AUDEAMUS

Chapter 28

Matters were not as grandiose as was expected when someone from the esteemed and reveled family of Athar arrived in Hayes. The Athars, a grand and noble family for centuries, had reached the pinnacle of society some three hundred years ago. They had led the kingdom toward its golden age at the beginning of William Fell's reign during the early sixteenth century. However, the advisor at the time, advanced in his years, decided to take a back seat. The Athar lineage was never carried through him as he died without an heir. Instead, it was carried through his distant cousin who received the title and honorable name.

It was widely known that the Athars were honorable, wise, and just. And, while all families have a black sheep here and there, every passing generation saw the same strong and wise leader, always there to advise the king of the Fell dynasty. The current Royal Advisor was no different than his predecessors; mayhap a little prouder and not as outspoken. While he, the Duke of Cantabria, tried to put out the fires in the capital due to the king's rather lacking abilities as a monarch, his younger brother, Willard Athar, had taken a position in the government. His first years he had spent making a name for himself as a magistrate, only to finally receive a post as an official firstly in Internal Affairs, and then he moved on to work for the Treasury Department. It sufficed to say that the capital had sent over someone overqualified for the job, which had rendered Wilson suspicious.

The headstrong Willard found himself in a previously thought insignificant town. At forty-two years of age, he had done well for himself; ambitious yet reserved. He was, all in all, a true civil servant that would do his ancestors proud.

His gray-green eyes squinted as he was led into the courtyard. He readjusted his black frock and the cocked hat, cleared his voice and strolled forth with cane in hand. His bearing was proud, for the fact of what his family name entailed. Yet his eyes were perceptive. He had heard much of the garrison of Hayes. And more whispers told him, in fact, that it was not Major Collins who ordered the lancers, but the proud Captain Forster.

The lancer led him toward Collins' office with quick steps. The gray-haired gentleman made no fuss with small talk. Indeed, he seemed the sort of man that wasted little time.

He was let into the major's office and looked both officers down with squinting eyes as he squared his narrow jaw. The crow's feet around his eyes became prominent as he arched a bushy eyebrow. Athar looked older than his years, a common trait within his family. The gray hairs had started coming in during his early thirties, not that it bothered him much.

Captain Forster gave a bow as Major Collins offered a courteous salute. "My lord Athar," the commandant of the garrison offered. "It is indeed a pleasure and privilege to be graced by such an honorable man as yourself here," he started in a pleasant tone.

Athar waved haphazardly with his hand as his voice boomed. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," he started. "Lord Athar is my brother. Sir Athar will do fine," he stated. "But I am not here for pleasantries," he continued. "I merely came to announce my arrival and then turn in for the night."

Collins arched an eyebrow. Indeed, Sir Athar was much more direct than his reputation would have him be. "Very good, sir. We appreciate the gesture—"

"I will commence my inspection first thing tomorrow morning, of course," Athar continued, thus interrupting Collins. "I have a lot on my plate. Gentlemen," he leaned forward. "I am here by request of my superior as he thought me suitable for this mission. But Safeira calls me, paperwork, and all that business. The quicker I can get this underway, the better," Athar continued.

Forster now smiled as his dark eyes glittered dangerously. "It gladdens me to hear that, sir. We thought that maybe your brother was involved in sending you here, maybe even by direct request of the king himself?"

Athar redirected his attention on the imposing captain. Aye, much had been whispered about the rabid dog of Hayes. He was just as one would expect a power-hungry officer to be. The scar, in the form of a cross, stood out in the middle of his forehead and Athar made it no secret that it caught his attention.

"My brother cares little about what I do," Athar said as his face twisted into an irritated grimace. It caused Forster's eyes to glitter and widen.

"A certain outlaw has caused some problems for us, which is what we suppose to be the reason for this impromptu inspection. But worry not, my good sir, for he is no more."

Athar kept his gaze steadfast on the scar, which slowly unnerved Forster, although the latter made great efforts to not show his discomfort. "Yes, I've heard of your supposed Ghost of Raven's Grove," he continued. "It's disgraceful that he was allowed to continue for as long as he did," Athar growled.

A nerve popped in Forster's forehead, but he kept his tongue.

Collins seemed to be the one to relieve the tension, his eyes flickering nervously between both men. "Aye, but he is gone now, and his followers will soon disperse."

"It gladdens me to hear that you too see what he was," Forster added in a strained voice. "A nuisance."

"We do not need rebels at a time like this," Athar nodded.

Forster neared and they continued speaking about the current affairs up north, about the silencing of some rebel villagers and a rogue general now fighting for the people, up in arms against the king. It was the same rogue general the Duke of Cantabria, Willard's brother, was suspected of supporting secretly. Willard Athar, however, did not seem to show the same inclination as he openly condemned General Adams.

"Sir Athar," the captain cut short. "I see you are a direct man of few words. I also hear that you can be most susceptible when the time is opportune."

Athar arched an eyebrow. "Speak your mind captain."

Forster smirked as he started pacing about the office. He's had a chance to read the man before him and was about to gamble. "You do not need riches, that you have plenty of. But it is true that you and your family have fallen out of, shall I say favor with certain high-ranking gentlemen in Safeira, is it not?"

Athar scratched his chin as he leaned against the wall. "Keep going." His eyes drilled into Forster as Collins settled back and watched the captain work his magic. "I have contacts who would gladly place, if not your brother, at least you back in favor with the right people in the capital. After all, we do not choose who we are related to." He stopped short before the proud official.

"A most interesting point you make, and an even better proposal," Athar started. Collins was in awe but showed little of it. He knew Forster was good, but never this good. "However," Athar continued. "I suppose you will require something in return?" he arched a questioning eyebrow.

"I like a direct man, Sir Athar, especially one as direct and to the point as you. I shall not speak in riddles anymore. Make sure the inspection of Hayes returns to the capital with the highest standards and I will make sure you are distanced from your brother the duke, er…in your favor, of course," the captain blinked. "With the contacts we can offer you, you will surely advance quicker than you already have. I could very well imagine a seat at the Grand Council's table within a year or so."

A wicked smirk spread across Athar's thin lips. "I shall have to get to my writing as soon as I'm installed in my chambers at the inn."

"Oh, but surely you will not spend the next few days there?" Collins leaned forward with a frown. "It's not suitable for a man of your standard. I am certain the mayor wouldn't have it either—"

"Alas, the hour draws late, and I would not bother the man. Nay my good officers, I am not about to spend much time here, for as you said, Hayes has little to report on," he blinked. "I will not require extensive lodgings. The tavern, that Laughing Goose, will suit my purpose just fine."

"Then let us at least offer you an escort," Forster said with extended arms. "I will have my best lancers go with you and help with your belongings."

"I am in your debt, Captain Forster," Athar bowed. He turned to the major. "Major Collins," he placed the hat once more upon his head. It was a sign that he was ready to leave. "A pleasure, gentlemen."

"Nay sir, the pleasure is all ours," Forster blinked. He walked the proud man out of the room and made sure his most trusted corporal followed him and had another two lancers help with his trunk.

Collins leaned back in the chair behind his desk as Forster stepped in. "I do not understand why you want me in on this when you handled the whole affair so beautifully," he snickered.

"Handled?" Forster spat. "It was practically handed to me on a silver plate. Know the circumstances surrounding a man, Collins, and you hold his entire life in your hands."

Collins leaned forward. "I did not know anyone coming from the Athar family would be so susceptible to a bribe."

"When impressions and reputation outdo moral and ethics, anyone can be bought, you simply need to know the price," Forster blinked.

"And who are these revered men in Safeira? What power do you hold over them that they would change their mind about Sir Athar here?"

Forster chuckled. "Still naïve, Collins. Aye but I like that about you. You add a bit of realism and genuine feel to this whole affair." Forster scratched his chin. "I will handle it. You need not know of the specifics."

Collins had a sinking feeling in his stomach that Athar was breathing on borrowed time.

He walked down the cobblestone as some children ran after each other in some tense chasing game, broken up by their heartwarming laughter. The sunbeams pressed harshly down on Hayes, the colorful houses a cheerful façade of what went on within the interior of the small society.

He trailed along the path from The Laughing Goose, having had a late breakfast, delighting in the bourgeoise atmosphere within the tavern; the fiddling of the guitar, the chuckling conversation and the stout woman they called Little Lucy, apparent owner of the establishment. Athar had always wanted to visit Cadherra for he knew the importance the region held to his family. Here the sense of what it was to be Angloan had born. Here was the crib of Angloan pride, what defined their country. He suspected the townsfolk of Hayes would never realize it themselves, how they played a big part in the Angloan history and its identity.

His footsteps led him through tight streets until happening upon a smaller square. There was a blooming tree at the other side of it with an old man sitting under it, playing a game of chess with what appeared to be himself.

But it was next to him, looming grotesquely with an awe-inspiring presence, that the statue of General Edward Cullen, Lion of the North, Field Marshal of Angloa, was positioned. Athar's own family history tied in with this man, many centuries ago. Something within his heart jumped as he thought of the tale that had been passed down about Cullen from parent to child. He felt a connection to this man who was long since dead. Without realizing it, Athar's feet dragged him further toward the statue, almost mesmerized by it. He came to stand directly before it, regarding its intense stare, its glooming appearance, how it overshadowed the man playing chess.

"He be leavin' 'em all speechless these days," the man muttered as he moved the black knight across the field and then promptly turned the chessboard around. "With all his deeds n' whatnots."

"It's hard to believe that his ghost should have returned. But, then again, there were already whispers three hundred years ago that his shadow was spotted weeks after his death in the dungeons of Aldea in Safeira. Maybe he has chosen to come home after all this time."

Simmons chuckled. "Hayes and Cadherra became his home ever since he came up 'ere with the countess, that Swan woman. He be defendin' us now, sir."

Athar settled down opposite Simmons. "Have you seen him?"

Simmons stared up at Athar with an eerie frown from the board. "As I be seein' ya now, sir."

"And…what was he like?"

In his hand, Simmons clutched the black knight, regarding it for a while. "I ain't a man of many words, sir. I could never begin to explain what I saw. Tis a sight one's gotta see fer themselves." He put down the knight harshly on the board and then promptly turned it around.

Athar mumbled something.

"Has Mr. Simmons bested yet another opponent in chess?" a soft and cheerful feminine voice came from his right.

Simmons felt the weight of the white queen in his hand and a smirk spread on his lips.

Athar turned around. "No, miss, I was simply asking this man here about Hayes." He went to stand up as he turned to her. "I am the official from Safeira, sent here to do the formal inspection."

He stopped short in his tracks as he caught sight of her. She was a delightful apparition, dressed in faint blue, the gown picked up by the soft breeze that enveloped them. Some stray chestnut curls danced under her straw bonnet.

"Then you are very welcome here, sir," she smiled. "If you are to do the inspection, I shan't detain you much longer. I merely wished to give my greetings." She looked at the statue and then at Athar again. Simmons tapped the white queen against the board as she curtsied to them both, having forgotten to exchange names.

Athar watched as she walked away, meeting up another young woman with hair as black as the wings of a raven and a young man with honey-colored hair and a genteel countenance.

"Who was that?" he wondered.

Simmons looked up and saw that she had left. "Oh, yes, she be a sweetheart that one," he smiled. "Prone to gettin' into mischief at times. I suppose you tickled her interest, which is why she came over to greet you."

"But who is she?"

Simmons regarded the white queen in his hand, placing it down on the board, effectively removing a black pawn. "That sir, be Miss Isabella Swan," he smiled.

Athar turned heftily to stare at her. "Swan?" A chill passed through him as the shrouded eyes of the statue seemed to drill holes into him.

"Aye, but no ties to that family," Simmons assured Athar.

The middle-aged man glanced back at the statue again. "Who'd name their child Isabella Swan? The combination invokes such a sense of tragedy and distress whenever it is uttered. Such a sad affair."

"Sometimes I think fate be playin' with all of us: that Cullen should appear back in Hayes, that someone called Isabella Swan should find herself here. Tis all very strange, sir."

"Hmm, yes," Athar pondered. "Well, sir—"

"Simmons."

"Simmons, thank you for the information," Athar said with a bow. There were many new questions popping up in his head, many new answers which he sought.

He found himself that same night back in his small room in the tavern. At first glance, Hayes did not seem to be in distress. The music playing downstairs, the carefree air in town; all suggested that this was an idle community with little to worry about. But he had spoken to many, and he could read the fear in their eyes. It seemed Forster held an iron grip on the people.

That same evening, two notes found themselves in his hand. The first was a formal invitation by the mayor to come to his extravagant summer gathering, to be held within the week. It seemed Athar had gotten a last-minute invitation. Another, more hastily written note, detailed the road he was to take to the church of St. Nicholas and there await further instruction. Athar bid his time until the town seemed to lull itself to sleep. When all grew quiet, he skillfully slipped away from his room and out to the back, where a saddled horse stood ready for him. It seemed his contacts kept friends with the tavern owner. He mounted the horse and made sure not to be seen as he left for the church, quickly spurring the animal into a fast canter the moment he was past the walls.

Athar tied the horse to the pole outside and entered, removing the hood from his black cape as he stepped foot inside the house of God. Some wax candles remained lit, but, otherwise, little light seeped through.

His footsteps echoed as he walked down toward the altar. "I came alone, as you bade," he said hesitantly. "Will you tell me now who you are and why you had friars Nathan and Blackwood send for me?"

Silence.

Maybe it was a prank. He had to confess; when his brother had first gotten word from a no-name lawyer in Safeira about a possible crime of corruption in Hayes, he had not felt the need to look further into it. But when he had explicitly been requested to come in person—by his older brother— his interest had been piqued. When the letter mentioned that Lucas Ridge requested the duke's presence as most urgently—only to be reported dead shortly after it—Willard had been brought into the fold. John Athar was needed in the capital, but he trusted in his younger brother and sent him in his stead, stating to be wary of Captain Forster and Mayor Wilson. Willard had cast it all aside and rushed to Hayes as quickly as he could.

A hooded man now stepped toward him.

Athar swallowed hard. "Who goes there?"

The man neared further, slipping between the shadows. He lowered the hood, showing a tanned face and hair as dark as night itself. "Thank you for coming, sir," Jacob said. He pulled something out of his robe and handed it to the older man. "I know you have questions, many of which will be answered the moment you read this letter."

Athar stared down at the blanched paper, at the thickness of the bundle and sighed. He accepted it into the fold of his gloved hands and sat down next to a source of light, starting to read without a word. The more he read, the more his lips thinned until he stared up at Jacob.

"Mr. Ridge was—"

"Murdered," Jacob nodded.

"And you are?" Willard asked.

"Jacob Black. My father, impaired by the wounds sustained from his last imprisonment in Forster's prison, could not make it."

Willard looked at the letter again. "You have the accounts and ledgers?"

Jacob walked to one of the benches and produced them, handing them to Willard.

"This is…very alarming." He placed a hand across his eyes, trailing it up as if pushing hair or sweat away from his eyes. However, it was the invisible sense of defeat and fatigue he wished to be rid of. How could this have escaped the Safeiran administration, he wondered.

"They bribed you, yes?" Jacob asked.

Athar nodded. "As Lucas Ridge wrote that they would." He hesitated. In Lucas' letter, he had pleaded with Duke Athar to be wary of Wilson and Forster, to not show all his cards and play along in their game.

Lucas had instructed Duke Athar to contact the friars of St. Nicholas in case he was to come in aid of Hayes, as they were removed from town, their church never visited by either Wilson or Forster and—most importantly of all—they could be trusted.

"After my brother reached out to him, Friar Blackwood was adamant I trust in you and your father, Mr. Black. I did not have another choice but to do as Mr. Ridge wrote. Thus, I feigned distaste for my brother, simulated a lust for power and finally accepted the bribe. They do not yet suspect anything. However, Captain Forster is most perceptive, he will know eventually. But that such an elevated officer as Collins should play part in this too?" Athar shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Disgusting."

"Will this be enough?" Jacob asked.

Athar looked through the ledgers. "We could compare these with our accounts in Safeira, unless Wilson has contacts there as well. I must speak with my brother," he muttered. "But I do not know how much time we have. They wish for this to be done and over as quickly as possible."

"But will it be enough to take them down? Sir, they've been bleeding us for months. People have lost their lives. I hold little faith in the government you serve or the law anymore," he spat. "But Blackwood said we needed you when you reached out to him. And Cullen said we should go this route and not rise up against those men with brute violence—"

"Is he alive?" Athar interrupted.

Jacob's shoulders sank. "I…don't know. I haven't seen him since we rescued some men from being executed. They say he was wounded and I…did see blood. But no body was found." Jacob paused with a fleeting look in his eyes. "He wanted to bring Wilson and Forster down without an uprising. But if this doesn't work, Sir Athar, we will rise up and bring the bastards to their knees by force."

Athar saw the fire burn in Jacob's eyes. It was clear he had gone through much, lost much. It seemed the possible death of his leader, Cullen, was what affected him the most.

"This should be enough. I am supposed to turn in my official report tomorrow. But if it finds no fault with Hayes or the way it is run, it may hinder our goals."

Jacob started pacing. "Have you been invited to the summer gathering at Wilson's estate?" he asked.

"I have."

"If you would submit your report there—a report that truly shows what goes on here, together with the evidence, we could come and put Wilson in his spot for all to see. The people of Hayes are proud, if we can reveal to them what Wilson has been doing out in the open, none of us risk our lives in the process. And Cullen's men…well, I guess they're my men now…will offer some sort of protection—"

Athar shook his head. "Listen to me now, Mr. Black. We could do this, yes. In my presence, presenting all this evidence would give it validity. But if you simply storm in there with your men in tow, Forster will no doubt lash out at you." Athar looked pensive. "Unless," he started. "I could declare you all a civilian force, which would give you jurisdiction to stand up against Forster and the Royal Guard, should they attack."

He paused, stroking his chin.

"This evidence, however, is not strong enough to declare that Wilson and Forster were involved in Lucas Ridge and Maria Haste's murder. If we could prove that, it would ensure that both never again saw the light of day."

"This is all we have," Jacob said with sunken shoulders.

"Then this is what we work with. I shall have to meet up with you again and plan this; we cannot falter."

"Come to this church and have the friars ring the bell three times and I shall come."

Athar extended a hand which Jacob accepted. "I look forward to working with you, Black. Although," the taller said. "I confess it would have been a thrill to have been able to meet this Ghost of Raven's Grove, as they call him."

Jacob grew somber as he pressed his lips together. "Let us hope he truly is a ghost and not a mortal. Let us hope he comes to our camp before Wilson's gathering."

Athar nodded. "Would it be inopportune of me to…say the word?" he wondered.

It caused a smile within Jacob. "No, sir. I think you have earned saying it."

Their handshake ended. "Well then, Audeamus, Mr. Black." The word echoed strongly and stirred something within them, as if the past was present, a watchful eye regarding them. Mayhap it was the very soul of those who had fought for Cadherra three hundred years earlier now watching as the province once more fell in difficult times.

"Audeamus," Jacob echoed.

She wrung her hand nervously as she shifted her weight in the seat of the confessional. Bella hadn't been to St. Nicholas since her last meeting with Cullen. The very thought of them trapped in the small confinement of the wooden box, the way he had pressed her up against the wall, how he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, was all that ran through her mind. It stirred her thoughts and made her unable to think straight.

Jacob was solemn, quiet. She caught some glimpses of him through the latticed opening. The church pressed down on them with a strange eeriness, a mysterious air that encircled them both. She had wanted to know he was well after having realized the state Edward found himself in. She had wished to know what he knew and what he would do.

"It gladdens me to see you well, Jacob," she began, her eyes searching his through the opening. The charcoal orbs met hers and a roughened expression etched their way through the opening.

"I do not know if I'd call it well, Bella," he whispered, his words carried off in a thin echo fleeting through the air to her ears.

"The men you saved—"

"They are safe."

Jacob seemed affected by something—like he bore too much on his shoulders.

"Cullen," she started.

"I…I think he is gone." The thickness in his voice, the way he shied away from the conversation: Jacob was grief-stricken.

Bella swallowed hard and licked her lips. She remembered the wounded man on Lucy's bed. She remembered the blood, the near brush of death. When she knew who he was, when he turned into her fiancé—a man that she now cared for and knew the dangers surrounding him—she had wanted him to put aside the mask.

But.

The look in Jacob's eyes made her stop. Cullen had brought many men together to fight Forster and Wilson. His absence was a hard blow to their morale. A part of her felt guilty that she hadn't yet told Jacob that Edward was alive. But a part of her knew it wasn't her place to tell.

"I am sorry, Jacob," she mumbled. While she wished to protect Edward, to know that he was safe, she knew it would never be fair to people like Jacob, whatever her or Edward's wishes were.

Jacob cleared his voice. "Wilson's ball is in two days. Tell me you are not going."

"Everyone is going, there is no excuse to get away from it. It would make him suspicious of me and my family."

"You cannot go, Bella. Please, do not go!"

"Are you planning to confront him there?"

"If it is not done publicly, Wilson will surely twist it all to his benefit."

"Will Willard Athar be able to take him down?"

Jacob paused. "This is the only option we have. If he does nothing and leaves, Wilson holds the power. Cullen advocated for us using as little force as necessary when dealing with Wilson, he said he was like a snake that wormed his way out of situations like these. He thought Wilson was well connected in the capital. We cannot take him down by force; it has to be done by the book, like Ridge wanted, to end him once and for all." A look of resignation claimed him. She heard the heaviness in his voice as he shifted in his seat.

"Bella, do not go to that ball. I have a feeling it will all end rather badly, despite what Athar says."

"I must go, Jacob. As I know that you must as well."

The carriage was pulled under the wall as they left Hayes and went for the promenade. Ever since it had been declared that Edward Masen and Bella Swan were to be wed, he had slowly started changing his dress. First, the horrible gelled hair had disappeared. No longer were the curls pushed flat against his temples. Instead, they were pushed back, away from his face, showing off handsome features and not distracting from his vibrant eyes or smiling mouth. Soon followed the frills, the lace handkerchief had been thrown into the roaring kitchen flames by herself with a satisfied smirk on her lips. One day, Bella had happened upon Alice in that same Masen kitchen and saw another ensemble of frocks being thrown into the flames by Jasper. Without a word, Bella had first joined them and then argued that maybe the clothes could be donated. Alice, ever the crafty individual that she was, had simply raised an eyebrow and asked her soon to be sister-in-law who on earth would ever wish to wear such ghastly apparel. "Not even a hermit!" Alice had exclaimed. Bella had burst out into laughter at the irony.

Thus, her fiancé had transformed from a pompous peacock to a rather agreeable young man. The air he kept about him was still to be changed, however. But she noted, when they were alone, how he looked more comfortable without all the excessive clothing, powder and rouge.

It was a gorgeous summer's day as Joseph led the horses and vis-à-vis carriage across the road cutting through the emerald meadow. She felt the hot rays penetrate the straw bonnet which she wore, warming the top of her head. The perfumed breeze smelt of the heather and forest. She closed her eyes and inhaled, unaware of how Edward stared at her, unknowingly leaning in.

"Do you know of Willard Athar?" she asked, her eyes still closed, the corners of her mouth still upward.

"Aye, I hear he is a good man, though I've never met him in person. But I think I will, soon."

Her eyes flew open and he was met with a burst of melting chocolate orbs that pressed into him as she frowned. "As Masen or Cullen?"

He leaned back in the carriage. She would never know how good it felt that she was in on the secret. Edward let his bare face be kissed by the sun as he settled back further. He grew casual and relaxed the moment they were away from prying eyes.

"His brother, the Duke of Cantabria, was—is—advocating for reformations within the government that would place our country in the eighteenth century and lead us into the nineteenth. Reformations that are long overdue. Willard Athar was and, hopefully, still is, in line with his brother's thinking. They wanted a change when I first heard of him in London. I hope he still does." He looked pensive for a while.

"Apparently, from what Joseph has gathered through Friar Nathan, Lucas Ridge wrote to Lord Athar right before his death, hoping to catch his attention. The Duke of Cantabria is a busy man, but it seems the deaths and the uprising has finally made him send someone he trusts here. I think Ridge told him of the absence of Lord Newton. He must have written of Forster and Wilson's power-hungry grab for the entire Hayes area. It appears Safeira and Wessport have been keeping an eye on us for a while. Wilson is probably backed by noblemen who lead the king astray—powerful noblemen who Lord Athar is trying to take down. But someone needs to bring Wilson in first for him to succeed. That is why it needs to be done through the law and not through an open revolt."

"But, Edward…does this mean that you will meet him as…Cullen?" He had moved from her initial question, maybe because he didn't wish to answer it himself.

Edward sighed, staring at the moving countryside as Joseph took them to their beloved promenade. "Everyone believes Cullen to be dead," he said. "I still haven't recovered enough to appear before Jacob. The day I rode out to meet you in Raven's Grove I thought I would never make it home," he admitted. He wouldn't say how he had felt after changing back into Edward Masen.

"Do you…want Cullen to remain dead?" She saw the sadness around the edges, the way he wished to avoid the discussion entirely.

"Although I admit I could not keep this up much longer, I realize there is still much to be done."

"Well, maybe consider telling at least your family the truth," she suggested. When he pressed his lips together and remained silent, she sighed. She leaned forward and took his hand in hers. "You know," she started, "When I got to know you as Masen, I was appalled at times by the fop. But even I perceived some glints of you behind that façade. I am certain your family must have seen it as well. And I am more than certain that they would understand if you explained it to them. They know what Forster is and how perceptive he is, they would understand, Edward, as I have come to do. It might take some time, but having those you love by your side would make this easier, don't you think?"

"I put on the mask because it was easier than trying to convince them that we should fight back openly. Look where it got Billy Black, look where Ridge ended up. My father is hotheaded, as you know. He was already involved in this, Ridge had already entrusted information to him. If he found out about me—if he didn't lock me up in the townhouse first—he would want to further involve himself and I cannot let that happen."

"You were shot and almost killed, I thought I would lose you. You are still wounded, and I believe that, if there was more time, you should rest more. Yet, you and I both know that as we speak, things are being set in motion on both sides. Jacob aims to take down Wilson and Forster with or without you, but he cannot do it alone." Her voice shook softly, and she bit down on her lower lip as she looked into his eyes. He saw the reluctance in her eyes, how it went against every bone in her body to say what she had just said.

She could see his jaw clench and his nostrils flare. He kept silent for a little while, digesting the meaning of her words until finally speaking up. "I know." He drummed his fingers against his leg.

They settled for a while, the carriage taking them past the tree-line, reveling in the melody of the forest, of the strange aura it provoked. Both felt more at ease between the trees than they did in town for there, both were truly free to behave as they pleased.

His sudden stiff and serious countenance was suddenly broken as he cracked a smile, trying to lighten the situation. Edward removed his felt hat and let his fingers run through his hair as he took a deep breath, staring into the horizon. "Of course it would be Bella Swan who would reason thusly with me," he chided with an arched eyebrow.

She in turn blushed. "I was just—"

"I will not abandon Jacob, my men or my brothers-in-arms." He settled back and arched an eyebrow. "And I will not let myself get shot again. Really now, whoever got me in the side was lucky," he chuckled, stifling a groan as it agitated his stitched abdomen. It had still not healed through entirely as only a little more than a week had passed since the shot. The outer skin had started healing nicely, but the deeper wound was still sore and bothersome, yet it did not impede him to move around as it had before.

The carriage started descending a small hill as they neared the promenade. "You know, I met up with Jacob yesterday at St. Nicholas. I…had to make sure he was well too," she mumbled. Her eyes widened. "He asked if I was going to attend Wilson's ball," she said.

Edward arched an eyebrow; not surprised Jacob was asking Bella about the ball. "I had been sending threats to Wilson, enough to frighten him to such a degree that he constantly kept surrounding himself with people. He thought I wouldn't strike if he was accompanied by other civilians. Therefore, I thought it would be ironic that I should appear before him, as Cullen, during the biggest feast he'd ever held." The look in his eyes seemed empty; as if his head had trailed off into the clouds only to be lost there.

"Well, Jacob has contacted Willard Athar and is planning on making an impromptu appearance, as it were," she muttered.

Edward still didn't react to her, but looked pensive, as if thinking over something.

"Do you think they could do it?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Take down Wilson at his own gathering?"

"If Jacob presents the evidence and Athar is there as a witness, it could be plausible, but very risky. Wilson is at his strongest when he is backed by Forster. If the entire force of the Royal Guard is there, it could quickly turn sour. Even with all the men from camp, Forster's lancers could overpower them in a matter of minutes. They are too many."

Bella licked her lips, feeling the day darken. "What if…Wilson worms his way out of the arrest?" she asked, paling by the minute. "Such a thing could not happen, could it? Athar would make sure he is arrested and placed in prison for life."

"The evidence against him is vast. Having a witness would, of course, be the best evidence. But both Mr. Ridge and Miss Haste are dead." But Edward looked to be having something up his sleeve "However, there is someone else. Though I hardly think they'd step forward," he said.

"The person Jessica Stanley seemed so worried for?" she asked, eagerly leaning forward. Suddenly the carriage hit a rough spot, sending her flying into Edward's chest. Bella gasped as she landed against his torso. She quickly righted herself.

Edward paled as his hand went to his side.

"Did I tear your stitches?" she blurted out, suddenly fussing over him. She moved in closer and bade Joseph stop the horses once more, looking to see how he had faired. Edward's eyebrows arched to his hairline when she quickly started unbuttoning his coat.

"Eh, Bella…" he said feebly as she disregarded him and pulled the buttons of the waistcoat open only to reveal his white shirt.

She gave out an irritated snort. "I did tear your stitches!" There was a small line of blood from the broken skin as his shirt stuck to it. Her eyebrows knitted together, and she looked up, ashamed that her clumsiness had hurt him.

But what she found instead was a flustered Edward. Only then did she realize why. She had practically started undressing him with a very unbefitting familiarity for an unmarried woman and not given it a second thought.

Suddenly she jumped away from him, hugging her hands close to herself.

He pressed his lips together, looking at her for some time until she saw that he could no longer hold back the devilish laughs. "Really, Bella, if you keep behaving in this way, our wedding night will be very premature," he laughed, ignoring the slight throbbing pain in his wound.

A blush crept up her throat, spreading on her cheeks all the way to her ears as Joseph joined in on the laugh as well, unable to keep a straight composure anymore.

Bella brought up her fan and hid her red face behind it as Edward held his side in pain, unable to stop laughing.

A/N: I promised and I now deliver dear readers: chapter 28.

I will now enjoy my vacation, thank you for the well-wishes 3 And I will enjoy that one truly universal known fact: calories don't count on vacay! ;)))

Cheers,

Isabelle