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Post by Avery on Jun 8, 2016 21:10:51 GMT -5
Collab with Shinko. Takes place a few years after In the King's Shadow. Ostensibly is a prologue for a longer fic, but. We'll get to the later. 8'D; Remorse“Ooh, I see the city!” young Gillian Alaric chirped, a grin between her lips as she gazed out the window of the stately wooden coach. Sitting on her knees upon the heavily padded seat, and her neck craned just so, she added brightly, “Papa, that’s the gate up ahead, right? Where all the people and horses are stopped?” A beat. “ Why’re they all stopped?” “Because the city guard is making sure they aren’t smuggling anything into the city they shouldn’t be,” her father, Ezra Alaric, replied without so much as a glance towards the window. He was leaning back against his own seat, eyes half-masted in a way that suggested he was liable to doze off at any moment. It had been a very long, boring ride with two excitable children and his teenage daughter. Speaking of the teenage daughter— “The palace is all the way in the middle of the city, though, isn’t it?” fourteen-year-old Alicia asked dully. Seated between Gillian and their ten-year-old brother, Vern, the girl let out a gusty sigh. “I’m so tired of being in this bloody carriage already. I wish we’d just taken gryphons— we’d have been there days ago.” “We can’t take gryphons everywhere, Ali,” Ezra chided. “And besides, formal court regalia is heavy and doesn’t travel well at the best of times. On a fast-moving gryphon it would get ruined.” Vern slumped sideways so that he was sprawled across Alicia’s lap. “Are we theeeeeere yet?” His older sister elbowed him with an indignant squawk. “Get off me, Vern, gods--” “All of you, behave,” their father said sternly. “Vern, sit up. Alicia, stop griping. Gilly, don’t make noseprints on the window.” “I just wanna look out,” Gillian countered somberly. She pursed her lips, drawing back from the pane. “Are we gonna hafta stop so the guards look at us? Are they gonna search through our things? ‘Cos if we hafta unpack all our stuff, that’s gonna take so long, Papa, and— ” “We’re royalty,” Ezra replied casually, as if he were saying something obvious. “They wouldn’t dare; it would be insulting to imply a prince and his family would be anything but honest and loyal.” “Can we get out and walk at least?” Vern demanded. “It’s goin’ so slow anyway-” “ No.” “Walking would be fun, though,” Gillian offered. “And less stuffy than the carriage, Papa! And— ” Alicia scowled, slumping dramatically in her seat. “He’s not going to let you two walk. So can you just shut up for like— three seconds, maybe? You’re giving me a headache.” Vern stuck out his tongue at his older sister, but he did then lapse into silence. Eventually the carriage made it through the gates, rattling its way towards the Gilded Palace. It was only the children’s second time at the palace, their first having been some months before while Ezra and his wife Dominique had taken advantage of their newly wealthy status to go on a belated honeymoon of sorts. The children had stayed in the care of their uncle, Elias- and so Vern brightened immediately when he saw the familiar mop of dark blonde hair. “Uncle Elias!” he called at the top of his lungs through the window, making Ezra wince at the shrill squeal. “Uncle Elias, hi!” “Oh my gods, Vern, why are you yelling?” Alicia groused— but as the carriage rolled to a stop, and a knight scrambled to open the door for his royal charges, Elias only let out a hearty laugh. “Excited to see me, are you?” he asked lightly. “Uh-huh!” Without waiting for any assistance, Gillian rose and launched herself out of the coach, landing on the ground beneath with a graceless thump. Recovering quickly, she grinned up at Elias, batting her eyelashes as she chirped, “We’ve been travelin’ for so long, Uncle Elias. And the carriage is so stuffy. But Papa wouldn’t let us walk. Even though it would have been fun.” Ezra gave a soft groan. “Papa needs a nap. If Uncle Elias would like to take on his too-hyper, been-cooped-up-for-hours nieces and nephew for a while, I would love him forever.” “Ohh, you wound me, Ezzy,” Elias deadpanned. “Implying that you wouldn’t love me forever anyway.” Smirking at his older brother, he opened his arms in invitation as Ezra stepped out of the carriage (with far more coordination than Gillian had). “Come on, Ez. Reassure your baby brother you’ll love him for all time even if he doesn’t save you from the little imps?” Alicia snorted, slipping out behind her father. “You two are weird,” she announced. Ezra shook his head with an amused expression, pulling Elias into a hug. “I disagree,” he informed his eldest daughter. “You all are the weird ones.” “We’re not weird, Papa,” Vern objected. “We’re the best.” Glancing around, he let his lower lip stick out just slightly. “Where’s Rem? He didn’t wanna come say hi?” “The king went on a nice shopping spree,” Elias said brightly. “Bought a half-dozen new thoroughbreds, I do believe it was? From just as many buyers. Your poor big brother’s buried underneath all the paperwork.” The prince chuckled. “Being Master of the Horse isn’t all cuddling with cute animals, alas.” “Papa does lots of paperwork in his job, too,” Gillian replied with a sage nod. “It looks so boring.” She glanced toward her father, steely gray eyes narrowed apprisingly. “You won’t hafta do paperwork while we’re here, will you? ‘Cos we’re on holiday, Papa.” “Sadly, Papa has to deal with some rather complicated issues with the sultan of Mzia. We’re working together to send out some privateers after Dormorian pirates terrorizing both of our shipping lanes,” Ezra replied tiredly. “But you kids don’t need to worry about it. You just get to attend a fancy dinner with his majesty.” “Oooooooh,” Vern breathed. “The sultan’s like the king, right? Can I say hi to-” “He’ll be at the fancy dinner your papa mentioned,” Elias cut in. “But you have to use your court manners there, Vern. You know what that means, yes, kids?” “No talking ‘less we’re talked to,” Gillian said with a sigh. “Just ‘cos we’re kids. And… and Papa says at court stuff kids aren’t supposed to talk much, even though I don’t know why ‘cos it’s not like we’d talk about bad things, and—” “Gilly,” Ezra interrupted, a warning in his tone. He ran a hand through his hair tiredly. “Aren’t children a delight, Eli? Everything, and I mean everything turns into an argument of ‘why’ and ‘not fair.’” “Oh, but I think it’s adorable,” Elias said with a chuckle. Turning toward the set of french doors that led into the palace, he added, “Come on, I’m sure the little darlings are tired from the road— we can get them all settled in their papa’s old stomping grounds.” “Can I stay in the room with the paintings on the ceiling again?” Gillian wheedled. She glanced toward her father. “That’s where I stayed when you and Mama were on your trip together. It’s so pretty! And the bed is real comfy. And there’s a sofa in there, too, and the cushions are silk, Papa! Real silk!” “I just want to stay in whatever room’s as far away from Gilly and Vern as is humanly possible,” Alicia muttered with a long-suffering eye roll. “Maybe then I can get some peace.” “Royalty has spoiled you,” Ezra observed with a smirk. “Not too long ago all of you kids had to pile together into one straw mattress, never mind staying in the same room.” “Could we do a sleepover?” Vern wheedled. “With Titus and Rhia and Corbin and everybody. It’d be fun!” “Oooh!” Gillian breathed. “And we could get treats for it, too, from the kitchens!” “That’s up to your respective papas,” Elias said, starting toward the doors and gesturing for his brother, nieces, and nephew to follow. He looked over his shoulder to grant Alicia and Vern a conspiratorial wink. “Though sounds like fun to me. Maybe I could even see about getting the lot of you extra blankets so you can build a neat fort to sleep in. Wouldn’t that be exciting?” Both of the younger children’s faces lit up, and Ezra chuckled. “We’ll have to see how Cass and Gerry feel about it, but if they give their approval I see no reason why not. Just remember that whatever room Alicia decides to retreat in for her sullen teenage brooding is off-limits, alright?” “Gods, since when is wanting some peace and quiet considered brooding?” Alicia sniffed. “Ah, yes, sorry— your father clearly meant ‘meditating’.” Elias grinned crookedly. “Right, Ezzy? You’d hardly want to slander your dearest little girl in such an egregious, accusatory way.” “A yes, of course, forgive me,” Ezra agreed, amused. “Slip of the tongue, really.” More seriously he added, “Alicia, I expect you to be on your best behavior, alright? No scowling or snapping at your siblings. I mean it.” She sighed dramatically. “All right. Fine.” “Aw, no sulking, Alicia,” Elias said. “I promise, I’ll do my very best to keep the assorted munchkins from bothering you too much while you’re here, okay? If anything, Gilly and Vern will more out of your hair than usual— they’ve got lots of cousins to distract them, after all.” “Corby’s fun,” Vern agreed chipperly. “And Titus knows so many stories from all his books. “I’ll bet he’ll be the smartest king of Courdon ever!” “I wouldn’t doubt it,” Elias agreed. “And I’m sure the kids here will all have lots of fun playing with you two.” *** “What do you bet Corbin is going to keep the whole batch of them up ‘til the wee hours of the night?” Elias mused late that night, as he and Ezra shared a bottle of wine in the orderly dining room of Elias’s flat. True to the prince’s prediction, both Gerard and Cassian had agreed to spare their children for a sleepover, and all of them were presently camped out in the bedroom that Gillian had claimed, tangled beneath a warren of blankets they had fashioned into a sprawling fort. “At least precious Alicia is finally getting her peace and quiet away from the little ones, though,” Elias added after a moment. “Why do I have a feeling we won’t see hide nor hair of her until noon tomorrow?” Ezra chuckled, taking a sip of his wine before replying. “Because you won’t. Not unless you go in after her. Some mornings Neeka has to physically shove her off the bed and onto the floor to get her up.” “Oh, the poor thing,” Elias said dryly. “What ever is she going to do the day after next at the huge garden breakfast fete Cassian’s throwing to entertain the sultan?” The blonde prince laughed. “You have told her about that, right?” “You assume she pays attention when I explain the itinerary of events,” Ezra replied with a smirk. “And no doubt she’ll be sulking and bleary eyed the whole time, poor dear. Though I understand that our dear cousin’s brought along some of his younger sons to give them a bit of diplomatic experience? That should perk her right up.” “Polite boys,” Elias agreed. “Though I’m pretty sure their father will smack them if he notices them flirting it up. They’re here to learn, you see. Not make moon eyes at pretty ladies.” “It’s somewhat indicative of what sort of teenage years we labored under that we never got smacked for being braindead arses around pretty girls,” Ezra mused sadly. “Even if I have to tell her off for not being diplomatic, I am glad my poor, brooding, misunderstood Alicia feels comfortable enough to do it.” “It’s… refreshing,” Elias said, a small, wistful smile quirking at his lips. “All the kids here, it’s… such a difference from how things were. I mean… gods, can you imagine a group of Alaric children giggling together in a blanket fort while Oliver was king? Eating cookies and getting frosting on their clothes and whispering in the dark instead of sleeping as they were told to?” “We’d all have been too afraid to do it,” Ezra agreed. “Us and his children. I’m so glad I can give my little ones something better. That they can play happily with their cousins without fear of worse than a scolding for whispering late into the night.” “Sometimes I still have to pinch myself,” Elias murmured. “Whenever I see Gerry or Cassian’s kids laughing and playing and just… being kids, you know?” He swallowed hard. “I was nervous at first when Gerard came back to the palace. Especially given who he married, and… well.” The prince shrugged. “You know. Aislin. But… since he’s been here… and reconciled with Cass, and their kids have become friends, and— I’ve gotten to know them all, it’s just… it’s been… it’s been…” The older prince tilted his head, his expression puzzled. “Been what, Eli?” “I barely even know,” Elias said, his voice cracking. “Other than… if the war had gone the other way— the way we wanted it to— Aislin would be a slave. Branded and cowed and miserable. But she’s… not, now. She’s my niece. Kin. Just like any other kin.” He exhaled softly, mint green eyes glimmering with melancholy. “And… hells, your oldest kids, too, Ez. Not that they were slaves— but… peasants. Commoners. Oliver would have never acknowledged them, never allowed them, not for a moment. But now? Those kids are my family. Royal, just like you are, and I am. And it’s… nice. Gods, it’s nice, Ezra. How things are now. Having Gerard back, and all of Cassian’s little ones, and— all of it. Just… all of it.” Understanding lit in Ezra’s eyes, and he put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s… strange. After everything we believed, everything we fought for years to preserve, and here we the happiest we’ve ever been in our lives, living the opposite of that.” Elias nodded, taking a long sip from his wine goblet. “I once would have seen Aislin as just a slave. No more kin of mine than… than any slave. But now I can only see her as my niece. My family. And… the more I think about that— about what that means, I…” He shut his eyes, going silent for a moment, before he continued shakily, “Aislin is my niece. Kin. There’s no doubt about that in my mind. And… she’s not kin just because Gerard took her in, I mean— she is but… even if he hadn’t, sh-she’s— Oliver’s. My brother’s daughter. And she’s been my brother’s daughter since the day she was born, Ezra. No matter what her status was then.” The prince’s eyelids fluttered back open, his face written with something akin to grief. “Do you understand what I mean, Ez?” Ezra squeezed the shoulder that he was holding. “I… I think so, yes. We weren’t much better than him, were we? Gods, I never thought I’d find myself admitting that the rebels were right but… they were right.” “We weren’t any better than him in some ways, no,” Elias agreed. “Not in how we saw people. How we… regarded them. Aislin’s been my niece since the day she was born. That I ever would have seen her as just a slave... and that I… I...” He clenched his jaw, hard, almost as though he were swallowing back the words that were trying to worm their way out his throat. As if he had another thought left loitering on his tongue but couldn’t bring himself to say it. Not yet. Not now. Ezra’s brow creased, and he regarded his younger brother with sad, confused blue eyes. “ And? And what?” “It’s… nothing,” Elias said, his gaze averted. “Just…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Th-thoughts I’ve been having lately. Crazy thoughts.” “Don’t be cagey, brother,” Ezra admonished. “What’s got you upset? You trust me, don’t you? You can always confide your troubles in me. That’s what I’m here for.” For a moment, Elias said nothing at all. Then, very softly and very slowly, he murmured, “We weren’t any better than him in how we saw people. But… it wasn’t just that, Ezra.” A beat. “Aislin is his daughter. But… he’s n-not the only royal to have… to have…” His jaw quavered. “Well, to have had ch-children. With… a slave.” For a split second, Ezra looked as if someone had struck him on the head with a board. But then, slowly, realization dawned in his face. “Oh, gods I… I remember. You mentioned it, during the war. That your favorite slave had gotten with child. And didn’t it happen twice?” Elias winced. “It did. Before sh-she escaped, during the siege. With both of the babies.” He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw a bead of blood. “Aimee and Juno. They were both girls, and I… I called them Aimee and Juno. And I saw them as… as…” He let out of a hiss of self-admonition. Disgust. “I hardly even know, anymore. B-but… no matter h-how I viewed them back then, well… I know better now, Ezzy. Those girls are my daughters. My daughters. J-just like Rhia is Cassian’s, or… or Corbin is Gerard’s, or… or…” His voice fell away again, stricken and strangled. Ezra reached around his brother’s shoulders, pulling Elias into a hug. Elias stiffened, and for a moment he seemed to consider pushing Ezra away. But then, with a great shudder, he collapsed against his brother’s chest, tears pricking in his mint green eyes. He hiccupped gracelessly. “I don’t even know if they’re alive, Ezzy,” the younger prince whimpered. “Let alone where they are. Th-they’re my daughters, and I… I know nothing. Gods, after th-their mother ran off with them, I… I barely e-even thought about them. N-not until Gerard arrived w-with Aislin. They’re my daughters, and I didn’t even think about them for years.” Ezra didn’t reply immediately, stroking his brother’s back and seeming to ponder what Elias was saying. Finally he murmured, “Even if you had, I… I can’t imagine their mother would have appreciated you meddling. Nor would she now, I expect. But well… you could try to check on them, at least? See how they’re doing, to ease your conscience without dredging up bad blood.” “I w-wouldn’t want to make her miserable,” Elias agreed. “Not after all I p-put her through. But I just…” He gulped. “You d-don’t think I’d be barmy, Ezra? To… try t-to find out where they are? If they’re okay? And… if I do, and their mother wants nothing to do with me, that’s… that’s understandable, and I’d leave them alone, but I just… I want to know.” Then, again, more softly: “I just want to know. They’re my daughters, and I want to know.” “Eli, why would it be barmy?” Ezra demanded. “They’re your kin. Even if we wouldn't have thought so before the war, well, times change. Minds change. Would Cassian and Gerard have been as thick as thieves and able to share a smile and a joke before the war?” “No” Elias murmured. “They wouldn’t have been.” He drew back from his brother and reached up toward his teary eyes. “If I d-did try to track them down, I’d… I’d have to tell Cassian. Just because I’d b-be using court resources, and…” He shook his head. “I s-suppose I worry. That I’ll be seen as mad. Told to just… forget a-about them. As I d-did for so long already.” “Get Gerard to help you,” Ezra suggested. “He has Aislin, doesn’t he? And for all the gods sake it’s Gerard. If anybody would be sympathetic about wanting to do right by illegitimate, slave-blood kin, it’d be him. Get him on your side before you talk to Cass. And hell, maybe he can even help your search. He has friends among the ex-rebels, and we know they kept records of the refugees for food distribution and whatnot.” “R-right,” Elias said. “Gerard.” He raked a hand through his sandy blond hair. “So y-you… think it’s not a totally mad idea, th-then? To try to track them down. Just… to see. To make sure they’re okay. Cared for and loved and… and okay.” “Of course not,” the elder prince insisted. “I’m just… sorry, Eli. Sorry that it’s eating you up so badly. Sorry that we can’t really do more to make it right without making a nuisance of ourselves.” “None of it’s your fault,” Elias said. “B-but… thank you, anyway, Ezra. For listening. Supporting.” His jaw shook. “I don’t w-want to bother Gerard or Cassian with this w-while the sultan’s here, but… after he leaves, maybe, I can… broach it. Just to s-see. And get the process started.” Ezra nodded. “Sounds reasonable to me. Anything you need help with, brother, anything at all. You know where I am.” “Thank you,” Elias said again. “I… I love you, Ezra. Always.” “Love you too, Eli,” the older prince said with a fond smile. “Don’t worry- we’ll sort this all out, I promise.”
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Post by Avery on Jun 10, 2016 19:59:39 GMT -5
Follow-up to Remorse. Takes place in January 1350. Collab with Shinko. A Life Anew: Part OneThe paper trail had led him here, but to Elias Alaric, it was rather like being led to the edge of a cliff: months he’d spent hiking to reach this point, wading through a warren of ledgers and record books to do so, and yet suddenly the bottom seemed to have fallen away from him, sharply dropping off into the vast unknown.
As the prince stood in front of the modest temple, with the weak morning sunlight bearing into his back, he couldn’t bring himself to move through the front doors, rather loitering with his hand hovering over the handle like a deer frozen in the hunter’s crosshairs. He’d traveled through the night to make it here by this early hour—flying the trio of palace gryphons until the beasts were sore of wing, and their riders sore of saddle—but here, now, in this final moment of obscurity…
Elias swallowed hard, willing himself to find the courage. You’ve not come all this way for nothing, the prince told himself. You’ve not spent eight months searching so that you can panic and crumble at the thirteenth hour. Open the door, Elias. Open it. He pressed down on the handle.
The latch clicked, and the door swung inward.
Inside, the antechapel smelled vaguely of roses and copper. Prayer candles flickered on a mahogany table directly to Elias’s right, the wax pooling beneath them in misshapen puddles, and Elias mouthed a silent prayer as he swept by them without lighting one of his own. Up ahead sat the main sanctuary, and the prince held his breath as he passed through the threshold, his hands clenched into tight, anxious fists at his side. This early, the pews were nearly empty, but there was a single worshipper sitting alone in the back row, her eyes close and head bowed. There was a prayer mark on her forehead—a smudge of crimson red—and vaguely Elias hoped whatever cleric he first encountered did not insist on painting him one of his own. He had no stomach right now for religious pageantry. No patience left for dancing through hoops, not when he was so close to reaching the end of this vast voyage.
Padding down the main aisle, Elias drew to a halt when he reached the altar, his pale green eyes falling to the motionless body of a small robin that lay upon the stone atonement dais. He supposed he should touch it—ritual would certainly say to—but Elias didn’t have the stomach for this, either, a fact that did not escape the notice of the cleric who stood near the rear of the altar, swathed in the dove grey robes of a cleric, and a prayer book tucked beneath his arm.
“Come for prayer, yet no follow-through for it, my brother?” the man asked softly.
“No, I have not come for prayer, my brother,” Elias said, willing himself to keep his voice steady. Unlike the cleric, who’d spoken in the low tongue as did all kin of the church, the prince used the high dialect, which caused the robe-wearing man to raise a brow. Ignoring this, Elias went on quickly, “My name is Elias. Prince Elias. I… I have corresponded at length with a member of your clergy. A… Brother Jermaine, to be precise?”
“That is me,” said the cleric—before stiffening as he realized just what Elias had said, at which point he plunged his head into a hasty bow. “My prince,” Brother Jermaine practically squeaked. “I—was not aware that you would be… gracing yourself with our presence, or—I certainly would have prepared, I—”
“No need to prostrate yourself, Brother,” Elias cut in. “You would have had no way of knowing that I was coming. Once I got your confirmation letter—that the children in your temple’s blessed custody were indeed the ones I’ve been seeking…” The prince shook his head. “My plans were thrown together hastily. I flew through the night to be here.”
“A-all the way from Rakine, my prince?” The temple was in a rural eastern section of the Northlands, half a kingdom away.
Elias nodded. “Yes, my brother. It’s a matter quite… urgent to me, you see.” He paused. “You… do have them, correct? The children?”
“Yes, my prince,” said the cleric. “They’ve been in our custody since they were quite small. Kin of the temple.”
“And… they’re here now?” Elias asked.
“In the lower sanctuary. Saying their morning prayers.” Brother Jermaine hesitated. “I—I’m sorry, my prince, but… when you inquired about them, I merely presumed the palace was doing… some sort of census work, given their ah, brands, and…” He dared meet Elias’s gaze. “I mean not to pry, of course, but… what is it that you want with them? That’s sent you hurtling through the night to reach them the moment you received word they were the ones you were seeking?”
“I’d like to speak to them,” Elias said simply. “See them. At once.”
This was hardly an answer, but the cleric seemed to know better than to meddle more than he already had. Instead, he merely nodded his head, clutching the prayer book to his chest as a child might to its favorite doll. Wordlessly, he started forward, hurrying past Elias into the aisle as he made a beeline for a slim wooden near the rear of the room, which presumably opened up to the staircase that would lead down to the lower sanctuary.
Elias waited in silence for several minutes, his heart thrumming in his throat and a cold sweat stippling his bronze brow. Better, he thought, than a prayer mark. Thank the gods the cleric had been so distracted by Elias’s identity-- and startled by the prince’s strange request-- that he hadn’t bothered drawing one. The silent woman in the last pew, not so lucky as to escape this rite, rose as she finished with her prayer, and his throat dry, Elias watched her go. Staring at her as she paused briefly at the cleansing pan near the main doors, and swished a hand through it before using her wet fingers to swipe away the blood mark, the prince gritted his teeth. What was taking so long with the children? Gods, why hadn’t Brother Jermaine yet returned?
Just as Elias was about to burst from frustration, footsteps sounded on the stairs. The narrow door swung back open, and the cleric stepped out, trailed shortly by two children, almost the same height and age so that they could practically have been twins. The slightly taller of the two was a young girl, with wavy reddish blonde hair done up in a braid that hung over her shoulder, and nut-brown eyes. At her side stood a reedy waif of a child, her hair-- red as flame-- plaited behind her back and her pale green eyes cast on the ground below. She had her fingers twined through the older girl’s: not just holding, but clinging. As if she were terrified to let go.
Silently, Brother Jeramine beckoned the children forward, leading them toward the altar-- and Elias. As they approached, it took everything in the prince to remember how to breathe, his stomach fluttering as he studied their faces. Though their hair and eyes differed from one another, the resemblance between the two children was nevertheless unmistakable: they had the same square jaws and wispy brows, the bridge of both of their pert noses dusted with freckles. If Elias hadn’t known better, he might have thought them twins indeed.
“Is that them, Father Jeramine?” the prince asked, although inside he already knew the answer.
“It is,” the cleric agreed, motioning for the children to stop walking as they neared the prince. “The older girl is Aimee. The littler one is Juno.”
Aimee responded to the mention of her name with a hurried curtsey, as best she could manage with her heavy clerical raiments. As she dipped and rose, despite good manners dictating she should look down, she kept glancing up at the prince with obvious curiosity glimmering in her eyes. The littler child, Juno, didn’t dare, her eyes remaining hooked on the ground beneath. Up close, Elias noticed that her throat was trembling.
He wanted to reach out and set a soothing hand on her shoulder-- but didn’t dare.
“We mustn’t stare, Aimee,” Jeramine chastised, the cleric gone deathly pale in the face of the perplexing royal. “Remember, ‘a faithful disciple knoweths thy--’”
“--‘place’,” Elias cut in, the prince’s tone suddenly terse. “And so I will thank you to know yours, my brother. I wish to speak to them alone. You may leave.”
“I…” Jeramine looked truly flummoxed, but after a single syllable, the cleric seemed to realize that any attempt at argument would be unwise. Instead, he demurely nodded his head before dipping it into a bow. “Yes, my prince,” he said. “I… I shall be just in the antechapel. If you require me for anything.” Turning, he added sharply to the children: “Remember your virtues, yes?”
And with that, the cleric departed, his robes swishing as he hurried back down the aisle. Juno barely seemed to notice as he brushed past, the child remaining statue-still, while Aimee on the other hand fidgeted, the way she kept glancing quizzically in Elias’ direction- but not quite staring after the earlier snap- making it clear she was holding herself back from doing or saying something.
Part of Elias wished they’d speak first, so that he wouldn’t have to. But after several moments of strained silence, it became clear that neither child was daring enough to cross such a thickly painted line. After all, even if Brother Jermaine hadn’t identified the prince to them, Elias’s clothing, jewelry, and use of the high tongue made it clear that he was someone of status. Someone to whom child kin of the temple ought not be speaking without being granted explicit permission first. Kin of the temple. Gods, how the prince’s heart twisted at this thought in relation to these girls who stood in front of him now.
They were not kin of the temple.
Should have never been, and how he hated the past iteration of himself that had let them fall to such a fate.
“Hello,” he said to them, his voice hitching slightly. “I, ah-- my name is Elias. And I understand that you’re Aimee and Juno? I’m… I’m very glad to meet you, I…” He glanced behind them, toward the pews. “Would you like to sit? I… I’d like to speak with you both, and I want us to all be comfortable.”
Aimee, her expression alive with curiosity and no small amount of befuddlement, covered the few steps between the trio and the front row of pews and plopped down on them obediently; Juno, her hand still clutched over her sister’s, fell in line behind her like a duckling following its mother, the littler girl pressing herself tight against Aimee as they settled on the pew.
“I’m Aimee, yes, enki,” the older child replied, using the low tongue. “And my sister is Juno.” When her companion’s only response was to nestle even closer, Aimee smiled sheepishly. “Sorry m’lord, Juno is kind of shy. She doesn’t mean t’ be rude.”
“No worries,” Elias soothed, hating the idea that he was frightening these children. … Then again, what had he expected? This was a nothing temple in a nothing town. He doubted it even had a reeve, let alone a lord. These girls probably could go years without encountering an enki. Or even longer. “I… I understand that you live here,” he went on after a moment, choosing not to sit in case drawing closer served to disquiet them even further. “That you’re kin of the temple. And… that you have been for quite some time.”
Juno nodded, for the first time daring to speak; her voice was scarcely more than a whisper as she confirmed, “Yes, enki. Since we were little. And our mama died.”
“I see,” Elias said softly. “And… do you remember your lives before you came to live at the temple? W-with your mother?” He couldn’t bring himself to say her name. Didn’t feel like he deserved to say her name, not anymore, if he ever had at all.
Aimee looked pensive. “I can a little bit. It was a big building, and we lived in it with lots of other families. But I don’t remember so good. Mostly I just remember the fire.” She shuddered at this, instinctively squeezing her sister’s hand.
Brother Jermaine had mentioned the fire in his letters to Elias, and so it wasn’t at all unexpected, but hearing Aimee talk about it was nevertheless somehow worse. More cutting, like a knife right to his gut. “That was in 1344, right, Aimee?” Elias murmured. “Near the end of the war? You and Juno must have been very little. I imagine it was frightening.”
“I was five,” she confirmed. “Juno was four.” She smiled at her younger sister. “She wasn’t there, she was somewhere else. I don’t remember where. But I was. I couldn’t breathe, that’s what I remember the most. I think I passed out.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Aimee,” Elias said, and it took the prince several moments to work himself up to his next question. “Your mama,” he went on then. “I… I imagine you don’t remember her overmuch. But… from what you do remember…” He forced a deep breath. “Did she ever talk to you about your father?”
Juno only shrugged, almost absently, as beside her, Aimee gnawed on her lower lip a moment. “I… I know someone said once that she musta been from the palace where the king is, ‘cause of our feet. But I dunno if she said anything about it. ‘Cept… ‘Cept once I think she talked to someone else ‘bout it. A big person. But I don’t remember what she said.”
“That’s right.” Elias smiled gently at the children. “She was from the palace. And your father…” Gods, there was no good way to say this, was there? “Your… your mother,” Elias said, backtracking, “was from the palace. A… a slave at the palace. But then she left, during the war, and she brought you two with her. You were only babies, then. One- and two-years-old. And… the rebel army, they helped you and your mother, just as they helped many slaves, so that she could come north. Where it was safer. And your father… he… he wasn’t a very good man, then. He was… he…” Elias shook his head. “When your mother passed away, your father didn’t know. He… he was caught up in his own things, and he didn’t know. But then, later, once the war was over, he… became better. A better person than he was. And he wanted to find you. To make sure that you were okay.”
Finally, Juno stirred, daring to lift her gaze from where it had been settled in her lap. Her voice was weighted with equal parts suspicion and awe as she asked, “You knew Mama?”
“I did, yes.” Elias nodded. “And your papa, too. I… he…” He managed another deep breath, even as his nerves continued to amplify. “The rebels kept documents. Information. About… the people they came across, and… where they went, and… all of that. But it was still… difficult to trace, in some ways. A lot of dead ends for every through road. A lot of scrambling. A lot of confusion. And so… your father, he was looking for you, but it took him a while. And that whole time he’d been hoping-- praying-- that you were happy. That you were with your mama, and that you were happy, and… if you had been, he would have been okay with that. To leave you there. With her. Where you belonged.” The prince clenched his jaw, looking almost stricken. “But then… your father finally found you. He learned where you were. And what had happened. That your mama had gone to be with the gods. That… that you were kin of the temple now.” He gestured to the sanctuary around them. “That you lived here.”
The myriad of emotions flickering through Juno’s mist green eyes intensified further, confusion now layering against the mistrust and intrigue. “Papa was… looking for us? But…” The girl bit her lip, glancing sidelong at her sister. “The… the clerics would’ve told us. If he was looking. ‘Cos… they’ve always said we didn’t-- didn’t have a papa left. That he must’ve died in the war. Like Mama.”
Aimee shrugged. “Or he was just missing?” she suggested. “They also said lots of slaves don’t get to know their papas. ‘Cause the papas might belong to someone different from the mamas. Maybe that was what happened to our papa?”
“That… that did happen sometimes,” Elias agreed gently. “But this time…” The prince hesitated. “Your mother lived at the royal palace. Do you understand that… means, exactly?”
Aimee shifted, shrugging. “She was a slave for the king and his family, right?”
“Yes,” said Elias. “Yes, she was.” He brought a hand to his temple; it was suddenly throbbing, the precarious weight of the situation slamming into him like a charging bull. “I told you my name was Elias, and that’s true. I did not tell you my surname: it’s Alaric. I am not an enki; I’m a prince. My father Rafael was once king, my brother Oliver followed him, and now my nephew, Cassian, sits on the throne.”
“A prince?” Juno’s previously wispy voice had gone nearly shrill, the girl straightening on the pew like a startled, terrified cat with its hackles puffed. “B-but…” Her eyes snapped down into her lap, then up, then down again. Frantic. “D-did our papa do something bad? To… to the royal family? And now… and now--”
Aimee instinctively clutched both arms around her sister. “Shhhh, shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay June, I’m sure it’s f-fine.”
“It is fine,” Elias insisted. … This was not going as he’d envisioned it. “Your papa didn’t do anything bad, I promise. And-- you’re not in trouble, so don’t worry.” He sighed, raking a hand through his dark blonde hair. “Your mother was… I don’t know what she was to me. But I did not treat her as I should have treated her. As she deserved to be treated. And that was why… why if I’d found her alive and well-- if she’d been… happy, and you happy with her-- I… I would not have interfered.” He made himself smile. Hollowly. “But that isn’t what I found. And her children deserve better than… than this.” His voice scarcely more than a whisper, he amended this to: “My children deserve better than this.”
“Your chil- you’re our father?!” Aimee bleated, her brown eyes wide. She turned to Juno, in a perfectly audible stage whisper hissing, “Our father is a prince?!”
“But… you… we…” Juno nearly seemed to be choking on her words as she pressed her cheek against her sister’s shoulder. “T-that doesn’t make sense. ‘Cos… Mama was a slave… and…”
“I know it must be very confusing to you, honey,” Elias said softly. “And I wish there was a better way to explain it. Or… for me to have told you. And I’m so, so sorry for all that’s happened you. The pain you’ve suffered in your lives. The… uncertainty.” He still wanted to reach out and touch them-- comfort them-- but did not have nearly enough courage. “But I’m going to make it better, from now on, okay?”
“B-better?” Aimee repeated, still looking bewildered, “Better how?”
“Well,” Elias started, “from now, you and Juno… you’re not going to be kin of the temple. You’re going to be kin of mine. And the crown. I… came here today to meet you, yes. But I’m not going to simply introduce myself and then disappear back to Rakine. You two are my children. My flesh and blood. You’re going to come home with me. And… I’m going to do everything in my power to make the rest of your lives as good as they can possibly be.”
Juno seemed at an outright loss for words, while Aimee’s eyes all but bulged out of her head. “You’re… you’re taking us with you? To the palace?” A thought seemed to occur to her, and her excitement waned a little as she glanced down at her right foot. “To… to work?”
“No.” Elias’s reaction was instant and visceral. “Not to work. You are my children, not… servants or anything else. You will be treated as such. Titled as such.”
At this, Aimee’s expression filled with delight again; if any of her joy rubbed off on the littler girl, however, Juno didn’t show it. “... Titled?” she murmured, her coppery brow creased. “T-titled how?”
For the first time, it was Elias who was at a loss, but after a moment’s consideration, he managed to cobble together: “As-- as my daughters. My little girls. And… since I’m a prince, and a son of a monarch, well…” Elias smiled at them. “You’ll be princesses.”
Neither girl spoke for a beat, before Juno slowly pursed her lips. Confusion still flickered in her eyes like a raging wildfire, and from her stiff, shaky posture, it was clear that she was still several leaps beyond anxious. But there was finally a hint of excitement-- only a hint, but still, it was there-- as she murmured, “Like… like in stories?” She turned to look at Aimee. “You know, the stories,” the girl insisted. “In the writ. That tell you how to be good.”
Aimee giggled and nodded. “There’s lots of ‘em. But I thought they was just… um… what’s the word, where it’s something that means something else? An-ledge-y?” She looked up at Elias with astonishment and no small bit of excitement in her eyes. “But this one’s… for real right? You’re not just joking? The boys in the church like to say dumb stuff sometimes and make us believe it when it’s not true. They think it’s funny but it’s not funny.” Here Aimee’s lips pursed.
“I think you mean analogy,” Elias ventured. “But no-- I’m not joking, I promise you, honey. The parables in the writ-- yes, those are just… stories. Meant to teach a lesson. But down in Rakine, there are real princes and princesses, and kings, and--” He shook his head. “I was not a good papa. To… let you end up in the temple like this. But now, I’m going to be better.”
“So you’re going to just… take us?” Juno cocked her head. “Just… just like that?” She bit her lip. “The clerics don’t just let people take kids. ‘Cos last year, one of the farmers from the village tried an’ say he’d take in some boys. To help on his farm. And… and Brother Jeramine didn’t let him. He got real mad. He told the farmer he was bein’ sinful. For trying to… to steal temple kin. That’s like trying to steal from the gods.”
“That… um…” Elias froze. “That’s… different. That sounds like… like the farmer was trying to just get…” Slaves masquerading as adopted sons. “... Free help. And that’s not holy. But-- I’m your papa. So it’s okay.” And no one in this temple would dare refuse a request by a member of the royal family, but Elias thought better of mentioning such a thing.
Aimee looked down at Juno, squeezing her little sister’s hand. “The writ does say that family is the most important thing. And that papas are supposed to take care of their wives and kids and stuff. It’s their most sacred duty.” The girl’s voice was chipper here, pitched it such a way that she sounded like she might have been quoting something she’d heard so many times it had almost become a private joke between her and the younger girl.
“It is their most sacred duty, yes.” Elias swallowed the guilty lump in his throat. “Which is why I’m trying to make up for how I’ve been failing in it. By being your papa from now on.”
“W-what about our friends, though?” Juno asked. “Here. At the temple.”
“Well… you’ll still have each other,” Elias said. “And you can make so many new friends at the palace.” He met Juno’s wary gaze, unable to stop his heart from fluttering when it hit him suddenly not just how much the children resembled each other, but how much they favoured him. “You’ve got lots of cousins there. Who are excited to meet you. And play with you.”
At this, for the first time Aimee’s expression faltered. “Are… are you sure? I… I like making friends, but some of the older boys here said we’re just rebellious slaves and they’re better’n us ‘cause they don’t have brands, and if these are princes and princesses, what if-”
“No.” Elias’s voice was sharp. “You are not slaves. You are my children, and you’ll be treated as such. And if anyone at the palace were to ever say rude things to you… then just tell me, okay? And I’ll take care of it. I promise you.”
“Would… would we get our own blankets still?” Juno asked. “‘Cos we had to share ‘til last year. There weren’t enough. And… I like havin’ my own.” She prodded Aimee. “She hogs.”
Elias laughed. Dear gods, if they were impressed by blankets-- “Yes, you’ll have your own blankets, sweetie,” he said. “As many as you want.” A beat. “And I know this is… scary now. Confusing. But you have nothing to be afraid of from me. I’m your papa, and you’re my children, and while I might be a stranger now, I won’t be soon, okay? We’ll get to know each other. All of us.”
Aimee giggled softly, nudging her sister with an elbow and giving her an excited grin. But then, when a bell sounded from somewhere else in the temple, her expression fell a bit.
“We… we’ve got lessons…” she said slowly. “Soon. The clerics will be mad if we’re late. An’ I think we missed breakfast, they always hand it out right after morning prayer.”
“Oh,” Elias said.
This… stung. Even if Elias wasn’t entirely sure why. Again he had to ask himself: What did you expect? He hadn’t seen either Aimee or Juno since they were toddlers, and in his mind’s eyes they’d in some way subsisted in this nebulous state. Although walking through the door half an hour ago, he’d been aware in an abstract sense that the children who’d be brought to him would be far different versions than the babes whose mother had fled with them in the night, there was a difference still between knowing and knowing. Being cognizant of something in general, and understanding it to its core.
Abruptly, Elias’s stomach lurched, as it bowled into him just how much of strangers these children were to him-- and he to them. Had he arrived expecting them to leap into his arms? Smile and bounce in joy at his sudden arrival, heralding him like a heavy rain after a drought? Gods, if he’d been in their shoes-- had spent most of his life a ward of the temple, thinking himself an orphan of a slave-- then he probably would have been no less tepid than they were. He might have tried to shimmy out of further interaction, too. Tried to simply nod his head and then fold himself back into the comforting familiarity of his usual day-to-day life.
Lessons. Breakfast.
She doesn’t mean it personally, he told himself, as he began softly, “I’m going to be staying here in town for a couple days. Before we head back to Rakine. And I… I’d like to spend as much time with you as possible before then. So that we’re a little bit less of strangers by the time we leave. So what if-- instead of lessons, you two head out with me? We can get a bite to eat in the village. And… you can show me around. We can talk. Get to know each other better.”
Aimee looked surprised. “Really? Are you sure no one would be mad?” She nudged Juno again and smirked. “Brother Jeramine would flip if he came back and we were just gone. Remember that time Pliny and Rasmus snuck out to play hide-and-seek when they were supposed to be doin’ chores? He paddled ‘em.”
“I’ll talk to Brother Jeramine,” Elias said quickly. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.” The man glanced up the aisle, toward the antechapel where Brother Jermaine had disappeared. “Let me go speak with him-- you two stay here while I do. And… you can talk about what places to show me around town. After we pick up breakfast. I saw a nice little bakery next to my inn.”
“The bakery?” Juno gawped. “You’re… you’re going to buy us stuff from the bakery?”
The prince smiled lightly. “Sure. A papa’s allowed to treat his daughters, right?” He considered. “Maybe I could even get you something sweet, if you’d like. A scone, or cream horn, or… anything you want, really.”
Aimee blinked, looking completely bewildered. “A scone? A cream horn? What’s that?”
Elias creased his blonde brow. “You’ve never had a scone?” Gods, he realized. When would they have, living as they’d been? “It’s-- they’re…” Genuine warmth crept into his previously thin smile. “You’ll see, Aimee. You’ll like them, I promise. They’re sweet. Like honey.”
“Oh… but we only get honey on holy feast days,” Aimee replied, looking at Juno with excitement. She nudged her arm. “Something sweet like honey, and it’s not even a feast day!”
“And we won’t have to spend all mornin’ memorizing atonement prayers.” At long last, Juno grinned. “It’s like bein’ sick, except without having to be sick!”
“That’s right.” Elias chuckled. “Now you two stay here, and I’ll go talk to Brother Jermaine.”
A Life Anew: Part TwoBrother Jeramine absorbed Elias’s story as an oilcloak might rain-- that is to say, he gawped at the prince the entire time Elias spoke, rudeness of it be cursed, and hardly seemed to comprehend a word out the Alaric’s mouth. Nevertheless, the cleric was in little position to refuse the prince’s appeal-- either to take the children out for breakfast or to assume custody of them in general. After all, the temple was in no dearth of wards to care for, and even if Elias hadn’t been Aimee and Juno’s blood father, no Courdonian in his right mind would deny a direct request from a member of the royal family. “And you’ll be leaving back for Rakine with them when, my prince?” the cleric stammered instead, sweat dribbling down his brow. “Within a few days,” Elias replied. “My gryphons need to be rested first-- and my knights, as well.” He’d left his men back at the inn to sleep off the arduous journey north, not wanting to overwhelm Aimee and Juno by showing up to the temple with a full escort. “But… after that, I’ll be returning. I left with little notice. I can’t stay in town for long.” “And until then?” Jermaine pressed. “Shall they remain here, or…?” At this, Elias faltered. The children had not exactly tripped over themselves in excitement at the idea of immediately-- and permanently-- leaving the temple; if he’d been expecting miserable wretches, instead he’d found… humble but well-adjusted children, who might have lived simply but seemed to be neither despondent nor in any great hurry to leave their familiar lives behind. But the thought of leaving his children to sleep under this roof for one more night… likely huddled in a single room with a dozen other wards… without a doubt curled up on the floor, no pillow for their heads... “I don’t know,” the prince said after a moment. “I’ll get back to you later on that, my brother. After I’ve spoken to them more. For now, I think I’ll be taking them to that promised breakfast. Have a blessed morning, Brother Jeramine.” At the bakery, the proprietor quite nearly fainted when Elias strolled through the door, taking one glance at the prince’s silk tunic, tall boots, and jangling jewelry before he bowed his head so deeply that his chin nearly touched his chest. He did not dare pry and ask who Elias was, nor did he venture to inquire as to why the presumed enki was being trailed by two temple children, their dirty faces and threadbare outfits a stark contrast to Elias’s finery. “Have you any scones?” Elias asked him, the scent of baking bread wafting up his nose. “Or anything else sweet?” “I-I’ve got cinnamon bread,” the baker practically squeaked. “Fresh out the oven-- it’s off cooling in the back. I-if you’d like, enki, I sell it by the slice.” “I’ll take three pieces,” Elias said, and as the baker hurried to fetch his order, the prince smiled down at Aimee and Juno. “You ever had cinnamon?” he asked them. “If not, you’re in for a treat.” Aimee shook her head. “We have plain bread and barley broth for most meals, ah… F-father? On holidays we get a punnet of berries to share and some buns with honey drizzle.” “You can call me ‘papa’,” Elias told the girl gently. “You’re too little to be fussing with such a formal address.” He set a ginger hand on her shoulder. “No more bread and broth for you. You’ll have fruit now. Meat.” Skimming their slight forms-- the hollows and angles where there shouldn’t be any-- he added, “Papa’s going to get some weight on you both.” Aimee looked down at herself quizzically at this remark, but didn’t comment on it. Instead she replied, “Yes, P-Papa.” The word sounded a bit awkward on her tongue, which wasn’t really much a surprise given it was being addressed at a man she’d just met scarcely an hour ago. But she brightened again, nudging her sister slightly with an elbow. “We haven’t had meat in ages, have we? The animals at the temple all go to the gods. I wonder if it tastes good?” She grinned impishly. “Don’t get fat, Juno.” The little girl scowled, playfully shoving back. “I’m not the one always lickin’ her bowl. Like a puppy.” “Ah, I’ll fatten you both up.” Elias dared smirk. “Nothing wrong with a little meat on your bones, eh?” When the baker returned a few moments later with three generously cut slices of hot cinnamon bread, and with a bowed head informed Elias that the price was three coppers, Elias tossed the man a silver instead. The baker’s eyes went wide as goose eggs, and as he thanked the prince profusely, Elias gave him a short nod. “It’s no problem at all,” he said, handing a slice each to Aimee and Juno and keeping the third for himself. Then, to the children: “Shall we walk and eat? You can show me around the village. Give me a grand tour.” The children nodded in agreement, and Elias led them out of the shop. Once they were out on the quaint dirt road, Juno prodded warily at the bread before taking a small bite from its corner. As she did, her rusty brow shot up, and swallowing quickly, she grinned toward Aimee. “It’s sweet,” she announced brightly. “Better’n honey, really. Thank you!” The older girl took a nibble of her own, and that nibble quickly turned into a greedy mouthful. Fortunately it seemed the temple kin had been given enough propriety not to talk with their mouths full, because she gave a jerky swallow before saying, “ Way better. It’s all fresh and warm too, not stale day-old-bread.” She started to take another bite, but belatedly stopped and looked up at Elias with an expression that was part abashed, part elated. “Thank you, Papa!” Elias’s chest went warm. “You’re welcome, Aimee,” he said. “And Juno. I’m… I’m glad you two like it. We’ve lots of cinnamon down in Rakine. You can’t have sweets all the time, but sometimes we use it in more savoury dishes, too. And… if you like it, I can have the cooks make courses with it. The head cook does an excellent cinnamon squash soup.” He glanced at the sleepy landscape around. “So… any place in particular I ought to see? Any grand sight of the village a visitor just can’t miss?” Aimee wasn’t entirely sure what a squash was, but considering Elias had been right about the first instance of food she’d never heard of, she was willing to take his word for it. She nodded, taking another bite of her bread before turning to her sister. “Maybe we can show him the field where you and the others play ball? It has lots of pretty magnolia trees.” Shuddering she added, “And this early in the year they won’t be in bloom yet.” “We could go there,” Juno agreed. “Or to the rock! We should show him the rock.” “The rock?” Elias lifted a brow, taking a nibble of his own bread. “What’s the rock?” Aimee grinned. “It’s out near the edge of town. It’s almost the same size as me, and there’s moss on it that glows a night. It’s really cool!” “I… see.” Elias couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, I’m very excited to see this rock. After we go to the field.” He paused for a moment. “You don’t like magnolia trees, Aimee? We’ve a section of the palace gardens with a whole slew of them. When they bloom, it’s like a blanket of pink.” Aimee shuddered. “I don’t like flowers. Any flowers. They make the air thick and heavy. It messes up my breathing.” “Her chest hurts,” Juno said dourly. “Whenever there’s flowers.” “Your breathing?” All the humor had vanished from the prince’s face. “Do the clerics give you help for that? Potions or… inhalants, or vapors?” The cheer was gone from Aimee’s demeanor, the cinnamon bread hanging from her limp hand as she squeezed Juno’s and put her face against her sister’s neck. “They tried, but everything they gave me made me have an attack.” She shivered hard. “It’s scary when I have attacks. My chest hurts bad and I get real dizzy.” The girl sniffed. “I hate it. They said it was from breathing too much smoke during the fire, probably. It never happened before that.” His veins suddenly pumping ice, Elias reached out toward the girl, his fingers brushing her arm. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Aimee,” he said. “Sorry that you have to go through that. But… once we’re back in Rakine, I’ll take you the healer’s right away. We’ve mages on staff-- the best in the kingdom. They’ll be able to help you. So that you don’t have attacks.” Aimee, far from being comforted by this, visibly balked, her eyes going wide with terror. “N-n-no, I’m fine, I don’t need medicine! It just makes it worse, I’m fine really, I don’t need any medicine.” “Medicines are awful.” Juno nodded in grim solidarity. “And the clerics hold her down so she swallows ‘em. Which makes her scared. And everything worse.” The littler girl set a comforting hand on her sister’s back. “It’s better for her to just avoid flowers. And stuff that makes it happen.” Sensing that if he prodded the issue further he’d merely send the children into deeper resistance, Elias lifted his hand off Aimee’s arm and held it out in placation. “Calm down, it’s alright,” he said. “We… can talk about it more once we’re at the palace, okay?” Taking another bite of the bread as though his stomach wasn’t suddenly pitching like an agitated hornet, Elias attempted to divert the subject with an inelegant: “So, ah-- we nearly at this exciting field?” “Uh-huh.” Juno gnawed on her lip. “It’s right up there. See?” The field in question hardly deserved such a title: it was really more of a craggy patch of earth, its grass brittle and more yellow than green, with anemic magnolia trees stippled about like crooked teeth. A snaking brook bubbled near the edge of it, too shallow to wade into, let alone swim, and as the children looked on with something near pride, all Elias could think about was the rotating array of military camps he’d found himself in throughout the rebels’ war. As a general in the king’s army, he’d traveled often, and had frequently ended up in places like this-- little smudges of towns with very few features to differentiate one from the next, the soldiers’ tents pitched in desolate pastures and fields interchangeable with this one. To think that his children had spent most of their lives residing in such a place-- where this sorry plot of grass and trees counted as an attraction, a destination-- The prince swallowed hard and made himself smile. “You said the clerics take you to play ball here sometimes? That must be very nice.” “Uh-huh,” Aimee replied, seeming to have perked up enough now to take an interest in her bread again. After chewing on a mouthful she added, “I play catch with ‘em, but if they play team games where they kick the ball or throw it I just watch. Running around makes my attacks happen.” She brightened suddenly, nudging Juno again and adding in a teasing tone, “But I like to cheer Juno on when she plays. Sometimes she even actually scores!” “I’m better’n most of the boys.” Juno, previous distress over her sister’s ailments vanished, smiled broadly. “Even if it’s hard to run in a dress. But I’m still fast.” She looked to Elias. “Will the kids at the palace play games with us? If we want?” Elias nodded. “Sure. Of course. We’ve got huge…” He almost said gardens, but remembering Aimee’s talk of flowers triggering her breathing issues, quickly switched this to: “Courtyards. All the kids play. And I’m sure your cousins will be thrilled to have new people to include in their games.” He laughed. “You’re not much older than Titus. He’ll be overjoyed to have more playmates. Sometimes I think he tires of his ah, present batch.” “Who’s Titus?” Aimee asked. “The king’s eldest son,” Elias replied. “Cassian’s got six little ones-- three girls and three boys. And then there are my nephew Gerard’s children, as well. He’s got all girls. Four of them, and then his wife’s pregnant with twins.” Aimee’s eyes widened. “That’s… that’s almost as many kids as at the temple. Will we share a room with them too?” Elias shook his head. “No. You won’t all share a room. Papa’s got his own flat, a bit away from the king’s and Prince Gerard’s. You’ll each have your own room. With nice beds and pillows and blankets. And if you ever need me, I’ll be just down the hall.” “Our… own rooms?” Aimee blinked, as if this concept were entirely foreign to her. “We’ve never slept alone though, not even with Mama. And a bed?” “You won’t be far from each other-- it’s only a few steps between the bedchambers,” Elias said. “And yes, you’ll each have a bed. One of the chambers has a balcony, too. Overlooking the west courtyard. You can watch the fountains from it.” Aimee couldn’t really wrap her head around any of these concepts, but she looked towards Juno excitedly all the same. “I dunno about being alone, but real beds? What d’you think of that?” The littler child mulled for a moment, still gnawing on her cinnamon bread. “Can we share?” she asked. “If we want.” Elias blinked. “I… I suppose. At… first. If it makes you more comfortable.” “I like her being near,” Juno said. “Even if she snores.” The redhead seemed to remember something Elias had mentioned earlier. “And… we’d still have our own blankets, right? Even if we shared a bed?” “Of course,” Elias said told her. “Much softer than the ones you have now, too, I’d bet.” “The blankets aren’t very soft, but Juno is,” Aimee put in, hugging her sister. “And she’s warm, so it’s okay if the blankets have holes from moths and stuff. But I bet we’d sleep even better with blankets that didn’t have holes!” Starting back toward the dirt road, and beckoning gently for the children to follow, Elias nodded. “I’m sure you’ll sleep like babes,” he said. “Warm and cozy. And safe. I’ll make sure of it.” *** If Elias had been expecting the two young girls to be afraid upon their first exposure to royal gryphons, he was rather in for a surprise. Upon their departure from the Northlands two days later, after only a little initial uneasiness with the massive beasts, both Aimee and Juno had taken to flying with wide-eyed excitement, pointing at little things that passed below and babbling excitedly to one another about how “Those oxes look like ants!” and “We’re going so fast, I bet not even racehorses can go this fast!” Although he was regularly chiding the children throughout the ride to stop leaning over quite so far-- they were both belted in, but a father could still worry-- Elias couldn’t help but smile each time they called out in elation. This was how children were supposed to act. And it gave him reassurance that even if he knew things would not be smooth sailing at all times, he was doing the right thing by seeking them out. By taking them home with him. By being their father, as he wished now he could have been all along. Although on his way north Elias had flown through the night, he decided to make the return trip a two-day affair-- as much for his and his men’s sake as it was for the girls’. Flying for an extended period of time was not comfortable for anyone, after all. Not even soldiers. … Or the gryphons, for that matter. So around dusk they touched down in a small countryside town, about three-quarters of the way from the Northlands to Rakine (meaning the remainder of their journey the next morning would be very much swifter). It was bigger than the village they’d left behind, the inn about the twice the size as the one Elias had been staying at before, and he smiled at the girls as he dismounted the saddle, rubbing at his aching legs. “How you feeling?” he asked, as he began to unbelt Juno from the saddle while one of his knights worked to loose Aimee. “Not too crampy, I hope?” Aimee winced as she was carefully set down on the ground, walking gingerly. “My legs don’t like being so wide. The flying part is fun, but the sitting part hurts.” “Stretch,” Elias advised, taking Juno’s hand to help her dismount. “It’ll probably smart for a bit, I won’t lie. And it won’t be fun tomorrow morning getting back on the saddle. But a good payoff for the views, huh?” “I saw rivers!” Juno announced, her red curls catching in the light of the dying dusk. “They looked like snakes.” She grinned up at Elias. “Do princesses get to fly lots?” “Sometimes,” Elias said. “Mostly you’ll be at the palace. But when I travel on business, I can try to bring you girls with from time to time.” He set a hand on the little girl’s shoulder, then beckoned Aimee toward him. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go inside while the knights stable our gryphons. We can get some supper, how does that sound?” Aimee perked up considerably at the mention of food. “Great! I’m starving!” she crowed. Glancing around, she asked, “Are the knights gonna eat with us too? When they’re done putting the gryphons away?” “No,” Elias said, as he started with the girls toward the lobby of the inn. “They’ll eat later. Apart.” “Aren’t they hungry, though?” Juno asked, pursing her lips. “They’ve been flyin’ a long time, too.” “They have things they need to do first,” Elias said by way of answer. “Tending the gryphons is more than just storing them in the stables-- they need to be fed and watered, and--” The prince waved a hand. “But they’ll be fine, honey. They’ll eat once they’re done with their work.” Inside, Elias paid for and collected three room keys-- one for him and the girls, and the other two for the knights-- from a very stunned-looking innkeeper, who kept his head bowed throughout the entire exchange and ended nearly every single one of his sentences with a tremulous “my lord”, swiftly vaulted to “your highness” once Elias had offered his name for the ledger book. Skin pale as milk, the proprietor then told the prince that supper was being served in the common room just up the stairs, and that of course “his highness” ought take as much food as he desired. “Where you do want to sit, girls?” Elias asked once they’d ascended the staircase, and the trio found themselves in a cozy but well-appointed loft that had been furnished with a battery of tables and chairs. A massive pot of what looked like porridge was simmering over a low flame in the corner, a ladle peeking out from it, and slices of bread were piled on a counter nearby beside a stack of empty metal bowls. While there were a few other guests eating, the prince didn’t see anyone serving them. “I think it might be self service,” he ventured after a moment. “So I guess we should just-- grab bowls, hm?” “Like at the temple,” Juno said brightly. “Except-- look Aimee, the bread has nuts in it. We only get nuts on Sundays!” It was presently Thursday. The older girl beamed. “And look, there’s butter for it!” She looked up at the prince, tentatively threading her fingers in his and giving his hand a tug. “Are we really allowed this stuff, Papa? No one’s gonna get mad?” Fighting back a moment’s startlement at the girl’s uninitiated touch, Elias drew her closer and smiled. “As much as you want,” he told her. “Although don’t make yourself sick, okay? We have to get up early tomorrow, and I don’t want you up all night with an upset tummy.” “Are we stayin’ in a room with you?” Juno chirped, padding toward the bread and porridge. In the end, despites his reservations, Elias had let the children stay at the temple the past two nights, figuring it was best not to snap them from their old lives quite so abruptly-- and wanting to give them a chance to say proper goodbyes to the other children with whom they’d lived for years. “‘Cos we haven’t ever stayed at an inn before. Are the rooms big?” “Yes, you’re staying with me.” He was hardly going put his nine- and ten-year-old daughters on their own in this strange venue. “I’m not sure if the room will be big or small.” Aimee’s fingers still twined through his, he started with her after Juno. “We’ll have to see. But whatever it is, we’ll make it work, okay?” “Okay.” Grabbing a bowl, Juno grinned up at her newfound father. “Am I allowed to fill it all the way? ‘Cos at the temple, we’re only allowed one scoop. And sometimes even half. When food’s low.” “As much as you want,” Elias said again, not betraying the way his heart twinged at what Juno had just inadvertently told him: sometimes his girls went hungry. All these years he’d been living a prince’s life, and his children had been going hungry. Swallowing hard, he added, “Just be careful not to spill, honey-- it looks hot.” “I never spill,” Juno bragged, lifting the ladle. “Brother Jeramine has me serves all the kids ‘cos of it! He says I’ve got steady hands.” She glanced toward Aimee. “But not as good Aimee’s. She’s super good with hers. She can make pretty drawings, you know. ‘Cos she used to practice all the time in the dirt. With sticks and stuff. But then she kept gettin’ her dress all dirty, and the grown-ups got mad.” Aimee gave an aggrieved huff. "They wouldn't let me practice with the paints," she complained. "They said paints is too expensive to waste when they need 'em for the illuminators. Sometimes they let me use a slate because chalk is cheaper, but still not much." She released Elias’ hand so that she could pluck two slices of bread from the table, which she carefully coated on one side in butter. As she turned back to her father, a look of eagerness suddenly came upon her. “If there’s a slate at the city, maybe I can show you my drawings!” “A slate?” Elias took a bowl. “Well-- we’ve slates in the study rooms, of course, but…” He considered. “You said you like painting? I could get you some real paints, sweetheart. And canvas. So you don’t have to wipe away your art once you’re done.” “Canvas!” Having taken two dripping scoops of porridge, Juno set the ladle back into the pot. “But won’t that cost a lot?” “I think I can manage.” Elias laughed softly, looking between the two girls. “How about it, Aimee? We can call it your… either very early or very late birthday gift.” Aimee gave a squeal of joy, dancing in a circle around Elias. “Real paints! Real paints! Yes, yes please!” The child beamed up at him, but after a moment tilted her head quizzically. “Do you know my birthday, then, Papa? At the temple we didn't really have ‘em because there were no papers and Mama didn't tell nobody.” “You… you don’t know your birthday?” Elias’s stomach pinched. Again. Filling up his bowl with mealy porridge, he said, “You… you were born on July 23rd, Aimee. And Juno-- on June 11th of the next year. That’s… how I picked your name.” “ You named me?” Grabbing a slice of bread to go along with her porridge, Juno’s pale green eyes widened. “Not Mama?” “Yes, I named you,” Elias said softly. He hadn’t even entertained the idea of letting their mother make that choice. Gods, how she must have hated him. “Both of you,” he added, glancing to Aimee. Aimee looked surprised at this. As she took some porridge- drizzling it on top of her bread rather than putting any in a bowl- she asked, “How’d you pick my name, since Aimee doesn’t sound like ‘July’?” Starting toward the seating area, and beckoning the girls to follow him, Elias smiled. “Well, you’ve surely read all the stories in the writ, right?” the prince asked, taking a seat at a table in the corner, away from the rest of the diners. “So, you were born with a shock of this gorgeous red-gold hair. Like a sky at sunrise. Can you guess what that made me think of?” The girl seemed to think, then brightened. “The story about the neverending night. And how the red blood of the faithful soaked the sky and brought out the red-gold light of the sun, to wake up the day. It was told by the prophet to a peasant girl called Aimee.” “You’re going to blow the other kids away in theology lessons.” Elias laughed. “But yes. That’s where I got it.” He gestured for the girls to sit across from him. “You know, you’ll need middle names now. All members of the royal family have them.” “A middle name?” Plunking down into the indicated chair, Juno knitted her brow. “We don’t even use a last name, though. No one at the temple does.” She pinched off a piece of her bread. “It’s okay, though. ‘Cos I like just my first name. I’ve never met anyone else with it. So it works good enough.” “Well we’re not at the temple anymore,” Aimee pointed out, sitting down beside her sister. “Kids get their papa’s last names, right? So… So we’d get yours, right?” She swallowed hard, looking suddenly nervous as if afraid she was about to say something wrong. “A-Alaric?” Elias nodded. “That’s right. Alaric.” Glancing to their small hands, unadorned by any jewelry, he added, “I’ll need to get you sized for House rings just as soon as we get back. And we’ve got other pieces you girls can sort through. Necklaces, bracelets…” “Jewelry?” Juno shared an incredulous look with Aimee-- just the latest of many the girls had exchanged since meeting Elias. “We’ve never had any jewelry before. Except sometimes in summer we weave grass together, into bracelets. But they break after just a few hours. An’ they itch.” “Well, you’ll have lots to pick from now,” Elias said. “And we’ll have to pierce your ears, too. So you can wear pretty earrings at feasts.” The older of the girls took a bite of her porridge covered bread, her expression thoughtful. After she’d swallowed she tentatively said, “It’s… really real, huh? We’re gonna be princesses. Like with the king’s name and enki jewelry and, and… everything.” Aimee bit her lip. “What if we mess up, Papa? What if we’re not good princesses? Do we have to go back to the temple?” “You’re my daughters,” Elias said firmly. “My blood. I’m… I’m sure there will be times when it’s hard, or you make mistakes, but-- that’s okay. Papa will love you no matter what. You’re not going back to the temple. Not ever.” “Not even for services?” Juno asked brightly. Elias chuckled. “Unfortunately, you still have to go to services twice a week, honey. But Papa’ll be with you. The palace even has its own temple, you know. And clerics.” “Is it pretty?” Aimee asked. “I heard that temples in cities sometimes have paints on the walls and the ceiling, or colored glass in the windows! Will you show me it?” “It’s very pretty,” Elias agreed. “And there’s the Grand Temple out in the city, too. Biggest in the kingdom-- we go there on holy days. Papa will show you them both.” He took another bite of his porridge. “Maybe when we go out to get Aimee’s paints, we stop at the Grand Temple. If you girls want. The clerics can give us a nice tour.” “What if they’re busy?” Juno asked. “I’m sure they can make time for us, sweetie.” He paused. “And why don’t you think of something you’d like me to get you, too? Aimee can have her paints, and you-- well, what’s something you’ve always wanted?” Juno considered for a moment, her green eyes glimmering with thought. Then, a grin ticking at the corners of her lips, she chirruped, “A kitten.” Aimee smirked. “There was a cat in the barn at the temple. It was supposed to get the rats. Juno kept tryin’ to pet it, but the cat just hissed at her ‘cause he wasn’t very tame. And of course the animals that live at the barn are for the gods, so no one is allowed to name ‘em or make ‘em pets.” “After he scratched me, Brother Jermaine said I had to stop botherin’ him,” Juno said dourly. “But I still gave him bits of bread whenever I saw him. ‘Cos he was skinny. And I felt bad. Even though Ramsus told me I was dumb ‘cos cats don’t like bread.” “Cats… don’t normally eat bread, no,” Elias agreed. “And… we’ve got some ratters around the palace, too, who aren’t very nice. And I don’t want you trying to touch them. But…” Meeting her eager gaze, the prince sighed. How could he say no to her? “Alright. A kitten. Once you girls are settled.” Juno beamed, her smile dazzling as a string of pearls. “Really?” “Really.” … He was probably going to regret this when he had cat fur on all his silks, but yes, really. “As long as you promise to be gentle with it. Kitties have sharp claws. And I don’t need you getting any more scratches, Juno.” He looked to Aimee. “And you, as well.” Aimee shrugged. “I like birds better anyways. I’ll be good, I promise, and I’ll make sure Juno isn’t a dummy.” “Don’t call your sister a dummy.” At least he had experience with this aspect of parenting; at some point he’d lost count of his nieces and nieces… and now their children, as well. Over the years, Elias had broken up many sibling-- and cousin-- feuds. “Anyway, why don’t we finish up, and then go check out our room? Get some good sleep, so getting back on the gryphons isn’t quite so miserable come morning.” “Will the inn have breakfast, too?” Juno asked, still grinning. “I’m sure they will.” “And we can take more than one scoop again?” The littler girl bounced in her seat. “As long as you don’t think it’ll make you nauseous once we’re in the air.” “It won’t!” Juno promised. “And… thank you, Papa. For everything.” She elbowed Aimee. “Patches,” she said. “I’m gonna name the kitten Patches. Just like the barn cat!” Aimee elbowed her sister back. “Okay. As long as you don’t try to feed it bread!” A Life Anew: Part ThreeBeneath the late morning sun, the Gilded Palace glimmered like a jewel, and as the party of gryphons coasted to a smooth landing in one of the anterior courtyards, Elias couldn’t bite back a smile as Juno and Aimee marveled aloud at the sights all around them: the towering walls, the sprawling gardens they’d coasted over, the warren of ornate buildings that comprised the palace as a whole. “Were those all fountains?” the younger girl breathed as a knight worked to unbelt her from the saddle. “That we passed over? With the water?” “They are,” Elias confirmed, unclipping Aimee’s tether and offering her a hand to help the child off. “We’ve got… dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. I’ll show you the prettiest ones later, okay?” “Long as there’s no flowers,” Aimee said firmly, giving a slight shudder. It was early in the season yet, but she’d seen quite a few blooms from the air regardless. Rakine’s climate was warm enough that spring was already well underway. “We’ll stay away from the gardens,” Elias said, smoothing the child’s frizzy hair as she slid from the saddle to the cobbled ground beneath. “Our flat’s located well away from them, anyway.” “Our flat.” Juno, stretching her arms, grinned. “Better’n than the temple basement. And it’s ours!” “All ours,” Elias agreed-- before, as the knights suddenly snapped their heads into bows at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, the prince turned on his heel. As he saw who was rapidly approaching, the prince sighed, some of the good humor disappearing from his face, and his hand tightening over Aimee’s. “Gerard,” he said. “What, were you staking out my arrival?” “Nice to see you as well, Uncle Elias,” replied the dark-haired man: the king’s younger brother and Elias’s nephew, Gerard. He was clad in silks that were much finer than Elias’s travel clothes, their blood red hue a complement to the maze of jewelry he wore, bangles trailing up his arms and his fingers studded with nearly a dozen glittering rings. Smiling lightly toward Juno and Aimee, he added after a moment, “This must be them, hm?” “It is.” Elias sighed again, reaching out his free hand to draw Juno toward him. “Juno,” he introduced, “and Aimee.” A beat. “Girls, this is ah-- well, let’s call him your uncle, for simplicity’s sake. Gerard.” Aimee, who had shrunk against Elias’ leg at Gerard’s swift, deliberate approach, gave a tentative smile. She curtseyed, though kept one hand hooked to her father’s as she did so. “Y-your highness. Hi.” Unlike her sister, Juno did not curtsey or bow, only biting down hard on her lip. If Gerard was at all offended, however, he didn’t show it, his smile softening as he replied to Aimee, “Nice to meet you. And no need to curtsey, hon. Or for the title. We’re family, right? And I think your papa’s right; it’ll be easiest if you just call me your uncle. So… Uncle Gerard, not ‘your highness’. Okay?” “M’kay,” Aimee replied. She rocked on the balls of her feet a little, and timidly murmured, “Um… You got the same name as Colonel Gerard, from the rebels. I ‘member Mama told us stories.” “Not only do I have the same name, I’m the same Gerard.” The younger prince laughed softly. “Good to see my fame precedes me.” He glanced toward Elias. “You missed the talks with General Amina. About the new border defenses with Roth.” “I’m aware,” Elias said. “How did they go?” “A little difficult. Without the Minister of War there and all.” Gerard’s voice was light; his expression wasn’t. “Well… I’m sure you managed.” Elias squeezed the girls’ hands. “Anyhow. While I’m very honoured by the personal greeting, Gerard, I think the little ones are tired. I’d like to show them to my apartment. If, of course, that’s alright with you.” “We’re going to live with Papa now!” Juno offered, daring to flick her gaze up toward Gerard. “And... and he’s getting us a kitten. Right, Aimee?” “Uh-huh,” Aimee replied, scooting closer to her father again at the look on Gerard’s face. “And we get to eat ‘til we’re full ‘stead of just one scoop of barley broth. Or a half-scoop. Papa said it was okay.” “Did he, now?” Gerard said. “That’s very nice of Papa. You’re lucky girls, huh?” The king’s younger brother peered behind his shoulder, back in the direction from which he’d come. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. But Uncle Elias-- once you have a moment, Cassian wants to see you.” “Of course,” Elias said. “Wouldn’t want the poor thing fretting any longer than he has to.” “Right.” Gerard turned as though to leave, before pausing to call back, “And I’d avoid the south wing, Uncle Elias. Until you speak with Cassian.” “Oh?” “Let’s just say Uncle Joram was not particularly pleased at becoming the temporary Minister of War.” Gerard smiled, humorlessly. “And it’s probably better if you have ah, words, with Cassian before you tackle that beast.” He waved to the girls. “It was nice to meet you two. I’m sure I’ll see you around later.” “Bye,” Aimee called, waving back as Gerard walked away. In a very small voice she said, “Are we in trouble, Papa?” “No, not at all,” Elias soothed, heaving another sigh as he started forward, gently drawing the girls along with him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Papa just, ah-- well, the king wants to talk to him. But it’s not a big deal.” “Are you sure?” Juno frowned. “‘Cos… he’s the king. It’s like-- like when we get in trouble at the temple, and we get sent to Brother Jermaine. He’s in charge. Except the king’s even more in charge!” “It’s fine, sweetie,” Elias assured. “Cassian is the king, yes… but he’s also my nephew. Family. Just like Gerard. I know everyone seems scary right now, but… they’re your family, too. You don’t need to be afraid of anybody.” Aimee said nothing, just wrapped her other hand around Elias so that she was clinging with both hands and leaned against his side. “Okay.” After threading through a dizzying series of courtyards and corridors, everyone in their path bowing as they strode by, Elias and his daughters finally arrived to the prince’s apartment. It was located in the north wing of the palace, tucked in a quiet, out-of-the-way hall that was a hefty hike away from the heavily trafficked public rooms. While this might have annoyed some, to Elias, it had always been a selling point; peace and quiet could be hard to find in the Gilded Palace, but his flat was about as close as you could get to it. “Here we are,” he announced, pushing open the front door. It opened into a modest (by palace standards) foyer, its floor a warm-hued, gleaming wood and the artwork-latticed walls painted a muted peach. At the far end, a pair of glass-paned french doors opened to the main living space, while a spiral staircase to the right led up to the apartment’s array of bedchambers. “Home sweet home.” “It’s big. And pretty,” Aimee breathed. She looked around at all the finery, then down at her meager church raiments of crude, rough material, and said, “W-won’t we… get everything dirty?” “I’ll have baths drawn for you, once I’ve shown you around,” Elias replied. “You can scrub off the road.” Well, more than just the road, but he didn’t think that needed mentioning. Glancing toward Juno’s gnarled red locks, he added, “We can get your hair all fixed up, too. Combed out and-- cut a bit, if it’s too much to fight through.” “Baths?” Juno cocked her head. “Like… like in the stream?” “... Sort of.” Elias half-smiled. “We’ve got big pools-- hot, cold, anything you can think of-- in another part of the palace. But Papa’s got a smaller tub here in the flat. The servants can fill it for you. With warm water. And you can pick out soap, too. Lavender, or honey, or… whatever you like best.” “Wow,” Aimee murmured. “What’s your favorite soap, Papa?” “Hmm… well, lemon smells pretty nice.” Starting through the foyer and pulling open the french doors at its other side, he beckoned for the girls to follow him. “This is the living room,” he said as he stepped inside, revealing an airy room with parquet floors and wall-to-ceiling windows. Several plush couches and matching chairs, their cushions green as emeralds, were arranged around a glass-toppped coffee table; an intricate chandelier hung overhead, its candles unlit at this hour. “You can come in here whenever you want. Just no feet on the sofas, okay?” “Okay.” Her jaw nearly hanging open, Juno exchanged an awed look with Aimee. “This is like, bigger than the whole sanctuary.” “Uh-huh,” Aimee agreed. “And there’s so many colors. I didn’t know there were so many colors! And there’s still more!” “Through those doors”-- Elias gestured to the left-- “are a dining room. And a parlour. You can go in both, if you want-- the parlour has some bookshelves, and I can put some games and toys in there for you girls, as well. And through there” -- he swept his hand to the right-- “is Papa’s study. If I’m in there and you want me, knock first. But don’t go in by yourselves, okay? There’s lots of paperwork and… not much fun. So you’re not missing much. I normally keep it locked when I’m not in there, anyway.” “What about through there?” Juno asked, pointing to a final door, which was set against the far wall, nearly hidden between a potted plant and candlestand. “Leads to the serving corridors,” Elias said. “So the servants can come and go quietly. Don’t go through there.” “So like secret tunnels?” Aimee asked quizzically. “Cool!” She looked back toward the foyer. “What’s up the staircase?” “Bedchambers,” Elias replied. “And the washing room, with the tub I was telling you about.” He smiled at the girls. “Let me show you.” The first bedroom suite at the top of the landing belonged to Elias, and he told Aimee and Juno that they were allowed to come in if they wanted-- they merely had to knock first. Beyond it were the bathing room and three other sleeping chambers, smaller than Elias’s, but each still grandiloquent in its own way: one, its walls painted a vivid blue, opened up to a stone balcony that overlooked tinkling fountains; another was a multi-chamber suite with its own sitting room; the third had murals painted on its curving ceiling, vibrant gryphons and fleur de lis patterns winking down. “As long as you girls don’t squabble, you can pick which is yours,” Elias said as they stood in the last room, Juno and Aimee gazing up as they studied the artwork overhead. “Although if one of you takes the room with the balcony, that door stays locked unless I’m with you. I need to get the balustrade fixed-- it’s not as solid as I’d like.” “What’s a balustrade?” Juno chirped. “... Railing,” Elias amended. He glanced toward Aimee. “You’re the older sister, huh? So you want to pick first, Aimee?” Aimee pondered. “Can I have this room?” she asked, gesturing vaguely around them. “The gryphon paintings are pretty. And the balcony room might not be good if there’s flowers.” “Oooh!” Juno breathed. “Can I have the balcony one, then? I promise I won’t go out alone.” She considered. “Except-- if it’s hot, can I open the door? If I don’t go out.” “You can have it, but no opening the door,” Elias said. “It stays locked unless I’m with you, Juno. Or I’ll have a mage spell it locked.” “A mage! You’ve got mages?” Juno gasped. “Magic’s so cool. The healer in the village can do it, only he charges too much, so we don’t get to use him-- but once when we were in town I got to see him working, and he fixed someone’s broken arm! With his wand!” She nudged Aimee. “When Aimee broke her arm, she had to wear a sling. Made of burlap. It itched.” Aimee made a noise of distaste. “Still better than that awful stuff the doctors did for my breathing. ‘Member the time I had to drink the wine vinegar with a dead snake marinating in it?” The girl gave a violent shudder. “Or when they held the garlic powder under my nose. I was sneezing for days.” Elias just barely bit back a shudder of his own. “Well… those sound like-- bad physicians. Charlatans. I’m sorry for what they put you through, honey. But at the palace, we’ve got professional healers. Mages.” Reaching out, the prince squeezed his older daughter’s shoulder. “I promise, no one here will be making you drink dead snakes.” “He had pretty scales, though,” Juno offered. “I mean, if he hadn’t been all dead.” Her father quirked a brow. “I’m… sure he did. Anyway… Why don’t I have some servants draw that bath? You girls can wash while Papa ah, goes to speak with the king.” “You’re… you’re leaving?” Juno asked. “Only for a bit,” Elias assured her quickly. “Papa wouldn’t be in the bath with you, anyhow. By the time you’re all clean, I’m sure I’ll be back.” He smiled gently. “I had a few dresses put in the wardrobe in here. Probably won’t be perfect fits, but-- I’m sure you can find something that works for now. Why don’t you each pick one out while Papa fetches the servants?” Aimee gave a tentative nod, though she looked as nervous about being left alone in the unfamiliar place as her sister. She looked through the wardrobe as Elias left the room, gawking at the fine garments within. Even the simplest of them was far above anything that Aimee was used to, and she was almost afraid to touch any of it. She eventually chose a jasmine yellow dress of Mzian cotton, with transparent sleeves and silk trim in pale beige, while Juno hesitantly settled on a flowing dark blue number with pale gold lace edging. “These must cost so much,” she whispered to her older sister, gingerly running her fingers along the satiny bodice. “What if we spill on ‘em, or…?” “We would get in so much trouble,” Aimee agreed. “We gotta be extra careful. Eat over the bowls like Brother Jeramine told us, so if we spill it falls back in the bowl.” She pursed her lips. “Especially if Uncle Gerard is there. He’s scary.” “I’unno.” Juno shrugged. “He was nice to us. And told us we didn’t have to bow.” She pursed her lips. “The king, though. I’m scared to meet him.” Almost conspiratorially, she added at a whisper, “You know you can get your head chopped off just for sayin’ bad things about him? Rasmus told me. The night ‘fore we left.” Aimee went dead white and whimpered. “Maybe he was just… telling lies to be funny again?” “Nuh-uh. He was serious.” She sighed. “So we’ll just have to be careful. An’ look out for each other.” “R-right,” the older girl nodded. “At least our papa is nice. I don’t think he’s very scared of the king.” “That’s true. And he’d probably not let the king cut our heads off, then,” Juno said hopefully, before turning on her heel at the sound of footsteps at the door. A pair of maidservants, clad in the red-and-gold livery of House Alaric, stood at the threshold, curtseying low at the children’s presence. “Your highnesses,” greeted the older of the two, a willowy, older woman with a spray of downy silver hair. “My name’s Britta; I’m going to be your head nurse from now on. And this”-- she gestured to the second woman, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen-- “is Milly. She helps me out.” “H-hello.” Juno smiled nervously. “It’s… nice to meet you.” Aimee smiled as well, shifting a little between her feet. “Hi. I’m Aimee, and my sister is Juno.” The girl looked between Britta and Milly curiously. “What’s a nurse?” “I’m going to help take care of you,” Britta explained. “Especially when your papa’s busy. Make sure you girls are washed and fed, and where you’re supposed to be when you’re supposed to be there.” The woman took a step forward, toward the girls, and creased her greying brow as she swept their ragged, dirty forms. “His highness wasn’t exaggerating, hm? Going to need lots of scrubbing.” She gestured at Milly. “Go start fetching water for the bath.” *** The baths were not pleasant for either of the girls, as Britta and Milly had to scrub off layers of grime from their skin, hair, and under their nails. Fortunately neither of them was carrying any parasites- the church had made sure of that much- but it was still as stark as night and day by the time their baths were finished. Young Aimee’s red-gold hair, previously rather dull and dusty, now positively glowed in the light from a nearby window, her back-length tresses like a waterfall of fire. Juno had not fared quite so well, the girl nearly howling as Britta dragged a comb through her tangled locks, until eventually the nurse had given up and sought permission to trim the worst of the rat’s nest. The little girl’s curls now barely reached her shoulders, but at the very least they were knot-free, tied back from her face with a silk ribbon. Elias was longer with the king than he’d predicted, Britta and Milly having settled Aimee and Juno at the flat’s glossy dining table with bowls of hearty, fragrant stew by the time the prince returned. He did a double-take when he saw them, bright and clean, a smile quickly ticking at the corners of his lips. “What a difference some soap can make, huh?” he asked, gesturing a dismissal at the pair of nurses, who quickly curtsied before scurrying out the room. “You must feel better.” The prince sat across from them. “Enjoying your late lunch?” “ Way more than the baths,” Aimee replied solemnly. “The scrub brush hurt. I still feel all tingly and kinda cold.” She took a hearty bite of stew. “But this is really good. Mrs. Britta said it has mutton in it, what’s mutton?” “A kind of meat.” Elias leaned back in the chair. “I’m glad you like it. The spices aren’t too much?” “A little,” Juno said. “But it’s still good.” She yawned. “Aren’t you gonna eat?” “I had a bite with the king already.” Elias’s smile thinned. “But that’s very considerate to ask, Juno. Thank you.” Silence fell for a moment, as the girls continued draining their bowls of stew, before Elias said, “I’ve got no plans for the rest of the day. So I can show you around the palace some more, if you’re not too tired.” Aimee grinned. “Yeah! I’m not sleepy, Papa, I wanna see!” She bounced a little in the chair, adding, “And we’re being real careful not to spill on our dresses, so we’re um… I think Mrs. Britta said ‘nice and presentable?’” “You’re very nice and presentable,” Elias agreed. “I like those dresses-- they’re pretty. And they don’t fit half-bad, huh?” “Has hers got real silk?” Juno asked. “I’ve never felt anything so soft before.” “It is real, yes. Speaking of…” He glanced down at the battered travel clothes he still wore. “I’d best change. You girls alright on your own for a few minutes? Once I get back, we can start the grand palace tour.” “Okay, Papa, we’ll be good!” Aimee chirped, tilting her bowl back to sip down the last of the broth before wiping her face with a napkin. Elias raised a brow at the girl’s table etiquette but commented nothing of it, only sparing the girls one last smile before he turned and strode out the room. When he returned about fifteen minutes later, he hardly looked like the same man; his muted shirt and trousers had been replaced by a gold silk tunic, clasped shut with polished bone buttons. His breeches-- cotton, at least, not silk-- were jet black, and he’d added heavily to the sparse arrangement of jewelry he’d worn before. If he’d looked merely an enki before, it was now very clear that Elias not just nobility, but a prince. “All ready?” he asked the girls, hovering at the doorway. “Uh-huh.” Juno sprang to her feet-- but as she surveyed her father’s new outfit, her eyes widened, and as if out of instinct, the child shrunk back. Aimee looked rather taken aback herself, but after a moment’s hesitation she took Juno’s hand in her own, then raised her opposite hand tentatively to Elias. Elias accepted it gently, reaching out with his other hand to smooth Juno’s still-damp hair. “You weren’t too upset to have it trimmed, were you?” “No,” the girl said softly. “It’s okay.” She gulped as Elias started out the room with her and Aimee. “Was… was the king nice?” “Nice?” Elias cocked his head. “He’s-- fine. We just... chatted a bit. Nothing to worry yourself about, sweetheart.” Aimee smiled thinly. “The king… isn’t gonna be mad at us, right? ‘Cause of us coming in dirty, and we don’t… t-talk right and...” As they passed into the foyer, sweeping by the spiral staircase as Elias reached out to open the door, the prince furrowed his brow. “The king isn’t mad at you at all,” he said. “He’s excited to meet you, really. And… you’re not dirty anymore, right? So no worries there.” “But we don’t talk right,” Juno murmured. “Just like she said.” “That’s not your fault, and no one will be mad at you over it,” Elias said firmly. “Papa’s getting you started in lessons as soon as possible, so you can transition over to using the high tongue. But in the meantime, nobody’s angry. I promise you.” Shutting the door behind them, he reached for Juno’s hand. “Now, let’s see-- where do you want to go first? The palace is huge, so there’s no way to see it all just now. But we can go through some highlights. The prettiest fountains, or the grand hall, or the baths…” Aimee rubbed her face, thinking. “Can we see um… I heard stories that there are rooms made of gold? Is it true, can we see?” Elias laughed. “Sure, why not? Throne room’s probably the most… shiny, and no one ought be in there right now.” “The throne room?” Juno ogled up at her father. “Are… are we allowed in there?” “I wouldn’t go in there by yourself, honey, but if I’m with you, it’s fine,” Elias said-- before stopping dead in his tracks as they rounded a corner, and from up ahead a voice called out sharply to him: “ Elias.” The prince’s eyes whipped forward, to the tall but slim man who was stalking rapidly toward him, a scowl etched on his face. His hair might have once been blonde, but it had since gone whitish-silver; his eyes, a clear blue, were narrowed into thin slits. Like Elias, he wore a mix of fine silks and gaudy jewelry, the bangles on his arms jangling together as he walked. It was none of these things that first drew the children’s attention, however, but rather, his face, his light bronze skin covered from forehead to chin with raised, jagged scars that were so thick they looked like cords of rope. Juno, freezing beside her father, blinked sharply, barely able to reconcile the sight before her-- what could have caused such grotesque markings?-- as beside her, Aimee gave a squeak of terror and flinched against her father’s side. Elias, though, did not seem frightened. Merely annoyed. “Uncle Joram,” he returned flatly, pulling his daughters in closer to him. “What a civil greeting.” “Don’t run your mouth with me,” Prince Joram-- the youngest brother of Elias’s late father, Rafe-- huffed, pausing before his nephew. It was only then that he seemed to notice the girls, his glower softening a shade as he glimpsed down at them. “Hello there,” he said. “You must be… Juno and Aimee, right?” Aimee, trembling hard, nodded. Her voice shrill she said, “Uh-h-h-huh. Hi.” Belatedly she hitched up her dress and bobbed in a sketchy curtsy. Joram’s expression dulled even further, a flash of regret crossing his face. “No need to be afraid,” he said gently. “Sorry if I, ah--” He waved a hand, apologetically. “My name’s Joram. I’m your papa’s uncle. I…” Studying the girls, he let out an almost wistful breath. “Gods, Elias. You know who they look like, don’t you? Especially her.” He gestured to Aimee. “I think they favour me some,” the prince replied, his voice still cool and his grip on the children protective. “Yes, but-- your father, Elias,” Joram said. “She looks just like your father. Her chin, her nose…” The older prince smiled sadly. “Your grandpa,” he added to Juno and Aimee. “Rafe. He was king. And my big brother.” Juno gnawed on her lip. “What happened to him?” “He… passed away.” Elias gulped. “When Papa was a little boy. But… Uncle Joram’s right. You girls do favour him quite a lot. And you in particular, Aimee.” The younger prince grinned crookedly. “I’ll have to show you his portrait. In the Hall of Kings. You’ll see just what I mean.” Aimee looked a little awed. “Our grandpa was the king… Do you think he'd like us? If he was still alive?” “I do,” Elias said. “He loved all his kids. And I’m sure he’d have loved all his grandkids, too.” “He was a nice man,” Joram added. “I had eleven brothers and sisters, you know. And your grandpa was always my favorite.” Juno’s eyes widened. “All from the same mama and papa?” “Yep,” Joram confirmed. “I was the littlest, and your grandpa was the oldest. He was all grown up by the time I was born.” Gesturing to Elias, he went on, “I’m actually closer in age to your papa than I was to Rafe, believe it or not.” Aimee fidgeted a little. “Is… is the king now nice? ‘Cause Rasmus was tellin’ Juno if you’re bad the king will chop off your head.” Elias flinched as if he’d been struck, while Joram merely gaped at the little girl for several moments before letting out a laugh. “No one’s going to chop off your head, sweetie,” the older prince promised. “The king’s… a good person. And you’re family. Kin. You don’t need to be afraid of him.” “Are you sure?” Juno pressed, her eyes still trailing the maze of scars on Joram’s face. “Positive,” Elias said. “You have to be respectful to him. And mind him. And... if you don’t, he might punish you. But he would never seriously hurt you. Either of you. I promise. That’s not what kin does.” “ Blood to bind, heart to mind, protect your kin or live in sin,” Aimee quoted in a singsong voice. Smiling she added, “The clerics taught us that one. Juno is a better singer than me though.” “Ah, that temple upbringing.” Joram chuckled. “At least no one will have to worry about you forgetting your hymns, hm? Two times a week we have services, and I still think some of your cousins couldn’t get the words right if they had them written down in front of them.” “Because remembering the words would mean that dear Corbin is actually paying attention to something for more than three and a half seconds,” Elias returned. “True.” Joram sobered again. “I-- do need to speak with you, Elias, though. Once you’re ah, not occupied. We have… business.” “Is Papa in trouble?” Juno bit her lip. “Don’t worry about it, honey,” Joram said. “You’re… I take it Papa’s giving you a nice tour of the palace? That’s all you have to think about.” The prince smiled again, clearly trying to divert the subject as prompted, “What’s he taking you to see?” “Um, the throne room he said,” Aimee replied. “We wanted to see the gold walls. He said it’s okay as long as he’s with us, um… Uncle? Your highness?” “Uncle Joram is just fine. And yes-- that should be alright. Just as long as Papa’s with you.” Joram sighed, turning slightly. “Tonight, Elias,” he said, as he took a step away from his nephew and grand-nieces. “After they’re asleep, perhaps. I’ll come by your flat if you don’t want to leave them. But you’re not putting this off.” “If you must.” Elias did not seem pleased. “But for now…” Letting go of Aimee’s hand, he ran a finger through her neatly combed hair. “How about we go see that golden throne room?” A Life Anew: Part FourOver the next few weeks, Elias tried his best to ease Juno and Aimee into palace life gently. He waited several days before introducing them to their gaggle of cousins, and even longer before he finally introduced them to the king and queen (who, despite Elias’s assurances that Cassian and Melisande wouldn’t hurt them, both seemed to terrify the children simply by virtue of their high statuses). He was delaying bringing them along to any formal court banquets or feasts until they’d been given etiquette lessons, which he entered them into about a week after their arrival. He also acquired a language tutor for them, to ease their transition from the low to high dialect, and once they grew more comfortable with the language of the nobility, Elias planned on starting them in other lessons, too, alongside the rest of the royal children: theology and arithmetic; history and foreign languages; anything a royal child might need. It was about two and a half weeks after their arrival that Elias finally decided the girls had adjusted enough to fulfill the promises he’d made them back at the countryside inn. He surprised them one morning after their lessons with a pure white kitten, so small that Juno and Aimee could hold him with only one hand. Despite the fact that he had not a splotch of colour to him, Juno upheld her promise by naming him Patches, intractable on this decision even when Elias gently suggested it might not be the “greatest fit”. It was a battle he quickly folded. After all, it weren’t as if the cat would have any idea about the appropriateness of his name. The next afternoon, after a light lunch of cheese and fruit, Elias told the girls that he’d carved time out of his schedule to go into the city and personally pick out painting materials for Aimee-- and, he said, they could come with him if they wanted. He even let them bring along Gerard’s eldest daughter, Aislin, the prince figuring that the clamor and din that was Rakine might be slightly less overwhelming for his girls if they had with them a cousin who was unfazed by it. Kids modeled after other kids, after all. And hopefully if Aislin kept her cool, Aimee and Juno would, too, even if the city got a little bit chaotic. Not to mention, like Aimee, Aislin had an interest in art; it was her father who’d suggested the best shop to get the girl’s supplies, a small hole-in-the-wall at the fringe of the marketplace that got its dyes imported from all reaches of Courdon, as well as abroad. A quartet of knights trailed after the group as they threaded toward the marketplace, their armor catching beneath the midday sun. Elias held Juno’s hand and told Aislin and Aimee to hold each other’s, warning the older girls not to list too far ahead of him and the knights. “The city’s so big,” Juno breathed about fifteen minutes into the walk, as they meandered down one of the ritzy Balfour district’s wider boulevards. “I’ve never seen so many people.” “It’s not even that busy today,” Aislin replied, using her free hand to fidget with her long braid. Although she was much paler than Aimee, their hair was nearly identical in shade, so much so that one might have mistaken them for sisters instead of cousins. “You should see the streets on a holy day. We take carriages to the Grand Temple, then, instead of walking. Because it’s so busy.” “R-really?” Aimee asked in a choppy, almost parodyish attempt at the high tongue. “So… people move out of the way for the carriage? I guess if you didn't wanna get run over that would make sense.” “Do the knights always come with when you go out?” Juno asked, glancing back at the heavily armed escort. “Yes,” Elias said simply. The river came up into view before them, bustling with people, and his grip on the younger girl’s hand tightened. “It’s for safety,” he said. “And Aislin, Aimee, slow down. Only a couple steps in front of me. Until the crowd thins again.” Aimee slowed a bit, looking at her cousin sheepishly. “Sorry, Papa,” she called back. Turning back to Aislin she asked, “What’s your favorite thing to do in the city?” Glancing ahead and scooting a little closer to the other girl she added, “And is it always so loud?” “I like the market,” Aislin said. “Just looking around. Sometimes Papa takes me with him when he goes out. And he lets me just-- browse, I guess.” She smiled, a bit somberly. “But yeah, it’s always loud. But you get used to it after a bit.” “Is that a river?” Juno asked, as they approached the footbridge that connected the two banks. The girl brightened. “Can we swim in it?” Elias chuckled. “No, that’s-- not a swimming river, sweetheart. It’s too busy. And the water would be filthy.” “Oh.” Juno creased her flame red brow. “ Are there any swimming rivers near? ‘Cos back at the temple, we got to wade in the stream sometimes! And it was always fun. Even though it’d take forever to dry off.” Aimee snorted softly, “I just wish we coulda done it more. Even if I couldn't race like you and Pliny.” The girl gave a frustrated huff. “I always have to sit and watch the fun games. Corbin didn't believe me when I tried to tell her I couldn't play tag with her and Juno and Markus and everyone in the courtyards.” “Because of your breathing?” Elias asked. He’d not yet brought her to be assessed by the palace healers, although he’d been meaning to. The prince had been procrastinating partly because he’d felt no urgent need-- she hadn’t had an attack so far-- but also because he quite suspected she would resist. Severely. And… he hated the idea of upsetting her. He knew that parenting wasn’t all joy and smiles, but gods, this relationship was still so new, and-- “Does it… act up any time you’re super active, honey? Or just-- occasionally?” “It's different stuff,” Aimee explained. “Running around so I get out of breath. Flowers. Smoke. If I’m crying sometimes, Brother Jermaine said it’s ‘cause of the hyper… Hyper…” “Hyperventilating?” Aislin guessed. Elias only frowned. “Whatever it is, that doesn’t sound good. That’s… a lot of triggers.” He would have to take her to the healers sooner than later. … But he hardly wanted to ruin what was supposed to be a happy outing; the prince forced cheer back into his voice as he said, “So, ah-- paints. You thought about what colours you want to get?” “I keep telling her to get yellow,” Juno said. “It’s my favourite colour! And she could draw suns and flowers and stuff.” “Yellow, yeah,” Aimee agreed. “And blue and red. The illuminators said if you got those colors you can make any colors.” She grinned at Aislin excitedly. “I watched ‘em sometimes. Didja know if you mix up blue with red it makes purple? And that color’s real expensive to buy.” “For my birthday, I got real purple,” Aislin said. “You can use it sometimes if you want. It’s super bright.” She grinned. “Maybe I can store some of my paints with you. So my baby siblings aren’t always begging me to use ‘em. I swear, Corbin’s the worst artist in the history of ever.” “Not nice, Ash,” Elias chided. True, he thought. But not nice. Some time later, with the girls still chattering amongst themselves, the group arrived to Rakine’s central marketplace. It was even busier than the riverfront, the narrow streets nearly swarming with people, and Elias paused in consideration before plunging into the din, after a moment’s thought beckoning Aislin and Aimee toward him. “Can you stay really close?” he asked. “I don’t want us getting separated. And… if you’re worried you can’t, I can have the knights hold your hands.” Aislin jutted her chin, confident. “We’re fine, Uncle Elias.” “Aimee?” the prince confirmed. Aimee was watching the din with obvious anxiety, and pressed herself as close to Aislin as the girl would allow. “I… I th-think so,” she squeaked. “It’ll be fine,” Aislin assured her. “We’ve got each other, right?” “Uh-huh,” Aimee agreed, nodding a little more firmly and giving her cousin a wan smile. “We’ll be okay.” “If you’re sure.” Elias motioned for the girls to begin walking again. “After you. The shop shouldn’t be too far.” Indeed, only a few minutes later they arrived to a modest storefront, the only thing that set it apart from the rest the bright, almost garish colouring of the sign above the door. Elias sent one of the knights in ahead to survey the interior before allowing the children to follow, the prince finally dropping Juno’s hand so that she could walk in front of him through the doorway. The one-room shop within was cluttered beyond all belief, but at least it seemed to be an organized chaos; the proprietor bowed deeply as he laid eyes on the prince and his charges, telling Elias to let him know if they required any assistance. “Thank you,” Elias returned. He glanced to Aimee. “Let’s see-- you said red, blue, and yellow, right?” “Mm-hm,” the girl confirmed, her eyes dancing sideways at an assortment of squirrel and horse hair paintbrushes with obvious curiosity. “Blue and yellow make green, red and yellow make orange, blue and red make purple… With those three you can make anything.” “What about white?” Aislin asked. “Then you can make pink, too.” The girl ran a hand over the edge of a wooden shelf that hosted a pile of fine-point brushes. “What do you like to paint, anyway? People? Places?” “Sometimes stuff I see, like trees or birds,” Aimee answered. “But mostly stuff from my ‘magination. Scenes from stories and stuff. And… white would be good, but I don't wanna be greedy… Brother Jermaine swatted our hands with a switch when we got greedy.” “Well, Papa’s making up for lots of birthdays, right? And if Juno got a kitten, I think you can have white paint.” Elias smiled. “Alright, so-- yellow, blue, red, and white paints. Some canvas. Want to pick out some brushes, sweetheart?” He gestured to the teeming displays. “How’re we gonna carry so much?” Juno chirped, stroking the bushy bristles of a brush so large one might have used it to paint a house. “We’ll have it delivered back to the palace,” Elias said. “But hands off, Juno. These don’t belong to you, alright? We need to be respectful.” “Sorry.” Juno drew her hand away, then looked to Aimee. “You should get this one, though,” the littlest girl advised. “It’s fluffy. Like Patches!” Aimee giggled. “It’s too big, I couldn't paint little details with it.” She looked to her cousin. “Could you help? I dunno much about paintbrushes.” “Uh-huh.” Aislin nodded. “You want a couple different sizes. For different things.” Gingerly, she picked up one of the fine-point brushes. Its handle was a gleaming wood so dark it was nearly black. “This is good for little stuff. I’ve got one like it.” She scowled. “Or, I did. I let Amalia use it after she begged me. And she lost it. I’ve looked everywhere, but…” The girl shrugged. “You can share mine?” Aimee offered. “Since you said we could share the purple.” Aislin smiled. “Thanks. I’d like that.” “Why don’t you get… three brushes?” Elias suggested. “A little one, a medium one, and a big one. And-- that should be good for now, right?” He glanced toward the shopkeeper, who’d been watching the royals from a polite-- and silent-- distance, not daring to interfere in their conversation. “You can have it all delivered to the Gilded Palace?” The man nodded quickly. “Of course, your highness. I’ll pack everything up just as soon as you’ve left, and I can have it to you by this evening.” “Maybe it’ll be there by the time we get home!” Juno exclaimed, daring to mindlessly pet another of the brushes. “Juno, don’t touch,” Elias scolded; as her hand fell away again, the prince sighed. “But yes. Perhaps it will be. After we’ve gone to the Grand Temple.” As Aimee and Aislin selected the last two brushes, he added, “You wanted to see the stained glass, right, girls?” Aimee gaped at her father, then hopped in place with a little squeal. “Really? Yes, please Papa! Aislin, is it really pretty? Papa said there’s drawings on the ceiling like in my room!” “It’s pretty,” Aislin confirmed, though from her casual tone, it was clear she far less enthused by the idea of visiting the Grand Temple than her cousin was. “We get to sit up in the loft, when we go. So the ceiling’s pretty close.” “A cleric will show us all around,” Elias added. “Even the parts most people aren’t allowed. Some of the most interesting stained glass is in the back rooms. You can go right up to it, if you want.” “Can we touch it?” Juno, her arms now crossed at her chest as she resisted the urge to fondle more paintbrushes, cocked her head. “... No. Let’s-- have a general rule of not touching things that aren’t yours, sweetie.” As Aislin and Aimee picked out a final paintbrush, the prince reached into the inner pocket of his vest, removing a silk purse from within it. “How much?” he asked the shopkeeper. “Ah-- for… those three brushes, a roll of canvases, and paints in red, white, blue, and yellow? Plus the delivery fee, of course...” The man paused, as if calculating in his head. “Shall we call it… an even ten silvers, your highness?” Aimee paled. “T-ten silvers? That’s… That’s…” Elias reached out toward her, setting a light hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine, Aimee. Not a big deal.” “But that’s more than I’ve ever seen before,” Juno blurted. If there was any irony apparent to the girl in that she was cawing about expenses whilst clad in silks-- and wearing several pieces of jewelry Elias had given to her over the past few weeks, including an Alaric House ring, that must have been worth hundreds of silvers-- she didn’t show it. “Are you s-sure, Papa?” Aimee stammered. “I… I could just have one color, it’s okay.” “I’m absolutely sure,” Elias replied. Removing his hand from her shoulder, he reached into the money pouch, quickly pulling out several gleaming coins. “And hey, how much do you think Juno’s kitten is going to cost us over his life, hon? There aren’t enough rats in our flat to feed him, and meat’s not cheap.” Juno grinned. “He likes stew,” she announced. “I gave him leftovers last night. Even though Britta got mad when she caught me.” “Yeah, ‘cause people food isn't for the cat, June,” Aimee retorted with amusement. “All those spices will give Patches a bellyache.” “And if you’re still anxious, Aimee,” Elias added, as he handed the coins to the shopkeeper, “just remember, I’m catching up on lots of birthdays, okay?” Juno’s smile grew. “So you should get her ten paints, really!” “Let’s not get greedy, hon.” The prince put his purse away, gesturing to Aislin and Aimee. “Now, why don’t you hand the nice shopkeeper your brushes so he can wrap them up with the rest of your stuff? And then we can get going toward the Grand Temple. It’ll take us a bit to walk.” Aimee and Aislin obliged, and as one of the knights again led the way, the prince and the three girls exited back out onto the street. It would be quickest to reach the Grand Temple by cutting directly through the heart of the market, but after a quick deliberation with the royal escorts, Elias opted instead to take a circuitous but quieter route that arced around the busiest parts of the city. He once again held Juno’s hand as he let the older girls walk a few paces ahead, the prince breathing a sigh of relief once they’d made it back to lesser traveled roads. It was a pleasant day, warm but breezy, and although storm clouds threatened far at the horizon, Elias was hopeful they’d make it back to the palace before any rain began. The further they walked, the more meandering their pace grew, and as the girls chattered, Elias frequently found himself nursing a soft smile. Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe how much his life had changed these past few weeks. And already it felt so strange-- grotesque--that he ever could have seen his girls-- his blood-- as anything… less than him. Beneath him. For all the years Elias had spent as a general in the king’s army during the civil war… As he squeezed Juno’s hand, the prince was never more grateful that he’d lost. “Don’t the knights get bored followin’ us everywhere?” Juno was prattling, watching with wide eyes as one of their escorts none-too-gently cleared a tottering drunkard from the royals’ path. “ I’d get bored,” the girl added. “It’s their job, Juno,” Elias said. “They’ve sworn fealty. And being a royal knight-- it’s prestigious.” “Prestigious?” Juno asked. “Ah-- it means… admired. It’s not an easy job to get. And hey, there are much worse jobs than following around princesses, eh?” He paused as something occurred to him. “... Speaking of. I’ve been meaning to talk to you girls about something.” Aimee, who had been finishing up plans with Aislin for an “art party” (with tea and biscuits of course) later in the week, glanced up at this. “What is it, Papa?” “I’d like to draft up the paperwork soon,” Elias said. “That ah, legitimizes you two and officially confers your titles as princesses. But I need full names to do so. And… I’ve been thinking-- would… you two like to pick out your middle names? Papa will have to approve, of course, but if you’ve got any ideas…” What he didn’t tell them was that this idea had unfurled in his head after Juno’s question back at the countryside inn, when she’d seemed truly surprised that it had been him, and not the girls’ mother, who’d named them. He knew the child had meant no harm by it. That she was only curious, not accusing. But-- it had latched into him, like a fishing hook. Yet another reminder of the man he had been before. The one who had named two living, breathing daughters with as much thought as Juno seemed to have given to naming her cat. “I thought you girls were old enough to have input,” Elias explained after a moment. “And,” he joked, “maybe then you won’t cringe so much when Papa’s mad enough to use your first and middle names.” Aimee looked intrigued by the suggestion, tilting her head. “What sorta stuff do people have for middle names?” she asked curiously. Then, a thought occurring to her, she added, “What’s yours, Papa?” “Saul,” Elias said. “It’s… well, we have some-- dynastic names, they’re called. It belonged as a first name to my great-grandfather, most recently. He was king.” He gestured to Aislin. “Her papa’s got a dynastic middle name, too. Gabriel.” “Like Uncle Cassian’s son?” Juno narrowed her brow. “That’s his first name.” “It is,” Elias agreed. “As I said, we… reuse names a lot. I suppose you could call it royal tradition.” “Oh,” Aimee looked a little crestfallen. “Does it… have to be an old name? I dunno any of the names of the older girls in the family ‘cept for Aunt Zaria.” “It doesn’t have to be an old name,” Elias said. “Aislin’s middle name is Hope. Which… that's a very Kythian name; I can’t be positive, but I don’t think anyone’s ever had it before in the Alaric family.” “Corby, too,” Aislin added. “I mean, even her first name is usually a boy’s name.” “Once at the temple, someone dropped off a baby!” Juno breathed. “And Brother Jermaine named her, but I had good ideas, too.” The girl grinned. “And this time I can really use them! It’s even better than namin’ a baby. Or Patches.” Aimee smirked, quirking an eyebrow at her little sister. “You wanted to name the baby Rain. Or Meadow.” “It’d sound so pretty together, though,” Juno said with a knowing nod. “Juno Meadow. It flows.” Elias chuckled. “Why don’t we try a bit less… abstract, sweetheart.” He reflected for a moment. “What if you girls picked something out of the writ? You can use it as a guideline. As to… what sorts of names might be appropriate.” Aimee smiled. “You named me out of the writ, right? So that’s a good idea. There’s lots of pretty names in the writ. Acca and Bellona and Ismene and… Oh, oh, I know Papa!” the girl gave Aislin’s hand a tug. “You know the parable that the tradition of white funeral clothes comes from? The one that teaches about obeying your father for your own safety, or else you lose your way? ‘ And so she went forth into the dark, not with her father’s light but a lantern of her own hand. And though she had pride in her work, it was not able to hold much oil, and soon the flame was snuffed and the poor girl was lost to the dark.” “Claudia the White.” Elias knew the parable, of course, though still it surprised him (even if he knew it shouldn’t) how well the girls could parrot all details of the holy books, often verbatim. “You know, sweetie-- that’s actually a bit of a dynastic name, too. We had a queen called Claudia once. Your… great-great-great-grandmother, or something silly like that.” “Really?” Aimee asked. “I didn’t know that! So it is good then? Claudia? For my middle name?” She grinned back at her sister. “I think it’s pretty. Aimee Claudia.” “It’s good,” Elias agreed. “Her Royal Highness, the princess Aimee Claudia Alaric. A regal name, I do think.” “I like it,” Juno said, nodding again. She gazed up at Elias. “Are you sure I can’t pick Meadow?” “Positive, honey.” Elias squeezed her hand. “And if you don’t have any ideas now, that’s okay. You can think for a bit. Anyway…” He ruffled the girl’s bright hair as a familiar building came into view ahead of them, its ornate stained glass windows and marble front steps catching in the afternoon sunlight. “Look up there, girls. You see anything interesting?” The newly dubbed Aimee Claudia turned in the direction her father was pointing, and gave a squeal of joy. “ It’s so pretty! C’mon, c’mon, let’s go in!” *** Juno eventually settled on Valeria for her middle name, and several days later, the king signed his consent on the legitimization papers for both girls, hence making their status-- as princesses and Elias’s daughters both-- official. Though Elias was still careful to keep the girls’ adjustment to their lives as members of the royal family gradual-- slowly wading them into the waters rather than tossing them into the deep end-- he was pleased by their progress as spring ceded way to an usually mild summer. By late June, they were both comfortable enough with the high tongue to use it without his prompting, and while it would still be a while yet before he felt comfortable taking them along to a full court feast or banquet, their knowledge of etiquette was too vastly improving. Recently, he’d let them enter additional lessons alongside the other royal children… which also helped to solidify Juno and Aimee’s bonding with their cousins. Aislin and Aimee in particular had become fast and close friends, Elias’s niece now nearly as common a presence in his flat as his own girls were. It was during one of these visits, as Aislin and Aimee played in the latter’s bedchamber upstairs, that Elias was interrupted from combing through a labyrinth of paperwork by a knock on his study door. He snapped his head up at once, but before he could even call out, whoever it was apparently decided they couldn’t wait long enough for his answer. As the door swung open, the prince scowled, ready to chide the interloper. Then he saw the look on Aislin’s face, the girl’s pale green eyes swimming with fear as she barreled in toward him. “Uncle Elias,” she bleated. “Come quick.” Elias could not ever recall having moved so fast in his life, the man’s heart beating in his ears as he took the spiral stairs three at a time on his way up to Aimee’s room. Inside, kneeling over the remains of what looked to be a hastily aborted board game, its wooden pieces now scattered helter-skelter across the floor, was Aimee. She had one hand out on the game board to steady herself, but the other was scrabbling at the skin of her neck as if she were trying to claw out her own throat. Her breathing was sharp, shallow, and heavily punctuated by rapid fits of wheezing. Even as Elias was opening the door, bags were starting to form under the girl’s eyes and the tips of her fingers appeared to be taking on a dusky blue tinge. Aimee looked up sharply as he walked in, and whined inarticulately. Panic was writ plain on the little girl’s face. Elias did not waste a moment, making a beeline for his daughter and reaching down toward her. “Shh, it’s alright,” he said, hooking his hands beneath her armpits and lifting her into his arms. “I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.” He spun toward Aislin. “Run ahead, Ash. To the healers’ office. Tell them I’m coming.” Aislin nodded mutely, flicking one last terrified look at her wheezing cousin before she darted out from the room. Once she was gone, Elias shifted his daughter, his stomach churning in icy terror as he planted a comforting kiss atop her honey-red locks. “Papa’s taking you to get help,” he promised her. “Just try deep breaths, honey. As best as you can.” Aimee threw both arms around her father’s neck, burrowing her face in his shirt collar as she did her best to obey. She was trembling hard, her body jerking each time she lost herself to a fit of wheezing, and tears were starting to flow from her eyes. As Elias hurried into the hall, and then down the spiral staircase, he murmured reassurances into the child’s ear, suddenly grateful that his experiences in the war had, by necessity, left him able to function rationally even if inside he was terror-stricken. The prince was on autopilot as he rushed through the winding halls of the Gilded Palace, servants skittering out of his path as he hurried by. As he walked, Aimee’s breathing continued to come jaggedly, shallowly, but at least the wheezing appeared to be somewhat subsiding as she took comfort from her father’s arms and obeyed his instructions to breathe as slowly as she could. When they arrived to the healers’ office some ten minutes later, the healer in charge, Eran, was ready and waiting, a tearful Aislin trembling at his side. He took but one glance at the rasping child in Elias’s arms before plucking her from her father’s grip, so quickly that the little girl didn’t have time to react as Eran scurried with her to the nearest cot, setting her down on top of it. “How long’s she been like this?” he demanded of Elias, dispatching with all honorifics and titles. As Elias rushed to his daughter’s side, Eran uncorked a small gloss bottle that he’d had waiting beside the cot, filled with a gem green, filmy liquid. “Ten… fifteen minutes,” Elias stammered, sitting down beside Aimee and draping an arm around her shoulder. “Breathe, honey, breathe,” he urged softly as Eran spun back around with the phial at the ready. The child, her face streaked with tears, took one look at the medicine and her eyes flew wide with panic. She shook her head emphatically, turning and burying her face in Elias’ shirt and moaning as best she could around her uneven breathing. “Princess, please look at me,” Eran ordered, stepping in front of her again. “I need you to swallow this for me. It’ll make your airway better.” “N-o-o-o,” she whined, her voice high, thin, and almost inaudible. “Ple-e-ease!” As Eran shot a beseeching look toward Elias, the prince clenched his jaw. “Aimee, you must. It’ll be fine, honey. I promise.” Tightening his grip around her, he reached for her chin, attempting to draw it up. The little girl flailed, and as she got worked up again she started to wheeze and cough. “Ba-ad,” she rasped desperately. “M-a-ake it wo-o-o-rse!” “No, sweetie. It’ll make it better.” Grimacing, he clamped down further on the girl, with a shaking hand prying her jaw open. He hated being forceful with her, but-- “Please, just cooperate, sweetie. I know you’re scared, but… Papa’s here, it’s okay.” The girl was sobbing earnestly now, but a general of the king’s army was far stronger than a ten-year-old, and despite her attempts to flail loose she was helpless to resist. Memories flashed in her head of all the times back at the temple that the clerics had held her down, forced her to drink things that tasted foul and made her throw up, or breath things that only aggravated her attacks. The child well and truly had no trust for doctors, and wanted nothing of Eran’s medicine. Unfortunately, it was out of her control, the girl only able to tremble as, Elias’s hand clutched to force her mouth open, Eran tipped the liquid inside. Quickly, lest she spit it out, Elias pushed the girl’s jaw back shut and pressed a firm hand over her lips, while Eran reached up to pinch her nose. “Swallow it, sweetheart,” the prince pleaded. Still standing near the doorway, Aislin had gone statue-still, tears still trailing down her cheeks as she watched the frantic struggle. She only gulped as her uncle added to Aimee, “Please, just swallow it.” Already near to passing out from lack of air, it didn’t take long before the child was forced to swallow the mouthful of medicine. Her body went limp with defeat, and she slumped forwards miserably. As she did, Eran removed his hand from his nose, and Elias gently lifted his from her mouth, the prince planting an apologetic kiss atop the crown of the girl’s head. “I’m sorry, my love,” he murmured. “But-- are you feeling any better?” “It should start kicking in right away,” Eran added, turning to grab a pitcher off a nearby shelf. Filling an empty cup with it, the healer said, “This is just water. I want you to drink it slowly, okay?” Sure enough, the girl’s breathing, despite the fact that it was hitching as she sobbed, was evening out significantly. After a few seconds hesitation, she accepted the cup of water from the healer, she took a long, slow sip from it. Lowering the glass again, she hunched her shoulders. “I’m in trouble?” “In trouble?” Elias turned the girl’s chin up toward him, so that their eyes met. “Why would be in trouble, Aimee?” “I was bad,” she whimpered. “I fought the doctor. Brother Jermaine got mad when I f-f-fought the doctors and he scolded me. I had to d-do lines.” “You were scared; it’s okay.” He kissed her again, tenderly. “But see, it helped, right? So if it happens again… you won’t have to be afraid. And you can cooperate like a good girl. Isn’t that right?” “Mmm,” the girl mumbled, draining the last of the water and hugging her father again. “It never helped b’fore. The doctors said that it would, the dead snake drink an’ the time they made me eat a whole ghost pepper even though I cried an’ it didn’t help.” Eran raised a brow, the healer looking truly disgusted as he accepted the empty water glass back into hand. “Let me promise you, princess,” he said, “that we perform no such cures in this palace.” The man sighed, looking toward Elias. “I… do wish you’d brought her to me sooner, though, my prince. Weeks-- months-- ago, when she first arrived here. No disrespect intended, of course, but-- I far prefer preventative treatments to emergency ones.” “I know.” Elias sighed, guilt gnawing at him. “And,” the healer went on, “I’d like to do a full evaluation on her. If you will allow it, your highness. Then I can best establish a regimen for her. Preventatives.” Setting the water glass down, Eran placed his hands on his hips. “But first-- can you please tell me what you were doing when the fit came on, princess? What triggered it?” Aimee winced. “We were just playing,” she whimpered. “Nine Men’s Morris. Aislin was teaching me how to play. I was excited ‘cause I finally won a round, and then we started talking fast and loud and…” the child shrugged. “Got too excited. Was breathing too fast.” “I d-didn’t mean to make her sick,” Aislin piped in from the other side of the room. “It just… happened so fast…” “I know you didn’t, Ash,” Elias reassured her. “It’s not your fault.” With another heavy sigh, the prince gently patted Aimee’s back. “You’re right-- a full workup is probably in order Master Eran. I trust your judgment. I should have brought her sooner, as you’ve said.” Aimee, however, did not seem as trusting of the healer’s judgement. Her fingers clenched on the fabric of Elias’ shirt. “C-can’t we just go back and play? I’ll be more careful this time, honest. Please, Papa?” “I’m sorry, honey,” Elias said by way of answer. “But Papa will stay here with you, if you want, okay? And Master Eran will be gentle.” The child choked on a sob. “Why can’t I just be normal? I just wanna play games like everyone else. Instead I gotta take yucky medicine and get my ch-chest poked by doctors, and-” she inhaled sharply, “a-and-” “I know, Aimee,” Elias interrupted gently. “And I’m sorry. But sometimes in life, we have to things that aren’t fun. And it’s okay to be upset about them if they’re not fair, but… you still have to do them. Even if you don’t want to.” He brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes. “Now can you be a good girl, please, for Papa? And let Master Eran examine you?” Aimee hesitated a beat. “C-can Aislin stay too?” Elias glanced toward his niece, and when she nodded mutely, the prince sighed. “Sure, sweetie. Ash can stay. She’ll be right here the whole time.” “Okay. Thank you.” She hesitated a beat, then nestled against Elias’ chest. “I love you, Papa.” A Life Anew: Part FiveWhile Eran was indeed gentle, the examination was still decidedly unpleasant for Aimee-- as was the strict medicinal regimen the healer established for her thereafter: a bitter-tasting potion each morning to calm any possible irritations in her lungs, and then vapors that she had to inhale thrice a day, after breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She was also given an emergency phial of the medicine Eran had utilized during her attack, to be kept on her person at all times, although the healer was quite hopeful that if she stayed on top of the preventatives, she’d have little need of it.
It took a few weeks-- and eagle-like supervision from Elias-- for the child to adjust to the routine, but soon enough, the medicines became just another part of her daily life. Elias doubted the girl would ever be particularly thrilled about all the rigamarole, but then again, no child liked taking their medicine. He was only glad he’d been nearby during her attack; he couldn’t imagine what it must have been like back at the temple, his daughter wheezing and panicked as the clerics tried to shove snake oil cures down her throat. But at least she would never have to go through such a thing again. Even if she did have more breathing attacks in the future, she had professionals to treat her now, not charlatans.
It was about a month after the episode in question when Elias received a letter from the coastal Durach city of Aquilinus reminding him that there was someone very important to whom he still had not introduced Aimee and Juno. Though he’d been regrettably putting it off, wanting to give the girls time to settle into their new home and lives before taking them on any significant trips, now Elias had to admit such an excursion was probably well overdue— and that, true to the letter’s gentle reproach, it was well time for his daughters to meet his elder brother and closest confidante, Ezra.
“How would you girl likes to take a little holiday?” he asked Aimee and Juno over breakfast a few days after receiving the message, a smile ticking at his lips. “We can fly on the gryphons again, just like when you two came here.”
“A holiday?” Aimee inquired, her eyes brightening. “An’ we could go flying again? To where, Papa?”
“Aquilinus,” Elias replied. “Where my brother Ezra lives. He’s got a manor on the sea— it’s very pretty.”
“Oooh.” Juno grinned. “That’s Remy’s papa, right?”
“Mmhm,” Elias agreed; Ezra’s eldest son was the palace’s current Master of the Horse. “And he’s very excited to meet you two. He’s got a son and daughter around your age, as well. For you to play with.”
“Papa,” Aimee said, tilting her head. “What’s the sea like? Rasmus always said it was like a river, but one that goes on forever.”
“It’s not quite like a river,” Elias replied. “It’s water, yes, but otherwise…” He shrugged. “It smells like salt. And it gets big waves, taller than even I am.” He winked at his daughters. “But don’t rely on my word too much. You’ll get to see it soon yourselves, right? Make your own judgments.”
“Can we swim?” Juno asked. “Even if there’s waves?”
“If the waves are too big, no,” Elias said. “But we can wait until they’re calm and then, sure— Papa will even go swimming with you, if you want. And I’m sure we could wheedle Uncle Ezra into swimming, too.”
“Is Uncle Ezra nice, Papa?” Aimee asked. “Is he fun?”
“He’s very fun,” Elias promised. “And…” Here, the prince’s smile shifted into something near to a smirk. “Guess when we’re going to visit him, girls?”
Aimee shot an inquisitive glance at her sister, who tilted her head in consideration. “Next week?” she guessed.
“Nope.” Elias beamed. “Guess again.” He quirked his brow at Aimee. “You wager a guess, love?”
Aimee mulled, then ventured, “This weekend?”
“How’s this afternoon sound?” Elias said cheerily. “Just after your lessons.”
Aimee’s eyes glimmered, and a wide smile split her face. “Really?” The little girl giggled. “You were tryin’ to surprise us, huh Papa?”
“Yep. Did I do a good job?”
Juno beamed. “Uh-huh!” She turned toward her sister. “We should wear matching dresses. For traveling. So we look neat for Uncle Ezra!”
Aimee nodded eagerly. “We can have Britta and Milly do matching ribbons in our hair too! The yellow ones! We’ll look like real princesses!”
Elias swallowed back the lump that had suddenly knotted in his throat. “Of course you’ll look like real princesses,” he said. “Because you are. You know that, girls— right?”
“Yeah,” Aimee agreed. “But Uncle Ezra’s seein’ us for the first time. I wanna impress him with all that we learned!”
Indeed, when the trio— accompanied, as always, by an escort of knights— arrived to Aquilinus late that evening, Ezra seemed very impressed by nice young nieces… or, at very least, thoroughly enthused to meet them. As Elias helped Aimee dismount from her gryphon and one of the knights helped Juno, the blond prince’s older brother strode forwards, a broad grin on his face and his arms spread wide.
“Hello there, little ones,” he said cheerfully. “It’s good to finally meet you. You must be….” He looked at each of the girls in turn. “Aimee and Juno?”
“Uh-huh,” Aimee agreed, grinning and looking down shyly.
“Don’t be shy, love,” Elias said, squeezing his daughter’s shoulder encouragingly. “Uncle Ezra’s nothing to be scared of, all right?” He smiled toward Juno, who was similarly reluctant, the girl fostering a thin smile as she worried at the dirt below with the toe of her shoe. “Come on, now,” her father encouraged. “Say hello.”
“Hi,” Juno said, eyes darting between the ground and her uncle. After hesitating for a moment, she curtsied, hands clutched tightly over her skirts. “It’s nice to meet you. Your highness.”
“Likewise, little princess,” Ezra replied, giving a theatrical bow at the waist and winking at the redhead. “It’s too bad I’m spoken for, because you are very pretty.”
Juno squirmed, not saying anything, as Elias let out a soft chuckle. “He’s just joking sweetie,” he assured his daughter. “Like I said, you don’t need to be scared. Uncle Ezra is very nice. Right, Ezzy?”
“I certainly do my best to be,” Ezra agreed, straightening. “I understand you have a kitty, Juno? My little girl Gillian has one too; would you like to meet her?”
“Gillian or the kitty?” Juno asked, gnawing on her lip.
“Both,” Ezra said with a smile. “Gilly is really nice, I think you’d like her honey. And she’s excited to meet you.”
Aimee fidgeted. “Papa said we could go swimming? In the ocean?”
“And so you can,” Ezra agreed. “We can all go together, first thing tomorrow morning, and have a picnic in the sand, if you like.”
“It’ll be fun,” Elias added. “You girls, me, your uncle, your cousins.” He smoothed Aimee’s hair. “Doesn’t that sound nice, love?”
“Mm-hmm,” Aimee agreed, smiling tentatively. Ezra knelt down in front of the girls, his expression gentle.
“You girls wanna know something interesting?” he said. “You’ve met my oldest son Remy, right?”
“Uh-huh,” Aimee agreed. “He talked to us in Low Courdonian. He said he wasn’t born a prince just like we weren’t born princesses.”
Ezra’s blue eyes flickered, but he smiled and put out a gentle hand to the girls. “Well neither was Gilly, or her brother Vern or her sister Alicia. She grew up in the Northlands, just like you did.”
“But…” Juno narrowed her eyes skeptically. “House Alaric’s only got Durach. Not the Northlands. And… and the rebels had the Northlands during the war, didn’t they? Not you.”
“Let’s just say that the old king didn’t like me much,” Ezra replied vaguely. “He didn’t want me around the palace. So I had to pretend I was a peasant and hide in the Northlands. That’s where I met their mama, who became my wife.”
“Why didn’t he like you?” Aimee asked suspiciously. “Did you do somethin’ bad?”
“No,” Elias said. “The king was just… not a very nice person.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to talk bad about a king,” Juno supplied. “‘Cos he’s the king.”
“Yes well, the king was also my big brother,” Ezra said with a crooked smile. “And I bet you two are nice to each other all the time and never ever say mean things, hm?”
“Papa gets cross when I call Juno a dummy,” Aimee said, her eyes glimmering.
“Very cross,” Elias agreed. “But… in any case, Uncle Ezra didn’t do anything wrong. Oliver was just being mean to him.” He sighed, beckoning Juno toward him. “Come, love. How about we all go inside? Your legs have to be achy from all that riding, no?” He glanced back toward Ezra, smirking. “And yes, I am inviting myself in, don’t write any scathing things to Cassian about my rude manners, all right, brother?”
“No promises,” Ezra replied, smirking back. He gestured for the girls to follow him, adding over his shoulder, “We just got some traders into the port yesterday, you know. And they brought in something very nice.” Winking over his shoulder he asked, “Has your papa shared with you the joys of chocolate yet?”
Juno shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Is it good?”
“Well, I suppose you’ll have to wait and find out, hm?” Elias asked brightly. “But—” He winked. “I have it on good authority that it’s delicious, Junie.”
When the four of them arrived inside the manor’s tidy private dining room- much smaller than the formal one, meant for the family alone- the room was not unoccupied. A blonde woman was inside, a small baby in her arms, and there were two children- one boy, one girl- sitting at the table. The boy brightened as soon as they walked in, waving enthusiastically.
“You’re Uncle Elias’ kids, right? Hi! I’m Vern, it’s good to-”
“Vern, you’re going to overwhelm them,” the blonde woman cut in, raising a brow— before she, too, smiled toward the newcomers. “Hello there, Elias. It’s good to see you. And these must be Aimee and Juno. It’s nice to meet you, girls.”
Aimee nodded, though she looked a bit less shy at the sight of the exuberant youngster. “Hi. I’m Aimee, and this one is Juno,” she pointed to her sister. To the boy she added, “Y-you’re Vern? And you’re…”
“Gillian,” said the young girl who was seated beside Vern. She smiled. “But you can call me Gilly, if you want. Everyone else does.” She tilted her head, gray eyes apprising. “Did you get to ride gryphons here? I like gryphons. But I’ve only gotten to ride ‘em once. Last time we went to Rakine we had to take horses, and it took forever. I was so bored, and—”
“Less complaining, please,” Ezra cut in, crossing his arms. “We want to make a good impression on our new cousins, don’t we? Not look like whiners.”
“...But didja get to ride gryphons?” Vern needled.
“Uh-huh,” Juno said. “It’s real windy out, though. So… my lips are all chapped now. And my hair’s tangled.”
“We can try no complaining on our end, too,” Elias said dryly, taking one of the empty seats at the table. “I think it’s a good blanket policy, don’t you, Ezra and Dominique?”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Ezra agreed, sitting down next to his brother and gesturing for the girls to join them at the table. “Oh, but look- our cooks are done with your treat, kids.”
As Ezra was speaking, a pair of servants bustled into the room. One was holding a large, steaming bowl which, when he sat it down in the center of the table, was revealed to be full to the brim with thick, syurpy brown liquid that was giving off a distinctly fruity aroma. The other servant had several dishes, which he set down around the first bowl- dishes loaded with bananas, strawberries, oranges, and small squares of cake.
“Here we go,” Ezra said cheerily. “Try dipping the small snacks in the chocolate- that’s the brown stuff in the middle.”
Not at all loathe, Vern immediately reached for a hunk of cake and scooped up a generous glob of the chocolate. His mother only let out a long-suffering sigh, reminding him gently that he needed to leave enough for everyone, please— which, of course, didn’t stop Gillian from proceeding to allot herself a heaping portion of her own.
“It’s good,” she said brightly to her cousins. “Try it.”
Aimee reached for one of the banana chunks, dunking it into the chocolate so that it came out coated in brown. She waited just long enough for the excess to stop drizzling off of it, before popping it in her mouth. Immediately, she gave a squeal of pleasure.
“It’s yummy!” she said, her mouth still full of banana. Ezra chuckled, while Elias laughed softly.
“No talking with your mouth full, please,” the blond prince instructed. “But I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s sweet,” Juno agreed as she took a nibble of her own. “Like honey, but… different.”
“It’s real expensive,” Gillian supplied with a knowing nod. “So we don’t get it much. Even though Papa’s got money, ‘cos he’s a prince!”
“There are some things that are luxuries even to royalty,” Ezra agreed. “But that means you like it more when you do get to have it, right?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Vern agreed. Once he’d swallowed the last of his cake he added, “Are you guys gonna come swimmin’ with us tomorrow? It’s really fun!”
“Uh-huh,” Juno said. She looked to Elias, smiling tentatively. “And Papa said he’d come, too. And… your papa, also.”
“That’s right,” Ezra agreed. Glancing at Elias with a slight smirk he added, “Though between you and me, I’m a much faster swimmer than Elias.”
Aimee’s eyes widened. “Nuh-uh!” she objected.
“Yeah-huh,” Ezra said, his blue eyes shimmering.
“Oooh, it’s on, brother,” Elias said solemnly. “You’ll be eating your words tomorrow.”
“Now, now, be a good example for the children,” Dominique said wryly. “We love our brothers and sisters, we don’t huff and puff at them, right?”
“It’s bad to be mean to your brothers and sisters,” Gillian agreed, nodding dourly. “If you’re mean to them, then you get in trouble.”
“Mean, love? Who’s being mean?” Ezra asked innocently. “This is a perfectly friendly competition, right Eli?”
Aimee giggled. “You like Uncle Ezra lots, huh Papa?”
“Mmhm,” Elias said. “He’s not just my big brother— he’s my best friend. Just like you and Juno, right?”
“Uh-huh,” Juno said. Aimee grinned, reaching over and poking her younger sister on the shoulder.
“Yup. Even if you remind Papa when it’s time for my medicines.”
“What medicines?” Vern asked curiously.
“‘Cos she can’t breathe good,” Juno said. “So the healer makes her take medicine. But Aimee doesn’t like ‘em. But Papa says she has to take ‘em anyway. It’s… it’s...” She searched for the word. “Non-negotiable.”
“Oh,” Vern winced. “That doesn’t sound fun at all. Medicines are yucky.”
“And I got medicines I have to breathe ‘stead of just swallowing ‘em,” Aimee put in grumpily. “For a long time. I gotta count to thirty.”
“But you haven’t had any attacks since you started taking the medicines, right, hon?” Elias asked gently. “So it’s all worth it.”
“Yeah,” the girl acknowledged. “But I still wish sometimes I was normal. Like all of you guys!”
“Normal?” Ezra echoed. “Who said anything about normal? I am certainly not normal. Just ask Gillian- Papa is the most ridiculous, right?”
“Uh-huh,” Gillian agreed. “He’s real weird.” The girl beamed— as her mother let out an undignified snort.
“Being normal is overrated,” Dominique agreed. “It’s more fun being different.”
“But the medicine and the breathing isn’t fun at all,” Aimee objected.
“Hm,” Ezra crossed his legs, reaching towards the sleeping baby in Dominique’s arms; she obligingly handed the infant off. “Maybe not. But your Papa gave you the medicines to make it better, so you can have more fun doing other things, right? And he held you when you were upset and scared, he told me. That might not be fun, but isn’t it nice, at least? Knowing that when something goes wrong, you have a papa who loves you and will take care of you?”
Aimee nodded slowly. “Uh-huh. I don’t like the medicines. But… but I love Papa. I love him lots. He made me better, and didn’t get mad when I was scared like the clerics.”
“I love you, too, baby,” Elias said. “And of course I don’t get mad when you’re scared— being scared is nothing for me to get mad over.”
“Papa says I’m not scared enough,” Gillian said gravely. “‘Cos I do stuff he thinks I shouldn’t sometimes. Like— going to the beach on my own without asking, I was real careful but he said that was dangerous, and—”
“And if you recall,” Ezra interrupted, “He also said he doesn’t want to hear excuses for being bad. Didn’t he?”
“Uh-huh,” Vern put in. “‘Cause that’s sassing and we’re not supposed to sass grownups.”
“Papa doesn’t like sassing neither, right Juno?” Aimee said, looking towards her little sister.
“At court it’s all strict,” Juno agreed. “‘Bout when we’re supposed to talk, and not talk, and… all of that. Sometimes it’s confusing.”
“It is a lot,” Elias conceded. “But you two are doing great, in my expert opinion. You’ve made so much progress since you first came to the palace. I’m very proud.”
Aimee brightened. “We work real hard at our et-i-kit lessons. Master Unso says we’re doing good. Although it’s hard to remember all the forks.”
“There’s so many forks,” Vern agreed, his exasperation plain. “Even Mama kept getting them wrong at first, right Mama?”
“I prefer eating with my hands, honestly,” Dominique admitted. “I will never understand why one would ever need four forks at the same meal.”
“Four forks?” Elias teased. “No, no, we clearly need at least five at all times.”
“Have the girls gotten to experience their first full course dinner yet?” Ezra asked with a broad grin. “I did warn Gilly not to let her eyes get bigger than her stomach and each of the courses was only supposed to be a small amount, but did she listen? Nope. Never have I hear such moaning as I heard after that night.”
“It was tasty, though,” Gillian said. She beamed. “I’d do it again.”
Her mother laughed. “All right. But next time you do, no bemoaning your existence afterward.”
“What’s a full course meal, Papa?” Aimee asked curiously. “I don’t think we’ve done one before.”
“It’s lots of courses,” Elias said. “And don’t worry, love— you’ll get to experience one sooner than later.”
“Will we get to wear pretty dresses to it?” Juno asked. “And jewelry?”
“Of course,” Ezra replied. “You’ll both get to be absolutely beautiful. And I’m sure you’ll make your Papa proud.”
Once they’d finished their treat, the children worked off their sugar rushes with an enthusiastic game of tag out in the gardens, the evening lit by the full moon and torches around the perimeter. Eventually, their energy spent, Vern and Gillian collapsed in their respective bedrooms, while Juno and Aimee curled up together under the plush comforter of their bed in Elias’ guestrooms. Once her middle children were down for the count, Dominique took herself off to ensure that her eldest daughter Alicia had gone to sleep and that Eli and Janet were properly put to bed by their nursemaids. Ezra kept the baby, Vivianne, with himself, sitting down with Elias on the plush sofa of a wide balcony overlooking the ocean. As the infant slumbered in his arms, Ezra turned to his brother with a soft smile.
“They’re funny,” he observed. “Sweet little things, and Aimee has a lot of fire in her.”
“She’s enthusiastic,” Elias agreed. “Bright. And Juno’s sweet, too. She can be a little naughty at times, but… sweet, still.” He returned his brother’s smile. “They’re good kids.”
Ezra brushed aside Vivianne’s honey blonde bangs, looking down at his infant daughter fondly. “Aimee… she looks like Father, doesn’t she? His spitting image, if he had red-blonde hair and brown eyes instead of dark blonde and blue.”
Elias nodded. “She’s got his face. I didn’t notice it at first, but… Uncle Joram did right away. And once he pointed it out to me, gods, I realised how right he was. I already knew she was my daughter, but… realising she looks like Father did…” The prince shrugged. “I guess it just solidified things even more to me. That the girls are kin. Alarics.”
“And if we had won the war, we never would’ve looked at them twice,” Ezra said, his voice soft and sad. “A cruel, heartless self-delusion that they were somehow lesser beings than we were.”
“It makes me sick,” Elias said. “Knowing how I… saw them. And how I treated their mother. All of it— I just…” He shook his head. “Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be able to make it up to them. How badly I let them down. How I let them live as orphans in a temple for years, scrappy and underfed and… and thinking they had no one, and…”
“You can’t beat yourself up for the actions of your past forever, Eli,” Ezra said softly “What’s important is that you’re doing the right thing now. And the girls clearly adore you. Would probably sleep curled up with you every night if you let them.”
“I just… I wish I’d gotten them sooner,” Elias said miserably. “I’m their father. And I failed them so badly. So badly.”
“Eli,” Ezra said, “Do they make you happy? Those girls?”
“Of course,” Elias said. “More than happy. I’d… I’d do anything for them.”
“Then focus on that, little brother,” Ezra advised. “On how happy they make you, and how happy you make them. Yes, in the past you let them down. But now, you and they are a family, as it should be. That is what is important in the here and now. Maybe someday they’ll be old enough and mature enough to better grasp what it means, that their papa is a prince when their mama was a slave. When that time comes, just be honest with them. I’m certain they’ll understand.”
“I can’t even imagine how much their mother must have hated me,” Elias murmured. “She was… she wasn’t from Courdon, you know. Originally. Th-that’s why I liked her— because she stood out, because she was pretty, because she…” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “I wonder if she’d be… horrified. Knowing that I-I have the girls. Just… on principle, just…”
“I don’t know,” Ezra admitted. Vivianne stretched in his arms, kicking slightly, and he bounced the infant to quiet her. “But it’s not like any of the rest of the nobility in Courdon are guilt-free you know. And let’s be honest, how many of them are making any effort to atone? Most of them don’t even care or think they did anything wrong!”
“That’s doesn’t make what I did any less horrible.” Elias sighed. “I just… hope they don’t hate me one day. When they understand. Because I love them so much— so much— but… I can’t fix it. H-how they were… born. How I treated them and their mother.”
Ezra leaned sideways so that his arm pressed against Elias’- the closest he could get to a hug with his arms full of Vivianne. “If you brood this much when you’re unsupervised, I’m going to have to recruit someone at the palace to keep an eye on you. Uncle Joram maybe, or Gerard. Someone who will yank you by the ear when you start wallowing in guilt, like Dominique does for me. You’d be surprised how much better that makes you feel.”
Elias managed a small, sad laugh. “Oh, don’t worry. Uncle Joram has no conniptions sending me withering looks already. He’s a very grumbly fellow when he’s cross, that Joram. And he instantly makes me feel like I’m ten-years-old again.”
“I shall write him then,” Ezra said decisively. In a gentler voice he added, “Seriously though; be happy Eli. I’m happy for you. And Aimee and Juno are clearly overjoyed.”
“I… I am happy,” Elias said. “More than happy, really. I promise.” He spared his brother a shaky smile. “Sorry for being such a downer. It’s just… these thoughts that percolate sometimes, and once they start up, it’s hard to shut them off.”
“Hey, I know,” Ezra soothed. “Who better? That’s why I don’t want my little brother to have to feel the same thing. You’ve made mistakes, but you’re a good man. A good father. And don’t let anybody try to convince you otherwise.”
“Thanks, Ezra.” Elias gulped. “You always know the right thing to say.” He exhaled softly. “You should share some of your expert parenting tips with me while I’m here, you know. I’ve had them for months, but even still I spend half my time feeling like I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”
He laughed. “Well for one thing, siblings calling each other ‘dummy’ doesn’t always mean they’re fighting. Sometimes they do use derogatory nicknames in jest.”
“Still not ideal,” Elias replied. “Nor the sort of thing I want to promote.” He quirked a brow. “Or is it, dummy?”
“Oh come on,” Ezra said with a laugh. “That didn’t even make any sense contextually. Maybe you are too clean with sibling banter, clearly we need to practice your insults.”
“Are you suggesting I’m not devilishly clever all on my own?” Elias quipped. “Now it’s on, Ezra.” He smirked, glancing out toward the black sea that churned out at the horizon. “I suppose we can settle this like men, though. By racing each other tomorrow when we go swimming with the kids. That’s how men settle feuds, right?”
“That is how the best men settle feuds,” Ezra agreed. “I just hope your pride is not too bruised tomorrow when all of the kids are giggling at you when you lose.”
“Don’t worry,” Elias said. “I won’t be bruised, as I plan on doing absolutely no losing.” He grinned, winking at his brother. “Dummy.”
A Life Anew: Part SixElias spent as much time as possible as he could with the girls, but his position as the Minister of War saw him busy, and so it was nearly September by the time he carved a large enough chunk out of his schedule to take Juno and Aimee for another excursion into Rakine. They’d both had birthdays by this point-- Juno now ten, and Aimee eleven-- and Aimee’s initial purchase of paints was running low. The prince knew he could technically just send a courier into the city to fetch more for her, but the weather was pleasant anyway… and there was also another order of business he’d been procrastinating addressing for some time, but that he figured he might as well get over with eventually. “So we’re going to somebody’s house?” Juno queried after they’d picked out Aimee’s paints (they were to be delivered to the palace later that day), the girl pursing her lips as the trio of royals, trailed as always by a contingent of knights, began out the art shop. “ Why?” “Because,” Elias said, “there are people who’ve been… wanting to meet you. Just to, ah-- see how you’re doing, I guess.” Aimee absently spun a ruby stud earring- she’d finally gotten her ears pierced a week prior. “It’s not a doctor is it?” She asked suspiciously, thinking of her frequent health checks with the palace healer. Elias shook his head. “No. Not a doctor.” He smiled down at her, sympathetically. “It’s a relative of yours, actually. Papa’s niece-- her name’s Julia. She, ah…” Gods, how to explain this? “She… in the war, she was on the… rebels’ side. Like Uncle Gerard. Helping people like your mama. That’s where she met her husband actually. Augustin.” Juno creased her brow. “Is she a princess?” “Yes. But her husband’s just an enki-- he’s… on Uncle Cassian’s close council, actually. And so Julia lives with him. Out in the city.” He swallowed hard. “She just-- wanted to meet you girls. And make sure you’re doing… well. Since, ah… well, you know, it’s a bit unusual how you came to live with Papa. And after spending the war helping people like you and your mama, Julia just wants to see that you’re… okay. With me.” “Oh.” Juno considered for a moment. “But… Uncle Gerard was a rebel, too. And Uncle Joram! Don’t they know we’re okay?” “Yes,” Elias agreed. “But, ah-- Julia’s a bit… I guess she has a different perspective sometimes, than Uncle Gerard and Uncle Joram. And so, other rebels, they… want her assessment, too. Since she’s not quite so-- close to the situation as Gerard and Joram are.” And introducing his daughters to his niece-- even if her husband was… not exactly Elias’s favourite person-- was a far more palatable means of satisfying any rebel concerns and grumbles about the prince and king’s army general abruptly adopting two slave-blooded children than would be introducing them to oh… say, the Branded Lord. “We’ll tell her we’re okay, Papa!” Aimee promised with a beaming smile. “Even if etiquette lessons are boring and my medicine tastes like sharp ice.” The girl looked pensive. “So if she’s your niece, then she’s our cousin? Like Aislin and Corbin?” “Yes,” Elias confirmed. “Her mama was my older sister. Lila. But-- she’s a lot older than you than the rest of your cousins at the palace. She’s got kids, actually. Her son’s six, and her daughter’s about a year and a half, and she’s pregnant again.” “Pregnant!” Juno exclaimed. A few months ago, Gerard’s wife, Muriel, had given birth to twins, much to the little girl’s delight. “Can we touch her belly?” Elias laughed. “If she’s okay with it. But don’t be impolite, Juno, okay?” Some time later, after crossing the footbridge at the river, the prince and his daughters arrived to a quaint brick house in the heart of the Balfour district. It was smaller than most of its neighbours but impeccably well-kept, with a locked iron gate in front that was taller than either Juno or Aimee. There was a bell tied to a fence post beside it, which Elias let Juno ring, sending a vibration to a second bell that was perched beside the front door. Moments later, a man appeared on the porch, his dark blonde hair rustling in the breeze as he peered to see who it was. When he spotted Elias, he smiled thinly. “Your highness,” he greeted, bowing his head before he strode toward the gate. He wasn’t all that old-- perhaps in his late twenties-- with bronze skin and a neatly trimmed mustache; his earth-toned clothes, although finely tailored, were modest by Courdonian noble standards. He only wore a few pieces of jewelry. “I got your message earlier. We’ve got a pot of tea on for you.” “Nice to see you as well, Lord Altair,” Elias replied, his voice cool but cordial. As Gus unlocked the gate and swung it open, the prince gestured for Aimee and Juno to move through it ahead of him. “Girls, this is Lord Altair,” he said. “Julia’s husband. Lord Altair, these are my daughters-- Juno and Aimee.” “A pleasure to meet you, princesses,” Gus said, locking the gate again once all members of the royal party had passed through. “Enjoying your adventure out in Rakine?” “The city is loud,” Aimee complained. “But we got more paints for me so it’s okay. I like painting! Aislin is helping me learn how to do darker colors so it looks like shadows.” “Oh? That sounds like a lot of fun, Princess Aimee,” Gus said politely, leading the prince, princesses, and knights up the front walkway, then onto the porch and through the front door. It opened up into an airy living room, the windows open to let the breeze in. “Here, why don’t you take a seat, Prince Elias? I’ll go fetch the tea. And Julia. She’s just getting the baby up from a nap.” Elias obliged, sitting on a worn but comfortable sofa and beckoning for his daughters to take the seats on either side of him, while the knights remained standing near the doorway, silently observing. While once upon a time Juno would have asked why they weren’t sitting, too, she had long ago given up on studying them, or questioning their function, the little girl instead stifling a yawn as she leaned against her father’s sleeve. “You tired, Juno?” he asked softly. She shrugged. “Lessons were long this morning. And Corbin was being bad again. She got her ear pulled like, twenty-thousand times.” Aimee rolled her eyes slightly. “Corbin is fun, but she’s got bees in her brain sometimes. Buzzing. So she doesn’t hear what people say, even when they say it over and over.” The girl gave a slight smirk, “Unless it’s ‘yes you can go and play Corbin’ or ‘yes you can borrow my paints, Corbin.’” “She’ll learn,” Elias said. Or she wouldn’t. He loved his grand-niece, but most of the time the prince was very grateful she was not his. “At least it makes things exciting, eh?” Juno giggled. “I guess. And better her ear getting yanked than mine.” About a minute later, Gus returned, bearing with him a platter with a steaming teapot and cups atop its wooden surface. As he placed it on the coffee table in front of Elias and his daughters, and began to pour them three cups, a dark-haired woman-- her stomach visibly swollen beneath the folds of her garnet red dress-- trailed out behind him, a pudgy infant balanced on her hip. As she set her eyes on the royals, she smiled, but unlike most people, did not offer a curtsey or bow. “Hello, Uncle Elias,” she said. “It’s been some time, hm?” “You’ve not been at any banquets for a while,” Elias replied, returning her smile with one of his own. “Pregnancy not been a good one, Julia?” She shrugged, shifting the infant into her lap as she took a seat on the couch perpendicular to the one where Elias and the girls sat. “It’s been okay. But Lila”-- she gestured to the baby-- “has been… sick. On and off. I don’t like leaving her. She’s better for now, at least… though of course luck says that poor Dorian immediately had to go and come down with an ague. He’s been in bed for days.” “Not catching,” Gus added quickly. “And the healer got some potions in him, so we think he’ll start mending soon.” “I’m sorry to hear he’s ill,” Elias said, sounding genuinely concerned. “And… hopefully once things settle, you can get back to attending feasts.” “Ah, yes, gods know Julia and I both are dearly missing the garishness of court,” Gus said dryly, pouring himself and his wife a cup of the tea before he sat down beside her. “Never been to a banquet until you’ve been to one of King Cassian’s banquets, hm?” He grinned toward Juno and Aimee. “You girls been to one yet?” Aimee shook her head. “Uh-uh. Papa wants us to have more lessons first, so we’re ready.” She shifted nervously. “I don’t wanna make the king mad by messing up. Maybe he won’t let me be a princess anymore.” “Oh, I’m sure you’ll do fine once you go,” Julia said firmly, smoothing the baby’s frizzy dark brown hair. “I was nervous my first time, too. But it’s mostly just a lot of sitting and eating. And even if you messed up, Cassian would understand. Everyone makes mistakes, honey.” “Even Cassian.” Gus smiled, only to flinch slightly as Elias immediately leveled him a withering stare. “But, ah-- anyway. I doubt you want to talk about Cassian, hm? Much better things to discuss.” “Right,” Elias said. “Like… why don’t you tell them all about your lessons, girls? With your cousins?” Aimee frowned. Lessons were boring. She would rather talk about painting. Or playing. But with a shrug, she said, “We’re learning history. And lots of other stuff.” Suddenly looking proud the girl added, “We’re ahead of everybody in theology. The tutor has us help Uncle Gerard and the king’s littlest kids. And Corbin. Juno loves helping Corbin with theology, right Junie?” Juno scowled. “She has like, no memory.” “Corbin’s… certainly spirited.” Julia laughed. “But it’s nice that you girls help out.” “Very nice,” Gus said, taking a sip of his tea before he added, “And so… you like it? At the palace? All the people there?” “The king and queen are scary,” Aimee admitted. “But everyone else is nice! Uncle Joram said I looked like my grandpa, the old king. And we saw our Aunt Anna two weeks ago and she gave’ed us candy! And Mrs. Britta is nice, even if she swats our elbows when we put ‘em on the table.” “I didn’t know Anna had been in town,” Julia said. “But that’s nice of her to give you candy.” She cocked her head. “Who’s Mrs. Britta?” “Our nurse,” Juno said. “She takes care of us when Papa’s busy. And she’s good at doing hair. She knows like, every kind of braid.” “She did that braid?” Gus asked lightly, gesturing to the single plait that hung over Juno’s left shoulder. The girl nodded. “Uh-huh. Isn’t it pretty?” “Very pretty,” Julia agreed. “I’m glad you’re liking everyone at the palace. And… I’m sorry that you find the king and queen scary, but-- they’re… nice people. Once you get to know them. And I’m sure they love you girls just like your papa does.” The woman paused for a moment, adjusting Lila in her lap again, before she prompted gently, “So… are you happier now, at the palace? Than you were at the temple? Or were you happier before?” “We miss our friends sometimes,” Aimee admitted. “But it’s fun here.” Impulsively she leaned towards Elias and hugged him. “And I love Papa!” As Elias smiled automatically, kissing the top of her head, Juno nodded in assent. “At the temple, there were lots of kids. And the adults were all busy all the time, and even when they weren’t, they were… nice, I guess, but…” She shrugged. “But Papa’s ours.” Grinning, she added after a moment’s thought, “And he got me a kitten! Though he’s got all big now. He sleeps on my bed. Next to me.” “A kitten?” Gus raised a brow. “That’s very nice, princess. What’s his name?” “Patches.” “Even though he has not a single patch.” Elias patted his daughter’s back. “It’s been adjustment for them, of course. But they’ve both been brave girls, and they’re doing really well. I’m very proud of them.” "Thank you, Papa," Aimee said, still snuggling against Elias. She grinned at Gus and Julia. "Before it was just me and Juno, and we were kin of the temple. But now we got blood kin, like in the writ. Our cousins are fun, even Corbin." The child suddenly brightened. "Papa said you're our cousin, Princess Julia. Will you be our friend too? Juno wanted to feel the baby in your tummy!" “I can be your friend,” Julia agreed. “And I’m glad to hear you girls are liking the palace. And your papa.” “Can we see your baby?” Juno asked, taking a sip of her tea. “Once he’s born?” “Sure,” Julia said. “Whenever you want to come by, you girls are welcome here. And I’m sure we’ll see each other at court banquets, eventually. You excited to get all dressed up for them?” Aimee grinned, "Mrs. Britta is gonna fix my hair pretty. Milly says she wishes her hair was as pretty as mine! And that it'll look beautiful with a dress in Alaric colors." Aimee looked up at Elias imploringly. "Can I sit with Aislin at the banquet, Papa? We'd match!" “We’ll see.” Elias chuckled. “Seating charts are a bit of an… ordeal, you could say. But Papa will try.” “I’m sure you will.” Julia, stroking her baby’s hair again, smiled at her uncle. “Thank you for coming by, Uncle Elias. It was nice getting to talk with the girls.” “And hearing about their new exciting lives at the palace,” Gus added. “It sounds like you two are having lots of fun.” “Uh-huh,” Juno agreed. “I’ve never been more happy!” *** It was a sign of the improvements brought on by Aimee’s medicine that, a few months after she started on it, when Corbin asked her and Juno out into the courtyard to play catch after lessons, the young girl immediately agreed. It was a balmy late-October day, perfect weather for playing outside. Though Aimee still had to be careful not to get too riled up, she could and did play more active games without setting off her breathing problems. This was much to Corbin’s delight, as the younger girl had never met a physical activity she didn’t like-- nor a playmate she wouldn’t wheedle into running around with her; Juno, for her part, was nearly as thrilled, excited after all these years to finally have Aimee able to roughhouse and run around with her rather than simply watching from the sidelines. The three girls reached the courtyards, with one of the king’s younger daughters Bryony along because she’d whined that she would tell on them for being “meanies” if they didn’t humor her. Corbin, wanting rather to get out and play without alerting any of their parents- and thus getting saddled with nurses to supervise- had relented with no small amount of exasperation. Soon enough the four girls were tossing their ball around like a hot potato, chanting childish rhymes and tossing to each beat of the song. “You can’t even catch,” Corbin was whining at Bryony, rolling her eyes as the smallest girl dropped the ball yet again. “How hard is it to catch?” “It’s ‘cos you throw bad!” Bryony retorted, scowling. “Nothing to do with me.” Picking the ball up again, she tossed it sharply toward Corbin-- then giggled when, surprised by the sudden throw, Corbin promptly dropped it. “Now who can’t catch?” “Maybe don’t throw so hard?” Aimee suggested. “Like, you’re both throwing it over your shoulders-” she demonstrated the motion of an overhand toss. “Throw it from your hips-” she demonstrated an underhand toss. “Then it’ll still fly far, but won’t go so fast so that you guys drop it.” She picked up the ball from where it had rolled to her, and gave an exemplary light toss towards Juno, who caught it without issue. “Corbin just likes to complain,” the girl announced solemnly. “Don’t you, Corbin?” Corbin rolled her eyes. “That’s not nice.” “Well, you weren’t being nice,” Juno pointed out, before with a smile, she gently tossed it toward Bryony again. This time Bryony managed to catch it, much to her delight; however, her throwing still had a lot of room for improvement, the ball veering very wide as she chucked it back toward Aimee. Missing her cousin by at least two feet, it rolled toward the edge of the courtyard, near the french doors that led back into the palace. Aimee turned on her heel, trotting through the grass after the errant toy. Before she caught up to it, however, the palace doors opened and a man stepped out. Aimee skidded to a stop, looking up at him nervously. The man was dressed in the fine silks and glitzy jewelry that marked him as someone of high status, but not nearly as much jewelry as the royals- an enki.His foot brushed the ball as he walked down into the courtyard, and he looked at it in surprise. The man bent down to pick it up, and brushed ebony locks out of his face as he stood again to face the girls. “Your highnesses,” he called to the princesses, his tone amiable. “Lose something?” “Bryony can’t throw,” Corbin returned, leveling another exasperating look toward the younger girl. “Or maybe Aimee just can’t catch,” Bryony whined in response, scrunching her face. “Stop being so mean, Corbin.” She glanced toward the strange enki and Aimee. “My throw w-was okay, right, Aimee?” “It was fine, Bry,” Aimee soothed. “You just gotta practice.” “Aimee?” the enki inquired, his brow furrowing. “Princess Aimee, as in the daughter of the Minister of War?” The child nodded brightly. “Uh-huh. My papa is Elias Saul Alaric- did you know his middle name comes from one of the old kings?” The enki gave no reply to that. He no longer looked quite so friendly, instead his mouth twisting downwards. “And your mother, is it true she was…” “Mama’s… gone to the heavens.” Juno, her red brow suddenly creased, took a tentative step forward. “But it’s okay. Because she’s with the gods now.” “She was a slave, right?” the man asked, now looking at the girls rather as if they were something nasty on the bottom of his shoe. “Escaped from the palace during siege.” “Uh… uh-huh,” Aimee replied. “She was. But she got away, and there are no more slaves now, so it’s okay.” “Oh?” the enki asked, a rather unpleasant smirk on his face. “And what about all the good men who were killed by the rebels, young miss? Your mother has gone to the gods, yes? So has my brother, and my eldest son. Killed by your mother’s dear compatriots. Is it really ‘okay’ for you to be flouncing about the palace in silks as if it is your right?” “I… b-but…” Aimee stammered, her eyes beginning to sting. The man glowered at her, tossing the ball so that it rolled forward to rest by Juno’s feet. “This kingdom is going to the dogs,” he announced. “When illegitimate spawn of slaves parade as princesses alongside the children of the king.” He glanced at Bryony as he said this, but the young girl only gaped back at him, wide-eyed. Stunned. A few feet over, Juno looked just as bewildered, the child only blinking hard as the ball lay untouched at her toes. If the rest of the girls were shocked into silence, however, young Corbin was not nearly so easily cowed. Her chin jutted, the seven-year-old took an almost violent step forward, her green eyes narrowed in something between disbelief and indignation. She jabbed an accusing finger at the stranger. “You can’t talk to her like that,” the princess snapped. “You don’t even know her!” Leaving no space for him to reply, she went on, “What’s your name?” “None of your concern, young lady,” the enki huffed. Turning, so that his jewelry jangled, he called over his shoulder, “Enjoy your game, princesses. May the gods preserve this kingdom from degrading further.” As the doors slammed shut behind him, Aimee gave a whimper, sliding down to her knees in the grass. A sharp sob burbled out of her throat, and she clenched her eyes shut. “Wh-why was he s-s-so meeeean? What did Junie or me do to hi-i-im?” Corbin was at her cousin’s side in an instant, her nostrils flaring with rage. “Don’t cry,” she insisted, as she set a firm hand on Aimee’s shoulder. “He’s not allowed to say stuff like that. It’s not true, any of it.” The girl looked back toward Juno and Bryony, who still stood in silent befuddlement (although tears had begun to prick at Juno’s pale green eyes). “C’mon,” Corbin said. “Let’s go get my papa. He’ll help.” Aimee staggered to her feet, reaching instinctively for Corbin’s hand with hers. The younger girl accepted, her stride meaningful as then began toward the door the enki had fled into, Bryony and Juno mutely trailing behind. The girls didn’t speak as they twisted through the palace, weaving through several exterior courtyards as short-cuts on the way to Corbin’s family’s expansive flat. When they arrived ten minutes later, Corbin ignored the knights who hovered nearby as she pushed open the front door, her free hand still clutched over Aimee’s. They found Corbin’s father, Gerard, in the dining room, wolfing down a bowl of soup in what was either a very late lunch or very early supper. When he saw the girls, he smiled-- before he seemed to notice the look of confusion still riddling Bryony’s face, and the way both Aimee and Juno’s eyes had gone puffy and red. “What’s wrong?” The prince was on his feet immediately. “What happened? Are you girls hurt?” “No.” Corbin finally let go of Aimee’s hand. “But we were playing ball, and… this man came up.” “A man?” Gerard asked, inclining his head. “What-- sort of man?” “H-h-he was an enki, Uncle Gerard,” Aimee replied, her voice thick and raspy as if it had been pulled wet from her throat. “Kinda… kinda big, w-w-with muddy green and off-white l-livery on. I haven’t seen him b’fore.” “He said bad things,” Corbin told her father. “About Juno and Aimee.” “L-like that w-we were the reason the kingdom was… ruined… and…” Juno gulped. “That w-we were just… slave spawns. And…” “He what?” The look that flashed across Gerard’s face was nearly murderous, the prince clenching his teeth as he stepped back from the table. Striding quickly over to the children, he wrapped one arm over Aimee’s shoulder and his other across Juno’s, giving them both firm squeezes as he said, “I’m so sorry, girls. That… that is obviously--” He shook his head. “I know it’s upsetting to hear. But he’s just… a bitter man. A bad man. And what he said to you… he… he will be punished for it. I promise you.” Aimee hugged Gerard back, burying her face in his silken tunic, slipping in and out of the high tongue in her distress. “H-h-he said that his brother an’ his son d-died in the war an’, an’ that it wasn’t right for us to wear silks and play with the k-k-king’s daughter when-” “Honey,” Gerard cut in over her, gently rubbing her back. “It’s okay. Whatever he said to you-- I… I know it hurts, and I’m so sorry you had to hear that, but… it doesn’t matter, okay? He doesn’t matter. Your papa loves you. Everyone here loves you. You’re kin. You’ve every right to be here, and play with Bryony, and-- all of it. Don’t let some mean, bitter man make you doubt that, okay?” “B-but…” Juno bit her lip. “He…” “He will be punished,” Gerard said again, brushing a strand of hair out of Juno’s eyes. “I’m going to take care of it-- right away, I promise. I know exactly who you’re talking about-- he’s just… a visiting minor lord, a visiting nobody-- and… he will be dealt with. I don’t want you girls worrying any more about it, okay?” Aimee hiccuped. “O-okay.” She nuzzled against Gerard’s shoulder. “Are you gonna tell Papa? Or the king, s-since he was bein’ cross at Bryony too?” “Your papa and the king will want to know, yes,” Gerard agreed. “They’ll… help me. In dealing with him.” Sighing, he drew away from the girls and took a step toward the door. “Why don’t you go play upstairs in Corbin’s room?” he suggested. “While I go begin to, ah-- take care of this.” “O-okay,” Juno whispered, swallowing hard. “But… Papa wanted me and Aimee back at our flat before suppertime. ‘Cos Aimee has to take her medicines.” “I’ll tell him where you are,” Gerard promised. “I can even send him to come pick you up once we’re done figuring things out, okay?” Aimee nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. “Is Amalia or Aislin upstairs too? M-maybe we can have enough people to play blind-man’s-bluff?” She looked at Corbin and Bryony, adding, “If that’s okay?” “They’re both upstairs,” Gerard said. “And I’m sure they’d be glad to play.” “And I can win if Ammy’s playing,” Corbin said brightly. “She’s awful.” “Corbin.” At the door now, Gerard leveled his daughter a withering scowl. “Be nice, please? I don’t want to come back and hear you’ve been tormenting everyone.” “Okay.” The girl sighed. “Thank you, Corbin.” He opened the door. “I’ll see you girls later. Be good, please.” A few hours later, as Corbin gloated about her win, Elias came by to fetch his daughters, giving them both brief hugs and kisses atop the crowns of their heads before he escorted them back to their own flat. For much of the walk, no one spoke, but as they began up yet another winding staircase, the prince finally sighed and glanced down at the girls. “Uncle Gerard told you that he and Papa were going to ah, deal with the man who said mean things to you, right?” Elias started. Aimee nodded, her expression looking a little glum again. “Y-yeah, he did. An’ the king too, ‘cause the man was being mean to Bryony.” “Right.” Elias smiled thinly at them. “Well, I just wanted to let you that… it is all dealt with. And you don’t have to worry about seeing that man again, okay? It’s been made very clear to him that what he said was not okay. Not with Papa, and not with Uncle Gerard, and… not with the king, either.” “Are you sure?” Aimee pressed, reaching for Juno’s hand. “He was really mad. He said slave rebels like Mama k-killed his kin, Papa. What if he still hates us?” “He has been… made to see the error of his comments,” Elias said vaguely. “He won’t be a problem for you again. I promise.” “T-the king’s not mad at us, right?” Juno asked. “Of course not,” Elias replied. “You’ve done nothing wrong. He was just angry with the man. Same as Papa and Uncle Gerard.” Aimee squeezed her sister’s hand a little tighter, then abruptly paused, not walking another step. She was looking directly at the ground, so that her red-gold hair fell in a curtain around her face, but from behind the veil a soft sniff was audible. Elias, walking behind the girls, stopped in place as well, his brow creasing with concern. “Honey?” he said softly. Reaching out, he turned the girl toward him, his hand gentle as it landed on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” Aimee flung her arms around Elias’ legs, pushing her face into the silk of his tunic. “Papa, I p-p-promise me and Junie have been studying really h-h-hard okay? We want to be good princesses. So, so please don’t send us back to the temple, okay? E-even if Mama was a slave, and the enkis don’t like it. Please.” “ Aimee.” His voice catching, Elias pulled the girl closer to him, then reach with his other arm for Juno and pulled her into a hug, as well. “Papa will never send either of you girls back to the temple. I promise. You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing at all. You know how much I love you, right?” Aimee nodded into her father’s shirt. “Uh-h-h-huh. But everyone was m-mad when you brought us, and you said that Julia’s rebel friends were w-w-worried, and now the e-enki-” “No one was mad because Papa brought you, sweetie,” Elias soothed. “They were just upset because Papa left without any notice, and he missed a big meeting. It didn’t have anything to do with you. They were happy to meet you and Junie. Some of them had helped him in his search to find you girls, you know.” He stroked her back. “And Julia’s friends just wanted to make sure you were happy. That Papa was treating you girls okay. That’s all.” “But the man--” Juno started. “The man is nothing,” Elias said firmly. “You won’t ever have to see him again, honey. He’s… not from around here, and he’s been punished, and… I can tell you with near certainty that after this, he is not going to be invited to court again. Ever. Okay?” Aimee didn’t answer at first. Then she muttered, “But what if it happens again? Didn’t… didn’t one of the guards say mean things to Aislin? ‘Cause she’s got the brand on her foot too? Sh-she tried to c-c-c-cut it off and, and…” the child whimpered. “Sweetie.” Elias sighed. “Sometimes in life… people are going to say mean things to you. And it’s wrong, and they shouldn’t. But-- Papa loves you. Your family loves you That’s what matters. Not what bad, wrong people say.” Tenderly, he drew her chin up, wiping at her damp eyes. “You’re an Alaric. A princess. And princesses don’t let mean words from nothing little lords impact how they see themselves.” Aimee seemed to ponder this, biting her lip. Then, she nodded. “O-okay, Papa. Like Corbin. She was brave. I’ll try to be brave too.” A small smile ticked at her mouth, and she added. “Papa, after supper can we have some creamed custard? The kind with the kiwis and pomegranates in it?” Elias chuckled, giving the girl’s nose an affectionate tweak. “If you eat all your asparagus and don’t give me complaints about taking your vapors, I’ll see what I can get the cooks to whip up, Aimee. Deal?” The girl made a face of displeasure, but nodded. “Deal.” A Life Anew: Epilogue“Are you excited, girls?” Elias said several weeks later, the prince beaming as he studied his two daughters, who were standing in Juno’s bedchamber in front of a full-length mirror. “You both look beautiful,” he added, gesturing to the matching maroon-and-gold dresses the children wore. Both garments were pure silk, and so light they looked as if they could have been spun from pure air. “Make sure you don’t fuss with your hair any, though, Aimee. I know it took your nurse hours to do those braids, I don’t want them frizzed for your big debut with the court at the Crow’s Night feast.”
“I’ll try, Papa,” the young girl replied, lip bit and anxiety playing in her chocolate brown eyes. “But it feels kinda weird.” Swishing her head so that the dozens of tiny shimmering beads at the ends of the braids jingled against each other, she added, “I like the sounds that the beads make.”
Elias laughed. “Like a musical instrument, hm?” Stepping forward, he touched his daughter’s cheek, gently. “My sweet little princess.”
“I’m glad the nurses didn’t try to braid my hair,” Juno said brightly, fidgeting with the heavy gold necklace she wore. “It looks uncomfortable.”
“I don’t think they quite has the constitution to wrestle you to stay still for the length of time it would’ve taken,” Elias said dryly.
Aimee giggled. “Plus your hair is super thick. I bet it wouldn't stay if they tried to braid it.” Looking up at her father, she added, “But it’s true, right? We look like real princesses? We’ll make a, a… a ‘good imp-session?’”
“Impression,” Elias corrected. “And yep— of course. You look like real princesses because you are real princesses.” He leaned down to kiss the top of her red-gold hair. “You know that, right, love?”
The child turned around, hugging her father around his legs. “I know, Papa. But sometimes it still… it still doesn’t feel real. Like it’s all a, a dream. And that what people like that noble and the guard who was mean to Aislin said is what everybody thinks. I wanna do good, and be a good princess.”
Elias sighed, hugging her back. “You are a good princess, Aimee.” He glanced toward Juno. “Both of you are.”
“I’m getting better at the high tongue,” Juno offered, carefully enunciating in the dialect. “I don’t have to think about it so much anymore. It’s more… natural.”
“Your accent’s getting really good,” Elias confirmed. “Just like a good princess’s should be, hm?”
Aimee sighed softly. “Sorry, Papa. I don’t mean to be a whiner. I’m just scared is all. Juno is braver than I am ‘bout this.”
“I know you’re scared, sweetie,” her father replied. “But you have nothing to be nervous about, okay? Your very first court banquet is going to be fun, I promise— and I’ll be there with you the whole time. Promise.”
She swallowed hard, but nodded. “It’s harder than I thought it was gonna be. Being a princess. But I’m still glad you let us be princesses, Papa. I’m glad you came and got us.”
“We like living here,” Juno added. “With you. And… and everyone.”
A lump knotted in Elias’s throat, and he gulped it sharply away. “I’m glad I came and got you, too,” he said softly. “I love you girls. So much.” He gently drew Aimee away, then reached down to thread his fingers through hers. “Now, shall Papa escort both of his pretty princesses to the feast? I can take one hand each, how’s that?”
Aimee grinned. “Okay, Papa! And when we walk in, the herald can announce all of us. Together.”
“Of course,” Elias agreed, taking Juno’s hand as well. “Papa and daughters— just like it should be.” He smiled at his girls. “Now, shall we? Our feast awaits.”
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Post by Shinko on Jul 24, 2016 16:07:46 GMT -5
Collab between myself and Avery. Takes place in about May of 1350. Safer ArmsIt was far later than usual when the heir to Ruom province finally wandered to his bedchambers in Cesthen Castle. Dirk Vastcher had been mewed up with his father Baldemar, making last minute preparations for a visit from Lord Peregrine of Emryn the following day. Dirk’s head was pounding, and his stormy grey eyes dull with fatigue as he slipped into the shadowed bedchamber he shared with his wife Safira. “Saf?” he called softly, mindful not only of her but of their four month old old son, Lucius. The third of his and Safira’s biological children, Lucius was young enough he still slept in the bedroom with his parents. Dirk knew that even if Safira was asleep, if he accidentally woke the baby neither of them would be sleeping for a good long while. “Mmm?” A lithe figure shifted in the bed, as Safira worked to extricate herself from the tangle of blankets she was nestled beneath. Propping herself up by her elbows, the lord’s wife tilted her head, blue eyes hazy with half-shook sleep as she murmured, “Everything all right? What time is it?” “It’s a quarter to midnight, or thereabouts,” Dirk admitted. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you if you’d already nodded off, I just wanted to run some of the conversation I had with Father by you while it was fresh in my head. You’ll have to be present for some of the pomp and circumstance with the Peregrines, so I figured forewarning would be appreciated.” “Sure,” Safira agreed, stifling a yawn. Sparing a quick glance at the cradle a few feet away from the bed— where Lucius, mercifully, remained fast asleep— she gave her husband a tired smile. “I take there’s going to be a welcome gala tomorrow? Banquet hall decked all prettily in our colours and theirs?” “Oh, naturally,” Dirk agreed, moving towards his wardrobe to change into bedclothes. “Father and I were trying to think of some excuse- any excuse- to excuse Amicus from the thing. He’s going to be bored silly, and you know how my darling baby brother gets when he’s bored.” “So pessimistic,” Safira said, adjusting her puffy down pillow as she lay down again, facing Dirk. “I give it until at least halfway through the feast before he’s gotten into the wine or made off with half the pastry table. Maybe even three-quarters of the way.” The Vastcher heir snorted softly, pulling a nightshirt over his chest before he walked over to the bed and slipped under the covers. “Father actually hoped you could help with that, first of all. You know Am and Cyd are joined at the hip, and if you tug on Cydney’s leash Am won’t want to get into mischief without his little accomplice.” Safira chuckled. “I can keep her at my side,” she agreed. “Thank the gods she’s at least biddable enough. Mama’s sweet little girl.” A beat. “Even if she’d get huffy if she overheard me saying that, because she’s just turned nine, Mama, which is nearly ten, and that’s not little.” “Of course,” Dirk agreed dryly, turning to lie on his side facing his wife. “Such cruel slander, Safira.” His expression sobering, he went on, “Another thing- I hate to foist this on you at the last minute, but we think Mother is coming down with something. It’s usually the Lady of the House’s responsibility to see to things like the menu over the rest of the week and-” There was a creak at the door, making Dirk bolt upright, and a very shrill voice warbled, “M-Mama? Papa?” Safira, still lying on her side, whipped her head toward the voice. “... Dante?” she murmured, as a small, slim boy of just under three slipped into the room, his black hair mussed from sleep, the hem of his gossamer nightdress dragging along the floor. “Dante, love, what’s wrong? Why are you awake so late, sweetheart?” The boy scampered up to the bed, his blue eyes spilling over as he sobbed. “M-m-maaaamaa, bad man, bad man, on a big horsie. Bad-bad!” Dirk winced, sitting up in bed and looking over Safira’s shoulder towards his son. “Did you have a bad dream, buddy?” For answer, the child only sobbed more earnestly, as Safira sighed and drew him close to her chest, running her fingers through his dark locks. “Hush, love,” she soothed. “It was only a dream, okay? No bad men here, promise. You’re safe.” Dirk winced, reaching over to stroke his son’s back. “Safira, why don’t you take him back to the nursery? Get the poor little man calmed down there so he doesn’t wake Lucius, then come back once he’s asleep and we can finish our talk.” She nodded, tucking Dante against her hip as she stood from the bed. “Of course,” she said, keeping her voice very quiet so as not to rouse Lucius. “I’ll be back in just a moment, okay?” She kissed Dante’s cheek. “Mama will sing you a lullaby to keep any more bad dreams away, love— how’s that sound?” The small boy nodded slowly, burrowing his face into his mother’s shoulder. “N-no bad man, Mama?” “Nope,” Safira agreed, padding toward the door. “Promise, my love.” Pausing at the doorway, she murmured over her shoulder to Dirk, “Back in a few, okay?” “Mm,” he agreed, flapping a hand. “I’ll wait.” And wait Dirk did- but the minutes ticked by, and Safira didn’t come back. In spite of his best intentions the Vastcher heir nodded off waiting for her, only to be jolted awake not long later by a shrill wail from Lucius’ cradle. He looked over to Safira’s side of the bed- but it was rumpled and vacant, his wife still not back from Dante’s bedroom. Where was Safira? Dante must be being stubborn about going back to sleep, he thought blearily as he reached into the cradle and scooped Lucius up. The infant was shrieking insistently, and a quick check of his napkin confirmed it was still clean. Which meant chances were high that he wanted precisely one thing. And I can’t give it to him, Dirk reflected ruefully, bouncing the four month old in a vain effort to soothe him. Unlike Kythians, Courdonian nobles seldom kept wet nurses because it was considered a near sacred duty of women to nurse their own babies. Having someone who was not kin do something so intimate was to deny the child a closeness to his or her mother, and wet nurses were only used if the birth mother either died, was too ill to tend them, or for whatever reason didn’t produce any milk. None of these circumstances being presently the case, Dirk was at the mercy of the squalling infant until Safira finally managed to put Dante down and came back. Certainly he wasn’t going to go looking for her, dragging Lucius through the entire family wing of the castle and waking everyone up in the process. He prayed she would show up soon, but the minutes ticked by and failed to bring her back. The moon crawled across the sky outside, and eventually Lucius managed to shriek himself into an exhausted stupor, clinging hard to Dirk’s chest and squawking every time his father tried to move him back to the cradle. His skull throbbing terribly and his mind so sluggish he felt like he had imbibed an entire wine cellar, the man soon gave up and allowed his son to sleep on his chest, plunging into the depths of slumber himself not long after. Around dawn Dirk was roused yet again as, very hungry now, Lucius woke back up and started to cry. The Vastcher heir looked towards Safira’s side of the bed, but once again found it vacant. With a moan of exasperation, he hefted the baby to his chest and set off in search of his erstwhile wife. Mercifully the motion of his father walking quickly calmed Lucius by several decibels, meaning that the entire castle wasn’t abruptly roused from their respective slumbers as Dirk padded briskly toward the nursery with the cranky infant in his arms. Also fortunately, Safira didn’t prove particularly hard to find: as soon as Dirk poked his head inside Dante’s small sleeping chamber off the main nursery space, he found his wife curled up on their eldest son’s bed, both mother and son fast asleep beneath a warren of blankets as wavering snatches of early morning sunlight snaked their way through the satiny curtains that dressed the large window along the far wall. His auburn hair rumpled, and with deep black bags underscoring his eyes, Dirk trudged over to Dante’s bed and gave his wife’s shoulder a shake. “Safira, for the love of all the gods, will you-” Before the enki could finish his sentence, however, Safira startled awake as if she’d been slapped. It was a wonder she didn’t rouse Dante as she sat bolt upright, blinking wildly, her jet-black hair frizzed around her face. “Dirk?” she murmured. Then, as her gaze fell to the snuffling Lucius in her husband’s arms, she flinched. “Oh, gods. Is he crying? How long have I been asleep, how long have I…” As she seemed to realise that the small room wasn’t pitch black but illuminated here and there by beams of sunlight, she winced, harder this time. “... It’s morning, isn’t it?” “It is that, yes,” Dirk agreed, sounding very much aggrieved and exhausted. “And I’d appreciate it if you would please feed the baby, since I can’t do it for you and I’d like to get some sleep before the Peregrines get here.” As the situation seemed to register in her sleep-hazed brain, Safira practically catapulted herself to her feet. “S-sorry,” she breathed, moving to pluck Lucius out of his father’s arms. “I’m so sorry, Dirk— I’m sorry, I’ll…” She took a step forward, toward the door. “I’ll get back to our chamber and feed him right away.” Hurriedly, she added, “I’ll stay out in the sitting room— so he doesn’t disturb you, okay? We won’t disturb you.” And with that, the enki’s wife scurried out into the main nursery, acting as if she had a fire nipping at her heels as she promptly flung herself toward the corridor that led back to her and Dirk’s bed-suite. Dirk watched this, his mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. For a moment he remained standing beside Dante’s bed, seemingly at a loss for what to make of Safira’s reaction to his rather simple request. Too tired to make a solid attempt to process it, however, he only rubbed his achy head and followed at a more sedate pace. Once he reached the sitting room of his and Safira’s bedsuite, he paused long enough to quirk a weary eyebrow at his wife as she hurriedly settled on one of the overstuffed sofas with Lucius at her breast, the woman’s posture rigid and eyes cast toward her lap as Dirk said, “Something the matter with you?” Safira blinked, mouth draw into a taut, thin line. “No, I’m okay,” she said. “You can go to bed, Dirk— I’ve got Luc, I’ve got him now. S-sorry I wasn’t here to tend him when he first woke.” “‘S fine,” he murmured, rubbing his eyes. “Probably my fault for waking you up before Dante showed in the first place. I’m just glad I was able to quiet him for at least a few hours before he started getting demanding again.” “... Again?” Safira echoed. “He… he woke up before, too…?” She cringed, running a tentative finger through the suckling infant’s thick dark hair. “I’m sorry, Dirk. So sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.” “About forty minutes or so after you left, and I told you it’s fine,” Dirk said again, tilting his head. “I don’t imagine you fell asleep in Dante’s bed on purpose, I know he can be a little cling when he’s afraid.” With a tired smile the man added, “At least you’re well rested for Amicus wrangling tonight, I would not want to have that job with the headache that I’ll no doubt be nursing all day.” Safira nodded, very tepidly. “Well, you can… you can rest now,” she said. “While I tend to Luc. And sorry again. For… for— this.” “Saf, seriously, you don’t need to apologize,” he said, his brow knitting with concern. “Are you sure nothing’s bothering you? You’re awfully jumpy today.” “I…” Safira hesitated, pale eyes flitting between Lucius and Dirk for a moment before she dared let them settle on her husband. The look that simmered in them was fretful, nearly puzzled, as if she half-thought her husband’s question was a trick of some sort; her voice was etched all throughout with uncertainty as she murmured, “You told me to come back to bed to finish our conversation. After I put Dante to sleep. And I… I didn’t. And… th-then I failed to tend to Lucius, as well, and… made you miss sleep right before an important day with House Peregrine, and I… I…” “Well you hardly did all that on purpose,” Dirk replied, frowning. “And worst comes to worst, Father can tell Lord Peregrine I’ve taken ill or something. I am technically still just the heir, Father’s getting old but he can still manage in short spurts without my help. I’m not mad, Saf- yes I was a little exasperated while Luc was shrieking and keeping me up last night, but I’m his father. Tending him is as much my responsibility as yours.” Here, Safira was the one to furrow her brow. “You… you told me to come back,” she said simply. “You told me to come back, and— I disobeyed, and then… because of that, I wasn’t here for Luc, I… I wasn’t here, and—” Realization hit Dirk like a hammer blow, and he covered his face with one hand. “Ah, gods- Safira, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think.” Lowering his hand, he looked his wife straight in the eyes. “Listen- I’m not mad. I’m not. You didn’t disobey, you fell asleep accidentally. These things happen. I’m not going to punish you.” Safira swallowed hard, her chin wobbling for a moment until she forced it still. “Right,” she whispered. “Of course.” Then, so quietly as to nearly be inaudible: “I pr-probably sound stupid, don’t I? G-gibbering on. S-sorry. I’m sorry.” “You spent your childhood being abused and terrorized by the man who should’ve been your foremost defender,” Dirk replied simply. “You don’t sound stupid, Saf. I don’t blame you for being scared I was going to lash out. But I’m not, okay? I promise. You won’t ever have reason to be afraid of me.” “I… I know,” Safira said softly, but she was unable to keep from shaking as she readjusted her grip on Lucius. “I’m sorry, I know that— I do… Y-you’ve never hurt me, not once, and… s-so I know it must feel awful, having me treat you as if you have, and…” She forced herself to pause and take a deep, if shaky, breath. “I’m rambling again. S-sorry.” Dirk walked over to his wife, putting a hand on her shoulder gently. “It’s alright, Saf. I don’t blame you.” He sighed softly. “I’m going to get some sleep- I’ll see you in an hour or two. Don’t beat yourself up, okay?” “Right.” She spared him a thin smile. “Sleep well, Dirk.” *** Though he remained tired for much of the day, Dirk did rest enough to be able to attend the meeting and banquet with the Peregrines. However, Safira was subdued for much of the proceedings, and her husband couldn’t help but feel a prickling of guilt. Even though he’d known for years that her father had been an abusive tyrant, both to her and to Cydney, it still shocked him from time to time just how badly the former king had damaged his daughter’s perception of how normal families operated. Once the song and dance was done for the day and the Vastchers all freed to return to their respective chambers, Dirk caught Safira on the shoulder at the edge of the banquet hall. “Hey,” he said, his voice gentle. “It’s nice out tonight. Would you come with me into the gardens? Just for a bit.” “... Sure,” she murmured, giving her husband a small, tired smile. “Not for too long, though— I bet the boys are getting tired of their nurses’ company.” Their three sons— Dante the eldest of them at nearly three— were far too young to attend such an elaborate gala. “They'll want stories and cuddles from Mama before they fall asleep.” “Oh, of course,” he agreed. “Damien-” their secondborn- “wouldn’t consent to sleeping if Mama didn’t tuck him in first. I promise we won’t be long.” He took his wife’s hand and led her through the halls of the castle, and out into the cool night air. Once they reached a circle of stone benches set around a fire pit a ways off from the castle itself, he sat, gesturing for Safira to do the same. “I… wanted to apologize again,” he said softly. “For scaring you this morning.” As she lowered herself beside him, smoothing the skirts of her voluminous silk dress as she did, Safira tilted her head, quizzically. “It's okay,” she said. “I… I was the one who was in the wrong. Not you. You… don't need to apologise. I understand why you were upset.” She tacked on quickly, “And like I said— it won't happen again. I promise.” “Safira,” Dirk said coaxingly, his auburn hair falling into his face as he leaned forward earnestly. “I really mean it- I want you to be able to trust me. To talk to me when something’s bothering you.” “I know,” she said. “And… I do trust you. I do, Dirk. More than I trust almost anyone.” Beneath the pale moonlight one could discern a sudden flush to the woman’s bronze cheeks, as though she were embarrassed as she added, “I just have… moments sometimes. Where… my memories act before my head. If that makes sense.” He nodded. “I think I understand what you mean. I…” he smiled wanly. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever noticed that I’m usually nowhere to be found when a lightning storm brews over us?” She furrowed her dark brow, considering. “I'd never thought about it before,” she admitted. “But… yes, I suppose. You do seem to be scarce when the storms kick up.” In the mountains as they were, such gales weren't at all unusual. The Vastcher heir gently pulled down his shirt shoulder, revealing a heavily scarred shoulder. “It unnerves me,” he said softly. “The lightning. More than I like to admit. I avoid everyone because it makes me jittery and snappish, and it’s… embarrassing. To say the least.” Of course Safira had seen her husband’s latticework of lightning-bolt shaped scars before, many times— but even still, she flinched on his behalf as he bared his marred skin to her. It wasn't precisely the same as her own demons— his scars were physical, apparent, patent, where hers lurked mainly beneath the surface, in some ways existing only in her head— but fear was fear. Demons were demons. “Sometimes I just don't know,” she said. “What is or isn't a proportional reaction to things. And even if the logical part of my head screams for me to calm down— slow down— and try to figure it out before reacting…” She shrugged, somewhat dejectedly. “I trust you, Dirk. I really, really do. But sometimes I just…” He reached a hand around her shoulder, giving her a light one-armed hug. “I know. It… it has to be terrifying. Not feeling in full control over your own head, not having a clear basis for what is or isn’t a situation to be afraid of. I’m not angry with you for it, Saf. I’m not embarrassed of it. I don’t hold it against you. If you want to ramble, and get things off your chest… I’m here. I’ll listen. And I’ll try to be more careful in the future about not doing or saying things to trigger bad memories.” “Thank you,” she murmured. “That… that means a lot to me. Especially since sometimes I just— I barely even know what will or won't send my head spinning. Some things are obvious— some things I can prepare for, steel myself… but other times, it just happens.” She sighed. “I hate it, you know. How I've been away from my father all these years, and still I can't escape all he's done to me. Can't stop my head from— from thinking the worst of people, and what they'll do, even if they've given me no reason to think that way of them at all.” “He was a monster,” Dirk replied, his voice full of venom. “He took pleasure in perverting people’s perceptions and playing with their heads. Remember what he said to Cydney? About how you wouldn’t want her anymore after Dante was born?” Safira winced at the memory— that her father had gotten custody of Cydney near the end of the war, and tormented the little girl for over six long months still made her stomach churn even five years later. “I didn't even know how a regular family operated until I was married to Sutter,” Safira said, speaking of her first husband and Cydney’s biological father— and the former high lord of Ruom before he’d gotten himself and most of his extended family annihilated during the war. “And even he could be… capricious.” Dirk tilted his head. “I didn’t know my cousin very well,” he admitted- his mother was Sutter’s paternal aunt, making the former Ruomian lord his cousin. “But I’m sorry he was… less than ideal as a husband. You did say he was sweet to Cyd, though, at least?” She nodded “He loved her, without a doubt. But she was so little when he died… and since none of his brothers had any children around the castle, either…I suppose I still didn't really see it much— what a normal father’s like with his kids. That I didn't witness until I came to Urvane. With your family.” Dirk chuckled softly. “Even if Amicus makes Father want to tear his hair sometimes, I know he loves the little brat. And the rest of us too- I couldn’t have asked for a better papa growing up.” “It was strange for me,” Safira replied. “When your family first took me in. Watching your father— and your uncle Kyland— interacting with their kids, and… the kids not going pale as ash. Like they were just waiting for something to go wrong.” She swallowed hard, blue eyes flickering with wistful regret. “That's how it always was with my father, you know— it's not that there weren't ever good times, it's just… they came with conditions. With knowing that sooner or later one of us would do something to set him off. It made it impossible to ever truly enjoy spending time with him.” Dirk looked up at the stars pensively, his grey eyes distant. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like. I…” a thought seemed to occur to him, and he smiled suddenly. “Hm. The Peregrines leave in four days, right?” She nodded. “Right. They do.” Although, she thought but didn't say, I've no idea what that has to do with this conversation. “I think,” he said with a smile and a wink. “That once they’re gone, I can do something about making things up to you more properly. It’s one thing to say I’m sorry, but another to show it, no?” “Show it?” Safira asked. “What… what do you mean by that, Dirk?” “If I just told you, that would take the fun out of it,” he replied, his expression impish. He stood, holding out a hand to his wife. “C’mon, the boys will want their bedtime ritual.” “You know I don’t like surprises,” Safira said, but she accepted his hand nevertheless, a small smile ticking at her lips as his warm palm met hers. “Perhaps in the boys’ story tonight I shall have to include an auburn-haired lord who likes keeping his wife in suspense.” He grinned. “Make sure the lord is also a brave soldier, with dashing good looks. And don’t let him ever turn around so the left side of his face is visible to the people looking at him.” “Of course,” Safira agreed. “Worry not— it’ll be the best story ever told.” “Alack but for the fact the boys will nod off a quarter of the way in,” Dirk joked back. *** The Peregrines’ visit passed relatively quickly, with much of Dirk’s time eaten up with a variety of meetings with Lord Peregrine, and Safira kept busy by overseeing the preparations for the banquets that were held each night in honour of the visiting noble House. By the time the northerners departed back to Emryn, both the enki and his wife were more than ready for a breather and some downtime. Lucius, however, seemed to disagree, the infant fussy as all hells the afternoon after the Peregrines’ departure, refusing to settle no matter how much Safira tried to soothe him. He refused to suckle, he didn’t need to be changed, he responded to no amount of rocking or singing or shushing; the woman was about to throw her hands up in frustration and pass him off to one of the nurses to tend by the time he finally dozed off against her chest, and she barely dared breathe thereafter as she set him into his cradle. Fortunately, Lucius didn’t rouse, and silence had never felt so sweet as Safira turned and carefully padded out the bedchamber and into the sitting room that adjoined it. Quietly shutting the door behind her, she let out a soft sigh of relief as she settled upon one of the overstuffed couches, the headache that was throbbing deep in her temple already beginning to abate. Only a few moments had passed, however, before the stillness was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing outside in the hall. The door handle twisted. The hinges creaked open. “Mama!” chirped a slight-statured blonde-haired girl as she trounced through the doorway, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “Hi, Cydney,” Safira replied, any irritation she’d felt at the interruption to her solitude melting away as the beaming nine-year-old scampered to sit beside her. She slung an arm around her daughter’s shoulder and drew her close, before glancing back toward the doorway as a second person shuffled through it. “And hello, Dirk,” she added to her husband. “Hope you’ve been managing to relax some today?” “Not really, I’ve been… making arrangements,” he replied vaguely, though he was grinning near as much as his step-daughter. “I just pulled Cyd out of her arithmetic lessons, and she was very upset about it, weren’t you love?” “Nuh-uh.” Cydney giggled. “Amicus was, though! ‘Cos now he’s gotta finish the lesson alone.” “Oh, the horrors,” Safira said gravely. “Poor boy, do we think he’ll survive?” “He might never recover,” Dirk said mournfully. “But we’ll have to put aside our pity for him for the time being, becaaaause Cydney and Papa and Mama are going on a little trip into the city, just the three of us.” “A trip?” Safira asked, quirking a brow. “What kind of trip?” Cydney’s grin grew even more dazzling. “To the market!” she breathed. “Papa’s gonna let me look around at all the pretty stalls and booths. And--” She was practically vibrating with excitement. “He said we could stop at the tailor on the way home. Guess what Mama?” “What?” “He’s gonna let me get a gown made!” the little girl exclaimed. “One that I get to design all myself! The colour, the pattern— all of it!” She looked toward Dirk, her entire expression written with unadulterated glee. “Right, Papa?” “That’s right, Cyddie,” Dirk agreed, giving the young girl an affectionate smile. “And once it’s done, you can show it off to your Aunt Melisande and Grandma Zaria and everybody next time we go to the palace for a feast. Your pretty dress you designed all by yourself.” “I’m gonna make it real pretty,” Cydney said. She leaned her head against Safira’s shoulder. “You’ll help me, Mama? Making sure it’s pretty?” “Of course,” Safira agreed. She ruffled the little girl’s curly blonde hair. “Though between you and me, hon, you’ve probably got a much better eye for dress designing than I do. I can barely match two shoes together, you know.” Dirk chuckled, still beaming down at his step-daughter. He jerked his head towards the bedroom door. “Why don’t you go to your room and have your nurse help you get ready to go out? Meet us back in here in say- fifteen minutes.” “Okay!” Cydney sprang to her feet, flouncing back toward the door. At the threshold, she paused briefly, blue eyes glimmering as she took a moment to wrap her arms around Dirk’s waist. “Thank you, Papa,” she said. “I’m real excited.” He hugged her back with one arm, using the other to gently tweak the little girl’s nose. “I’m glad, baby. We’re going to have so much fun today, I already know it.” As Cydney scampered off, Dirk turned towards Safira with an apologetic smile. “I hope I didn’t rain on any plans you had for an afternoon spent being lazy. I just wanted things to be a surprise.” “No, it’s quite all right,” Safira said. She tilted her head, studying her husband’s face. “Do you mind if I ask why, though? Not that you need an excuse to spoil Cydney— I’m always happy to see her happy— I just…” The woman shrugged. “It seems random, I suppose. Unless there’s some holiday I’m forgetting about?” He shrugged in reply. “I thought about what you said, is all. That you didn’t have any untainted memories of your father, and that you didn’t ever truly enjoy spending time with him because you were always waiting for something to happen that would make him snap. I… I want to make sure that isn’t the case for our kids. That they have happy memories of time spent with their papa. One on one quality time, spoiling them rotten for no other reason than to make them feel loved and special.” “... Oh.” Safira blinked, seemingly stunned, her voice very shaky as she went, “That’s… that’s…” The woman shook her head, grappling for the right words. “... Nice,” she finished finally. “Gods, that’s nice, Dirk. S-so nice. You— didn’t have to, I mean, you’re so busy and I understand that, you don’t need to go out of your way just to— to sate me, you really don’t—” “What, you think I don’t want to spend time with my daughter and wife?” he asked with a crooked grin. “Believe you me, I welcome an excuse to duck out of my office for a few hours, and all the preparation was totally worth it to see Cydney’s face light up like a young star when I explained to her why I’d taken her out of lessons.” He shook his head, his expression sobering. “I can’t undo what your father did to you, Saf. But I can try my hardest to stop the cycle. To do right by the next generation.” “Right.” Tears pressed at Safira’s eyes, but she stubbornly wiped them away. “Thank you, Dirk. It… m-means a lot. Not just— just being nice to Cydney, but… listening to me. Remembering what I say.” She swallowed hard. “You are doing right— by me and our kids.” He walked over to her side, taking her hand in his. “I’m glad, Safira. And don’t think I mean this to be a one-off, either. I want to start doing things like this a lot more often; setting aside time once or twice a week to spoil the kids. Not just Cyd, but Dante too. And when they’re older, Damien and Lucius. Any other kids we might have down the line. I want to give all of them special, one-on-one time with Papa. Something for them to look forward to and get excited about.” Safira gulped, squeezing his hand. “Good memories,” she murmured, unable to fully fight back the tears now no matter how much she tried. “You… you’ll make good memories with them. Without strings attached. N-no conditions.” “Mm-hm,” He agreed, squeezing her hand back. “No matter how exasperated I might get with them when they’re naughty, they’ll always know that Papa loves them. That he wants to spend time with them. That they’re special every day of the year, not just on their birthday or on holidays.” He smirked. “Though Amicus might badger me to let him in on the fun. He’s more like a nephew than a brother and gods know he’ll get jealous if Cydney keeps getting something he doesn’t.” Safira gave a watery laugh. “Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to give them reason to squabble,” she said. “Since we’re the ones who’ll have to put up with listening to them.” Sobering a little, she met her husband’s gaze. “Really, though,” she murmured. “Thank you, Dirk. This means a lot to me. A whole lot.” “We may not always see completely eye to eye, but I’m on your side where it counts, Saf,” he replied. “If you have concerns, I’ll listen to them. I’ll do my best to address the problem. It’s not just the kids I want to be happy here, you know.” She nodded. “I know. Thank you, Dirk.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I know I might not always be the best at… at saying it— showing it— but… I’m glad you’re my husband, okay? You’re a good man. And safe. With you, I… I feel safe. In a way I never did before I came to live with your family.” Dirk gave his wife a warm, gentle smile. “I’m relieved you feel that way. And I understand why sometimes you might feel scared more by a situation than by me as a person. We’ll work through this. It won’t be easy, and it isn’t going to happen overnight, but we’ll work through this. I promise.” “I do have hope,” she said to him. “That… maybe some day I— I won’t still have those moments. That I’ll be able to get away from him. W-what he did to me.” She matched her husband’s smile with a wavering one of her own. “And I’m glad you’ll be here, Dirk. To work through it with me. To help.” He nodded firmly, gently pulling on the hand he was holding to lever her out of the sofa. “For now, though, we have a very excited nine year old who is going to burst in here any minute ready to vibrate out of her skin. Let’s make sure we’re prepared when she shows up, hm?” “Wouldn’t want to disappoint her,” Safira agreed, standing. “The dressmaker awaits.”
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Post by Shinko on Sept 27, 2016 16:10:35 GMT -5
Hey guys! This is another collab between myself and Avery , one that we've been working on for quite some time! There's actually a separate fic that serves as a prologue to this that we'll hopefully be posting up later, but for now you can enjoy our little darling that has been in the works since... December, I wanna say. =D Yup, buckle your seatbelts my friends, this is a long one. Family Values - Part OneA group of about ten men in rebel uniforms stopped at the gates to the small, rebel-held city of Medius, the one among them whose sleeve was stitched with officer’s insignias giving a few code-signs to confirm their identity before they were allowed inside. The group was rather a mess. Several of their number were bloodied and limping, including the leader.
Raoul Vernac stood out from his squadmates in more ways than just the insignias of rank sewn into his uniform. For one thing, he carried himself far straighter, his back lacking something of the habitual stoop a lot of the rebel soldiers carried. His blonde hair fell over clear baby blue eyes that flashed with intelligence and cool confidence that could not have come about from a life spent in slavery. And indeed, the other major difference between him and his men- an arm unblemished by any brands- made it clear he had endured no such life.
In point of fact, Raoul had been born a nobleman, and raised in luxury for most of his life. So it was perhaps unsurprising that from the time he’d joined the rebel cause seven months prior to now, he had been kept on a very tight leash. The young nobleman had been assigned to the far north in firmly rebel held territory, and under the thumb of the officers Gerard and Muriel Alaric (that time being a story in and of itself). It hadn’t been easy, but Raoul had slowly but surely proven himself loyal to the rebel cause despite his upbringing. Now, finally, he had been permitted to end his probationary period with the rebels, and take an assignment out of the Alaric officer’s watchful eye.
His first outing was not going entirely smoothly though. Despite his own not-insignificant injury- evidenced by a trouser leg stained rust-red with dried blood and a pronounced limp- Raoul had vacated his horse, the only one their squad who had, to allow a woman who was clearly unconscious to ride the animal instead.
“Sergeant Major Vernac?” the guard at the gate asked, even as men rushed forwards to take the wounded rebels in arms. “That’s you, isn’t it? The one that Captain Lynn’s letter told us about.”
“Aye,” he replied warily. “Sorry for the delay. I know I was supposed to be here days ago, but well-” he gestured at his battered squad. “Troops from House Kyros ambushed us on the road. We managed to fend them off, but not without significant injury.” Straightening as best he could despite his wound, he went on, “All the same, I am not about to let a measly scratch stop me from doing what I came here to do. See to my squad, but I-”
“I don’t think you’re in much of a condition for ‘but’,” a voice said dryly, as a man whose badges marked him as a captain strode forward. Dark blue eyes sweeping amongst the bedraggled members of the unit, he added, “Get to the old enki’s manor, soldier— we have an infirmary set up there. You can’t miss it— the big stone house straight up the road.” A beat, before he ordered, “All of you to the infirmary, actually— even if you’re not visibly injured, that doesn’t mean there aren’t nicks beneath the surface.”
The rest of the squadron quickly obliged, but the sergeant major bit his lip, a frustrated, smothered longing flashing in his pale blue eyes. “Captain… With all due respect, I’m sure my leg will be fine. I believe Captain Lynn told you why I wanted to come here? I just want to see-”
The captain waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, I was told why you wanted to be transferred to this base. But that does nothing to change the fact that you are a bleeding mess right now.” He raised a brow. “Vernac. That’s a noble’s name, isn’t it, soldier?” The officer jerked his chin toward his own uncovered bicep, where a faded slave brand winked in the sun. “You recognise it?”
Raoul’s eyes flicked towards the brand in question, and he nodded, lips slightly pursed. “House Caillat, sir. Along the southwest of Seguier. Just north of Lord Owain’s territory. And yes, my family has territory in the north of the same province- I defected for the rebel army seven months ago.”
“Men of noble blood already aren’t the most popular around here, sometimes,” the captain said thickly. “Don’t get off on an even worse note by disobeying orders, Sergeant Major Vernac.” He gestured sharply down the path that the rest of the unit had disappeared down. “The infirmary with you. Now.”
The former nobleman closed his eyes, an expression of tired, sad acceptance on his face. “Aye, sir. I’ll go.”
Raoul man turned on his heel, following the rest of his squad towards the deposed enki’s imposing stone manor (which was, indeed, impossible to miss, standing out from the rest of the town’s quaint buildings like a mountain over an anthill). The sergeant major was long used to people being mistrusting at best and hostile more often than not when they realized his origins. But that didn’t make the oppressive loneliness and isolation any less disheartening.
He was eventually reached the manor, and was swiftly shown to the banquet hall that had been transformed into a bustling infirmary; his injury was, after a brief examination, diagnosed as a badly lacerated calf. With the camp’s only magician healer occupied by the more badly injured, the sergeant major’s wound was merely cleaned and then stitched, a healthy swig of whisky first given to him to hopefully dull the pain. It didn’t— each prick of the needle and thread still stung like the hells— but afterward, he was at least cleared for discharge (albeit under strict orders to rest up for the next few days, and return to the infirmary on the morrow to ensure no signs of infection had begun to appear).
If the medical personnel had meant for Sergeant Major Vernac to swiftly retire to his bedroll, however, they were badly mistaken: instead he limped out into the town again, his eyes skimming the crowd of mixed soldiers and civilians for anybody who might be able to point him in the right direction. No luck- most of the people he saw were either hurrying along, clearly with a destination in mind that he didn’t want to drag them from, or were casting patently suspicious glowers at him.
Been here scarcely two hours and already my reputation precedes me, he thought resignedly. Holding up a hand to look up at the sky, he saw that the sun was approaching its zenith- just about noon. An idea blossomed in his head, and he turned quickly to one of the passing soldiers to ask where they had set up their mess hall. After getting directions, he limped towards it as quickly as he could without straining his stitches, arriving at a building that looked to have once been a guardhouse for the city watch, but had been repurposed for the rebel soldiers to take their meals. Sergeant Major Vernac’s stomach grumbled audibly at the smell of the food, but he ignored it. There was an entirely different hunger in his eyes as he skimmed the faces within the building.
The room was mostly full, with only a few stray seats available here and there, and the air was alive with the sounds of casual chatter. Scarcely anyone turned to look at the newcomer, but then, the sergeant major didn’t need their looks for his eyes to settle on a young woman— perhaps his own age— who sat at a table in the dead center of the space, facing the door, a dazzling smile between her lips as she seemingly joked with the dark-haired man who sat beside her. She was taller than her tablemates— taller than almost everyone in the room, really— and her dark blonde hair was cut short, in a bob that ended before her chin. It was so far from the typical Courdonian female hairstyle that at first glance, one might have mistaken her for a man.
But the sergeant major didn’t; he knew exactly what she was. Who she was.
And yet, in that moment, he found himself hesitating. This is what he’d come to this base for, what he’d wanted more than anything, but here at the precipice he was caught by an icy claw of fear. Once he made this leap, there would be no going back. And he didn’t know what he would find at the bottom of that leap.
You’ve come this far, coward, he thought at himself acidically. Don’t back out now!
Steeling himself, he slowly approached the young woman’s table. Most of the people at the tables he passed ignored him. He wasn’t anything remarkable to look at- short at only five feet and three inches tall, with the bronze skin and dirty-blonde hair that was so common as to be rote in Courdon, no one ever would have picked him out of a crowd as remarkable. But when he paused by the young woman’s table, he softly cleared his throat to catch her attention.
“Ah, pardon me?”
Her eyes— blue-green, like marbles— whipped up toward him, her face frozen in a smile from the conversation he’d interrupted. “Yes?” she said, pleasantly. Giving the thrumming hall around them a cursory scan, she guessed, “You need somewhere to sit? Tanner and I can make room, if you want.” She elbowed the man next to her, smirking. “Scoot, all right?”
“Ah, thank you,” the sergeant major said, his heart thumping wildly. “But I ah, I don’t want to interrupt your meal. I was wondering if I might have a word with you later? Miss, ah…”
“Tate,” she said. As Tanner shifted further down the weathered bench seat, she moved, too, leaving a small space for the sergeant major to take over. “Sergeant Major Keavy Tate.” She assessed the badges that covered the breast of his tunic, adding brightly, “Ah, seems I have a comrade! Poor Tanner, if you’re not careful you’re going to have competition now.” Keavy laughed. “You new here, Sergeant Major? Because I thought I knew everyone in Medius of rank with me. Granted, that’s only been me and Tanner here since Sergeant Major Glass got reassigned last month, but… point stands. I think.”
She hadn’t really addressed his request to talk later, but the young man wasn’t about to refuse her a second time when she was being so friendly. He eased into the vacated spot, replying, “Ah, yes I just arrived with my squad earlier. We’d been running patrols in the Northlands, trying to settle pockets of dissent, but things have quieted a lot up there so some of the units are being sent south to the areas still being contested.” He swallowed hard, inclining his head. “I’m Raoul- Sergeant Major Raoul V-Vernac.”
He stumbled over his surname; not everyone knew every single noble house in the kingdom, of course, but there were those like the captain earlier who did. He always instinctively seized up, knowing that if the person he was talking to recognized the name that he was in for a lot of scorn.
Tanner gave no reaction to the name save a crooked smile and a polite, “Well met, Sergeant-Major Vernac.”
Keavy, however, stiffened slightly, as though the name had rung a bell somewhere deep within her mind. “Vernac,” she echoed, almost gingerly. Turning toward Raoul, and her eyes hooking with his, she tilted her chin in deliberation. “Forgive me,” she said, “but… gods, you seem so familiar. Have we met?”
“No,” he said softly. “At least… not that either of us remembers.” He bit his lip. “But I can guess why I seem familiar to you- the same reason you do to me. It’s like looking in a mirror, right? We have the same nose, the same eyebrows, the same hair…”
The girl bristled further, clenching her jaw as she deliberately tucked her hair behind her ears— revealing them to have telltale pointed tips, not like a human’s at all. “You know what I am, yes?” she asked, a sudden menacing edge to her tone.
He nodded slowly. “I do. Half-elf, right?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. There was a fire blazing in her eyes now, hot as the sun. “But you’re not, are you?”
“No,” Raoul agreed. “I’m not.”
“My father was the elf,” Keavy said acidly, touching the brands at her collarbone. They were just barely visible above the neckline of her plain tunic. “Mother wasn’t. She was… she was…” Letting out a sharp hiss of air, she jabbed a finger toward the door. “You are a mirror. But the wrong mirror. Get out. Now!”
Raoul flinched. “W-wait, please, I didn’t mean to upset you. I… I just wanted to talk. Sergeant-Major Tate, I’ve been trying to find you for months, after my uncle told me about you at our mother’s funeral. We’re twins.”
“No,” Keavy growled. “You are a nobleman. Vernac— House Vernac, that’s why the name sounded familiar to me, isn’t it? Because… because…” She let out a strangled laugh, as though she couldn’t quite believe what was happening. “Look at my collarbone, lordling. I’m no kin of a nobleman. Not in the way that it counts. That it’s ever bloody counted. And for you to swagger in here as if I should want to see my noble mother’s legitimate child— the child who wasn’t quietly sold off into slavery the moment she was born with pointed ears—”
“Please!” Raoul interjected, his voice pitching frantically. “I know that none of what Mother did to you was right. I don’t presume to think you’d trust me right away. But I just wanted to meet you, to make sure that you were alright and happy and-”
“Lordling,” Tanner growled, slowing standing up to tower over Raoul, “I suggest you push off. Now. Before Keavy and I help you along.”
“You have no right to wear that rebel’s badge,” Keavy added murderously. “Maybe you’re right— maybe we were born of the same womb. But that noble wretch who gave birth to me and then handed me off to be enslaved isn’t my mother. And you’re not my brother. We have nothing to talk about, Sergeant Major.”
“But-”
Tanner walked around Keavy, abruptly hauling Raoul up by his shirt collar and sending him sprawling on the floor, causing a hush to fall over their area of the mess hall. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go, brat,” he snarled. “Last warning.”
Despair gnawing at his stomach and tears pricking at his eyes, Raoul finally obeyed. Clenching his eyes against the burning in them, he stumbled to his feet, hissing in pain as warm wetness trickled down his leg- the stitches must have ripped when he fell. But the pain in his leg was nothing to the pain in his heart. After seven months of searching, and nearly getting himself and his squad killed, he had been rejected before he could even explain himself.
He warned you. Gerard warned you this would happen. You should have listened. Family Values - Part TwoTwo weeks passed, and though it made him want to tear his hair with frustration to be so close and yet so far away from the twin sister he’d been searching for all this time, Raoul honored Keavy’s wish to be left alone. He and his men were still officially convalescing after their injuries, but once they’d recovered they would no doubt be assigned to field duty once more, probably patrolling around the city to keep the crown troops from retaking it. In a way that would be a relief; at least having something to do would be a distraction.
In spite of the pain in his leg when he walked, Raoul still made a point to explore the city that was now to be his home for an indefinite amount of time. He tried to go a different path each day, to see more of the place and learn it’s ins and outs. Where the inns and taverns were, the best place for fresh fish, how far it was to this-or-that place so he’d know how much time he would need to set aside to visit once he was back on the duty roster…
One warm day in mid-September saw him wandering what seemed to be a market square of sorts. There were dozens of people crowded all about, talking to merchants and examining their wares. However, his ear was drawn to a high, distressed voice from nearby, and he turned to see a girl of perhaps nine or ten standing in front of a baker’s stall.
“P-please sir, I didn’ steal the money!” she warbled, shaking like a leaf. “Mama got it scrubbing floors at the blacksmith’s. P-promise! We need the day-old bread, we h-haven’t had nothin’ to eat ‘cept scraps in three days.”
“Git,” the merchant snapped in reply, gesturing sharply. “Slave like you with more than a coin or two? However you got it, I’m not taking part.” He clenched his jaw. “Probably stole it just like you stole yourself from your poor master. I still haven’t recouped my costs from when my own few scampered off, you know. It isn’t right.”
Raoul frowned. This was hardly the first time he’d seen merchants refusing to give service to the liberated slaves, but it still made him want to scream with frustration. Nobody could really force them to sell their wares if they didn’t want to, but it felt like an undermining of the entire rebellion effort when the newly freed slaves worked hard for coin that they were then forbidden from actually using to buy anything.
“Th-the rebels said I don’t got a master anymore,” she objected. “Nobody does. I’m not a thief! I’m j-just hungry sir-”
“Scram before I confiscate that money you’ve stolen, wretch,” the merchant growled. Raising a hand, he added menacingly, “And remind you of your place, while I’m at it.”
The girl flinched back, “I-I-I didn’t steal, p-p-please sir, please-”
The child couldn’t finish her plea, however, before the merchant’s hand went flying, his palm connecting solidly with her cheek. The girl stumbled, falling back on her rear with a sharp cry, the coins flying out of her hand. She instinctively curled into a ball and covering her head. Raoul's jaw clenched, and he strode towards the stall as the merchant crouched down to palm the fallen money, the copper pieces glinting in the sun as he turned them over in his hand.
“Wonder who’s missing these,” he sneered, leveling the girl another glower. “You get out of here before I report you for theft now, little whelp.”
“I was about to say similar to you, sir” Raoul said cooly, coming upon the merchant and catching the wrist of the hand holding her coins firmly. “Smacking a girlchild? Stealing from her? Have you no godliness at all?”
The merchant stiffened, dark eyes snapping toward the rebel. “Ah,” he drawled, voice thick as molasses as he studied Raoul’s tunic. “Of course you’d be sympathetic, sir. One of your kind, hm?”
“My kind?” the rebel officer replied, his voice high and almost amused sounding. “There’s no ‘kind’ here. Just people, citizens, all of us.” He flexed his left arm, openly displaying his unbranded bicep. “And hitting a child for no other crime than trying to buy bread is hardly how citizens should behave.”
The merchant’s lip curled. “She’s a slave,” he huffed. “Strutting about with a fistful of coppers as if she’s any right to hold them. I don’t care if the bloody rebels have taken over this once gods-fearing city— it’s wrong. And you should be ashamed of joining them instead of fighting for the king.”
“You’re speaking,” Raoul drawled, “but all I hear is the bitter whining of a petty coward. You turn down honest coin that many merchants in this city would kill for just because of the palm that holds it, then try to snatch it from the ground like a common thief? Give the girl back her money. She and I will find a baker who will give her the bread.”
The baker hesitated for a moment, as if he intended to keep a hold of the coins. Then, he seemed to read the look of vitriol on Raoul’s face and thought better of it— though his entire body was nearly quivering with rage as he forcefully handed the money back over.
“Fine,” he spat. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when this kingdom falls to ashes because of people like her. And you.”
There were a dozen or so retorts Raoul could have made, but he only compressed his lips and turned to the child. “Hey, hon, I’ve got your-”
Before he had time to finish his sentence, the child- who had sat up during the exchange between him and the baker, watching with awe- flung her arms around his legs.
“Th-thank you sir, th-thank you,” she blubbered, quivering. “Mama woulda been so mad if I l-lost the m-m-money!”
Raoul felt a pang of sympathy for the child, kneeling down to give her a hug. “Hey, shhh, it’s okay. I know, that was scary, huh? But we’ve got your money, and I know a place with a much nicer baker that we can get your bread. How does that sound?”
The child sniffled and nodded. “O-okay. Thank you, Mister…”
“Raoul,” he replied. “You can just call me Raoul, honey.”
He stood, offering the girl his hand, and she slipped her small palm over his fingers, taking her coins back and pocketing them with her other hand. Raoul turned away from the still seething baker, leading the girl back into the crowd. If he remembered right, there was a bakery run by a fairly low-key, gentle older gentleman four blocks down…
However, before he and the child had made it more than a few dozen steps down the road, a voice called out from behind him: “Sergeant Major Vernac! Wait up?”
Raoul’s shoulders stiffened, and he whipped his head around. Th-that voice, it couldn’t be…
But it was. He recognized the nearly supernaturally tall, short-haired blonde woman immediately. Swallowing hard, he stammered, “S-Sergeant Major Tate. Did you need me for something?”
“No,” she said, her voice much, much softer than it had been the last time they’d spoken. Falling into step beside him, she tilted her head, marbled eyes flitting between Raoul and the girl. “I saw you,” she murmured. “With that… lovely gem of humanity.”
He gave a wan smile, gently rubbing a thumb across the girlchild’s hand as they walked. “The merchants seem to enjoy lording their right to refuse service to whoever with impunity over our heads. But he crossed a line, so I couldn’t just stand by.”
“H-he stoppeded the mean man from takin’ my coppers away,” the girl put in, walking close to Raoul’s side. “He was brave.”
“He was,” Keavy agreed, swallowing hard. “You… didn’t know anyone was watching, either, did you? You just… did it. Without prompting.”
He shrugged. “I mean, the square was crowded so an altercation was probably going to get stares, but… no I wasn’t putting on a show for anybody. It was just instinct. I wasn’t going to let him slap a girlchild and steal her money just because she’s a former slave and think no one would intervene. I can’t force him to sell her his bread, but I can stop him from abusing her and undermining everything we’re fighting for.”
“You could have pulled rank on him,” Keavy pointed out, biting her lip. “Your noble rank. But… you didn’t.” She looked away from her fellow sergeant major, the conflict and confusion that were roiling through her patently evident. “Do you… really believe it?” she murmured. “What we’re fighting for. Even though… even though you’ve had slaves. Even though your family…”
Raoul shook his head, “Let’s get the girl some bread and send her home. Then… then we can talk. Alright?”
“Okay,” Keavy agreed. She wanted her answers now, but she knew Raoul was right— this was no conversation to hold in front of a child, particularly one that neither of them knew.
Raoul indeed got the child her bread- insisting on buying her some good, fresh stuff and telling her to save her money for later, and remember the nice baker for next time- then helped her get back to where her mother was waiting. The woman thanked Raoul profusely for his help, to his evident embarrassment but pleasure. Once the two sergeant majors had left the small family behind, Raoul turned back to his half-sister.
“You’re right- I was raised to the system of slavery,” Raoul said softly, his gaze turned inward. “Normalized to it. For most of my life, I didn’t think much of it. But since I was small, I’d been told I was born with a twin who died at birth. And I always, always felt like… like I was missing something. Like there was a part of me that should have been there and just wasn’t. I wondered, if my twin had lived, would we have been friends? Shared secrets that we told no one else, understood one another better than anybody could understand us? And I missed that.”
He looked towards the half-elf, his sky blue eyes sad. “Then, when I was thirteen my mother… caught some sort of illness that made her terribly weak and thirsty. Her legs swelled up, and she deteriorated slowly over the course of a year until finally she died. At her funeral, I found out from my uncle- her brother- that my twin hadn’t died. That mother had been… with our family’s elf slave, and my twin had been born a half-elf. Quietly sold off hours after she was born, with no one the wiser, not even my father. It… shook me. The sibling I’d always wished I could meet, that I’d felt I was supposed to meet, fantasized about, she was a half-elf? A slave? It didn’t seem right to me. I tried to find you then, but the person my uncle sold you to had already resold you, and I didn’t have the resources on my own to track you down. Nobody was willing to help me either- my family all said that you were just a slave, not worth my time.”
He shook his head. “But I started thinking- if it wasn’t right for my twin to be a slave, how could it be right for anybody to be? I started seeing the slaves as… as people. With brothers, sisters, parents, children. And I slowly realized that it… it wasn’t right.”
“So you just… left?” Keavy asked, crossing her arms uncomfortably at her chest. “They just— let you leave?” The girl’s eyes were situated on the dirt road beneath, her cheeks sucked in, her brow creased. “The rebels could have killed you. Because of who you were. Didn’t that scare you?”
“At first, I was… cocky,” Raoul admitted. “I didn’t really consider the possibility that I might be killed offhand. I’ve come to realize over the past seven months that I led a very sheltered life.” He shrugged. “I came to understand the threat better when I was on probation and former slaves started pelting me with stones in the streets. It did scare me, but well… I made my choice. My family didn’t let me leave, I ran away. I couldn’t go back, and I didn’t really want to. So I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be a very unpopular person with pretty much everybody, and…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “And held out hope that one day, the rebels might… might help me find you.”
“And they did,” Keavy said, daring to flick her gaze back toward him. “They told you where I was.” She gulped again. “I… can’t imagine it was too hard for them to find me. Not all that many teenage half-elves in this army.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, rubbing her temple. “Why d-do you care so much?” the girl asked. “About me. Maybe we were born of the same womb, but… you don’t know me, Sergeant Major Vernac. Or my life. You’ve spent seventeen years in silks. I’ve spent seventeen years in chains. We’re… different. You and me.”
“No, I don’t know you,” Raoul agreed. “But I want to. You’re my kin- my sister. It could just as easily have been me born with an elf’s pointed ears and shimmering eyes. I can’t help the circumstances of our births, Sergeant Major Tate. But I can help what I chose to do with the life the gods have given me.”
“That’s how it’s always been, though,” Keavy pointed out dourly. “Nobles ignoring half-siblings who have slave blood. Pretending as if we’re no more kin of theirs than… than a pet dog. Only I think most dogs are treated better than I’ve been.” She exhaled softly, silence falling for a few moments before she continued, “You have to understand why this is… strange for me. Up until I escaped to join up with the rebels last year, I was… nothing. Worse than nothing. A pretty showpiece when my master was feeling generous. His punching bag when he wasn’t. Do you know what he called me most of the time? Not by a name— not any name at all. Just kreatura.” Creature. “That’s what I grew up hearing. What I grew up being told I was. So to have a noble boy suddenly wanting to claim kinship? I… I don’t even know what to think.”
Raoul bit his lip. “I’m… not going to force myself on you. I want to get to know you. To try and… and give you what you should have had all along, and what our mother denied you in trying to keep her disloyalty a secret. But if you’d rather I left you alone, I’ll respect that. I understand if you hate me as much as you must hate all enkis. It’s… it’s only what we deserve.”
“You surprised me,” Keavy said. “In the mess hall. It was like… like someone had just dumped a pot of boiling water over my head. The last thing I’d ever expected. And since then, I... “ She shook her head, jaw clenched. “I’ve wanted to hate you. Gods know I’ve been trying to avoid any place you might be. Because you’re… you’re everything I’ve never had. That I’ve never been. All because you were born fully human and I wasn’t. But…” Slowly, she stopped in her tracks, turning to face Raoul directly. Their eyes met, dark pupils hooking, and her voice was little more than a whisper as she said, “You d-don’t seem like a bad person. I almost wish you did— that you were every bit the spoiled noble boy you should be— since then I’d feel perfectly all right avoiding you and pretending you don’t exist. But… you’re not. And when I saw you with that little girl today… stepping in for her even though you had no obligation…”
Raoul gave a sad tired laugh, his eyes shimmering as he looked away. “Nobody else in the army really minds hating me for no reason besides my birth status. You have no more obligation than they do to humor me just because I do what any decent person should.”
“Vernac,” Keavy said. “Raoul Vernac. You’ve left that life, but you haven’t left the name.” She cocked her head, studying her brother’s face that was so very much like her own. “When slaves shed their chains and join the rebels, we’re allowed to… to take new names. Give ourselves surnames since gods know our masters never did. Change our first names, too, if we were given something…” Her voice trailed for a moment, before she finished softly, “Well, if we didn’t like what we had. It’s to symbolize our new lives. To separate ourselves from the pasts we’re leaving behind.”
He pondered this, then slowly nodded. “I never shed my noble surname because I didn’t want the rebels to think I was a spy- that I was trying to hide who I was. But I guess at this point that’s kind of moot anyway so… Alright. I’ll need to think of something else, but you make a good point. My family will never take me back even if I wanted to return to them, so I win nothing by keeping their surname.”
Keavy nodded, at once looking surprised, relieved, and anxious— as if she hadn’t expected the boy to agree to such terms. After all, in Courdon— particularly amongst nobility— kinship was everything, a person’s familial affiliations a cardinal part of their being, their identity. To shuck one’s family name like that… to discard it so willingly, without even an argument…
“You can sit with me,” Keavy said. “At supper tonight, if you’d like. Tanner got reassigned a few days ago, so I’ve been… alone, mostly. He was the only friend I’d made here— we got posted around the same time, and I guess I just… never branched out further. And now that he’s gone…” She smiled sadly. “If I get there first, I’ll save you a seat, Sergeant Major?”
Raoul gave Keavy a tentative, but hopeful smile in return. “Sure. I’d like that.”
Family Values - Part ThreeSergeant-Major Raoul (now going by the surname Austin) tugged on the strap of the quiver slung over his back to settle it more comfortably as he listened to the woman standing across from himself and the other rebel soldiers. There were tears pooling out of her eyes, and she was wringing her hands desperately.
“I w-was walking past the smithie with my ration bag, when th-they all just… came pouring out. Half the freeborn townspeople, out of nowhere. S-scared me half to death just seein’ them, and that was before they started in with the hammers and the knives. They said I should give them my rations if I knew what was what, that a slave works for his bread and runaways with food are thieves.”
Standing with her arms crossed beside her brother, Keavy openly scowled. She, Raoul, and a small contingent of other rebels had been sent to this village about a half day’s walk outside of their base in Medius, after reports of growing tensions between the locals and freed slaves had begun to trickle in. Such spats, of course, were not uncommon, but when such terse air began to segue into actual conflicts-- and violence— the rebels could not just sit idly by. After all, they had a duty to keep the peace within the territories they held— and that didn’t mean just fighting back king’s army troops, but also ensuring the citizens who lived in their lands felt safe. Protected. As if they had some semblance of law enforcement at their backs, if need be.
“This wasn’t the first incident, either, was it, madam?” Keavy asked the sobbing woman, gently. “We got reports of several other rows between freed slaves and the townspeople over the past few weeks?” She glanced sidelong at Raoul. “I believe the notes Sergeant Major Austin was given indicate that a gentleman was badly injured last week. A broken leg?”
“Yes,” Raoul confirmed, having read through the notes in question several times throughout their journey to the village until he was certain he’d memorized them. His expression darkened, and he elaborated, “An elderly gentleman who was hit with a broken fencepost. And four days before that a teenage girl who was nearly run down by a plowhorse someone had sent stampeding towards her.”
“I’d like to speak with them before we go arresting belligerent townspeople,” Keavy said, gnawing on her lip as she mulled. “Do you have their names, madam?”
“Th-the man with the broken leg is Nolan Gerson,” she answered, sniffling. “I don’t know who the girl that got chased by the horse is, b-b-but I heard she hid in the chapel after for sanctuary, so the cleric might.”
“We’ll speak to him then,” Raoul replied. “Thank you for your testimony ma’am- this was very brave of you to do, and will be invaluable to us.”
“Temple’s just up there,” Keavy added, nodding toward a plain wooden building a few hundred feet up the roads, its steeple rising above all the other rooflines. “We talk to the girl first, you think?” As sergeant majors, she and Raoul were in charge of the small unit. “Then we can find the man after.”
“I defer to your judgement in this,” Raoul agreed, as the woman who’d spoken to them turned to leave. “This is the first time I’ve been assigned to a civil case. You’ve been doing this for… how long again?”
As the unit began up the narrow dirt road that led to the temple, Keavy shrugged. “Since I joined up, really,” she said. “When I escaped, I honestly wasn’t thinking about being a soldier so much as just… getting out? And it’s not that I can’t fight, but I feel more useful helping people, not slaughtering king’s army troops. Giving out rations… mediating disputes… that has good results. Positive results. A battle with enemy soldiers? That just ends up with a whole lot of dead bodies to haunt your dreams. And I already have enough nightmares.”
Raoul ran a hand along the wood grain of his bow- though it wasn’t presently strung- and nodded slightly. “I’d never shot at anything that wasn’t a stuffed target dummy before I joined up. It…” He swallowed hard. “It’s different.”
“Bugger if you aren’t a fine shot though, Sergeant-Major,” one of Raoul’s men put in. To Keavy he added, “Saved all our bacons when House Kyros ambushed us on the road. Was on a moving horse, across a field, and he still shot the captain of their knights through one of the eyeholes in his helmet.”
Rather than looking impressed, Keavy winced. “Not that I don’t understand it’s necessary,” she said quickly, “but it’s just…” As they neared the temple, the girl shuddered. “Not my forte, I guess.”
Within the temple, they did indeed get the identity of the young woman who’d nearly been run down by the horse. She spoke to them readily enough, seeming more indignant than frightened, giving a detailed account of the incident and the horse in question- who might be used to identify the perpetrator. Nolan Gerson, however, was another kettle of fish altogether. Looking to be in his late fifties at least, the man was heavily wrinkled, with silver hair and several missing teeth. He was mouse-ish, and reluctant to talk about what had no doubt been a harrowing ordeal.
“Th-they’ll come after me again,” he rasped, a hand on his inexpertly wrapped leg and another mopping sweat from his forehead. “For talking. They’ll come to punish me.”
“No, they won’t,” Keavy said gently, taking a step toward him. “We’re going to make sure no one hassles you any more— you or any of the other former slaves.”
“I…” he faltered, looking at Keavy with narrowed eyes. “Have… have we met before, young miss? I swear I know your voice.”
Keavy knit her brow, a cold knot tangling in her gut. “I… I don’t think so?” she said— but then her eyes listed toward his bicep, settling on the brand that marked his flesh, and her heart launched practically into her mouth. It took everything in her to keep her hand from clasping over her own collarbone, where an identical scar lay. “Oh, gods,” she murmured. “You escaped from Lord Calanthia, too?”
His hands clenched into fists, and he squinted at her for a moment before realization seemed to dawn on him. “Your eyes. The way they catch the light. You… you were his half-elf, weren’t you? The one he called kreatura.”
Keavy clenched her jaw, old pain flaring like a beacon in her marbled eyes. “I’ve a name now, thanks,” she said, a bit frostily. “I’d like to keep my past where it belongs— far, far away in northern Teral. That’s the only place where what Lord Calanthia says matters. Here? He’s nothing.”
The old man winced, bowing his head. “I… I understand. I only just got here a little over a week ago myself.” He bit his lip. “Though you… you might be interested to know, just before I left… I caught Bennett making a little light from his hands. His father stopped him but…” the man shrugged limply.
Raoul blinked, clearly confused by the statement, but the words obviously had meaning to Keavy, who went pale as a sheet. “No,” she practically whimpered. “Does… does the enki know…?”
“He didn’t when I fled,” Gerson answered. “His father was trying to hide it. But that was months ago. I can’t say for sure if the secret has stayed one.”
“It can’t,” Keavy said miserably. “Not forever. Which means…” Sharply, she turned away from the man, blinking hard as if she were warding back tears. “Thank you for telling me,” she murmured. “Sorry for being so snappish, I just... you— you cl-clearly know how much they mean to me.”
“Anyone with eyes could’ve told that, lass,” the man said gently. “I’m… I’m sorry. To have to bring you such news.”
Raoul was very concerned about Keavy’s obvious distress, but he knew better than to ask her about it in such a public place. Not when they both still had duties to attend. Keavy seemed to force whatever was bothering her from her mind, and Raoul followed her cue.
Later that evening, after they had summarily dealt with the belligerent villagers and retired to the village hall where the rebels had their makeshift headquarters, however, Raoul went looking for his sister. He eventually found her sitting at one of the tables where they’d taken supper a few hours ago, poring over a map they’d been given of the general area that marked the villages outlying this one. He gently cleared his throat.
“Ah… Sergeant-Major Tate? Keavy?” he said hesitantly.
Her eyes darted up toward him. “Raoul,” she replied. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “I wanted to check on you, actually. You seemed… upset earlier.”
Keavy swallowed hard and looked down at the map again, the conflicted expression that wavered on her face making it seem as though she were considering an avoidant answer. Finally, however, she admitted instead, “A bit upset, yes. Sorry if it was… unprofessional. Or got in the way of the questions we wanted to ask the man.”
Raoul shook his head quickly. “N-no, that’s not- I wasn't annoyed with you I just wanted to check that you were okay.”
“Oh.” Keavy smiled a bit sheepishly. “Sorry, I just… I’m not used to people— caring about my feelings? At least, not in a positive way.” She patted the empty space beside her on the battered wooden bench seat, inviting him to sit. “I’m okay. A little jarred, maybe, but okay. I think.”
Raoul sat beside her, leaning his elbows on the table. “He was talking about friends of yours, wasn't he? From… before you ran.”
“Friends,” Keavy echoed. “I— I guess so. Though, to be honest, they were more than that to me. As close to family as I ever had.” She shook her head. “But they stayed behind. And… the lord who owned me still has them.”
“I see,” Raoul said softly. “I’m sorry, you must miss them a lot.” He fell silent for a moment, then stiffened suddenly. “‘He called light from his hand’- that’s what Gerson said, isn't it? And calling light is…”
“Magic,” Keavy said. “One of the first signs of it.”
Raoul shuddered. “At best, he’d have suppression cuffs fixed to his wrists- at worst…” He hesitated, then put a hand on her wrist. “Keavy, I’m so, so sorry.”
“It was what we’d feared,” she whispered, initially flinching at her brother’s touch— but after a beat, not drawing away from him. “Our worst fear. Bennett’s only— gods, he was three when I left so… he’d be four now. Just four. B-but Lord Calanthia always has liked starting his mages early with their… their…” Her voice cracked, tears pooling in her eyes as she finished, “Their training.”
Raoul blanched. “He’d… He’d condition a four year old? Gods, most adults don't survive that process, no reputable mage would…” He bit his tongue, eyes averted. A noble probably could find a mage shady enough to take the money. And if this was something he did regularly enough for Keavy to cite it as a habit, no doubt he had a contact already.
“Keavy… I’m sure his parents will keep it quiet,” Raoul stammered. “And the rebellion gains more momentum all the time. Bennett will be freed. He will.”
“You don’t understand, Raoul,” Keavy murmured. “Bennett’s father, his name is Tate— th-that’s why I picked the last name I did, to honour him. And… he’s a mage. A good mage. S-so good that Lord Calanthia, he, he…” The tears were flowing freely now, sliding down her bronze cheeks. “It’s a hobby of the enki’s. Sort of like… like someone m-might breed dogs, I guess. Pair up a powerful male slave with a powerful female slave.. and th-then… well…”
“...So he’ll be watching Bennett for signs of magic,” Raoul finished dourly, disgust making bile rise in the back of his throat. He hesitated, then very slowly, ready to pull away in a second, put an arm around his sister’s shoulder.
“I told Tate to come with me,” Keavy said miserably. “But he was afraid h-he’d just get me caught. Because my escaping would h-have infuriated the enki enough already. I-if he’d also lost a fully conditioned mage and that mage’s potentially magical child? He’d have sent all the forces he could after us. He wouldn’t have stopped until we were caught.” She slumped in her seat. “Or at least, that’s what Tate said. W-why he wouldn’t come with.”
“I can imagine,” Raoul murmured. “But… He must care about you a lot. To stay on bondage and keep his son there to protect you.”
“He’s like a father to me,” Keavy replied. “Took me under his wing when I was little— only six or seven, if that. J-just after I was sold to Lord Calanthia. And Bennett…” She reached up to wipe the moisture from her eyes. “He’s like my baby brother. I’ve kn-known him since the day he was born. I would do anything f-for him. To keep him safe.”
Raoul bit his lip, unsure of what to say. There was nothing either of them realistically could do for Tate or Bennett. But he suspected Keavy already knew that, and saying so wasn't going to help anything.
“I’m sorry, Keavy,” he whispered miserably. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Thank you.” She sniffled. “I think up until now I’ve just been… pretending. That Benny wouldn’t be a mage, of course he wouldn’t be. It’s b-been my solace. My happy place. So hearing otherwise…” Her teeth chattered. “I guess it’s just a reminder. Th-that even if I’m okay here… even if I’m trying to leave the past in the past… f-for some people I love, it’s not just their past. It’s their now. Their lives. Their everything.”
“Not for much longer, it isn’t,” Raoul insisted. “The rebels are going to put a stop to this. They’re going to. We… we have to.” Family Values: Part FourRaoul was tucking into breakfast in the mess hall three weeks later, waiting for Keavy to arrive for her own meal. Both of them had finally been granted a day at liberty, something that they hadn’t had at the same time at all since Raoul’s arrival in the city- presumably because they were of the same rank, so one usually covered for the other while each was on leave. But now that they had some time off simultaneously, Raoul intended to make the most of it. Upon spotting his sister approaching from down the row, he lifted a hand in greeting. “Keavy! Good morning. Hope you slept well.” “Eh, no worse than usual,” she replied, plopping down across from him. “At least I’ve nothing difficult to do today. I am not in the mood for playing nice peacekeeper or hefting around bags of rice.” “I don’t blame you,” he sympathized. “It’s been a rough few weeks.” He took a bite of the mealy porridge that was his breakfast before asking, “Did you have any plans for how you wanted to spend your time off?” Keavy shrugged. “Not really. Most of the time, I just… laze around, I guess.” The girl tilted her head. “Why? Have you got plans?” He shrugged. “I had hoped we might be able to spend the day together, since we’re both off. Go do something fun. Get our minds off of things for a while. Get to know each other outside of work.” “Fun?” Keavy raised a brow, as if she’d never heard before of such a concept. “Well— I’m not exactly opposed, but I’m not particularly a wealth of ideas when it comes to leisure activities. But if you had something in mind…” “I guess you wouldn’t have much experience with that,” Raoul admitted. “Hm. We could go for a picnic? Food’s a little tight, obviously, but I could still snag a loaf of bread to split and maybe some boiled nuts. Just get out of the crush of the city, maybe stretch our legs a bit and run around in the tall grass.” “A picnic?” Keavy’s expression was halfway between incredulous and eager. “Gods, the enki used to take his family on picnics sometimes, but… I barely even know what you do on a picnic. It’s like a fantasy concept to me— nice, but… not real. Not for someone like me.” Raoul gave a lopsided smile. “You have just as much right to go on a picnic and enjoy it as the enki. And I’d say if you’ve never been on one, you’re seventeen-going-on-eighteen years overdue. There’s no right or wrong way to do it- you just do whatever is enjoyable for you. Even if you wanted to, I don’t know, play tag or something. I know legally speaking both of us are adults but,” his smile twisted into a mischievous smirk. “We are still teenagers. Teenagers are expected to do silly, childish things just for the fun of it from time to time.” “I’m not quite sure I know how to be silly,” Keavy admitted. “I was never given much of an opportunity to… develop that, I guess.” She swallowed hard, looking away from her brother. “Sorry in advance if I’m not very good at any of it. The whole… fun thing.” “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it,” he soothed. “You should get the opportunity to experience a little honest fun. Tag’s simple enough to start with; the rules are if you touch the other person, they are “it” and have to chase you. If they touch you, the reverse happens. Sounds silly, but that’s the point.” He pointed a spoon at Keavy’s breakfast. “Finish that up, and I’ll see about getting something ready? If you want that is.” She nodded, albeit with a hint of reluctance. “All right. Sounds like a plan, Raoul.” Once the twins had finished their breakfast, Keavy went to change into something less liable to get ruined by being sweated in, and Raoul set about gathering up the things they would need for a picnic out in the fields beyond the city. A basket, of course, and a blanket. A loaf of bread from the baker. Two cones of boiled peanuts from a stand in the square. A canteen of water for him and Keavy each. He wished idly he could get something else- some sausage maybe, or a bit of fruit. But the rebel army didn’t exactly “pay” well, and times were lean anyway. He doubted Keavy would mind, but he still would have liked to surprise her with something nice. He met up with his sister again at the city gate, and they walked a ways down the road, until they were far enough that the city was still in easy view, but that the noise from the crowds had died down significantly. Instead, they were surrounded by the sound of humming cicadas, grass rustling in the breeze, and occasional bursts of birdsong as a flock passed by overhead. “Let’s get off the road now,” Raoul said. “We’ll set down the blanket in a nice open spot, so we don’t have to sit on the grass or the dirt.” “You’re an old expert on this, eh?” she asked, a tentative smile curving between her lips. More softly, she added, “Did you and your other siblings picnic much, growing up?” He frowned slightly as, finding a decent spot on a hill, he began to set out the blanket. “In… a manner of speaking. My only other siblings are brothers; three, all older. They’re all the quintessential Courdonian male; big, strong, excellent fighters, and I’m… Well.” He waved a hand, palm down, over the top of his head to indicate his appreciably short height. “I’m not. I’m a reedy, slight archer, always have been. They generally preferred I just watch their games rather than ‘getting in the way’ as they put it.” “They sound lovely,” Keavy said, her throat bobbing as something seemed to occur to her. “They’re… my brothers, too, aren’t they? In a manner of speaking. It’s strange to think about. That I’ve all these people out there who share my blood, and I don’t even know who they are. Or anything about them.” She bit her lip, settling on the blanket. “Not that they’d consider me kin in return, though. So I suppose it doesn’t really matter much.” “I love them,” Raoul said softly. “But I won’t deny that… they aren’t the best people. Thanks to what Mother did none of them know you exist, but you’re right in that they probably wouldn’t acknowledge you as kin if they did. It’s why I left. I don’t want to be like them. I’m not like them.” He sat down, looking up at the clear blue sky. “I want to do right by my kin. By Courdon. Even if nobody really believes that.” “I believe it,” Keavy replied. “You didn’t have to give up all the things you did— the luxury, the comforts, the familiarity. To make that leap…” She shook her head. “Anyone who did that either has to be genuine or mad. And I’m pretty sure you’re not mad, so…” He shot Keavy a smile. “Thanks. I know I took you off guard, but I’m glad you’ve given me a chance anyway.” His smile widened. “Now since we both just had breakfast two hours ago, I think the basket of food can wait a little. I was going to teach you some games, wasn’t I?” Keavy smirked. “Oh, you were serious about that? All right— but hopefully you’re a patient tutor.” The first game that Raoul showed Keavy was indeed tag- something that she had a distinct advantage over him in given the differences in the lengths of their legs. The half-elf was never “it” for very long before she had returned that position to her brother, at which point he usually ended up sprawled on the dirt in a puffing, laughing mess trying to catch her. He then engaged a game of charades, acting out things with gestures and ridiculous posturing while Keavy tried to guess what he was miming- and inviting her to take it in her turn to do the same. Though reluctant at first, Keavy was quick to warm up, until soon she was just as winded and giggly as her brother. It were as though the pair was making up for years— decades— of lost games and play, all the hijinks they’d missed during their lifelong separation— and afterward, as they plopped back down onto the blanket, Raoul was grinning like an idiot as he chirped, “So, you worked up an appetite yet, Keavy? Because I don’t know about you, but I could really go for some of that bread now.” “Ah, but where are your noble manners?” Keavy teased, her bronze cheeks flushed. “You have to let the lady choose first, Sergeant Major. It’s only polite.” “Mmm, very true,” he conceded, his sky blue eyes sparkling. Giving a theatrical bow at the waist, he intoned, “What is your pleasure, my fine lady? Only speak and it shall be yours.” “Hmm.” Keavy made a show of pondering. “The spiced venison, of course. And black pudding. And a dashing array of fresh fruit sprinkled with honey and sugar.” Raoul snorted. Teasingly he returned, “Such expensive taste! Madame, what do you take me for? A noble?” “You just have that look about you,” Keavy said breezily. “However, if I’m sadly mistaken, I suppose I could settle for bread and nuts. It’ll break my heart, but…” “Now you’ve made me nostalgic for foods like that,” Raoul admitted, pulling out a cone of nuts to hand to Keavy, then the loaf of bread, which he set about cutting into generous slices. “I would wax longingly, but I suspect you’d hit me if I did that and muss my beautiful hair.” He gestured at the honeyed locks in question, which were very much already mussed and frizzy from running around in the grass. “Ah, I believe hitting your fellow soldiers is against the rules, though,” Keavy replied with a smirk. Glancing down at the nuts, she added, “You bought these? Just for today? Thank you— you didn’t have to on my account.” “No worries,” he said, flapping a hand. “I figured we could use something besides bread, and nuts are good for energy and tasty besides.” He grinned sheepishly. “When I was a kid I was addicted to boiled nuts. I would beg for them any time we went out into the market.” “Honestly, I’ve barely had ‘em,” Keavy said. “My diet growing up was mostly bread and broth. Potatoes if it was a good day. And on feast days sometimes Tate would manage to smuggle sweet rolls from the kitchens for me. He was friendly with the cooks.” Raoul winced, the knife he was using to slice the bread slowing as he pondered his sister’s words. Then, trying to force the cheer back into his voice, he said, “Well we’ll have to see about letting you try all the nice food you missed out on as a kid. Though not all at once; sadly I lack a noble’s deep pockets since I turned into a filthy traitor and ran away from home.” “You may be a traitor,” Keavy agreed, “but better a moral traitor than a wicked loyalist.” Her voice softening, she added, “I never knew Raoul-the-noble… but Raoul-the-traitor, I’m glad we met. That… that he’s my brother.” The young man startled, looking towards his sister in surprise. Then, his expression softened, and he smiled. “I’m glad we met too, Keavy. That… that you let me be your brother. That you’re my sister.” Tapping his rebel badge he added, “And we’re going to change Courdon for the better. So that our history never has to be repeated. So that kids like us can grow up as siblings. Like they deserve.” “Right. Of course.” But here Keavy’s throat caught, her blue-green eyes skipping away from Raoul as if she’d left something unsaid. His expression faltering, the half-elf’s brother murmured, “Keavy? What’s wrong? What did I say?” “Nothing,” she murmured. “You haven’t done anything. It’s just…” She bit her lip. Hard. “I’m free now. With… with an actual blood relative, and prospects, and…” Keavy pressed a hand to her forehead. “Tate and Bennett aren’t. Benny’s growing up just like I did. A-as a slave.’ Raoul bit his lip. He should’ve realized that would still be bothering her. Of course it would be; the rebellion had mostly pacified Emryn, the Northlands and Seguir, and was inching its way through Talvace, but the southern regions of Courdon were still far from their control. Teral might as well have been another world. “I… I’m sorry, Keavy,” he said softly, setting the bread knife back in the basket and the bread down on top of the lid. “I know it must… be torture, knowing what they have to be going through. I wish there was more we could do to help.” “I have nightmares,” she whispered, still unwilling to meet his gaze. “About Bennett being hurt. When I left he was still too little to get much of anything w-when it came to punishments, but… he’s getting older. And Lord Calanthia— especially if Benny’s a mage...” Keavy shuddered. Raoul couldn’t think of anything to say. There wasn’t anything to say. He could comfort Keavy until he was blue in the face, and none of anything he said could make her really feel better. Could fix the situation her loved ones were trapped in. “I st-still just can’t believe I left them,” Keavy murmured. “I’m happy I’m free, I am, but that they’re not…” She shook her head, slowly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself.” “Keavy,” he said, scooting closer to his sister, “it isn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for what the enki does. I’m sure a lot of the rebels had to leave friends and family behind when they ran. We… we’ll get them out, we will.” “How?” she asked, blinking hard. “I know Lord Calanthia— he won’t let his slaves go, not ever. Th-they won’t be freed unless he’s dead, and for him to become dead…” She whimpered. “That means Bennett and Tate would be in a dangerous situation, too. I-if the war’s gotten that close to them. Innocent bystanders get hurt all the time. Especially slaves.” “I… I know,” Raoul admitted miserably. “But what else can we do? Short of Tate changing his mind and escaping with Bennett on his own, the only real hope we can hold to is that the rebellion will free him eventually.” “Or,” Keavy said, very, very softly, “I could free them. Go back and… and help them escape like I did. Before the enki c-can try to condition Benny.” Keavy’s brother blinked, staring at her as if he was certain he hadn’t heard correctly. Then, very slowly, he said, “Go back? To… to Teral? Keavy… that’s dangerous, all of the territory between here and there is firmly crown held, they’ll be on high alert for runaways, and… and Teral is at least two months walk from here in good conditions.” “I know,” she said, her voice at once tremulous and firm. “But if it’s true what that other man the enki used to own said… if Bennett is a mage…” Tears pressed, and Keavy let them flow. “We don’t have time, Raoul. To wait for the rest of this army to beat the crown. I mean, gods, Lord Calanthia must already be pr-preparing to condition him— if he hasn’t started outright, and… and… he’s only a boy, and…” “ We?” Raoul repeated, the word catching in his brain. “You… you want me to help you?” “I… I…” Keavy finally dared meet his gaze again. “I j-just said ‘we’ automatically, I…” She gulped. “Of course I wouldn’t expect you to put yourself in danger like that, you wouldn’t have to come, I’d never demand that of you—” Raoul put up a hand to stem Keavy’s frantic stream of words, clearly thinking hard. After several moments, he hesitantly said, “I… might be able to get us passage more safely. It’s…” hurriedly he added, “I know it’s sketchy, and I wouldn’t blame you if you said no, but-” he bit his lip, and for the first time since he’d known Keavy, he slipped into the language of his birth. “ I might could get us through without arousing too much suspicion. If I pretended I owned you.” Keavy froze, eyes locking on his. “Own me,” she echoed. “You’d pretend t-to… to…” The girl forced a jagged half-breath. “But it’d… o-only be pretend, right? Just in public. When p-people are around.” “Absolutely,” he said hurriedly. “Only when other people are around, and I… Keavy, I would never hurt you. You know that, right? I care about you, I respect you, I’d sooner kill someone else for hurting you then lay a hand on you myself.” She nodded slowly. “Y-yes. I know. I just…” Keavy shrugged. “It’s hard,” she admitted. “Even on the best of days, thinking like… like a free person and not a slave doesn’t come n-naturally to me. Not yet. So if I slipped back into the role of a slave, even just for pretend…” She wiped her eyes. “I trust you. It’s… myself I don’t trust, I guess. Not entirely.” “We don’t have to do it that way if you don’t want,” Raoul said softly. “It would… draw less attention. We could travel more legitimately, on the roads rather than through the wilds. But I don’t want you to have to feel like that anymore, Keavy. Like a slave. An object.” He tentatively reached his hand towards her, palm up, invitingly. “I want you to feel confident. Happy. Valued.” A beat. “L-loved.” Keavy hesitated for a moment before gingerly setting her hand upon her brother’s. “It’ll be faster,” she murmured. “Won’t it? If we went on the roads instead of through the wilderness. We’d have to think of a story about why we’re risking such d-dangerous territory, but…” “And we’d probably have to get some cosmetics,” he said. “Something to alter your brand a little. A lord’s brand is too recognizable to hunters, and we know at least two slaves have run from Lord Calanthia. He’s no doubt put out word. But… it would be faster.” Fervently he added, “But only if you’re willing. You’re free now. It’s your choice.” “Bennett doesn’t have time for me to waffle with my pride,” Keavy murmured. “I want to do what’s best for him.” Raoul swallowed hard. After a moment, he said, “We’re going have to tell the Captain.” He gave his sister’s hand a light squeeze, adding ruefully, “If any of them thinks I’m still a crown spy, my asking to lark off into crown held territory is only going to reinforce that impression.” “You d-don’t have to come,” Keavy said again, sniffling. “If you don’t want. You don’t even know Bennett and Tate— I’d understand if you don’t want to put yourself in so much danger for them. I wouldn’t blame you at all. I pr-promise.” “I’m used to people hating me by now, Keavy,” he replied, his voice thick with bitterness. “I’ve… numbed myself to it. But you’re the first person since I left besides Second Lieutenant Gerard and Captain Lynn who… who’s offered me their trust. I left House Vernac to find you. I’m not going to just abandon you now, no way.” She smiled at him, unsteadily. “Th-thank you, Raoul. It’s… nice. Having someone at my back.” He smiled back. “That’s what twins are for; to be the person you can fall back on when everybody else in the world has flaked out on you.” With a weak chuckle he said, “I just hope that Tate and Bennett aren’t terrified of me.” “They’ll just be grateful,” Keavy said. “That I’ve got someone else who cares about me. And who’ll now care about them, too— enough to help set them free.” *** Raoul licked his lips as he and Keavy walked down the hallway in the manorhouse that had been taken over by the rebel officers stationed in Medius. It was a week after their picnic, and the two had spent the time smoothing out a plan for how to make the journey to Teral, a safe route to follow, supplies they would need, and other niceties that they wanted to have sorted out before they broached the issue with the captain. They wanted to be able to show their officers that this wasn’t an impulse decision bred from panic, but a plan that had some serious thought and consideration put into it’s crafting. “Are you ready, Keavy?” Raoul asked in an undertone as they neared the door. “This is it.” Keavy nodded, although the rest of her body language said otherwise— her carriage stiff, her throat trembling, her hands balled into quivering fists at her side. “As I’ll ever be,” she whispered, eyeing the door as if it were a snake that might swallow her whole. “Let’s do this.” “Remember, I’m right behind you,” the young man reassured his sister. “You talk first, but I’ll back you up if he gets confrontational.” “Right.” Keavy gulped. “Do you think he will? I mean… we’re asking for leave so we can free slaves, not to— to defect to the king’s army or anything like that, and…” She bit her lip, hard, as they stalled outside the door. “What if he says no?” “We can try going over his head,” Raoul replied. “Chain of command Keav. If one person denies you a petition, you go up the chain until you get someone sympathetic. And if we’re going up the rebel chain of command and drawing attention to ourselves, it’d be less likely to look like some sort of espionage pullout.” He reached out a hand to her, then hesitated, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. “We can do this. We can.” “I hope so,” she breathed. The girl gestured toward the door. “A-after you, Raoul.” Raoul gave his sister one last reassuring smile before knocking on the door. A voice inside called, “Enter,” and with a deep breath, the young sergeant major pushed open the door. The rebel captain was seated at a makeshift desk that looked to have once been two separate side tables, pushed together in front of a squashy armchair in a disused sitting room. He quirked an eyebrow as the twins walked in, letting a map sprawled in front of him roll up into a scroll before speaking. “Tate. Austin. To what do I owe the pleasure? No discipline issues I hope?” “No, sir,” Keavy replied quickly, hand snapping to her forehead in a salute. “None at all— everything’s going well.” As Raoul echoed the gesture, the captain pursed his lips. He saluted the twins in reply, allowing them to drop their hands and fall into an at-ease position. “So then, what do you two need?” “We, ah…” Keavy forced a deep breath, steeling herself. “We’d… like to request a term of leave, sir. An— an extended leave. Together.” The captain blinked, looking very much startled. “Leave?” His eyes flicked between the two, an odd expression on his face. “You ah… wouldn’t mean the sort of leave that Captain Lynn has been on the past few months, would you?” Raoul's face heated, and he gaped. He had been stationed at Muriel Lynn’s base before transferring to this one, and he knew exactly what sort of “leave” she had been on- her bulging middle had advertised that even if she hadn’t. Indignation spiked in his brain, and he sputtered, “No! No, not at all, I would never!” “Simmer down, sergeant major,” the captain replied, looking darkly amused. “You’re young, she’s young, it’s a natural assumption to make.” Keavy’s cheeks went blaze red, her eyes wide as dinner plates. “He’s my brother,” she snapped— a fact that had been kept largely unknown to the base at large, and which neither Keavy nor Raoul had bothered to publicize, as both knew it would only draw uncomfortable questions. Upon Raoul’s arrival, the captain had only been told that Raoul was looking for somebody from his past— but not who that person was, precisely, in relation to the nobleman. “And even if he wasn’t,” the girl added tartly, “that’s still an awfully charged accusation to make, sir.” “He’s your- oh,” the captain winced, looking sheepish. “Ah. That would explain a very great deal. I’m sorry, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But if you don’t want leave for that, what do you want it for?” “Teral,” Keavy said simply. “We’re going to Teral. To help free some people I… I had to leave behind. When I fled.” She added, “One of them is a little boy. And… I’m afraid he’s in danger. That if I don’t go get him now…” Her voice trailed off, the implication left unsaid— but implicit. Now it was the captain’s turn to gape. “Sergeant-Major Tate, Teral is still firmly held by the crown- our forces have no foothold there, the war is confined to occasional isolated uprisings among individual groups of slaves. Going there would be suicide at the most optimistic- you could very well end up recaptured by your former master.” “We know,” Keavy replied. “We’ve discussed the possible negative effects extensively. But… it’s a risk we’re willing to take, sir. We thank you for the advice, but—” The girl shook her head. “We’ve already decided.” “We,” the man repeated, toying over the word. His gaze hardened as he turned it on Raoul. “Strange that a young lordling who has been amongst the rebel ranks for months should be so eager to flee into crown territory. It seems… a touch too convenient.” “Is it though?” Roaul asked. “My family is in Seguier, not Teral. Lord Owain’s surrender saw to it that House Vernac was cut off from the loyalists long before I defected. I only wish to help my sister to free the people she cares about from bondage; the people who looked after her as our mother should have.” “So you say,” the captain said curtly, “but you can understand how it looks a touch suspicious.” “It was my idea,” Keavy said, though she was fidgeting now, clearly made uncomfortable by the superior officer’s reproach. “N-not his. He’s just coming with me. S-sir.” “Maybe he just saw a convenient opportunity, Sergeant-Major Tate,” the captain said brusquely. “Maybe he is using you, as the enkis use all of us.” “ No,” Raoul snarled, outrage flashing in his pale blue eyes. “She is my sister. My twin sister. And I’d sooner die than see her down a path that would lead to her death or return to slavery. I want to go with her to help her, because I can travel in the crown lands more legitimately than she can, and I could get us south more quickly and quietly.” “He’s not using me,” Keavy echoed, as forcefully as she could manage. “He’s my brother. N-not an enki. Not my enemy.” The captain fixed his gaze on the half-elf, eyes narrowed. “You sound like you doubt yourself.” “No,” Keavy said— and she meant it. She didn’t doubt herself. Didn’t doubt Raoul. But nearly a lifetime of having her opinions smothered— of being trained to obey, to comply, to be meek and biddable… “I want to go. He wants to come. I trust him and his intentions. C-completely.” The captain still looked uncertain. Finally he muttered “This is over my head. I need to speak to a higher officer about this. I’m sorry but you have to know how suspicious this looks.” “We’re… we’re just asking for leave.” Keavy blinked, her stomach pitching. “W-when I joined up with this army, I was told it was voluntary. Th-that I wasn’t a slave anymore. That I could leave any time I wanted, f-for any reason.” “And under any other circumstances I’d let you,” the captain agreed. “But you’re asking to lark off into enemy territory with an enki- if it were just you, I would be reluctant but I wouldn't stop you. Your brother, however… He’s a wildcard.” “The rebel command in the Northlands questioned me on my intentions under truth spell months ago,” Raoul growled. “I’m not going to betray you.” “And I don't want the eventuality you do on my head,” the captain retorted. “He won’t,” Keavy insisted, sweat beading on her brow. “Just— we n-need to go, all right? We don’t have time to wait around for… for you to contact other officers, not when people I care v-very deeply about are in danger.” She couldn’t ever recall arguing like this before. It was at once strange and somehow nauseating. “Please. Raoul’s proven himself. Just l-let us go, sir.” “I brought about my family’s undoing and the collapse of the Seguier resistance when I joined the rebellion,” Raoul added, his voice now very soft and an odd light of sadness in his eyes. “My own father would greet me with a writ of execution as a traitor. What welcome do you think I’d get from the king’s army?” He gestured towards Keavy, giving her a reassuring smile. “But Keavy trusts me even though she has every reason to want nothing to do with me, and she’s given me a friend I badly needed and could never find in this army; she is strong and brave enough to do this. And I’ll be behind her every step.” “Not if the high command says otherwise,” the captain retorted. The teenage boy quirked a blonde brow, his jaw tightening. “Sir, with all due respect, I’d like to ask you to kindly back off. You’re upsetting my sister. If she’s free now and entitled to her own opinions, you have no right to belittle them by implying they’re all wrong.” Keavy’s throat squeezed, relief seeping through her— that Raoul wasn’t backing down at the reproaches and accusations, that he wasn’t letting the captain simply beat her opinions into the ground. That he was supporting her, in a way she’d seldom been supported before. Her voice a shade less wobbly, she said again: “I trust him. And I… I don’t need someone who barely knows him telling me that I’m wrong.” She gave her brother a wavering half-smile. “He’s never done anything to make me doubt him. S-so I don’t.” The captain sighed, rubbing his face. “I wish I had your faith in the boy, Sergeant-Major Tate. But I’ve known far too many wily enkis in my time to just take their charms at face value. I’m not telling you no outright, but I am going to insist on consulting a higher authority first. There is just so much more at stake here than the lives of two or three people, and I do not want the weight of that on my conscience.” “I thought the point of the rebellion was to prove that everyone has worth,” Raoul shot back. “To establish the value of the individual, the right that every-” “And wars are not won on sentiment,” the captain snapped back crossly. “Pragmatism must also be applied. Tighten your tongue, Sergeant-Major Austin, you come dangerously close to insubordination.” “How long?” Keavy said simply, the words tasting like ash on her tongue. “Until you’ll hear back? Because we don’t have time, s-sir, to wait around for… for weeks or months. My old master has a four-year-old boy who I’m afraid h-he’s going to hurt or kill. Bennett can’t wait for you to hem and haw. He can’t.” “Not that long, hopefully,” the captain replied with a slight wince. “It should be no more than a week. And for what it’s worth, I do feel for you, Sergeant-Major Tate. You and this child. But I can’t risk the entire rebellion on the good word of an enki without a second opinion.” “I’m not an enki,” Raoul replied, clearly meaning to say more, but the captain cut him off. “Then stop acting like one and shut up, Austin,” he snarled, bristling. At the captain’s tone, Keavy flinched, her head snapping into something near to a bow. “S-sir…” she started, but the half-elf couldn’t bring herself to speak further then, the words catching in her throat and hundreds— thousands— of memories of Lord Calanthia using nearly the same exact tone with her lancing through her head. However, it was not the captain who spoke to her, it was Raoul, his voice soft and clearly meant only for her. “Chin up, Keav,” he murmured. “It’s alright. I’m not afraid of him. You don’t have to be either. No matter what happens, I’m right here behind you.” Keavy didn’t respond aloud— only spared her brother a nod and sidelong, shaky smile. The captain flicked his wrist at both of them, sitting down again. “I have a letter to compose with our scribe on your behalf, so I should get to that. For now, you are both dismissed. For what it’s worth, Tate, I hope you get that boy out- one way or another.” Family Values - Part Five“Thank you, Raoul,” Keavy murmured later that day, as the siblings sat eating a supper of pottage and bread. After leaving the captain’s office they’d gotten caught up for hours with sorting supplies to be distributed to nearby villages, and were late to arrive for service, which meant the food was cold— but at least it meant they also had a table all their own, tucked in the corner out of earshot of all the other late-coming soldiers who were dining. “Gods, I was so ready to go in steady and confident, and then the captain started challenging me, and I just… I just…” “It’s alright,” he replied thickly around a mouthful of the roasted potatoes and turnips that were the night’s rations. Swallowing so that he could talk clearly, he added, “You did well. It’s not your fault the captain was being a pushy jerk. But you still stood your ground even though you were scared.” “Still,” Keavy said. “Thanks for backing me up. It’s nice, having someone who can just… remind me that my opinions do matter, that I’m not stupid and pathetic and— and whatever else Lord Calanthia called me.” “Lord Calanthia can go swim with a shark,” Raoul said derisively. “You’re worth twice- three times as much as he is.” His voice softening the boy added, “You’re welcome, Keavy. I’m just sorry that I’m holding you back like this. I wish I didn’t… have this hanging over me all the time. This reputation set by generations of my ancestors.” “It’s not your fault,” Keavy said. “Any more than it’s my fault that I was born a half-elf and made into a slave.” Raoul smiled thinly. “You’re not a slave anymore, sis. You’re free. A soldier. A liberator. You’re going to save Tate and Bennett, and at the end of this war you’ll be able to do anything and go anywhere you want.” “I don’t even know where I’d go,” Keavy admitted. “I mean, wherever Tate and Bennett do, I’d follow but— I doubt Tate will have any idea, either.” She bit her lip. “What… what about you?” she asked, tentatively. “I mean… do you think your family would take you back?” A beat. “Would you… want to go back?” Raoul winced. “I knew when I made the choice to join the rebels, it was a decision I could never go back on,” he replied, his voice very soft. “I wasn’t lying back there- my father would have a rope around my neck sooner than I could blink if I dared approach him. As for wanting to go back… no. Not anymore. I just couldn’t do it, living in that world again. I don’t know what I’ll do when the war ends, assuming I survive that long. I hadn’t thought about it. ...Well no, that’s not true. I’ve avoided thinking about it. Because part of me knows I really have nowhere to return to.” “We both have nowhere,” Keavy said softly. Sadly. “But…” She swallowed hard, meeting her brother’s gaze. “We’ll have Tate and Bennett, o-once we get them free. And each other. We’ll have each other.” Raoul’s expression turned soft, and he nodded. “That’s true. I… I really do appreciate it, Keavy. That you gave me a chance despite what I was. What a lot of the rebels think I still am.” “You’re welcome.” Keavy took a small bite of her pottage. “I’m… glad I didn’t just rest on my first instincts. That I saw you that day in the market, with that little girl. That I decided to give you a chance. Bennett and Tate are like family to me, but…” The girl exhaled slowly. “But I’ve never had blood family. Never h-had a brother. Like you.” Raoul grinned crookedly. “Blood ties are supposed to be sacred to the gods. Perhaps Carricon brought us together. Just don’t tell Second lieutenant Alaric I said that, I don’t want to dent his pride in having found you for me.” Keavy laughed. “Ah, the rebel prince. I still haven’t met him— though of course I’ve heard all the scandalous stories.” She quirked a brow. “He really married the Branded Lord’s daughter and got her pregnant?” “Last I saw of them, they were being obscenely cuddly and Captain Lynn had a bulge the size of a watermelon under her blouse,” Raoul confirmed. “I don’t think she’s going to be invading the Gilded Palace again anytime in the near future.” “Probably good,” Keavy said, “given how that apparently went last time.” She sighed. “At least you’ve said he trust you, right? And so if the captain appeals to higher authorities— and it gets to that level…” She dared a small, hopeful smile. “M-maybe we’ll get that permission to go. Sooner than later. Because gods, I’m going to go mad if we just have to sit here for eons. Waiting. Knowing what might be happening to Benny as we do.” “That’s true,” Raoul agreed. He put a hand on the table near Keavy invitingly, adding, “We’ll save them. I promise. No matter what it takes, we’ll find a way to get them to let us go. We’ll find a way to save them.” *** “Sergeant-Major Tate, Sergeant-Major Austin!” bleated a rather winded looking corporal as he stopped to salute to the twins when they turned away from the drills they were presently supervising to face him. “The captain wants to see you two in the command post. Says there’s someone who wants to have a word with you both.” Raoul blinked, caught off guard. It was only midmorning the day after they’d spoken to the captain about going off to Teral- how was it he’d already gotten in touch with someone about their request? The young man looked towards his sister, who looked equally as perplexed. “He can’t have gotten someone here already,” she murmured into Raoul’s ear. “Unless— it’s not about that…? But if not that…” She sighed, turning her gaze back to the corporal. “You can babysit these privates while we’re gone,” she said, gesturing to the spread of soldiers before them, who were presently doing sit-ups. “Make sure they don’t slack off, all right?” “Yes ma’am,” the corporal replied. Raoul returned the man’s salute, then turned towards the manor house to see what their captain wanted to talk about. Once they got inside the building, however, he was surprised to find that they were directed not to the captain’s usually impromptu office, but one of the manor’s formal meeting chambers. “This… is this good or bad?” he asked Keavy in a wary undertone. “I… I have no idea,” she said, swallowing hard. “Maybe it’s not about our leave, I mean— it’s only been a day, and…” She pressed a hand to her forehead as they reached the set of double doors that led into the meeting room; they were perched ever so slightly ajar. “After you?” Keavy whispered. Raoul wanted to put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but he paused in the middle of the impulsive reach and withdrew his hand. Instead he smiled as reassuringly as he could manage, before pushing the door the rest of the way ajar. If the two were expecting to find only their captain, however, they were in for a surprise— while the familiar man did sit upon one of the heavy oak chairs that studded the large table in the center of the room, he was joined by a complete and utter stranger: a tall, reed-thin man of perhaps thirty-five, with eyes like flint and skin the colour of burnt copper. He sat ramrod straight, hands clasped neatly in front of him, every facet of his being exuding a cool, collected confidence. Even without asking, it was patently obvious that this was someone high-ranking within the rebellion. Very high-ranking. Keavy’s hand snapped into an automatic salute, a gesture Raoul was barely a beat behind on. “Sergeant-Major Tate, Sergeant-Major Austin,” the captain said with neutral formality. “Might I introduce you both to Major-General Adam Carrow?” Raoul felt the blood drain from his face. A major-general? He had assumed that the captain would contact a commandant, maybe a lieutenant colonel, but a gods cursed major-general?“S-sir,” he stammered, swallowing hard. “It’s an honor.” “Sergeant-Major Austin, I presume?” Adam Carrow smiled thinly, gesturing to the seats opposite him and the captain. “Sit, please. And you as well, Tate. I think we have much to discuss, no?” Keavy obliged mutely, her stomach in her throat, and Raoul sat next to his sister. In spite of himself, he could feel his arms and hands trembling. This man was high enough ranked to order the teenager’s execution if this conversation went the wrong way. Calm down, he hasn’t even said anything yet. Calm down.“No need to be so terrified, Austin,” Carrow said, as if he could read the former enki’s thoughts— or, more likely, his anxiety-riddled expression. “I’m only here to talk. A bit of serendipity, no? That I should be passing through on my way to the battlefront in Talvace the day after the captain here decided he needed to appeal to a higher authority on your, ah… case, shall we say?” Carrow lifted his dark brow. “So. You two want to go to Teral?” “Y-yes, sir,” Keavy said, her heart thumping rapidly. “T-to help rescue my… my…” She faltered for a moment before finishing softly: “Well, they’re like my family. As close as I e-ever had, before I met Raoul.” Raoul nodded, squeezing his own hands to stop them shaking. “I want to help her. Keavy is my sister- my twin. And anyone who has been family to her I owe my gratitude and my help. Besides I… I couldn’t live myself if I left her to go off alone while I hid behind the battle lines.” “You do both understand that Teral is firmly crown-held, yes?” Carrow continued smoothly. “It’s not even the front, like Talvace— it’s theirs. We’ve barely made any inroads.” “We’re aware,” Keavy murmured. “B-but it’s a risk we’re willing to take.” “I see.” Carrow tilted his head, steely eyes listing toward Raoul. Then, his voice deceivingly singsong, he said, “Austin— that’s a chosen name, yes? You were not born with it.” Raoul nodded forcing himself to meet Carrow’s eyes. “It is a chosen name, yes. I was told that those who join the rebels can chose a new name, to disassociate with their old identities. To take their lives into their own hands, as it were.” “That’s true,” Carrow agreed, studying Raoul as one might a piece of artwork of suspect authenticity. “And nothing I can begrudge, as I’ve certainly put a lot of distance between myself and my past, as well.” The major general pursed his lips, expression inscrutable. “Vernac. House Vernac. Your manor’s on the sea, isn’t it? Nice views. Much nicer than your quarters here, I’d dare wager. Quite a change, yes?” How have so many people heard of my house? It trades in fish oil! Raoul thought in complete bafflement, but he only nodded. “It’s different, yes. But I’d rather have peace of mind knowing I’m doing the right thing than the comforts of being a coward. And… I’d wanted to find my twin for years. I couldn’t do that if I stayed.” “Teral is a viper’s nest,” Carrow said. “There’s a very, very good chance that you’ll quickly get yourselves captured or killed— or captured then killed. You understand that, yes? And…” The major general’s already iron gaze went even more rigid. “You’re willing to risk that, Lord Vernac? For people you’ve presumably never even met?” Raoul closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, his expression still nervous but firm. “I’m not Lord Vernac. And isn’t that what this entire cause is about? Most of us have never met anybody outside our own limited slice of the world. The freed slaves could take themselves and go. But they aren’t, at least not all of them. Some of them chose to fight, to risk their lives so that they can free more people, people they don’t know and in most cases will never personally meet.” “If you’re some kind of spy,” Carrow said slowly, “then you will be brought to justice eventually, Sergeant-Major. Teral may belong to the crown now, but it won’t always. And if you’re heading back there to betray us—” “He’s not a spy,” Keavy interrupted, stiffening. “He’s not betraying us.” But as she seemed to read between the lines of the major general’s statement, the girl relaxed again slightly. If you’re heading back there to betray us. There was no conditional there, no ambiguity left as to whether or not he’d grant permission; Carrow had spoken it only as a fact, plain and simple. An eventuality. “... You’re… letting us go, then? On our leave?” Carrow shrugged, eyes still on Raoul. “We’re not in the business of holding prisoners without merit,” the major general said. “Do I think your plan is dangerous as all hells? Yes. Does part of me wonder about Sergeant-Major Austin’s motives? Certainly. But that alone isn’t enough for me to outright stop you. You’re soldiers, not hostages. Austin’s noble blood makes things a bit thornier, but… I suppose the same could be said about the blood of many of our soldiers. All of the free-men who’ve joined our ranks even though they easily could have gone to the king’s. It could be said even of myself, for that matter.” Raoul blinked in confusion, but realization dawned on his face and his eyes flicked to Carrow’s shoulder- which was unblemished by any sort of brand. The teenager had gotten so used to the army being populated almost entirely by former slaves that he hadn’t even considered the notion that such a high-ranked officer wouldn’t be one. Meeting the major-general’s eyes once more, Raoul said softly, “I know you have no reason to trust me. That my bloodline traces back generations of abuse and petty tyranny, as does that of any enki. But this war is about changing the old order of Courdon. I know the rebels aren’t killing all of their oppressors outright- if a noble surrenders, they are spared. Sooner or later the war will end, and we’ll have to start figuring out how to rebuild our world. How to live as one people. How to bury the old grudges. I know that isn’t going to be easy- that trusting my word right now isn’t easy. But… I swear, I won’t betray your trust. Keavy and I will be back to finish what we started here.” For a moment, Carrow said nothing, still studying the young turncoat lord. Then, very slowly, he nodded. “I do hope you have a plan, at least? As to how, precisely, you’re going to lope through crown territory without seeing your heads duly cleaved from your shoulders?” “Y-yeah,” Raoul agreed, glancing towards his sister. If anything was going to incense the rebel commander it was how he planned to help them get through the crown-held lands. “We’ve discussed it and…” “And we have a plan,” Keavy said simply. Definitively. “We’ll be all right, sir. We’ve thought this through.” “That’s a bit evasive,” the captain remarked, speaking up for the first time in a while. It was clear from his expression that he was still suspicious, but he didn’t seem to want to overtly say as much. Keavy shrugged. “Not evasive, sir. But this mission… it’s not rebel-sanctioned; it’s personal. Ours, not yours. Our plans aren’t any of your concern. Not once we’re off your turf, wading into the viper’s pit, as the major general put it.” Raoul couldn’t help but smile a little. Now that she knew she’d been granted leave, Keavy seemed a good deal more confident. He turned to the officers with a firm nod. “We’ll be alright. I swear it.” The captain sighed softly. “I suppose I’ll have to replace you. Teral isn’t exactly a hop skip and a jump away- getting there and back is liable to take you both months.” “We will come back, though,” Keavy said with as much force as she could manage. “Safe and well— and with newly rescued slaves at our side.” Carrow smiled, almost grimly. “Well, I can’t fault your optimism,” he said. “But… do be careful, all right? Once you’re in the conflict zones, never let your guard down. Not even for a moment. It only takes a blink for everything to go very, very wrong.” “Aye, sir,” Raoul agreed. “We won’t get overconfident, and we won’t get complacent.” To his sister he added, “After all it isn’t just our lives on the line.” She gave her brother a wavering smile before turning her gaze back toward the captain and major general. “So,” Keavy said, “when… when can we go?” “Give the captain a week or so to get your replacements headed this way,” Carrow said after a moment’s consideration. “And then you can be on your way. Next… Saturday, let’s say? How does that sound for you, captain?” “That sounds feasible, Major-General,” the captain agreed. “The gods watch over you both- and for your sake, Sergeant-Major Tate, I hope your brother is as honest as he seems.” Family Values - Part SixThe streets of the little town that their maps called “Aerilon” were crawling with soldiers in red and gold. Royal army red and gold. It was everything in Raoul to act natural. To keep his face a facade of cool indifference bordering on indignation. He was dressed in the travelling leathers that he had worn back when he first fled from home months before, long disused after he started wearing rebel uniforms most of the time, but now the best clothing he owned and the most likely to pass for the part of ‘enki on the run’ that he was playing. Behind him, Keavy walked with her arms crossed and head down, the thin soles of her leather sandals scraping against the dirt below with each shuffling step she took. This was the first solidly crown-held city the siblings had reached— where the rebellion was nothing more than an uncomfortable but faraway threat, and the king’s banner flew, and countless slaves skulked about with branded shoulders and haunted eyes. Too afraid to escape, and with no one having arrived yet to liberate them. “We’re staying here for the night?” Keavy murmured, quietly so that only her brother could hear. After all, slaves were seldom permitted to address their masters without first being spoken to— and gods help them if their illusion shattered right from the get-go for such a petty reason. She added, even more softly: “Remember to speak the high tongue, Raoul. Don’t slip into low, even if you’re used to it now.” “I know,” he hissed back without turning to face her or giving any indication he was talking to anybody but himself. “And yes- I don’t like how heavy the army presence is but the sun’s already almost set and it would look suspicious if we kept going past dark.” She sighed, knowing he was right. “Okay.” The girl swallowed hard. “Should we find an inn, then?” A beat, before she tacked on hesitantly, “M-master.” A slight frown ticked at Raoul’s lips when she called him that, though any passerby might’ve assumed he was cross that it had been delayed. He lowered his head in an approximation of a nod before gesturing towards a building a bit down the street with an image of a stylized cat holding up a frothing mug, and under it a smaller sign with a bed. “There,” he said cooly, speaking at a more normal volume. “We’ll stay there for the night, provided the crowd isn’t too unsavory. Stay close to me, I don’t want you getting lost in the crowd after I managed to drag you this far.” “Yes, master,” she murmured. She knew it was only pretend— that he didn’t truly mean the cutting words, that he likely only wanted her close because he didn’t trust the people in this town— but even so her stomach pitched, and a sour taste rose in the back of her throat. Memories flared in her mind like a wildfire raging, wicked and crackling and bright. All the years of being nobody, an object, nothing but a creature-- She took a deep breath as she and Raoul reached the inn door, and her brother pushed it open. She trailed very close behind him as he started toward the desk at the far side of the small but well-kept lobby, her heart thudding solidly in her throat. She could feel the eyes of the milling patrons drifting toward them— drifting toward her-- and it took everything in her to keep from whimpering, or vomiting, or both. Raoul, meanwhile, kept his expression deliberately flat, ignoring the stares as a lord would ignore them, and making a beeline for the counter near the wall of the room behind which an old man appeared to be tallying his cash box. At the sound of approaching footsteps, the man’s gaze whipped up, sharp as a hawk’s talons. “Welcome, welcome,” he intoned pleasantly as he spied Raoul. Studying the young man up and down, a smile curved at the proprietor’s lips. “Seeking a room, young master? Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Raoul's eye twitched with indignation at the ‘young’ comment, but instead of saying anything about it he retorted, “You may place me in your ledger is Lord Ristavon.” This was the name of a small house of minor nobility just south of Vernac territory in Seguier. “Provided of course your charge is not deliberately inflated to take advantage of these trying times, as I’ve found all too frequently of late.” “Of… of course not, my lord,” the innkeeper stammered, bowing his head. “I charge fair prices, especially to esteemed patrons such as yourself.” He dared a wavering smile and reached for his quill, as he scribbled into the record book adding, “So, ah, what’s brought you to Aerilon, my lord? And— is it just you and your slave, or… will the rest of your family be joining you?” “I have no family,” the young man hissed. “The Ristavon house folded like whipped dogs before the rebel march. But I remain loyal to my king. Now are you running an inn or an interrogation?” “My apologies, my lord,” the man quickly backtracked. “A room for one, then.” He dared slowly bring his head out from its bow. “That’ll be five coppers for the night.” His dark eyes flicking to Keavy, he added, “Shall the slave be lodging with you? If you don’t wish to share your space, I can give her a berth in the barn out back for but one extra copper, my lord.” “Where she will pick up all manner of parasites no doubt,” Raoul drawled, wincing internally at the idea of making Keavy sleep by herself in a barn. “I shall keep her with me, I haven’t kept her out of the rebel army’s filthy hands this long to let her out of my sight just when we were in safe lands once more.” “Yes, of course,” the innkeeper agreed, nodding rapidly. As he finished writing in the book, he flashed a smile toward the enki. “Let’s see— I have a second floor room overlooking the street, will that be satisfactory for you, my lord? And your supper, of course, is included with the night’s price.” “That will do,” Raoul agreed, counting the coins out into the innkeeper’s palm before turning his palm out for the room key. “A good night to you then.” “And you as well, enki,” the man replied cheerily. “Let me know if you need anything.” Raoul nodded curtly, before turning towards the staircase at the far end of the room with an imperious beckoning gesture. Keavy followed like a shadow, her entire demeanour timid— mouse-like— as she trailed her brother up the stairs. Eventually they found the room with a number that matched their key, and the two siblings entered before he locked the door behind them. “ Gods,” Raoul breathed, slumping forwards with his forehead pressed against the wood, not yet having withdrawn the door key from its hole. “I’d forgotten how chatty innkeepers were.” “Yes, I suppose they are,” Keavy murmured, her voice fragile as a dandelion puff. “He… didn’t even look at me, did he? Just… saw my ears, saw my brand, and then I was… I was— just a piece of furniture, really. Like… a horse to be stabled.’ Raoul winced, turning to face his sister. “Keavy, don’t pay it any mind. He’s an arse, and so’s anybody who thinks like that.” “I know,” Keavy said, not meeting her brother’s gaze. “It just… It just…” She shrugged limply. “I don’t know, Raoul. S-sorry. I’m acting… stupid, aren’t I?” The young man approached his sister, his lip bitten. “You’re not acting stupid. Of course it bothers you, to be treated like that. Especially after you’ve known what it is to be free. To have respect, and dignity. Anyone would be upset.” She drew in her cheeks, throat quavering. “Hearing you speak the high tongue,” she whispered. “It’s…” The girl dipped her head further, her blond locks falling like a veil before her face. “I know it’s all just a show. And— that’s it my show, that we’re only here and doing this b-because I want to. But… you acting like an enki, and my suddenly b-being thrust back into… into acting a slave, it’s— I don’t know. Harder than I thought it’d be, I guess.” “I’m sorry, Keav,” Raoul whispered, looking away. “I could… I could tone down the bit? Play it more mellow, so it doesn’t have to scare you as much.” “No,” she said, softly but quickly. “You d-don’t want to risk acting too soft and turning heads. We c-can’t afford negative attention.” Keavy blinked hard, a slight sheen of moisture glimmering from her blue-green eyes. “I’ll just have to… suck it up, I guess. G-get back into the habit of b-being the… the mindless, docile slave. I’ve had most of my life as practise. H-hopefully it won’t take too long to readjust.” Raoul felt his own eyes sting at the anguish in his sister’s voice, and he shook his head. “I can’t do this by myself. I need your help as much as you need mine. I don’t want you to be a mindless, docile slave, even if you have to pretend to be. I… I want you to be my sister. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.” Hesitantly, ready to snatch his hand back if the girl so much as tensed, he reached a hand towards Keavy’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Rather than startle away, however, Keavy sagged, a great wracking sob escaping her chest as the tears escaped her eyes outright. “Is it— is it okay if I… I…” The girl whimpered as she stepped closer to her brother, reaching a shaking arm out toward him. Raoul blinked in surprise, but he gave his sister a sad smile and closed the last of the distance between them, drawing her into a hug. “You’re so tall,” he teased with a watery chuckle- his head was barely even with her shoulder. Keavy sniffled, shutting her eyes as she leaned over to press her face against Raoul’s shoulder. “Maybe you’re just short,” she whispered unsteadily. Then: “I’m s-sorry. For falling apart like this so soon, I… I know I need to be str-stronger, I…” “Hey,” he interrupted, “it’s okay, Keavy. We all have our weaknesses and insecurities. There’s no shame in that. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to be strong for me, okay? If you’re upset, I want to be able to be there for you.” Firmly he added, “ Free people are allowed to have emotions and express them.” She exhaled jaggedly, still buried in the fabric of her brother’s tunic. “R-right,” she said. “And… and it’s all just a show. The f-faces we have to put on in public, that’s all j-just a show.” “Absolutely,” Raoul said firmly, giving his sister a gentle squeeze. “You know I’d never actually hurt you, right? I don’t mean any of the awful, degrading things I have to say when other people are listening.” “I know,” she said. “L-logically I know. It’s just… after so long o-of having people saying the same sort of things and meaning them, s-sometimes my…. my emotions don’t line up with the truth, I guess. L-like a reflex. Crying when you’re ch-chopping onions even though you don’t want to cry.” “I’ve never chopped onions,” Raoul admitted, “literally or metaphorically. But if there’s anything I can do to help, to make this easier, or just… to at least give you some reassurance when we’re alone, just name it, Keavy.” “I g-guess just… just this,” Keavy whispered. “Reminding me that it is all pretend. C-comforting me. Tr-treating me like… like your sister.” “Of course,” he agreed. Smoothing her hair he added, “Hey, you wanna sleep on the bed while I bunk on the floor? Nice role reversal, I bet you couldn’t help feeling like a person with individual worth then, hm?” She gave a wobbly laugh. “W-we can take turns bunking on the floor? Inn by inn. I-if you want.” “Sure. If that’s alright with you,” Raoul smirked. “Just give whoever’s got floor detail a pillow and the blanket and we’ll call it even.” *** “We should be coming up on a river soon,” Raoul remarked, pointing out the body of water in question on his map. “There’s a town on the river called Hearthville- we can stop there for the night, and follow the river west until it picks up at the Telfresk Road. That saves us having to cut too close to Rakine on the road we’ve been following without the risk of getting lost.” “All right.” Three weeks after their arrival to crown territory, as they trundled down the road in Talvace, a very beleaguered Keavy let out a tired sigh. “Gods— I can’t wait to just get to Tate and Benny already, and high-tail it back to rebel lands. And after that, I am never walking more than a few miles again, I swear to the gods.” Raoul gave his sister a sympathetic smile, “I hear that. I thought I’d gotten used to exercise with the army, but I think I have blisters on my blisters. The sooner we get to Hearthville, the sooner we can both sit for a while and eat something other than dried jerky and journey cake.” “Hopefully this inn won’t have quite as many rats as the last one,” she replied. “All through the night I could hear them squeaking. And chewing. And skittering. I swear I didn’t sleep more than ten minutes at a time— and I’m pretty sure you got a better deal sleeping on the floor than in the bed, because that mattress was foul. The hay was mouldy, I think. My skin still itches.” “I’m sorry,” Raoul said with a wince as he rolled up the map and started forward again. “If we had the money I would stay somewhere nicer, but we’ve a very limited budget. I can’t even buy aloe for your arms.” He sighed. “Next time if the bed is nasty, we can both sleep on the floor.” “No need to apologise,” Keavy said softly. “I wasn’t trying to complain about you-- you’ve been great, Raoul. And I’ve certainly slept in even worse, okay? Promise.” “I know, but still. It’s maddening not being able to do more to help.” He glanced down at the road below them, a slight frown ticking at his lips. “Is it just me, or is the road around here rather poorly maintained? There shouldn’t be so many weeds in the path and I’ve not seen the print of horse, human or wagon for miles.” “Mm.” Keavy shrugged, flicking her own gaze toward the path below. “I guess it is, yes. But then, I suppose road maintenance probably isn’t priority these days. Maybe whoever’s territory this is just got… distracted.” “I suppose,” Raoul conceded. “Taxes for all those drafted soldiers have to come out of something. And who knows how much of the road crew was scooped up for the army.” As the duo continued down the path, the condition of the road continued to deteriorate. Once they were within sight of the buildings, both of the twins slipping into their usual characters of enki and slave, Raoul noticed something else that put the hair on the back of his neck up. “It’s quiet,” he hissed softly. “We should be able to hear the people from here- why is it so quiet?” “I don’t know,” Keavy replied, hesitation etching her tone. “Maybe everyone’s… gathered at some other part of the town? If there’s— some… meeting or… or…” Her voice trailed off, her stomach tying itself into knots. Raoul bit his lip, his hand drifting towards the sword sheathed at his hip. “Stay close to me. I know you have a knife in your bodice but all the same I’d rather we kept close until we’re sure of the situation.” She nodded. “Right. Of course.” Keavy gnawed on her lip as they came across a temple, its stone steps covered with a carpet of unbroken moss. They clearly hadn’t been traversed in weeks, if not longer. “That’s—” Her throat hardened. “A little town like this… Everyone in town wouldn’t have skipped services for weeks on end. W-would they have?” “I’d not think so,” Raoul muttered. “At the very least the clerics should be coming and going, and maintaining the temple. This is so bizarre, for the town to be on the map at all it should be sizable and fairly well populated.” The young man paused, putting a finger to his forehead in a mimicry of the traditional blood mark a Carriconist would wear while praying and bowed his head, sending a silent apology to the gods for their temple being allowed to fall into such disrepair. Glancing around he added, “Look, the paddock for the goats is empty too- and there’s no noises coming from the dovecote for the pigeons. All of the sacrificial animals are gone.” “That’s…” Keavy’s voice cracked. “Something’s wrong, Raoul,” she whispered, drawing so close to her brother that their arms grazed. “I don’t know what, but…” “We should keep moving,” Raoul agreed. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t like it.” Moving on through the town, it quickly became clear that the church was not the only building which hadn’t seen occupancy in quite some time. Raoul and Keavy found themselves treading through derelict streets framed by buildings covered in creepers and cobwebs, and spotted nothing alive bigger than a mangy looking shepherd dog- which upon spotting them, loped forwards with tail wagging madly as if it hadn’t had human contact in ages. “It has a collar,” Raoul remarked, his voice hushed as he knelt before the dog. “Clearly belonged to somebody, but it’s so skinny…” “It’s like everyone just… vanished.” Keavy’s voice shook, the feeling of unease turned to a vise that ensnared her entirely. “Can’t be the rebellion, though— I mean, this is deep into crown lands, and… they wouldn’t just… evict everyone from a town. But then… what did happen here, you think?” Her eyes turned to the road before them, skimming across the buildings that still loomed up ahead, drifting aimlessly for a few moments before something froze her in her tracks: an oil lantern on the windowsill of what looked to be a tavern or inn, a small flame flickering from within. “Raoul,” Keavy hissed. “Look. There.” The young man’s head whipped around sharply, and he caught sight of what his sister had seen. His eyes narrowed. “Hm. Clearly not quite as abandoned as it seems to be. I would guess some sort of robbers or squatters, but none of the other houses look looted. Just like whoever owned them took everything inside and left. No smashed windows, no broken in doors… So is the innkeeper still around?” “I… I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” Keavy murmured, scratching behind the dog’s ears as it ambled from Raoul’s side to hers. “We need to be careful, though. And… and get the hells out of here if we don’t like what we see.” She sighed. “I’d say we should just— I don’t know, carry on without even trying our luck at all, but… if the town’s empty because of something dangerous, and we were to forge on blind…” “Right,” her brother agreed. “We need information, if we can get it. But I’m thinking we play down the usual bit. I’m not going to get anything out of these people if I play brash and abrasive, so I’ll go for a more… aloof but not aggressive lordling.” Keavy nodded. “And I’ll stay quiet. Your obedient, docile slave.” “Keep your eyes peeled and watch my back,” Raoul cautioned as they approached the inn. “I don’t want us getting taken off guard.” The two of them finally reached the door, and Raoul pushed it open. This building was in somewhat better repair than the rest of the town, but there was still a rather loud squeal from the hinges as if they’d not been oiled in some time. There was no one behind the counter inside, but at the noise from the door there was a crash from upstairs, and the sound of rapid footfalls on the steps. “If you’re here to chase me out,” a voice growled as a rather bedraggled-looking young man appeared at the base of the stairs, “then I’ll tell you again— I’m not going, I’m—” He froze as his eyes fell on Keavy and Raoul; clearly they were not the targets of his rants, and he spared them a thin smile. “Ah, sorry,” he said. “I thought you were…” The man waved a hand, head tilted. “Travelers, are you? Gods, it’s been awhile since we’ve had any. Welcome to Hearthville.” “We’re passing through on our way south from the contested territories,” Raoul replied, trying to keep his voice smooth and cool, like a disinterested nobleman. “Though I confess, we had not expected to find a town so far into the firmly crown controlled lands so… abandoned.” “Don’t I know it,” the innkeeper grumbled, as Keavy did her very best impression of a statue, arms crossed at her chest and eyes planted on the floor. The man continued, “A month ago, the king’s army marches into town as if there’s something on bloody fire. Flailing their arms about how Hearthville was named in some threat or another that was overhead by some spy or another and— well.” He barked a laugh; there was not a scrap of humour to it. “Evacuated the whole godsdamned town. Like they were herding cattle. But I refused to go. My family’s had this inn for generations— if the rebels come, then I’ll defend this place with my dying breaths. And gods help them if they think they can make off with my property.” At this, the proprietor’s eyes fell on Keavy, and even with her gaze averted, she could feel his stare bearing into her like a hot coal. Her stomach slithered, and she clenched her jaw. Raoul, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes dangerously. “There are no rebels here now, of that much I am certain. We are weeks from the battlefront.” He frowned. “Why would the rebels be interested in this ah… quaint town in the first place? I see no manorhouse nor military outpost marked on my maps or within sight outside.” “That’s what I said,” the innkeeper huffed in agreement. “But did the soldiers listen? Nope. They’ve been back weekly trying to drive me out.” Lowering his voice to a dramatic stage whisper, he added, “Ask me, and I think it’s all pretty fishy. Maybe they just— just want the town as some… secret military base. For some covert operation or another. But like hell is that happening on my watch.” He puffed his chest proudly. “I was born in Hearthville, and I’ll die in Hearthville. My family’s not leaving. Period.” “Are you the only ones still here?” Raoul asked, glancing back towards the window. With a quirk of his eyebrow and false note of humor in his voice he added, “I hope you won’t fleece a displaced enki on account of lacking competition for prices.” “There are a few scattered people left,” the innkeeper said. “Loyalists like me.” He bowed his head, a hand to his chest. “And of course I’d not dream of fleecing you, young master. Trying times like these, we need to stick together, not drive wedges between upstanding freemen like ourselves.” Glancing back up, he considered for a moment before offering, “How about three coppers for the night? Four if you’d like unlimited ale for your stay.” The young man gave snort of a laugh. “I look like I want to be plastered before sundown, apparently. At my size it really doesn’t take much, so I’ll pass on the ale thank you. I-” “Papaaaaa,” whined a young, female voice from up the stairs. “Who’re you talkin’ too? Is it the mean people again?” “No, love,” he called back, a hint of warmth seeping into his tone. “Tell Pax to prepare the upstairs corner room for some guests, all right? Sweep it, make up the bed— all of that. Then he can get some potatoes and beans started for them for supper.” Smiling, the innkeeper noted to Raoul, “My daughter. She just turned eight.” “A blessing,” Raoul said with a thin smile. He counted out the coins for the man’s toll, adding, “Hopefully recent events have not been too hard on her.” “She’s been anxious since the army evacuated the town,” the innkeeper replied. “Clinging to my wife’s skirts like a little tick. Her little brothers aren’t much better— they’re three and four, much too young to understand what’s happening other than that Papa and Mama are scared, and almost all the people they know are gone.” He sighed, taking the coins and dropping them into his tunic pocket. “It doesn’t help that out of an abundance of caution, we’ve had to start chaining our slaves at night and punishing them more harshly when they disobey. Just in case they got any ideas based on the rumours they’ve heard. The kids aren’t used to seeing that— it’s all very… new for them. And scary.” He was speaking as if Keavy weren’t but feet from him, able to hear every word that he said. “We’re humble people. Simple. We’ve three slaves and it took us years to save up and afford them. If they ran off… there’s no way we’d have the resources to track them down, not like a wealthier family could.” Raoul had to fight hard not to wince. Chaining their slaves every night? Gods, he hoped those poor men and women weren’t hurt too badly. He folded his arms, quirking an eyebrow. “Here’s hoping everything comes out alright in the end,” he said with deliberate neutrality. Tacking on what he hoped would dissuade the man from suggesting a similar treatment for Keavy he added, “If you train them up correctly from a young age, there are far less problems with the fractious behavior the rebels have shown. I have brought my girl with me right out of the contested lands after my house fell, and she has followed loyal and docile as a doe.” “Ah, well.” The innkeeper smiled thinly as his gaze swept over Keavy once again. “She’s part elf, I see? Easier with those ones, I think— not fully human, they haven’t the mental capacity most slaves do. And they’re naturally more compliant. It’s just in their blood.” It was nothing Keavy hadn’t heard before— from Lord Calanthia and his fellows dozens, perhaps hundreds, of times— but even still it took everything in her to swallow back a string of curses. Gods, it was like being pricked by the same knife over and over again: every time she thought the wounds of her past had started to heal, there someone would go and drive the blade in again, opening the gouge anew. Raoul felt a spike of molten outrage in his chest, and his jaw clenched. Fortunately he was spared having to make any reply when there was a series of thumps from the stairs, and a little girl appeared, trailed closely by a four-year-old boy who was clinging to a threadbare cloth cat. “I tolded Pax to get the room ready like you said, Papa,” the girl trilled. “Mama told me to take Louie outside ‘cause she said he’s bein’ a little menace and-” The boy- presumably Louie- gave voice to a sudden, sharp cry of dismay, ducking behind his sister. The innkeeper’s brows shot up to his hairline, concern unfurling across his face. “What’s wrong, buddy?” he asked, as he unhooked one of several brass keys from a display on the wall behind him and passed it toward Raoul. “You feeling okay?” “Papa, ‘s the rebels,” he whined, pointing to Keavy- specifically, to the brand on her collarbone. “The rebels!” “Oh— no, no it’s not, sweetie,” the innkeeper said quickly, gesturing for the boy to approach him. “It’s just this nice enki’s slave, Louie. Like Pax and our girls, right? Nothing to be afraid of— promise.” He smiled softly at the child. “Come here, love. Want Papa to pick you up? You can hand the enki the quill to sign the ledger book, how’s that sound?” Raoul had to swallow back a knot in his throat as the boy shook his head sharply. “Papa ‘s gonna hurt us,” he squealed, darting for his father and burying his face in the man’s trouser legs. “Gonna, gonna let Pax outta the chains and Pax’ll hurt us and e’rybody, and, and-” “Louie, shhhhh, it’s not the rebels!” the boy’s sister squeaked. She looked towards Raoul, curtsying hastily. “I’m, I’m sorry Mister Enki, he’s just scared. The soldiers tell us lotsa scary stories when they come. ‘Bout the rebels killin’ their masters and, and burning villages. He has nightmares.” Raoul had to fight hard not to turn to Keavy with a worried look, instead forcing a smile. “It’s. It’s okay young miss, I’m not offended. Of course the young man would be frightened.” “But Papa’s not going to let anyone hurt you,” the innkeeper added firmly, scooping the boy up and hugging him close. “I promise, love.” He glanced back toward Raoul. “Since we’ve got no other guests, I’m going to give you our largest room, okay? It’s in the back left corner at the end of the upstairs hall.. And anything you need— just ask.” He dared a small chuckle. “Pax and the girls can finally earn their keep, eh? I’ll tell them to wait on your every need.” “Yes, of course,” Raoul replied, trying not to show how troubled he was. “Thank you. Come along,” he added to Keavy, gesturing for her to follow him upstairs. Keavy obliged mutely, her head held low as she shuffled past the innkeeper and his children. At the top of the steps, she trailed Raoul down a short hall, her heart still thudding in her throat as they reached the door that led into their room. Though the proprietor had given her brother the key, there was no need to use it, the door already cracked ajar and requiring only a small nudge to open the rest of the way. The reason why was instantly apparent— inside there stood a tall, reed-thin boy of perhaps thirteen, his skin the colour of desert sand and his hair dusty blond. He wore simple clothing— a holey tunic over faded breeches— and his top was sleeveless, immediately revealing to Raoul and Keavy the slave brand that winked up from his bicep. As the siblings stepped inside, he turned toward them, his head tucked into a bow… which did nothing to veil the pair of bruises on his face, one ringing his left eye and the other swollen near his cheekbone. Both marks looked fresh. Oh gods, Raoul swallowed hard, everything in him wanting to say something kind and soothing to reassure the boy, but knowing that he didn’t dare for fear of throwing suspicion on his and Keavy’s cover story. His eyes flicked towards his sister, the light of panic in them patent, but she seemed equally conflicted, only staring at the boy— presumably Pax— as he worried at the floor below with the heel of his bare foot. “I’m almost done preparing your room, enki,” he murmured finally. “Already swept—” he nudged his chin toward a broom that rested against the far wall”-- and just need to dress your bed. I apologise to keep you waiting.” Raoul swallowed hard, forcing himself to give a sharp nod. “Very well- be about it then. No sense giving your master reason to punish you for dallying.” He glanced towards Keavy, mouthing, “Help him?” She nodded, her entire body aching with sympathy as she started toward the bed in the center of the room. A pile of sheets lay on top of it, ready to be set. “Let me help,” she said softly to Pax. “You take one corner, I take the other?” And then hopefully they’d get this finished as quickly as possible— and the boy would avoid any potential wrath from his master. “Y-yes, thank you,” Pax stammered in response, not even daring to meet her gaze. Gods, how broken he had to be, if he was afraid to look at even another slave. “Sorry it wasn’t done in time, enki. I’m v-very sorry, enki.” Raoul had to fight hard to swallow back a stream of reassurances. He had grown up around dozens of people just like this, but to see a young boy behaving this way after months spent with the rebels, after bonding with the sister he’d been separated from at birth… it was like a knife in his gut. “Just finish up, boy,” he said, though he couldn’t quite get his voice to take on the air of cool curtness he’d been going for, instead sounding merely tired. “Your master is waiting on you down in the kitchen.” Pax only nodded in reply, he and Keavy making quick work of the bed, after which the boy grabbed his broom and scurried out the room with a parting bow. Once he was gone, Keavy didn’t wait more than a moment to shut the door, her entire body feeling heavy as she turned the deadbolt— then rounded to face her brother. The pain written across her face was palpable. Thick as iron. They’d seen many slaves since they’d reached crown lands, of course, but none quite so… potently broken. So young and battered and terrified. “Raoul,” she murmured, voice feather light. “That poor child.” He moaned softly, slumping against the wall and covering his face. “Godsdamned fearmongering crown soldiers. Making the entire country south of their battle lines paranoid of some… invisible all-smiting menace. Gods I just want to take that boy out of here, take him somewhere safe…” “But we can’t,” she said miserably. “It would just dr-draw attention, and… people on our trails, and…” She let out a hiss of unadulterated frustration. “The girls. That’s what the lout called his other slaves. Gods, I wonder… what if they’re even younger, just— just babies, practically, and they’re being beaten and chained at night, and—” “I don’t know, Keav,” Raoul cut in softly. “But you saw how those kids reacted when they saw you. They were terrified. And kids are more honest than adults. How scared are the adults, I wonder, beneath their polite facades?” “They think we’re monsters,” Keavy said. “Just because we don’t think it’s all right for… for people to be treated worse than animals. It’s mad. The king’s army is the one killing women and children, and… and torturing prisoners, and— all of that. But we’re the villains, sure. The ones helping people— we’re the villains, and the people giving children black eyes are the innocent wronged.” Raoul didn’t respond at first, only screwing up his face in a mixture of anger and helpless frustration. Then he sagged, sliding down to the floor. “I feel awful for Pax… for all of them… b-but is it bad that part of me feels for the kids too? For the fact that they’re terrified because everyone they’ve ever known is gone, and they hear horror stories about slaves rising up and killing their masters? That even though they don’t think anything of their father beating and bruising those slaves, I still… I still…” He slumped forwards, letting his head hang between his legs. “ Gods, no wonder everyone in the army looks at me like I’m a monster.” “No,” Keavy whispered, hesitating for a moment before she padded to her brother and knelt before him. “The kids don’t understand what’s happening, Raoul. They’re innocent, no matter who their parents are. And they don’t deserve to feel scared— no child does. Slave or free.” She slumped forehead, nestling her cheek against his shoulder. “The slaves here are miserable,” she whispered, “but… the rebellion will reach this far south eventually. They will. And Pax and the others c-can hold on ‘till then— awful as it is, what the bloody innkeeper said is good: they’re valuable to him. He’s not going to… hurt them in a way that could k-kill them. Not like Calanthia might do to Benny. So… they’ll be okay. Not today, not tomorrow, but they will. Eventually.” “R-right,” he whispered. “And contrary to what the king has been telling everyone, the rebellion won’t hurt those kids. Pax and the others will be able to go free… and then everyone’s lives will go on as normal, more or less. They’ll realize the escaped slaves aren’t evil monsters. Just people.” “I kn-know it’s your turn for the bed, but…” Keavy exhaled slowly, shutting her eyes. “What if we both just… slept on the floor tonight? Grab the blankets, and… camp. I-if you don’t mind. I just… I…” Her voice trailed off, the girl unable to string the nebulous, unpleasant emotions that swirled through her into a coherent thought. “S-sure,” Raoul agreed, nodding. “I… I think I’d like that too. And Keavy-” he lifted his head, pulling his sister into a hug. “It’s not true. Those things that conceited arse was saying about you. They’re not.” An automatic lump welled in her throat. “I know,” she whispered. “D-doesn’t mean it doesn’t… hurt when people say things like that, but… I know. I do. D-deep down.” She sighed, eyes still closed as she settled against her brother. “Thank you, Raoul.” A beat. “I… I love you.” Raoul swallowed hard, a tremulous smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. He let his forehead rest against Keavy’s shoulder. “I love you too, sis.” Family Values - Part SevenIt was another two weeks after the twins had stopped at the mostly abandoned village. They’d long picked up the second road down the river and unlike the one they’d followed before it was immaculately maintained. “Gods it feels like we’ve been walking forever,” Raoul muttered. “I can’t begin to imagine what it was like for you heading north- there must have been times it felt like you weren’t ever getting anywhere.” “Knowing that if I stopped walking, Lord Calanthia would drag me back in fetters was… pretty motivating,” Keavy said darkly. She sighed. “Though, yes— it’s not a walk I ever thought I’d make again. Gods, if I’d only insisted Benny and Tate come with me the first time around… I should have fought more, I should have refused to leave unless they did…” Raoul put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “You can ‘I should have’ yourself until you’re blue in the face, but it can’t change the past. It’ll only drive you insane. I-” he cut himself off, glancing back towards the road ahead with a slight frown. “Do you hear that noise? It’s… it’s like thunder, but it never stops.” Keavy froze, still as a startled deer— then reluctantly nodded her head. “Yes. What do you think it is…?” She furrowed her brow, ears strained. “Animals? Or…?” “Hard to say,” Raoul muttered. “But… I think it’s horses. A lot of them, on the path ahead. Maybe some oxen pulling wagons, but definitely whatever it is, it has hooves.” His sister’s eyes went saucer-wide. “Horses. A lot of horses. That can only mean…” She swore, heart lurching. “Army, Raoul. It’s got to be the king’s army.” Raoul tensed, going dead white. “B-b-but… why are they this far from the frontlines, that doesn’t make any sense! We’re at least two months into the crown held territory!” “I’ve no idea why, but…” She swallowed hard, pausing again for a moment to listen to the hoofbeats. “Whatever it is, they’re drawing closer. We need to get off the road. Now. Civilians’ questions we can deal with— but we’re in the middle of nowhere, if they started prodding…” “And go where Keavy?” Raoul demanded. “There’s nothing but grassland, unless you want to duck into that woodland about half a mile off to the right, but either way would just get us lost!” “We can go into the woods,” Keavy returned, angling to face the trees that towered in the distance, ominous against the gray horizon. “Come on. If we walk quickly, we can be out of sight before the horses get here, all right?” “ What?” Raoul squawked. “Keavy, no, absolutely not, if we go off-road we’ll get completely turned around! Not to mention there are all sorts of vicious wild animals in the woods, I’m not looking to have us mauled!” “It’ll be fine,” his sister insisted, pursing her lips. “It’s the woods, Raoul, not some lair of monsters. Would you rather be interrogated by crown soldiers?” She took a step off the road, definitively, her shoes crunching against the brittle grass beneath. “Come on.” “Keavy!” Raoul called in exasperation, but his sister was paying him no heed. After several more seconds of her continuing to march away towards the woods, he darted after her. “For gods’ sakes, wait up!” “We don’t have time to argue,” she said simply. “Just follow me, okay? I can get us through the woods fine— I swear.” Pausing for just a moment to flick her gaze behind her shoulder, she added, “Trust me? Please?” Raoul blinked, surprised, and tilted his head. “I do trust you. I do. But wilderness survival… I don’t know anything about it Keav. I mean I can hunt if I have a bow, but I don’t. I can fish a little, but I have no rod. I can’t… navigate the stars or anything, and I-” “Not everything is always about you,” Keavy said a bit sharply. “Now hurry up that pace, all right? We can talk again once we’re safe in the woods.” Raoul flinched, looking hurt. He trekked after his sister, arms folded and head down. The woods were a good ways off from the road, but they made it to them just in time. In the distance, a line of horses draped in crown colors and glimmering armor appeared, and behind them were oxen pulling huge wagons. “Looks like they’re taking supplies to the front lines,” Raoul muttered, his gaze averted. “Probably a huge train of them- it’ll take at least an hour for them to pass us.” “We can keep moving,” Keavy said. “Maybe it’ll save us some time, anyway— the road isn’t exactly straight.” “Sure,” Raoul agreed. “You’ll have to lead, since you seem more confident in your ability to navigate than I do.” He held out the map, his eyes still looking everywhere but at his sister’s face. She paused, turning back toward him “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’re acting... sullen.” He scowled slightly. “I… I’m just frustrated. That the first time I disagreed with you it automatically turned into a dig on my being a self-centered enki. That I admitted I was afraid and got snapped at.” He shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter, like you said it’s not about me. We don’t need to get caught.” “I didn’t mean it as a dig,” Keavy replied, her voice softening “Just I… I…” She sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I don’t know. I love you, Raoul, and I’m… so glad you’re doing this with me. But sometimes I feel like you just… see me as someone to be protected. Who needs you always to keep me afloat. But I’m… not, all right? I have skills, and… knowledge, and…” Raoul frowned. “It’s not that I don’t believe that, Keavy. It’s just instinct. All my life I’ve had it pounded into my head that I have to be strong to protect my family. That it’s my responsibility as a man of the gods. So if I’ve come off like I’m belittling you, I’m sorry. But that had nothing to do with my objections just now.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve never been in the wilderness with anything smaller than a six-man escort of knights, my father, and my brothers while on a hunting trip. I don’t know anything about surviving out in the middle of the woods, or navigating, or… anything. And so plunging headfirst into the thick of the woods made me uneasy.” “But I do know about surviving, Raoul,” Keavy said softly. “I… I’ve always loved nature— I don’t know why. And when I escaped from Calanthia, I couldn’t just… take the roads up north, Raoul. I would have been caught in an instant. I stayed entirely off the map. In the woods, grasslands…” She sighed, reaching out toward her brother in an open invitation. “I’ll get us through this, okay? I promise.” Raoul bit his lip, steeling himself for a moment before he nodded and reached out to take Keavy’s hand. “Alright. I trust you. Which way?” Keavy considered for a moment, visually sweeping the thick brush around them. “That way,” she said finally, gesturing ahead and slightly to the left. “I think there’s water there, a bit of a way’s up. We can follow the stream.” Raoul nodded, following her as she started off. “How can you tell? I don’t hear or see anything.” Keavy shrugged, gnawing on her lip as though it were taffy. “I don’t know. It’s just— a feeling, I guess. I’ve always been good with stuff like that. Feeling my way through unfamiliar places, sensing where landmarks probably are…” She gave her brother a sidelong glance. “Tate used to find it kind of funny. A bit of a novelty, a party trick. He thought maybe it had something to do with my elf blood, but I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve ever met another elf.” Raoul crossed his arms, looking pensive. “I knew your biological father, sort of, but he wasn’t exactly chatty about elf abilities or talents. I just know commonplace stuff everyone does- that elves are very tall, generally pale skinned, have long ears and shiny eyes, and purportedly they don’t…” he blinked, looking over to his sister with understanding dawning on his face. “They don’t like violence or fighting.” “I guess that… would explain some,” Keavy replied. “Like why the thought of actually being in combat makes me…” She shook her head, shuddering. “I don’t know. It’s like there are— all these things about me that could be because I’m half-elf, or could just be… me. And I have no idea which are which. No standard to go on. Nobody to compare to.” Her brother nodded slowly. “I can see how that would be frustrating. Not really understanding parts of your own nature or if it’s just you as an individual.” He tilted his head. “I’ve heard there’s a city of elves somewhere in Kyth. Just one, but…” “Is it real?” Keavy asked simply. “I’ve heard the same, but Tate always warned me it could just be… a story. Not to get my hopes up about it— or… about meeting anyone else like me.” She sighed, brushing aside a low-hanging branch that was blocking their path. Up ahead, the air carried with it the distant sound of rushing water. Indeed a stream, just as Keavy had asserted. “I still haven’t met one— an elf. I thought in the rebel army there might be some, but if there are we haven’t crossed paths.” Raoul sighed, “I don’t know for sure about the city, although I’ve heard saying it doesn’t exist anymore is something the enkis started doing generations ago as a means of keeping their elf slaves from trying to flee; making them think there was nowhere to flee to. These days only the high ranking lords or those who deal directly with Kyth know for sure anymore. Though… the absence of elves in the army might argue in favor of the city existing after all. If elves don’t like fighting, and their people are out there, they have little reason to stick around.” “And Kyth probably seems a world away from… all of this,” Keavy said. “They wouldn’t have to think about what’s going on here. The enkis, the slaves, the war— any of it.” “It’s probably nice for them, being able to really feel safe,” Raoul acknowledged. “And I can’t imagine they really feel like they owe the human slaves here much of anything. Nobody is particularly kind to the elves… I’m sorry.” “I’m only half-elf, and I spent most of my life being called a creature,” Keavy agreed. “I… can’t even imagine what it’s like for a full blooded elf.” She sighed as the stream came up into view before them, twisting through the bracken and brush. “Should we stop for a bit, maybe?” she suggested. “Drink, rest up…” The girl smiled, half-sardonically and half-grimly. “Partake in our delicious rations. Why, I wonder if dried bread crusts and nuts are on the menu again today— they’re my favourite, you know.” The young man laughed. “Well just your luck- that’s exactly what’s on the menu. I never thought I’d find myself missing army meals of potato mush, lentil mush, and pea mush.” “Ooh, don’t forget the mystery mush,” Keavy said dryly. “That was my favourite.” She sighed, reaching for the pack she wore over her shoulder. “No inn at all for us tonight, eh? We get to camp under the stars. Like the good fugitives we are.” “Good practice for the trip back north,” Raoul replied, sitting down on a nearby stone. “I don’t know how much water the whole ‘enki and slave’ charade will hold when said enki is traveling alone with three slaves, one of them a small child, and headed towards the front lines.” Keavy laughed softly. “We’ll have to tell Benny it’s some game,” she said. “An adventure game where you frolic through the woods and cover your eyes when Papa and KeeKee and Raoul hear footsteps. We can give him rewards when he’s good. Extra— berries or stories or something.” “KeeKee? Aww, that’s adorable,” Raoul cooed, smirking. “I’m gonna start calling you that from now on.” “Don’t you dare.” Keavy elbowed him, though she couldn’t hide the grin ticking at the corners of her lips. “And just you wait— I’m sure Benny will have some darling nickname for you, too, sooner than later. It’ll be adorable, we can tell all the soldiers about it once we’re back at the rebel camp.” “I’ve been meaning to ask actually,” Raoul said, “How did you get the name ‘Keavy’? That doesn’t sound Courdonian.” “It’s… not Courdonian, no,” she murmured, suddenly fidgeting. “It’s Cerrish, actually.” “Cerrish?” Raoul echoed. “Gods I… barely even think of Cerrin. It’s so far away.” “I don’t even know where it is,” Keavy admitted. “Other than… far. Very far.” A beat. “Tate— he’s… from there. Or, used to be. A long time ago, when he was just a kid.” “Oh,” Raoul winced, looking down at his lap. “So… Tate gave you that name?” His sister nodded. “Like I said… Calanthia, he— he called me kreatura most of the time. Not by a name. And Tate…” She swallowed hard at the memory, her eyes suddenly glossy. “He said that every little girl deserved a name. Especially o-one who was as sweet as I was. Keavy. It’s— it’s Cerrish. It means ‘gentle’. Or… or ‘kind’. Gentle and kind.” “He sounds like a good man,” Raoul said softly, rubbing his arm. He hesitantly reached for his sister, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I look forward to meeting him. I hope he likes me.” “He will,” Keavy said, leaning into her brother’s hold. “He’ll like you a lot, Raoul. Him and Benny both.” She blinked back the sheen of moisture in her eyes. “Gods, it’s going to be awkward, though. When he realises I was so unoriginal as to take his name as my surname. And not like he can take it as a surname, too, not unless he wants to be Tate Tate.” “He might be flattered,” Raoul suggested. “Though yeah, it would be hard to have him go by the same surname. Maybe he has a Cerrish surname? From before he was taken.” She nodded. “I think he does. And… I suppose I could take that, too, it’s not as if I’m all that attached to ‘Tate’-- I mostly picked it because it was the first thing that came to mind, and…” Keavy shrugged, resting her head against her brother’s shoulder. “Or, you know, I… I could...” “You could?” he prompted, pulling a small bag of nuts out of his backpack and offering them to his twin. “I could take the same name you did,” Keavy said softly. “Austin. And— Tate can choose whether he wants his old name for him and Benny, or a new one to symbolize his new start. But either way… we’d have the same surname, Raoul. Me and you.” She laced her fingers through his, squeezing hard once she had. “Like family should.” Raoul looked down at her in surprise, his blue eyes going wide. “I… A-are you sure, Keav? I would love that, but I know Tate was important to you and I just… showed up recently. I haven’t done half as much for you as he has, much though I wish that wasn’t the case.” “I’m sure,” Keavy said, softly but firmly. “Tate gave me my first name. And… free people here have middle names sometimes, too, don’t they? I can always keep it there. But for my surname… I want us to share.” Raoul smiled. “Alright. I’d like that. Us having the same surname, like we should have had all along. Your name and family is… everything, after all. It’s fitting.” “Oh, now, stoic enki, don’t get sappy on me,” Keavy joked. “One might think you’re feeling things that aren’t just… the unending desire to protect your womenfolk and… eat rich, meaty pudding.” “Oh, please don’t talk to me about meat,” the boy said with a dramatic groan. “I would murder for a good slice of beef right about now.” Keavy laughed. “Maybe we could catch a fish,” she said, nudging her chin toward the stream. “Have us some fried fish. With a topping of… hmmm, I have it on a good authority that you’re a fan of nuts, Raoul.” Raoul laughed dryly. “We’ll have to improvise something for the fishing pole, but sure. I’d be game to try. Anything to break up the monotony!” He gently slid out from under his sister, adding, “I’ll look for a stick and something to string to it if you find some bait?” “Putting me to work, are you?” Keavy asked with a smirk. “For shame, Raoul. But— all right. If you insist, I suppose I could do such a difficult labour. For my dearest brother.” “Think of it this way,” he said cheerfully. “If all goes well, you’ll be rewarded for your efforts with some delicious roasted fish. Might convert me into a nature lover after all.” *** It was hard to believe that they had made it so far already- as Raoul pushed open the door to a well appointed inn, the minstrel in the corner playing a lively jig on his lute, it was with the knowledge that this was the last city before the Teral border. That they had almost reached their destination. Can we really pull this off? Rescue Tate and Bennet from the heart of crown territory?He was intercepted by a chipper looking innkeeper, the man bowing theatrically as he chirped, “M’lord, welcome, welcome, how may I be of service?” His eyes flicked towards Keavy uneasily, but a moment later fixed on Raoul again with determined cheer. The teenage boy fought back a frown. “I was hoping I might take a noon meal before my girl and I move on. We’ve a long ways to go yet.” “Of course, of course,” the innkeeper bowed again. “Might I offer taking the chattel to the back? She may eat with my own servants while you have a civilized meal.” Keavy fought back a glower and a swear, instead forcing her face to remain impassive as Raoul gave what he hoped was a dismissive handwave and not a sharp, angry looking gesture. “I suppose, but I want her fed up well, we’ve a very long ways to go and I won’t have her swooning on the road.” “Ah, of course my lord,” the man bobbed a bow again. Gesturing to the tables about the room he added, “You may sit wherever you like, and someone will be along to serve you presently. Girl, come with me.” Keavy wanted to balk— wanted nothing more than to refuse the proprietor’s request and stay within the safety of her brother’s presence. But she knew that she couldn’t, not unless she wanted things to get complicated, and so instead of resisting she crossed her arms at her chest and fell in obedient step behind the man, casting Raoul a reluctant, sidelong glance as she swept by him. Raoul met her eyes briefly, allowing a ghost of a smile to tick at his lips in what he hoped was reassurance before he vanished from sight in the crowd. As they passed from the noisy common room into a hot, bustling kitchen, the innkeeper leveled a stern glower at Keavy. “I don’t want any funny business from you, girl. I mean it, we don’t take kindly to your sort around here. You’d do well to remember your place.” “Yes, enki,” Keavy murmured, head ducked. She could see a pair of people— slaves, presumably— meandering about nearby, but she dared not study them closely, not with their master menacing just feet away. “I won’t cause you any trouble. I promise, enki.” The man didn’t reply at first, eyeing Keavy like she were a venomous snake. Then he jerked his chin towards a door at the far end of the kitchen. “That’s the stockroom. Slaves eat their meals in there. I’ll have one of my girls bring you along some broth.” “Yes, enki.” Head still bowed, Keavy started toward the indicated room, when she arrived at its threshold giving the door a hesitant knock. “Hello?” she murmured, as she could hear the innkeeper stalk back out the kitchen. “Can I— can I come in?” “Come in,” came the reply from inside, though something about the quality of the speaker’s voice was slightly off— which sent an automatic bulge knotting in Keavy’s throat, but didn’t stop her from obediently pushing open the door, finally daring to dredge up her gaze as she stepped into the room. “Hello,” she murmured, smiling thinly as she apprised the two people inside: one of them was a woman who looked to be in her mid twenties, long blonde hair hanging lank from her head and hazel eyes underscored by deep black bags. The other was a black haired boy who couldn’t have been older than eleven, the brand on his bicep puckered and raw in a way that suggested it had not yet fully healed and his face covered in splashes of the broth he was eating as if he had been lapping it from the bowl rather than using the spoon in his hand. Both of them glanced up at Keavy when she walked in, their faces set in identical tired, dazed expressions, the boy in particular looking like he could scarcely keep his eyes open. “You’re new,” the boy murmured, his voice heavily slurred. Keavy blinked. “I’m… visiting,” she said, toeing forward. “My master’s staying the night here. We’re on our way south.” The older woman nodded, gesturing for Keavy to sit with them. “Visiting is good. You’ll be out of here in th’ morning. Here isn’t… isn’t good.” The woman’s voice was as indistinct as the little boy’s, her words coming out rather as if she were talking around a mouthful of taffy. Keavy furrowed her brow, studying the pair, searching for some reason that could account for their odd demeanour— but found nothing. Her gut slithered, cold as ice. “That… that brand looks fresh,” she commented hesitantly, nodding toward the boy’s bicep as she dropped into the seat beside him. “It still hurt, honey?” He nodded absently, trying to spoon some of the soup into his mouth. However he missed the mark, dribbling a bit on his upper lip before he adjusted his grip. After he swallowed the boy said, “It sears. Master just bought me from the auction last week. To clean rooms. And it hurts. The brand. It really, really hurts.” He looked towards Keavy, staring at her with glassy brown eyes. “Your. Your ears. They’re neat.” The hells? Keavy barely knew what to say, nausea creeping up her throat as she tentatively replied, “Ah… thank you, honey. And I’m sorry your brand’s hurting. What’s… what’s your name?” She flicked her blue-green eyes toward the older woman. “And yours? I’m Keavy.” “I’m Sasha,” the woman answered dimly. “The boy is… he’s… I forgot.” “I’m just the Runt,” the boy muttered. “Master calls me that, and ‘s what Mama’s master called me too. I told ya b’fore.” “Right,” the woman nodded. A bitter taste coated Keavy’s mouth. “That’s…” As bad as what Calanthia called me, she thought but didn’t say. “I’m sorry,” she amended awkwardly. “What did your mama call you, honey? Surely not ‘runt’.” “Mama said not t’say,” the boy muttered. “‘Cause it was… it was a word in the language of where she was born. Amato. It means ‘dear one’ she said. But I’m not s’possed to tell. ‘Cause that isn't’ allowed.” At that moment the door creaked open and another slave walked into the room- although “walked” was something of a misnomer. She was stumbling, her footsteps uncertain. She looked down at Keavy through veil of light brown hair, blinking dazedly for several seconds before proffering a bowl of broth she was carrying in her hands. “Here. ‘S for you.” “Thank you,” Keavy said, meeting the woman’s gaze. The other slave’s eyes were dark, like molasses, but where in most people’s eyes— even broken slaves— Keavy at least usually found some spark, here there was… there was… Nothing. Not even a fizzle. They were dull and flat as stone. “That’s… that’s Cherish,” the blonde woman called Sasha put in, prompting the newcomer to tilt her head in confusion. “Cherith,” she corrected dimly. “You… you always get it wrong. My name. All the time.” “Can’t remember things,” Sasha muttered. “Brain’s… all tired.” “Are you guys sick?” Keavy murmured. “Some kind of ague?” “Nnnnnooooooo,” Sasha said, drawing out the word far longer than she needed to. “It’s… hard to ‘splain.” “The slaves were bad,” the small boy put in, absently ladeling broth into his spoon and then watching as it dribbled back out into the bowl. “Now, now it’s all fixed. So we’re not bad.” “I… I don’t understand,” Keavy replied, her eyes falling to the bowl of broth before her. Despite the long day on the road, however, she suddenly found herself fostering no appetite— only a churning slick of nausea and unease, which stayed with her throughout the meal, right up until the innkeeper returned to fetch her about an hour later and directed her to join Raoul in his room. Keavy’s brother was going over his map at the inn room’s small table when Keavy walked in. He looked up to offer her a tired smile once she’d safely closed the door- then his expression transformed into one of concern when he saw the expression of patent discomfort on her face. “Keav, what’s up?” he asked. “Was the innkeeper a prat?” “Yes, but… that’s expected.” She bit her lip. “It’s not him, Raoul. It’s— his slaves. All of his slaves, or at least the ones I talked to.” The young man frowned, pushing away from the table and standing up. “The one who was out in the common room serving acted like she’d been helping herself to some of the innkeeper’s ale behind his back, I noticed that much. At the time I assumed she was just… Damaged somehow. A blow to the head or something. But you say there’s something wrong with all of his slaves? Like what?” “They’re sluggish,” Keavy replied. “Dazed. They speak in stilted sentences and half the time I asked them a question, their answer was that they didn’t remember. Even simple things.” She swallowed hard. “And there’s a little boy. He told me the slaves here used to be bad, but… that it was taken care of so they’re not any more. And I have no bloody clue what that means, and none of them would elaborate further for me.” Raoul bit his lip. “That… that doesn’t sound good.” He folded his arms, looking up towards the ceiling. “Let’s see… sluggish, memory issues, speech issues, and if what I saw with the girl in the common room is universal as well, no coordination either-” “The boy could barely feed himself,” Keavy put in. “He’s well old enough, but it was like… I don’t know, watching Benny when he was just a babe. The food dripping right back out.” “It…” Raoul looked back down towards his sister, his blue eyes fraught with worry. “It sounds almost like… like they’re all drugged somehow.” “Drugged?” Keavy echoed. “But— why? It doesn’t make sense, it…” Her voice trailed off. “You talked to the innkeeper a bit while you were eating, didn’t you? Did he say anything odd? Anything that’d… explain, or at least nudge toward an explanation?” “He didn’t say much,” Raoul replied. “Asked me where I was headed, and I fed him the usual story about fleeing the frontlines and looking for shelter with my mother’s family in Teral. He sympathised, and told me they had ‘troubles’ here about two months ago but that they ‘handled it.’” Raoul frowned deeply. “You said the boy told you that the slaves used to be ‘bad’ didn’t you?” Keavy nodded. “Yes. And then it was taken care of so it wasn’t a problem anymore. But… gods, he couldn’t have meant his master just started… drugging them all. Could he have? Because that’s… that’s…” “It’s abhorrent. But the innkeeper didn’t say it was just his inn having problems, Keav,” Raoul said, horror dawning across his face. “He specifically said that they’d been having problems in the city. But that they ‘handled it.’ What if… what if it wasn’t just the slaves at the inn misbehaving? What if the city’s slaves got word of the rebellion and tried to orchestrate some kind of revolt?” “So… what then?” Keavy asked, feeling a bit light-headed. “They’ve gone and drugged the slaves in the whole city? That’s sick, Raoul. Beyond sick.” “We… we don’t know that for sure, we don’t even know that drugging is actually what’s wrong with the inn slaves,” Raoul said, though his shoulders were shaking and it was clear from his expression that he didn’t believe a word he was saying. “Maybe we should investigate?” Keavy murmured, even if the idea made her feel even sicker. “Go out into the town and… see if any shops are open, and if so, if there are slaves there. And w-what those slaves are acting like.” “Maybe,” Raoul murmured. “We should stock up on supplies before we cross over into Teral, since it’s probably not a good idea for us to travel openly somewhere you might be recognized. But stick close to me out in the city, alright? I know you don’t like me being protective over you and you can take care of yourself but…” “But this is weird,” Keavy finished for him. “And you’ve got way more of an ability in this circumstance to protect both of us than I do.” Raoul nodded, looking relieved that his sister hadn’t argued. “We’ll try at the bakery and the butcher shop. Pick up some journey bread and jerky, and see if we can’t nose around. Those worthies should have at least one slave each.” Leading Keavy back out into the darkening streets, Raoul managed to find his way to the local butchery after asking for directions. There was no one in the shop front when he arrived, but the bell jangling overhead brought a slightly plump fellow with a bloodstained apron out from the back. He smiled jovially toward Raoul before his expression darkened a hair at spotting Keavy, his voice pleasant but cool as he greeted, “Welcome, welcome. A traveler, I take it, young master?” “From the north,” he agreed crisply, enunciating his high dialect carefully. “I am making my way to Teral to stay with some relatives, and I had hoped to purchase some supplies for the last leg of my journey.” Hoping to needle a bit, he added with a grim smile, “Godsdamned rebels thought they had me, but they’re not nearly so clever as they like to imagine.” The butcher chuckled. “Aye, well, that’s what happens when you’ve a bunch of surly slaves playing soldier.” He tilted his chin as his eyes darted back toward Keavy, raking her over as if she were a piece of pottery for sale. “She yours?” he asked lightly. “Interesting little thing. Part elf, is she?” “She’s mine yes,” Raoul replied quirking an eyebrow. “And she’s not for sale. Been a bugger dragging her all this way and keeping her out of the hands of the uprising.” “I can imagine,” the butcher said. “Gods know, it’s like a plague. Spreading everywhere, infecting their weak minds and taking hold. And a lash can only go so far.” Raoul put a few coppers down on the counter. “Jerky please. And oh? Yours getting fractious? Perhaps they need to be reminded that they are still well within the territory of the crown, and the scum that have broken out will be put down long before they get this far.” “Not fractious any longer,” the butcher replied. “They were for a time, but…” He meandered toward the glass case that held the jerky. “Well, we’ve taken care of it, fortunately.” “Have you?” Raoul asked curiously. “Perhaps you ought share your secret, if it isn’t the lash. I certainly know the front lines could use a reliable method to bring the chattel to heel.” The butcher chuckled, glancing toward the door behind him, which presumably led into a store room. “Ann!” he called, his voice suddenly sharp. “Come here.” He glanced back toward Raoul. “I’ll tell you,” he said. “Or, rather, show you.” Raoul felt a lump forming in his throat. About thirty seconds later, a woman with tousled, curly brown hair and blood dripping from both hands emerged from the store room. She bowed, almost losing her balance and falling as she did so, and with a heavily slurred voice she murmured, “Yes, master?” “Wipe your godsdamned hands!” the butcher hissed, scowling. As the slave quickly obliged, clumsily running her hands along the apron she wore, her master added to Raoul, “See how slow she moves?” “Aye,” the former noble agreed, trying to keep his voice level. “Staggers a bit too.” “A month ago, this very wretch dared spit in my face,” the butcher said. “Half the slaves in town went— well, they got the taste of hope in their mouths. A very strong taste. And it was impossible to tell who quite was an instigator, and who was merely a follower, and who wasn’t involved at all, and— the stakes were so high…” He shrugged languidly. “We came to a consensus, the good freeman of this town. That it was best not to take any chances.” The woman was looking up again, and there could be no mistaking the blank, glossy quality of her eyes nor the way her mouth was hanging just slightly agape. Raoul swallowed thickly, trying to keep down the bile that was rising up in his throat. “So you’ve been tainting their food supply, hm? Seems a two-edged sword to me. Doesn’t it make them terribly inefficient workers?” “They can still follow orders well enough.” The butcher shrugged, reaching into the case to remove several strips of jerky for Raoul. “And better than the alternative. I’ve a family, you know. I couldn’t risk them getting hurt.” “Of course not,” Raoul agreed, his eyes flicking to the slave woman again. In spite of her efforts to wipe off her hands, there were still smears of red across her fingers, but she barely seemed aware of them. In fact, her head was lolling in such a way that suggested she was nodding off on her feet. Sure enough, as the butcher approached the counter with the jerky strips, Ann’s eyes slid shut and she stumbled forwards, just catching herself before she toppled into Raoul. The butcher scowled. “Sorry about that,” he huffed. “I might need to ease the dose by just a bit. Can’t have her staggering into my customers.” To say nothing of the fact that she could easily stumble and impale herself on a meat hook in this state, the former nobleman thought, though he kept it behind his lips. Instead he smiled mildly, reaching out to receive the jerky. “Your method is certainly an interesting one regardless. Thank you for humoring my curiosity.” The butcher chuckled. “Aye, well, if you ever run into problems with your girl, I’d definitely recommend giving it a try. Ann’s been like butter recently. Haven’t had to raised my fist or lash once.” “I’ll take that under advisement,” Raoul said, though he certainly intended no such thing. “She’s never given me much trouble, though, so for now I don’t think it necessary. I wish you a good evening, sir, and thank you for the meat.” When he and Keavy visited the baker, the story was much the same there. The baker’s slave, a girlchild who looked little more than nine, was sluggishly dragging a broom across the floor when Raoul walked into the shop, and barely seemed to comprehend the orders she was given, taking several seconds of staring at her master blankly before complying. It made Raoul’s heart twist, and he fled the shop as quickly as he could without looking suspicious. Keavy didn’t dare react visibly to the slaves’ states-- let alone comment when somebody beyond her brother might overhear— but she felt sick from head to toe, her gut churning, her palms sweating. So it was the whole town. Gods, it was the whole town. Back at the inn, neither of the siblings spoke as they sauntered to their room, Keavy bolting the door behind them. Raoul looked ready to puke, collapsing back onto the bed and covering his face with his hands. “Dear Gods,” he muttered, his entire body shaking. “They’re… they’re going to kill these people if they aren’t careful, and even if they don’t… by the time the rebel army makes it this far south, they’ll have been drugged so long…” “They seem to think every slave is just some… poison waiting to kill them,” Keavy murmured, her throat shaking. “That little girl at the bakery, the little boy here— they’re children, not… not monsters, not rebels.” “It’s paranoia,” her brother agreed. “Nothing else. Disgusting, fear mongering paranoia. And the worst of it is… there’s nothing we can do, is there?” “Absolutely nothing.” Keavy clenched her jaw. “And… the way everyone’s been looking at me here, as if— as if they just… expect me to turn on you at a moment’s notice, as if you’ve m-missed out on some opportunity by not drugging me into a walking corpse…” She shuddered. “It’s mad, Raoul. Mad.” “I count us fortunate that the innkeeper didn’t try to slip anything into whatever he fed you earlier,” Raoul said grimly, sitting up on the bed. “I’d be disinclined to trust any other food he tried to give you.” Keavy blanched. “You… you don’t think he’d…?” She paced over to her brother, lowering herself tentatively beside him on the bed. “I mean… I’m not his, he c-couldn’t do that, that’d be… illegal, right? It has to be illegal.” “I like to think he wouldn’t dare,” he said, drawing his sister into a one-armed hug. “Interfering with a noble’s personal slave is a suicidal move. But given how rampant the paranoia is in this town, I don’t know if I trust their common sense.” “ Gods.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, massaging it. “We should get out of here first thing tomorrow. Get some sleep and then high-tail it out.” “Frankly? I don’t want to spend another minute in this town,” Raoul replied, his blue eyes going steely. “I don’t trust it, I don’t like it, and I have no bloody clue how I’d justify not having you eat breakfast with the other slaves in the morning after I did it tonight.” “So what, then?” Keavy’s brows snapped down. “It’s late, Raoul. We can hardly make it to another town today, and we’ve already paid for this room— you’d rather creep out of here and go and sleep in the wilds?” She gnawed on her lip, thinking. “We could always try to slip out before breakfast tomorrow. Before the innkeeper wakes up, even.” “I’m just… worried, Keav,” her brother said softly, clenching his hands in the blanket. “This town gives me a bad, bad feeling. I don’t like how everyone keeps looking at you.” “We can stay in our room the rest of the night,” Keavy countered. “No one else has to look at me at all. And then, like I said— we can try to slip out before breakfast tomorrow. Just as soon as the dawn breaks.” She smiled thinly at her brother. “I’ll be all right, Raoul. Don’t worry so much, okay?” He bit his lip, looking up at his sister. “Are you sure, Keavy?” “Positive,” she said softly. “Does it make me uncomfortable? Yes. But… we’re tired, and it’s late, and…” “First light,” Raoul said firmly. “We’re out of here by first light. As quietly as we can be gone, so no one asks questions. Like dawn roll call back with the army.” “All right. First light,” she agreed. “We slip out before the innkeeper wonders why you’ve not come down for breakfast.” “I think it’s your turn to take the bed,” Raoul mused, then he smirked. “Ah, that’s why you don’t want to leave. I see through you now.” She rolled her eyes at him, snorting. “Ah, yes, clearly,” she agreed. “Now get on the floor, little boy. Maybe I’ll spare you an extra pillow if you’re good.” In spite of the unease roiling in his gut, Raoul obeyed. He slept fitfully, imagines of the drugged slaves working their way into his dreams so that he startled awake several times. He finally fell fully asleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning, but it felt like barely any time at all before Keavy was gently shaking him awake, the faintest glow of false dawn visible on the horizon. The two of them quickly gathered up their packs, shouldering them and leaving the room key on the dresser by the bed before heading downstairs. As they’d hoped, all was quiet, the rest of the inn still asleep. Raoul shot his sister a relieved glance as they came around the end of the stairs and into the common room. They were almost home free, they’d be fine, they- “Whaaaa?” The sound of a soft, bleary voice sent both Raoul and Keavy stopping dead in their tracks, the half-elf’s stomach dropping out from under itself as her brother whipped around towards the sound. Off to one side, a small key in his hand, was the young boy Keavy had met the previous day. The slave who’d introduced himself as “Runt” or “Amato.” “Who are you?” he asked, tilting his head. There was noticeably less of a slur in his voice than there had been the previous day, and his eyes at least seemed to carry a vague light of sense, if not total sharp clarity. He glanced towards Keavy, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You… you look familiar…” “We… we met yesterday, honey,” Keavy murmured, equal parts relief (that it wasn’t the innkeeper) and horror (that the little boy seemed to have no recollection of their previous encounter) lancing through her. “At dinner?” she needled on. “We ate together.” His brow furrowed in concentration, and his eyes danced towards the half-elf’s ears. “I… I remember you were… were nice. But I don’t know what you said.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t remember nothin’ since the sleepy juice started. I forget s-stuff all the time, and when Master wakes up he’ll make me take it again a-and…” the boy finally seemed to notice Raoul, and he quailed, his eyes fixing on the man’s unmarked shoulder. Hastily he bowed. “ Enki, I-I’m s-s-s-sorry, I-” “Shhhh, it’s okay,” Raoul hissed, unable to bring himself to adopt his usual facade around the clearly terrified, not quite sober child. “I’m not mad kiddo, and I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” The child’s entire body was trembling now, and he looked confused. “G-gonna give me the sleepy juice?” “Nope,” Keavy said softly. “We won’t— promise. We were… were actually just…” She hesitated, her heart hammering in her throat. Gods, this poor child, stealing moments of partial cogency as if he were a starving thief swiping bread in the market. To think of what his life must be like— the only lucid moments spent knowing it was only a matter of time before he’d be returned to the veil of confusion— “We were just... leaving,” she whispered, casting her brother a reluctant look. “Tr-traveling on.” “O-oh,” the boy nodded, taking a step back. “I… I was just goin’ to the stables. To feed the horses. I like pettin’ ‘em, when the sleepy juice is less when I first wake up.” Raoul returned his sister’s unhappy expression, speaking softly in reply to the child. “That must be nice, yes. But you… you don’t like petting them when you have the juice?” “I’m tired when I have the juice,” the boy said glumly. “Too tired for… for anythin’. ‘Cept to do what Master tells me. I can’t care about anythin’ else.” He sniffled, his voice quavering and his eyes going moist. “D-d-don’t tell him I was complaining. P-please, enki? He’ll give me more sleepy juice b’fore bed. And then I won’t be awake in the morning.” Raoul took an impulsive step towards the child, his throat catching. “N-no, I… I won’t. I won’t tell I promise.” The boy seemed to lose the battle with his threatening tears, his shoulders slumping and soft, nearly inaudible sobs shaking him. Keavy could have cried herself, a stone-like knot tanging in her throat as she watched the child whimper. “Oh, honey.” Before she could stop herself, she wrapped her arms around the boy, drawing him close. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Raoul came up close behind his sister, watching as the child melted like butter into her warm hold, face burrowed in her shoulder. Raoul licked his lips, which were suddenly dry with nerves, but his voice was steady when he whispered, “Keav… we can’t. We can’t leave him here. I’d never be able to forgive myself if we left him here.” “But if we took him…” Keavy swallowed hard, her grip on the boy somewhere between protective and terrified. “That’s theft, Raoul. Th-the innkeeper, he’d… he’d notice. What if he sent people after us? What if we got caught?” “What’s there to pin this on us?” Raoul asked. “Aside from us leaving early, but the part I’ve been playing has no motivation to steal a random kid. The innkeeper might just assume the boy ran away on his own. And… besides, we’ll be stealing Tate and Bennett eventually. Doesn’t this boy deserve to have a life too? To not be… b-be miserable all the time?” Keavy forced a fractured breath. “I know. I… I know.” Smoothing the boy’s hair, she gently eased him away from her and tilted up his chin, so that her blue-green eyes met his brown ones. “Would you… want to, honey? Leave? W-with us?” “L-leave?” the boy warbled, confusion writ plain on his face. “You… y-your master is gonna s-steal me?” “Not steal you, little one,” Raoul said gently. “Save you. Get you somewhere away from the sleepy juice. Get you…” Raoul swallowed hard, knowing this was an enormous risk but taking it anyway. “Get you somewhere you can be free.” “F-free…” the child shrank in on himself. “M-mama said we was gonna be free. B’fore. But then the masters were mad. And they started with the sleepy juice.” “It’s because the masters are scared, hon,” Keavy said, sparing the boy as reassuring of a smile as she could muster. “They… they know there are people fighting to free all the slaves, and they’re scared, so they’re turning to bad things like the sleepy juice. But it’s okay— if you come with us, we’ll keep you safe. Me and… and…” She waffled for a moment, then finished gently, “Well, my brother. He’s pretending he’s my master right now, but really? He’s my twin brother. And I’m free.” The little boy’s eyes went wide, and he looked at Raoul wonderingly. “You… you’re her brother? Even though you’re an enki?” “I am,” Raoul confirmed, his eyes flicking towards the staircase. They couldn’t tarry much longer. “I’m pretending to be her master so nobody thinks anything is wrong. But once we’re done here, we’re both going somewhere we can be free. And we can take you too.” “And… and no more sleepy juice?” the boy said, desperate hope lighting in his eyes and his fingers clinging to the fabric of Keavy’s shirt. “No more… b-b-being tired and confused a-a-and not caring and,” he sobbed, “A-a-and never being h-h-happy ‘cause I’m always t-tired and… and…” “We’ll take care of you,” Keavy soothed. “Protect you. And no sleep juice ever again.” She wiped at his damp cheeks. “But if you want to come… we need to go right now, okay? Before your master wakes up. It’d be very bad if he caught us. And…” She glanced briefly at Raoul, deliberating. “It might get kind of scary sometimes. Out on the road. If we see king’s army soldiers, or… or other bad people. Raoul and I will keep you safe, but to do that, if we tell you to do something, you need to do it, okay? Right away. No questions.” The boy snuffled, then slowly he nodded. “O-okay. Okay. I’ll listen. To you and th-the enki. I p-promise.” His voice cracking, he whimpered, “J-just please don’t let him give me the sleepy juice again. Please.” “We won’t, little man,” Raoul soothed, stroking the boy’s ebony hair. “Come on- let’s get moving. We need to be out of the city by sunup.” As he held out a hand to help Keavy stand, the young man added, “What’s your name, by the way?” “I don’t got a name,” the boy sniffled. “Everybody just calls me the Runt.” “Yesterday, he said his mama used to call him ‘Amato’,” Keavy clarified. “Which is a lovely name, brother, don’t you think?” “It sounds like a great name to me,” Raoul agreed, smiling slightly as Amato gave Keavy a stunned look- clearly he didn’t recall that part of their conversation either. “Come on then, Amato. Let’s hurry before anybody wakes up.” The little boy nodded, sniffling, and dropped what was presumably the stable key on the floor. As they walked, Keavy held his hand tight, her entire body pulsing with anxiety— that this would go wrong, that they’d caught, that any moment now things would fall apart into ash. But outside the inn, the town’s streets were derelict, sitting silent and still in the predawn darkness. They ran into no one, freeman or slave, and by the time the sun began to creep up over the horizon, the village was but a speck behind them, fading quickly from view. “We should get off the road soon,” Raoul remarked softly. “Even if no one from the town comes after us, if we’re stopped by anyone and they notice yours and Amato’s brands don’t match…” Amato leaned into Keavy’s side, his entire body quivering, and in turn she squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, hon,” she said. “We’re going to keep you safe, okay? I promise.” Gods, how she hoped they could follow through— even if she still she could barely believe what they’d done. That after so long of traveling incognito, doing everything they could to avoid undue attention, and she and Raoul had just stolen a slave they barely knew. “Do you want water, Amato?” she added gently. “I’ve got some in my bag— you can have as much as you’d like, sweetheart.” “Not thirsty,” the boy replied softly. “Or hungry. The sleepy juice makes me feel sick. B-b-but my masters always made me eat anyways ‘cause the sleepy juice was in the food.” “Just a bit?” Keavy pressed. “You’ll feel better if you’re hydrated, Amato. Even if you don’t feel thirsty.” He swallowed hard, but long habit of obeying orders seemed to win out, and he nodded. Raoul paused long enough to draw out his water skin and offer it to the child, who took a long pull before handing it back. “Th-thank you, Master… um…” “Raoul,” the former noble replied. “Just Raoul, son- you don’t need to call me ‘Master.’” “Raoul,” the boy echoed, nodded. He turned to Keavy, his expression apologetic. “Um, I think you told me your name b’fore but, but…” “It’s Keavy,” she said. “And no need to apologise— it’s not your fault you forgot, right?” “The sleepy juice makes everything fuzzy,” the boy agreed. He paused abruptly, putting his arms around Keavy’s waist and hugging her tight. “Th-thank you, Keavy. For savin’ me. I h-h- hated it. So much.” “You’re welcome, sweetie,” she said. “But…” She smiled toward her brother. “It was actually Raoul’s idea, you know. Because he doesn’t want you being scared and hurt anymore.” The little boy glanced over at Raoul, who gave a crooked, tired smile. He was used to escaped slaves being terrified of him, and refusing to trust him in spite of all evidence to his good intentions. He’d made peace with it, though he appreciated Keavy’s efforts to speak up on his behalf. To his astonishment, however, Amato immediately turned and transferred his affections, latching his arms around the startled teenager’s middle. “Th-thank you too, Raoul,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose into Raoul’s tunic. “Thank you.” For several seconds, Raoul was too shocked to react. Then, he smiled gently, and hugged the little boy in return. “Of course, little man.” Glancing up at Keavy with a watery chuckle, he added, “You’re very welcome.” Family Values - Part EightAs the trio travelled through the wilds off the main road, Amato gradually became more and more cognizant as the drugs in his system wore off. However, it was clear he was no less miserable, his entire body shaking violently, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, and where his hand was nestled in Keavy’s the half-elf could feel his pulse hammering unnaturally hard against his skin. Raoul, being the more educated of the twins, explained that he was probably suffering from having been on the drugs so long- that healers warned about this sort of thing with sleeping potions, that too much for too long would make the body behave strangely until it got used to not having the potions again. Around dusk, however, Amato’s symptoms took a sudden turn for the worse. His skin became as hot as a branding iron, and he began to swoon where he stood. As his fever only continued to climb, Raoul bit his lip. “We need to stop,” he said softly. “Let Amato rest, and sleep this off. We’re only going to make him sicker by pushing him on like this.” “N-no,” the boy wheezed. “I’m… ok-ka-ay-” “You’re not okay,” Keavy murmured, squeezing his hand. “My brother’s right, hon. We should find someplace to camp for the night.” She added quickly, “And don’t worry, okay? We’ve already made really good progress— we’re far from your village, I promise.” She just hoped they were far enough— gods knew she didn’t want to have a midnight awakening of the innkeeper, or his fellow townspeople, staring down at her past the tip of an outstretched blade. The three of them eventually settled in the shelter of a formation of rocky hills, Keavy somehow finding her way through them to a watering hole that they were able to refill their canteens in. They settled close to the water’s edge. Raoul was startled when the ill child wormed his way in between the siblings, sitting so that his head was slumped on the much shorter Raoul’s shoulder and his hand was clasped in Keavy’s. Hesitantly, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to interact with a young child, Raoul lifted his arm and began to stroke the boy’s hair in an effort to soothe him. Gradually Amato’s trembling relaxed a little, as he seemed to take comfort from the nearness of his rescuers. At length, Raoul took out a cake of journey bred and split it, offering half to Keavy, then splitting the other half into quarters for himself and Amato. “Here kiddo,” he said. “You should eat this. Get your strength up.” “I’m… n-not hungry,” the boy moaned. “I know.” Keavy’s voice was at once gentle and firm. “But you need to eat, Amato. You’ll only feel worse if you don’t.” “Gonna throw up,” Amato objected. Raoul smiled soothingly. “No you won’t. Journey cakes are the most mild food known to man. Sailors eat them at sea even with the ship rocking and bobbing. Trust me. You…” he swallowed, forcing himself on, “You trust me, right?” “Y… yes,” Amato agreed, slowing reaching out a hand for the journey bread. Though he was clearly reluctant, the young boy nibbled on his segment, taking a birdlike bite out of it and forcing himself to swallow. He glanced at Keavy, tilting his head. “Are… sorry, i-if it’s rude to ask b-but… with the juice I couldn’t think good enough to figure out why your ears looked like they did but now… are you an elf, Miss Keavy?” She smiled. “Half,” Keavy said. “My mama was a human— but my papa was an elf.” “Oh,” he nodded, then looked up at Raoul. “Wh-what about you? You’re Miss Keavy’s brother, right? But you don’t got the ears, and you aren’t branded.” “No,” Raoul agreed. “We have the same mama, but my papa wasn’t the elf- he was a lord. Keavy and I were born at the same time, but we were separated and didn’t see each other for a very, very long time.” Amato seemed to ponder this in silence for a time, nibbling on his food while the siblings ate theirs. Then he asked, “How’d you find each other? ...Why? If, if your papa was a lord, weren’t you a lord too? I thought nobles didn’t want kin that was slaves.” “Because Raoul realised how… how bad that was,” Keavy said, sparing her brother a sidelong smile. “His parents had told him he had a twin, but that twin died. And when Raoul found out that wasn’t true— that I was still alive— and then the rebellion started, well…” She reached across the little boy to touch her brother’s arm, tentatively. “He came to find me. He gave everything up to find me. And make sure I was okay.” Raoul smiled back, reaching up and giving his sister’s hand a squeeze. Amato gave a very small smile as well, the little boy murmuring, “That’s… that’s good. Mama always said that no enki would every be nice to a slave but. But you’re nice.” He swallowed hard. “My papa wasn’t nice. He was… he was my first master. B’fore the innkeeper. Mama told me, but he didn’t like it. He hit me when I tried to call him ‘Papa,’ an’ told me th-that I was j-just a slave, a nothing, a n-n-nameless runt and… and-” the boy choked. “Shhh,” Keavy soothed. “It’s okay, hon. You’re okay. You’re not a runt, right? And you’re not a slave anymore, either— you’re free now. With me and Raoul.” The boy sniffled, turning his face so that his tears soaked into Raoul’s tunic. As the former enki rubbed his back to calm the boy, Amato whimpered, “H-hurts.” “What hurts?” Raoul asked softly. “My shoulder,” the child replied. “I d-didn’t notice as much with the sleepy juice but it’s l-lots worse n-n-now.” Keavy’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry, love.” Gently, she eased the child into a sitting position, voice low as she added, “Can I roll up your sleeve and see? Make sure that the brand hasn’t gotten worse.” Gods knew it had certainly looked nasty the night before— fresh and raw and angry. He swallowed hard, and nodded. Earlier in the day Raoul had let the boy borrow a long-sleeved shirt to hide his brands as they travelled on the off chance they happened upon anyone. Amato held out his left arm to Keavy now, allowing her to inspect the burn; she winced at once, teeth clenched. “Sleeves rubbed it raw,” she murmured, more to Raoul than Amato. “I’m so sorry you had to wear them, Amato.” “How long ago did you say you were branded?” Raoul asked the boy softly, and Amato gave a limp shrug. “Just a week. My old master s-s-sold me. I didn’t know why- everything’s fuzzy since they started the sleepy juice.” He gave a wobbly smile as Keavy continued to check over the fresh burn. “It’s. It’s not so bad it hurts. ‘Cause I can th-think straight now. I can care it hurts. ‘Stead of just… being there but not there. It’s hard to explain.” “It’s okay, Amato,” Keavy said. “You don’t need to explain. What matters is that it hurts— not why.” She smoothed his hair. “I know,” she murmured. “What if Raoul and me tried to distract you? So you have things to think about instead of the pain.” “L-like what?” he asked. The boy then brightened, his tentative smile widening. “Oh, you mean, you mean like a story? Mama told me stories lots, from where she used to live before here. But I wasn’t supposed to tell people those stories because she could get in trouble.” “Some stories sound good to me,” Raoul replied. “What kind of stories do you like?” The boy seemed to ponder for a moment then he gave a shy smile. “Do you know any stories ‘bout the Branded Lord? Mama told me he was a great hero come to save us all.” Keavy laughed. “Ah, I think we could think of some yarns to that effect, yes,” she agreed. “Hmm, let’s see. Raoul, what’s your favourite?” Raoul grinned. “Hm. Well there’s the story of how he fought the highlord of Emryn, Lord Peregrine, when the man thought to send an assassin. They say the Branded Lord’s sister saved his life, and all of Emryn’s nobility learned not to underestimate the rebel army or it’s leader.” “His sister?” Amato chirped. “Like… like Keavy’s your sister?” “Mmhm,” said Keavy. “Just like that, Amato.” As Raoul began to recount the story, Amato again settled against the former enki’s shoulder. The boy listened with rapt attention, seeming to be savoring his return to clear, coherent thought. Gradually, however, his eyelids began to sag, his jitter muscles going limp,and his labored breathing slowed. Twice he wrenched his eyes back open to continue listening to the yarn Raoul was spinning, but at length the child lost the fight. With his head slumped against Raoul’s arm and his knees across Keavy’s lap, the boy slipped into slumber. Raoul looked down at him, his throat thick. “He… he isn’t afraid of me,” the young man whispered hoarsely. “Everyone else, all the other slaves I’ve met since I left the Vernacs have been afraid of me. Hated me. But… but…” “He’s sweet,” Keavy murmured in replied. “R-reminds me of… well, myself when I was his age. I… I still can’t completely believe we stole him, but…” She reached out to stroke the slumbering child’s cheek. “I’m glad we did.” Raoul gave a tremulous smile. “You think Tate will like him? If he’s as paternal as all your stories make him out and… the kid admitted he’s never had a real father. Just that lout who used his mother for some fun.” “Tate will like him,” Keavy agreed. “And… he’ll like you, too, Raoul. He’ll like you both.” Raoul reached out to his sister, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “I hope so. For now, let’s get some sleep- we have a lot of ground still to cover.” *** Thought Amato’s symptoms persisted, the child seemed determined not to be a burden on his rescuers, pushing himself as hard as he could in spite of his illness. Raoul often had to force the child to eat, drink, and rest himself, lest Amato push to the point of collapse. But as the long hours of travel passed, Amato gradually started to come out of his shell, talking timidly with his rescuers, asking them questions, and starting to act more like the curious kid he must have been before his masters started to drug all traces of personality out of him. Though he clearly liked both of the siblings, to Raoul’s clear bafflement Amato seemed to imprint hardest on the former- enki. Where all of the other freed slaves had refused to trust him, Amato seemed to attach himself to the first adult male figure to show him any real kindness like a burr, plying Raoul for stories and cuddling up to him at night when they stopped to sleep. Whenever Keavy caught sight of the pair snuggled up, or saw the excited glint in Amato’s eye when Raoul lavished him with attention, the half-elf couldn't help but feel a tug of wistful joy in her heart. The difference between the young boy now and when they'd first met him— it was spectacular, what merely treating him like a person had done. And it resolidified inside of her how important this excursion was: how wonderful it would be to see Bennett and Tate unfettered, too; how— when she saw them standing free— all of these travails would be made instantly worth it. How they had to keep pressing on. How, even when this journey seemed endless, daunting, the end would justify the means in spades. A little less than a week after they’d left the village where they rescued Amato, Raoul and Keavy first started noticing signs of trouble. Though they were keeping clear of the roads, they would occasionally find disturbing evidence of people passing through the places they travelled. Footprints in the dry earth. The remains of a campsite. They gave these signs a wide berth when the found them, but over the next two days they kept showing up- and gradually, so did the signs of crown soldiers. “What’s going on?” Raoul hissed to his sister; they were now travelling through lands the half-elf actually recognized from her journey north and she said were within a few hours of her master’s home city. “We’re in Teral- this is months inside crown territory, why are so many soldiers strutting about that we’re finding horse prints miles off the road?” “Maybe they're… training?” Keavy suggested tentatively. “Doing wilderness exercises for new soldiers or— something like that?” “Is there some sort of base near this city?” Raoul asked. “A military outpost that would make this a good place for exercises like that?” “I’m scared,” Amato burbled. “This is like how it was when the slaves back home were bad. B’fore the sleepy juice started. There were soldiers everywhere for a while then too.” “It's okay, honey— you don't have to be scared,” Keavy said, though her tone left ample room for confidence. To Raoul, she replied, “No bases that I know of. At least, not close enough where it'd make sense for here to be their stomping grounds.” Her stomach pinched as— up ahead on ramshackle forest path they were following— she spied yet another clear batch of signs of human life: broken brambles, cleared branches, dirt kicked up where horses’ hooves had struck. “It's heavy presence, too,” she said. “Not just a stray squadron.” “Looks like they’ve made some sort of impromptu path here. Clearing a new route through the forest where there wasn’t one.” Raoul bit his thumbnail. “So they clearly mean to be here for a while… and I don’t think they’d be hovering around for no reason when they’re needed up north. Something’s not right here.” “Wh-what’s that?” Amato asked, pointing to a tree further up the improvised path. Raoul frowned slightly as he followed the direction of the boy’s pointed finger, and saw several pieces of paper pinned to the trees. There were crude sketchings across the scraps of parchment- sketchings of faces. “Wanted posters,” he said. “Those are wanted posters. Are there bandits hanging around, you think? But no, the soldiers shouldn’t be cutting swaths through the forest if they’re hunting bandits, that’s announcing their patrol routes and giving the bandits easy places they know to avoid.” “I’d say they're runaway slaves,” Keavy murmured, walking up to the trees and studying the etchings. “But— there are so many runaways these days, I can't imagine crown soldiers wasting time making wanted posters for them…” She tilted her head, contemplating. “I mean— could they be wanted rebels? Except… the rebels haven't made it nearly this far south… It'd be a waste to hang up posters here…” Raoul came up beside Keavy, giving his sister a sideways, albeit nervous grin. “Well fortunately you happen to have someone along who’s literate, so we can work out what’s what in short order.” He skimmed the messages at the bottoms of the posters, then blanched. “Oh gods- it says here these men are runaways alright. Wanted for inciting rebellion and murdering their masters. It says they’re ‘identified as the ringleaders of the insurrection in Yvetal, wanted dead or alive.’” “Insurrection?” Amato echoed. “What’s that mean?” “It means…” Keavy’s voice trailed off as she whipped her gaze from the poster toward her brother. “Gods. Could… could they have rebelled, Raoul? The slaves of this city, do you— do you think they rebelled? Got tired of waiting for the rebel army proper and… and just did it themselves?” “It’s… it’s not out of the question,” the former noble stammered, meeting his sister’s blue-green eyes with his sky blue ones. “I mean… The slaves in Amato’s village did it, didn’t they? I wouldn’t be surprised if there are smaller uprisings cropping up all over the south of Courdon.” “But we lost,” Amato wailed, shoving his face into Keavy’s middle. “A-and then the sleepy juice!” “Hush, sweetheart,” Keavy said, smoothing the little boy’s hair. “It’s okay— everything’s going to be okay.” She looked back to Raoul. “This… this might not be such a bad thing for us, really. If the city’s still in a state of chaos… well, yes, there will be the king’s army lurking around. And the freemen will be on edge. But— we can also take advantage of the disorder, right? Especially if Lord Calanthia’s men are spread very thin. It… it might make it easier for us to slip off with Tate and Bennett.” “That’s… that’s true,” Raoul agreed, his fingers drumming against his arm pensively. “If we waited for some sort of distraction, an active combat of some kind, to draw men away from the noble’s manor… we could do it.” He bit his lip. “I don’t like using the rebelling slaves like this, but I guess it isn’t like we’re tricking them into anything. They chose to rise, and our help wouldn’t really contribute much to a localized conflict like this.” “I just hope the city isn’t outright sieged,” Keavy murmured. “Though— if the ringleaders had a chance to escape, that means this wasn’t too recent, probably. Hopefully. Things are probably still in shambles— chaotic— if the king’s army is around in force, but maybe the worst of it is over…” The teenager shrugged, her stomach flopping. “We’re going to have to be careful. Very, very careful. Your cover story won’t float here, Raoul— no enki in his right mind would stop over at a city in rebellion, and people here will recognise my brand. That I’m not yours.” “Right- we’re going to have to do this the hard way,” the young man agreed. “Sneak in, keep a low profile, and stay out of sight.” The young man bit his lip. “And we’ll have to keep Amato with us- if we leave him out here he might get caught by the soldiers.” “ Leave me?” Amato echoed his eyes going wide as he whirled towards Raoul and his voice spiraling up in pitch. Tears pricked at his eyes and he clenched his arms over his sleeves. “No, no, no, if you leave they’ll catch me, they’ll make me go back on the sleepy juice, you can’t, you can’t, I wanna stay with you, I’ll help, I-” “Hey,” Keavy cut in, gently but firmly. “He said we’re not leaving you, okay? But you need to stay calm, sweetheart. Quiet. And—” She stepped around him, then turned so they were facing each other. “You need to promise to listen to Raoul and me,” she said, cupping his chin in her palm and tilting it up so that their eyes met. “If we tell you to do something, you need to do it. Right away. No questions asked. Understand?” The young boy snuffled and nodded. “I w-will. Just don’t leave me. You’re safe. I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave me.” “We won't leave you, honey,” Keavy promised. “You're stuck with us for the long haul, okay?” She gave the boy a thin smile. “You couldn't get rid of us even if you tried.” Amato gave the half-elf a wobbly smile. Raoul sighed, making a beckoning gesture before heading deeper into the forest. “That said, we need to get off this path before the soldiers come back- and decide how we’re going to sneak into the city. Obviously we can’t just waltz in.” “We’ll need to scout first,” Keavy agreed. “We could try to get close to the wall— close enough to see but not be seen. Then figure out the best way in from there?” “As good a plan as any,” Raoul agreed. “But if there are soldiers patrolling out here we need to keep quiet and keep alert. If you hear anything, hide until we’re sure it’s safe.” Amato nodded, slipping his hand quietly into Keavy’s. She squeezed back, gently but firmly, hoping the boy couldn’t tell how hard her heart was hammering in her chest, or the way her mouth felt dry as a scorched summer’s plain. This was… strange, in a way. The idea that they’d gotten so close. That after months of only being able to dream about this moment, finally it was fast approaching— and it was nothing like she’d thought it be. The city in rebellion? She’d never even considered such a possibility. Not once.And while in any other circumstance she’d have gleefully welcomed such a circumstance, given their mission at hand here… It made an extra complicated task even more convoluted. More dangerous. Gods. For several hours, the trio walked in silence, continuing to notice along their path countless signs of recent human presence: foot-treads, broken brambles, even litter dropped here and there. Keavy was starting to feel outright nauseous, and Raoul looked far grimmer than he had the entire trip. They began to move more slowly, cautiously, darting from cover to cover. Then in the distance, they heard it- voices, a multitude of them shouting furiously. The unmistakable banging of metal on metal. “Keavy,” Raoul hissed. “You… you hear that?” “Yes.” Her grip over Amato’s hand was suddenly death-like. “Fighting…?” “Has to be,” her brother agreed, as Amato shrunk against Keavy’s side. “Hell, is the siege still going? I thought there might be loose pockets of fighting but with the ringleaders fled…” “Maybe it was worse than we thought,” Keavy murmured, daring to speak at barely above a whisper. “The uprising. More… more expansive.” She swallowed hard. “We can’t get any closer,” she said. “Not until the din dies down, at least. If we were to walk straight into a battle…” The rest of her words went unsaid but grimly implicit. Raoul swallowed hard, nodding. “Let’s circle a bit. See if we can’t find somewhere quieter and more sheltered to wait it out.” “We could climb,” Keavy suggested hesitantly. “Find some sturdy branches and wait it out up above. That way even if someone passed right by us… they wouldn’t see us. And then once it quiets down, we can… can try to get closer.” She added in a somewhat miserable undertone: “Carefully. Very carefully.” “I-I’m good at climbing,” Amato offered. “I had to go to the loft to get hay. With no ladder.” Raoul spared the child a wan smile. “You should do just fine then, hm? C’mon, let’s find some good trees.” Eventually they did find a sturdy oak tree to hide in, Raoul not as nimble a climber as Amato but managing all the same. The trio wasn’t sure how long they sat waiting out the battle. Long enough that the sky began to dye itself orange with the coming dusk. But at length the echoes of shouts and the banging of steel faded, replaced by an almost eerie silence. Once they were certain the battle had ended and it wasn’t just a lull, once again the group began their cautious approach towards the city. Keavy wasn’t quite sure how far they were from it— at least a few more miles, she figured, if not more. So the girl was very surprised when, after only fifteen or so minutes of walking, she could see torches flickering up ahead, the light they threw casting wavering beams through the warren of trees. At first she thought they had to belong to a group on the move— soldiers, no doubt— and her heart dropped into her stomach, her feet freezing in mid-step. But a moment later, she realised whomever bore the light wasn’t on the move at all: the beams were static. Planted. As if they didn’t belong to mobile torches at all but had been staked clear into the ground. … Her mouth went sour as she realised. “A camp,” she whispered, voice feather-light. “This has to be a king’s army camp.” Dear gods, were she and Raoul and Amato really standing but a few yards away from a king’s army camp? She wanted to throw up, and swallowed hard instead, gaze flicking between her brother and the lights. Amato hiccuped softly, pressing his face against Keavy’s side. Raoul bit his lip, his mind racing. “We don’t dare try to circle around. If they hear us, they’ll kill us. But… maybe we can learn something from them. About the situation in the city, or a good way to sneak in. If we climb a tree again and spy on them for a while.” “Until daylight, at least,” Keavy agreed. “We’ll be able to see things better then. Nighttime isn’t our ally.” She gave a wan smile to Amato. “And I imagine we could all use some rest, huh?” “I’m scared,” he whimpered, not looking up from the half-elf’s torso. “I know, honey,” Keavy said, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t clenched over his to smooth his dark, mussed hair. “But Raoul and I will keep you safe. I promise, love. We’re here for you now. And we won’t let anybody hurt you.” The child didn’t reply, only snuffling a bit before he allowed the twins to guide him up into a tall tree. There Raoul and Keavy settled in to watch as the soldiers went about their night, seeming oblivious to the fact that they were being observed. They complained about the battle, many of them nursing injuries in some form or another and no few of them being called away for short spurts- presumably to see a healer since the soldier would return with their wounds much reduced. At length, after hearing nothing in particular that was interesting, Amato dozed off leaning against the trunk of the tree, and Raoul too found his attention fluttering in and out from fatigue. He barely registered it when the tent where the soldiers had been vanishing to be healed opened up, and two individuals he’d not seen prior- one in the uniform of a soldier, the other in a plain sleeveless tunic- emerged into the firelight. Keavy’s reaction, however, was far more immediate— and potent; her eyes widening, the half-elf leaned sharply forward, craning her neck and balancing precariously on the edge of the thick branch they sat on so that she could get as close of a look as possible. At first the two figures had their backs to the tree, but after a few moments, they turned so that Keavy could— through the wavering semi-darkness— see their faces. Her stomach pitched. Then a moment later felt like it had practically flipped inside-out altogether. A small hiss escaped her lips. “It can’t be,” she murmured— seemingly more to herself than Raoul. Shaking his head to rouse himself, her twin quirked an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “What do you see?” “There,” Keavy whispered, jerking her chin toward the figures. They’d paused to chat just outside the presumable healers’ tent, the soldier talking briskly as the second man merely nodded along, his gaze cast toward the ground. “Them. See?” Raoul followed her gaze, squinting through the dim light. “Is that a slave with those soldiers?” he asked, tilting his head. “Not just a slave,” Keavy said softly, blinking back the tears that were suddenly pressing at her eyes. “Th-that’s… oh gods, Raoul. That’s Tate.” Family Values - Part Nine“ What?” Raoul hissed, his face swiveling towards Keavy. “But… but he belongs to a nobleman doesn’t he, what’s he doing out here with a bunch of soldiers?” “Lord Calanthia probably l-loaned him,” Keavy stammered, resisting the urge to scramble down to the ground— to rush toward Tate, to do something, anything, to get him away from these gods-cursed soldiers. “B-because Tate’s a mage. A conditioned mage. In a battle, he’s useful. Gods darn it, he’s useful to them, he’s… he’s…” She couldn’t stop the tears now. No matter how much she tried. Raoul hissed, clenching his jaw. “Of course. They can use him for battle magic- or for healing, I bet that’s what they were doing just now. You don’t suppose Bennett is down there somewhere too, do you?” “I doubt it,” Keavy whimpered, as the soldier placed a hand on Tate’s shoulder, and then both of them turned and began shuffling away. She wished she could scream out for him to stop. To face her again. She wanted to see him, gods she wanted to see him-- “B-Ben’s too little. Useless. H-he’s probably back at the enki’s slave b-barracks.” “And missing his father terribly, I don't doubt,” Raoul muttered. “Still… If Tate’s out here instead of in the city, that's good. We can use that; he's an ally we know we can trust, and he'll be as motivated to get Bennett out as we are. We just have to figure out a way to get him alone.” “They trust him,” Keavy murmured. “They wouldn't have him out here if they didn't. So… so if we wait long enough… if we're patient…” Raoul nodded. “Right.” Squeezing his sister’s shoulder, he added, “We’ll get him, Keavy. We will. We’re so close now; everything will have finally been worth it.” “What if something goes wrong, though?” Keavy asked, her heart aching as she watched Tate disappear further into the camp, the darkness swallowing him whole. “We're so close but…” “Keav,” Raoul said gently, “we’ll deal with problems if and when they come up- there’s no sense getting worked up when nothing’s happened yet. We can do this. We can.” “And if something goes wrong—” Keavy started again. “We’ll handle it,” Raoul repeated firmly. He pulled his sister into a hug. “Don’t lose faith now, Keavy. We haven’t come this far to panic at the last second. We will rescue Tate and Bennett. Even if something goes wrong, we’ll still rescue them. I promise.” “I know,” Keavy murmured, exhaling softly as she rested her chin against her brother’s shoulder. “I'm just… just…” The girl shook her head. “I'm scared. More scared than I've been in a l-long time. Since I escaped. All that time ago.” “I understand,” he murmured, smoothing her hair. “Honestly? It was scarier for me talking to you for the first time than it was running away from my home. That moment when success is just out of your grasp, and you don’t dare get your hopes up because everything might still come crashing down. But it won’t. I won’t let it. I promise you, keavy, whatever it takes, I’ll make sure you and Tate and Bennett get your reunion.” *** It was a long night, and thought Amato was out like a light his caretakers both only slept sporadically, tension keeping them abuzz with nervous energy. They didn’t dare approach Tate while he was within the camp, but if he wandered a bit, just a bit… Around dawn the soldiers woke and began to prepare a makeshift breakfast for themselves. As they were digging into sausages and cheese wedges, Tate had been rousted from his own sleep to attend them. Keavy had to bite down on her tongue to keep from swearing as she watched the soldiers heckle him, seemingly taking out whatever frustrations the siege had built inside of them out on someone who couldn't fight back. By the time they'd finished eating— awarding him only scraps to eat for his own part— Tate had been smacked twice for obeying too slowly and kicked another time for accidentally looking a captain in the eye. He clung to the single biscuit they'd given him for his efforts like a starving dog to a bone… and had only just managed to swallow it down before the captain who'd kicked him swaggered back up to him, a leer on his face. Keavy, Raoul, and Amato were too far away to hear individual words, but they didn't need to in order to tell that the captain was issuing commands, his motions sharp as he pointed away from the camp, toward the trees. Toward them. Keavy’s heart leapfrogged into her throat as she watched Tate obediently saunter forward, his jaw clenched, his face written with irritation. Raoul glanced towards Keavy, swallowing hard. “Now or never,” he whispered. To Amato he added, “Stay here, stay hidden.” The child blanched. “But-!” “Amato,” Keavy hissed as she shifted to climb down. She had one eye on the child and the other on Tate, who was growing rapidly closer to them. “Do as you're told— remember, you promised to do as you're told?” He whimpered softly, but hugged himself and nodded all the same. Raoul followed his sister down the tree, allowing her to take the point in approaching Tate- he knew her, and would be far more likely to trust her than an unbranded stranger like Raoul. The siblings reached the ground just as Tate shouldered between two overgrown trees in front of the one where they'd been perched, the man freezing in his tracks the moment he laid eyes on them. Immediately, almost reflexively, he plunged his head into a bow… before he seemed to realise the two teenagers in front of him weren't clad in the red-and-gold of the king’s army, whereupon his gaze lanced right back up. He opened his lips, as if to call out an alarm, but before so much as a syllable had escaped his throat he froze again. His dark eyes went wide as moons, his bronze skin pale like milk. “Keavy,” he choked out, his voice flirting the ground between incredulous and furious. “Keavy, no— what are you doing here, why'd you come back here, what—” “And hello to you as well.” The girl blinked hard, a knot strangling her throat. “Missed you, too.” Tate clenched his jaw, tears visibly pricking in his eyes. Running an agitated hand through his ebony-black hair, he barely seemed to even notice Raoul as he murmured, “Of course I missed you. But you shouldn't have come here, sweetheart, gods you—” As he seemingly spotted Raoul for the first time, his brow snapped down. “Who's this?” he asked. “He's not from here, is he?” Raoul shook his head, giving Tate a polite bow as he did so. “It’s a long story, sir, but the short version is that I met Keavy with the rebel army; I’m her twin brother. You can call me Raoul.” “Her twin?” Tate’s voice did not soften. At all. “You're… you're…” He laughed, humorlessly. “You came here with an enki, Keavy? Have you gone mad?” Keavy knew she shouldn't have been surprised by such a visceral reaction— Tate had no context here, not even a minuscule scrap— but even still, it stung. Her throat bobbled as she said, “He’s been helping me. He's a good person. Without him I'd have never made it here, Tate.” “You shouldn't have come, Keavy!” Tate snapped. “Do you know what would happen to you if you got caught!?” “Shhhh!” Raoul hissed, his blue eyes flitting towards the encampment. “We will get caught if you don’t keep your voice down!” He rubbed his face. “We came here because Keavy heard from another escapee from Lord Calanthia that your son showed magic. She couldn’t leave you or him here when she realized. And I couldn’t let her go alone.” “I shouldn't have left you in the first place,” Keavy said simply. “And… whether or not you’re happy about it, I'm here now. And I'm not leaving without you and Benny, all right?” For a moment, Tate said nothing. Then, he sighed, his expression softening as he strode forward and promptly enveloped Keavy in a hug. “We're too close to the camp here,” he said as leaned up to plant a kiss on the teenager’s forehead. “It's not safe. The captain sent me to cover the old privy pit and find someplace for a new one— it'll take a while, so I won't be expected back for some time. We should find someplace else to talk.” “Right,” Raoul agreed. Glancing up at Amato, he hissed, “We’ll be back soon, alright? Stay where you are, and don’t make a sound.” The little boy didn’t reply, only pressing his face against the trunk of the tree as if he were trying to fuse with the bark. Tate, following Raoul’s gaze, blinked sharply. “Who is…?” “Later,” Keavy murmured. “We've more important things to talk about right now. And even if you're not expected back for a while, we’re still on limited time.” The group moved off from the camp, Raoul keeping his eyes planted firmly on his feet. He’d been speaking the low tongue, hadn’t introduced himself by anything but his given name, and yet somehow Tate had immediately pegged him for an enki anyway. And it was obvious he didn’t approve, no more than did almost every other slave or former slave Raoul had met since the war started. He’d come to expect it by now, but that didn’t make it hurt less. The fact that no matter what he did, no matter how he changed, he could never escape that stigma that was his birthright as much as the name he’d shucked months ago. Finally, the trio reached a thicket far enough from the encampment that they could stop, and with a hard swallow Raoul turned to face his companions again. “I know you don’t trust me,” he said, his voice soft and sad. “I don’t expect you to. Not right away, maybe not ever. But I want to help, okay? You looked after my sister when her own blood refused to. I owe you for that. And I owe all of the slaves in Courdon for what my ancestors did to them.” Tate’s expression was hard. Borderline inscrutable. “How did you even find her?” he asked. “Keavy. I can't imagine it was a coincidence.” Raoul sighed softly. “I went looking. All my life I knew I had a twin, but not that she was half-elf or that she was alive; my parents told me she’d died at birth. I found out from my maternal uncle later it wasn’t true, just a lie my mother told so my father wouldn’t discover her infidelity. We shared a womb, Keavy and I. It could’ve just as easily been me born with slanted ears. And I realized then how wrong this whole system was. So when the war broke out, I decided to leave my family and join the rebels. They helped me find her.” “You just… left?” Tate asked skeptically. “Your family must've been thrilled with you, enki.” “Tate.” Keavy winced at the man’s acerbic tone. “He was making a choice. To do the right thing. Of course his family wasn't happy. But… to Raoul it was worth it. To find me.” “They would probably have my head if I let them get their hands on me,” Raoul admitted, his face rife with pain, but no uncertainty. “But if they’d let my twin rot in fetters for her mother’s mistake, they aren’t a family I want anything to do with. Not anymore. So you don’t have to call me enki. I’m no enki. Just a man. No greater or lesser than any other.” “And,” Keavy said, “any time we spend debating my brother’s worth is time we’re not spending trying to figure out how to get Bennett. I trust Raoul, okay? I love him. And he's here to help us.” Tate sighed, eyes dancing between the twins. Lips thinned. Eyebrows knit. “Ben’s back in the city,” he said finally. “I've been practically conscripted for weeks now— ever since the insurrection started. I've barely seen him, though I presume he's being kept on the manor grounds as per usual.” Raoul bit his lip. “Does your master know he’s a mage yet? Has he started…?” “He knows,” Tate said, looking as if he very much regretted this fact. “I tried to keep it hidden, but one of the other slaves ratted. I got flogged to the bone for keeping secrets. But…” He gulped. “Bennett’s so little, and the enki’s been so distracted with the war, that conditioning hasn't been started yet. Thank the gods.” Raoul heaved a sigh of relief. “Well at least that’s some good news. But if the enki knows he’s a mage, he’ll be keeping him closely guarded. And even getting into the city at all with things as they are is going to be a trick, nevermind the manor.” “How bad is it?” Keavy asked. “The city.” “Bad,” Tate admitted. “The king’s soldiers are finally getting it under some semblance of control, but there are still flares of violence every few days. Had one just yesterday, really— a few dozen workers from the quarry just outside town tried to make a break for it. Armed themselves with pick-axes, and…” The man shrugged dourly. “It didn't end well. The soldiers used my magic so much I'm still pulled from it. It's why the lovely gents are having me dig ditches today instead of draining me even more.” Raoul clenched his jaw. “Selfish monsters,” he bit his lip. “You said you hadn’t seen Ben hardly at all- but you have seen him on occasion?” “Here and there,” Tate said. “When the soldiers don’t want to deal with me, they’ll drop me back off at the enki’s. I’ll get a night with Ben. Maybe two.” “He must be missing you miserably,” Keavy murmured, her heart panging. “And gods, he has to be terrified. The city in rebellion… his papa gone...” “And he won’t trust a stranger taking him off into the night, given everything that’s going on,” Raoul mused, his expression now very pensive. “But it’s too dangerous for you to go into the City, Keav, if anybody recognized your brand you’d be done for. But… Tate if the soldiers take you back sometimes… I’m not branded.” Tate did not look like he particularly enjoyed where this was going. “And…?” he prompted. “If I got one of the uniforms, I could pose as a soldier,” Raoul suggested. “If I have you with me, I can get into the city, and into at least the grounds of the manor before I’m expected to drop you off. If I can get inside, I can get to Bennett- and if you’re with me, even without Keavy we can get him to come quietly.” “And how are we going to get said uniform?” Tate returned. “I hardly doubt any of the lovely prats will turn theirs over.” “So, we’ll take it from them,” Keavy said. “Wait until one meanders off alone. Blitz him. Steal it. Voila.” She glanced at her brother briefly before returning her gaze to Tate. “Raoul’s right,” she told him. “I hate it, but he’s right— I can’t go into the city without extreme risk. And if you’ve been escorted ‘home’ occasionally before, no one would bat an eye to a king’s army soldier accompanying you inside.” “Sir,” Raoul said earnestly, “I know you don't trust me. But I wouldn't suggest this if I didn't think I could pull it off. You’ve been a father to my sister, which makes you kin to me in a roundabout sense. I will die before I let harm come to you or your son.” “I hope you mean that,” Tate replied. “Because if this goes badly, it will end with both our heads being cut from our shoulders.” It wasn’t exactly an enthusiastic agreement, but at least it was not precisely an argument, either. Raoul nodded, before turning to Keavy. “But this isn't going to go down quietly, not with the city stirred up like a hornet’s nest. We’ll need a secure means of escaping the vicinity of the city once I’ve made it out of the walls.” “If only we could steal a gryphon,” Keavy quipped. “I think someone may notice that,” Tate said with a grim smile. “Although… gryphons are hardly the only means the king’s army has for transport. If we’re already thieving uniforms, well…” Raoul laughed. “Good thing the rebel army taught you to ride, eh Keavy? Think you can man some horses while I'm in the city? We’ll need at least two. Good thing I'm small; Ben and Amato can probably fit together on one with me.” “And maybe it’ll make Amato feel less… nervous,” Keavy said. “If he’s got something to distract him from worrying. Something that makes him feel useful.” “That’s the boy’s name, then?” Tate asked. “I know we don’t have much time to chatter now, but… where’d he come from?” With a somewhat hard look toward Raoul, the man added, “Was he, ah, yours?” “ No,” Raoul said emphatically. “We met Amato in a village we passed on the way south. The short version is that his village had an uprising much like the one here, and the freedmen decided to solve the problem by drugging every man woman and child with a brand to the point that the were barely functional. We caught the kid alone during a rare lucid moment and he was so miserable I couldn't in good conscience just leave him there.” “How old is he?” “Eleven,” Keavy said. Tate hissed softly. “Just a baby. Poor thing. They were drugging him?” “To the point where he’d spoken to Keavy the previous afternoon, and when we saw him again when he was lucid the following morning he didn’t even remember it beyond the vague impression he’d seen her somewhere before,” Raoul confirmed. “Gods.” Tate shook his head. “We need to make sure to keep him safe through this. Him and Benny. That has to be our first priority.” “Don’t worry,” Raoul said grimly. “I won’t let harm come to a hair on the heads of those children. We’re getting them safely to the rebel controlled lands, and they’ll finally be able to live a life without fear and pain- like children should.” “Strange thing to hear, coming from an enki.”. Tate turned, facing back in the direction of the camp— and the city walls that lay beyond. “We should go now,” he said. “While I'm not expected back. Otherwise, I have no idea when we’ll get another opportunity.” Keavy took a deep breath. “What do we think’s the best way of finding a stray soldier to mug?” “If they were shrewd, they’d have scouts in the forest keeping watch that we could go for,” Raoul mused. “But the fact we were able to sneak around them so easily argues they don’t. So… Tate you’re digging a new latrine, is the old one full or still usable?” “I imagine they're still using it,” Tate quipped. “Since they haven't had their favourite magician slave dig a new one yet. Why?” Raoul smirked slightly. “Well do you bring an audience with you when you take a leak? Tate managed a weak laugh. “I suppose that is hitting a man when he's most vulnerable. All right. I don't see why not.” “And in the meantime, Amato and I can try to get horses?” Keavy said. “We need a meeting place, though. In case things get chaotic, a time and place to join back up.” “I don’t know the area as well as you two do,” Raoul pointed out. “But if you and Tate can mutually agree on somewhere, Tate can lead me and Bennett to the spot once we get out of the city.” “We should have a drop dead time,” Keavy murmured, reluctantly. “Where if the others haven't shown up, we… we…” Her voice trailed off as if she couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. Raoul winced, but nodded very hesitantly. “R-right. There’s… there’s too much at stake. And better some of us get out than none.” He bit his lip. Hard. Then he drew Keavy into a hug. “But don’t you dare keep me waiting, okay Keav? I’ll be there. I will. So don’t force me to leave you behind.” “It's you and Tate I'm worried about,” Keavy said softly. “Stealing horses is one thing. Stealing Bennett?” The girl shuddered. “Be careful. Please. Both of you.” “We will be, honey,” Tate said, his voice so gentle— so familial— he might have passed as a father soothing his nervous child. “I've missed you too much for us to get separated forever again so soon, you know. I won't let it happen. And you need to promise me that you'll be careful too.” Raoul gave his twin one last squeeze, then pulled away. “We’ll be there.” He repeated firmly. “You two decide on the place, and we’ll be there.” He sighed softly, glancing back in the direction of the encampment. “Let’s get to it. Once we’ve made our move, timing is everything.” “Right.” Keavy took a deep, steadying breath. “I love you. Both of you.” Family Values - Part Ten“I don’t like broadswords,” Raoul muttered, his voice like a wisp as he and Tate wended through the bustling streets of the city. The teenager was dressed in the sharp red and gold uniform of the king’s army, though it was a size too big and consequently somewhat baggy on him. The guards at the city gate hadn’t noticed; he hoped devoutly that the guards of the manor wouldn’t either.
“When I was taught to fight, it was always with an arming sword. They’re lighter. Easier to maneuver, in a pinch.” He fingered the basket-hilt of the broadsword he’d lifted off of the same soldier whose uniform he was wearing. “And there’s less banging one’s wrist on this thing.”
“You know how to use it at least, right?” Tate replied. When Raoul nodded, the man let through a solemn smile. “Better than me, then. I've never been trusted with anything sharper than a butter knife.”
“Well we’ll need a pair of unburdened arms to hold Bennett, so you focus on keeping the kid calm and I’ll take care of any fighting that needs to happen,” Raoul said. Glancing sideways at the man he added, “If possible it’s probably best you don’t let him see, if it comes to that. We’re pressed for time and the stakes are too high for me to…” He clenched his jaw, his eyes averting.
“I understand,” Tate said softly, steeling himself as the enki’s walled manor came into view around a bend in the road. “I'll hold him close. Tell him to shut his eyes.”
Raoul swallowed hard. “You’re absolutely sure he’ll be in the gardens somewhere?”
“He should be,” Tate replied. “Kids are put to work, and little hands are good for weeding. And women are nearby tending laundry, usually, to keep an eye on them. Mothers near their children.”
Raoul swallowed hard- the gate was in view. “Right. Well it’s now or never.”
He schooled his expression to one of impassive disinterest, bordering on irritation. As if he were doing something beneath him, and not in the least enjoying it. Once he drew within sight of the guards, the men— clad in the white and beige livery of House Calanthia rather than king’s army red-and-gold— straightened, eyes narrowed, expressions scrutinizing. When they seemed to recognise Tate, however, they relaxed by a hair. They studied the slave for only a moment before their gazes jumped toward Raoul.
“Pull the short stick, soldier?” teased the one, a wry smirk curving at the corners of his lips. “Having to play babysitter to the enki’s favourite pet? I do hope he’s not being sent home for any misbehaviour. Lord Calanthia will be rather cross if so, and between you and me, the old man’s already in a foul enough mood these days without any further irritations to pile on top of him.”
Raoul set his expression in a scowl, letting his gaze flick witheringly towards Tate. “Then I hope his lordship is not the sort given to shooting messengers,” the teen retorted in High Courdonian. “The past twenty-four hours have been exasperating enough.”
“You get caught up in the skirmish with the miners?” the second guard replied. “The enki was fretting fierce about it.” He chuckled. “Though as I hear it, they fared far worse than we did. As serves them right. I heard through the grapevine there wasn’t a single survivour— that true?”
“Mm,” Raoul muttered noncommittally, privately cursing. Why were these men being so chatty? “We’ll hopefully have things settled back to normal here soon enough, thanks be to the gods. Then his lordship can take his favorite pet back for good.”
“Aye. May the merciful gods bless the king’s army. ” The first guard stepped aside, motioning for the other to crank open the gate. “Have a good day, soldier. Deposit him where you've been ordered.”
Raoul nodded curtly, striding through the gate once it had opened enough. Once they were far enough into the courtyard to be out of earshot of the guards, he muttered, “Where to now?”
“This way,” Tate said, quickening his pace as he beelined not toward the imposing manor house, but the tangle of outdoor courtyards and patios that sprawled off its side, jutting like misshapen tumors. “We'd best hope we don't run into anyone who knows where I'm supposed to be. Or else things might get…”
“Messy, to say the least,” Raoul agreed, following after the mage. “Not that they won’t anyway, when we try to head back out the gate with Bennett in arms, but unless you know of some secret servant’s exit…”
“The enki sealed all the gates but the main one at the start of the insurrection,” Tate said with a sigh. “So unless you're able to climb very, very well…”
“Wall clinging like a lizard is not in my skill set, I’m afraid,” Raoul murmured. “So we’ll have to fight our way out. Best bet is probably for me to approach the gate alone to get them to open it- then you make a break for it while I take down the guards. Gates like that are made for security, not speedy opening and closing, so with luck you should be able to get out before the guards can seal it again; but when they’re found there will no doubt be an alarm, so we’ll have to run like all hells once we’re clear of the manor.”
“And the city gates?” Tate asked. “If the alarms are going off, we’ll have more than just a few surly knights chasing us. Every soldier mustered in the blasted city will come running.”
“By the time anybody gets to the scene, with any luck we’ll be long gone,” Raoul replied. “And once we’re out on the streets, with this uniform on I’ll just be one soldier among many in what’s effectively become a kicked anthill of crimson and gold. And if anyone questions me I’ll just answer in High Courdonian; who’s going to expect an enki to be a rebel sympathizer this far south of the battlefront?”
“Your high tongue is rather terrifying,” Tate agreed, before gulping as voices came into earshot up ahead, where the warren of covered outdoor lounging spaces gave way to a rather overplanted ornamental garden. “He'll be around here,” the man murmured. Exhaling softly as they brushed past a wicker chair at the edge of the final patio, its cushion covered with a film of dust, he added, “Good thing the uprising has the enki cowering inside, I suppose. Instead of enjoying the great outdoors. I swear, he's like a fat, spoiled cat— spends half his darned time relaxing out here.”
“Thank goodness for small miracles,” Raoul agreed. “And hopefully none of the women watching over the babies are inclined to be tale-bearers.”
“They won't be privy to where I'm supposed to be, at least,” Tate said. “... Maybe you should stay out of sight. While I get Ben. The women will just think I was sent home and that I'm taking him— well, I don't know where, but I'm his father. They won't question it. But if there's a strange soldier with me…”
Raoul nodded. “Just let me know when to stop and wait- somewhere out of immediate sight, preferably, in case anyone passes me by and wonders why a lone soldier is loitering about.”
“Maybe stay here?” Tate suggested. “It's shadowy enough. And empty. And… Ben shouldn't be far, it shouldn't take me more than a few minutes.”
“Alright; I’ll be waiting,” Raoul agreed. “Point of no return; from here we have to move and move fast.”
“Right.” Tate took a deep breath— or as deep as he could manage in his nerve wracked state, anyhow. “Back in a few. Gods willing.”
The gardens off the covered patio were intricate— imported trees, vivid flowers, fountains placed throughout and tinkling in the breeze— but at least they weren't all that large. Tate only had to weave a few dozen feet into the greenery before he could see through all the way to its opposite end… where, true to his predictions, there stood a gaggle of women stringing laundry to dry on taut lines that were stretched between tall, thin trees seemingly planted specifically for this purpose (and to better conceal from casual view the rinky-dink slave barracks that rose beyond, at the very rear of the walled property). At the sound of his footsteps the women looked toward the man— but they only spared him a moment’s glance before they returned to their work, appearing to disregard him as harmless, familiar, undeserving of alarm.
The same dismissal, however, could not be said for the small boy who was wrist deep in sod, dark brown hair slick with sweat. His eyes- hazel- shot up at the sound of the footsteps, and his bronze skinned face lit with glee when he caught sight of Tate.
“Papa!” he whispered, starting to lurch up- but then seeming to think better of it, his eyes flitting around nervously as he forced himself back down in the dirt again. Still, he couldn’t quite stop himself from whimpering, “You comed home!”
“Hi, love,” Tate replied softly, pausing before where a group of about a dozen children— ranging in age from three or four to perhaps ten— were stooped in the hot earth, weeding a spray of lily plants. “Come here— give Papa a hug. I've missed you.”
The child whimpered, straining in his father’s direction but still not daring to rise. “Enki gonna hit me, Papa. If I don’ work.” The child turned his head, revealing a fist sized- and relatively fresh looking- bruise at the base of his jaw close to his left ear.
Tate’s stomach lurched. “Oh, honey,” he murmured. Without waiting for the boy to move toward him, the man took a swift step forward and reached down, hefting his son up into his arms. “I'm sorry, honey. I'm so, so sorry.”
Bennett burbled a soft sob, pressing his face into his father’s chest. “I missed you, Papa. When you were gone.”
“I've missed you, baby,” Tate replied, smoothing the boy’s dark hair. He glanced toward the slaves hanging laundry, none of whom had so much as glanced back in their direction since initially spying Tate. “Come on. Let's take a walk, Benny.”
And with that— before the boy could reply— Tate turned, striding briskly back in the direction of the courtyards. He held his breath with each step he took, half-expecting something to go wrong somehow. For one of the women to call after him, demanding to know where he was taking the boy. Or worse, for an overseer to come by at precisely the wrong moment and throw the entire plan spinning helter-skelter. A slave at least he could talk around. A freeman? He felt sick at the very thought.
As they walked, Bennett whimpered, snuffling miserably. “The Master’s gotted meaner, Papa. Since you left. He keeps yelling at the slaves. Even when we’re not bein ba-”
The child abruptly fell silent, his eyes hooking on a figure in crimson; Raoul, still waiting tensely for Tate’s return. The child shrunk into his father’s chest with abject terror, whispering, “Soldier, Papa, soldier!”
“Shhh.” Tate squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Quiet, baby. It's okay. This is Papa’s friend— just pretending to be a soldier. Like a dress-up game— you know, like the enki’s daughters play sometimes?”
“Friend?” the child murmured doubtfully, looking up at Raoul again. As he caught sight of them, the teenager offered Bennett a gentle smile.
“Hey there, little man,” he whispered, using low tongue to avoid scaring the boy. “It’s nice to meet you. Keavy’s told me a whole lot about you.”
“KeeKee?” the boy whispered, his eyes flying wide with awe. “KeeKee left. A long time ‘go.”
“This is Keavy’s brother, actually,” Tate said. Knowing they had no time to waste— and that they could talk as they walked, if quietly— Tate started back toward the front of the property, nodding for Raoul to follow. “And Keavy’s come back, love— to help get us free. Isn't that nice of her? She's just outside the city. Waiting for us.”
Bennett gasped, his face swivelling between his father and Raoul. “KeeKee comed back? KeeKee comed back?”
“She sure did, Benny,” Raoul agreed. “And we’re going to go see her right now. But we need to be as quiet as possible, okay? Stay with your Papa and stay as quiet as you can, no matter how scary things get.”
“Scary?” the child warbled, his small fists clenching on the fabric of Tate’s shirt.
“Shut your eyes, honey,” Tate said simply. “And bury your face against Papa’s shoulder, okay? And don't open them until I tell you. Even if you want to. It's really important that you listen. That you obey Papa like a good boy.”
Bennett swallowed hard, whimpering softly, but after a fraction of a second’s hesitation he obeyed, pressing his face against his father and squeezing his eyes shut. The gate was drawing into view again, and Raoul gestured for Tate to stay where he was.
This was it. All the months of travel, the planning, the delirious hopes- it had all come down to this. They were about to toss away the final veil of secrecy. Taking a deep, slow breath, Raoul strode towards the gate as Tate lingered just out of sight with Bennett buried in his arms; the former enki’s expression was set in a decidedly haggard scowl. The guards noticed him at once, eyebrows shooting up in unison as they studied the soldier’s sour face.
“Everything all, right?” said the one.
“As well as can be expected,” he growled. “I will be glad when this day has ended, though. If my squad weren't waiting for me I’d be tempted to stop somewhere for a cup of tea for my head.”
As the second guard moved to crank the gate back open, he gave Raoul a grim, empathetic smile. “I can’t imagine you ever envisioned yourself fighting surly slaves in a small Ruomian city,” he said. “Your accent— you’re a long way from home, eh?”
“Aye,” Raoul agreed evasively, wincing internally. “But duty is duty, and a soldier’s job isn't to question orders.”
“Alack and alas,” the first guard agreed. As the gate yawned open widely enough to pass through, he gestured to Raoul. “Have a good day soldier. And may all of the gods’ luck be with you.”
“And you as well,” Raoul replied, feeling his heart beating very, very fast in his chest. He strode up to the open gate, jaw clenched. A sheen of sweat was starting to bead on his forehead, and he prayed the guards wouldn't notice…
He drew even with them, just beyond the bounds of the gate, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. Then, as he took a step forward to continue past them, he grasped the hilt of his broadsword and in one fluid, practiced motion, drew it, whirling on his heel to bring the hilt hard against the gate crank guardsman’s temple. The man fell to the ground below like a tumbling brick loosed from its mortar, landing with a sickening thunk. His comrade blinked once, stunned, as his hand leapt toward his own broadsword— but before he could draw it, Raoul brought the sword around, slashing for the man’s exposed jugular.
The effect was instantaneous: blood sprayed out, and the guard fell, landing nearly on top of his unconscious comrade. From his hiding place, Tate let out a small hiss, his eyes wide as he smoothed Bennett’s hair and then scampered toward the gate As he hurried forward, he kept his gaze firmly on Raoul and not the guards, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at the their too-still forms.
“Let’s get out of here,” the slave murmured beneath his breath. “Quickly.”
Raoul nodded, his lips tightly compressed against a wave of nausea that had hit him as the guardsman’s blood splattered over him. He used his sleeve to wipe away a speckle from his face, thanking all the gods that the red uniform wouldn't show the blood much.
The three of them hurried away from the gate, knowing that it was only a matter of time before someone noticed the bodies. Before hue and cry went up. Before-
About three blocks away from the manor, it started- a loud, blaring horn call that echoed over the city. Raoul almost jumped out of his skin despite the fact that he'd been waiting for just such a thing. Bennett whimpered softly, and Tate squeezed the boy’s shoulder in reassurance— though his own heart had leapt into his throat, where it beat like a hummingbird’s frantic wings.
“Remember, eyes shut,” he said to the boy. To Raoul, he murmured, “What's our plan?”
“Stay close to me,” Raoul replied. “Keep your head down. If I act like I’m going somewhere with a purpose, hopefully most people won’t pay me any mind. If anyone stops me I’ll try to bluff them by saying I’m bringing you back to my squad for security reasons.”
“Right.” Tate tried to force a deep breath, with minimal success. “You okay, buddy?” he said softly to Bennett. The little boy squirmed against his father’s grip, seeming to feed off of Tate’s anxiety.
“We’re in trouble, Papa?” he whimpered, as Raoul again set off down the road at a brisk, confident speed-walk.
“Nope,” Tate said. “Everything’s fine, honey. Just keep your eyes against Papa’s shoulder, okay?”
Gradually, as predicted the city began to swarm with panicked soldiers, seemingly searching for whoever had murdered the gate guards at the Calanthia Manor. Though most of them ignored Raoul, assuming he was one of their own, twice he was stopped and questioned about Tate- and more to the point, about Bennett, who had no reason to be away from the manor. Raoul managed to deflect the question by claiming Tate had been misbehaving, and his son was being brought along as collateral against his good behavior, which satisfied the soldiers- but made Raoul himself feel like an awful person, and prompted soft, bitter apologies muttered Tate’s way before they kept going.
Eventually, they drew within sight of the city gates, and Raoul’s hand clenched on the hilt of his sword impulsively. The gate was open- a small blessing- but the place was positively swarming with soldiers.
“Gods,” he muttered. “This… this is going to be insane…”
“How do we even…” Tate's voice trailed off as though in horror. He hoped Bennett couldn't feel how hard his heart was thundering against his ribs.
Raoul gnawed on his lip. “I could try to create a diversion? Something to draw them off.”
“Like what?” Tate croaked. “Unless we set the whole cursed city on fire, I— I don't even know what could divert so many men.”
The teenager cursed. “We’ll have to… try and wait them out, I guess. Eventually someone will take charge and start sending them out to actually address the matter at hand. Once the crowd around the gate thins, then we make a break.”
“Wait?” Tate parroted, brow creased in horror. “Wait where?”
“I don’t know,” Raoul said, his every muscle tense. “Somewhere out of sight, but where we can keep an eye on the gate.”
“Wanna go home,” Bennett burbled, squirming in his father’s arms fretfully.
“I know, baby. Hush.” Tate turned, frantically surveying the buzzing streets around them. “Our best might be one of the buildings that got damaged in the initial uprising,”’ he murmured. “The downtown is full of them. Burnt out shells. They've been condemned.”
“Alright. That should work,” Raoul agreed, his lip bit. “Let’s hurry- the sooner we get out of the streets, the better.”
Following Tate’s directions, the three of them eventually found their way into the upper floors of a badly damaged building that might once have been some sort of shop, but was no longer in any tenable condition. Raoul settled by the window, watching the soldiers as they milled about the gate while Tate tried to calm his fretful son.
“It’s loud,” the child sobbed, hiccuping wretchedly. “A-and where’s KeeKee? You promised KeeKee, Papa!”
“Bennett, hush,” Tate said, throat quavering as he drew his son gently back from his shoulder and tilted the boy's chin so that their gazes met. Outside the alarms continued to blare, piercing through the building’s frail walls like arrows into flesh.. “We’ll get to see Keavy soon. But we gotta play a game for a while first, okay? Like hide-and-seek. And it's real important to stay hidden.”
The child snuffled, his hazel eyes swimming with tears. He glanced towards Raoul, cocking his head. “KeeKee play?”
“Keavy is outside the city hiding,” Raoul explained. “We’ll go find her after things quiet down a bit, I promise, Ben.”
The child seemed to mull this, gradually settling against Tate’s shoulder again. “Papa said you’re… KeeKee’s brother?”
“I sure am,” the teenager agreed. “My name is Raoul.”
“But KeeKee got pointy ears,” the child objected.
“They've got different papas, hon,” Tate explained, lowering himself onto the splintery, soot-mussed floor and settling the child in his lap. “But the same mama. And their mama didn't have pointy ears— only Keavy’s papa did.”
“Oh,” the boy bit his lip. “KeeKee mine.”
Raoul hid a smile behind his hand, seeming to be trying not to laugh. Tate, however, seemed somewhat less amused, letting out a beleaguered sigh as he gave his son’s ear a gentle pull.
“Be nice,” he chided. “You can love Keavy, and so can he. There's enough love to go around, hm?”
Ben’s lower lip quivered. “Papa mine?”
“Papa’s yours,” Tate agreed, smoothing the boy’s tousled locks. “But he's allowed to love other people, too, right? Like KeeKee.”
Bennett gave a reluctant nod. “Papa can love KeeKee.”
Raoul turned back towards the window, a sad smile on his face. “I don’t blame him for not wanting to share the people in his life with a strange freedman,” he said softly. “In his position I probably wouldn’t want to either.”
“Soon, gods willing, everyone in this kingdom will be a freeman,” Tate said quietly. “And more friends— loved ones— can't ever be a bad thing. It's much, much worse to not have enough, neh?”
The teenager’s already tremulous smile faltered. “Aye. That it is.”
“I've been worried about her, you know,” Tate went on. “Keavy. I had no idea if she was okay. And even if she was, she was in a situation she'd never faced before, with no one she knew. Or trusted.” He paused for a moment, studying Raoul’s terse expression. “I can't say I know you well enough to have drawn any firm conclusions about you, son. But I can tell Keavy loves you, and that you love her. It's… nice. Knowing she's been loved.”
Raoul gave the man a wobbly smile again, his bright blue eyes flickering with emotion. “I’m grateful to her for giving me a chance. For letting me be her brother in spite of… who and what I am. You’re far from the only person to be cautious of me, sir.”
“Papa’s not sir,” Bennett mumbled, frowning slightly.
“From now on,” Tate replied gently, “Papa can be a ‘sir’, honey. Because things are going to be different, okay? Than they've always been. Different and good. Happy.”
Bennett didn’t seem to have a reply to that, only burrowing his face into his father’s shoulder again. Raoul cleared his throat. “I… I wanted to thank you by the way.”
“Thank me?” Tate seemed puzzled. “Why? You're the one who got me into the city. And to Ben. Without you…” He shook his head grimly, the rest left implicit but unsaid.
“Not that,” Raoul clarified. “I wanted to thank you for… for being there for Keavy. When our mother sold her off into slavery so my father wouldn’t realize. She told me you were like a father to her. My family failed so utterly to do right by our own kin… so, so thank you. For seeing that she knew what it was to be loved.”
“I've known Keavy since she was barely older than Bennett is now,” Tate replied. “She's like a daughter to me. She…” He hesitated for a moment, then continued softly, “She was friends. With my little girl. The best of friends, from the moment Keavy was first sold to House Calanthia. And… she had no one. She was such a sweet little girl, and she had no one. I don't think I'd like the sort of person who would look at that little girl and turn away.”
“You had a daughter?” Raoul asked, his brows knit. “Keavy didn’t mention anything about that…”
“She wouldn't have,” Tate said. “I've told her more times than I can count that what happened isn't her fault. But I think she still blames herself for what happened to Elsie anyway.” He glanced down toward Bennett in his lap, planting a tender kiss atop the boy’s curls. “How you doing, love?” he asked. “Less scared now?”
“Mm,” the boy grunted in agreement. “But it’s still loud.”
“Hopefully the alarm will stop soon,” Raoul soothed the child. Tate clearly didn’t want to discuss the subject of his daughter, so Raoul wasn’t about to press it. Looking back out of the window, he added, “You miss KeeKee lots, hm?”
“She go-ed away,” the child replied glumly. “I want her to sing. And hold me.”
“Soon,” Tate said. “Just as soon as we finish playing hide-and-seek. And…” He looked apprehensive, as if he were afraid of promising the boy more than he could deliver. After a moment's thought, however, he steeled himself, continuing, “We’ll get to ride a horsie, too, Bennett. Like the enki has.”
The little boy sat up, his eyes going wide with aw. “A horsie? A real horsie?”
“Mm-hm,” Raoul agreed. “You can sit right in front of me and ride.”
“Wanna ride with Papa,” Bennett said prissily.
“You… you should ride with Raoul, sweetie,” Tate said reluctantly. “Since he probably knows how to ride horsies best. He'll help keep you snug on the saddle.”
“It’s just until we get well clear of the city,” the teenager added hastily, when it looked like Bennett wanted to argue. “Then you can be with your Papa and Keavy again, I promise.”
The child huffed. “Not fair.”
“I know,” Tate said simply. “But that’s how it is, okay? And Papa won’t be far, and neither will Keavy.” His tone leaving no room for argument, he finished, “I don’t want any whining, Benny— this is really important, and you need to be good. Cooperative. Got it, hon?”
The child whined, but didn’t argue, only curling into a ball in his father’s lap and nodding. Raoul sighed.
“I don’t blame him for not liking me. I told Keavy it was optimistic to think he would.”
“Give him time,” Tate said. “He’s a friendly boy when he’s not tired and nervous.” He hugged the child close. “Right, Benny?”
“Not tired,” the boy objected, puffing out his cheeks in a way that suggested this was a fight he’d put up before.
“Hmm, but I think you’ve got to be,” Tate returned. “It’s hot out, huh? And you were out in the sun… and I’m sure you’ve been up since early...” He kissed the crown of the boy’s head again. “I know it’s loud, but what if Papa sang you a song? To help drown out the scary noises.”
The boy pressed his face into his father’s torso. “M’kay.”
The teenager continued to watch the huddle around the gate as Tate began to quietly sing— not in Courdonian, this was immediately clear, but a strange, lyrical language that sounded nothing at all like the guttural enkis’ tongue. Raoul glanced back at the man, listening curiously as, in spite of the blaring alarms- which by this point had become almost background noise- Bennett’s eyelids slowly drooped, then shut altogether. Before long it was clear the little boy had fallen deeply asleep.
“That was Cerrish, wasn’t it?” Raoul asked softly. “Keavy mentioned you were from Cerrin.”
“Long ago,” Tate agreed. “When I was a boy.”
“Do you think you’d like to go back?” the teenager asked. “Once the war is over?”
“No,” Tate said. “Most of my family was either killed or taken when I was. And I was small. Very small. I can sing lullabies in Cerrish, sure, but the language itself? I scarcely remember it. Or… what life was like there. It wouldn’t be a homecoming. Not anymore.”
Raoul bit his lip, meeting Tate’s dark eyes with his bright ones. “I… I’m sorry. It isn’t right, what my people have done to their neighbors for so long. What they’ve done to you.”
Tate shrugged, the man clearly long resigned to such a reality. “You owe me no apologies, son,” he said. “It’s hardly you who stole me. It wasn’t even your countrymen, really— I was in Mzia first. For a long time. House Calanthia is— was—my first Courdonian master.”
Raoul smiled bitterly. “A unique opinion, one most of the rebels I spoke to don’t share. Nor can I really blame them. Honestly I can never repay Keavy for the trust she’s given me. The friend and sister she’s given me.”
“I raised her not to be a hasty judge of people,” Tate said, a bit of pride seeping into his tone. “Not to act based on biases. To wait and make her own conclusions.”
“You did that well,” Raoul said with warmth. “Again- you have my thanks for everything you’ve done for her. I only hope I can repay that debt today.”
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Post by Shinko on Oct 18, 2016 18:02:20 GMT -5
Overflow! \ o / Family Values - Part ElevenIt was drawing close to noon- the time that the conspirators had agreed upon as the time that they should give up on the other team if they failed to arrive. Raoul wanted to scream with frustration- though they guards milling about the gate had thinned significantly, there were still at least six milling around that he could see- an entire squad’s worth.
“This is bad,” he snarled softly. “Keavy’s going to have to leave without us if we don’t do something- she can’t risk waiting forever. Something has to give here.”
“If she heard the alarms, she might already fear the worst, too,” Tate murmured, delicately stroking the still-sleeping Bennett’s back. “She might stick around a little bit after the deadline, but if we push it too long…”
“I don’t want to put Keavy in the position of having to choose between abandoning us or getting recaptured,” Raoul said emphatically. “I don’t think we can afford to keep sitting around- the guards clearly don’t mean to disperse anytime soon. We need to take some risks.”
“I know.” Tate sighed, shifting Bennett in his lap so that he could get a better look out the window. “They’ve been opening the gates here and there,” he said. “To let squads pass through in and out. It would be dangerous, yes, but if we waited for the right moment…”
“You’re thinking we should just rush them?” Raoul asked. “Make a break when they open the gates?”
“Of a sort,” Tate said. “I think we should try to… slip by them, really. As best as we can. While they’re distracted. I doubt it’ll work entirely, but if we approach them slowly— non-aggressively— they won’t be aggressive in turn. And then if we run like the hells when we reach them…”
“Gods,” Raoul muttered. “Alright- It’s… probably the best we’re going to get. But promise me that once we’re past the guards, no matter what happens you’ll run like all hells and not look back. If they pursue, I’m the only one of us armed and trained to fight back and hold them off.”
Tate gave a hesitant nod. “All right. But… think positively, okay? We’ve gotten this far— it won’t fall apart now.”
The teenager smiled grimly. “Hope is all we have at this point. I’ll hang on to that as long as I can.” He took a deep breath, then stood. “We should head down. So we can be ready the next time they move to let a squad through.”
“I should probably rouse Bennett,” Tate said, sounding rather upset about this fact. “So he doesn’t startle awake at a bad moment and panic.” He gulped. “My poor boy. I wish there was a way to do this that didn’t involve scaring the hells out of him.”
Raoul sighed. “Short of drugging him unconscious- which we don’t have the resources for- I don’t see how we could. I’m sorry; hopefully we can make it up to him once we’re safely over the battle lines.”
Once Bennett was awake- the little boy somewhat cranky but nonetheless compliant- Tate and Raoul headed back out of the building, taking up position near enough to watch the gate without attracting notice. For a while nothing happened, but eventually a small group of about three soldiers approached the gate from the inside, prompting the guards to swing it open. Raoul jerked his head, indicating for Tate to follow, then with his heart hammering like a galloping horse and his whole body jittering, he and the two slaves strode out directly behind the squad.
“Soldier?” As the man who seemed to be in charge noticed the trio, he pursed his lips, studying Raoul first, then Tate and Bennett. “Everything quite all right?”
“Fine,” Raoul replied evenly, though he didn’t slow as he continued by. “Just taking this one back to my captain. I brought him in earlier, but considering priorities changed rather abruptly, I have to get him back out on the field post haste.”
“Easy there, soldier,” said the guard, furrowing his brow. “I’m sure your captain wouldn’t want you disrespecting the city guard, now, would he—”
“I offer no disrespect, sir,” Raoul cut in, sweat beading across his face and the palms of his hands. “I have simply been gone longer than I intended, and wish to return as soon as possible.”
He swept past the guard who was speaking, hoping against hope that the man would take the hint and back off. As Tate hurried to follow close to Raoul’s heel, the guardsman at first stepped aside, ostensibly as a mere reflex— clearly he hadn’t expected the so-called soldier to attempt to quite literally mosey out of the interrogation.
“Easy there,” he repeated, one hand falling to the sword at his hip while the other reached toward Raoul’s arm. “You can’t just—”
Raoul, catching the way the guard reached for his sword out of the corner of his eye, tensed and narrowed his eyes. “You have enough troubles with enemies of your lord, without offering threats to a soldier of the king’s army and son of nobility, don’t you?” he hissed, clearly enunciating the high tongue he’d been born to.
Tate outright winced at the butter-smooth rendition of the lord’s dialect— but the guard didn’t seem moved. “You are a soldier, yes, and a soldier follows the order of law,” he growled, fingers settling menacingly over Raoul’s sleeved arm as he briefly studied the badges that were pinned to the stolen overcoat. “What’s your name, lance corporal?”
“My name is-” Raoul snarled cooly, before he whirled, twisting the man’s arm. “Tate, go!”
Tate didn’t have to be told twice: as the guard let out a squawk of surprise, the magician slave thundered forward, clutching Bennett tightly to his chest as his feet pounded against the dirt below. He half-expected to be grabbed immediately— for one of the other sentinels to lance their hand out over him, lightning-quick— but he wasn’t, the path before him clear as Raoul kicked away the man whose arm he’d grabbed and tackled the one who’d surged forward to grab Tate. The two of them fell together, landing in a heap, and as Tate continued to tear ahead, Raoul and the guard tumbled over and over on the ground. Raoul finally managed to knee the man in the stomach, shoving him off and scrambling to his feet, but he was met by the remaining guardsmen with ugly scowls and drawn swords.
“The hell is your game, boy?” one of them hissed. “You’re no surly slave.”
“No,” Raoul agreed, hand listing towards his own sword as he took a step backwards. “But soon enough, neither will the rebels be. When the snake that is the slave system loses its head, and the Branded Lord’s forces end the tyranny once and for all.”
The guards needed no further incentive; with a collective cry of outrage they surged towards Raoul, their swords flashing. He spun on his heel, fleeing not in the direction Tate had taken but sideways along the wall, hoping to draw them away from Keavy’s adoptive father. The men tore after him, the sound of their boot heels slapping the dirt behind Raoul drawing closer every second.
Carricon, protect me! he thought desperately, before he whirled, drawing his own sword and dashing back towards his pursers. Naturally with all of them able to run at different speeds, the pursuit had seen them no longer in the tightly knit bunch they’d been when confronting the teenager at the gate, and he was able to take the first man off guard and deliver a painful cut across his legs that sent him sprawling.
Raoul didn’t have time for triumph, however- an arrow whizzed by him, just barely missing his head. The young man looked up sharply, and realized the sentries on the wall near the gate must have noticed the hubbub. Though the arrow had missed, the brief distraction was sufficient for the second of the guardsmen to catch up to Raoul, lunging towards him with not a sword, but a spear. Raoul couldn’t dodge it in time, and the blade gashed along the side of his ribs, making the teenager cry out in pain.
He knew he couldn’t win this fight. There were too many guards, the archers on the walls, and now he was hurt. His only chance of survival was to make a run for it. He backpedaled, knocking the spear blade aside as he looked around frantically for a place where he could lose the soldiers. Then it hit him- the forest. Gritting his teeth, he took off towards the trees, gasping in pain as an arrow grazed across his shoulder but not breaking his stride. It felt like every one of his senses had been cranked up tenfold. He could feel his pulse racing, his side searing, the red uniform clinging to his body from his own sweat. He could hear the guards shouting, the clang of their weapons and scant armor, and his own frenetic breathing.
Finally, he broke through the treeline, and immediately his headlong run changed to a twisting, winding path, taking every advantage he could of his own small size to dart through holes in the brush that the more burly guards couldn’t. Finally, blessedly the sounds of pursuit faded. Raoul stopped, panting, just long enough to catch his breath and get his bearings before he set off again on a course that would- he hoped, set him to intercept the path Tate had taken to reach Keavy.
It was not Tate he ultimately nearly collided with, however, but Keavy herself: without fully trying, the former enki had swerved a route to their meeting point. As Raoul skidded to a halt just inches from barreling into her, Keavy let out a small gasp, her eyes bugging wide as full moons.
“Raoul.” She reached out toward him, hesitantly, as if she were afraid he might flinch back from her touch. “What’s wrong, what happened—”
“W-w-w-we-” Raoul gasped, his lungs searing and his head spinning from exhaustion after the long run.
“Take a deep breath,” she cut in, delicately setting her hands on his shoulders. “You won’t do any of us any good if you pass out, Raoul.” She gulped. “Are you okay? Where… where’s Tate? And Bennett…?”
Raoul flinched a little as Keavy’s fingers brushed the place where the sentry’s arrow had grazed his shoulder, but forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. After a moment, he managed to rasp, “We… we… s-split up. T-Tate took Bennett and hightailed it wh-while I distracted the guards. I just b-barely lost them.”
“Y-you got him, then?” Keavy asked. “Ben? He’s okay?”
“Scared silly,” Raoul admitted with a tired smile. “But otherwise yes, he’s fine.” The teenager hissed in pain the wound on his torso pulled, but quickly pushed it aside. “Where’s Amato?”
“O-over here,” the young boy warbled, emerging from the trees with the reins of two horses gripped in his hands. “I’m keeping them calm,” he added proudly. “I like horses. I used to help take care of ‘em, back at the inn.”
“He’s been very helpful,” Keavy said with a wavering smile, before she looked back to her brother. “Are you hurt, Raoul? You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“Just a scratch,” he replied dismissively, hoping she wouldn’t press it. His side hurt enormously now that his adrenaline was fading, and he could feel his side slick with blood, but the cut felt shallow and they didn’t have time for that now. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me, Keav, we should be focusing on Tate and Bennett.”
“You… you d-don’t think they could’ve been caught, do you?” Keavy murmured. “They— couldn’t have been caught. R-right?”
Raoul bit his lip, shaking his head hurriedly. “No, I… I think they’re probably okay. Tate likely just looped a long way around. In case he was being tailed. Give them a bit more time.”
In reply Keavy only nodded, the girl’s jaw clenched and throat quavering as she, Amato, and Raoul settled in to wait. With each minute that passed, the half-elf grew more and more nervous, wicked possibilities blooming in her mind like dandelions in a springtime field. What if they’d been caught? What if they were hurt? What if they were—
“KeeKee!”
The high, excited squeal caught everyone’s attention immediately, and they turned to see Tate, bedraggled but none the worse for the wear, emerge from the trees. Bennett was presently squirming in his grip, clearly trying to escape so that he could bolt for the half-elf. After a moment’s consideration Tate acquiesced, turning the boy loose— whereupon Bennett dashed towards Keavy, all but tackling into her knees.
“KeeKee, KeeKee, you comed back, you really comed back, Papa said you were back and I was a real good boy, promise, so you would hold me, are we really gonna be free, the funny enki saided we was, and-”
“Gods, is he even breathing at all?” Raoul asked with a tired smile, as Amato giggled.
“Calm down, little man,” Keavy said, smiling ear to ear as she scooped the boy into her arms. “I’ve missed you, too. Lots. But—” She leaned in close to him, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “We’ve gotta play a fun game. Called whispering everything instead of shouting it. Got it, bud?”
He laughed, hugging around Keavy’s neck. “‘Kay!” he chirped in a stage whisper. Looking down at Amato he asked, “Who’s that?”
“That’s Amato, he’s mine and Keavy’s friend,” Raoul replied, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. Gods he was tired after the run through the woods. “But I’m afraid we need to cut the happy reunion short. The guards have to still be looking for us- we need to ride hard and fast, as far as we can before dusk.”
It was a tight fit with three adults and two children between two mere horses, but at the least the king’s army bred their mounts large and bulky, and within a few minutes the party of rebels and slaves had managed to get moving. For the first several miles, Keavy’s heart was hammering clear in her throat, a feeling of dread percolating within her, terrified that the next time she glanced over her shoulder— past Tate who sat behind her on the saddle— she’d find a battalion of king’s army soldiers in hot pursuit. Raoul, for his part, was infinitely more focused on trying to not to swoon with pain as every jolt of the horse’s hooves seemed to send a fresh lance of agony across his ribcage where he’d been gashed. Amato, who was sitting behind him and holding on to his neck, at least was an easy person to share the saddle with.
Bennett, on the other hand, was a bit more frustrating. Sitting in front of Raoul on the saddle, with the teenager’s arms on either side of him to keep him falling off, the little boy was quite snug and secure- but constantly fidgeting. While the child was enjoying himself on the “horsie ride,” he clearly would much rather have been riding with Keavy and Tate. He reminded Raoul of this fact imperiously every few miles, demanding “Ride with Papa now!” and getting extremely huffish when he was denied for the umpteenth time.
Gradually, as they continued their way north, it seemed that they’d managed to get a decent enough lead on any possible pursuers that no one was going to come pounding up on them immediately. Their pace slowed somewhat, something for which Raoul was infinitely glad. His head was hurting as much as his side now, and his whole body felt chilled despite the heat of the midafternoon sun. But that didn’t matter. They had to keep going. Had to maintain their lead. They’d come too far to get caught now because he was hurting from a little scratch. Because he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. So dizzy he could barely see Keavy riding slightly ahead…
He closed his eyes momentarily, meaning to stop that awful lurching all around him that was aggravating his dizziness. The next thing he was aware of, Bennett was screeching in fear and surprise, and Raoul was falling half out of the saddle- the boy still clenched in his arms.
A spike of adrenaline snapped Raoul out of his fugue, and he lurched his body around as he continued to tip. Amato cried out, instinctively letting go of his grip around Raoul’s neck and watching helplessly as the teenager fell with a tremendous crashing noise from the horse. Raoul landed on his back, crying out and sending such an explosion of pain across his injured side that he finally lost the battle against creeping unconsciousness.
“Raoul!” Keavy’s voice was piercing as she skidded her horse to a halt. In the blink of an eye she'd scrambled off the saddle, nearly tripping over her feet as she hurried to the fallen pair. “Raoul— Bennett—”
“Papa!” Bennett wailed, thrashing against Raoul’s limp arms and sobbing wretchedly. “KeeKee!”
“Gods, oh gods are they alright?” Amato warbled from where he still sat up in the saddle, his eyes wide and round as full moons. “L-l-look, is that blood on Bennett, is he bleeding?”
Sure enough, as Keavy tugged the little boy off of the unconscious Raoul, she immediately noticed that his natty tunic was, on its back, nearly soaked through with blood. As he rushed to dismount, Tate let out a choked gasp, his dark brow shooting up to his hairline as he squeaked: “Ben!”
“Let me get your tunic off, baby,” Keavy stammered, struggling to still the flailing child. “Please, can you let me get your tunic off?”
Bennett burrowed his face in Keavy’s chest, sobbing inconsolably. “Scary!” he howled. “Scary!”
“Ben.” Tate’s voice was at once terrified and firm. “Let Keavy take it off. Now.”
The child winced, but nodded jerkily, still shuddering and whimpering but going still enough for Keavy to successfully pull off his dripping, crimson stained tunic. Like his shirt, the skin underneath was wet with driblets of red, but as Keavy further inspected it, she was puzzled— if relieved— to find no more than the smallest scratches and scrapes lining the boy’s dark bronze flesh. Nothing large enough to have bled much at all, let alone to such a magnitude. Which had to mean…
“Raoul,” Keavy choked out, looking back down at her brother— and eyes closer raking his rumpled uniform coat. His blood red uniform coat, which would have concealed any gore from casual view— hidden it unless someone went specifically looking… “Oh, gods.” Pressing the shirtless Bennett into Tate’s startled arms, Keavy dropped to her knees at her brother’s side, hand shaking as she brushed it over the heavy cloth of his overcoat. It was damp. Warm. Stained. “Raoul! Hell— Raoul, wake up!”
Raoul, however, did not rouse. His entire body was shaking like a leaf, and his skin had gone ashen under his naturally bronze complexion. He rasped when he breathed, as if he couldn’t quite get his breath completely. Amato whimpered suddenly, warbling, “K-Keavy, look. The saddle!”
Sure enough, the saddle upon which Amato was perched- and much of the fur along the horse’s side- was also streaked with crimson. Crimson which couldn’t have gotten there if Raoul had just gotten hurt in the fall.
“Hell.” Clutching Bennett tight to his chest, Tate let out a small hiss. “Get his coat off, Keavy— cut it if you have to, but get it off.”
Keavy nodded mutely, hands shaking as she fumbled with the brass buttons for a moment— then gave up fidgeting with them and reached for the dagger at her belt instead, using it to slice clean through the heavy overcoat and then ripping open the light tunic that Raoul wore below. She felt bile rise in her throat as his bare skin came into view, his chest and abs liberally splattered with scarlet. The culprit was immediately obvious, a long, shallow laceration that cut between two of his ribs. It would have been bleeding slowly, but steadily for the past hour or so- and it was also filthy with grit from Raoul’s frantic dash through the forest.
“He’s hurt,” Amato whimpered. “Wh-why didn’ he tell us he was hurt? He said he just had a little cut!”
Tate swore. “Do you have any bandages?”
“I-in my pack,” Keavy croaked. “And some water too. T-to clean it.”
Her surrogate father turned, shifting Bennett onto one hip as he reached for the pack that was slung attached to the saddle of Keavy’s horse. After rummaging for a few moments he pulled out Keavy’s water skin and a wad of faded cloth bandages that the twins had taken with them from the rebel camp what felt like a lifetime ago.
“Keavy, stand up. Take Ben— I'll bandage your brother.”
“But—” Keavy started. Tate, however, would hear no protests. “Not the time for debating, Keavy. Up. Take Ben. Your brother’s already lost too much blood and I want to get it staunched.”
Amato, who had managed to dismount with a graceless thump, was looking down at Raoul with a trembling jaw. “Wh-why didn’ I see he was hurt? I should’ve seen it. I should’ve seen.”
“None of us noticed,” Keavy said, her voice shaking as she obediently rose and took Bennett from his father. As she did, Tate immediately crouched and twisted open the cap of the water skin, gingerly using it to clean the ragged wound. Watching him, the girl added to Amato, “I-it isn't your fault, honey.”
Amato swallowed hard, watching as the still terrified Bennett sobbed against Keavy’s chest. Turning to Tate he whispered, “Is he gonna be okay, Mister Keavy’s Papa?”
Tate, his jaw clenched as he frantically worked to tend the injury, forced a short, unconvincing nod. “He'll be fine,” the man said. “And— you can call me Tate, son. All right?”
“O-okay, Mister Tate,” the child agreed. He sniffed, tears pooling in his dark eyes. “Raoul is nice. Even though he’s n-not a slave like us. He tells good stories. And lets me sleep next to him. When I’m scared.” Amato blinked hard. “P-please be okay.”
Bennett whined, feeding off of the anxiety of the others and squirming in Keavy’s arms. Keavy hushed him, planting a kiss on his slim cheek as she murmured, “It’s all right, baby. I've got you.”
As Tate was pulling the bandages tighter around Raoul’s torso, the teenager gasped, instinctively flinching away in pain. His blue eyes fluttered open, filmy and confused, and Tate scrambled to set two firm hands on his shoulder to keep the boy from abruptly sitting up and further aggravating his barely-dressed wounds.
“Easy,” Tate said. “Take it slow.”
Raoul moaned, bringing up a hand to his forehead. “My head is… throbbing. Wh-what happened?”
“You fell,” Amato said, dropping to his knees beside the teenager. “Off of the horse. It was scary. Why didn’t you tell us you were bleedin’?”
“Not that bad,” Raoul said vaguely. “Getting distance is more important. It’s j-just a little cut.”
“It's not a little cut!” Keavy snapped, a mixture of relief and fear and aggravation swirling through her in a tangled muddle. “You should've told us, Raoul! You could've killed yourself in that fall, you—”
“Keavy.” Tate's voice was sharp. “Not that I don't agree with the sentiment, but douse your flames, all right? Yelling at him isn't going to help anything.”
“But he—”
“Keavy,” the magician cut in, using the same beleaguered tone countless fathers had used on their teenage daughters. “I said enough. Cool it, okay?”
Bennett, seeming to lose the battle against his own fear and confusion over the situation, started to cry in earnest again, the little boy’s wracking sobs making Raoul wince. “Oh gods, is he hurt? H-he’s all over blood, is he-”
“He's fine,” Tate said. “It's your blood. Not his.” The man lifted a brow, scrutinizing. “What in the hells were you thinking, son? Riding hard on a gash like that?”
“It didn’t seem that deep,” Raoul objected. “And we didn’t have time to baby it; the guards are probably still trying to pick up our trail. If I’m captured I’ll be executed, but if you’re captured you’ll be returned to slavery. You’re more important than I am.”
“The martyr complex is charming,” Tate said, “but no. You can't keep on riding like this, son. You need rest. Badly.”
“W-we came all this way to rescue you and Bennett,” Raoul insisted. “You can’t get yourselves caught again because of me b-before we make it a day out from the city!”
“I didn't come here to rescue them and lose you!” Keavy growled. “We'll find some place to rest. For you to at least get a little better.” She added frostily, “And if you disagree, then tough. If you think I won't tie you up to the saddle—”
Bennett howled sharply, and Raoul winced. “Fine, fine, but please everyone n-needs to calm down. The baby is going to draw the crown soldiers right to us if we keep scaring him.”
“Let me take him,” Tate said, rising. As Keavy passed the child off to his father, the man murmured, “Hush, my love. Everything's all right. No need to cry, okay?”
Bennett seemed beyond the point of making a coherent reply, only clenching hard at his father’s clothes and sobbing- though more quietly- into the man’s chest. Amato bit his lip hard, then knelt down next to Raoul. “C-can you sit up?”
Raoul tried to push himself upright, but immediately black spots exploded in his eyes and with a gasp he slipped back down again. Tate swore, and Keavy clenched her jaw.
“We'll have to lift him,” the girl said. “And probably bind him to the saddle in some way.” Before Raoul could protest she clarified, “If you pass out again, I don't want you falling.”
“Right,” he muttered. He was shivering badly again. “C-could I have my coat back, though? I’m c-cold.”
“No. It's covered in blood, and Keavy had to cut it off,” Tate said, sighing. “Here—” He shifted his grip on Bennett, shouldering off his own tattered cloak. “You can have mine, all right?”
Raoul nodded, letting Keavy help him sit up and sling the cloak over his shoulders. He seemed to be on the cusp of passing out again, but fought to stay awake as his sister slung his arm over her shoulders and helped him to stand.
“I-is there anything I can do?” Amato asked. “To help? I… I w-want to help.”
“You can help me boost him, if you want,” Keavy said. “Onto the saddle. And make sure he doesn't fall while I'm tying him down.”
The boy nodded, helping to gingerly swing Raoul’s leg over the saddle while Keavy pushed him up, then keeping him steady while she tied down her brother’s legs. Raoul was clearly in pain, wincing and whimpering involuntarily whenever his injury pulled. He leaned heavily against the horse’s neck, and Amato tentatively walked up to the beast’s head.
“If… if we’re not running anymore, I could hold the reins,” he suggested. “And guide him. Walk behind you, so Raoul doesn’t have to drive.”
“All right,” Keavy agreed. “I think I can get us somewhere… concealed, I guess. Where we can wait Raoul’s injury out.”
“You-” Raoul coughed, wincing in pain as he tugged at his injury trying to face Keavy. “You need to hide the horse’s trail. Or they’ll just follow it.”
“We will, son,” Tate assured him. “You just focus on staying awake, all right? We’ll take care of everything else. I promise.”
Raoul nodded, and as soon as Tate and Keavy had remounted their horse- keeping Bennett with them this time- the group set off again, deeper into the woods. “D-do you know the way, Keavy?” Amato chirped.
“No,” Keavy admitted. “Not quite. But… I’ll figure something out, okay?”
The child seemed to take this as something of a rebuke, his eyes plunging down as he muttered an apologetic, “Okay.”
“Hey.” This was not Keavy, but Tate, the man’s voice very gentle as he called out to the clearly rattled child. “It’s going to be all right, honey. We’re going to keep you safe.”
Amato blinked hard. “I don’t want Raoul to be hurt. H-him an’ Keavy are the only people who’re nice to me. ‘Cept Mama, but I got sold away from her. E-even my Papa hated me. He smacked me wh-when I tried to call him that.”
“I’m sorry,” Tate said softly, sounding like he truly meant it. “But no one’s going to smack you anymore, okay? And once we find a nice snug place to rest, Raoul’s going to get better. Good as new.”
The little boy nodded reluctantly, and Raoul himself seemed to rouse enough to reach out a hand with a tired smile. “He’s right, Amato. I’ll be okay. I just need some sleep, that’s all.”
Amato swallowed hard. “You promise?”
“I promise.” Family Values - Part TwelveEventually the group found their way to what looked to have been a farm, but it was overgrown and clearly hadn’t been visited in weeks. Tate explained that some of the outlying settlements of the city had been evacuated during the uprising, to the relative safety of the city walls. They managed after a few tries to bust the lock open on the barn door and slip inside It was filled with old tools that took up a lot of the floor space, but there was an area towards the back that appeared to be for story hay and feed bags for the farm animals. Using several bags of feed as a makeshift mattress, Keavy and Tate helped Raoul to lie down, whereupon he almost immediately lost consciousness. “S-should I lay with him?” Amato asked fretfully. “So he stays warm? He said he was cold before.” “Sure, sweetheart,” Keavy said. “That sounds like a nice idea— you’re very thoughtful.” The boy gave a wobbly smile, sitting down next to Raoul’s prone form and pressing close against him. Bennett, watching this, cocked his head curiously. “Is the enki your Papa?” he asked. “Wha- n-no, no he’s not,” Amato replied, looking taken aback. “And he’s not an enki, Benny,” Keavy chided gently. “Not anymore.” The child pursed his lips. “Yeah-huh.” “Bennett.” Tate leveled his son a withering look. “I know we’ve had a very long day, and that you’re probably very tired and grumpy. But that doesn’t mean you get to give people sass, young man.” Bennett wilted. “Sorry, Papa. No enki.” He looked up at the half-elf, adding tentatively, “KeeKee brother?” “Mmhm,” Keavy agreed. “He’s my brother. So— in a way, that makes him your brother, too, right?” She smiled at the little boy. “Haven’t you always wanted a big brother, Benny?” Bennett bit his lip, looking unconvinced. “He’s scary. The way he talks.” “He’s not scary,” Amato objected. “He’s nice. It was his idea to save me. When I was stuck at the inn with the sleepy juice.” “He can’t help how he talks,” Tate told his son. “I know it makes you scared, honey— but not everyone who speaks the high tongue is bad, okay?” Bennett didn’t reply to this, only toddling over to Keavy and holding out his hands. “Hold me?” “Of course.” Keavy drew the boy into her lap, settling his head against her chest. “I’ll hold you ‘til you fall asleep, okay? You’ve got to be very tired— such a long day, huh?” Bennett cuddled against his adoptive sister’s chest, his eyelids drooping. “Sing? Please?” “Benny, love, you know I’ve the worst singing voice known to man, right?” Keavy sighed. “But all right. Just for you, I’ll sing.” He giggled, closing his eyes. “KeeKee sing.” He commanded firmly, his small hand wrapping around hers. “Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s see…” After a moment’s deliberation, the girl took a deep breath, her voice indeed absurdly out of tune as she began to sing to him the same Cerrish lullaby that Tate had chosen earlier. In her arms, Bennett giggled again, cuddling against Keavy’s chest. Gradually his breathing slowed, his muscles went limp, and the four year old dozed off in the half-elf’s arms. Amato watched this from where he was sitting beside Raoul, looking thoughtful. “You did it, huh?” he murmured. “You saved Mister Tate and Benny.” “Mmhm.” Keavy’s heart glowed at this fact. At the reality that, after so much struggle and danger, she and Raoul had done it. Freed them. Freed them! “Pretty exciting, isn’t it?” “Mm-hm,” the little boy agreed with a shy smile. “I’ve been real ‘cited to meet them.” “I’m excited to meet you, too,” Tate said. “You seem like you’ve been a very big help to Keavy and Raoul, honey. A brave, brave boy.” Amato smiled sheepishly. “Nuh-uh. I kept gettin’ sick. ‘Cause of the sleepy juice my master gave me before.” “That’s not your fault, though,” Tate told him. “And you kept on going even though you felt sick, right? That, my man, is a very, very brave thing.” However, Amato shook his head. “Raoul made me stop,” he explained. “When I got too sick. He said I had to rest, or I wouldn’t get better.” “That doesn’t mean you weren’t brave,” Keavy countered. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, honey.” Amato shrugged. “Maybe,” he murmured. Anything else he might have said, however, was cut off when his mouth split in a tremendous yawn. Tate chuckled softly. “I think,” the man said, “it’s about time for you to call it a night, eh?” “I-I can still help,” Amato insisted. “If you need it.” “I think we’re all right, honey,” Keavy said. “And Tate’s right— you could probably use some shut eye.” Amato nodded reluctantly pressing his small body against Raoul’s shivering form. “I’ll make sure he doesn't get cold,” the child whispered, closing his eyes. It didn't take long for the boy to fall asleep, his breathing soon leveling off as the stress— and exhaustion— of the day caught up with him. For a long while then, Keavy and Tate sat in silence, as the both of them finally seemed to breathe— relax, if only by a little— after a day spent addled with a seemingly never ending wave of anxiety and adrenaline. Then, almost sharply, Tate let out a gusty sigh. “You could've gotten yourself killed coming back for me and Ben,” the man said, his dark eyes hooking with Keavy’s light ones. “I can't even begin to describe how reckless you've been.” “Well, I'm alive, aren't I?” Keavy retorted. “And you and Ben are free.” “And I'm grateful,” said Tate. “But that doesn't mean I'm not upset, too. If something had happened—” “But it didn't,” Keavy cut in. Then: “I couldn't just leave him. Ben. I met another slave who'd run from Lord Calanthia. And he told me about Ben’s magic. And…” Tate sighed again, massaging his bronze temple. “Calanthia’s been hellishly distracted by the war, Keav. He wouldn't have had the time— the resources— to have Bennett conditioned for… for quite some time. By which, hopefully, the rebels would've already won and liberated us—” “And?” Keavy snapped, colour flaring to her cheeks. “You can say that, but it's all hypothetical. You don't know for sure.” A pregnant pause. “And we both know far too well that Calanthia has no qualms conditioning children.” Tate hissed softly. “You still blame yourself for that. For her.” Keavy shrugged, not denying it. Her gaze fell to her lap. “It's my fault, isn't it?” she said. “You were trying so hard to keep her magic quiet. Hidden. Until she was older and would have a better chance of withstanding conditioning. You told me so many times to keep it secret. How important it was to keep it a secret. And what did I do? I talked. I blabbed.” “You were a little girl, Keavy,” Tate said, his voice cracking. “It's not your fault. It's never been your fault.” “It doesn't feel that way,” Keavy said simply. Tate buried his head in his hands. “Your brother,” he said, changing tacks. “You trust him. Completely. I can tell.” “I do,” Keavy agreed, swallowing very hard. “He's never given me any reason not to.” “Aside from who he is.” “That's not his fault. Any more than being like I am is mine.” She bristled. “He helped save you. Shouldn't that be proof enough he's not like other enkis?” “I'm not saying he's ingenuine,” Tate backtracked. “It's just… a lot to take in, Keavy. To process. I love you, and—” “And he does, too,” Keavy said. “He'd never hurt me. Or you. Or Ben.” “He's from a different world, Keavy,” Tate said softly. “Was,” she replied. “He was from a different world. And he gave it all up for me.” “I just…” Tate gulped, his throat bobbing. “I'm not saying he's false in his intentions. That he doesn't love you, because from what I've seen… he does. But… I just don't want you to be disappointed, Keavy. If eventually he grows tired with the difficult, unpleasant world he's found himself in.” “He won't,” Keavy insisted. “He can’t. If he tried to go back home, his family would have his head.” “Parents have a way of forgiving their children, honey. And I just—” “He won't leave,” Keavy cut in acidly. “He won't.” She turned away from Tate, hot tears pressing at her eyes. “We should get some sleep,” she said to him. “Keavy.” Tate's voice was delicate. Plaintive. “Sweetheart. Please. I'm not trying to upset you. And I am happy to see you happy. With him. I just want you to be cautious, okay?” “He won't leave,” Keavy said again. “Goodnight, Tate.” Tate sighed another time. “Goodnight, honey,” he said. *** It was about a week before Raoul’s injury had healed enough- and the lost blood replenished enough- for the group to feel comfortable travelling again. During that week he spent most of his time eating, sleeping, or in a fugue so like sleep it was hard to tell the difference, which meant he wasn’t exactly in a position to know about or refute Tate’s concerns. He did, however, briefly nestle up to his sister a few times when chills or nightmares, overcame him, and when he did she was always quick to wrap her arms around him, drawing him close to her warmth. Gradually his waking hours began to outnumber the sleeping ones, and his laceration started to close. Even so, once they got to travelling again they kept their initial pace easy so as not to strain the wound. The group were well and truly fugitives now, with four slaves to their count, and one freeman whose face would no doubt be plastered all over wanted posters before long if it wasn’t already. They had to stay offroad, foraging as best they could. Though Amato was still a bit shy, he seemed to take a shine to Bennett, finding the smaller boy’s antics entertaining and indulging him in games of chase around the perimeter of their camps or gentle roughhousing. Tate seemed to quite enjoy watching the boys play— seeing them act like children, happy and free, instead of the cowed, terrified wretches they'd both been before. Somewhat to his own surprise, Raoul too found himself occasionally dragged into the play. Amato would play monster, growling playfully at Bennett as the smaller boy squealed with pleasure, and then the eleven year old would declare that Raoul was a “knight” and demand he come “protect” Benny. Though he had to be careful of his injury and couldn’t get too rowdy, Raoul obliged, letting Bennett hide behind his back and using sticks as makeshift “swords” to fend off Amato’s snarling advances. At first Bennett received Amato’s efforts to pull Raoul into their games lukewarmly, clearly not entirely trusting the strange enki. However, when another two weeks passed and still Raoul had done nothing to hurt any of them- and indeed, seemed to be very fun as a playmate- the smaller boy gradually opened up to Keavy’s brother, a development which Raoul met with no small amount of relief. One night, after a rousing game of chase between Amato and Benny, the four-year-old plopped himself unceremoniously into Raoul’s lap, panting, and imperiously demanded a story. Amused, Raoul agreed, spinning a theatrical yarn as Amato sat down beside him to listen in as well. Before too long, both of the boys had fallen asleep- Bennett still nestled into Raoul’s lap, and Amato slumped against the teenager’s shoulder. “Thank the gods,” Tate said dryly. “I thought they'd never tire themselves out.” Raoul chuckled. “I don’t mind it. I was always the youngest in my family- it’s like I’ve suddenly acquired a pair of little brothers to spoil. Not-” he added hurriedly, “to be presumptive or anything.” “I think Amato, in particular, would be excited. For you to think of him as a brother,” said Keavy. “He likes you,” Tate agreed. “A whole lot. And I think Ben’s starting to, as well.” Raoul smiled more widely, glancing at the little boys dozing against him. “It’s nice. The boys opening up. Liking me. For so long it’s just been me and Keavy. Nobody else in the rebel army really trusts me. And can you blame them? I was an enki. Everything they despise. Even coming down here with Keavy, one of our superior officers were convinced I was a spy trying to report back to the crown.” “If they don't trust you, that's their own problem,” Keavy said. “Once the war’s over, it's not like you'll have to keep in touch with them. And so as long as you have people who do trust you… who love you— that's what matters.” “Fair point,” Raoul agreed, giving his sister a warm look. “Although speaking of the war… I know it’s still quite a journey back up to the battle lines, but where do you figure we should cross those lines? And hells, what do we do after we’re across?” “It shouldn't be too long,” Keavy guessed. “Especially if the front’s still been pushing steadily south as we’ve traveled.” “The kids are too little to get involved,” Tate said. “Once we’re across they should be taken someplace safe. Away from the front lines.” “Don’t worry,” Raoul assured Bennett’s father. “Emryn and the Northlands are firmly rebel held, and there are resources set up to help relocate refugees to various villages and towns in those regions. Although at least one of us needs to go with them- they’re too little to be on their own, and I don’t want them on the charity of strangers when they’ve been through so much already.” “I'm not leaving Benny,” Tate said firmly. “And I can take Amato, too. He's a sweet little boy. Loving.” He gave Keavy a wan smile as he added, “And gods know it wouldn't be the first time I've taken on a child in need.” “I think he’d like that,” Raoul said softly. “If you took him in. Poor boy’s never had a real father figure. The enki who sired him was a scumbag. Smacked him around and then drugged him into oblivion. He deserves somebody who’ll care for him like you cared for Keavy.” Tate nodded, quiet for a moment. Hesitant. Then, he said, “I know you're of age, Keavy. And if you truly want to fight with the rebels, I won't stop you. But… if I had it my way, I'd like for you to come with me. Stay with me. Where it'll be safe. Or at least, safer.” Keavy bit her lip, thinking. “I don't know,” she admitted. “What I… I want to do. Or not do. For so long we've been focused on just— getting you and Ben, I guess I… haven't given it all that much thought. The after.” “I don’t blame you,” Raoul said. “It would have felt pretty presumptuous to even assume we’d survive to get to Teral.” Bennett shifted in the teenager’s lap, pressing his forehead into Raoul's stomach. The teenager looked down at him, then murmured, “I think… I think I’d still like to fight. After seeing the bruise on Benny’s chin when we picked him up, all those people drugged into a stupor in Amato’s village, the little boy at the inn in the evacuated town whose masters chain him at night… I want to help them. To do my part to make sure their suffering is ended. We couldn’t save them all on our way south, but I want to believe I can still save them eventually.” “Respectable,” Tate said with an approving nod. “And I'm sure the rebel army will appreciate your commitment to their cause.” The young man smiled bashfully, before glancing at Keavy. “I know you… don’t like fighting much, Keav. And you only just got Tate and Benny back…” Keavy averted her eyes from Tate and Raoul both. “I just… don't know if it'd be cowardly,” she said. “To run from the fighting— the cause—when there are still so many people waiting to be freed. Who need people championing them. Working for them.” “It's not cowardly, honey,” Tate said. “You've been through a lot, and you've faced it so bravely. No one would blame you for taking a breather now. Not at all.” “It’s up to you, Keavy,” Raoul agreed. “And well… there is always the middle ground. What you were doing before, working the occupation and civilian support end of things.” “I just… don't know,” Keavy said softly. “At least I still have a bit to think about it. Before we reach rebel lands. And… no matter what, we’re all safe. That's what matters most, right?” “Right,” Raoul agreed. “And hey- you did something nobody we talked to thought was possible. You infiltrated the heart of Crown territory and rescued Tate and Bennett from Lord Calanthia. Even if you decide not to rejoin the rebel army, that’s something to be proud of.” “We’ll… we’ll still stay in touch, right?” Keavy murmured, anxiously trailing her gaze back toward her brother. “Even if you go back to fight and I don't?” “I joined this army to find you,” Raoul pointed out. “I’m not going to lose you when I’ve just barely found you, Keavy. And well…” He bit his lip. “If it’s really that uncomfortable to you, I don’t necessarily have to be on the frontlines, I guess. It is just as important to maintain law and order in the territories where the rebels are entrenched, and it frees up someone else to go into battle if I stay behind.” “You can go and fight if that's what you want, Raoul,” she relied softly. “As long as you promise to come back. T-to me. Once the war’s done.” “I… You know I would, Keavy,” Raoul choked. “But I don’t want you to feel like… like I’m abandoning you in the meantime. Or the kids, they’re still so young and they’re just coming to like me…” “You'd be fighting for a cause that helps us all,” Keavy said. “That's not abandonment. Just as long as you come back when it's over. For me.” A beat. “For.. for them.” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “Well… in the end it’s not up to me where I’m assigned. It’s up to the rebel command. If they want me to fight, I’ll fight. If they want me behind the lines like a safe little noble liability, I’ll stay behind the lines. Whatever the case-” he clenched his jaw, “I’ll come back. I promise, Keav.” To Tate he added, “I promise.” “Right. Of course.” Keavy gulped. “I love you, Raoul.” “I love you too, Keavy,” he replied. “Always.” Family Values - Part FourteenThe trip north was not nearly so easy as the trip south had been. With the need to stay off of the roads and avoid detection, and the company of two often bored and overtired children, things were complicated to say the least. Bennett waxed between determinedly insisting that he be “Put down! Wanna walk!” and that Keavy, Tate, or Raoul, “ Hold! Feet hurt, want hold!” Tate’s patience started high but soon began to whittle, and he gave the boy an ultimatum— when he asked to be picked up he wasn't going to be put down again, no matter how much he begged, for at least an hour, and the same went for being picked up if he'd just asked to walk. Bennett was stricken the first time this rule was firmly enforced, sobbing like a wretch as he was forced to walk in spite of “Feet huuuuurt!” After that, he was much more amiable to letting the adults carry him. Amato, for his part, did his best to be cooperative, but he was still a very young boy and suffered from occasional lapses in temper. At first Raoul was often overwhelmed by this, not being used to dealing with young kids, but Tate clearly didn't suffer the same inexperience— he was sympathetic toward the boy, but firm, letting the child know that while he understood the situation was difficult and Amato had probably had much better times, it was nevertheless unacceptable for him to make things even worse by acting like a brooding wretch. Amato, cowed by these reproaches, usually fell quickly in line. Raoul was grateful for Tate’s presence, as without him it would have been very hard to manage the children over such a long journey. Especially as, the closer they got to the frontlines, the thicker the army patrols became and the harder they had to work to evade them. “The battle lines must have moved further south,” Raoul guessed one day, after they’d narrowly missed being intercepted by a scout patrol. “I don’t recall the soldiers this far south being so antsy on the way down.” “Which means, gods willing, we’ll be in firmly rebel held lands soon,” said Tate, shifting Bennett in his arms. “We can hope,” Raoul agreed. “Remember, when we run into a rebel patrol, we surrender immediately- they’ll probably be suspicious of me because of what I am until they can track down someone who knew me before, but I imagine they’ll let you four go in fairly short order- Keavy, you’ve been through this before, any insight?” “We just need to act like friendlies, and they'll treat us as friendlies,” she said. “You… don't need to tell them you're a former noble, either. Not whatever peon patrol first picks us up. A freeman, yes, they'll be able to tell. But might as well not give them a reason to get itchy fingers until we've been taken someplace… safer, I suppose.”.” “Hopefully they don’t attack me on principle thinking you’re all my slaves and they have to liberate you,” Raoul drawled. Amato giggled, hugging the teenager. “We’ll tell ‘em it’s not true,” he assured Raoul. “That you saved us.” “They should realise you're not our master pretty quickly, in any case,” said Keavy. “Given that our brands don't match. And we're not bloody terrified of you.” Raoul couldn’t argue the logic of that, so he didn’t try to. Instead he focused his efforts on the journey, which only continued to get tougher the closer they got to the battle lines. It was only fortunate that the crown couldn’t possibly have every speck of land along the battlefront guarded or he didn’t doubt they would have done so just to spite runaway slaves. After a particularly harrowing day spent dodging patrols that seemed to miss them by mere inches, The group settled into a sheltered spot behind a bramble thicket to rest for the night. They were all exhausted, the adults having to spend a significant amount of time calming the frightened children before they finally dozed off. Raoul was just about to lie down himself, and Keavy was readjusting her cloak for the umpteenth time as she tried to roll it into some semblance of a pillow, when Tate— who’d already lay down— sat abruptly up. “What was that?” he hissed softly. “You two— you heard that, right?” Raoul, startled, darted his head around, as Bennett- woken by his father’s abrupt lurch- gave a whimper. “Heard what?” the teenager whispered back. “I swear I—” Tate cut himself off, murmuring: “ There. You hear it now, right?” For a moment, Keavy and Raoul still didn’t, both of them scrutinizing Tate as if he had gone mad. But then— sure enough— “Branches cracking.” Panic flared in Keavy like a rising flame. “Footsteps. People!” Raoul's heart leapt into his throat, and he hissed, “Everyone keep silent! Tate, shush Benny!” By this point the frantic whispers had woken Amato too, and the eleven year old pressed himself against Keavy’s arm, his small body trembling hard. She wrapped a tight, protective arm around him, eyes frantically scanning the shadowy, heavily wooded landscape that stretched before them. The footsteps were getting louder by the second. Closer. Gods, even if they tried to run, would they even make it in time? “Stay very still,” Tate murmured, pressing himself flat against the trunk of a tree that rose behind him. He squeezed Bennett tight against his chest. “Maybe they'll pass right by.” No one gave a reply to this, all of them preoccupied with trying to keep as silent as possible so as not to draw attention. Raoul’s hand edged towards the sword at his hip- the one he’d stolen from the soldier weeks ago, and held on to in spite of discarding the rest of the man’s uniform. The footsteps in the brush were terrifyingly close now, and getting closer. Closer… Gods, they must be passing just beyond the thicket-Then, all at once, a group of seven people burst through the brambles, moving so fast the group of refugees had time to do little else but flinch into each other before they were completely surrounded. Bennett gave a terrified wail, bucking against his father’s hold, and Tate clamped down hard on the boy to keep him from tumbling to the ground. Keavy felt a scream rising in her throat, swallowed it down, and reached reflexively for the knife at her hip— but before she could draw it, one of the group had reached out and wrenched the girl’s arm behind her back, pinning it. “Easy there!” snarled a guttural male voice. “No more aggressive moves, not any of you!” “Keavy!” Amato bleated, the small boy having tumbled backwards when the stranger yanked Keavy away from him. “Don’t hurt her!” “It's all right, honey,” Keavy squawked, grimacing in pain as her captor wrenched her to her feet. “You're fine, it's—” “ Hush!” A second voice, this one female, said crisply. A beat later she spoke again, addressing Amato. Her voice was more soft this time, tinged with confusion, though it still carried an edge, “How old are you, son?” “El-l-l-leven, m-m-ma’am,” he warbled, the boy trembling so hard it was visible even through the darkness. Raoul instinctively started to move towards the boy to comfort him, but froze when he felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder. There a brief sound of fumbling, as one amongst the group of presumable soldiers seemingly searched around for a match; moments later, the dark landscaped was bathed with a flickering orb of torchlight. As the soldiers got a better look at Amato— then Keavy, with her telltale pointed ears— then Ben, tight in Tate’s arms— “Runaways?” posited the soldier who was holding Keavy’s arm… and an exhilarated flutter traveled through her as, under the newfound light, she realized none of their captors were wearing king’s army red-and-gold, but rebel’s badges over their ragtag uniforms and armour. Raoul, realizing the same thing, all but sagged with relief, despite the hand that was still grasping his shoulder. “Yes. We’re not your enemies. My sister and I-” here the teenager gestured at Keavy, “actually fought for the rebel army until about five months ago, when we left for a time to rescue these people here.” “They were r-r-real brave,” Amato squeaked. “Pl-please,” Tate said weakly. “The children are terrified.” “We mean you no harm, little ones,” soothed a black-haired man with a badge that identified him as a captain; he had to be in charge of this squad. “I promise.” His blue eyes trailed amongst the adults again. “She has a knife— you have a sword—” He gestured to Raoul. “Any other weapons on the lot of you that we should be aware of?” Raoul sighed softly. “I have a knife in my boot as a backup- it was my only weapon before I got the sword. I don’t think there’s anything else.” Bennett gave a loud, high sob, and Tate shushed him, gently kissing the little boy’s frizzy hair. “It's okay, baby,” he soothed. “These are friends, all right?” “ No!” the little boy wailed. The woman who’d spoken earlier winced. “Maybe we should get them somewhere safer,” she suggested. “Instead of interrogating them out here and traumatizing the little ones.” “Wait,” the man who was holding Raoul growled, his grip getting tighter. “There’s no brands on this one. He ain’t a runaway.” “But we are,” Tate said, a measure of growl— grit— seeping into his tone. “And he's our friend. He's helped us, at considerable risk to himself.” “And as I said,” Raoul added, “I fought for the rebels for close to eight months. I’ve personally spoken with Major-General Carrow, as well as Captain and Second Lieutenant Alaric. Was their baby a boy or a girl, by the way?” The captain raised a brow. “Slow your horses, son,” he chided. “No need for such fire.” He glanced amongst his soldiers, then sighed. “The lance corporal’s right— we should talk someplace more comfortable. And I imagine my Lieutenant back at base camp will want to know the small ‘crown squad’ we were tracking is… not.” He gestured to two of soldiers whom had not yet spoken. “Pryell, Taff, if you will please relieve our new friends of their blades before we start our walk?” The men nodded, and Raoul and Keavy allowed themselves to be disarmed. As all of them rose to follow the rebels, Amato inched towards Raoul, taking the former enki’s hand in his own. The teenager spared the boy a reassuring smile, an action which meted no few of confused glances among the soldiers. They were silent as they walked— save for Bennett, who was still lightly snuffling in Tate’s arms as his father tried in vain to comfort him. After several miles of cutting through the near total darkness, the group finally came upon a hodgepodge assemblage of tents and pavilions: a rebel camp. Keavy felt a knot twist in her throat; gods, how it felt like ages since she'd last seen one of these. “I-is this it?” Amato asked softly, pressing himself close to Raoul’s side. “Th-the rebels? We made it? W-we’re safe?” “Yes,” Raoul agreed with a thin smile, squeezing the little boy’s hand. “We’re safe.” Amato sniffled, then began to cry outright, burying his face in Raoul’s side as they wended their way through the tents. Finally the rebels stopped before one in particular, the captain entering briefly before he emerged again, gesturing for the fugitives to follow him inside. A tall, reed-thin woman with mahogany hair and brown-black eyes stood inside, and it took but one look at the badges on her tunic for Keavy to know that she had to be the one in charge here. The lieutenant. “Ma’am.” The half-elf saluted, and beside her, Raoul only a fraction of a second behind her. The woman returned the gesture, before letting her hand fall so that she could clasp it behind her back. “So,” she said. “I understand you five have fled the crown lands seeking refuge?” Her eyes flicking towards Keavy and Raoul in particular she added, “And that for some of you this is not your first time crossing our battle lines.” “Yes, ma'am,” Keavy said. “Raoul and I were both non-commissioned officers.” “She's my daughter, of a sort,” Tate added. “She and the boy left the army to come rescue my son and me. And picked up little Amato on the road.” The lieutenant nodded. “We’ll want to confirm your identities, but it shouldn’t take more than a quick letter to our higher-ups. I presume if you’ve such a young child, sir, that your intention was more along the lines of moving on to a safe refuge than joining our army?” “Yes, ma'am,” Tate confirmed. “And the older boy, too. He doesn't have anyone else— I’d like to keep him, too. Take custody.” Amato started at this, looking taken off guard. “You… you’d keep me? Forever? Even though I’m not yours and my real papa was my mama’s master?” “Of course.” Tate blinked. “You're a good boy. And it's not your fault who your birth parents are, honey.” “My birth mama was an anki,” Keavy added softly. “But Tate didn't care. He raised me like his own, anyway. Loved me.” “A-and Keavy would get to be my sister?” he whispered. “And Benny my brother?” “Of course,” Tate said. “We’ll be your family, sweetheart. Forever.” “Mm,” Raoul agreed, his expression wistful. “Which reminds me-” he looked to the Lieutenant. “Since they’re free now, they can chose surnames for themselves. I remember that being one of the first things the rebel forces offers newly liberated slaves.” “Of course,” the lieutenant agreed. She looked to Keavy. “I suppose you already picked one, if you were in the ranks before?” Keavy nodded. “Yes, ma'am.” “So then— just he needs to pick, hm?” She smiled toward Tate. “Since I imagine the boys will take whatever he does.” “I… have a last name already, actually. From when I was taken into slavery.” He returned her smile with one of his own. “I think it's about time I don it once again.” Raoul smiled, and Amato grinned excitedly. “What is it, Mister Tate? What’s your last name?” “Mackerry,” he said. “It's Cerrish. Just like Keavy’s name.” “Mackerry,” Amato echoed, nodding. “It’s a good name! I like it.” “We’ll jot it down for our records,” The lieutenant promised. She turned her focus back to Keavy and Raoul. “And what about you two? Did you want to go with Master Mackerry to one of our refugee camps, or were you looking to re-enlist?” Here, Keavy waffled for a good, long moment. Then, softly, she said, “I'd like to go with them. S-somewhere safe.” “That’s perfectly alright, Miss,” the Lieutenant soothed. She turned expectantly to Raoul, who looked towards his sister, his expression stricken, before he took a deep breath and murmured, “I… want to go with them. But I couldn’t forgive myself if I ran away from this battle now that I’ve travelled through the crown lands and seen the depravity firsthand.” “We’ll need to wait a few days while we have your identities confirmed,” said the lieutenant. “But then you can get your new posting, if you'd like. While the others travel to one of our safely held towns.” He nodded, swallowing hard. Amato bit his lip, putting his arms around Raoul. “I don’t want you to go away.” “I know, buddy,” he whispered, kneeling down to hug the little boy. “I don’t want to go away either. But I’ll have to go where the rebels send me. Where they need me.” “ We need you!” Amato cried sharply. “Amato.” Tate set a gentle but firm hand on the boy’s shoulder, drawing him back from Raoul. “It's going to be okay. He's going to go help free other people like me and you. Then he'll come see us again as soon as he can. Right, Raoul?” “Of course I will,” he replied firmly. “You couldn’t get rid of me forever if you tried.” “Raoul is going away?” Bennett asked, the toddler now fretting too. “Just for a little, baby,” Keavy soothed. “To help other little boys like you. Isn't that nice of him?” The child whimpered, reaching towards Keavy’s twin. “You can hold me?” Raoul smiled gently, reaching out and plucking the four-year-old from his father’s arms. “Sure buddy. I’m not leaving right this second, so we can play as much as you want for the next few days until the rebels get all their paperwork done.” To the lieutenant he added apologetically, “We’ve been travelling together all the way up from Teral- the kids…” “No apologies needed.” The lieutenant shrugged. “Now, it'll be a while before we can a courier dispatched to vet your identities— so in the meantime, I'll have you shown to a tent where you can stay. Consider yourselves guests, okay?” “Thank you, ma'am,” Keavy said. “We… we appreciate it.” *** It took about two weeks before the rebels were able to confirm Keavy and Raoul’s identities. During those two weeks, the group remained at the small encampment, revelling in the ability to finally, truly relax after so long of travelling through hostile territory. The rebel soldiers watched on in awe as Raoul, Keavy, and Tate entertained the children, a few of them even questioning Keavy as to if her twin had really travelled all the way to Teral and back with her- a freeman making such a perilous trip for slaves he didn’t know. Keavy always gave the same firm reply to such questions: yes, he’d helped her— and it was only with his help that she'd been able to free Tate and Bennett… and, by virtue of that, Amato, too. And Amato’s story, once it was explained to the rebels, genuinely horrified them. “So they were keeping his entire village- all of its slaves- sedated to the point that they were falling over?” the lance-corporal who’d been with the squad that picked them up the first night asked incredulously when Raoul and Keavy explained. “Just so they wouldn’t rebel?” “First thing after waking up in the morning was the only time he was even barely lucid,” Raoul confirmed grimly. “He was miserable- more or less told us he didn’t even feel like he was really living anymore.” "He seems to feel much better about life now,” another of the rebels observed. “Clings to you like a tick, Austin.” Raoul wasn’t sure how to reply to that. It was the truth- but it also made him feel guilty about his decision to rejoin the rebel army all over again. He felt like there really wasn’t any winning the situation. Finally, word came back from the commanders, affirming Raoul’s identity and formally reinstating him as a Sergeant-Major of the rebel army. Though he’d expected to be put on the front lines, apparently his absence from the war meant he was so far behind in the intelligence department that it was decided he as an officer would be better served filling the role he’d done before he and Keavy left; helping with maintaining law and order in one of the occupied territories. It was decided that he would be placed in a city in the southeast of Emryn, allowing one of the officers currently placed there to be moved to the battle front. Initially the rebels also had suggested destinations for Keavy, Tate and the children- most of them further north in the middle of the Northlands. But when she heard of her brother’s assignment not to the heart of the warzone, but solidly held territory well to the north, Keavy immediately balked. Hard. “You're going to a civilian city,” she said to Raoul. “And we’re civilians, aren't we?” “Very true,” he agreed with a crooked smile. “I think the rebels in charge of managing refugees generally send them well north of the battlefront for their own peace of mind, is all.” “I think we could settle ourselves quite a nice life in Emryn,” Keavy returned, matching her brother’s smirk. “Little Benny can grow up with a nice northern accent.” “ We?” Raoul echoed innocently. “You mean to say you would let your dear brother stay in whatever place you eventually rent for yourselves instead of exiling him to the rebel barracks forever? Such blasphemy!” “Oh, I didn't even think about that,” Keavy said brightly. “Why ever would I let him take up room at my place when I can banish him elsewhere? Just imagine all the extra space I'll have!” “I must recruit Amato and Bennett,” Raoul said with a smirk. “Tell them how mean old KeeKee is exiling their favoritist pillow and roughhousing partner.” “They won't mourn much once I tell them they can use the space you'd have taken for their toys,” Keavy said dryly. “And that since now you'll be a visitor whenever you come over you'll have to bring them treats.” “...Gods, they’ve never really had toys before, have they?” Raoul mused. “They’re so happy just getting to play and not being made to work themselves to death every day, imagine how they’ll react when we start giving them toys.” “It'll be nice.” Keavy’s cheeks warmed, glowing red. “Living as people instead of property. Them getting to grow up for the rest of their childhoods in a home with family— or adopted family. Instead of… as they were.” “You think Tate will be alright with it?” Raoul asked hesitantly. “Following me. Living with me. I’m pretty sure he trusts me, but I get the impression he… doesn’t entirely have warm fuzzies.” “He’ll be okay with it,” Keavy said, swallowing hard. “He doesn’t dislike you, Raoul. He really doesn’t. He’s just… wary of people. After a lifetime of being hurt.” “You know him better than I do,” he conceded. “At least he seems to adore Amato. And the kid definitely reciprocates.” He elbowed his sister. “You want to tell them the good news that we’re all staying together, or should I?” “We should make the kids guess,” Keavy said, his smile turning mischievous. “See how long it takes them to figure it out.” Her brother sniggered. “Sure. That sounds fun.” He gave a theatrical bow. “After you, m’lady.” They found Tate and the children at the camp’s mess tent, partaking in a simple but hearty meal of potatoes and pottage. Beyond a few other scattered civilians here and there who’d been rescued recently and were still awaiting transport north, the rest of the space was packed to with chowing soldiers, and Tate had to scoop Bennett up into his lap then scoot shoulder-to-shoulder with Amato in order to make room for the twins. “I thought you two were going to miss lunch,” the man commented as Keavy and Raoul sat. “He was getting his posting orders,” Keavy replied. She blushed a little. “And I was skulking around outside waiting for him to get said orders.” “Oh?” Tate tilted his head. “And where are you off to, Raoul? Will you be leaving before we head off on the civilian transport to the Northlands next Friday?” Raoul gave Tate a wink, then glanced towards Amato. “I’ve been given an escort mission.” “What's es-kort?” Amato asked around a mouthful of potatoes, the boy wilting miserably. “Mouth closed when you chew,” Tate chided gently, while Keavy gave the boy a reassuring smile. “It means he has to accompany someone,” said Keavy. “As they travel. Like a guard, sort of.” “Oh,” Amato gnawed his lip. “Are you guarding somebody important?” “Very important,” Raoul agreed with a smile. “Banded Lord?” Bennett chirped. Keavy snorted. “Well,” she said, “maybe think a little lower, sweetheart.” She added, “Even if the people he’s protecting are very important to him. Worth just as much as the Branded Lord. Right, Raoul?.” “Yup,” Raoul agreed. “I’d dare say they’re the most important people in the world for me.” Amato tilted his head, looking befuddled. Raoul chuckled softly. “Here’s a hint- I’ve been guarding these people for a long time already.” Amato gasped, his eyes bulging. “ Us?” “Yep, you’ve got it!” Keavy said, grinning ear to ear. “Raoul’s being sent away from the front. To a big city in Emryn— a city that’s very far away from the conflict zone. Where it would be safe for all of us to live.” She looked to Tate, half-exhilarated, half-terrified. “Then we won’t have to be apart,” she said. “Any of us.” As the children practically vibrated with excitement, making shrill noises of glee, Tate raised a dark brow, looking genuinely caught off guard. For several moments the man said nothing, as though he were deliberating with himself. Raoul felt an icy claw down his back at that silence, wondering if Keavy’s surrogate father was about to object after all. If now that there was no visible light at the end of the tunnel, no need for Raoul’s protection, he would advise Keavy against her twin’s company. Then, almost abruptly, he smiled. Nodded. Leaned down to kiss the crown of Bennett’s tousled hair. “Might as well not chop up this newfound family if we don’t have to,” he said. “If it’s safe for us to stay together… then I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t.” As Bennett giggled, Raoul couldn't help going slightly limp with relief. “I can help support you all this way as well,” he said cheerfully. “With luck I can liberate you all from the rebel refugee camp within relatively short order. I can't promise a proper flat, but a small tenement should be doable.” “We’ll all get to live together in our own place, won't that be fun?” Keavy said to the children. “One big family.” “KeeKee and Raoul aren’t going to leave ‘gain?” Bennett needled. “Not anytime soon,” Raoul agreed. “The rebels might send me somewhere else later, but if they did it wouldn’t be for a long while. They like to keep the people who guard the cities the same most of the time so that the people who live there come to trust the soldiers.” “I hope you stay with us all the time,” Amato said. “Forever.” “Well, we’re a family now, right?” Tate said, reaching over to give the boy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “And families stay together— families are forever.” Raoul looked towards Keavy with a smile, and she returned it, gently reaching a hand out under the table and lacing her brother’s fingers through hers. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Together forever,” he promised. Family Values - EpilogueThe rebel command at the camp seemed surprised— to say the least— by Keavy and Tate’s joint request to relocate to Emryn as opposed to joining the rest of the civilians to the Northlands. They explained that the city of Tyrim had long since hit its quota of refugees, and so they’d ceased deliberately settling non-combatants there nearly a year ago; while the lieutenant quickly clarified this didn’t mean they’d stop Keavy, Tate, and the children from going there if it was what they truly wanted, they should expect things to be rather… crowded. Keavy, however, was not at all dissuaded, firmly telling the lieutenant that she’d sacrifice a little comfort in order to keep the family together, and Tate— able to tell how important this was to her— did not object to the sentiment. Raoul, for his part, was only more determined upon learning this to work towards being able to save up the money to help move everyone into at least a semi-private lodging.
Amato’s only response was to ask, “Will there be a lot of other kids my age there?”
Keavy laughed. “Of course,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll be other kids— plenty of ‘em.”
And indeed there were: the camp the travel-worn family arrived to some weeks later, after another very long journey north (albeit this one much less stressful— and dangerous— than their previous trek), was absolutely brimming with people of all ages… including a sizable number of children within Amato’s peer group, nearly all of them former slaves who’d since shed their fetters and were now adjusting to a life of freedom. The little boy was overjoyed, albeit rather shy at first, and spent some time just hovering and watching before he fell in with a small group of little boys who all lived near where the small family had been settled.
Raoul, meanwhile, readjusted to being a soldier again, following the military schedule and helping to uphold law and order in the camp and the city. Though he had a place in the rebel barracks- and usually slept there so as not to take up room in the already crowded tent- he did spend as much free time as he could with Keavy, the children… and Tate.
The more time Keavy’s adoptive father spent around Raoul, the softer his disposition seemed to grow toward the boy— particularly as he saw how dedicated the former enki was toward the makeshift family, with practically every bit of coin he made in his soldier posting going toward not his own needs, but Keavy’s and the children’s. Every moment of leave and free time he had, Raoul, too, spent not rejuvenating on his lonesome, but helping Tate and Keavy with the kids in any way they needed: babysitting them, running errands for them, entertaining them. And— after several months spent in the overcrowded refugee camp— it was ultimately Raoul’s focus on putting the family’s needs first that led to their being able to afford a one-room flat in the main part of town. It was meager in nearly every way— simple finishings, small in space— but it was also theirs and only theirs. A home, as opposed to merely someplace they had to stay.
The children and Keavy were absolutely thrilled by this development— and at first blush, so was Tate. But as the family moved in their scant belongings the day they were given the keys by the flat’s landlady, instead of smiling ear to ear like the rest of the makeshift family, Tate’s expression was… flat. Almost detached. And the emotion that flickered in his dark eyes was a very long way from joy.
Noticing this, Raoul hung back as Keavy and the children left to explore their new neighborhood, his brow knit with concern. “Is… is something the matter?” he asked tentatively. “Do you not like it? I know it’s kind of cramped, but I tried to find something in a good, safe neighborhood at least…”
“No,” Tate said quickly, raking a hand through his dark hair. “It’s wonderful, Raoul. Truly wonderful. A place all our own… ours... It’s something I never thought I’d have.”
The teenager bit his lip. “So… why do you seem so upset?”
Tate shook his head. “I… I’m not upset,” he said. “Just…” He shrugged, then laughed somewhat humourlessly. “We have this lovely flat now. Our flat. And… I haven’t been able to contribute so much as a copper toward it. It’s all your money. Every copper. And you’re not even living here.”
Raoul winced. “Ah, I see. Have you been trying to find work, Tate? I know the freemen aren’t exactly… receptive when it comes to former slaves applying for jobs.”
“I’ve been trying,” Tate confirmed. “Keavy was, too, at first. But… she barely even got any second glances from anyone who wasn’t look for— for… a novelty. She’s a woman and a half-elf, and…” He shrugged again, sighing. “Since someone has to watch the kids, we decided the time was better spent with me looking and her babysitting. And… I’ve had some close calls for myself, I guess. Shopkeepers who’ve said maybe, who actually gave me the time of day and talked to me… but nothing’s worked out. In the end, it’s always a no.”
“I… I’m sorry,” Raoul stammered. “I’m so sorry Tate, that’s… that has to be so frustrating.” He swallowed hard. “Why didn’t anybody tell me?”
“You’ve got enough stresses, Raoul,” Tate said simply. “We didn’t want to burden you further— not when you’ve already got the weight of both your job and the entire family’s welfare on your shoulders.”
The teenager laughed softly, sadly. “I’ve spent my entire life being waited on. You’ve spent your entire lives with boots pressed against your necks. Turnabout is only fair.”
“Still.” Tate gulped. “Keavy and Ben are… are my kids. And Amato now, too. I should be able to help provide for them. Instead of… resting on your laurels.”
Raoul folded his arms, his expression pensive. Then he gave a very faint ghost of a smile. “Will you walk with me somewhere? It’s not far, maybe three blocks down.”
Tate quirked a brow. “All right. May I ask where?”
“It’s called Odds and Ends,” the teen answered. “It’s the butchery where I get those slices of jerky Benny adores so much. The ones Amato says are too salty.”
Tate blinked, seeming confused. “And… why are we heading there?”
“You really don’t trust me a bit, do you?” Raoul asked, his expression one of amused resignation.
“I trust you,” Tate replied, pursing his lips. “I just… a lifetime of slavery hasn’t exactly led to a refined enjoyment of surprise, I suppose.” He sighed, stepping toward the door. Relenting. “I won’t ask any more questions, son— promise. You lead the way?”
Raoul smiled reassuringly, then led the older man on a trip through the city that, as promised, didn’t take very long- only about fifteen minutes. They arrived at a quaint, brown brick building with a forest green awning over the front, and a door painted in a similar shade of green. The entire front end was taken up by a wide panel window, which extended even into the door. Raoul pushed the door open, letting out the coppery smell of freshly butchered meat from the back, as well as the more pleasant aroma of cured sausages and jerky. Beef and pork haunches hung from hooks behind the counter, and a wide assortment of meat cuts had been set out in a glass case behind the counter. The air inside was much cooler than one would have expected, suggesting perhaps that the proprietor had some sort of magic on the building to keep it cool- useful for preserving the meat.
More noticeable than the chill, however was the noise. Specifically, the high babble of four young children, who looked ranged in age from four to ten. They appeared to have been engaged in a game of marbles with a chalk-drawn circle on the stone floor, but as soon as Raoul and Tate entered they sprang up excitedly.
“Granpaaaa!” called the child who was tallest, and seemed to be oldest. “We got customers!”
Tate smiled pleasantly at the children, although he was still positively puzzled as to why Raoul had brought him here. Keeping true to his promise not to interrogate the teenager further, however, he stayed silent, merely standing politely for a minute or so before a very elderly looking man emerged from a door behind the counter. He was wiping his hands on his apron, a cheery smile on his face as he approached.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said, his already wrinkled face creasing further as his smile widened. “Ah, young master Austin, it’s good to see you. The usual?”
“Not today, Master Leclerc,” Raoul replied, smiling in return. “I actually wanted to introduce you to someone. Tate, this is Caius Leclerc. Master Leclerc, this is Tate Mackerry. He’s the one I told you about, who sort of looks after us all.”
“Ah, that so?” the butcher asked with a smile, offering a hand to Tate to shake. “A pleasure to meet you then, Master Mackerry.”
“A pleasure, as well,” Tate replied, accepting the man’s hand. Automatically, his eyes drifted to the butcher’s bicep— unbranded, of course. Gods, how strange it felt to have changed his place so much in life that a freeman was shaking his hand and addressing him as ‘master’. “My children really enjoy the jerky we get from your shop. It’s such a treat for them.”
“Glad to hear it,” Leclerc said cheerfully. “You’ll have to let them meet my imps sometimes, they’re always happy to make new friends.” He sighed, looking a mixture between amused and very tired. “And drag them over to the shop during business hours, hm?”
“Everybody’s busy t’day,” put in a girl who looked to be about six. “So they couldn’t come. But Matilda said she’ll play tomorrow!”
“I’m sure she did,” Leclerc agreed. He smiled apologetically at Tate. “They’re my grandkids- love them to pieces, but their mother died birthing the youngest and their father- my son- passed about a year ago from illness. My own wife long since went to the gods’ realms, so the lot of them can be a handful for this old man.”
“Grampa says we’re real big pests,” one of the boys— perhaps five— added brightly. The child grinned. “He’s real grouchy sometimes, y’know.”
Tate chuckled. “Well, you’d best mind him then, hm? Respect for your elders is very important. Doing as they say.”
“We do as Grandpa says,” the oldest boy chirped. “But he’s busy all day with the shop, so we like to go out to play.”
“And get into all manner of mischief while my back is turned, aye,” Leclerc admonished, earning only a cheeky grin from his eldest grandson.
“Master Leclerc has been thinking about hiring some help around the shop,” Raoul put in brightly. “Someone to help in the storefront while he does the butchering- mind the counter, the kids, and so on.”
“Oh, aye, but finding anybody who would apply to a butchery and land himself a job more than half nursemaid is no easy task,” Leclerc said, chuckling ruefully. “Especially to this rambunctious bunch.”
Tate blinked. “You’re looking for…” Barely restraining a wondering laugh, the man shot a knowing look toward Raoul. So this was why the boy had dragged him here. “You know,” he said, his heart suddenly humming in his throat, “I’ve got children of my own. And I’m… quite an old hat at it— minding little ones.”
Leclerc’s eyes took on an interested glint. “That a fact? How old?”
“Littler one is four,” said Tate. “My older boy is eleven.”
“He’s also got a girl who’s eighteen,” Raoul added helpfully. “So he’s been through the whole gamut.”
Leclerc chuckled. “You comfortable with basic chores? Sweeping, dusting, mopping, the like? Would you be willing to run deliveries if need be? There’s a cart, of course, for bigger loads, but smaller things I’m likely to ask to be carried on foot.”
“Of course.” Tate practically tripped over his tongue to agree. “Anything you need, sir. I’m… I’m a very hard worker. And reliable, too.”
“Hmm,” the old man looked thoughtful, his gaze appraising. “If you wanted the job, I can give you, say, a week’s probation starting two days time? I’ll give you a copper a day for the first week, and if it works out you do well with the kids and the business, I’ll bump it up to two after. Sound fair?”
It wasn’t much— wasn’t much at all. And still it was more than Tate had ever even dreamed of during all those years he’d spent in slavery. Money of his own. Money he was earning. “That sounds perfectly fair,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “Thank you, sir. I… I appreciate it.”
“Ah, you say that now,” the man chuckled. He ruffled the five year old boy’s hair. “Give it three days, these rascals will have you regretting your life choices.”
“We love you toooo, Grandpa,” the six year old girl said, batting her eyelashes.
Tate smiled, his whole body coursing with something close to giddiness. “Thank you,” he said again. “I’ll see you the day after next, sir? What time do you want me here?”
“Let’s say around eight-thirty?” Leclarc suggested. “That will give me time to acquaint you with the basic tasks around the storefront before the kids all come thundering downstairs and demanding their breakfast.”
This proposition agreed to, the duo exchanged a few more pleasantries with the butcher before- with a complimentary sausage to bring home to Keavy and the kids- they began the walk back to their new flat.
“Guess it was a good think I picked this neighborhood for safety even if it’s slightly pricier,” Raoul noted with a grin. “It’s easy walking distance to Odds and Ends.”
“I don’t know how I can thank you,” Tate replied. “All these months failing on my own, and… with you, it just… it was…”
“It helps I’m more or less acting as city guardsman,” Raoul noted sheepishly. “I meet a lot of people. Master Leclerc’s grandfather was apparently a Kythian- he taught the language as a tutor for the noble family of this town for some time, and instilled in his children and grandchildren his disdain for slavery. So I knew he wouldn’t think less of you for your former status.”
“H-he seems very kind,” Tate said, swallowing hard. “A good man. Gods, I don’t even know if I’d hire someone like me— I’ve no skills, no experience, and—”
“Tate,” Raoul interrupted, his voice firm, “that isn’t your fault. But you want to work. You want to learn. You want to stand on your own two feet and help provide for your family. No man of Courdon with a speck of honor wouldn’t respect that.”
“You say that, and yet half the town still looks at me— at the kids— as if we’re… we’re…” He sighed, his voice trailing off, before abruptly shaking his head. “Sorry. This is a happy event, I didn’t mean to bring it down. And— I am happy about this. And grateful. I really am, Raoul.”
The young man looked down, his blue eyes sad. “I was complicit in… so many awful things in my childhood. Things I didn’t think twice about. That I just… accepted as normal. Slaves weren’t important to me. They were just in the background. I realized how wrong that thinking was… but only after years and years. I can’t change that other people still live in that delusion, but I can try, in my own small ways, to do right by the people who’ve been hurt. To atone.”
“You were a child,” Tate said. “You couldn’t have been expected to do anything about it, Raoul. And once you were old enough to think about what it meant, well…” He hesitated a moment, then gently reached out and set a hand on Raoul’s shoulder. “You’re leading a good life now. A moral life. A kind life.”
“Thanks to Keavy,” he replied. “She didn’t have to give me a chance to be her brother. When I first approached her she was… livid. Didn’t want anything to do with me. But she changed her mind. Let me in, despite everything she’s been through. Everything our blood kin did to her. I was…” He swallowed hard, his eyes swimming. “I was so alone before I found her. Everyone hated me. Mistrusted me. Gods, when I first defected to the rebels there were former slaves who threw stones at me in the streets. Rescuing you all was her idea. Everything I have now, I owe to Keavy.”
“You’re kin,” Tate said simply. “Family. And good families support each other. Love each other. It’s just what they do.”
The teenager started, then smiled. “Thank you. I’m… I’m glad you accepted me as Keavy’s brother. And let me be a brother to Benny. Even if I’m not the sort of person you’d have chosen for them if given the choice beforehand.”
“You’re a good kid, Raoul,” Tate said. “Anything one could want in their children’s brother. Don’t sell yourself short, all right? I think you’re own worst critic, these days.”
Raoul stopped midstride, turning to face Tate. “You really think that?”
“Of course,” Tate replied. “I’ve known Keavy since she was tiny— so tiny. And in that time, beyond me… I— I honestly can’t remember a single person she’s trusted— loved— as much as she loves you. And I understand why, Raoul. It’s because you’re a good person. Not just good to her, but good to everyone. What any man ought to be.”
For a moment, Raoul said nothing. Then, his breath hitched, and he blinked hard. “Ah-” the teenager rubbed his face. “S-sorry, I’m sorry-”
“It’s all right,” Tate said with a soft, sympathetic smile. “Nothing wrong with emotions, son— everyone has them, eh?”
“The wh-whole time we were travelling south, Keavy… she couldn’t stop talking about you,” Raoul murmured. “About the way you loved her and cared for her, and how b-badly she wanted to save you. How she couldn’t wait for us to meet each other.” He scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand again, harder. “I didn’t have anyone else but her. I d-didn’t know how you’d feel about me. If you’d like me or…” he bit his lip. “I respected you, before I even met you. For everything you gave my sister. And before I knew it, I wanted to meet you as much as she wanted me to meet you. I just…”
“I’m glad I’ve met you, too, Raoul,” Tate said. “And that you and Keavy found each other. That you have each other.” A beat. “That we all have each other, now. The five of us.”
Raoul smiled, his bright blue eyes swimming. “And we’ll always look out for one another. I swear it. Even if the rebels reassign me somewhere else eventually, I’ll always come back. I’ll always come back.”
The two men finally arrived back at the flat about ten minutes later, to find that Keavy and the boys had gotten back ahead of them. Amato and Bennett dug into the sausage greedily when Raoul doled it out, chattering excitedly about how awesome their new home was. Tate, simply watching as the boys ate and babbled, said nothing for a few minutes… before finally, with a soft smile, he announced:
“Papa’s got news, you know. Want to hear?”
“News?” Bennett asked, looking up from his food. “What news, Papa? Is it fun, like the flat an’ the sausage?”
“I wouldn’t say fun,” Tate replied. “But it’s good news. Very good news.”
“Oh?” Keavy lifted a brow. “And you’re going to keep us in suspense, are you?”
“And here I thought you didn’t like surprises,” Raoul teased.
“What is it, Mister Tate?” Amato asked eagerly. “What happened, tell us!”
“I got a job,” Tate replied. “At the butcher’s shop. A real job— with a salary and everything.”
Keavy blinked. “A job,” she echoed. Then, as a grin broke out across her face: “A job!”
“You can buy things, Papa?” Bennett squealed. “Like, like toys?”
“C’mon, Benny, don’t be greedy,” Raoul chided, though he too was grinning broadly.
“Papa can get you toys,” Tate agreed. “Although listen to Raoul— no being greedy, got it?” He smiled toward Amato and Keavy. “That goes for both of you, too.”
Keavy snorted. “Lumping me in with the little ones? I’m insulted.”
Amato cackled, “Nuh-uh, we saw you starin’ at those pretty shoes at the cobblers the other day, KeeKee! Don’t lie!”
“Ahh, be nice,” Tate chided with a chuckle. “All of you. Families don’t say mean things to each other, right?”
“Families do hugs,” Bennett said importantly.
“That’s exactly right,” Raoul agreed. Sidling up behind the little boy he added, “And here comes one right now!”
Before the child could protest, Raoul scooped him up, cuddling him tight. Bennett flailed, laughing. Amato sniggered as he lept up from the table and threw his own arms around Raoul’s waist. “Hug pile!”
“Be careful,” Tate said with another laugh. “You’re going to fall.” He looked to Keavy, his voice deadpan as he added, “Boys, eh?”
“Yep,” she agreed. “And I wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.”
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Post by Avery on Nov 15, 2016 16:59:08 GMT -5
A collab with Elcie! Takes place a few years after the end of the Courdonian war. =o Far from HomeMuriel could not remember the last time she’d had an afternoon to herself like this. However much she loved the girls, it was still a relief when Gerard offered to take them off her hands for the day. Her pregnancy meant a temporary leave from the city guard, but it was not always much of a respite with the children clamoring for her attention, pleased and energized at having her home more often. The opportunity to enjoy some peace and quiet in the crisp autumn air was one she’d seized gladly.
There was a crash from inside. Muriel barely had time to wonder if Corbin had broken something when Aislin rushed out into the small back garden, flushed with excitement.
“Mama!” the little girl chirped, practically tumbling into the seat beside her mother. As Muriel blinked in surprise, it took her a moment to notice the fat envelope in the child’s hand, its thick vellum surface marked with a swirly-lettered Du: Prinzeps Gerard Gabriel Alaric en Axor. “Lookit what a courier brought,” Aislin prattled on, holding the parcel out to Muriel. “Isn’t it so pretty, Mama? The letters are all fancy and--”
Muriel snatched the parcel out of Aislin’s hands before she could finish, staring down at the elaborate lettering as if she’d just seen a ghost. It was heavier than she’d expected; whatever it contained, it was more than just paper. “Who gave you this?” Muriel said sharply, looking back up at Aislin. “One… one of the town couriers?”
There was no reason for anyone to be addressing them as Prince Gerard Gabriel Alaric and Wife. Gerard had not held that title since before she’d married him. Wild possibilities were already racing through her mind as she turned the package over, and her blood ran cold when she saw the seal on the other side. Gold, in the shape of a gryphon rampant.
Muriel stood up. “Fetch your father,” she said sharply, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Quickly.”
Aislin’s face fell as though she’d been slapped, her mint green eyes narrowing. “You don’t wanna open it, Mama?” she wheedled. “It’s heavy-- I wanna see what’s inside!”
“Aislin, I don’t want to tell you twice,” Muriel snapped. “Now!”
The child blinked, bewildered. Lurching unsteadily to her feet, she said nothing further-- only turned on her heel and fled into the house as though she was being chased inside by a rushing flame. Once she was gone, Muriel sighed, staring down at the package in her hands again. Perhaps she’d been a little hard on Aislin - but the sight of that seal, and the thought of her daughter alone with whoever had brought it… it made Muriel’s blood run cold.
What could House Alaric want from them?
It was less than a minute before Aislin shambled back out, trailed closely by her father and Muriel’s husband, Gerard. The former prince had a young, black-haired girl-- perhaps two- or three-years-old-- clutched in his arms, the little girl snoozing contentedly with her cheek pressed against his shoulder. Gerard, however, seemed hardly as settled, the man wearing an expression that could have only been described as utmost concern-- and confusion.
“What’s wrong, Muri?” he said, sitting beside Muriel in the chair that Aislin had occupied before and gingerly balancing the toddler in his lap. Brown-black eyes falling to the envelope-- and the marigold seal-- he stiffened like an angry cat, jaw going rigid. “Where’d that come from?”
“I don’t know,” she said curtly. “A courier brought it, according to Ash. And,” she added, handing it over to her husband, “whoever addressed it to us… they used your full name.” Muriel’s face was screwed up in worry, watching Gerard’s expression. She certainly had no affection for the Courdonian crown, but Gerard had more reason than anyone to be upset or afraid. They’d left Courdon quite sure that their lives would be at risk if they stayed.
“My full name?” Gerard echoed. Tentatively, he turned the envelope over in his hands-- then froze as his dark eyes fell on the hand-addressed salutation. ‘“Oh, my gods.” He flicked his gaze toward Aislin, somewhere between furious and horrified. “Ash, who gave this to you?”
“A… a courier,” the little girl stammered, fidgeting. “H-he was dressed in red, and he-- he was nice--”
“What did he look like?” the former prince demanded, grip around the toddler in his lap gone almost crushing.
“I-- I dunno.” Aislin blinked, tears pricking in her eyes. “He… he was just a courier, Papa. H-he talked in Courdonian, but otherwise he was just a courier, a regular c-courier--”
“Why did you answer the door in the first place?” Gerard snapped, his voice practically a growl. “You know you’re not supposed to, Aislin! How many times have we told you!?”
“You should have gotten one of us, Aislin,” Muriel said, her voice gone sharp and firm. “You should know better. What did he say to you?” Her brown skin had gone a little paler on hearing that the courier had spoken Courdonian; ‘Woo, that could well have been a personal messenger straight from Rakine…
“H-he just asked my name,” Aislin sniffled. “And if you and Papa l-lived here. A-and he told me to give the envelope to you.” She puckered her lips, verging the line of outright sobbing. “I was just tryin’ to help! I d-didn’t think it was bad to j-just… open the door, I didn’t go with no one--”
“Go to your room, Aislin,” Gerard cut in venomously.
“B-but--”
“That was not a suggestion,” he hissed. Nudging his chin back toward the house, he ordered, “Now.” The little girl didn’t have to be told again, letting out a small whimper before she turned on her heel and fled back into the house; the moment she was gone, Gerard sunk deeper into his chair, shutting his eyes for a moment. “Muriel,” he murmured. “That’s my older brother’s handwriting.”
Muriel felt her stomach lurch. “Cassian?” she said quietly, though of course it could be no one else. “Oh… oh ‘Woo.” She ran one hand over her face. “What could he want? And why now? After all this time…” She’d never heard much about Cassian that was good; from what Gerard and Matteus had said, he’d been more than complicit in his father’s torment of his siblings. When news had reached Kyth of Oliver Alaric’s death, Muriel had been far from grieved, but she couldn’t help thinking that his heir was not likely to be much of an improvement. Why King Cassian was writing his estranged half-brother now - and penning the letter personally, by all appearances - was something Muriel couldn’t hope to guess.
“T-take Amalia,” Gerard said, gently turning the toddler-- who miraculously had snoozed through the tension-- out toward her mother. “I’ll cut the seal open. See… see what’s inside.” His stomach pinched at the very thought.
Wordlessly Muriel took her daughter, holding her close against her chest with one hand curled protectively over the little girl’s head. Her eyes remained fixed on the letter in Gerard’s hands, on the elegant handwriting she now knew to be the king’s. A hot flare of anger burst inside her chest; she almost hated Cassian just for the tense, anxious look on Gerard’s face. What gave him the right to terrify his half-brother like this, after so many years of ignoring his existence? Some twisted power play, now he had taken the throne for himself? Muriel gritted her teeth angrily.
Hand shaking, Gerard drew a small dagger from his belt and used it to slice open the wax seal. His stomach was in dozens of knots afterward as he set the knife aside and reached into the envelope’s gaping maw. “What the…” His brow snapped nearly up to his hairline as he fished out a bulging silk pouch, tied at the top with a prim red-and-gold ribbon. “Gods, what did he send us?”
Muriel blinked. Well, perhaps that explained the weight of the package. She was starting to wonder if they should fetch her brother to check for any malicious spells. “Is there… a note? Anything to explain?” Though I’m not sure what would be an adequate explanation, she thought sourly.
Setting the sachet aside, Gerard nodded. “Yep-- here.” He plucked out a tightly wound scroll of parchment-- also tied with a fancy ribbon, this one trimmed with a fleur de lis pattern. “Gods, Cassian. It’s like he’s… sending us a gift.” Swallowing hard, Gerard unwound the tie and smoothed the letter open, eyes skimming the writing upon it. “Still Cassian’s handwriting,” he murmured as he read. “And-- gods. What even…”
“If he really wanted to give us a gift, he’d stay the ‘Pit away from us,” Muriel said sharply, narrowing her eyes. “There must be some reason behind it, something… What did he say?” She had to admit Gerard was right - wrapped carefully and expensively, accompanied by a handwritten letter from the king himself, it did look like a gift. Somehow, she doubted that Gerard’s older brother was capable of something so magnanimous. There had to be a catch.
“He… he…” Abruptly, Gerard laughed, his dark eyes filling with disbelieving amusement. “Oh, my gods. He… he wants to give me Talvace, Muriel. He wants to give me bloody Talvace.” The former prince set the letter aside, turning instead to the pouch and uncinching the tie that held it. Peering inside, he laughed again, harder this time. “Dear lord.”
Muriel stared. “You’re joking,” she said flatly. “He didn’t really say that. He can’t have really said that!” To break his silence after all these years only to offer Gerard the rule of a province-- there had to be some mistake. She stared with trepidation at the pouch that Gerard held. “And what is that?” she said, raising one brow. “A taste of the riches you’ll enjoy once you’ve become Lord Gerard Duval?” It was a sarcastic question, but there was a niggling doubt in the back of her mind as she looked at that pouch. For all she knew he could have sent them a bag of gold coins or precious jewels.
“Even better.” Gerard snorted, delicately fishing out from the bag a heavy-set gold ring, its face embossed with the intricate likeness of a crown-wearing gryphon. “Royal House Alaric rings,” he said. Peeking back inside, he rattled off, “One, two, three, four, five. One for each of us, Muriel. Isn’t that… thoughtful?” He turned the piece of jewelry over in his hand, completely dumbfounded. “This is real gold, too. And look at the gryphon, Muri.” He held the ring out toward his wife. “It’s set with rubies and citrine.”
“For the children, too,” Muriel murmured, her eyes wide. “That’s… does he even know what he’s saying?” Her eyes flicked toward the door to the house, a tight, humorless smile on her face. “Even Aislin gets one. I wonder if he has any idea who she actually is to him.”
“I’m looking for some way this could be a trap,” Gerard said. “But… I just-- what kind of trap would this even be? Sending us rings…?” Her rubbed his temple, confusing a raging beast inside of him. “Should I… should I write him back, you think?”
“What would you even say?” Muriel said, staring at the glimmering golden ring. “‘Thanks for the jewelry, apology accepted, see you in Talvace next summer.’ Is that what he’s hoping for? For you to act like nothing he did ever happened?” She gave a short sigh of frustration, running one hand back over her long braid. “I… maybe I should write Mother and Father. They’re at court now, they must see Cassian often. Maybe they have some idea what he’s thinking, or…” She shrugged helplessly. “At least we could trust their judgment on his character. If he’s really turned out to be a better man than his father, or if he’s just gone mad.”
The latter, frankly, seemed more likely to Muriel. The expensive royal jewelry sent to children Cassian had never met, the offer to rule a province-- no, certainly Cassian had taken leave of his senses.
“I’ll write Mattie and Julia, too,” Gerard replied. “And hopefully between the lot of them, we can get some kind of consistent, logical answer.” He closed his hand over the ring, sighing deeply. “Gods, it scares the hell out of me, though-- that Ash opened the door to one of Cassian’s men, by the sounds of it. I’ve always felt so… detached here. A world away from my brother’s power and influence. That one of his people could have hurt our child today if they’d wanted to…”
The same thought chilled Muriel to the bone, but she swallowed hard and tried to remain composed, reaching out to rest a comforting hand on Gerard’s forearm. “It won’t happen, Gerry,” she said, trying not to sound as shaken as she felt and not entirely succeeding. “Whatever comes of this, we’re going to keep them safe, no matter what we have to do.”
He nodded. “I know. It’s just-- gods, it scares me, Muriel. How far he can reach. He’s my brother, my kin. I… I shouldn’t have to live in mortal fear of him. But I do. And I’m so tired of it.”
“I hate seeing what they do to you,” Muriel murmured, watching her husband’s face with sad eyes. “I always thought, if nothing else, at least it would be over when Oliver was gone. But maybe it was too much to hope that his heir would have the grace to leave you alone.” An edge of anger crept into her voice, and she shook her head. “I hate it. I hate him.”
“He’s not worth the energy it takes to hate him, Muri,” Gerard said gently, his throat hitching. “And…” He hesitated. “Maybe he… does mean it. This apology. I mean, it seems crazy to me, too, but… what-- what if he’s genuine, Muriel? What if he has changed?”
“Could you trust it if he has?” Muriel’s brow furrowed. “After everything he’s done - how could you ever be sure he really means it? Because I shudder to think what he could do to you if you turned out to be wrong.”
“I… I know him,” Gerard countered. “If I could just talk to him-- not through letters, but… in person, face-to-face-- then I’d know. I would know, Muriel.”
“Maybe you would. It still scares me.” She fell silent, frowning. Gently she stroked Amalia’s hair as the toddler dozed peacefully against her, still watching her husband. “But… it’s your call. He’s your brother, and I trust you. If you want to reach out to him…” Muriel sighed and shook her head. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll write to Mattie and Julia first,” Gerard said. “See what they say. But if they seem to think he means this, Muriel…” The man let out a soft hiss. “Could we take it, you think? Talvace? After… after all your family’s been through there. At Jisam.”
“I won’t change my name to Duval, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Muriel said tartly, and then winced, almost immediately regretting her sharpness. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I can’t imagine it. Accepting a life there. Going back to Courdon is one thing, but Jisam…” Her lips tightened. “I’d… I’d have to think on it, Gerard. I don’t know. ”
“I wouldn’t want to do anything that’d make you uncomfortable, Muriel,” Gerard said. “And… if Cassian is serious about making amends, he’d understand why Talvace has too many skeletons in its closet for our family.” He dared a wavering smile. “Gods, what do I even say in my letters to Julia and Mattie? ‘Hey, so has Cassian gone mad-- well, madder than usual?’”
Muriel smiled ruefully. “I have no idea what I’m going to tell Mum and Dad, either. If I know my father, he’s going to worry, even if Cassian is being honest.” She always thought, though he had never said outright, that he had been glad when she and Gerard went to live in Kyth after the war. “I… think I won’t mention the part about Talvace, even so.”
“That might be wise,” Gerard agreed. He fell silent for a moment, his thoughts a whirling vortex, his chest at once heavy as a stone and light as a single flake of snow as a very strange mixture of fear and anger and excitement swirled through him. “Could… could you imagine it, Muriel?” he whispered. “Going back to Courdon as… as nobility, not rebel fugitives? Talvace is too loaded, but… i-if we went to say, Rakine…”
“Rakine,” Muriel echoed softly, looking pensive. She could scarcely picture it, and yet-- “You wouldn’t have to be afraid of returning to your homeland anymore,” she said slowly. “And the girls, Courdon is their heritage too. They could see my parents again, and their Uncle Mattie. I don’t know if it would work - how it would work - but if we were really able to return…” She met Gerard’s eyes, looking both anxious and hopeful at once. “I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. “I never thought going back would even be a possibility. It never occurred to me to wonder what we would do if we did.”
“I know,” he murmured. “It’s at once… exhilarating and terrifying, isn’t it?”
“That might be understating it,” Muriel agreed.
As she spoke, Amalia shifted in her arms, seeming to wake just enough to realize who was holding her now. “Mama,” she murmured blearily, then tucked her head in against Muriel’s shoulder again, sticking a thumb contentedly in her mouth. Muriel smiled slightly, reaching up to stroke her daughter’s hair.
“Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” she said softly. “We don’t even know… why. Or if it’s safe. If it is… if we can really go back to Courdon and raise the girls there…” She bit her lip, and then shook her head, her hand tightening protectively on the back of Amalia’s head. “I- I think we shouldn’t get our hopes up. Not yet. Not with our children’s safety on the line.” Her eyes hardened. “And if your brother doesn’t mean well… he’s not coming anywhere near my children, or you. He’ll have to get through me first.”
Gerard smiled thinly. “I’m not getting my hopes up,” he promised. “And if I’m not one-hundred percent sure of Cassian’s motives— I promise, our kids won’t even get within the same kingdom as him, Muriel.”
Muriel nodded. “We got through the war, and we’ll figure this out too. Whatever the outcome…” She met Gerard’s eyes and smiled. “I trust you. We’ll face this together, just as we always have.”
“Of course,” Gerard agreed with a hard swallow. “We won't let Cassian get the best of us. Not now. Not ever.”
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