The pressure cooker heats up! We've hit the halfway point. I've been in a bit of a writing slump for WM unfortunately, so please please read n review and all that good stuff. Enjoy!

Chapter 13 - Samn Schorme

"Alright, thank you," I say, dismissing Sir Wynnd with a nod.

He shoots one last apologetic look at Fiyr who stands at my shoulder, then leaves the throne room into the dining hall. Pity filling my throat, I turn back to Fiyr.

"I knew they weren't going to find him," Fiyr rasps. His voice is thick with the silence he's held for hours, and his blotchy skin has only gotten alternately paler and more flushed. My heart twists at his state, but I put it aside and pull him close.

"The next one will."

"They won't," he answers in a breath, closing his eyes. His brow furrows and I can almost feel the effort of not breaking down radiating from him. "It's been four days, Samn. He's gone."

My heart drops at the hopelessness in his voice. He really believes it. "But…" I shake my head, finally voicing what I've been wondering for days. I was wary of wounding him, but… "Maybe he's happier with the gods."

His eyes pop open, flashing with disbelief. "How can you say that?" His voice breaks. "That god isn't his family, I am. Faern is. How could he leave us, without even saying goodbye? Without talking to me…?"
I rub his back, thinking of my little sister. She's been equally distraught, and we haven't told anyone where Fiyr is certain Clowd's gone, despite the rumours flying. I'm not even sure if the queen knows he's missing. If she asks, I'll tell her, I'd decided on the dawn of the second day of Clowd's disappearance.

"Do you want to tell Faern…?" I ask as gently as I can manage. I don't know if it would help anything.

Fiyr takes a long, slow breath. "I don't know… Would she feel better if she knew he left without saying goodbye?"

No, I already know, but I shrug. "I don't know either. Why don't you sit down and we'll eat something?"

He lets me lead him over to the dining hall where most of the court is finishing dinner. Sir Wynnd and his search patrol were out all afternoon, scouring the territory for any sign of him. I know there's not much use, but doing nothing isn't an option. I asked him to be sure he covered the outer border, but didn't dare say anything more specific. Still, I'm sure most of the court is thinking the same thing.

Fiyr slumps onto the bench across from me and buries his face in his hands. A moment later, he says, "I've been thinking. Isn't it… isn't it kind of awful how the court thinks of god-toys?"

That's not exactly a fresh observation. But I'm the last person allowed to tell him that, so I push the thought away. "Yeah."

He shakes his head, heels of his palms still pressed into his eyes. "Just… I was six years old when the gods took me from my mother, Natalia. I hardly remember anything about her, and even less of my father. She told me his name was Jakob, and that's about it." He lets out a long breath and I wonder if he's going to cry. "I was six, Samn." His voice breaks and he takes another careful breath. "I was a little kid. I can't even… can't imagine what I'd do if my son was taken from me. But that's common with god-toys; they're a resource to the gods, they just get—get moved around. I learned how to do acrobatics, how to work for them and no one ever told me it was wrong."

I'm quiet, taking it in.

"And then I got to the court, and—and I know you had stuff with your father, and I understand and I forgive you but—Liang, Darriek, what's their excuse?" He lays his hands on the table, staring at them. "I was the victim. Fuck, I was twelve and all I'd known was how to work. And now I hear them gossiping about Clowd and how—I don't know, it's different for him. I don't know what situation he's in now, but I know that gods aren't good for anyone."

My heart thrums faster at his words, remembering how I treated him, what I thought of him. He was the victim. I want to apologize again, but now that we've gone to Clowd, it feels wrong.

"I don't know what his father wants with him, but I don't trust him at all." Fiyr makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cry. "I don't know if it's wishful thinking, but I can't believe Clowd would just… just leave like that. I feel like he's in trouble."

Whether or not he thinks he joined them willingly, when it comes to the gods, I think there's definitely trouble. Despite knowing that if Clowd really is in trouble, saving him would be the right choice, I can't help thinking of the kingdom, as well. What I've begun to think of as my captain voice pipes up: Meddling with the gods might bring violence down on the court. Is it fair to ask them to get mixed up when Clowd was the one who got himself into the situation? I squeeze a fist, cursing myself for the thought. No, he's not the one who got himself into the situation. He's a kid, he doesn't know any better. It's that god's fault.

"If there's any way to get him back, I'll be right behind you," I promise him. "All the way. Whatever it takes to get him back to safety." If he wants to come back. Because while I do believe he's in danger… What do we do if he won't come with us?

Fiyr just looks sicker. "But how? How can we take on the gods?"

I don't have an answer for that, and I'm almost grateful when I spot Briatte hovering a few tables away, made uncertain by our somber expressions and tense conversation.

"Briatte! Come over and sit," I call to her. Relieved, she hurries over.

"Sorry, I didn't want to—you guys just looked—" she stammers, sliding in next to me.

I look at Fiyr for confirmation, then answer, "No, we were just… It's alright. How are you?"

I know her answering smile is from the two dogs she managed to summon today. I took her out with Sir Fere and Faern for some life-force training. Sir Fere's been a big help; even though he's a plant-summoner, it's more useful than I am as an elementalist, especially to tell how far along she is. The two muscled tan and black dogs that came nearly to her waist were apparently an indicator that she was nearly at a knight's level of life-force. "I'm great."

My own grin is starting to make my teeth dry out, and I feel my gaze sliding to Fiyr. "And… uh, looking forward to your knight's exams…?"

Briatte's brows draw together. "Sir Harte… are you alright? I know Clowd's been missing…"
Fiyr nods, then turns his gaze away the floor. "Thank you for asking after him."

I search my squire's face. I didn't realize that this must be hard on her, too. They were… kind of friends, weren't they? Even if they weren't, though, it'd be pretty upsetting if someone you grew up with just… went missing like that. "We're looking for him."

"Yeah." Briatte still looks troubled. "And you… you really don't know what happened? Some people were saying that maybe he… that maybe…" She looks at Fiyr and bites her lip. "I mean, you've probably heard."

I haven't, not directly at least. People seem to be inexplicably hesitant to gossip about my nephew in front of me, but I know the rumours are still getting around. "Yes. But Briatte, we're doing everything we can."

Briatte keeps nibbling on her lip, then gives me a worried look. "You'll find him, right? He's not… I mean, he'll be okay." Then she nods like she's convincing herself. "Okay. Um, I think I hear my brother…"

And then with questionable grace, she untangles herself from the bench and leaves the dining hall quickly to attend to her brother's imaginary summons. I snort at her, but something about her innocent concern leaves a pit in my stomach. Am I doing everything I can? Should I be out there, by the gods' wall? I look at Fiyr, so pale and scared. Should I be putting him on the search patrols? What would he do if he saw Clowd with one of the gods…? Frustration roils in that place of doubt. We just don't know! We don't know how Clowd ended up there, or what he's thinking, or what he wants. We don't know what his father is planning, and we don't know what to do about it.

What I do know is that I haven't told the queen. That, more than anything, has made me uneasy. I was almost adjusting to keeping Cindra's care of the Shodawes knights secret, but now this…? The queen didn't ask, I remind myself, trying to bring back my certainty from days ago that she shouldn't know that Clowd might have left intentionally. But you're the captain. You're not supposed to test her until she proves herself, you're supposed to support her and lead.

"What are you thinking about?" Fiyr asks, tearing his eyes away from the ground.

"I…" I swallow and pick honesty. "I feel like I should tell the queen about Clowd. Even though…" I'll still be organizing the search patrols, I'll still be the one who knows that Clowd's gone to his father before, I'll still be the one that Fiyr hides his face in when he feels the loss of his nephew most strongly… "Even if it won't help. I think I should tell her."

Fiyr nods slowly. "Yes. Yeah, I think you should."

I hesitate for a moment, searching his face, trying to guess whether he thought it was wrong of me to keep it from her all along. He just looks tired. "Alright."

He nods again, and I take his hand as I stand, then let it go with a little squeeze. This is the right thing to do. The queen can't make it worse, anyway. What a grim thought. I crack my knuckles as I make the walk to her chambers.

"Lady Schorme." Queen Bluelianna is sitting at her desk, everything in its place. A single book is open in front of her; I recognize its tattered pages and worn leather binding. Why is she looking at the Book of Prophecies?

I bow and seat myself across from her. Then I raise my gaze to study her. There's nothing immediately off about her; she's wearing her special, ice-blue uniform, a cloak swept over the chair behind her as if she might walk out at any moment. Her desk is organized, an inkpot and quill poised to allow her to note down a reminder for a coming supply run or a notice to a nearby village. She's not usually the one handling that sort of thing anymore, though.

The queen herself is still and placid as a lake's waters. She inclines her head to me when I don't speak and continue to search her face. Wrinkles ebb like cracked glass from the edge of her eyes, though the latter have retained their sharp focus. Her mouth purses as I retain my silence.

"Yes? What is it?" she prompts.

How will she take this? Visions of her ramping up search patrols, of spreading the news to every corner of the court, or conversely stepping back and letting me continue to control the search for him spread out in front of me. You decided. Fiyr agreed. I hook my thumbs together and press, grounding myself, then reply, "Your Majesty, Clowd is missing."

"I see," she says, lowering her eyes to the Book of Prophecies. Then she turns her stare back up to me. "Where is he?"

The pointed question is somehow a comfort. Her shrewd reading of me reminds me of the queen that trained me. "We believe he's left to live with his father, the god."

The queen's gray brows flicker up. "I see," she repeats.

"But he's surely in danger," I continue when she doesn't seem likely to issue a decree on that alone. "He's a child, Your Majesty, and doesn't know what he's getting himself into."

Queen Bluelianna tilts her head. "You believe in his power to choose, or not? The Starlaxi guided him, or they didn't? His actions, or theirs?"

What…? I find myself looking anywhere but her penetrating stare, like I think the stacks of paper arranged next to her might have the answers to those strange questions.

"What does his father want with him?" Then that stare is gone, and she's returned to looking down at the page she's opened on the book.

"We don't know."

"If he has gone of his own volition, and the gods wish to keep him, then nothing but an act of the Starlaxi could change it." Her eyes gleam as she looks back up at me, like we're in on a joke. "Perhaps this is their will."

"That's impossible," I burst out, feeling heat rise in my cheeks at my own impudence, mixed with anger riled by her half-answers and seeming indifference. "And what of Sir Harte? Clowd was like a son to him."

The queen gives me a long look, then shakes her head. "We all must adjust to loss. The gods are not to be trifled with, and this is the path the Starlaxi has chosen for Clowd. There is nothing to be done."

I'm on my feet in an instant, emotions I can hardly put into words bottling themselves in my throat, jostling to unleash themselves on her. You have to care! You have to care about your court! You can't do this to Fiyr! You can't do this to me! Where is the compassionate, intelligent, courageous woman I looked up to?! The unfairness and the rage provoked by it choke me. Why are you doing this? I tremble, staring at her and gritting my teeth to stop myself from saying something I'll regret, then bow as deeply as I can. My body feels like a bow drawn to breaking.

"Very well," I say when I've swallowed it all back down. She looks on serenely, like she can't see the storm raging inside me. "Your Majesty."

…

I wake halfway through the next night when Fiyr untangles his arms from mine and leaves our bed. In a groggy haze of half-waking, I push myself up to the headboard and lean against the wood. It's bracingly cold against my neck.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Fiyr murmurs from our window, framed in moonlight. It must be only a little past midnight; the treetops outside are a sea of darkness.

"It's alright," I answer in the same soft voice. My sleep came restlessly enough, anyway; I didn't tell Fiyr exactly what the queen said, just explained that she wasn't going to take over organizing the search for me. I think he could guess there was more to it, but we've gotten good at ignoring that sort of thing.

He looks out the window, washed in silver, then turns back to me. As my eyes adjust, I see that his face is lined with worry.

"What is it…?"

He sits on the edge of our bed, tangling a hand in his hair. "I dreamed of your father again."

I'm quiet for a moment. "What did he say?"
"He said…" Fiyr smiles. "Says I should've told you he was in my dreams. And tell you that he's proud of you, and that he loves you and Lady Faise, and he would tell you to be strong but he knows just how strong you are."

My eyes sting and I try to play off the sudden feeling in my chest with a snort. "That's more than I ever remember of my dreams."

Fiyr huffs a laugh as well. "Yeah. He also told me to… um… kwee-dado con enemy key paressay door-meer."

I stare. "Did my father forget how to speak the common tongue when he died?"

His lips twist into a wry look. "No, no, he communicates fine, but when he wants to give me one of those little prophecies, he does it in Old Thundrian."

That's Old Thundrian!? His pronunciation is atrocious and my brain feels too stretched out and hollow to try to figure it out. But I'm sure he won't remember it better tomorrow, so I squint at him and ask, "Run… that by me again?"

"Kwee-dado, con el enemy, go key paressay door-meer," he repeats.

Cuidado… con el enemy-go, or probably enemigo but his translation saves time, key… que parece dormir. I press my fingers to my forehead like I can draw it out of my head if I reach in there. C'mon, Briatte and I were just studying this. The enemy, the appearance of sleep… and 'beware.' Beware the enemy that appears to sleep.

"Beware the enemy that appears to sleep," he echoes faintly when I voice it.

Horror pounds out a dull rhythm in my chest. No. It can't be.

"I think I know what it means," he adds.

I hold my breath.

"The Shodawes knights."

"What…?"
Fiyr climbs back under the comforter with me and says quietly, "Shodawa hasn't really attacked us since they teamed up with Wynnd. After Braukkin's reign, and Naitienne's attempt to get us to kill him afterward, and… just, all the trouble Shodawa's caused… and then Cindra taking care of them when they turned up on our door. I'm sure they're up to something."

"So many of them are sick, though," I point out. "What damage are they going to do in their current state?"

Fiyr shakes his head. "I don't know. But if Sir Faer is dead, and Med Naos isn't treating the king anymore and thinks he's going to die soon too, who will take the throne?"

"The new captain, I'd imagine."

"But you heard Lailtle! He hasn't named a successor." Fiyr bunches the blankets up to his chin, looking awfully young.

I've been trying to put that out of my head. I don't even want to try to imagine what it would be like to live in a court with such uncertainty—even in the queen's state, and even knowing I was named captain after midnight, at least our line of succession is clear. I even have my captain's captain picked out. Even if Sir Strommer would have been a better choice in the first place, nobody can contest my right to the crown in the event that… the queen loses her last Blessing.

"In a much older age…" I hesitate. I overheard Lady Fuor and Sir Wynnd at dinner last night, speculating on Shodawes's future, and of what might happen to them if both Naitienne and Sir Faer were rendered incapable of leadership. "It used to be the monarch's eldest child; we had princes and princesses and all of that sort of fluff you'd find in a novel."

Something passes across Fiyr's face that I can't guess at the origin of; a smile, sort of sad and nostalgic.

"But Naitienne never United, and I don't think he admitted fatherhood of any children." I shrug. "Then I supposed it'd pass to the captain, then the captain's children."

Fiyr raises an eyebrow. "And did Sir Faer have kids?"

I tell Fiyr the name I heard Lady Fuor and Sir Wynnd suggest as a possible next monarch. "Lady Feure, his only… only remaining child. Apparently she was named a sort of advisor to King Naitienne even though she's quite young." Maybe she's dead now. Shodawa hasn't given any sort of official declaration of the deceased, yet. The enigmatic Lady Feure could be among them.

"Feure's derived from…" His brow crinkles. "Fur?"

"Fire, I think."

Fiyr huffs a laugh. "She sounds like a peach."

"Yeah, I've heard people with names derived from 'fire' are real dickheads to try to reason with." I sneak an elbow over to his side of the bed and catch him in the ribs.

"So witty, so early," Fiyr answers, squirming away.

I'm relieved to hear him sound a little less anxious. "You really think my dad was talking about Shodawa?"

"Maybe." He pauses. "I'm not certain of anything, but I have a feeling. Why?"

"No reason." It's out before I consider admitting the truth. I trust him, it's not that, I just… want to spare as many people from the other possibility as long as possible. As if saying it out loud would speak it into existence? Don't be ridiculous, Samn, I chide myself. Still, the thought drops to depths of my spirit and stays there, weighing heavily. "Then what?"

Fiyr quiets, then rolls over and curls into my chest. His words drift over my skin. "I think Cindra shouldn't treat the Shodawes knights. She said they were improving already, didn't she? If they're not in danger anymore…"

I can feel his heartbeat against mine. I breathe out, almost into his hair, and think of Lailtle and Weith's faces when we brought them back to the trace-line. How they looked when we found them in the motel in Sun Rocks. They were better, weren't they? Not quite as deathly pale. Their throats were less disturbingly off-colour. Their voices weren't as ragged and choked up. Surely Cindra has helped them as much as she can.

"What are you thinking?" Fiyr whispers.

"I think you're right," I say, finally. I can trust him. If he says he got the feeling that the enemy that sleeps is Shodawa, I trust him. And I hope he's right. "They have to stand on their own, away from our court."

I feel his weight more solidly as tension eases from his body. Relief washes over me at this concord. I really, really hope he's right. Because if he isn't, and I am… Even as Fiyr drifts back off to sleep, secure in my arms, I find myself restless again. Every shadow seems to conceal a man with one burning eye, quiet as sleep, promising everyone that he's well and truly gone with a choking, mortal lie. But not trusting him was how I might've helped save Ravne's life. Not trusting him is why the queen is shattered, but not dead. Almost everything, I think, can be traced back to my one choice to suspect him when no one believed it. But I want so, so badly to lay all the disruption he created to rest and go about as if he really is gone.

Dad, if the warning really was for me… Something burns in my chest—maybe anger, maybe heartache—as I stare up at the starry sky just outside our window. I hear you. I'll be careful and I promise I won't act rashly, but your murderer isn't dead and I haven't forgotten it.

Eeek I think this is a good one but let me know haha.

~Akila