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There was a tightness in Roden's throat that wouldn't go away. It grew worse as he visualized the patched Faola, Mireldis Thay, standing in front of Regar's men. She'd held her dagger with her left hand, the brand on the back of her right dripped blood onto the ground.

All the Faola would've been dead if not for her. His men too.

He'd never forget the stone eyes challenging him to fight beside her and the Faola.

He'd never forget the battle fire building in his stomach as he turned to Oberson's men and ordered them to surrender or die.

The Faola and Mireldis Thay had all melted into the shadows. Melted behind the line of mercenaries.

Roden chose to let them go.

Mireldis Thay fought at his side and called his men to safety just like she'd called for her own. It was difficult deciding who was right and who was wrong. Oberson shouldn't have sent men after her, but she could've slipped into the shadows and ran like she did after the fight ended.

Ultimately, Jaron felt it disrespectful to the Faola who'd died to continue with the feast. The prayers given in the chapel were prayers to the dead.

The entire time he knelt, counting the makeshift beads Merry gave him, it seemed like his hands were slick with blood.

That night, he accompanied Jaron to Graer's new rooms. Harlowe was already there, waiting for them. He sat in a cushioned chair across from Graer. The fire had died down to a series of embers, they were talking as if they were good friends.

Graer's chambers were plain, just like every other room on the floor, save for the cushioned chairs. The walls, however, hadn't been covered in pale plaster. Every stone in the walls and floor was visible.

"King Jaron, Captain Harlowe," Graer dropped to one knee, and held a hand to his chest. "Thank you, for your kindness."

"You helped me fulfill my lifelong dream of catching a real live Thay, I'm hoping you can help me catch the other one," said Jaron, motioning for Graer to stand.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't refer to my daughter as prey evading a hunter."

"I'm more inclined to think that Lady Mireldis is the hunter, and we're all rabbits with targets on our backs."

"Now that is a comet I can approve of," said Graer as he settled back against his chair. "Is it true? Did she escape Oberson?"

"Unfortunately for us, but luckily for her, yes. She escaped. Don't look too happy, or I'll send you back to your cell."

Roden knew Graer was grinning behind his raccoon-sized beard.

Harlowe cleared his throat, "Your Majesty, I've had the opportunity to talk with King Thay, and you'll find he was attempting to save his child's life for the right reasons."

Breaking a law and abetting a girl guilty of treason through a just viewpoint. Roden crossed his arms, "Can you tell me, these reasons, King Thay?"

"It's, ah, it's just commander," Graer wiped his nose. "Please, I relinquished the title years ago, I'd rather be called by the name I've earned."

"Commander Thay," Roden corrected himself.

"Is this a long story?" Jaron was leaning his weight on his left leg. "I might need to sit down."

Graer shook his head, "I heard rumors of Mireldis being here, and I came to find her. I found her stealing purses and attempting to kill my former ward, Feall Cormeach. When given the chance, you'd let your child go in an attempt to lead them back to the straight and narrow path. She'd been blinded."

There was a divide in Roden's heart. He knew what it meant to go down the wrong path, it was what he did when he went to the pirates. If it weren't for Jaron coming to find him, he would've taken the same path as Mireldis Thay. He would've done everything he could to get revenge.

If it weren't for his second chance, he'd probably be dead by a pirate's hand.

However, the law was the law. If punishment skipped one person, everybody would want to be exempt. You couldn't get away with treason without paying the price.

But he'd been there.

Roden was there when Mireldis was thrown out of the Faola by her father's own request. She'd ran up the Vaults' stairs with him, dodging names, fists, and spit. It was exile from a family and running a gauntlet.

She kept her head, but it was still a consequence.

Fists, names, and spit. She'd pushed through it.

He'd taken her by the hand and dragged her up the stairs. Flung her at attacking soldiers without a second thought.

How had he managed to be so close to her, and never once see her face?

It was on him. He should've cornered her, and torn off that mask.

The conversation continued without him. Roden reached for the prayer beads Merry gave him, his finger brushing over the fish coin attached to it. He needed to speak to her. Needed to talk about something outlandish and unrelated to the cause at hand.

He trailed his hand over his face, and shoved his way back into the conversation. "Can you predict where she'll go next?"

Both Graer and Jaron shot him questionable looks. Heat spread up the back of Roden's neck as he realized that they'd already been discussing exactly that.

"Gelyn or Avenia," said Harlowe, his voice ever gentle. Ever patient. "King Jaron and Commander Thay are debating what to do."

"I don't trust Commander Thay, but he's also already been hired by Renlyn Karise to protect her ships," Jaron said. "I can technically hold him here and risk Renlyn's wrath, and after I accused her of being Mireldis Thay, that might be a bad idea."

Harlowe leaned his elbows on his knees. "What do you suggest, Roden?"

"Do you want my honest opinion?"

"Always."

Roden rubbed the back of his neck, "I think it's a waste to keep Graer here. If we send him to Avenia like Renlyn wants, we'll have him check for Mireldis. I doubt he's in any hurry to betray the woman who saved him from whatever Oberson had planned."

"Especially when that woman is a Karise," Graer's focus was on the wall, remembering another time.

"Our only problem is that Renlyn wants her ships guarded now," explained Jaron. "Alistair and his men will be ready to move within the week, but that's not soon enough for Lady Renlyn Karise. She'd have him and his army leaving tomorrow if I let her. Lord Row would follow, no doubt."

"I see no problem in getting rid of all other outside meddlers, not after today," Roden clenched his fist, unable to think of anything else but the puddles of blood. "The sooner, the better."

"He's right," said Harlowe.

Jaron sighed, "I know, I just don't want to let this all go so quickly."

"Then send on my men," Graer sat a little straighter. "They listen to me, you'll squeeze in every question you want, and I can ride out when you let me."

"I don't like how cooperative you're being."

"Would you like me to be headstrong, your Majesty?"

"Please, don't," Jaron held up a hand. "It's been a long day."

Roden agreed.

He slowly unclenched his smallest finger on his right hand, and then moved on to relax his entire fist. It was slow work, but soon he was able to attempt to do the same action with his left.

It was difficult to get a coiled spring to relax without letting it shoot off into the air.

It was difficult to remind himself that there was no sword swinging at his head. Roden was having a discussion with three other men, two of whom were among those he was closest to.

Not everyone knew how to be safe, even if they'd spent years trying to.

Maybe that's what kept Mireldis Thay on the run. She couldn't let herself be safe without killing Feall.

Only an optimistic fool would've believed it when Feall claimed that Mireldis wanted to kill him for being Graer's ward and Ingrid's favorite. There was something else. Roden reached for the coin hanging around his neck, the engraven fish on the coin's face was familiar to him. It would keep him safe from harm, but not safe from somebody's else's trickery.

Feall wouldn't give up every detail of the story, Roden had come to accept that.

The only option was to find out Mireldis's side, and figure out the truth from both sides.

"Tell me, did you ever see Mireldis without her mask?" Jaron walked over to the embers, and then behind Harlowe's chair.

"Nay, lad, I haven't seen her and her long hair for almost seven years."

"Can you at least tell her what she looked like?"

A bitter smile glinted beneath Graer's beard. "Long hair, fell past her knees, dark eyes. Threw a royal temper tantrum each time it rained and the worms crawled onto the cobblestone only to dry in the sun. Little cleft in her chin, like her mother. . ."

Hair past her knees.

Feall mentioned that too.

Jaron was leaning against the top of Harlowe's chair, "That'll be all. People change. They grow."

"She was half past twelve when I last saw her," Graer's voice was calm, quiet. "She didn't recognize me at first, a lot happens as the years pass."

"Are you surprised that she's been after Feall all these years?" Jaron scratched at his nose.

"Excuse me? I know they say she'd died, but I- I thought-"

Something dawned on Roden. Graer tracked his daughter through rumors. It was why he hadn't look for her sooner; everyone claimed she was dead. Feall hadn't made the connection between Mireldis and the bandits until after she'd demanded Oberson hand him over. If it took Feall that long to figure it out, Graer likely had no idea that his daughter- his flesh and blood was trying to murder his former ward.

The look in Graer's eyes matched the way Harlowe's did on the day Roden told him how he'd tried to kill Jaron.

Not disappointed, not angry.

Sad.

Devastated.

Graer was full of military swagger. It was draining out of him, the empty space filling with self blame.

"That was why you were angry about letting her go," he croaked. "I thought her quarry was with Oberson."

"You didn't know?" Roden asked. Graer's story was clicking in line with Feall's. "We spoke with Lord Feall, would you like to see him?"

There was a pause before he answered. "In- in time. I took in Feall for various reasons; he was meant to keep Mireldis company while I was away."

A companion. Feall was meant to be a companion, not an heir to the throne of Idunn Craich.

"When did-," Jaron started, but his sentence fizzled after both Roden and Harlowe looked at him.

"Thank you, for what you've said," Harlowe murmured. "It's difficult to live through memories."

"I've only just learned that my daughter lived despite the rumors, and now I've been informed that her path is even darker than I thought," Graer cleared his throat. "You have to let me be with her, your Majesty."

Jaron stood taller. "We don't know where she is, otherwise I'd arrange it."

"Stay for a day or two, talk to Feall, and then you'll be sent to Avenia under Renlyn's command," said Roden. "I won't send my men after a woman who attacked the king, royal blood or not, it sets a precedence to all who want Jaron dead."

"I suppose that's better than nothing," said Graer, his frown almost masked. "I appreciate your kindness."

"I'm sorry you had to learn about Mireldis this way."

"As am I."

Roden wondered if Graer regretted letting her go. If he wondered what would've happened if he'd turned Mireldis over, instead of slicing up her sleeves and helping her escape.

He didn't want to ask. It wasn't his place.

There were still lights on in the Dragon's Keep. Roden tugged on the sleeves of his blue tunic, and scuffed his boots. He'd gone to the tavern a hundred times before. He'd talked with Merry a hundred times before.

He trusted her, she was his friend. They'd bantered and swapped stories about potatoes made of gold and fish swimming through rainy skies. There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them. They tried not to speak about their scars.

It was better that way.

Made room for more jokes.

His mind was snagged on something. Snagged like a cloak caught on a nail.

Something else was in the air.

Something dangerous.

All he carried with him was a knife in his boot. Only a fool would stage an attack after the battle that happened that morning.

Roden could take care of himself in times of danger. He would rise to any challenge with his sword in hand.

However, there was no sword and his hand, and nobody coming towards him with the intention to kill.

He heaved in a breath, shoved open the door to the Dragon's Keep, and walked in.

Several lanterns and candles burned. Almost too many of them were glowing, fighting off night's claws by lighting up every corner. The strong scent of strong liquor wafted through the air. Multiple little glass cups littered the counter.

Dawn and the other barmaids were nowhere in sight.

Maybe he'd come too late. Any sane person would be tucked in bed, dreaming of sunny afternoons or of talking frogs. If Merry practiced what she preached about getting a decent amount of sleep, she would've tucked herself into bed hours ago.

A pair of boots stuck out from behind the counter. Muddy boots. There were holes in both toes, revealing a red sock and a grey sock.

Somebody had been out running late night errands.

Roden tapped his knuckles against the counter, and the pair of boots kicked into action. Merry sat straight up, a lock of coal colored hair sticking to her drool-covered chin. She rubbed her eyes, and pulled her knees up to her chest.

The bottle not far from her head had been completely emptied, and bore a familiar mark.

It matched the pirate brand on his arm.

Merry burped, her head in her hands. "Give me a moment."

"Would you like me to come back later?" Roden asked, setting his foot on the lowest rung of the stool in front of him. "You're going to be nursing a strong headache if you drank what I think you drank."

"High and mighty Captain Harlowe knows about pirate liquors," Merry's voice lilted. "That is surprising."

"Come on, Mucky, you're drunk. I'll get you something to clear your head, you need to sleep."

She looked up at him with red rimmed eyes, and wiped her snot covered upper lip with her sleeve. "You're looking fancy. A knight from a fairytale. Searching for his beautiful princess and the dragon keeping her in a tower."

Was this what it was like for Tobias when he stumbled into Roden's office after he'd drank away his memories of blood soaked fields?

How embarrassing.

He pushed away from the stool and held out his hands to Merry. If she'd chosen to drink away some scar, he'd hold her hair back when she vomited it all up. When she didn't take his hands, he reached for her shoulders. Merry was a dead weight. She fell against him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

"Don't let go, I'm not ready," she muttered. "Haven't gotten my sea legs, yet."

"I can do that," Roden said, unsure of where to touch her.

All of her weight was leaning against him as if her knees would give out at any moment. Merry's arms tightened, and so did his ribs. His hand slid over the side of her face, his fingers curling against her wild hair. He held her shoulder with the other.

Keeping her from falling down.

"Did something happen?" He asked, remembering the marks peppering her skin.

Merry groaned, "I don't want to talk about it."

The glasses glinted in the lamplight, the amber liquid within some of them sparkling. It was between Merry and her bottle of pirate made liquor. That was the kind of thing you didn't talk about.

He wanted to know why.

Why she'd drawn into herself rather than coming to him. They were friends. They were supposed to be there when the other needed them most.

"I won't make you say anything, then," said Roden. He tucked an untamed curl behind her ear.

"You're too good. Too much like all the heroes Jolly sings about," Merry grumbled. "He wrote a ballad about you. Did you know that? He's not going to sing it, but we're going to go to Mendenwal. He'll perform it there and I'll collect coins like I always do."

"When are you two leaving?"

"I don't know, whenever Jolly says the wind is right. Tomorrow. We're going-," she hiccuped. "-we're going to leave tomorrow and we're going to pretend none of this ever happened."

Roden wasn't sure what to say. He knew she was drunk and probably couldn't answer every question he had. So he picked one. "Pretend what ever happened?"

"Carthya. Drylliad. We're not supposed to-," Merry hiccuped. Once, twice, three times. The fourth turned into a sneeze. "We don't stay too long. We stayed too long. I don't have a home anymore."

"Stay here, Drylliad can be your home," Roden offered, masking his disappointment. "Jolly can sing in Jaron's court, and you can stay here."

"Tending to drunk men and dodging their flying tankards?"

"Not exactly, I'd find you a new place to stay."

"I don't want to stay. I don't want to be tied to the ground and forced into working till I'm picked out of the crowd to have babies till I die. I want to run wild. Jolly lets me run wild."

She was trailing her fingers up and down her spine. The gesture set his skin on fire beneath his tunic. He didn't want her to go to Mendenwal, he wanted her to stay. He wanted to throw flowers over bridges and pick snails off the road to keep them from getting squished. He wanted to catch crawfish with Nila and flick those who tried to escape from the bucket. He wanted to wipe the blood off Merry's face after she cracked her head against somebody else's for throwing stones at someone in a cell.

And it hurt.

It hurt knowing that he craved those moments, while Merry wanted something bigger.

There were cracks he covered up that couldn't be filled through daring the Vaults. Couldn't be filled with battling off ten men all on his own as Jaron rushed in to help.

Roden went to step away from her, but Merry's hands knotted themselves in his tunic. Her voice strained, "No, no, not yet. I'm still not ready. Sorry."

"I understand," he pulled her up a little higher, still hanging on to her wild curls.

"I didn't want to say goodbye."

"I don't want you to say goodbye."

If he had Jaron's sparkling wit, he would've made a joke. He would've joked about Merry's tale of fish swimming in the rain. About how he wouldn't be able to tell them apart if she left, and risk starting a conversation with the wrong one.

But he'd promised her that he'd rather push her forward than ever hold her back.

He just didn't realize that pushing her forward meant letting her go.

"You can let go now," Merry said, though her hands lingered, still tangled in his tunic. "You can let go now."

Without saying a word, Roden held his hands up.

She was telling herself to let go, not him.

Merry finally stumbled away. She bumped into the bar, apologized, and held up her hair. Lamplight lit up her face. Her storm gaze lingered at his face.

Too long, she was looking too long. Roden set his jaw. If she stared any harder, she'd find every secret that he'd ever hidden.

His hand lingered at his right sleeve, completely prepared to pull it up and show her the pirate brand. To show her that he wasn't who she painted him to be.

That it was alright to fall short.

Harlowe drilled that lesson into Roden's head.

Not every person was going to hit the mark perfectly, and there was nothing wrong with that. What mattered was if in the end, what you did was for something you believed in with your whole heart.

With your whole being.

Merry reached for a half empty glass, and swirled the contents. "Do you ever anticipate the outcome of a fight, and still get disappointed by what happens?"

"I suppose so," Roden crossed his arms, deciding to hide the pirate brand for another day. "Did you punch Jamie Todd again?"

"In my defense, I did warn you about this," Merry tipped the glass up, draining what was left. She lifted it behind her head to throw it, but ultimately set it down on the counter. "I told you I'd do something worse than shoving you off a bridge."

"You're drunk and barely reach my shoulder, all I need to do is put my hand on your head and you wouldn't be able to do anything."

"Silly, silly Cabbage Curls. I'd never hit you. But this has to stop, this- this thing! Where you pretend! You pretend to be my friend!" She pushed away from the bar, reeling in the process.

"But Merry, you are-"

"No! I'm not done! I warned you! How can you tell me that you're my friend, and then waltz in here with your darling niece and every single one of your friends and act like we're equals!? You know they'll choose you every single time. You don't have to prove anything to them. But I have to prove myself to you! I have to prove that I'm-"

Roden stood his ground, "We're not having this conversation."

The biting words were far too personal.

Because he did have to prove himself to his friends, over and over again. It took months to regain their trust. Roden chose to ignore their suspicious side glances. If he didn't acknowledge that Tobias, Amarinda, and Mott had been right in suspecting his actions, then they'd reevaluate what they thought of him.

And it was true. It was true that he'd sold Jaron out to the pirates. They were right to suspect him.

"We are having this conversation," Merry growled. She dragged her hand across her dripping nose. "There's a line between people like you and me. People like you are cherished, you're blessed, you're forgiven. But not me. I'm luckless. I've tried so hard to jump that divide. To be important, but it just won't work. I'm not your friend, Roden, you hold a position of power and it would help me."

"You put a lot of effort into this charade, didn't you?" Asked Roden, his fists clenching together.

He had to stay calm. If he stayed calm, it would unnerve her. She'd realize just how drunk she was, and go back to bed. They'd apologize to each other in the morning, and-

"I only care about myself, Captain Harlowe," her voice dropped, and she paused. Merry straightened, almost appearing sober for a moment, and forced a shy, crooked smile.

It only made her words set fire to the memories of cleaning bloody noses and finally comparing ankle sizes.

"Merry, we can figure this out," he held his hands out in surrender. "If you want the wind in your hair, if you want something grander than being a barmaid, I'll help you. I care/ about you. And I know you care about me-"

She shook her head. "No, Roden, I don't. And I'm sorry. But we'll never be able to make this work, I can promise you that. You're too different from me. I'm not cut out to walk the path you tread."

Upstairs, somebody was stomping. Steps creaked, and a door slammed.

Heat rushed into Roden's cheeks. He had nothing to say.

No defense for something like this.

"Fill your head with somebody else," Merry rolled her shoulders back. "It's cruel- it's cruel of me, I know, to do this. But you'll thank me later. Go fill your head with memories of somebody else. Fill your heart with somebody else's flowers and stupid stories."

"Is this what you want?" Roden asked, the words were ash in his mouth.

Merry stomped her foot, "Yes it is! Get out! I don't ever want to-!"

Dawn, in her night dress, stood behind Merry, a bucket in both her hands. She held the bucket up, and dumped the contents, ending Merry's biting dismissal before it reached its finish. Merry gasped, and wiped her stew soaked hair out of her eyes.

"You won't speak to him that way, you hear me!?" Dawn snapped, taking Merry by both shoulders and giving her a hard shake.

"What are you going to do, throw me out!?" Merry hissed.

No answer was said. Dawn took Merry by the arm, dragging her to the door. "You can get your things when you've cooled off!"

"I'm not ever coming back!" Merry cried. "Not for my things, and not for him!"

Roden turned, watching Merry stumble out the door.

He swore he saw trails of tears cutting across the stew all over her face.

She'd given him every reason to hate her by dredging up old memories. Bad old memories.

All he knew was that he declined any assistance from Dawn, instead, choosing to return home.

There were too many things to think about, and he was numb. It was better to be numb than to think about what Merry said.

Better than thinking about how he'd never see her again.