The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

The Burrows

"Welcome home! Welcome back, Blackbird!" were the two clearest of the chorus of cheers.

Lark turned about to take this in, tears glistening in her eyes and her hands pressed over her heart. Two dozen people began to press forward, some offering handshakes and others hugs that Lark returned with equal measures of grace. Here she was no prince of Larbantry, nor a damaged lynchpin to a tactically significant alliance. No, here she was Lark, their hero, and they loved her.

While Lark made her way through the well-wishers, the escort went their separate ways and some girls led the horses off. And Able stood there in the snow, only a witness and a chronicler. As the minutes passed, he turned to survey the woods, trying to be satisfied his or Lark's would-be assassin had missed her chance. ...who was she, though, and what did she want?

Only a few people, dirty and tired but with genuine smiles, were still waiting to wish Lark well. She knew their names and had questions about their well-being. Finally, she waved to those still about and began to head inside. Able chased after her and, prompted by either nervousness or jealousy, slid his fingers between hers. She glanced back with a smile, this time for him, and squeezed his hand. They entered the Burrows together.

The arched corridor was dark but warm enough that the floor was tracked with water. It led them to a torch-lit earthen chamber which seemed a hub for several passageways. The scent of dirt, the half-muffled echoes, and flickering orange shadows were at once charming and spooky. Lark started up a set of stairs carved out of the side of the wall. Able cleaved to the wall himself as there was no railing.

Up here was another arched corridor. They passed a few rooms until they ended up in another chamber, this time lit with lanterns and hosting a round, fully-populated table in the center. With remarks of pleasant surprise, many of the people got up and mobbed around Lark. The only person Able recognized did not, so he slunk by the crowd and over to the table to pull on her sleeve.

Chessie she looked up from a map before giving him a small, warm smile. "Ah, you made it."

"Surprisingly," he huffed.

She raised an eyebrow. "You two seemed to want some time alone." She lowered it and nodded agreeably. "No, I didn't think I was leaving you to a violent confrontation without backup." Reading his mind again.

"Exactly how important are you to the Resistance, anyway? Because I had the fee—a suspicion Red would have murdered me before I got to Lark if you hadn't been there."

Chessie quirked half a smile and said, "You should trust your senses, then." Now she thoughtfully rubbed her chin. "Hm, I could see how she would consider me a higher-up to be left alone. Could also be why I didn't get a sense of danger. I didn't think to look to see if there was danger for you separate from me."

"I see." Able sighed and sank into the chair beside her. The people who were not crowding Lark seemed engaged in their paperwork, so he leaned closer and whispered, "But you did look for other things. Did you know what 'stopping Constance' entailed, but wouldn't tell me because then I might not go along with it?"

"Are you very upset that she's dead?" Chessie frowned like she hadn't considered that.

"I'm upset anyone's dead!" the words had just ripped out of him. He set his head in his hands and hoped no one was staring.

Chessie looked at him a long moment, once again with that piercing quality in her green eyes. She then looked at Lark for a longer moment. Naturally.

"And yes," Able just admitted in a whisper, "I am very angry he had to go through that."

"To be honest, Able, I wouldn't say she is stopped. Dead, perhaps, but that's not the same as stopped."

Able met her eyes. Was she really saying it had all been for nothing?