Picket woke early the next morning, dressed, and headed downstairs. It was still surreal, but he was beginning to grow used to the new home. Heather was the only one up when he reached the kitchen. She was stirring a cup of tea and staring out into the white world through the dining room window.
"You look like you've been up for a while." Picket commented, Heather, not startled at all, turned her head slightly in his direction, before shrugging.
"Sleep doesn't come easily to me. You know that." He did. Heather had been plagued by nightmares and disturbing dreams since they were very young children. But it had seemed to worsen over the last few years, the dream intensifying in nature and quantity. Picket had never asked her about them, they had upset her so much.
Her left hand had reached for her opposite forearm and was rubbing down a scar that hadn't been there when Picket had last seen her. The sight saddened him, and he was tempted to ask what was bothering her, but she beat him to it.
"Picket…...Are you concerned over Flint?" Picket's head had been spinning in so many different directions the day before that he had almost forgotten the famous Leaper, but the sudden reminder was enough to bring the rabbit back into the forefront of his mind.
"I don't know." Picket replied. "He helped us before, but he doesn't seem to be on anyone's side really. I don't think he likes Smalls very much."
"I don't think so either." Heather agreed, forehead furrowing. "I'm not sure why."
"I mean, they're directly related, and the royal family doesn't have a much better history than ours, so maybe it's just how it is?" Heather shook her head.
"No. There's something going on, I just can't figure out what. That's what's driving me crazy."
"How come?" Heather turned fully towards him.
"Well, this whole thing is rather strange, don't you think? Flint and his brother, showing up just now after an eight-hundred-year timespan since anyone's seen either. Why now? Why not earlier? He didn't really answer that. Evan's right, why didn't he come and stop everything? He would have had the influence and power, there's no denying that. So why wait?" Picket shrugged.
"He's a millennia old, who knows what goes on in his mind." Heather drummed her fingers anxiously on the counter.
"And there's just one other thing," She said, glaring down at her mug.
"What's that?" She looked at him.
"Where's Fay?"
.
.
.
.
That thought hadn't occurred to Picket. But it seemed glaringly obvious now.
"Where did she go?" Heather continued. "Why isn't she here now? Did something happen?" She let out a sound of frustration. "I've been going mad over it all night and I don't know why. For some reason my subconscious seems to think it's wildly important." Picket hesitated, and then stated,
"Then maybe it is. You've been right before about things like this."
"I just can't see how this would hold any precedent on our current problems. That's what I was talking with Smalls about last night, but he didn't know anymore than I."
"Well, what'd he say?"
"Something like what you just said. The only issue is that I don't know for certain even where to look. Flint doesn't seem the kind to just spill every event of his life. Most sources are incomplete at best, and inaccurate and biased at worst." There was a long silence, and then Picket asked,
"Then what do we do?" Heather sighed, wilting.
"Hope and pray that I am wrong."
.
.
.
.
Knowing Heather was worried, Picket suddenly felt a rushing dread upon seeing Flint again. It wasn't nervousness necessarily, but an apprehension of sorts that, once settled in his mind, refused to go away. Heather was quieter than normal that morning and chose not to explain why when asked by there parents. Instead, she returned to her room. Picket took to pacing the living room while answering Jacks' questions, which were plentiful.
The first real break came when there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for it to be answered, it was flung wide and a moment later Weezie was hugging Picket so tightly that he couldn't breathe, but somehow found room to laugh.
"Looks like you missed me." He managed, suddenly in a better mood than he had been in weeks and not quite sure why.
"You scared me half to death-don't you ever do it again or the war will be the least of your worries." Her grip loosened, to Picket's relief. Then it tightened again, as if she didn't want to let go.
"Can't-breathe, Weezie." He said. Weezie let go. Jacks suddenly piped up.
"I'm right here, y'know." Weezie laughed.
"I've got something for you," She picked up a rather crumpled looking package from where she had tossed it on the floor and handed it to Jacks. He looked up at her quizzically.
"What is it?" He asked.
"It's a present."
"Oh." Uncertainty was prominent in his voice.
"Open it." Jacks pulled the string off, revealing a brightly colored stuffed toy.
"It was my sister's when we were little." She said smiling, though there was a touch of sadness to the corners of her eyes. Jacks looked up again.
"Where is she now?" His tone was so plain and blunt that it took Picket aback a moment, but Weezie didn't flinch.
"Somewhere better, I imagine. She's been gone for a few years now." Jacks glanced at Picket.
"Like…...Like we were gone?" He asked, clearly confused. Surely, he knows what death is.
"No." Weezie shook her head. "Gone forever. But this is yours. It needs a new home where it'll actually get played with!" Jacks examined it from all angles. Finally, he asked,
"What is it?"
"It's a toy."
"What's that? Whatever it is we didn't have it in Akolan." Picket and Weezie exchanged looks. Picket hadn't grown up with many toys-most were homemade and often he and Heather just played with things like sticks and logs, like with the starstick. But they'd still had some. Weezie's situation was probably similar, and the stuffed toy looked handmade. But Jacks was staring at it with curiosity, as if he had never seen something like it before. "It's a dragon." He pronounced.
"How did you know that?" Weezie asked, humoring him.
"The instructors at school taught us about them." And probably lied about all that they were too. "But they were wrong." He said. "Heather told me." He didn't offer further clarification. "Does it have a name?" He asked, not at all disturbed to be holding a replication of the very thing that had almost killed his older sister more than once.
"Well, Layra, my sister, called it Sparks because the fabric looks like fire, but you can rename it if you want." Maybe the fabric once had, but it was now much too faded to resemble anything other than red, red, and more red. Jacks studied the toy once more.
"I like that." He decided. "It'll stay Sparks." He dashed off into the kitchen to show Sween and Whittel 'Sparks'.
"I think you just made his day." Picket remarked.
"It's been lying around the house for a while now. I think I've held onto it long enough." Weezie said, letting out a sigh at the end. Picket squeezed her hand.
"There's something else you might want to know." He said. Weezie raised an eyebrow.
"You've been awake for a day, what wild plan do you have this time?" Picket sighed.
"It's less of a plan. And I'm beginning to wonder if I might regret it." Weezie glanced at him but didn't say anything this time. "He…...offered me Helmer's position." Picket confessed. Weezie's eyes widened. "And I accepted."
"You're a Lord-Captain." She said, shock in her voice.
"Apparently, yes." He paused. "Does it bother you?" Weezie let out a laugh.
"Picket, you amaze me. We're talking about one of the highest-ranking positions in all Natalia and all you can think to ask is 'does it bother you'?" The absurdity of the statement hit him, and Picket laughed too. Weezie hugged him again, and while there, added, "Course' it doesn't bother me, Picket. I'm proud of you." At that moment Jacks raced back into the room, not paying a single ounce of attention to anything that was going on. He was enraptured by the toy. They burst out laughing again, Heather appeared at the landing, clutching a scroll and looking somewhat cross.
"Silence is simply impossible with you two in the house, isn't it?" Her annoyance invaded her tone. Jacks halted.
"Sorry!" Heather winced at his loud voice. Her eyes fell on the toy and widened. She blinked, took a deep breath, and disappeared back upstairs, not saying another word. Jacks looked more excited than Picket had ever seen him. He turned and went into the kitchen, and a moment later was ordered outside because, at least according to mother, he was 'Going to destroy the house running all over like that'. Picket shook his head as he heard Jacks barrel out.
"Not surprised mother sent him outside." He observed. There was a thump on the door, and Jacks popped his head in.
"Runner just came by with the news!" He shouted, tossing the rolled-up paper into the hall and disappeared right back out again.
"The press isn't running right now." Whittel muttered, picking it up. "It can't be the news." He read it, a grim look appearing on his face. "It's Edward." He said. "He's worse."