I'm really happy with how this chapter turned out, y'all. I'm happy. And I'm so relieved that I got it done in time, too!

I want to apologize for all the cursing that's been in the last few chapters. I really took for granted how clean-mouthed Kai, Cole, and the rest of them were. Now I'm dealing with foul-mouthed soldiers and nasty, shameless criminals like "Whoaaaa hold up, good sir! Put some vinegar in that mouth of yours!" XD Don't worry, I'll continue to remind them to keep it down: I don't appreciate the language either.

Speaking of Kai and Cole, I really miss those guys D: I'm sorry that they haven't been around in a while. I've been trying to sate myself by going back and rereading older chapters. I've been going through (roughly) chapters 80-100. Wow, I'm so ready for those guys to come back.

Also, I'm beginning to realize what an angel baby Chedva is. Because, seriously. In my experience, babies do not sleep as long and hard as that precious chioll. Sage was super lucky. XD

The Raven

Peran lay awake on the floor by the fireplace listening to the gradual dying of the storm.

A moment of calm. A sudden shrieking of the wind through leafless trees. Weaker buffeting which made the house groan and tremble.

Ten days. Ten long days of listening to this storm, waiting for it to calm enough for him to continue his search for Varasach. He felt as though he might implode from the inactivity.

It hadn't been all bad, though. He'd had lots of time to reconnect with his old friend Chari. There had been lots to talk about, and the blizzard had given them lots of time to talk about it.

Granted, Chari had done most of the talking. But Peran was just fine with that: even twenty winters ago, that was the way it had gone. Two young men- no, not men, boys- training to be Guards, so remarkably removed from the cruelties of real life.

We were young, once, Peran mused. I was young, back when Analis brought us together. I was nothing more than a child, hoping to one day become a hard-working man, dedicated to making the world a better place.

Had Peran truly been that naive, once?

There was a quiet knocking at the front door.

Peran lifted his head from his pillow, frowning across the room. Who could be calling the Ven'turs at this hour?

The knocking came again, this time more insistently.

Peran laid his head back down, staring at the wooden ceiling. Should he answer, or wait for the caller to leave?

A loud thumping came at the window, and Peran inhaled sharply, startled. He growled as the thumping came again, followed quickly by another knock on the door.

Peran rubbed his forehead with frustration and stood, stepping over Kolin, who stirred on the floor underneath his blanket. Akins, still healing from his injuries after falling from that tree, slept on the couch. On the floor across the room, Saer slept on his belly, arms twisted around himself in a position only he could find comfortable.

The knock came again. One hand on his sword, Peran trudged across the room and unbolted the door, throwing it open. "Who's-" he began, but was cut off by a streak of black which flew across the porch. Before Peran could react it soared past his head and entered the house. The High General cried out and drew his sword, turning to face the strange and inhuman intruder.

It was a raven.

Peran froze, the tip of his sword inches from the bird's shining ebony beak. It stood on the floor, shaking snow from its feathers. What in the three realms… Is this that woman Josi's pet?

The bird lifted its right foot, and Peran saw that it carried metal canisters on both its legs. Was this creature carrying messages? Peran knelt and cautiously reached out to take the communication from its container on the bird's outstretched leg. He smoothed the rolled-up bit of paper and read it in the dim firelight.

Vara is safe, it read in neat, but unfamiliar, handwriting. At the King's Keep. Don't try to rescue her- I've got it covered. Return to the South and help the others. May He illuminate your Way,
Kyle

Peran narrowed his eyes. Who in Mena's name was Kyle? And what was this foreign spelling? The phonetically correct version of his name in Ninjago would have been 'Kai'el.'

Peran reached for the unopened canister on the raven's left leg, but the bird let out a harsh call and snapped at the High General's fingers. He pulled back, lips pursed. That one was not for him, then. This was an intelligent bird. He looked at his message again.

If this Kyle's information was to be trusted, then Vara had again been found and was trapped in the King's Keep.

And now, after being given this information, he was being asked to turn around and leave her to this…this stranger?

Crumpling the paper in his hand, Peran stood and opened the door, letting out the bird.

Like hell I'm gonna go back to the South now, Peran thought as he watched the raven dash outside and leap into the darkness, catching a rush of wind that propelled it high into the air. Like hell.

Josi sensed the familiar presence in her mind long before she saw its source.

She rushed to her balcony doors, heedless of the glass of water she spilled as she leaped from her chair. Dressed in nothing but her nightgown, she stepped barefoot into the snow outside, a hand on her hair to prevent the dying winds from sweeping it into her face.

Can it be?

Anxious, breathless, she searched the dark night sky.

After all this time, after all this silence.

Could it truly be him?

Through the winds Josi's ears picked up the distant wingbeats of Jema, the Bird whose bond she shared with her brother.

Her brother, who had been missing for over a month, and whose signal had appeared on the Dark Island when Cyrus tried to search for him.

And now she could feel him, the pulses of his mind emanating from within their Bird with great urgency.

After what felt like an eternity- though it couldn't have been longer than a minute- Jema soared over the garden of Sheshin Keep landed on Josi's outstretched arm, croaking happily as Josi pulled a small roll of paper from its canister on the Bird's left leg.

Josi rushed back inside; Jema flew from her arm and landed on a chair near the hearth as her keeper shut the balcony door and unrolled the sheet of paper.

Sister, the message read, I'm writing to confirm what you likely already suspected: that the King has no intention of honoring his treaty with the South. He is mobilizing his troops, and will advance on the South at dawn.
Don't count on assistance from the North. Despite our best efforts the Doctor and I have been unable to extract even the smallest shred of evidence suggesting that Regent Santi intends to help you. He has chosen to march with the King to save the his realm from your fate. I'm sorry.
I've sent word to your High General Peran, asking him to return to the South. I hope he will go quickly and help you thwart this disaster.
Don't worry about Vara; she's safe. I've been keeping an eye on her.
May He illuminate your Way,
Kyle

Josi stepped through the puddle of spilled water and sank into her plush chair, reading the message again with a careful eye. Jema leaned over the back of the chair and stared, upside-down, at Josi's darkened face with inquisitive black eyes. She tilted her head and cawed softly, hopping onto Josi's head to preen her hair. But Josi ignored the Bird.

He's alive, she thought, caught between relief and despair. He's alive, but he's brought us such terrible news.

"All right," Josi murmured, rolling up the message. "All right- Ow, don't bite my ear! Get off!"

Jema let out a repentant croak and spread her wings, leaping onto the floor. Josi glared at the Bird, rubbing her ear ruefully as she stood. "You're biting the wrong person, you know," she said. "Do me a favor and stay put. I need to tell the others about this." She winked at the Bird. "When I come back, though, I'll prepare a strongly-worded message for you to send back to our prodigal brother."

Damn it.

Zakari's horse, stolen from the King's stable, galloped down the snowy road at a tremendous pace.

He'd gone straight to the Princess' room without being seen, just as he'd been told. The Guard had already been drugged for him- also just as he'd been told. Everything seemed to be going according to the cloaked man's plan.

Everything, except the fact that the Princess had not been in her damned room!

Zakari clenched the horse's brown mane in both hands. Damn it, damn it, DAMN it!

And so, seeing the Princess gone, Zakari had climbed through her open window, assuming that she was trying to escape to the South again. He'd scaled the frozen brick wall and through the snow, following her footprints through the garden.

He'd seen her- he'd seen her, Hosts consume them all!- sitting beneath one of the trees in the garden. He'd taken out his knife and gripped it carefully in one hand, ready to deliver the blow that would end her life and bring him freedom.

And then he'd been stopped by a glaring, horrible red light. The light had seemed to physically hurt him, compel him to sheath his knife and run away.

And, after he heard that Guard call out to see what had caused that light, that's exactly what he'd done.

He'd come so close. So, so close!

And, again, he'd failed.

A distant sound met Zakari's ears, and he turned on the horse's bare back. His breath caught in his thumping chest.

A cloaked man, bathed in moonlight, thundering down the road in pursuit on a white horse. That couldn't be him, could it?

Of course it was. Who else would be driving their horse at this pace behind him in the dead of night?

Zakari viciously kicked the horse's ribs. The dark-colored beast, already breathing hard, obeyed reluctantly, stretching out its neck as it pushed itself into a smoother, faster run.

It was not fast enough. Each time Zakari glanced back he saw that the cloaked man had gained more ground.

"I tried!" Zakari screamed, head shooting back momentarily to see that the white horse's nose was nearly touching his own's flying tail. "I tried, but she-"

His horse let out an ear-piercing scream and stumbled: Zakari jumped, narrowly avoiding a nasty fall beneath the horse's heaving ribcage.

Zakari rolled in the snow and immediately- but dizzily- rose to his feet. His stolen horse lay on its side, kicking up sprays of red snow. Blood spilled from its leg: a knife, half-buried in flesh, shined in the dim light.

A second knife glinted in the cloaked man's hand. He dismounted his horse and strode toward Zakari.

"Please," Zakari pleaded, stumbling backwards through the snow. "Please, I tried! There- there was something there, in the garden. A red light. It wouldn't let me kill her!"

The cloaked man paused. "What?" His voice, muffled by a thick scarf covering all but his blue eyes, was quiet.

Zakari sensed that he had a chance. "Yes!" he said. "The Princess, she had some sort of red light. It shined as soon as I got close to her, and it- I dunno, did something to my mind. I couldn't come any closer."

The man said nothing.

"I know it sounds crazy," Zakari said. "But it's the truth. I swear-"

There was a flash of silver. A pain so severe that Zakari could do nothing but fall to his knees, clawing at the blade embedded in his chest. Hot, slippery blood made the knife's hilt impossible to grip.

He couldn't scream.

He couldn't even breathe.

"If you want a job done right," the cloaked man sighed as Zakari fell, mouth agape in a silent, dying scream, "you've got to do it yourself."

"Let's get this straight," Garmadon said, his face shadowed and stern. He stood in his study with Deniel, the Lord Rector, and Varasach. "Deniel, when you were on guard, you saw no unusual activity?"

"No, my King."

"What happened? You guard the garden doors; how did you come to be with the Princess?"

Deniel hesitated but a moment, glancing at Varasach. "I found the Princess out of her room. I didn't understand what was going on, and I escorted her back upstairs. That's when I saw that her Guard was drugged, and, after checking her room to make sure no one was hiding there, I immediately sounded the alarm."

They walked a dangerous line between truth and deceit; Varasach didn't know why Deniel had not yet confessed the truth about where she had been when he found her, or how she had not even realized there was a problem with her Guard until they'd returned to her room.

"She was trying to find help," the Lord Rector said thoughtfully. He sat in a plush seat beside Varasach's wheelchair, drinking a steaming mug of bitter-smelling coffee. "It's a marvel that she was able to make it all the way to the garden doors without being seen by anyone but Deniel… And that she was strong enough to make the journey without her chair. You must be exhausted, child." He touched her arm sympathetically.

"I'm all right," Varasach assured him, flushing. "Thank you."

That wasn't entirely true. She dried her sweaty, shaking hands on her dress, refusing to meet Garmadon's worried eyes.

A knock came at the door. Garmadon gave a start and told the caller to enter

"My King." High General Derek strode in, a hand on his sword, and bowed.

"What have you found on Tui?" Garmadon asked.

"Not anything good, I'm afraid," Derek admitted. "There are lots of paths through the snow in the garden, but it appears that Tui distorted his tracks as he went along, so I cannot make out specific details on what exactly he was doing out there." He looked at the King grimly. "After seeing that the Princess was not in her room, he must have fled through her window. His path leads directly from beneath the Princess' window to the late Prince Lloyd's tree. Then it breaks toward the stables. He stole a horse. My soldiers found his body, and the body of the horse, on the road about five miles from here."

"They were killed?" Garmadon frowned.

"Yes, my King. Tui has a knife wound in his chest, and the horse has multiple wounds: one in its hind leg, two more in its neck. I don't think it was suicide: the weapons were not present at the scene, and the marks in the snow suggest there was another person present at his time of death. Tui put up a fight before his murder."

Garmdon exhaled slowly, sinking into his chair.

"That just about confirms it," the Lord Rector said, looking concerned. "This was an inside job. Tui obviously needed help getting out of his cell, and he certainly wouldn't have been able to drug the Princess' Guard himself."

"So, the question is," Derek said, "who was working with him?"

"A Guard?" the Lord Rector suggested. "The only person besides you who had keys to that cell was the Guard overseeing Tui's meals and latrine visits. Has that man been questioned?"

"Of course," Derek said impatiently. "He claims his keys were stolen. That itself is an act of extreme carelessness which he will he severely reprimanded for. But I don't think he's guilty of deliberately setting Tui free."

"Of course you don't," the Lord Rector scoffed. "You have too much pride to admit that one of your own may be, once again, at fault for the disappearance and-or attempted murder of our Princess."

"How dare you," Derek snarled.

"Gentlemen," Garmadon interjected. "Now is not the time." He turned to Vara. "Are you certain that you didn't see Tui, or anyone else besides Deniel, while you were out?"

Varasach thought back to an hour ago when she and Deniel had been hiding in the shadows in the hall as Garmadon and the Lord Rector passed. She thought of how the Lord Rector had slammed into something- like an invisible wall- directly in front of her, causing his nose to bleed. His face still looked a bit flushed, and, as if in response to her thoughts, the Lord Rector ruefully rubbed his nose as he waited for Varasach's answer.

"I did not see anyone suspicious," Varasach answered vaguely at last, glancing at Deniel. The Guard subtly tilted his head in approval.

Garmadon, however, looked skeptical. "Derek," he said, "I want you to double Varasach's guard. And place two more Guards outside her door, and under her window in the garden." He considered something for a moment. "Take men from my own personal guard to fulfill this duty. I feel that I can trust them more than anyone else."

"Yes, my King."

"Once that's done, you should go to your troops," the Lord Rector said, and sipped his hot drink. "If you want to reach the South by about dawn, then it's time to move out."

"Yes, Lord Rector." Derek's voice was tight: it was clear that he did not like being ordered about by the Priest. "Will that be all?"

"For now," Garmadon answered for the Lord Rector, and glanced in his direction. Interesting. "You are dismissed. Thank you, High General."

Derek bowed and exited the King's study, throwing the doors open, closing them loudly behind himself.

"I think I shall take my leave as well," the Lord Rector said, and stood stiffly. "This is a late hour for old men such as myself; you'll forgive me for retreating for at least a few winks. Send someone for me if there are any new developments."

"Of course, Lord Rector," Garmadon said.

The Lord Rector knocked on the doors. Guards at their post outside opened it for him, and he exited the room, leaving Garmadon, Varasach, and Deniel alone.

"I know you're lying to us," Garmadon said.

Varasach stiffened. There was no anger in his voice, but there was a sadness in his expression. She felt blood rush into her cheeks as she looked to Deniel for help. He stared evenly at the King, expression unreadable.

"I had hoped we were getting past this," Garmadon said to Varasach. "I had hoped that you were finally beginning to trust me. And I was starting to feel that I could trust you, too."

It hurt too much to maintain his gaze. Varasach lowered her eyes.

Keeping the fact that she'd gone outside had seemed so important until now. But he was right, of course. What could she have hoped to gain by lying to him? Her guard had already been more than doubled as a result of the incident with Zakari.

Lying would have gained her nothing, even if she had managed to get away with it.

"I am sorry," Varasach said. "I was just… I wanted to walk by myself. It's been so long. And I was afraid that if you knew…"

"Oh, child…" Garmadon sighed, shaking his head as he sank into his chair. "There is a reason that you cannot go about by yourself! If Tui had found you…" The pain in his eyes only deepened Varasach's guilt.

"If you'll pardon me for speaking, my King," Deniel interjected with a bow. "If she had not left her room, Tui would have found her."

Garmadon's disapproval of the Lord Rector's grandson was all too clear as he turned his gaze to the Guard. "I am painfully aware of this fact, Guard," he said brusquely. You are dismissed."

Trying too hard to hide a grimace, Deniel bowed again and walked to the doors of the King's study.

"One more thing," Garmadon said as Deniel placed a hand on the door's latch.

Deniel visibly paled as he turned back. What was he so afraid of? "Yes, my King?" he asked.

"You are to be removed from the Princess' guard, effective immediately." Garmadon folded his hands on the desk, speaking firmly. "I will speak to the High General about my concerns regarding your behavior tonight, and leave you to his judgement."

Resignation shadowed Deniel's soft blue eyes. He let out a breath, glancing at Varasach. She stared back, stunned, struggling to find her voice.

"N-no!" she protested. "Preg'demo- Please don't do that. I-"

"You need to trust me, child," Garmadon said, softening his tone a touch as he spoke to her. "There's something wrong here. Until I find out what it is, I'm sorry. He has to be as far away from you as possible."

"But…" Varasach, as usual, could not find her words. She looked desperately to Deniel again.

Deniel was the first man in this keep that Varasach had chosen to trust. True, she still didn't know him very well, but what few interactions she'd had with him since her arrival had been nothing but good. He'd kept her company during the long hours of his shift, repelling boredom.

He'd risked everything to sneak her back into her room tonight after the garden incident, and had lied to the King himself in his attempt to keep her out of trouble!

And now, Garmadon was taking him from her.

"Yes, my King." Deniel bowed a third time. Casting a final, fleeting, regretful glance in Varasach's direction, he left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

In an eyeblink, Deniel was gone. He had left her. Just like Cole, and Kyle, and- and Josi…

Would she ever see any of them again? There were unbidden tears in her eyes as she glared at Garmadon.

"It is for your own good, Vara." Garmadon stood and rounded the desk, taking a different seat beside Varasach. He took her good hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Please understand. I don't know who to trust, here. Someone on my staff wants you dead. I must take all necessary precautions to keep you safe."

Varasach jerked herself from his grip, resisting a sudden and intense urge to slap him across the cheek. She jerked her hand to her lap instead, and the King recoiled, eyes wide with surprise.

"Don't lie to me," Varasach hissed. "I know why you hate Deniel. It is unfair for you to treat him this way."

"Vara-"

"No!" Varasach wheeled her chair backwards, away from him. A small voice in her soul told her that she needed to calm down. She was wrong to lash out at him, and needed to be kind and work this matter out civilly. If she would just talk, he would surely listen!

She ignored that voice.

"Leave me alone," Varasach hissed. A pained look crossed Garmadon's face; she snarled, a satisfying coldness breaching her heart as she wheeled her chair toward the doors. She knocked, as she'd seen the Lord Rector do, and the Guards let her out.

"Vara!" Garmadon exclaimed, standing, rushing toward her.

"Shut the doors," Varasach told the Guards as she crossed the threshold.

They looked between the Princess and their fast-approaching King, confused. "Um-" One of them began.

"SHUT THEM!" Varasach screamed, her face hot with rage. The Guards leaped into motion, shutting the study doors just as Garmadon reached them. They glanced at each other, looking both confused and very afraid about what they had just done.

Varasach gripped the wheels of her chair without a word and rolled down the hall at a rapid pace. How much time had passed since Deniel had been sent away? Not long. Would he still be in the hall somewhere?

"Deniel!" she called, and found her vision growing fuzzy. "Den!"

Don't leave me. Don't go away.

"DEN!" Why were her eyes so clouded? Why couldn't she see if Den was coming back? Don't leave. You can't leave. Everyone leaves! Why?

She realized eventually that it was because of her tears that her vision had become so blurred. She wiped her eyes and called out to him again.

But Deniel did not come.

The door slammed closed in Garmadon's face.

He stared at the dark polished wood, speechless. He heard Vara calling for the Guard whom he had dismissed.

Why? Why did she care so much for the boy?

The answer was, of course, clear to him: she was being manipulated. If anyone could sway the Princess' opinion regarding the unsavory duties of Ninjagian royalty, it would be that slimy Lord Rector's grandson. The boy had become her "friend," keeping her company while she was bored and isolated- of her own volition, as Garmadon had offered her many forms of entertainment, all of which she had refused- in her room, healing of her wounds. She had begun to trust that blasted boy.

Clever, Garmadon gritted, slamming his fist on one closed door. Very clever, Waren. You've already got my daughter under your hand.

Had Garmadon acted too late in sending Deniel away? Would he be able to win Vara's trust back before…

The King sighed a breath that was shaky with emotion and turned away from the doors. Massaging his temples with both hands, he paced his study, stewing.

Vara had lied to him. Hosts, was she afraid of him? What had he done to lose her trust?

And then there was the matter of those Guards shutting his own study door on him. It made Garmadon's blood boil to think that his own attendants were disrespecting him in such a way. Perhaps they had just been surprised by the authority with which Vara had ordered them to obey her, but Garmadon wasn't convinced.

No one- no one!- treated him with respect anymore! The King was all but ignored by his advisors, disrespected by his Guards, scorned by his own family.

What am I doing wrong?

He groaned, sinking into his chair, gritting his teeth.

What the hell was he doing with his life? He was a wreck! His country- if indeed he could still call it his country- was slipping from his grasp, like sand through an hourglass. Like water through the cracks of a crumbling, derelict dam.

How much time did he have left?

Garmadon's hand, clammy and trembling, clenched on his lap, moved almost against his will. Reaching under his desk, he pushed a hidden catch and pulled out a secret drawer. He set the open wooden container on his lap and examined its contents.

There were only two items in this secret box. Reverently he took Mena's journal in one hand. In his other, he picked up an opaque vial of dark, clouded liquid. He held the latter to the light of a candle on his desk, rolling the tiny bottle between two fingers.

No scholar or Priest could come to a definite conclusion about how their First King had died. The cause of death was glazed over in all history books, and teachers sated the most curious minds by vaguely explaining that the First King did not wish for men to possess this knowledge. The few authors throughout history that had dared to search out the truth were scorned and cast out of their guild. Why?

What were scholars so afraid of that they discouraged the pursuit of truth?

They are afraid, Garmadon thought, because the truth is bitter poison.

Garmadon weighed the journal and vial in his hands, head and heart heavy with sorrow.

Don't lie to me. Vara's voice.

…No better than Overlord.

The people did not know the truth. Most Priests and historians didn't, either. Those that did know understood the gravity of this truth, and the reason why it was so very important that it remain hidden behind a quivering veil of lies.

Why don't they want us to know how Mena died? Garmadon placed the journal and bottle of dark liquid back into their drawer and, with great hesitation, pushed it back into its seamless hiding place.

Because Mena, our First King and beloved God, killed himself.

I'm really sorry about how I'm handling Clouse, y'all. I realize that there are a lot of gaps in his story, and I'm equally sorry to say that most of them will not be filled in True Grit. I can, at least, tell you that Analis' name is pronounced "ah-na-LEES" and that she's a very important character in my upcoming prequel novella, tentatively titled Wholehearted. That story will fill in many, if not all, of the gaps you're seeing in True Grit. I'm really excited to share it with you all once True Grit is done.

It's KYLEEE! Most of you probably already knew it was him. But confirmation is nice, yes? :3 Haa. Now may be a good time to let you know that, a few chapters back, Kyle was begging me to let him put an acorn on Vara's nightstand. Why? I don't know. How? I haven't a clue. But he really wanted to, and I had to put my foot down and say no. He was devastated.

Ahh, Kyle. It's good to have you back, bud.

Thank you all for reading! Please leave a review if you feel so inclined. Have a great week!