’t remember, but you just stood right here-” He pointed behind his desk. “-and just stared up above you at all the books. You’d got one off the shelves by the time your mother’s lesson had finished. You couldn’t read then, or even hold the book up. You lay on the ground and just stared at the pictures. When your mother asked what you were doing, you complained that you had to make up what was happening. Oh, if you could have seen your face. Your mother asked me for some simple books that she could read – she was never much of a reader – and teach you. You’d learned the basics by the time you were four.”

“I didn’t have much else to do,” she said. All she really remembered was being so excited whenever her mother brought her a new book. It was when the new books had stopped coming that Jessa fully realised her mother was not coming back.

Jessa sniffed and pursed her lips. She couldn’t think about this now. “Is anyone else joining us?” she asked, forcing cheer into her voice.

“Oh, I don’t think so. We can drop in on them before we go to lunch, though?”

Jessa nodded. Anything to delay an afternoon alone with Alistair. She had thought – or hoped – more would join them. “To be honest, though,” Alistair said once they left his office and he locked the door, “Most of the people you know aren’t here anymore. All the young ones went off to other institutes, leaving only Professors Sanchel and Crest. This university, this city, it’s all they’ve known, and I believe they think themselves too old to uproot their lives now.”

Professor Crest wasn’t in her office, to Jessa’s disappointment. She’d enjoyed her perspective on things, even if they had never talked at length or alone. Sanchel had been as much of a loner as Jessa herself, so it was not long before the conversation there dried up. Not exactly the delay Jessa had wanted, and soon Jessa and Alistair were leaving the university.

“I thought we’d go to the south markets?” Alistair said. Jessa bit her lip, looking in the direction of the castle. She had dared leave the inner city walls since she’d visited Rhys weeks ago. She wasn’t sure she was allowed. But she was under no illusion that Alrick would not know about her and Alistair’s meeting. Alistair would undoubtedly tell the king everything about their exchange. It was one of the reasons Jessa had decided she had to come.

“Sure. It’s been a while since I was in the real world.” She forced a smile.

The walk out of the inner city passed in utter silence. She knew Alistair was not stupid, that he knew something had changed. Their time together had once been full of conversation, exchanging theories about some new text they’d uncovered or sharing an interesting take on an old source that everyone else seemed to think contained nothing new to learn. Jessa could only hope that what he thought had changed was her.

The outer city was far busier than within the inner walls, but it was nevertheless quieter than Jessa had ever seen it. People kept their heads down, walking fast. Those that had children kept them close to their bodies as they hurried to their destination. No one met her eyes. No one met anyone else’s either. They kept to their groups, barely speaking. It was… unnerving. Jessa glanced over at Alistair. He lived out here. His expression was grim.

It didn’t take long for Jessa to notice something strange about some of the shop fronts. Red paint slashed doors and windows, and inside the shops were dark despite it being the middle of the day. The people around them avoided those that were painted like they were diseased – going as far as to cross the street, only to immediately have to cross it again to avoid another. It was like a strange dance. Jessa didn’t know what to make of it.

They came to a residential area, and there was more of the same. Jessa stared curiously at the haphazard lines and crosses. What was going on out here? She couldn’t take it, and turned to Alistair. “What are these?” She kept her voice quiet, as if she knew that acknowledging the marks was a bad idea.

Alistair shook his head. “You’re so cut off from the rest of the city, cooped up behind those walls.” He sighed. “The city’s tearing itself apart. The nobility might be able to ignore the war, but these people can’t. Food is scarce, and all the people see is the nobles, hiding behind the walls and throwing their balls without a care. It didn’t take long for the malcontents to band together. Those marks are for anyone they know to work for the king – at least at first. Now it’s just anyone they think is better off than them. People get attacked in the streets at night. No one talks to anyone anymore, just in case the person they say hello to ends up working in the inner city. They fear they’ll be accused of sympathising with the supposed enemy and get a knife in their back for their trouble. The king is trying to unite the people, I believe, but it had already gone too far by the time he truly realised the extent of it. People are dying, Jessa, for no reason.”

Jessa hugged her cloak tighter to herself, her mouth going dry. The silence of the city weighed even more heavily on her now. She had lost all interest in visiting the markets now. These people were suffering, starving for a war they had never asked for. And though Alistair claimed the king was doing something, she doubted it was even scratching the surface. The nobility still hoarded the food, the wealth. Jessa hated herself for being blind to it all.

She had expected to hear something as they drew closer to the markets, but it was almost as silent as before. Over half the stalls stood empty, and most that were not had precious little to sell. The prices were exorbitant, something the common man simply couldn’t afford, but the stallholders clearly couldn’t afford to set the prices of their few wares any lower either. They had to hope someone rich would come past.

It wasn’t much, but Jessa could help. Without a word to Alistair, she stopped at the first stall she came across. A woman, with only a thin shawl over her shoulders to protect her from the brisk wind, stared at Jessa with suspicion. Jessa passed her hand over the fabrics. She had no need for it, but she bought a square anyway and did not accept the change she was owed. It did not soften the woman’s gaze. They may need the rich to survive, but she clearly wished she did not. She clearly resented her. Jessa looked out at the rest of the market. She wanted to help them badly, but this didn’t seem like the way. This would only make them hate her, seeing her as throwing around her wealth. They needed more than a single handout.

Alistair bought a couple of dry biscuits from a stall on the fringes of the square, and put his hand on Jessa’s back to guide her away. He handed her one of the biscuits silently, not even looking at her. Jessa appraised him. “You didn’t bring me out here for a simple catch up, did you?”

For a while, Alistair didn’t speak. Then he said, “You’re not the Jessa I knew anymore.” Jessa kept her expression neutral, but she couldn’t help but clench her fist around the biscuit. He wasn’t exactly the person she knew either. Mostly, though, she just felt guilt. “I guess I hoped… maybe you could do something.”

“I…” She didn’t know what. Her thoughts immediately went to Nayall, but he could barely look after those already in his care. She couldn’t solicit the king – Alistair would have a better chance of succeeding there. But these people needed something. They needed hope. How could she give them that?

Alistair laughed mirthlessly under his breath. “Even just knowing what’s actually happening here. It’s a start.”

She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw her friend. How could he feel like this and still stand by the king? She supposed he saw those desperate people as the ones doing wrong – which of course they were – rather than the king. He said he thought the king was trying. What did Alistair think Jessa could do that the king couldn’t? She was just his bastard daughter. She had no power. Even if anything came of her attempts to reach out to the castle servants, they were the ones getting persecuted out here.

“I… I hate myself for not knowing about this.”

“You’ve had a lot to deal with,” Alistair said, though it was clear he didn’t really believe it. Jessa doubted very much that Alrick had shared with him his capture of Rhys, and how Jessa had had to torture him. She doubted Alistair knew anything about Jessa, except that she was now part of the society the rest of the city despised.

“Not enough to have ignored this,” she replied quietly. Did Alistair know she had lied about Rhys? She couldn’t possibly know. “I’ve been safe for a very long time now. I owe my life to the king.”

“You’re his daughter. He should look after you.”

“He has,” Jessa said. “Do you know he made it possible for me to-” Jessa stopped. She couldn’t say it, not like that. “Well, I’m no longer married.”

Alistair smiled, a true smile. Maybe he didn’t know the truth. He touched Jessa’s hand. “I know.”

They were heading back to the inner city. Everything she had wanted to do – trying to convince Alistair that she was loyal to the king, and lay the building blocks to maybe get him to accidentally reveal information about him – had fallen to the wayside upon seeing the state of Ovis. It didn’t seem to matter compared to that.

They turned down one of the main streets of Ovis. It led straight to the inner city, and the level of noise was jarring after the deathly silence she had seen before. She could only see this as fake, a pretence so the nobility didn’t realise what was going on behind the walls – or so they could wilfully ignore it. There were no paint marks here. Either they had been washed away or had not existed in the first place.

She stopped, though she had no real reason why. She just stared down the street. It was full of the lower echelons of the nobility enjoying the spring day. Jessa couldn’t look at them. She turned away, looking down a side street, and stopped dead. Rhys. Her heart started pounding. He hadn’t seen her – he was looking the other way. What was he doing here?

He looked… good. Much better than she thought he should, even after a few weeks. Her last memory of him… Jessa swallowed. She wanted to go to him, but she knew she couldn’t. Alistair was surely not far, though honestly she had lost track of him. She knew she should go, to pretend she hadn’t seen Rhys, but she was rooted to the spot.

Rhys straightened suddenly, looking towards her. Jessa started, but Rhys wasn’t looking at her. Jessa followed his gaze, seeing a woman walking towards him. Jessa didn’t recognise her, but Rhys seemed to. His eyes followed her as she came closer and Jessa saw… She shook her head. No. No, he wasn’t. Not like that. But there was no denying the expression on Rhys’ face. She’d seen it directed at her before, when she had worn that ridiculous dress to the Novarian ball on their last night in Kolonis. Desire.

Jessa wanted to turn away, but she couldn’t. The woman had reached Rhys by now, and Jessa couldn’t breathe as Rhys took her hand and drew her closer. In an achingly familiar move, Rhys brought his hand to the w0man’s neck, leaning closer and whispering in her ear. The woman laughed, the noise like a dagger in Jessa’s heart. Then… no. For a moment, Jessa’s gaze clouded.

They were kissing. Jessa let out a gasping breath, feeling hot tears trailing down her cheeks. No. This wasn’t happening. She told herself to look away, but she was transfixed. She watched Rhys’ hands in the woman’s hair, on her back, stroking her arm… Every single movement she knew intimately. Each caress had once been meant for her.

This was her fault. Rhys was no longer tied to her. She hadn’t thought it in months, but she knew now that she had been right. Without their marriage, there was nothing keeping Rhys at her side.

Jessa couldn’t breathe. She was shaking. She couldn’t even see them anymore through her tears. Finally, finally, she looked away. She needed to get out of there. As if from a large distance, she could hear whispers. She could feel people staring at her. She ran. She heard Alistair call her name, but she didn’t even stop. She didn’t stop until she was back in the castle, locked away in her room.

She leaned against the door, just staring blankly at the bare furniture. Dimly she noted a letter on her desk, and somehow she had the wherewithal to recognise Larend’s handwriting. She didn’t even care. She went to the desk, and began looking through the drawers. She didn’t even know what she was looking for, but whatever it was she didn’t find it. She sat heavily on the bed and just stared at her hands.

She realised then, what she had been searching for. Something, anything, to prove to her that she and Rhys had been real. But she didn’t have anything. She’d never had anything.

[Rosabeth]

“Rhys? Rhys?”

A faint light hovered in the darkness as Rhys blinked, his vision blurred beyond most recognition. He heard a sigh of relief and felt a hand on his shoulder though he could not see whose. All Rhys could focus on was the agonizing throbbing in his head as he squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the vague figures before him. The faint light slowly became stronger, though soon Rhys realized it was no more than a candle. Nayall held it in front of his face as he stared down at Rhys with worry.

“Are you alright?”

Rhys blinked hard. He wasn’t sure he could even answer that question. The throbbing in his head seemed to blur over all other thoughts as he struggled to remember what had happened. Rhys pushed himself off the floor, rubbing at his eyes in the hopes that maybe his vision would fully return. Instead he felt a wetness against his brow and cheeks, too thick to be water. The unmistakable feeling was what finally put all the pieces of his memory back together. Rhys scrambled to his feet, nearly falling over as his head spun wildly at his rapid movement. Bodies lay all around him in a horrific scene of death from which Rhys could not look away. His only reprieve was that in the darkness his eyes seemed unable to adjust enough to view in detail the full reality of what he’d done.

A noise from below pulled Rhys’ mind away as he and Nayall looked at each other with a start. Footsteps echoed from the downstairs halls, growing louder by the second. Rhys watched Nayall’s fist clench as he tightened his grip on his knife, the sound of floorboards creaking as someone dashed up the staircase. Nayall crept towards the bedroom door only for it to be flung open a moment later, Laurita standing before them with the map folded in her hand. Before she could so much as speak her eyes widened in shock as she stared slack-jawed at the scene before her. A moment later she began to convulse, turning from the room only to drop to her knees outside the door and vomit. Rhys and Nayall moved towards her tentatively, hanging back hear the door until the retching subsided and Laurita shakily got to her feet and turned back to the room, half wincing in preparation.

“What happened here?” Laurita’s words were quiet and breathless. They moved slowly back through the room, Laurita looking down at the bodies in resolute horror, one hand held over her mouth. Rhys could hear her saying prayers under her breath, prayers he had not heard in many years. The moonlight that filtered in through the window illuminated many things Rhys did not wish to see.

Rhys could barely force the words out. “They were sleeping.” The truth was too horrible even to his own ears. “We killed them in their sleep.”

If Laurita had any further reaction she did not show it, though perhaps in her shock this was all the emotion she could properly express. She nodded slowly, leaning back against a bedframe with a dead look in her eye. “I suppose…” she paused, taking a moment to close her eyes and breathe, “I suppose it could be worse. It’s a less painful death this way, at least for some of them. They wouldn’t have been afraid.”

Rhys could hardly believe Laurita’s calm manner. “The first ones couldn’t even defend themselves. How is that better?”

“Well it’s certainly better for you. If they’d all been awake you would have died! What were you two thinking? What happened to waiting for the others? I came as soon as their dots disappeared from the map because surely it was too early, something had to be wrong.” Laurita’s calm demeanor faded seemingly instantly, her voice suddenly panicked.

Nayall was there quickly, a guilty look in his eye. “We should have waited, I know. It’s my fault. I…” Nayall glanced towards the body of the redheaded man. “I was rash.”

Laurita did not seem to care who was at fault as she shook her head, letting out a deep sigh as she closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temple. When her eyes opened again she looked at Rhys with a hopelessness he’d only ever seen when she spoke of Odaren. “Rhys. Please. Don’t make me the one who has to tell Jessa you’ve died. I can’t handle that.”

Laurita’s words stung like salt in a wound. The very thought of what she suggested sent a wave of guilt over Rhys. He looked away from her gaze, embarrassed at his own impulsiveness. Still, Laurita had a point. Perhaps this death, though horrific, was the kinder, gentler death. Better than death from a violent struggle. Better than a life with no free will. Rhys looked to Nayall with his thought, wondering if the man would agree with his thought. Based on his own actions, perhaps he would.

In the silence that had fallen Rhys heard a sudden noise, a gentle creaking from behind him. His heart stopped, his mouth turning to ash. There should be no noise from behind him - there was no one behind him. Slowly Rhys turned his head, catching a strange movement from the corner of his eye. One of the corpses was…moving. He could not bear to turn any further. Rhys’ heart slammed in his chest, his breathing stopping entirely. He could not bring himself to fully turn and face whatever it was that stirred behind him…not until he saw a flicker of red.

“Rhys.”

That voice. That voice was etched into his mind, a sound so distant at times it felt like a dream yet unmistakable all the less. Rhys could no longer look away, yet the moment he turned his head fully he regretted it. Jessa sat up in the bed behind him, her pale skin red with blood that ran from a deep gash across her throat. Her eyes - normally so bright - were clouded over, yet somehow they pierced straight through him, holding him in place. Slowly she tilted her head, the cut on her neck growing as more blood began to flow. Rhys senses went numb as he stared wide eyed at the creature before him. It was not Jessa. It could not be Jessa.

“Why?” Her voice was soft, a pained whisper that shattered what composure Rhys had left. He began to tremble, blind to all else around him. “How could you do this to me? I loved you.”

“I didn’t…” Rhys breathed, his words disappearing on his tongue. He was not sure if he’d said them at all. He pressed his eyes together as tightly as he could, praying that this was all some strange nightmare. When he opened his eyes once more Jessa still stared back, but this time with an outstretched hand that pointed behind him.

Rhys did not recognize the strangled sound that escaped him as he turned to follow Jessa’s gaze. His mother’s corpse laid out on the floor, her chest mangled from some bloody wound. Beside her was his father, his neck slit like Jessa’s, staring up at him with empty eyes. Anja’s and Kieran’s bodies sprawled out across a bed with no visible wounds but for a pool of blood beneath them that said all Rhys needed to know. Rhys cried out, holding his head in his hands as panic began to envelope him. Even as he shut his eyes their faces were there, staring at him in the darkness. All the air seemed to be sucked from the room at once, Rhys gasping violently as he felt himself begin to suffocate. An icy hand laid on the back of his neck, slowly beginning to trail down his back. Rhys wished to pull away from the touch yet he was fixed in place, unable to move or breath as pressure began to build in his head, feeling as though it would kill him at any moment. Suddenly there was another hand, yet this one was arm and it began to shake him violently by the shoulder.

“RHYS! LOOK AT ME! OPEN YOUR EYES, RHYS!”

In an instant the pressure was gone, Rhys’ breath returning in one desperate gasp. Slowly Rhys began to open his eyes, his head still held in his hands. He did not want to see. To his relief the only sight meeting him was Laurita’s face, her eyes wild with fear as she stared back at Rhys. His eyes flitted about the room, an uncomfortable relief washing over him he thanked the Gods the bodies no longer held his family’s faces.

“Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Nayall stood close to Laurita, his voice pained as he looked down at Rhys with utter confusion.

“Did anyone use magic on him?”

Nayall only continued to stare. “Yes, briefly. I don’t-“

“He’s hallucinating.” Laurita’s fear faded into relief with her words, her hold on Rhys’ shoulders loosening. “Is that what happened?”

Rhys nodded, pieces of reality coming back to him at her words. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. Rhys repeated those words to himself over and over, pushing the nightmarish visions from his mind. Still, there was one image Rhys could not erase, one face that plagued him beyond all sense. Rhys had to know. Peering over his shoulder he let out a sigh of relief, Jessa’s face gone, replaced with the unfamiliar face of the redheaded young woman. Reality brought Rhys no comfort, but never the less it was a reality he could live with. The vision was not.

Once Rhys returned to his senses Laurita and Nayall led him downstairs to a small sitting room, forcing him to lay on the couch despite his protests. Rhys stared up at the ceiling for some time as Laurita and Nayall flitted about him, building a fire in the hearth and scouring the old house for blankets and food. Somewhere amongst the preparation the others arrived, seemingly caring little for the carnage in the upstairs bedroom. The four of them went to work immediately on moving the bodies, a task Rhys was happy to relinquish. By the time the bodies were disposed of – Rhys did not ask how – and the supplies gathered the night had drawn late, likely some hour early in the morning. Laurita and the others curled up beside the fire to sleep but Rhys could hardly think of such a thing. Rhys had suffered the ill-effects of magic one too many times to know what sleep meant. Sleep meant nightmares far worse than his reality. Sleep meant revisiting every horrific hallucination in vivid detail, this time with no relief in sight. Instead Rhys laid down before the fire, watching it crackle and glow in the darkness. Only Nayall kept him company, the man having offered to take the first watch. For some time the two men said nothing, the fire enough of a distraction, but after some time Rhys could not quell the curiosity that began to bubble up as his mind began to wander.

“Nayall? Can I ask you a question?”

Nayall looked up from his thoughts with surprise, furrowing his brow at Rhys’ words. “That depends. What do you want to know?”

“Who was that man? The redheaded one. You seemed to know him.”

Nayall nodded, looking unsurprised by the question. He stared into the flames as he prodded the fire gently with a wrought iron fork, musing over his thoughts in his mind. Finally, he sat down the fork, turning to Rhys and leaning back against the fireplace with a sigh. “His name was Eadrin. I met him when I was 16. He was in my ring, one of the first people I met when I was first brought in. We were fast friends.” Nayall must have seen Rhys’ expression for he sighed with a small shake of his head. “We can have friends, it’s just…different. The mages in these rings still have feelings, to a degree. We made friendships, it was just that certain aspects of friendships weren’t possible. There was no love between us, no loyalty or feelings of obligation. It’s one of the worst parts of the circle, in my experience. You’re able to experience just enough emotion that you don’t even realize how much of a shell of your former self you really are.

“The last day I saw Eadrin was the day our leader died. I remember the moment vividly. It was like being blindfolded for years and then finally seeing the light again. In those first moments it was all an overwhelming blur, but as the moments passed I started to get back memories of my old life, memories of how I’d gotten there in the first place. I didn’t know immediately what had happened to me but I knew that I needed to get away, that wherever I was no longer safe. So many of the others never had this moment. I saw them struggling in their own ways, the memories coming back…but for many it didn’t matter. Their conditioning was too strong, their will so broken it would have taken days or weeks to build back any semblance of their former memories, not to mention identity. I suppose I just got lucky. We were in transit at the time in a small town a hundred or so miles from Ovis. I knew I needed to leave before anyone could discover what had happened and come back for us. I tried to convince them all, tried so hard to get them to come with me and, well…you know what happened. I tried to convince Eadrin to come with me but he was too loyal to King Alrick at this point. Even with the bond broken his years and years of conditioning remained and he did not see the danger. He stayed, hoping they would come find him. I left him there.”

“That’s hardly your fault. You could be one of them too if you’d tried to save him.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Eadrin was my friend. We were in the same situation. I should have done something for him, anything, that could have helped, but I didn’t. I chose to save myself. Now look at him? A leader himself, murdering others who failed to fall in line. How sick. It’s not what he would have wanted. It’s not what any of them would have wanted. It just feels like a cruel twist of irony that I should be the one to have to kill him after all these years.”

Rhys didn’t know what to say. Nayall’s eyes were fixed on his feet, his chin resting between his knees as he pulled his legs to himself. He was lost in thoughts Rhys would never be able to understand, thoughts Rhys was glad to never know.

“Thank you,” Rhys whispered. Nayall looked to him with a start. “I’m sorry you had to do it, but thank you for saving me back there. I owe you my life.”

“Don’t be sorry. In a weird, twisted way I’m glad I could end this miserable life of his. He deserved more than this. It’s a small mercy.”

An uncomfortable though crept into Rhys’ mind as he glanced towards Laurita who slept peacefully beside him. “Do you think…if his bond had been broken, do you think Eadrin would have been able to recover?”

Nayall’s eyes darkened. “No. He was too far gone. If he couldn’t be helped when I escaped there would have been no helping him now. The real Eadrin has been gone for a long time – I’m not sure I ever knew him myself.”

Rhys was not sure what to make of that answer, but he chose to hold onto one small sliver of hope. If time in the mage ring was the deciding fact on what prevented your ability to break free, as had Nayall, then perhaps there was hope yet for Odaren. Laurita deserved that hope.

[Mollianne]

Jessa was numb. She had cried until her heart hurt too much to take it and then she had just… stopped. She had nothing left to give. The night had been long and silent. In her dreams, she had seen Rhys. When she was awake, she saw him too. There had been no escape. Eventually she had given up on sleep, instead sitting up and resting her chin on her knees. Her brain was quieter than it had been all night. The thoughts and questions were still there, but Jessa was almost detached from them. After a while she had moved, as if to get out of bed, but then she had stopped again. She had no idea how long she had sat there on the bed, staring at her hands. They did not hold the answers she sought. They were just hands. With a sharp intake of breath, Jessa stood and walked the few paces to her desk. She found a piece of parchment and a pen, and without knowing really what she was doing, she wrote. Rhys. Jessa stared at his name, frowning. For a moment she was lost for words. For a very long time now, she had not thought she would look at that beautiful name and feel like this.

I loved you. I love you. Why? Did you want to hurt me because of the divorce? If that was what you wanted, you – Jessa stopped, scratching out those last words. Were we ever real? Do you care? Did you ever?

She didn’t know what else to say, so she just put the pen down and stared at the letter she would never, ever send. This was her connection to Rhys, her acknowledgement that it had been real for her even though she held no other tangible link to him. Her heart was still too tired to feel anything. She looked away, going to the grate and lighting the fire. Once it burned hot, she retrieved the letter and without thought or hesitation she dropped it into the flames. She watched the edges curl and go black. She whispered, “How could you?”

It was only when the paper had turned completely to ash that Jessa looked away. Instead, her gaze landed on Larend’s note. Life still went on. The war still went on. It didn’t care what Jessa felt, and Jessa didn’t have the luxury of letting it consume her. It didn’t matter that the one thing she had feared about their relationship above all else had just come true, despite Rhys telling her time and time again that he was with her for her and not for their marriage. Maybe he had lied, or maybe he hadn’t realised the truth until he was no longer chained to her. But next to a war and compared with Alrick’s crimes, it didn’t matter. She had to go on. It was maybe unfair, but she must. That didn’t mean it would be easy.

O – 10. Larend’s note was to the point. She reached for the bed, pushing her hand between the mattress and the bed frame and pulling out Magrethe’s diary. Below the eight combinations that Larend had sent her over the past two days, she wrote the new one. Then she began flicking through the diary to find where she had last left off, but before she had realised she was flipping through empty pages. Even when she did notice, she carried on until there were no pages left. She sighed angrily. Rhys had done this to her. She needed to concentrate, but all she could see was him pulling the woman closer and kissing her like it was his last chance to do so. Her only solace was that she hadn’t seen them pull away. She hadn’t had to see the expression on Rhys’ face. Jessa’s breath caught and her chest twisted painfully.

Focus. She told herself over and over, and she fumbled with the pages of the diary, turning them until she recognised the entries. Grabbing the pen tightly in her fist, Jessa began translating the next passage. She didn’t pay attention to the letters. They didn’t have any meaning. Once, her vision blurred and she wiped the tears away angrily. She would not cry for Rhys, not again. Jessa had given him this choice, and he had chosen to destroy them. He did not deserve her tears. She did not want the pain. She just wanted to do this one, simple task and be one step closer to bringing Alrick to account for all the suffering he had caused.

She pushed on, getting through a good number of the entries before her eyes, stinging from her furious attempts not to cry, hurt too much to carry on. She exhaled heavily. The translated pages waited for her, taunted her, but she couldn’t read them just then. She couldn’t be in this room any longer. With that, Jessa scraped her chair back on the floor, hid the diary and the translations, and left the room. Jessa did not hesitate before turning towards the stairs and heading up. She knew where she wanted to go. There wasn’t anywhere else.

The castle library was a quiet as it usually was. Though Jessa loved books, she had never felt entirely comfortable here. It had always felt too empty, too neglected, to ever really offer her comfort. She would spend hours in here anyway, because it was the only place in the castle she knew she would be alone, but it had always stung whenever she had come back from school and seen all the cobwebs and just felt the silence of the room. A room like this should never be treated like that. It had once seen love, Jessa was sure. The tops of the bookshelves were intricately decorated in a way that was missing from nearly the entire castle. There were plenty of cosy spaces to curl up and read. Whoever had commissioned the room had loved books. She wondered what they would make of it now.

Jessa had not come here to read, not today. She walked to the window, her footsteps echoing loudly, and stared out at the city. From here, she could not see the quietness of the streets. She couldn’t see the distrust brewing in the populace. She couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t see Rhys, though he was surely out there. Jessa pressed a hand against the glass. She was going to stop thinking like this right now. It was pathetic, and it was only making it hurt more.

The footsteps behind her made her jump a mile. No one came in here. She turned around slowly. The king stood in the aisle between the bookshelves opposite her. There was a long pause while father appraised daughter and she did the same. She hoped he did not notice her eyes, for surely they were red.

“Did you want something, your Majesty?” she asked quietly. He did not move or make any acknowledgement that he had heard her. Jessa’s stomach fluttered nervously. “How did you know where to find me?”

For a moment, she did not think he would answer as before. But then he flicked his wrist and said, “I always know. Come.” He turned without checking she would follow. She did, anyway. What else could she do? What else could he do to her? The last time they had been together, he had made her sign divorce papers. If that was the worst he would do to her because of Rhys, then she was lucky. She knew him capable of horrors. She frowned then, her footsteps faltering. The king did not seem to notice. Jessa’s head ached, but she fought through the pain because for a moment… It didn’t make sense. Or did it? The king had obviously never told her what he had learned from Rhys. And surely it would be her betrayal of him and her lies, rather than Rhys’ actions, that would anger him anyway. Rhys had only told her that the king knew everything. Maybe the king already knew Rhys’ true feelings.

“Jessa.” The king’s voice was stern. She looked up from the floor. Alrick stared at her pointedly until she started walking again. She fell into step beside the king, feeling a small and lost as a child. She pressed a hand against her head and winced. They walked, their footsteps echoing in the tall, draughty corridors. Somewhere, she could hear the quiet murmur of the servants preparing the castle for a new day. There was no one here, though. No one but her and the king.

He stopped outside his office, opening the door and nodding at her to enter. She did so cautiously, seeing herself in that chair before her, holding the pen and signing her name. It seemed almost trivial now. She looked away, instead focusing on the piles of papers on the king’s desk. She drew closer, noting only that they looked like reports – presumably of the war – before the king swept in, picked up the papers, and hid them in a drawer. He sat in his chair and indicated with his eyes that Jessa should do the same. Jessa was still looking at where the reports had been. Even if they were not about the war…

“You seem unhappy.” The king’s voice drew Jessa’s thoughts away, reminding her of what she had spent the past few minutes avoiding. There was no emotion in the king’s voice, like he was discussing the weather. Jessa shook her head. Unhappy wasn’t the word; she was empty. And confused. And her headache was making it hard for her to think.

“I’m fine,” she managed to say. She met Alrick’s gaze. He watched her. For how long they sat there Jessa did not know. Only the clock ticking in the background gave any indication that time had passed at all. Why had he sought her out? What did he want to say?

At length, Alrick said lightly, “Betrayal always comes from the most surprising of places.”

“That’s basically the nature of it,” Jessa said, also keeping her voice neutral. Her mind was a different matter. What was he saying? Was he talking about her? But the timing of it… he couldn’t be talking about Rhys. How would he even know such a thing? Alistair had been there, she supposed, but as far as she knew he hadn’t seen anything and didn’t know the truth – or Jessa’s truth – anyway. Or did he?

She forced herself to meet the king’s gaze, surprising herself that she was not falling apart. The king’s expression gave little away, but she was sure she had unnerved him with her lack of reaction. He leaned back into his chair, pressing his hands together almost in prayer and resting his chin on his thumbs. Jessa kept her back straight.

“It still hurts, though, does it not, Jessa?”

“Do you speak from experience?” she replied, ignoring the warnings in her head. She couldn’t stop the words.

“I’m a king,” he said. She supposed that answered it. She hadn’t expected him to admit that he was talking about her betrayal of him – if he even was. “But the real test is how you deal with such betrayal. How will you deal with it, Jessa?”

Jessa shook her head, inciting a fresh wave of pain. He could not know about this. He couldn’t. And if he did, he would not tell her. She closed her eyes, and her mind went oddly blank. She felt disconnected, and she wanted to reply honestly but… something told her she should not. Jessa fought against the truth, against her pain, and said, “I have nothing to deal with.”

Alrick lifted his chin. “Does it make you angry?”

Yes. Jessa said nothing. Her heart clenched painfully as her mind replayed the kiss, over and over. Except this time, Rhys looked at her. She knew he saw her; there was that flicker of recognition. Then, for a moment, it was like he was looking through her. He turned back to the woman, as if he could not help but look at her. He smiled at the woman, an expression so full of the giddy excitement of new love, that Jessa almost broke. She tried to tell herself that this wasn’t real, that she was simply torturing herself with the possibilities, but it was like she couldn’t believe it. Something in her wanted it to be true. She wanted reason to hate him.

“Do you want to hurt him?” She looked up, remembering that she was not alone, that she was falling apart in front of the king. She couldn’t do this – it was too dangerous. He watched her expressionlessly. Had he even spoken? She shook her head, looking away.

“Does he not deserve it?”

The words could have been real or it could have been voices in her head, whispering poison. Her head ached painfully, and the real world felt so far away. She heard the question over and over and saw Rhys over and over. Each time her heart twisted, but she knew the truth. She didn’t – couldn’t – hurt him. She would not hurt so much if she didn’t love him. And she had given him this chance. Of course she had not expected him to do this without telling her, but she had not given him the opportunity. She had walked away from him first. Rhys’ actions were wrong, but he did not deserve any more pain. He had suffered enough at her hand.

“Doesn’t he deserve it?”

Jessa looked up. Even if she wanted to – even though she should – she couldn’t have stayed quiet. “No.”

For a moment, Alrick’s eyes went cold. That unfathomable darkness made Jessa’s throat dry. She gripped the arms of the chair. Their clamminess made her grip weak. And then the king’s mask returned. He stood, moving out of Jessa’s line of sight. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, but she felt remarkably calm. She felt Alrick behind her, and then his hand pressed down on her shoulder. His grip tightened until she cried out. He bent down and said, “You will see.”

***

Jessa had been in the library since she had burnt her letter to Rhys. No one had disturbed her as she had watched the castle grounds from the tower window. She had watched the nobility meandering the garden paths, laughing and uncaring about what was happening under their noses. Jessa wondered how long their peace would last. It was already over for the rest of the city – the rest of the country. And these carefree nobles were part of the problem. She could not blame them entirely, of course. Any of the commoners, had they the nobility’s wealth and power, would probably do the same to keep their families safe and fed. The world was cruel and unfair.

She ought to get back to the world soon. There was much to do. There was still a reason she was here in the castle. Surely Larend would have sent her more of the code earlier that day. The notes had come at random times, certainly, but they had been frequent. She needed this cipher cracked. Then she could stop waiting around and thinking about things, and actually start doing. She would know which noble families she might be able to trust.

Jessa was loathe to leave the comfort of the chair by the window, especially in favour of her empty, lifeless room where she had only her destructive thoughts for company, but she did so anyway. The castle was busy at this time of the day, and Jessa endured the stares of the servants as she walked past. She could hear them whispering in her wake. She kept her head high even as she wanted to hide from them all. This was the attention she had sought. She had wanted them to think about their place, about their king. Now, knowing how the city had turned against them simply for doing their jobs, she wondered whether it would be easier to win their loyalty or whether they would believe their only chance at protection was to stand beside the king. She would see which way it would fall in time. For now, the servants could whisper all they liked.

She nodded at Duan as she approached. He watched her carefully, curiosity in his gaze. He knew that she had confined herself to her room after her outing with Alistair and had refused to speak to anyone since then. He didn’t know why. She wouldn’t tell him even if she wanted. She cleared her throat, tipping her head in question. He nodded twice. Two notes. Jessa was only a little disappointed. They still had over half the alphabet to decipher. She smiled tightly at Duan and left him standing in the corridor.

The notes from Larend were on the desk as usual. She opened them eagerly, the new information offering her an escape that she hadn’t been able to accept yesterday or earlier that day. Her head felt clearer, even if her heart did not, and she truly knew now that this was more important. Before, though she had told herself multiple times, she had not really believed it. Her pain had consumed her. Now, she could focus. She must.

K – 7, the first note read. The second said, S -12. Jessa retrieved the diary and dutifully copied out the code. She scanned over the list. There seemed to be no pattern to it that she could see. And they knew none of the most useful letters yet. Jessa hadn’t yet checked if any of the dates could be deciphered. With the ‘O’ from earlier, she felt sure there must be at least one. There were so many entries though, that it made more sense to wait until they knew the full cipher. Putting the diary to one side, Jessa looked at the deciphered entries. She could face this now. She read them slowly, wishing they were not so vague and similar. There was nothing about the families that she could glean from this information. Magrethe had been very careful, and very aware that shorter messages were both easier to conceal and better at causing confusion.

Jessa was close to giving up on reading the rest, when three words caught her eye. She pulled the paper out and brought it closer. Not loyal to k. Approach. M. Total mind block. Suddenly, the ‘M’ that had cropped up on a few of the other entries made sense. It must stand for mage. But that was not the most interesting part. No, a total mind block… Jessa consistently worried that the block Betha, the Novarian mage, had placed on her was not good enough. There was so much she had done in Ovis that was not directly connected to her ties with the Novarians or to Rhys. All of her current activities were something that Alrick could find if he knew where to look. She did not have the knowledge to do this herself, but if this message was true, there was someone who did.

They needed the rest of the code.

But needing it would not mean it would come. And it was dark now, so she would not hear from Larend again that day. Her dinner was brought to her room, as it had been for the past few days. She knew she ought to dine with that family, but she couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t hear Elissa’s snide comments. Not after-

“Stop it,” she scolded herself aloud. She couldn’t bear for every one of her quiet moments to be consumed by Rhys. Part of her knew she should be more lenient with herself – it had only been yesterday – but she just wanted a break from her heart. She needed the new day, and the promise of the code.

The night was as rough as the one before. She slept probably two hours and her every dream had been filled with Rhys. They had been worse than the night before, for instead of seeing Rhys with the woman, they had been together. Nothing, and everything, had happened in those dreams. They had sat on the top of a cliff in Jasrah, her hands in his. Just talking. They had talked of everything and nothing. But when Jessa woke up, she could remember none of their words and there were tears on her cheeks. She saw Rhys smiling at her, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on her hands. She saw them bend forwards together until their foreheads touched. She saw the sweet kiss that had pulled her from the dream. Jessa buried her head into her pillow and no longer felt tired.

The day took forever to come. And then it was even longer before someone knocked on her door, pulling her away from her numbness. Her voice cracked when she called them in, so she was especially grateful to see that it was only Duan. He came in cautiously. “Are you… okay, my lady?”

She ignored him. “Another?”

Duan frowned but he did not press. He nodded, handing her the note. Jessa was surprised to find it longer than the others. W – 14. It’s gone back to the start. There’s no more. Jessa’s heart sank. How could there be no more? They didn’t even have half the letters they needed. She turned the paper over, but Larend said nothing else. She needed to speak to him in person, but he had offered no meeting.

“Did he say anything to you?” she asked carefully. Duan shook his head, apologising. Jessa dismissed him with a sigh. Once he was gone, Jessa dressed hurriedly, paying so little attention that she almost put her dress on back to front. She forced herself to slow down. What would people think if she rushed over to the Janes’ manor in this state? It wasn’t like she especially had to see him anyway. She had all the information she needed. But she also needed to check for herself that there were no more letters coming.

Larend seemed to take forever to answer the door, but when he saw Jessa on the steps he did not look surprised. He ushered her in, helping her with her cloak. They looked at each other. Larend’s brow crumpled in concern. “You look about as tired as I feel.”

Jessa waved him away. “I’m fine,” she said tightly.

“Jessa?”

“The code.” Her voice was high. She looked away from Larend. She wanted to focus on Magrethe’s diary. There was nothing else that mattered. Larend touched her hand.

“Are you okay?”

She just wanted him to let it go. She just wanted him to stop being Larend for one moment and just not care. “Please, Larend, can we just-” She floundered, looking desperately at Larend. “This is really important. We were so close. What happened?”

Larend looked for a moment that he might protest, but in the end he just shook his head. He led her to his parents’ bedroom, where the clocks awaited, as he spoke. “The C appeared. It wasn’t at the same exact time, but it was still ten past the hour. Nothing else has happened since. Well, I accidentally fell asleep at one point, so it might have done. But I think this is it.”

“It can’t be it, Larend. There are still fourteen letters missing. And the numbers in the dates definitely go past twelve.”

“I don’t know, Jessa,” Larend snapped. He sighed. “I’m running on about twelve hours sleep over the past few days. Those people you had sent over to watch the clocks helped, but mostly I just needed to be there too. I don’t know what else to tell you. It looks like it’s starting again.”

Jessa entered the bedroom behind Larend. She stopped upon seeing another man already there. He sat in a chair facing the clocks, but his gaze was unfocused and bored. Jessa wondered how long he had been there. Larend went over to him, saying something quietly. The man didn’t need any other encouragement. He stood quickly, clasping hands with Larend in a brief handshake, before he made to leave. He looked at Jessa curiously as he passed. Although he must have been one of Nayall’s people, Jessa certainly had not met them all. She tried to smile at him, though she doubted it was particularly reassuring.

Larend offered Jessa the chair but she waved him away. Instead, she perched on the edge of the bed and rested her head against the bottom post of the four-poster bed. Even the hard, uneven wood was almost comfortable given how little sleep Jessa had got. Larend had had less, however, and after half an hour she suggested that he sleep. It took little to convince him.

“Do you have any idea when another letter will appear?”

Larend was already at the door. He looked back at her, his hand on the doorknob. “No idea. It really is random. But if the pattern is repeating, the next time is five to the hour. Since that just happened, you have at least another hour. Wake me when it happens?”

Jessa nodded. As soon as Larend had gone, she wished he wasn’t. She was back to waiting, all alone. Jessa lifted her head and let it fall back against the bed post. It did nothing for her headache, and she winced. She pulled out Magrethe’s diary. There was still plenty to decipher. Moving to the chair, she rested the diary on her knees and a piece of parchment on the side she wasn’t reading.

For the next two hours, she deciphered the remaining entries of the diary, looking up periodically to check she had not missed the clock change to five to. Once that was done, Jessa swallowed hard. There was nothing else for her to do. She stared at the decoded numbers for a while, then stared at one of the clocks. She watched the pendulum swing. Left, right, left, right. She noticed when it hitched slightly, showing its age. She looked at the time. Not even another half an hour had passed. But it had, at least, been her first peaceful half an hour.

Larend returned a few hours later, and still nothing had happened. Jessa moved back to the bed. When she eventually glanced at Larend, he was watching her instead of the clocks. She knew he had been.

“What’s happened, Jessa?”

“Nothing,” she said tightly against the growing lump in her throat. She exhaled hard and looked away from Larend.

“Jessa,” he said. She felt his fingertips brush against her hand. She started, her head swivelling to face him. He was leaning over, the left legs of his chair hanging in the air. She moved her hand away, and his dropped to his side. “Did something happen with the king?”

“I’ve not seen him in days,” she said. “I imagine he’s focused on the war.”

“Then…” Larend sighed. “You can talk to me, you know. I want to help.”

She couldn’t talk to him. He knew that her reason for being in Ovis was not what she’d claimed when she had arrived, but he still didn’t know about Rhys. Jessa was even less inclined than before to share such information. She shook her head tightly. “There’s nothing to help me with. I’m fine. Just tired and done with waiting.”

It took another hour, but finally one of the clocks lit up with another letter. Jessa checked her list. Larend was right. He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “I did say.” She waved him away. He said, “So, what now?”

“We figure out what the pattern is.” She stared at the list. It didn’t help that there was no order to it. Larend had come over.

“I’d draw it out like the clock,” he suggested. Jessa looked up at him, nodding gratefully. She was almost too exhausted – physically and emotionally – for this. She let Larend take the lead, carefully drawing a circle and writing the letters and numbers neatly around it. Jessa tilted her head. Before her eyes, the pattern was forming, though it took a little while of staring for her to really recognise what it could be.

“Look: L and K are opposite each other. Same with all of them.” She put her finger on the ‘C’ and added, “What if three is also A, and nine is also B? Or, well, maybe it’s a 24-hour clock. So either A or C is three…” Jessa took the pen off Larend, who looked vaguely confused. She went around the clock, filling in all of the letters. Once she was done, she pulled out the diary entry she was most interested in – the one mentioning the mind block. “Eighteen. Six. Five. So that’s either T or R for the first two letters, then G or E for the third. But what would the three letters even represent? The first three letters of the name?”

She wrote down all combinations and handed it to Larend. He shook his head. “I can’t recognise anything from it unless we know which letters she took. I mean there’s… the Tremonts, but apart from that…” Jessa remembered the name. One of the chaperones at Arrowbridge had been a Lady Tremont. Everyone had been scared of her. As possible as it could be, she couldn’t just go up to the family and accuse them of being mages. What if she was wrong?

Jessa did not know how long she and Larend spent pouring through the dates. They searched for the three and four letter family names, since that was their best guess at knowing which letters must have been taken. They felt sure the first number of the date had to be the first letter of the name. It was just the other two. Jessa checked for Mont, searching for the dates corresponding to MON, MNT, and MOT. Both the first and last existed, but only one indicated the family was not loyal to the king. The Monts were allies of the Marinons. Jessa inhaled sharply. “Larend.”

He looked up, and saw the expression on her face. “It’s Tremont. It has to be the first three letters. It’s Tremont.” She stared down at the diary entry. Her heart pounded. “We have to talk to them.”

“Why is this so important? I don’t even know what this means.” He gestured at the entry. Jessa bit her lip then appraised Larend. He didn’t know. The only thing he knew about magic and mages was what she had told him – that the king had a large army of them that he had forced into his service.

“Jessa, what aren’t you telling me?”

She swallowed. “Mind blocks are a kind of magic. It’s pretty self-explanatory.” She stopped, her mouth going dry.

“Right, but…”

“We can’t go around with all of this in our heads. It’s too dangerous. He can just take it, Larend.” Larend’s frown had deepened. Before she could talk herself out of it, she continued. “The king can just take whatever he wants as long as he knows what he’s looking for. He… he doesn’t just have mages in his employ. He’s a mage too.”