24 days!

...

The door creaked open just enough for two pairs of eyes to peek through. "They wouldn't come in here, would they?" a voice whispered. "They have no reason to come in here."

"I'll light them on fire if they do," the second voice replied.

A clump of Weapons turned down the corridor and before Ben could react, one of them shouted, "You! Open the door!"

Ben glanced at Mara, who balanced a ball of fire in her hand, a malicious glower sparkling in her eyes. "Just let them try," she growled.

Ben chewed on his lip. He'd rather not be skewered by a Black Shield, but he also didn't want Mara setting the Mending Wing aflame. "Mara, we can't do anything," he said. She turned her glare on him. "They're almost here. Get back in your room – and put that fire out!"

With a scowl that could have ignited the stone walls, she snapped her hand shut and hurried back into her chamber, shutting the door just as the Weapons burst into the Wing.

Ben backed away. "We have no quarrel with you," he said, his voice trembling. "This is a place of heal – "

"Quiet, Rider. We know where your loyalties lie."

"Where yours once did," Ben said before he could stop himself. The Weapon – Willis? – backhanded him across his face and he crashed to the ground.

"I would kill you for that," Willis growled, "But we have need of your…abilities."

Wiping his mouth, Ben searched the group. The Weapon, Karigan's friend…what was his name? Two of the traitors held him between them, and he was obviously unconscious. Blood smeared over half his face and matted his dark hair.

"Ah, a head wound," he heard himself saying. Where was this boldness coming from? "Those do tend to bleed a lot. I'm sure he'll be fine."

He was dragged up into the air until his feet dangled. "You have healing magic. You will heal him."

"Will I?" Shut up, Ben. Just shut up!

"We have Master Mender Destarion."

Ben's heart stopped. That's where he went. His jaw clenched and he leveled the Weapon with a hateful glare. "Fine."

He took his time choosing a room for the Weapon, declaring this one to be too small and that one too messy. He tripped purposely over his frock and made a great show of getting back up. Only until he felt the tip of a blade at his back did he finally situate the wounded man in a chamber near Mara's. "As quickly as can be done," Willis snapped before leading his posse of thugs away. As the door shut, Mara crept out of her room, her eyes wide with admiration.

"You can barely touch a horse, but by the gods, you can give a Black Shield back his own!"

Ben blushed as he fumbled with a rag and water. "It was stupid. They just make me – just so angry." He paused and looked down at the Weapon. "Maybe I should kill him and tell them it was too late for me to save him."

Mara stepped to the bedside and touched the patient's face. "Fastion," she said softly, her fingers lingering on his cheek. "I wonder what happened to him."

"Does it matter?" Ben pushed past her and began to clean the wound. "He's a traitor, like the others."

"How do you know that?"

"Because if he had defended the king, he would be dead."

Ben dropped the rag into the bowl. Fresh blood trickled from the large swollen gash on Fastion's forehead. A dark bruise had formed around it and Ben gave a silent cheer for whoever had landed the hit.

Think of Master Destarion, he told himself as he placed his fingers over the injury. He closed his eyes and felt for his magic. It simmered in his chest, beneath his brooch, but at his call it rushed down his arms and into his hands.

He heard Mara's intake of breath as green wisps wrapped around Fastion's head. As the magic settled itself into the injury, Ben became very aware of each of his own cuts and bruises. His face throbbed where Willis had smacked him, his leg where he'd landed on the ground, the toe he had stubbed earlier in the day, his hungry stomach, and, worst of all, that blasted paper cut, as well as a hundred other small injuries. His head began to throb. Feel pain to end it, he thought, grimacing.

Fastion's head moved. The Weapon was waking up. Ben opened his eyes. The bruising and swelling was gone, and the gash was almost closed. He wasn't done sealing the fracture in his skull, however.

"Do I have to heal him completely?" Ben hissed through his teeth.

Fastion's eyes flashed open. The dilated pupils contracted as he focused on the apprentice's face. His lips curled back in a snarl.

Ben released him and the magic rushed back into his chest. "The Weapons brought you here," he said evenly, backing away. "I was healing – you!" Fastion leapt from the bed and grabbed the Rider, throwing him against the wall. Ouch. His fingers closed around Ben's throat.

"Fastion! Stop!" Mara shouted. She raised her hand and flames sparked above her fingers.

"You're – hurt," Ben gasped. "Your head. You're not – thinking right." The words ended in a squeak as his windpipe was crushed.

"I said stop!" Memories of what happened the last time she threw fire fresh in her mind, Mara rushed forward and grabbed Fastion's arm. Her hands blazed through his sleeve and she felt his flesh burn beneath her touch. He let out a shout and jerked away. Ben slid to the floor, hands clutching his neck, gasping and choking.

Fastion wheeled around, his glare murderous. His hand flew to his waist, but his sword was absent, though Mara knew that didn't mean much. Black Shields could kill just as easily without a blade.

She raised her hands as he approached. "Do not," she warned. He didn't stop. Feeling her own forehead grow hot, she coaxed flames to her palms. "Don't make me do this." He didn't bat an eye. When he was just a few steps from her, he suddenly ducked beneath her hands and rammed into her stomach faster than she could think. They charged out of the room and crashed against the corridor wall.

She could hear Ben's gasping cries, but her attention was filled with visions of her own death as Fastion loomed over her. He was going to kill her. And here she thought they were friends. A whimper escaped her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut and waited.

And waited. And waited.

She opened her eyes. Fastion stared down at her, a mixture of horror, confusion, and pain shifting across his face. Mara caught her breath. Was he…?

In a moment, he scrambled away from her, wincing, clutching his burned arm, and mumbling incoherent apologies. He stood up, then grabbed the wall as his head swam and his vision blurred.

"Mara!" Ben staggered into the hall. "Mara, are you all right?" He helped her to her feet, watching Fastion's obvious disconcertment with suspicion.

"Yes, I'm fine." She straightened out her clothing, then stepped toward the Weapon cautiously. "How are you?" she said.

Fastion, a hand pressed to his head, looked around with pain-narrowed eyes. "How did I get here?" He hissed and delicately touched his burned arm. "What happened?"

Ben frowned, still suspicious. "You tried to kill us."

Fastion stared. "I'm sorry?"

"I can't forgive you just yet."

"No – no, I meant – well, yes, right, but...I don't…know?" he looked around, his distress evident on his strained features. For Ben, it was more emotion than he had ever seen on a Weapon's face and his hackles lowered.

Mara touched his sleeve. "You don't remember anything?"

His brow creased as he thought. "I remember speaking to Karigan." He shook his head and winced at the pain it brought. After a moment, he continued, "I was explaining to her some concerns I had and I took her…" He trailed off with a surreptitious glance at the two Riders. "I was at my post when my head became…fuzzy. Like – now."

Mara helped him lower himself onto the floor. "What next?" she prompted.

Fastion leaned his head against the wall, breathing steadily through his nose. "I suppose I convinced myself I'd fallen asleep, but now I see I must have hit my head somehow. There were flashes of…strangeness. It was a terrible dream. So much anger. The king had to die…for some reason. Donal and I, we planned…Brienne, too. The castle had become corrupted by Mornhavon and we had to stop it. She went down to the tombs and I – gods, did I do that to you?" He was staring at Ben.

Mara glanced back. Horrid black bruises wrapped around his neck. Ben shrugged and pulled his frock up higher. "I'll be fine," he wheezed.

Fastion looked unconvinced, but his blazing arm and throbbing skull distracted him. "Such an awful dream," he murmured.

Ben and Mara exchanged a glance. Ben nodded. Mara breathed deeply. "Fastion, I…I'm afraid you're mistaken."

"How do you mean?"

"It wasn't a dream."

Fastion leaned forward, his eyes curious. "What?"

"The Weapons…you've been scouring the castle for the king all night, killing or imprisoning any who claimed fealty to him."

"Impossible."

"Not so. Fastion." Here, she took another breath. "Your Black Shields tried to kill him."

A long moment passed, then Fastion let out a bark of laughter. "You're very amusing," he said with a smile, "but I'm afraid that is the most ludicrous thing I have ever had the pleasure of hearing."

"But it's true!" Ben cried. "They took Master Mender Destarion. You tried to kill us!"

"I'm suffering from a head injury, am I not? I'm sorry for it, however."

"Fastion!" Mara shouted. He looked at her in surprise. "You tried to kill King Zachary!"

He smiled again and was about to speak when the Mending Wing doors opened and Willis and another Weapon burst into the hall. Fastion stood to greet them. "These two have been telling me the most amusing…yarn…" He trailed off as he looked into their faces. Mara cringed at the devastation in their eyes and felt Ben shift uneasily beside her. Fastion's smile faded slowly. "No," he protested softly. "It can't be."

Willis held up his sword. Crimson blood trickled through the rivulets. His tortured features twisted. "Fastion. We have committed a unspeakable mistake."