The group of uneasy courtiers and ambassadors followed obediently behind the king as he stalked through the halls. Jeira walked closely behind her father, but the others lagged a bit, leaving her to walk in front of them like a guard, or breaker, to protect them from her father's wrath. Luke and Syrix still carried Zath between them, and the squirrel's head lolled senselessly on his neck while blood leaked slowly from the wound on the back of his head. In the very back, Ayra expounded on how ridiculous this whole episode was, at great length and with ever-increasing volume, and Feran whispered fiercely back, desperately attempting to get her to stop talking, or at least to stop talking so loudly.
When the king finally found a room to his liking (a small, well-decorated study that the scribes used, sometimes, when they desired absolutely quiet,) he pulled the door open and pointed his paw ominously inside. The group dutifully shuffled inside in absolutely silence, with even Ayra seeming somewhat cowed.
The door slammed shut as soon as they were inside, and Feran flinched visibly. "Is he not coming in, as well?" Feran asked after a long moment had passed in uneasy silence. His worried gaze was pinned expectantly to the door, as if the king would reappear at any moment.
"He's probably going to lock us in here," Ayra said darkly, with the kind of impassioned bitterness that suggested she'd been locked in small, quiet places quite frequently in the past. She crossed her arms over her chest and sulked, petulantly. "He's probably going to lock us in and not let us out until the whole ball's over with."
"Calm down, Lady Ayra." Syrix suggested, managing to sound simultaneously long suffering and mildly amused. "I highly doubt that the king is going to lock us in here."
"Well, then, what is he going to do, Rixy?" Ayra demanded, paws going to her hips as her chin jutted out stubbornly. As cheerful and chipper as she could be, Ayra's temper was something of a horror to behold. Unfortunately for everyone else in the room, Syrix had never been overly intimidated by her fits and tantrums, and Jeira recognized the stubborn, stoic look in his eyes as the one that appeared whenever he was about to deliberately provoke someone. The two of them had fought before; the west wing of the castle was still recovering from that particular disagreement. Jeira opened her mouth to intervene before the two of them could incur any more serious property damage when the mouse chuckled quietly, disbelievingly, and everyone turned to stare at him.
"You let her call you 'Rixy?'" The mouse asked, sounding happily surprised. He gave the unconscious squirrel he was still half-supporting a smug, rueful look. "Oh, Zath is going to be so upset that he missed this."
"Luke-" Syrix began, an obvious edge of impatience in his tone.
"You know each other?" Ayra asked suddenly, her temper disappearing now that she had something much more interesting to focus on. Ayra's temper, like every other emotion Ayra felt, was notoriously ephemeral. "From...from before Syrix came here?" Her eyes darted curiously between Syrix and the mouse, her head cocked to the side and her brow furrowed in obvious interest.
The grin on the mouse's mouse faded slowly until it disappeared entirely. He gave Ayra a brief, thoughtful look and then pinned Syrix with a contemplative stare, his mouth flattened into a frown. "You never told them?" He asked, sounding somewhat puzzled and something like sympathetic. "You never told them about-"
"No." Syrix's voice was cold. It was the kind of cold that Jeira knew from the times the guards had done something careless when they were supposed to be guarding her or when one of Jeira's siblings had taken an idiotic risk that they had barely survived. It was a warning and a punishment all in one. His shoulders were tense, and, had he been wearing a sword, his paw would have been wrapped around the hilt. "No, I never did."
The mouse's mouth quirked into a curious little grimace, and he seemed torn between amusement and indignation. Whatever he felt, it obviously wasn't fear, and Jeira was intrigued by that. Because even the bravest creatures she knew (Ayra, Feran, Viarin) had always been a little bit afraid of Syrix, even back before his reputation had taken on such disturbing depths. But this mouse didn't seem afraid at all. He seemed alert and attentive, as if he recognized that he was in a situation that required diplomacy and care, but he seemed neither intimidated nor threatened by Syrix.
"They'll find out soon enough, Syrix." The mouse said and then rolled his eyes at the subsequent scowl that formed on Syrix's face. "I have absolutely no intentions of telling them myself, but, soon enough, everything'll be made perfectly clear to them. Don't you think you should explain before we do?"
Syrix made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, almost a deep rumbling growl. Feran's face closed off immediately and Ayra flinched, falling a half-step back, towards Jeira. But the mouse only blinked long and slow, and then tilted his head a little to the side. There was a tense, anxious silence for a long moment before Syrix finally spoke. "Luke," Syrix said, his tone careful and so very, very cold, "you have no power over me here. Try to refrain from manipulating me to your advantage."
Luke spread his paws wide, his face the picture of offended innocence. But it seemed false, even to Jeira who had always been tripped up by her tendency to believe in the honesty of others. "Syrix, I'm not trying to manipulate you. I just think they might want to hear it from you before they hear it from us."
"Luke, I-"
Syrix never finished his sentence. Instead, Zath woke up at precisely the wrong instant, lunged out of Luke's grasp, punched Faren directly in the mouth, and immediately began insulting Ayra's general lineage as he staggered back, eyes rolling somewhat madly as he tried to find his bearings.
"Oh, I like this one." Ayra said admiringly. She stepped neatly behind Jeira and peered out at Zath from over her friend's shoulders, which was a telltale sign of complete and utter infatuation. It was, after all, very rare for Ayra to get anything like shy. She only got bashful when she was well and truly enamored with someone.
Zath wavered a bit, obviously taken aback by her apparent approval, but he rallied quickly. His mouth flung wide as he took a deep breath, preparing to roar again. "And your taste in males is-"
"Zath!" Luke interrupted and grabbed the squirrel by the scruff of the neck, shaking him violently. The mouse had an exasperated, irritated look on his face, but Jeira saw a bit of bemused fondness hidden in his eyes. He moved with an ease and familiarity that suggested practice, as if he'd had to do this kind of thing several times in the past. "Stop it!"
Zath whirled dizzily, trying to get to Luke or possibly just trying to get free, but he only managed to trip himself rather spectacularly and ended up falling into Syrix, who immediately put him in a chokehold and grinned down at the squirrel, his smile wide and vicious and baring a somewhat unnecessary amount of teeth. "Hello, Zath." He rumbled darkly. "It's been awhile since you framed me for murder."
Zath choked quite eloquently and slammed his head back into Syrix's neck. Syrix made a face of intense disapproval and tightened his hold around Zath's throat.
"He framed you for murder?" Jeira asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously on Zath.
"Oh, like I would need to." Zath snapped back, his paws scrambling at the arm curled tight around his neck. "Please. Just dangle an innocent in front of him, and he goes all red about the eyes and lunges for the throat." His voice was tight and harsh, and he was clearly having trouble talking past the pressure on his neck, but it seemed that he was willing to tolerate the pain for the sake of speaking. Jeira privately thought that it would take a great deal, indeed, to make this particular squirrel be quiet.
"Well," Syrix mused dryly, "I've always had a penchant for the blood of the innocent." His arm tightened, and Zath choked again. The squirrel's legs scrambled wildly against the stone floor, and Zath sagged, just a little, in Syrix's arms.
"Syrix." Luke's voice was sharp, cutting. Commanding.
When Syrix looked up at him, his face was much closer to emotionless than it had been when he looked down at Zath. Jeira got the strangest feeling that, despite the fact that Syrix was cheerfully throttling Zath, the otter much preferred the squirrel to the mouse. "Luke," Syrix said, his tone bland, bored, and mildly reproachful, "calm down. We wouldn't want you to get overly excited and, oh, banish someone, would we?"
"Oh, and aren't you even cuter than I remembered?" Zath wheezed out, his legs still kicking desperately while his claws dug viciously into the the flesh of Syrix's arm. "Look at you, bein' all witty. 's adorable, is what it is."
"Oh, I'm adorable?" Syrix said, mockingly. His arm grew tighter still, and Zath's kicks faltered and slowed. "Why don't you go back to sleep, Zath? You're downright charming when you're incapable of speech."
Zath's eyes widened, and he blinked slowly, sluggishly. For a moment, Jeira thought he would finally begin to act intelligently and shut that horrifying mouth of his, but she was sorely disappointed. "'s what your pervert of a mother tells me every ni-" Syrix laughed, short and sharp like it was surprised out of him, and tightened his grip. Zath's eyes fluttered closed; he stopped struggling altogether.
"Syrix." Luke snapped. Snapped. At Syrix. Ayra's paws, curled around Jeira's shoulders, became less friendly and more protective, pressing down with more weight as she shifted uneasily. Feran took a quiet half-step in Jeira's direction, eyes narrowed and expression serious. "Let him go."
Syrix rolled his eyes rather expressively at the mouse and then loosened his grip the slightest bit before leaning in and whispering something in Zath's ear. Zath's eyes slid slowly open, and his eyes focused on the ceiling as he tilted his head, obviously listening. His face slid into a sharp expression of surprise followed shortly by something that might have been disgust, but he nodded almost immediately after Syrix stopped whispering. Syrix nodded shortly in response, mimicking the squirrel, and then he released Zath, tossing the squirrel easily to the ground, where he wheezed violently for a few moments before the sound of the door creaking open had him jumping artlessly to his feet, eyes narrowed and body tense.
But it was just the king, returning at last with two servants bearing trays of food and drink behind him. The squirrels set the trays down and trooped out again, their tails bobbing behind them as Zath eyed them with a mixture of distaste and confusion; he appeared to be having a considerable amount of difficulty adjusting to the socially inferior status of squirrels in this realm. As everyone else took a glass of light refreshing wine or picked up an apple or pear, Zath lurked sulkily in the background, eying the trays as if they would bite him if he approached.
Without ever making eye-contact with the squirrel, Syrix snatched up a pear and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder at Zath, who caught the fruit and, after a moment of deep deliberation, bit into it. Syrix swiped a glass of wine and sauntered away from the others to lean back against the wall, sipping at the wine and watching the king with wary consideration.
"Father," Jeira said finally, after it became evident that the king was perfectly happy to sit in silence and watch the rest of them devour the light refreshments. "Father, why are we here?"
The king glanced at Syrix, and everyone else followed his gaze. Syrix stared back, his thoughtful expression souring a little around the edges, and he cocked a brow at the king in either challenge or question. The king continued to stare in silence, and, finally, Syrix slipped gracefully away from the wall, standing up to his full height and raising both brows as a look of minor annoyance crossed his face. "Sire," he said, "did you want me to tell them?"
The creatures in the room shifted, reacting quietly. The mouse's reaction was perhaps the least noticeable; he tilted his head the slightest bit to the side, looking doubtfully at Syrix, perhaps surprised by the polite tone of Syrix's voice. Feran frowned, his jaw working quietly in what might have been annoyance and what might have been confusion. Ayra clucked her tongue sharply against her teeth, unimpressed by Syrix's previous reticence on a topic he suddenly seemed to know a great deal about. Zath choked on his pear and coughed into his fist before coming up with a wry grin and a knowing look; he was obviously amused by Syrix's deference. And Jeira...Jeira furrowed her brow and bowed her head and looked at Syrix out of the topmost corners of her eyes, confused and just a little hurt. In the past, Syrix had kept secrets from her, but she knew, somehow, that this one was different. That, somehow, this secret was one he should have shared.
"No," the king said after a long, heavy pause. He sighed heavily, and, for a moment, Jeira saw all the years and all the lost cubs that weighed on his shoulders. She wished suddenly and earnestly that she could take them all back, take them all way. It seemed, for a moment, like he carried more weight than anyone could possibly bear for long before it broke them completely apart. "No, Syrix, I think it's best that I tell them."
Syrix nodded his head, bobbing his shoulders in what was the barest suggestion of a bow. "Yes, sire," he said, ignoring that surprised look on Luke's face and Zath's inability to suppress his laughter. Syrix stepped back and leaned against the wall again with a casual, unconcerned ease. He let one arm dangle at his side and kept the other up close to his face, sipping from the wine he held. His eyes, when they moved from the king's face, never made contact with Jeira's. Not once.
"Faren, Lady Ayra," the king's eyes dragged to Jeira; he took a deep breath. "Princess Jeira. These two creatures are from Redwall. The mouse, Luke, is the Redwall Warrior. The squirrel is Zath. He's Luke's...aide." Zath scowled at that, but no one seemed to notice, aside from Syrix, who smiled into his wine, his eyebrows twitching upwards in smug amusement. Feran, Ayra, and Jeira were busy sharing quick, confused glances. They had all heard of Redwall, of course. But they had no idea what the Redwall Warrior and his "aide" would be doing here, of all places. And Jeira wasn't at all sure what to make of the fact that Syrix had, apparently, been exiled from Redwall, which was (by reputation, at least) a sanctuary, of sorts.
"Forgive me, Father," Jeira said after nodding to Zath and giving a hurried, perfunctory curtsy to Luke, "but what are they doing here? Why are they here now?" If Luke was here to help fight against the Nameless One, he should have been here a season ago, at least. By now, even Jeira had learned to accept that the war was all but lost. There was nothing a single mouse could do. Not even if he brought his temperamental aide with him. Not even if he was a legendary warrior with an infamous sword.
The king was quiet for a long minute, looking at Jeira with a stony expression that she had never been able to read. His gaze shifted to Syrix, who was staring at him with the supportive, bracing expression he wore when he was trying to convince Jeira to do something that required a great deal of bravery. Jeira's stomach twisted tight with the realization that she was most certainly not going to like what her father said next. "They are here, Jeira," the king said, his tone carefully measured so that it did not slip away from him, "to take all of you away."
For a very long moment, Jeira waited for her father to correct himself. She stared, poised and calm, and waited in silence for her father to realize what he had said.
"What?" Ayra demanded, her voice more squawk than anything else. That single exclamation of shock shattered the expectant silence, and Jeira realized then that it was real. That her father had meant what he said. That the mouse and the squirrel were here to take her away. That she was leaving.
"But," she said, and then stopped. She had no idea what to say. She stumbled over her own tongue and came to a stop. Her mind slipped from thought to thought and feeling to feeling. She thought, I'm free. And also, I'm saved. Her heart fluttered in her throat like the wingbeats of a startled bird, and she thought to herself that she was safe, that she had been liberated from a horrible fate, that she was going to live.
And then she realized that, of course, she was going to be living alone.
"Father," she said, looking across the room at him. He stood there, awkwardly, his eyes staring at a spot just over her left shoulder. His face was the definition of proper impassivity, but there was something in his eyes that she recognized. Over the seasons, as her siblings died, she had learned how to read sorrow in her father's eyes. He hid it well, but there it was, and she stood there, a room away, and had no idea what to do about it. She felt like crying; she knew she couldn't. "Father, you're sending me away?"
He finally looked at her. Really looked at her. He seemed lost, almost, as he stared at her, and she realized that, if he sent her away, she would never, ever see him again. The Nameless One, cheated of his final quarry, his one last ringing note of mocking triumph, would simply skip her in the line-up of those waiting to die and slaughter the king and queen instead. She would be safe somewhere, sequestered in the legendary Redwall Abbey, and her father would be left behind here, in the freezing cold, to die alone. She couldn't bear the thought, but she couldn't force it from her mind. She bit her lip, hard.
"You understand, don't you?" The king said, in a brisk, bracing voice. "The Nameless One will win this war, Jeira. He will take this castle and this realm. But there is a chance that, later, he will make a mistake. Maybe later, he will die." There was a pause, long and heavy and painful. Even Ayra was silent and still, as everyone watched him struggle to keep the emotions out of his expression and out of his voice. "If you outlive him, you could take this realm back, Jeira."
Jeira wanted to object. She wanted to yell and scream and rage. She wanted to argue that he didn't have to die here, all alone, after the Nameless One inevitably killed his wife and any guards or soldiers who tried to protect him. She wanted to fight this, wanted to throw all of her strength against it. If her father had to die, she wanted to be here when it happened. She wanted to know. She didn't want to hear about it third-hand and wonder if it was true, if he was really gone, if she would never see him again. She didn't want to live in a world without her father. She didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to give in to the Nameless One. She didn't want to surrender and retreat and run away to some safe place while her entire family rotted underground, buried beneath the frost and the snow.
She didn't want to leave because leaving meant admitting defeat. It meant accepting that the realm was going to fall and that her father was going to die.
She didn't want to leave because it meant leaving her father behind.
But Jeira had always, always done her duty. She had always done what was asked of her. She had always done what her realm needed her to do. If she stayed, she would die. If she died, the royal family would be entirely erased, except for her uncle and his two cubs, who were temperamental and short-sighted and ill-fit to rule. The realm needed her alive, in exile, waiting to be called back as soon as it was safe to carve the realm back from the Nameless One's domain.
And, besides. Her father hadn't said the words yet, but she highly doubted that this was a gentle suggestion. This was an order from her father, even if he hadn't officially declared it so, and, if she had any tact or grace whatsoever, she wouldn't make him order it. After all, if she were to be leaving soon, this would be one of the last conversations she ever had with her father. There was no reason to make it into an argument, especially since it was so obviously one that she was going to lose. If he ordered her to go, she would have no choice. This way, at least, they could both pretend that this was something Jeira had agreed to.
"I understand," Jeira said finally, slowly. She tilted her head, tried to gather up her thoughts. "You said the all of us?" She asked. "Does that mean...?"
"It means," the king said, "that I would not send you away to be completely without companions in a strange realm. Lady Ayra and Feran will be accompanying you to keep you company." He paused and then looked to Syrix, whose particularly bland expression said quite clearly that something had just happened that he hadn't seen coming at all. "And Syrix, of course, will be going to act as a guard."
"She'll have Luke and Zath." Syrix said, straightening up and looking from Luke to the king. Jeira thought, distantly, that it was rather rude of Syrix to be lodging any sort of complaint when it wasn't his home that he was abandoning. She also thought, much less distantly, that his unwillingness to go hurt her rather deeply. "I assure you, sire, despite Zath's...behavior, these two are quite competent warriors. They will get your daughter and the others to Redwall safely without my help."
The king did not seem particularly impressed by these comments. "Jeira is my only surviving cub, Syrix." The king said, his voice slipping into the one of thundering command that Jeira was used to hearing him use on soldiers and servants who had displeased him. She could not remember him ever speaking to Syrix like this. "She must be protected. You are going to Redwall."
"With all due respect, sire," Syrix said, the flat tone and challenging slant to his eyebrows suggesting that not much respect was due at all in this particular instance, "I cannot escort your daughter to Redwall." He shrugged, almost helplessly. "They did exile me."
"Oh, yes, about that," Zath said, interrupting the tense conversation with obvious amusement. When everyone turned to look at him, he winked at them, causing the king to snort in surprise and indignation. "Luke, tell Syrix that you've changed your mind about that feisty little lover's quarrel of yours and that you want him to come on home now."
Everyone looked to Luke, who was staring at Zath with a sort of awed, grudging disbelief. He looked like he was having trouble deciding if he should throttle Zath with his bare paws right here or wait until there were a few less witnesses. Finally, after several long seconds, Luke turned to Syrix. "We repealed your banishment." He said. "We decided that you probably weren't guilty after all."
Syrix sneered at him in obvious disgust. "Oh, how sweet of you. Very thoughtful, after all these seasons, to finally come to your senses. Good thing you didn't do anything rash like almost kill me." He turned to face the king. "This is ridiculous, sire. They'll hardly need me, and, if the group gets too large, it'll be easy to track. It's safer for me to stay here."
"No, Syrix." The king said, emphatically. "You are not needed here. You wouldn't do any good. Go with them. Keep my daughter safe."
"Sire-"
"Syrix." The king said, and his tone moved from serious to angry. He scowled, drawing himself up to his complete height and glaring. When he spoke again, he bit off each words so they rang sharp, clear, and damning. "You owe me this, and you will do as I say."
Seconds passed in complete stillness as Syrix stared down the king. There was a great tension in the air, as the two otters stared at each other, and, for a very long time, Jeira thought Syrix was really going to deny her father, was going to defy a direct order from the king. Instead, Syrix just seemed to gather everything into himself. He took one breath, pushed his shoulders back, and then nodded.
"Yes, sire," he said, and his voice was completely empty. "I will go see to the arrangements." He nodded and then left, moving across the room and into the hallway with the kind of exaggerated grace he only showed when he was really and truly angry. Jeira deeply pitied whoever he ran into first.
"So," Ayra said, her voice almost aching with hope. "Does this mean I won't be marrying Heiran?"
The king looked at her, and Jeira caught a glimpse of something quietly amused in his eyes that was quickly replaced by appropriate solemnity. "A most regretful occurrence, of course." The king said. "If parting with him troubles you greatly, I could send him along after you, once a safe amount of time has passed."
"No, sire," Ayra said. "I know that one who loves his realm as deeply as Heiran does could not bear to be parted from it." She was smiling, helplessly and happily. This was, of course, everything she'd ever wanted. Freedom and adventure, the two things she'd always longed for. The fact that she was getting both along with Jeira, Feran, and even Syrix for company was probably more than she had ever even dreamed of.
Jeira tried very hard not to resent how very happy this was making her friend.
"I grieve for your sacrifice." The king said, nodding to Ayra and smiling, ever so slightly, with one corner of his mouth. Then, he looked at Feran. "And you, Feran? Any requests or sacrifices you wish to make?"
Feran seemed lost and confused, but he visibly gathered himself up when the king addressed him. "No, sire. None at all. I am...honored to have been chosen. I will protect Jeira with my life."
The king nodded, and Jeira wondered if he even saw the deep unhappiness in Feran's eyes. After all, Feran had a family he was leaving behind. He was too young to have a wife or cubs, but he wasn't old enough yet for his parents to be dead. He had three younger sisters, as well, and he would be leaving them all behind to come with her across the world. In all likelihood, he would never see any of them again.
"If you have any goodbyes, the three of you should make them now." The king said. "You will be leaving before midnight."
"We will...what?" Jeira said, the words breaking from her before she could rein them in. The thought of leaving was acceptable, but so soon? How could she? She'd lived here all her life.
Her father looked at that place an inch or so over her shoulder again. "Jeira," he said, "it's important that the Nameless One not realize our plans. You will be leaving here in a matter of hours." He paused. "I suggest," he said, "that you go and pack your things."
"Father," Jeira said, and all the words she'd never said started building up in her throat, started lodging there and burning. She swallowed, hard.
"I will, of course, be there to send you off." His eyes met hers; he seemed unbearably distant. "There's no need to say goodbye yet."
Jeira stared at him, and she knew that, even though they were in a room full of witnesses, this was the closest thing to an intimate goodbye she would be granted. Her father was a good otter and a great king, but he kept his composure religiously, with great care and calculation. Jeira would be kept at paws length so that neither of them embarrassed the other. He would keep her away until she was too far gone to be any threat to his precious self-control.
She searched his eyes, her paws clenching in the fabric of her skirt, and she found a shadow of something dark and deep, a pool of sadness and loneliness that could drown her right now, where she stood, if she strayed too far into its depths. It occurred to her that he only hurt so much because he loved her so deeply, but that was a fool's comfort to begin with, and it only served to make her feel all the worse. She wanted, childishly, to run to him, to wrap her arms tight around his shoulders, bury her face in his neck, and sob like a cub until someone came to pry her away and carry her off, to Redwall, to a strange land, to a life lived in exile.
Instead, she lifted her chin and met his gaze for a moment, trying to keep her face completely composed even as she let some of her emotions show, briefly, in her eyes. Then she swept her gaze to the floor, bowed her head, and dropped into the deepest curtsy she knew. "Sire," she said, because she would break apart into a thousand pieces if she said Father, and she swept out of the room before the first of the tears she could feel burning in her eyes betrayed her.
She did not look back, but, as soon as the door clicked shut behind her, she gathered up her skirts and ran as fast as she could down the hallway, so fast that the tears slipped quickly down her cheeks and off her face, and she could almost fool herself into believing that there were no tears at all.