My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Any idea who those men are?" Myra jerked her head towards the pile that looked like they'd gone ten rounds with a dragon and walked away. It'd take a mother with very poor eyesight to love any of those faces.

  "No," he shook his head slowly, "I'd hoped you might..."

  "I'm not the blighted Maker," she groaned. "No obvious livery from here, hiding in the dark. Maybe if I were to give a little light..." She began to lift her fingers, the magic barely sparking, when Gavin caught her hand and cupped it in both of his.

  "Don't!" he hissed, jerking his chin towards the darkness. "Someone's watching us. Who knows what they might do if they determine who you are."

  Her eyes watered as she sneered, "Jokes on them. I'm no one special."

  "Myra?" his amber sight honed in on her, while his hands remained locked tight over hers. As if he was keeping it safe and protected. Or trying to keep her from dooming them all. That seemed more likely.

  "Nothing," was all she said and slithered her fingers out of his warm cocoon. The boy looked about to ask more prodding questions, when the old guard arrived behind them.

  Her mother let loose a string of elven curses as she came to a rest right outside the doors. "What in the void is happening in there?"

  "That's what we prayed your daughter could solve," this was the Hero stepping forward. It was rather surprising how fast she could move given her feeble body. Magic? Maker, Myra would kill to learn some actual healing spells.

  "Can you climb that gate?" The old Commander asked her straight on, his eyes darting up the seemingly unscalable bars.

  "Yeah," Myra shrugged as if it was no big deal, "but not here. There's a dip at the back." Which she used when coming from the south and not wanting to take the long way around to visit with her...the guy that lived in the palace.

  "No," Reiss stomped forward, her eyes cutting through the night, "you are not using that entrance, Myra."

  "Mom, I've climbed it hundreds of times. I'm not going to break my neck," Myra snarled, already exhausted with how little her mother believed in her.

  "Look," Reiss grabbed onto her taller daughter's shoulder and directed her sight towards the shadows. "See the size. What causes that hunch?"

  Groaning at the obvious Myra missed, she muttered, "Broadsword on the back."

  "And there are how many?"

  "More than ten, probably twelve. And a few archers up in the rafters."

  At that Reiss blinked in surprise before whipping her head towards what Myra caught on her second proper look. The crossbow sights glinted in silver from the moon. "You will have to fight through all of them to get to us. To open this gate. There is no way you can do it."

  Myra crossed her arms and glared, "Then I'll be really, really quiet."

  "Maker's breath, you're my child. I know just how quiet you are capable of. You're not going."

  "For the love of...see what I have to live with," Myra jerked a hand at her mother who was eyeing up the situation as if there was another option. She wanted to tear her braid off in frustration, but a surprising hand came to her defense.

  "Reiss," the Commander stepped forward slowly, "we cannot fight through this gate and that many armed forces on the other side."

  Her mother sneered, no doubt trying to run the numbers again as if a dozen archers on one side and two mages plus a few people waving knives around could ever come out to anything but mass slaughter. A gate was instant death, but if it became a door... It still didn't look good, but it had to be better.

  "Mom," Myra reached towards her mother's hands clinging to the bars. Forgetting their fight and the sting of being lied to all her life, Myra's voice softened. "Dad's in there."

  "I know," Reiss shook her head and in the intimate moonlight turned to her daughter. Tears bubbled in her mother's eyes, the woman scared for the man she loved. "But My..."

  "I can do it. Trust me," she gripped tighter to her mother. "What's the point of sending me on all those jobs if I can't use the training to save Dad? Or the palace, or whatever the hell's going on."

  "Myra," she turned and cupped both hands to her daughter's cheeks. Placing a kiss to her forehead, Reiss spat out, "You take it slow. No showing off with fancy leaps or any stretches further than the length of your arms."

  "Yes, mother," she rolled her eyes, well aware of her limits and how strict her mom's rule was. She could easily do double what Reiss allowed.

  "Go quiet, more silent than when you sneak out at night."

  "I don't..." Myra began to insist on the lie, but at her mother's pursed lips she tried to walk it back. Great. So she knew the whole time. That was going to be years of filing reports as punishment.

  "And for the love of Andraste, be careful. If you get in any trouble..."

  "I know, run."

  "No," her mom tucked back the same errant blonde hairs she suffered, "you're on your own. You have to solve it yourself. Until you get that gate open we can't assist."

  Myra gulped. Her mother was always overprotective, shielding her from things she knew she was capable of, but Reiss was never this bad. Certainly never blubbered about how there was no safety net should Myra bungle it. All her life, Myra knew she had someone behind her -- her mom, Lunet, Dad, even Gavin. Now...it was all up to her.

  And if you fail?

  "I got this, Mom. I swear." Myra staggered back, her eyes wandering up towards the castle. There were few lights on, so trailing inside the shadows should be easy enough. "What about the rest of you?"

  "We're going to build an army," the Hero stepped forward, a woman Myra called teach in her early days.

  "Just...like that? An army out of thin air?"

  "It's been done before," the woman smiled, her eyes darting over to the others who looked grim. "Ah, but before you go."

  Pausing in a mid-jump to begin her assault, Myra watched as the Hero tugged an honest to the Maker staff off her back and handed it to her. The wood was soft as butter, redder than rouge, and bore three serpents at the top all trying to eat each other.

  "This is one of my old staves. I think I acquired it during a battle to rescue the elves, but...I could be mistaken. There were a lot of weapons over the years and even more battles."

  "You can't be serious!" Myra gasped, her fingers freezing at the real power in a proper mage staff. She'd had to rely upon typical bow staffs, nothing more than wood Myra could swing at people's heads. This one...she could throw fireballs and stuff through it. With her mind.

  "Lady Rutherford..." Reiss stepped forward, inserting herself into the gift, "that is far too generous and not necessary."

  "The girl's gonna need all the help she can get. I just wish I had the one that could increase mana by 20%. No idea where that wound up. Probably in some Tevinter collector's pocket knowing my luck."

  "Mom," Gavin interrupted the Hero's musings, "did you...did you swipe that from the memorial?"

  She turned to her boy and shrugged, "It is technically mine. I just allow Ali to house it in the interim."

  Myra wanted to take the staff with, but she was going to have to scale using both hands. There was no way to keep it in one while shimmying up a gate or wall. "I can't hold it while I'm climbing. Sorry."

  A sweet smile lifted the woman's lips. With her finger, she darted down the bottom the staff to unfurl a leather strap nailed into the wood. "Use this to carry it upon your back. How else do you think I managed to cart one around across thedas?"

  Nodding at the gift, Myra did as commanded. Her shoulder tugged back from the weight but it was doable. She might notice a slight change in jumping but nothing too bad. Turning towards the night, Myra was about to run off, when her mother grabbed onto her hand and pinned her in place.

  "My," Reiss spoke loudly, though right at her daughter as if they were alone. She lost her indoor voice the same day she lost her ear. "No theatrics, no saving your father alone. You come back to me, safe and sound. You hear?"

  "Can do, boss," Myra waved, her fingers slipping from Reiss' grip. Her mothe
r groaned at the come-what-may laugh her daughter managed, barely caring about the danger beyond shrugging it all off. But through the lighthearted armor she strapped on above her thin dress, Myra's eyes darted over to Gavin's.

  The boy was worrying his fingers up and down the hilt of his sword, his bottom lip stuck out in concern. When he felt Myra looking at him, he honed in on her and mouthed, "Keep safe."

  With that final assurance, and whatever Myra could do with it, she dashed off into the night. Running around the palace was less fun than it sounded. Denerim designed the entire area as if the city planner gave two goats and a gopher access to bricks and told 'em to wander off making streets. The gate rose and fell in accordance to the street levels outside, doing its best to match where someone say decided "This is a great place to put my three story balcony store." But there was one spot where the gate makers went "screw it" and let Denerim rise to nearly meet it.

  That was Myra's only hope. While her new staff banged and shifted upon her shoulder, she ran not towards the palace, but one of the houses in the area. By light it was bluer than a jay, its eaves an inviting white. In the darkest of the night, the house loomed in a despicable grey, ready to lash from the darkness and smear off any who dared to touch it. That was where Myra hooked her hand into a window box with grasses tumbling over the side. With enough leverage, she could easily haul herself skyward and onto the roof.

  Denerim's skyline punctuated the massive moon hanging in the air. Stars seemed to be puffing up out of the various chimneys, each flue like a dead man's nose prodding apart the sky. Not really helpful to think of, Myra. Turning away from her city, she focused on the palace. Most of it sat far enough back it would be say impossible for a girl to run off a roof, leap over the gate, and plow into a window.

  But someone was kind enough to leave one of the old kissing towers butting right up next to the gate. Then another silly someone came along and built a house another story tall to make them connect. Banging her hands together and praying the tiles weren't slick, Myra dropped into a dead run. The gate itself rose just above her head, but if she could time it right it wouldn't matter.

  When her toes reached the edge of the roof, Myra leaped into the air. Instinctively, her feet spread, both legs sliding right between the bars as she sailed over the thing. That was the easy part. After that came a very vital catch or it'd be a very squishy down.

  Her hands wrenched forward through the blackest air, snagging upon a beam of wood that someone left teetering upon the edge of the tower. It creaked at her weight, but didn't shift. Just as it hadn't in all these years of her trying this. While hanging off the wooden beam Myra glanced down at her dress glad for once she was so tall it cut off at her shins. To anyone on the ground, if they were to give a cursory glance upwards it might look as if she was a flag of yellow flowers someone stuck to the old tower. But she really didn't want anyone to have the chance to spot her.

  Hauling herself through the window, Myra made quick work getting her footing in the creaking tower and promptly running down it. Some of the stairs had rotted in the intervening years, but she knew where all the holes were and how to avoid them. Upon reaching the ground level, Myra leaned her head out to cautiously peer through nothing. Darkness sat at both ends, not even a damn bird there to startle her back.

  Still... She was told to be quiet. Rising onto her tiptoes, Myra slunk into the shadowed yard. Her feet barely crunched against the hungry gravel and pitted dirt, each whisper of a sound causing her to hiss. No one seemed to be bothering back here. Perhaps they didn't much care to keep an eye, or most likely didn't know about the secret back entrance.

  Flattening her back to the wall of the palace, Myra began to slide towards the north gate and the catch. It sat in its own special alcove on the side. Sometimes her dad would let her and her sib...Cailan or Rosie play with it. He found it so hilarious to watch the children fling open a gate with a flick of their wrist, chains winding across a mechanism that tugged it open like magic.

  Dad.

  Alistair. Whatever she was supposed to call him now. What could they be doing to him? They wouldn't do anything too bad. He's king. That's treason, which is super bad. Just...hang in there. They're all coming. To save him and what not. No doubt the Hero, and Commander, and Detective would put down this little coup fast.

  All Myra had to do was make it around the side of the palace without being spotted. And it was proving trickier than she expected. Round about the area where Gavin watered his stump stood two of the mercs. They weren't silent the way the palace guards were, nor as imposing, but Myra had to bite down on a gasp when one's head whipped right to where she was trying to blend into the wall.

  She was shadowed. They couldn't see her. There was no way...

  "Whatcha doing?" one said, turning to his partner.

  "Dunno. Something feels off," the second said, his fat foot taking one step towards Myra.

  Shit! If she moved they'd for sure see her. If she stayed in place, they'd find her eventually. Could she kill them? Knock them out without making a noise?

  Why didn't she learn any sleep spells?

  Her heart thundered harder in her chest, Myra's spare hand sliding along the staff on her back. If it came to it, she could whip it off and attack the first guard. Which was when the second would draw his sword and split her guts out. She didn't do doubles, not close. Close was bad, close was death, and they were both moving closer.

  Don't make a noise. Don't get caught.

  Well, Mom. Have to do one or the other. Myra tasted the veil slipping all around them, her panic seeping into the fade itself and tugging the power to her. It didn't quite light up her fist, but the fire would come fast.

  "Oi!" a new voice rang out from the gated courtyard. "Everyone to the front, now."

  The first guard slugged his friend in the shoulder and moved to obey, but the second was dead set on catching Myra. "You heard him. Let's get this over with."

  "I hate everything about this job. Something they're not telling us," the man muttered, but he turned away from Myra and the girl practically collapsed to the ground. His head whipped back, no doubt catching her movement on the periphery, but she was hidden behind a bit of shrubbery now, her lips pressed to the dirt.

  Unable to see, she listened to the sound of boots stomping away and prayed it wasn't just her erratic heartbeat slipping off to death. When nothing but the wind whistled overhead, Myra lifted her face off the ground to find herself completely alone. So...you nearly got caught, and there are another two guards standing right where you need to sneak in. Great. Good.

  By the void, why did she agree to this?

  She wasn't a sneaky thief, most people well aware when Myra was climbing all over their roofs. More than a few angry worded letters would arrive on her mother's doorstep, causing more angry words from Reiss when Myra went awalking. Struggling closer, Myra slipped in behind an old wagon. Dropped to a crouch, she managed to peer through a slot between planks to find a good dozen men in full armor standing in the yard. How many more were there throughout the courtyard? How many more would cut her down without thought?

  This was so stupid. She should have stayed home safe burrowed under a blanket while crying. Damn it, she was supposed to be upset and maybe drunk, not attempting to break into the palace and slip past dozens of armed men. There were professional guards here. It was their job to protect the King, not some seventeen year old girl. Let them do it.

  Leave mom outside fretting herself to death.

  Worse, let her know that Myra couldn't hack it.

  No. There was no way she was facing another round of "told ya so's" from her mother. Whipping her head up, Myra spotted a familiar window. A candle flickered near the sill of one of the servant closets and an idea formed in her brain. If she got up high, she might be able to get a better view of how to sneak in. It was worth a shot.

  Dashing further away from the crowd of men, Myra found Gavin's dead stump and hopped onto it. Here goes nothing. Her
first handhold was a brick shoved further out than any others. Damn thing was so far exposed, she could nearly wrap her entire hand around it.

  Her arms barely noticed the pull as Myra rose to find another grip -- this time in the form of a drain spout. Some people could shimmy up those things but not her. She needed to take her time, go slow, and know she wasn't going to fall. Hauling herself upward, she dug her feet into the wall and scrabbled to catch the windows on the second floor.

  When she landed upon the balcony, Myra glanced inside but found nothing to give her a hint as to what was going on. The entire level was silent, not even a clerk getting some late night reading in. Onward and up.

  Moving to the next levels were trickier, requiring her to ping back and forth between two larger windows up on the third. Decorative bricks were her only guide, at best a half an inch of a handhold, but enough. Her arms began to burn in the shoulders. That summer off didn't do her any favors, far too much slack taking over her body that could have done this no problem before.

  Myra spotted the third story sill, a good four feet jump from her. It was risky, but she could do it. She'd done worse after all. Digging her toes up the wall, Myra bunched her legs up under herself and leapt into the air.

  Shit! Shit shit!

  Her hands scrabbled at the wall, fingers fully missing their target and leaving her about to land face first onto the ground. She raced down the wall fast, her heart leaping into her brain. Calm down. Focus! You can do this. Digging the toes of her shoes into the wall, Myra formed claws and got a foothold. Her body continued to fall, before the fingers finally snagged something. Hugging even tighter to the wall, she sucked in a deep breath while whispering a prayer of thanks to Andraste, or the Maker, or whoever kept half-bloods from falling and breaking something.

  As the breath in her lungs returned, Myra risked a glance down between her legs. Not fatal, but she wouldn't walk away either. It's okay. You're okay. You can do it. Just, go slower.