89
By the time Rook had followed the man out of the market, she knew that he was well aware of her following and his main goal would be to dispatch of her as quickly as possible. As Rook glanced around and realized that there wasn't anybody around, she called out before the man ahead of her could turn and throw the knives she knew he was holding.
"Took you long enough to go somewhere private!" She snapped as she grew closer. "Did they not tell you to expect me, or what?"
The man turned, his suspicion obvious. She could see the glint of the throwing knives in his hand, but luckily, he didn't attack. "Who in Ancient's name are you?"
Rook kept her nose turned up as she sauntered over, praying that this conversation would at least get her some information. She supposed she could always drag this guy off to the fortress for questioning, but Ottan's crew were notoriously tight-lipped. The only exception was when they assumed they were talking to one of their own.
"Ern told me you're the one to talk to, if I've got information," she huffed. It was a risk, but she trusted Alan's judgement that the Ern character would at least be on the higher rungs of Ottan's forces. For a few nerve-wracking moments, the man just stared in confusion, but then he sneered.
"Why would he tell you to come to me?"
"Look, I got good info. Got someone on the inside and everything," she offered, glancing around to make sure there was no one around to hear. He raised an eyebrow, his expression making it clear that he thought her approach juvenile. Rather than offended, Rook felt relieved—she was counting on him thinking she was a wannabe. "My sister works in the kitchens," she insisted. "She sees the leader every day—I can get you whatever information you need! For a price…of course."
"Look, sweetheart, do yourself a favor and get lost," the man sneered. "We don't need any rookies in our operations, okay?"
Rook almost flinched, thinking he was calling her by name, but then she processed what he was saying. "Ern didn't think I was a rookie," she huffed.
"Really? Then why didn't he offer to pay you for your so-called information?" the man asked dryly.
She pursed her lips, as if frustrated by his argument. "He…told me to come to you," she muttered.
"Must have dropped my name to get rid of you. I don't know why else he would decide to pester me with this. I got my own informant, girly…way better than some kitchen maid."
Rook's heart was pounding, but she just folded her arms crossly. "My sister takes meals directly to the leader and his inner circle all the time. Your informant is probably just some…some stable boy or something."
"Not even close," the man sneered. Rook willed him to go on, but he didn't. He was turning to leave, and she marched closer.
"Even if you do have a good informant, it's even better to have two, right? Twice as much information…"
"And twice as many people to pay," the man cut in. "Look…I ain't about to split my share with the likes of you, all right? I make way more money keeping the chain nice and small, so why don't you get lost before I make you regret following me all the way out here?"
"Well…I bet your informant doesn't know what my sister told me earlier," Rook snapped, grabbing his arm. He pulled free quickly, brandishing his knife to warn her off. She continued, her voice hushed. "It's huge news. I'll tell you for a couple of rounds."
"A couple of rounds? Are you insane?"
"It's worth it. It's really big," Rook insisted. "It's going to change the whole game."
The man narrowed his eyes, and Rook met his gaze. "I doubt it's anything I don't already know." He finally said, moving to leave.
"Just a round!" Rook tried.
"I have my ways of shutting you up, you know. If you're going to cause a scene…"
"It's about the leader!" she insisted desperately. "My sister saw him not two hours ago. Do you really have info more recent than that?"
The man finally hesitated, glancing at her irritably. "What is it?"
She smirked in victory before folding her arms aloofly. "One round."
"I'll give you five bits…if the info is something I haven't already heard."
She scowled. "What? That's barely anything, considering that I have to split it with my sister."
"How were you going to split a single round?"
"Fine, five bits," she agreed at last, glancing back behind her. "The leader…is sick."
The man rolled his eyes with a scoff. "I ain't paying you a bit for that, love." He turned to leave, and Rook moved to cut him off.
"Isn't that important information?" she demanded. "He's sick—really sick! Like practically on his deathbed…"
"That sick already?" the man asked, not seeming surprised at all. "Would have thought it would take a little longer than that."
Rook's blood ran cold, and she narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean? You already knew he had fever?"
"Girl, you obviously have no real stakes in this whole operation. I doubt Ern gave you the time of day, and now you're begging your way down the ladder. But at this point, a rat as desperate as you poses more of a threat to our plan than anything." He pulled out his sword, and Rook's eyes widened. She held up her hands in a desperate show of surrender.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. "I could be a real asset! Think about the possibilities this could open for you lot. A sick leader is a vulnerable leader, and I could give you information from inside the fortress…"
"Oh, we've thought well and hard about the possibilities, girly. Anyone touches a hair on his head, and his parents will raze the south to the ground. But they can't rightly blame anyone if he gets sick and dies from fever, can they? Just a terrible misfortune at that point."
Rook shook her head. "Well, they've got healers and things coming in that could help him. If you lot want to strike, you've got to do in now, before he can get better."
"He won't be getting better. We made sure of that."
The dread hit Rook hard, and the man narrowed his eyes. She wondered if she didn't quite steel her expression as much as she should have. "You need me," she tried desperately.
"Look. You can't give me anything I can't get from a member of the leader's personal guard," the man argued, pointing the sword at her. "Who, if you were wondering, is a much better informant than some dinky kitchen maid. But now this conversation's gotta die with you—if you're desperate enough to come to us to get paid for information, then you're desperate enough to go to the people who are best left in the dark." He sent the knife flying and Rook barely managed to dodge it. "No hard feelings," he sneered.
Rook dropped the act as he lunged toward her, trying to sink his sword in her belly. In one swift motion, she pulled out her own sword. To his credit, he didn't let his shock at her sudden skills distract him enough to not protect himself, though he was forced to go on the defensive. Rook's attacks came swiftly, fueled by the anger and terror inside.
It wasn't long before she overpowered the man, and his haughtiness was replaced by fear as she managed to knock his blade out of his hands. "Who are you?" he hissed as the tip of her sword rested against his chest.
"How exactly did you ensure that the leader won't get well?" Rook demanded, her voice cold, all trace of naivety gone. His gaze flicked over her, and it was clear he realized his mistake in talking to her at all. When he didn't answer, she took a step closer. "I suggest you answer my question, if you don't want me to gut you."
"Go ahead," the man growled hopelessly. "It's better than what they'll do to me, once they find out about this."
Rook wasn't necessarily surprised by his answer, but it made her frustrated just the same. She thought about questioning him further, but she knew that he wasn't going to answer any more of her questions. Not yet, at least.
She moved rapidly, and the man flinched with fear. Rather than run him through, she struck him soundly with the hilt of her blade, knocking him out cold. As he crumpled to the dirt, Rook looked around again for a place to put him. As much as she wanted to drag him back to the fortress, there was no way of doing so without going through the market, and she was sure to be seen. Her gaze rested on the formations in the distance. She knew from personal experience that they hid a cave or two, and she looked back down at the limp man in the sand.
"That'll do for now," she mused as she spoke to the unconscious man. "Don't worry, it'll only be temporary…but for your sake, I hope none of your colleagues find you in the meantime."
Haiven shook Theo gently to wake him. He didn't move, and her heart pounded with panic. She shook his shoulder more aggressively, and he finally blinked awake.
"I fell asleep again, didn't I?" he guessed, and she sighed in relief.
It's not your fault. It took longer than I thought to find what I needed. She turned to pour the tea she had brought before offering it to him. He drank it, his expression clouding. After he finished, he turned to her again.
"That didn't taste like normal fever tea."
I added some extra herbs—things to help your other symptoms. She didn't include the fact that she had never really made a fever tea like this because generally, someone with fever didn't have all the symptoms that Theo kept developing. It's going to make you cough, she admitted. But we need to keep your lungs clear.
He nodded his understanding, and within a few minutes, the tea was starting its work. Haiven cleaned up the area, wincing at Theo's intense coughing bouts. She still wanted to move him somewhere more ventilated, but she understood that there were many safety concerns here in the south—they couldn't leave Theo somewhere vulnerable, especially not when he was sick.
The door opened, and Haiven looked over to see Rook entering. Theo was still coughing, and Rook's expression crumpled as she made her way over to where he was struggling to clear his lungs.
"What's happening?" she demanded. Haiven tried to sign to her and let her know that it was all part of the process, but Rook obviously didn't understand her. The braid-wearing Oni fixed the healer with a look of frustration, and Theo finally managed to catch his breath enough to speak.
"It's okay, Rook. Just gotta get my lungs cleared out," he offered tiredly.
"Tell me truthfully, Theo…does this feel like a normal fever?" she demanded. He looked away, and began coughing anew. Rook turned to look at Haiven when she realized Theo wasn't going to answer her. "Is this a normal fever?" she demanded.
Haiven glanced over at Theo and sighed. I don't know, she offered.
"Are your treatments working at all, or is he just getting worse?" Rook asked, her voice rising.
"Rook…don't blame Haiven…" Theo wheezed, and the woman shook her head.
"I'm not blaming her," Rook insisted, glancing over at him. "But I have to know." Haiven watched as Theo and Rook stared at each other, and finally, Rook turned back to the healer. "Let's talk privately."
"Rook…"
"You just focus on getting better, all right?" she snapped. Theo's expression clouded, and Haiven followed Rook reluctantly into the sitting room. Rook closed the door to Theo's bedchamber, and then her expression crumpled as she looked back at Haiven. "I'm not blaming you," she assured, her voice soft. "But…I need to know. Is he getting worse?"
Haiven thought about it for a moment, but she was forced to admit to herself that despite her best efforts, he wasn't getting better. She nodded hesitantly, and Rook cursed softly.
"Okay. Then…we need to change our approach. You treating symptoms isn't going to help anything if he's not really sick," Rook pointed out. Haiven frowned in confusion; Theo was definitely sick. She was about to try to sign as much, but then Rook was speaking again. "What do you know about poisons?"
Haiven stared, her blood running cold. Why? She demanded. Is he poisoned?
Rook seemed to understand that question at least, and she clenched her fists. "I don't know—I'm following some leads, trying to get to the bottom of this. Something is definitely going on, though—this isn't just a normal fever. Do you know of anything that someone could have poisoned him with, that would mimic the symptoms of fever?"
Haiven rubbed her arm, glancing back in the direction of Theo's bedchamber. She wished she could say yes, and provide the answers that Rook needed, but she finally shook her head. Iona had trained her in many aspects of healing when she was her apprentice, but poison wasn't ever something that they had to deal with in their secluded sanctuary. I'm sorry.
"Do you think it's at least possible, though? That someone could potentially mask a poison as a fever?"
Yes, Haiven admitted. All medicinal plants have side effects…I suppose it is POSSIBLE for someone to create a combination that could be misidentified as fever.
Whether Rook understood the details of her signing, it was clear the woman understood the gist at least. She chewed her lip. "Okay. I'll try to find more proof, and you keep Theo from getting any worse. If you can." She rubbed her face, and Haiven studied the woman closely.
When's the last time you slept? She asked, taking in the dark circles under Rook's eyes. Didn't Alan say that Rook had shown up at his tent in the middle of the night? The sun was going down again…had Rook been up for over a day?
"Good plan," Rook murmured, either not understanding Haiven's question or ignoring it completely as she turned to leave.
It was Rook's turn to lead Dynmar into a meeting room, but the second the door closed, her blade was against his throat. The guard's eyes widened, but he didn't manage to get ahold of his own sword in time.
"Are you insane?" he demanded, and Rook kept her gaze steady.
"Someone in Theodynn's personal guard has been selling information," she said. "And I swear, if I find out it's you, I'll filet you and feed you to a dragon."
He furrowed his brow, and Rook scanned his expression for a flash of guilt or dread. The only thing she saw was anger. "You think I'm a snitch?" Dynmar realized. "You?"
Rook removed her blade and sheathed it, though she kept one hand on it in case Dynmar decided to attack. "I don't know who the snitch is," she admitted. "You're actually the only person I feel like I can trust right now, but so help me if it turns out that you were the one who betrayed Theo…"
"Betrayed him how?" Dynmar glowered at her, gripping the hilt of his own blade, though he didn't remove it. "How do you know there's a mole?"
"Caught one of Ottan's remaining lackeys, and that's all the more I got out of him," Rook offered. Dynmar's expression furrowed in confusion, but she didn't offer more of an explanation. "You need to find out who it is. In fact, I want Theo's entire guard changed up—the guards that make up his personal escort should always be under surveillance. Or at very least, they should have no access to Theo, or the kitchens…"
"The kitchens?" Dynmar shook his head. "Rook…why are you telling this to me? You should be telling this to Mahlyn."
"Mahlyn doesn't want to listen to me," she pointed out, folding her arms. "You're the one who told me to be in charge, Dynmar. So, this is me taking charge."
He stared at her, looking like he wanted to argue. However, he just sighed. "Change in guard has to come from Mahlyn…so I guess I'll talk to her, since you don't want to."
"I just don't have time," Rook countered. "I've got a lot to figure out and the clock is ticking."
"Well, thanks for sharing the load," he offered sarcastically.
"I don't know who else I can trust," Rook pointed out.
"Trust? You had a sword to my throat five seconds ago!"
"And if I find out that you're the traitor, I'll do a lot worse," Rook insisted. "But for now, I need you to convince Mahlyn to switch up the guards. But whatever you do, don't tell her it's because we know one of them is suspect."
"That's literally the only reason she would listen to me," Dynmar argued.
"Make it as vague as possible. If the traitor knows they've been made, they'll disappear. It would help us figure out who they were, maybe…but won't get us the added information we need."
"Information like what?"
"Just focus on the task you already have," Rook said, avoiding the question. "Convince Mahlyn to change it up, which will make our traitor start to sweat. Nothing's worse than being a rat who can't tell if you've been made or not, trust me—bail out too soon, and you doom yourself. Bail out too late, and you doom yourself. With that kind of pressure, they'll trip up. Be watching for it."
"Speaking of pressure, you realize what you want me to do is probably going to be impossible, right?"
"Trust me when I say the south may very well depend on you figuring it out." Rook turned and left before Dynmar could argue further, and she prayed that she hadn't made a huge mistake in trusting him. Though, if he was the traitor, he probably would have spent more time insisting he wasn't, and wouldn't have argued nearly as much in order to stay on her good side. Or that was just wishful thinking on her part.
Her exhaustion was making itself known, and she knew she was going to need to sleep soon. She knew all too well the dangers of getting so wrapped up in a project that one forgot to take care of themselves. She knew that she was going to need to sleep before taking on anything else, but she had one more stop to make.
The healing wing smelled like smoke, and Rook audibly sighed before making her way to where she had last seen Ylba. The frizzy-haired woman was still in the room, but now she was seated in the middle of the preparation table in a meditative stance. Her eyes were closed as she breathed deeply from the smoke coming out of a large jar that she was seated around. Rook crinkled her nose as she watched the fumes wafting out of the clay vessel—she could only assume Ylba was burning more herbs.
"Here to kick me out?" the healer asked as Rook entered, though Ylba hadn't opened her eyes.
"Here to ask you some questions about herbs that could mimic fever."
The eccentric woman opened her eyes and smiled knowingly. "So…you've come to the same conclusion I have, it sounds like."
Rook felt a flash of anger, and she stepped closer threateningly. "What do you mean?"
"Calm down. Only a hunch, and not one I could prove." Ylba stretched, her back cracking loudly. "Despite what you assume, I really did treat that leader of yours with fever medication, but it didn't seem to be working. So, I naturally assumed the problem was with his soul, rather than his body. But even after a deep soul cleansing, he has not improved. In fact, given the herbs the replacement you brought was looking for, the illness has spread to his lungs. At this point, it's pretty reasonable to suspect foul play."
"And were you planning on keeping that realization to yourself?" Rook snapped.
"Eh, I figured that whoever that girl is you brought to replace me would come to the same conclusion. And you're here demanding answers…so I'd be right."
"Look, do you know of anything that could be causing this? A poison? Or a combination of herbs?"
"Well…it could honestly be any number of things," Ylba said with a yawn. "Of course, the poisons I'm familiar with would have killed him by now, so it's either a milder version of one, or not a poison at all."
"But is there a poison that would cause the symptoms he has?"
"Well, if you eat too much of the wrong sort of herb, it could cause something like this," Ylba mused.
"Which herb?"
"There's not just one," Ylba tutted. "That's the hard part—if you misdiagnose the herbal overdose, you'll cause more harm than good."
Rook felt a familiar wave of frustration, but she tried to latch onto the hope in the comment. "But…if we were to figure out which herb was used, could you treat it then?"
"Technically…though you've already replaced me. In fact, I should probably be clearing my things out of here as we speak, huh?"
Rook narrowed her eyes. "You aren't fired. But if you're lying to me in order to secure your place here…"
"That would require far more effort than just abandoning ship, I assure you," Ylba pointed out dryly. "If you can somehow figure out what he ingested, and how much of it, I can try to help from there."
Rook nodded, feeling both more hopeful and more desolate. How would she figure out what Theo had eaten? Torture the man she had tied up in that cave? Her best bet would be to scour Ottan's home. She moved to leave, but then another idea suddenly struck her.
"If you were to go into a kitchen, would you recognize any herbs that were out of place?"
Ylba raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"
"Do you know the difference between herbs that can be eaten, and thus have a place in a kitchen, and those that are purely medicinal, which should not?"
"I suppose…"
"Good. Then that's what you'll be doing the rest of the evening."
Ylba stared, but then a smile stretched across her face. "You really think he was poisoned, right in this fortress?"
"I don't know what I think…but I'm ready to start finding answers or ruling things out. Now come on."
"You expect me to go through the entirety of the kitchen and find a trace of some herb…"
"I expect you to listen," Rook interrupted.
"I'm not going to find much on my own…"
"I'll give you some help," Rook cut in, an idea forming.
Ylba smiled a little. "You're going to raise all kinds of warning flags, if you send a fleet of guards in there to search the place."
"The ones I have in mind aren't guards yet…but they're just as skilled." Rook gestured for Ylba to follow her. "Come on. We don't have all night."
90
Alan stirred the bubbling stew, though his mind was far away. There was a strange sort of helplessness that came from knowing that his friends could be suffering and he would be none the wiser. Had Haiven made it to the south okay? Was Theo doing better now, or worse? Had Rook even made it back safely, after insisting on making the trip in the dead of the night? He sighed in annoyance as he glowered at the stew. Life was simpler when he avoided making friends.
"Hey, stew-boy. Do you know where Haiven is?"
Alan scowled as he turned to eye the northern artisan. "I don't have the patience to deal with you today, Ranu."
"She wasn't at her stall yesterday," the man sniffed, ignoring Alan's comment. "She's been attending it less and less."
"Maybe she's avoiding you," Alan offered as he prepped his stall station to chop the vegetables for the day's stew.
"How dare you," the northerner growled.
"Why are you even wasting my time with this?" Alan asked, deftly peeling the barky skin off of a savory root. "It's not like I keep tabs on Haiven—she's a grown adult, and she can do what she wants."
"Well, the word is you were the last person seen with her," the man pointed out darkly. "And Fewly down the way said that he saw her riding off with some guard or another…"
"Then why aren't you questioning Fewly? Sounds like he knows more than I do."
"Save the cheek, you charlatan," Ranu snapped. "I know you know where she is!"
Alan glanced up to fix Ranu with a hard look. "It's cute you're so worried, but Haiven's fine."
"You know, people talk," the northerner sniffed. "They say you've got an unsavory past, Stew-boy, and that Pescar's only letting you disgrace the name of his initiative as a favor to the Heir of the Oni. If you've taken advantage of that and gotten that sweet girl wrapped up in all your past problems…"
"Haiven doesn't need you to look out for her," Alan cut in coldly. "And if you really did care about her comfort, you'd leave her alone."
"I'm not the one with some dark, twisted past!"
"But you are twice her age, you creep," Alan pointed out, chopping the last root with a little more vigor than was necessary. "Do yourself a favor, and look for someone a little older. She's never going to be interested, and frankly, you're making her uncomfortable."
Ranu's face was tomato red at that point, and Alan watched as he fumbled for his knife, spluttering. "You…you…"
"I really don't suggest attacking me," Alan said, his tone bored as he fiddled with the sharp paring knife in his hand. "You're the one who brought Haiven up."
"You do not belong here!" Ranu hissed at last, gripping his knife now but not quite mustering the gumption to actually pull it out. "And I'm not the only one who thinks so!" Seemingly empowered by having the last word, Ranu straightened to his full height, which was still significantly shorter than Alan, and then stormed back toward his own stall. Alan rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his stew.
The hours dragged by, and Alan kept finding himself looking for the familiar seamstress in the crowd. It was unlikely she would be back for several days, even if Theo's fever wasn't severe, but Alan had to admit that he'd feel a lot better once she was back in the East and away from the south and its problems.
Alan was reaching the end of the stew pot when he realized he could feel someone watching him. He turned, expecting a customer, or even a returned Ranu, but when he saw who it was, he froze.
"So…this really is what you're doing with your life now," Freyda mused, her nose wrinkled in disgust as she took in the stall. Alan's expression immediately became guarded, his heart pounding as he was suddenly confronted with his twin sister. He hadn't seen her since they had butt heads in the fortress while Alan was still Theo's bodyguard.
"Are you buying a bowl?" he finally demanded when she didn't say anything else, but didn't leave.
"Ancients, no," she sneered, her arms folded. "I was just in the East and had to see if the rumors were really true. But I guess it makes sense—after everything you did, I can't see you being trusted with anything more than peddling stew."
Alan felt a flash of anger, and he began tidying up the stall to prepare to close it down. "If you aren't going to buy anything, you should leave," he pointed out aloofly.
"Told you it'd be a waste of time." It was a different speaker now, and Alan frowned as he glanced over at the lanky young man. He was wearing the same central fortress uniform as Freyda—another guard, then. Alan met the guard's eye with an unamused look but it was Freyda who answered.
"I just wanted to see," she sniffed, and Alan glanced back at her. She was still studying him with the same disgusted expression. "Are you happy with yourself?"
The tone of the question betrayed its true meaning, and Alan rolled his eyes in answer. He turned his back to them, hoping that they would just leave. What is it? Everyone annoying shows up to pester Alan day?
"Don't turn your back on me!" Freyda snapped, leaning on the stall as she glared at him. "Do you have any idea what your stupid decision to move out here did to our father?"
Alan stiffened. "I didn't do anything to Dad," he asserted, turning to glower back at her.
"I beg to differ," Freyda retorted. "It was bad enough, everything you did…betraying our trust and ruining our family's reputation. But then after Dad was willing to look past all that and absolve you, you turn your back on us again, throwing his forgiveness back in his face so you could move out here to do this with your life…"
"You obviously have no idea what you're talking about," Alan responded, trying to keep his temper. It wasn't worth it to make more of a scene than Freyda already was, but he could feel the anger he had managed to avoid for the past few months building up again.
"I don't know what I'm talking about?" Freyda repeated. "I'm literally just stating the facts. Dad invited you home, and you had the gall to turn him down."
"You wouldn't have wanted me home," Alan pointed out angrily. "You would have been far angrier if I had come back—don't bother denying it."
"Oh, don't you dare blame your life decisions on me!" Freyda snarled. "All I wish is that Dad hadn't even bothered to try to reform you—if he could have just moved on and left you to rot in your own poor decisions, then we'd all be a lot happier! But instead, he's been moping around for months because somehow you've fooled him into thinking that he should be trying to win your forgiveness, not the other way around!"
"Do you even have any idea what happened to me?" Alan yelled, his anger breaking through at last. Freyda scoffed, as if he were being overly dramatic.
"So you got smacked around by the people you used to work with," his sister sneered. "I would have thought it'd have humbled you a bit."
"Get lost!" Alan resisted the urge to throw something at her, his grip tightening on the ladle he was holding.
"You better not be threatening me!" Freyda snapped in return, but then the other guard was grabbing her shoulder.
"Look, if this traitor did everything you said, then he's not worth it, Frey. Just leave your loser brother to his stew-peddling fate," the guard pointed out, earning him a glare from Alan as well.
"I hope Dad gets over you soon," Freyda continued, ignoring the guard holding her arm. "Bad enough, living in your shadow back when we were supposed to be on the same team. Having him care more about you even now, after all the crap you've pulled is sickening! How could you be so vile that you would betray our father and the realm and then make him feel like it was his fault? Like he has to somehow win your favor before he's even allowed to speak to you again?"
"You're mentally ill," Alan accused. "The competition you've invented for us has been plaguing you our whole lives, and it's all in your head. And Dad can come visit me whenever he wants—he's the one avoiding me, not the other way around."
"You're so full of it," Freyda hissed, picking up a loaf off his stall and chucking it at him. Alan stiffened with anger, and he was about to really lose his temper when another voice cut into the conversation.
"Is…this a bad time?"
The blood drained from Alan's face, and he, his sister, and the other guard turned to see the Eastern Leader standing nearby with his usual escort. Pescar's expression was pinched, though he was trying to smile. For a moment, they all just stared at each other, and Alan finally broke eye contact.
"Um…did you need me for something?"
"I was just expecting you at the fortress today. When you didn't show up, I figured I'd stop by and see if something was keeping you."
Alan cursed, his face blazing with humiliation. "The hoofer lesson. I forgot." He rubbed his face, cursing himself again silently again. He had been wrapped up in thinking about Rook and Haiven that morning that the previous engagement completely slipped his mind. "I'm sorry, Pescar."
Freyda and the other guard were both shifting, and Alan didn't miss the look they shared as they realized who had interrupted them.
"Ah, no worries. It's clear you've been….busy today." The leader glanced in Freyda's direction before continuing. "I assume you can reschedule for tomorrow?"
"Of course." Alan rubbed his face, finding it difficult to even meet the Eastern Leader's eye. Pescar nodded, and then turned his attention to the central fortress guards. Alan prayed he would just leave, but being Pescar, he didn't.
"And this is…" he started, gesturing to Freyda.
"My twin sister, Freyda," Alan muttered. "And…some guy."
Freyda glared daggers at him before turning to extend a hand to Pescar. "I've heard a lot about you," she offered stiffly. "You're doing good things here in the East. Apart from trusting my brother, of course."
Pescar seemed surprisingly at a loss for words, glancing between her and Alan before accepting the handshake. "Ah. Well, I see the family resemblance now. I wondered if you were a spiteful ex, or something."
It was Freyda's turn to flush crimson, and she shook her head adamantly. "Of course not. This is my boyfriend here, Ivvan."
The guard lifted a hand in greeting, and Pescar nodded. "It's nice to meet you…I suppose," he offered before turning to Alan. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?"
Alan nodded shamefacedly. "Of course. I'm sorry about today."
"Think nothing of it," Pescar offered in his general overly-gracious manner.
"If I may, sir…you should get used to being let down, if you're trusting my brother with things. He's neither reliable nor trustworthy," Freyda offered coldly. Alan turned to glower at her again, and Pescar was wearing that smile of his that Alan had decided was actually fake.
"Ah, I see it now," the leader said, his smile widening. Freyda's expression clouded in confusion, and Pescar gestured between the two of them. "You make the exact same face when you're annoyed. It's nearly identical…twins indeed. Adorable." He turned and waved at his escort to follow him as he left, shooting Alan one last look. "Sunrise."
"I'll be there," he muttered. An awkward silence fell as Pescar left the market, and Freyda finally smoothed her tunic out.
"We should probably go too, Ivvan," she sniffed. "It was fun to see my brother languishing in a stew market, but now we better head back to our lives of actual pertinence."
Alan rolled his eyes, the humiliation of Pescar walking in on their arguing taking the fight out of him. He started cleaning once again, but he could feel someone watching him. He looked up to realize the Ivvan character was still staring at him, and the guard scoffed as he and Freyda turned to leave.
"A word of advice? The scarf thing on your head makes you look stupid, not rugged," Ivvan smirked. Alan's hand went to the scarf around his eye subconsciously, and his other fist clenched in anger.
"It really does, Alan," Freyda agreed haughtily before she and her so-called boyfriend headed off into the market.
"Wow, Freyd…you managed to find someone more arrogant than you," Alan muttered under his breath as they disappeared. Eventually, his stall was cleared, and as he moved to put it all on the cart he used to get it back to the village, he tried to convince himself that the conversations of the day hadn't gotten under his skin as much as the speakers had wanted them to. The only problem was he couldn't quite convince himself.
Rook cursed under her breath as the sun began going down. She had hoped this stakeout would provide as much information as the last one, but even after spending the whole day watching Ottan's home, she learned nothing. No one came in or out, and she wondered if they had noticed that their informant was missing. The man was still chained up in the cave—Rook had visited him first thing that morning in an effort to get him to tell her more, but he had refused. She wasn't necessarily above using torture, but deep down, she knew Theo was. He wouldn't be pleased if he found out she had resorted to it, even if it was to save him.
As she stared at Ottan's house for what seemed like an eternity, she was finally forced to call it quits. She shimmied down from her place on the rock formation with a sinking feeling. If she could watch the home for another few days, she knew she would discover something, but she didn't have that kind of time. She didn't even dare assign someone else to this post, not until she knew exactly which guard was the traitor.
"You've got several choices, Rook," she muttered to herself as she studied the house in front of her. There were no lights that she could see—was it possible that there wasn't anybody inside? Her biggest problem was knowing that she was taking a risk no matter which decision she made. Really, it just came down to what she was willing to risk more—her safety, or Theodynn's health. "Maybe not so hard of a decision after all," she muttered.
Rather than making her way down the path toward the road that would lead to the market, she took a deep breath and approached the house.
Haiven couldn't stop thinking about what Rook had said the night before. Every time she made tea, or changed the rag on Theo's forehead, she was forced to wonder if it would even prove effective in the long run. Had he really been poisoned? And if so, how were the effects being dragged out? She knew very little about poison, but what she did know was that they tended to work rather quickly. Even the ones that took their time only took a few days at the max. Haiven chewed her lip as she chopped herbs at the table on one side of Theo's room. How long had Theo been sick?
The door opened with a bang, and Haiven's heart jumped to her throat. She grabbed the knife she was using, bringing it up as she prepared for combat. However, rather than an opportunistic assassin, the frizzy-haired fortress healer stumbled into the room instead.
"Where's the bossy one?" she demanded.
Haiven furrowed her brow. She's not here, she tried to communicate, and the woman looked around.
"Obviously. So where is she, sweetheart?"
I don't know. Haiven scowled as she turned back to the herbs, and a familiar bitterness tugged at her. It was definitely the wrong thing to be focusing on, but the fact that Rook wasn't ever around felt suspicious. If she really cared about Theo, wouldn't she want to be here, with him? Even if she was trying to find a way to help him, she should at least be spending some time with the leader. Rook had barely said two words to Theo since Haiven had gotten here, and the longer the other woman was missing, the worse Haiven felt about the whole situation.
You have to trust Theo, Haiven reminded herself. If he believes Rook has his best interests at heart…
The thought trailed off as Haiven heard Theo moan, and when she turned she realized that Ylba was forcibly trying to sit him up. Haiven felt a flash of anger as she rushed over. Leave him alone!
"Calm down, girly," Ylba muttered, shoving Haiven off. "If the bossy one isn't around, then we ought to question the source directly. I finished searching the kitchens with my little helpers, and we didn't find one leaf out of place. Most likely, whatever he was drugged with was not prepped in the kitchens." Ylba shook Theo again, earning another groan as he started to wake up. "It was probably added at the last minute by some traitor or another, right before being brought to him. Come on, sunshine…up and at em, already!"
Haiven finally managed to pull Ylba off of Theo, and the young man coughed as he managed to come to. "What in Ancient's name?" he wheezed.
I'm so sorry… Haiven signed, but Ylba was already talking.
"We're pretty sure you've been poisoned at this point, your leaderness. So we're going to have to ask you some questions to figure this all out."
Theo barely looked cognizant, but his gaze flicked over to Haiven as he fought to catch his breath. "What?"
"Who brings you your food?" Ylba demanded. "Because whoever it is may be trying to kill you."
Theo just stared, and after a few awkward moments of silence, Ylba cleared her throat.
"Not to alarm you," she offered.
"Not to alarm me?" Theo croaked, his breathing sounding heavier than ever. He looked back at Haiven, his confusion obvious. "You just told me that I've probably been poisoned…"
We really don't know that for sure, Haiven signed desperately. But we can't rule it out.
"Where's Rook?" Theo asked, swallowing as he looked around the room.
"No idea," Ylba offered unhelpfully. "But you need to answer the question. It's the only way we're going to find more answers."
Theo began coughing, and Haiven chewed her lip as she got him something to drink. After he managed to choke down some water, and turned back to Ylba. "What was the question again?" he asked tiredly.
"Who brings you your food? A guard? Servants?"
"Nobody," Theo murmured. "I go to the dining hall, and get it there with everyone else."
"You don't have meals brought to you in your room? You've never had a guard bring you food?" Ylba asked incredulously. "Boy, you are living under your privileges."
"I've eaten at the dining hall for the last few weeks…except for the one dinner." He closed his eyes, his expression contorting with pain as he held his head. Haiven frowned in concern, grabbing his arm. What dinner?
"What dinner?" Ylba repeated.
"The one…the one Rook brought. The contest. That was the only time…but I already…" Theo coughed again, cutting off what he was saying. Haiven immediately began guiding him to lay back down, replacing the cloth that had fallen off his head during Ylba's interrogation. By the time she got him to a lying position, Theo had fallen back asleep.
"So…the bossy woman's the only one who's brought him food privately," Ylba mused. Haiven's heart pounded at the newfound knowledge, glancing over at the healer. Ylba was tapping her chin thoughtfully, and she finally shrugged. "Could be a coincidence, I suppose. I'll go find her—see what I can glean."
Haiven watched Ylba leave, the bad feeling in her stomach twisting more forcefully. It could be, Haiven agreed worriedly as she glanced back at Theo's feverish form. But is it?
91
It wasn't getting in that was the problem…it was trying to get in without being noticed. Rook cursed herself as she shrank into the shadows; even when she was at the height of her game, she would never have risked an entry like this without a lot more surveillance. Technically, she could just go in swinging and defeat whoever was in the home before scouring the area for clues about their involvement with Theo's sickness, but considering what she could possibly overhear instead, an assault was really her last plan of action.
She had come in through a back window, and though it hadn't been guarded, there were thugs far too close for comfort one room over. If she made any kind of sound, they would definitely hear it, and she wasn't sure how confident she could really be fighting off assailants while hanging through a window. Her heart pounded in her ears so loudly that she couldn't hear anything else, causing her nerves to fray all the more.
Having successfully entered the building without getting caught, Rook hesitated in the shadows as she tried to figure out what her next move was. She tried to listen for anyone talking, but other than the occasional muttered word or sneeze or cough, the house was quiet. After lingering for a while with nothing gained, she forced herself to creep toward the doorway that would lead to the main area of the house so she could at least get an idea of the set-up of the room. If someone happened to be glancing in the doorway when she checked, she was going to get caught quickly.
There were three figures in the room, though with only the light from the crackling fire to illuminate them, it was hard to really make out their features. Two were seated at a table while a third stood at the doorway. Those at the table were eating, and the one at the door glanced over at them.
"Okay. Rotation time."
"We're not finished yet," one of the diners growled. "You'll get to eat soon enough. Just keep an eye out for Fazir."
"There's no sign of him," the one by the door grumbled.
"Doesn't bode well," the other bloke at the table muttered.
"So he's a little late. Probably got caught up spending all that coin we gave him last time," the other shrugged, seeming the least worried of the three. His companions muttered a little more, but then the three fell silent once again.
Rook scanned the rest of the room, wishing she could explore it freely to see what she could find. Was it wise to stick around like this, hoping that the men would clear out? Even if two of them retired to bed, it was clear that at least one would stay to keep watch.
"Are either of you finished yet?" the sentry muttered again, shifting his weight irritably.
"Quit trying to rush us, Bey, or you'll be in for a long night. Just keep your eyes glued to the window, would ya?"
Rook shrank back into the room she had broken into, sighing to herself. The three didn't seem especially chatty, and if she was planning on simply camping out, it might be a long night for her as well.
Haiven started awake, and for a moment, she was filled with fear as she tried to remember where on earth she was. After a few minutes, she remembered, and she sighed as she rubbed her eyes ruefully. Without windows, it was difficult to tell what time it was, but based on how exhausted she was, there was no doubt it was late into the evening.
The tired healer went back to work, rubbing at the crick in her neck as she removed the tepid towel off of Theo's face and felt his temperature. He didn't seem any worse, but he didn't seem any better, either. Once again, she wondered if Rook's fears held any merit. If Theo had been poisoned, shouldn't they be looking for outside help? Part of Haiven wanted to rush to Iona and beg for her assistance, but she already knew how the ancient would treat this, especially if Theo was merely sick with fever and nothing more serious.
Theo moaned a little in his sleep as she replaced the cloth, and Haiven struggled to keep her eyes open. She knew she needed to get some sleep, but sleeping upright in this chair didn't seem like a good option.
The door creaked, and Haiven glanced over, expecting Rook or Ylba. A younger servant entered, studying her with a wince.
"Just here to light the fire," she offered apologetically. Haiven blinked, but then she realizing how freezing the room was. She nodded at the girl to continue, and the servant scurried over to the fireplace. Haiven turned her attention back to Theo, reaching out to feel his face again. Because of his fever, she didn't have a fire burning during the day, but it got too cold at night to go without one, fever or not. After determining that his fever hadn't worsened and that his breathing was all right, Haiven finally pushed herself to her feet to head for the door. She knew there were a few couches in the sitting room—if she could rest on one for a few hours, she knew she would be of better use. I'll just close my eyes for a second, she thought wearily. Then I'll come back to check on him. With that thought lodged in her mind, she collapsed onto the nearest couch and was asleep the second her head hit the cushion.
Hours went by, and Rook's frustration grew the longer she went without discovering any information. By the time two of the men headed to bed, she realized that she wasn't going to overhear any good chatter now.
Indecision made her palms sweat, and she tried to decide what her next move would be. She had already searched the room she was in to no avail. If she was truly going to be able to unearth any clues, she was going to need to search the rest of the house. Rook dared another glance around the corner at the lone sentry that had been left at the door, presumably until one of the others came to relieve him of his post. He seemed to be dozing himself—it was little wonder why her scouting hadn't been spotted by any of them. A sentry at the door does nothing if he's not actually watching, you imbeciles, Rook thought ruefully, but she also had no idea how long these guys had been squatting here. If they moved in after Ottan had been arrested, then they could have been here for months. All that time without incident had obviously made them less than cautious.
Rook studied the dozing man with narrowed eyes. She knew the slightest sound would still rouse him—there was no way to search the rest of the house with him there. He's an easy target, she reasoned. Just take him out. By the time his colleagues find him, I could have found just what I needed.
She eased a dagger out of its sheath, her heart pounding. She kept her footfall silent as she made her way across the room, the familiar rush of pre-attack adrenaline flooding her system. She had nearly reached the man when she found herself hesitating. She stared at him, his chest rising and falling as his chin rested against it, and she cursed herself for pausing. What was she waiting for? She knew how to dispatch of him silently, and until she did, she wasn't going to be able to search for clues. Rook forced herself to take a few steps closer, but then sagged in defeat.
It's not that I can't do it, she realized at last. It's that I know Theo wouldn't want me to. She pictured the leader lying in bed, helpless against whatever it was that was attacking his body. Poison? Sickness? She wouldn't know until she had the opportunity to really scour for answers, but even if she managed to get everything she needed here and Theo regained his health, she knew he wouldn't agree with killing someone in cold blood just because they stood in her way. Maybe if she had proof that this sentry was directly behind what was happening to the leader she wouldn't hesitate, but at the moment all she could prove was that he was squatting in an ex-leader's house, paying an informant for information from the fortress. Technically enough to be arrested for…but not enough for a justified execution right here and now. In fact, the longer Rook studied him, she realized that he wasn't as old as the counterparts who had been sitting at the table—the men who had promised to relieve him of his post and never had. Was this sentry really one of the masterminds behind whatever was happening to Theo? Or was he just a lackey following orders…or even avoiding threats. For all she knew, this could just be another Alan in Ottan's web of manipulation.
The man stirred, though he didn't wake, and she cursed herself. Ancients, Rook! Are you trying to get caught? She thought furiously. Either slit his throat or get out of here—sitting here stewing isn't going to do any good.
She waited one last moment, and then headed back the way she came, cursing internally the whole way. Frustration and desperation were coming to a head as she climbed her way back up and out of the window. One thing was for sure—her life had been a whole lot simpler before a certain leader had infected her with his ancient-forsaken morals.
The screaming woke Haiven from a dead-sleep, and in her grogginess and alarm, she fell off the couch completely. She looked around the room wide-eyed, but in the darkness she couldn't find the danger. After trembling on the ground for a few moments, the screams started again, and Haiven's mind finally managed to catch up with her.
Theo.
She pushed herself to her feet, desperately making her way to his bedchamber, using the dim light from the doorway to guide her out of the pitch-black sitting room. She threw it open, and the smell of decay nearly overwhelmed her.
No….no no no… she thought, her heart pounding with fear. It was a terrible smell, one that always sent her back to Iona's home, with both her parents lying still on bedmats on the floor.
Haiven reached his bedside quickly, trying to shake him awake. He was tossing and cursing, his entire torso drenched with sweat. The healer grimaced as her attempts to wake him failed—between his slick skin and his wrenching, she couldn't get a good enough grip. Tears pricked her eyes as she wished she could speak—say something that would wake him up.
She finally gave up, moving to douse a towel in cold water so she could wipe him down. His words were inaudible for a few more minutes as she worked, but then she finally could make out what he was saying.
"Rook…"
Haiven paused, glancing at his face. Theo's expression was twisted with pain, and she reached out to gently push the hair from his face. His breathing was labored, and Haiven's throat constricted as she made out the tears mixing with the sweat dripping off his face.
"You're sure it's her?" Rook demanded. A groggy Dynmar sat across the table from her, looking irritated about being pulled from bed in the dead of the night.
"No, but you told me to look for suspicious activity, and she was the member of Theo's personal guard that was acting the most suspicious."
"What's her name, again?"
"Xen. She was acting nervous when I started reorganizing the guard, and something felt off during the interview."
"You interviewed everyone?" Rook realized. Dynmar rubbed his face.
"How else was I supposed to look for suspicious behavior?"
"What did you ask them? 'Hey, are you the informant to Ottan's supporters?'"
"Have a little faith," Dynmar muttered. "I just explained that with Theo sick, we needed to up our patrol in case opportunists took advantage of his illness. I told them I wanted to meet with everyone from his personal guard and ask if they've seen anything out of the ordinary, or noticed anyone in the fortress that maybe shouldn't be there. I tried to make it seem like we were all on the same side, keeping an eye out for suspicious activity. She was very quick to insist she had seen nothing and would have told me if she had…which didn't really make sense because if she was going to tell anyone, she would have told Mahlyn, not me. And then she got defensive near the end…acting like I was accusing her of something. But I wasn't. At least, not that she should have been aware of." He shrugged. "I guess right after the interview, she went and asked Mahlyn for leave to go visit family in the north. That's when I had her arrested."
Rook nodded thoughtfully. "You did good," she offered. He just scowled.
"Not really looking for your validation," he said dryly. "Just wanted to let you know that I tried to do what you asked. You're going to need to talk to Mahlyn though. She's got all kinds of questions, and I did have to admit why I was going rogue on all the interviews and arrests."
Rook sighed, but she knew that at some point she was going to have to talk with the Captain of the Guard. "You're right," she admitted. "And I'll talk to her, I promise. But I do need your help with one more rogue thing."
Dynmar looked far from happy. "Can it at least wait until morning?"
Rook smiled a little, but then she shook her head. She explained what she needed done, and though he looked highly unamused, he didn't outright deny her request. By the time Rook was done, Dymar rubbed his face again.
"You want this done immediately? You realize that I'm going to have to go wake up an entire force of guards."
"Whatever you need to do to get it done as soon as possible," Rook insisted, pushing herself to her feet. "I'll come along as well."
"So…arrest the guys you think might be in Ottan's house…"
"They're definitely there," Rook insisted. "At least three, with a possibility of more."
Dynmar's expression clouded, but he didn't question further. "Arrest the three possibly more squatters, and then search for what, exactly?"
Here, Rook hesitated. "Just…anything that looks like it could be used to poison somebody." Dymar stared blankly, and Rook pushed her hair out of her face in frustration. "We'll take Ylba," she decided. "She should know what kinds of things would be dangerous."
Dynmar sighed heavily, but then he wearily got to his feet. "Fine. But you're in charge of waking Ylba."
"Aren't you guys friends?" Rook asked in surprise. "You're the one who recommended her in the first place."
Dynmar gave a glimmer of a smile. "Friends…is maybe too strong of a word. More like acquaintances…and I know better than to go into her lair in the middle of the night."
Rook stared, but he didn't offer any further explanation in regards to the eccentric healer. "I guess I'll go get a guard force rounded up. Oh…and Rook…" He looked up to meet her eye. "If and when everything hopefully works out for the better…I'm going to need a raise. A big one."
She smiled then. "You'll deserve one," she promised.
"So, you're waking up Ylba and Mahlyn…"
"We don't really need Mahlyn for this," Rook pointed out.
"If you don't talk to her, I'm not helping you. This is more than a few interrogations, Rook—you're ordering a full-scale invasion."
"It's not an invasion. Just an arrest…and property search," she countered. Dynmar gave her a dry look, and Rook finally sighed. "Fine. I'll let her know what's going on. Then I'll meet you by the stables with Ylba in thirty minutes."
He nodded his understanding, going to the door. However, Dynmar hesitated before leaving, glancing back at her. "I regret asking you to take charge, you know."
Rook frowned, not really sure how she felt about the sentiment. With her mind buzzing with everything else that needed to be done, she decided she didn't really have time to care about what Dynmar thought. "Well…you did," she pointed out. "And whether or not I was the person ordering these things, they're what needs to be done."
He frowned, and she waited for him to contradict her. He finally shrugged instead. "I guess. Maybe I just regret taking on the personal bodyguard position. I should have known from bodyguards past that this job is way more than anyone signs up for."
That stung a little, only because it made Rook think about Tolan and Alan. "Well, if you want to quit, I guess Theo won't hold it against you," she pointed out aloofly. Dynmar just snorted.
"Might as well see it out at this point." He pulled the door open, heading into the hallway. Rook took a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts. She wasn't technically sure she could even coax Ylba out of bed in thirty minutes, let alone wake Mahlyn and give her the run down on everything going on. She probably should have told Dynmar to meet in an hour, but she shook her head. The sooner they could search Ottan's home, the sooner they could find what they needed.
The door swung back open, interrupting Rook's thoughts. She looked up to see Dynmar coming back in, looking grim. "Someone's been looking for you," he offered. Rook furrowed her brow, but then Haiven was pushing her way past the bodyguard. Though Rook still couldn't understand Haiven that well, it was obvious that the healer was upset. She beckoned for Rook to follow her, and Rook couldn't help but glance at Dynmar.
"I think Theo's getting worse," he pointed out, and Rook swallowed hard. She had come to the same conclusion if Haiven was this out of sorts, but the thought made her blood run cold.
"Right," she murmured, turning to Haiven. "Let's go."