A/N – Sorry, lovely readers, for taking so long. I was still writing, but I was trying to figure out this whole verb tense thing once and for all (still haven't). Now, the italicized parts are memories. Nothing else really changed, so if you just start here, you're fine… it's just in a different tense.
They had told me that very same night, while we sat, all of us, servants and those guards not on duty and anyone else, numbed by the news and held together only by the warm, solid flesh on our right and on our left. They told us in plain, simple terms while we stared down into our cups. "He was on guard duty. They were posted in pairs, and his area was flat, with little room for the enemy to hide. He was with a veteran, Jack, and they were both wide awake, Jack says. There was no room for the enemy to hide, but then it just – appeared.
"Jack was no fool," said the messenger to no one in particular. "He knew what he was doing. They – it – could have never crept up to them. But it got there, just the same.
"It was a bit larger than a tall man, Jack said, black and shifting. He was a bit strange when he told us. But it pointed to the young'n and mumbled something, the gist of which, as best we can figure out – it wasn't entirely our language – was, She must go. He didn't say who 'she' was, but Jack thinks young Jason figured it out right before – right before. But then the creature turned to Jack and said something along the lines of, Stay and tell. Then it reached out and touched Jason's lips, and there was a white glow around the boy, and then he crumpled. Jack saw the creature – 'dissolve' was the word he used. Fade. The boy was dead. Jack related it as best he could."
Again, the messenger said, "I'm sorry."
Mother murmured, "It's not your fault," and everyone stared into his or her lap.
After a moment, Maude said softly, "There is something larger at work here." It was quiet and her voice carried so all heard, but nobody asked what she meant.
"Where is this Jack?" asked Jason's father with difficulty, looking up. I clenched my fingers at the sight of his face as he struggled to control his grief.
The messenger looked away, over the tops of our heads. "He killed himself the next day," he said finally.
"Ciena," my father said again, more for himself than for me. His voice broke. "Please. I could do nothing. I tried everything I could try, and failed. Please understand. I did not mean him to die."
At his pleading voice I covered my face with my hands. "He's not coming back," I said, voice muffled.
"I know."
"You don't understand," I said, turning away a little. "When he came back – if only for a visit – there was something he wanted, that I needed to give him, but it was not ready-"
"And now it's too late," he said softly, and held open his arms. "Ciena. Darling." Before I knew what was happening I leaned into his chest, crying anew. But this time the tears are accompanied by something new – something cleansing. Like the hole in my heart, after months of being suppressed, had finally been acknowledged.
When they left again, I decided to seek out Thomas. I dressed simply and tried to avoid being seen, but I knew that my actions were noted and simply tolerated, no more. I felt a twinge of guilt as I crossed the meadow, knowing I should remain behind and care for Gary, but I tried to ignore it. I deserved a few hours to myself.
I opened the barn door just enough to let myself in and was immediately confronted. Thomas stepped into my path, eyes hard. I saw them relax when he identified me, but he quickly scowled again. "Ciena. You should not have come."
"Why?" I queried, stepping past him. "I have not seen you lately."
He crossed his arms and turned to face me, but stayed where he was. "Your enemies are closer than you think," he said. "I've heard them out there, nights. You don't realize your own importance."
I shake my head impatiently. "I have a brother. That demotes me beyond recognition."
He shrugged. "And your brother is…?"
I sighed. "Still sick." I sat on the mound of hay stacked against the wall. "And getting no better."
Finally he softened and came to sit beside me. He was careful around me, careful to keep a physical distance in a way that he never had been before; it had been so every since the news of Jason's death. The thought of a male touch sickened me then; now, it aroused a feeling of betrayal, that I might give another what I could not give him. Today, though, I long for a human touch, and so I lean carefully closer toward him, until my head barely rests in the crook of his elbow. He becomes very still.
"Father thinks we're winning," I say. Thomas grunts noncommittally. "I hope they end it soon. The price is too high, and Mother cannot go on the way she has been…"
"Mortha is a strange enemy."
I nod and swallow: Father detests the thought of the supernatural. "I think my father is learning to change his mind."
"One would hope," came the reply. "We have lost enough because of it…"
"I know," I say, throat dry but voice steady. I cast around for a different subject. "How are you – here? Safe?"
He shrugs. "Mostly. We're close enough to the castle to be relatively safe… far enough away to be in danger."
I heard the crunch of boots outside, and knew it was not Thomas' family. We both stiffened as we heard voices: the low, angry, guttural sound of a soldier and the fainter sound of Thomas' mother. Our eyes locked and I saw my own fear reflected in his. He threw his arms around me in a quick, fierce hug and impulsively kissed my cheek. His next move, I knew, would be hiding me, but it was too late – the barn door was flung open and we were momentarily blinded, clinging to each other.
"Princess," said one coldly after a long moment, and I relaxed as I recognized the voice of the guard. "You should not be here. Step away."
I had slumped a little and backed away in acquiescence, but at his last words I stiffened once more and grabbed hold of Thomas' hand. "Why?" I challenged. "What authority have you?"
"The Queen's authority," said the other grimly, striding over to take hold of my shoulders and wrench me away.
I held my chin up. "Then there is no need for violence-"
"You should not be associating with the likes of him anyway," interrupted the first, with a rough jerk of the head in Thomas' direction. "You are a princess. Act like one."
My face grew hot. "You have not cared before!" I cried. "Why do you do so now?" But even as I said it, my belly found the answer and I grew cold.
"The Crown Prince is near death," said the second guard harshly. "He cried for you while he was conscious, but you were nowhere to be found. Now, nobody knows where his spirit wanders."
