aside

-to or towards the side

-away from others

-out of future use

-away from ones consideration

Mirrored in the glass window, my face is drained off any color or emotion. Illuminated by static, white light that exposes me. My eyes look dark in their sunken in sockets.

I ignore my reflection, look at the square and the bridge that lies under my gaze in broad distance, half-hidden by another wall.

My hands lie flat at my side. One of my nails has cracked in the nightly sneak and the sensitive flesh beneath stings. A broken nail is nothing to worry about.

My legs grow weak a moment, but I don't have time to sit down.

Flashes of grey light dance in front of my eyes when I blink.

The migraine has gotten worse again.

At least I am temporary out of the reach of any whisper.

Ten minutes ago I have helped him murder a man.

I watched someone write a suicide note. A wrong list of accusations and evildoers. And then- nothing but blood and simple parts of a brain. Not a single hole as stone skin Ellyn struggling to push it back. A willing finger on a trigger.

Strange how that goes. It doesn't mean anything to me in my drained, dizzy state. The images and faces mix for a moment. A dead child. A dead foe. A dead man. Silver and red and foggy. And then I focus on my face again. Because I am not going to get dragged down by corpses, I swear it to myself again. A mantra to protect me and shake off the fatigue.

I look back at the bridge. At the silent square and the figures below.

If I sink my eyes into a bug down there, I am pretty sure I will see Maven.

One more spin on the silk string. Careful not to rip it and ruin the webbing.

Or even more profound than my silk analogy:

A last act before the curtain falls. And the audience holds their breath as their lead recites his last lines.

Conniving plans find their end now. At this moment. In this sunrise. The new greying day.

The grand finale.

So much pathos, as Samson mocked once. Pathos for the ones who know how to recognize it.

Let's wait and see who stays alive and well enough to applaud.

When the explosion hits the bridge, I feel the vibrations quivering deep in the stone.

The fire and flashes make my spiders close by flee. A moth tumbles through the air outside, antennas shivering.

I blink down again. Through the smoke, figures move.

An alarm rings out. It wails through the air like the cry of a wounded animal.

I swing around and start to run.

One corner. I make a long leap.

A gun blasts in the distance.

Two hallways and the cackling of a gunshot has disappeared.

Three hallways and I have made it almost to that door I thought about knocking on earlier tonight. I see shattered frames, tired faces void of any expression. Some confused. Some already moving.

A sentinel rustles past me, but it isn't a Viper or any big house I have falsely pushed envelopes of crimes tonight.

Evangeline is half-dressed but very awake, messy line of silver hair and dark eyes burning in the light. Her eyes stoop low over me.

My boots scrape over the floor when my muscles stop full motion. I straighten as best as possible.

I don't need to tell her what's happening. I still spit out the words just to say anything.

"Red rebels on the square," I heave, chest burning with a fast-paced heartbeat again.

She looks over to the scrambling guards and people running through the echoing long hallway. She picks up on the yelling fast. "More bombs?"

"Yes."

I take a long breath. Spine straight. Feet on the ground.

"We better stick together. Your mother wouldn't like me anymore if I don't stay with you."

Behind me something rustles again, and when I turn around I halfway have my hand at my gun. My worry is only half a lie by now. I don't trust anything. But I would never hurt her.
Not again. Not after what I did last year. I deserved the whiplash from her then. I don't want it now.

"Lady Viper comes with me," Evangeline barks over, taking the same stance, as if we both are just adopting mimicry or strange dance steps. Her hand motions over.

She doesn't need my protection.

But it's making things easier if she stays distracted and away from whatever is happening now.

The alarm wails one more time over our heads. It feels hungry now instead of hurt.

"We can't leave Whitefire." I say that matter of fact. I can't leave. I can't leave the deals and I can't leave before I don't have any word from my new partner and old nasty rash burning on my skin. "The bridge is down. The square is clogged with fighting. I suspect we'd find authorities scattered and the royal family
already evacuated.I want you to be safe. But I can't stop you to go where you want."

Maybe Maven isn't the one reciting the finale.
I come close and good as supporting actor.

Our feet are a staccato. No one would dare and stand in my cousin's way right now.

Her lashes flutter once before her eyes turn to slits.

"I hope you don't only aim true at paper."

"If I miss a rebel or whoever I need to shoot tonight," I huff. "Be so kind and put the bullet on the right track."

She pulls her lips back, exposed gritted teeth.

I reciprocate.

Everything in life is expendable. Except family.

It's almost like old times.

The aftermath of the explosion and the death at the Sun shooting, as it had been titled the very same night, was quiet.

It was angry, a little dizzy mourning, with the piled up bodies before the throne and a king and court that spoke about unity.

Now this morning it is different.

Today, it is like some thunder has clashed at ears in full speed and power. Ears half death, everyone seems paranoid and more cautious. The air tastes more stale. Even more dangerous.

Now that the curtain has fallen and everything has changed, now that the web has fulfilled its purpose good enough. Now comes an even more intriguing and dangerous part.

This day will be written in a lot of books. It feels over already though to me because I can't keep my eyes open and my feet straight anymore.

From time to time images and fragments of words slip through my brain. Samson keeps distance again. My husband came to check on me as soon as some smoke cleared. But he didn't stay. My cousins were good at driving him away. I wanted to laugh. Seeing Evangeline cut his head off for daring to come too close seems an amusing image still.

My father and two big dogs find me edged in a corner of a room, half sunken together, listening to voices on the other side of the dark wooden doors. He looks like he had half a night of rest at least. His clothes are fresh and clean. The pin gleams on his chest in the winding motion of a snake.

Runt pushes against my leg. I pat her softly. Her wounds from the kick into her snout and claw at eyes are still healing. One Ear whines and I scratch him as well for a moment. They wag their tails low. The dogs are cautious when they sniff and they are right to do so.

"We will have a new king," I greet. Speaking out most obvious truths because I can't trust my voice and my hurting head.

"And not the one everyone expected," My father answers, worried wrinkled eyes checking every bit of skin and blood on my clothes he can find. "Are you hurt?"

Now he cares about my small bleeding cuts. I guess it had to take a shift in power. And the bruises aren't inflicted by Samson.

I shake my head. "A few bruises and scratches. Nothing bad. I was with Evangeline after the explosion happened. And later Ptolemus found us too."

I look back to the doors one more time. My father probably has more pressing matters than escorting me. I take it as it is. He is a grown man. He makes his decisions as I make mine. And fir the most part we keep them separated from each other.

"They arrested Lucas Samos after they set down both Prince Tiberias and the girl for treason and regicide."

Regicide. Patricide. What is the right word if you are arrested for murdering your father who happens to be king?

My brain lacks concise language by now. I furrow my brow.

"So I heard." My father offers an arm. I don't take my tired bones up. "I bet Volo wasn't too pleased."

"The rest of house Samos distances themselves from all his actions," I quote rather stone faced from the discussion overheard. Because Lucas Samos crime is called treason. What is the definition of treason? Covering up for something? Conspirating? Execute me manacles cutting in my skin just with him. Ah, the world and their scapegoats and failsafes. If Ara had found and mopped the floor with me yesterday I would probably be dead or in a cell too. Maven once warned me I would disappear if I didn't make the right choice. I suppose his choices have, if not anything else, led to his succession on the throne of Norta, so I should be happy things went as they did for me.
"A big official execution, that's what's waiting?"

"Oh yes." My father gently grips my elbow and stops me from scrambling down and falling.

I barely know anything about the girl. I remember the way the dogs surrounded Tiberias Calore and wagged their tails. And then I remember the blood on his shoulder at the sun shooting coupled with that look of pity he gave me for who I am.

But this is not about personal feelings, even if I had them. The practical side in me wonders about something else.

"Are you concerned, father?"

My father takes his time to answer that. He weighs the words on his tongue like a dozen suicide pills.

I stumble out of Whitefire more than I walk. In the distance a huge ruin made of metal marks the still smoldering remains of flames and explosions.

The sun shines down and pins like needles in my half closed eyelids all the while my blood pounds in my ears.

"It is what it is," he decides.

"You will just wait it out again?" I whisper.

Hiding behind Samos, or Merandus, isn't that so? Too bad you could only trade and marry one child to seal a deal, but you did so double, I guess it counts as well.

"And what do you suggest we do?" He tilts his greying head.

"I suggest sleep and a shower because frankly put,"I scoff softly. "I can't think straight anymore."

The dogs make low sounds before shielding me on the way back. My father is silent. So is the world. Except for another kind of alarm. One that suggests mourning. When in truth we know the sounds are meaningless just as corpses getting stuck in boxes and thrown in dirt.

One good or bad thing about funerals and more official business. About crowning a king.
The family will get together again so close.

The question is, which one of them is to stay?