Chapter Eleven
Runaway
Something sweet tickled Siarya's nose, stirring her from her sleep. The air smelled of unfamiliar spices and incense. She curled into herself and winced at the aching feeling of her body, suddenly being reminded that she had been beaten. A cold sweat settled on her skin as she willed the dull ache in her head to go away. It hurt so much as to breathe.
Then everything flooded back to her.
She opened her eyes with a jolt. Heart racing, she twisted, rolling over towards the sound of something bubbling. She stilled, realizing that this place definitely wasn't the dungeons. She was in a tent. She was also laying on a makeshift bed covered in a soft quilt. Random furniture cluttered the area, crammed into the space like books on a shelf. A pot of what appeared to be soup was simmering in the corner where a woman stood, humming a song as she stirred the substance with a wooden spoon. Her back was to Siarya, but she could see that she had long, reddish hair and wide hips that swayed to her song. Her wings were tucked against her back, but she could see, clear as day, that they were white wings—which meant she was Sephorian.
Am I back in Sephoria? Siarya wondered.
This couldn't be real.
One lantern lit up the tent with an orange glow, hanging from the top where the tent peaked. There was another bed made of plush pillows and wool blankets that sat on the other end of the tent, looking as though it was often used. A canopy of violet cloth hung over the bed for a little privacy. An intricate maroon rug covered the floor making the tent seem as if it were actually a room. Stacks of pillows and books lay around to fill the open spaces as they leaned against a few end-tables.
The woman didn't look at Siarya when she spoke, her voice gentle and kind, "There are only two beds, but I figured I'd let you stay. I'll find a way to organize a third bed somewhere in this clutter."
Siarya's eyes flitted back to the woman. She rose to her elbows only to nearly fall back from the pain in her ribs. The woman noticed her sound of pain, and moved quickly to Siarya's side. "Careful," she warned, her fingertips brushing Siarya's arms. Her long hair draped over them both. She smelled sweet. "You've been through a lot."
The woman's face was oval-shaped and pretty. Her skin was light porcelain, decorated with faint ivory markings, with a light blush on her cheeks. She looked to be in her forties, but her hazel eyes sparkled with life. Siarya sucked in a breath as she stared at her in puzzlement, her throat feeling raw and dry, "W-Who are you?"
"My name is Alana," she replied with a small smile. Her expression grew concerned and she reached towards Siarya again, "Are you sure you're okay? Are you hungry?" She motioned to the soup simmering in the corner. "I have food if you want some."
"I…" Siarya looked around again. She could see a sliver of darkness poking out from the opening of the tent. The sound of talking emanated from outside, followed by men's laughter. Her stomach growled. Food. "Yes, please."
Alana walked back over to the soup to stir it, and then pour it into a bowl with a long ladle. "It's mostly elk, but I managed to put some roots in there. Should be hardy enough, for a soup."
"Roots?" Siarya asked as Alana handed her the bowl. It felt nice and hot against her hands, and she shivered. Her mouth watered at the smell. It muddled her thoughts.
"Sometimes, if you're lucky, you can find the roots of what used to be alive deep in the ground. They still hold a little goodness in them," Alana smiled warmly as she poured her own soup. "They're nice for tonics, too. It would be wonderful if such roots weren't so hard to find."
"Hard to find?" Siarya inquired numbly, sensing the worst. "Where am I, exactly?"
Alana picked at her soup slowly. She glanced at Siarya, "Drovania, sweetie."
Disappointment fell upon Siarya in a dark wave. She stared at her soup solemnly, feeling the heat of the steam brushing her face. "I thought that maybe…"
"That maybe you were back in Sephoria?" Alana asked, sending Siarya a sympathetic look. Her wings fluttered sadly. "I'm sorry. It's because I'm Sephorian, isn't it?"
"I don't understand," Siarya said exasperatedly. "If—if you're Sephorian, then why are you in Drovanian lands? Who are you, exactly? Why am I here? I was—"
"You're in a rebel camp inside the Sosoris Forest in Drovania. I am one of the people who reside here. We're on the border of Vortrea, the capital where the Castle resides. It's like the Drovanian version of Eloraia, if you're unfamiliar with the geography…"Alana explained, trailing off quietly. She spoke again, "Eat your food, sweetheart. You look like you might faint."
Siarya looked down at her soup. It was brown, with chunks of meat floating in the broth. It didn't look like much, but it smelled heavenly. "I don't know what to say."
"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. But you need to eat," Alana nodded at the bowl. "Your body has suffered great damage. I managed to fix you up just fine, but you've got to shoulder some of the work yourself, dear. That means you need to take care of yourself."
Siarya relented, finally taking a bite of the soup. The hot broth seeped into her tongue, filling her insides with such warmth it made her skin prickle in delight. She chewed the meat, and suddenly she couldn't stop herself—she shoveled the elk meat into her mouth, bite after bite, relishing in the savory taste of the broth and the gamey texture of the elk. Her stomach growled in pleasure as the food settled.
Alana, who was blowing the heat off of her bowl, looked up casually, only to give Siarya a double-take. Her eyes widened, "Child! Don't choke yourself!"
Siarya could hardly force herself to slow down. She couldn't help it—she couldn't recall when the last time was where she had real food. She continued eating, ignoring everything for the time being. When she finished off the soup, she peered up to Alana hopefully. "Can I have another?"
"Certainly," Alana complied before standing up to refill Siarya's bowl. She handed it back to her, eyes warm. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Aside from some apple?" Siarya asked as she attacked the soup. Her entire body was beginning to feel content. "Two weeks ago."
Siarya then paused, spoon suspended in the air, as her own words made her freeze. The man in the dungeons, her savior, had said it was two weeks. How long could someone go without eating food? She knew she hadn't been fed at all during her time in the Drovanian dungeons, aside from the hummingbird's help… could someone survive two weeks without food or water?
Speaking of the mysterious savior, where was he? Siarya wondered. He must've brought her here, to this rebel camp. Yet, the only person present was a strange woman who seemed happy enough to feed Siarya.
Which was definitely fine, Siarya decided.
"Two weeks?" Alana inquired. Her face grew ashen with concern. She frowned, "I can't believe it. You could've died, if you hadn't…" she blinked, as if realizing something. "Did you say apple?"
Siarya couldn't help but grimace. The thing with the hummingbird was that she still wasn't sure if she had hallucinated the bird or not. Maybe she was so starved that the apple pieces had been a part of her imagination. She relayed this to Alana, who listened quietly, a deep expression of puzzlement on her face.
For a woman she just met, Alana seemed to be so concerned over what Siarya had to say. About what she's been through. Why did she care?
Who was this woman?
Alana shook her head. "It's impossible," she said finally. "Maybe if you were being kept in the borders of Drovania, maybe there'd be a chance of an astray hummingbird flying around. Maybe there'd be a chance of finding a piece of an apple. But Vortrea, the capital of the Kingdom, locked in the deepest pits of the Dungeon? It's simply impossible. It just can't happen."
"I don't know anything," Siarya replied blandly. That's all she had to say as she shoveled more soup into her mouth. Soon, she was finished with the soup just like the last bowl. She looked up at Alana, "More?"
Alana hummed in affirmation and filled Siarya another bowl. She watched as Siarya ate, a little slower this time, before saying cautiously, "Our leader will want to speak with you."
"Leader?" Siarya asked in curiosity. "Who's that?"
"He's the man who saved you." Alana replied.
Siarya peered up in surprise. She had almost, almost forgotten about the recent events at the Castle. Of course, the escape from prison, the vision of death flitting across her vision, bloody and vivid as ever—it was all still there, in the back of her mind. But Alana's words brought it all back in a heavy wave, the memories colliding against her brain in dread.
She let the soup bowl rest softly on her lap as she tried to find the right words to say. Alana, noticing her change of demeanor, spoke sympathetically, "I heard there were complications getting you out of the Castle. Are you okay?"
"Your leader, he…"Siarya grimaced. She didn't know if she should feel grateful or disturbed. "He killed somebody right in front of me, and he didn't even flinch."
Alana grew somber, and she opened her mouth to speak—but was interrupted by another familiar voice. "Big talk for a Sephorian Royal, don't you think?"
They looked over to see the man who had rescued Siarya from the dungeons. He was wearing different clothes, but he still wore the same leather coat from before. Siarya's stomach flipped as she thought of him plunging his knife into Klaus's chest. She hadn't really known the man, and she certainly didn't wish him well considering he tried to kill her, but something about his death didn't sit right with her. Something about his killer, her savior, didn't seem normal.
Alana sighed and spoke, "Azariel, you've come at a bad time."
"Bad time?" The man—Azariel? Was that his name?—asked incredulously. He pointed at Siarya. "She's awake, isn't she?"
"Well, yes, but—"
"Great!" Azariel clapped his hands. "Then she can speak."
"What do you want with me?" Siarya blurted out. She suddenly felt very self-conscious. Alana froze, glancing between her and Azariel, looking almost uncomfortable. Siarya's hold on the soup bowl tightened when his amber gaze fell upon her.
"What do you want for yourself?" He asked her, his mouth quirking into a coy smile. "You've got a lot of nerve to murder a man in cold blood."
What? She blanched. "I didn't—?"
"Klaus, my dear. The news has been spreading like wildfire. I must say, it's just scandalous."
Siarya wracked her memory. What was he talking about? "I didn't—you did! You killed Klaus!"
"That's not what King Domonic believes," Azariel said slowly. He paused, observing her reaction. "Klaus Morgenstern was a good friend of the King's, too. He's not a very happy lad right now. Especially since he discovered your real identity not too long ago."
"He…"Siarya tilted her head, brows furrowing in confusion. Her eyes widened in realization, and then in rage. "No," she seethed. She sat up abruptly from the bed, the bowl falling to the floor with a clatter, her fists clenched tight. "It's not true!"
Azariel—finally she knew her savior's name—had been the one to plunge the knife into Klaus's heart. He had been the one to watch him die, unfazed by murder, as Siarya struggled to keep herself from breaking down in front of a dying man. She'd watched Klaus fall to his knees, his bloody hands encompassing hers, and she had seen the light go out in his eyes. But she wasn't the one who killed him.
And if King Domonic thought she did? Well, that'd be treason. She was his fiancée, but the marriage proposition would be torn to shreds. The entire purpose of being sent to Drovania would be pointless—and none of it was Siarya's fault. None of it!—because these things were happening to her—she had been the one who was kidnapped! She was the one who was brought ignorantly to the Drovanian dungeons and tortured! She did everything she was told!
It wasn't her fault!
How far had the information gone? Did her parents know about it already? Did they believe it?
"You killed him," Siarya gritted out. She glared at him with all her might, but he just stood there calmly, his arms crossed, a glib expression on his face. "How dare you accuse me of murder? How dare you?!"
"You've darkened your Royal heart now, haven't you? A Princess of light giving into her real side. I wonder how deep she'll dive..." Siarya's bones became rigid and her heart squeezed at his words. He continued on despite her fury. "You've must have felt it when I plunged my dagger into his heart… The want, the need to do it yourself. To show him no mercy for the actions he would've done upon you. To be feared by something so big, and so powerful, with such ease—"
"Azariel." Alana reprimanded, her hazel eyes now a cold tone.
"How else will this girl—so much like us—survive?" He bellowed at her as Alana shrunk away, as if ashamed she had spoken. "She's alone in this world, just like you. Just like me."
Alana stared at him silently.
"I—I'm not alone," Siarya declared angrily. "I have a family. And whatever mess you've gotten me into, they're going to take me out of it!"
"Don't blame me for this mess of politics, sweetheart," Azariel scolded her. His face darkened and he uncrossed his arms, taking a few steps toward where Siarya stood. "It's true that I murdered the man. You're right. I did it because he was about to kill you—and that wouldn't have helped anybody. But I wasn't the one with blood on my hands. You were."
"Blood?" Siarya, out of instinct, glanced down at her hands. She realized with a jolt that there was dried blood under her fingernails. Her heart dropped to her stomach, suddenly remembering how Klaus had touched her, his blood soaking her hands.
Oh.
"I make clean kills. I don't get blood on myself. Klaus's body was in front of you when the guards came, and you were the one with blood on your hands. It didn't matter if you fainted or not, which, by the way, thanks for that. It made everything much easier when trying to escape," Azariel continued on, sarcasm dripping from his words. "It didn't matter if the dagger came from me. Klaus was in front of you, dead, and you were the one who they assumed did the dirty work. It's not my fault the big oaf decided to rub his filth all over your palms, is it?"
Panic began to set in as Siarya spoke, "But I didn't kill him!"
"Theyyy doooon't caaaaarrre!" Azariel shouted at her. She clamped her mouth shut. "You're the Sephorian, I'm the Drovanian convict. They may hate me, but they hate you more. Especially when eye-witnesses connected the pieces, and realized that you were the Princess. Now you're definitely in trouble."
"I didn't do anything wrong! I was kidnapped!"
"Yes, but King Domonic isn't exactly right in the head. He's not going to listen to logic. All he knows is that you never showed up at the Castle, and that bruised his ego. He thinks you stood him up. But now, you've been sighted running around his property, killing his good friends. He's not going to ask how, or why—he's going to just assume you don't mean well. To him, you're a traitor."
Siarya's legs fell out from behind her, and she hit the bed with a new sensation of hopelessness. Shoulders drooping, she spoke very quietly, "If the King believes that I betrayed him, this won't mean well for my Kingdom. How long has he known of my identity?"
"Oh, about a week and a half," Azariel answered bluntly. He didn't seem remotely bothered. "Enough time to declare war on Sephoria, again. Rather redundant of him, if you ask me."
"Oh Gods…" Siarya groaned, covering her face with her hands. "This is all wrong. It was never supposed to go this way. What about my parents?"
"Azariel," Alana spoke up warningly. Both Siarya and Azariel looked at her. Her expression was stern, worried even. "She needs rest."
"She doesn't need rest, woman, she needs answers!" He spat back at her. She shook her head, aggravated, as Azariel's eyes flitted back to Siarya. "Royalty's bitch should know how her family feels about her."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, you don't know what happens to those who commit treason once they're in a Royal's grasp?" He shook his head at her, like she was stupid. "Doesn't matter what kind; Drovanian or Sephorian, they all treat their inferiors the same."
Her breathing became ragged. "I'm n-not inferior. My family loves me. You don't know what you're talking about."
"You have no family," Azariel proclaimed, like the word was disgusting to him. He began closing in on her. "They left you the moment they realized you murdered the closest friend of the Drovanian King. You are the reason Sephoria is now being slain by Drovanian troops. You are the reason for your Kingdom's downfall. For that, your family will never forgive you."
Siarya wanted to slap him.
But as part of her attempted to think of another conclusion, she knew that if her family thought she did something, anything, to threaten the unexpected and rare opportunity for an alliance between rival Kingdoms, they would certainly not be very happy with her.
Tears escaped her eyes as she held herself to keep from shaking. "My family wouldn't…"
"They already did." Azariel said softly. He suddenly grew very sympathetic, and she hated it.
"Az," Alana warned again. "She's not ready for this. Look at her—she's been through enough tonight."
"She has to know, Alana," he told her sharply. His eyes flitted back to Siarya. "It's been two weeks. She deserves to be told."
"She's just a child."
"Not anymore," Azariel replied. "You know that, Alana."
"Know what?" Siarya asked numbly. Her patience was rapidly thinning now. "What are you not telling me?"
Alana and Azariel exchanged looks. When Azariel gave her a definite glare, Alana sighed, brushing her forehead with her hand in exasperation, before sitting down on one of the beds. She stared at Siarya with sadness, while Azariel's expression remained impassive.
"Siarya," he said finally. His eyes met hers. "You've been exiled."
All the blood drained from her face. She spoke faintly, "What?"
"I imagine your family was placed under pressure with King Domonic's rage hanging over them. They couldn't handle another attack against their valued Kingdom, so they did what they could in order to assuage him. In this case, it was exile," Alana explained, her voice very kind. It seemed so wrong, listening to the pity in her voice. "I'm sure they have no reason to believe that you actually murdered that man—"
"Family or not, Sephorian Royals will destroy every bit of you if you let yourself be taken so easily," Azariel interrupted. "You may be a Princess, but you are no more than a dead woman if you stroll back into your Kingdom."
"I can't just…" Siarya said hopelessly, her voice small and frail. Would her mother really exile her from Sephoria to please King Domonic? It seemed so cruel. She couldn't bear to think of the truth. "What do I do? Where do I go?"
"You'll go to your grave." Azariel said coolly.
"Azariel!" Alana exclaimed, shocked at his words. "You can't say that—"
Azariel growled angrily, thrusting his hand towards Siarya's direction. "Look at her, Alana. She's weak! She can be broken like a twig. Her chance against fighting anyone would be inviting herself to her own funeral."
"I can use a sword." Siarya said, just for the sake of protesting.
He pulled the knife out of his belt and threw it into the air, only to catch it lightly and more comfortably than before. "How about a dagger?"
Her tongue felt like lead. "Never tried."
"Thought so," he offered it to her forcefully. She took it clumsily, the handle rough worn against her fingertips. "This'll be your new best friend."
"Azariel, this is insane," Alana declared. "You can't expect her to survive like this."
"Why?" He barked, stepping towards her. "We do."
"You do." She corrected sharply.
Siarya opened her mouth to speak—to protest—because she didn't want to be associated with these people. These so-called rebels living in the Drovanian forests. But before she could say a single word, the entrance to the tent flipped open, and a young Sephorian man with black hair and wide, blue eyes appeared before them. "Azariel, perhaps this isn't the best time—"he started, but another Sephorian man behind him instantly stopped him. How many Sephorians were living in Drovania? Siarya wondered. And why?
"Mark!" The man behind the black-haired man shouted. He was a tall, muscular man in his mid-forties with unruly blonde hair and a narrow face, covered in a thick beard. "Can't you see they're busy?"
"Oh," the black-haired man—Mark?—said suddenly, looking embarrassed. He glanced over to Siarya. "My apologies, dear. My name is Mark. I wasn't aware that you had woken up. Have I interrupted anything important?"
"We were just talking about exile," Azariel answered with a wave of his hand, as if this was a casual thing for him. "What do you need, Mark?"
"Uh, well, sir," he stammered awkwardly. He shifted on his feet. "Ben and I are wondering about the status of some material parts in stock. Steel wires, specifically."
"Mark, Lionel, no offense, but this is hardly the time." Alana said sternly. Mark's face fell, while the other man, Lionel, just exhaled in frustration.
"No, hang on," Azariel said suddenly, his eyes widening in interest. He pointed at the two men. "Maybe we can get their input on our little discussion."
"Azariel…"
"No, really," he continued. He walked towards Mark and the man named Lionel. "Siarya is our new guest. She has been exiled from her home under false accusations. Due to this inconvenience, she is in danger from both Drovanian and Sephorian Royalty, and she has no way of protecting herself. Now, we could either leave her in the forest to die somewhere, eaten by some rabid bunny rabbit—or, we can accept her into our generous arms and teach her how to use a damn knife."
"Don't I get a say in this?" Siarya asked angrily.
The man named Lionel placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, sheathed onto his belt. His expression was contorted into a deep frown. "Have her stay. She'll be safer here."
"Excuse me," Siarya snapped. "Who are you?"
"My name is Lionel," he replied, as if she hadn't already heard. He pointed to the tent's exit. "I live here, too."
"As a rebel?"
He grimaced. "If you want to call me that. "
"I think she should be allowed to do whatever she wants," Mark said suddenly. Siarya then looked at him fondly, and decided that she liked him better than the rest. "She should take a look at our residences before making any big decisions."
"What, to see if they're up to her standards?" Lionel sneered. "She'll never stay."
"Well, she can never go back home. Where else is she going to go?"
"This is a rebel camp—"
"She's a rebel now, ain't she?"
"In Drovania—"
"She was willing to live in Drovania when she was going off to marry the King," Mark protested. "Our camp is the safest place in the entire forest because it's hidden, Lionel. I'm sure if she has to make a choice, she'd choose the safest one. But it's her decision to make."
They all looked at Siarya.
"Um," she stammered. Her face grew hot. "I—I don't know you people. I don't even know why you saved me from the dungeons, or how you knew I was there in the first place when nobody else did. I just want to go home."
"You can't go home. They'll kill you," Azariel said easily. Siarya flinched. "And I saved you, darling. Don't give them any of the credit."
The men—Mark, Lionel—and Alana all glared at Azariel in unison. He just shrugged.
"Siarya, honey," Alana said quietly, catching her attention. Her expression was soft and affectionate, like a mother's, and it made Siarya's heart clench. She moved over to where Siarya sat and knelt before her, the dim glow of the lantern radiating behind her like a halo, her eyes dark and honest as their gaze met. She put her hand on Siarya's knee. "I know you're scared. I know you've been through a lot. We can tell you anything you need to know, and we won't make you stay here if you don't want to."
Tears filled up in Siarya's eyes. "I want to go home."
Azariel sucked in a breath, but everyone ignored him. Alana continued on, "I know you do. And I'm sure your family wants you back, too, but the Drovanians can be very frightening."
"They wouldn't just leave me here," Siarya protested. She began to cry. "How could they exile me?"
"To protect themselves," Azariel cut in. "Obviously."
Siarya glowered up at him. "You are very presumptuous, sir."
"So are you," he replied scathingly. "How does it feel to be on the other side of the spectrum? I imagine you've never been afflicted by Sephorian Royalty and their selfishness before now. Well guess what, pumpkin? Your family is just a big, wet, steaming wad of terrible people. Terrible enough, unfortunately, to exile their daughter to save their own hides, even if said daughter wasn't to blame."
"You don't know anything about my family."
His gleaming eyes narrowed dangerously. "You wanna bet?"
Siarya gritted her teeth silently as she glared at him. He cocked a brow.
"Siarya," Lionel spoke up, saying her name for the first time. She reluctantly moved her gaze towards him. His expression was grave. "King Domonic is not a well-minded man. Many of his family members, including his father, have been killed by Sephorians. He has a blatant, obvious hatred towards our kind. I imagine he only wanted to marry you for entertainment, not for diplomacy. He didn't expect to have you run about his Castle, and he certainly didn't expect to hear of his friend's death, despite the circumstances of how the situation played out. King Domonic will not listen to reason. He will listen to his constant thirst for vengeance."
"Then what do I do?" Siarya asked in frustration. She raked her fingers through her hair, getting stuck on the knots. "I can't get married, and I can't go home. I can't prove my innocence, because my Kingdom didn't exile me because I supposedly murdered a man, they exiled me to make King Domonic happy," she spat, seething. "And my only choice is to stay here, in a Drovanian forest, surrounded by rebel Sephorians being led by one cocky Drovanian? Honestly, it doesn't seem much better. In fact, it doesn't even make sense."
"Many of us ran from Sephoria to avoid being drafted to war," Mark said quietly. "Living hidden in Drovania seemed to be the safest bet while being hunted down by Sephorian officials."
"How honorable of you," Siarya replied flatly. "Meanwhile, I'm currently being hunted down by both Kingdoms."
"How did you end up in the dungeons anyway?" Alana asked.
"I was kidnapped by a stranger!" Siarya exclaimed, throwing up her arms. "He's the reason I never even met King Domonic. He was hired to keep me away from the bridge between the Kingdoms for some ridiculous reason I cannot recall, and he ended up bringing me to the Drovanian Castle as a prisoner. He knew I was the Princess, too! It's all his fault that the Kingdoms have been thrown back into war, with no more hope of an alliance."
"And no one recognized you in the dungeons?"
"I tried to tell them who I was, but they wouldn't believe me," Siarya replied.
"I imagine they wouldn't," Azariel said thoughtfully. He stroked the stubble on his chin. "Many Sephorians run to Drovania in hopes of escaping from their troubles. Especially young women who want to avoid an arranged marriage, or something trivial like that. It's rather common to find trespassers residing in the dungeons there. The guards probably didn't think much of it."
"But surely someone has told the King exactly what happened to me, right?" Siarya asked in desperation. "Someone must have told him that I was taken to the Castle as a prisoner, and that I didn't stand him up?"
"I honestly don't know," Azariel answered with a frown. "Even if a guard bothered to inform him of their mistakes, I doubt the King would change anything. He knows you're Sephorian Royalty, and so therefore he wants you dead."
"Damn it!" Siarya cursed. She leaned forward to plant her face in her hands, but lurched back at the sudden jolt of pain in her ribs. She let out a soft yelp.
"Siarya, careful, dear," Alana warned. "You're still healing."
"I want to go home." Siarya said stubbornly.
"You can't."
"I know that!" She spat back. She furiously began to wipe her tears away.
"Look," Lionel said loudly, stealing away everyone's attention. "You know about your situation. You can choose to either stay here with us, or you can go off alone. It's your decision. We won't make you do anything you don't want to do," he paused, as if thinking. "But remember that there are Drovanian troops guarding the boundaries of the Kingdom, and if you manage to miraculously get past them, you'd still have to deal with the Sephorian wall that barricades Sephoria from incoming Drovanian attacks—and that wall is crawling with Sephorian soldiers. And, if you manage to survive such a feat, you'd still have nowhere to go, because your family's safe houses will not accept you, nor will your relatives. You are a danger to anyone who helps you, because you are a criminal now, Siarya. Not a Princess."
"Why do you care?" Siarya asked. She looked at all of them. "Why do you all care? Why save me? Why is it so important?"
"Azariel was the one who decided to save you," Mark spoke up. "We didn't realize you were the Princess until he'd brought you back."
Siarya peered over towards Azariel, who watched in silence, his amber eyes glittering mischievously. He smirked and said, "What? I thought it'd be fun."
"How'd you know I was the Princess when no one else did?" Siarya inquired, her eyes narrowing.
"My superior intuition." He replied cockily.
"Don't play games with me."
"I'm not," he said calmly. "I have connections in the Castle. I hear things. Rumors, gossip, all the juicy stuff. I heard there was a helpless damsel in distress hidden away in the deepest pits of the dungeon, and I thought to myself, why not? I've broken in and out of the Castle before."
"So rescuing me was on a whim," Siarya said slowly. "It wasn't because I was the Princess?"
"Well, that little rumor made you more interesting, I admit."
Siarya scowled and rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. "I don't trust you."
"If you're uncomfortable with staying here," Mark said then, "Perhaps we can introduce you to the people. It might make it easier for you to make up your mind."
Before Siarya or anybody could respond, Mark was already poking his head outside, calling out names.
The tent entrance opened up wide, and a group of people—all men—stood outside, as if they'd been waiting. Or eavesdropping. They were dressed in leather and cloth, with weapons hooked to their belts or against their backs. Most of them looked excited to see her, which was odd, Siarya thought. From left to right, there was a tall, burly man with graying black hair and stormy blue eyes. He stared at her with a serious expression. On his right stood a young man, probably around Siarya's age, with a wiry form, sandy-blonde hair, and a nervous grin. Next to him was a young boy around ten, standing close to a feeble old man, who was giving her a toothy smile. On the very far right stood a bookish man with long, pulled back chestnut-brown hair and a narrow face. He regarded Siarya with a small poke at his spectacles, pushing them further up his long nose. They were all Sephorian.
Behind them, spacious tents circulated a clearing like a miniature village, Siarya could spot ten or so. Some were made more like cabins, although not so sturdy-looking. Weapon racks, hanging skins, weaving stations, and sitting areas scattered the area particularly in front of the tents as if they were front porches. From the clearing, trails led separately back into the dark, lifeless woods, leading to other areas that were invisible to the naked eye.
If Siarya were to picture a group of rebels, this group wouldn't be it. They looked more like a family.
"Siarya, may we introduce you to the rest of our lovely group," Mark announced warmly. He pointed at the black-haired man, "That's Darion. He may look and act like a grumpy gorilla, but he's happy to meet you, I swear."
"Pleased." Darion grumbled, disinterested. His black beard twitched when he talked.
"And then the young man next to him is Arturo," Mark continued. The sandy-haired boy waved happily at Siarya, who gave him a small smile in return. "And the little boy is Alana's son, Jesse. Then there's our old dog on the right—his name is Gray. He's also pretty deaf."
Siarya didn't say anything. Jesse grinned at her, and Gray's old-man smile didn't falter. She wasn't sure if he knew what was going on.
"And then there's Benjamin," Mark suddenly grew very affectionate towards the man with the spectacles. His voice turned dreamy, "He's the nicest of the bunch."
The man named Benjamin blushed and pushed up his spectacles again with his finger. He regarded Mark with a loving look before turning to Siarya. "Pleased to meet you, miss Renette. I've heard a lot about you."
Feeling shy, Siarya just nodded at him.
"Mark, don't you think you should be going?" Azariel said, sounding annoyed. He was peering up at the top of the tent unblinkingly. Siarya couldn't help but scowl at him. Was he always this rude?
"Right, uh…Sorry…" Mark let out an unamused chuckle. "Yes. I should be going. I'll be with Ben at the workshop," he announced sheepishly, sending an affectionate look to Siarya. "It was nice meeting you, Siarya. I hope you stay. It's a good place here."
Siarya bit her lip, still unsure of what to say. Mark smiled and turned to walk past the men, clapping Ben on the back with his hand like they were family. Benjamin nodded at Siarya in farewell before they disappeared from behind the tent's flap.
"Ben and Mark are scientific inventors, and absolutely refuse to be called anything else," Alana said amiably. "They're also involved."
"Involved?" It took a moment for Siarya to understand. "Oh."
She had never seen such a thing, but she held her tongue. It was an intriguing thought that had never occurred to her; two people of the same gender. Her mother never would have approved.
Then again, she wasn't her mother.
"Alright, boys," Alana said to the men. They all looked at her, "Siarya needs more rest. Perhaps you can talk to her when its morning." She spoke in a way that implied she'd wanted all of this to happen in the morning in the first place.
Lionel sighed and nodded, moving towards the door. He stopped by the man named Darion, who was giving Alana a pleasant look. Something glimmered in his eyes, and he turned away to exit the tent with Lionel right behind him. Gray, the silent old man, then followed. Arturo stood at the entrance awkwardly, his cheeks pink, staring at Siarya like he'd never seen a girl before. The little boy beside him, Jesse, spun around to sneak out.
"Not you, Jesse," Alana called out sharply, causing the boy to freeze. "It's past your bedtime."
"But ma!" He whined, pointing outside. "They get to stay up!"
"They're big boys," Alana replied as she ushered him inside. "You'll get there someday."
Jesse made a noise of frustration before marching over to the end of the tent and becoming extremely interested in an embroidered pillow sitting on one of the beds, his arms crossed defiantly. Alana rolled her eyes and turned to Azariel, who looked uninterested in moving. "You too, Az."
Azariel regarded her with a huff of breath before glancing at Siarya. "Since you're staying, I will be teaching you how to fight without making yourself look ridiculously stupid."
"I'm—"Siarya frowned in puzzlement. "I never said I was staying—"
"You never said, but you're going to," he declared. "You have nowhere else to go. You can pretend to have a choice, but everyone knows that you're going to stay."
"You assume too much—"
"We'll meet again. Next time, I'll show you how to use a knife," Azariel interrupted her. He nodded at Alana, who was staring in disapproval. "Goodnight."
He then walked through the tent's exit causing the tent's flap to close, shrouding Arturo's silent gaze from view. Siarya was then left alone with Alana and Jesse.
She felt overwhelmed. They all seemed nice enough, except Azariel. How could he possibly assume she'd want to learn how to fight like him? She enjoyed dueling with Niera, but this was different. Azariel probably wanted to teach her how to kill.
To kill men just like he killed Klaus.
Did he feel remorse?
She could still see a sliver of the outside where the men began to talk again. She saw a Darion give Arturo a pat on the back as the others laughed. "That's got be the prettiest girl he's ever gonna see again."
Siarya's face flushed, and she looked away hurriedly. She heard Lionel call out to him as they joked. "Aw, Darion. Don't be hard on the boy. He'll get there soon."
"Siarya," Alana said softly. "Are you alright?"
She jumped at the question, Alana's voice shaking her from her thoughts. "Yes," she replied, although it felt like a lie. "I'm fine."
Alana nodded, although Siarya could see she didn't quite believe her. Siarya began to study the interior of the tent, trying to ignore Alana's motherly gaze, admiring its decoration once again. She rubbed her arms for warmth.
Then Alana motioned to the bed Siarya was sitting on. "I need to make a third bed."
"Oh," Siarya replied, not knowing what to say. "Well, um… okay."
Alana nodded then, awkwardly throwing the tent into silence as she turned to gather blankets and pillows. Siarya listened as she pushed furniture to the side to make room for the makeshift cot. Siarya saw a ragged teddy bear under the blankets of the bed across from her, and a question sprung into her mind. "Are you the only woman here?"
Alana paused in her work, her eyes glancing over. "Yes…"
Siarya saw her discomfort, and quickly grew silent again. She fumbled with the threads of her gown—she was still wearing the clothes from the dungeon. Feeling uncomfortable, she squirmed on the bed. "Alana?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have any spare clothes?" Siarya asked.
Alana's eyes widened, and she jumped up. "Oh! Yes. Here, uh—"she moved over to a dresser and began to dig around. She pulled out a beige nightgown, and handed it to Siarya. "You can wear this tonight. I have more clothes you can borrow for tomorrow."
"Thank you," Siarya replied. She looked around. "Is there anywhere I can change for privacy?"
"No…"Alana tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. She looked sheepish as she spoke, "It's usually just Jesse and I…you can try changing under the covers of the bed you're sitting on, if you feel self-conscious about it."
Siarya blushed and sat there for a few more moments before relenting, and crawling under the bed covers to strip herself of her clothes. She'd never been completely naked and in the same room with anyone before. She tried not to think about it as she hastily slipped Alana's nightgown on, her eyes fixated on Alana and her son, who hadn't even looked at her. Alana was busy fixing up a bed, and Jesse looked more interested in a knick-knack sitting on a table.
Guess he wasn't at the age yet to care about a naked girl in his presence, Siarya mused
After changing into cleaner clothes, Siarya felt more comfortable. She still needed a bath—but this was good enough. Despite everything, she was, in a way, content. Such peace allowed her to think about her situation.
Siarya sucked in a deep breath. The weird happiness here seemed contagious, like the warm tent kept out all the bad things. Being accused of murdering Klaus, becoming a criminal, King Domonic's vengeance… none of that was here. It still scared her, as if the relaxing sound of the boiling soup settling or the flickering of the lantern that lingered over them would unexpectedly turn into the sounds of Drovanian footsteps, or the joking conversations taking place outside would transform into battle cries and screams of agony. It seemed too surreal to have been brought to this strange rebel group, Sephorians of all people. Except Azariel, who seemed to be the only Drovanian present.
"Alana?"
"Hmm?"
"Azariel is the only Drovanian," Siarya said, hardly disguising her disdain for the man. "And you all seem to follow him."
Alana raised her brows, quiet for a few moments, before finally understanding. "Azariel has no allegiance to King Domonic and his rule, if that's what you're wondering. None of us truly know what he'd done to become a vigilante—in fact, I don't think anybody actually knows who he is, really," she let out a light chuckle. "But he allowed Sephorian rebels under his wing. We didn't trust him at first, but he proved to be smart. He's clever. He's also a brilliant fighter, and he protects our camp. He knows so much about the Drovanian Court that we sometimes wonder if he's part of it—but that would be insane, because the King wishes for his head."
"And you don't know why?"
"No clue," Alana answered. "But quite honestly, not a lot of men here like to talk about why they're running from the law. It's an unspoken agreement not to prod for such sensitive information."
Huh. Siarya bit her lip thoughtfully. How could people trust him?
Azariel knew that she was in the Castle. He knew she was the Princess when no one else did. He knew how to break in, and he knew how to break out, obviously. The man he killed, Klaus, had recognized him.
Not just recognized him, Siarya remembered, but Klaus had wanted to kill Azariel.
Siarya's eyes widened slightly in realization. How had she not thought of it before? Klaus had known who Azariel was. There was no doubt, now.
Azariel had said that he killed Klaus because he was about to kill her. But what if that wasn't true? What if he was protecting his identity?
So that posed a question; who was Azariel? And why did he save her?
He didn't just rescue Siarya from the dungeons, but he'd offered to teach her how to fight, too. Every part of her was telling her not to accept. But what was she going to do? Go home? Princess or not, exile was exile. Even if Azariel was lying, Klaus's death would cause complications either way. There was no way she could possibly marry the King now.
There were safe houses in Sephoria for Royals during Drovanian sieges. They were heavily guarded, but Siarya knew they wouldn't accept her. The one man, Lionel, had said the same thing. Siarya also knew that her relative family wouldn't take her in. They wouldn't tarnish their pride like that. Helping someone who was exiled would be considered dirty.
But this was Drovania. This was a land of cold, everlasting winter. It was a constant cemetery for the living. It was full of monsters and beasts, and nothing that Siarya was ever prepared for.
If she stayed in this rebel group, then she'd have to accept Azariel's offer. She didn't trust him. She didn't even like him. But she'd have to know how to protect herself.
If she left, she'd most likely die trying to get to the border of Drovania. Even if she survived, she'd have nowhere to go.
So where was she going to go?
"That one man, Mark," Siarya said, picking her words carefully. "He said most of the people here wanted to avoid being drafted to war. How exactly is this," she motioned to the outside, "Better than war?
"We do stay here for that reason, as selfish as it sounds," Alana answered, sounding almost tired. No, not tired—worn out. "It hasn't been easy. I don't know how Drovanians handle living here for hundreds of years. It surprises me that animals still roam these lands, even if they have become soulless monsters. There's not a day that goes by where the camp isn't attacked by some kind of beast, a rabid deer or wolf. Even the darkness sticks to your skin, turning your flesh gray."
"Then why stay?" Siarya asked. "Why not hide in Sephoria, where the forests are safer? There's more food."
Alana looked at her softly and her shoulders slumped. Everything about her was full of sympathy and Siarya wondered if she knew something that she didn't. "How involved were you with Kingdom affairs as a Princess, my dear?"
Siarya thought back. "I was never told much. The only information I ever got was from friends," Eriana, she thought with sudden sadness. "And everything else from just rumors, I suppose. I've never even been to more than one council meeting."
Alana lowered her eyes. "Sephoria is… beautiful. It's very hard to see the horrors that take place on the streets when the people pretend that nothing is happening. Peasants will talk amongst each other in taverns, and will let their guard down when they drink a little too much, but you will not find a beggar on the street dare to even speak of the problems that occur in the cities. Sephoria may have light, but there is nothing but darkness that resides in the souls of the people that fly in those skies. All of us, including Jesse and myself, came from different countries, but we all ran from the same thing: the lack of humanity demonstrated by our people."
"What kind of things?" Siarya asked quietly. "What do people do to each other?"
"My dear, you don't need to know," Alana replied, and Siarya closed her mouth. "And I pray that you never will."
Siarya asked very little questions after that; she wasn't even sure if she could even say another word. Instead, she studied the areas around her, listening to the voices outside of the tent. She realized, listening to the sounds and the way the people here sounded so comfortable, that with the darkness came a veil of safety. She could feel it. When the malevolent shadows pulled back, the everlasting night blanketed the camp like a guardian, hiding them away from enemy eyes. She could understand how someday those voices, this sensation of dark safety could become familiar, and this wilderness could possibly become a home.
Maybe.
A blacker darkness of night engulfed the forest and the men sat out by the fire, laughing with canteens of ail in their hands, acting as though they were family. Siarya could see them through the crack of the tent's opening. They seemed so happy here, she thought, despite their circumstances.
Alana pushed the last of the pillows around, forcefully creating a plush bed to sleep upon. When she finished, she patted the bed proudly. "Alright, I did the best I could. It's a good thing you're so small; I wouldn't have been able to fit anything bigger than this. It ain't as comfortable as those fancy mattresses you sleep on in that Palace of yours, but it'll do."
Siarya moved over to her bed, an assortment of rugged blankets and plump stuffed pillows. The mattress was not a mattress at all, but a layer of squishy cushions. It was the size of a small couch. "Alana?"
"Hmm?"
Siarya stroked the bed preciously. She'd rather sleep a million days in a bed such as this than to spend another night in the dungeons. "Thank you for doing this for me."
"I'm flattered, dear," Alana replied kindly as she untied her apron, hanging it on a tilted coat hanger. "But it's Azariel you should be thanking. He seems to care about your well-being."
"I don't understand why." Siarya said through gritted teeth. She didn't want to hear about how Azariel saved her. She didn't want to hear about how noble he was. She owed him nothing. He was the reason that Klaus was dead, and therefore he was at least part of the cause for her exile.
"To be honest, I never know what goes on in that clever head of his," Alana confessed humorously. She lifted her hand so that her fingers brushed the swollen cut near Siarya's temple. She winced at the pain. "I didn't think this needed stitches, but if anything changes, you should tell me. For now, we can let it heal for a couple days, just like your other wounds. It if reopens, we'll take a look at it."
"Thanks." She replied flatly. If Azariel was so clever, why did he kill Klaus, knowing the consequences?
"Is she staying here?" Jesse asked, speaking up for the first time in a while. He wore a scowl on his face.
"Jesse, be polite."
He turned to look at Siarya as if she were the strangest thing in the world. "But she's a girl!"
Alana gave him stern look. "She's one of us, now. She's family."
Family? Siarya thought, panic settling in. She'd never agreed to that sort of intimacy. These people weren't family—her family was in Sephoria, where it was warm and beautiful. Her mother, cold and calculating, was still her mother despite having exiled her from the Kingdom. Evermarie was incorrigible, thoughtless sometimes, even. But she was still kind. She'd denounced Siarya as a sister, but she still stood by Siarya's side during her departure to Drovania. And Eriana, her clever, witty baby sister—she was loyal beyond her years. Siarya knew that Eriana would be the one to know that she hadn't murdered Klaus. Eriana would be the one who'd fight against Siarya's exile, to fight against anything that threatened Siarya's safe return.
Siarya missed Eriana the most. Niera, too, as she would be the second one to fight for Siarya's sake. Her two best friends. Siarya wondered how they were faring.
Alana walked over to Jesse, crouching over him. She ushered him under the sheets of his bed and he obliged reluctantly. "Leave her be, baby. We're all tired, and it's late. You should have gone to bed an hour ago."
Siarya watched this motherly interaction between Alana and her son. She wouldn't admit it, but she thought it was fascinating. The way she spoke to him, the way she brushed away the brown hair from his eyes so tenderly, how she unnecessarily tucked him in when he could have done it himself. Alana demonstrated a deep compassion for Jesse that Siarya had never felt from the Queen. Normally she would never find herself pining for a thing she never had, but for the first time, she felt jealous.
Turning away from the sight, Siarya moved to her makeshift bed. She covered herself with the given blankets, and tucked herself in the way she learned to by herself. She fluffed her own pillows, and moved her own hair out of the way. Just like she had done before, every night.
"Ma." Siarya heard Jesse murmur sleepily as Alana sat beside him, stroking his head.
"Hmm?"
"The song…" he trailed off, lost in his youthful thoughts.
"Alright, baby," Alana whispered as she crouched. "Then you must sleep."
Jesse nodded, nuzzling his pillow.
Alana began to sing quietly, a gentle tune, more of a sweet humming with distinct words. The night outside became silent as only the sway of the branches carried through the air. Jesse closed his eyes to his mother's soothing voice, and even Siarya found herself under Alana's spell.
"Little winged, you are the strong
The loved, the bright
That will shine the world as light as you are
Though judgment clutch your beloved, 'tis time to close your wandering eyes
The stars may gleam through your pleasant dreams
For I am here for you,
So special winged, you are worthwhile
Little winged, all hearts shall align
To know that love comes from thee so highly
How it shall be, someday they'll see,
That the Heavens chorus praise
Those who were taken who still loved…"
She continued on as Siarya began to drift, her eyes slipping from consciousness. Eventually Alana did finish, and Jesse slumbered on in his carefree dreams. Siarya, however, remained somewhat awake.
Alana touched the lantern above, about to blow out the candle.
"Alana?" Siarya murmured softly. Alana paused, looking at her.
"You're awake still?"
Siarya lifted herself from the covers, supporting herself with a pillow. "What was that song?"
Alana tilted her head, surprised from her curiosity. Slowly, but steadily, Alana sat beside Siarya and smiled kindly. "It's a lullaby; an anthem. It comes from the villagers of Sephoria."
"Even Eloraia?"
She did a little nod. "Especially Eloraia. You would hear it all the way from the Sephorian Mountains of Eloraia to the Southern Polimian Sea if you listened."
The Southern Polimian Sea bordered Amontae, the areas where Evermarie resided in. Could she have heard of such a solemn anthem? Then again, would she have cared? Siarya frowned. "I wonder why I have never heard of it."
Alana suddenly caressed Siarya's face. Siarya jutted backwards in shock, and Alana's eyes widened slightly in surprise and concern. Siarya was shaking, completely enchanted with such a feeling, unused to being treated so kindly by another mother. Understanding that Alana meant no harm, she found herself leaning forward to rest herself on her arm, her eyes fluttering in fatigue under the lovely tenderness of Alana's fingers. Her jealousy of Jesse intensified when Alana spoke, "I didn't mean to startle you, child. I know you're not as young as my son, but whenever Jesse is troubled, this always calms him down. If you want me to stop, I can."
"It's okay," Siarya whispered, snuggling her face into her pillow. "I'm just not used to it."
"Has your mother never done this?"
Siarya's body stilled. "I don't know," she said honestly.
Alana made a soft, low noise in the back of her throat, almost like a grunt of disapproval. She continued her loving ministrations. "As for your previous question, the lullaby is no anthem for the Royalty and the rich. The song was created to give villagers hope."
"Hope?" Siarya closed her eyes. "What for?"
"People die every day, Siarya. There is no fair share of food and resources; men are sent off to war and come back either dead or with nothing in return."
"My mother wouldn't do that." Siarya answered, her voice hoarse.
"Alas, 'tis your mother that made it happen, child," Alana peered over at Jesse. "It is the reason for why my son has no father."
Siarya opened her eyes and her muscles tightened. Her hands grew into fists. "You're wrong."
"What?" Alana questioned softly, smoothing down Siarya's long hair.
"Every day I hear another wrong thing that my Kingdoms done," Siarya whispered gratingly. "Who the latest kill was, what innocence the Royals scorned, and what hope they have stolen away. But nobody knows that our King is absent and all of the consequences are placed upon my mother. She's the one who deals with the Drovanian threat and the issues within the Kingdom, and she does her very best. But not all problems can be solved when the King is never around, or more accurately, not all problems can be solved when the King is the one causing the problems, such as the incident with Laire."
Alana did not reply, but continued stroking.
"I am now one of the reasons my mother has to make sacrifices for the Kingdom. I just didn't realize it until it was too late," Siarya continued. She swallowed dryly, "Sure, it isn't my fault that I was kidnapped. It's not my fault that King Domonic believes I have scorned his pride and loyalty. None of the events that have happened in the last two weeks have been by my doing—but someone has to take the blame. Inevitably, it'd have to be me. And I understand that. I don't blame my mother for her decisions."
I just wish she didn't do it, Siarya thought. I just wish she chose to save me instead.
"That's good of you," Alana said quietly. "I think your mother would be proud. I also think she'd be happy to hear that you're safe."
"I think I should've known, though," Siarya murmured, fidgeting with a pillow string. Hot tears burned in her eyes and soaked into the pillow under her face. "I should've known that I wouldn't have been able to change anything. I should've known that Drovanians would try to kill me—at least, I assume that was the goal of my kidnapper. To degrade me, somehow. I should've known that my Kingdom was falling apart before this, before people like you tell me things, before—"
"Hey," Alana moved over to push Siarya's hair back away from her face. She was blushing from shame and anger. The touch of her fingers felt nice, and Siarya slumped into her touch. Alana's thumb wiped away a tear from her cheek. "You can hate yourself all you want, but you have to know that nobody is going to blame you for anything. Not here, not ever. We will not judge you for the crimes of others that occurred under your surveillance. You're a young girl, still just a child—it is a foolish thing to have put the fate of a war in your hands when there are too many players that don't play fair."
"I was supposed to be the savior," Siarya whispered as she cried. She couldn't help the tears—they just kept coming, and now she didn't want to stop. Not while Alana was comforting her with soft hands and a gentle, coaxing voice. "My mother sent me away because she thought I could do it. She thought I could save Sephoria, but I failed her. Everything's messed up, and now people want to kill me—"
"There are countless men who have tried to stop this bloody war from the beginning of it all, and all have failed. Your mother was foolish to assume that she could just throw you into the mix and expect a different result," Alana replied calmly. "It's okay, child. It's impossible to save the world, no matter how much you want to. What you've done is good enough. You don't have to be sorry for anything, you've done nothing wrong."
Siarya clenched her fingers and bit down a quiet wail as her body wracked with sobs. "No, you don't understand."
"What don't I understand?" Alana asked patiently.
"I—"Siarya choked. "Azariel's right. I have to stay here."
Alana didn't speak, so Siarya continued. "They think I killed a man, and now my family will not have me back. They can't have me back. I have no home, no friends, and I don't know what to do. All I can think is that I'm scared, and I don't want to feel that way anymore. I don't want to be scared."
"You're here now," Alana assured her sweetly, rubbing her back. "You were meant to be here."
"Do you think King Domonic will find me here?" Siarya asked then, looking up at Alana. "If I stay, do you think he'll discover this place?"
Alana leaned down and kissed Siarya's temple, just like the mother she never had. She felt selfish and ungrateful just for scorning her own parent, but it was trapping her like a cage. She loved her mother, but she needed this comfort. "No, I honestly don't think he will. Not with Azariel around."
"Azariel will protect me?" Siarya asked doubtfully.
Alana chuckled softly and she blew out the light. The tent went dark except for the bonfire just outside the tent, where the shadows of men sat. "Always. You may not know us well, Siarya, but we protect our own."
"A-Alana?"
"Hmm?"
Siarya paused before speaking, "Thank you."
Silence rung in the air before Alana answered in the dark, "You're welcome."
