by Casey Odell
When the man wasn’t looking, Farron passed in front of the window. When he neared the corner, he raised a hand to one of his daggers. He made sure it was clear before he rounded it and crept up to the doors.
“So you finally found me, eh?” said a deep voice from within the room.
So he knew. Farron stepped out into the doorway and faced the man. His target.
Lord Kasían stood calmly on the other side of the bed. He wasn’t a tall man, but he struck an impressive figure nonetheless. Thick bodied, but well-muscled for a man in his fifties. His brown eyes studied Farron carefully. Neither of them moved for several moments. Nor did Lord Kasían call out for help. They both knew he was a dead man regardless.
“I should have known they would send you,” he said. “Their errand boy.”
Farron lowered his hand from his dagger and stepped into the room, glaring. He may have been their errand boy, but he didn’t need a man like Lord Kasían judging him.
“You know why I am here, then.”
“Of course,” Lord Kasían said dismissively. “I know what you do.”
“You do not deny what you have done, killing those girls and kidnapping and selling the others.”
“I do not.” His face remained calm, emotionless. “And I hardly doubt you are here to hear my reasons for doing so.”
“I doubt they’re any good.”
“Don’t act like you are any different from me, boy!” Lord Kasían sneered. “You are as much a murderer as I.”
“No, I kill people like you,” Farron growled. “You nobles think you can do whatever you want. But I think otherwise.”
“You’re going to make an example of me, is that it?” Lord Kasían snickered. “I suppose there will be no poison in order then.”
“Exactly.” Farron slowly walked around the bed until he was mere feet from the man.
Lord Kasían remained still. “My family will be furious.”
“I count on it.”
“They’ll seek revenge, you know.”
“Then I’ll be waiting.” Farron grinned.
“Then kill me then, but know with my death, there will be war.” He looked at Farron, his gaze steady. There was no hint of fear in his expression. He had accepted his fate, much easier than Farron had anticipated. “Make it quick.”
“I always do.” In one swift move, Farron drew both his daggers and drove them into his target.
The air was still sticky with summer heat, but it would soon be swept away by the coming autumn winds. Claire sat under the spreading branches of the old oak tree on the edge of the wheat field south of town, an old blanket beneath her and a basket filled with an assortment of bread and cheeses by her side. Her two friends, Hannah— who had been going on about her new fiancé, Carreth, for at least twenty minutes— and Lauren accompanied her, their voluminous skirts surrounding them.
Claire shifted her own skirts, the warmth of early afternoon getting to her. She had worn a dress today, as she usually did when she met with her friends, even though they had grown used to her wearing pants over the years. But it was days like this, when she was allowed to take the day off from work or chores, that she liked dressing up. Liked feeling like a girl. It wasn’t as fancy as her friends’, simple and plain, with small white flowers dotting the dark blue fabric, but it was the nicest one she owned. Hopefully, by the end of the year, she’d be able to save up enough money to have a new one made.
“Yes, yes, I’m sure he’s lovely,” Lauren finally interrupted Hannah, her dark features twisted in a scowl. “But as soon as you two are wed he’s going to take you away from us to Lannoi and we’ll never see you again. Right, Claire?”
Claire smiled and looked at Hannah. The girl was younger than her by a year— with honey blonde hair, a face full of freckles, and eyes so big, brown, and innocent, they put puppies to shame— and already she was getting married. It was hard to believe. Although they were all of marrying age, none of them thought Hannah would be the first of them to ‘don the shackles,’ as they’d jokingly put it.
“I’m sure he’s very fine if your father approved of him,” Claire said. Hannah’s father was the local butcher and was quite famous for keeping most of Stockton’s young men away from his one and only daughter. Neither Claire nor Lauren had ever met her betrothed, but they almost felt like they had the way Hannah would go on and on about him— especially about his dark, handsome looks. “It must be so exciting,” Claire added, “to get to go to the coast. To see the ocean.” According to Hannah, Lannoi was far north along the coast, and it was there that her fiancé had inherited a small but successful fishery— and the main reason her father had approved of the match in the first place.
“Yes, we are happy for you,” Lauren conceded, her dark blue eyes softening. “But we had better at least hear from you. I feel like you are being stolen away from us, never to be heard from again.”
“Of course I’ll write!” Hannah beamed. “I can send you shells from the beaches, as well. I hear there are so many you can’t help but step on them.”
“I look forward to it, Hannah,” Claire said. “Just don’t send me the ones you step on.” Claire took a piece of bread out of her basket and started to cut it down the middle. Lauren set a jar of strawberry jam she’d gotten from her father’s store in front of her.
“Well, at least you got to choose.” Lauren frowned slightly. “Father keeps entertaining suitors all the way from Alexos! I don’t know any of them, let alone what they look like!” She turned to Claire and grinned. “We can’t all be lucky and fall in love before we marry, can we, Claire? How long have you been seeing your handsome little farm boy, anyway?”
Heat rushed up to Claire’s face. “H-he’s a town guard now. His family owns the corn fields on the eastern side of town.”
“A town guard,” Hannah said, swooning. “He must be so strong! He’ll be able to protect you and everything.”
“Y-yes, I suppose…” Claire’s embarrassment only grew. “But hopefully it won’t ever come to that. Since he had convinced Captain Rinald to send guards by the tavern every night, there have been hardly any incidents.”
“I can’t believe he was able to convince him,” Lauren said as she tucked a loose strand of her dark brunette hair behind her ear. “He comes into Father’s store occasionally, and I’d rather hide in the back than deal with him. He’s a stubborn, mean old coot!”
Hannah and Claire both snickered.
“He must really like you if he was willing to face the captain like that.” Lauren looked at Claire suggestively.
“Perhaps.” Claire averted her eyes down to the bread in her hands. It was the most gallant thing a man had ever done for her.
“Do you think he’s going to ask you to the fall festival?” Hannah asked before devouring a piece of cheese.
Claire shrugged her shoulders, trying her best to make it look nonchalant. But in fact, the thought had been plaguing her for several days now.
“You don’t know?” Lauren asked. “It is next month, you know.”
“Do you know who you are going with, then?” Claire shot back.
“The man with the most money, of course.” Lauren sneered. “Father would hardly let me go with anyone else. I just hope he is at least decent looking and can walk without the use of a cane.”
Claire stifled a laugh. It would have been funnier if it weren’t so true. The last man that’d tried to woo Lauren had been more than twice her age. She shuddered at the thought. Lauren had been brave throughout the whole ordeal, and Claire admired her for it. She couldn’t imagine marrying a man old enough to be her father. Fortunately, rich old men didn’t really have a penchant for lowly tavern maids. Only the poor ones did, making it easier for both her and her mother to turn them away.
“I heard Mean Martis’ nephew is going to be at the festival,” Hannah interrupted. “My mother found out the other day. Apparently, he’s coming from Banton, all the way up north.”
“Who cares?” Laur
en scoffed. She looked at Claire again and snatched a roll from the basket. “I can’t believe you wanted to apprentice for that man, especially after what he said about you and your mother.”
A few years ago the man had said some disrespectful things about her and her mother, and they had refused to do business with him until he apologized. “I thought it would be fun, I suppose.” Claire had always had a weakness for sweets, and the ones from Mr. Martis’ bakery especially. And she’d figured the man had turned over a new leaf since he’d come crawling back and all. But alas, her dreams of opening up her own confectionery had been dashed when Mean Martis turned her away six months ago; for not just being a girl, but being a tavern girl no less. Needless to say, her and her mother had been buying their bread and sweets elsewhere since.
“I hope his feet get stomped on at the dance!” Hannah exclaimed. “I’ll do it for you if you want.”
“I may even do it myself,” Claire added. “I’d dance with him just to see the look on his uncle’s face!”
It was their turn to giggle.
“Speaking of the dance,” Lauren said, sobering up. “You can have my dress if you want it, the purple one, though you may need to have it taken in in places.” Her gaze wandered down Claire’s body, teasing.
Claire rolled her eyes. Ever since Lauren had turned fifteen, she’d been filling out in all the places men liked, while Claire had remained nearly flat and petite. She would give her left pinky to have a bosom as ample as her friend’s.
“We’ll have to doll you up especially for your handsome guard!” Hannah exclaimed, getting excited about the prospect.
“If he even asks me…” Claire mumbled, her words trailing off.
“Of course he will,” Lauren stated, confident as always. “He’d be a fool not to.”
“Do you think he’s going to ask you to marry him?” Hannah asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
Claire nearly choked on her bread. Marriage? Her? Even though she dreamt of being swept off her feet, she wasn’t certain if she was even ready for something like that. “O-oh, I don’t know about that. We’ve only been seeing each other, really, for three months now.” And half the time they spent together consisted of them wandering around the marketplace in the afternoons. She’d met up with him a few times while he trained for the defense squadron, watched as he and the other men shot arrows at targets and sparred. She could feel herself falling for Jarrod, but it was all so new, she wasn’t sure if she was in love. She wasn’t even sure what being in love really felt like. That sinking feeling she got in her stomach every time she saw him, was that love?
“Let’s hope so,” Lauren said, digging a piece of cheese from Claire’s basket. “Or else you’ll die an old lonely maid with those high standards of yours. Mr. Wyard may be the closest thing to a prince Stockton will ever get.”
Hannah giggled at that, and Claire would have joined her if it weren’t so true. So what if she had standards? It’s not like she had rich men vying for her hand like Lauren, or as if she would meet a handsome fishmonger like Hannah. The most she’d ever gotten were half-hearted offers from the drunken sots that came into her tavern. No, Jarrod was different. She didn’t deserve him in the least, but from the bottom of her heart, she knew she wanted him. He was more than she could ever ask for, for someone of her standing. If he wasn’t the one, then who was?
“Three months,” Líadan said, or should that be King? Farron was never sure how he should address his brother.
Farron slouched in the oversized leather chair in front of his brother’s massive desk, the waning light of the day shining through the diamond panes of glass that covered almost the entire wall behind it. He propped his feet up on the mahogany, as he usually did, while Líadan paced in front of the fireplace on the left wall, the flames burning brightly within. His brother looked as glorious as he always did, never letting a single hair fall out of place. If he ever looked tousled, it was because he wanted to. Even here, in his relatively cozy private office he maintained his carefully crafted image, and though his shirt looked plain, Farron knew it was made out of the finest white linen in the land. Only the best for the king.
Farron crossed his arms over his own dull gray shirt, knowing he looked haggard in comparison to his brother. He had arrived in Derenan the day before and stayed the night at Bredal’s, unsure if it would be safe to return to the palace or not. Boss Bredal, owner of the famous Bred’s Tavern, had been his eyes and ears in the city for the past few years. No one messed with Bred, especially since he’d been a member of the Ophiuchus Syndicate in his younger days. But that only made him especially useful to Farron. It was only after he had talked it through with Bred— for hours, it seemed— that he decided to see his brother again. As for the Council… well, he’d be lucky if they didn’t try for his head.
“You vanish for three months, while I had to clean up your little act of rebellion.” He stopped and trained his dark blue eyes on Farron. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you in the dungeons for what you did.”
Farron just stared back. His brother had been threatening him with that line for the past couple of years, but he had yet to act on it. However, he had never outright disobeyed his brother’s orders before either. The same couldn’t be said for nearly causing another war. That he had done before, whether he had meant to or not. “I did write,” he said, an insolent tone in his voice.
“A letter consisting of four words!” He was practically seething.
“I was apologizing,” Farron explained, letting some of his own anger seep into his voice. He knew he shouldn’t anger the king, but he just couldn’t help it. He had done what he thought was right. The families of those girls deserved some sort of justice. “Which is quite a feat since you know I don’t like to apologize. Especially when I know I’m right.”
Líadan took a step towards Farron, his beautiful face set in a scowl. “Do you know what I had to do to quell the fire you started?”
“The same as you always do, brother.” Paying people off, lying, giving promises he never intended to keep, hiring spies or assassins like himself. Farron grew tired of it all. At the end of the day, his brother, the King, was almost as bad as the rest of them, the nobles and the Councilmen. He wasn’t sure why he even came back. Kept coming back.
Líadan was his family, a link to a past he knew hardly anything about, and to a father he knew even less of. He was a king trying to shine in the greatness of their father’s shadow. But in order to be great, Farron was finding, one had to have a particular sense of immorality, something the legends and books hardly spoke of. There was no room for honor in politics; however, there was certainly room for greed and corruption. Líadan wasn’t evil. Not truly. His ideals and intentions were good, just not always what he did to achieve them. There was still a ray of hope shining in his brother, however, and that was why he kept coming back. Why he still bloodied his hands for his King. Hope that things would change.
“I had to promise a seat on the Council to Lord Kasían’s oldest son and pay ten thousand gold coins to his family for your head.”
Farron frowned. “I figured I’d fetch a higher price than that.”
Líadan didn’t seem amused. “Six of the most powerful families in the south banded together and almost declared war on the monarchy. They’ve stopped all supplies of food to Derenan and the north, supplies we desperately need. Without them, the whole kingdom can crumble.”
Farron remained quiet at that, guilt finally hitting him in the gut. Things were getting worse in the north. Crops were starting to fail, people were going hungry, many of them fleeing to the city or further south. He’d even been hearing rumors lately that the seals that had held the Beasts of Old since before the war were beginning to fail. If one of them ever got out, no one in its way would stand a chance.
“You were supposed to make it look like an accident,” Líadan said quietly, still seething.
“I did,” Farron replied. “He fell onto my blade.”
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“You are going to help fix this. You are going to go to Solaniki and help persuade the Possier and Sallion families to start doing business with Derenan and the north again.”
“You want me to negotiate with them?”
The king gave him a knowing look. “I expect that you will employ your own means, you hardly follow my orders anyway. I don’t care how you fix this, just make sure that you do.”
“If that is your wish,” Farron conceded. He would never hear the end of it if he didn’t.
His brother seemed to relax, the tautness in his back and shoulders easing. “Just remember to come back this time,” he said, the edge in his voice gone. “I do worry about you, brother. And Aiden has missed you terribly.” A slight smile crossed his face then, both sad and amused at the same time. “I think he likes you more than he likes his own father.”
“Perhaps you try to order him around too much.”
“I am his king, after all.” He raised an eyebrow and glared at Farron. “I fear he will grow up to be as rebellious as you are, perhaps even worse if you are still around to teach him.”
“A good king doesn’t need to learn how to follow orders, he just needs to know how to give them. Besides, from what I’ve heard, Father was quite iconoclastic himself.”
Líadan sighed and sat in the great leather chair across the desk from Farron. “Yes, and that’s probably what led to his demise in the end.”
Farron lowered his feet to the floor and sat up straighter. “Do you still believe the Council killed Father?” He wasn’t around for his father’s final years, or at all for that matter, so he didn’t know too many of the details. At a hundred and fifty years of age, he had been old but still had many years ahead of him. Líadan thought that the Council had something to do with his death, but had yet to prove anything.
“I know they had something to do with it,” he said. “The same way they are plotting against me. They think because I am young they can control me. But I have proven them wrong since Father passed. I will not yield to them.”
