Ven'tur

The house Akins had spotted during his tree-climbing debacle was a large farmhouse, surrounded by vast and empty fields which swirled with great eddies of snow. Light shined through thin, beige curtains covering the windows of the farmhouse, and moving shadows indicated there was someone inside.

Peran and his companions dismounted- Akins needed help from both Li and Saer to reach the ground- and tied their horses to the hitching post. That done, the five trudged through the ever-deepening snow to the front porch. Peran pounded on the door, and waited.

There was no answer. Peran's companions glanced at each other anxiously.

Impatient, Peran, pounded again. "Hello!" he shouted. "We need shelter from the storm!"

Another pause. Peran tucked his hands under his arms, shivering, and glared at the closed door.

The door opened a crack, and a woman peeked out.

"Hello," Peran said again. "We were traveling and got caught in the storm. One of us is injured. We need shelter. Please."

"Are any of you infected?" the woman asked.

"Are we-" Peran frowned, glancing at his companions. "Oh. The plague? No, ma'am. I don't believe so."

The woman said nothing, examining each of the visitors on her doorstep in turn.

"Please, miss," Li said. "My brother is hurt."

The woman looked between the twins a moment longer. Akins leaned wearily against his sister, his breathing ragged and pained.

Finally, the women swung the door wide. "My husband is in the barn, but he should be back soon. He can put your horses away. Quickly, now. Come in."

The five entered the house, and the door was shut behind them.

After so much time in the cold, this house, with its roaring fire in the hearth across the common room, felt far too hot.

The house was simply furbished. A well-worn rug before the hearth, with several equally worn couches around it. Saer and Li led Akins to one of these as Peran further examined their shelter from the storm.

An open doorway on the left showed a dining area and stove, fire lit inside. Stairs in the main room led to the second level. Peran presumed that the bedrooms would be up there.

Footsteps sounded above their heads.

"Mama?" a voice called, and moments later a girl of about ten winters with wild, curly brown hair clambered down the stairs. She paused halfway. "Mama, who're these?"

"Guests, Anya," her mother replied. "Go back upstairs until your father comes back in, child."

The girl Anya hesitated, but eventually obeyed, holding Peran's eyes curiously as she climbed back up.

Peran stared back, fixated.

There was something familiar about that girl. Her wild hair, her round face, her thick, dark, slightly raised eyebrows… It looked like-

No. It couldn't be.

Kolin spoke. "Thank you very much for opening your home to us, Miss…"

"Ah- forgive me. Ven'tur. Jana Ven'tur."

Ven'tur? Peran whirled toward the mother sharply, heart hammering. No- There's no way-

The front door opened, and a teenaged boy strode in, shaking snow from his boots. An older man followed close behind.

"Jana," the man said, brushing ice from his thick beard, "I saw the horses out front. We have guests?" The man's familiar blue eyes briefly went over Peran, and then Kolin.

He paused, and glanced at Peran again, squinting through frost-coated eyelashes.

Oh, Mena, Peran prayed, longing to shake his fist at the heavens. Of all the houses you could have brought me to, it had to be this one?

This was not something that Peran wanted to deal with right now.

"Clouse?" the man asked.

"Chari," Peran managed after a moment. "It's been…a while."

All eyes, even those of Jana, turned to him with confusion.

"A while?" Chari scoffed, pulling off his gloves. "Nineteen winters, Clouse. It's been nineteen winters since Analis died, and you ran off. No goodbye, no letters…" He stepped forward, arms outstretched. "What happened"

It took Peran a moment to realize what Chari was trying to do, and by then it was too late to avoid it. Chari's thick, strong arms went around him, holding Peran in a sudden, unprecedented embrace. Peran kept his arms stiff at his sides.

"It's so good to see you, friend!" Chari said, and released him. He laughed, slapping Peran's arm. "How are you?" A pause in which he looked about the room, seeing Peran's other companions. "How's Makeri?"

"Dead," Peran said, stepping away before any more physical contact could occur. He'd forgotten how much of a hugger Chari was.

Chari's smile faltered. "Oh," he said. "Mena's Blade… I'm sorry, Clouse."

Peran's jaw tightened. Makeri was the last thing he wanted to think about now: the wound was still too fresh.

"Chari," Jana cut in tentatively, stepping up to help the teen boy- presumably their son- with his cloak. The boy, halfway out of his boots, brushed her away good-naturedly. "This is Clouse? Analis'…"

"Yeah." Chari shook his head, a rueful, sympathetic smile lifting one side of his mouth. "What brought you back, brother? After all this time…"

"It was not intentional," Peran said, careful to keep his tone from getting too sharp. "I apologize."

Chari sighed, removing his fur cap. He looked across at the fire, then at Jana. Something seemed to pass between them. His gaze returned to Peran.

"Well," he said, "you're here now, Clouse. And I'm glad. We have a lot to talk about." He gestured with a sweeping hand. "Welcome to my home."

Varasach awoke to the soft rustling of paper and the gentle tread of boots on a carpeted floor far away. Unwilling to come back to consciousness quite yet, she scrunched her eyes up tight and tried to let her mind settle back into comfortable nothingness.

She heard the steady breathing of someone nearby, and smelled the sweet, smoky spice of burning wood. More rustling paper.

Then a terrible, burning pain developed across her entire body, as if someone had pushed her into a scalding bath. She grimaced, giving up on sleep, and opened her bleary eyes.

It took a moment to orient herself: she was lying in a large bed with many pillows, her arms bandaged and resting atop thick gray blankets. Early morning light filtered through large the window to her right, and on the opposite wall she saw the fireplace.

This is Lloyd's bedroom, she realized, raising one bandaged hand with pained effort to examine it better. The worst burns- which seemed to be mostly on her shoulders, arms, and hands- were wrapped in soft white bandages. Even the skin that was not bandaged was more often than not splotched with red, and shiny from burn ointment.

These burns are from…Alerik's fire, she thought, the memories coming back to her. She had been trapped in that shack, crawling blindly through the smoke in her effort to reach the cellar, and then… And then debris had hit her head, knocking her out. But how had she gotten here? Who had rescued her?

There was a soft sigh to her left, and she turned her head.

Garmadon sat in a chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, his deep, weary eyes immersed in a book in his hands. As Varasach watched, he turned the page.

Without looking in her direction, he began to speak in a quiet, almost tentative voice.

"In recent weeks I've taken a great interest in the final few journal entries of our ancestor, Jaekob Mena," he said. Even his voice sounded weary. "Mena's journal is a curious, controversial thing, and for many years it has been illegal for anyone other than nobility to obtain a copy of it. I never knew why, nor did I care to. But in light of recent events, his journal is…" He shook his head ruefully. "It's…enlightening, to say the least.

"You see, back when the fourth age was only just beginning, the battle-weary people flocked to Mena to solve their problems. Which he did, with reasonable proficiency, for many years."

Varasach frowned at the King. What was he talking about?

"But other people, warmongers, mostly, weren't happy with Mena's rule," Garmadon continued. "They tried to rile the people, and made life difficult for anyone who opposed them. They thought that Mena wasn't fit to be King. Mena quelled most of the rebellions, they say, but he died young, before the war was truly over." A slow shake of his head. "It's odd that no one can seem to come to a consensus on how our God left this world. Some say he was taken by disease. Others say that he was assassinated, or that he faked his death and lived out the rest of his days secretly in the mountains. Some radicals believe that he is still alive somewhere on the island today: hiding, but always watching."

"What do you believe?" Varasach croaked, realizing for the first time just how dry her throat was. Garmadon took a glass of water from the bedside table and reached over the bed, supporting her head in one hand to help her drink. The lukewarm water felt good in her parched, scratchy throat. She drank half the glass before Garmadon took it away.

"None of the above," Garmadon answered, smoothing her hair around her face. "But his cause of death is not important right now, Vara. I…I'm telling you this because after Mena died, his daughter, Naphi, took the crown in his stead. She proved to be- don't tell anyone I said this- a much better ruler than Mena. She's the one that truly gathered the people together and brought a halt to the fighting. Ninjagians tolerated Mena, but they loved Naphi." Garmadon sat back in his chair. His wrinkled thumb absently stroked the gold embossing on his book as he shut it.

"Mena sewed the sutures of the broken land," he murmured. "But when he died, Naphi truly made it whole again." He blinked, bringing himself back to the present. He smiled at Varasach. "I…I'm sorry, Vara. The other me has been acting peculiar lately… How do you feel?"

The 'other me'? Varasach recalled when the King had used similar phrasing not long after kidnapping her from Sheshin Keep.

"Vara?" Garmadon prompted her.

"I…am fine," she answered finally, attempting to sit upright. The pain it caused was excruciating- she grit her teeth, clutching the blankets against a rush dizziness that sent oddly-colored dark spots into her eyes. Her stomach twisted, threatening to bring whatever was in her stomach back up.

"Ah- Please don't, Vara!" Garmadon jumped to his feet and set a restraining hand on her arm, urging her to lie down again. "You'll hurt yourself."

Varasach stared at his hand, startled. His touch was firm, but gentle. Warm. Garmadon noticed her staring after a moment and stepped back, looking at the floor.

Varasach turned away from the King and closed her eyes, groaning a weak sigh. The pain eventually subsided. The spots in her vision receded, and her stomach settled.

"What happened to me?" Varasach asked through clenched teeth

"I…" Garmadon rubbed the back of his head, chuckling breathily. "I'm still trying to sort the details out myself, honestly. Hold on." He went to the door and rapped it. "Summon the High General," he said through the wood, presumably to a Guard standing on the other side. Then he returned to his chair.

"Senai," he said, "go get the Princess some dinner."

Senai stood- Varasach had not noticed her sitting in a chair near the closet- and bowed, leaving the room without a word.

Varasach felt a pang of guilt. She had lied to Senai so that she could run away. Senai had surely gotten in trouble for Misako's escape. How had she been punished this time, when her new mistress had escaped only hours after being put in her care?

"Please, don't hurt Senai," Varasach said to Garmadon. "She had nothing to do with-"

"I told her not to leave your side," Garmadon said sharply. "She disobeyed me, so there must be consequences." A pause. "However, I thought it best to not mete out her punishment until you told me what happened."

Varasach cowered under his stern expression. "I…" she began meekly. "Um…you were going to hurt the South. I had to warn them."

"And did you?"

Varasach shook her head. Her scalp seemed…odd, somehow, as she shifted on her soft pillow. There were no bandages on her head that she could feel but still… Something was off, and she couldn't place what it was.

Garmadon breathed a sigh of relief. He sank into his chair, looking considerably less weary as he regarded Varasach. "Hosts, girl," he breathed. "What were you thinking? You almost died!"

"Only because of Zak," Varasach said defensively. "I might have done fine without him, but…" She pressed her lips together.

Of all the horrors she had expected from the people of Ninjago, betrayal from that stablehand had not been one of them. He had seemed so kind and sincere. He'd lied, telling her he was from Cyrus. He'd listened to her story, and helped her escape the King's Keep, only to break her trust by bringing her to Alerik.

"Zak was a despicable boy," Garmadon said.

"Have you caught him?" Varasach asked.

"Not yet. But we will, soon. Don't worry, he'll receive the punishment he deserves. You were not his first victim: we suspect he's been kidnapping people all over the Middle for over a month, and selling them to illegal slave traders like that man Alerik. Now that we know who-" He broke off as the door opened.

High General Derek entered the bedroom without knocking. He shut the door behind him and strode to the foot of Varasach's bed.

Derek had foregone his military uniform and instead wore an embroidered blue shirt tucked into loose-fitting gray trousers. His left arm was in a sling.

"You're up at last," he said wearily, bowing slightly at the waist. "I trust you're feeling better, Princess?"

Varasach nodded, though her attention was still on his wound. "You're hurt?" she asked.

Derek hesitated, glancing at the King.

"Tell her," Garmadon said.

Derek nodded, though he still looked unsure. "It's a…simple account in theory, Princess. But I'm still having trouble comprehending it. I assure you that all the details are true, however far-fetched they may sound."

Varasach raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"I had been searching for you all night after you left," Derek began. He cleared his throat and adjusted his high collar with his good hand. "In the early afternoon yesterday, I had just left the Blue Cat Inn when I saw a small bird." He gestured to the high, wood-planked ceiling with a spinning finger. "The bird flew insistently around me and my horse for several minutes, alighting in trees and bushes just ahead. It was extremely obnoxious."

"Was the bird black?" Varasach asked abruptly.

Derek paused, his finger still in the air. "You have seen it?"

Yes, Varasach had seen it several times in the past few days. The first time was inside Sheshin Keep. The second time was at the Blue Cat inn. And also a third time as she was making her way to the stables to escape the King's Keep. That time, it had been accompanied by a raven.

"…Mm," was all Varasach could say out loud. She looked at the window, half expecting to see it again. But all she could see was snow swirling thickly outside.

"It might have been a trained bird," Garmadon said. "I heard that Lady Nya had a few of them before her death. Perhaps the black bird was one of her pets. It may have begun bonding to Vara during her time in Sheshin."

"That is likely the case," Derek agreed. "So… After a few miles of this bird pestering me, I thought it might be trying to take me somewhere. Against all reason, I followed it. It led me off the highway, into a farming community near the Southern border. Then I saw the smoke from that slave trader's burning shack." He looked grimly at Varasach. His gaze lingered not on her eyes, but on her skin. Her burns. "Whether the bird was simply a feral pet, or a messenger from the First King Himself, I do not know. But it led me straight to you."

"So you rescued me from the fire?" Varasach guessed, looking again at his wounded arm.

"No," Derek said. "Someone else beat me to you. Or something. It definitely was not human." He paused again. "In hindsight, I realize it must have been one of Borg's Nindroids. But I'm not afraid to admit that it scared me at the time."

A Nindroid? Varasach's heart skipped a beat. "What did it look like?"

"It was the form of a man," Derek said, "but his skin was…melted. Bubbly and black, with bits of metal shining where the skin had oozed away. He was collapsed only a short ways from the burning shack, his body so hot that the snow around him was sizzling and steaming. You were right beside him, unconscious.

"He had obviously suffered extreme internal damage from the fire while trying to get you out, because when I picked you up, he couldn't do much to resist me. Well…" He tapped his sling. "He left a nasty, hand-shaped burn on my arm where he grabbed me." He gestured to Varasach. "He wrapped you in his cloak while carrying you out, which, thankfully, saved you from such marks."

Varasach stared at his arm with dismay and guilt.

I'm nothing special, she thought. Why would anyone, Nindroid or human, go through such pain to rescue me? She looked away from Derek, feeling foolish.

God gave me a task, she scolded herself. I was to help Garmadon. But I ran away, and as a result, both Derek and a Nindroid are hurt. She looked at Garmadon. Was it too late for her to follow God's command?

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have run. I just…" She couldn't find the words.

"I understand, Vara," Garmadon said. "It wasn't very smart of me to let you hear our plans. Of course you would have been scared by our discussion about the South." He shook his head at her. "Though I understand why you ran, I do not approve of your actions. Don't do anything like that again."

"We had to postpone our plans to invade the South because of you," Derek said sharply. "Your escape caused pandemonium not only within the King's Keep, but the entire Middle, because I was not here with the troops as I should have been. You've also given the South more time to prepare for our attack. That very likely means a prolonged and bloody battle, considering-"

Garmadon raised his hand, and the High General fell silent.

"We are in the heart of a blizzard, General," Garmadon said. "With the weather as it is, we would not have been able to fight the South, even if Vara had not run away. Besides. My spies tell me that, due to infighting all throughout the Southern realm, Lord Zane has had a difficult time conducting any defensive measures against us. I have no concern for the outcome of this battle: another few days as we wait for the storm to pass won't set the odds against us." A bitter smile. "It may even tip them more in our favor."

"Yes, my King," Derek said, but set his jaw, looking unsatisfied.

Varasach closed her eyes, setting her jaw against a scathing remark.

Garmadon may, at times, pretend to be a kind and fatherly man. But the darkness within him was too widespread to ignore, and his verdict filled Varasach with a strong sense of dread and uneasiness, as if his words were poison.

"All of Alerik's captives- from the hideout you were kept at, at least- are safe," Derek said after a moment of quiet, and Varasach looked at him. "Alerik is in prison, awaiting his trial. He confessed everything to me- he has apparently been in the illegal slave trading business for many years. I have the locations of over a half-dozen other hideouts where to-be slaves are currently being held. They will soon be safe, and I have no doubt that Alerik will be hanged for his crimes." He paused. "Alerik says that he was captured by a cloaked man with blond hair and yellow eyes. And, apparently, he had a pet raven with him. Does that sound familiar to you, Princess?"

Varasach's heart hammered in her chest for what felt like an eternity before she remembered to breathe. She did so, looking again out the window.

A man with blond hair, yellow eyes, and a raven companion. The same raven that she'd seen flying with the small black bird a couple days ago?

Kyle.

But no, that wasn't possible. Cyrus had told her that Kyle's tracker placed him on the Dark Island. The one who'd captured Alerik had to be a different Nindroid.

But why would Cyrus send a Nindroid to do the High General's work?

"No," Varasach answered finally. "I don't think so."

"Hmm. That aside, there's another pressing question," Garmadon said. "Vara, why in Mena's name would one of Cyrus' Nindroids go out of their way to rescue you from the fire? And how did they know where you were?"

Varasach shook her head. "I don't know," she murmured.

"Are you certain?" Derek asked. "This could be extremely important: if a rebel like Borg wanted you, we need to know why."

"I don't know," Varasach said, more firmly. "I'm sorry. I don't know why a Nindroid would rescue me."

At this point Senai reentered the room with a tray of food. She shut the door with her foot and, after a quick bow, came to the right side of the bed.

"I'll take my leave," Derek said, dipping his head to Garmadon. "I need to sleep for a few hours."

"Yes," Garmadon said, standing. "Come to my study when you've rested. We have more to discuss."

"Yes, my King." Derek turned back to Varasach. Stared at her for a moment with a hard, almost sour expression. His jaw flexed as he bowed.

"Try not to get into any more trouble, Princess," he said, and left the room. The door shut a little too loudly behind him: Varasach jumped at the sound.

"Why doesn't he like me?" she asked.

"Derek likes very few people." Garmadon sighed. "But, between you and me, I think he's bitter because he's not the one who found Alerik."

"Why would he care about that?"

"Because he…" Garmadon glanced at Senai, who stood silently beside the bed, her head lowered respectfully as she waited for instructions. "…For personal reasons, he has a vendetta against slave traders. That's all I can say. You can ask him yourself. I won't guarantee that he'll say anything, but you're welcome to try, if he ever visits you again."

He turned his attention to Senai. "Inform me if she starts looking ill again; she seems better, but it's best to be cautious."

"Yes, My King." Senai set down the tray- which held a bowl of soup and a cup of tea- and seated herself on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, yes," Garmadon said, looking back at Vara. "While I'm on the subject. I suppose you're probably a bit confused about why you're healing from the plague."

In light of all the other shocking things she'd learned since she woke up, Varasach had completely forgotten about the plague. But she nodded anyways.

"The North finally discovered the cure," the King explained. "And just in time: it was not an hour before Derek brought you home that High General Santi delivered us our first few vials of the medicine. We used one to heal you."

Garmadon spent a few moments just looking at Varasach, an odd, almost sad look on his face. When he finally spoke again, his voice was thoughtful and slow. "The odds have been stacked against your survival since before your birth," he said. "Throughout your life, countless forces have tried to kill you. And, though you bear the scars of our attacks, you have survived. You are certainly protected by the First King."

And, to Varasach's utter shock and embarrassment, Garmadon bowed to her. She looked desperately to Senai, who was making an effort to ignore this exchange between her masters by stirring the bowl of soup with a spoon.

Garmadon straightened, behaving as though what he'd done was entirely normal. "I would feel a lot safer if you were more protected. I hope you don't mind, Princess, but I am going to add a rotation of Guards to your escort." He spoke to Senai. "I do not ever want the Princess to be alone. If you have to leave, a Guard must be here. And if he leaves, you must be here. No exceptions."

"Yes, My King," Senai said, looking contrite. Varasach felt another pang of guilt.

"Good." Garmadon nodded. "I will be sending the first Guard up momentarily. Get some rest, Vara. Send for me- or the Lord Rector- if you need anything."

"Okay."

Garmadon withdrew from the bedroom, leaving Varasach and Senai alone.

Varasach gazed at the closed door retrospectively.

From the time that she'd first met Garmadon, he'd been…well, peculiar, to say the least. He seemed to behave as though he were two different people: there was the man who had murdered those Southern solders, fought with Peran, and was planning the massacre of an entire realm. Not to mention what he'd done to Kaeli, and possibly many other women.

Garmadon seemed repentant, at least in that respect. And he treated Varasach well. Too well, almost. But still, it was strange to see this side of the man who had been fighting a secret war against Cyrus his whole adult life. The man who, according to what she'd heard, murdered anyone who so much as spoke of the Way.

"Let me help you up, Mistress," Senai said, grabbing a pillow. Varasach attempted to sit upright again, but her skin began to prickle and burn with more ferocity. Senai made a disapproving noise in her throat and gently lifted Varasach's shoulders, propping the second pillow behind her so she could rest in a raised position.

"Mm…" Varasach winced; a particularly sore spot on her side flared with pain as her burned skin shifted beneath the bandages.

"Sorry, Mistress," Senai said, smoothing the blankets on Varasach's lap. "I was here while the doctors were cleaning you up; I think some of the worst burns were on your back right there. I should have known better."

"Eet…it is all right," Varasach mumbled with some effort, tears in her eyes. It was as if she were still engulfed in Alerik's flames. A swim in a cold lake suddenly sounded like the most heavenly thing in the world.

How badly had she been injured? Derek had stared at her face. She felt no bandages there, but a low, constant, throbbing pain told her that her face had not been spared from at least some minor burns. Would she be scarred forever?

Short locks of red hair fell over her eyes as she stared at her hands. She shook her head to move them, but it only caused more curls to obstruct her vision. Why was her hair behaving this way?

"Here, let me." Senai combed her fingers through the curls, pushing them away from Varasach's face. "It'll take some getting used to, I'm afraid… It's such a shame, too: your hair was so pretty."

Was pretty? Varasach's heart skipped a beat. Knowing the pain it would cause her, she raised her bandaged hand to feel her head.

Her hair had been cut short.

"Why?" she demanded, gripped by panic and anger. "Wh-what happened to my hair?"

"It was burned," Senai explained. She grabbed a mirror from the nightstand and held it up. Varasach stared at herself, frozen in shock.

Her hair, once long enough to reach her waist, now curled in disarray around her burned face. Not one lock so much as touched her shoulders.

"You're fortunate," Senai said tentatively, lowering the mirror. "The fire could have taken all of your hair, and severely burned your scalp. But there was enough hair left when you were rescued that I was able to trim it evenly, and in a way that hides most of the patchy spots." Senai was quiet for a moment. "It still looks beautiful, my lady. It's just…it's a shame. But it will grow back. Please, don't be upset."

"Upset" was not the first word Varasasch would choose to describe the way she felt as her heart sank into her bowels. She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very, very weary.

Her hair, the only thing she had left to remind her of her mother. And it had been cut shorter than was proper even for men.

Josi keeps her hair this short, she reminded herself. But then, that was different, wasn't it? Josi was…well, Josi. And besides that, she was a Nindroid. They didn't adhere to human constructs, so it was fine for her to keep her hair like that.

"It really isn't that bad," Senai assured her, touching the red curls again, affectionately. "I can find you some hairpins to help keep it out of your face. That would make it even prettier. I think a deep, ocean blue color would look good on you. Or do you like flowers?"

Varasach nodded. "Thank you," she murmured, eyes downcast.

"Of course, Mistress." Senai took the soup from the tray again and offered a spoonful to Varasach. The savory smells made her stomach groan. She clenched her jaw and turned away, feeling nauseated, and not because of the plague.

"…Mistress?"

"Don't call me that," Varasach snapped. Then, more softly, "Please. Don't."

A quiet clinking noise told Varasach that Senai had set the bowl back on the tray. "Why not?" she asked gently.

Varasach did not answer.

With a small sigh, Senai took Varasach's maimed hand in both of hers. "You're very strong," she said.

"No, I'm not."

"Vara, correct me if I'm wrong, but over the course of the past several months you've gone through a number of very difficult changes. You were a slave on the Dark Island. You were rescued, only to- if our King's story is true- fall into the hands of wicked people at Sheshin Keep, who tortured you until you were too weak to leave your wheelchair. Then, without forewarning, you were rescued again and informed that you are the daughter of the King. And then, as if that wasn't enough, you were very nearly sold into slavery by that boy, Zak!" She shook her head. "Why the Doctor ever let you out of his care, I'll never understand. You poor girl."

Varasach understood most of the story, even if parts of it weren't true. But one name stood out to her, and she frowned.

"The Doctor?" she asked.

Senai stiffened slightly. "Yes," she said, looking carefully- almost fearfully- at Varasach. "Um- Forgive me, you're from the Dark Island. I…I assumed you… Never mind."

The name clicked in Varasach's mind.

"Oh," she whispered. Senai glanced at the door, looking ready to bolt.

The Doctor, Kyle had explained to Varasach back in her first days at the hidden compound in the North, is our code name for Cyrus. This is important, Vara. Never use his real name in public.

Varasach suddenly felt very, very stupid.

"Zak," she said. "He told me that he was from Borg. That's why I trusted him. But if he had really been my friend, he would have called him 'the Doctor.' "

Senai's shoulders relaxed slightly. She let out a breath she'd apparently been holding since her slip-up. "Moons, girl," she swore. "Don't scare me like that. I assumed from the start that you were sent here by the Doctor, but when you looked confused-"

A knock at the door cut her off. Senai jumped from the bed as if a fire had been lit beneath her and ran to answer it. She opened the door and, after a brief pause, stepped to the side, curtsying.

The Middle Lord Rector and a Guard walked in.

"Good evening, Princess," the Lord Rector said, bowing at the waist. He straightened, his smile deepening the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. "I just heard the good news. How are you feeling, child?"

"Um…fine," Varasach answered, glancing at the Guard, a tall man in his forties with brown hair and dark, intense eyes, who stood stiff as a board beside the door.

The Lord Rector noticed the direction of her gaze. "This is one of the men that has been assigned to protect you," he explained. "The shift will change every six hours, I believe?"

"Yes, Lord Rector," the Guard confirmed.

"Good, good…" The Lord Rector approached the bed and sat in the chair Garmadon had vacated a few minutes prior. He examined Varasach for a moment with smiling eyes. "The King is very happy about your return," he said. "That's good, I think. It's been a while since he was last this clear-headed."

Varasach wasn't sure what to say to that, so she remained quiet.

The Lord Rector gave a start, as if just remembering something important. "Ah, here, I found something that belongs to you." He pulled a small, black velvet pouch from a pocket in his green and black uniform. "Hmm…you might have trouble opening it. Hold out your hand, child." He loosened the drawstring, took Varasach's bandaged hand in his own, and poured its contents out.

It was a large locket on a long, silver chain. Varasach turned it over in her hand, eyes widening with wonder.

Set in the center of the locket, surrounded by a crown of finely-etched roses, was a round, red gemstone, glittering with thousands of tiny facets.

"I acquired this from a Guard here in this keep," the Lord Rector explained. "He told me that he'd found it under your mother's bed not long after she left this keep, pregnant with you, to live in the Northern Temple. It must have fallen from its hiding place in her mattress some night, and she couldn't find it when she was forced to leave; I can't imagine her leaving such a treasure behind willingly."

"Um…" Senai spoke up hesitantly. "Forgive me, my lord. But slaves aren't allowed to have any possessions. It'd be impossible for Kaeli to hide such a thing."

"You're right," the Lord Rector said. "Slaves are not allowed to own any property, but your mother somehow managed to keep this little treasure hidden regardless." His soft eyes twinkled as he winked at Varasach. "Breaking the rules must run in the family, eh?"

Knowing he was referencing her attempted escape with Zak, Varasach blushed.

The Lord Rector chuckled. He smoothed Varasach's hair with a wrinkled hand. Why did people like touching her hair so much? She found herself not minding the Lord Rector's hand, though. Or perhaps she was just too busy admiring her newfound treasure to care.

This was my mother's, she thought with awe, holding up the heavy locket by its chain. In the light, she realized that its gem was not a pure red color, as she had first assumed: it sparkled with hints of rich, deep purple as it swung lazily between her fingers.

This had belonged to her mother!

"Thank you," Varasach breathed. "It's beautiful."

"You're welcome," the Lord Rector said. "I'm very glad to have stumbled across this. There is no more fitting gift to give a Princess.

"Unfortunately, I have not been able to find a way to open it. I brought it to all of the finest jewelers, but they were unable to unlock it, either. Not without causing it irreparable damage. Perhaps it's a false locket, and the hinges were never meant to open." He set the locket's velvet pouch on Varasach's lap.

"I'll leave you to rest, Princess. But I'll be staying in the keep until this trouble with the South- and this blizzard- blows over. I'll see you again soon."

"Yes," Varasach said, closing her bandaged hand around her mother's locket. "Thank you, sir."

"Of course, Princess." The Lord Rector bowed again, still smiling slightly, and left the bedroom.

WHOOO! It feels so good to finally have that kidnapped Vara arc done and published. Dang, I remember finishing this scene so many months ago. It's weird to think that it's finally next in queue to be published...

And Clouse! Tsk tsk. Looks like he's finally bumped into someone who knows a fair bit of his past! He's angry at me right now for threatening to ruin his aura of mystery (he thinks it makes him cool), but I think he'll get over it.

Thanks, all, for reading! If I don't see you next week, then it'll be the week after that!