The Colorless Land

Chapter 42: The End of the Beginning

The door to the royal chambers opened, and out came Aithal, feeling not entirely comfortable in his skin.

His worn-out travel clothes were hidden away in a closet, except for the cloak, which he still held draped over his arm. Instead he was dressed in princely gear, green and gold, an ornate sword that belonged to someone else hanging gracefully at his side. His hair was washed, dried, and brushed to fall more like Calander's. He slid a self-conscious hand over where his beard had been. After all the years of keeping it on his face, well-trimmed after Jadirian fashion, he felt naked without it.

Nonetheless he was a prince now, and he needed to behave like one.

Squaring his shoulders, he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, turning slightly as he glanced at Calander. "How do I look?"

The guardsman backed away, bowing his head. "Did I not know better, my lord," he said, his voice rippling with emotion, "I would have thought you were him."

Aithal gave a nod, passing by him and catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror as he went. For a second he felt like he was being accompanied by his older brother, finally going somewhere side by side. But the face in the reflection was entirely his own, made strange and unfamiliar with a disguise.

"That was step one," he said to Calander as they went, pulling on his cloak. "Now we notify all the squabbling, bickering lords and summon them here as fast as we can."

The guard fell into stride beside him. "How, my lord?"

"Whichever you deem most—"

A great shout and clamor cut into his words. Across the gardens a young guard came running, barely twenty years old, blood-spattered, wounded in several places, breathless and terrified.

"Colorless!" he shouted, collapsing before Calander's feet. "They slew several of the guards, and they're armed...The Colorless are trying to get in!"

And we're outnumbered.

Just for a second Aithal shivered in fear, wishing Saryana was there. If it came to a battle, none of them would stand a chance. Not as they were.

Then an idea popped up in his mind, and a wry smile crossed his face.

"Well," he said, drawing his sword. "I couldn't have asked for a more effective summons."

~ ~ ~

"Wait here," Fayabel whispered as they reached a door, pressing her ear against it while putting a finger to her lips. "Not a sound. Don't go anywhere until I come back."

Maithea exchanged a glance with Nellary. There it was again, that faint suspicion. If Fayabel decided to rat them out now, it was over.

But if that was the plan, then why had she bothered saving them in the first place?

"Alright," Maithea whispered back, placing a hand on her arm. "We trust you. Take care."

With a brief nod Fayabel slipped through the door, and silence fell.

Time passed. How long, neither of them could say. But when Fayabel finally returned, her hands were not empty. She was carrying two cloaks of the kind the Colorless wore, snowy white and heavy with large hoods that hid the face.

"This is my cloak," she said, "and that is my spare. If you put them on, you can go a long way before someone realizes you're not one of them."

Taking the thick fabric from her hands, Maithea and Nellary put them on. They were too big, and Maithea's too long. But they were warm, and they hid them well from prying eyes.