Clarel and Rodrina looked at each other, mouths wide.
“That's impossible,” Clarel said to Rodrina.
Rodrina looked at Gavin. “Why didn't you tell us that Duke Renault is alive?”
“He can't be alive.” Clarel stared off into the distance.
“It wasn't important in light of being ambushed,” Gavin said with a stern voice.
All these questions confused Terrell. “Who is Duke Renault?”
“You don't know?” Clarel rose from her seat, glaring at Terrell as he shook his head.
Rodrina grabbed Clarel's hand and encouraged her to sit. Clarel wrested her hand away.
“He was my father, and he was executed as a traitor to the crown. There is no way the man you worked for was him.” Her eyes shone black before she stormed out of the room.
Terrell's eyes followed her before returning to Gavin and Rodrina. “What did I say?”
“Nothing. Clarel has a . . . checkered history with her father,” Gavin said. “It’s hard enough to discover your own father is a murderer, but to find out he’s still alive tears open an old wound.”
Murderer? “What did he do?”
“Renault arranged the murder of King Bain's wife, hoping to marry Clarel to him,” Rodrina explained. “It would have put him in line to either seize the crown or control it through Clarel and rule the entire realm, but it failed. He was exposed as the key orchestrator and later convicted, and we all thought, executed.” She shook her head.
“He went to great lengths to hide his identity from you, and it worked. You had no clue, huh?”
“Nope. The guy was a weasel. I just didn't know how right I was.” Terrell sat, stunned at this revelation.
Gavin stood and headed out the door Clarel had rushed through.
Clarel raced out of the room with tears brimming in her eyes. Finding an empty corridor, she slumped to the floor. Her efforts to hold these feelings back were useless as the tears poured. The thought that her father was still alive was too much.
Gavin entered. He knelt and wrapped his arms around her.
She leaned onto his shoulder and continued to cry. After a few minutes she ran out of tears and sniffled.
“It can't be true.” She wanted Gavin to say the same but knew it wouldn't happen.
“You heard Terrell. I'm sorry,” he said. “Come, sit over here.” He motioned to a bench at the end of the hall.
Clarel dragged herself over while leaning on him. “I just—how can anyone handle such terrible revelations about your own father, and then, be forced to revisit it years later. It's too much.” She gulped down the sobs.
“No one should have to deal with this. But think of everything you have become in spite of that.”
Clarel reached deep to get control of herself. After rubbing her eyes, she looked at Gavin with her tear-stained face.
“I grew up in a wonderful household. It was a dream. The thought that I would marry the king filled me with so much happiness. My own fairy tale. But hearing that your father was put in irons because he murdered the queen? I went from the top of the world to the pits of hell. I thought I’d never escape.”
“But you did, and you have done more. You brought us Snitch, Rodrina, and others. You are a model for all, having forged alliances I never could.” Gavin smiled. “And now you're a tunnel walker. A king's bride could never do those things, but Clarel Renault is someone else. A true fighter.”
With those words, Clarel looked into Gavin's eyes. She showed a tiny smile as she kissed Gavin on the cheek.
Gavin’s eyes didn’t falter, didn’t drop. Instead, they looked back, softer than ever. He leaned in and found her lips.
They were locked for what must have only been a few seconds, though it felt like forever. A warmth spread through her chest.
After kissing her, his eyes glanced back and forth. “I . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Clarel put her hand on his face, the corners of her mouth turned up.
His concerned face softened. “It’s not common fare for a captain to kiss those under his command.” He tilted his head.
“I think we can bend the rules. These are extraordinary times.”
Gavin laughed.
“I’m not consigned to the fate laid out by my father,” Clarel said. “That much is clear. And thanks to you, I’ve picked a new path. My path.”
She wiped her face.
“You are amazing. Surely you can see why I had to save Terrell. I couldn't leave him with a death sentence hanging over his head.”
Clarel grinned. “If my father is helping Melicose, the realm is in far worse danger than we can imagine.”
“Agreed. We have to think about how this affects us. In the meantime, why don't you rest on your bunk.”
Clarel agreed. She stood, staring at Gavin, feeling a glow between them. Before turning to leave, she reached up and kissed him once more.
He hugged her tight before letting go.
With a smile, she motioned for him to rejoin the others. “I'll be all right.”
Clarel smoothed out her clothes and proceeded back to her quarters, using the lavatory to clean her face. Gavin had shown a valiant desire to protect his people. But now, they had forged a deeper connection she could never have foreseen.
Melicose and his men arrived at headquarters. Extra stablehands emerged to handle the large contingent. Each man dismounted and grabbed an already assembled pack of gear. Water and food were also brought to recover from the ride.
After turning in his horse, Melicose drank from a tall jug of water and headed to his ready chambers. These weren't his extended quarters, but instead they allowed him to be available for command decisions. He changed into a clean uniform and with that, the man stormed the hallway, entering the quarters of his topmost advisor without even knocking.
“My friend, we have conquered all but the smallest of towns in the outlying provinces.” Scanning the room, he sought to share this joyous news. He spotted the man reading in his study.
The gentleman raised his eyes from his book. “I see.”
“Aren't you excited? The realm will soon be united under one ruler.”
“I'm sure it will. Though it doesn't quite explain your hasty return with an entire unit.” He put down his book and peered at Melicose, his one eye magnified through the monocle.
“Tidious, I can never understand your pessimism.” Melicose took a seat. “We have pushed into multiple kingdoms, defeated several royalist governments, and spread the word of populism. I thought that seeing so many monarchs crushed to dust would make you happy.”
The man pressed his mouth flat. “You still haven't explained your early return.”
“I am worried about the progress of Captain Tor.”
“He was dispatched two days ago. It’s another whole day before he's expected to return.”
“I'm aware of that.” This man could be a real bother at times. “I know Captain Tor, and I'm sure if everything were all right, he would have sent back a messenger by now. We are going in with a follow up contingent of eight squads.”
Tidious rose from his seat and walked out from behind his desk. “You aren't the most skilled at politics.” He paced, nibbling his finger.
“I know, politics is your forte. It's why our seizure of power has grown so quickly since we teamed up. I have the tactical skills while you deal with the political antics.”
At least that's what Melicose let the man think. This relic had a tendency to drone on and on, often scoffing at his lack of experience.
“That report about the spy leaking information has weighed on me for two weeks. And here we are, still having not uncovered The Raven.”
“Yes. It's the reason I suggested you make it a top priority, as you did.” Tidious clasped his hands behind his back.
“I’m not sure we sent enough units into the tunnels. If these Undergrounders are members of the old royal guard, we need to deal them a swift blow.” Melicose clenched his
fist.
“Agreed, but coming back here to stew over the decision isn't going to improve anything. We have our top people looking for those traitors right now. We should hear something by tomorrow. If not, then we can send in more troops. Bringing back an entire cavalry unit on a whim is overreach.”
Melicose stood. His arms tensed as he glared. “I grant you much latitude because of your knowledge and advice, but you shall still extend me the proper courtesy. Do not be so brazen with your comments around others.” Melicose ground his teeth together.
Tidious stopped and stared straight at Melicose.
“You were wise to increase intelligence assets when we detected blowback,” Melicose added. “That lent to catching that spy, but do not dictate to me the proper tactical approach and whether or not we should wait until tomorrow.”
Tidious’s nose wrinkled. He offered a slight bow.
Melicose turned and left.
The man was a fool despite the value he provided. The moment the Undergrounders were routed out and the entire realm driven under the heel of Melicose’s boot, he would no longer need him. That day couldn’t come fast enough.
Melicose fought back the desire to laugh. Despite his rise to power by crushing the false claims of royalists, it amused him how everyone, even this artifact of a bygone era, addressed him as if he were king.
Having reported the status to Tidious, Melicose was able to address a more preferable task. He joined his men in the main barracks and mingled with them. Socializing before a key mission always heightened morale. He walked to the front of the room.
“I'm sure many of you are wondering what is at stake. We left the front lines, but this is no furlough. Captain Tor was sent back two days ago to lead an invasion of the tunnels and eradicate the Undergrounders.”
A murmur spread.
“We discovered intelligence distributed to enemy forces less than two weeks ago. They haven't been robbing apples from street vendors but instead were consorting with our enemies.”
The soldiers looked at each other with raised eyebrows and widened eyes.
“We expect to hear word back from Captain Tor tomorrow morning. If we hear nothing, we will move in and do whatever is necessary to accomplish those original orders. And let me make one thing clear—we will not be defeated by cowardly guerrilla tactics.”
A big cheer erupted.
Melicose took a seat. After the galley servants dispensed a round of wine to everyone, he raised his cup in a toast.
“Here, here!” they all shouted as they talked back and forth.
This was his favorite part, being close to his men.
After socializing with his men for the past hour in the palace’s break room, Melicose had other duties to perform. When not on the battlefield, he took delight in reviewing the daily cases of capital crimes. Teaching the people the meaning of true justice was something he undertook the first day after overthrowing that corrupt monarchy. A lieutenant and top-ranking sergeant brought three men and a woman before him in what used to be the king’s public hall.
“Sir, two of these men were caught stealing food from the back of the third unit’s complex. The other man and this woman were found collecting scrap weapons. We presume they plan to sell them on the black market.” The lieutenant waved in the direction of the prisoners as he read off his scroll.
Melicose winced at the monotone voice. “Hang them all. Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant saluted and turned, directing the sergeant to drag the prisoners out the same door they had entered despite the screams.
In the past, Melicose had spent more time enjoying the enforcement of discipline. After all, he had brought them peace from past rulers. Men who called themselves king, as if they were entitled to rulership. To think that citizens of this great freedom would still attack like animals escaped him.
But today, having just returned from the battlefield with a mission, he was not so interested.
Instead, his desire to engage in daily training before embarking upon a full-on assault made today’s justice boring. Nevertheless, he was devoted to his daily regimen. Even throughout the campaign, away from the city, he found time.
As soon as the lieutenant and sergeant had cleared the room with the prisoners, he stepped out of the hall and moved along the corridor to his personal training arena.
Stepping into the room, the pungent scent of sweat mixed with leather shifted him further into the desire to work out.
After a few minutes of limbering up and shadow boxing, he reached for his favorite bow staff. Swinging it back forth and spinning it around loosened up his wrists. Sweeping strokes swooped through the air.
Melicose walked before mock targets and came to a ready stance, calm and serene. He lifted his bow staff and leapt into the air, spinning in a circle and slamming it into the main target.
Letting it slip through his hands to the ground, he gripped the end and swung it in an uppercut. The staff twirled over the back of his hand as his feet moved back to their original stance.
Melicose thrust a side kick into the target followed by a swoop from his staff. He spun around, and as he shouted, the staff crashed into the target's head, knocking it clean off. Teaming with adrenaline, he knocked the target over with a spinning heel kick.
Assuming a relaxed pose on the ground, he meditated, reviewing every move. His old master, long since passed away, had taught him to visualize. Those words served him both in personal training as well as growing his strength and power.
After his meditation, he shouted, and three men entered. He moved to the middle of the training floor and the others circled him. They all bowed, then attacked.
The first man grabbed from behind. In response, Melicose thrust his shoulder into the man's chest, dropped to a crouch, and spun out.
The second man grabbed his shirt and lifted him to his toes. Melicose smacked the man's ears, grabbed his hand, and twisted it into a wristlock, breaking the hold. Footing regained, he took his attacker to the ground.
The third man grabbed Melicose in a bear hug, shoving him toward the wall. Thrusting his knee below the ribs, he spread his feet and dropped lower to the ground. He punched the man’s gut, breaking the grip.
Melicose rolled up onto one leg and one knee and then stood, his arms held in defensive pose. And so they continued for another ten minutes. Melicose sounded the all clear, and they stood. He bowed first, and the other three did the same before leaving. Nothing contested live sparring.
In his cool down, he couldn’t focus. The strange book he had discovered a month ago drew his thoughts. He had started reading it a few days ago, and at the same time, carried it everywhere.
Melicose retired to his chambers and changed into a fresh set of clothes. Walking over to his desk, he grabbed the book, sat, and thumbed through its contents.
His hunger to read grew each day, like an addiction. It encroached on his ability to meditate, but he didn’t care. He settled into a comfortable chair next to the fire and fed his desire.
Colonel Braknow slumped at his desk, head in hands. What now? Attempts to send key information had been compromised. That was the nice way of putting it.
Complete failure was a more apt description. The Raven had fallen.
The courier he had met yesterday. A man that sacrificed himself to protect the pipeline of information. That part hit him hardest.
All this time, the colonel had been careful. Watched his back. Only took safe steps from which he could backtrack. He’d justified this approach time and again. But starting yesterday, a wave of doubt clouded his thoughts.
Staring into the eyes of that courier, Braknow didn’t see himself. He saw something different. It was the man he envisioned he would become upon joining the military. The colonel looked around his office. There was little evidence of that dream. Slamming his fist on his desk, he shook his head.
Enough. If he was the sole supplier of intelligence, then forget the consequences. He would get that
report out, even if it meant finding every contact himself.
He grabbed several sheets of paper and started writing. With several strokes of his quill, he copied down what he could remember, signing each copy boldly, The Raven. As the ink dried, he made copies. He changed each one. Left out certain details. Added embellishment.
Having reads hundreds of such reports, it wasn’t hard to blur things yet keep the critical parts. A few drops of wax, and each was sealed with his signet.
The colonel paused. This time, he wasn’t hiding information to be piped into some secret channel. Instead, he signed it with his own mark. The recipients would know who had sent it, and he didn’t care. This time the message would get through, even if it was the last message he would ever send.
After putting them in his inner shirt pocket, the colonel opened his strong box. Something was wrong. He licked his lips as his eyes swept every loose item and stack of papers before locking onto the puzzle box.
It sat in the back left corner. He alternated its corner, a habit he’d adopted years ago. And he’d put it in the back right corner last time.
Grabbing it, he slid all the pieces to open it, and pulled out his forged seal. A mistake? Panicked thoughts? A lot had happened in the past forty-eight hours. No, his instincts screamed that something was wrong.
Braknow grabbed paper, dripped a bit of wax, and pressed the seal upon it. Holding it up to the window, the mark was as expected. Setting it down, he leaned back. An overreaction for sure.
Then his eyes narrowed. He reached into the strongbox and pulled out a legit sealed order from the vice commander. Comparing it side by side against the test seal, his eyes scrutinized every peak and valley until they spied an extra dot in the small grouping to the right.
Everdell surely.
The man who had manufactured his faux seal was not one to make such mistakes. The colonel tensed his hands before putting away the cheap copy and locking it up. He wiped the beaded sweat off his face and stormed out. Exactly how much time he had left, he wasn’t sure.
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