"I wish you guys could stay," Kat says to Thyra and Toya, both readying to mist with Willa to the western shoreline where three of their ships await.
"We could if we chose to-"
"But we've got sea legs whereas you have your gangly land ones," Cliff finishes for Thyra. He wiggles his fingers at Kat's legs with a scrunched nose of distaste. She gives him a solid punch in the arm for the jab, a pleased smile dancing on her lips. I smile up at the sight.
It's nearing dawn, and the higher that sun rises the sooner they leave. I've been unsteady all morning, trying not to imagine the worst things possible that could go wrong. I'm not counting, but I think there are about fifteen different scenarios. Again, not counting.
When Darius silently asked me for my opinion, I was sure of my response. Having the Devil's Pride fleet and their large numbers would only push the court to oppose Darius. They'd challenge that he'd rather trust thieves and entirely uncivilized mongrels to fight his war, rather than his own flesh and blood. It's already going to be bad as is with my people watching the gates, we don't need them having another dart to throw. I also didn't need to tell Svenja or any of her rather emotionally sensitive group of troublemakers any of that. This takes care of both problems without any insult to anyone.
The Ginerva will be kept to the Highland Tower while the court visits and the only ones the court will see are Rohana - who seems to be back on her own two feet - Nilsa, and Serephina, though they won't know the two others are there. The rest will be keeping my sister company and protected. Anyone who tries to sneak into the Healer's Tower uninvited will suddenly find themselves turning around, according to them. Seeing how long they managed to stay undetected at Hollis Mountain, I didn't doubt their claims.
Tanith didn't seem to mind the idea when I went with Rohana to speak with them. I'm still not allowed in to see my sister, but I'd rather not walk in if she's not ready to see me. Rohana was the one to call out her sisters into the hall, though I know exactly why she doesn't want to walk through the door.
"Does your mind ever stop turning?" I turn my head to Svenja, letting Kat have her temporary goodbyes.
"Does yours ever stop contemplating how quickly you can get another bottle of rum?" I retort back.
"Ha. I suppose not."
I take in her apparel which is her normal black pants, high boots, corset over tunic, and long coat, though the thing seems thinned for summer, not thick for winter. "You don't look dressed for the cold."
"I like the bite of salt and ice, keeps your eyes open."
"And your toes are purple," I point out.
A slow smile rises to her cheeks, eyes peeking through thick lashes. "That's what body heat's for."
"Oh? Got a specific body in mind?"
"You scandalous bastard," she exclaims dramatically, her eyes bulging out of her head. "You have someone's dress to slip under, stop trying to loosen my corset."
"Based on how tightly you tie the thing, I'd say that's an action even I couldn't do." She goes to jab me in the ribs with her finger, but I catch it and pull. I'm about to put her in a chokehold when I feel something sharp and pointed aimed to plunge into my gut. I stop, only doing so because I know she'll draw blood the moment I twitch.
Sneaky pirates.
"Ah, ah, ah. Not today, King Arthur." I slowly release her, hands up in surrender as she turns but keeps the curved blade against my side. She shakes her head disapprovingly. "Years later and you're still using the same old moves."
"I thought you'd like the trip down memory lane."
"You know what I would like."
"Rum?"
"Yes, but no, not that." She angrily slaps her sword back into the sheath at her hip. "I'd like it if you'd go up and talk to him."
I feel my face fall knowing who he is, but still, I say, "I'm surrounded by men, Svenja, you'll have to be more specific."
"You who I mean."
"If I go to talk, I'll end up slitting his throat."
"Then walk in without your polished toys," she exhorts.
"And go in defenseless?"
"Oh, please, we both know that you're fully capable of ripping out his heart with your bare hands. Don't smile, it's creepy."
"You can't see my smile," I say, not denying that my cheeks are lifted.
"No, but I know it's there - I know you better than you think."
"Then you know that there's no way in ten hells that I'm walking into that room."
"Fine-" she sets her hands on her hip, not backing down despite her verbal surrender "-but you remember this moment when I warned you that that boy knows more than you think and that you'll regret not having learned it sooner than when it bites your ass clean off."
"Svenja-"
"I'm not mad, just disappointed. Did you not think it curious that the wolf wouldn't let anywhere near him, that it nearly demanded Will be kept within the center of their own pack?" She keeps her voice low, making sure no one else hears or is paying attention to us. "Your sister found something out while in close quarters with him, something she can't remember but had enough of her brain to ensure that he be the only one of her torturers she kept.
"When she broke free of her chains and blocked us from reaching or seeing her or the others, the power in the one wave alone was enough to drown us all. Something tells me that she could've captured more than one person from Xaxias, but she chose him. Perhaps you should start asking why, and I don't believe the answer to be because of his past. We both know that he'd be dead already if it was."
She walks off without another word, taking her place among the small portion of her crew and Willa. They all grab each other's hands, but her eyes are still on mine. Challenging.
Of course, I haven't harbored the thought, I've been too focused on keeping the walls secure or keeping Darius from dying or enjoying the time Kat and I have together before darker clouds than the ones above our heads currently gather. I've only thought about Will a hundred times since we've taken back the castle, but none have considered why Víđarr keeps him within his protection.
Her eyes are still on me when they mist, and then we're all walking back inside to escape the cold. All except Darius, whose cheeks are red from warmth.
The flash of blue catches my eye, and I turn to find Reynald waiting in the corner of the foyer.
"Why don't you go with Thomas," I say to Kat. She looks over my shoulder to Reynald, her face shrinking only slightly before nodding and catching up with the man. I watch after them for a few seconds, waiting until she smiles again before taking a heavy sigh and dreading the day ahead of me.
"Bad news?" I ask him as we head towards the Glass Tower where we've managed to cram most of our men and women. The tower's barely used according to Darius, and we don't need as many rooms with most of our own constantly switching between shifts and sleep. Plus, it's better that the court think our numbers aren't many, that way they believe themselves to have the upper hand in whatever argumentative conversation we have tomorrow.
"Not yet, but the day's only begun," he answers, matching my pace.
"Fair enough. Where's Rykiel?"
"Uh...hard to tell. He sent word that he was taking point on digging into the devil they call a Lord, but they left in the middle of the night. I saw the man only two hours ago checking the northern wall."
So one twin's digging while the other watches the surface. "Spot anything yet?"
"No. The scouts came back empty-handed. No darkness gathers," he recites.
"And the court?"
"All making spectacular timing. Our shadows say they only stopped for three hours before continuing. They'll do the same tonight and camp outside the city for a few more before approaching the walls at noon."
"Their numbers?"
"Small. Each carries its normal array of sentinels on horseback. Fully armed, identified, confirmed, and the lists of each one's weaknesses and likely intrigues have been made." The normal workup we do one anyone coming to visit us, or in this case, the King of Vandaria.
We know who will ask for our help before they do, and we're always prepared to combat their false promises and use their own likes or dislikes to appeal to their collaboration. People often think that they can trick us into killing someone who they say deserves it, but we do our research, and those people end up getting threatened instead of aided. Sometimes, in situations like this, good people work for bad people, so we have to know how to tear apart someone's life without touching them. Knowing which guards, family members, relatives, staff members, or anyone else in their service are loyal and which aren't is the first step.
I wouldn't put all the Lords or Ladies on the nice list. Some are more likely to kidnap someone's child to get them to work for their interests, which is why we do our research. Get the victim's kid back, and not only did you expose the fakes for who they are, but you gave them another enemy and gained an ally. Simple work. Effective thinking.
We reach the Glass Tower and turn left to where my so-called 'office' is on the first floor. "The walls are standing, Rykiel is doing his job, our shadows have sung, and we're prepared for the six sinners and their tainted offspring. All is running as it should, Reynald, so why is it you're not saying what you wish to? I won't cut off your head."
"It's not that, I..."
I stop just before my door and turn to him. "Spit it out, Reynald. I don't have all day."
"She missed you." I blink at his words, not sure who 'she' is.
"Wouldn't say a word to anyone else aside from the threats to have us all marked and hunted should we deny her an audience with you. She should've known that no threats would've been needed since we all know very well as to who she is."
"Who?" He doesn't get the chance to answer as the door opens from the inside, and I find myself face to face with someone I assumed dead.
"Took you long enough."
"Mary?"
"Dear Gods you really have changed," she marvels, taking in my simple clothing. I woke up and didn't feel like wearing the suit I've worn for cycles, so I traded them out for looser brown pants, a tunic, and a thick coat with fur lining Kat scrounged up out of somewhere. She laughed when she saw me, saying that I looked normal for once in my life. I personally like it, though I'd prefer not to have to wear the balaclava still, nor give back the fur-lined boots I may or may not have stolen from someone's room. Darius won't notice, especially since he won't go anywhere near his old rooms.
"I thought you died in the attack on the keep," I whisper, taking in her own form. Still the same Mary I remember, though her hair is gaining silver on the roots. But no injuries. Not even a scratch.
"Did you find a body?" she questions.
"No, but-"
"Honestly, Arthur, you're father would've been baffled." Arthur, right. It's hard to remember who knows my name and who doesn't these days.
"I'll leave you to your business," Reynald says, placing his fist over his heart and then walking off with a simple smile.
"I assume you've already gotten several scoldings for taking so long to find your sister?" I follow her inside, closing the door behind me as I try to gather my thoughts. She leans up against the wooden desk I've been using, now stacked with the reports Reynald mentioned.
"Sometimes I think I can feel my father smacking me up the backside of the head," I admit, rubbing at the sore spot that's likely aching from an oncoming headache, not my father's ghost.
"Where is she then? No one has said a word, and you know how far my ears like to listen."
Everything suddenly hits me at once, and I fall into the chair in front of her. The failure of not saving Fauna the first time, the headache of having to hear the rest of the story to her upcoming, the knowledge that her memory's lost to us, the day of saving her - or rather her saving us, again, and then feeling rather than simply seeing just how beaten up she is. Hira being Branka, my sister's fate to Darius, both their souls slowly drifting to a place we'll soon not be able to reach them, the chaos of keeping the capital, of attempting to prepare for Xaxias by sending our own allies to an island we know nothing but the spoken word of...All of it.
All the exhaustion of everything that's happened since my father sent us on this mission just comes tumbling down onto my shoulders that slump, my face planting itself in my hands as my elbows balance on the top of my knees. I've never felt this tired, and I'm only twenty years of age.
"Your father did the same thing when he first started building his legacy," she muses quietly.
"And he did a damn good job of it."
"And he got there by failing. Did you know that the first building he bought to establish the keep he lost because he couldn't make the payments?"
"What?" I look up now, as I always do when my father's story is being told.
She nods as her eyes loose focus on the ground. "It was that old inn on the western part of town, the one that's now missing its top half."
I know that building. There was a really bad earthquake when I was like eleven, and the building was on its last stand as is. People were cleaning up its bones for cycles before you could walk those streets again. Now all that's left is the cracked walls of the ground floor. No one's bought the property, and its used now as the place where teenagers go to have their parties and pleasure. I try to imagine it as the House of Jade, but all I can see is the shambles of it.
"He couldn't buy the property, so he rented it out, only those prices were nearly just as high. Two cycles later and he decided to just buy the piece of land between an inn and apartments that some old guy was trying to sell. The man didn't want money, he wanted a piece of the success. When your father told him that he was looking to build the assassins keep, the man laughed himself hoarse and gave it to your father for free, saying that if he was to give him the property for no charge nor trade in return, then it better be the best damn assassins keep the world will ever see. Your father promised the man that and more, and soon began building."
She sits in the chair beside me, eyes drifting toward memory.
"He dug first, going so deep into the ground that people thought he was a crazy lunatic looking for buried treasure. Once he began building level after level of floors, however, they became curious as to who he was and what he trying to hide. He got threats nearly every day, near killed every other. It was your mother who taught him how to defend himself when she arrived a year or so later, oddly enough, and he took the training and hardened it. He hired men and women who shared his vision and wanted to be a part of his teachings, and they finished building the house you grew up in together.
"Mind you, it took him cycles to roughly learn architecture and engineering and all the subjects he needed to build the damn thing. He didn't have the money to pay for the minds that could do the work for him, so he did it himself, failed more times than one can count, and went home every night that he didn't get something right kicking rocks or punching walls the whole walk. He put his emotions into his own training, building his strength and knowledge when he wasn't building his dream.
"You were a year and three months when the house was finally done. MInd you, it was missing its finish and elegance it has now. The whole house creaked beneath everyone's footsteps, there were leaks everywhere, and broken floorboards everywhere else. He had the biggest smile on his face when he led you and your mother through the front doors. He was in the midst of celebrating the fact that you were smiling when your mother told him that it was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen, and that she would never want both of her children raised anywhere else. It took him a few minutes of continuing to give her the tour before the words sunk in, and then he was hugging her while she cried happy tears, and he tossed you into the air yelling 'You're going to have a brother!' Imagine his surprise and joy when they found out it was a girl." She chuckles, shaking her head with something I don't remember ever happening.
"I think he cried when the doctor gave the news. He definitely cried at the birth."
She smiles widely toward the sun, and I can feel my own lifting as I imagine the joy on my father's face and the excitement in his voice. It's good to know he smiled so broadly. That he had happiness in his life and that he kept with him even through the hardships.
"A few months after your sister was born, he got his big gig. A very wealthy merchant from Adaeric heard about his business and came to us asking that we remove someone who was planning to kill his family. We knew that the only reason that he came to us was because he thought we'd get sloppy and caught for the crime. Oh, how I enjoyed proving him wrong."
"You were there?" I ask, stunned that the woman who helped raise me was once an assassin herself.
"Of course I was. I was the first person who approached your father and asked to help him dig. My parents thought me insane and kicked me out, but your father was kind and your mother kinder as they offered the small hospitality they could give. I took it, figuring it was better than laying in the streets. I was the second person your mother trained, and then when her hands got full with you, I trained with your father. I was the one he went to when he needed to let loose, and I took the bruises and cuts gladly, knowing that they'd help me to build the dream we now shared.
"Anyways, it was our first mission with the other ten people who had lost their way, their homes, or simply wanted to be a part of something's beginning. After that, and after receiving a large amount of money the merchant promised, thinking he'd never have to pay it, we fixed up the house and expanded our recruitment. That's how we found the Rykiels. They were twins who had already been trained in a few fighting techniques their widowed mother insisted they'd learn. Turned out that those lessons turned into passions, and they didn't think twice about joining us. Together the four of us began training others, teaching them how to defend themselves, fight back, look for tells, sly foot...
"Over the years more mentors approached us, asking to teach and be taught. Others we made bargains with. The criminals we had been sent to kill, we'd spare and fake their deaths, all in exchange for their fealty and word to teach their own knowings. You grew up under the wings of such people, but don't worry, we kept them in check and soon found that those criminals were becoming happy. Their bloodlust was gone, replaced by love and a sense of home. Our family grew, our clients along with them, and we expanded our reach and turned your father's dream into a reality.
"He failed, beginning to end. We had failed missions just as many as successful ones, and with each one your father went back and looked at where things had gone wrong. When the next mission came, he remembered his lessons learned and came out better for it. People called him crazy for thinking that his dream would come as quickly as it did, but that didn't stop him. He knew very well that the days surrounding us now would come, and he was determined to make them more bearable and easier to get through. He was determined to give you a fist to fight with, even when both your hands are tied behind your back. He failed, and he grew tired each time he did so, but he still got up. He remembered that there was more to do, that the tiredness he felt would never match up to the one he would feel should he fail again. You may be tired now, Lance, but you'll be more tired if you give up."
For what feels like the tenth time already, I stare at her in surprise. "You've known my name this entire time?"
She laughs as if were the stupidest question she's ever heard. "I was the one who named you. Arthur, of course, was your father's idea, and your mother only made it your middle name to pull on his ear. He hated it, up until he decided using it as your alias would be his way of getting her back. I'm ninety-nine percent sure I felt her laughing in her grave when he did."
All these years I thought Mary was just another woman my father found on the streets. Horrible as it sounds, it was my original assumption, at least, it was from the first memory I still have of her.
I was seven, and Mary had to chase me around my parent's room because she was trying to get me to bathe. I was butt naked and screaming in delight as I circled my father's desk where he was leaning back in his chair and laughing. Mother had put down her tea to watch, and my sister enjoyed it so much that stripped down and joined me. I don't remember how long the fun lasted, only that it ended when my mom caught Fey and dad scooped me up. They took us into the bathroom, Mary trailing us. I kept yelling at her to save me from my father's arms, but she just said that that's what I get for not listening in the first place. They cleaned us off, and Mary added bubbly soap into the basin to make bubbles that we put on our heads and faces to mimic mustaches, hats, and beards...we were a family, and Mary had been a part of it long before Fauna or I realized.
I don't recall her mourning my mother's death aside from her and Fauna curled up in my sister's bed. I suppose she would've done it in her own time, in her own room which was down the hall from ours. She gave me my name, she helped raise me and my sister, and she's been at our side ever since. It doesn't seem right to call her our maid anymore, but I don't think she'd necessarily like is calling her aunt or big sis. I won't need to say it to know its truth anyways.
"So are you going to tell me why I have yet to hear of your sister? Or am I to snoop around until I find out?"
I huff a laugh. I should've known that a story wouldn't make her forget her original question. I pull down my balaclava and sit back as I figure out where to start.
*****
"Gods and their Saints."
It's an hour later, and both Mary and I still sit in the room, both of us now looking tired. No one's walked in, and I suppose I have Reynald or Rykiel to thank for that, though I have heard footsteps scuffle outside a few times. I noticed when Mary's own eyes would drift to the door at their echo, and I wondered how I never noticed it before. I suppose there are always things that can go unnoticed to even the sharpest of minds when it comes to those you hold close.
"So let me get this straight. The man - Xaxias, or whatever - took your sister, had Willdred torture her, took her memory, and now plans to kill all of us."
"Yes."
"And your sister planned on her capture, got everyone out, broke the fating bond between her and Darius, stored her power in the water wolves, then drained said power, and escaped."
"Uh-huh."
"Meanwhile, the Ginerva were in hiding due to a promise they made to Dawn - which I had no idea about - to not go near any of you until your sister was eighteen. Come her birthday, they save your idiot asses, and then help you get her back the right way."
"I...I guess," I say, feeling slightly stung.
"And now you have the castle back, Hiraeth is actually Branka, your sister is weak and confined and none of you will visit her, Darius doesn't know they're fated and no one is to tell him, your sister's pregnant, Willdred is being protected by the water wolves, Darius is King, the court comes tomorrow and will try to dethrone him, Willa and Svenja are sailing to Thralia, and you're pretty much running this horseshit because Darius is soulless and is lost within his own mind."
Saints her memory is impressive. As is her fast talking. "Can you understand why I'm tired?"
"Yeah," she sighs loudly, sinking back into the cushion of the couch.
"What do I do now?"
She shakes her head. "I...I don't know. I don't even know what your parents would do," she confesses.
Neither do I. I've asked myself the question before, thought about what they'd do or how they'd run things so that I could figure out what I'm going to do. So far I've just been winging it. They're my parents, I know them, I know how their minds worked, but...I've been looking through them alone, and I can't very well go to Fauna and talk it out with her.
"What would you do?" I ask Mary.
"I...I would remember your sister." I knit my brows, and she smiles at my confusion. "Your sister always loved one quote in particular that your father said. 'When our world goes quiet, there's a storm brewing on the horizon.' She loved it because people used it all the time, but he made it his own. Instead of saying 'when the world,' he said 'when our world.' A small change, one people would likely not notice, but it was the moon and more for her. Every night before a mission, she'd recite those words. 'When our world goes quiet, there's a storm brewing on the horizon,' she'd whisper, and for the rest of the night into the next morning until she left, she wouldn't say a word. She wouldn't make a noise. She was the storm brewing on the horizon, all because it was her world."
I remember now. The morning that left to come to the castle, she didn't say a word. I thought that it was because she was just as mentally busy with trying to figure out why our father was sending us here, but perhaps it was for this reason. I mean, yeah, she could've been thinking about such things while being tightly sealed, but I know my sister. She recited those words the night before, and she didn't say a word until we reached the castle gates, the checkpoint at which our mission truly began.
"You told me of how you and Darius and the Bhaltayr wouldn't say more than a few words in your search for her." I nod. "Your world went quiet, all the while your sister was pulling her power to create her storm. Now she's back, and though she's forgotten all that she is and all those she's loved and who love her, she still speaks. She's awake and alert, talking to someone and creating friends when she needs new ones the most. Based on the things that have been happening in recent days since then, I'd say your world is pretty loud, barely leaving enough space for silence. When all that settles, just when things seem to be in your control, when your worries are the only thing filling the quiet around you, that's when the storm will hit.
"It's hard to notice the silence sometimes, but your sister...your sister always had a way of smelling them out before they came. Even if she has no memory, Lance, trust her instinct. Trust that she knows what she's doing, even when she doesn't know who it involves. Who knows, it may just lead you to win this war."
There's a knock on the door just as her last word finishes, not even giving me a chance to process them. My balaclava's already up before the door opens, and I sit up when I notice that it's Julyan who enters. He's stationed at the front gates, and I told him not to come to me unless it was an emergency.
"What is it?" I ask, already standing and shaking out the sleepiness in my muscles.
"There's a small group of people in the tunnels, they claim to be allies of ours - of the Jade Assassins," he rephrases.
"Oh, good. They're here." We both look to Mary, questions on our lips. "You asked me what I thought your father would do. I may have lied when I said that I didn't know."
"Why am not surprised," I say, exasperated. I suppose she could be considered a sibling of ours with the way she keeps stuff to herself. I gesture to the door. "Lead the way."
e follow Julyan out, and I take the walk to think about what she said.
It's true that there's been a noise to fill our ears with the reclaim of the capital and my sister, and it's true that she raged a storm just when things were silent. I trust my sister, I trust the person she's become and the person she will be, it's only hard to trust that this war, this fight - this mission - will be the same as in the past. It's war. People will die that we can't save, we'll lose things we fight to keep and win things we earned to win, but will it really get quiet? Will there always be silence before someone cuts off another's head?
No, I haven't experienced war. No, I don't know what to expect, how to handle it, or what the outcome will be, but that doesn't mean we can't prepare for it. It's us against the underworld. Us as we are, against that of which our enemies want us to be.
I want my sister back. I want to hear her bicker with Darius, tease the Bhaltayr, joke with Kat, cry when she sees Mary, and cry more when she sees Roseia and her siblings...I want what she was back, but that's not how it works. If and when she gains back her memories - because she will, she has to - she'll be changed. Who wouldn't change after that? I'll know only pieces of her, and I'll have to learn how the new her thinks and works. I'll have to be patient and give her the space she needs to sort through her own thoughts before trying to balance out mine.
She'll be different, but Mary is right, her instincts will never fail, and I should trust that. I should trust that her heart will never point south because her head tells it to, that instead, it'll point north, to where home is.
"Hey!" Garrison's voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I find that we've made it into the throne room that we all now enter. "What's going on?"
All their eyes skip over me and Julyan and go straight to sizing up Mary. The woman does the same in return, crinkling her nose at whatever it is that displeases her about them. Garrison and Vlad stand at Darius's shoulders, the rest of them flanking.
I open my mouth to answer them, but Mary cuts me off. "First of all, I'd like to state that I'm in no way here to cause any of you harm, though I could very well kill you all just as efficiently as the Fox can. I helped raise him and will never betray someone who I think of as my own blood. That being said..." Her more complacent expression falls, replaced by a dark look I know to be the initial signs of the killing calm slipping onto her skin. "Clarice is my blood as well, and as such, I'm calling all of you cowards, and though I may not know much about you, I'm utterly disappointed and officially hate you until such a time that you fix your imbecile mistakes. That goes for you two as well."
"What did I do?" Both Julyan and I ask when she addresses us.
"You know what you did. You all do," she contests through clenched teeth. "Now if introductions are over, I believe we were walking this way." She whirls on her heel and stomps off.
"I don't think that was an introduction. We don't even know your name!" Gabe calls as she keeps walking away.
"It's Mary you twit. Are you coming or not?"
I jump into the action of catching up to her at the tone in her voice. She only ever spoke like that when she really was fed up with mine and my sister's bullshit, and we knew better than to cross her and suffer our father's punishment for it.
The others move just as quickly when they see how fast I follow. I glance over my shoulder once, watching as Darius squints at the back of Mary's head. Based on the way the corners of her mouth are tugged upward, I'd say she knows, though I'm not entirely sure how despite my theories that she has two eyes at the back of her head.
Julyan continues to lead us through the back door of the large room, then to the secret entrance, and through the escape route we used months ago. This tunnel is the quickest way down to the small training hall down here, and the path down to it is already lit with torches. A water wolf lays in the dark here and there, each lit up with whatever luminescent they carry. When we reach the end of the tunnel, I find the one Hira named Kit waiting beneath the archway. He waits until we stop before him and he can see all of us before stepping aside. I suppose it is nice to have them here, watching the tunnels when we can't spare the men and women to do it.
He's barely stepped away when Mary launches forward. Julyan and I are quick to pull out blades and follow, the sound of the Bhaltayr stepping in front of Darius echoing behind us, but we stop short when Mary ends up jumping into the arms of one of the men there and he spins her around while they both laugh. Her feet barely touch the ground before she grabs his arm, twists it, and then throws him over her shoulder and he lands on the ground with a thud.
I really didn't know the woman who raised me.
"Goddammit, Mary!" the man yells, slowly rolling into his stomach to catch his breath,
She stands over him, a threatening finger pointing down at him. "That was for not saying goodbye, asshole."
"I was kidnapped!"
"You don't look kidnapped to me!"
"They were following me."
"Are they following you now?"
"Of course not, I lost them four years ago."
"And it took Aldred dying for you to resurface? Really? No letter, no note saying 'I'm alive, come find me.'"
"That sounds petty." She goes to punch him, but he holds his hands up in surrender and she stops, fist still aimed to hit. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix the six years of worrying for your sorry ass."
"And what would?" He asks, standing up.
"Not doing it again," she answers, her fist dropping to her side and voice thinning out. I don't know who he is, but he hurt her, bad, which makes me want to put him on his ass again. At least he sees that pain, his own shoulders sagging in defeat. He puts his hands on her shoulders, and it's only because she lets it happen that I don't intervene.
"I'm sorry." That, at least, sounded more genuine.
She nods, and they start staring at each other in a way that tells me there's way more to the story. It doesn't last long, though, as she takes his arm again and puts him on his back.
"Ahhhhh! Are you happy now?" He yells, this time slower to stand.
"No, but it'll have to suffice me." She looks at me now, acting like I know what to say next. I don't even know who these people are.
There are three men, Mary's friend is the youngest whilst the other two look like they still got some life in them despite their grey heads and scruff. Two women stand between them. One of them is about Mary's age while the other is older with short cut hair and a kill mark scarred up her neck. It's the mark that has me looking closer at her. I've only met one woman in my life who had such a scar, and we used to call her our aunt. She's not really our aunt, but Fey let the title slip once and she never argued against it, so it stuck.
"Aunt Máirín?"
That familiar smirk slants her lips. "Hello, boy. Condolences on your father's death, he was a good man. Treated everyone kindly up until you fucked shit up. I liked it best when he was yelling anyways, making everyone squirm and scramble to please him. He truly was a king."
I blink rapidly with her changing statements but nod at the end. "He was - and thank you, but what are you doing here? Last I remember, you had to go into hiding because of the mob that discovered the high price for your kill mark."
"Oh, that mob disappeared somewhere in the Keta Forest four years ago," she explains, waving a dismissive hand. I believe I recall my father sending a small group of sentinels to the Western Continent around that time. They came back the same as always, nothing about them changed from whatever it is they did. Had I known they were going to aid her, I would've jumped into the fray.
"As for my sudden reappearance, I got a note from Mary calling me back in, though it assumed it was from your father until I came here and heard the news."
"Your father had a code in place should we have need of all of them," Mary explains, gesturing to the five of them.
"Morning Glory," the third woman recites. "Better known as the flower Ipomea. The flower of death."
"I mean no disrespect, but why would you summon them?" I ask Mary.
"You remember those mentors I told you about? The ones that came to your father in the early beginnings of the keep?"
I scan each of them over again, now with a whole new mindset as I remember that those mentors were all criminals given a second chance. I suppose those who refused weren't so lucky as them to live. Funny thing is, I don't remember them from my days of training. All our trainers now are slightly younger and have been there since I began training along with them. No one asides from Mary and Máirín I recognize, and according to his claims, Mary's friend should've been there only six years ago. I was fourteen, surely I would've remembered the face and his friendship with the woman who helped raise us.
"Well, these are them. You already know Máirín, highly skilled with any small blades-"
"I never miss," Máirín declares to the men behind me proudly.
"She's the one who taught me and my sister to throw and flip knives," I say to Darius and the Bhaltayr.
"Next to her is Eira," Mary continues. "She's the one who taught your father how to wield a sword."
Eira looks like she could kick my ass for a middle-aged woman. Her ice-blue eyes pop out against her pale skin and dark hair. Her body is lean yet clearly strong, and the display of the two swords across her back sure completes her warrior look.
"Besides her is her cousin Bricriu. He can get answers quicker than your father or Rykiel ever could." My eyes instantly drop to his hands, knowing very well that getting answers entails torture of any kind. There are scars on them, making him look twice as nasty.
"I was twelve," he says in a deep accented baritone, noticing my stare. "They took me to get to my parents who were smugglers. Cut my hands into shreds and then shoved them into salt until the whole bowl was red with my blood. It's them I have to thank for my talents now, though I did thank them."
"Took a year and seven months before those bastards died off," Eira adds, with just as heavy an accent as her cousin.
"Yeah...they're fun," Mary chimes, smiling happily at the two. They smile back, Bricriu giving her a wink. "This broad-shouldered old man is Lovis, the best hand-to-combat fighter I've ever seen, and that's saying a lot."
"Who are you calling old?" The eldest man scoffs.
"You're fifty-six, Lovis, that's old for a fighter."
"Aagh, I can still kick your youngling asses," he gruffs, pointing to the fourteen of us.
"And this-"
"My name's Bronimir, but you all can call me Bron."
Mary rolls her eyes, but it's Máirín who speaks. "He's big-headed."
"And annoying," Lovis adds.
"They only say that because I scare the shit out of them," Bronimir defends.
"What's so scary about you?" Al asks, his nose scrunched and face clearly confused.
"He's a ghoul," Mary answers. "He hears the shadow's whispers and walks on those same words."
"Was that supposed to make sense?" Amel whispers to his brother.
"I'm a sly foot, the best in Ker," Bron explains. "Who do you think trained the Rykiels?"
I wouldn't know, the Rykiels trained me, and my sister. They taught us where to step and then put us through balance training that strengthened most of the muscles in our body so we could walk anywhere on anything without slipping. Of course, we slipped constantly in training, and we always went back to our rooms with bruises or cuts to keep the others we got from other pieces of training company.
"Bronimir Whithers." Everyone but Bron jolts at the echoing baritone. "Long time no see."
"Ah, there's my prized pupil! Where's your mirror?" Bronimir cheers.
Rykiel steps out of the shadows, walking into the circle we all seemed to have unconsciously formed. "Putting your good lessons to work for our King."
"Which one?" Bronimir asks, looking between me and Darius.
None of the Jade Mentors nor Rykiel say a word. When Jades bow to Darius they put their left hand across their chest, over nothing. When they bow to me, their right hands go over their heart, their loyalty and choice clear. His question is more for display, a tactic to confuse the others and make them think the question is really a question. It's an unspeakable question that every Jade will ask should the opportunity present itself. I honestly forgot about it since Blaise, Julyan, Reynald, nor Rykiel ever asked it before, and I don't know how to respond.
"Yours," Darius answers plainly. "You are all Jades, you follow the orders of your Jade King."
"Not to speak out of line, High King," Máirín says, stepping closer to me, the rest of the Jades tracking the movement and their breathing changing ever so slightly that only I notice. "But will our King be answering to you? Taking your orders?"
"The only people I will ever pull rank over is the court, and-" he stops short. The Ginerva. Those women run off of orders, if they don't get them, they don't do much aside from running their mouths. Gods my sister must love them.
"And who?" Ezra demands forcefully.
"Trete zurück," I snap at both her and her cousin who has a familiar head tilt I don't like. It was easy enough to know they were from Kaweth. The stern accent, the leather clothing, the sharp facial structure...I walked the western continent for nine months and studied their throaty language. It's not hard to tell them to stand down.
They both instantly react, mouths shut and apologies written on their faces. I've only just met them and their loyalty is pristine as if I were my dad. Sometimes I really do think about giving my title to someone who's more capable of carrying it.
"Darius is the last person you should ever think of as an enemy," I say slowly to them. "From here on out, he's family. He's blood. Understood?"
They all put their right fists over their hearts and bow their heads. Definitely need to remember to change that.
"By the Gods on their Saints," Máirín muses, putting her hand to my cheek. "How proud your father would be to see you now, clothes and all."
"My suit's upstairs if it bothers you," I plow with a smirk.
"The only thing I want to see upstairs is your sister. I've missed her sharp tongue and quick wit, not to mention our little competition on who's a better aim. You may have a cloth over your face, little King, but even these dimwits our elemental King calls a guard can see that your face - as well as all of theirs - have dramatically dropped since I've mentioned your sister. So are you going to tell us what happened to her, or will these old crones have to kick your assess and anyone else's in order to find out for ourselves?"
"You may be our king, Arthur," Mary continues, "And we may be undeniably indebted to you by spilled blood, but if your sister is hurt in any way shape or form and you keep the little fact from us, no one, no magically gifted warrior, or highly powerful king will keep us from her or the people who hurt her."
"At least we know who the favorite out of the Rheasydia siblings are." I glare heavily at Henry, too surprised to really smack him.
It's true that people are now choosing my sister over me, both for her sacrifice and newfound power, but that's not what bothers me. What bothers me is that my sister's barely hit eighteen, and she's already half the leader our father was. People stand at her side, they vow to protect her out of admiration and respect, all the while I'm leading the Jades due to birthright. Not to mention that I'm the one who offered up the idea of getting the court of Vandaria to back down by putting fear in their eyes. Those who rule by fear never truly find their stories to be told on starry nights, but rather on dark nights with a full moon and told around a fire to scare children into behaving. I'm already a scary story with the mask on, I'd rather not be one with it off.
"Relax, Mary," I tell her, leaving my hands in the light for them to see. All Jades are finicky. "First thing's first, you all smell travel-worn and likely forgot to eat during your fairs. You'll all shower and eat, and then I'll start from the beginning. However, I do recommend that you prepare yourself for a long night and sleep during the day. It's...a lot to explain."
"Do you have enough room in the Glass Tower?" Darius asks.
"We can squeeze with everyone on shifts, though I think they should coordinate with Aillard. It wouldn't hurt to start training the guards who have already come in, nor continue your own. You need an outlet, Darius," I add when his shoulders stiffen slightly. "The wind's been howling nonstop, and it's not like your busy anyways."
Plus, I know that he's avoiding the Healer's Tower. I know that his movements are scattered and random like he doesn't know where to go or what to do. His head's screaming, and the best way to silence the wails is to punch them away. Why do think it is that my head's mostly put together right now? I've been sparring with Rykiel late at night, just before Kat comes in search of me.
He gives me a reluctant nod, along with the mentors and old friends of mine. I consider it a victory and start heading back for the surface, preparing to not sleep tonight.