Three - Isabel
My whole body is still shaking slightly as Arkarian and I walk out of the Tribunal Chamber, and my enhanced eyesight can pick up the faintest of glows emanating from within me. On our way out, various Tribunal members stop us to congratulate me on my new gift. King Richard gives me a squeeze on my shoulder and apologises for not being able to do more for me, but getting my wings falls well beyond what I was hoping for.
'Wings' aren't physical feathered appendages that stick out of your back, like you might think upon hearing the name. Instead, it's the nickname given to the ability to teleport yourself from one place to another. Arkarian once told me that he's never heard of any mortal having the gift from birth, it has to be given. Being given your wings is to receive the Guard's highest honour, and I'm floored that the Tribunal thinks I'm worthy. I'm also keenly aware that this could change my future immensely. The sooner I can get to grips with my wings, the easier it will be to wriggle out of any life-threatening situations that may be looming - including those burning lights.
"Maybe this would be a good way to bring Ethan out of hiding," I mutter to Arkarian. "I'm sure he'd love the chance at revenge for me laughing at him when he was learning how to use his wings."
"That would be good for him," Arkarian agrees.
"Maybe speaking to you would be good for him too? Not to drag this up but you know a thing or two about what it's like to lose the people you care about."
Arkarian frowns and glances away from me, looking deep in thought. For a moment I think I've hit a nerve, and I'm about to apologise when he opens his mouth to speak again.
"I can't believe I didn't think of that before," he says.
"What? You speaking to Ethan? Honestly I'm surprised too."
"No… not me… Jimmy."
"Jimmy?" I ask, confused. "What about Jimmy?"
"Jimmy is the one who should be speaking to Ethan."
Arkarian's reply blindsides me. As far as I know, Jimmy and Ethan have never interacted much beyond official Guard business and polite hellos and goodbyes. I can't exactly see what Jimmy would have to offer in this situation. Sure, he's really good at cheering people up, but I know that if I lost Arkarian it would take more than a few dad jokes to make me feel better.
"Yeah… I'm still not following."
Arkarian looks at me, puzzled. His face stays that way for a moment before switching to realisation and then… embarrassment?
"Ah. I'm sorry, I'm not sure if this is my story to share."
"What story?"
Arkarian studies me for a moment as he presses his lips tightly together. I can tell he's debating whether or not to continue with what he was saying or whether to drop it. The decision doesn't take him long. He knows me, and he knows that I won't drop the subject even if he wants to.
"You know Jimmy used to be married, I trust?"
I frown. It's been mentioned only once or twice, and only by mom as a side note to Matt and me. "Yeah? So?"
Arkarian stares wordlessly at me and then the penny drops.
"Oh. I thought he was divorced… I didn't know she died."
"She did. If anyone knows what Ethan is going through right now, it would be Jimmy. I still have you, even after everything, and I can't imagine how hollow my words would sound if I was the one trying to relate to him."
"Would Jimmy even want to speak to him about it?"
Arkarian hesitates as he considers my question.
"I don't know," he admits. "Hannah's death really hurt Jimmy. He grieved for years."
"Hannah? You knew her?"
"She was a member of the Guard… I introduced them."
"You never mentioned," I say, trying to disguise how much this information has me reeling. "Poor Jimmy, I've never even heard him mention her."
Arkarian gives my hand a small squeeze and presses his lips to my forehead. I can't imagine ever-cheerful Jimmy struggling to cope with grief. He's such a nice guy, it's horrible to think that once he was as broken up as Ethan is now.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything to him," Arkarian says quietly. "I shouldn't be spreading such information around without his permission."
"I won't," I promise. Being with Arkarian has made me an expert secret-keeper, now that I'm privy to so much more of the Guard's inner workings. Sometimes it feels like my head is going to explode with all of the secrets I know now, and keeping up my mental barrier when I'm out in the mortal world is a crucial task. "But, can I ask one more question?"
Arkarian nods.
"How did she die?"
Before Arkarian can answer me, the chamber doors slide open behind us and the Tribunal comes filtering out at last. Everyone shoots me warm smiles and congratulate me again in turn. They all look terrible, and I hope they're all going to rest up, even though the more realistic part of my brain knows that they're all about to throw themselves back into more work.
Queen Brystianne is last out, closing the chamber doors behind her. She comes over to us, looking sheepish.
"Isabel, congratulations. I can't think of a more deserving person to be getting their wings."
"Thank you, my lady." I dip my head briefly in her direction, and try to offer her a small smile. I wonder if I will ever feel truly comfortable around Queen Brystianne, as I do now around most other members of the Tribunal, but every time she's near me I can't help but compare myself to her. She's so beautiful… so intelligent… so tall…
"I want to apologise for my behaviour. Things here have been…" she pauses as she struggles to find the right words.
"Strained?" Arkarian offers her kindly.
Queen Brystianne smiles at him gratefully, and I try to ignore the twist in my stomach.
"Yes, exactly. I was somewhat over-excited about your arrival. It's a relief to see some friendly faces that aren't my fellow Tribunal members," she continues. "Except for Dillon of course, but he's largely stayed away from us."
"Dillon?" I ask incredulously.
"We didn't know Dillon was here," Arkarian says more calmly, nothing in his expression betraying his inner thoughts.
"He's been here almost constantly since the final battle," Queen Brystianne confirms, twisting the opulent jewelled bracelets around her wrists. "As I said, he's barely been seen. I know Lord Matthew has spoken with him several times to debrief him about the Rochelle incident, but we don't know much beyond that."
The Rochelle incident. The words stab me unexpectedly in the gut, and it occurs to me that it's the first time I've heard anyone say her name since she died. We've all been skirting around it, and the loss of her has gone largely unacknowledged, save for the impact it's had on Ethan. Guilt washes over me. Poor Rochelle, her death reduced to just an incident to be debriefed and moved on from. And no-one has even taken the time to speak her name aloud.
"Has he been pardoned?" Arkarian asks.
Queen Brystianne shakes her head. "He hasn't even had his trial yet. Lord Matthew is struggling to get any information at all out of him, and very little on the current situation has been passed back to the rest of us. As best we understand, Dillon is here of his own volition, but he's not talking."
"So what is he doing here?"
Queen Brystianne shrugs, and gestures for us to walk with her down the corridor, which we do. Footsteps and the soft clink of jewellery echo off of the shiny marble walls as we head back towards the golden courtyard that we first arrived in. As we reach the doors that lead outside, Queen Brystianne pauses and turns to face us.
"It has been struggle enough to hold the Guard together after everything that has happened, but now further disquiet is building," she says in a low voice. "The Tribunal is stretched far too thinly to be sustainable, and there are… concerns about Lord Matthew's ability to lead."
"What!" I exclaim loudly.
"Not here," Queen Brystianne whispers, glancing behind us to check that nobody is listening. "Dine with me in my chambers this evening, we can discuss matters there."
With that, she turns from us and walks through the doors back out into the sunlight, leaving us stood alone in the corridor. For a long time, neither myself or Arkarian say anything. We just stare at the closed door in front of us.
"What the fuck," I say finally.
Arkarian looks as lost as I do. It's bad enough knowing that Matt doesn't have any confidence in himself, even worse to know that there are members of the Tribunal who feel the same way.
"Who do you think…?"
"I honestly have no idea. Brystianne is right though, we shouldn't be discussing this in public. Follow me."
Slipping his hand into mine, Arkarian leads me back the way we came, past the main Chamber and into another familiar part of the headquarters.
The administration section is where we spend the bulk of our time in Athens. It's home to several huge libraries filled with records stretching back since the Guard's creation, recording not only every single Guard member and every single mission ever undertaken, but also intelligence on every major event throughout human history. Part of Arkarian's job, and now mine too, is tracing every portal that opens and cross referencing with major events on file, and identifying potential threats to our timeline. If anything important has happened, it's written down somewhere in here.
Every room in the administration section is under heavy protection, and Arkarian has informed me that if we didn't have express permission to be there, we wouldn't be able to find our way to it. The hallways and rooms would shift around, similar to how the rooms in his personal chambers do, and you could never gain access to the files. Even if you get past the hallways, the top-level access rooms have everything from blood scanners to saliva samplers. Once we are in a corridor at the furthest point of the administration section, we stop and look around us.
"In here," I say, gesturing over to a room on the left. It has a blood scanner attached to the wall and I put my hand on it. I feel the tiniest pinch as a series of tiny needles punch their way into my palms and withdraw again, gathering a sample of my DNA to analyse. For a moment, nothing happens. At last, the door creaks open and the two of us slip into the room beyond.
"Where are we?" I ask, looking around at the hundreds of thousands of scrolls that pour from heavy wooden shelving units.
"Family histories of Guard members apparently," Arkarian answers, pulling a scroll from a nearby shelf and examining it. "Australasian region."
"Do you think mine is in here?" I wonder aloud, glancing up and down the aisles.
"I'm not sure. Mine was never in here, nor in the European section. I used to think it was because nothing was known about my family, but now I believe it to be because my father's identity had to be kept a secret. I don't know if Matt's father would mean that your family's history is hidden too."
"Matt's father has nothing to do with me, why would they hide my information too?" I say, pulling another scroll from nearby. The name at the top of the scroll declares it to be the family tree of 'Elizabeth Shaw: b. 1904 -d. 1944'. Lines spider their way across the page, some names written in a dark, inky black, others in gold and red. Near the very top, some forty or more generations back, there are a couple of names written in a shining silver.
"I imagine that indicating that you and Matt have different fathers would raise questions to the casual onlooker."
I snort. "Casual onlooker? Who can even access these apart from the Tribunal and us?"
"Back then there was every possibility of a traitor in the Tribunal," Arkarian reminds me, reshelving the scroll he was holding.
"There still is," I say grimly. I take a seat at a table nestled in the centre of the room and set Elizabeth's scroll down in front of me, staring at it intensely without really taking anything in. From his original position near the entrance, Arkarian sighs and slowly makes his way to the seat next to me.
"Isabel, don't think like that," he says soothingly, taking my hands in his.
"Why shouldn't I? You heard Queen Brystianne," I snap back. I don't look at him. I can't.
"She only said that there was a lack of confidence. It's not as if they're staging a coup."
"And how long until they are?"
Arkarian squeezes my hands and kisses me once on the cheek, before releasing his grip and sliding his arm around me.
"I have known the Tribunal almost my entire life. I trust them absolutely."
"Well maybe you're wrong!" I say, heat rising through my body. "Matt is trying so damn hard it's almost killing him! Even Lorian would be struggling to deal with everything right now! They're just looking for someone to blame for their own incompetence!"
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Arkarian stills beside me, and I know I've offended him. He removes his arm from around me and sags back in his seat, staring dead ahead. An awkwardness that I've never felt between us before hangs uncomfortably in the air.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean-"
"What did you mean, Isabel?" Arkarian cuts across me. "Tempers are frayed at the moment, that's true. And yes, everyone is looking for someone else to blame, including you, apparently."
His words sting, but I know he doesn't mean for them to. Arkarian's assessments are always honest, at times to the point of brutality, but he's never unfair. The anger that was threatening to explode inside me slowly begins to dissipate, replaced by a creeping shame and regret.
"I'm just so angry," I confess, dropping my gaze to look down at my hands that are twisting restlessly around each other in my lap. "I feel like I just don't know what's going to happen next and no one is talking to each other and nothing is being resolved and everything is getting worse and worse and everyone is falling apart. And now everything with my vision… it's so unfair. We deserve a break. I want to fix things and I just can't. I failed Ethan. I failed Rochelle. God I failed Rochelle. She was so lonely and I knew that and I never reached out to her. I should have protected her, I should have been there when Marduke went after her, like I promised I would be. Matt is barely keeping his head above water and there's nothing I can do to help and-"
Arkarian silences me with gentle hands stilling my own. I finally lift my gaze to meet his and he presses a soft kiss to my lips.
"I just feel angry all the time," I finish with a whisper. "Angry at how powerless I feel."
"I understand," he replies quietly. "There is so much happening all at once, and nothing that one person can do to solve everyone else's problems."
"So what am I supposed to do?"
"Solve one problem at a time," he answers simply, giving my hands a squeeze. "Please forgive me for what I'm about to say?"
"Shoot."
"Matt has a track record of accusations and not trusting other Guard members. I can't imagine that being the best introduction to the person who is supposed to lead you. Having Dillon here without explanation and without conducting a trial is only going to reinforce in the minds of the Tribunal the idea that Matt doesn't trust them to do their jobs."
"Speaking from experience, there?"
He smiles goodnaturedly. "Perhaps a little. We should find out everything we can from Brystianne later - there may be things we can do to help Matt out without causing too much of a problem for the Tribunal and without stepping on his toes."
"And then everything else?"
He nods. "Then everything else."
The silence that sits between us over the next few minutes is calmer now, more companionable, and I feel a familiar wave of calm wash over me, emanating from Arkarian's hands. I breathe deeply, taking in the comforting smell of parchment and that certain freshness I associate so strongly with Athens. There's no pollution here, and the quality of air is so good I've only ever experienced it before in the middle of the woods, miles away from the nearest car.
"We should go," Arkarian says after a short while. He rises and offers me his hand as I stand up, ever the gentleman. "Don't forget that scroll," he reminds me, nodding towards it. I grab it with my free hand and take one last look at it as I roll it up against my side.
"What do all the different colours mean?"
"Gold is for known Guard members, red symbolises known Order members."
"And the silver ones near the top?"
"Magicians."
"Magicians? I thought Keziah was the only one?"
"He is now. Or at least, he's the only mortal one."
Since the final battle, Lathenia's pet magician has disappeared. His life was only lengthened thanks to Lathenia's powers, and now that she's gone Keziah has presumably gone into hiding to rot away slowly, too weak to sustain himself. Keziah isn't ageless like Arkarian and I are, he was already practically a walking corpse before Lathenia's death. I don't even want to think what he must look like now.
"So what happened to the others?" I ask, pushing the scroll back on to the shelf closest to the door.
"I'm not entirely sure," Arkarian admits. "I was never told much about them, and they were all gone long before I was even born. I've only heard that they were very dangerous and destroyed each other for power. But I do know that if you go through these scrolls you will find magicians in the family tree of almost every Guard member."
"Really?"
"Magic is all but gone from this world, the last of it runs in the bloodlines of Guard members. It's the source of our powers, distilled over generations. Not every Guard member has magic in their blood, of course, it still pops up in random places from time to time, but most of us do."
"If they all killed each other, how come they all managed to have families that are still around today?" I ask, leaning back against the cool stone wall by the door.
"They didn't all kill each other. I mean, they did kill each other, but only as much as members of the Guard and the Order kill each other. Their children just stopped being born with the ability to wield magic. The magic dampened down over generations and began to take the form of specialised gifts, like what we have today."
Arkarian's information surprises me. I've never given much thought as to where my powers come from.. I guess it makes sense though - Shaun and Ethan are both Named, and Sera had powers too, Neriah was Marduke's daughter, and Matt and I are both gifted, one more than the other.
"Hey, Arkarian?"
"Yes?"
"You'd tell me if my mom was secretly a Guard member, right?"
Arkarian laughs and gives me a warm smile. "I think your mother being a Guard member would make things significantly easier for everyone, Isabel. Unfortunately, she is very much an ordinary person."
"What about my grandparents?"
"Not that I know of, but-"
"My great-grandparents?"
"I'm-"
"My great-great grandparents?"
"Why don't we just see if your family tree is in here after all?" Arkarian sighs. "I don't know every single Guard member's name now, let alone one hundred years ago."
I grin and take off down the aisles, heading to the back of the room, towards where the Bs must be. I pull a few scrolls out along the way to orientate myself, going past a couple of Chands, a few Butlers and a mountain of Browns before-
"Found it!" I call out, unfurling the scroll as quickly as I can.
Arkarian appears from behind me and helps me unravel the scroll, smoothing it out on a nearby bench and weighing the corners down with heavy candles.
"This is so cool," I breathe. My family tree is alive with colour - golds and reds running right across the page - but what really takes my breath away is the sheer volume of silver at the top. Almost every other name written there is either gold or silver, shining out at me from generations past.
"Well, now we know why Dartemis chose your mother to have Matt," Arkarian says, taking it all in.
"I wonder if your scroll would look like this," I wonder aloud. He smiles gently at me, sliding one arm around me as he taps on my great-grandmother's name, which is written proudly in gold.
"Alice Connor. I recognise that name," he says.
"You do?!"
"I never met her, but I heard about her powers. She was able to turn completely invisible, a very rare gift on it's own, but she could also walk through any physical object to a certain thickness. She was the most successful Guard member of her time." My jaw drops. I've only ever seen pictures of Granny Alice, my mom's maternal grandmother, and in most of those she's already old and small. She died before I was born, but my gran used to say that I look just like her. Apparently I take after her in more ways than one.
"Do you recognise anyone else?" I ask eagerly, scanning the page.
He nods. "Some here and there. I knew your great-great-grandfather very well, he was trained by one of my former apprentices."
I look for who Arkarian means, but it takes me a moment to find him. I'm surprised to see him in my father's line. Half of me expects me to see my dad's name in red, surrounded by other blooms of scarlet, but its written neatly and unremarkably in black, the same as my mom's. There are less colours on his side of the page overall, but they're still very present. To my shock, there are just as many golds as there are reds.
"People can really go either way, huh?"
"Sometimes it's simply a matter of who gets to them first. There's light and dark in everyone, and people are far too easily twisted one way or another."
I nod, taking in the aspects of my family tree that I hadn't noticed before. Guard members giving birth to Order members, sometimes marrying each other, sometimes having children with the opposite side. The very top of the scroll is a mess now that I look closer, barely any names in black, but impossible to predict what the next generation will bring.
"I can't imagine ever wanting anything to do with the Order," I say solemnly.
"I can," Arkarian replies. "I have debriefed enough former members to know that by and large they make good on their promises. I've seen people born with nothing being allowed to manipulate time so that they were born millionaires instead. Those who were most faithful to Lathenia were given everything they could ever dream of. Those who were a disappointment had the farthest to fall. It was how she kept everyone in line."
"But what the Order was doing was so wrong. How can anyone agree with that? People dying just so they have more money or power?"
Arkarian smiles at me again, eyes full of adoration. It makes me blush.
"That's why you're such a good person," he says, kissing me. He slides his other arm around my waist and holds me close for a few sweet moments, before pulling away and stroking my cheek with one hand. "Is your curiosity suitably sated?"
I raise one eyebrow and stare at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of my lips.
He laughs again and shakes his head. "Of course. A silly question."
"One of your silliest," I tease. "If you are referring to my burning desire to see all the information the Guard has ever collected on me, then no. But I can hold off on seeing the rest a little while longer."
"Most of the reports I have written up on your missions were deemed inadmissible," Arkarian says. "Too many hearts doodled in the corners."
"I knew it."
Together we reroll and shelve my scroll, before heading back out into the administration corridors. The rest of the day passes too slowly for my liking. I can barely focus on the horse ride Arkarian insists we take across the grounds, and once nearly smack my head straight into a tree branch. Finally, it's time for dinner in Queen Brystianne's chambers.
I've only been in Queen Brystianne's chambers once before, when Ethan and I begged her to help with Arkarian's rescue from the Underworld after he was kidnapped by Marduke. She was one of the only Tribunal members who would even entertain speaking with us, and was later persuaded to help by Lady Arabella. Apparently she still has a soft spot where Arkarian is concerned, an idea that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
"Isabel…" Arkarian warns from beside me, fist still raised in the air to knock at Queen Brystianne's door.
"Sorry, didn't think you would hear that," I whisper, screening my thoughts quickly.
"I wouldn't have been able to if I wasn't trying to listen," he replies cooly. "Queen Brystianne is a far better Truthseer than I am, she will be able to hear you much more clearly. And you have absolutely no need to be jealous."
"I'm not jealous!" I argue.
Arkarian pointedly ignores me and raps three times on the carved oak door in front of us. The door is promptly opened by one of Queen Brystianne's attendants, a local girl by the look of her with warm hazel eyes. She bows and ushers us inside, leading us through an opulent reception room into a small dining area set off to the side.
Queen Brystianne is already seated alone at the head of the table, looking as spectacular as usual with hair elegantly plaited down her back and golden jewellery draped across her neck and wrists. A tiara sits neatly atop her head, diamonds glittering in the candlelight. She smiles as we enter and stands up.
"Thank you both for coming," she says. "Isabel, Glykera has prepared us both a wonderful roast lamb."
I nod at the attendant who showed us in, presumably Glykera. She bows and leaves the room, returning a moment later with a jug of wine and a short man with curly brown hair. The man seats us at the table on either side of Queen Brystianne, and removes the lids off of plates that are already set out in front of us. There's more food here than the three of us could manage to eat in a week, and it all looks delicious. Glykera skirts around us, filling our goblets with a dark red wine, before standing to attention next to the curly-haired man at the doorway.
"Thank you Glykera and Lycus, if you could please leave us now."
Without a moment's hesitation, the two attendants bow again and leave the room, closing the door behind them. Queen Brystianne leans across the table and begins to take servings from the plates of food dotted around. Between the two of us is a plate of neatly portioned lamb, which smells heavenly and makes my mouth water just by looking at it. I go to take a slice at the same time as Queen Brystianne, our forks clashing in mid-air.
"Oh, I'm so sorry Isabel! Here…" she says graciously. She uses her own fork to pile the meat onto my plate, shooting me a dazzling smile as she does so. Urgh. I can't imagine being so polite and diplomatic all the time. Fake smiles make my face ache.
"Thank you," I say, trying my best to match her smile in return. I barely last ten seconds before a twinge creeps across my lower jaw.
Arkarian is happily helping himself to a pile of chickpeas, but apparently doesn't miss my forced expression as I feel his foot tap on the side of my leg. I don't know if its a gentle reprimand or a reassurance. I've been holding the smile for too long, I realise, and it looks very insincere.
"Forgive me, my lady. I can't focus on this lovely food without knowing what you meant earlier when you said that the Tribunal don't trust my brother," I say, trying to keep my tone even and light. I don't see the point in making a show of pleasantries and small talk.
Queen Brystianne frowns and takes a sip of her wine. "I wouldn't say that the Tribunal don't trust Lord Matthew, Isabel."
"And neither did you," Arkarian interjects. Another tap at my leg, this time with a dose of calming energy spreading through me. "Brystianne, Isabel is very worried about Lord Matthew, as are we all. If the Guard is to pull through this difficult time than we must all stand united. To hear that there is any discord at all amongst the Tribunal is distressing, to say the least."
I'm grateful for Arkarian's words. He always knows just how to say things in a way that comes across as understanding and kind, as opposed to me just blurting things out and coming across more bluntly than I mean to.
Queen Brystianne sighs and deftly twirls her fork around her fingers as she thinks of what to say next. She stares at me long and hard, considering her words carefully before she next speaks.
"Lord Matthew has not done himself many favours since taking up Lorian's mantle," she says finally. I open my mouth to argue but she delicately holds one hand up to silence me. "Please let me finish, Isabel. I mean no disrespect when I say this. Anybody in his situation would have a monumental task on their hands, and we can all empathise with that. Every remaining member of the Tribunal is having to lead not only our own houses through the aftermath of the final battle, but the members of the orphaned houses too. On top of everything we are seeing a dramatic influx of former Order members, all of whom are required to be thoroughly debriefed. We have minimal equipment to communicate with our members. We are grieving the loss of our leader and our colleagues, and our members, and our friends. There are demons loose in the world that must be captured and killed. There are ordinary people whose memories have to be wiped because of what they witnessed, and only four Guard members worldwide who are capable of doing this. The Citadel is apparently due to be rebuilt as a temple but nobody living understands how it was built in the first place and the best we can do is throw up a few temporary holding rooms and hope that they will stay standing. Isabel, the Tribunal is at breaking point. We are tired, and we are losing our tempers with each other, and we are falling apart from within. As Arkarian said, we need to stand together at this point more than ever, and we are failing to do so."
"No offence, Queen Brystianne, but I fail to see how any of that is Matt's fault. He barely knows you, how is he supposed to bring you all together?" I retort.
"That is exactly the problem, Isabel," Queen Brystianne replies calmly. "Lord Matthew does not know us. He has been taught about how we work, yes. And I daresay he knows a fair amount about our backgrounds and personal lives, more than any other outsider would. Yes, I do mean it when I say outsider, Isabel, please do not look so agitated. Matt is an outsider."
The sudden dropping of Matt's title jumps out at me as I absorb Queen Brystianne's words. She doesn't say anything with a hint of dislike or distaste. It reminds me of Arkarian's assessments - to the point and brutally honest. I have no doubt that Queen Brystianne means everything she is saying.
"King Richard has only been on the Tribunal for a few months in my time. Does that make him an outsider too, my lady?"
"King Richard has been trained intensively since his arrival, he has taken to his new role exceptionally well," Queen Brystianne replies before delicately biting down on a mouthful of lamb. We sit in silence as she chews thoughtfully and then swallows before continuing. "King Richard has also integrated himself in a way that Matt has made no attempt to mimic. We know King Richard well. We like him."
"But you don't like Matt."
Queen Brystianne sighs and looks over at Arkarian, who is sat stony-faced to her left. "Arkarian, tell me, what do you think of Matt?" Her question takes me by surprise, but apparently doesn't phase Arkarian.
"I think he is trying very hard," Arkarian replies evenly. "In all aspects of his life."
"And do you think him successful?" Queen Brystianne asks, taking another sip of wine.
"That would depend on what he is trying hard at."
Queen Brystianne gives one short, hollow laugh and shakes her head. "You always were good at avoiding the question."
"When one is a terrible liar, avoiding the question becomes a valuable skill," Arkarian counters. "If my previous answer will not suffice then let me say this instead. No, I do not especially like Matt at present - he acts too rashly and refuses to let others in. He can be incredibly insensitive. But I do admire him - he is dedicated to those he cares about, and works very hard when given a goal to aim at. And one day, I think I could like him very much."
"Do you really think that acting rashly and isolating himself are really great leadership qualities?" Queen Brystianne asks.
"I think that decisiveness and independence can be wonderful leadership qualities, yes."
"Oh, you're impossible!"
"Very few people have gone up against Matt as many times as I have, Brystianne," Arkarian reminds her. "We are categorically not friends, that much has been made clear on multiple occasions. That being said, I do trust in Matt's abilities. He may act rashly, but he always acknowledges his mistakes. If he doesn't know how to do something, he will teach himself how it works. He may not have any faith in himself, but he still lead the Named in battle regardless and has faith in us."
"As was his destiny," Queen Brystianne finishes for him. "And whilst fulfilling his destiny, Matt managed to accuse multiple people of being a traitor, including having Lady Arabella imprisoned."
"Lady Arabella was keeping Neriah's guardians in cages, whether she realised it or not!" I exclaim. "Even Lorian thought that she was guilty!"
"And yet when one of his childhood friends' actions causes another member of the Named to be separated from her nominated protector and that member of the Named then dies, his friend does not face trial." Queen Brystianne's tone is sharper now, and her words cut at me. "One of our own was suspect for keeping some birds, and one of the Named - no, not even one of the Named for heaven's sake - can cause the death of a Guard member and not even be subject to investigation!"
"So now it's the Tribunal against the Named?"
"No!" Queen Brystianne snaps, and as she does so the flames on every candle jump an inch higher. She jumps to her feet, but Arkarian is equally as quick on his and he puts one hand on her shoulder.
"Brystianne. Isabel. Enough." Remarkably he still looks quite at ease. Maybe Queen Brystianne has always had a temper, or maybe he knows that I'm pushing her buttons and I will back down if he was on the line. I have never heard him command a member of the Tribunal before though.
Queen Brystianne's eyelids flutter closed and she takes a deep, steadying breath. Slowly, she sinks back into her seat and Arkarian does the same, not taking his eyes off of her. Eventually he removes his hand from her shoulder and resumes eating, as if nothing has happened.
"What I was trying to say Isabel, is that Matt is inexperienced, his people skills are lacking, and he is keeping secrets from the Tribunal. That has bred ill-will and mistrust. We are hardly about to riot, but something has to change."
I nod, a numbness spreading through me. Everything Queen Brystianne has said sounds exactly like Matt, but his actions have been misinterpreted. Matt doesn't know the Tribunal well, that much is true, but that also means that they don't know him either.
"My brother holds things back because he doesn't want to be a burden," I say quietly. "Yeah he can be a dick, but that's only because he can't stand to see people put themselves in bad situations. Don't tell him I said this but his over-protectiveness is actually kind of endearing once you get used to it. Except where I'm concerned."
Queen Brystianne's face softens slightly and she takes another sip of her wine.
"I appreciate that, Isabel," she says. "Really, I do. But Matt's leadership cannot continue like this."
"And have any of you raised this with him?" I ask.
Her answering silence is all the confirmation that I need, and I scoff. "How do you expect anything to change unless you ask for it to? My brother is not Lorian. He's not all-knowing and wise, believe me. But if he knows what he needs to change he will do it. Just because you were scared to argue with Lorian doesn't mean you have to be the same for Matt. I'm scarier than Matt is."
At my last comment, both Arkarian and Queen Brystianne begin to laugh.
"I don't think the Tribunal need to be told twice, mon coeur," Arkarian chuckles, reaching over and grabbing another spoonful of lentils.
"Certainly not!" Queen Brystianne agrees, still giggling. Eventually she manages to stifle her laughter and smooths out her expression. "That still leaves the question of Dillon though."
"You said he hadn't been near the Tribunal?" Arkarian asks.
"No, and we are under instructions from Lord Matthew to let him handle it. The problem being that we don't know what 'it' is."
"You think Dillon provoked Rochelle on purpose?" I ask.
"I don't know. Snapping at someone as insecure as Rochelle was was bound to provoke a reaction, but I find it hard to believe that anyone save yourself could have predicted that she would take off like that. That would be a very convoluted way to try and put her in danger."
"Or that gives Dillon just enough plausible deniability."
"Exactly so. At the very least it deserves an investigation, but there has yet to be one."
I chew slowly on a tender piece of lamb, mulling everything over. If Dillon is raising suspicion then why is Matt keeping him from facing an investigation? Surely he must know how that would reflect on him? What is my brother playing at?
"It's weird though, having Dillon here all the time," I voice my thoughts aloud.
"He only goes when it's time for him to head back to your timeline, then he's right back here the next evening. Have either of you seen him during the day?"
Arkarian and I both shake our heads. I've barely left Arkarian's chambers since the final battle, and he hasn't been up there. The school has closed down to be rebuilt, so our paths haven't had much cause to cross unless he was to come to my house to see Matt.
"Is he here now?" Arkarian asks.
"Yes." Queen Brystianne nods and gestures over her shoulder to the wide open windows that overlook another courtyard. "He's been here for weeks, staying in the guest quarters. He takes his meals in there, and seldom leaves, except for the occasional ride into the city. Penbarin's house guards have followed him several times, but he does nothing besides wander around by himself."
Arkarian frowns. "He could be aware that he's being followed."
"Possibly. Heaven knows Dillon has had a lifetime of looking over his shoulder, I daresay he would be harder to tail than most."
"That doesn't make sense though," I say. "If Dillon didn't want to raise suspicion then he wouldn't be here in the first place. Look how much attention he's had already, even with staying out of the way. And Matt's not as stupid as he seems, he has to know this looks weird as fuck to everybody around him."
Queen Brystianne visibly winces at my swearing - it seems I've offended her old-fashioned sensibilities. I was expecting Arkarian to be the same when we first started dating, but he's always been weirdly modern in his opinions and culture. I guess he's just more widely socialised than the Tribunal are, which is really saying something about how shut-in the Tribunal are - Arkarian literally lives in a cave.
"Isabel's not wrong," Arkarian says. "Perhaps there is a bigger picture we aren't seeing yet."
Queen Brystianne smiles gently at us both. "I hope you're both right. I really do."
In an effort to life the mood, Queen Brystianne spends the rest of the evening regaling me with light-hearted stories of Arkarian's "youth", much to his embarrassment. She finishes by telling me one particularly lively story about when Arkarian was only seventy-five and attracted the attention of a local girl, who then attempted to scale the walls of the headquarters to see him again, only to be met by a very unimpressed Lorian.
"And Lorian had a terrifying presence at the best of times, if you weren't prepared. This poor girl, she could only have been perhaps sixteen and completely love sick, walks right into him! She ran all the way back home, swearing that the gods themselves had come down to scold her for her lustful ways!" Queen Brystianne chuckles.
"In my defence I had only met her a couple of times before whilst buying bread from her father, and certainly wasn't expecting her to break into the headquarters to try and declare her undying love for me," Arkarian adds, polishing off his wine.
"I haven't told her the best part yet!" Queen Brystianne exclaims. "Now of course we have a reputation amongst the locals, and her story wasn't terribly out of line with what they had already made up amongst themselves. So who shows up the next morning on the front steps but her father, poor man, goat in hand…"
"Oh no!" I cry, already able to see where her story is going.
"Oh yes. He sacrifices the goat right there on the steps and begs for our forgiveness, convinced that we were going to curse his entire family!"
"Lorian made me clean up all that blood without my powers," Arkarian says, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
"Well you had been flirting with her."
"I absolutely had not!"
I snicker and drain my glass. Arkarian catches my eye and nods towards the door, a question in his eyes. I nod and then turn to smile at Queen Brystianne.
"Thank you for inviting us to dine with you tonight, my lady."
"You're quite welcome, Isabel. I hope you know that you can consider me a friend," she replies, cocking her head to the side.
"Thank you, my lady. And thank you for bringing us both up to date on the situation with my brother," I reply.
Arkarian and I both stand up to leave and bid Queen Brystianne a good night, which she returns graciously. Glykera reappears at our side and shows us the door with another bow. Once back out in the now moonlit hall, Arkarian takes my hand in his and we walk back over to the guest quarters, where his room awaits us.
"I really thought she was going to hit me for a second there," I say to Arkarian as we walk.
"Brystianne? No, she's not that kind of person. She's infinitely more likely to storm off and sulk somewhere," Arkarian replies, unlocking his door.
Arkarian's room in Athens is the only permanent one in the guest quarters, but he never keeps many personal effects there. The only real difference to the other guest rooms is the large desk next to the fireplace, which Arkarian keeps so that he can work late into the night if he needs to. The desk is unusually neat compared to its usual state laden down with haphazard piles of scrolls and strewn with inkwells and quills, the only obvious sign that Arkarian hasn't been here for years in this timeline. Time goes so quickly here, I wonder how long the Tribunal have known Arkarian for from their perspective. If I could live in this timeline without my body violently rejecting it, I could have even longer with my friends and family before I had to leave.
Once we're back inside, we both change into night clothes and lie down in the large feather-stuffed bed. Arkarian shifts to let me lay my head on his chest, one arm wrapped around me, and we lay together in silence as I listen to the steady beating of his heart.
"Do you feel any better?" he asks eventually, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nod. "A little. I know what we need to do. Well, what I need to do."
"And what's that?"
"I need to find out what's going on with Dillon. If I can find that out maybe I can get Matt and the Tribunal actually talking to each other."
Arkarian doesn't react for a moment, just absent-mindedly strokes my hair. Then, he wriggles uncomfortably.
"I don't know if that's best, Isabel."
"What? Why?" I raise my head to look at him, confused. He's not looking at me, instead he's staring hard at the ceiling above us, a frown wrinkling his forehead.
"If Matt has a plan, then in my experience it's best to not interfere with immortal plans."
"This isn't just any immortal though, it's my brother. I know my brother well enough to know when he needs help, and right now he needs it bad."
Arkarian is silent for another few moments before looking down at me. "I suppose if anyone knows Matt best it would be you…"
"Right. And Kar, you know the Guard, and especially the Tribunal, better than me. Together we can help him out, I know it," I beg. I can't help Matt alone, I'd be powerless to change anything, but the Tribunal trust Arkarian like one of their own. If anyone can change their minds on my brother's actions, it would be him.
He puts a hand to the side of my face and holds it gently, rubbing his thumb up and down.
"I'll help you Isabel, of course I will. Besides, what's a little immortal rage among friends?"
"If Matt throws an immortal rage, I'll just tell mom he was yelling at me. The only thing scarier than an immortal temper tantrum is my mom telling someone off, believe me."
Arkarian laughs and sets his head back down, pulling me back against his chest. Not too long after, his breathing slows and I know he's fallen asleep. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to will sleep to come to me, but it won't. I can hear my heart almost as loud as Arkarian's pounding in my other ear,and my stomach is uncomfortably tense even with me curled up into a little ball.
After what feels like an age, and once Arkarian's breathing gets even deeper, I give up on my own sleep and gently ease myself out of his arms and bed. The moon outside is tucked away behind some pillowy clouds, making it darker than usual in the room, but the clouds are no match for my eyes. I shuffle over to a nearby window, hopping up onto the sill and leaning my back against the cool stone wall to look out at the outside world.
Below me is another courtyard, this one containing a beautiful marble fountain with carved dolphins at the top, jetting streams of water out from their mouths and down into a tiled pool below. On the opposite side of the courtyard are more guest rooms, a couple with glowing candlelight emanating from within, but most are shrouded in darkness. Beyond those apartments, Athens flickers in the distance, warmly lit by hundreds of candles, competing with the cooler glow of the stars above. It's almost completely silent apart from the steady trickle of water from below and Arkarian's deep breathing.
I look back over at him and see he's shifted in his sleep, turned to face me now. I study his pale face for a few moments, taking in every hair, every wrinkle that forms between furrowed brows, every eyelash, and every pore. He's perfect. His expression betrays the troubled dream he must be having, but there's nothing I can do to help. Story of my life. My stomach twists again and I turn back to the world beyond my perch on the windowsill.
Two servants are making their way over to the opposite guest rooms, one carrying a serving tray laden with bread, cheese and meats, the other struggling with a bundle of sheets. I recognise the servant with the tray as Glykera, Queen Brystianne's servant from earlier in the evening. She seems to be talking animatedly with the woman carrying sheets beside her, another local I presume. I can't imagine what it must be like to be them, to think that they are serving the closest things to their gods on this earth. I don't know if they have powers themselves like the House Guards do, I've never thought to ask. Normality seems a million worlds away from me right now, and I find myself envying the two women, chatting happily and going about their daily lives seemingly without a care in the world.
Glykera and the other servant slip through a door opposite and disappear from view, leaving me completely alone with my thoughts. I stare blankly ahead, trying to mentally sort through the events of the past few weeks. First one thing, I remind myself, and then everything else. The Guard needs to stay strong and united above all else, so I need to get the other Tribunal members to trust Matt. To get them to trust Matt, I need to find out what he's playing at keeping secrets from everyone, and work out how to get everyone working together on it. Then, when I wake up, I'm going to see how I can help bring Ethan back from the depths of his depression. Then, help Arkarian cope with his own grief. Then, try and save my own life. Then… fix everything else, I guess?
I bury my head in my hands and try to block out all the light, which suddenly seems brighter and more headache-inducing than before. When I raise my head and look back outside, I see one of the windows opposite and below me is now illuminated by candlelight. I watch the window with mild interest for a while, relieved to have something else to pre-occupy my thoughts. From my vantage point I can only see the corner of a wooden bedside table and a few tiles of smooth stone flooring. The table has the same tray of food I saw Glykera carrying earlier resting on top of it, and every now and then a hand briefly appears and takes a hunk of bread or a slice of cheese. Bit by bit, all of the food disappears down the invisible diner's throat and my interest in the window begins to wane. I'm about to look away when a pair of feet come into view, along with the bottom of a greyish-blue tunic. The figure picks up the tray and carries it away, before heading back over to the window. The figure - a young man, I realise, leans forward onto the windowsill and takes a bite of an apple. I can't see his face, but I recognise his blonde, artfully-disheveled-but-it-was-made-to-look-that-way-and-in-no-way-looks-like-that-when-he-actually-wakes-up hair. It's Dillon.
My breath catches in my throat and I try to slip off the windowsill slowly and silently, trying not to attract Dillon's attention. Now's my chance to talk to him! I grab my shoes from beside the bed, and rush back over to the window to count the windows to Dillon's room. Apparently I've not been as quiet as I hoped, because when I stick my head back out of the window Dillon is staring straight at me. Our eyes lock and I freeze in place, heart hammering in my chest. He raises his eyebrows and then raises one hand to give me a slow, awkward wave, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
We hold each other's gaze for what seems like an eternity. Dillon seems completely unruffled, leaning casually against the side of the window, arms crossed and still smirking up at me, daring me to come and confront him. It feels like electricity is running through me, and everything in my body is screaming at me to go and talk to him - my sixth sense, I realise.
Suddenly everything is thrown into sharp relief. This is how I'm going to fix everything - I'm going to let my sixth sense guide me. It's never steered me wrong before. I breathe out slowly and try to let go of all my anxieties that have been coursing through me these past few weeks. Don't fight it, I tell myself. Your instincts are telling you to go to Dillon for a reason. He can help. Taking another deep breath, I surrender myself over to fate, and before I know it my feet are taking me out of the door and through the marble corridors.
I don't know how I find Dillon's door but I do, and I'm not at all surprised to see it standing open when I get there. I step through into his room, a nondescript guest room like all the others, and find him settled in a chair facing me, his apple nearly at the core.
"I'm surprised," he says, examining the core as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. "I thought it would be Arkarian to come and find me."
"What do you want with Arkarian?" I ask. The voice that comes out of me is flat and toneless, giving nothing away about the nerves that are currently racking my body.
"Nothing. I just assumed that he would be the one to step up and take charge whilst Matt flounders. Could you close the door please, Isabel?"
I kick the door shut behind me, not daring to turn my back to Dillon. "Arkarian isn't our leader. Matt is."
"He's your leader, you mean. I'm not one of the Named," Dillon replies as he pushes a chair over in my direction with his foot. He throws the apple core onto the platter that rests on a desk beside him.
"You're a Guard member. Matt is head of the Guard now," I say, taking the offered seat.
"Why?"
I balk, caught off-guard by the question. "What do you mean 'why'? Because Lorian's dead."
"So?"
"So the Guard needed a new leader."
"And why did it have to be Matt?"
"B-because he's an immortal and-"
"And why does the leader of the Guard need to be an immortal?" He leans forward as he asks this question, hands clasped under his chin. His expression is unreadable now, his knowing smirk from earlier gone without a trace.
"I don't know," I confess.
"There's a lot that you don't know. You should pay more attention, Isabel."
Dillon leans back again in his seat, throwing his knitted hands behind his head and stretching his legs out in front of him. For the first time, I realise how dark it is in the room, only one small candle near the window throwing our shadows up against the opposite wall. I'm closer to the wall than Dillon is, so his shadow looks to be twice the size of mine.
"You've had quite the day since you arrived," Dillon remarks.
"I suppose you want me to ask how you know that?"
"Not really. Just trying to be friendly," he says, the smirk making an unpleasant reappearance. "You spent a lot of time in the administration block. Learn anything interesting or were you and Arkarian just having a quickie?"
"What do you want, Dillon?" I cut across, doing my best to ignore his attempts at provoking me.
"Me? You were the one who came knocking on my door in the middle of the night. I'm flattered, really, but I think I could do better than a scrawny baby who lives in her big brother's shadow."
I scoff and shoot Dillon my most withering look. "You know what I mean Dillon. What are you doing hiding out here?"
"Hiding? I'm not hiding," he says with a short bark of laughter, raising his eyebrows. "Literally everyone in the headquarters knows exactly where I am at all times. They even have their spies bring me my food and follow me around when I take a walk."
"Then why all the secrecy around you being here?"
"You're asking the wrong person about why they're keeping secrets."
"Fuck you," I spit back, barely containing my anger. I'm dangerously close to snapping, and it's clear that I'm not going to get any straight answers here.
Dillon laughs, pleased to have gotten a rise out of me. What kind of game is he even trying to play?
"Believe me, Isabel, I'm not your enemy. In fact, I could be the strongest ally you have."
"Ally for what?"
"For fixing everything."
My heart stills in my chest at his words.
"How?" I ask quietly.
"The more you know about the past, the better prepared you are for the future," Dillon replies simply.
"I've heard that before."
"It's a very relevant quote. Here's another," Dillon says, reaching into his pocket. He withdraws from it a folded slip of paper and hands it over to me. I take it without looking at the contents, and slip it into my own pocket. "You should go back to bed, Isabel. You have everything you need to get off to a strong start, I think."
I nod, feeling slightly numb as I rise from my seat. I don't say a word as I leave Dillon's room and close the door again behind me, and he doesn't say anything else to me as I go. Outside in the cool night air, I can practically feel the paper burning a hole in my pocket. I stop by an open window and smooth the paper out onto the ledge, eager to read its contents..
In cramped handwriting there is a single quote scrawled in the middle of the page:
Whoever wishes to foresee the future must consult the past; for human events ever resemble those of preceding times. This arises from the fact that they are produced by men who ever have been, and ever shall be, animated by the same passions, and thus they necessarily have the same results. - Machiavelli
