Roden set out to find a page early that next morning. The castle was quiet, and every so often, he could see his breath cloud the air. He exited through the kitchen, and snagged a miniature pie on his way out.
Fink would've delivered the message by dawn. He put the other boys his age to shame. There'd be pages and squires in the barracks or in one of the sleeping halls on the other side of the courtyard.
Ever so quietly, Roden shut the kitchen door. He didn't want the cook chasing after him with a wooden spoon for waking the staff too early.
"Morning, captain," said a smooth voice.
Roden jerked towards the sound, his hand on his sword, expecting somebody to swing a blade at his head.
But it was only Ayvar huddled in her dark cloak. She looked monkish.
"Sorry," Roden muttered. He was quick to ignore that she'd caught him off guard.
She waved her hand, diving into another topic. "I was so eager to take your offer of freedom that I failed to consider what I'd do now that my name's cleared."
"You could leave me in peace, I suppose. You've caused quite a bit of trouble."
"And then I realized," Ayvar continued, dismissing Roden's comment. "I could travel north, after all, that's what you'd be doing and I'd hate to see somebody else pick your pocket."
He frowned, and began walking forwards. "I didn't realize word got out that soon."
"I walked past your apartments last night after visiting my brother."
"And how is he?"
"In prison."
"He'll be warmer there than in the Vaults."
"Ulspierre was very insistent that I go north."
"Then go north." Roden reasoned. He motioned for the inner gate to open, and flinched when it slammed shut behind him.
Ayvar kept his pace. "Haven't got a horse, otherwise I would."
The barracks were only a courtyard away. Boot prints marked the snowy stones; somebody had been training during the night. There was smoke wafting out of one of the buildings. Roden could find a page there.
Perhaps he should've found Corporal Derem on his own.
"What do you want, Ayvar? You've already gotten a pardon," Roden said. He froze in his steps and spun on his heels to look at her. "There's nothing more I can give, I'm sorry."
"Actually, you can," she argued. "I want to go north with you because I'd like to join the king's guard. I can read and write, and I can use a sword. You of all people should know that."
Yes, yes he did know it. There were a few cuts on Roden's arms that stood as a testament to Ayvar's prowess with a blade. He frowned at the snow, then at the barracks, and then at Ayvar. Her face was expressionless, but even a blind man could see the silent prayer behind her eyes. A silent prayer to break all connections to a previous life.
Roden was captain of the guard. He had been for years now. If somebody wanted to join the king's line of defense, Roden could allow it.
Although just because he could do it didn't mean that he should.
He frowned again, and started for the barracks. Ayvar trailed behind him without a word. Roden didn't like knowing that he held her future in his hands. She hadn't applied for a position in the guard, instead, she'd outright asked him the night after she was pardoned. There were rules and certain steps that needed to-
He was captain, and he was already acquainted with Ayvar. She'd both helped him and tried to rob him.
Didn't he once say he didn't forgive easily?
Ayvar was slightly different. In the long while that he'd known her, she'd proven her desire to help in the ways that she could.
He had the chance to give her an opportunity to do what she wanted within the bounds of law and justice.
"Fine," Roden mumbled. "I'll consider accepting your, ah, unconventional application. But-"
"But what?" Ayvar's confidence audibly crumbled for a split second.
"You'll run a page's errand for me. I need you to help me find Corporal Derem, and bring her here to the castle. If you can't find my office, have a page take Derem there or bring me word of Derem's arrival."
"I know Corporal Derem all too well, consider the task done, sir."
Ayvar gave a salute, though Roden couldn't tell if she was being respectful or attempting to mock him. She turned on her heels, walked out of the courtyard, and didn't look back.
Minutes later, Roden sent a page off with the same instructions: Bring Derem to the castle. Now all he had to do was return to his papers and wait.
The castle was bustling with life when he returned through the kitchens. Roden snuck a few pieces from the pie he stole as he dodged maids and butlers hauling the wash back to the upper chambers.
He'd once had an office on the highest floor of the castle, but chose to move closer to the throne room in case there was an attack. His new office was tucked behind the throne and hidden by a carved door. It looked more like a decorative piece than a door. The fantastic carving outside made up for the sparseness of Roden's office. A tapestry bearing his family crest hung on one wall adjacent to a Carthyan shield.
And that was all he needed.
A new letter rested on Roden's meticulously clean desk. The scarlet seal bore a fat beaked crow, symbol of mercenary general Graer Thay, who'd been hired to defend Lady Renlyn Karise's hoard of riches in Isel.
Graer Thay also agreed to share information on the state of Isel with the Carthyan crown.
The handwriting was rushed, quick. It echoed the style of the second half of the note Roden had read from Harlowe's informant. Roden wanted there to be a connection, it would make it easier to solve his current puzzle.
Or perhaps he was grasping at straws.
Roden sat down behind his desk and slit the letter open. Graer's letter was a standard briefing. He mentioned trouble brewing in Isel, but also that trouble had been brewing for several years. Graer's men were eager for some kind of battle; Lady Karise's payments, however, kept them from deserting. The letter hinted that perhaps the hidden turmoil in Isel would soon overflow.
Hopefully not into a revolution.
Roden tossed the letter into the top drawer of his desk with the others, and began drafting a response to Graer. He had other letters to write, and without Jaron or Tobias around to pester, he had no choice but to finish what he began. His notes on potential stand-ins like Corporal Derem stared up at him.
It would be a lie to deny that he'd been looking for another commanding officer to assist with keeping the peace. Corporal Derem had a spotless reputation.
A small, nagging voice in the back of his mind was adamant that he remain in Drylliad. That he send somebody else to Whiterune to find evidence of Harlowe's informant.
Perhaps that would've been a more responsible move. It would've been easier that way. Roden wouldn't have to map out a route through heavy snow. He wouldn't have to give up the warmth of his office. He wouldn't have to abandon the laundress who'd caught his eye.
A timid knock sounded, Roden called for them to enter.
"Sir, there's a woman and Corporal Derem here to see you," said a snot nosed page. He stepped aside.
"Captain Harlowe, I hope there's nothing wrong," said Corporal Derem, she'd pulled her springing black hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck.
Roden stood up, "No, no, everything's fine. Page, you're dismissed, thank you."
"I must admit I was a little alarmed when you sent for me."
"Sorry about that, I didn't mean to cause any fear." He said, and then turned his attention to Ayvar. "Thank you," a small grin tugged at his lips. "Cadet, I will send further instructions when I've finished talking with Derem."
"Captain, Corporal," was all Ayvar said before exiting the small room.
"Take a seat, Corporal," Roden gestured to the chair in front of his desk before sitting down.
Silently, Derem sat, and folded her hands in her lap. She was prepared for any type of conversation-
Or battle.
Derem was as stiff as the ice outside. Her gaze was focused on Roden, and for a moment, he wondered just what she was capable of.
"As you know, the king and queen have taken their leave to Trail's End castle, taking several guards with them, including my deputy," Roden began. "Recently, there's been a new change in intelligence which will require my presence north."
A stray, paranoid thought crossed his mind. He couldn't spill all of Carthya's secrets, no matter how much he trusted Derem. She didn't need to know that he was going to Whiterune.
He chose his words carefully. "I've reviewed your performance serving the king's guard, and feel like you best fit what I need. Drylliad cannot go unprotected, and I need you to ensure the city remains safe in my absence."
Derem blinked, "Sir, I'm not quite sure how to respond."
"This is a sudden request, but I need an answer quickly."
She inhaled and seemed to hold her breath for a moment. Derem was a defender, she wielded a strong punch and a large shield. She had to have come in expecting an attacking comment, but found no harsh words. It was a lot to take in. Roden couldn't blame her silence.
"When would you return, sir?" Derem asked.
"The expedition should take less than two weeks," said Roden. Was she going to say no?
Saints, please don't say no.
"Sir, it's a lot to place on my shoulders on such short notice," Derem sat up a little straighter, and held up a hand when Roden tried to speak. "But it is an honor to serve this city. I hope I do not disappoint."
He fought to keep his face calm. "Thank you, Corporal. I deeply appreciate it."
"Is that all you have to ask of me?"
"For now, yes. I intend to leave within the next few days, I will keep in contact until then."
"There's one more thing I'd like to ask you, sir," Derem muttered.
He didn't mean to ball his fists. He desperately didn't want to have to select another corporal or sergeant on such short notice. Derem's left leg twitched, but other than that, she displayed no movement.
No sign of aggression.
"Oh?" Roden arched an eyebrow.
The room had gone icy. Derem cleared her throat. "I spoke with the two thieves you brought in last night. The one with red hair and his friend."
"And what did they have to say?"
"Nothing, save that they were desperate to speak to a lord. When I offered to find them somebody to represent their case to the crown, they were silent. Is there a gang leader calling himself a lord I should be looking out for?"
A bandit lord. Roden shook his head. If there was anybody flaunting a flashy title while robbing their richer fellow citizens in Drylliad, he would've heard something by now. Especially if Ulspierre was involved.
Although Ulspierre had been campaigning to go north. Was he trying to escape a gang leader? No, that was unlikely. If there was a gang price on Ulspierre's head, he'd be dead in a ditch somewhere.
"Is that all, Derem?" He asked, her words carrying more weight than she likely intended.
"Yes, sir, thank you. I appreciate you choosing me to fill your boots, and I promise to do my best while you're away." Derem stood, and saluted Roden. "If there is anything you need, Captain, I will do my best to assist."
Relief eased through his tense hands. Derem would do well in her new position, she could be trusted.
Roden hoped she could be trusted.
There was still much to do in the way of preparing. He'd chosen ten members of the guard to make the journey to Whiterune with him, they'd be sent to Trail's End when the expedition was finished.
All that he needed now was to ride out into the snow, and ask the guard's newest cadet if she'd agree to go too.
Everything was going according to plan. Corporal Derem accompanied Roden on a patrol of the city before taking to the streets on her own while Roden completed the other necessary requirements to make the journey to Whiterune. He was leaving the city in good hands, and though he knew this deep in his heart of hearts, there were still whispers of doubt.
Roden struggled to be completely free of his anxieties.
They never left.
Two days after appointing Derem to stand in for him, Roden was ready to make the journey. He and his company of eight were set to ride out at dawn. They'd answered the call early, many of them were already waiting in the saddle to leave. Ayvar, who'd been named a cadet, was speaking to another soldier. To them, she just seemed like somebody new. Nobody knew who she'd been and what she was fighting to be free from.
It wasn't Roden's story to tell.
"Captain, I hope you don't mind my presence," said Derem from behind Roden. She stood tall when he turned to her. "I'd like to wish you luck."
"I appreciate it, Derem. Good luck to you too, but you won't need it. I've seen your skill," Roden nodded.
"Ah, don't say that sir, I'm only doing my duty."
"You do it better than most. Be sure to make note of those who cause trouble, I'll handle the situation upon my return."
Derem nodded, "I will, sir."
Roden's horse, a sleek brown mare, had already been saddled and prepared for a long ride. As soon as Roden swung into the saddle, he caught himself checking the bags on each side, hoping for a carefully wrapped lemon tart. He knew there wouldn't be any before he'd checked. There never were. Not anymore. Not for months and months and months.
The small company followed him through the castle gates, and left as the city began waking from a good night's sleep.
Ayvar was catching on to the unspoken riding order. Out of the corner of Roden's eye, he could see her leaning to the side, looking at him. He'd speak with her later. A streak of guilt regarding Ayvar's lack of training made it hard to aimlessly stare at the skeletal trees lining the road outside Drylliad. It was too soon to send her north, too soon to-
No, it was better this way. He could keep an eye on her, and if she hated the guard, he'd leave her in Whiterune, far away from the bands of thieves in Drylliad.
The words from Jester's letter swam through Roden's thoughts. Holding court. Hosting a tea party. All west of Munsk. Doing so would be nearly impossible this time of year. Gelyn's mountain range was notoriously impassable during even the driest season.
They'd be even worse during the winter.
Much to Roden's surprise, there were several miles of snow-free ground, especially as they neared Eberstein and Farthenwood. The roads soon turned to mud as they continued on north, but that didn't stop the numerous merchants riding in and out of Tithio.
"We're going to rest at the local inn," Roden said to the soldiers trailing behind him. "We'll ride out again early in the morning, stopping only if an emergency strikes."
"Yes Captain," said the six soldiers in unison. Ayvar, however, hadn't said anything.
If she were going to disappear, Tithio would be the place.
Tithio.
Ever since Imogen's coronation, people had flocked to her home village. Within a year Tithio's roads expanded from a single, straight street to numerous curving roads leading to Eberstein and Drylliad. The area soon became well known for its peculiar loaves of bread, which were circular like the layout of the village. Roden once knew the population numbers. Imogen had told it to him during one of their travel-weary conversations, but that conversation was several years old.
Imogen once told him the population was as big as twenty thousand.
Tithio was much larger than that now. It would be easy to lose a former thief thrown into the responsibility of enforcing justice a few days' prior. Maybe that would be a good thing. The more he looked at Ayvar, the more she became a person and not a faceless thief, and the more likely she'd become his friend.
He'd already given her an opportunity to choose the better path, now he had to wait and watch.
And secretly wish she'd vanish into the misty morning.
It wouldn't be the first time he watched a friend walk away, never to return.
Rooms were prepared for Roden and the others at an inn called The Laughing Cat. It was multiple stories tall, designed to house a bakery on the base floor with the tavern above it, and all crowned with a few rooms for sleeping. People were pouring in as the cold sun grasped for the skeletal trees.
It would be a long night.
Roden put on a steel expression as a stableboy led the horses away, and led his companions into the tavern.
"Have you any other rules, Captain?" Asked somebody from near his elbow.
Roden jerked away, nearly toppling a fat baker in the process. His ears burned. "Rules? No. Just the usual, don't cause trouble and be ready to leave before dawn."
"Ah, thank you, sir," said the small soldier. His blue eyes twinkled with mirth as he drifted towards the others. "And our rooms?"
"You're soldiers in the King's army. Figure it- third and fourth door. I will be resting, so try not to be too loud when you come in."
However, as he stepped onto the second floor, Roden knew that he'd have better luck sleeping during a cannon demonstration. He watched as the six soldiers made their way through the crowd, hailing down a barmaid. Ayvar remained between them, but too far from both Roden and the soldiers to say anything without shouting. She nodded her head towards the leaving soldiers, an invitation. Roden shook his head, and turned to the stairs leading upwards.
But something bright and sweet caught his senses like a punch to the gut.
The barmaid who passed him carried a fat lemon tart on a tray, holding it above her head like the holy crown kept locked in the royal chapel. He loved lemon tarts. They were sour. They were sweet. They were entwined with memories of summer. He couldn't resist. He had to have one. Even if it meant the awkward stares from his comrades. Even if it meant being unable to sleep because of old feelings.
His companions were all already seated at a long wooden table. All of them moved to stand as Roden approached, but he held out a hand, and sat beside them.
"It's, ah, nice to have you here Captain," said the blue eyed soldier from before. He almost looked like a normal height while sitting down. His name was something like a song. Torian Eriel.
"I hope I didn't interrupt anything," Roden muttered, now wondering if a lemon tart was really worth looking like a- no, no. It was fine to join his companions. It was fine to want a lemon tart.
Ayvar set her hands on the table, she seemed to fit in, literally being nestled in between two other soldiers. Her cadet tunic was patched with dirt, it was hard to believe that it had been lent to her the night before.
Maybe he'd made the right choice.
"We were actually about to play a round of-," one of the soldiers beside Ayvar, another young man with wiry hair, began.
"-Confession!" Torian cut in. "But we haven't got any cards."
"I have cards," said a voice from the table. A man with a curling mustache waved a rectangular pouch. Torian cursed under his breath.
"We can play Confession and Wanton Priest if we wanted to," said the first soldier, Porter Greer. "Combine it, if you'd like."
"Confession first, Wanton Priest later," Torian argued. "That way, anybody who doesn't want to be caught in their hot breeks."
"I wouldn't mind catching Torian in his breeks, he needs some humbling," snickered another soldier.
"Anyways, that's what we'll do. Unless Captain Harlowe has something else in mind."
All eyes turned to him. Roden shrugged, "Eriel's right, I'd rather we all left in the morning with our dignity intact."
"Confession it is," said the mustached man. "You all know the rules of Confession, tell two lies and a truth about anything you'd like. Eriel, go first."
Torian smirked, "Lucky for you, I'm always prepared to start. My two lies and a truth are that I've rescued a duckling at the request of the Marquess of Cork, I danced with a pagan at the last Blackberry Night ball, and Renlyn Karise is in league with the pirates."
"The pagan one is a lie," said Greer. "I was with you on Blackberry Night."
"And was there any dancing?" Ayvar interjected.
Greer's face colored, "Ah, well, not really."
"He's right," the mustached man grinned. "I was there too, you see, we-"
"Anyways," Torian cleared his throat. "There's still one more lie and a truth."
Roden leaned back against his chair, "Lady Karise hates pirates, that one is a lie. You must be a duckling savior, Eriel. I didn't know that about you."
"It's one of my better traits," Torian said proudly. He waved over a barmaid, and asked for a pitcher of tea. "You're next Captain, since you guessed correctly. Didn't think you knew me that well."
"I'm full of surprises," Roden mumbled, which drew a wave of chuckles out of his companions.
Two lies and a truth. Somebody bumped into the table, but quickly apologized. Two lies and a truth.
Dishonesty was something Roden didn't agree with. It was easier to face things head on, and lies only brought on webs of confusion.
"I, ah, like strawberry tarts," he began. That was easy. He'd told his truth. Sort of. Now he needed two lies. Think! Quick on your feet! "The King's horse is slow, and I was once very good friends with Mireldis Thay."
"That thief? No, no, that's a lie. I was there the day she attacked one of the Bymarian kings, on our own turf too," Torian chuckled. "Disappeared with a snap, it's witchcraft if you ask me."
"But nobody asked, Eriel."
"Shut up Greer."
Ayvar's eyebrows furrowed together for a split moment. "The king's horse is one of the fastest in the realm. Your truth is that you like tarts."
"That's right," Roden nodded. "I suppose that means it's your turn now, Ayvar."
"Two lies and a truth, I suppose this will be easy for me," she mused.
The barmaid returned with a pitcher and several small cups. Torian passed the cups, but insisted on getting up and pouring everybody else's tea. He reasoned that at least one person would spill and ruin the game.
Roden wasn't quite sure how a spilled drink would ruin the game, but he could respect odd requests.