Kings of Deceit - R

[Rosabeth]

From the moment Rhys awoke he knew something was wrong. It was not that he felt in any way ill – quite the contrary. For the first time in a long time Rhys felt good. That was what worried him. The morning light streamed in through the curtains casting a dim glow on the others still sleeping peacefully nearby. Only Laurita was awake, prodding at the last embers of the dying fire. She looked to Rhys as he stirred, concern in her eyes.

“Are you –“

“I’m fine.” The words were not a lie. Rhys sat up straight, looking down at his body as if expecting something, anything to be wrong. Some sort of scratches or bruises or some sign that the previous night had not been a dream. The only remnant of the night was the dried blood now staining his clothes and dried under his fingernails. He could feel Laurita’s eyes on him as he stared down at his hands.

“You were quiet last night,” Laurita murmured, her eyes flickering to Nayall and the others. “Nayall said as much when we changed shifts but I didn’t believe him at first. I know of what’s happened to you before. I was expecting…something.”

“So was I.”

Rhys noticed the map – or what he could only assume was the map – spread out on the floor at Laurita’s feet. She caught his glance and gave a small shake of her head, seemingly guessing Rhys’ question before he asked. “No one else has showed up, at least not yet. It’s empty.” Laurita looked away with a grimace. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About them. It’s so easy to look at these maps and forget that those were people just like Odaren. People that didn’t have a choice.”

Though he had not thought it possible somehow Rhys’ guilt grew, his chest aching with her words. He watched as Laurita stared into the embers, refusing to make eye contact. Did she judge him? He could not blame her if she did. Eventually Laurita sighed and shook out her hair, rubbing her tired eyes as she stood up from her crouch. “I don’t think we’ll be able to use that trick again. I’m sure the king knows what we did, or at least has an idea. These can’t be his only maps. Next time we’ll have to think of something else.” Rhys could only hope there would be no ‘next time.’

The others awoke in time with the city, though had Rhys not seen movement outside through a slit in a curtain he was not sure he would have known there was anyone else around. The city was ghostly quiet in the early hours of the morning, the smoke rising from chimneys the only indication of life. There was something strange about it all, something Rhys could not quite put his finger on. The few people who ducked from building to building kept their heads low and their shoulders slouched, looking over their shoulder every so often as if paranoid of being followed. Rhys wondered if they knew what was coming. With an Etrenian force stationed just outside their city they could hardly be blind to the reality. A pang of guilt coursed through Rhys as he turned away from the window. If it were not for him and Jessa it was unlikely the war would have ever come to be. He could not help but feel some responsibility for the fear that enveloped the city.

A gentle hand rested on Rhys’ arm, but as he turned he did not recognize the woman before him. Her hair was long and blonde, her skin pale and eyes light, but it was the voice that Rhys knew. “Come on,” Laurita urged, fastening her heavy cloak around her unfamiliar body. “Nayall suggested we go scout out the Etrenians. See what the numbers look like, the makeup of the forces, anything the queen could use.” Laurita looked over her shoulder, leaning in close. “Honestly I think Nayall thinks you should probably get some fresh air. I’d probably agree.”

Rhys frowned at Laurita’s words but put up no fight. He did not like feeling so fragile in their eyes, especially on a day when he felt so remarkably good. Still, he knew he could not entirely brush off their concerns. “What about me? Do I not get a disguise?”

Laurita sighed with exasperation. “After last night? You’re not touching my magic with a ten-foot pole. Besides, I doubt anyone will recognize you here. You’re just another Etrenian man; you’ll be fine. Me? I don’t exactly blend in. Now come on!” Rhys was half dragged out the door before he could get another word in, haphazardly pulling on his cloak with the rush of the chill morning air. Few others were out in the streets, but those that were did not give them a second glance, keeping their heads down and avoiding eye contact. In the light of day with Laurita’s disguise they were able to take a leisurely pace, no longer afraid of one of Alrick’s mages lurking around the corner. As they turned down a wide road Rhys almost stopped in his tracks. Several soldiers milled about a storefront, arguing with the shop keeper in raised voices. Laurita tugged at Rhys’ arm, practically pulling him down the street and passed the soldiers. Rhys ducked his head as they passed, his eyes only barely catching the glance of one of the soldiers. The soldier knitted his brow, staring at Rhys with a look of a man who wouldn’t quite remember where he’d seen that face before. Rhys dared not look back and give the man any more time to think about it. Before he could panic himself Laurita pulled Rhys down another street and away from the watchful eyes that followed.

Near the northern edge of the town a small hill rose along the banks of the river. Barren but for a few stray shrubs, Rhys and Laurita scrambled up the southern side, pressing their bodies against the grass as they looked out over the river bank. The Etrenian army that awaited the Novarian forces was hardly an army at all, its numbers likely no more than a thousand. This was clearly not a force built for any serious combat, and the lackadaisical way the soldiers milled about in the early morning only went to show it. The mages had truly been Alrick’s master plan for holding Ferande. Of course, Rhys could hardly blame the king, knowing what he now knew about the mage ring. The twenty or so men and women stationed inside the city could have easily caused enough damage to hold back the Novarians long enough to send for reinforcements. Rhys hardly doubted that if need be the mages would have destroyed the city itself if need be, so long as it would keep the Novarians at bay. Alrick, in all his paranoia, could never have guessed the Novarians would know his secrets. His bet had been a sound one - his luck had simply run out.

“Look at them,” Laurita sighed. “Fighting for a man like Alrick…Their lives wasted for nothing.”

“They’re soldiers. Soldiers rarely have a choice in who they serve. You don’t get much choice in where you’re born.”

“I know, it’s just…it’s not right. They don’t deserve this. If they’re going to die for something they might as well die for someone worth fighting for. Not…him.”

“At least these ones will likely live to see another day. I mean, look at the numbers. Once the see the Novarians they’ll be sure to surrender. I wouldn’t be surprised if we took the city without any blood shed.”

Rhys regretted his confident words the moment he saw the sadness on Laurita’s face. “If Alrick would even let them surrender. Are you so confident he would?”

“Alrick isn’t here,” Rhys noted, though his stomach began to knot. From the look in Laurita’s eyes it was clear she was thinking the same thing as him. If there was ever a man who would be so resolutely against standing down, even in the face of certain defeat, it was Alrick. And they both knew well that he had his ways of influencing from afar. Rhys suddenly wanted to run down to the soldiers and urge them to desert, to leave while they still had the chance. Rhys did not want their blood on his hands. There was already too much of that.

Laurita did not give Rhys much time to think, pulling him away from the scene with an urgency that hadn’t been there before. Laurita’s frown etched lines in her new face, and even though the woman before him looked nothing like Laurita Rhys felt as though he could see through the disguise. Laurita, the young woman who’d first introduced herself to him by flirting with him openly, was not the same person he now watched before him. She seemed older, more mature, but the grief and worry that masked her face hinted that the changes had nothing to do with age. The war had seeped into every part of her, slowly eating at her from the inside. Rhys could hardly stand to look, not even at her façade. He wished desperately he could turn back the clock to when they were in Asanos and warn her of what lied ahead. Maybe the she would not have joined the war. No, Rhys thought with a frown. She would have anyway. So long as Odaren and Jessa’s fates were still unknown Rhys knew Laurita would endure what she had to. He admired her for that.

They made their way back to the house much more quickly than when they’d left, Nayall awaiting them just inside the door at their return. Laurita’s face became her own the moment they stepped inside and Nayall looked to her expectantly, his lips pursed in worry. “It’ll be simple. No more than 1,000 men and nothing unusual. The army will make quick work of it. The city should be easy to take.”

“And the mages?” Nayall pressed, glancing at the map that lay on the floor of the study down the hall. Nayall and Rhys followed Laurita as she moved to the map, pulling the vial of blood from her pocket and putting a droplet in the ring she still wore. She flattened out the map, moving it into the sun as she narrowed her eyes in concentration. “Nothing. Nothing yet, anyway. I suppose the king could send reinforcements at any time. I’m sure he knows by now.” With her words Laurita slipped the ring off her finger and placed it in Nayall’s hand, handing over the blood vial with it. “Rhys and I are going to head back and meet up with the army, let the queen know what we saw. If there’s any change –“

Nayall nodded. “I’ll let you know.”

The exchange happened so quickly Rhys barely had time to follow the developments. He grabbed Laurita’s arm as she passed, spinning her around as her words sunk in. “We’re going? I never said I was going back. I want to stay - If something happens I want to be able to help fight.”

“Rhys, if there’s going to be any more mages we can’t risk having you here. I can’t do that to you.” Laurita’s face fell as she watched Rhys’ own disappointment, her features softening into a sad smile. “I know you’re a good fighter. Invaluable. I know that; we all do. But someone has to look out for you and you’re too stubborn to do it yourself. Please, just do this for me? Jessa would want you to.” It was a low blow, bringing in Jessa, and Laurita knew it, but Rhys could not say that it was not effective. He sighed and nodded, knowing Laurita was right. If there were any more mages Rhys would only be a detriment after last night, any use of magic likely to tip him over the edge. Jessa would be frantic if she knew. Rhys felt guilty even considering it.

Rhys waited by the door as Laurita and Nayall spoke in low, hushed tones. At one point her eyes darted towards Rhys and he could not help but wonder if they were talking about him. Then unexpectedly Laurita pressed something Rhys couldn’t see into Nayall’s palm, the man’s eyebrows raising in response. Rhys couldn’t see anything but Laurita’s nod before she turned away towards Rhys, urging him out the door. Suddenly Rhys stumbled, the world swaying before him. He gripped at the door frame to steady himself as he squinted into the suddenly shocking bright light.

“Rhys?”

Laurita, though her face was once more new, watched Rhys with concern, her hand reaching out towards him. Rhys shook his head and righted himself. The moment had passed. Surely it was nothing. A small pain lingered in the back of Rhys’ head, like an annoying pinprick he could not ignore, yet he pushed it aside. He was fine. Had he not only that morning been remarking as to how good he felt? Had he not felt fine only moments before? Laurita did not look quite as optimistic, yet she didn’t push Rhys any further. Still, as they made their way out of the city Rhys could feel Laurita’s eyes on him, watching him for any sign that he might collapse on the spot or lash out unexpectedly. He knew what she must be thinking, that his night free of any worse effects from the magic was a mere fluke. Rhys pushed those thoughts away. He would not let those fears creep in. There was nothing wrong.

The walk was far too silent in their paranoia. Rhys looked to Laurita, remembering what he’d seen only minutes before between her and Nayall. “What did you give him? Nayall, I mean. I saw you put something in his hand.”

“A ring of mine. It helps a mage to have something of another’s if they try to speak to them at any distance through their mind. It helps focus the magic. I have something of his too though I’ve had it for a while, ever since Ovis.” Laurita pulled a small coin from her pocket, flashing it at Rhys. “I’m not very good at this sort of magic, so it helps.”

“You gave him your ring? That’s…romantic.” Rhys smirked at Laurita’s embarrassment as she slapped his arm lightly, shaking her head with a huff. “You’re ridiculous.” Rhys only laughed, happy to take their minds off of their preoccupation, if only for a moment. Laurita grinned at Rhys’ goofy expression and he could not help but smile back. He had not seen her smile in some time.

With nothing more than an egregious sum of money slipped to a head groom near the city’s edge and the promise that nothing would be said about the exchange, Rhys and Laurita lead two horses from the city, a long ride ahead of them. The army was likely a day behind, though Rhys guessed they’d run into a scout in only a few hours if they stayed on course. Though Rhys did not particularly wish to leave Nayall and the others behind he could not hide his thankfulness to not be within Ferande’s borders when the army approached. It was far more comforting knowing one would be on the winning side of a battle. For the first couple hours they kept their pace slow, not wishing to tire the horses too quickly. Rhys and Laurita bantered back and forth for some time, anything to keep their minds from the war, if only for a small amount of time. For a while the ride was almost peaceful. That was until the pains returned.

Rhys gripped at the reins, suddenly feeling as if he might fall clean off. Only moments later a sudden pain gripped his chest as if his heart was being squeezed from the inside. The pressure weighed down, and with each passing moment took Rhys’ breath away. Rhys could hardly think, his mind clouded as he desperately gasped for air. His mouth opened to speak, to say anything, but he could not find the words. Only a pained sound escaped his lips. In that moment Laurita looked over in panic, pulling her horse to a standstill.

“Rhys! What’s going on? Rhys?”

Rhys could hardly answer, his hand gripping desperately at his chest as if that could stop the pain. “Lau-“ was all his raspy voice could manage between frantic breaths. The pain began to spread, radiating out from his heart to the rest of his chest and down his arms. The pressure felt as if it might rip his chest in two yet Rhys could barely cry out in pain. A blackness floated at the edges of Rhys’ vision, the world growing fuzzier my the second as he gripped with all his strength at the reins, just hoping not to fall. Suddenly, a strange moment of clarity, Rhys understood. He was dying.

Suddenly Laurita was at his side, hoisting herself up onto his horse and taking the reins from him. She pressed him forward with her body, holding her arms under his own to steady his body. Without warning they shot off, Laurita forcing the horse into a near sprint. Rhys could hardly feel their speed as a numbness slowly consumed him from the tips of his fingers spreading up his arms. Only his chest still radiated with pain, the rest of him slowly fading. In a fleeting thought Rhys wondered if this was what it felt like when one’s heart to stopped. Perhaps this was what it felt like to die. In his blurry vision Rhys could see Nayall’s coin clutched in Laurita’s hand, rubbing between her thumb and the edge of her finger.

“Nayall,” she whispered to herself, her voice frantic. “Nayall, if you can hear me, please send help.”

Rhys could hardly hold himself up any longer, slumping forward until only Laurita’s arms held him in place. She suddenly cried out, a frantic, strangled sound Rhys could never have guessed escaped her lips. “Please don’t die, please don’t die, please don’t die,” Laurita pleaded, her voice growing more distraught with each word. “Rhys, please stay with me.”

Though all logic told Rhys he should be panicking as he had initially, Rhys could no longer find the strength. A certain calmness overtook him, the numbness sweeping over his body until only a hint of pain remained. There was no room for fear. Blackness overtook his vision, and in those last moments of consciousness Rhys could only think of how he wished he could have lived for Jessa. He was so sorry.

***

So many voices. The thought was incoherent and half-formed, but all Rhys could hear was noise. A man’s voice spoke above the chatter, a voice Rhys knew though he could not place it. There were women’s voices too, one high and one low, another somewhere in-between the first two. They spoke quickly in words Rhys could not understand, though Rhys was not sure he would have been able to piece out any words in his state. Everything was dark yet Rhys did not know whether his eyes were closed or the world was truly that black. His body felt numb and strange, his mind not quite awake. Slowly the voices distinguished themselves, the sounds coming out as words Rhys knew.

“-I shouldn’t have let him go. I knew better than that! How could I let him walk into that, knowing who he is?” Spoke the man, though Rhys could still not place his voice.

“It was his choice. He knew what he was facing. If he wants to make that decision for himself we should not stop him.” This time a woman spoke, her words sounding somewhat differently from the man’s. Rhys did not know why.

“You would say that.”

“Excuse me?”

“You benefit from him. He’s just another soldier to you, one you can send on your most dangerous missions. If you knew of his condition why would you offer him this? How could you?”

“Rhys is an adult. He can judge for himself what he is capable of. I may consider him a friend but I am not in a position to let that sway my judgement. He knows that. Do not blame me for doing what I must in the situation I am given. You are too close to him. You are letting your emotions cloud your judgement.”

“Of course I am, he’s my nephew!” With those words Rhys knew that voice. Kieran. With that realization Rhys began to feel his body once more, his eyelid suddenly feeling very heavy. He blinked, only managing to open his eyelids a sliver, seeing two figures standing nearby to wherever Rhys was. “Don’t act so above emotion. You may be a queen but I know you are not so cold. I don’t believe that for a second.”

Through squinted eyes Rhys could see Tula and Kieran facing each other at the foot of what looked to be some sort of bed on which Rhys lay. While Kieran looked as Rhys remembered if not a bit disheveled, Tula wore chain mail and a breastplate over her dress, a sword hanging at her hip. Rhys did not have the mental capabilities to question it yet he did not understand. Why would Tula wear armor? Rhys must have made some noise for the queen and his uncle suddenly looked at him, Kieran’s eyes widening in disbelief.

“Rhys!” Kieran was at Rhys’ side in an instant while Tula stood back, watching Rhys’ with a look of relief in her eyes. She caught Kieran’s eye, the two exchanging some look Rhys did not understand before she nodded, sweeping from the room. Rhys looked back to Kieran then, his uncle’s smile broad as relief coursed over his face. “Oh gods, I was beginning to think you weren’t going to wake up.”

Rhys frowned, not understanding his uncle’s words. As his vision slowly cleared Rhys looked around himself in confusion, realizing he was on a cot in a small, plain canvas tent. He closed his eyes, trying to remember how he’d gotten there. He certainly did not remember the strange tent. He didn’t remember much of anything if he was being honest with himself, just a dull pain somewhere in the back of his memory.

“How long have I been asleep?” Rhys tried to push himself up from the cot only to have Kieran’s hands push him back down. Rhys was almost embarrassed at how easily his uncle subdued him – Rhys had no measurable strength.

“A day? Maybe a bit more? Gods, when they brought you in I thought you were dead. Your body…” Kieran’s words trained off, his voice catching. “You were so pale. You owe your life to that Laurita girl.”

“Laurita?” Nothing was making sense, Rhys’ mind a jumble of strange, half-parsed memories. He did not remember Laurita…or did he? All he could think of was pain, a pain that brought itself to the front of Rhys’ mind. There had been pain, that much Rhys was certain of. The rest was a blur.

“She said you lost consciousness after just a few moments. Somehow she managed to get you off your horse and manually restart your heart. I don’t even know how she knew how, or that that’s what you needed. Truly, she saved your life, Rhys. You would have died. You were half dead as it was.”

Rhys’ words turned to ash in his mouth, a flash of memory returning in an instant. He remembered Laurita now. He remembered the sudden flash of pain and his breathlessness. He remembered Laurita’s cries of desperation. He felt sick at the thought that he could have brought her so much fear.

“What happened, Rhys? Laurita told us what happened with the mages, as if that was not horrific enough. But surely something else must have happened. She said you were feeling fine that morning. Has anything like this ever happened to you before?”

Rhys caught himself just as he was about to say no, a dark realization washing over him. Yes, this had happened before. Not exactly, he realized, but something similar. He remembered Anja telling him of what happened when she and Nayall had rescued him from Alrick’s prison, of how his heart had stopped when they’d arrived. Rhys shook his head, unable to understand. Alrick had tortured him for weeks beforehand, weeks in which Rhys had spent every waking moment wishing for death as his unconscious mind tried to unsuccessfully grant that wish. It had taken all of Alrick’s unbridled rage to hurt Rhys so severely the last time. This time it had only been two mages, each torture lasting no more than a few seconds. Surely that was not enough. It couldn’t be. Rhys did not want to accept the reality that he had truly become that fragile yet he could not ignore it. The truth was staring him in the face and it cared not whether Rhys accepted it.

“It’s getting worse,” Rhys whispered, pressing his fingers to his temples and pushing back his hair. “It’s getting much worse. I was an idiot to think I’d be ok, to think I’d be safe. I thought I could deal with the hallucinations and the pain. I thought I could push through. I didn’t know…”

Kieran sighed, placing his hands on Rhys’ shoulders. “You can’t risk it anymore, Rhys. At all. Nothing. You almost died this time. I don’t think you’ll be this lucky next time. The healers looked at you but they couldn't exactly do anything. I think if they'd tried to heal you it would have killed you instantly. They did say that, judging by what happened, and judging by others in similar situations, not that the situations are really similar-"

Kieran was stalling and Rhys knew it. There was something there he did not want to say, something Rhys likely did not want to hear. Still, he had to know. "Kieran, just tell me."

His uncle could not meet his eye. "They think your heart might be weakened...forever. They couldn't say to what degree. I'm sorry."

At first Rhys felt nothing. The words washed over him without meaning, refusing to sink in fully. He was 26. This was not something that happened to 26 year olds. Surely the healers must be wrong. A pain gripped at Rhys' chest, this time very different from the one that had nearly killed him.

"No one is saying you're going to die, Rhys. No one is even saying this will have any meaningful impact on your life. You just...need to be careful, that's all." Kieran did not seem entirely convinced with his own words but Rhys held onto them. He could not afford to think otherwise.

A sudden flash of light and muffled yells from the distance drew Rhys and Kieran’s attention, for which Rhys was thankful. He moved to sit only to be pushed down once more by Kieran, the man moving to the tent entrance and gazing out into the distance. From the cot Rhys could see the source of the light, a large fire spreading out in a line on the horizon.

“What is it?”

“They’re taking the city. At least, that’s what I thought…” Kieran looked to Rhys with a furrowed brow. “I thought you and Laurita said there were less than 1000 men. Why should there be this much noise? Why would there be a fire? Surely with these numbers they’d immediately surrender?”

Rhys swallowed hard. Laurita had been right, though it should have come as no surprise. Alrick was not a merciful nor a compassionate man. What was the loss of a few soldiers in the scope of a war? Rhys felt for the soldiers who would be cut down in this foolish stand, but more than that he worried for the Novarians. Ferande was a strategic powerhouse – it would not be a small loss in Alrick’s eyes. Between the loss of Ferande and the knowledge that the Novarians were aware of his mage ring, Alrick’s rage would not be quiet. There was no telling what retribution looked like in his eyes, and Rhys did not want to find out.

[Mollianne]

Larend had not said anything. Although it felt much longer, the cacophonous ticking of the many clocks in the room told Jessa it had barely been two minutes. She watched Larend cautiously. He was not looking at her, instead staring at the floor with his brows furrowed. Jessa could not say whether he was thinking it through in an attempt to find evidence in the king’s interactions, or whether he simply could not process it. Jessa opened her mouth. Immediately she thought better of it. She pressed her lips together hard and looked away.

A few more minutes passed. Jessa couldn’t take the ticking anymore. She turned back to Larend. “Larend?” she said gently. He did not react. Jessa pressed her lips together, unsure what she ought to do. No other time she had revealed this had silence been her only response. The queen of Novamor had been angry, but it had certainly been more at the situation than at Jessa specifically. The other time… that anger had been instantaneous and personal, and it had hurt. Jessa tried to push it from her mind, but one thought remained. Had that been when it started? Had Rhys begun then to realise his feelings were not as he’d said, or that she might have manipulated them?

She pushed the questions away. She would probably never know whether Rhys had once cared and then stopped, or never cared at all, and it was foolish to dwell on it. There were more important things to consider just then.

Larend had moved. He still did not look at her, but his head had lifted and his gaze was fixed on the wall in front of them. He shook his head. “You told me he forced mages to work for him.”

Jessa nodded slowly, before she realised that Larend probably had not seen. Quietly, she said, “Yes.”

“But now you’re saying the king is a mage. What – what does that mean?” Larend frowned and rubbed his brows. “How… bad is it?”

Jessa grimaced just as Larend finally glanced at her. He looked away, looking grim. “Greater magic is – well, to say I’ve had some bad experiences with it since I left Ovis would be an understatement. It’s-”

Larend interrupted her. “Jessa, I barely know what it can do. I’d never heard of it until Novamor legalised it.”

“Oh.” She should have realised. She had been in his position only a few months ago, but by the time the queen of Novamor lifted the ban she had known what it could do. She could only imagine what people like Larend would have thought about an unknown type of magic existing in this world all this time, covered up by their rulers. To still not know what it could do sent a shiver up Jessa’s spine. “So... you know lesser magic? Maybe not by that term, but it’s the kind of magic nearly everyone can use. It’s simple and relatively harmless. You know, things that just make everyday life easier. The closest it can come to directly affecting a person is in healing. That seems to be the crossover between lesser and Greater magic. Greater magic is more involved. It alters the perceptions of people around you, either by affecting their senses, their bodies or – or their minds.”

Larend sucked in a breath. He was staring at Jessa now, his eyes wide and fearful. “How?” he breathed.

“They can make you believe whatever they want you to believe. You don’t even realise what’s happening if they’re good enough.” Jessa swallowed and looked away. She stared at her hands, which fidgeted nervously with memories of her past and with her words – a stark reminder of why she so despised Greater magic. “They can control you to the point where you have no will and the person themselves is all but lost. They can read your thoughts, see your memories… All of it, and the victim never knows it’s happening. They turn you against yourself.” She clasped her hands together to stop her fidgeting, and looked Larend in the eye. She said, barely above a whisper, “The king-”

She didn’t need to say more, even if she could have found the words. Larend’s eyes widened even further. He stared at her, though he was clearly not seeing her. He was numb with horror. The minutes passed, the tension growing thicker and thicker. Then, suddenly, Larend inhaled loudly, his breath shaking. Jessa started at the sound. Larend looked around wildly, his thoughts clearly racing in a way he could not deal with. He’d been near the king all of his life. He’d nearly married into the family. And he’d had no idea. Jessa reached out and rested her hand on top of his without thinking. He stopped, staring at it for a moment before turning his hand to grip hers. He held tightly but Jessa’s endured the pain on seeing her friend slowly calm as he stared at their hands.

“The other mages…” She could barely hear him. His words were almost too shaky to be intelligible.

“Yes,” she said, just as quietly as he. Larend’s grip tightened even more if that was even possible.

“That… bastard.” Larend yanked his hand out of Jessa’s and stood up. He pushed a hand through his hair and turned to face her. “He just… How can anyone even think of doing that to another person? I don’t…” His brows furrowed as he put his hands over his mouth. He kept shaking his head. “He’s evil, Jessa.”

“I know.”

“What about everyone else? Does he just-” His mouth opened and closed uselessly.

“I don’t think he cares who he hurts as long as it means he’s in control and he’s still in power. I don’t think there’s many lines he won’t cross. I don’t think there’s a person alive he wouldn’t control.”

Larend stopped moving. He stared at her. “Does he know you know all this?”

“Do you think I’d be alive if he knew?” Jessa asked, even though she wasn’t sure she believed her own words. He hadn’t killed her for what he did know. “I don’t think he knows I know he has magic. But, if he doesn’t at least suspect I’m working against him…” She shook her head.

Larend slipped his hands into hers, holding them tightly until she looked at him. He looked lost and scared. “You can’t stay there, Jessa. He could do anything to you.”

“He hasn’t,” Jessa tried to say, but Larend kept speaking.

“You said yourself that you wouldn’t even know it’s happening. He could be-” Larend shook his head. “Even if he just sees your memories…”

“I took precautions,” Jessa said quietly. “And it’s why we need the Tremonts.” She pulled her hands away from Larend. “But I’ve not seen him since the ball and I’ve not been alone with him since I signed my divorce papers.” If her voice hitched on those words, Jessa ignored it. Larend didn’t seem to notice. “He hasn’t done anything to me. Not yet.”

“How can you stay there? Why?”

“I have to, Larend. I need to be in the castle. I need the nobility to think I have something to offer them. If I leave, no one will listen to me. And if I’m there, I can watch him. I can – find something. Actual evidence to bring him down.”

“I can help. It isn’t worth-”

“Yes, it is,” Jessa said firmly. “It is, Larend. I would die for this. I would risk everything for this. You haven’t seen the mages. You haven’t seen what he can do. If we don’t get rid of him, what happens? He teaches Maira everything he knows and when she ascends the throne nothing changes? Or, more likely, is worse after even more years of the king’s reign. If I have to lose myself to make Etrene better, Larend, I will do it. This is so much more important than any one person.”

Larend didn’t say anything. At first, Jessa thought he was shocked at her outburst, at her determination. It was certainly at odds with the meek girl he had thought he’d known as a child. But then, as he looked away, she saw the confusion and fear. He sat down heavily on the bed. “Maira – is she…?”

It took Jessa a moment to realise. Larend didn’t know Greater magic was hereditary. Why should he think so? The magic he knew seemed universally accessible. Why should Greater magic be any more than random chance? She watched Larend, and when he looked at her, she had never seen someone so lost and confused. But it was clear he had connected the dots. “Are you?”

As much as she wanted to look away from that gaze, Jessa couldn’t bring herself to do so.
“Yes,” she said, her voice shaking. She watched Larend cautiously, expecting the worst. She had kept this from him – had kept so many things from him. The king knew she and Larend were meeting, and without any way of protecting Larend’s mind from him, she couldn’t have told him this. She braced herself for his anger and betrayal, but although his expression changed, she could not name it.

Larend stood up suddenly, pushing a hand through his short hair and going to the window. Jessa watched him go but did not attempt to follow. She simply stood and wrapped an arm tightly around the bedpost on which she leaned. “I hated it,” she said quietly. “I hated myself. I’d-” Jessa cleared her throat. She dropped her gaze to her feet as memories flooded her head. A beguiling smile, whispers in her head, the wind blowing her hair atop the cliff, her mother’s image far below. The desire to jump. Jessa swallowed. “I nearly died because of Greater magic. Because I had it, although I didn’t even know at the time. They felt it in me and because of my connection to the king – though they believed it was my mother who was the mage – they used their magic on me to try to convince me to commit suicide so I couldn’t tell the king about them. I didn’t even realise that I could only feel their power because I was a mage too. They tried anyway. They turned everything I thought I knew upside down and I still don’t really know what was real and what wasn’t. All I know is I’m lucky to be alive.”

Luck had very little to do with it. Jessa remembered someone screaming her name and saving her life. She pushed it all away. “The thought that I had that magic within me…” she trailed off. “And then I found out more about him and how he abuses his power and… it terrifies me, Larend. My magic is his.”

She looked up and was startled to see Larend watching her. His mouth was slightly open, and when he saw her looking he snapped it shut and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Larend. I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t know who to trust, and even if I did, the king could just take it from your mind. I’m so sorry.”

The silence dragged on, long and awkward, until finally Larend spoke. “I don’t understand. How can you not have known? Does it just…” Larend frowned. Jessa opened her mouth but Larend lifted a hand to stop her. “No, I… just need a moment.” He stared at her, and Jessa wilted under his gaze. Tentatively, he came closer, shaking his head, until they were a few feet apart. “You should have told me. I understand – I think – why you didn’t, but if you hadn’t seen that-” He gestured at the translated diary entries, lying almost forgotten on the bed, “would you have ever told me? Or would I have been committing treason and risking my life without ever realising how dangerous it was? Would you ever have told me about you?”

He didn’t sound angry, just hurt. Jessa couldn’t decide if that was worse. Larend was right, of course he was. She shouldn’t have brought him into this without this information, but she also couldn’t tell him without putting him in a different dangerous position. She tried to answer him, but she had no response. Larend waited, but when it was clear Jessa was not going to say anything, he sighed. “I thought so.” He bit his lip, then said, “There’s more, isn’t there? There’s more you can’t or won’t say – about this, about why you’re here.”

“I’m sorry, Larend.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I could take more right now anyway. Just,” he said, coming closer. He touched her hand. Jessa jolted, surprised he would even want to be near her after her lies and her lack of trust in him. “Promise me: you’ll tell me before it’s too late.”

“Would you even believe me if I said I would?”

Larend shrugged. “I want to.”

Jessa sighed, stepping away from Larend. Quietly, she said, “I promise.” Larend appraised her for a moment, and then he nodded. Jessa pressed her lips together and sniffed. “So.”

“You should go. I need… time.”

Jessa wanted to agree. Larend looked exhausted. “Larend, the Tremonts…”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his gaze straying to the diary again. He nodded tiredly. Jessa bit her lip and moved to touch his arm. “I’m sorry. It’s too dangerous. They might not even be able to help. Maybe I’ve got this all wrong. I hope not, otherwise…” She shook her head. This was unfair. “I can go alone.”

“How will you even get to talk to them? You can hardly tell the servants the truth, and the family probably won’t see you otherwise. I know them, at least. I might have more reason to visit, especially if they really are connected to my mother.” Larend sighed. “You need me.”

Jessa didn’t say anything. Again, he was right, but she knew he did not really want to be doing this right now. She could hardly blame him. After she had found out, she pulled away from everything for a really long time. When Jessa continued to stay silent, Larend said, “You do. And you’re right, it’s too dangerous. Maybe I won’t see the king, but you might. You said you’d taken precautions?”

“There are memories of mine he can’t see. A total block would be better, but I didn’t know if it was possible. But yes.”

“But he could learn that I know?”

“He’d know I’m talking to you. I don’t know whether it would prevent him from learning about what. But he’d know about the diary if he looked in the right place.”

“Then the longer we wait, the more danger we’re both in.” Larend rubbed his temples. “Then we go now.”

“Larend, we can wait a bit. I can… go somewhere and start decrypting more of the names.”

He was nodding before she had even finished speaking. “Yeah, maybe. You can go to my mother’s study.”

Jessa smiled tightly. She collected the diary and all the loose papers with the translations, then glanced back at Larend. “I really am sorry. And I’m sorry for bringing you into this.”

“I’m not.”

***

Jessa and Larend didn’t look at each other as they waited outside the Tremonts’ manor. Jessa had the diary clutched in her hand, keeping it well out of view of the street behind them. Larend just looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there. He had fetched her after an hour, saying that it would soon be too late for them to visit the Tremonts – especially as Jessa had been gone from the castle for a good portion of the day. Even now, out of the corner of her eye Jessa could see Larend restlessly playing with the hem of his shirt, or the cuffs of his sleeves. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her. She could see him struggling to deal with everything she had told him. She wished she could say something, but she had done enough already.

The door opened, breaking her thoughts. An older man bowed and said, “My lady. My lord.”

Larend smiled. Jessa didn’t know how he did it. “Is Lord Tremont at home? Or Lord Aaron?”

The man looked nervously behind him. “No, I’m sorry. I can tell them you came to call.”

“Oh. It really is quite important. With recent events – well, I just wanted to warn them.” Jessa eyed Larend. What was he even trying to say? She glanced at the servant, who looked as thoroughly confused as she did. Larend continued to smile. “But I suppose if they’re not in…”

“I’ll…” The man looked behind him again, floundering. “They really are out, my lord.” He glanced between them. “Could you wait one moment?”

“Of course,” Larend said, though the man had already shut the door in their faces. Jessa blinked, glancing at Larend. He shrugged. “Let’s see whether that’s bothered someone enough.”

“What did you even mean?” Jessa asked under her breath.

“Does it matter? If they’ve something to be worried about – related or unrelated – they’ll probably talk to us.”

Jessa shook her head. But sure enough, a few minutes later the door reopened and they were ushered inside. The man took their cloaks and led them to an empty sitting room. He gestured to one of the sofas, offered refreshment which they both declined, and then left them alone. Jessa perched on the sofa and looked around nervously. The room was busy with brocade curtains, brocade upholstery… it was enough to make Jessa’s eyes hurt. She glanced at Larend. Though he sat back on the sofa, looking the picture of relaxed, she could see in his eyes he was anything but. Although she wanted to say something, she kept silent. She didn’t know what to say anyway.

For what felt like an age, they waited. Clearly the family wasn’t especially bothered by Larend’s vague words.

“Well, I can’t say I expected to see this. A Janes and a du Rene together again.”

Jessa jumped, twisting around. She had not seen the door on the other side of the room. An old woman stood there, her hands clasped in front of her, looking on with an unreadable expression. Her grey hair was pulled into an intricate bun, and she wore a deep burgundy velvet dress. Though the lines on her face suggested her age, there was no stoop to her shoulders and when she walked further into the room, there was uncertainty to her graceful steps. Jessa recognised the woman for the same reason she had recognised the family name. She had been the strict chaperone at Arrowbridge. The only difference now was at Arrowbridge Jessa had seen her only ever looking stern and tired with all the youthful antics, whereas now she looked faintly amused. If she was worried at the meeting, Jessa could see none of it.

She and Larend stood hastily, curtseying and bowing respectively. The woman’s amusement grew. “Oh well. I’ve never had a Janes or du Rene bow to me before either. How things change.”

“Lady Tremont,” Larend said. Jessa glanced at him expectantly, but it seemed he had nothing more to say. Lady Tremont sat in an armchair facing them and waved slightly for them to retake their seats. She watched them down her nose.

“It is customary to explain why you have come uninvited to someone’s home, especially with such a vague warning. Surely you don’t expect me to guess?” Lady Tremont leaned back in her chair, waiting expectantly.

Jessa picked up the diary from where she had placed in against the arm of the sofa. She opened it out onto the correct page, with the translation loose on top of it, and pushed it across the coffee table to Lady Tremont. The woman did not move, though she glanced at it curiously. It did not look like she recognised it, though Jessa would have been surprised if she had.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s my mother’s diary, of a sort,” Larend said. “And I think what Jessa’s trying to say is she’d like you to read that page.”

Lady Tremont’s eyebrows rose. She sat forward, lifting the diary up with one hand and glancing across the words. When she looked at the second page with the translation, for a moment her expression flickered. It was gone by the time she returned the diary, closed, to the coffee table. “Well, that was unenlightening.”

“The diary is written in code. That’s the translation.” Jessa nodded at the diary.

“Is it? I don’t suppose you have any proof?”

“I have other diary entries that have been deciphered in the same way. I… don’t have them here.” Jessa bit her lip. Lady Tremont shrugged slowly. “I don’t have any reason to write it.”

“And of course there couldn’t be anyone else in our mutual acquaintance who wouldn’t be willing to fake evidence because they have taken offence to my family.”

“I’m not here to threaten you. It wouldn’t be me here if that was the case – and Larend certainly wouldn’t be, you said it yourself.” Jessa was growing desperate. She should have realised it would not be this easy.

“What other possible reason could you have for bringing me a note declaring my family is not loyal to the crown?” Lady Tremont lifted her hands in question, staring Jessa down. Jessa dropped her gaze.

“Lady Tremont,” Larend said. Only when Jessa was sure he had drawn her attention did she look up. “We are not here on behalf of the king.”

“If that was something that would bother me, your words would hardly reassure me.” Lady Tremont sat back in her chair. They were losing here. They needed her.

“Please,” Jessa said. She had to say more. “You’re like me. You know you are.” It was risky, but surely if this woman was truly ignorant, Jessa’s words would only confuse her.

Lady Tremont’s gaze snapped back to Jessa. She narrowed her eyes. “I have no idea what you mean.”

She did. Jessa knew she did. “Please. You helped Lady Janes, didn’t you?” She sat forwards, putting her hand on the line mentioning the mind block. “With this. Please.”

Lady Tremont lifted her chin. Jessa didn’t know what to do. She had nothing to offer this woman, and nothing but a flimsy piece of paper to even threaten her with – something Lady Tremont had already said would not work. Jessa couldn’t reveal anything else in case she was actually wrong. She was fairly sure she wasn’t, but that wasn’t enough.

“My mother met with you,” Larend said. Jessa glanced at him. “I saw her come once.”

“Did you,” Lady Tremont said. Would nothing work with this woman? Jessa understood her reticence, she really did. She stared at the woman, trying to sense her magic. But this close to the king, a mage would have to do everything they could to keep their magic hidden – even if they didn’t know the truth about the king. Jessa didn’t know how to sense it unless it was already there. She hadn’t been able to sense it with the king either.

Jessa clasped her hands together, leaning forward. She just had to risk it. She knew Magrethe’s diary was true, and she was fairly sure there were no other names the date could correspond to. “Please help us. We just… need our minds protecting.”

“What could you possibly be hiding?” Lady Tremont asked. But her voice had changed. And she hadn’t denied that she could do it.

“Can you do it?” Larend asked before Jessa could say more. The woman raised her eyebrows. “You don’t seem surprised that it’s possible. If you didn’t know anything, you’d be as confused as I am.”

Jessa looked at Lady Tremont with desperation. “I’m not here for the king. I’m here because of him. Do you know what he is?”

“The king of Etrene,” the old woman said drily.

“You know what I am. I know you can feel it. The king is too.”

She had her. The woman couldn’t hide her surprise. “What?” she said sharply. Lady Tremont didn’t know. Jessa couldn’t say she was surprised. If anyone in Ovis knew they would surely already be dead.

“Please. Did Lady Magrethe Janes come to you about a mind block? Please, if you help us then I can tell you more. Surely you want to protect your family?”

“I’m already doing that,” Lady Tremont said. She stared at Jessa, looking her up and down. Jessa wouldn’t be surprised if she was looking into her mind, although what she would find was very little. Then she felt it, a gentle prickling. Maybe Lady Tremont didn’t even care that Jessa knew she was there. Jessa threw every genuine feeling she could at that prickling. She needed this, more than anything. She wasn’t going to go to the king. Eventually, the prickling went away. When she looked at Lady Tremont, the woman’s gaze had softened.

“You’re lucky, you know, that I have a secrecy spell on this room. Nothing you or I say can leave this room. So I’ll tell you: yes, I can do what you need. But it comes at a cost, and from what I saw I don’t know that you’re willing to pay it. In order for me to totally block your mind, I need to see everything. I can’t hide what I don’t know exists. Whatever secrets you’re keeping, I need to know them all.”

[Rosabeth]

At sunrise the smell of sandalwood enveloped Ferande, waking Rhys from a restless sleep. He knew the incense to be a Novarian custom, but it was not until the morning that he’d realized its use was as much practical as symbolic. Even from some distance Rhys could smell the permeating stench of hundreds of corpses littered outside Ferande. Only a handful of soldiers, those left standing with little to lose from surrender, stood down in the end. Etrene’s culture had never been one in which the idea of surrender was abhorrent – faced with these odds it should have been the obvious choice. Rhys could not help but wonder what sort of compulsion had been used to bind these men to their fates. Only a few dozen Novarian’s fell in the fight, their bodies now burning on mass pyres in the open fields, their clothes and belongings awaiting passage back to Novamor to be returned to their owners’ families. Nothing about war was easy, but to Rhys this was the hardest. As he’d watched many a blood-spattered soldier return to camp late in the night, the clothes of those who may have been their dearest friend in their arms, Rhys could not help think of Dima. The memory was too new still, an open wound that refused to heal, and each reminder only dug deeper.

The healer who watched over Rhys’ seemingly every move hovered nearby at the sight of Rhys’ stirrings. He was worse than even Kieran, pushing Rhys back into the bed roll at any seeming attempt to escape and clucking at Rhys’ insistence at sitting up. Rhys knew this was difficult on the man. Though he knew much about medicine it was second to his magic, and Rhys had seen him itching to do something, anything that might heal Rhys at a more acceptable rate. To the healer Rhys’ aversion was almost an affront to his talents, a rejection of everything he held dear. Rhys only wished he could tell the man just how desperately he wished he could be healed like the other soldiers. Though two days had passed since the incident Rhys could still feel a soreness in his chest like a bruise he couldn’t see, taunting him day in and day out. After weeks bedridden due to Alrick’s torment to be confined once more felt like a much crueler torture. He’d seen the pity in Kieran’s eyes as his uncle watched over him the night before. Rhys was a casualty, a constant liability. He did not like the feeling. It was not who he was – it was not who he’d been.

A cough from nearby turned the healer’s head like a hawk, descending on the intruder surely to scold them for intruding upon Rhys’ rest and send them on their way. Luckily for Rhys Laurita gave little mind to the prickly man, chiding him in quick Novarian before coming into the tent and sitting with folded legs on the edge of Rhys’ bed roll. Laurita looked as tired as Rhys felt with reddened eyes framed with dark circles. Even her breathing sounded tired and laborious. He wondered how she’d fared the night before.

Rhys pushed himself up, pointedly ignoring the healer’s glare. “I’d hoped you’d show up.”

“I wanted to last night but you’d only just awoke and I figured I’d let you spend some time with your uncle. Besides, they needed me at the front. Nayall and the others stayed in Ferande during the battle, just to keep an eye on things and make sure no other mages arrived. I was relaying messages from Nayall to the queen and her generals.”

“And Nayall?”

“Fine. Things went as smoothly as could be hoped for.” Laurita pursed her lips, sighing at some unspoken thought. “Well, I wouldn’t say Nayall is necessarily fine. He’s a bit shook up from everything. I think it really got to him.” She paused then, closing her eyes and slowly shaking her head. “He shouldn’t have had to do that. I know he’s the only one with the insight, but to kill so many, even ones he knew?”

Rhys pushed back the memories, refusing to relive the gruesome flashbacks again and again. He could not pretend to understand what had gone through Nayall’s mind in those moments, but his own thoughts were more than enough to empathize. “He knew what he was getting into, at least to an extent.”

“I know,” Laurita sighed. “That doesn’t make it right, though.”

“No,” Rhys agreed. He could not help wonder if Laurita blamed him for what had happened. Nothing had gone to plan and Rhys’ overconfidence in taking the opportunity presented to them had resulted in more than his own pain. Regardless of the outcome Eadrin would never have been allowed to live and the mages would have still been killed, but maybe, just maybe, Nayall could have been spared the horror of what he’d been forced to do. Rhys stopped his thoughts before they could run away with the last bit of his sanity. They’d known what they were getting into. The plan had been botched, the results a bloody mess, but there was no pretending any of them were innocents in this, no matter the pain they felt.

As Rhys pulled himself back from his wandering thoughts he noticed Laurita watching him with a softness and sadness that had not been there before. She gave a small smile as Rhys looked at her, extending her hand to rest on top of his. Rhys smiled back automatically. A comfortable silence fell over the two of them as an immense gratitude washed over Rhys. Laurita owed Rhys nothing. If anything his and Jessa’s actions had dragged her into a mess greater than anything she could have imagined, a mess of pain and regret that should have hardened even the softest person. Yet time and time again Rhys found himself saved by Laurita’s kindness and intelligence. He owed her his life, a debt he knew he’d likely never be able to repay. He did not deserve her friendship. Rhys pushed himself forward and pulled Laurita into a tight hug. “Thank you. For everything. From the bottom of my heart.”

Laurita’s arms wrapped around him instantaneously as she rested her chin on his shoulder with a sigh. She hugged back with a fierceness that felt almost protective. “You’re my friend, Rhys. We’ve got to look out for each other.” The embrace lingered on for some time but as Rhys finally pulled away he saw a glimmer of tears in Laurita’s eyes. His smile betrayed what he’d seen and Laurita let out a breathy sigh, shaking her head with a smirk. “Don’t you dare tease me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Laurita wiped at her eyes with her sleeve as she muttered to herself with a small laugh. Rhys smiled to himself; it was good to see a smile on her face, even if short lived. Laurita’s eyes flickered to where the healer had only just been, realizing he was gone. With a start she jumped up from her position, extending a hand down to Rhys. “I know I probably shouldn’t be asking you this as I’m fairly sure that man would bite my head off, but do you want to take a walk? I doubt you’ve been allowed up. Unless you’re…”

Rhys did not give her time to question his health. Using all the strength he could manage Rhys pushed himself from the ground, letting Laurita pull him the rest of the way. He swayed slightly as he reached his feet, Laurita’s arms already holding him firm at the slightest sight of imbalance. He wished he would wave away her concern but the quickened beating of his heart told him otherwise. Laurita looked as though she already regretted her decision, looking nervously back at the bedroll with hesitation. Rhys took a deep breath and steadied himself, his pointed expression daring Laurita to fight him. She gave up at the look of his resolve, wrapping one arm around Rhys’ waist and letting him lean against her for support as they snuck out into the sunlight.

The first thing Rhys saw was the plume of the smoke in the distance, immediately pulling Rhys from any momentary fantasy he might have held about his reality. Laurita saw where his gaze went, immediately pulling him in the opposite direction. Their pace was slow but steady, Rhys happy to find that while a slight tightness still pushed on Rhys’ chest and his breathing was shallow he was otherwise as he should be. Though he knew it was likely overconfidence Rhys took that small bit of relief and let it carry him. They walked for some time in relative quiet, only exchanging small comments here and there, eventually reaching the far side of the newly-stablished camp. As they reached the edge Rhys could hear a buzz of voices, far more than there should logically be. Soon Rhys could see a whole battalion gathering at the camp’s edge, stretching back for what must have been a quarter mile. They looked worn and tired like men who’d just travelled a great distance, all carrying rucksacks on their backs and weapons on their belts.

“These must be the reinforcements,” Laurita said, standing up on her tiptoes to get a better view around the building crowd. “I heard they were coming today, but I hadn’t heard…” Her voice trailed off, her mouth hanging open. Rhys furrowed his brow in confusion seeing nothing out of the ordinary. It was not until her mouth turned into a wide, open mouthed smile that Rhys followed her gaze to see what she saw. There among the incoming battalion was a weathered, dark face Rhys remembered, though he barely knew the man. Hal.

It was lucky Rhys had gained his balance for the moment, for Laurita shot off without a second thought. She sprinted straight into the crowd making a beeline for her father. “Father!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. Hal looked up immediately, his daughter’s voice not lost even among the crowd. He saw Laurita coming only long enough to drop his things, holding his arms out as he scooped her up, lifting her off her feet in a crushing hug. Hal buried his face in Laurita’s hair and even from the distance Rhys could see both Hal and Laurita begin to shake, their sobs likely indistinguishable from laughter in their joy. As they pulled apart Hal touched the tips of the hair that grazed Laurita’s shoulder, a smile on his face. Rhys looked away, the moment feeling too private for his eyes, even amongst all these people.

“Lord Rhys.”

Hearing his formal title pulled Rhys from the scene before him more than any voice could have. A short, stern looking soldier stood before Rhys, giving a curt bow. “Her Majesty requests your immediate presence. If you’ll follow me.” The man turned on his heels and began off into the camp at a pace far too fast for Rhys to follow. He trailed along at a distance until the soldier eventually caught on, slowing down with visible exasperation until Rhys closed the distance. Rhys recognized the queen’s distinctive tent with its guards even from a distance. It was quiet outside, yet when the guards bowed aside at Rhys’ approach and Rhys stepped inside he realized the quiet was nothing more than a trick of magic. The inside of the tent was a cacophony of noise. Tula stood at the head of a long table, flanked on both sides by six arguing people who Rhys recognized instantly as her generals from their uniforms. Two others Rhys recognized as advisors – though he could not give their names – stood on the right and left of the queen, furiously scribbling notes on some unknown topic. Far from the warring generals Kieran and Nayall stood awkwardly, looking as though they were not quite sure why they were there at all in what otherwise seemed to be a war council. One last man stood silently near Nayall, unfamiliar to Rhys.

“Rhys, I see you’re out of bed.” Tula’s tone felt like a scolding, yet her smile suggested otherwise. Rhys could see his uncle’s eyes darken from the corner of his eye, less than pleased at what he obviously saw as Tula’s lack of concern for Rhys’ well-being. If Tula noticed Kieran’s look she gave no indication. “I’d all but considered moving this meeting to you, but once I heard you were already out of bed...”

“I’m alright. Really.”

Tula did not look particularly convinced by Rhys words but neither did she fight him, far more easy to accept his own assessment than seemingly anyone else. “Either way, now that you’re here we can start.” With a nod of her head Tula sat at the head of the table, the others taking their seats behind her. Rhys took the nearest seat beside Nayall, feeling just as out of place in the group as it appeared did Nayall and Kieran.

“Not to be rude, but am I really needed here? I’m not even in your army. I’m not sure what I could possibly contribute.” Eight sets of eyes fixed suddenly on Rhys, boring into him until he realized his faux pas, his familiarity with the queen unwelcome in the situation. “Your Majesty.”

Tula smirked at the title but gave no comment. “This isn’t a war council, if that’s what you’re wondering. Not really, anyway. There are other matters I’d like to discuss that I’d like your opinion on. Matters we’ve discussed in the past.”

“Such as?”

“Kings. And the lack thereof.”

Rhys swallowed. This was not a topic he’d given much thought since those days in Kolonis many months ago. He’d been questioned relentlessly by Tula as to his own intentions, her insistence that he surely wished the crown for himself undying. He wondered if she still thought that of him.

“With Ferande under our control Ovis will be cut off from their most reliable and important source of land trade. Ovis itself likely has enough grain stores to tide over at least the nobility until summer, but without the use of the river they’ll have no incoming shipments. The commoners are already likely starving – we’ve passed three torched grain stores already – but this would cut into the king’s ability to feed and supply his own army. Of course, Barichean coastal trade will help fill that need, but any trade will come at least at a week’s delay, and the king will be hard pressed to find the Barichean queen willing to give him the amounts he’d need to request without internal trade in Etrene. Even in the best case scenario it’s not a situation he’ll be able to hold off until crops become viable once more.”

The general closest to Tula’s left leaned forward, her fist firm on the table. “If we simply too Solridge Bay we’d be able to blockade the Baricheans-“

“It’s a suicide mission! We know about the ambush they have planned. We can’t walk into that!” A second general fired back, his face hard as stone. Amidst the sudden argument Rhys realized who the unfamiliar last man was. He sat near Nayall, speaking low and to his ears only. From what Rhys could pick up he seemed to be translating the argument into Etrenian.

“It wouldn’t be. We know which routes they think us likely to take and we-“

“Even in the best case it’s a massive risk that –“

“Not now.”Tula’s voice sliced the air like a knife, cutting down the general’s words and leaving them in silence. “I have already told you I will not hear any more of this today. You will hold your tongues or I will find your replacements, is that understood?”

The two generals shrunk back in embarrassment, their faces impassive. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Tula looked back to Rhys with tight lips, looking as though she was very much trying not to lash out further. Rhys wondered how long that argument had been going on. “As I was saying, the current situation in Ovis, so long as we are able to hold Ferande, is unsustainable. Without accounting for Solridge,” her eyes snapped to her generals, forcing them to meet her eyes, “we could starve them out by late spring. Our forces outnumber them to the point of a distinct advantage, but even so it would be a huge risk to attempt to take control of Ovis without a serious weakening of their defenses. Ferande will be that weakening. Unless…” Tula’s eyes flickered to Rhys, a question lingering in the air. Rhys knew what she asked without the words needing to be spoken. Jessa. Unless Jessa had information they could use or allies at their disposal. Rhys’ throat felt dry as he looked down, shaking his head. He had not heard from Jessa in weeks. He did not even know if she was alive, though that itself was a thought he’d banned from his mind. Tula masked her disappointment with a nod, turning back to the others.

“What I’ve gathered you all here today to discuss is what we are to do in the situation in which we are able to take control of Ovis and depose of King Alrick. The king’s execution will present many of his detractors – not to mention opportunists – with an immense opportunity to grab power. The princess will become queen at the moment of his death in the eyes of his loyalists, and unless we are able to or willing to dispose of the entire du Rene family, something I’d rather like to avoid, we need our own candidate to put forth. We must be prepared to install our own ally on the throne the moment the king is gone. We need to decide who that person will be.”

Kieran seemed to have understood enough of what was said to infer the meaning behind her words. “Do you not intend to take the throne for yourself, then?”

From the expectant look on many of the generals’ faces, this was the preferred solution. Tula looked straight at Rhys, memories of their long ago conversation returning. “No. I do not have the military to protect my position in both Etrene and Novamor, especially not knowing what the fallout of King Alrick’s death might bring. Novamor has it’s own problems. I do not wish to be a queen of two countries, only the queen of one stable one. Implanting a ruler I can trust, a ruler who will bring stability not only to Etrene but to Novamor, is a far safer bet.”

Though he did not say it, Rhys could see his uncle was pleased with Tula’s answer, a small smile toying at the edges of his lips. “Then who else do you propose?”

“Well, I believe some time ago your nephew implied you could be a good candidate.”

If Kieran had been smiling before it was gone in an instant. He turned to Rhys white faced, stunned beyond words. “Surely, you must be mistaken. I’m not even Etrenian. I have no experience leading, I-“ Kieran turned frantically to Rhys, speaking in a low voice to only him in Aquenine. “Can you please tell her, in the Novarian I know I’m probably butchering, that this is a terrible idea?”

“Your Majesty, I don’t think my uncle feels that he’s quite up to the task. I also don’t think he particularly wants the job.” As Rhys spoke he saw Tula smirk, realizing she had only ever brought up the suggestion to toy with him. “It would seem, though, that you already have another idea.”

“I do, in fact. Nayall.”

The whole table was already looking at Nayall by the time his translator relayed the message, Nayall’s reaction coming at a delay. His eyes widened, his mouth dropping open as he stared at the queen in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m extremely serious.”

Nayall looked to Rhys with a frantic expression, but Rhys could only match his. Tula had never mentioned anything of the sort before. As Rhys looked at Nayall the man suddenly seemed so young and vulnerable in ways he’d never seemed before. His seemingly ever present composure broken into a thousand pieces as he scrambled to find words. “I’m…I’m not even part of the nobility. I was a farmer. No one would ever except me as royalty. Besides, I’m a mage! I spent the last eight years of my life murdering people on the king’s behalf. After everything that man has done do you seriously think anyone would trust me, even for a second?”

“Yes. You are everything the king is not.” Tula’s words were firm but gentle, her smile and tone doing their best to be persuasive. “You know better than anyone the pain that can be caused when Greater Magic is abused. You would not be secretive about your magic – you would present it openly and with full disclosure. Some would still fear you, it’s only to be expected, but you’re story would earn the respect of every mage in Etrene, and when the king is gone we will see just how many there really are. That is a powerful set of allies to have on your side.”

Her words did not seem to be convincing Nayall, though he spoke with somewhat less urgency. “The respect of mages is not enough. No matter how many of us there are we’re still vastly outnumbered by those without magic. They would hate me for what I represent. I have nothing to offer them.”

Suddenly the pieces began to click into place in Rhys’ mind, the method behind Tula’s madness becoming clear. In that moment Rhys looked upon Nayall in a new light. How had he never seen it before? “That’s not true.” Nayall looked to Rhys at his sudden words, his brows furrowed. “You’re a commoner, like you said. The nobility are not so widely loved among the commoners, as I’m sure you know, especially not in Ovis. They might see this as being ruled by their own kind, something they’ve never had. As for the nobility I can certainly win you a few allies with my connections.”

Though Nayall knew relatively little about Rhys, his expression said that he’d heard enough about the Marinons to have an opinion. “I wouldn’t want anyone coerced into supporting me.”

“My family has legitimate allies. We’ve helped protect many people against the king’s whims. We have friends in Ovis who don’t need to be coerced into supporting the king’s replacement.”

While it was clear that Nayall was not swayed by their arguments, he seemed to be running out of counterarguments himself. He looked desperately between Rhys and the queen, searching their faces for some sense and meaning in it all. “No one knows me. I’m just a person, nothing more than a slave for most of my adult life. I have no experience leading – even if I had the crown I’d never be able to keep it without using my magic.”

“Have you not been organizing an underground resistance movement in Ovis for months now? Have you not been harboring mages from the king? Did you not bargain with my own family for food and medical supplies for these people? Is that not leadership?”

“Yes, but it’s truly not that many people. Someone had to help them avoid my fate. I just did what anyone would do in my situation.”

Rhys scoffed. If Nayall truly believed his own words he was naïve to the realities of the world. “No, you didn’t. There are many people who would not do what you did. What you did was truly remarkable.”

“It’s remarkable in more ways than one,” Tula cut in. “It’s a network of loyal, powerful mages and allies already within Ovis itself. That is invaluable from a strategic standpoint. It is far more in-built support than any of us have.” With her words Tula rose from the table, looking around at each of her generals and advisors in turn in some unfamiliar, silent exchange. Finally she turned to Nayall. “We’ve given you our reasoning but we cannot do this without you. There’s no guarantee any of this will work, but if it does we need a plan. You are our plan. You are Etrene’s next king, if you’re willing to rule. Are you?”

Nayall looked entirely defeated as if he might sink to the ground. He looked weakly to Rhys and Kieran, and then finally to Tula with a sigh. “I’m not sure I have a choice here.”

Tula gave him a pointed stare. “I’m giving you the choice right now.”

Nayall’s fingers tapped anxiously on the table, his leg bouncing underneath. Rhys could practically feel the stress emanating off the man. Suddenly a flash of inspiration came to Rhys and he leaned in towards Nayall, speaking low and to him. “This could be your chance to make things right. Think about it – the next king of Etrene would be a man used as a weapon by the old king. This is your chance to absolve everyone ever wronged by that man. Every mage ever killed by him. Every mage turned into a slave. You can change that for the better - for your family and your friends.”

The words were emotionally manipulative, that Rhys could not deny, but he felt no guilt over them. Every one was true, that much could not be denied. Rhys watched Nayall carefully, searching the man’s face for any hint that his words had done something. Moments passed with nothing, and then the panic left Nayall’s face, his jaw setting and his eyes hard. Slowly he stood to face the queen, meeting her eyes with conviction. “I’ll do it.”

[Mollianne]

Jessa and Larend lingered at the bottom of the steps of the Tremonts’ manor. Jessa eyed Larend cautiously, who had turned away and was staring at the other end of the street. Jessa sighed. “I’m sorry, Larend.”

Lady Tremont had been firm: she would not perform the mind blocks that day. What she was asking of them required more than a few minutes’ thought. Jessa had been utterly relieved at her words, but also terrified. This had not been what she had intended, and now she had to return to the castle and risk the king learning of Larend’s involvement with her. Yet allowing someone unfettered access to her every memory was something that Jessa was just not sure she could do. The king, the Novarians, Rhys. It wasn’t just those things though. It was her past, all of her thoughts, everything whether it was connected to the war and her part in it or not. Lady Tremont would know Jessa and Jessa had only just met her. How could she trust her? She could go to the king at any time and Jessa would be ruined.

“Why are you sorry?” Larend asked eventually. “It’s a lot to ask.”

“I know.” Jessa sighed. “But now I have to go back and – well, you know.”

Larend shrugged. He started walking, and Jessa fell into step beside him. Jessa played with her fingers, keeping her head bowed. “Do you think we can trust her?”

She spoke so quietly that she wasn’t sure Larend had heard. After a few moments, he said, “Well, if she wasn’t lying then she never told anyone about-” Larend stopped, aware that they couldn’t speak freely out on the streets, especially in the heart of the inner city. They turned down one of the streets leading to the castle. The Tremonts lived on one of the outer rings, whereas the Janes lived just beyond the castle walls. Larend tapped Jessa’s shoulder, and she looked up at him in confusion. He pointed towards the castle walls. Jessa followed his gaze. Her chest tightened and she gripped Larend’s arm. Before them, the Etrenian flag was hoisted up the flagpole atop the watchtower on the castle wall, halting briefly at the finial before it was lowered to half-mast. Behind the castle walls, the same was happening on the towers of the castle itself.

The last time the flags had flown at half-mast had been for Harris. Jessa swallowed hard, pushing away that pain, as she and Larend made their way towards the castle. As they entered the main thoroughfare, Jessa could see the other nearby watchtowers, their flags similarly flown. Jessa and Larend exchanged looks.

“Do you think…”

Jessa had a sinking feeling that she knew exactly what this was for. She breathed, “The war.”

Jessa looked on at the flags helplessly. She didn't know how to feel. People had died. Etrenians had died. But it also meant that the Novarians had probably claimed a victory. And this was war. Jessa had not wanted it, but it had been inevitable as soon as Alrick chose to act against Novamor. People would die, and Jessa had known this. But seeing those flags was different to knowing, and Jessa realised only then how little she had really considered the reality, so focused was she on the ultimate goal.

“I have to go,” she said to Larend, already moving away from him.

“Jessa?” he called. She glanced over her shoulder. “Be careful.”

She nodded, then ducked inside the castle walls. The grounds were eerily quiet, and all Jessa could see were the flags flying above her. Whatever else it meant, however many they had lost, there was no denying what Jessa had known since the beginning of spring. The war had begun in earnest. And it was all her fault.

The castle was silent. Now she was here, Jessa didn't know what to do. It wasn't as if she could just attend any of the meetings that were surely going on. She floundered for a moment in the castle entrance, then turned and headed to her room. Duan waited by her door. She looked at him, and he grimaced and shook his head.

“What do you know?” she asked quietly, hesitating by her door.

“Nothing. An emergency council meeting was called about half an hour ago and I think is due to start at any moment. I've heard people mentioning the flags, but as to what they're for, no one seems to know yet.”

Jessa nodded. “Where is the meeting taking place?”

“The council chambers,” Duan said, as if it was a stupid question. It had been, of course. It was a foolish hope that it would be in the audience room where she could eavesdrop on the proceedings. The council chamber had no such hiding places. She had checked the maps she had copied from the king's rooms many, many times. She sighed.

“Thank you,” she said, then turned on her heel and left the way she had come. She couldn't just sit in her room waiting for news. She had no idea what she could do, but it had to be better than that. She headed towards the council chambers and was unsurprised to find guards posted at the end of the hallway. The king would not want anyone getting even close to the doors. Jessa walked past them without even a glance. She did not want them to report to the king that she had even spoken to them.

Instead, she took the stairs to the floor above. At the top, she stopped and looked around. Surely there was a way. She rubbed her brows, and then it came to her. Once before, she had hidden in the room above a meeting between the queen and some Baricheans. She had used her magic. Jessa hugged her arms to her body. It had been a very long time since she had last used her magic. Not since… Not since she had used it to torture Rhys. Jessa felt sick at the thought. It hadn’t been her, she told herself, repeating the words in her head until she began to calm. It wasn’t until that moment that she had realised why she had stopped using her magic. Now, it was so obvious.

She couldn’t let it stop her anymore. She had this magic for a reason. She had to try this. If there were guards posted outside any of the nearby rooms too – since surely the king would know this was a possibility – then it would all be for naught anyway. Jessa avoided the gallery that overlooked the council chamber doors, knowing it would be as heavily guarded as the floor below. Instead, she took the long way around, trying to keep her pace relaxed even as she wanted to break into a run. She had no idea how long it would take her to get the magic to hold well enough for her to hear what was happening in the room below, and the council could conclude its business at any time.

She turned the corner, and thankfully there were no guards. There was no one at all. Jessa’s footsteps echoed as she walked down the hallway until she reached where she guessed the council chamber was situated. However, this corridor was certainly too far from the room, and the wall to her left did not have a door in it for another 40 feet at least, which would surely be beyond the council chambers. But as long as the room was long enough, it was her only possibility. The magic would hopefully work even though she was not directly above.

Inside, she was gratified to find a long, narrow room. The walls were adorned with the portraits of the kings and queens of Etrene’s past. As Jessa walked, her footsteps muffled by the plush red rug running the length of the room, she felt the disapproving stares of her ancestors. It was ridiculous, certainly, and Jessa shrugged off the thoughts. They were just paintings, and all of these past rulers had committed far worse crimes than she in banning magic and keeping their own a secret from their people.

Once she neared the end of the room, Jessa sat down and crossed her legs. She closed her eyes, feeling for her magic. It rushed to her touch, desperate to be used after weeks of dormancy, and Jessa panicked. She pushed it down. Once she could no longer feel it, she put her head in her hands and focused on her breaths. She had to do this. She could do this. With a shaky breath, Jessa reached inside herself again. She calmed herself when the magic came, pushing down all but the smallest thread of magic. Her brows furrowed as she tried to shape it to the purpose she required. She kept in her mind the result she wanted – to enhance sounds around her – but whenever she got close the loudness of her beating heart threw her off and she lost her focus. She tried again and again, growing desperate as the time passed and she still had nothing. The meeting could be over before she had this. That couldn’t happen.

With one final push, she directed the magic outwards, bracing herself for the onslaught of sound so that it would not scare her into losing it again. Sure enough, a bombardment of noise assaulted her ears, but instead of focusing on it, Jessa let it wash over her. She would not lose this.

When she felt calm, and once she was sure she was not going to lose her hold on the magic, Jessa wondered if she might be able to direct the magic to only magnify certain sounds. She had no idea how to do such a thing, but over her beating heart she didn’t know if she would hear much at all. She reassured herself that last time she had been fine. Nevertheless, she tried pushing the magic further from her, testing. For a moment, it sounded quieter, but it could have been Jessa’s imagination. She exhaled through her nose, then pushed a little more, searching for the voices she knew must be somewhere in front of and below her. She moved her awareness a little more each time. Then, she heard voices. She would have gasped in relief if she had not thought such a thing would break her focus.

“What do we do now?” someone asked. “It will take some time to mobilise our forces and try to regain Ferande.”

“Our priority must be in getting supplies to the city and, more importantly, to the army. They’re no use to us if they starve,” another said. “We should petition Barichea-”

“They may help us,” a third voice argued, “but it cannot surely be enough nor arrive quickly. Without Ferande we quickly lose control of our rivers. If they gain any more ground, we’ll struggle to bring in trade at all.”

“This will not happen.” Jessa inhaled sharply. The king. His voice was low and dangerous. “They may have the superior force – and I’ve no doubt the rest of their army will soon join those in Ferande – but this country is ours and our army knows it better than the Novarians. They will not make more progress. They will fall at Solridge Bay, and then our forces can begin to march on Ferande and destroy whatever of their army remains.”

There was a faint sound, almost out of Jessa's range. It sounded like a door opening. After a few moments, Jessa heard footsteps. No one spoke. Jessa wished she could see what they could. There was a long pause.

“I must have missed my summons,” Catrice said lightly.

A murmuring broke out and Jessa could not help but gasp in pain, drawing back even though it would make no difference to the sounds bombarding her. She pressed her hands against her ears, but of course that did not help either. She was not hearing through physical means.

“Quiet,” the king ordered. “My apologies, my queen. I certainly sent the message to you.”

“Of course.” The queen's voice was smooth, and as dangerous as the king's. “Please, continue.” There was the sound of a chair scraping back as the queen presumably took her seat.

“Should we... explain the situation?” one of the councillors asked.

“Well I haven't heard it yet, have I?”

“The Novarians have taken Ferande.”

“What.” The word was sharp and loud, but it was no question. “How could this have happened? Ferande should have been a priority.”

No one said anything. Jessa bit her lip, pressing down until it hurt. Eventually, the queen said, “Leave us. I wish to talk alone with the king.”

Jessa heard no sounds to indicate the councillors had listened to the queen. They clearly awaited the king's orders. He said, “Our meeting is not done.”

“Your meeting can be resumed once I have been apprised of all the facts and can assist with what is to be done. I would like to hear it from you. The councillors can discuss amongst themselves in the meantime and come up with their own reasonable solutions after having some time to think.”

A long silence followed. Jessa could only guess at what was happening. She imagined the king and queen staring at each other, daring the other to back down. When the silence broke, it was the queen's voice Jessa heard. “Is there a particular reason you do not wish to share this information with your queen? Do I not rule by your side?”

There was another pause, but it did not last long. “Leave us,” the king said. Immediately the screech of chairs on the stone floor assaulted Jessa's ears. She scrambled to hold onto her magic, focusing again on the in and out of her breath to ground her. She could not miss the king and queen's conversation.

The muffled sound of the door shutting indicated the king and queen were now alone. Jessa could not take another silence, but she was subjected to it anyway. At length, the queen said, “How did we lose Ferande? We were to send a sizeable force.”

“Some moved to Solridge Bay a week or so ago, and others returned further north.” Jessa’s eyes nearly flew open. The bay – the ambush.

“How many is some?” the queen asked, a false calm in her voice.

“All but a thousand.” Jessa's heart caught in her throat. She thought of the flags. The soldiers couldn't have surrendered. They would have been slaughtered. Jessa gripped the edge of the rug, feeling sick.

“Excuse me?” Jessa winced at the shrill sound. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but echo Catrice's thoughts. Had the king really left so few to guard such an important city? There was no logic in this. Jessa frowned. Whatever else he was, the king would not lose Etrene without a serious fight. He had to have believed only a thousand soldiers would be enough to hold Ferande.

The queen had started speaking again. Not just speaking, but shouting, her voice shaking with rage. “What could you possibly be thinking to believe so few soldiers would hold against the Novarians?”

“Don’t question me.”

“I will question you when you do something so utterly unforgiveable. We have lost this war because of you. Soldiers pointlessly lost their lives because of your arrogance. Your brother would never have made such a reckless decision.”

Jessa sucked in a breath through her nose and stopped breathing. She did not know much about the king’s older brother, but she had heard enough to know that Alrick had always been jealous of Ronard – for his position of power and for the way everyone else had adored him and pushed Alrick, the younger, unimportant son, aside. She could barely believe Catrice had dared to say the words, or even questioned and insulted the king so openly at all. It could only be that she was too angry to even think.

“My brother was foolish enough to die before he could even have the throne." Alrick was cold and unfeeling. He spoke more calmly than Jessa would have expected, but there was a clear threat behind his words. “And the war is not lost.”

“Without you, it would not have begun.”

The king responded at length, his voice barely audible to Jessa’s magic. “You should watch what you say.”

Catrice laughed. “I know exactly what I am saying, my dear.” Another long, drawn out pause followed. Jessa could not even guess at their silent exchange. Catrice said, “Prove me wrong. Prove to me that you are as good as, or better, than your brother. Show the Novarians that they will not take our country from us.”

Jessa realised then what Catrice had been doing all along. She had not lost her head in a fit of anger. No, she knew the king better than that – better, perhaps, than Jessa had realised. There had never been any love lost between the two of them, but after a marriage spanning over twenty years, the queen would surely know exactly what would force the king into action.

“They will all fall. The river they presume to take from us will run red with their blood. Their gods-forsaken queen will watch as every one of her soldiers dies, and then she too will die. They will never reach Ovis. They will never take this country. But no matter what happens, my dear,” the king’s voice went even lower, and Jessa leaned forwards as if it would help her hear better, “this country is never, and will never, be yours. Etrene is mine.”

Jessa shivered, dread filling her. That future could never come to pass. She could not let it.

The king was speaking again, his voice returning to normal as though his and Catrice’s argument had never happened. “I shall call for the councillors. We cannot afford any more delays.”

“This delay would not have happened at all if I had been summoned from the start.” Jessa was almost awed by Catrice’s audacity. After the king’s words, she would have been a quaking wreck.

The king replied lightly, “Perhaps I would not exclude you if you would not continue to insist upon attempting to assassinate me.”

The queen laughed. Jessa just sat in shock. After Alrick’s display at the ball, she would not have expected him to discuss the queen’s betrayal quite so openly. “Oh, is it to be this way, then? Well, while we are being so candid…” She heard the clack of Catrice’s heels on the stone floor, but whatever she said to the king was too quiet for her magic. Jessa swallowed. Whatever it was would surely not be good.

“Let us resume this meeting, then, shall we?” the queen asked. A few minutes later, Jessa heard the tell-tale murmurings of the councillors returning to their seats. She tried to ignore her racing thoughts at the conversation she had just heard, focusing instead on the discussion. It didn’t appear to be anything she did not already know, but if there were any small details she could learn she ought to pay attention.

With quiet dread Jessa listened as they discussed Solridge Bay. She tried to remember everything, but something about the conversation seemed off to Jessa. The king talked cautiously, and Jessa could tell he was holding back information. She just could not say why.

“How large a force is stationed there?” one of the councillors asked.

There was a slight hesitation before Alrick said, “Two thousand.”

Jessa bit her lip. She made certain she remembered the number, but she did not know if she could trust it. The king was deceiving his council, that was certain. Whether there was a larger or smaller force Jessa could not say. All she could do was try and get the information to the Novarians via Nayall’s people and Laurita before it was too late.

The meeting did not last much longer, and soon the cacophonous screech of chairs moving against stone reached her ears. Above it, she just about heard the king say, “My queen, a final moment of your time, if you please.”

The room emptied and went quiet. A moment later, Jessa heard a strained gasp, followed by the scrape of a chair and a loud thud. Then the king said, almost conversationally, “You will not speak against me again. Not in public, not in private. My patience has run out, my dear.” She heard another pained gasp. What was Alrick doing to her? Two heavy footfalls followed, and then Alrick spoke again. “Enjoy planning your next assassination attempt. I suggest you savour it, for it will be your last. Now get up.”

After a long pause, the queen said, sounding completely unperturbed, “What could there possibly be left to discuss?”

Jessa’s blood went cold with realisation. Magic. The queen did not remember what had just happened. What had he done to Catrice that he did not want her to know? Jessa’s mind raced, and it took her a moment to realise that she could no longer hear what was happening in the room. She could hear only her thoughts. She had lost her grip on the magic. She exhaled slowly and opened her eyes.

Above her was a portrait of Alrick’s mother. Of course. Jessa had only vague memories of the old queen, having only ever seen her from a distance. The painting glared down at her. Jessa stared back at that disapproving face for a moment, and then dropped her gaze to her knees. She pressed a hand against her forehead, trying to calm her thoughts. She had heard so much and yet at the same time so very little. She had so many questions and she doubted any would get an answer.

Determined not to think too much on the king and queen, their poisonous words still fresh in her mind, Jessa’s thoughts inevitably turned to Ferande. A thousand soldiers, dead for a king that did not care. Why had they not surrendered? Why had there been so few in the first place? From the meeting Jessa knew how important Ferande was to Etrene’s defence and survival. It didn’t make any sense. And then, suddenly, it did.

The mages. With enough of them, and placed strategically, they would have posed a serious threat to the Novarians, one Alrick would not think the Novarians could have prepared for. But they must have done. How, Jessa didn’t know. The only attempt they’d had at obtaining the king’s blood would have come when… Jessa refused to think of it. She doubted it had yielded anything anyway. Had they just got lucky? Surely that was too fortunate to be possible. And if Jessa thought so, the king would too. He would assume the Novarians knew everything.

Could it lead back to her? She didn’t know. Alrick had taken Rhys’ memories, but he would have seen that Rhys did not care for her as Jessa had thought he did. Would that be enough to save her, as much as it hurt? He knew of Rhys’ association to the Novarians – he would have known it when the Novarian army came so easily to Jasrah’s shores. Jessa pressed her face into her hands, her breathing shallow. He might not know of hers, since he would surely assume Rhys had been the driving force. Rhys did not love her, so he would have no reason to include her in his plans. But it still did not explain why she would have come to Ovis and lied. She couldn’t assume anything. She couldn’t believe she was safe – inasmuch as she had ever believed she was safe in Ovis.

Most of all, until she decided what to do about Lady Tremont’s offer, she could not afford for the king to find her. Whatever he thought, he would be suspicious of her. If he found her, she doubted she would like what he would do.

[Rosabeth]

The army grew with each passing day. Soldiers flocked in from the south and the west, joining the already massive force stationed at Ferande. Rhys could only guess at the numbers but knew they must be well over 50,000, sprawled out along the two river banks that stretched up towards Ovis and out towards the ocean. To the people of Ferande the sight must have been a terrible one to behold. Rhys did not envy them, trapped in a city controlled by the enemy with nowhere to run. In a worse war their fates would already be sealed. They had only Tula's benevolence to thank for their lives and livelihoods. That she did not force her soldiers into the city, pilfering food reserves and leaving destruction in their wake, was not a fate Rhys thought Alrick would be kind enough with which to treat them.

As each day passed Rhys grew nervous in the silence left with no word from his family. He did not even know if his letter had reached them. It would not surprise him if it had not. For all he knew Jasrah could be nothing more than ruins left in Miriyam's wake. Those were not thoughts he could afford to consider. Still, he desperately needed word. Anything. The revelation of Miriyam's plans ate at Rhys day in and day out. The only times it had slipped his mind entirely had been in Ferande, replaced by something so horrible his mind could not make space for both. With nothing but his lingering pains and others' pity to occupy his mind, Miriyam was once more there. He had to know what she was doing. He had to do something.

Rhys pushed himself out of bed, pulling on his boots and cloak. Rhys' reluctance to sit still for more than a moment and blatant disregard for rules had made his watchful healer redundant, much to the man’s chagrin. Rhys had not seen the man all day, suspecting the man had gone elsewhere where his skills were not only needed but actually useful. Rhys could only imagine how his aversion felt like an affront to the mage, unused to feeling powerless. Still, Rhys could not muster up any guilt. He was sure his condition hurt him more than his disregard hurt the healer. Outside the night had stolen all warmth from the air, a chilly wind ripping through camp and making Rhys' face numb in the icy air. Many soldiers had already retired for the night but those that mulled around looked all the more miserable, still unaccustomed to the cold. Rhys did not know where he was going until he was there, his feet taking him to Kieran's tent without his conscious decision. As he approached he slowed himself, noticing two looming men standing outside the tent. He recognized their uniforms at a first glance - Tula's guard. Rhys approached slowly but the guards gave him no mind, one only looking at him with no more than a shrug. As he reached the entrance to the tent Rhys paused, hearing the voices from within.

"You should speak to them," said Kieran. Rhys thought he could hear Tula’s sigh in response.

"They don't want to hear from me and I don’t blame them. I’ve kept my soldiers out of the city –“

"- except for the scouts.”

Tula clucked. “That is not the same thing.”

“It is! You just don’t see it!” Kieran sighed in exasperation. “There is no difference between a soldier and a scout to these people. All they know is that an invading army is on their doorstep and soldiers patrol the streets. They’re afraid. Quell their fears. They need to know you won’t hurt them, even if they can’t entirely trust your word. They need reassurance. If you’d only speak to them then maybe…”

“Maybe I’d be assassinated. It would be a great opportunity.”

A heavy pause followed Tula’s words and Rhys realized he’d been holding his breath. He looked to the side, seeing the guards still paid him no mind. If they cared about Rhys’ eavesdropping they did not show it. More than likely they were listening in just as he was.

Kieran’s voice was suddenly low and soft, sounding so unlike what Rhys knew. “You’re being paranoid. I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“You wouldn’t?” Tula’s voice was thick with disbelief but there was something else there too. A softness that matched Kieran’s. Rhys heard gentle footsteps on the grass and then nothing. Silence. Rhys’ held out his hand to the canvas tent, wavering for a moment there before entering with a loud and purposeful cough.

Kieran and Tula stood very close, far too close for regular conversation. At Rhys’ entrance both of their heads turned in unison, surprise clear on their faces. Kieran cleared his throat, running his hand through his hair awkwardly. Rhys did not miss that his hand had brushed Tula’s. To his ultimate surprise Tula, generally so steely in disposition, looked away from Rhys in…embarrassment? Rhys would not have believed it were it not right before his eyes.

“I should go,” Tula said finally, breaking the silence. “I’m supposed to speak with General Sirvas.” She looked to Rhys then with a small nod, Rhys bowing in turn. When she turned back towards Kieran her eyes lingered, her lips parted slightly as if deciding whether or not to speak. Seemingly thinking against it she pursed her lips and held her head up high.

Just as she looked ready to leave Kieran held out his hand, thinking better of it at the last moment and pulling back. “Just…think about what I said, Your Majesty. I think it might help.”

Tula seemed to consider Kieran’s words but said nothing. Eventually her eyes flickered away and she withdrew a woolen scarf from her thick cloak, wrapping it loosely around her head and face until only her eyes were visible. Though she moved to leave she lingered at the tent entrance a moment, turning and meeting Kieran’s eyes once more. “Tula. You may call me Tula – but not in public.” Rhys did not miss the implication that there would be be a private.

When Tula finally departed Rhys turned back to his uncle, watching as Kieran purposefully avoided Rhys’ eyes, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “So…” Rhys began, taking a few steps further into the tent, “you’re not going to explain what that was about?”

“Nope.”

Rhys and Kieran stood in uncomfortable silence for what felt like an eternity, Kieran looking very much like he was hoping Rhys would drop the subject entirely. Kieran groaned, unable to take the silence any longer. “Did you need something? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Though Rhys wanted nothing more than to call out Kieran’s attempt to dodge the subject at hand his uncle’s words unkindly reminded him of his real reason for seeking him out in the first place. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Kieran furrowed his brow. “A favor?”

“It involves magic.”

Kieran’s drawn-out groan made Rhys feel like a chastised child. “Rhys. Do you have a death wish?”

“That’s why I’m coming to you. I know that it could potentially hurt you too, and I’m sorry, but I’m out of options and I’m desperate. It’s something only you can do. Please.” Rhys must have looked as pathetic as he felt at his begging for Kieran regarded him with a pitiful look. Finally Kieran responded with a sigh. “What kind of favor?”

“I need you to contact home for me, preferably father. I need you to ask about Miriyam. I know someone who can…connect you.” Kieran cocked his brow at Rhys’ vague wording but did not press. “I know it’s not ideal but I need to speak to them. I need to know what’s going on. Jessa’s life depends on it.”

He should not have been asking Kieran to do this, that much he knew. From what they knew of aversion Kieran was just as likely to carry the aversion as was Anja. Yet Kieran was his only hope, the only person who knew his family well enough to connect with them in a way as intimate as dreamwalking. When Kieran finally nodded in agreement Rhys breathed out in relief. He would not take this act of kindness for granted.

It took some time for Rhys and Kieran to navigate the labyrinthine camp in the dark, having to stop and ask for directions several times when they found themselves lost in a sea of tents and identically-dressed soldiers. Rhys knew they’d found their destination when they stumbled upon a line of tired-looking soldiers spilling out of a large tent. Rhys ignored the dagger-like glares of the soldiers as he cut past the line, pushing around the crowd into the tent. Inside were piles of freshly sharpened swords, a whole row of longbows, and several contraptions he did not recognized labeled with the words “KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE” and “DO NOT SHAKE.” Standing among the swords was the familiar face he’d been looking for. Indri argued loudly with one of the soldiers in the unfamiliar dialect he remembered from their last meeting, her expression cross as she shoved the man’s sword back at him, utter something that sounded to Rhys like a rather creative insult as the man stormed off. With the man’s exit Indri looked up, catching Rhys’ eye almost instantly. She grinned, yelling to a short man in the corner and pointing at the impatient line. Indri started towards Rhys, wiping her hands on her thick apron and yelling out a few more commands to the other blacksmiths as she went.

“Rhys Marinon, good to see you alive.”

Rhys balked. “You remember my name?”

Indri frowned, looking as though she was second guessing his intelligence. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re the lightest skinned person at this camp. Yours isn’t a face I’d forget. Neither is his.” Indri was looking around Rhys and Kieran, eyeing him with curiosity. Kieran smiled back pleasantly.

“This is my uncle Kieran. I brought him because, well, I need a favor. Something I know you can do for me.”

Rhys did not need to explain his words. Without so much as a response Indri beckoning for them to follow into a connected tent. The tent was empty but for a few rucksacks and bedrolls, Indri leading them to the back. She sat down cross-legged at the foot of one of the bedrolls, gesturing before her. Kieran looked at Rhys skeptically but Rhys only nodded, assuring him the unfamiliar woman could be trusted. Kieran copied Indri’s positioning, looking at her expectantly for some form of instruction.

“So, who am I connecting you to?”

“My brother-in-law, Rhys’ father,” Kieran answered, pulling back a bit as Indri began to reach towards him. She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not going to hurt you; I just need access to your mind. It helps if I can get a sense beforehand of who this person is. It can help strengthen the connection.” With her words Indri reached out and placed a hand lightly against Kieran’s cheek, closing her eyes in concentration. After a few minutes she released Kieran, nodding along to herself.

“It should be a fairly simple thing. Do you want to do it now? I know it’s late but your father might not be asleep.” Rhys knew her words were true, that doing this at any time but the middle of the night was a risk, but he also knew his father. A perpetual insomniac, undoubtedly worsened by the state of Jasrah, there was no guarantee they’d ever catch him asleep. Rhys looked to Kieran for confirmation, nodding which his uncle seemed in agreement. Indri simply shrugged, gesturing for Kieran to lay back.

Just as she looked as though she was about to start Indri paused, looking up at Rhys with confusion. “If this is your father then why aren’t you the one doing this? Bad relationship?”

Rhys coughed awkwardly, feeling embarrassed about his predicament, especially in his current state. “Not exactly. It’s more that I don’t really deal well with magic anymore…” To his surprise Indri nodded in understanding, even seeming to regard Rhys with a certain pitty. “Ah, you’re averse? That would explain why it was so hard to hold you and your wife’s connection last time.”

Rhys’ mind raced. This was the first time anyone had ever shown any inkling of an idea of what was wrong with him. He opened his mouth to speak, a thousand questions rushing forward all at once, but before he could say a word he saw Kieran’s eyes flutter closed as Indri sat above him deep in conversation. He pushed down his excitement, knowing his questions would simply have to wait.

While knowing what was happening in Kieran’s mind was fascinating there was really little to watch. Kieran looked as though he was in the middle of a peaceful sleep, his face slack and his breathing even and calm. Even Indri showed no real signs of anything but a practiced concentration, occasionally tilting her head to one side or the other or squinting her eyes. Rhys could only wait in silence, absentmindedly running his hand through his hair. He did not know how much his family might know, assuming they’d receieved his letter at all and even know of the problem. He did not even know what he wanted to know. What if the Lanis’ were long gone, an untraceable threat to be anxiously worried over indefinitely. Rhys did not know if he’d be able to handle that. When every part of his life felt so out of control this was the one thing he needed some handle on. Being trapped waiting for the worst would drive him mad – it already would.

After what was likely no more than ten minutes Kieran and Indri’s eyes shot open instantaneously, Indri letting out a great sigh as Kieran stared up into the dimly lit tent with a look of confusion on his face.

“Let him readjust for a moment,” Indri warned, putting up a hand as Rhys opened his mouth ready to bombard his uncle with questions. Rhys couldn’t help but nervously tap his fingers against the ground as he waitied for Kieran, the waiting feeling like an eternity. Eventually Kieran sat up, blinking heavily a few times and shaking his head.

“So…” Rhys did not know where to start. He did not know what he wanted to know. “How are they?”

“Fine, they’re all fine. I think your father must have fallen asleep in his study as that’s where we were. It was so strange. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Your father was very confused at first, he-“

“Kieran.”

Kieran shook his head, apologizing. “Right. Jasrah’s still a bit of a mess it would seem, though I don’t think that should come as much of a surprise. The old courthouse is still being used as a sanctuary for those who lost their homes or their families. Apparently there’s people who haven’t left its walls since the massacre. Your family is doing what they can to keep them safe, providing food and necessities as well. There hasn’t been much violence since the massacre but many people are still afraid to go out in the streets, especially those nobles that escaped execution. Those that allied with the Lanis’ beforehand seem to have greatly benefitted from the mess, though I don’t think it will last. They’re opportunists, taking what they can get from the Lanis’. It would seem that the Lanis’ have been giving away the possessions and homes of those who were murdered as favors.”

Rhys’ blood boiled. He imagined Selene and her sisters hiding as the Lanis’ and their allies looted her childhood home, trading away her parents’ prized possessions like nothing more than trinkets. Kieran must have seen the rage on Rhys’ face, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder to calm him. “So the Lanis’ are still there?” Rhys asked, his voice shaky.

“According to your father, yes. They’ve been gravely negligent to the city, allowing those who do not oppose them to run wild and ignoring all else. It would seem they have little interest in actually controlling the city, just on gaining allies. Everyone else is just…collateral damage.” Even Kieran’s even voice shook, his face somber as he shook his head in disbelief. “He did say it looked as though they were preparing to leave, though. Anja’s been tailing them for some time. They’ve been spending a strange amount of time with the Trevians.”

Rhys started at that name. The Trevian family was an old noble family, but they mostly kept to themselves. They had little dealings with the Marinons for most of Rhys’ memory. Rhys’ father had always described Lord Trevian as a “cautious opportunist,” but it was that caution that caused Rhys such confusion. Even if they were hoping to bandwagon off the Lanis’ power grab surely they would see that the violence and disregard the Lanis’ showed towards the people would not look favorably on them. It was not a smart long-term bet unless they truly believed the Lanis’ to have a firm and lasting hold on power. Rhys did not think them that stupid.

“It would seem that Anja saw Lady Trevian leaving the Solena Palace yesterday with several trunks. She was moving rather quickly too. Anja described it as though she thought she was being watched. She-”

Rhys was no longer listening. Something was very wrong. “Did you say Lady Trevian was seen walking out of the palace?”

Kieran did not seem to understand Rhys’ sudden confusion. “Yes? I mean, your father didn’t explicitly say it in those words, but I believe it was implied she was indeed walking.”

“That’s not Lady Trevian.”

Kieran frowned. “What?”

“Lady Trevian can’t walk. Not after the accident last year. I visited her on my mother’s behalf because no one had seen her in some time…” Suddenly the pieces began to click in place. Anja did not know about Lady Trevian because Lady Trevian was rarely seen in public. Given how little attention his father payed to the family it was likely he did not know either. Surely if his own family, the people who were expected to know every detail of the goings on in Jasrah, did not know this then no one at court would know either. With everything going on in Jasrah no one would think twice about their sudden appearance in Ovis. It was a perfect disguise. “That wasn’t Lady Trevian – that was Miriyam.”

Rhys tried not to panic, though that itself was a feat. At least he knew something. If Miriyam was willing to put all this time into impersonating a noble then surely Rhys had some time. They would likely take the slow, easy route to Ovis, one that could be monitored and potentially intercepted. There was hope yet. Yet Rhys could not allow himself to feel too optimistic. Even if they were capable of tracking Miriyam down Rhys had no idea how they would stop her. She could kill him with no more than a look, of that Rhys was sure. He did not think that even Nayall and Laurita combined would be effective against her magic. Rhys needed a plan and he needed one soon.

“Rhys? Rhys?”

Kieran’s voice pulled Rhys from his thoughts. “That’s all I know for now. It was all your father knew, though he said he’d tell Anja to keep close watch.”

“Thank you,” Rhys murmured, his words feeling empty. Rhys looked away from his uncle only to feel Kieran’s hand rest on his shoulder. When Rhys looked up Kieran smiled faintly. “Your father also wanted me to tell you something. He wanted me to tell you that he loves you and that he’s sorry.”

Rhys frowned. “Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for not being a better father to you.” Rhys’ heart ached, suddenly wishing very much to be home. Kieran patted Rhys on the shoulder once more before getting up, leaving Rhys to his thoughts. Kieran spoke to Indri in simple Novarian, organizing a time the next night that they could once more dreamwalk and tell Erik all Rhys had told him. Kieran left shortly after with Rhys still sitting in shock on the floor, his mind a hurricane of emotions between his father’s words and the revelation about Miriyam. He’d almost forgotten where he was until Indri tapped him on the shoulder.

“It’s late, you should really get to sleep.” Rhys guessed more than anything that Indri needed a reason to politely tell him to leave so that she could get back to her work. Rhys understood, heading out until he stopped, remembering a question he’d told himself to ask.

“You knew I was averse when I mentioned it. How do you know about that? No one else seems to know anything about it.”

Indri smiled as though expecting the question. “My father, may he live on in death. He was adverse just like you. He was a simple, quiet man. He always avoided magic so it never caused him too many problems. He got very sick once and we were forced to heal with him magic. I’ll never forget that day – he saw terrible things, horrible waking nightmares that plagued him for weeks. A thousand times worse than the worst reaction I’d ever seen from someone non-averse. It scared him so badly I’m not sure he ever touched magic again. But he lived, and I was thankful for that.”

Though he felt bad for ignoring most of her story Rhys’ mind was singularly fixed on one thing. “Was your mother a mage then? Since you are, I mean.” Indri nodded. “And your siblings?”

“I’m an only child. Why?” Her face showed confusion as to why Rhys had any interest in these details of her life.

“No reason. Thank you, again, for all of this. Really. You have no idea how grateful I am.” Indri gave a polite nod, still watching Rhys with suspicion as he left wearing a smile he had not had before. It was a small thing, seemingly unimportant when compared to the grave realities of everything else going on in his life, but none the less he smiled. The unspoken question of his aversion and Jessa’s magic had plagued his mind for some time, and Indri’s words put his mind at ease. As distant as that possibility might be, in spite of everything Rhys had something to be hopeful about.

[Mollianne]

The only good thing about the castle was that it was large enough that one could easily avoid being seen for an entire day, if so inclined. Jessa had not wished to linger any longer in the gallery, but knowing also that she could not return to her room and risk the king finding her she had climbed the winding stairs of the north tower. Just before the top of the tower, there was a small round room within a turret which hugged the tower. The door was never locked, though Jessa had not visited it years. She doubted anyone had but for the servants who came in to clean. It looked the same as she remembered it.

She pulled a deep blue armchair over to the window, curled her legs underneath her, and rested her elbows on the windowsill. Though it was the shortest of the castle’s many towers and turrets, it still offered uninterrupted views of the city and the grey sea beyond. Jessa could not recall a day where Ovis had not seemed grey and overcast, though surely there must have been occasions. Jessa stared out at the city, watching the smoke rise from chimneys until she knew she could no longer avoid her thoughts. Away from the gallery, the news of the Novarians taking Ferande, and the argument between the king and queen, Jessa’s mind was consumed by Lady Tremont’s proposition and the many, many consequences of such a decision.

The thought of laying herself and her secrets so bare – one of Jessa’s elbows slipped off the sill and she gripped it with her fingers instead. Lady Tremont would know everything. Even things she had not told anyone because they were hers and her childhood alone. Things she had not even considered particularly secret until the idea of someone learning it – experiencing her memories, too, rather than her telling the stories – made her stomach flutter and Jessa feel uncomfortable in her own skin. She would see Jessa’s life before. Before her marriage, before university, before her mother died. Everything.

And then, of course, there were the treasonous secrets. Though Jessa had not been totally naïve in thinking Lady Tremont could block her mind without learning some of it, hearing the words from the woman’s lips had more than unnerved Jessa. She knew nothing about the Tremonts except what was written in a dead woman’s diary. Magrethe was hardly a woman Jessa could trust. It was perhaps hypocritical of her, for her crime had been turning traitor and attempting to assassinate the king - not so different from Jessa’s own plans. Of course, Magrethe had also intended for Maira and Catrice to die, and her motives were very different to Jessa’s. Yet in the end, they really were not so different. It was not just that, however, that put Jessa on edge. The information in the diary could be outdated or plain wrong, whatever Magrethe had thought when she had written it.

Could Jessa really do this? It had taken weeks – months, even – for her to even hint to Larend that her presence in Ovis was not as it seemed. She couldn’t let someone she barely knew have access to those plans, and to more knowledge than even the only person in Ovis she trusted had been given. Yet, she had put Larend in danger. She couldn’t just ignore the one way to keep him safe. Larend had done nothing to deserve any of this.

Jessa dropped her head into her hands. Her thoughts were spinning and she was no closer to making any kind of decision. It all came back to the fear of letting someone see so much. It would be awkward, embarrassing, dangerous and Jessa could not get past that. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and groaned in frustration. Shaking her head, she looked out of the window. Darkness had settled over the city, and the inky sea beyond the flickering candlelight in the streets stretched into nothing. There were no stars out tonight. Jessa stared out at the blackness, watching with sore, tired eyes as the lights in the windows of Ovis went out. She leaned closer, almost pressed her face to the glass to see how many windows in the castle were still illuminated. The castle never truly went dark, but the fewer lights that remained meant Jessa would have a greater chance of avoiding people. Well, one person in particular. Her back ached from sitting too long in one position, and she wanted her bedroom even though she knew the king could come looking for her in the dead of night. All she knew was that she was not going to fall asleep in the armchair, and her only reprieve from her thoughts was the potential of sleep.

After waiting a little longer, until there were more shadows in the castle grounds than light, Jessa stood and left the room. She made her way quietly to her room, barely breathing until she saw the door. Duan was not there, for he was not on shift that night, and she nodded uncomfortable at the man there instead. Slipping inside the room, Jessa shut the door firmly behind her and leaned against it. She wished it had been Duan. He could have warned her somehow if the king approached. Jessa leaned her head back briefly, then shook herself and got ready for bed. The king would not come; she would be fine.

Despite her tiredness, it was a sleepless night. This was in part because she could not stop thinking about Lady Tremont but also because every noise had her heart in her throat in case it was the king. Did he suspect she had a part to play in the deaths of the mages he had surely stationed at Ferande instead of soldiers? Jessa would have thought so but the night, though restless, was thankfully uneventful. Despite the many hours of silence to mull over Lady Tremonts offer, she was still no closer to a decision. Her head was a frustrating place to be, for the same thoughts circled endlessly, offering no new insight or solution. She needed another perspective, but without discussing her fears with someone else – something she absolutely could not do – she would not get such a thing. The worst part was that she knew what she ought to do. It was what was safest for Larend, and for her. Yet she could not reconcile that with the breathless discomfort in her chest whenever she imagined Lady Tremont in her memories, seeing everything. Her selfishness hurt, and that guilt did nothing for approaching the problem with a clear head.

She gave up on sleep long, long before the sun rose. In fact it had probably only been four hours since she had returned to her room before Jessa left it again, this time wrapped up warm for the cold night that surely awaited her. Although she knew exactly where she would go, Jessa wandered the castle gardens for some time. Shrouded in darkness it may be, but Jessa could still make out the bushes and hedges beginning to bloom with new life, the freshly raked soil where recently sown plants would soon peek through. Almost without thought, Jessa imagined her mother bending down and hugging a much younger Jessa to her side as she spoke animatedly about the many plants growing in the flowerbeds. She would point at them with mud-encrusted fingers, encourage Jessa to touch the silky petals and waxy leaves, and she always had a smile on her face. This had been her mother’s domain. Jessa did not let herself think of it often, but she did so now and found it comforted her.

And then she remembered that Lady Tremont would know these memories if Jessa agreed and suddenly she felt cold. Hugging her arms to her body, Jessa left the gardens and headed for the university. Even if the king might think she was there, Jessa had never known him to walk those halls. She felt safe there, especially in the middle of the night.

The hall was empty, but Jessa knew from her time as a student that there would be other students – and particularly harried research assistants – awake and furiously studying at this hour. Only some of the candles were lit, which always made the hallways feel eerie – like Jessa should not really be there. Keeping her head bowed, Jessa let her feet take her to the library. Once there, she picked a random book off the first shelf she found. Despite the hour, as Jessa had suspected, there were students in various states of wakefulness at many of the best desks in the library. Jessa was lucky to find one in a quiet corner, and she supposed it was only because this corner was not particularly well lit. Jessa had no intention of reading the book – or doing much of anything – so it suited her perfectly. She rested her arms on the table and dropped her head against them, her exhaustion finally catching up with her.

Yet when she drifted off and found herself suddenly standing in the middle of a vast camp, Jessa had the suspicion that despite her fatigue this was not a natural sleep. She turned in a circle, staring in awe at the tents stretching far into the distance. They were hazy, somehow, and though she saw people moving about between them, it was like there was some kind of film separating them from her. All she could make out was that they were soldiers, all had brown skin, and none paid her any attention. In the distance she caught a glimpse of a fuzzy gold and emerald flag atop a tent larger than those surrounding it, one suitable for a monarch. This was the Novarian army, and that was the queen of Novamor’s tent. Jessa did not move towards it, instead seeing a tent out of the corner of her eyes that was suddenly in perfect clarity. That was where she should be. She was by the flap before she had realised she had moved – if she even had, since this was clearly a dream… Jessa hesitated, her hand brushing the canvas. This wasn’t a dream. This was something else. Who was behind that flap? Who would want to talk to her in such a way? The only person who ever had was Rhys, and there were so many reasons as to why she knew she would not find him inside that tent. Her chest squeezed painfully and she pushed that thought from her mind.

An invisible force pushed her to open the flap before she was ready. Her gaze immediately found the lone woman in the room. Jessa let out a gasp, for though the hair was shorter she recognised the woman’s face instantly. “Laurita!”

Laurita folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. “Oh, so you are speaking to me.”

It was then that Jessa noticed a hardness to Laurita’s jaw. When Jessa took a step closer to her friend, Laurita shook her head. Jessa stopped in place, frowning. Her happiness at seeing her friend, different but well, faded. “What – why would you think I wasn’t?”

For a moment, Laurita stared at her with wide, incredulous eyes. Then, with a scoff, she spread her arms out wide and said sarcastically, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’ve not been speaking to me? For weeks.”

Jessa opened and closed her mouth uselessly. “I was trying to keep you safe. I told you that.”

“Safe? What?” Laurita laughed without humour. Jessa flinched at the sound but took another step forward regardless. Laurita continued, “All you said was that you needed me to go, that you couldn’t see us for a while. And then nothing, Jessa. Nothing.”

“I was trying to keep you safe,” Jessa said again, growing more desperate. She clasped her hands together and shook her head. “Alrick knew about me. If he’d seen you with me, he might have done something to you. I couldn’t risk that. I told you that. I thought you knew that.”

“You didn’t, Jessa. And it’s ridiculous anyway. I can disguise myself, remember? I never left the castle, Jessa. I had a job to do.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “And even if you couldn’t see me, you could still have written to me. But did you?” Laurita looked away. “I got one message from you – three words, in fact, so unspecific they could have come from anyone.”

Jessa bowed her head. She remembered her hurt at Laurita’s written response. Even from the writing she had known Laurita was angry. But then so much had happened since then and it had been pushed to one side. She’d had barely any time to think of her friend. “You were still in the castle?” As soon as the words left her mouth Jessa knew she had said the wrong thing – that she had focused on entirely the wrong thing. Laurita shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“I was in Ovis for a reason. And at least it meant I knew you weren’t dead.” Jessa flinched just as Laurita looked at her. “You could have been. The last Rhys or I knew was that the king had found out about the two of you, and there was no way he was just going to let that lie.”

Jessa had dropped her gaze at the mention of Rhys’ name. She pressed her lips together and nodded tightly. “Right.”

“I guess at least you were right that he wasn’t going to kill you.” Jessa didn’t know if Laurita meant for her words to come out so harshly. Jessa swallowed, hugging her arms to her body and gripping her elbows. She heard Laurita sigh. “I didn’t mean-” Laurita cut herself off. “Obviously I’m glad you’re okay.” Jessa looked up just as Laurita’s jaw hardened again. “Are you okay? After the divorce…?”

“Yeah,” Jessa choked out. She didn’t look at Laurita. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Right.” Laurita scoffed. “You didn’t even tell us. I had to find out from gossip, Jessa. I know you didn’t necessarily know how to contact Rhys after… But you knew how you could find me.” Laurita paused. “Rhys shouldn’t have had to find out from me, though. He should have heard it from you.”

Jessa hesitated, her brows furrowing. Surely Rhys would have heard the news in Ovis. Then again, perhaps not. The last she knew he had been with his mother and sister on the fringes of the city. She doubted the general populace cared about the king’s bastard’s failed marriage. It wasn’t like there had been any kind of announcement. And since Laurita had been in the castle so much – Jessa was still frustrated that she had tried to keep her friend safe only to find out that she had been in danger all this time anyway – it was very likely Laurita had found out before most anyway.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Jessa said quietly. The guilt weighed down on her heavily. She hadn’t even thought about telling her friend. She’d never had anyone to confide in about her life before, and that made it easy to forget. “And you’re right that Rhys probably should have heard it from me.” Her voice cracked on his name, and Jessa hoped Laurita didn’t notice. She didn’t want to talk about Rhys. Clearly Laurita had no idea what he had done, and Jessa was not ready to share. “Either way, I think it was-” Jessa swallowed as a tear rolled down her cheek, “-probably for the best anyway.”

Laurita sighed. “Rhys told me you’d say something like that.”

“Well, I wasn’t wrong.” Jessa inhaled sharply, swallowing again against the growing lump in her throat. She would not cry, she told herself, even as Rhys with the woman flashed into her mind. No, she would not think of it.

“What?” Laurita’s voice was sharp but confused. Laurita definitely did not know what Rhys had done.

Jessa shook her head. “It’s better this way. He doesn’t have to be with me now.” She risked at glance at her friend. Laurita was opening gaping at her. There was a long silence, in which Laurita just shook her head minutely every few seconds. Eventually, her mouth snapped shut.

“Doesn’t have to be with you? I-” Laurita shook her head, her face slack with disbelief. “Jessa, he loves you.”

Jessa gave a small shrug. “He still never had a choice. Now he does.” And he hadn’t chosen her. Laurita was wrong. Unbidden, the image of Rhys and the woman came back and this time Jessa could not shake it from her mind. She saw them kissing, over and over. She couldn’t stop it. Somehow she had the wherewithal to turn away from Laurita as she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.

She started when she felt someone touch her arm. Laurita was there, frowning. Her eyes shone with concern. “Is this about Rhys’ aversion?”

“What?” Jessa replied. She shook her head.

“It isn’t?” Laurita frowned. “Then…” Her brow smoothed, the confusion turning to anger again. Jessa tried to take a step back but Laurita grabbed her arm with one hand and turned her head to face Laurita with the other. Her eyes darted as she appraised Jessa. “Has he done something to you? Alrick.”

“I’ve barely seen him.”

Laurita just stared at her. “Because I can definitely trust your perspective.”

“He hasn’t done anything to me. I’m being careful. I haven’t seen him.” Not since she’d seen Rhys, at least. He had not manipulated her there, if he had at all. No, that had been real.

Laurita’s grip on her loosened, but it was clear her friend did not believe her. Jessa could hardly blame Laurita, even though she knew her words to be the truth. With a shake of her head, Laurita asked, “Then why haven’t you even asked about him? I expected that to be the first thing you would ask.”

Jessa bit her lip. Though it was not the truth, she found herself saying, “Well, considering it looks like you’re with the Novarian army, I figured you wouldn’t know how he was.”

“Rhys is here too, Jessa,” Laurita said quietly. “I guess no one told you. I guess there’s no one left in Ovis who would realise you should have been told.”

Jessa frowned. Rhys had been in Ovis only days ago. If Laurita was with the rest of the army in Ferande, then she supposed Rhys could have made the journey if he’d left not long after Jessa had seen him in Ovis. Jessa’s hand clenched the folds of her dress. She had not expected him to be at the front. The lump in her throat came back. As much as she was hurting, she did not want him there. It was too dangerous. “Is he…”

“He’s okay.” Laurita did not fully meet her gaze, and her reassuring smile seemed false. Jessa stared at her. Laurita sighed. “He’s still recovering.”

There was more, Jessa knew there was. But she found she could not say the words. She didn’t want to know. A small part of her didn’t want to care, though that was not something she could just stop doing. She hated how much she still cared and how much her heart yearned to know what Laurita was keeping back. After a moment, she simply nodded.

“Oh, Jessa.” Laurita folded her into a hug. Jessa gripped Laurita tightly and let herself take strength from her friend’s embrace. After so long alone, this one simple hug meant everything, and Jessa was crying before she’d even realised.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, pulling away and gesturing at the damp patch on Laurita’s tunic. Laurita waved her away, taking Jessa’s hands. Jessa shook her head, refusing to back down. She had been a terrible friend. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t even asked how you are.”

Laurita gave her a wan smile. “We don’t exactly have unlimited time.” She gestured at the tent around them, indicating that the dream could not last indefinitely. “But in short, I’m as well as can be expected. My father’s here now.” A genuine smile brightened Laurita’s face. Jessa smiled back through her tears. “I’m just so glad he’s back with me. For a moment with him, it felt like everything just might be okay. Obviously that doesn’t make it true, but seeing him helped. For a while there I had begun to lose hope.” Laurita looked down, pulling away from Jessa and clasping her hands together.

With a sigh, she said finally, “I didn’t bring you here just to yell at you. There’s some things we need to tell you.”

“We?” Jessa asked.

“Hello, Jessa.” Jessa jumped at the new voice, spinning around to find Nayall standing behind her as if he had appeared from nowhere.

“Must you always sneak up on me? Even in a dream?”

“Even in dreams.” There was a ghost of a smile on Nayall’s face, but it vanished quickly. He had always been serious and quiet, but his eyes were duller than before and his shoulders were hunched. Jessa did not know him well enough to ask him why. Laurita moved to stand beside him, and it was then that Jessa realised something.

“You’re not in Ovis.”

“Obviously,” Nayall said drily. “I came with Rhys.”

“Oh.” Jessa pressed her lips together. She sniffed, ignoring the mention of Rhys to ask, “Did you get my message? About the ambush?”

“The queen knows.”

Jessa nodded. “Good.” She clasped her hands together. After a moment, she realised she was still nodding nervously. Stopping herself, Jessa was about to speak when Nayall did so instead, leaving her speechless.

“The queen suggested that I become the next king of Etrene. I accepted.”

Laurita turned her head to stare at him, her jaw dropping. Jessa stared too, and was glad that she was not the only one who had had no idea. Nayall shifted uncomfortably. He glanced at Laurita, looking particularly worried at her response. Jessa supposed they might have got to know each other quite well after Jessa had suggested Laurita and Odaren seek refuge with him and his mages. Nayall said quietly, “Is it really so hard to believe?”

Laurita recovered herself, snapping her mouth closed and resting her hand on Nayall’s forearm. She shook her head vehemently. “No, of course not. I’ve been with your mages. I’ve heard how they talk about you. No, I just didn’t know how much my queen knew of it to think of you first.”

“And I’m a commoner,” Nayall added. He looked back at Jessa. “That’s why I need you.”

“So that’s why you were so eager to dreamwalk for us,” Laurita said, shaking her head. “I just thought you wanted to ask Jessa about the mages.”

Jessa focused on Nayall. He didn’t need to spell out what he needed from her. “You need the nobility.”

“They won’t accept a commoner, not easily. With Queen Tula’s help I can take the throne, but with only the mages I’ve helped on my side I won’t keep it for long. I just need you to start getting my name out there. I need them to know who I am and what I’ve done. Embellishing the truth a bit probably wouldn’t hurt.”

“I don’t need to embellish it. What you’ve done in only a few months is staggering.”

Nayall coughed. “Right, well. I don’t know how much that will matter to the nobility. They’ll just care about whether they will keep their positions.”

“And what do I tell them?”

Nayall didn’t answer. Jessa glanced at Laurita, but it wasn’t like her friend was going to have the answer either. She’d only just learned about Nayall’s intentions too and was still staring at Nayall with something like awe. Eventually, Nayall said, “I’ll try to be back in Ovis in a few weeks. By then I’ll have more of a plan.” Nayall didn’t sound especially sure of that. Jessa could hardly blame him. None of them had any idea what state Etrene would be in after they deposed Alrick – if they succeeded. They couldn’t know either how the country would react to Nayall. Nayall was a mage, after all, as well as a commoner. Some would embrace either or both of those things, but they could not know how much resistance there would be. Jessa watched Nayall with something approaching awe for all that he was willing to take on. It would be far from easy.

She took a few steps forward until she was close enough to Nayall to touch his arm, which she did so hesitantly. Meeting his eyes, she said, “I will do everything I can. It might not mean much, but you have my support.”

Nayall nodded, then disappeared without another word. Jessa’s hand fell down to her side as she stared at the place Nayall had been. She blinked. Although she hadn’t forgotten it was a dream, it was still unnerving to see someone just disappear before her eyes.

After a moment, she glanced at Laurita. Her face was screwed up in a grimace, and she did not meet Jessa’s eyes as she said, “You should probably sit down.” She gestured behind Jessa, where two chairs had appeared. They had definitely not been there before.

“Laurita?”

“Really, Jessa, just sit down.” Laurita took a deep breath, then moved towards the chairs. As she passed Jessa, Laurita took Jessa’s hand and tugged her to follow. Jessa sat down, her nerves jangling in her stomach. She placed her hands in her lap, but it was not long before her fingers started tapping her leg without rhythm. Laurita’s silence dragged on and on. Jessa watched her friend stare at the floor.

“What is it?” she blurted out, unable to take it anymore. Laurita looked up, and unshed tears glistened in her eyes.

“There’s no easy way to say this…”

Jessa swallowed hard. If there was one thing Laurita did not do, it was beat around the bush. This was bad. Her hand shot out and grasped Laurita’s. Jessa had a feeling they both needed the support, if Laurita’s grateful, teary smile was anything to go by. “Just tell me,” Jessa whispered.

Laurita nodded. “What do you know about Miriyam and Johannes Lanis?”

Whatever Jessa had been expecting, it had not been that. She frowned, knowing the names sounded familiar but unable to place them immediately. Then, with her heart hammering, she realised. “They were responsible for – for what happened in Jasrah.”

Jessa’s throat was dry. What did they have to do with her? Or was this about Rhys? No – Laurita had said Rhys was fine. And it had only been a few days since Jessa had seen him, and he’d seemed more than okay then. Jessa grit her teeth and focused on Laurita.

“Yeah,” Laurita breathed. “I met them when I was in Jasrah, but to everyone they were just these mysterious twins from the north. Rhys, he apparently found out a bit more about them not long before their revolt. He, um. Jessa,” Laurita squeezed Jessa’s hand and finally met her gaze. “It seems your father had an affair before your mother. I don’t know the details, except the woman was a noblewoman, maybe from Barichea. Miriyam and Johannes were the result. They’re Alrick’s first bastards and your half-siblings.”

“They’re what?” Jessa’s voice came out as a squeak. She stared at Laurita in disbelief, but there was no hint of a lie in Laurita’s expression. Jessa sat back heavily against the chair. “They’re…”

Laurita did not give her a moment to digest. She spoke quickly, as if she would not be able to continue if she did not just get everything out right then. Jessa’s head swam. “Unlike you, they had no one to want them. Illegitimate children born out of an affair between two of the nobility is a little more than embarrassing. I think they grew up in an orphanage. And when your father found out about them, he tried to have them killed. After that, their resentment of the nobility – and the king in particular – turned to hatred. I think that’s part of why they did what they did in Jasrah. Partly.” Laurita exhaled quietly. “They were hired by Ezaria Arcius.”

“What?”

Laurita ignored her. “She was brought to Etrene for questioning not too long ago. Rhys spoke to her and she confirmed it. And he – he learned something else. About Miriyam. She’s – I think she’s actually insane. No one in their right mind would do what she’s doing.”

“Laurita, just tell me.” Jessa’s heart was in her throat. Her fingers tightened around Laurita’s so painfully her friend winced and looked down at their hands. Jessa whispered again, “Just tell me.”

“She’s found some kind of dark, dark blood magic. It requires the blood of the victim and the attacker, to-” Laurita broke off. She opened and closed her mouth uselessly. Shaking her head, she met Jessa’s gaze. “It kills an entire bloodline, all at once. All the mage has to do is mark the family and then just kill one of them. Everyone else dies too. Miriyam – she… she used her own blood. We believe she’s theatrical enough that she’ll make an attempt to kill the king himself, but… I’m sorry, Jessa, I’m so sorry.”

She clutched Jessa’s hand, but Jessa wasn’t paying attention. She could hear her blood rushing in her ears. A whole bloodline. Countless innocent babies, children and families. How closely related to Miriyam did someone have to be to die? How many people were there living who were related to the du Renes generations and generations back? Would they die too? And then there’s was Miriyam’s mother’s bloodline too. There were too many people to even comprehend. Jessa would die too.

“It’s okay,” she found herself saying, her voice far stronger but more distant that she was expecting. She saw Laurita stare at her incredulously, but again it was almost like Jessa was not really present in the moment.

“It’s okay? How is this okay?” Of course it wasn’t alright. Jessa didn’t need to say it, and Laurita knew Jessa had not meant it like that. Laurita shook her head. “You could die, Jessa.”

“I know.” That had been true for so long this barely made any difference. Yes, it was more terrifying that it could happen at any moment, that she would have no warning, but Jessa could hardly bring herself to care compared to the devastation it would wreak on so many more people than just her. The king would be gone, but at what cost?

“You know?” Laurita’s voice rose into hysteria. “You know? Rhys is falling apart – he couldn’t even tell you – and ‘you know’?”

Jessa shook her head. Of course she did not believe Rhys would be unfeeling at hearing that Jessa might die. Even if he had never loved her, they had been friends of a sort. Pulling her hand out of Laurita’s grasp, she pressed a hand against her head. She expected at any moment for her brain to go into overdrive, but… it never came. Her mind was remarkably, unnervingly calm. She knew what Laurita had said, she knew how awful it was, but she just felt so disconnected from it all. She could feel Laurita’s gaze on her.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Laurita didn’t speak for a moment, but eventually she said, “You deserve to know.” A pause. “Jessa, talk to me. Properly.”

Jessa shook her head. “I-” She shrugged uselessly. “I need some time.”

Laurita reached out for her hand. “Of course, right. I’m sorry. Will you meet me again though? In a few days – or a week? Please don’t go silent on me again.”

“I won’t.” But Jessa’s mind was already gone from their conversation. She looked uncomprehendingly at Laurita’s face, until everything blurred and went dark. She awoke suddenly, her back and neck aching from her awkward position with her head resting on the library table. She did not move, however, instead staring sideways at the rows and rows of books before her. She noted absently that the library was lighter than before, with the first strains of natural light filtering through the windows high above her.

She could die. It had always been true, but until then she hadn’t really considered it. If she died, who would continue her work in Ovis? Not if Miriyam was the cause, of course, for if that happened then the king would die too and none of this would matter anyway. But if the king killed her, or she died some other way… Her part in this war would have been for nothing. There would be no one in Ovisian high society to help the transition from Alrick to Nayall, as Nayall had asked her to do only minutes ago. She couldn’t risk losing that.

Jessa sat up, scared at her own thoughts. How coldly and logically she considered her own death frightened her a little, but not enough to shake the eerie calm that had settled over her. She knew what she must do. And she was glad of that clarity. She was glad her emotions were not there to cloud her judgement. She was done with thinking and feeling. She just needed to act.

Not half an hour later, she stood before a large door. Jessa had returned to her room to change, and now she was here. Her resolve had not wavered. Without hesitation, she knocked on the door. It was very early, and she half-expected no one to answer. But after a minute, the door opened. The same man from the day before greeted her, surprise that she was here again clear on his face. “Good morning, my lady.”

“Good morning. I’m here to see Lady Tremont. Could you tell her that Jessa du Rene is here and would like to know more about what we discussed yesterday?”

[Rosabeth]

Even in a camp the size of a small city there were still moments the sound of a pin dropping could be heard for miles around. Each day the soldiers grew more restless, a looming feeling of dread sweeping over the army as they waited and waited for Gods knew what. The war seemed to have reached a temporary stalemate, the Etrenians reeling from the loss of Ferande and the Novarians too hesitant to push up the river towards Ovis without greater security. Rhys knew Tula to be cautious but she was not a woman of inaction. Something was wrong; that much was certain when little else was.

There was little entertainment in Rhys’ days thanks to his condition. Though Rhys spent much of his time alone, either confined to rest by Kieran’s watchful gaze or aimlessly wandering the camp, he never truly felt alone. There were always eyes on him. Some followed him conspicuously, likely ordered by Tula to assure he was not overexerting himself too soon, but others watched him out of simple curiosity. Rhys and Kieran were both markedly out of place in the Novarian camp. While most seemed to bear Rhys no ill-will, simply interested in why an Etrenian seemed to keep such close company with the invading army, some were not so pleasant. Rhys saw the distrust in the way they watched him pass, holding their weapons closer to their bodies and whispering to their fellow soldiers. He did not blame them for their skepticism. All appearances said that Rhys was a traitor in their midst, waiting for the opportunity to escape back to his king. If only they knew how far from the truth that truly was.

The one thing Rhys could be thankful for was that the rumors about his own involvement with the queen had recently been eclipsed by those of his uncle’s. Unlike his own rumors, these Rhys suspected to be true. Since their arrival at camp Rhys had begun to notice the regularity with which Kieran seemed to go missing for periods of time, only to return with little to say in regards to his absence. Since his last interruption of their meeting, seeing a hint of intimacy Rhys had never seen from Tula, Rhys had become certain. He was not generally one for gossip, but with little else to occupy his day and dark, sinister memories threatening to fill his every thought, he preferred to entertain this little distraction. Rhys sat near a fire a good distance from the queen’s tent, just far enough to observe without detection. He knew from Kieran’s patterns that he was in there now, verified from the stance of the queen’s personal guard. Rhys only had to wait. After some time Kieran emerged, and that was when Rhys struck.

“Now I know where you’ve been hiding.”

Kieran jolted and spun on his heels, sighing in relief at seeing Rhys standing behind him. “Gods, you almost gave me a heart attack. Make some noise next time you sneak up on a person.”

“You’re dodging the subject.”

To Rhys’ surprise Kieran gave no witty retort, turning from Rhys and continuing deeper into the camp. Rhys practically jogged to keep up with his uncle’s long strides. “What are you hiding, Kieran? You know, rumors only spread-”

“I would expect you of all people to not believe rumors.” Kieran’s curt words were so unlike him that Rhys actually stared at his uncle with disbelief. Seeing Rhys’ shocked expression made Kieran sigh with a small shake of his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snap. I know you’re only teasing. I just…I can’t talk about it right now.”

Rhys didn’t miss the implication. “So you admit there is something going on between you two?” From Kieran’s look of annoyance Rhys knew that had been the wrong thing to say.

“Not like the rumors say. I enjoy her company and I think she enjoys having someone to talk to about these things who’s far enough removed from the situation to be impartial – well, as impartial as you can really be given the circumstances. Sometimes she asks me about my time in Ovis and what I know about court. What I think the king might do in certain circumstances, not that I’m any authority on the inner workings of his mind. We just talk.” Kieran saw the incredulity on Rhys’ face at the implication that talking was all that was being done and frowned. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Rhys. You know that. But I’m also not going to say anything else on the matter. The queen gets very little privacy in her life – I won’t be the one to betray that which she does get.”

Kieran’s solemnity threw Rhys, his uncle typically so relaxed around him. “Still, I know you’re fond of her. You didn’t really make any secret of it.”

Finally Kieran smiled, a welcome expression to break his uncharacteristic sobriety. “I never said I wasn’t. I’ll I’m saying is that this doesn’t concern you.”

Rhys groaned. “You chided me about Jessa for ages and I can’t even ask a question?”

“That was a different situation.”

“Mhmm.”

“Rhys.” Kieran’s tone was one of warning. Rhys knew how to take a hint. He took a step back with his hands up, Kieran looking relieved at the gesture. They stood in awkward silence for a moment until Rhys realized there were still a question on his mind that Kieran, perhaps more than any other person, might know the answer to.

“Did Tula say anything about what’s going on here? I haven’t heard anything about any plans, and neither has anyone else. People are getting restless.”

Kieran scratched his head, looking about as if to check for someone listening before leaning in slightly. “I don’t know how much I’m really supposed to say, but as I wasn’t sworn to secrecy I don’t know that I can really be punished for saying anything. There’s infighting among the military leaders.The queen says she doesn’t like to make military decisions without some general amount of consensus – it’s bad politics - but this time she’s the one with the unpopular position. Her generals are adamantly against moving to capture Solridge – even the single holdout has been swayed by the others. It’s too risky, knowing that the king has planned an ambush. They want to continue a land push without naval backup. The queen disagrees. She thinks without the naval backup any progress will take twice as long and their chances of success are twice as bad. She thinks that they can avoid the ambush by taking alternate routes.”

“And what do you think?”

“I’m inclined to agree with the generals. I told her as much, though she didn’t particularly appreciate it. It’s a massive risk and I just don’t know enough about these sorts of things to know how to mitigate that risk. But at the same time I can see where she’s coming from. I know Ovis and I know the castle. The fortifications will be incredibly difficult to take without the navy, especially what with the Baricheans offering backup and supplies. I think the queen wants to end this war as quickly as possible. Staying away from Novamor for this long is making her anxious about domestic politics. With the way things are going, however, I’m not sure if she’ll be willing to go against her generals.”

Rhys’ heart sank. A longer war would only mean more battles and more death, more devastation that would need to be mended in the aftermath. Though Rhys wished these thoughts were of his only concern they were not – in fact, they were only a fraction of his concern. A longer war meant more time for Jessa to remain trapped in the castle, subject to Alrick’s whims. Rhys did not know how the man had punished her for learning the truth but he was certain the divorce was only a sliver of his retribution. A longer war meant more chances for Miriyam to slip into court while no one was paying her any mind. Rhys could not let this war drag on any longer than necessary, if only for his own sanity. If he could do anything to quicken its end he would do it, even if it meant his death. That was when Rhys got an idea.

“Are you coming?” Kieran asked, gesturing down a row their row of tents.

“I think I’m going to take a walk.” Rhys lied. “I’m sick of sitting around.” Kieran only shrugged and left without question, giving Rhys his opportunity. Rhys immediately turned back from where he’d came, bee-lining straight for Tula’s tent. He did not even wait for the guards to stop him, immediately launching into his request upon his approach. One guard slipped inside only to return a moment later, beckoning Rhys in. Tula leaned against a large, round table, her arms gripping the edges as she stared down intently at the maps before her. Dozens of small markers dotted the maps like a chess board, some indicating current positions, others planning out potential attacks.

“What do you need, Rhys?” said Tula, too wrapped up in her planning to turn and face him.

“Kieran told me about your Solridge problem.” Tula suddenly straightened. “I have a plan as to how to solve it.”

Tula now faced Rhys, her arms crossed in front of her chest as she leaned back against the table. Even in the dim light Rhys could see the darkness under her eyes and the way her shoulders sagged. She looked as though she was getting about as much sleep as Rhys. “Really?” She did not sound convinced.

“Send me instead.”

Rhys might as well have delivered the world’s worst joke, Tula gaping at him with no amusement on her face. “You have to be kidding.”

“Your problem is that you’re unwilling to upset the hierarchy. You value your generals and they know this – that’s why they’re willing to openly disagree with you. They know you’ll take their advice. You also know that by turning to a lesser-ranked officer instead would upset them even more than ignoring their advice all together. It would be a major insult. But I’m not in the army. I’m not even Novarian! You give me a command, give me the troops I need, and let me do it. Bypass your entire military structure. They won’t like it, but they’ll take the hint. They’re realize that not only are you willing to replace them, but you’re willing to step entirely out of the confines of tradition to do it. They won’t be so willing to argue next time.” Rhys’ words tumbled out of him so quickly he’d not even realized he was capable of speaking with such speed in Novarian. At the end of his speech Tula’s expression had only got worse, her incredulity bordering on outrage.

“How stupid do you think I am that I would attempt such an idiotic plan?” Tula seethed, pushing herself off the table and starting towards Rhys. “Not to mention your condition, which alone would be more than enough for me to say no, you have absolutely no military experience. What do you know of commanding troops? It would be a disaster!” Tula put one hand to her face, muttering curses under her breath. “And what makes you think I even want to go against my generals? This system works the way it is for a reason.”

This time Rhys took a step forward, not allowing the queen to use her position to intimidate him. “Because you and I both want this war to end, and I know you’re willing to do what it takes to meet that goal. Find out which colonels and captains agree and utilize them. I’m sure you’re not alone in your opinion.” The fact that Tula did not immediately launch into a rebuttal was all Rhys needed to press even further. “I know I don’t have any military experience but it doesn’t matter – it would just be a cover. Give me an actual leader, someone who would put their pride aside, and I’ll be their puppet. I’ll do whatever they say, relay whatever command I’m given – the only difference is that it looks like I’m the one in charge. That’s all you really need to convince your generals to step back in line. This way everyone wins. The hierarchy stays in place, all the generals keep their positions, and you get what you want – a chance to end this war. And if this all goes badly? Well…at least you won’t lose any of your advisors in the process.”

As he spoke Rhys could hear more and more how insane his idea sounded, yet as Rhys grew increasingly hesitant Tula’s opinion seemed swayed. She paced the tent, hands on her hips and lips pursed, occasionally scathingly glancing back at Rhys. The silence felt eternal as Rhys waited for any sort of reaction, even if just to be unceremoniously cast away. In truth he did not expect his words to sway Tula. His plan was a disaster from beginning to end, yet within its insanity it held a hint of hope. Maybe, just maybe, if everything went perfectly right, it would work out just as he said it would. Were he a betting man, however, it was not a bet he would take.

Finally, Tula stopped her pacing, holding her hands on the back of her neck with defeat clear on her face. “Even if this were to work I couldn’t do it. You’re in no condition to fight, even without magic being involved. Look me in the eye and honestly tell me that you’re recovered.”

Rhys said nothing. He would not lie to the queen of Novamor. Tula knew his answer without needing to ask. “This could very well be a death trap, Rhys. What will you do then if you are unable to fully fight? What about all the people who care for you? You have a family who needs you and a wife who is waiting for you. Will you risk everything for this?”

“Do you say this to all your soldiers? Do you remind them of their families before you send them to their deaths?” Tula looked as though he’d struck her, yet Rhys felt no remorse for his words. Tula was grasping and her shallow words fell on deaf ears. To a queen, what was a single death on her hands? Did it mean anything at all in the grand scheme? Individual lives were meaningless to kings and queens – Rhys knew better than to believe otherwise, even coming from someone he admired as much as Tula. No, Rhys knew the real reason behind Tula’s reluctance and it was not their friendship. “You’re afraid that if anything happens to me Kieran won’t be able to forgive you. He’d blame my death on you.”

Tula’s hard-set jaw and averted eyes said everything her words did not. Rhys had touched something private and sensitive, something she would never admit to him no matter how he questioned. Though there was nothing inherently shameful about her reasoning it hinted at something that, in Tula’s eyes, was unforgivable for someone in her position – weakness. This was something Tula could not respect in herself. Rhys grasped at this crack in Tula’s armor, willing to exploit it at all costs.

Giving no response to Rhys’ accusation, Tula turned back to her maps, beckoning Rhys over with a single finger. When Rhys stood beside her she picked up a drawing compass and measured out the distance from Ferande to Solridge. “Well, if you want to be in charge, what would your plan be? From these maps it seems like the most likely route they’re expecting us to take is this,” Tula pointed to a thin coastal path beneath the cliffs just south of the bay. “Obviously we won’t. But where else do we go?”

“Have you checked the other maps?” Rhys did not need to specific of which ones he spoke. Tula nodded. “We’ve checked every day – there’s no mages, at least not those in his circle. The closest grouping seem to be some distance away, too far away to get there first if their scouts saw us coming. I think we can reasonably assume that if there will be mages it will be no different than what we could expect from Alrick’s army in the first place.”

Rhys stared at the map in hopes that some brilliant inspiration might come. It did not. The western pass was by far the most direct and convenient, undoubtedly what Alrick was expecting. There was a much longer path taking an extra day or two but it would pass nearby several areas undoubtedly secured by the Etrenians. The third option was a direct path taken straight up the cliffs. Faster than the second but safer than the first, it offered a solid middle ground but truthfully did not make Rhys feel particularly confident. There were still strategic places for an ambush – forest covered the eastern side of the path and the cliffs blocked them off to the west – but it was still escapable. If need be the army could retreat to the south, an option that would not be available to them under a hail of arrows should they take the western path. Rhys pointed to the path, drawing his finger across the suggested route and watching as Tula nodded in agreement.

“That is what I suggested to my generals as well. How many men do you think it would take, as a conservative estimate?”

“To secure the bay?” Rhys was no tactician. He shrugged, trying and failing to picture the scene at Solridge in his head. He did not know the area well enough to have any notion of scale. “5,000?” From Tula’s scoff he knew he’d estimated too low. “10,000?”

“I’d say 12,000, just to be safe. That’s double what my advisors estimated, surely enough to defeat any reasonably sized Etrenian force. If they’re staging an ambush then they’re not planning for a battle – let’s give them one.”

Rhys staggered at the number. The scale of what the queen intended was far beyond anything Rhys had expected. It was far beyond his capabilities. He could feel Tula’s eyes on him, waiting for some sign of reluctance that Rhys refused to give. Slowly he nodded in acceptance, a lump growing in his throat. He could not be afraid.

Tula said nothing, turning from the table and dropping to her knees before a small altar at the edge of the tent. A colorful mosaic of the pantheon of Gods sat amongst several candles and a small tray with ever-burning incense. Tula closed her eyes and began to pray, her words so low and so quiet Rhys could not distinguish them, coming out with a lilting cadence almost like a song. In that moment Rhys wished he shared the queen’s faith. That she could draw comfort from the notion of Gods who cared, perhaps even to intervene on their behalf, was a blessing Rhys had never had. If the Gods existed at all certainly they did not care who won or lost this bloody war. Any god who allowed Alrick to take the throne in the first place cared nothing for humans.

At last Tula rose, a solemn acceptance on her face. “This could be the biggest mistake I will ever make, but if we have a chance at victory I have to take it. I cannot accept letting this war drag on for months because I could not make a decision. I am the queen. This is my duty.” In that surreal moment Rhys felt nothing, simply staring at Tula in disbelief that his half-formed plan was becoming a reality. Tula approached and put her hand on his shoulder, moving it to lightly touch the hair at the bottom of his neck. “If you’re going to do this then you’re going to do this properly. You might not be a captain or a general but we can make you look like one.”

Rhys did not know what Tula meant. Suddenly she barked a command to the guards at the door and within minutes a crowd of people Rhys had never met flooded the tent. Several were captains from their apparel, the insignia on their left shoulder bearing the mark of their rank. They spoke quickly and quietly with the queen, surprise flitting across their faces as she began to explain the plan. In that moment, staring at the three men and one woman who stood around the queen, Rhys understood the meaning of Tula’s words. The male captains all had hair cropped close to their heads in exactly the same style, each with clean shaven faces to match their uniform appearance. With this realization Rhys found himself suddenly pushed back into a chair by a curt and quiet man, the shears and blade in his hand telling Rhys all he needed to know.

Time passed quickly and Rhys watched from the corner of the tent as countless soldiers flowed in and out, Tula giving out orders at a startling speed. The tent was a place of pandemonium as the day turned to night and shouts and arguments became commonplace. No one played even the slightest attention to Rhys in the corner as he pulled on the new set of clothes provided by one of the many comers and goers. Rhys felt like an imposter in the emerald uniform, his stomach tying into knots as a man placed the golden insignia on his left shoulder. Rhys let his fingertips graze the medallion, it’s weight on his shoulder feeling a thousand times its size. If it were just the clothes Rhys might have been able to shrug off the strange feeling after some time, but it was not the uniform that made Rhys feel as though he’d stepped outside his own skin. Rhys stared into the small mirror amongst some of Tula’s things, watching as a stranger stared back. Rhys ran his hand along the smooth skin he’d not felt since he was eighteen, seeing the hard lines in his jaw and the curve of his chin, parts of him he’d forgotten. The cold air against the back of his neck and the new lightness of his head felt so foreign as Rhys moved his hands to cropped hair. It would all grow back quickly, but in the meantime Rhys could not ignore his stunning resemblance to his father. He had his mother’s eyes and hair, even her nose, but there was truly no hiding that Rhys was a Marinon. Something about that notion made Rhys uneasy.

A familiar gruff voice made Rhys turn away from the mirror, watching as Hal entered the tent with a look of confusion. Tula caught his eye immediately, excusing the others around her as she brought forth Laurita’s father. “Captain Navin, I believe you know Rhys?” Hal’s gaze turned to Rhys, nearly looking straight through him before doing a double take, looking him up and down without understanding. Tula quickly launched into an explanation of the plan, Hal trying intently to give his attention to his queen but frequently casting glances at Rhys. When she finished Hal only stared expressionless at them both. Tula did not give him time to formulate a response. “Would you be willing to vouch for Rhys? To convince the other captains to follow his lead, just for the next few days?” Hal began to slowly nod, Tula following en suite. Slowly Rhys began to understand with horror what was happening. No. The word echoed in his head over and over as he stared at Hal, wishing more than anything he could ask the queen to change her mind. He knew he could do no such thing. Rhys could not bear the thought of Laurita’s face upon realizing her father was being sent on a dangerous mission, all because of Rhys’ foolish involvement.

As the evening drew on Tula excused Rhys, giving him his orders for the next day and instructing him to get some sleep, a task Rhys was sure he would not be able to complete. Rhys stumbled his way back to his tent without hardly thinking, too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the way soldiers stared as he passed by. When Rhys returned to the tent he saw Kieran was nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by a familiar figure sitting on the ground, holding her knees to her chest. Rhys’ heart sank. He did not know how to face her.

At his approach Laurita looked up and much like her father showed no recognition at first, her confusion eventually turning into a slack-jawed gape. “Rhys? What happened to you? You barely even look like yourself! She reached out to touch his face with an almost trance-like expression, withdrawing her hand at the last minute as she realized the strangeness of what she was doing. “Well, whatever it is I have something to say first. I’ve been waiting here for a while, hoping I’d run into you. I…well, I talked to Jessa last night.”

“What?” Whatever Rhys had been expecting it was not that. His heart jolted at the mention of Jessa, a thousand prayers of thanks going through his mind just knowing she was safe. Suddenly those thoughts stopped. He knew no such thing. Laurita understood his thoughts just from his expression. “She’s fine, Rhys. At least, as well as could be expected. She-“ Laurita paused, biting her lip in thought. Rhys thoughts began to race, thinking of every possible thing that could be wrong. “She seemed a bit off, but I couldn’t really place why. I think she’s safe, though.”

Rhys did not want to probe into what Laurita meant by “off,” knowing he needed no such distractions. Still, the knowledge that Jessa was safe let him breathe a sigh of relief. He watched as Laurita continued to watch him with concern, her brow furrowed. “Are you…upset?”

“Upset?” Rhys shook his head. “Why would I be upset?”

“I told her about Miriyam.”

In the chaos of the last few hours Rhys had forgotten all about Miriyam. Perhaps on another day in other circumstances Rhys would feel some anger, knowing Laurita had gone behind his back, but in the current situation Rhys felt nothing. Laurita raised her eyebrows in surprise as Rhys only shook his head. “You’re not even slightly upset? But you seemed so adamant about not telling her. Rhys, what’s going on?”

“Your father is being sent to the front with me. To the ambush.” The words tumbled out of Rhys before he could think to formulate them in a more eloquent way, but once they were out there was no taking them back. Laurita only stared in shock without understanding. “The ambush? I thought the army was avoiding Solridge? I don’t understand…”

“I convinced the queen to send soldiers to Soldrige, to use me as a puppet-leader as retribution against her generals. I didn’t know your father would be brought into this. I’m so sorry. I never would have done this if I’d known.”

Laurita all but fell to the ground, slumping against the tent and pulling her legs to her chest. Rhys kneeled beside her and took her hand in his. “No. No. This can’t-“ a horrible sob choked Laurita mid-sentence, her eyes growing red with tears that began to well. “He can’t die. He can’t. I can’t lose him, Rhys.” Rhys had never seen Laurita so utterly despondent, not even when Odaren had gone missing. She began to shake, each sob ripping from her chest cutting into Rhys like a dagger. Rhys pulled Laurita into a crushing hug, holding her head against his chest as she continued to cry unlike Rhys had ever seen. “I promise you I will not let your father die. I will protect him with my life.” Laurita’s hiccupped, pulling back from the hug to stare into Rhys’ eyes with a piercing look that made Rhys feel weak. “We will win this battle and I will bring your father back safe and sound, ok?” Laurita did not look entirely convinced but she slowed the flow of tears, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve and giving Rhys a pathetic nod.

“You’ll protect my father?”

“In any way I can.”

“And who will protect you?”

Rhys had no answer.

[Mollianne]

“So, how does this work?”

Over an hour had passed since Jessa had arrived at the Tremonts’ manor before she was granted the opportunity to sit down alone with Lady Tremont. Though Jessa certainly understood that she had visited very early, and uninvited no less, that had not been the cause for the delay. Lady Tremont had made an appearance only half an hour after Jessa’s arrival, but upon Jessa’s announcement that she thought she wanted the mind block, the older woman had simply asked her if she had eaten that morning. When Jessa replied in the negative, Lady Tremont had crooked a finger and left the room without explanation. From there, Jessa had been forced to sit at the breakfast table – thankfully only Lady Tremont was awake at this hour – while servants brought out bread, fish and some elaborate filo pastry spiral one of the servants told her was an Antascian delicacy. The smell of the cheese was strong, and given Jessa was not fond of cheese she was loathe to try it. But under Lady Tremont’s gaze, Jessa knew she would try it. She’d bit into it, frowning immediately. It wasn’t just the odd crumbly texture of the cheese that put Jessa off, for there was some strange ingredient that definitely did not complement the strong cheese. When Jessa tried to nonchalantly discard the half-eaten pastry on the side of her plate, Lady Tremont had smirked. It didn’t escape Jessa’s notice that she, too, completely avoided the supposed delicacy. Once, Jessa had attempted to subtly draw Lady Tremont into a conversation on magic and the mind block, but all the woman had done was widen her eyes significantly in the servants’ direction and Jessa had given up.

Presently, Lady Tremont lifted a finger and shook her head at Jessa’s question. Not a minute later, two servants entered the room. One held open the door while the other struggled with a huge pot. Whatever was inside, it was heavy and steamy. Jessa jumped to her feet and went to offer help to the poor man. He tried to stop her, but as soon as Jessa took some of the weight he shut up and smiled at her gratefully. As they staggered to the centre of the room, Jessa looked down at the contents of the pot. It was a white, lumpy mixture – porridge. Hadn’t they just eaten?

The servant directed Jessa towards a large flat stone beside the coffee table. As they bent to put it down, Jessa’s foot brushed the edge of the stone. She pulled back in alarm. It was warm. Staring down at it, she did not notice the servant bow and leave the room. She did not realise she and Lady Tremont were finally alone.

“Yes, the stone is magic. It will stay hot for a full day without any sign of waning.”

Jessa nodded absently. Moving back to her armchair, she said, “But why is there porridge, my lady? We just ate.”

“The magic we’re about to perform is draining. Eating helps. Usually I would want something a little less bland, but after the Novarians took Ferande we need to start rationing our resources. Oats are one of the easiest commodity to come by, and anyway a small amount of porridge will go a long way to keeping our energy up.”

That pot was not small. How exhausted did Lady Tremont think they would be? Dubiously, Jessa asked again, “So how does this work?”

Lady Tremont leaned back in her armchair and steepled her fingers. “The way I block the mind is more complex that simply barring everything from an outsider. That method is insecure at best. If someone does break through, all of your memories are exposed. Instead, you determine a set of core memories, around which I place smaller blocks – these are very strong. From there, any memories connected to that core will gather and be blocked under a layering system. This means that even if the first layer is broken, the memories behind that will remain hidden. I build up the layers until finally the whole mind is protected by one layer without any cracks. This is relatively weak, so if someone knows it is there they could probably get through with some effort. The power in this final layer is that it is almost impossible to detect. It is hidden by a set of pseudo-memories, most of which are copy of the real memories.”

Jessa frowned, but Lady Tremont did not give her the opportunity to speak. “The memories you are trying to hide will be replaced with something more innocuous – we’ll decide what together.” She fixed her gaze upon Jessa then. Any hint of humour that had been there at breakfast was gone. “I ask that you seriously consider whether something truly needs to be hidden – creating even one false but believable memory is extremely taxing. If there’s a long period of time you want to hide – well, that’s a lot of memories to make. I can make it easier by copying one mundane day over and over and presuming no one will look too closely. Generally this is the case, since a mage has to know roughly what they are looking for in order to find memories on that subject, and there’s little to hook onto a day where nothing happens. You seem puzzled.”

Lady Tremont’s voice did not change – she barely even paused for breath – so it took Jessa a moment to realise she was supposed to speak. “I… just, if most of my memories will just be copied and therefore visible, why not just block only the memories I want to hide? That’s what I have now, but I thought this would might be more secure?”

“Before?”

Jessa shifted uncomfortably. “Before I came to Ovis, I knew I would need some protection. I couldn’t do it myself, and the mage I asked for help only blocked certain memories. I… don’t know how to drop the block. I have to use my magic to keep the block active, so it’ll go in time, but…”

“I think I know the type of block you’re describing. If I know where it is, I should be able to break it down fairly easily.” Lady Tremont looked even more intrigued. Jessa might have been surprised the other woman did not press further but for the fact that by the day’s end Lady Tremont would know everything anyway. After a moment, Lady Tremont sighed and said, “But going back to your question, the point isn’t to hide memories you aren’t concerned about. The point is that if you don’t have a total mind block, then there’s a noticeable difference between what is hidden and what is not. A total mind block prevents any chinks in the armour. Or, if you like, think about how you could hide something in the centre of a room with a wall. Either you could box it in, or you build a wall across the length of the room. The first one draws attention – why are there walls in the middle of the room? – but the second just gives you a smaller room. Maybe someone would be suspicious, but it’s much less obvious.” Lady Tremont shrugged. “In any case, one of the primary reasons this magic is useful isn’t for hiding memories so much as preventing the true memory from being tampered with.”

“Tampered with?” Jessa’s voice came out as a squeak. She gripped the armrests.

“If an attacker can only access a copy, then if they do something to it the true memory is still intact. Now that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be confusing for the victim. Changing fake memories makes little difference since both versions will still feel essentially like stories to the victim. But for real memories, the copies feel real too. You won’t notice there are two versions of it because they’re identical. But if one is altered, then suddenly there are two different versions – both of which the mind convinces itself happened. That can cause… difficulties.”

Jessa sucked in a breath. She tried to calm herself; Alrick was not altering her memories. He wanted to know what she knew. When he eventually confronted her, that would be his goal. There was no reason for him to change her memories. “You really can’t just change all of the copies, just slightly?”

“Even if it didn’t take more effort that I have, to change every memory, even slightly, requires intimately knowing every single memory. That isn’t how this needs to work.”

Frowning, Jessa breathed, “It isn’t?”

“It’s not me that needs to know the memories. It’s my magic. How many memories do you think you have in your life, my girl, and how much time do you think we have? Most of your memories, except the core ones, are going to come as flashes so fast I’ll only get an impression of them rather than the full detail. The magic will know it all, because it doesn’t have a human brain that needs to process everything. I’ll still know enough that it generally makes people extremely uncomfortable – I must stress that, for you really should not make this decision lightly – but I won’t remember every detail.”

Jessa bit her lip. Even though she had come here knowing that this was important enough that she would go through with it regardless of her own discomfort, she felt a little better knowing that Lady Tremont would not know absolutely everything. “So how do we do this? How do these core memories work? Is it the most important?” Jessa didn’t know how to even begin to figure out which of her memories were the most integral to her. Was that something anyone could know?

“Not at all. Simply you choose memories that represent the various aspects of your life that you want to separate. There’s no right or wrong answer here. It’s generally a good idea to pick a memory you hold dear – something that comes clearly to you when you think about a specific thing. It doesn’t really matter how many core memories you have. You just need enough to broadly encompass everything. They don’t have to be equal, either – one could be for your entire childhood and another could be for one year. I would advise you to be fairly specific with anything you want hidden. The more spread out those memories are the better.” She paused, appraising Jessa. “Would you like me to leave you alone while you decide?”

Jessa’s heart raced with panic. “No,” she said, too quickly. “I’ve no idea what I’m doing. You should stay.”

“Very well.” The woman leaned forward and picked up a book that was lying on the coffee table. “I am here if you have any questions.”

For a moment, Jessa watched Lady Tremont as she opened the book and began to read. She shook herself, knowing she needed to focus. How did one split their life into such neat boxes? To a point, didn’t everything intermingle? How could Jessa separate everything from the last few months? It didn’t seem possible for everything was too entangled. She could not easily separate her knowledge of Alrick’s magic from her involvement with Novamor in the war, but surely they ought to be two separate blocks. She would have another for her research at the university, partially because so much of it was related to Greater magic, but also because she wanted to protect her life’s work separately from everything else. As for her childhood, she decided that she would split it into two. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but Lady Tremont had said that smaller blocks were harder to break, and if she kept her whole childhood together and Alrick got through… well, Lady Tremont had terrified her that her memories could get altered and she could not bear the thought of mother’s memory warped in her mind. Then there was her time in Jasrah, which of course meant Rhys. Not that Rhys wasn’t everywhere in the last few months of memories. Jessa rubbed her temples and refused to let herself linger on thoughts of Rhys. Lastly, there was everything that had happened in Ovis: Larend, trying to gather support for Nayall, the mages hiding out underneath the city, spying on Alrick…

“How do I hide my memories going forward?”

Lady Tremont looked up from the book. Jessa could tell she had not even turned the page since she’d opened it. The book was just a ruse, though Jessa supposed that was preferable to Lady Tremont just sitting there and waiting.

“The magic works such that it will temporarily hide your memories – and by this I mean for less than a week. You will need to come to me. I would say at least biweekly.”

“But won’t that look suspicious?”

“Is it not better than the alternative? The new memories will leak without being properly bound. The pseudo-memories can look like the real thing when there’s nothing to compare them with, but next to real memories they will pale in comparison. And there’s no telling how such a leak could affect your mind even if no one does read it.”

“Oh.”

Lady Tremont eyed her. “Lady Jessa, how long do you intend to have this mind block?”

Jessa frowned, not expecting the questions. “As long as it takes.”

“As long as what takes?”

There was no point in hiding it if the woman was only going to learn it from her head in the next few hours. Nevertheless, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “To depose the king.”

Lady Tremont’s eyebrows rose and her jaw dropped. After barely a second she snapped her mouth closed, but still she stared at Jessa. She had rendered the woman speechless. Jessa clasped her hands together and said, “I could go into it, but…” She waved at her head. Lady Tremont continued to stare. “Lady Tremont? Why did you ask how long I would have the mind block?”

The words had the desired effect, pulling Lady Tremont back into the present. She cleared her throat and muttered, “Yes, yes.” Scratching her cheek, she looked at Jessa. “Right. I ask because long term use has some… side effects. Do you remember Lady Janes’ illness?”

Jessa sucked in a breath. Lady Tremont smiled sadly. “Now this is after years of use, but I shouldn’t keep this from you anyway. Lady Janes seemed perfectly healthy until she had had the mind block for six years, though I would guess the symptoms started earlier without her realising. First, she came to me complaining of migraines and dizzy spells. After a while, she became easily fatigued and weak and rarely left her own house. Of course I suggested she remove the mind block, but she refused and insisted that I start visiting her. Later, she became forgetful – she was losing her true memories after years of them being locked away. The magic was slowly eating her mind. Magic isn’t meant to stay inside another person for so long. Now you… you might last longer, given you are a mage yourself. But really, I can’t say. I know little more than what my father taught me about magic, so as far as I’m concerned it is unpredictable. It is a risk though, so I will ask again: do you want to do this?”

If this war lasted six years, Jessa highly doubted she would live to see it. She would be dead in a couple of years, and that was being optimistic. The possibility of some far-off illness could hardly change her decision when she would probably not live long enough for the symptoms to develop. Even if they did come earlier, this was too important. Someone in Ovis needed to know and continue her plans. Jessa’s life didn’t matter, as long as her goals lived on. Etrene and its peoples’ survival was the only thing that mattered.

“Yes.”

“Do you have your core memories?” Lady Tremont asked. Jessa nodded. Lady Tremont crooked a finger with one hand and patted the sofa beside her with the other. “We will be more comfortable if we are closer.”

Biting her lip, Jessa walked around the coffee table to sit beside Lady Tremont, who, strangely, was pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged on the sofa. She looked pointedly at Jessa until she followed suit. When they were settled and facing each other, Lady Tremont held out her hands. “I find it easier to have a physical connection. It grounds both of us. It’s very easy to feel like you have no physical form when it comes to mind magic, especially when it involves memories. But I leave the choice to you. The magic doesn’t need it.”

It seemed such a trivial thing given the woman was about to see literally everything in her head, so Jessa placed her hands atop Lady Tremont’s, noting that her skin was like paper, the smoothness of youth long gone. Jessa appreciated being given this choice, even for something so small, and guessed that had been Lady Tremont’s intention. The woman’s fingers curled around Jessa’s hand, keeping her firmly in place. “Are you comfortable?” she asked. Jessa replied in the affirmative. “If at any point this gets too much, we will stop. As I say, some people don’t really remember their body during this process, but if you do, you can stop me by removing your hands or saying stop aloud. If not, just think it. I’ll hear it. Or you can pull the memories back, though that’s by far the hardest thing to do.”

Jessa’s fingers tightened involuntarily around Lady Tremont’s hands. “How-” she started before faltering. “How do you see the memories?”

“You will start the process. I will make my presence very obvious in your mind – you’ll feel my magic, though in what way I can’t really say. It’s different for everyone. You simply bring forth the core memories. After each core memory, my magic will search for other memories connected to that theme, with your help. I’ll need you to keep relaxed and your mind open, but if you do pull back or close off, don’t worry about it. It’s perfectly normal. We can stop, calm you down, and then continue. Now, your magic may be a little trickier to deal with, for it will sense me as a foreign danger and try to prevent me from seeing your memories. I need you to keep that back as much as possible. If it does leak out, again it’s not a problem. I’ve dealt with it before so don’t worry about hurting me. In this end you are the one that matters here. I know what I’m doing if something goes wrong.”

Jessa couldn’t speak. She simply nodded while Lady Tremont spoke. The woman smiled encouragingly at her, then asked how many core memories she had decided upon. They discussed quietly for a few minutes, Jessa barely able to speak for the rushing sound in his ears and head. She was really doing this. It hadn’t quite felt real until this moment. Her heart pounded. “Calm, Jessa,” Lady Tremont said. “Breathe in, and out.”

Their eyes met, and Jessa held the gaze as she inhaled, exhaled, until she felt calm. Before she could ruin it, she said, “Let’s just start.”

Although Jessa could tell that Lady Tremont wanted to ask her, once again, if she was sure she wanted to do this, the woman refrained. Jessa doubted she could take another moment of inaction. Seeing that Lady Tremont had closed her eyes, Jessa did the same. She kept calm, waiting. And then, there. She felt Lady Tremont’s magic like a heavy presence in her mind. It lingered on what Jessa could only describe as the fringes of her mind, if she could attach physicality to such a thing. It waited. “The first memory, Jessa, when you’re ready.” Jessa had no idea if Lady Tremont had spoken aloud or in her mind.

Jessa hesitated. The memory had come to her immediately, but upon seeing her mother’s smiling face she felt a tightness in her chest. She watched her mother, her red hair blowing in the sea breeze. It was Jessa’s fifth birthday, and her mother had brought her to the sea. She gripped her mother’s leg through her skirts and stared up at her fearfully. Until then, her mother had taken her to the cliffs, where the sea was far below. This was the first time she had been on a beach. Unlike Jasrah’s sandy shores, the beach was rocky. The stones were slick under Jessa’s small feet. She didn’t want to go into the sea. She didn’t want to go any closer unless she fell on the rocks and hurt herself. She’d seen someone else fall over as they’d arrived and they’d hobbled off the beach with a bleeding leg while Jessa stared.
“Mama, I want to go,” the child version of Jessa in her memory said, tugging on her mother’s skirt. Her mother bent down, brushing her knuckles against Jessa’s cheek.
“But you said you wanted to swim in the sea.”
“Not anymore.” Jessa looked at the water. It was perfectly calm, but Jessa remembered her fear.
“Why not?”
“I can’t get to it.”
“You’re not going to fall. I’m here.”
“But that lady…” Jessa’s gaze was drawn back to the sea. She did want to feel the water against her toes. There were just so many rocks between her and it. She screwed up her face and then nodded. “Okay.”
Her mother’s hand found hers and Jessa gripped it tightly. Together, they slowly picked their way across the rocks. Jessa used her free, tiny hand to balance herself. By the time they were halfway across, her hand was dirty, covered in little bits of dark sand and muddy water. But they were close now. Jessa sped up a little, ignoring her mother’s cautions. And then she fell, twisting her ankle painfully. Instantly she began to cry, clutching her ankle. Her mother was there in a moment, brushing her hair from her face and kissing her tears away.
“Let me see,” she said, pulling up the hem of Jessa’s dress and resting her hand on the ankle. “Oh, my darling, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m here. It’ll pass in a moment. It’s just a sprain.”
Her mother was right, the pain was already fading, but Jessa’s tears did not stop. She hiccupped, and her mother pulled her into her arms. “I’m here. Always.”
Jessa’s tears had slowly stopped, and when her mother asked if they wanted to go Jessa had refused. They had continued to the water’s edge, where the rocks finally became sand, and Jessa’s mother let go of her hand. When Jessa looked up at her mother, there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. With little more warning, her mother began to chase her, and Jessa squealed and ran, splashing in the shallows of the sea. Her mother had caught her eventually, wrapping her arms around her daughter and spinning her. Though the water was cold, they’d braved going deeper for a few minutes, splashing each other and laughing until the cold seeped into the bones and they retreated to the shore. They returned to the castle through the north markets, where her mother spent all her money on a small chocolate cake. Jessa had never had one before. It was the best cake Jessa had ever eaten.

The memory faded, but Jessa had barely a moment to recover before a barrage of memories were drawn out from the depths of her mind. Her mother’s face was in all of them, smiling and laughing as she showed Jessa everything she could of their small world. She felt the memory of kisses on her cheeks, of her mother ruffling her hair and trying to distract her as she read her newest book. She saw the mouse she had told Rhys about, the one she had found in her mother’s room and nursed back to health. It took all Jessa’s strength to let the memories rush past her rather than grabbing them and refusing to let go. She had not let herself remember her mother so vividly in years. Without magic, memories were not so clear, and seeing her mother’s face again, so happy and healthy, was something Jessa didn’t want to lose. But she must. Another memory: her mother showing her around the castle garden one summer, her voice high and excited as she hugged her daughter to her side and told her about all the new blooms and let her touch the petals of a beautiful cerulean blue flower that had caught Jessa’s eye. She let the memory slide by, but let the happiness it brought her buoy her. It all came crashing down when she saw her mother’s parents in one brief memory, her grandmother lying frail and weak on a bed during a breakout of what became known as the Blue Death. She had never seen either of her grandparents again.

“Jessa, you’re doing great. Don’t pull back just yet.” The voice came from far away. Jessa used it as an anchor, reminding herself of her task. The last few memories slipped by, though Jessa wished there were some way she could avoid them. Her mother, dying. Her face white. Holding Jessa’s hand one last time. Her father, who had featured little in Jessa’s earlier life, kneeling at her mother’s side while Jessa waited on the far side of the room. After that, her mother had told her that her father had agreed to send her to school. It was the only true smile Jessa had been able to give her mother in the last week of her life. Jessa had not known her mother would die – at five, she hadn’t known what that meant until after it actually happened – but she had known she wasn’t the same as usual. She hadn’t read to Jessa at bedtime like normal. Her smiles had been wrong.

“Jessa? Are you okay?”

Jessa opened her eyes, realising her hands were in her lap rather than in Lady Tremont’s grip. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She rubbed them away furiously, keeping her head bowed. She couldn’t look at Lady Tremont. She couldn’t speak either. Her throat was tight. The next thing she knew, there was a bowl of porridge being held out to her. Slowly, she looked up. Lady Tremont put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing, and nudged the bowl against her hand. “Eat.”

Jessa didn’t realise how much she needed the sustenance until she started eating. The porridge was gone within minutes, and Jessa’s tears with it. It was only when she was done that she looked at Lady Tremont again. The woman was eating her own porridge – much slower than Jessa – but on noticing Jessa’s stare she stopped and gave her a small smile.

“I’m okay,” Jessa said, though that wasn’t strictly true. She was better, but her mother’s memories were at the forefront of her mind and she couldn’t stop replaying them. Her mother bundling her up for a winter walk, fussing over whether she would get too cold, then later snuggling in front of the fire while her mother read her a book. Jessa swallowed. She couldn’t keep doing this.

“Can we do the next memory?” Jessa asked. Lady Tremont appraised her, then put down her bowl and proffered her hands. Jessa took them and closed her eyes.

The next core memory was Jessa’s first day at her third school. It was a boarding school, far enough from Ovis that none of the children there were Ovisian. Mostly they were lesser nobles and merchant children from towns on the north coast of Etrene, and none of them knew Jessa’s origins. Despite that, Jessa had had no intention of making friends. Her experiences with the children at her last two schools had been less than pleasant. Though she had known beforehand that she would sleep in a dormitory with nine other girls, it was quite different seeing all the empty beds before her when she arrived. She had been the first one there, and had promptly selected one of the beds on the far end. It was by the window, with a view of the grey sea. A few hours later, another girl had come in with her parents. They chattered away as they helped her unpack her belongings. She had chosen the bed directly across from Jessa, also with a window view. Once they were done, her parents had nudged the girl into coming over to Jessa. Jessa had scrambled to her feet, curtseying. The girl giggled. Jessa’s face burned as she realised that she probably didn’t need to do that here – she wasn’t in Ovis surrounded by the nobility. This was just a girl. She stared at the floor.
“Hi, I’m Harriet – Hattie.”
“Jessa,” she mumbled. There was a hand under her nose. She looked up, seeing the girl’s earnest expression. Hattie thrust her hand forward again, reminding Jessa it was there. She took it tentatively, and the girl shook it.
“Are you excited?” she asked.
“Yes,” Jessa said, nodding fast. “Have you heard about the library?”
“Oh.” Hattie giggled. “No, I didn’t mean that. I meant the annual camping trip next month. I’ve been waiting since my sister started here last year to go.”

As it turned out, the money that the king had set aside for Jessa’s tuition did not cover extracurricular trips, and after a couple of weeks of tentative friendships with her dormmates, they had all gone on the camping trip. Jessa had not been the only one in her year to remain, but she did not know any of the others and had spent the week in the library, getting a head start on the Antascian literature in the reading list. When the girls had returned, they had so many jokes that Jessa didn’t know, and had so many stories of their adventures that they didn’t quite finish before they burst out laughing and said that she had to be there to understand. Jessa had drifted away from them.

She watched her life at school flash before her. She watched herself pull away, recognising now that there had probably been opportunities where she could have made friends but had instead retreated to the library and to safety. She saw Hattie now, watching her sadly from across the room during a card game while Jessa furiously worked on homework that was not due for a week. She saw their awkward goodbyes. She saw Hattie and the other girls fading from her thoughts. She saw her other schools. At fourteen, she went to a school in Ovis. Though the other princesses had no attended, many of the other children knew them well, and they hated Jessa on sight. All except one – Larend, who smiled at her over his book in the library. She saw her silly crush on him despite never really having spoken to him. She saw everyone else realise her feelings and laugh at her. She saw their cruelty as they locked her and Larend in a classroom during one lunchtime, and could hear their laughs through the door. Larend had apologised, but that had not stopped Jessa going to her teachers not a week later and asking to take the tests early. She had left the school for another within a month, and had never attended a school within the city itself again.

Despite it all, Jessa could never feel truly sad for any of it. Her solitude had driven her to the library, and the library had taught her the history of their world. She would not have changed that for anything.

Jessa pulled the memories back and felt Lady Tremont retreat from her mind. Another bowl of porridge was put in front of her, which Jessa devoured. She was still hungry. Unlike last time, the memories had spanned over ten years of her life. Lady Tremont shook her head at Jessa when she got up to get a second ladleful of porridge. As she ate, she glanced at the clock over the mantel piece. Three hours had passed already, Jessa realised with some surprise. She wondered what the king might think at her disappearance over the last couple of days. Would he even realised? If he did, at least he wouldn’t be able to read her mind and find out after today. That was some comfort. She looked at Lady Tremont, who was leaning back on the sofa as she ate her porridge. Her eyelids drooped. Wisps of her hair had come out of her tight bun. She already looked pretty exhausted after only the first two core memories. Jessa wondered just how much effort was needed to create the blocks, since Lady Tremont had said she would create the first layers as they went along. Jessa could only trust her word, for her mind felt no different to her except that long forgotten memories were now right at the fore.

Jessa was going to let Lady Tremont rest for a while, but as soon as the woman finished eating she held out her hands and they began again. Jessa showed her one of the best moments of her youth, when one of her teachers suggested to her that she study history at the university. Until that point, she had suspected that all of her schooling would come to nothing. The king would not fund her past school. The teacher, Miss Lina Clarence, had quickly become the best teacher Jessa had ever had. She encouraged Jessa, recommended over a dozen history books to her, one of which had been Jessa’s first introduction to the mess that was the current knowledge of the Barichean Wars. Without her, Jessa would never have gone to university, for it was she who learned of the scholarship that meant Jessa could afford the tuition. The king had had no reason to deny her the opportunity when he did not need to pay for it.

Jessa’s years at university, both as a student and later a scholar, passed by in the same blur as the previous years of her life. She saw flashes of studying, of quiet rooms during exams, of late nights. She saw her first kiss, awkward and unexpected. Jessa did not really wish to relive the moment, but there it was in her head. They had worked together on a project, though together was a loose term. Her partner had been lazy and unconcerned, and it had taken one of their two weeks to even get him to focus. Once he did, it had been surprisingly nice working with someone, and he’d had some interesting insights. In the end, it had been the first time Evan had received the top grade, and he’d been so excited and declared he would take her out for a drink. At first, it had been fun. The tavern was a local haunt for the university students, and Jessa got carried away by it all. She had never gone out with the other students before. Both she and Evan drank a little too much wine. He had hugged her, and the next thing they both knew they were kissing. It was barely more than a chaste press of lips, and Jessa still had no idea who had initiated it. They’d broken apart, apologising profusely, and Jessa had wanted to die of embarrassment. Evan had brushed it off and refused to let it make their night awkward, but it already had. She had been surprised a few days later when Evan had invited her out to the tavern again, and she had awkwardly declined. She had been less surprised when he asked her if she would be his project partner for their final later on that year, claiming her needed her help desperately.

When Lady Tremont and Jessa stopped again, there was a small smirk on Lady Tremont’s face. “What?” Jessa asked warily.

“I think that boy might have liked you.”

Jessa shook her head. If Lady Tremont hadn’t been her elder, she would have told her not to be so ridiculous. Lady Tremont’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m not saying that’s why he wanted to work with you so much. But that second time you went out with him and his friends, I think he wanted to kiss you again and just knew you didn’t want him to.”

Jessa busied herself with collecting them some porridge and did not deign to respond. Honestly, it mattered little compared to what was coming next. Jasrah, Rhys, and Novamor.

“The other block I have… It’s for my next memories. All my remaining core ones.”

Lady Tremont nodded tiredly. “Let’s get this over with, then. If you guide me to the memories, then I can find the block more easily and break it. As long as you don’t resist me, it shouldn’t be too difficult.” Jessa could hear the hopeful tone that very much suggested the woman doubted it would be as simple as he had said.

They clasped hands, and after a moment Jessa felt Lady Tremont’s presence in her mind. She wasn’t exactly sure how to bring her to the block, so she simply thought of one of the memories hidden behind it – the moment she learned she had Greater magic. She felt Lady Tremont’s magic surge forward, and though she could not see the block, it was clearly attacking something. Jessa’s magic tried to rise in defence, and frantically Jessa tried to push it down. It didn’t hurt, like Jessa might have expected. Her head just felt full with the heady sensation of someone else’s magic. After what felt like hours, but might have been only minutes, she felt all the memories that had been behind the block surge forward, a barrage of sound and colours. She heard Lady Tremont sigh heavily and felt her retreat from her mind.

Once Jessa’s memories too retreated, she opened her eyes and looked at Lady Tremont with concern. The woman was completely different to the prim and proper woman she had met that morning. She was sprawled on the sofa, her hair completely falling out of her bun, and her eyes were closed. When Jessa started to speak, the woman waved a tired hand in her direction. “Just a few minutes,” she breathed, turning her head away from Jessa.

Jessa hurried to fetch some porridge, which she put on the coffee table in front of Lady Tremont for when she had recovered enough to eat it. Then, she sat beside her and tentatively took her hand. Eventually, she felt the woman’s hand tighten around hers. Lady Tremont sat up slowly, patting Jessa’s hand in thanks. She picked up the porridge bowl and spooned it into her mouth, carefully and laboriously. “There’s not too much left, is there?” she joked.

“I’m sorry,” Jessa said quietly.

“No, no. I know what’s to come. This is everything you wish to hide, is it not? Well, I suppose we should just get on with it. You have no idea how much I want my bed right now.”

Jessa didn’t want to say that she doubted Lady Tremont would get a particularly restful sleep after learning the full extent of both hers and the king’s deceptions. Wisely, she stayed silent. Because Lady Tremont seemed too weak, Jessa took the porridge bowl from her and took her hands in hers. “Not much longer,” she said in an attempt at comfort. Lady Tremont just smiled weakly.

“Just do it.”

“Are you sure you can…”

“Are you questioning my skill?”

“Not at all,” Jessa said, feeling chastened.

“I’m tired, but I do know what I’m doing. The blocks will be as strong as any of my others, I assure you.” Lady Tremont squeezed her hands weakly. “Now begin.”

Jessa hesitated, knowing what was coming next. Rhys. She hadn’t known what to choose for the core memory of their time together. All of it was so tainted by what she knew now. So she had chosen their wedding day. She watched it play out in her head, hearing their empty words and emptier kiss. She saw them dance at the party. She saw them locked in the bedroom as was custom, Jessa now thoroughly drunk. She saw it all, and she tried not to care about any of it. It was a safe memory, even when she was forced to see Rhys through her old eyes. He looked nothing like the Rhys she had thought she’d known in Novamor. This Rhys was miserable, even if she had not fully known the extent of it at the time. But she could see it now. He had just lost someone he loved to marry her – where was the justice in that? Seeing him, Jessa was glad they were now divorced. The Rhys in this memory deserved that.

The memory faded, followed by… everything. Jessa watched as her entire relationship with Rhys flashed before her. She watched his initial cruelty and tried to hold back her tears. She watched that fateful dinner, where the Marinons had enacted their terrible retribution on those they’d decided had wronged them, and felt nauseous all over again. She saw Rhys’ friends, welcoming her into their group even though she absolutely did not belong. She saw Selene, kissing Rhys that first night back in Jasrah. She saw Rhys, drunk. Again, and again. She saw him drunkenly tell her she was beautiful, the start of his game to win her heart. Jessa gasped back a sob when she saw the pantheon. She couldn’t do this. From far away, she felt Lady Tremont’s hands tighten on hers. She had to do this. Gulping in air, Jessa let the memories come back. The pantheon flashed back into her mind. She saw Rhys beside her, asking her why she was scared before kissing her. Jessa could almost feel his lips now and taste the sweetness of his kiss. She felt his hand in her hair. And then the memory was gone, replaced by something that was almost worse. Their nights in the pantheon, quiet and safe, where she had told him everything about her. Where they had laughed together. Where she thought she had begun to know him. Even then, though, she had told herself that this was a fantasy – that this was not the real Rhys. At the time, she had meant that she was ignoring the Marinon side of him, but now, she knew it was not just that. She let the memories go, watching as it shifted to memories of Novamor. Rhys telling her he loved her. Jessa admitting her love for him. She realised what was coming next, but she could not stop it. She watched with embarrassment as she saw a flash of Rhys’ naked body, of his lips on her skin. She hoped fervently those memories were ones that went by too quickly for Lady Tremont to notice. This was mortifying, and Jessa was glad when the time came for their separation, even as she knew what was coming next. Rhys’ torture. She knew she was crying now, as she relieved one of the worst weeks of her life. She saw herself torture him, wanting it, and wanted to die. Her memories faltered but she forced herself to keep going. She saw her determination to help him escape that allowed her to sit there and let Anja cut her throat. And then she was helpless as she was forced once again to relive the moment Rhys kissed that anonymous woman. She saw their lips meet…

She couldn’t do it. Jessa released Lady Tremont’s hands and buried her face in her hands. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her body racked with sobs.

“Oh, Jessa.” Lady Tremont shuffled slowly towards her and placed an arm around her shoulder. Jessa fell against the older woman, crying hard. “Oh my girl.”

Jessa couldn’t speak. She buried her head into the older woman’s shoulder and tried to stop her tears. It didn’t help. Lady Tremont murmured to her unintelligibly, rubbing her shoulder and tucking the hair falling into her face behind her ear. When her sobs began to subside, Lady Tremont said, “I know it isn’t possible right now, but if you ever get the chance to talk to him again, take it. You need to know the truth. Because from what I saw? I saw a man in love.”

“I thought he was.” But she was wrong. Why would he love her? “You’re seeing what I saw.” She pulled away from Lady Tremont, wiping her eyes. “Can we continue? Please?” Her voice cracked.

“Of course,” Lady Tremont said quietly. She took her hands gently, and Jessa noticed they were shaking with exhaustion. She did not waste any time, beginning with the core memory of her learning that she and the du Renes were mages. She felt Lady Tremont’s presence retreat, just a little, before its strength came back. Jessa wondered what that meant, but it was quickly overtaken by the barrage of memories of her time in Novamor. Going to the queen, learning about the mage ring, her and Rhys’ plan for her to come to Ovis. Everything that had happened in the last few months – Magrethe, Larend, Nayall. It all flashed before her, but Jessa was so exhausted, emotionally and physically, that she barely took it all in. She was done. It was almost like the memories were not hers anymore.

Eventually, her brain went quiet, all her memories shared. Lady Tremont let go of her hands and Jessa fell back against the sofa. She could feel Lady Tremont staring at her, but she refused to open her eyes. She didn’t want to deal with the questions. She didn’t want to deal with any of it. She just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. When she had decided to do this, she had not expected it would be so hard.

“Jessa?”

Knowing she could not avoid it, Jessa opened her eyes. Lady Tremont was still staring at her, something like awe on her face. Jessa expected questions, but given Lady Tremont had seen everything Jessa knew, she supposed there wasn’t really a need for them.

“Yes?”

Whatever Lady Tremont had been about to say, she seemed to be struggling with it. She shook her head. Perhaps she recognised Jessa did not want to talk. Jessa dropped her gaze. After a moment, she felt Lady Tremont’s hand rest over hers. “Both of us need time to recover. I need time to take all of this in. But I will say this, because right now you don’t need my questions and fears. Right now this is what you need to here: I don’t know how you’ve done what you’ve done. You are a braver woman than I could ever be, than I have been. And because of you, we will make a better Etrene.” She put a finger under Jessa’s chin, lifting her head so Jessa was forced to meet her gaze. “I promise.”

[Rosabeth]

Rhys could not bear to face Kieran. His uncle would not understand his reasoning. Rhys could picture it so easily, Kieran pleading with him to reconsider, reminding him of his family, of Jessa, of his friends. Reminding him of all those who would suffer Rhys' loss. The thought of Kieran's despair made Rhys want to reconsider, but he knew he could not. Rhys looked at his and Kieran's tent tentatively, for a moment considering being brave and doing what he knew in his heart he should. He could not. Rhys turned once more, heading back into camp for the thousandth time that night.

There was no point in trying to sleep. If sleep came at all, which Rhys knew it would not, it would only be nightmares. He would take the exhaustion any day. But those fears were not the only things keeping Rhys pacing the dark camp again and again, getting lost in the never ending maze of tents. There was something Rhys knew he needed to do, something that ate at him with each passing minute. He did not want to do it. He was not sure he could. To do it would destroy his last remaining thread of optimism, forcing him to face the unpleasant reality he did not want to acknowledge. Yet, Rhys could not ignore this. Were he in his family's position, were this ️Jessa in his position, he would want the same. He could not leave them without a word. His actions were cruel enough on their own.

Lights filtered through the gaps in Tula's tent even in the late hour. Several low voices were audible from the outside, no doubt advisors desperately attempting to talk Tula out of her plan. Rhys knew, as they probably did, that it was a fruitless effort. Once resolved, Tula was not one to change her mind. Rhys waited a moment before entering the tent himself, the guards barely giving him any notice. Rhys did not know if it was his new look that gave him this this newfound benefit or merely the fact that he'd become quite the regular visitor. Inside, Rhys immediately recognized the two people standing near Tula, their words short and hard as they restrained themselves from admonishing their queen in the way they truly wished, a way they knew would not end well for them. Tula glanced at Rhys' entrance but said nothing, turning her attentions back to her frustrated generals. Rhys waited patiently as the two men argued their points to no avail, Tula only staring at them with a hard-set mouth and a single cocked brow. Growing tired of their protests Tula eventually held up a hand, silencing the men mid-sentence.

"Perhaps you should have thought about this last week when I urged you to consider my plan. But you didn't." Tula's eyes flickered back to Rhys. "Go. I'll speak with you in the morning." Practically shaking with rage, lips pursed into tight lines, both generals gave the queen curt bows before sweeping from the room, casting scathing glares at Rhys on their way out.

"You did this," Tula sighed, looking pointedly at Rhys, though she did not sound particularly upset. Her voice was heavy with exhaustion and she sunk into a chair, placing her head in her hands. "Please tell me you're not here to give me some other ill-advised idea."

"No," Rhys replied quietly. "I was wondering if you had some parchment I could use. I'd like to write a few letters."

The pity clear on Tula's face told Rhys she knew exactly what the letters were for. She nodded, gesturing to the small desk in the corner. Rhys thanked her silently before settling into the desk chair, his fingers brushing against the loose parchment and eventually settling on an ornate pen embossed with Tula's family's seal. Rhys did not know where to start. His hand hovered over the parchment, the pen only an inch above, a thousand words coming to mind but nothing seeming quite right. He sat that way for quite some time before finally throwing caution to the wind and beginning, letting the words flow naturally.

He started with his mother. Her letter was the easiest, the one that came naturally. They had always had an easy relationship, her love unwavering and her support constant. He gave her his love, thanked her for everything, and asked her to care for ️Jessa in his absence. There was a caveat to this request Rhys did not want to acknowledge - it assumed ️Jessa would be alive too. That was one assumption Rhys could not live without. To think anything else was devastating beyond comprehension. Anja was somewhat harder, their relationship tumultuous to say the least. Still, he could not die without letting her know that he loved her, that he did not hold their animosity against her.

When Rhys finally came to his father's letter he paused, shaking out his cramping hand as he pondered what to say. There was so much left unsaid between the two, so much that deserved more than a hastily scrawled letter in the middle of the night. Rhys thought back to what Kieran had told him the other night, of the message he'd relayed on Rhys' father's behalf. He wished he'd been a better father. Rhys could not pretend his father's blatant favoritism of Anja had not stung for all those years, his feelings of inadequacy weighing heavy on him at every look of disappointment. Yet Rhys no longer held such resentment. His father had always been right - Anja was far better suited for the job than Rhys had ever been. His father naming Anja as heir, as much as it had hurt at the time, Rhys now had to acknowledge was likely in his best interest. He did not pretend the decision did not still wound him, but he could no longer blame his father's actions. In the end, Rhys could only attempt to absolve his father of his guilt, hoping that when all was said and done he would know that Rhys had always loved him despite everything.

By the time Rhys got to the last letter, the one he'd been putting off as long as possible, Tula was dozing in her chair, concern clear on her face even in sleep. Rhys must have started that letter a thousand times, feeling guilty for the wasted parchment with each failed attempt. Nothing felt right at first, all his words feeling empty with each pen stroke. Rhys did not know how to say goodbye to ️Jessa. There were things he wanted to say he knew he'd never be able to write, things that could not be said with words alone. Rhys was no author, his words feeling awkward and stilted even with much thought put into them . Eventually he sighed and began again, this time foregoing any attempts at eloquence. He let his heart speak what his mind could not.

I wish this letter never had to reach you at all, and for that I’m sorry. I wish I could see you one last time, that you could hear these things from my lips rather than this way, but I am glad you can hear them regardless. I know you may hate the choices I’ve made that lead me to this but if what I’ve done leads to a better, safer world for you then it will have been worth it.

Rhys did not know how much time had passed when he finally wrote his last words, but from the hints of sunlight peeking in from the outside he knew it was nearing time for him to leave. Rhys hand shook as he signed his name, feeling the tears welling in his eyes. He choked back a strangled sob. He stared down at he letter, realizing fully for the first time what it meant if it's contents were ever read. These were his last words to ️Jessa, the only piece of him she would ever have. He would be dead. Though that thought shook him to his core, the thought of ️Jessa reading his letter, knowing he was gone forever, was a thousand times worse. Rhys brought the letter to his lips, placing an invisible kiss on the parchment before folding and sealing the letter with wax. It was done. There was no going back.

Tula was gone from the tent when Rhys looked about. He realized he'd not even heard her wake, had somehow not seen her leave. He wondered how long the last letter must have taken him. Rhys tucked the four letters inside his coat before exiting the tent. The moment he stepped out into the morning sun he was greeted by the one person he did not wish to see. The look of betrayal on Kieran's face ached like a knife to the heart.

"How could you?"

"How did you know where I was?"

"Tula told me." Rhys cursed the queen under his breath, though he had to admire her own courage. He was glad to have been absent from Kieran's initial reaction. "Rhys, how could you be so reckless? So stupid? I thought you were smarter than this. I thought you cared more than this."

Kieran's words stung but Rhys knew they were no more than angry lashings. Still, that knowledge did not make the feeling any less painful. "This plan is insane, Rhys! The both of you are insane. I don't know how you ever got Tula to agree to it. That she could possibly go along with it..." Kieran pressed his lips together, looking away in anger as he tried to hold back harsher words. "Do you care nothing for your life?"

"Of course I do!" Rhys snapped back. "But this is more than just me. There are thousands - millions - of people who's lives depend on the outcome of this war. We cannot sit idly by when we have a chance to turn the tides in our favor. We have a chance, I know we do. It might be small but there's a chance. How can we not take it?"

"Because this plan is lunacy! You know the king has set a trap and you walk right into it! You might as well just offer him your head if you're so eager to die!" Kieran paused a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he slowed his breathing. "You're not a soldier, Rhys. You're not obligated to do any of this. You never signed up for this."

"I signed up for this war the day I went to Kolonis. I'm responsible. I can't send other men and women to their deaths, serving my purposes, and not be willing to fight myself. Can you not see the cowardice in that?"

"I would not judge you for that." Kieran's voice was suddenly quiet and controlled, a sharp contrast to only moments ago. "I wish you were afraid to die like you should be. I don't care if it's selfish - I'll be selfish for the both of us. Don't do this, Rhys. I can't let you die. I made a promise to your mother to keep you safe. Don't make me break that promise. I can't do that to Vysa."

It was a low blow and Rhys winced at the words, even knowing they were coming. He envisioned it then, Kieran arriving in Jasrah to deliver Rhys' letters, Rhys' mother sobbing uncontrollably at the loss of yet another son. The image was more painful than he could bear. Rhys forced it from his mind. He would not be swayed. "I have a duty to ️️Jessa. I can't let her stay trapped in the castle with that monster. Every day this war drags on is another day he could kill her, of worse." Rhys could not think of the alternatives. "I'm willing to sacrifice what I must to end this."

"Rhys, you have a duty to live for ️Jessa! What good are you to her dead?"

"I'd rather be dead with her alive and safe than alive with her suffering."

"I wish you weren't so damn noble," Kieran seethed. His shoulders sunk and Rhys knew that, despite his anger, Kieran was out of arguments. He could only stare at Rhys in the hopes that guilt would override his sense of duty.

"I'm sorry, Kieran."

Before Rhys could lose his nerve he reached into his coat, fumbling with the letters with shaky fingers. As he held them out to Kieran his uncle sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head in understanding. "Please," Rhys begged, his knuckles growing white as he gripped the letters. "Please do this one thing for me."

With reluctance Kieran took the letters, staring down at them as if they were laced with poison. Rhys fingers rubbed against the wedding band on his right hand, feeling the smooth, silver edges. Slowly, he removed the ring, placing it in Kieran's empty palm. "For ️Jessa."

Kieran stared helplessly down at the ring before his fingers closed tightly over it. Without warning Kieran threw his arms around Rhys, embracing him tightly as his body began to shake. Rhys felt frozen in place. He'd never seen his uncle cry. To see his uncle, the man Rhys had looked up to as a child, the man who seemed perpetually confident and collected, loved by all, so utterly broken hurt Rhys more than he could have possibly imagined. He hugged his uncle back as tightly as he could, praying it would not be for the last time.

"Thank you," Rhys whispered as his uncle pulled back, Kieran's eyes red though his face free of tears.

"Just...try not to die, alright? Please. For my sake."

"We can win this. I would not have suggested it if we had no chance," Rhys assured his uncle with a heavy nod. Rhys was not sure who exactly he was trying to persuade with his words - Kieran or himself.

Kieran accompanied Rhys as they made their way to the edge of camp where the army awaited. Rhys hands clenched and unclenched as he walked, his nerves choking him with each step. The moment they stepped into the field outside camp Rhys sucked in a breath. Soldiers stood in formation as far as the eye could see, thousands of foot soldiers awaiting commands and hundreds of cavalry tending to their horses. The fact that this was only a fraction of the number that resided at camp made Rhys' head swim. Rhys looked straight ahead as he strode to the front of the battalions, trying to avoid the thousands of eyes that stared as he passed. To these soldiers Rhys was just a strange Etrenian on the wrong side of the war, dressed like a general but not one all the same. Rhys felt like the imposter he knew he was.

When Rhys finally reached the front, the four captains awaiting him, he immediately caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Laurita clung desperately to her father, her arms slung around his neck as he hugged her to him. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot but she did not cry. There were likely no tears left to shed. When she caught Rhys' eye she looked at him with a quiet, frantic plea. Rhys looked away in guilt.

"It's alright," Hal murmured to his daughter, his gruff voice catching on his words. He was holding back emotion. "I'll be back in a week if all goes well. You'll have plenty to keep you occupied while I'm gone. You're a strong girl - you'll be fine. Eh?" Laurita pulled back and looked in her father's eyes, hall putting two fingers under Laurita's chin and tilting it up with a smile. Laurita tried weakly smiled back. "That's m'girl."

Once free of her father's hold Laurita's eyes fixed on Rhys, her stare making him wince. She strode quickly toward him, her face hard, and Rhys half expected to be slapped the moment Laurita pulled him into a hug. "Don't let him die." Her fierce whisper shook Rhys to his core. He nodded back solemnly. Rhys gave his friend a tight squeeze before pulling back, Laurita's hands still gripping his arms tightly. "And take care of yourself too. For ️Jessa. For me. For yourself. Come back, Rhys. Please."

As Rhys turned away, Hal was waiting for him with the other captains. Beside Hal stood a horse Rhys could only assume was intended for him, a sword sheathed on its side with a pack of supplies. A young soldier approached Rhys as he came forward. The mail armor in his hands shone in the sunlight, and suddenly Rhys could no longer push reality to the side. The mail hung heavy on Rhys chest as he pulled it on, running his fingers over the many links. Many of the soldiers did not wear armor of such quality, exposed to blows from a sword or arrows to the chest. Rhys felt guilty for his own affluence - why should it give him such an advantage? There was no time to contemplate the unfairness of the situation. Rhys mounted quickly, the leather reins smooth even through his gloves. Rhys moved to position himself beside Hal but the man gave a tiny shake of his head, Rhys realizing with a certain dread what the move meant. Creeping slowly forward, Rhys sat mounted at the head of the army, breaking into a cold sweat as he stared out into the sea of Novarians.

A brilliant black horse stepped out onto the field ahead of Rhys, it's rider none other than the queen of Novamor. Tula's emerald dress - the train so long it cascaded down the sides of the horse even while mounted - was covered by a silver breastplate. The army knew their queen would not ride to battle with them, but Rhys had to admit the image was fearsome. Rhys found himself wondering if she'd ever fought in a battle herself. He could certainly imagine so. Tula rode forward holding an ornate golden dish, a small pool of oil held inside. She approached the captains first, Rhys watching as she dipped her thumb into the oil and ran it across their outstretched palms. She spoke quiet prayers as she did so, the captains murmuring back words Rhys could not hear before closing their fists and bringing them to their chests. When Tula finally approached Rhys he mimicked the captains' actions, feeling on display as he watched Tula once more touch the oil. Her thumb was soft against his bare skin as she drew a line of oil, tracing the center line in his left palm.

"May the Gods protect you and guide you through the darkness."

Rhys stared back at Tula, her eyes on him expectantly. He did not know the words. If this was Etrenian military tradition as well - which he very much doubted - he was poorly educated. Tula whispered the words to him in his silence.

"And upon my death may the Gods guide my soul to peace."

The words felt foreign on his tongue, sacrilegious coming from the mouth of a man with such little faith. Still, the words were enough for the queen, a gentle smile on her lips as Rhys closed his fist and brought it to his chest.

So low no one else could hear, her lips barely moving, Tula whispered her last words to Rhys. "Prove to me I made the right choice."

As the army rode out Rhys did not look back.

***
The slow and arduous march to the cliffs of Solridge Bay was made worse when the weather turned against them. Wicked winds gave way to howling storms, the icy rain soaking the soldiers to the bone. As the soldiers groaned and shivered Rhys could think only of the muddy battlefield that awaited them. Rhys' only comfort was that the conditions would harm the Etrenians just as much. At the end of the first day Rhys, under Captain Laliz's advisement, sent out the first sweep of scouts on horseback. By the beginning of the second day's march, the rain never ceasing, there was no word back.

Interest in the strange foreigner never faded, Rhys hearing the whispers as he rode alongside the battalions. Rhys found comfort in speaking with the soldiers, always hiding his grin at their shocked faces upon hearing his fluent Novarian. Some soldiers kept their distance, not yet trusting of the pretender who lead them onward, but Rhys noticed how more and more began to approach him without trepidation. It did not go unnoticed by Rhys that these were mostly soldiers under Hal's command. The younger soldiers were the most trusting, their eager faces not yet worn by the scars of battle. Rhys listened to their stories - a young 17-year-old girl from Asanos speaking in animated Etrenian if only to prove she could - yet found himself unable to shake the guilt that enveloped him at every word. The vast majority of soldiers were younger than Rhys, many new recruits since the onset of the war, barely old enough to enlist. He could not bear to think he was leading some of them to their deaths, cut down before ever reaching full maturity.

When Rhys did not ride beside the foot soldiers he rode alongside Hal, though the man was hardly a conversationalist. Near the end of the second day Rhys started at Hal's unexpected voice.

"I wanted to thank you."

Rhys stared at Hal in stunned silence. "Thank me for what?"

"I know Laurita puts on a brave face, but I know she's hurting. With her mother gone and Odaren..." Hal could not finish, clearing his throat in the absence of words. "Laurita has been alone for far longer than she should have been. You've been a good friend to her - she speaks highly of you. I'm grateful she has a friend in all of this." Hal looked awkwardly to the ground, his shoulders sagging. "I wish I could be there for her more."

A lump formed in Rhys' throat at the man's unexpectedly kind words. It only made the guilt more unbearable. "I should be thanking you, not the other way around. Laurita has saved my skin more times than I can count. I owe my life to her. I will forever be in her debt."

Hal smiled to himself, Rhys seeing the man swell with pride. "She's always been so good. So strong. You know, I only ever saw her cry over her mother once, just after her death. The moment she saw Odaren cry, and myself, she stopped. She comforted that boy for days, never once shedding a tear. She became a second mother to him for a while. It wasn't fair to her, and I still feel guilty for being so useless those first few weeks, but she did it nonetheless. She's always been wise beyond her years. Laurita reminds me of her mother. She would have been so proud..." Hal looked away pointedly, choking on his words.

Rhys wished there was some good way to comfort the gruff man without it only making him more uncomfortable. He decided on a simple smile. "Laurita is proud of you too, you know. She loves you."

It was clear Hal's pride would not allow him to speak any further, already too emotional for his comfort, but his tight smile told Rhys those were words he needed to hear.

When no word had been heard from the scouts by the end of the second day, Rhys sent out a second wave. Rhys could tell the silence from the scouts unnerved the captains, but they did not say so. The evening's conversations focused instead on battle plans, debates as to the most effective cavalry formations and divisions of archers raging late into the night. When the army began its march the morning of the third day, still without word from the scouts, Rhys began to panic. They were perhaps only another day or two from Solridge, far too close for the scouts to have not encountered the Etrenian army. Something had happened, surely, to cause such a delay.

"Do you think they've been captured? Or killed?" Rhys kept his voice low enough for only the captains to hear.

"Possibly." Captain Laliz's response did not sound convincing. The stern woman looked into the distance with a furrowed brow, her hands tightening on her reins. Though she did not speak the words, she believed the same thing as Rhys. The scouts' disappearance was a message in itself - there was something the Etrenians did not want them to know.

"It's too early to say," began Captain Haras, a tall, greying man with the darkest skin Rhys had ever seen. "Give it another day. If they're not here by tomorrow morning we make a choice then."

"Tomorrow may be too late. We'll be too close to the bay to significantly change route. We could easily be cornered trying to retreat."

Hal's quick reply spoke to Rhys' thoughts. The longer they waited the fewer their options became. Rhys did not wish to wait until their only option was certain death. He thought then to the third path he'd spoken about with Tula, the longer route that circled the forest, coming at the bay from the east. It was a risky plan itself, for the chances of running into Etrenian units was high, but it also offered the element of surprise. Any battalion they came across would be taken unawares, and by the time they made it to Solridge any ambush awaiting a southern approach would be long gone. Yet with that Rhys realized this newly formed plan would only work one way, a way that demanded a sacrifice. If they were to flush out the ambush forces they would need to meet them head on. One way or another there would be no avoiding it, but in one scenario they might emerge victorious.

"We split up."

The captains turned to Rhys with surprise, looking between each other then with hesitance. "We split the army in half - half continue on the northern path to meet the Etrenians and half take the eastern route. It's longer, but it's the path of least resistance. Plus, we'll have the element of surprise on our side. We have more than enough men to field two separate fronts. With 6,000 per side at least one group is bound to be victorious. I very much doubt the Etrenians are fielding such an army, not if they're planning an ambush."

Rhys could see the reluctance in Laliz and the fourth Captain - Milhar's - faces, yet Hal seemed in agreement, nodding along with Rhys. "It's a good plan," Hal offered, turning to his fellows. "It could work."

Haras, not yet swayed either way, only shrugged. "Her Majesty gave you the authority, Marinon. It's your call."

Rhys looked at Hal then, thinking about the promise he'd made Laurita. If he sent the man away he could not protect him, but if he kept him on their current path Rhys did not pretend he held any optimism as to his fate. To Rhys the choice was clear. "Navin, Laliz - you two lead your troops to take the eastern pass. Milhar and Haras will stay with me and continue north."

To Rhys surprise there was no argument with Rhys' decision, and with nothing more than his word the captains gave short bows and spread out, organizing their troops with deafening commands yelled out without warning. As Rhys looked out to the men and women who stayed with him, 6,000 strong, he wondered if he'd just condemned them to death.

[Mollianne]

The days after Ferande’s fall to the Novarians were quiet. Either Jessa had jumped to conclusions and the king’s mage ring had not been protecting the city, the king did not suspect her, or… She didn’t want to think why else the king was keeping his silence. Instead Jessa drew comfort from the fact that he could not read her mind even if he did approach her. Though it had been some time now, Jessa was still not fully recovered from that long day with Lady Tremont. Her memories felt raw, as if every one of them had happened all at once instead of over nearly 27 years. She could see the pseudo-memories too, and just as Lady Tremont had said to her they were so obviously fake. There was no connection; they were nothing but stories. She couldn’t believe anyone would fall for them, but Lady Tremont had assured her they would hold up to some probing. Jessa hoped it was true, for they had spent a good hour or so getting the story straight, and then even longer for Lady Tremont to actually create them with her magic. It had been exhausting, Jessa having longed for bed as soon as she had showed Lady Tremont her entire life. Jessa felt worse for Lady Tremont, who had fallen limp as soon as the pseudo-memories were in place and had been practically asleep as Jessa left, muttering something about having to do this all over again with Larend. Word had come from Larend the day before to tell her that he, too, had consented to the mind block and that he imagined Lady Tremont would sleep for a week after all she had learned. The note had concerned Jessa, and she had sent her own letter to the Tremonts’ residence. There had been no response thus far, though Jessa decided not to worry too much unless the silence lasted another day or so.

There was no such luxury with the king’s silence, however. A few of the times that Jessa had ventured outside her room, taking refuge in the library or simply admiring the gardens from the castle windows now that spring had fully arrived, she had seen the king from a distance. Once, their gazes had met. The king’s face had been hard and impassable. Only a moment later he had turned away, responding to one of his advisors, and Jessa had scurried away before he might look her way again. His complete lack of expression had terrified her more than anger would have done, for then she would have known where she stood. As it was, she was left waiting. And the wait was excruciating.

Someone knocked on her door. Jessa jumped, gripping a bedpost as she tried to calm her racing heart. She was too jittery these days. “Come in,” she called, her voice wavering.

Duan ducked his head around the door, spotting Jessa sitting cross-legged on her bed. He came fully into the room, holding a couple of letters in his hand. “One of the maids, Mahlia, looked a bit harried today so I offered to make sure you got your mail. Here.”

“Thank you, Duan.” She bit her lip, then asked the same question she had asked every time she saw Duan after learning Nayall was not in the city. “How are things?”

“Fine, as usual, my lady. You needn’t worry yourself. We can manage.” He smiled tightly. Jessa wished she could ask more. She didn’t even know Duan’s position within Nayall’s network. Who was in charge without Nayall? She had met some people on one of her visits to Nayall – Peter Falan had been part of that meeting, probably one of the few non-mages there. She would hardly be surprised if he had a prominent role given he had helped Nayall with the mages from the start. There had been two others, too, a husband and wife whose names Jessa could not quite recall. It had been a while since she’d seen any of them. Yet none of these questions were safe to ask here. So Jessa simply nodded, and with a small smile dismissed Duan.

There were two letters, and with dread she realised she recognised the handwriting of the one of the bottom. Swallowing, she put it aside and opened the other. It was from Lady Tremont, telling her that she was okay and that they should meet again within the next couple of days. Jessa wrote her response immediately – anything to put off reading the second missive – and left her bedroom in search of someone who could see it delivered. Unfortunately, there were plenty of servants about at this hour and Jessa had soon passed the letter on. When she returned to her room, she leaned back against the closed door and stared at the letter waiting innocently on her bed. Biting her lip, Jessa pushed away from the door and picked the letter up.

Another piece of parchment fell to the floor when she unfolded the note. She frowned, bending down to retrieve the fallen scrap of paper. On it were a list of names all written by different hands, some barely legible. Jessa wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. With dread, she looked at the note she knew to be from the king. If it had anything to do with the names, she could not see it. It was a demand for her to join the family for breakfast the next morning. Jessa swallowed, her fingers curling around the edges of the parchment as she tried to tell herself that his invitation didn’t have to mean anything. It could be fine.

But what were the names? Putting aside the note from the king, Jessa turned her attention back to the list. Biting her lip, she flipped the parchment over. More names were scrawled haphazardly on the back, a few of them underlined, but there was nothing offering any explanation. There had to be over forty names in all. Jessa shook her head slowly, her gaze going to the door. Duan did not often deliver her letters – he was a guard, after all. Had he truly opened her note from the king and slipped this inside it? She scanned the names until she found it: Mahlia Blare. It was one of the names that had been underlined. More importantly, these were servants in the castle. Jessa did not know exactly what they had agreed to sign their names to, though she imagined that it could not be more than expressing discontent and an interest in change. How could it be much more when all they had had was rumours of change, and had not met any of the potential leaders who could effect it. They had not met Nayall – or someone who could stand in his place. Was that her? Was that why Duan had given her the names? Approaching the servants at all had been her idea, after all.

She went to the door. Duan stood rigidly to its right. No one else was around, though that did not mean they should not be careful. “Duan?”

He glanced at her and immediately saw the list in her hand. He nodded minutely. Jessa shook her head and murmured, “What am I to do with this?”

It was dangerous talking so openly, but Jessa had little choice. Inviting Duan inside would arouse just as much suspicion, as would arranging to meet him elsewhere. Duan had clearly realised the same thing. Barely moving his lips, he said under his breath, “They want to meet you.”

He tapped one of the names that had been underlined. There were five in all. Five people she could manage. Five people was certainly less suspicious than forty. Jessa did not ask when they wanted this meeting. That was far too dangerous. She was sure Duan would let her know at the appropriate time. Raising her voice to a normal level, she said, “Could you pass a message on to the king that I’ll be at breakfast tomorrow? Thank you.”

She shut the door again, staring down at the list of names. Forty was a start. Forty was more than she could have expected. She pressed the parchment against her face, holding back tears. Maybe… maybe they had a chance.

***

When Jessa arrived at breakfast that morning, she was not just surprised because she was only the second person to arrive but because of who was there before her. “Lord Khalid!”

“Princess,” Lord Khalid said, hurrying to his feet and bowing while she curtseyed. “It has been a while. I don’t think we’ve spoken since-” He cut off abruptly on realising just when they had last spoken. Though Jessa had seen him from afar at the Spring ball, and had spoken to him – in disguise – with Nayall, the last time Khalid had knowingly spoken to her had been the day Harris died. Jessa swallowed hard.

“Yes, it has been a while.” She stood beside a seat in the middle of the table, equally as far away from the two heads of the table where the king and queen would soon sit. An awkwardness had fallen over the room, and Jessa did not know how to fill it. She wanted to ask after the Barichean boy mage that Khalid had found and returned to his family, but he was unaware she knew of him. The family had mistakenly been sent to Nayall when searching for their son, but it had apparently been Khalid they had wanted to meet. Jessa was sure it must be some kind of miracle that Khalid had managed to reunite the young boy with his family. As ‘Rose’, Khalid had told her he would buy them passage to Antascia. She hoped they had made it there.

“I heard that you were attacked.” Khalid’s words were tentative and his lips turned down sympathetically. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” she said. Khalid raised his eyebrows sceptically. “Really, it’s been so long, and there’s no lasting damage.”

“That is good to hear,” Khalid said, though he didn’t look convinced. Jessa noticed absently that Khalid’s Etrenian had much improved since they had last spoken, not that it hadn’t been good before. He knew far more Etrenian than she knew Barichene, anyway. “I wish there could be more good news.”

Jessa knew to what he was referring. How could it be anything else but Etrene losing Ferande to the Novarians? The soldiers that had pointlessly lost their lives instead of surrendering would haunt Jessa for some time to come. Yet there was nothing to say to Khalid’s statement. It was a naïve thought. What she wanted to say was that she hoped the war would end soon, but that was just as naïve.

The door opened then, saving them from further discussion. Maira came into the room, her gaze immediately finding Khalid’s before she resolutely looked at Jessa instead. Jessa curtseyed quickly, and Maira bent her head in acknowledgment. She moved to stand at her seat on the king’s right hand, beside Khalid. Her betrothed turned to her, a smile on his face, and bowed to her. As he did so, he took her hand and kissed it. Jessa watched Maira’s lips fight to remain neutral, but when Khalid looked up at her, the princess seemed unable to stay stoic. She turned her head, hiding her smile from Khalid. Jessa wondered again where the girl who had giggled at Dima’s every word had gone, replaced by a woman trying – poorly – to hide her feelings and remain serious. Although Jessa’s feelings towards Maira were complicated at best, she was glad that the fears Maira had come to Jessa about when she had first learned of her betrothal were unfounded. Jessa would not wish an engagement like her own on anyone. Maira had the chance to get to know Khalid.

The two were talking quietly, and Jessa very much got the sense that they would rather she was not there. She stared at the door, wishing she could be anywhere else for as much as she did not want to be alone with Maira and Khalid, she also dreaded another du Rene coming into the room. Of course she did not have such luxury, and within the next few minutes the other du Renes arrived. The king arrived last, sweeping into the room without so much as a glance at Jessa. She breathed a sigh of relief as she dropped into another curtsey, the only one to do so beside Khalid. She and Khalid were the only ones of low rank – at least compared to royalty in Khalid’s case, and despite many people’s insistence on calling her princess – and in such an informal setting the king’s children would not be expected to show deference. When Jessa rose from her curtsey, she looked up directly into the king’s eyes. She swallowed and held his gaze until he turned away. Everyone took their seats, and what followed was one of the most awkward breakfasts Jessa had ever experienced. Elissa seemed to divide her time equally between wittering on about her birthday in a few days and glaring at Jessa for daring to eat with the rest of the family. Jessa ignored her, knowing she wanted to be elsewhere far more than Elissa wished her gone.

“Father, father, have you hired the Lomore Quartet the play at the ball as I asked?” Elissa asked excitedly. When her father did not respond, too busy reading through the stack of papers by his plate, Elissa pouted. She cried, “Father!” which swiftly gained his attention. She repeated her question without shame, ignoring her father’s annoyed expression. Jessa found herself slinking down in her seat.

“No, Elissa, I have not found the time,” the king said, his voice low. Dangerous to Jessa’s ears, but Elissa seemed remarkably unfazed. “I have more important things to do.”

Elissa’s mouth dropped. Jessa could not believe even Elissa would be so self-absorbed and awful – there was a war going on. Yet, Elissa exclaimed, “Father!”

“No, Elissa. I have armies to organise, plans to make, meetings to attend, and I do not have time for this. We are at war. You will be quiet.” His tone brooked no argument, and amazingly Elissa listened. Her mother patted her hand, but it was clear Catrice agreed with Alrick. It was, perhaps, the first time that had ever happened, but Jessa was hardly surprised. She had overheard Catrice’s outburst. If there was one thing she wanted, it was Etrene to remain under du Rene rule – just that of her daughter’s rather than her husband’s. That, however, required that the king did not lose the war. Whatever the reasoning, when Elissa looked at her mother’s stern face and realised even she was against her, she shut up and did not mention her birthday for the rest of the meal. By that point, Jessa was full on bread and cheese and had just about managed to convince herself that the king had simply asked her to breakfast with no ulterior motive. He had completely ignored everyone at the table, after all, except to occasionally quiz Maira on some political intricacy or military detail.

The servants had begun removing the empty serving plates from the centre of the table before anyone moved. Jessa wanted desperately to leave the room, but she was too self-conscious to leave first. Catrice and Elissa rose first, followed swiftly by Edmund. Jessa begun to rise, but Alrick, without even looking up, said blandly, “You will stay, Jessa.”

Jessa sat back down heavily, her heart heavy. She had known something was coming, no matter how much she had tried to convince herself. As she watched Maira and Khalid get up together, she tried desperately to think of some excuse to leave. It wasn’t that she thought it would make any difference, but it was better than considering why the king wanted to see her alone. She gripped the napkin she had left on the table, hard enough that she could feel her nails digging into her palm even through the fabric, and watched helplessly as Maira and Khalid left the room. Maira looked back once, glancing between Jessa and her father with furrowed brows. The king looked up, waving his daughter away with a dismissive flick of the wrist. She left, and Jessa and the king were alone.

The king stood slowly before fixing Jessa with an piercing stare. Jessa forced herself to meet his gaze and not cower. Lady Tremont’s words rolled in her mind – you are brave – and if she had not believed it then she did not believe it now. She looked into the eyes of the man she was deceiving with every moment she existed, the man she was actively working against, and despite all of that she was terrified. Did he somehow know about the block on her mind? Could he break it? Or was he finally breaking his silence and would punish her for his suspicions that she was involved in Ferande’s fall in some way? Seeing his steely gaze only made Jessa more sure that there had been mages stationed at Ferande. Or did he have some additional punishment for Jessa’s relationship with Rhys – for though he must know Rhys’ true feelings, he would also surely know it had felt entirely real to Jessa – besides their divorce, which really was not so much of a punishment anyway in the end?

“Come,” he said, in that same bland tone. He turned and headed for a door at the back of the breakfast room. Though Jessa had not dined often in the room, she had never seen anyone use that particular door instead of the main one. She pushed her chair back unhurriedly, before following the king. She walked slowly, as if there was a physical presence pushing her back. As much as she wanted to run, she knew she could not. This is what she must do.

The corridor beyond the door was narrow and dark. There was a single lantern mounted on the wall, as far as she could see, projecting a perfect circle of light nearby. A shadow passed by it, sending the world into brief darkness. The king’s voice came from that direction, urging Jessa once again to follow. Swallowing, Jessa followed, letting one of her hands graze the stone wall to guide her steps. The corridor twisted for small time, before Jessa could see bright light at the end. It opened out onto a hallway not far from the council chambers. This was not to be their destination, however, for the king walked past its closed doors without a glance. No, instead he led her to the west wing and the circular room with the red rug and singular armchair. Jessa felt an odd sense of foreboding, despite only ever being there when she had seen Odaren for the first time in months. She could only ascribe it to the fact that if he brought his mage ring here, he must not expect company. Or maybe it was simply just being alone with the king. That alone was enough to make her weak, and when the king indicated the chair she sank into it gratefully even as she recognised that sitting there meant she had no escape.

The king had found another chair, which he swung around to place it in front of Jessa. He sat down, leaning forwards. Jessa tried to squirm back, for he was far too close for comfort, their knees a foot away. The king smiled. Jessa’s mouth went dry. There was nothing good in that smile.

“Today, Jessa, is the day Novamor and its queen truly see what Etrene is capable of. Today marks the start of their downfall and the end of the war.” His smile widened, his teeth showing in a sinister grin. Jessa did not dare look away. She couldn’t breathe. “But what need do we have for words when we can see for ourselves?”

He did not give Jessa a moment to think about his words before his hands shot out, gripping her head like a vice. Jessa cried out in fear, scrambling to pull her head away. The king held on fast. Then suddenly Jessa was screaming for an entirely different reason. She could describe it only as feeling like her head was being pulled in half, and the rest of her with it. The world span and blurred, and then her eyes rolled back as she screamed again. Her head tore apart. Somehow, despite the pain, she felt her gut lurch sickeningly. A stabbing pain shot through her stomach, though the physical pain now felt very far away. She felt far away.

Where was she? The world was black and cold. And wet. That was her cheek. It was pressed against a wet, slick rock. Surely she must have it wrong. She was in the castle. It could not be raining.

“Get up.” The voice was sharp and unfamiliar. Jessa’s eyes shot open, though she had the strange sense that she had not opened her own eyes. Jessa could barely make sense of what she could see from the ground. Rocks, all around her. There was a huge boulder to her left, and a figure crouched there in the rain, partially hidden from her view by the other rocks. They wore the red military jacket that marked them as an Etrenian soldier, but there was something… wrong with that picture. Jessa did not know what.

She was scrambling to her feet before she realised. She caught a glimpse of red cuffs – was she dressed as a soldier too? – before her head lifted to face the tall man before her. He was far taller than any man ought to be. That prickly sense of foreboding returned, though this time she felt it only in her mind and not in her gut. Her whole body felt… separate from her. She felt the cold and the rain, but beyond that…

Is she there?

Jessa’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. That had not been her thought, but it was in her head. Before she could think it through, she heard another voice. Though the other voice had felt very much as if it had come from within her, this voice was projected into her mind. And she knew the voice. The king. Yes.

“Hello, Jessa.” Her mouth moved, but she had not made it do so. And the voice… that was not her voice. That was the voice of…

Of a child.

Suddenly she could see a whole other presence beside her. Seeing was not the right word, for it was only within her mind, but she had no other explanation. There was someone else in there with her – or, rather, she was the someone else. There were memories now, of a young Barichean girl, sitting in a wagon with three other children awaiting the promise of a new, better life. A crowded dormitory, laughter in the middle of the night before someone came to shut them up. Sitting in circles, watching the eight and nine year olds disappear behind doors and speculating with the others about what they were doing. Learning magic. The first time she broke into someone’s mind and read it – seeing the same life as hers. Waiting desperately to be older and able to serve her king. She had seen him once, when she had snuck into an assembly meant for the older kids and definitely not for her. The king had let her stay, for of course he had seen her. He had pulled her aside and told her she was destined for great things at his side. She turned eight, and she went through the same door she’d watched so many others go through, and she did not look back. And now… now she was fourteen.

Jessa withdrew from the memories as fast as if she had been struck. Fourteen. In a soldier’s uniform. Without even realising what she was doing, Jessa looked down. She was only dimly aware of the fact that she had been the one to move the girl’s head. She looked down, confirming she had the height of a child and that the uniform was that of the Etrenian military. She saw the red jacket, almost swallowing the hands poking out of it. Her fingers were stark white against the jacket. She reached for the plait in her hair, pulling it forwards. Pale blonde hair. It only confirmed what the memories had already told her.

She was in the head of a fourteen-year-old Barichean girl, who believed the king of Etrene was both her king and the greatest man in the world. Jessa stumbled back, knowing that if she had her real body she would have been sick. The man steadied her, then looked down at her with a wicked grin. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Jessa.” The voice was not Alrick’s, but Jessa somehow knew he was the one talking to her. “Possessing someone is a dangerous power. If you do more than observe – if you control them – then as soon as you leave their body they will die. Do you want Safiya to die?”

Jessa did nothing. She could barely think for the horror. She could still see the girl’s – Safiya’s – memories. There was nothing before that day in the wagon, not even vague wisps of memory. It was like a dark abyss before that day. Something unnatural, more than just a lack of memory due to Safiya’s age at the time. More worryingly, there was another darkness from the moment Safiya stepped through the door she had yearned to cross all her short life. There were no new memories until she was thirteen and fully ready to do her duty for her king.

And all those other children… At the thought, Safiya turned her head, looking past her adult companion, down the cliffs. Along them, Jessa could see other duos: one tall, one a child; one Etrenian, one Barichean. All soldiers. All the children were mages. And if Safiya was anything to go by, they were all devoted to the king. There was no magic holding Safiya’s thoughts. A word whispered through Jessa’s mind: brainwashed. A devotion they could not break. There was no one holding her strings, no one to lose her if they died. This was not the mage ring, capable of crashing to the ground with a few choice deaths. This did not require Alrick to waste magic controlling his mages. These mages would do whatever he asked willingly because they wanted to.

And they were children.

Cliffs… Jessa’s thoughts came to a crashing halt once again. No. Safiya moved her head, letting Jessa see through her eyes what she already knew in her gut. No, she tried to tell herself, she did not recognise these cliffs from a sketch in a book. This was not – it could not – be Solridge Bay. There were children here. Even Alrick would not be so corrupted and evil to use children in a war. This couldn’t be real. This was not happening.

Do you see yet, Jessa? It was Alrick’s voice in her mind – or Safiya’s, Jessa didn’t know anymore. He was gloating, his words almost gleeful. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying Jessa’s confusion. Do you see that you cannot win? These are my children, my army of mages. You will not find them on any map, but they are everywhere. A child can go places an adult never can and never be seen. And they are so, so impressionable – but don’t tell Safiya. She can’t hear me.

The man came over to her, bending down and placing a hand on her cheek. “It’s almost time, Safiya. Are you ready?”

The girl nodded. And suddenly, Jessa knew why Safiya was here – why all the Barichean children were there. She could see so clearly what Safiya would do. What a child was being forced to do, whether they realised it as force or not. She could not let this happen.

Safiya will die if you stop her.

And how many others will die if I don’t?

Killing Safiya won’t stop that. You saw to that, Jessa. This is all your fault.

The man tilted Safiya’s head to the south, where Jessa could now see the front of an army drawing closer to the cliffs. “They approach, my girl. But they do not approach along this coastal path, as they should. Do they? Why would they avoid that route?”

Jessa couldn’t think. She stared at the Novarians, seeing the thousands of people marching towards their deaths. Safiya answered the man, “Because they’d been warned of an ambush and thought the safest route would be straight up the cliffs.”

“Yes,” the man said, beaming at her proudly. “But this is not the full army. Our scouts reported that half the army went a different route, which they would only do if they knew what was coming this way. Perhaps otherwise we could just believe it to be ignorance of the bay.”

The man stared into her eyes, and she knew it was not the soldier looking at Safiya but Alrick staring at her. He had caught her out. Jessa remembered her doubts that this could be a trap, but she saw now that Alrick had made it too easy. The note she had seen at the dinner before Rhys’ escape – it had made her suspicious of something, and had led to her learning of the ambush. Alrick had always suspected her – and he had tricked her. She had fallen for it. And now he knew.

They will all die because of you. I wouldn’t have had to do this – none of this would have happened – but for the fact that I needed to know who you really were. I needed to know the full extent of your betrayal. And my girl, now we know. And they will all die.

The army was so much closer now, though still far enough that they could retreat. Too far for her to call out a warning, and in any case the man had come around her now, holding her in place with his hand firmly over her mouth. Safiya did not even struggle. She just watched the Novarians calmly. Jessa wanted to die. This wasn’t happening. These children were not losing their innocence for Alrick. She couldn’t let that happen. She began to struggle against the man, Alrick’s warning that Safiya would die chanting in her mind. But there were thousands of others who would die if she did nothing.

The man leaned close to Safiya’s ear. “Our scouts gave reports of an Etrenian man leading the army to Solridge. I wonder who that could be.”

Jessa went still, everything within her going cold. She heard Alrick’s laugh in her head. Watch now – don’t turn away. They’re nearly here. There was a pause, punctuated by another cruel, horrible laugh. How does it feel, knowing you’ve killed the man you loved?

[Rosabeth]

Drizzling rain and an icy breeze did not bode well for the day ahead. When Rhys rose from his few hours of sleep long before sunrise most of the soldiers were already awake, the dread of the day before them practically palpable. The silence of the troops was haunting. Rhys went through the motions of his morning as the sun rose, shrouded by grey skies, over the trees to the east. His armor felt strange against his damp clothes yet he could not help but feel relief as he donned the mail. He remembered all too vividly his last brush with military action. He still bore the arrows’ scars.

Haras awaited Rhys with the cavalry as Milhar ordered the foot soldiers into march formation. Rhys knew nothing of these tactics, leaving all decisions to the captains’ better judgement. He watched as groups of horse archers carefully strung their bows and checked over their arrows in a focused silence. Though widely revered for their carefully crafted skill, Rhys had never seen them in action. As Rhys prepared his own horse he caught his thoughts wandering to imaginings of the possible ambush they might encounter, thinking that perhaps if anyone had a chance at a retreat it was these men and women, lightning fast and dangerous as they were.

Six thousand soldiers stood tall awaiting commands, hundreds of cavalry flanking their sides. Milhar approached with a grim expression, wiping the rain droplets from his brow as he looked up to the sky and shook his head, muttering under his breath. “The Gods do not favor us today.”

“The Gods do not control the weather,” Haras retorted, Milhar paying him no mind. The older man mounted then, his wrinkling forehead as he frowned matching that of Milhar. “But this isn’t good. The mud will only slow us down.”

“It will slow them too,” Rhys offered, but he knew it was not the same. They would be fighting at an incline. The true disadvantage was on them. Between the dreary weather, the unfavorable terrain, and the exhaustion of several days of marching, the odds were certainly stacked against them. Yet Rhys would not allow himself to be swallowed by ill thoughts. This was not hopeless – not yet. They had numbers and skill on their side, an advantage not to be overlooked, and simply the knowledge of a potential ambush took away much of its upper hand. If Rhys truly thought there not even a sliver of hope of victory he would not have offered himself to the cause. Simply, they could make no mistakes. They had but one chance. If they fell, all hope would be on Hal and Captain Laliz. If they too failed… Rhys refused to think of that. To be responsible for squandering Novamor’s edge in the war was more than he could bear. A dark humor swept over his mind – at least, in that circumstance, Rhys might not be alive to witness the aftermath.

Once all were in position Rhys led the march, the slow trudge towards Solridge coming to its end as the cliffs stood only hours away. After the first hour Rhys slipped into the crowds of the cavalry flanks, letting Haras and Milhar take the rightful lead. He used the opportunity to attempt to form some inkling of a tactical plan, running numbers in his head as he looked out over the groups. It was unlikely he would have need for such a plan, eagerly taking the advice of Haras and Milhar, but it soothed his mind to have a distraction, even one as ultimately foreboding. His right hand brushed the hilt of his sword as his mind wandered. Leaders typically did not do the brunt of the fighting, his choice of weapon less than idea for horseback, but Rhys had little doubt in his mind that his sword would see blood before the day was done. After all, Rhys was no captain, no general. His only true use came from his skill with a sword, though the dull ache in his chest that had lingered the past few days put even that into question. Rhys was not healed. When the time came to defend himself, Rhys only hoped he would find the strength.

As the rain lessened, rays of sun beginning to peek out from behind the blanket of clouds, Rhys could see the cliffs of Solridge Bay loom in the distance. The grassy, rock-studded fields that led the way to the cliffs were bare as far as Rhys could see. Visibility was poor from this angle, the uneven level of the cliffs blocking key areas from view and the looming trees to his right offering far too many spots to hide. Rhys watched the tree line as they approached, his stomach churning as he wondered who might be watching him from the darkness. “Keep a keen eye out!” Rhys shouted over the crowds, pointing between the trees and the cliffs. “Archers at the ready, riders prepare to flank!” Rhys could hear Haras shout out several more commands as Rhys watched hundreds of bowmen notch their arrows, holding the nocking point loosely as they held the bows close to their bodies, looking out towards the treeline with watchful eyes. He could feel the army’s pace slow as they began the ascent, the slope growing gradually steeper as they went. A feeling of vulnerability was palpable as they moved into their least advantageous position, little visibility from the low ground. Suddenly Rhys realized how unnatural the quiet was, not even the sound of seagulls audible over the army’s march. The Etrenians were there, if only out of sight. They were getting close.

Soon the land began to flatten once more, the full extent of the cliffs slowly coming into visibility. Before Rhys could take in the scene he heard the desperate yells of a man’s voice drawing nearer and nearer. A rider came towards them as fast as his horse could manage, screaming at the top of his lungs. From the man’s uniform Rhys recognized him immediately – one of the missing scouts. “Mages! Mages! Turn back! Children! They’re-” No sooner had the last words left his mouth an arrow struck the man at the base of the neck, dropping him in an instant. Rhys instinctively pulled on his reins as he tried to back away in horror, the meaning of the man’s strange words becoming clear as a line of soldiers – barely more than 100 strong - walked into view from the cliff edges. Yet they were not all soldiers.

Rhys could only stare without comprehension at the scene before him. The line of soldiers was made uneven as every other one stood shorter than the soldier beside him, painting a horrific picture. These were not soldiers at all – they were children, no older than the youngest Novarian soldier. Despite their age they stood at the ready, dressed in the red uniforms of the Etrenian army, staring unflinchingly out at the Novarians. The scout’s words played again and again in his mind, this time pieced together. The mages are children. That was the unspoken message, the message he’d been trying to say in his desperate calls. No. This was not possible. To be true would be beyond belief, a war crime so unspeakable nothing of its like had been seen in any history Rhys knew. Rhys opened his mouth to yell out the alert but his words were cut off by strangled screams. It had begun.

A hail of arrows descended on the army, hundreds of soldiers looking up in time to raise their shields. The sickening thud of arrows piercing skin, the shrieks of pain piercing the air, were all Rhys could hear, all he could focus on. Suddenly a flicker of movement near Rhys turned his attention, and that was when Rhys realized the arrows were not coming from the Etrenians at all. They were coming from the mounted archers to his right. As they released their second round into the crowd realization seemed to dawn across the whole army, thousands of screams sounding as the archers spread out further around the army, creating an inescapable flank. Rhys’ mind could not think properly. This could not be happening. His eyes darted to the child mages standing perhaps a hundred yards away, their unflinching stares sending a shock down Rhys’ spine. They were controlling the horse archers. It was the only possible answer to the pandemonium. The mages were turning the army on itself. The Novarian army - six thousand soldiers strong - brought to its knees by a few dozen children. Rhys had fallen into Alrick’s trap.

“Archers, counter fire! Soldiers, cut them down if you can!” Haras’ voice was hushed by the pandemonium as he rode jagged between the battalions, even his booming voice barely enough to cut through the screams. Rhys followed his lead, calling out the same orders and watching as the panicked foot archers drew their bows and counter fired on their fellow soldiers, hearing the neighing of wounded horses and watching the quick retreat of their mounted counterparts. The sky became a never-ending hail of arrows, Rhys pressing his body flat against his horse as rode out of the chaos. As the last group of arrows fell Rhys turned sharply back towards the fray, pressing himself up and drawing his sword. There was no time to think. Rhys could not let himself be possessed by these child monsters. The moment their spell overtook his mind Rhys knew he would be lost, dead himself before he could manage to kill another.

Rhys’ horse jolted as Rhys felt the impact of an arrow piercing its side. It let out a high pitched neigh, rearing in pain. Something deep inside Rhys took over, some stored knowledge from years prior, forcing Rhys to throw his sword to the ground and slip his feet from the stirrups, knowing what was coming. The moment he released the reins he braced himself, curling into a ball as he tumbled off the side of his horse. A sharp jolt of pain shot through his shoulder as he hit the hard ground with a thud. Rhys’ head throbbed but he could not stop moving, his only mercy being that his horse had not crushed him in the fall. He looked around frantically, spotting his sword lying only feet away. He yanked it from the ground and spun around, his heart beating painfully in his chest as he looked wildly from the flanking horsemen pushing the soldiers closer and closer to the archers falling like flies from arrow after arrow. A sudden clashing of metal rung out above the screams, the sound growing louder and more wild by the second. In the distance Rhys could see the front rows of soldiers turning on the men behind them, their swords falling on the necks of unsuspecting friends. It went so quickly Rhys could hardly comprehend it for more than a moment, each fallen soldier replaced with another possessed, the fighting pushing deeper into the formation. As Rhys whipped his head around, desperately looking for any way out, he saw the same scene far to the south, a flashing of swords and screams in the distance. This was their strategy, then. Flank the soldiers with cavalry and start the fighting at front and back, pushing it inward with no chance at escape. In that moment a strange peace fell over Rhys, despite the horror that surrounded him on each side. He was going to die. There was simply no other way. He was watching his own fate flashing before his eyes in that very moment.

A sudden movement on his left startled Rhys and he turned, sword held up just in time to block a blow. He pushed the swordsman away with all his strength, realizing in this movement that he knew the soldier. It was the girl from Asanos. She stood half a foot shorter than Rhys and at least 30 pounds lighter, but what she lacked in raw strength she made up for in determination. She came at him again, her eyes wild and unfocused as she slashed at his neck, Rhys parrying the move once more. He couldn’t do it. He could not kill her. Rhys blocked again and again, the girl’s skill impressive even in its panicked, unfocused form. After what felt like ages yet could only have been mere moments Rhys slipped on the uneven, muddy ground, falling to one knee. The girl took her opportunity, and this time Rhys knew he could not block. He turned his body out of the path of her sword before thrusting his upwards, feeling it pierce her stomach. Her arms went limp, the sword falling to the ground as her body sank into his weapon. Rhys’ mind went numb as he pulled back with a jerk, dark blood covering his sword. The girl dropped to the ground in an instant, her hands pressed to her gaping wound as she stared up at Rhys. From the pain in her eyes Rhys knew whatever compulsion had held her was gone now. No longer did Rhys stare at a crazed, mindless weapon, but a young woman dying before him.

In all the pandemonium around him Rhys dropped to the ground beside her, holding her shoulder as she began to convulse. Her eyes were desperate now as she groaned in pain, her lips growing white as blood seeped out. “Please.” Her whisper felt like a scream, a condemnation to Rhys’ ears. As he stared desperately back at the woman – barely more than a girl - his hands shaking, he knew what he must do. She was going to die one way or another from his blade. At the very least he could end her suffering with compassion. Rhys nodded dully, pulling the dagger from its sheath at his hip. He knew it would only take one stroke. Pressing his thumb against her jugular, making sure his kill would be swift, Rhys slit the girl’s throat. In an instant her eyes were blank.

Rhys’ whole body trembled as he slowly stood, staring down at the girl with horror. Images of Ferande flitted through his mind. He’d done this before, killed an innocent victim to protect himself. How many more times would he be forced to make that choice? He looked down at his hands, smeared with the girl’s blood, before shakily sheathing his dagger once more. He picked up his sword again, this time breaking out in a run. He dodged between soldiers locked in combat, stepping over countless bodies that littered the ground. He could not stop to think about what he was seeing, about the death that loomed at every corner. He knew death was his fate as well but he could not simply resign himself to it so easily. Fighting was all he had left. As Rhys ran – though he did not know where he was going – a man dropped before him, the sword that cut him still in his neck.

Rhys came to a sudden halt, staring up at the other man whose eyes were as wild as the girl’s from Asanos. Rhys took the first swing before he had the chance to be culled. The man blocked his hit easily and pushed back, the huge power behind his large form knocking Rhys off balance. Rhys’ heart hammered in his chest as he let his muscle memory from every practice fight with his siblings take over. His only advantage was agility, Rhys dodging and ducking well-placed hits. Once he let a hit in, his arms too slow for the counter, and Rhys wheezed as the wind was knocked from his chest. The sword came down hard on Rhys’ chest, though his mail blocked its edge. Rhys landed flat on his back as the man bared down on him. Without a second thought Rhys jutted out his leg and hooked it around the man’s, pulling him to his knees before he could land the killing blow. As the man fell on top of Rhys his sword sliced Rhys’ face across the top of his left cheekbone, cutting from the edge of his eyebrow nearly to his mouth. At first there was barely any pain, the sharp blade’s cut cleaner than Rhys expected, but then the searing pain started as the blood began to flow. Rhys bit at his lip, holding back a gasp as he tried to focus. The man had been thrown off focus and Rhys knew it was his only chance. Pulling his dagger once more Rhys rolled from his back to straddle the other man, holding his neck with one hand and stabbing with the other just above the collar of his armor.

It was not a clean cut like with the girl, the man sputtering as he began to choke on his own blood, blood that now covered Rhys’ hands as it began to flow readily from the wound. It was only seconds before the man was dead, his eyes blank as the magic left his body. As Rhys looked around he realized there was truly no hope for escape. The carnage that surrounded him was oppressive, the fighting thinning as more and more bodies fell. As Rhys watched several soldiers fight for their lives not a few feet away he noticed how they ignored the bodies littering the ground, even the possessed paying them no mind. As Rhys stared down at the man he’d just killed, blood still flowing from his wounds like a fountain, an idea dawned. His death was not inevitable – he just had to outsmart the Etrenians. Rhys put his hands to the man’s neck wound, grimacing as he brought the warm blood to his face. He gagged, forcing down the bile that threatened to come up as he smeared the blood across his face, helped by his own bleeding cut. With his skin covered there’d be no telling he was Etrenian, his paler skin undiscernible in a field of corpses. He worked quickly until he could feel the blood so thick on his face and neck it dripped down his shirt. With a great heave Rhys rolled the dead man onto his front, laying down beside him and pulling the man’s legs over his back. To anyone else they were nothing but corpses, Rhys’ body trapped beneath that of yet another fallen victim. There was no telling how long Rhys would have to lie there as still as the dead, not even letting his chest fall from his breaths should another come near, but so long as he stayed still Rhys would be safe. Rhys could survive this.

Every passing minute felt like an eternity, time passing unbearably slowly in agony as Rhys lay helplessly, listening to the screams and cries as more and more soldiers fell, slaughtered like lambs in spring. Even face down Rhys could still see glimpses of the fighting, scenes that made him press his eyes shut in horror. He wanted to cry but a single sound could mean death, a single move ending his only chance at life. Instead, Rhys thought over and over of those who he would be able to see again if he only lived. He thought of Kieran and his relief at never having to tell his sister that her eldest son died in a battle she never knew he’d fought. He thought of his family, of being home once more. Mostly though, Rhys thought of Jessa. If only he could live he could see her again. That alone gave him strength.

Eventually the screams grew quiet, the fighting no more than dull clashes of metal in the distance, but Rhys dared not move and look about to confirm that which he heard. After an excruciating wait, Rhys’ body growing stiff and pained, an eerie quiet overtook the cliffs of Solridge Bay. Still, Rhys dared not move. Though his ears told him the fighting had come to a close he had no guarantees, and one wrong move would end him. If he was not killed on sight only the slightest bit of inspection would reveal his true identity, and from there a traitors death awaited him. The thought of being dragged to Ovis, undoubtedly tortured once more at Alrick’s hands, only to be beheaded for treason…Rhys would rather die on the battlefield. At least that was an honorable death. From a distance Rhys could hear footsteps accompanied by Etrenian voices, growing closer and closer by the second. Soon they were all but upon him, the voices near enough to discern.

“Do you see him?”

“No. They’re all Novarians as far as I can see.”

Rhys caught his breath at their words, thankful that the fear that coursed through him reminded him of the subtle movements of his chest. He held his breath, knowing the men might be close enough to detect the slightest movement. They were talking about him. If they were looking for someone who wasn’t Novarian then the army was well aware an Etrenian man was in its midsts. Rhys silently thanked the Gods he’d had the good sense to cover his skin. The men were so close Rhys could feel the ground vibrate with their footsteps, their boots barely visible as he squinted into the light.

“He’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Maybe he escaped?” The other offered, the only response being cold laughter from his companion.

“No one escaped. We saw to that.”

“Then he’s dead,” the man replied, sounding nearly bored. “Look around – there’s no one alive here. It would take us all day to sort through all these bodies. Let’s just go. He’s dead – I’m sure of it.”

Relief coursed through Rhys at the men’s words, only to be replaced with a blinding jolt of pain as one of the men kicked Rhys in the ribs, Rhys feeling the crack of bone. He bit down so hard on his tongue he tasted blood, his entire body yearning to spasm in reaction, a scream threatening to escape his lips. It was only by luck that the man did not seem to notice how Rhys’ body did not react the way a dead man’s would, offering an innate resistance Rhys could not suppress with all his will. Rhys watched as they walked off, finally letting himself breath out a gasp of pain when they were far enough away. It was not for some time after, Rhys finally hearing the thud of galloping horses, that Rhys knew the Etrenians were gone.

Getting up took an unbearably long time, every slight movement as Rhys tried to slide out from under the other man’s legs sending a throbbing pain across Rhys’ abdomen. Eventually he freed his legs, slowly pushing himself to his feet despite the protests from his rib. The moment Rhys looked out across the field he let out a choked sob, so animalistic it sounded foreign to Rhys’ ears. Bodies littered the ground as far as the eye could see, the muddy grass red from the blood of 6,000 soldiers. Rhys forced himself forward in a daze, his mind unable to focus on any one image for more than a moment. He had never seen such death, the scene around him a massacre of unthinkable proportions. Every single man and woman Rhys had marched those four days with lay dead around him. Somewhere in this field of blood Rhys knew he’d find Haras and Milhar, though he could not bear to look upon their faces now. Eventually Rhys’ feet would take him no further and he stopped in place, staring blankly ahead as his whole body began to shake, his ribs screaming out in pain as he could no longer hold back tears. Rhys was the sole survivor. In that moment, Rhys wished he was dead too.

[Mollianne]

The screams of the men Jessa had condemned to death would haunt Jessa forever – a haunting, horrifying song of the dying. As she was forced to watch the Novarians turn against their comrades, as she saw them fall and their blood turn the fields into red rivers, Jessa felt sick. Or, she knew she should feel sick, but the roiling in her gut was absent. Because this was not really her body, just her mind inside someone else. A child – a child who had been made into an abomination who watched and caused the horrors below and felt nothing but the intoxicating power of their magic. Jessa could not feel it herself, only Safiya’s reaction to it. The darkness had consumed Safiya. Even the tiny doubts Jessa could hear in the deep recesses of the child’s mind were nothing to her to devotion to the king that had twisted Safiya forever.

There was nothing Jessa could do.

She had tried begging Safiya to stop. She had tried whispering in her mind, urging her to turn her magic against her fellow mages and control them instead. Safiya could make them stop using their magic and free the Novarians. It wasn’t ethical to control anyone, but Jessa was desperate. All she needed was for the mages to do nothing. But Safiya had ignored her. And though Jessa could move Safiya’s body, she had no access to the child’s magic. Even if she might be able to physically reach some of the children and knock them down, the Novarian numbers were so depleted now that a few felled children would make no difference. The fate of the Novarian soldiers was already sealed. A thought crept in, one Jessa tried to ignore as soon as it came. Rhys’ fate was sealed.

Her only hope was that the children would weaken before the whole army was wiped out. She could see some of them flagging, and the Etrenian soldiers beside them held them up as they fixed their dark gazes on the remaining Novarians. Safiya’s hands trembled and her heart raced. She was tiring, too. Yet her eyes, too, remained steadily on the battlefield. Jessa had no choice but to watch as men were cut down by their friends’ swords. Only a quarter of the soldiers remained, scrambling over corpses with fevered determination to meet their next victim. Those still sound of mind were running, the clash of swords rang clear in the air, and then they were falling. They were screaming. Jessa wanted to scream.

She wanted to see Rhys. She wanted to see him alive. But seeing him was also her greatest fear, for if she saw him then Safiya would too and Rhys would have no chance. The presence of the soldiers at Safiya’s side, the one Alrick had possessed, reminded her of that. She was glad she had not spotted an Etrenian, though there were so few soldiers now that… No. Maybe some got out. The horses were no longer blocking all routes of escape, some having fallen and some having run after their riders had been unseated. Jessa did not know exactly when it had happened, so focused on trying to stop Safiya as she had been. But perhaps the Novarians had still been in pandemonium at the time and some soldiers had escaped the gaps. It was a false hope, she knew, for the expanse beyond the circle that had closed around the Novarians was open and clear. The Etrenians’ advantage in height would easily have spotted them. But she could hope. She could hope.

A hundred soldiers remained. Jessa could not believe the destruction. A hundred remaining, and none were making their escape even though no one was blocking them anymore. Their movements were jerky and forced – all of them were under the mages’ control. Those that were close fought furiously, but some were all alone. Jessa watched as a Novarian woman turned to face her. Jessa wanted to cry out, to turn away, but Safiya resisted her. Safiya was controlling the soldier, and this was meant for Jessa to see. The Etrenian – Alrick – gripped Safiya’s arm. The Novarian moved her sword awkwardly so that the tip pointed towards her. Jessa’s thoughts were screaming. And then the woman plunged her sword into her own gut. Blood spilled and she fell to the floor, convulsing. Safiya did not look away, so Jessa was forced to watch in agonising, horrific detail as the woman slowly, painfully died by her own hand.

Jessa felt sick. And all of a sudden she hoped Rhys was already dead, had not suffered the fate of being forced to take his own life. She hoped it had been quick, because Jessa knew he could not have escaped. There was no escaping this.

No one had escaped this. The field was silent as the grave. There was no one left standing. Jessa had killed them all.

“Time to go,” the solider beside her said. Jessa barely heard him. Somehow she was on the floor. Safiya must have fallen. Jessa could hear the girl’s shallow breaths and her slowing heart. Jessa had one spare thought – that the children would be too weak to find the other half of the Novarian army heading for the bay and slaughter them too. Presently, she could hear the Etrenians shouting to each other, but she could make no sense of it. Some of the soldiers were moving towards the massacred Novarians, but Jessa was far away now, her vision blurring. Jessa felt like she was fading away. And then there was nothing.

Then nothing became pain. Jessa screamed, grabbing her head as though it would stop it falling apart. She screamed, sure this was the end. She could feel nothing but her head splitting open. Not much longer, and it would all be over.

And then it stopped.

For one brief, blissful moment, Jessa felt nothing at all. Her mind was perfectly empty. And then it wasn’t – there was a presence, retreating. She tried to catch it, but it was gone before she could make sense of it. The memories hit her then, and Jessa wished for death. Anything but those memories. Anything. Her heart squeezed and she gasped, opening her eyes. No. There had to be a mistake. They were not dead. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. How could she have been there, when she was here in this chair?

Jessa leaned over the arm of the chair, a hand pressed to her stomach, and vomited. She retched until she no longer could, and then she fell back against the chair. The memories kept coming. She saw the men and women fall, she saw them kill each other. Novarians. They had turned against each other. Why? Why couldn’t she remember? How could she have seen this? Maybe it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

She heard a voice. It did not sound like the king’s voice, but she knew it was him. How does it feel, knowing you’ve killed the man you loved?

A inhuman wail, void of all hope and pained beyond anything, filled the air. Jessa shivered, never wanting to hear such a sound again – and then she realised it had come from her. She was shaking. It felt like someone had her heart in their fist, squeezing tighter and tighter until it gave out. She screamed again, feeling the tears on her cheeks. No, it couldn’t be true. She hadn’t seen it. He was not dead. Rhys was not dead.

She had not seen him die, but she may as well have. She saw a man, arrows riddling his chest. She saw a woman, a sword slicing through her neck. She saw a woman, turning a sword on herself. No. Rhys… She shook her head, over and over and over. No.

Rhys was gone. She heard Lady Tremont in her head, telling her that she should speak to Rhys as soon as she could. It was too late. She had missed her chance. She had let him die while there was still anger and betrayal in her heart and she would never know why. She would never hear his voice, or see him again. The last memory she would have of him was him kissing another woman. That was all she would have for the rest of her life, no matter how short she knew it would now be. After she’d seen him in that alley, she had realised that she had nothing of his – nothing to make their relationship seem real. Now – now she had nothing to remember him by. The rest didn’t matter. All she wanted was one last conversation. One last look. Just one.

Yet she couldn’t. She had killed him, along with thousands of others. It was all her fault. She drowned in her guilt.

“Jessa.”

Everything stopped. An emptiness swallowed her as she opened her eyes, lifeless, and lifted her head to look at the man leaning in the doorway. She noted the fury in his eyes, the tension in his folded arms. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered. Thousands were dead while she and Alrick still lived. It should not have been that way.

Alrick stepped into the room. Jessa watched him listlessly. “People do strange things for love,” he said, his voice shaking with the strain of keeping calm. “Terrible things. Is that why you betrayed me?”

Jessa stared at him. His voice had cracked, genuine hurt punctuating his question. Jessa still could not find it within her to care. She kept silent, for nothing would save her now. There was no point.

“I’d understand if it was. I know what it feels like to love someone with everything you are when you know they don’t feel it the same way. I know what lengths a person will go to, to win their heart. I’d understand, Jessa.” He had softened his voice, speaking to her almost conspiratorially. Jessa wasn’t fooled. And he was wrong, anyway. Rhys had not died because she loved him.

“Just kill me.” Her voice was as empty as she felt inside.

“I want to know why, Jessa. I don’t want you dead.” Jessa’s head had begun to drop but with his words her gaze flickered back to him. “Not yet. I’m not going to have you executed because part of you wants to die right now. You don’t have to face what you’ve done. You don’t have to see their faces in your memory. But that will pass, because you don’t really want to die. So convince me. I’ll even give you time. You can stay here in this room.” Until that moment, Jessa had not even realised they were no longer in the west wing. The chair she sat in was not the armchair from that morning. There was no fireplace here. Just a bed and a chair crammed into a tiny, dark room. There was a single window, high enough in the wall that she could not look out of it while standing.

Alrick moved to the doorway, blocking the light from the hall beyond. “But you will give me a reason. You will tell me why you betrayed me. You will tell me why I should let you live. Because I don’t want to be the one who kills you, Jessa. You’re my daughter.”

Jessa knew he was not lying – he had never wanted to be the one who killed her. He had sent her to the Marinons, expecting her to die. He had kept her in the dark about her magic, knowing her lack of control would one day kill her. In both cases, he could convince himself that he was not responsible. But he was lying about his reasons. “I’m Emara’s daughter. Let’s not pretend.”

In answer, Jessa heard the door shut and the lock click. From behind the door, she heard him say, “No one goes inside.”

She was alone. Alone but for the dead haunting her. She could feel them hiding in the room, in the dark shadows that the light from the window could not reach. They watched her, they condemned her. Rhys was there, staring at her. She pressed the heels of her hands hard against her eyes. She shook her head, trying to get rid of his image. Rhys was there in her head and even though she would never see him again she wanted him gone. She was crying again, racking sobs that would not stop. She couldn’t breathe. Eventually, Rhys went away, replaced by a thousand others.

By the time night fell, indicated by the complete darkness that enveloped the room, Jessa was still. She had not moved from the chair. She stared straight ahead into the blackness, her eyes dry and sore. Her mind was numb. She wasn’t thinking anything. There had never been a moment in her life where she had been without thoughts, but now it had come and it was terrifying. Jessa was done.

Even when the hour grew later, Jessa did not move. There was no point in going to bed, for she would not sleep that night. She would not sleep for many nights. She did not need the nightmares – she was living it anyway. The soldiers she had killed were there around her always, watching and waiting.

So when her eyelids drooped and the darkness of sleep took her, Jessa already knew this was not a natural sleep. A familiar tent greeted her when the world reformed, and slowly Jessa walked inside. She knew who she would find. She had promised her they would speak again soon. But not then – why did it have to be now?

Laurita stood up from her perch when she saw Jessa come in. Jessa saw the moment Laurita realised something was wrong, for her face fell and she raced towards her. But all Jessa could see when she looked at her friend were the Novarians on the battlefield. She watched anew as they died. Jessa shook and her legs gave out. Laurita reached her in time, and together they slid to the ground. Laurita’s embrace was tight and warm, and Jessa did not deserve it. Yet she did not pull away. She was too selfish.

“Jessa, Jessa, Jessa,” Laurita whispered into her hair. “What is it?”

For a while, Jessa said nothing. Then, quietly, “Why did you bring me here?”

Laurita shook her head against Jessa. “What is it, Jessa?”

“They’re all dead.” Her voice was barely a breath, but from Laurita’s sharp intake of breath, Jessa knew she had heard her. “It was all a trap. A trap. They’re dead. It’s my fault.”

“Jessa, please.” Laurita cupped Jessa’s head with her hands, lifting it so Jessa was forced to make eye contact with her. “Jessa, what are you saying?”

Jessa could see it in her eyes that Laurita already knew. Except there was still hope there. Laurita had known it was an ambush, but in no war history ever had there been no survivors. “The ambush. They – they turned on each other. I-I don’t know how. Mages, I guess. They were killing each other. They…” Her voice shook. “They’re all gone. All of them. There was no one left standing.”

Laurita was shaking. She had let go of Jessa and she stared at her in horror. “How – how do you know this?”

“I was there. Or – I wasn’t there. How could I have been there? I saw it. I know. I saw them.”

Laurita clasped her hands together in an attempt to stop them shaking. She didn’t say anything. Jessa could see it hadn’t sunk in yet. She wasn’t really sure what she was doing – she felt detached from herself in a way that could not be described by the dream – but she pulled Laurita into another hug. With that gesture, the dam inside Laurita broke and she cried into Jessa’s shoulder. She gripped the back of Jessa’s dress. Jessa burrowed her head in Laurita’s hair.

She didn’t know if Laurita could hear her, but she spoke anyway. “The king. I- He said-” Jessa faltered. She wanted it to be a lie, no matter what she knew deep down. Laurita would know. Laurita could tell her it was okay. That he was okay. “He said-” Her voice broke, and the noise had Laurita pulled back so their gazes locked. “He said there was an Etrenian…”

Jessa hadn’t even finished the word before she knew. It was plain on Laurita’s face. The anguish, the truth of it. Jessa shook her head. “No.” The word burst from her, shaky and weak. She flailed, pushing Laurita away and trying to scramble to her feet. She was too weak, and she did not make it far before she collapsed again, hugging her knees to herself. She did not think she had anymore tears, but they came again. She felt Laurita at her back, hugging her to her as she cried into Jessa’s hair.

There were no words. There was only emptiness. Rhys was gone forever. Neither of them would see him again. Not his smile, not his laugh, not his ridiculous behaviour whenever he got drunk. Perhaps she had not expected to see those things again anyway, but now the possibility had been ripped from her.

“What did he say? He must have said something to you,” Jessa asked desperately, when their tears had dried and they had held each other for what might have been hours.

Laurita shook her head. “He just… I don’t know. Rhys just – got it into his head that he would lead the army to Solridge. There was so much indecision, and Rhys is – well, reckless.” Her voice broke. She shook her head against Jessa’s shoulder. “He just wanted to do something. My father went too – but,” she said quickly, just as Jessa was about to turn to her in horror, “we got news that they’d split up. My father was to march on Solridge along the eastern path. He wasn’t at the ambush.” There was relief in her voice, mixed with grief and pain. Jessa found Laurita’s hand and gripped it tightly. “He wasn’t there.”

Laurita repeated it a few more times, her forehead falling against Jessa’s shoulder as she began crying again. Jessa shifted until they faced each other, and took Laurita properly into her arms. “Rhys…” Laurita breathed.

This time, Jessa couldn’t cry. She was completely spent. She stared at the tent flap. It waved slightly in the breeze. Jessa imagined Rhys stepping through it even though this place wasn’t real and even if Rhys was – alive, he wouldn’t ever be in a dreamwalk.

Laurita looked up suddenly, fixing Jessa with a watery stare. “You said it’s your fault. How could it possibly be your fault? You told us about the ambush. We needed to go to Solridge Bay, and without that information we have sent so many more soldiers. Thousands more would be dead, Jessa. How is this your fault?”

“It was a trap. A trap for me.”

Laurita stared at her. “What.”

“Without me, there wouldn’t have been an ambush. That’s what he said. He – he planted information, expecting me to take it to the Novarians. They thought they were doing something he wouldn’t expect, but he knew it all along. They did exactly as he thought. And now he knows.”

“Oh Gods.” Laurita’s hands found hers again. She gripped so tightly her knuckles went white. Jessa did not move away despite the pain. It was the least she deserved. “Oh Gods, Jessa.”

Jessa just shook her head. “He’s locked me in a room, for now. He says he doesn’t want to kill me. But he will. He’s just trying to reassure himself that it’s not his fault for killing me. He wants to say I have a chance to save myself. He knows I can’t. He knows what I’ve done. What you and I are doing is right – Alrick needs to be gone – but I’m still a traitor. And traitors are executed.”

“No, Jessa, no,” Laurita said, her voice hard. “I’m not losing you. I’m not.”

Jessa shook her head. There was no way out of this. Laurita let go of one of her hands and used it to force Jessa to look at her. She kept a tight grip on her chin. “Do you hear me, Jessa? You are not going to die. We are going to figure this out. We have to. You’re not dying.”

“Laurita…”

“No!” she shrieked. “No, you will not look at me like that. You do not want to die. This is not your fault, Jessa. Alrick killed my people. Alrick killed Rhys. You did not do this. This isn’t your fault.”

If Laurita’s hold on Jessa’s chin was not steadfast, Jessa would have looked away. She dropped her eyes. “You’re going to live, Jessa.” Laurita’s voice was shaking, but it was resolute. “You’re going to live for me, okay? I need you.” Jessa shook her head. Laurita said, more firmly, “No, I do. Don’t you tell me I don’t. We’re going to figure this out. We just need a way to make your life worthwhile to Alrick. We need him to want you alive. You must have something, some information he wants but that doesn’t ruin everything we’re working towards. You must have something. Jessa, you have to find something.”

Even though Jessa knew it was pointless, Jessa tried to think. For Laurita. For the only person she had left in this world. Laurita just held her tightly while she thought, as though she could not let go of her. And then, something came to her. It wasn’t much – it was barely anything – and Jessa didn’t even know if it could work. She pushed Laurita back gently, and when she saw her friends tearful face, she knew she had to try anyway.

“Is it possible to show someone memories when they’re behind a mind block?”

Laurita frowned. “I… I’m not an expert on mind magic. But most blocks are there to prevent someone else getting in. But they’re your memories. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to think that the magic wouldn’t allow you to show someone. What are you thinking, Jessa?”

That this could work. It wouldn’t give her long, but it might just be enough for now. And so, she told Laurita her plan, and together they talked it through. By the time Nayall warned them he could not keep the magic up for much longer, they had almost convinced themselves it would work. Either way, it would have to do.

[Rosabeth]

Dazed and numb, Rhys stumbled through the bloody field. Though his ribs screamed with pain at every step he’d somehow let the pain simply wash over him with time. There were other kinds of pain, kinds that left him hollow and aching with an unspeakable grief. The stabbing of Rhys’ ribs paled in comparison. As he stumbled his way through the scattered corpses Rhys tried to concentrate on retracing his steps, a single face clear in his mind. He had to find her. He did not know why his mind refused to let this notion go from the moment it’d formed. Rhys scoured the battlefield, looking for the face that would haunt his dreams from this day forward. In a field of 6,000 slain soldiers - the fighting so hectic Rhys could hardly say from which direction he’d run – finding her would be like a needle in a haystack. Still, he’d seen worse odds. His own life was a testament to that.

Rhys knew the face the moment he laid eyes on it. The girl from Asanos, her golden skin strangely pale, stared up at him with dark, empty eyes. The top of her tunic was soaked with blood, the rest staining the grass beneath her. Rhys forced down the sudden urge to heave as he dared glance at the wound on her neck. It was a clean cut, he reminded himself. She did not suffer long. Rhys did not know what he was looking for as he began to turn out the girl’s pocket’s, finding nothing but a small piece of flint, a scrap of linen, and a few breadcrumbs from that morning’s breakfast. There had to be something – anything. Novarian soldiers often carried small trinkets from home whether they be letters from waiting wives or strips of leather braided lovingly by children. They acted as small comforts on the battlefield, but Rhys knew their practical use. For Rhys – and the many healers and soldiers before him who’d done this very job – they acted as a token to offer a grieving family. That was what Rhys needed. It would be his only offering for to a family in Asanos whose daughter had died at his hand. As Rhys patted down the body his hand brushed against something hard laying on her chest. Covered in a thick layer of blood, a silver chain hung around the girl’s neck, and as Rhys gently pulled on the chain a golden ring emerged from under her tunic. As Rhys stared at the ring he could not help but press his free hand to the ring that lay against his own chest. In that moment Rhys mourned on the behalf of the owner of that ring.

With the golden ring safely in his pocket Rhys redirected his focus. Sunset was only a few hours away, and with it his only source of light would fade. Rhys grimaced at the thought of a long, cold night without so much as a fire to warm him, but lighting a fire would be as good as digging his own grave. The slightest sign of a survivor would be sure to draw attention from the Etrenians, and Rhys did not need to imagine his fate should he be caught. If he truly wished to die it would be much easier to fall on his own sword or fashion a noose. In the hands of Alrick a swift death would be the last thing he’d find.

Retracing his steps came easy enough, but finding the will to carry on did not. The uneven ground made for agonizing steps and Rhys’ aching body protested the entire way. Perhaps the worst pain of all was the clawing thirst in Rhys’ mouth growing worse by the minute. He had no supplies, no food or water to last him the four-day trek back to camp. It was only a few hours to the temporary camp, but surely the Etrenians would think to head there first. If word of a creeping famine in Ovis was anything to judge by the army certainly would not hesitate to loot the supply cache of 6,000 soldiers. Rhys could hardly risk being caught at the camp, and by the time he could safely return it would be nothing more than an open field. Though the thought of days without food made Rhys’ stomach turn he redirected his course, heading in the direction of a sparse forest in the distant horizon. He was in no position to complain about his plight.

The first night in the refuge of the forest left Rhys bitter cold but safe, the wicked thirst that greeted him when he woke making him feel as though he might go mad. Late in the night he’d stumbled into a stream not far from where he slept, forcing himself with every ounce of restraint to not drink the cool water. The last thing Rhys needed was to be doubled over in sickness two hours from now, slowly dying of a much quicker dehydration than awaited him on the long road ahead. Instead Rhys used the water to wash layers of dried blood from his skin and clothes, carefully to avoid the angry red wound that tore his left cheek. As he let his fingers gently graze the edges of the long gash he felt the tell-tale signs of infection, a warm swelling protruding from his skin. Rhys cursed under his breath. He was not well versed in herbal medicine, and without a doctor the infection would spread over the next few days. If Rhys was still alive by the time he reached camp the only options would be for a healer to remove the infection or death. Between that, dehydration, and exposure, Rhys wondered if he would have truly been better off with a knife to the throat.

As the day dragged on Rhys moved as quickly as he could, though that was hardly saying much. The glimpse of sun through holes in the clouds acted as his sole compass, Rhys knowing that without a compass or map he might very well end up miles off course. He refused to let those thoughts consume him, thinking only of his feet, his pain, and the endless stretch of countryside before him. It was better to think of these things, to keep his head on a constant swivel as the paranoia of being watched set in, than to let his mind wander to horrors he did not want to relive. He had decades to relive those memories. Rhys caught himself at that thought, almost laughing. With his luck, ‘decades’ seemed like quite the optimism. He’d be lucky to make it through the week.

By the morning of the third day Rhys could barely move. Every breath drew more shallow than the last, every footstep smaller. With his mouth as dry as ash, his lips cracked and bleeding, his skin rough and brittle to the touch, Rhys did not know if he would make it through the day. After no more than a few hours of aimlessly shambling Rhys collapsed into the soft grass. There was simply no point moving forward. Rhys could not even bring himself to roll over, the grass feeling smooth as satin against his cheek. There was not even the energy left to fear what was coming, or to even care for that matter. He should have died with the others. To think his fate would be any different was laughable. Perhaps the days of suffering were his penance of cowardice on the battlefield, death only coming when he’d suffered as the soldiers had. When his eyelids finally drooped and Rhys felt himself slipping away he welcomed the release. He did not have it in himself to fight his fate.

It was not until a gentle tugging on his shoulder pulled him from his sleep that Rhys realized he had not died. For a moment, he did not know whether he was glad. Rhys’ vision blurred as he blinked at the shape looming over him, hearing unfamiliar words yelled out into the distance. By the time Rhys’ eyes cleared he was sitting, a dark-skinned man pushing him up with one arm under his shoulder. Rhys blinked in confusion, his mind too clouded to understand much of anything. The man was speaking again but Rhys could not concentrate on the words, only hearing strange, disconnected sounds. Rhys’ gaze drifted down the man’s body, instantly locking on a curved leather pouch at his hip. Water. The word came out as no more than a wheeze, unintelligible to Rhys’ own ears, and the man furrowed his brow at Rhys in confusion until his own eyes followed Rhys’ and lit up with understanding. He pulled the pouch from its strap and handed it to Rhys. Though his hands shook, his lips trembling, Rhys found a sliver of strength left he did not realize he’d had. The moment the water touched his lips he drank eagerly, relief coursing through his veins. He drank until there was nothing left, not even feeling ashamed for draining the man’s supply.

“You’re the Etrenian,” the man said, Rhys finally clear-minded enough to process the Novarian words. “The one her majesty sent with the army to Solridge.” Rhys nodded weakly. The man looked around as if expecting to see the other 6,000 appear out of thin air. “Why are you out here?”

“They’re dead,” Rhys said, the only words that came to his mind. “All of them.”

For a moment the man did not speak, staring at Rhys with a blank, unreadable expression. Finally his lips trembled and he let out a shaky breath. “All of them?”

“All of them. Mages. Mind control. I don’t –“ Rhys’ disjointed words cut off as he began to cough and wheeze. The man called out to his companion and in a moment Rhys heard the soft beating of hooves on the ground as a mounted woman came into view. The man relayed Rhys’ vague words to her and she looked to Rhys in shock. “Are you saying you’re the only survivor?”

“Yes.”

Rhys watched the two scouts cover their mouths in unison, looking between each other with wide, horrified eyes. The man closed his eyes, the words her murmured a Novarian prayer for the dead, on Rhys had heard before in Jasrah. When the prayer was uttered the man opened his eyes and helped Rhys to his feet, leading him to a horse a few paces away. He helped Rhys into the saddle before mounting behind Rhys, his arms looping under Rhys’ shoulders. He called out to the woman and she raced off in the direction of the battle to confirm the truth of Rhys’ words. In an instant he and the man were off in the opposite direction. The moment the horse began to gallop Rhys cried out, the jostling sending a stabling jolt through Rhys’ ribs. The man went to pull on the reins but Rhys shook his head, biting down hard to subdue his urge to scream.

“Broken rib,” he muttered through clenched teeth. The man patted his saddle bag without so much as slowing down. “Black vial,” he said. “Drink it. You’ll feel better.” Rhys did not even think to question the man on what the seeds were, fishing through the bag until he found the small vial of dark liquid, downing it in a desperate need for some release from the pain. For a few minutes Rhys felt nothing, and then all at once a wave of numbness rolled through his body. It was a pleasant feeling, a light tingling that blurred into a welcome numbness that dulled the pain into almost nothing. With it Rhys felt himself growing tired, his head feeling light and his eyes refusing to focus. With what conscience thought Rhys had left he murmured a word of thanks before drooping against the man’s arms and falling into a semi-lucid state.

With the horse’s speed and a stop to change horses at a scouting waypoint, Rhys saw the city of tents come into view before nightfall the next day. As they neared the edge of camp Rhys could see a crowd awaiting, dozens of soldiers craning their heads around those in front to get a glimpse of Rhys. Rhys wished he could slink away and escape their curious stares. The first thing Rhys noticed was the permeating scent of sandalwood, present even at the edge of camp. The smell of mourning. A cross, stone-faced healer yelled out an angry dismissal to the gawking crowds, shooing soldiers out of the way as she and another two healers gently lowered Rhys from the horse to the stretcher. She poked and prodded at the cut on Rhys’ face, muttering to another healer in quiet tones Rhys could not pick up. Just as the healers moved to carry him away Rhys heard an unmistakable voice in the distance, frantically shouting out for him in a language only Rhys would understand.

“RHYS!” Kieran shoved his way through the crowd, his tall, lean frame towering over the crowds of soldiers. A healer put out a hand to ward Kieran away but he only pushed it away, his eyes focused on Rhys. “He’s my nephew!” The words came out as nearly a growl as Kieran dropped to Rhys’ side, throwing himself over Rhys as he let out a cry of relief. “I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead.” Kieran’s sobs were almost laughs as his body shook, tears rolling down his cheeks. Kieran gripped Rhys’ hand and leaned in close. Your light burns brightly.” The unexpected words brought Rhys a strange moment of clarity. It was an Aquenine prayer, one Rhys had not heard in many years. It was a prayer said during moments of great prosperity or happiness, a prayer meant to imply the gods had bestowed their favor upon someone. Though he understood Kieran’s meaning well, Rhys flinched at the words. He did not feel in any way favored. Rhys felt cursed. He might have his life, but living came at a terrible price. Rhys carried the guilt of 6,000 preventable deaths, 6,000 soldiers cut down by their friends because Rhys’ impatience had led them into a known trap. What gift was that guilt? At least the dead knew nothing of suffering.

Kieran walked by Rhys’ side all the way to the healers tent, refusing to leave even at their utmost insistence. The moment they were inside the tent the healers began to strip Rhys of his bloodied, mud-covered clothes until he lie bare as they prodded at every bruise and cut on his body. He winced as a woman felt the ridges of his ribs under his skin, marking the spot with a black mark. He barely paid attention to the hands on his body, staring blankly over Kieran’s shoulder towards the tent entrance where healers came and went. He could hear the healers whispering to each other as they felt the swollen cut on his face. It burned and stung to the touch, and Rhys knew what the burning on his brow and the wooziness that had taken over once the strange black drug had worn off meant. The infection had spread through his blood. Fever had set in.

“Lord Rhys,” one began, Rhys too tired to insist on dropping the ‘lord’ from his title, “the infection is too far spread to treat with traditional means. Our medicines only work to prevent the spread, not to undo it. I can easily remove the infection, but-“

“No,” Kieran interjected, looking down at Rhys with panic. “You can’t use magic. He could die!’

“So?”

Kieran and the healer both look to Rhys with surprise. Rhys did not meet their eye. “So what if I die? I’ll die either way. At least this way would bring it on quicker.”

“Don’t say that.” Kieran’s voice caught and Rhys felt guilty for his words, if only for a moment. Rhys was beyond fearing death. If the magic worked, if his aversion was not so pronounced as for it to kill him outright, he would be grateful for his life. If it didn’t then so be it. Rhys felt as though he’d been lingering on death’s doorstep far too long, caught in a limbo he desperately wanted to escape. He did not care about the risk. Rhys needed finality.

“Do it.” Rhys pressed, ignoring Kieran’s protests. “But only use the minimum you can get away with. Just keep me from dying.”

“And your rib?” The healer asked. “I could easily mend that. It would barely take anything on my part.” Rhys only shrugged. If he was going to take the risk he might as well benefit from the possible reward. Kieran’s protests had stopped once realizing Rhys would not be swayed. He stood anxiously to the side, his fingers dug into his arms as he watched the healer lay her hands against Rhys’ face. As she met his eyes Rhys felt a strange tickling sensation run under his skin, starting in his neck and running up to his face. For a moment there was a light searing sensation as Rhys felt the cut begin to compress, the redness he could see from the corner of his eye turning to a pale pink. For a few moments more the strange sensation felt as though it was sweeping through his body, and then it was over almost as quick as it’d begun. The healer stood back with a small smile, cocking her head as she stared at the cut, seemingly determining her work was sufficient. Without a word she moved to his chest, placing her hands on either side of the broken rib. Rhys cried out as a sudden snapping pang could be felt under his skin, quickly replaced by something like a slow burn. When the burn subsided the healer pressed against the skin lightly, Rhys still wincing in pain though she appeared satisfied. Rhys himself waited in earnest, wondering if at any moment his heart would begin to slow, his body protesting against the magic. When no pain appeared Rhys closed his eyes in silent thanks, still knowing in the back of his mind that a painful retribution may be awaiting him that night. For him, magic was never without a price.

“I won’t remove the bruising as that’s not really necessary, but this should help. It should at least make moving bearable.” Rhys sat up slightly, feeling a soreness in his abdomen markedly absent of the previous stabbing sensation. With a sigh of relief Rhys sat back, letting the healer apply a particularly pungent smelling salve to the bruising and wrapping it with a bandage.
The healer departed, leaving Rhys with a clean set of clothes and a pointed reminder not to leave the tent. The moment she was gone, Rhys already pulling on the clean trousers, Kieran launched into a frenzied speech.

“Gods, Rhys, I thought for sure you were dead. We all did. I was distraught, Rhys. Gods, I –“ Kieran took a deep breath, pressing his hands to his face to calm himself. “I thought I was going to have to tell your mother. I really should have already, I could have easily contacted your father through Indri but…” Kieran looked away, ashamed. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t…” Before Rhys could speak Kieran withdrew the letters from the inside of his coat, holding them out to Rhys with a look of desperation. “Please. Take them. I don’t want them.”

Rhys pushed back against his uncle’s outstretched hand, shaking his head. “The war’s not over yet.” It pained him to say the words but he knew their truth. Rhys should be dead already, his life nearly taken so many times. If he made it through the rest of the war with his life intact it would be a miracle. Kieran let out a shaky sighed and nodded reluctantly, slowly placing the letters back in his coat. With the letters out of sight Kieran pulled Rhys’ wedding ring from his pocket, placing it in Rhys’ hand. It took Rhys no convincing to welcome it back, slipping it on his finger without a second thought and sighing at its familiar weight.

In the brief silence that followed Rhys mind suddenly focused on Kieran’s words, playing the sentence back in his head. “Kieran, how did you know I’d died? There was no one left to send word back to camp. The scouts I met acted as though they had no idea. If you’d heard it from their word you’d know I was alive.”

Suddenly Kieran looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight awkwardly between his feet. “Laurita told us.”

Rhys’ breath stopped, his mind growing dark. There was only one person Laurita could have received such information from. “Jessa?” Kieran’s nod was all the confirmation Rhys needed. Rhys placed his hands on his brow as the truth washed over him. “Alrick told her. She thinks I’m dead.” Though an immense grief filled Rhys at the thought of Jessa’s agony upon hearing that false news, the feeling that overwhelmed him was pure rage. He wanted to strangle Alrick. That he could torture Jessa thus, that he could be so cruel was horrific. It did not surprise Rhys in the slightest, not after what he knew of the man, but it did not make the hatred that coursed through his veins any less potent.

The shrieking sound that suddenly filled the tent could have made a man deaf. Rhys’ head snapped towards the tent entrance to see Laurita standing there, on hand cupped over her mouth as the other held her chest. Nayall stood behind her markedly more composed, offering Rhys a smile and a nod, clearly glad to see him alive. Before Rhys could say a word Laurita all but threw herself at Rhys, running to his side and dropping to sit beside him on the cot, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that felt as though it might break the rest of his ribs. “Easy!” Rhys choked out, trying to pull his bruised side away. Laurita suddenly seemed to come to her senses, looking down at Rhys’ chest and the white bandage that wrapped around it. “I’m so sorry!” She breathed, though her hold barely loosened. With a bit more gentleness Laurita gave Rhys a light squeeze, resting her head against his shoulder with a long, breathy sigh as she began to laugh. Rhys could feel her tears against his skin. “It’s good to see you too.”

When Laurita finally pulled back, her hands resting on Rhys’ forearms, her eyes were red but her face wore a smile. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you. The last few days were just –“ Laurita shook her head, unable to find the words. “It’s been a nightmare. The whole camp has felt like a never-ending funeral. It feels like I’ve been crying for three days straight. Rhys, was anyone else…?”

She did not need to finish her sentence for Rhys to know her question. “No. Just me.” Rhys could see Nayall and Kieran both close their eyes behind Laurita, practically acting in unison as they shook their heads, taking in the full scope of the horror. It was Laurita who asked the question no one else had asked. “How’d you do it?”

“I pretended to be dead. Covered myself with another man’s blood. A man I’d killed. Waited for the fighting to stop.”

“Gods,” Laurita whispered, practically choking on the word. The four of them stood in silence for a moment, only the sounds of healers making their rounds to accompany them. Eventually Rhys broke the silence, too many memories threatening to flood his mind all at once. The bloodied face of the man he’d murdered filled his mind. He pushed it away. “Can you tell Jessa I’m not dead? Please? I don’t want her to have to live with that.”

Laurita looked back at Rhys with a startled expression, her eyes flashing to Kieran. “I didn’t know you knew about that.” She muttered, pulling her hands back from Rhys’ arms. “It was awful, Rhys. She was –“ Laurita stared off for a moment, lost in some memory Rhys wanted no part of before shaking her head and returning to her senses. “Of course I’ll tell her. As soon as I can.”

“I sent your father away before the fighting. I made sure his battalions went with the others.” Rhys spoke low, only to Laurita. “I couldn’t save the others, but at least he’s alive.” Laurita nodded, tears welling in her eyes. She wiped them away with her sleeve before giving a breathy thank you, Nayall placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Rhys. I’d heard you’d arrived.”

Tula’s voice rang out clear over the sounds of the healer’s tent, but its presence brought the place to silence. A dozen healers stumbled into bows and curtsies mid-stride, Laurita jumping to her feet beside Nayall to do the same. As Rhys watched the queen stride into the room he saw her eyes bore into Kieran. Rhys’ uncle stood tall as the queen approached, Rhys staring in awe as Kieran refused to bow under her gaze, his face set with a hardness Rhys had never seen. Other eyes were on Kieran now too, watching with wonderment at his act of resistance. Only when Tula stood beside Rhys’ bed, no more than a few feet from Kieran, did the man finally give the smallest of bows, never breaking eye contact. The tension could have cut steel. Laurita and Nayall did not need asking, slipping silently from the tent without so much as a word. When they were gone Tula smoothed her skirts and sat at the end of Rhys’ cot, ignoring Kieran’s eyes on her.

“I’m glad to see you alive.”

“I’m glad to be alive.”

A heavy silence followed their brief exchange, not helped by Kieran’s disapproving gaze. When Tula spoke again her voice was softer, her hand resting on Rhys’. “My contacts from the eastern force tells me it was your idea to split the group. They said you thought your side would act as a distraction, draw the Etrenians away from the bay. The others are still alive, you know. Last we heard, anyway. If they’re successful your plan may have saved us all.”

Rhys felt sick at Tula’s words. He did not want to be a hero. There was nothing impressive about his actions, and to imply such made him want to gag. “At the loss of 6,000 soldiers.” Rhys could see Tula’s lip quiver, her carefully molded resolve faltering for just a moment. He knew she grieved, but she was the queen. She could not show the extent of the guilt he knew she must feel. “They are soldiers - they know the risks. Sometimes casualties must be taken. Those 6,000 deaths may save countless others.” At Tula’s words Rhys found himself wishing he could have her optimism. In the 6,000 deaths the queen saw opportunity, strategizing for victory even in the darkest of times. In those deaths Rhys saw only needless violence and heard the strangled cries as he watched their bodies fall.

As Rhys saw the field strewn with bodies in his mind, feeling the warm blood as thought it was once more on his skin, he also saw the children who stood watch as the Novarians threw themselves at one another with brutal determination. “There’s something else you should know,” Rhys said quietly, looking Tula in the eye. “Alrick is using child mages. They were the ones that killed us. I think they’re part of the mage circle – they must be. They took over the soldiers’ minds, forced them to turn on each other or commit suicide. I couldn’t get a good look at them but they looked as though they might be Barichean.”

Tula sat rigid at Rhys’ words her jaw clenched as she stared at Rhys with wide eyes. Even Kieran could not keep up his anger at the news, his own face clear with his shock. “When you say children…” Tula’s words were slow and steady, tiptoeing towards the truth with reluctance. She did not want to hear what Rhys had to say. Rhys swallowed and looked away, the intensity in Tula’s eyes too much to bear. “14, 15? Younger than any of our soldiers from the looks of it. Some looked even younger but they could just be small for all I know.”

Without warning Tula stood and began to pace, cursing in hisses under her breath. “Is this the game Alrick wants to play? Does he want to test me? See what I’m willing to do?” Rhys did not think the queen was speaking to anyone but herself as she placed her fingers to her temples. “He slaughters my army with children and he thinks he’ll get away with it? Ceres!” Tula called out the name suddenly, a soldier who must have been waiting just outside stepping into the tent with a sweeping bow. “You checked Ferande for mages when we got here, yes?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Check it again. Every last person. This time check the children too. Take anyone who looks suspicious. And when you’re done? Set the city on fire.”

Rhys’ heart dropped into his stomach, the world seeming to jolt. “What are you doing?”

“Doing what I should have done from the beginning. If Alrick wants a war I will give him one. Let’s see how he fares when I burn down every trading town, every center of agriculture from here to Ovis. Let’s see how long he lasts.”

This was not the Tula Rhys knew. This was an anger unlike any Rhys had seen. Some damn had broke deep inside the queen’s mind, destroying whatever carefully built restraint the queen normally showed. This was the manifestation of pure rage, and Rhys did not pretend to not be afraid of the queen’s fury. Rhys watched with frantic eyes as Tula turned to leave, but Kieran was there in an instant, his hand gripping tightly on Tula’s arm and holding her in place. As Tula spun she raised her hand as if to strike, leaving it paused in midair as she locked eyes with Kieran. “How dare you touch me?”

“This is not you,” said Kieran, his voice cold and steady. “You cannot do this.”

“Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? I am the queen of Novamor.”

“I’m a human who knows compassion,” Kieran hissed, tightening his grip as Tula tried to pull her hand away. “And if you do this you will be no better than Alrick. This is monstrous. You would be ruining thousands of Etrenian’s lives, and there’s no telling how many civilians would die in the process. And for what? Revenge? You are a queen – act like one!” Kieran’s last words came out as a yell, ringing out in the heavy silence. Four guards descended on him in an instant but Tula put out her free hand, shaking her head at their approach. Kieran looked around then, suddenly seeming to understand the gravity of the situation. Even still, surrounding by guards he did not relent, his gaze holding steady. When he spoke once more his voice was gentler, his words feeling private. “I know you better than this. If you do this I will never forgive you.”

Rhys could see the queen’s chest rise and fall rapidly as she tried to calm herself. Though all eyes were on her and Kieran she looked only at him, their eyes locked in some silent battle. Eventually Kieran slowly lifted his fingers, Tula’s hand falling to her side. “Search the city but leave it untouched.” As she left she turned only once more to glance at Kieran, and in the small motion Rhys saw something unmistakable. Shame.

Though Kieran stayed most of the day he was eventually shooed off as night fell, the healers insisting Rhys sleep off the effects of his healing. Rhys nodded each time a healer would stop by his bed, insisting he go to sleep, but he could not bring himself to close his eyes. Too many unwelcome sights awaited him in sleep. Yet the horrors of some magical nightmare awaited to accost him at any moment, making wakefulness no safer. Eventually Rhys began to drift, his eyes drooping as he let sleep come, but before long the roar of thousands of screams woke him with a jolt. Rhys sat up with a start, his heart pounding as he looked around the darkened tent at the other confused patients. Yet as Rhys listened he realized these were not screams at all – they were cheers. The soldiers were celebrating. Before he could let his mind wander a soldier burst into the tent, a look of relief clear on his face. “We just got news from Solridge – the bay’s been secured! We won! We won the battle!”

While the other soldiers all cheered, a few letting out cries of relief, Rhys fell back into his cot in a daze. His plan had succeeded. The others had lived. The news did not lessen his grief, 6,000 deaths still heavy on his conscience, but in that moment he let himself smile. There was hope for them all.

[Mollianne]

If there was one thing that had never bothered Jessa before, it was solitude. She had always relished those quiet opportunities to read books or do her research. But there in that tiny room solitude had become a dark, bitter thing. Her thoughts were loud and relentless, and the ghosts of the dead were an ever-present weight pressing down on her. She knew logically that ghosts were not real, that this was just a twisted manifestation of her guilt, but it did not stop her looking into the eyes of the thousands that had died because of her actions. Mostly, though, it was Rhys' eyes she saw. To him, she whispered a thousand apologies, a thousand regrets. Yet his eyes did not flicker in acknowledgment, and no matter how desperately she spoke he did not hear her. He never would. This was their end, unfinished and broken.

It had been two days. Jessa had never been more grateful for having a window because without that, time was meaningless. She had moved to the bed at some point during the first night, though she had not slept a wink. Under the bed, there had been a measly plate of food – just a small bread roll and some hard cheese – and a glass of water. Given she had no idea how long she would be there without any contact, she had severely rationed herself. She could feel the dryness of her mouth now, itching and drawing attention to itself, but she forced herself to keep her eyes on the door rather than looking down at the glass. The thought of draining the glass, feeling the cool wetness soothe her throat, was an appealing one. She had gone this long, however. She might still need it yet.

Jessa had heard nothing beyond her door. There must be a guard out there, and surely they were changing shifts, but to Jessa it seemed like there was no one. It was just her, all alone. Even if she got out of here with her life somehow intact, she would still be alone. The tears were rolling down her cheeks before she even realised. She let them fall. At least she was alive to feel something.

The tears fell harder as her thought turned inevitably back to Rhys. She imagined him out on the battlefield, cold and alone, dying slowly. Jessa pressed her hands against her eyes as though it would block the images out. She was torturing herself. This wasn’t doing anything. Alrick could walk through the door at any moment. She needed to be ready for him. Rhys’ death wouldn’t be for nothing. She had to live so she could see Alrick off the throne. She had to convince him to keep her alive. To do that, she needed composure. Inhale, exhale, breathe. No more tears. As if that was something she could promise herself.

Darkness crept into the room. The door became a black shadow on the other side of the room. Jessa continued to stare at it, both wanting it to open and also hoping it would stay closed. Her eyes were sore and her body was weary. It would be easy to slip into sleep, but the few times she had done so the nightmares had been worse than the one she was living. She wouldn’t think about them, though. She would fall apart more than she already had.

Jessa was minutes away from giving up on fighting sleep when she heard a noise. She sat up, staring at the door, jolted wide awake. No sounds for days and now there was… something. She gripped the sheet underneath her, listening intently as her heart beat hard against her chest. A lock clicking. Jessa swallowed. The door began to open, and flickering candlelight bloomed into the room like the tides swelling on a beach. Waiting in the doorway, his face half in shadow, was of course Alrick. Jessa sat up a little straighter. This was it.

Alrick let the silence linger as he took his time in entering the room, shutting the door, fixing the lantern to a bracket by the door and, finally, pulling the chair over. Jessa did not move. Fear churned in her gut and she let it show on her face. Now was not the time to fake nonchalance. Alrick needed to believe she had been pushed to the edge enough to tell him everything – and, in a way, he wasn’t wrong. The ambush had broken Jessa and had put herself back together in a different order. She didn’t feel quite right. But despite what Alrick wanted and thought – and he knew her, at least well enough to believe her guilt would be her undoing – this had not changed her allegiance. She would never be a pawn to the king again. She just needed to sell to him the idea that she would be.

She began picking nervously at the sheet beneath her, letting her gaze drop from Alrick’s steely glare. She breathed deeply, knowing this first part would not even be an act, not knowing if she really wanted to ask the question. Certainly she did not want the answer.

“Have-” Her voice came out quiet and pathetic, cracking at the end. She swallowed. “Did they… did they find him?”

“Find who, Jessa?” Alrick was calm, even conversational. Jessa didn’t dare look at him. There was a menace behind the words that reminded her that she was playing with fire now. She could make no mistakes.

She wringed her hands. Tears lurked behind her eyes, threatening to fall. “Rhys.” She squeezed his name past her tightening throat, wishing even as she spoke it that she could take them back. Alrick would not pull his punches. This was real. If Alrick had found Rhys, he would tell her and… she didn’t know what came next.

“Why would you care?”

Jessa almost looked up in surprise, her heart flickering to life. He hadn’t said yes. They couldn’t have found Rhys. It was only a matter of time, but her heart was more than content to ignore reality in favour of hope. She shook herself. She needed to focus.

Slowly, she lifted her chin and met Alrick’s gaze. “You know why.”

Alrick’s smile was slow and wicked. It promised pain. “I want to hear you say it.” He leaned forward.

Jessa looked away, shaking her head, drawing her body into herself. Was she fooling Alrick, even a little bit? She couldn't stop now. It wasn't like any of this was a lie, anyway. It wasn't like she had to act like she did not want to tell this truth. It felt wrong – a betrayal. Never mind that hers and Rhys' relationship had never been what she thought it had. She never thought Alrick would ever hear this truth from her lips.

“Say it,” Alrick said, the honey in his voice from before turning to venom.

“Because I love him.” The words came out too loud, too fast, too soon. Jessa wanted to take them back.

“You love the man who abused you?” Alrick leaned even closer. His eyes showed the depths of his vindication. He thought that she was in his trap and he had won. Let him believe it, Jessa thought. He needed to believe that for this to work. “Is that what you're telling me?”

Jessa shook her head minutely. Alrick barked a laugh. “Really? Because you came to me and told me he abused you, just a few months ago. Are you saying that was a lie?”

Jessa swallowed hard. She couldn't speak, which was just as well. It only made it more believable. “Answer me, Jessa.” His tone brooked no argument. She nodded hesitantly. Alrick waved his hand in dismissal. “Say. It.”

“Yes,” she whispered. Jessa was not looking at Alrick, so she did not see his hand until it connected with her face. She reeled. Pain blossomed in her cheek. Her hand went to it, cupping it. She still did not look at Alrick, too scared, too angry. He had hit her. Certainly he had done worse to her and to others, but it had surprised her. Alrick did not lose his composure like that around her. Any glimpses into Alrick's true feelings were calculated ones, meant to frighten her. But he did not normally lash out in a physical attack.

“Why did you come here? You were married to the man you loved. What reason could you have?”

“Rhys...” She breathed shakily. “He – he asked me.”

“He asked you to leave him?” Alrick asked, his voice bordering on incredulous. "If he loved you, why would he want you away from him?”

Jessa flinched. Too close to home. But now was not the time. Alrick knew exactly why. He was toying with her, and Jessa was done.

“The Marinons had made an alliance with Novamor. By the time I realised, I was already in love with Rhys. All he had to do was tell me to keep quiet and,” Jessa shook her head, dropping her gaze as if she was disgusted by herself, “and I did. I would have done anything for him. He asked me to come here so they'd have eyes in Ovis. I was the only one who could do it, he said. I... I just wanted to please Rhys. I just wanted him to love me as much as I loved him. He made me betray my family, you.” She was speaking fast now, letting the fall out of her as though if she stopped she wouldn't be able to continue. At least, Jessa hoped that was what Alrick would believe. She chanced a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. His eyes were fire and promised pain, but he had leaned back in his chair now. Comfortable. This was the truth he expected and Jessa was lulling him into security. It would not save her forever – it might not save her at all – but if he was comfortable then he would underestimate her. He would underestimate the Novarians for trusting a girl he believed pathetic and weak.

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “He convinced me Etrene was broken. It wasn't exactly hard to see in the south. They're cut off from the throne and they don't answer to you. He convinced me that he could help. He told me he loved me. He-” Her voice cut out. “He used me. He didn't love me.”

“Of course he didn't, you foolish girl,” he said, the words almost fond as he reached out to cup her cheek, a facsimile of a real father comforting his broken-hearted daughter. Only a moment later, his grip tightened around her jaw as he forced her to look at him. He squeezed until Jessa gasped out in pain, and then he hissed, “You betrayed me. I sent you to them precisely for this reason, and you went against me. You knew your place.”

Jessa tried to speak, but the words were lodged in her throat. Alrick had not loosened his white-fingered grip on her jaw. His arm shook. Jessa's fear was a wild, living thing and it threatened to take over. She couldn't let it. For Laurita.

“My love for Rhys made them complacent. They trusted me not to want to betray him. I saw things I shouldn't have seen, things they wouldn't want you to know. It would ruin them.”

Jessa paused, but Alrick neither moved nor spoke. He was waiting for her. She licked her lips. “Rhys is dead, and I was just a means to an end anyway. I know what this looks like; it is exactly what it looks like. I don't want to die. I want to save myself, if there's even a chance of it. I owe the Marinons nothing compared to my own life.”

“I would not have taken you for someone so selfish.”

“I don't care anymore. What's the point? Protecting terrible people? I value my life more,” She shook her head. “They have a book. It must be some kind of magic – it required their blood.” Alrick's lips went flat and thin. His hand left Jessa's face and dropped to the side as he leaned back. Jessa pressed on. “They didn't have a clue when I got curious. I got some of their blood and I stoke the book. I only had time to write down a few pages, but I saw many more. It was written in some kind of code. They went to some lengths to hide what was written inside.”

“And what was that?” Alrick sounded bored, but from the way his hands clenched, Jessa knew he was anything but.

“I only managed to crack half the code-” a lie “-but it looked like a list of allies. Names, their crimes, what they've done for the Marinons and what they owe.” Jessa watched Alrick like he was a tiger about to pounce. But the air in the room no longer felt so danger. She could see the taste of anticipation on Alrick's lips. The Marinons: finally at his mercy.

“What is the point of this? Do you have the pages with you?”

“No,” she said shakily. This was the truly dangerous part. Alrick must know she knew about his magic. Although it was hazy, Jessa knew she had seen the ambush with her own eyes, and that was only possible with magic. “But I still have my memories.”

Alrick's eyes glittered, and Jessa knew she had got him. Now all she had to do was hope this would work. In the dreamwalk with Laurita, Jessa had been unable to test whether she could move memories temporarily past the block. It required magic, and in the dream she was only an extension of her consciousness; her magic did not transfer with her. Nayall had his magic and so he would have been able to read or send a memory himself, but he could not see hers if she could not send it through the barrier. This was untested. If this didn't work, she had nothing.

“Very well,” Alrick said smoothly.

She couldn't detect him in her head – maybe he was not there yet – but Jessa didn't wait. She imagined the pages of the blood book and the messy scrawl of her own notes as she tried to decode it. She visualised the block in her mind, seeing a wall stretching as far as the eye could see. But she could move past it, because she could see her memories and the psuedo-memories on the other side of it. Keeping the memories tight in her magic's grasp, Jessa pushed them past the block. The strain of it sent a sharp stab of pain through her head. She bit her lip to prevent herself crying out. Was it working? The wall didn't seem to be moving. She pushed harder, drawing more magic until she felt dizzy and weak. Then a pressure released. The memories still felt the same as before, save for the odd vividness that accessing them through magic provided. She could read the individual words as though they were there in front of her. She wondered if Alrick was doing the same.

Alrick barked for a guard. Jessa jumped, broken out of her reverie. She felt the memories fling back behind the block as though attached to a slingshot. Jessa hung her head in exhaustion and shame. In her head, she sent a final apology to Rhys. He may have betrayed her, but she had just betrayed so many more. They may have been criminals, but none were worse than Alrick. He had no right to serve justice to these people. Yet it did not change the fact that he would and that their lives were in danger. She had chosen herself over them.

No, she had chosen the chance to continue her work in Ovis. To continue to fight Alrick and help the Novarians win this war. If she lived, she could not waste it. And it wasn't as if she hadn't given the king everything. He needed her to continue to decode the pages.

“Get her some parchment and a pen,” Alrick was ordering the guard, who stood stoically in his red livery by the door. He didn't seem to care that Alrick had locked up his own daughter. Maybe he was under the king's control, Jessa couldn't tell. The king stood, fixing his eyes back on Jessa. “She has some work to do.” He leaned towards her, grabbing her arm and breathing on her ear. “Make it worth my while. Prove to me you should live.”

As he moved away, he saw the barely-touched food and water on the floor. His jaw clenched. “Check on her often. Make sure she's doing what she ought to be doing. And make sure she eats. She will not starve herself. She cannot go back on her decision now.”

***

The guards came in every few hours. As promised, the first visit had brought with it paper and a pen. Following Alrick's orders to the letter, the guard had thrust the bread into her hands and waited until she had eaten it all before leaving without a word. They checked on her a few times during the night, but it was not until morning broke that they insisted she start work on the information for Alrick. Exhausted – she had slept maybe an hour or two – Jessa had listlessly began the arduous task of remembering the pages of the book and writing them all down in their original, coded form. It was an interesting use of magic, being able to recall events in the past so clearly when they were usually so faded from time. Jessa wasn't entirely sure how it was working – Laurita had roughly explained what she should do, but Jessa was surprised at how easy it was. She supposed it was because these were her own memories anyway.

Despite pressure from the guards whenever they came in, Jessa made little progress. What could they do to her if she took her time? They could not know that she was lying when she claimed it was difficult. They did not known she had cracked the code some time ago. The Marinons had relied far more on the magic of the blood book; the code had been more of an afterthought and had been relatively simple to crack. It was nothing compared to Magrethe's diary.

The day flittered past more quickly than the last few, now she had something to occupy her time and keep the dark thoughts in her head at bay. Rhys was, of course, never far from her thoughts. She would see his smile and begin to cry. One time she didn't even realise until she saw the splash of her tears on the parchment. The ink ran and Jessa had had to start over. But now her eyes were dry and it was too dark to write.

A servant had brought her food an hour ago, watching her eat before she was left alone again. Laying her head on the pillow and staring at the door, Jessa wondered when the guard would next come in. Before he did, Jessa succumbed to the same unnatural sleep that was now familiar to her. But why? Laurita knew the danger of contacting her now. The guard could come in at any moment.

Unlike the previous times, Jessa appeared directly inside the tent. Before she had recovered from the disorientation, she was enveloped in a warm, tight hug. Jessa hugged back and whispered, “I did it, Laurita. At least for now. I don't think it'll last long.”

“Oh Jessa.” Laurita squeezed and then pulled back. Upon seeing her face – the wide smile, a sparkle in her eyes prevailing over the sadness that was lurking behind it – Jessa frowned. Such an expression did not belong in this war. Laurita took Jessa's hands. “Let's sit down.”

A bench appeared before them, and Laurita nodded to no one in thanks. It was more than a little unnerving, knowing Nayall was listening. Laurita pulled Jessa down. “Laurita, what-”

“Rhys is alive, Jessa.” Laurita's words came out as little more than a breath. That could be the only explanation for hearing such words, for they could not have been the words Laurita said. She shook her head even as her heart fluttered. Maybe...

“What?” she whispered.

“Rhys is alive. He's alive.” The words were clear now, indisputable. Could Laurita really be this cruel? Why was she saying this?

“No, that's... that's not possible.” She shook her head again, pressing down on the hope flooding her traitorous heart. She could not suffer this pain when this turned out to be some cruel joke. Was this dreamwalk real, or had Alrick somehow done this? Alrick didn't know about Laurita, but it made as much sense as Laurita's words. “I saw what happened. No one could have survived that.”

“Rhys did, Jessa. I know it's unbelievable.” Laurita shifted closer to Jessa, releasing one of her hands and touching Jessa's cheek briefly. Desperately, she called out “Nayall?”

Suddenly the tent shifted, becoming brighter and busier. Beds lined the tent, each one filled by soldiers and tended to by a flurry of healers. Jessa had eyes for none of them but one. Rhys. She wasn't even sure if it was just her eyes playing tricks on her. The face looked so familiar, but his hair was short and his beard was gone. There was a cut on his cheek and a hollowness to him that Jessa did not remember. The Rhys she knew had always been vibrant. This couldn't be him. But Kieran stood beside him, and he looked directly at Jessa. Then a figure was running into Rhys' arms, hugging him. They were laughing. It was Laurita.

“It’s been a nightmare. The whole camp has felt like a never-ending funeral. It feels like I’ve been crying for three days straight. Rhys, was anyone else…?”
“No. Just me.”

Jessa bowed her head, and the image faded. She found herself looking back into Laurita's eyes, and it was then that what she had seen was a memory. Nayall's memory of Rhys, only hours before. Jessa had never thought she would see him again. Yet he was there. He was real. He was alive. Laurita pulled her into another hug before Jessa could say anything. Jessa pressed her face into Laurita's neck and for the first time, the tears that came were not in sadness. It felt like a darkness had been lifted from her heart. She cried in relief, in happiness. Into Laurita's hair, she choked out, “I'm sorry.”

Laurita just shook her head, holding her more tightly. “He's alive, Jessa. We're all alive.”

Jessa nodded, though as much as she wanted she could not share Laurita's optimism. She kept wisely silent, however, for she knew Laurita's would not last long either. This war was not holding its punches. And they both knew Jessa was far from safe. Laurita pulled back, and whatever she saw on Jessa's face made the smile fall right off hers.

“I know. We're not safe, we're not out of this yet. You're still there. We've still got to get past the Etrenian forces. There's Miriyam...” Jessa looked away. Of course – she could still die at any moment, regardless of what she said to the king. All of their plans were irrelevant in the end.

“She's coming to Ovis, Jessa.” Jessa nodded before the words registered, but when they did she just stared at Laurita. “Rhys told me before he left, in case... He knew that I would do everything I could to stop her. She's disguised as a noble from Jasrah-”

The tent blurred before Laurita could finish, just for a moment, before snapping back into focus. Laurita looked around wildly. “What was that?”

“Sorry,” Nayall said distractedly, a ghost of himself appearing in the room. He was looking behind him. “There's something happening here. They're all... cheering? I don't know. But I can't... I can't focus...”

The tent blurred again, but this time everything went dark. Jessa felt the bed underneath her. And a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open, and she found herself staring into the guard's eyes. He looked back at her in fright that mirrored Jessa's frantic heart. “Thank the Gods. I thought you were dead. If you'd died on my watch, he'd have had my head.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and Jessa followed his gaze. Her heart stuttered. The king waited, his arms folded and a cold fury in his eyes that told Jessa everything. The king knew exactly what she had been doing.

[Rosabeth]

Solridge Bay was taken in the dead of night. Rhys and Tula had been correct to assume the king would not have planned for a full-scale battle, relying too heavily on his mages to see him through the worst. By the time Navin’s soldiers had fought through the battalions stationed along the northern pass to Solridge the navy was already in place, a new arrival of warships awaiting the Etrenians in the bay. It had not been an easy fought battle, the Novarians taking an additional thousand casualties, but in the end they’d emerged victorious. At least, that was the story Rhys had heard again and again, passed through the camp on an inescapable loop. Rhys knew he should be happier, relieved beyond belief that his plan had not crumbled into a bloodied disaster, yet after what Rhys had seen a reserved optimism was the best he could hope for. Though it took some time, the camp an unsurprising bustle of noise, Rhys eventually let relief lull him to sleep.

Rhys awoke to guttural screams only to realize they were his own. His thin shirt – soaked in sweat - clung uncomfortably to his skin as he pushed himself up from his cot, his hand clutching his chest. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, and invisible force pressing down and forcing the breath from his lungs. The screams took no bidding, coming freely from his throat before they twisted into strange, choked sounds. In an instant two healers descended on Rhys. He struggled needlessly against the hands urging him back down, turning his head away from the vials they proffered. Suddenly the warmth of the healers’ hands dissipated into a clammy cold that nearly caused Rhys to jump from his bed. Where the healers stood only moments ago were mutilated corpses, their dead eyes staring aimlessly in Rhys’ direction. As Rhys stared back, his gaze drawn down to a horrific gash in his abdomen showing a peak of blood and organs within, a cold hand gripped on Rhys’ shoulder. Some small voice in the back of his head knew the truth of this vision, that it was no more than a vivid hallucination, but the feel of the rotting flesh on his skin wiped any sanity from Rhys’ mind. Barefoot and half asleep Rhys shot out of his bed and sprinted out from the tent.

The hour was late yet there was little darkness, a thousand flames illuminating the camp. Hundreds – perhaps thousands – of soldiers milled about outside their tents, some drinking around the campfires while others lit incense outside the tents and said quiet prayers for the dead. At Rhys’ dramatic entrance the gathering grew eerily quiet. Rhys could feel the eyes on him, watching his wild state with interest, but he paid them no mind. He ran and ran, swerving through lines of tents and ad hoc celebrations. Every step only made his heart beat faster, the chilly night air burning his throat, until Rhys found himself at the edge of camp. He stood at the bank of the westward-flowing river, it’s black surface illuminated in the moonlight, and for a brief moment Rhys considered jumping in. The water would surely be a welcome escape. He could practically feel it flowing over his skin as he took a step forward. Before his feet could touch the sandy banks a cloth wrapped around his mouth. Rhys fought against the strong arms that grabbed him then, holding his arms to the side, but soon enough his resistance became futile. Sleep came without his consent.

Sunlight illuminated the tent when Rhys awoke once more. Where an empty chair had sat beside him the night before Kieran now sat anxiously. In a fleeting moment Rhys considered closing his eyes once more and silently pretending to sleep. Memories of the corpses, of running through camp, of the blinding pain that had radiated throughout this chest came forth quickly. As Rhys stole a sneaky glance at his uncle he knew well enough he was not simply there for a chat. Rhys could practically hear the bombardment of questions. Yet as Rhys looked at Kiearn, his uncle rubbing the backs of his hands with his thumbs, head bowed in quiet contemplation, Rhys could not be selfish. He let out a small cough.

“Rhys?” Kieran’s head snapped up immediately, his dark eyes wide as he appraised Rhys from top to bottom. “Are you –“

“Can we not talk about it?” The words came out like a snap and Rhys recoiled at his own voice. If Kieran took offense, he said nothing.

“Rhys, I woke up this morning to someone telling me you woke up screaming like you were dying and then ran from here to the river. Don’t you think I should maybe be a bit concerned?”

“I’m fine. I’m here. Nothing happened.” Rhys locked his jaw as he looked away, unable to meet Kieran’s eyes. His face betrayed the embarrassment he could not express. He remembered vividly what had happened. He did not need a reminder.

“You had to be sedated!” Kieran’s hand rested gingerly on Rhys’ shoulder and Rhys flinched away from the touch, seeing the hurt in Kieran’s eyes as he pulled back. Kieran’s expression softened, sadness in his eyes and his lips turned up into a wisp of a smile. “I know things are hard right now, and I can’t even start to comprehend what you’ve seen, but maybe you should talk to someone? I’d like if you talked to me but…” his eyes flickered away for a moment as he pressed his lips hard together, struggling to find the words, “I’m worried about you.”

Worry. Rhys had developed a certain hatred for that word. It felt as though everyone worried about him constantly, watching him as though he might explode at any moment, as though he were more fragile than porcelain. Yet agonizing over the worry only made him feel guilty. At least he had family and friends who cared enough to give a single thought to his health. With that guilt heavy on his mind Rhys could not shrug off his uncle’s words. “It happens any time magic is used on me, at least ever since that incident in Asanos. It’s just…a part of life now, I suppose. I saw some hallucinations and that’s all. It won’t happen again.”

Kieran looked less than convinced by Rhys’ words but he gave a nod of understanding, Rhys taking a sigh of relief as the topic dropped. It was not until that moment that Rhys looked around the healers tent to see it much sparser than he remembered. Those with the worst injuries, those not easily mended by magic, remained in their beds, many still asleep, yet far more beds were empty and few healers wandered throughout. Even sounds of camp were mysteriously hushed in the distance.

“What’s going on out there? Where is everyone?”

Kieran groaned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

“Kieran.”

“The queen is holding a memorial of sorts for the soldiers who died at Solridge.”

A strange sort of numbness settled over Rhys. “And no one thought I should be told?”

“You were injured and needed rest. We though, well…” Kieran struggled for words helplessly, realizing as he looked back at Rhys that there would be no rationalizing his actions.

“You didn’t want me to make a scene. After last night.”

“Rhys, no, that’s not – Rhys, where are you going?” Rhys was barely paying any attention to his uncle’s words, pulling on the clean shirt left at his bedside and sliding on his muddy boots. As he strode from the tent Kieran was quick on his heels but silent, apparently having already given up protesting against Rhys’ stubbornness. In his hurry Rhys had not bothered to grab his jacket, the breeze that tunneled through the rows of tents giving him a sudden burst of clarity. It was easy to follow the hum of voices from the distance, and after no more than a minute of following the sounds Rhys knew exactly where they would lead him.

As Rhys and Kieran approached the riverbank – embarrassment swelling up in Rhys at the sight – a swarm of easily 20,000 men and women gathered before a roaring pyre towards the south. Without any bodies to burn the air smelled of freshly chopped wood, ash, and sandalwood, Rhys watching the tendrils of the fire reach towards the grey skies. The hum of voices that had led Rhys to that spot became a blanket of murmured prayers and quiet weeping by the thousands of mourners. On a raised platform near the massive bonfire the queen stood with her generals, the seven looking out solemnly over the crowd. Though the soldiers had no such clothes for such an event of mourning Tula stood draped in black linens that rippled in the breeze, her face partially obscured by a long, sheer black veil. Only her golden crown, it’s sharp edges glinting in the light, stood out among the black.

As Rhys stared silently up at the queen and her generals, letting his eyes sweep across the crowds below, he realized why Kieran had not wanted him to come. His stomach lurched, his eyes suddenly becoming unfocused as a wave of dizziness washed over him. His body, now breaking out in a cold sweat, screamed at him to run, to be anywhere else than this, yet his feet seemed rooted in place. Kieran seemed to realize what was happening in an instant, his hand on Rhys’ shoulder to steady him as Rhys began to tremble.

“You don’t need to be here. If it’s too much –“

Rhys heard nothing else of his uncle’s words, a high ringing all he could hear. Suddenly Rhys was transported back to the battlefield, thousands of desperate screams filling his mind and the feeling of blood coating every inch of his skin. He wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to force those sounds from his memory, yet his mouth was dry and no words found him. He did not deserve to live. The words repeated themselves over and over in his head, seeming to be repeated by a chorus of a thousand voices. Why should he stand there, looking out at a sea of soldiers who’d likely fought and lived side-by-side the dead, when he’d done nothing to deserve such a fate. What made him any luckier, any more deserving of life? Perhaps there was some god out there who rewarded the cowardice in men like Rhys, allowing them to live if they sacrificed the lives of others in self-preservation. Rhys swallowed the bile that threatened to come up. He should have died with the others. That he should live – not even a soldier and an Etrenian no less - was no more than an insult to their memory.

“Kieran, I –“ Before Rhys could finish a blur of black caught his eye in the distance. Tula descended the stage, alone but for two guards who kept close by, her eyes focused in their direction. Rhys could sense Kieran stiffen beside him as the queen approached, taking an almost indiscernibly small step forward. When Tula stood before them a moment later Kieran and Rhys gave their silent bows, but it was not Tula that Rhys was watching. If Tula felt Kieran’s eyes on her – his gaze so piercing that surely she must – she gave no acknowledgement.

“I’m glad to see you feeling well enough to come,” Tula began, her voice even and quiet as she pulled back her black veil. “I wasn’t sure you would make it.” Rhys could only manage a weak nod in response. “I know it may be a bit soon, but I was hoping you might want to pay your respects.” One of the guards standing silently behind Tula took a step forward, offering several sticks of incense to the queen. Tula took them with thanks and in turn offered them to Rhys. “Lighting the incense in the funeral pyre is tradition, a way to merge both the relinquishing and commemorative aspects of mourning. You could offer a prayer, though I know you’re not a particularly pious man, but I think the sight of you might be good. For the other soldiers to see that there is some hope even in the direst of situations…well, I think we could all use a bit of hope.”

Rhys’ fingers closed around the sticks of incense but his mouth turned to dust as he tried to speak. He looked up at the pyre with frantic eyes, feeling as though the sweltering flames were on him already. Luckily for Rhys he need not give an answer, for Kieran was there in an instant, pushing Rhys lightly back with one hand as he took a step towards the queen.

“Rhys is not your fucking talisman to bring good luck to your war effort!” Kieran’s biting words lashed out unexpectedly, Tula visibly starting. Rhys gaped openly at his uncle, the words drawing Rhys from his fearful stupor. In 26 years Rhys had never heard his uncle curse at another. It was as if Kieran was another person entirely. “He’s suffering and you don’t even see it!” A bitter laugh escaped Kieran’s lips, so foreign sounding to Rhys’ ears. “But why should you? Rhys has always been a tool for you to use at your disposal.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve never been made to do anything against my will.”

Rhys’ interjection was brushed away as soon as it had left his lips. Kieran shook his head. “Because she knows you’d do anything that was asked of you. You’re so damn reckless you’re always looking for a chance to prove yourself. She’s been taking advantage of your nature this entire time. She knew you were the only Etrenian at her disposal all those months ago when you were sent into the king’s tent to steal information from him. She knew about your aversion to Greater Magic when she sent you to play assassin in Ferande. And the only reason she let you go off on that damned suicide mission to Solridge was because it served her needs without risking any of her best military personnel. You’re not some sort of trusted advisor to her, Rhys – you’re a trusty tool at her disposal that she can play with as she likes.” Kieran turned back to Tula, shaking his head with a breathy laugh. “And to think when I first met you I was so enamored. Rhys spoke so highly of you and you were so charming. At least I see you for who you are now.”

For a moment after Kieran spoke his last words, his lips tight with anger, there was silence. Rhys stared blankly at his uncle as the words played themselves over and over in his mind. Always looking for a chance to prove yourself. Though Rhys knew it had not been Kieran’s intention to bruise Rhys’ ego, the words cut deep. It was not that they were insulting so much as Rhys could not deny that they were true. He felt like an insecure child at the accusation. How many times had Rhys endangered himself telling himself he had some unique talent to contribute to the task at hand? How many of those times had Rhys merely been anxious to prove himself useful? Suddenly Rhys’ mind flickered to memories of Anja with their father, her smug smirk at winning his praise scorched into Rhys’ memories. After all these years had he not changed at all?

Eventually Rhys’ eyes flickered to Tula, and what he saw there nearly shocked Rhys into another stupor. Tula looked on the edge of tears, her carefully constructed composure crumbling beneath Kieran’s harsh criticism. Seeing Rhys’ eyes on her she steeled herself, her lower lip trembling slightly as she took a shallow breath. “Kieran’s right.”

“What?”

“I am?” Kieran’s anger seemed to wash away in a moment of confusion, his brows knitted as he stared back in bewilderment.

“It was wrong of me. I’ve been careless with your life, and for that I’m sorry. I cannot, however, pretend to be sorry for using the resources at my disposal.” Kieran’s bitter laugh cut through Tula’s words and suddenly her glassy eyes were gone, a new anger brewing beneath the surface. “What you don’t seem to understand is that at the end of the day I have a country to defend and a war to win. I am sorry if I am not gentle enough with your darling nephew but Rhys is the one who came to me about this entire war, not the other way around. I know what I’ve done – I am well aware of my faults Prince Dunvyen. But you have no one who depends on you. You do not have a country whose security rests on your shoulders. Now maybe I haven’t lived up to your lofty expectations, but I’m a queen, not a god. If you’re so damn moral maybe you should take my job and see how you do.”

In a flash of movement Kieran had closed the small distance between him and Tula and cupped her face, bringing her lips to his in a desperate kiss. For a brief moment Rhys thought Tula might push away Kieran with a slap, her anger having felt so palpable only seconds before, yet in an instant her arms were thrown enthusiastically around his waist, drawing him nearer. Though feeling distinctly as though he shouldn’t be watching Rhys could not look away, glad at least for the fact that in that moment his thoughts were as far as possible from the war. When Kieran and Tula pulled apart there were no smiles, no laughter, only silence as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“I thought you hated me,” Tula said finally, the smallest hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Apparently not enough.”

As it looked for the moment as if the couple had no interest in disentangling themselves Rhys gave an awkward cough, instantly drawing two rather embarrassed looking expressions. “I’m just…going to go now…”

With the very idea of returning to the pyre making Rhys shudder he turned back towards camp, the emptiness and silence offering a welcome solace for his thoughts. Soon enough Rhys found himself back in his and Kieran’s tent, the sight of his bed roll – untouched for over a week – too enticing to let pass. For some time Rhys stared up a the tent ceiling, letting his thoughts wash over him freely until they no longer concerned him, his mind a blank slate. Yet this quiet peace did not last long, too many intrusive thoughts threatening the calm at every unexpected moment. Eventually Rhys sat once more, looking about the small space aimlessly, his mind yearning to find some distraction. Suddenly a small leather-bound notebook caught Rhys’ eye, the corner emerging from under Kieran’s bed roll. A dried leaf marked one of the pages and Rhys, curiosity overruling the small part of his mind reminding him of the notion of privacy, carefully opened the book. Though the writing was in Aquenine the first word to catch Rhys’ eye was an Etrenian name – Erik. The passage was short, scrawled as less of a record of an event and more of a reminder.

Erik says M&J passed through Calis two days ago; nothing of interest to report. Heading to Avirn next.

Rhys stared at the words with confusion. Calis was a town perhaps 20 miles from Jasrah with little of importance but a few well-regarded dressmakers. Avirn was perhaps a bit more impressive, home to several notable noble families, but certainly had nothing of interest for Miriyam and Johannes. Rhys had suspected what route the Lanis’ might take to Ovis and neither Calis or Avirn were on it. None of the details were adding up. Then, the moment the pieces clicked together, Rhys could not believe he hadn’t seen it in the first place.

Rhys hardly bothered to even return the book to where it had been before scrambling to his feet and setting off into camp with his mind singularly focused. The feeling of having such clarity of purpose gave him an intoxicating release from his nightmarish thoughts and he held onto the feeling, letting it consume him entirely. Thousands of soldiers flooded the camp as Rhys emerged from his tent but Rhys did not mind. It would only make it easier to find Laurita and Nayall. It took little time to track down the two, unsurprisingly in each other’s company, outside Laurita’s tent. They looked up at his approach, Laurita’s eyes lighting up with the promise of a thousand things she wanted to say, but Rhys spoke before either had the chance.

“How would you two like to be Etrenian nobles for a day?”

Laurita and Nayall’s simultaneous eyebrow raises, and their subsequent shared glances of skepticism, looked almost comically rehearsed. Laurita was the first to take the bait. “What are you talking about?”

“I know where Miriyam and Johannes are headed next, and we’re going to go pay them a visit. How would you like to see how the nobility really lives? Because we’re going to crash their party.”