Given the brevity of the note, it was no surprise Annabeth spent the better part of the night bent over several manuscripts. She searched until her candle had melted down to a wick and dawn had begun to dance across the horizon.
Far past the brink of exhaustion, Annabeth was forced to resign for the night, trudging back to her bedroom. She had found no record of a Stone of Ultio. As it remained, her only clue to the significance of the location was its Latin root.
Revenge.
The word sent an involuntary shiver up Annabeth's spine, though she was fairly sure that had to do more with the lack of sleep than anything else. Still, it was disconcerting. They—whoever they were—were sending her to a stone named after one of the most violent emotions: vengeance.
…
Luke managed to drag her to lunch later just a few hours after Annabeth woke. She protested, of course, but given their conversation the night prior, she thought it best to humor him.
It was then, as she stared down at the platter between them, vision glazing from fatigue, that Rachel's words echoed through her mind.
She had spoken of a companion. Someone to shoulder the weight of—of everything. The notion had never seemed more attractive than at this very moment. Annabeth considered, for a singular second, as she stared across the table at Luke, the possibility that she might find her companion in him—and as unrealistic as the idea appeared, the relief it might bring seemed reason enough to take the risk.
"Luke," Annabeth asked, quietly setting down her utensils. She determined to start small. "Tell me more about the deadly seven."
"What did you wish to know?" he inquired, a quirk appearing between his brows—speaking not of malice, but of confusion.
"You mentioned the legend was likely based in truth," she explained casually, careful to keep her gestures consistent as she decorated her lips with a pleasant smile. "Did you know any of the families?"
"Your Highness heard the rumors then?" Luke chuckled, warmth radiating off of him. It was moments like these when he appeared his truest, like the gleeful boy she had once known.
"Rumors?" Annabeth returned with a soft expression, ignoring the unfamiliar annoyance she felt at hearing her title. She tucked her heads beneath her chin and leaned forward to hear more closely.
"Oh," Luke looked puzzled, a dash of uncertainty mixed with panic shooting across his features before blending into nonchalance. "They're only rumors," he remarked lightly, retreating into himself. "If you hadn't heard them then it doesn't—"
"Luke," Annabeth interrupted him as he trailed off. His eyes rose to meet hers. She schooled her expression into that of playful annoyance. "I thought we'd agreed to trust each other."
He grimaced, appearing conflicted.
"If you don't want to disclose the information," Annabeth sighed purposefully. "It's alright. It was only meant as a bit of fun—I thought it might take my mind off of Rachel," she finished, staring awkwardly at the plate before her.
"Of course…" Luke began after a long pause, eyes darting to the guards stationed by the doors then back to her.
Annabeth couldn't hide the grin that spread across her lips.
"Of course," he reiterated more confidently this time, "I can tell you—but I must warn you, they are only rumors. I have no way of knowing if they speak the truth."
"And what do the rumors say?" Annabeth questioned, feeling a childlike curiosity spring to life in her chest.
"They say that your family is…" Luke trailed off again, as if unsure how to phrase it.
"My family is what?" Annabeth asked impatiently.
"I thought you knew," Luke shrugged, taking a sip of his wine before finishing. "The Chase family was one of the three."
"Of the big three?" Annabeth frowned, curiosity giving way to dread.
"As I said, they're only rumors," Luke passively confirmed. "But Your Highness should be flattered, to be connected to such a famed lineage—even if the connection is only rumored."
"I am," Annabeth assured him, storing the information in the back of her mind until she was in the proper state the process it. "Flattered, that is," she clarified, turning her attention back to Luke as to not worry him. "Thank you for telling me."
"Always," he nodded, picking back up his utensils to cut at the meat before him.
The rest of lunch consisted only of pleasantries, small talk to pass the time as Annabeth's mind turned, considering the possibilities.
Annabeth considered her initial goal in asking the question: to decipher whether or not Luke could serve as her companion, her confidant. It had been a test, and although she had perceived his answer to be honest, his lack of transparency surrounding the issue had caused him to fail.
Pity, she thought, though her tests were frequently failed.
Nevertheless, as he walked her back to her dormitory after their meal, she couldn't help but ask a follow-up question.
"Do you know of any other families that were mentioned?" Annabeth inquired abruptly as they turned down the corridor towards her room. "In the story of the deadly seven," she added sweetly at his confusion.
"No, Your Highness," Luke shook his head.
Annabeth felt her jaw clench. Irritation heightening the anxious pounding in her veins.
"Why do you call me that?" she asked him suddenly, turning to face him as they stopped before her door.
Luke frowned, his brows furrowed in confusion.
"We're engaged, Luke," Annabeth rephrased, adding considerable warmth to her tone as she did. "Surely you won't call me Your Highness when we're married."
"Of course, not," Luke laughed, pressing his lips to her temple. "Then you'll be Your Grace," he said as he pulled away.
Annabeth fixed a smile, the force of it drawing blood.
…
It was five o'clock when Annabeth set about her second test. It came in the form of a letter to her primary informant requesting a copy of Tales of Trial and Strife at her earliest convenience.
Annabeth sent the letter with her most trusted guard—not the royal messenger as she usually did.
It was a simple test really. If the book she received included the pages that were missing from her family's copy, then her informant could be counted upon. If the book didn't include them, then she knew her connection had been compromised.
Once she was assured the connection with safe, she would request information on the Stone of Ultio. She was sure the information existed outside the castle walls.
To Annabeth's great delight, the book and accompanying reply arrived just after dinner. She thanked her guard, tucking the letter and the book into the crook of her elbow as she hurried to her room. Once inside, she shut the doors behind her, spreading the manuscript open on her desk. Her fingers made quick work of the pages, counting them, cataloging them, memorizing them until she reached the section that had been redacted.
The book was complete, original, authentic.
Annabeth could hardly believe it. She leaped to her feet, excitement rushing through her as she shakily composed another letter. In this one, she requested her informant send her any available information on the Stone of Ultio as well as its location on a map as soon as possible, assuring her that she would be rewarded handsomely. She sealed the letter with her personal seal, carefully passing it off to her guard and requesting he deliver it tonight.
It was late when she returned to her bedroom. She lit a candle and sat back down at her desk, curiosity strumming her heart as she sat back down at her desk. Carefully, she pulled back the book's stained cover, finding her place again before beginning.
The Tale of Twelve
There were once twelve kingdoms ruled by twelve kings, equal in prestige and valor. Over time, however, something dark crept into the air—something sticky and corrupt that curled into the nostrils of the young king and took hold of his heart for he grew greedy.
If heavenly blood runneth through my veins, he said, why should I share my rightful domain?
But alas, he knew he alone was no match for the might of eleven—but nine, he thought, was conceivable. And so he sought two more to join him on his crusade, unbeknownst to him, that they too had been infected by the darkness.
Together, the three hatched a plan, and though power they each sought, their interpretation varied.
Wealth is power, said one, we will need gold.
Strength is power, said another, we will need an army.
But the third, who had long been drunk on darkness said,
Hope is power. We must extinguish it. We will end their legacy.
The battle lasted just 12 days. One by one, each great king fell beneath the blade. Shocked by the betrayal. When they had all been slaughtered, red-painted the night sky.
Now, one king stated, we will have all the riches we desire.
Now, said the other, we will have all the land we want.
Not yet, said the third, not until the rest have bent will we be satisfied.
On the thirteenth day, the nine heirs took the stand before the murderous kings. They led them further into the darkness, where the mountains became indistinguishable from the sky and dank wilderness had existed without having caught a glimmer of sunlight. Suspicion buzzed in the air around them.
There was a stone there—the darkness had crept into the surrounding moss.
Bow to your Kings, they demanded.
Of the nine, two lowered their heads in reverence. A blade swung. The air was still. It smelled of copper and steel. Blood poured down the stone.
Seven heads rolled.
Finally, they had bowed.
...
Annabeth's hands trembled as she finished the story, her fingertips hovering over the final line as if to make sense of the writing. A million questions raced through her head. Could the rumors really true? Could Luke's assertions have held any truth?
The candlelight beside her flickered momentarily distracting her, the flame dancing precariously in the darkness.
No, she determined, no—the story was a mere fairytale. She could not doubt her family based solely on the promise of magic and mystery. Yes, she determined with a consummate nod, determined to put the suspicion out of her mind—and yet, there was a dark, ominous turning in her gut, warning her not to take the story so lightly.
Aren't all folk tales reminiscent of history?
Wasn't that what Luke had said to her as they'd walked through the gardens just a week ago?—it felt as though a lifetime had passed since then.
Annabeth's head fell, her fingers digging into her temples as she wracked her brain, dissecting the history she'd been taught. There had been no battles let alone wars lasting only twelve days—then again, however, it seemed her recollection of the kingdom's history was not faithful to fact.
With a heavy sigh, she glanced back up, her eyes tracing the movements of the dancing flame.
She was to serve the family as Rachel would serve the kingdom—protect them at all costs—but how was Annabeth meant to protect something she hardly understood?
For so long, family had served as her truth, her purpose, her intent—and now. Annabeth didn't know where she stood. With every growing day, her certainty diminished, giving way to a dozen contradictions and enigmas.
"So much for trust," Annabeth chuckled hollowly. And though her room was empty, she found she cared very little if anyone heard.
She bit back the urge to scream, figuring it would only incite panic. Her fingers flicked the page back and forth before finally turning it, expecting to find no more. To her surprise, there was a poem. It was just four lines.
They shall rise from blood and steel
Their scars the dark did never heal
Their stolen legacies they reclaim
Go forth to avenge thy name
Her breath caught, her jaw tense, but her finger no longer shook, resigned to the gruesome reality that had become of her life. Her gaze shifted to her bed, beneath the mattress where she'd hidden the mysterious note.
With Rachel missing, Annabeth had no one to confide in, no one to carry the weight of the discovery. She'd nearly forgotten, in those final days, how integral her sister was to her life. There was no one she had ever trusted more—no one she would ever trust more. And yet, as she laid in bed, staring hopelessly at the ceiling of her canopy, she found herself picturing a pair of bright eyes, half-hidden by dark hair. He couldn't be trusted. He'd told as much, and yet, she thought of him until the night chill chased away the candlelight and her mind gave way to exhaustion.
…
The following day passed quickly, each minute ridden with anxiety and worry. Her eyes were frequently drawn to the time, waiting impatiently for a response from her informant. She wondered how far the stone would be, if it was the same stone the story had written of—and if it was, what the darkness would be like.
Annabeth had never heard of a wilderness so obscure the sun could not reach it. She wondered—hoped it was only hyperbole, written to incite an emotional reaction rather than a true reflection of truth.
"What has your mind in raptures?" Luke asked her, interrupting her thoughts.
"Whatever do you mean?" Annabeth returned innocently, her arm tucked nearly into his.
"You—nothing," Luke assured her with a loose nod.
He had been by her side since the moment she'd awoken. Her parents smiled when they saw them, her mother sent her an approving gaze. Annabeth had never wanted so badly to scream.
Percy wasn't at dinner that night, but when she asked why the Duke was absent, her mother simply replied that he wasn't feeling well. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, but then again, Percy's whereabouts were the least of her worries.
It wasn't until after dinner, when her parents excused themselves from the table, that one of her servants approached her.
"Your Highness," they greeted, bowing their head. "A letter awaits you in your room," they told her quietly.
"Ah," Annabeth nodded, trying not to show her excitement when she heard the news. "Thank you."
"Did you write to someone?" Luke inquired innocently, rising to walk her back to her room.
"Just to acquire some new texts," Annabeth explained simply.
"Anything interesting?" Luke asked, taking her hand in his and guiding her through the doors.
"No," Annabeth said evenly. She was surprised to find her excitement slashed with guilt at her lie.
Luke smiled down at her, his eyes clear as day. He too was a contradiction, she supposed. He had never failed to demonstrate his commitment to her, and yet he saw it fit to lie to her. What could his motive be in doing so? Surely if he hoped to gain her trust and dedication, the truth would be a far easier way to accomplish it.
Then again, the truth, it seemed, was far more complicated than she could begin to understand.
Annabeth thought back to the day insurgents had invaded. She recalled the look of disgust in his eyes as he'd stared at the blood on her collarbone, thinking she had only witnessed the crime, not perpetrated it.
"Tomorrow," Luke proposed with considerable brightness as they approached her room. "We should do something—something to take your mind off of all this," he gestured vaguely with his hand. "All this tragedy," he amended a second later, seeming to have found the words.
Annabeth wondered if he'd ever loved her or just the idea of her. And it was a notion she was not eager to break for it would aid in her journey. He wouldn't know just how determined she was to rescue her sister until she was already gone.
"Unless…" Luke faltered, his expression dipping, "Your Highness does not desire to do so—"
"No, no," Annabeth said quickly, putting an end to his rambling. "I mean—yes, that seems lovely," she assured him with a soft smile.
"Perfect," Luke nodded, dropping her hands to press a kiss across her forehead—the soft brush of familiar lips. "Goodnight, Your Highness," he grinned toothily, his warmth surrounding her for one never-ending second.
His dedication to her had never wavered. In fact, it only seemed to grow with every passing day and yet—
"Goodnight," Annabeth replied softly, turning into her room.
She was lying to him, repaying him with hollow platitudes and false truths. She thought he must hate her if he'd known the truth—then wondered if Rachel would hate her after all had come to fruition.
Annabeth's eyes caught sight of the unopened letter on her desk. She approached it, carefully breaking the seal to reads its contents.
She felt something akin to guilt tickle at the back of her neck and turned, her eyes catching the mahogany doors. She should have told him. He was her fiancé. She should have told him—she should have told someone—
No, she negated inwardly. She couldn't tell anyone. She couldn't trust anyone. They would keep her from going. They would trap her, imprison her in her own home. They were only trying to protect her, rationally she knew as much, but Rachel had been missing three days now.
Annabeth looked back down at the letter, unfolding the map that had come with it. A red x marked her final destination. It was farther than Annabeth had ever thought to travel but—but Rachel was missing.
Rachel was missing, in danger, gone—
It would a day's journey. She would leave at dawn.
…
It was nearly midnight by the time she had finished packing, filling her satchel with food, water, and weaponry—much to her servants' confusion. If they had questions, though, they didn't voice them. It was better that way, Annabeth thought. It made it easier to go.
Her guards had glanced at each other nervously when she'd asked them to accompany her to the stables just a minute later. It was a short walk through the castle though a long one across the grounds.
"Is Your Highness certain she should be out so late?" One of them asked delicately, a stiffness in his chest suggesting he expected a reproach.
"I'm sure I'll be okay," Annabeth said quietly, watching his breast deflate.
She would miss the gardens, most, she realized on her way back from the stables. The clear skies that had turned murky as of late seem to fade into the night. As she continued forward, a misty figure appeared among the fog. Her heart lurched but her eyes quickly wrapped around the silhouette, identifying him.
Annabeth wordlessly dismissed her guards. They nodded, falling back to watch her from afar. She stepped towards the figure, the frostbitten grass crunching beneath her feet.
"Careful," Percy remarked, turning at the sound. His eyes were a splash of color across the misty field of green. "You may be the last heir."
"You speak of Rachel as if she were already dead—gone," Annabeth amended, the words bitter on her tongue.
"Trying not to get my hopes up," Percy explained softly, his breath billowing into soft clouds as she came to a stop next to him.
"Have they told you anything?" Annabeth asked, following his eyes to stare past the far-reaching grounds.
"Only to remain calm," Percy revealed with a humorless chuckle. "They assured me they have the situation under control."
"I supposed as much," Annabeth sighed, allowing her gaze to drift to the crescent-shaped moon, half-hidden in the sky.
She queried, momentarily, whether it was waxing or waning. Rachel used to know those kinds of things. She longed to ask her.
"What are you going to do?" Percy asked, breaking her from the reverie.
Annabeth turned, her brows quirked. He was watching her now, the sliver of a fond smile curling at the corner of his lips.
Her chest warmed, her expression unconsciously mirroring his. Then she considered the question.
Could she tell him?
She couldn't tell her father. He was too overwhelmed, besides his discretion could not be counted on.
She couldn't tell her mother. She would never allow it. She would investigate the note and lose time in doing so.
She couldn't tell Luke. He had proven himself untrustworthy. He was lying to her and she to him.
Perhaps, she considered—then thought better of it. If she could not trust her very family, then she could not trust a strange Duke with ulterior motives.
"Nothing," Annabeth replied finally.
Percy arched a brow, the whisper of a smiling falling from his lips. She wished she didn't miss it.
"What gives you the inkling that I might?" she inquired, tracing constellations with her gaze. It was easier to speak to him that way.
"Please," Percy scoffed.
"If you—" Annabeth began sharply but was interrupted by the rustling of the bushes before them.
Percy's hand immediately swept to his hip, his fingers wrapping around the blade of his sheathed sword. Annabeth held her breath, her own fingers dancing across her waist, itching to retrieve her blade. The rustling grew louder until a rabbit appeared below the green, ducking back in a second later.
Annabeth exhaled as Percy calmed, his hand falling as his chest fell. She watched his fingers clench at his side, unusually entranced by the movement.
"I know you well enough to know you are not going to stand idly by while your sister remains missing," Percy remarked then, an unfamiliar stiffness in his tone.
"Hm," Annabeth considered, biting the inside of her cheek as to divert from the warmth blossoming in her chest. "You presume to know so much about me," she accused coldly, self-critique turning to anger, "and yet you have barely known me a month."
"I wouldn't dare presume to know you, Your Highness," Percy replied, returning the curt tone.
She flinched. Then shuddered, feeling as though her body were acting on its own volition, spurred on by emotion rather than thought.
At first, she thought was his tone that elicited such a visceral reaction, then she remembered that they'd exchanged hostility over a dozen times since they'd met. Still, his words echoed in her head, turning in her stomach, then she realized—
Your Highness.
She hardly had time to consider the implications—wasn't sure she wanted to, honestly—before she heard Percy sigh, his heavy exhale dissipating into the heavy air. She heard the disappointed shake of his head. She heard the crunch of the grass beneath his feet. She heard the rustling of his clothes.
She heard him leave.
And she couldn't stand it.
"Did you love her?" Annabeth asked.
Percy's steps faltered, his hair falling into his eyes as he turned to stare back at her. Confusion shone in his eyes.
"Pardon?" he questioned.
"Did you love her?" Annabeth repeated simply. There was no one else she could have been referring to. No one else he could—should have loved.
She was answered with a buzzing silence, only the haunting sounds of the woods to entertain her mind as she waited for a reply.
"I—I don't know," Percy said finally.
She heard rather than saw the bemused downturn of his mouth. He was a few steps behind her now, and in the newfound space, she shut her eyes, clenching her teeth. She could hear them grind in the back of her head and tried to focus on the sound.
"I think I did," Percy added.
Her heart tremored, something tragic and painful and wrong catching in her windpipe. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. Wasn't sure what she wanted to hear or how she felt about what she had heard.
His faint footsteps crescendoed then stopped altogether. She was sure he was standing beside her, but her eyes were still closed when she asked, "I still can't trust you, right?"
"I certainly wouldn't advise it," Percy responded.
Something welled up in Annabeth's throat, escaping her in a twisted giggle.
She wasn't sure why she did it—maybe it was the desperation curling around her heart—maybe it was knowing he'd loved Rachel as well—maybe it was that when she opened her eyes, he'd been by her side, just where she'd expected him to be—maybe it was because he had passed her test—
She supposed it didn't much matter why she did it. What mattered was that she reached into the neckline of her dress and retrieved the note.
"I found this," Annabeth declared simply, holding it out to him.
He frowned, suspicion and uninhibited curiosity dazzling across his irises as he took it from her and unfolded it. His eyes sped across the words—they're weren't many after all—reading them one, two—ten times.
"You found this where?" he asked, concern spilling into the air between them.
She wished her heart hadn't swelled.
"You're far more clever than you appear, Duke," Annabeth said, the sudden relief of someone knowing dazing her. "There seems to be so much I don't understand, and yet," she sighed, suddenly feeling suffocated, "I understand you."
"Annabeth—" Percy began.
She felt her name spill from his lips like bourbon—trickling down her skin to become something intoxicating and heady.
"Did you know, of all my loved ones, of everyone I told you?" she laughed, hollow incredulity leaving her in shallow breaths.
"Why did you show me this?" Percy questioned, the severity of his tone doing little to stop her mind.
She wondered if this would be the last time she'd see him, very aware she was likely walking into a trap. And even if it wasn't the last time she saw him, she mused, everything would be different when Rachel returned. Life would resume as usual, and she would fall into her routine—reading in the morning, walking after lunch, conversing over dinner—but at night, she would find herself haunted by the way her skin had buzzed, recalling the way his touch had scorched her—she would relive the toxic, noxious, debilitating rush of a secret touch, a forgotten glance, a stolen kiss.
She knew it was wrong. She knew—unless she didn't—unless—
The line between right and wrong had blurred so long ago she could hardly remember the girl she used to be—simpler, she thought, she was simpler back then.
She wondered, vaguely, if she'd ever known madness before him.
"I thought someone should know," Annabeth shrugged, taking a deep breath.
Her eyes met his. The frost air was shrapnel in her windpipe.
"Someone should know what?" Percy pressed, his frown deepening.
"Why I won't be here tomorrow."
hey gals, I literally wish I had it in me to edit this because I sincerely think it needs a lot of editing, but I just don't. Maybe I will another day or maybe I won't.
luckily tho, it seems like I might be back w my usual updates. maybe it's better I don't jinx things tho.
also, I recognize that Annabeth is kind of being a dumb ass right now but the way I see it, she's just really really desperate to rescue her sister.
anyway, dedicated to nathalisuarez and almonds and everyone else who dealt w that horrible cliff hanger (though im not sure this one is any better lol)
anywayyyys, see you guys soon (hopefully)
ciao
