Chapter 6: Desperation is a Fickle Friend
~*~ Heart's Storm ~*~
Ardice paced her room persistently. She was tired of being locked up all day, and she wanted to leave the Southern Palace. She wanted to find her friends, and she wanted to leave before her already-dangerous situation got worse. Ardice sighed as she sank into a chair, leaning her elbow on a nearby table-top. With her chin on one hand, she tried to evaluate her situation as fairly as she could.
Caged up in her room, she was oblivious to the outside world. There was no way she could solicit information from the servants without the action being reported to Sylvain, who would become suspicious. Questioning the soldiers was out of the question; even thinking about it was laughable. Ardice sighed–she had no news whatsoever about the Moon Queen and the Outers. She wasn't even sure whether they were alive or not. Each day she stayed there drove her closer to the edge of desperation and insanity, and she was brutally logical enough to admit that only one thing–one person–was keeping her from trying to leave, no matter how bad her odds were. And that was Sylvain.
She wasn't sure why she hadn't asked him about the Inner Princesses. She couldn't even remember if he had ever mentioned them to her, and she had never been inclined to bring up the topic. For one thing, it would arouse his suspicion, and she was reluctant to have him find out who she was. She didn't even want him hazarding a guess that she was one of the missing princesses. If he discovered the truth, the safe, (moderately) secure little world she had now would come crashing down... Ardice thought she knew enough about him to discern his reaction: everything between them would change.
His character demanded loyalty to his friends and his people. Duty, added to the strength of his commitment to the King of the Earth, would force him to overcome the feelings he had for her. She believed him when he said he loved her, because he wasn't the type to lie. But she was, she realized with a heavy sigh. On the Moon, she had been very much like him in that aspect, and she had never condoned telling falsehoods. On the Earth, she didn't have a choice, but she hated lying to him. And yet...
Ardice couldn't believe that Sylvain supported the king's actions. He might have to obey, but she thought that, by analyzing his nature, he preferred peace and harmony. And some adventure, she corrected with a smile. She couldn't see him sitting around doing nothing; instead, he would spend his time doing worthwhile things that would benefit people other than him–most of the time. Ardice had loved to cook in her free time–not that she had ever really needed to, but because she enjoyed it. It was much of the same with Sylvain and his studies of astronomy, as well as his drawing.
She flattered herself that she knew about him, even though she was slightly unsure of her perceptions. She thought about him a lot of the time, when the memories of her friends and her old life became too intense. He was a good person. An extraordinarily good person. And while Ardice could identify some minor faults honestly, there was no integral part of him that she did not like and admire. She wished, as she had begun doing often, that they could have met under better circumstances. She also wished she hadn't given in the night before and admitted that she did love him. Truly, she did; she knew she did. But she shouldn't have said so. Her time was just about up, and when the time came for them to part, as it inevitably would, she would be hurting him much more than if she hadn't told him.
At last, she gave in to the strong urge of peeking through the curtains at the guard stationed below. Never had a day gone by without her looking at them, even though she knew they would be there... She had never gone a day without seeing men in uniforms stationed on guard duty, but on Jupiter and the Moon, they had been there for protection of a princess rather than the prevention of a prisoner's escape. But to her immense surprise and vast delight, it appeared that they had gone. She waited several minutes; perhaps the new shift was a bit late. But she watched the entire afternoon, and no soldiers appeared beneath her window. She opened the door a slight crack and peered out into the empty hallway. The lure of freedom was so strong that Ardice had to use all her self-control and logic to close the door again, rather than bolt out.
Then she remembered that the guard at the door, and perhaps those under her window, must have been dismissed a long time ago–how else would Sylvain have been able to spend such a long portion of the night with her? Even the most solemn and close-mouthed of guards could tell tales once off-duty. The excitement racing through her veins was hot and triumphant, and her eyes sparkled enchantingly as she began planning her getaway. Still, Ardice had to push the thought of what Sylvain might say or do when he discovered her missing. She set her mind determinedly on the escape at hand and refused to think about him. But every so often, despair wormed its way into her heart, and she had to brush away the stray tears.
~*~~*~~*~~*~
Sylvain had been occupied the entire day with the business of the South, much to his annoyance and disappointment. However, all the infuriating delays in the world couldn't have dampened his happiness–she loved him. He couldn't understand how he could be so lucky, and he knew there were too many problems to count, but for the moment, the fact that she loved him was all that mattered.
Just as he thought he was free to leave, Marinel's faraway voice sounded in his mind, and the news he disclosed curtly and dispassionately had him reeling. She was the Jovian princess that was supposedly dead, even though no one had been able to recover the body. She could not be her. But everything fell into place...and he quickened his steps through the long corridors. He didn't bother to knock as he tried the door–and found it locked. After a few minutes spent calling her name and pounding on the door, he cursed under his breath and sent his power forth into the room. It was empty.
He heard himself order a force dispatched into the woods around the palace, and he watched silently as a craftsman removed the door from the room. Sylvain took a brief look around and nodded shortly. It was empty, what he had expected, of course...and yet, his mind was numb from shock of betrayal. He would not go after her; he would until his troops brought her back. Even then, he was unsure of whether he could face her. he slammed the door to his own room shut and turned to face his expected solace...and looked into the adamant eyes of his sister Calandra. It seemed that today, the world would not leave him in peace.
~*~~*~~*~~*~
Her heart raced as she moved through the underbrush, aiming for speed rather than silence. She had set out in the cover of darkness, as late as she had dared, and managed to avoid the tower sentries. For the past week, things had been very quiet, and the people of Terra were beginning to relax. Perhaps things would go back to the way they'd been before...not so for herself, she knew. Garbed in riding clothes but horseless, Ardice plunged through the dry, crackling leaves with her basket swinging precariously on her arm. It contained the remnants of lunch and dinner, which she had eaten very little of, saving the rest for her trip.
She didn't dare to teleport–he and the other King-Generals had found them once, and there was no one to sacrifice for her own safety this time. A cracking of a branch behind her alerted Ardice to the presence of company a split-second gloved hands reached out to clasp her by the shoulders and around the waist from the back. Other navy-clad shadows melted into existence, surrounding her and her captor. Ardice's spirits sank considerably, but her heart leapt as she squirmed around to confirm her guess of who had come to retrieve her. It fell heavily when she gazed into the eyes of someone unfamiliar, someone who was not Sylvain.
~*~ Avoiding the Inevitable ~*~
Pyralis was exhausted, overworked, and in no mood to deal with his various retainers. When he had first arrived at the Eastern Palace, there had been no questions about Isadora's curious presence. The castle occupants were used to his bringing strange women about with absolutely no warning or explanation, and it was something Pyralis felt slightly uncomfortable about now. He had been avoiding Isadora's curious and slightly accusatory gaze the during breakfast, when he'd been trying to get things back in order after his absence.
Dealing with Isadora had slowed his normally quick progress. First, he had set her to a task he thought all noblewomen had perfected: needlework and embroidery. She had candidly informed him that she hated sewing. So he had suggested a walk in the gardens. That proposal had been turned down when he remembered that her skin was pale and whiter than usual after several epidermal layers had been burned off by the desert sun. At least, Pyralis consoled himself, his guest seemed happier at the sight of the clear blue skies and endless horizon of his Eastern home. Fresh out of alternatives by the second day, he had finally suggested that she help him with his paperwork. He grinned, recalling that horrified look on her face. It seemed that, as had been the case with sewing, Isadora was not a fan of pen and parchment–not that he disagreed. He liked indulging in neither of the two activities, particularly the former. He actually did know how to sew, for Sylvain had taught him one night during an elongated stay in the mountains. The blond general's clothing had been torn by his falling out of (and fooling around in) a tree, and he had not brought enough spare clothing to change.
Taking a break from his work, he stretched luxuriously, feeling the joints crack satisfyingly before settling back into more relaxed positions. Running his fingers through his sun-kissed blond hair, the King-General strolled out of his study whistling. He wondered briefly where Isadora was but shrugged his worries off. As it was, he had enough problems to take care of without thinking about the one she presented. Isadora herself was an exquisite problem. Pyralis had always had the opinion that all women were interesting, and if he deemed one exquisite, she was definitely something special. It was too bad that she was so temperamental, he thought regretfully. As he strolled onto one of the first-floor balconies, from which he could jump easily to the ground without hurting himself, the sound of wood hitting wood attracted his attention: surely enough, there was Isadora, with her lovely, glossy hair bound up out of her way as she wielded a sturdy wooden staff against one of the arms-master's students.
A few onlookers, others students, stood nearby. One of the younger boys was openly gawking as Isadora demonstrated her skills. Pyralis vaulted over the railing easily and would have interfered in the proceedings had not a lean arm barred his way. He looked into the eyes of the man who had trained him and stopped short. He hadn't even noticed the arms-master standing in the deepest shade of the trees, and he cursed his lack of awareness. Seeing approval, delight, and amusement in the older man's eyes as he nodded towards Isadora, Pyralis shrugged and settled back to watch too.
Before the rhythmic clacking of the sticks became soporific and predictable, the arms-master took up his own staff from the pile of neglected staffs (they had been practicing until Isadora had come along to watch longingly, her desire plain in her uniquely-hued eyes) and motioned his student aside. Isadora had not shown awareness of Pyralis's presence, but she could feel his stare. She was determined not to let it affect her as she faced the older man, and Pyralis watched intently as they began to spar. The arms-master forced his young opponent into revealing abilities she had not displayed before, and the intensity of her focus amazed him. During the short mock-fight, Pyralis began to swipe at his eyes with his sleeve, wondering if he was seeing things. There wasn't any sweat dripping in his eyes, and he wasn't having vision problems...but he must be imaging the faint aura of purple lit with crimson and gold fires around Isadora. Pyralis's specialty was auras, and if she really did have one, her control over hiding it was excellent.
Before he could probe further, Isadora was disarmed, and the battle ended. The arms-master said a few things to her quietly that Pyralis could not hear, but she seemed pleased and bowed to him respectfully. They came up to the Eastern King-General together, and he couldn't help noticing that she looked much happier–elated, and her eyes were sparkling despite her exhaustion.
The arms-master smirked. "Lady Isadora here is one unique lady, my lord. Not only did she teach my boys a lesson–that women can fight–she gave me a pause with a few of her techniques." Isadora smiled innocently. She hadn't revealed everything she had coaxed Martian and Lunarian fighters to teach her, but she hadn't been able to resist using some of her favorite moves. However, her happiness was short-lived, as his next words were, "Your lady is something special, Pyralis."
She stiffened at his words and when Pyralis smiled, the outraged anger that blazed up in her eyes convinced him that not only was she special, unique, and beautiful, she was also dangerous, before her words ended any doubts he had about her disposition. Sharply, she bit off, "Your pardon, but I believe you are mistaken. I am not his lady, nor will I ever be. Excuse me."
She stormed off with a glower directed in the blonde general's direction, and the half-amused, half-wincing look on Pyralis's face fueled her anger as the arms-master attempted to apologize to Pyralis. He stopped the apology midstream, clapped his teacher on the back, and strode off after the enraged lady–who was not his...yet, if he had any say in the matter.
~*~ Prince of Ice ~*~
Marinel smiled when he reached the pre-arranged location for their meeting. He seemed to be becoming predictable, at least to Meriel: she was already waiting there for him, and even though he'd forgotten to tell her that he always went incognito, she was dressed in plain clothing: tan breeches and a white shirt. She turned to face him when she heard his footsteps and smiled in greeting. "Good morning, my lord."
"Good morning. It seems you guessed my intentions...have you become a mind-reader then, Meriel?" Her smile grew wider as a light blush touched her cheeks, but Marinel added, "I thought I asked you to call me by my name, my lady."
Obediently, she replied, "Good morning, then, Marinel." Meriel wasn't sure why it made a difference, but it seemed more personal when she called him by name. It was easier to maintain a nice, safe distance from him and his secretive, icy green eyes. Things were easier if she didn't think too much about him in general, but in truth, she had been doing just that–thinking about him–much more than she had intended to.
"As long as we're on the subject of names, you probably know that I can't go walking around as Marinel if I want to have some peace and anonymity. You, of course, are fine. Meriel isn't a common name, exactly, but it'll do. We–the King Generals–have become all too conspicuous ever since we've become rulers in our own right," he grumbled.
Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "I suppose it's harder for you to travel around the realm in obscurity? And it must be harder to get things done and to escape your obligations at home. But if memory serves me right, the ceremony hasn't occurred yet."
His expression darkened, changing from delight that she had understood his sentiment to ominous foreboding when she broached a subject he disliked. Curtly, he explained, "It isn't really the ceremony itself that's important. It's the fact that the king hasn't acknowledged who we are. The people see this as a lack of trust in us, and these days...well, let's just say that permanency and the expected are a good thing."
"You don't like the king," Meriel observed quietly, matter-of-factly, her averted eyes all too astute.
He was torn between disbelief and annoyance for a moment; disbelief that she had been able to discern his meaning without their ever discussing the subject before this, and annoyance because she had read his emotions so easily. Usually, he prided himself on being hard to interpret and even more difficult to comprehend. At last, he touched her gently on the arm, and she was startled into looking straight into his eyes. "We should go now."
"Oh–yes." Quickly, she broke away from his almost-hypnotic gaze and forced a smile onto her face. "Well, what should I do?"
"Nothing, really. Just be careful to stay with me–stay still and don't move away. We need to maintain physical contact." Again, Marinel took her hand, but this time, it remained in his grasp. "It's less unsettling if you close your eyes–or less exhilarating, or so Pyralis claims. But you can do whatever you feel more comfortable doing."
She did close her eyes, as he kept talking, and when she felt the slightest, most careful tug she had ever felt at her senses, she gave herself over to his perfected control in peaceable surrender. As they teleported, Meriel found herself feeling as elated as she had the first time she had learned to teleport. Of course, she had felt quite differently about her teacher than she did about Marinel. She felt completely at home and even relaxed...and the fact that she was attracted to him–even if she wouldn't admit it to herself–was part of it, too. When she opened her eyes, just once, the dazzling green around her, lit with golden sparkles, enchanted her senses and drowned her in the indescribable part of Marinel that was his power.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
As they strolled along the boardwalk, Marinel began to wonder if he had made a mistake. Very few women were present at the wharves, and not many he knew would have tolerated the heavy, fishy, salty smell that permeated their surroundings. He wasn't sure why he had brought her here anymore. The other King-Generals knew about this retreat of his, working hard without his magic near the sea he loved best in complete obscurity, and while they had expressed similar desires for solace and escape, none of them had ever accompanied him here. It had always been a very private haven for him before, but something in him reached out imploring for understanding and a lack of condemnation. Never before had he discovered that in a woman, but when he snuck a sideways peek at Meriel, he was surprised to see that she seemed to be enjoying herself.
Marinel smiled wryly to himself: it was time he had learned to stop trying to predict the actions of this impossibly-surprising woman. He was relieved to see the fresh color in her cheeks, and the sparkling blue of her eyes matched the water in the distance as it curled up to the shore. Despite her healthy color, something about her always reminded him of delicate frailty that made him want to protect her. Again, a smile twisted his mouth: at her young age, she had already seen some of the worst things in the world, and she was crafty enough and strong enough to have survived thus far in her hostile environment.
There was a wistful look in her eyes as she turned to face him, although she smiled brightly. "I used to live by the sea. I've missed it so much...thank you for bringing me here."
"My pleasure," he replied, filing away the information for future reference, "but here's where I, unfortunately, must desert you for a few hours. You'll be all right alone? I'll just be right over there if you need me." When she nodded encouragingly, not at all afraid and plainly eager to explore familiar territory, he turned to go. After a pause, he turned back. "Wait–I forgot to tell you one another thing. I was getting at it before, but I foundered off-track. You know we actually have public and given names. My public name has become all too well-known, so I've taken to using my given name around these men, and they don't suspect a thing. Either that or I'm a very conceited, very bad actor. I suppose they see me as someone who missed their true calling and can't stay away from the sea, so I pop up every so often to lend a hand and hear the news."
Quickly, Meriel said, "You don't have to tell me your name if you don't want to. I understand."
He smiled ironically. Of course she understood; she was in the same situation as he was. With a little more research, by this afternoon, he would know her true name. "No, I'd like to. It won't do much harm. It's Zoisite." With that, he loped off, leaving her standing there with a very strange expression on her face.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
"Zoisite," she murmured to herself, trying out the name. She stood for a few minutes, watching the regal bearing about him become less tangible as he boarded the walkway to a ship he obviously knew well easily. But it was still there, that effortless aura of power and control she had become so familiar with. Several of the men greeted him warmly, and he responded in kind. Meriel was surprised to see the openness of his face and emotions as they talked and joked, and he listened avidly to the things they told him. She smiled fondly, wistfully. There was so much of him that she didn't know of and wanted to know about, but she knew such thoughts were dangerous. She should be dedicating her time to more worthwhile things, like finding her friends and getting off Earth. Meriel walked along with an absent-minded look on her face, suddenly unable to enjoy herself. She knew where the queen and the Outer princesses were being kept–in the dungeons of the king's palace, located in Elysion. What she needed was a plan that would keep her head firmly situated on her shoulders and a means of getting to Elysion.
Suddenly, loud, shouted warnings reached her ears, and she was jolted out of her reverie. Meriel turned instantly to the source of the trouble and saw a large apparatus, some type of machine designed to load heavy crates onto the ship, composed of pulleys and ropes. A few had snapped, and only a few of the side supports and the main rope held, and she could see it beginning to fray. Its load, a large, wooden box, was dangling precariously over the ship, threatening to drop at any minute and create a very large hole in the ship. If it did, it would most likely sink–or crush the men trying to hold it up and lower it slowly down first. Her heart pounded alarmingly as she recognized one of those foolish men, and her mouth went dry as she ran towards them, already knowing she would get there too late as the rope snapped. She cried out his name in warning before she realized that her desperate scream had left her throat, and as the thing came smashing down, Marinel's head jerked in her direction in an instinctual response to the name closest to his heart. Perhaps he would have gotten out of the way quickly enough if she hadn't distracted him...perhaps he wouldn't have. But the heavy cargo came down relentlessly, and the last thing he knew before total darkness was her voice and the sound of his name on her lips...
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Meriel reached the ramp just as the men were able to lift the heavy thing off Marinel. Already, some of the horrified bystanders had taken off their weather-worn hats in respect for one presumed dead, and she glared at them as the tears ran down her cheeks. "He's not–he's not dead?"
One of the sailors, who bent over him, cast her a quick glance. "No," he said quietly, "but soon enough. His heartbeat's weakening."
"No–he can't die!"
"Listen, mistress, no one ever survived of an injury this bad."
"Can a healer be found, a healer nearby–quick–"
"No healer could bring him back except one of the King-Generals, and they're young and inexperienced. Besides, none of them would get here in time, and who could say they'd waste their time on a nobody like him?"
Meriel clenched her fists at her side as she knelt beside him as well. "You don't understand! He is a King-General!" Seeing their skeptical, startled looks, she exclaimed, "Oh, never mind! You won't help!" Closing her eyes, she dove forth with all her magic gathered around her, the power she had been so careful to hide from his notice...
'I don't know how to heal. I can't do this! But he can't die...'
All of a sudden, a wave of azure blue joined her own medium blue power. 'Who are you?' he asked in bewilderment.
'It doesn't matter right now. Please–can you save him? Are you one of those linked to him–one of the King-Generals?'
'Yes...I'm a King-General. But I can't heal.' Just as she was about to cry in frustration, he lifted her spirits when he added, 'But you can. You can save him. You aren't trained, but I can sense the innate healing power in you.'
'I don't know how...'
'I'll help you. I'll lend you the strength. And that of the other King-Generals.' She found globes of azure blue, navy blue, and silver-white hovering before her in her magical vision. 'But to bring him back, you'll have to go into him. Very deeply. And you'll have to link with him, and you may not survive. You may save him, but you could die. Or you'll still live, but you may not be able to bring him back. Or both of you could die. Are you willing to do it?' Pyralis asked urgently.
'Yes. Please, help me.' And so he did.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Isadora watched fearfully as Pyralis's features became lax as well. She waited in apprehensive silence, as did those around her. It seemed to take an eternity, but she didn't watch the miraculous healing that came over the fallen King-General. She watched the faces of her friend and Pyralis. And when Marinel awoke, he heard one more thing before he passed out again–her glad cry of Meriel's true name..."Ami!"
~*~ Falling in Love With Love ~*~
Kiora had been looking into the distance, thinking about the flash of power she had felt through her connection to Meriel a few hours ago. All the power had dissipated quickly, but the aftereffects lingered, making her fingers and toes tingle and her eyes see tell-tale flashes of magic everywhere. Strangely enough, Roshaun had been talking to her when the sensation had come through their link, and he had cut himself off mid-sentence. When Kiora had been able to turn her attention back to him, he was stiff and immobile, not responding to her voice or touch.
When she had sharpened her magical vision, she had seen the waves of fog-colored power flowing from him in currents, and when she could no longer see the silvery-gray magic, sense returned to his eyes for a split second before he toppled from a standing position to the ground in a faint. Kiora rubbed her wrist, a wry smile on her hand–he was heavier than she'd expected, and her efforts to catch him had failed miserably.
An hour later, he had woken up with a bump on the back of his head and a headache and had instantly demanded that she take him to see the king (his legs were too unsteady to support him at the moment, a consequence of him being drained of so much power). She had refused, and the resulting shouting-turned-wrestling match (when her vocal protests had failed, he had attempted to get out of bed on his own, and she had tried to discourage him) had ended with him tumbling out of the bed, half dragging the sheets with him as he staggered towards the door. Kiora had admitted defeat, helped him to the king's private chambers (with the help of a passing guard who had spotted them in the hallway), and then been asked to leave. As she shut the door behind her, she heard the squabbling begin and smiled grimly–it served Roshaun right for being so damned stubborn.
Kiora sighed and tapped her fingers on the window ledge anxiously. She wanted to know what had happened wherever Meriel was and how it had been connected to Roshaun. Any minute now, she expected the King-General she was engaged to to come bursting in. She smiled complacently, for she had learned rather quickly that the best time to elicit information from Roshaun was when he was either under extreme duress or too angry to think straight. At any other time, he was much too impassive and in control of himself to let anything slip.
The fond, soft smile on her face changed to a frown when she realized the direction of her thoughts–since when had she begun thinking of him in such personal terms? It was all his fault; everything that had happened to her was his fault. She would have to remember that; lately, it had been slipping from her mind quite easily.
Roshaun, for some inexplicable reason, had been going out of his way to spend time with her: an occasional meal, a few hours in the afternoon, or a nighttime stroll in the gardens. Kiora had quickly discovered that determinedly ignoring him for several hours straight and sitting/walking in silence was not going to work. Gradually, he had somehow gotten her to talk and been so unusually amiable that she had found herself looking forward to his visits. Goddess knew she was bored enough to...well...do something drastic. No one would tell her anything about the Moon Queen and her whereabouts, not even the stupidest, slimiest courtier. Well, why should they? She'd only been going completely out of her way and practically losing all of her dignity, playing up to them. Kiora glared at her reflection and turned her thoughts away from the courtesans–they were all too well trained, like human lap dogs.
Roshaun came to her–but she never went to him. She watched what he did sometimes, without his knowing it, but she would never let herself go to him. Roshaun had an impossible amount of work, as well as an impossible number of nagging amount of ambassadors, secretaries, and messengers whose sole purposes in life seemed to be to make things harder for him. Despite all his setbacks and frustrations, however, he never let his implacable control over his face and his emotions slip. Idly twirling a few strands of blond hair around her finger, Kiora wondered if he ever screamed himself hoarse in some private, soundproof place. She knew she would have, if she had to deal with as many things as he did. At any rate, he was always the same when he came to her–his impassive face melting to show emotion, his blank gray eyes slowly coming to life. And, speak of the devil, there he was, knocking loudly at the door and entering before she answered it. He never came in without knocking. He'd also never come in without her permission, but it looked as though there was a first time for everything.
Roshaun stormed over to her before she had time to get up and gripped her shoulders. "I'm going to ask you something, and you're going to answer me quickly–without lying."
Her face, which had filled with confusion and annoyance, quickly cleared of all emotion except innocence. "What are you talking about, Roshaun? Is it something the king told you about me? Because he doesn't like me at all, you know, and–"
"I can tell he doesn't like you!" he hissed. "If I hadn't had some of my best people keeping an eye on you, you would have been dead by now!"
Oh. So he did know about those assassination attempts. Damn. But he had actually helped keep her alive instead of helping the king? That was something. "Are you spying on me?" she asked coldly, completely ignoring his first question. He made a strange noise, something that sounded partly like an enraged exhalation of air and a small scream of frustration, and she took the opportunity to slip out of his hold. He sat down across from her and glared at her intently, while Kiora tried to think about what important things she could have lied to him about recently. To her surprise, she discovered that she hadn't–well, not true lies...everything she had told him had been mostly true.
"You know, if you want to die, you could have told me earlier and saved me some trouble. But no. You go around with absolute no concern for your safety, poking into matters which you should leave alone! If you ask people about the Moon Queen, do you think they're going to forget about it?"
"I thought I was being subtle!"
"Well, apparently you weren't subtle enough! Your idea of subtle must be announcing all your private business to the world!"
"Well, what do you care anyway?" Kiora asked in a rude tone, perfectly aware of how ridiculous they sounded.
Roshaun glared at her for a few minutes before he asked quietly, "Are your friends alive, Kiora? The other Inner Princesses? Were you lying when you swore they were dead?"
She turned pale, and more silence ensued between them. Kiora fidgeted nervously, wishing that his eyes wouldn't bore into her like that. And she wished that he hadn't been able to put so much weight on the matter.
"I'm waiting for your answer," he said softly.
"No," she whispered.
"No what? No, you weren't lying, no they're not dead? Which one is it?"
She sat up straight and looked straight into his eyes convincingly. "No, I wasn't lying." She was shocked when he cursed viciously.
"Damn it, Kiora, if you aren't going to trust me, I can't help you!"
"What are you talking about?"
"He–the king–knows that they're alive, Kiora. He knew that you were lying. And he knows perfectly well where all your friends are. Do you know where they are, Kiora?"
She shook her head, closed her eyes tightly, and wondered if she had ever seen him so angry before–she hadn't.
"They're at the Southern, Eastern, and Northern Palaces. Each of them with a King-General. And each of them are being watched very carefully. And the traps are going to be sprung very soon, Kiora. Now you get to choose: you tell me the truth and help me, or you can stick to the story you've been telling and die."
Kiora was dead white by this time, but her eyes had opened, and she was no longer afraid. "Fine. I lied. Are you going to help me save them now?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He found that he didn't have an answer...
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
AN: I'm very sorry it took an incredibly long time to get this chapter out...but we're nearing the end. I know things are very messy and pretty illogical, and I have to admit, I don't know if they're going to be sorted out. But the end is coming soon, if you stick through another two or three chapters (I promise), and then an epilogue of sorts. Thank you for reading,
~Ice