The distant murmur of voices, buzzing of crickets in the garden, even the faint susurration of the late afternoon breeze drowned out in the virulent darkness that spread through the air, engulfing the three as though in a depthless void.
They'd been shut in.
There sounded the click of a crate being opened. In a flash, Xenro had his sword at the ready.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"A mere precaution, nothing more." Atruer's eyes spun grotesquely in their sockets a few times. Despite entire eras spent among mortals, he had not a clear grasp of how to roll his eyes. "Place's swarming with wizardfolk. Don't want them to sniff me out, do we? Thanks to a certain little devil--" He glared at Farren, "--I've had enough experience with those blasted Council Mages. Heaven knows I do not need more."
Xenro could not bring himself to believe that excuse. Yet he held on, for Farren.
There was a tug on his sleeves as she tried to steady herself, still swaying on her feet. Sweatbeads dotted her forehead, teeth clenched. The small cut had jarred her whole being, if her heavy breaths were any indication.
"I want--" she began.
Atruer dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Heard you the first time. And the second."
She glared at him, hands on hips. "Well? Do something about it."
"Certainly, dear," said Atruer and downed his goblet. With a snap of his fingers, the empty goblet hovered up in thin air, followed by a flash of a light and a crack. It changed shape at his will, and something roundish and small dropped back into his hands with a jingle.
Atruer tossed it right at the two of them without warning.
"Watch out!" yelled Xenro, and threw himself in its path. The object hit the ground at his feet. Gold coins rolled out of it and scattered, glittering bright even in the stifling gloom. The thing was merely a harmless bag of money. Farren popped her head out, looking over his shoulder. "Eh?"
"Well, there's your solution. Surely you must be out of your mind to even think of walking out of such a profitable contract. I don't blame you, however," said Atruer sensibly, "a soldier's life ain't no joke--lotsa stress. Your mind's addled, lass. You can afford a good healer with this. Take the lad with you, too. Serious issues, didn't I tell you?"
"We don't need your filthy coin!" snarled Xenro and was about to unsheathe his sword when Farren stopped him. She shook her head, her usual sly grin beginning to creep back into her face.
With the toe of her boot, she pitched the bag of coins into the air, caught it, and stowed it in her belt pouch. "Since you have so generously offered it, I shall keep it. You are insufferable, Lord. But gold sure isn't. Now, back to why I'm here for--"
Interrupting her, Atruer clapped, rocking back and forth where he sat, his cheery smile almost adorable--had it not been for those rows of pointed teeth, far too many in numbers to suit a humanoid face. "See, lad, this is why I like her so much. Morals corrupt with greed, soul twisted, heart ridden with hatred for her own self. Ideal."
Farren's smile vanished, the grip on her dagger tightening momentarily. Xenro placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Leave it be," he told her. "Knowing him, the money will likely revert back to that blasted goblet of poison."
"Correct!" shrieked Atruer with glee as he peered at Xenro. "See, this is why I like you so much. Cursed to see the harsh truth, always knowing the inevitable end-- and thus you never truly enjoy peace." He let out a mad, cackling laugh.
"Shut your trap," snapped Farren. "You like nothing but the pain of others!"
Atruer was not fazed in the least. "So very true. Ah, you two are a delight, both God and mortal. Your anguished presence brings me such joy!"
The words hit Xenro like a cudgel. The true purpose of summoning him had begun to fade from his mind, as the darkness, almost sentient, penetrated right into his soul. Insane or not, Atruer had spoken true. Ever since stepping into the Mortal Realm after his imprisonment, there hadn't been a moment he'd been truly happy. Many a chances there had been, in moments spent with the company or with the honorable soldiers. But each time, they had been sullied by the fact that he knew their inevitable fate, the path where they were all headed.
Death.
The company would perish someday, Midaelia would vanish, the soldier at his side would be dead, soul lost into the whirlpool in Draedona's realm. And Xenro would be left alone to wander the ravaged lands once again. Immortality was a curse, and he was the living proof of it.
Something thin and sharp poked just beneath his chin.
Xenro's eyes snapped up, realizing with sudden terror how close Atruer had gotten in the splintered moment of distraction. The elder God loomed taller than he'd ever seen, his aura getting stronger by the second as dark thoughts clogged the air. Surpassing the terms of the deals, he had begun to feed on all the torment. Farren was motionless as though frozen in place, her resolve crumbling almost tangibly.
This was going downhill. He had to snap out of this, fast.
An ice-cold, taloned hand held up his chin. Atruer's pale face peered down at him, with something vaguely resembling... compassion.
"You poor thing," he said gently, "the torment His Majesty put you through! So unjust, so much for a young God to take. We of the olden times-- me, the one you call father, your dear friend Draedona--we've been around since the beginning of time. We've seen how things go, taken hits, toughened up and moved on. But you...you were still a little mortal child merely a few millenia ago."
With a sneer, Xenro shoved the hand away, rearing back with all the strength he had left. But he was beginning to run out. "I am not here for your pity. I am here to aid someone who once saved my life."
He made to stride across to a dazed looking Farren, to snap her back to her senses, and get this over with.
The small patch of land between them stretched for miles unending. He ran and ran, but she remained out of reach. An illusion no doubt, one he could not break through.
"Who am I to pity you?" Atruer's voice behind him was now cold, devoid of all sick humor.
He looked back.
"I am nothing but your own despair, reflected back. Every word I speak, it's yours. This is not my pity, fool--this is the pathetic part of you that pities itself!" spat Atruer.
The words echoed in Xenro's head until it felt like he would go deaf. Then it stopped.
"Ah, forgive my rudeness. I must not turn away a potential contract!" With a grotesque twitching of muscles, the usual smile flickered back into his face. "I understand you, Xenro, unlike everyone else. I get how difficult things are for you. Forget about her. Won't you let me help you?"
No.
Yes, yes I will.
What is wrong with me? "No!" he shouted.
Xenro's head spun, stomach lurched as the air grew thick with celestial sorcery. He shook his head and tightened his slackening grip on his sword. Was he so starved for empathy that he was grasping at the straws? Letting himself be swayed by a lowly trickster?
A loudly uttered curse brought him back to reality. It was from Farren, of course. The illusion had shattered, and she was within his reach again.
Both Gods turned to her.
"Quite the gloomy ambience you've created," she said. "I see now what the Royal Sorcerer meant by this being not easy. A huge understatement, if you ask me."
In her clasped hands glimmered the Sacred Blade, shaking slightly. "Leave him alone," she said, her voice raspy. "I'm getting real sick of this ignoring game, y'hear me?"
Had it not been such a situation, Xenro would have laughed. A little dagger, against an ancient entity that fed off humankind's misfortunes?
Farren held her ground. "We have unfinished business."
"Do we?"Atruer's lip curled in annoyance, before he turned his gaze back to Xenro. "Anyway, let us not pay heed to some feeble mortal that would be dead before the turn of the century. Where were we?"
Xenro was having none of this. He stepped away at once. "We were not anywhere. This encounter has nothing to do with what I want. I have merely chosen to accompany her through this decision."
Atruer smiled wider and wider until he thought his jaws would crack. He threw a friendly arm over Xenro's shoulder. He flinched away, but the arm stretched and stretched, with bones popping and joints cracking most obscenely, until his shoulders slumped beneath it.
"Look," he said in a soft voice, gesturing from him to Farren. "I've seen this pattern before, and I don't like this at all. You're digging your own grave--figuratively of course--by getting attached to mortals like this. I won't lie, she, that Dresius lad, the whole cadre of armed fools who bear his name-- they're delightful playthings, but far too short-lived to be ...fun. How about you save yourself the pain and become the mighty God of War you truly are?"
Before him, Farren was shouting something, but Atruer's voice drowned out all else. She made to lunge at Atruer with her dagger. An invisible wall seemed to collide into her, throwing her back. A whirlwind of coiling smoke rose, only Xenro and Atruer at the centre.
"I am not like Rhilio, I can promise you that," said Atruer. "I will force upon you no such...unrealistic expectations like he. All I ask is that you just do what you're good at. Deliver the divine violence. Lay waste to this land. Bring the people to their knees before you. Why settle for a small cult when you deserve hundreds of thousands of worshippers?"
"And what benefits would that serve you?"
"Sweet bloodshed, dear boy, gives birth to more pain and misery. Souls weaken, and seek for...help. And I am that help in need."
Xenro looked down at his sword, thinking of all the lives he'd taken. It had been so easy. And to think, there once had been a time Father had been proud of him, enough to give him the position of the Commander of the Celestial Armies. He was no forsaken, nameless immortal back then, but a revered God.
What was he doing, whiling away drinking with some... mercenaries? Why was he going along with this play-pretend?
Farren banged her fists against the invisible wall, her words inaudible.
Bony fingers clasped his shoulder. Atruer sighed, eyes on her. "Don't waste your powers for someone--something so... temporary. This eternal life is yours. You choose whether to wallow in pain, or enjoy it as it comes."
Atruer looked at him reassuringly, certain that he had just earned himself a prey.
He was ever so wrong.
The one word he'd uttered, hit home.
Temporary, you say?
He looked at Farren, kicking and beating her fists and swinging her dagger against the resistance, screaming words which would not reach the God. What little mortal magic she possessed was no match for Atruer, a deity much more ancient than he, made strong by preying upon countless mortals such as her.
Yet she fought on, knowing full well her struggle was fruitless.
He smiled unbeknownst to himself. This was the thing about humankind. It never knew when to give up. It raised its head up from the ashes after the Gods brought the Apocalypse upon it and burned it down. Eternal was their struggle against adversity.
"See that poor soldier? She'll be gone in the blink of an eye. So fragile, so temporary a presence on this earth. You'll find dozens of the same kind at every corner," said Atruer.
Temporary, you say?
The ancient memories engraved in his mind begged to differ. His experiences with mortalkind had shaped him so he knew not what he was without them. There was bloodshed and misery among them, yet also moments of joy and laughter, of love and long walks beneath the stars, of sunlight dappling soft grassy slopes and flowering meadows.
Tales of the mortal lives enriched his soul; their little habits and quirks, long adapted in his own ways inseparably; he spoke their tongue, sang their songs--he was but a living, breathing amalgamation of those little things the Gods deemed temporary.
The Lord of Despair had nothing on him.
He realised what Farren was shouting, for she was mouthing the same thing over and over again. Don't give in.
The struggle of humankind was never fruitless. They always had something, someone to fight for.
"Do we have a deal?" asked Atruer, stretching an arm toward him.
Xenro gave him a smile, the cruel, mirthless kind he'd learnt from Father.
Atruer hadn't the chance to turn into smoke. The two-handed sword sliced through the outstretched hand the next moment. Beads of dark blood hovered in the air as though time had slowed, then fell as an ear-splitting scream shook the void. The darkness thinned.
Xenro's eyes blazed, hair rippling in a rising wind. "Forget not for a moment, my blade rends immortal flesh. Play your mindgames someplace else!"
✦✧✦✧
The God's severed hand landed with a sick squelch on the dirt some paces far. With a bone-rattling crash, the invisible wall holding Farren back came down as her bruised knuckles broke through it. There she crouched, eyes aflame, breath steaming off like some angered beast.
Xenro could only imagine what an effect Atruer's influence might have on a mortal. He had almost convinced Xenro to turn on his heel. Almost.
He clung to the precious uncertainty.
A look of relief passed her features as she looked at Xenro. Like him, she had not given up either.
"Sweet Draedona, I'm out of this," she said, breathing raggedly. "For good."
A chilling laugh rumbled from Atruer, who was hunched over, clutching the stump of his arm. The bleeding ceased. Dust shifted and churned. Xenro whirled at the sound of something heavy dragging across the ground.
The severed hand moved of its own accord and pitched forward to settle back on his wrist, the cut mending and pale flesh regrowing to seal the wound. He cracked his knuckles and gave Xenro a look of pity. "A shame. You are not what you used be since your papa kicked you out. Good for you, I don't take offense at the tantrums of a lost child, within reason."
Xenro's breath hitched in his throat, fingers trembling on his sword grip--the blade that had tasted immortal blood countless times when he'd led the Celestial Armies, wiping out those who stood against Father. Yet now...
"You know why Rhilio keeps me in his court at all? It's because he cannot get rid of me. Old boy tried many times, won't lie. But I keep coming back." Atruer dusted his robes as though nothing happened, and took perch primly again on the edge of the fountain.
"The offer still stands," he said. "March at my side, bring about destruction to these mortal lands, and I will grant you powers Rhilio can only dream of. Rise from a forsaken God to the invincible Herald of Despair. See how weak and miserable you are now. Don't you wish you were stronger?"
Atruer gave Farren a side-eyed glance. "Your wish will be granted, soldier, if he takes up my offer. The whole point of you safekeeping the immortal soul for me was so I can later make it into my own, immortal champion. If such a fine War God opts to do that, I'll have no use of a whiny brat as a vessel," he said, now to Xenro. "Isn't that right? Everything comes with a price, true, but in this rare deal--here's only profit to be gained."
The dark sorcery was cloying and mind-numbing. Lightheadedness gripped Xenro, the exertion bringing fatigue to his flesh and bones. For a God, he was weak. He'd been made weak.
Don't you wish you were stronger?
This could finally set her free of the deal that was slowly killing her. Yet at what cost?
March at my side, bring about destruction to these mortal lands.
No.
He could not give in, not again. He tried to grasp at those happy memories, but they faded, slipped through his fingers like dust. He was drowning in an empty cold void again. No!
Out of the darkness, a warm, calloused hand reached out to grab his wrist. He knew this touch so well, it brought tears to his eyes. He'd held that hand under the northern lights, clutched it close to his heart when he went to sleep, felt it stroke his hair after a nightmare when thunder rumbled outside.
"Help me, please," he gasped, pressing his forehead to the knuckles. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, shoulders heaving with sobs he'd kept in for so long. He dared not to open his eyes, for fear that this moment would end. It was so good to feel him again. He wanted to hear his voice. "Dres-?"
"No," said Farren. "But I'm here."
A mere few hours earlier, he had not pictured himself crying his heart out, trapped in the influence of Atruer, holding onto a mortal, yet here he was.
Kneeling before him, she held his face, thumbs wiping away his tears and let out a sigh that sounded...almost annoyed. Next flashed the grin, like a ray of light in a cloudy sunset. "And to think, you were supposed to help me deal with this crocodile-mouth. Don't say I didn't warn ya."
"I am going to make the deal," he told her quietly, dead serious. "You get freed. And as soon as he grants me powers, I finish him off."
Atruer didn't appear to have heard, watching them from his perch some ten paces afar. He was drinking again, from a new goblet.
"You will do no such thing. If you're thinking of double-crossing him, you are dead wrong, my dear Lord. Do you think he hasn't considered that possibility already?" said Farren, "and while I have no idea what kind of foes your blade has slain in the past few millenia--you can never truly get rid of despair, of that I'm sure. He will keep coming back again and again, because he is simply the embodiment of all our pain, our failures and wishes we can't fulfill."
A bitter smile crept across Xenro's face in agreement.
There's a reason that bastard has existed since the beginning of time.
All those foul powers, naught but a reflection.
He is everything that we keep shoved away to the back of our minds.
He could see how bleak his idea had been. He snorted, even through all his misery. "You know I have failed as a God when I get lectured by a little mortal."
Farren gave him a high and mighty look. "Well, being immortal certainly leaves a lot of room for trial and error. We lot gotta learn faster. But you, sir, certainly have a dangerous knack for sacrificing yourself for the greater good and whatnot."
Atruer was drinking tea now, giving them sneaky glances.
Xenro looked down at his trembling hands and tried to steady them. "What will you do, Farren?"
"Pain and misery will always be there," she said. "The best we can do is not to let them consume us whole. I must help myself, and so must you. You cannot hold onto the past forever."
Let go of the past.
Let go of what once was, for the sake of what is.
His hand clasped tightly in hers, Farren pulled herself upright and turned to face Atruer.
"There'll be no need of such dealings, nor sacrifices. I am no longer associated with you," she said.
"Really?" said Atruer. "You believe just by saying that you're set free?"
Her expression remained strong. "Indeed. My will is what you manipulate. Once I deny you that, you are powerless, Lord."
If he was surprised, Atruer masked it well. His eyes narrowed to thin slits. "Only another God can break this deal for you. Everyone knows that."
"Lies," she muttered.
"You will never be free, lass! Not without divine help.” His eyes glanced at Xenro. “This outcast cannot grant you that, if that's what you've been planning."
"Lies!" She snarled, holding her dagger before her. "An immortal soul cannot stay within a host that's unwilling!"
"Ah, unwilling, you say." He raised his brows. "Well? Are you?"
"I--yes!" She faltered and fumbled. The darkness shifted and changed shape, forming little fingers that clawed at her arms.
A greatsword swung high.
The shadows shrank away. Xenro took his position beside her, sword at the ready. "Make your choice," he reminded her sternly.
An echoing voice shook their cores. Atruer was there no more, but swirling around them in the form of billowing black smoke in a dizzying circle.
"Are you, Farren Clearstrike, willing to face your squad mates when they find out how useless you really are? When you can no longer swing your axe like you used to? Can no longer wait in line so others can get healed?"
The dagger fell to the ground with a clang. Farren clutched her head with her hands, eyes squinted shut.
"Those are not his own words, Farren," he told her. "He is echoing your own dilemma, like he did to me. Do not give in to his tricks."
Yet it hardly seemed like his words reached her, just like her warnings had been rendered inaudible to him earlier. This was a battle meant to be fought alone.
"Friends..." crooned the voice, "can be loving and caring and pretending to understand--as long as you prove yourself of use to them. Choose wisely, lass. I will grant you a better one... if you can pay for it. Stronger magic, longer life, eternal youth--you name it."
"No," she said, though it seemed forced.
"Is this really a great choice, when you are about to face a fight in the foreseeable future? Will you march into battle as a weakling? Are you ready to face the harsh world fair and square, after being a cheat all your life?"
Farren had no answer.
When Xenro's shouted warnings made no difference, he hacked and slashed at the swirling smoke. Yet nothing changed. He was horribly reminded of his fruitless struggle against the Chains in Draedona's realm.
The voice rang out again, now uncharacteristically sober.
"I've been around longer than your puny head can even comprehend. I've seen even the most loyal of friends turning their backs, most fervent of lovers leaving. Even bonds of destiny...can break."
A shrill scream rang through the whirlpool, an ancient Midaelian war cry emerging from her throat. She held the dagger aloft, eyes bulging, a vein throbbing on her forehead, as though the blood of the warriors of old ran through her.
"Either you finish this, or I do," she said. "This Sacred Blade can break the bond, the hard way. But I will do it-- no matter what it takes. Right in front of Lord Rhilio' temple, if I have to. I swear to the Gods above, I will rip myself open and release Dresius, and let the world know you are a thief."
The swirling smoke slowed down. "What? You dare--"
"I dare! I'll do it if it's the last thing that I do, because I won't march into battle as a damn weakling!"
Smoke hovered in the air, coming to a standstill. It rolled and spiralled around her, checking the blade, testing her grip.
It solidified, and there was the corporeal form of Atruer before them again.
"Very well," he said, with barely restrained aversion. "I'll grant your wish, for you are simply not worth the trouble."
Atruer turned to Xenro one final time. He smiled. Despite Xenro's vicious reaction toward him a moment ago, he held little malice. He brought his hands together, gathering his powers, readying himself to sever the bond. The air smelled like storm.
"So what will it be? Say goodbye to your love?" he asked, head cocked to one side. "I'm done playing cat and mouse with Lord Rhilio. So I would not be looking for another vessel for this soul. I shall let this go, toss it back into the chaos that plagues the Realm of the Dead. Dresius will perish, for good."
It was as though someone mauled his chest with a blunt mace. Farren's hand was shivering but firm in his. A sharp ache rose at the back of his throat as he brought himself to speak the words Draedona once told him.
"Memories of one's mortal life," he said, although the voice didn't feel his own, "...fade after death. A soul is but mere energy. It can no longer think on its own, not after its bonds to this world of living have been severed. Dresius fulfilled his promise long past."
"So you admit, you have been clutching at those cold ashes all this time?" His head tilted to one side, perhaps still searching for leverage to strike a deal against.
"Yes."
"You admit you were chasing a daydream?"
Xenro raised his face and forced a smile. "I am wide awake now."
"You folk are no fun." Atruer gave them a tired look, before spreading his arms wide. "So be it."
Bright, golden light filled the dark hollow. He heard Farren gasp. An orb of light flickered into existence where her heart was, setting her alight from the inside as though a fire burned within her. Yet it was not scorching to the touch, but warm, not blinding to look at, but pleasant and welcoming like the rising sun. It floated out of her to hover softly in the air.
Dresius...It was the core of his soul. Xenro had never felt so elated before as he did now, even if tears streamed down his cheeks. He reached out to touch it. He felt nothing but air. The clear air of a summer morning.
Atruer twirled his long, gnarly fingers. There came a sudden pull, and off went the golden orb, slowly disintegrating into a thousand, gold-hued pieces.
And just like that, it was done.
The deal was broken, the bond was over.
"Until the next time, mortal," said the Lord of Despair, before whirling on his heel with a swish of his black robes.
"There won't be one," said Farren.
"Oh, you will come back," he said, even as his visage began to fade. "They all do. You will return to me, bloodied and bruised and in tears, and I will grant your wish, all over again, for it is a God's responsibility to help a mortal in need."
Next, he was gone like the wind, the darkness dispersed.
✦✧✦✧
For the following few moments, the two simply sat there the garden, eyes squinted against even the fading sun rays, for the darkness before had been so dense. The pain in his chest reverted back to a dull ache, but Xenro felt much lighter. He took in gulps of the late afternoon breeze, redolent with the smell of roses. The ordeal was done. The burdens, cut loose.
Beside him, Farren propped herself back to her feet, taking deep breaths too. Her hair was a windswept mess, cheeks blotchy with tears, nose red and running. He could only imagine what a disaster he looked.
"I shouldn't have dragged you into this." She sighed.
"Firstly, it was my idea. Secondly, had it not been for both of us, you would be going home with another weird deal in tow," he said. "One cannot simply leave their idiot unsupervised."
Both laughed, even though it all hurt, they laughed until they grew weary of it.
"How do you feel?" he asked her at long last.
"Empty," she said simply.
"Empty..." he trailed off, looking into the distance. The fountain splashed merrily. Fireflies flickering in low bushes. The hedge maze beyond whispered into the night. Stars glistened overhead. Dresius would become one of them, perhaps, one of those named after martyrs of the land. He liked that thought.
"Aye. Not hollow, but empty," Farren went on. "Like a house that needs to be filled with new things. And people. And...memories."
Xenro looked up at her.
She blew air through her nose, sniffling out a chuckle. "I'd been like this for so long, you know? So dependent on the deal with every step I took, I'd forgotten the person I used to be before. What it felt to be normal. But now I'm ready to find the old me again. Today's a good day as any to start. Wouldn't you agree?"
She stretched out a hand to him, who was still sitting, sprawled rather foolishly in the dirt. His workman's clothes were ruined. A scolding from the captain was due.
In the mellow, orange light, she looked radiant. His vision of her was ever so clear. She was no one else but herself. The world knew her by many identities. To most, she was no more than a mere criminal or a nameless, faceless soldier; to her friends, a beloved comrade; a cherished companion to her lover. But only Xenro had seen the side of her who battled her demons unarmed.
"Would you make this day a fresh start?" asked Farren.
"If I must." Xenro let her pull him right back to his feet. "You have done well, warrior."
"Seriously?" She made the most obnoxious of faces. But he loved it. He loved it so much it was terrifying. For a moment, it was as though the deal hadn't been broken at all.
"I said what I said," he added hastily, wondering if that had sounded cheesy. It had. "It is not everyday you earn a title from a God. So claim it before I change my mind."
"Yeah, yeah, we'll see if you call me that when I die from a bloody paper cut. The Royal Sorcerer was going nuts about the withdrawal. Feeling woozy already. See?" Farren swayed where she stood, but it looked more like exaggerated fatigue than anything else.
"You just need to grab a bite. All this sulking around drains you more than hard training," he said. Then he remembered. He reached into his pocket and took out the paper wrapped muffin.
"Oh, brilliant!" She lit up immediately. "Conjuring sweets out of thin air, are we now? Why, I do prefer the God of Desserts to the God of War. Is that even a thing?"
Farren did not wait for an answer, or an explanation. She bit into it right then and there--not even waiting to go back inside the palace.
Xenro heard the sickening crack of something hard crumbling.
"Draedona take me, if this is a joke..."
No, she had not just lost a tooth--to his relief. Inside the muffin was a small, thin wooden cylinder, now cracked. A rolled parchment was enclosed within. It fell to her knees when she unfurled it.
On one side, there was a single, brief note.
'Iron Arena, tomorrow morning at five bells. Bring them all. -Irava.'
It was from the captain.
"Will do," said they in unison.
And when she flipped to the other side--
"Ah, I screwed up bad. Fin and Gran found out everything."
Crammed sentences filled it from top to bottom, many of them admonishing, if the abundant use of 'reckless' and 'irresponsible' and 'ludicrous' (but spelled wrong) Xenro gathered from a glance was any indication. All in all, it was a reprimanding letter, concluding with a hastily added 'don't eat it all! Give some to that sweet mercenary.'
That she obeyed, albeit with a knowing smirk.
And they finally began to walk back to the palace, Farren reading the angry letter, and Xenro trying hard to keep a straight face and failing.
"Riddle me this," she said at last. "Since when did my dear brother become involved in espionage?"