by Sam Farren
“Ain’t you left-handed?” Tanen asked, falling into the chair next to Castelle.
“Oh, that’s hardly the point. I’m ambidextrous, when it comes to work. How am I supposed to keep this roof over our heads if I’m not bringing home money? Thanks to the Princess’ stalker, I’m going to have to get every penny I can from her.”
“It isn’t right to be upset with Castelle for what happened, dear,” Niamh said. “You’re the one who abducted her, after all. You had to see this coming, one day. And she’s hardly the person you thought you were kidnapping, is she? Perhaps this ought to be a lesson learnt.”
“I let my guard down,” Svir muttered. “For a moment.”
“Don’t mind her,” Niamh said, smiling over the table. She pushed a silver platter heaped in sliced bread towards Castelle and said, “Help yourself, won’t you? Svir will feel much better once she’s got some sleep. The doctors were here until midmorning. We didn’t mean to leave you locked away for so long.”
“I’ll feel better once we have someone to pass her onto,” Svir grumbled, poking her plate with her fork.
“We spoke about this, Svir. I’m all for your bounty-hunting expeditions, bringing criminals to justice and whatnot, but this feels uncannily like human trafficking.”
Tanen leant over Castelle, helped theirself to food, and hummed as they stacked one thing atop another. Castelle ate in small, cautious bites for the sake of having something to do, and hoped it wasn’t too obvious how her eyes darted around the room.
There were two exits, with no saying where they led or how many people were gathered beyond them. The window behind Svir and Niamh was wide and tall, taking up much of the wall, and at a push, Castelle could use one of the heavier dishes to smash it. Thinking about breaking a window and actually putting something through the glass were two wildly different things; Castelle’s fingers didn’t even make it to the weighty metal teapot in the centre of the table.
Svir could only put up half a fight, but that half was more than most people had to give. Castelle had no idea how Niamh would react, but knew they must be married for a reason, and Tanen had spent the night disposing of a body they hadn’t even killed. They wouldn’t hesitate to stop Castelle in her tracks.
With her bad leg, eating lunch was her only option.
“You can sort that out this afternoon, Tanen. It’s about time you made good use of your contacts,” Svir said.
“Sure thing, boss,” Tanen said, glancing at Castelle.
“I have twenty-four hours,” Castelle pointed out.
“Pardon me?” Svir asked.
“Twenty-four hours,” Castelle repeated. “You said you’d wait twenty-four hours after dealing with the doctors before you’d do anything with me.”
Svir put down her cutlery and narrowed her gaze. Annoyed, but not enough so to go back on her word.
“It’s twenty-three hours, now,” Svir said.
“You need your rest,” Niamh reminded her.
“I get shot once in my thirty-eight years of mercenary work and you all act as though I started accepting bounties yesterday. I’m never going to hear the end of it.”
“You ain’t been a mercenary for thirty-eight years. Didn’t come out of the womb with that dagger, did you?” Tanen said, mouth full of food. “’cause if you did, ouch. Feel well bad for your ma.”
“Think you’re funny, don’t you? I’ve been doing this for long enough. I took my first job when I was fifteen, you know.”
“Boo-hoo,” Tanen said, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand. “I was picking pockets on the street when I was, like, seven.”
“And now you live here, in my house,” Svir said, leaning across the table, butter knife in hand. “In the lap of luxury, with everything you could possibly want within arm’s reach, and you don’t pay rent.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Tanen said, squeezing Svir’s cheeks and winking. “Don’t you go worrying, boss. I got all my contacts lined up for you.”
Castelle chewed slowly, hands wringing together beneath the table. It was absurd to think Tanen might look the other way, after a few hours of budding friendship. They owed so much of their life to Svir, and had been friends, or something like it, for long years.
“Oh, don’t look so glum,” Svir said. “You’ve escaped a terrible life in a terrible forest, from what I can gather. This could be the gateway to your next adventure. Did you really have anything better to do?”
“Excuse me?” Castelle asked. “You’ve already told me how I’m likely to be put on trial or executed. Are you really suggesting I ought to be grateful that you’re giving me something to do?”
Svir shrugged.
“So, you don’t have anything to do.”
“I—” Castelle bit back the words she could spew about Brackish, about the journey the spirit was leading them on, the paths Castelle couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. It wasn’t that anyone gathered would have trouble believing her; she didn’t want to give Svir another reason to hunt down Eos, if there was yet another thing she could sell. “I was going to see my cousin.”
“Your cousin?” Niamh asked, leaning forward. “Forgive me for the question, but wasn’t your entire family—well, you understand what I mean to say. Weren’t they all—?”
Clearing their throat, Tanen scratched the back of their neck.
“Not all of them,” Castelle said, shaking her head. “Not my cousin Layla. She was my father’s sister’s daughter, so not of Greyser blood. I suppose she wasn’t a top priority for the rebels. She was outside the castle grounds at the time. It was only by chance she wasn’t dining with us, only by chance that my fathers—that is, Lords Damir and Ira, found her on the way out of Torshval.”
Niamh nodded, chin propped on her palm. Across all of Fenroe and the nations beyond, Niamh was the only person who understood the quiet intensity of Castelle’s words. Niamh had been there. She’d been hunted by the rebels and she’d hidden, watching blood soak into the floorboards, empty eyes seeing through the ceiling, into the sky.
Castelle kept talking because Niamh was listening.
“I suppose people get the impression my fathers swooped me out of the castle and fled the capital in a matter of mere hours, but it wasn’t so. I was hiding for a long, long time. There are passages in the castle, you see, most of them too small for anyone but children. But there are places for adults to hide, as well. That’s where they were. That’s how I found them.
“There were six of us, to begin with. Me, my fathers, and three other nobles I know the gods will scorn me for forgetting the names of. We moved through the castle achingly slowly, following the passages, darting through open spaces, and, well. Four of us made it out of the castle.
“A woman – a Baroness, I think – was caught crossing the land behind the castle. We fled into the woods, where the dogs had huddled. The rebel’s plan was solid, but we still had a larger army. They found us, out in the woods. Suddenly, there were hundreds gathered to protect me.
“It took us weeks to escape Torshval. As soon as one fire was put out, another spread. It was thanks to the dogs we found Layla. She’d taken refuge with a family, and was smart enough not to tell them her real name. My fathers grabbed her without thinking. They didn’t hesitate. And so—and so we all escaped together.
“Layla was with us on Laister for a time. For the two years it took us to settle, and four years after that. And one day, one day she left, and the next thing I knew, her headless body had been returned to us. Or so my fathers told me. Another lie, of course.
“She lives on Yarrin. She’s a priest,” Castelle concluded. “I want nothing more than to see her again.”
Castelle picked up a glass of water, throat aching with all she’d said. Svir and Tanen were blinking too much, but Niamh’s eyes were fixed on her, softened with understanding.
“I remember Layla. She was older than you, wasn’t she?” Niamh said. Tanen cleared their throat again, looking away. “Funny. I haven’t th
ought of her in fourteen years, but the moment you said she was a priest, I thought oh, that’s right. It fits, doesn’t it?”
Castelle nodded, still downing her drink.
“I suppose it wasn’t all that different for me, initially,” Niamh said. There was a kindness to her words. Not in the story itself, but in sharing it so openly, without prompting, and in front of others. “As I told you, my mother had been aware for some time what was happening. She’d had a maid take me out that morning with vague instructions where to head, but I was insolent. I was fourteen. I didn’t need a maid to look after me! I lost her in the crowd, headed for my father’s study, and hid behind a bookcase with a book I certainly wasn’t old enough to read.
“He came in a few minutes before the rebellion arrived. They weren’t looking for me, my mother had ensured that much, but still—I was there, and I was stuck. I sat in that house, in the study, for days. Apparently, it was the last place my mother thought to look for me.”
Niamh finished her story with a shrug that’d never rid the weight from her shoulders. Svir shuffled to the edge of her chair and patted Niamh’s shoulder with her good hand. Laughing, Niamh squeezed her hand and dug back into her lunch.
“Damn. You hear it the eighth time and it’s still sad as shit,” Tanen said.
“See, Svir? She’s no different than I am. We can’t sell her, like some common murderer. She isn’t the tyrant you feared she would be,” Niamh said.
“Goodness, it’s all a façade. Royalty have an endless collection of masks to wear, but do not feel too sorely about being deceived. Even Eos made the same mistake,” Svir said, dashing Castelle’s hopes.
“Eos?” Niamh and Tanen said in the same breath.
“Never mind,” Svir muttered.
“No, not never mind. If E’s involved, we’re gonna have to know about it,” Tanen said, edging their chair towards Castelle.
Castelle didn’t dare catch their eye.
Eos might save her yet, and this could be how.
“Oh—fine,” Svir said, slumping into her seat. “Eos appears to have been the individual responsible for the Princess’ first little stint of freedom. From the way they travelled together, I would wager they were akin to friends.”
“Okay, okay. Cas is nice, man, and the whole cousin thing—I know you’ve got a sentimental side, somewhere, Svir. If Eos is involved, we definitely ain’t selling her. Right, Niamh?”
Placing a hand on Svir’s shoulder, Niamh leant across the table and whispered, “She already knows she isn’t, Tanen. You know how it takes her a while to admit these things out loud.”
The pounding of Castelle’s heart nearly deafened her to what was being said. She couldn’t get her hopes up, couldn’t, couldn’t.
“Did you read the letter from your fathers, Princess?” Svir asked loudly, changing the topic.
Still stuck on Niamh’s story, on the hiding, the waiting, the crouching, thighs aching, feet numb, the faint hope offered out to her, Castelle took long seconds to parse what Svir had said. She stared at her until the letter in her pocket began to burn.
“No,” Castelle said, shoulders square.
“Why ever not? I thought that’d be the first thing you did.”
“Because if I read it, I might believe it,” Castelle muttered.
“Really? You can see the world for what it is, for what it has become. There is no lie convincing enough to change the reality around you,” she said.
“You’d think,” Castelle sighed. “Yet I was with them for fourteen years. Do you have any idea how much effort they put into creating this fantasy for me, where Fenroe was ever-suffering, where every citizen was praying for the day I returned, and the archipelago but a ruin? Honestly, it would be so much easier to believe it all. To be back there, safe in the temple.”
“Ah-ha,” Svir said, pointing her fork at Niamh. “See? I am only selling her. It is merely a business transaction. I did not spend over a decade brainwashing her, did I? I’m practically a hero, when you think about it.”
“Perhaps you should become a priest. You’re beyond selfless,” Niamh said. “And we aren’t selling her. Especially not with Eos involved. She’s my friend as well, Svir.”
Svir leant back in her seat, eyes closed, and did her utmost not to rub at her wounded shoulder. Niamh and Tanen settled into their own thoughts, as though it were any other day, and Castelle was any other guest.
Castelle traced the letter through her pocket.
If she read it around other people, she might not hear her fathers’ words echo through her head. She could read whole sections aloud, that others might ridicule them, stopping her from being dragged under.
She’d come so far in so few months, had done more in the days since meeting Eos than in the fourteen years before that. The world hadn’t changed around her, but her place within it had changed. She still didn’t have the answers to all the uncomfortable questions about her family, but she had accepted enough for the letter not to be the end of her.
She’d come so far, but Eos had been with her. Now only strangers surrounded her, and she couldn’t tell whether selling her or not selling her was the joke.
It was no good.
Not without Eos there.
“Svir,” Castelle said. “You promised to tell me what you meant about Eos.”
“What about E?” Tanen asked, ears perking up.
Svir stared at Castelle for a solid five seconds and said, “Oh. That. Are you certain you want to know, sweetheart? You’ve had a lot of shocks to your system, of late. This one you could probably do without, especially with your macabre past.”
“I want to know,” Castelle said.
Tanen’s eyes darted between the pair of them.
“I never should’ve said anything. For that, I’m sorry,” Svir said, waving her off. “Let’s drop it, shall we? We’ve had nothing but grim topic after grim topic, this morning. The conversation is worse than the pain in my shoulder.”
Whatever it was couldn’t shock her more than anything else she’d learnt, those past few months. Not if it was about Eos. She knew so little about her that nothing could change her estimation of her, nothing could sway her feelings one way or another. She knew so little about Eos, yet—
She had to know. She had to.
“You said I wouldn’t be the only royal she’d killed. What did you mean by that? Beyond the obvious taunting.”
“I really rather wouldn’t talk about it,” Svir sighed.
“Ooooh,” Tanen said, catching on. “You mean how E killed King Mykos?”
The room didn’t fall quiet. All sound in the house continued ringing through the chambers, floorboards creaking, doors slamming. Svir buried her face in her hands and sighed.
Niamh didn’t bat an eye.
Tanen slouched in their chair, waiting for the next question.
It wasn’t a revelation. Not to any of them. The only shock in it was that Castelle didn’t already know.
“Eos killed—she what?” Castelle asked.
“Yeah!” Tanen said, sitting up straight. “That’s, like, the whole thing she’s famous for. Why else would she be exiled from Nor?”
Castelle couldn’t whisper a word. For all the time they’d spent together, Eos’ thick accent filling the air between them, she’d never thought to ask why she wasn’t in Nor. She knew it was her home, but that’s all she knew.
It’d all been about her. She was the Princess from the forest, she was the one who’d been kidnapped, whose world had been turned on its foundations. She was the one with the bear trap wedged into her flesh, the one with the broken leg, the one running, running, being hunted fourteen years too late.
It was all about her. She’d never asked.
Hadn’t thought to.
Eos was there to make some great change. Eos was there to get her where she needed to be. Eos wasn’t there simply because she had to be, because she’d been exiled from a nation ten times the size of Fenroe.
�
�You mean, Eos—?” Castelle asked.
“Indeed she did, sweetheart,” Svir said. “She is a hero to many, in Nor. They thought the war could never be won, not the way they wanted it to, but eight years ago, she slaughtered the tyrant who’d had the Norians under his thumb and the Yricians under his boot. After that, it was, what? Two, three years before peace finally covered the land. Mykos’ heirs weren’t worth their weight in salt.”
“Oh, yeah, she straight up slaughtered him,” Tanen agreed. “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”
“Quite so. Desperate times, desperate measures, and whatever other clichés we can think of between us,” Svir said.
A thundering knock at the front door derailed Svir’s next thought, and she stood with a frown, making her way out of the room.
“Do you want me to get it, dear?” Niamh asked.
“No, no,” Svir said. “The good doctors promised to get me something better for the pain. I don’t want to wait for a second longer than I have to.”
She rolled her good shoulder as she left. Anyone else would’ve been curled up in bed, sobbing into a pillow, but Svir only huffed and sighed as she headed for the front door.
Tanen was still talking, mostly with their hands. Castelle didn’t hear a word of it.
King Mykos wasn’t a Greyser in name, but their blood had mixed, over a century ago. They were family, no matter how distant. They were family, and Eos had slaughtered him without hesitation.
Had it been without hesitation? Had it been quick? Had Eos cut his throat, driven a blade into his heart, and been done with it? Had it been a brutal means to an end, or had she enjoyed it? Had she stood over Mykos and pushed a sword into his arms, his legs, watching as his eyes rolled back and blood drowned the screams in his mouth? Had she cut off his head herself? Had she placed it upon a pike, had she paraded it through the streets? Had she felt any remorse, any guilt? Had she been proud of herself? Was it worth it, all worth it, to be banished from her homeland in exchange for bloodshed?
The letter. The letter was in Castelle’s pocket. She needed to read it, needed to be away from there, from them, from everyone who knew.
