Author's Note: Well, I have finally gotten back to my old 3-page-a-day self, and it only took a sheet of paper, a notebook, four novels, two fan-fics, one self-help book, music, a dictionary, a thesaurus, a cheapo mechanical .7 mm pencil, and a lot of elbow grease to do so. I hope it is up to my usual par, and that everyone is enjoying the story so far. Major thanks goes out to Mystic's Apprentice for all her reviews.

The Bonds of Fate Chapter 7: Tears

Some fools dare say laughter is better than sadness, and I for one doubt their words. Hearts purify through sorrow and are murked by mirth. Wisdom is not gathered by laughing one's troubles away but through understanding all the contexts of the matter. Friendship is not bound by laughter but through the most intimate forms of communication, grief and consolation. No, I do not trust the words of those who laugh at all, but put my faith in those with deeper insight on humanity.

—Soleh, Mayor of Alhafra

The party at the Graven estate was luxurious, to say the least. So much food was laid out for the small number of members attending the soirée, and the manor was decorated so elegantly that one of the guests praised it to be at par with the Hall of the Heavens, the sacred house of the deities. The Gravens smiled, enjoying the compliment. The Perrot boy smiled. The Ropierres smiled. The Westoses smiled. Even Irina Rind smiled.

Avdotya smiled too, retaining the mien of composure, finesse, and nobility that she and her mother wore as they dined. The masque of civility was loathsome to wield. If the decision were left to her, she would have let the evening go to the pigs and removed the collective attitude of haughtiness, but since it was not the only option was to play along, however distasteful as it was.

What made matters worse was that the Perrot boy across the table kept smiling at her between sipping enervated wine and chewing roast goose over the course of the meal. He was a young man only a few years older than she was, in a rich suit decorated with small stones pocketed in the fabric of his sleeves and travelling down his chest, but the way he looked at her was similar to a starving dog eying candied meat. Wide eyes attempted to meet her gaze over pudgy cheeks and an upturned nose, and his smile was shifty and lascivious. Never did she fear a visage more than his.

Unable to keep her nerves in place for the full length of the meal, Avdotya excused herself from the table, but when he tried to do the same shortly afterward she quickly sat back down. The young man was not going to leave her alone, it seemed, and she might as well stay in the sight of company rather than risk being alone with an ogler.

Some chuckles arose from around the table, including from her own mother, but Raye, the younger daughter of the hosting family and perhaps the vainest at the table, clucked her tongue and briskly turned her head. Avvie wondered if the affront was targeted towards her or the Perrot, but she did not appreciate it very much either way.

Av hardly touched her food as the meal continued in its festive manner. Sometimes one stiff commented on how pretty a dress is or how fancy someone looked behind brass buttons, and some other rich body detailed rigorously how delectable the veal balls in honey glaze were, followed it up by the need of a recipe exchange. Only rarely did she look up from the table to witness them. Her mind was carried too far away from extravagant merriment for that.

She thought back to what had happened between Wolfe and her earlier that day, about how cutting the final words she had spoken to him were. He deserved every drop of her anger for training so hard behind her back, but she wondered how he would handle her response. Would he take it to heart or would it push him to delve deeper into his training, injuring himself in the process and breaking her heart further? Ever the pessimist, she worried that it was the latter.

"Is everything all right?" she heard from her mother to her left, drawing her from her trance.

"Hmm? Oh . . . yes, I am fine," Avdotya responded, the fake, courteous simper reemerging from her lips. "I'm just worried about the math and lady tests Master Rhado had me do before he was sick."

Irina appeared to take the bait and smiled warmly back at her daughter.

"I am sure that everything is fine, my egg. You always do so well in your studies," she said, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her into a loose hug, and continuing her conversation with the Ropierre lord and lady further down the table.

Half an hour of feigning attention to praise had passed before the festivities had been announced by the host and hostess, and the dinner and desert dishes were quickly displaced for an evening in the courtyard. Lanterns were lit across multiple tables set for two and seldom three, and in some choice areas in the spacious gardens to the north were more still, displaying a close-cut lawn, fruit-bearing trees, and perfect hedge growths. It must have taken three dozen workers to lay the entire garden into such order, Avvie had thought as she ventured to the balcony, but she informed herself later on that she never had the head for such calculations.

Once again the haughtiness of flaunting the choice estate was revealing itself, but she decided to look past it and into merely the scenery. In the distance beyond the crabapple and damson trees she could find an attractive view of the distant ocean, waves sending paper-thin shimmers of moonlight toward the raised court. The sky took upon itself the hue of a blackening sapphire, the grass of cut green geode, and the ocean a shimmering cobalt sea.

"Beautiful . . ." she heard herself say, a true smile touching her lips for the first time for the whole party. She had never been out on the Graven's court at night when she and her mother had been invited the last time, and now that she had she wished the sight to never leave her memory.

"Yes, beautiful," added a husky voice from nearby, "but not nearly as beautiful as the one I see before me."

Avdotya gasped to realise that the Perrot boy had been standing next to her, grinning like before. For how long and for what purpose, she did not know, but she was not going to remain and find out. To her distress, a hand clasped one of her own as they fled the bannister, palming her fingers to trade warmth in the cooling air. Her cheeks flushed with blood.

"Myron, you let go of me this instant!" she snapped.

The young man offered no resistance, and she pulled herself free of his clutch effortlessly, but his smile twisted into a pouting expression.

"Oh, come now, can't a man hold his betrothed's hand in public?"

"First, I am not your betrothed, and second, certainly not without her permission!"

"Well, can I at least say that you are beautiful?" Myron pleaded.

Av hesitated in delivering a spiteful remark, even though she desired nothing more than to tell him to jump off a dike headfirst. He was the first in a while outside of the family to mention such a thing. Sure, she had put on what she considered as kilos of makeup on her face and wore an elegant sarafan with silken lampas overlay, all courtesy of her mother, so she must have been beautiful in accordance to the rich's taste, but the compliment was so rare she savoured the thought.

"I suppose you can . . ." she responded quietly, turning her head toward the party. Some of the guests were watching them, studying them, probably even placing bets on them. How she hated their behaviour.

"If so, can we discuss something over a table? Standing and talking is unnecessary."

Before she could voice an opinion on the matter, Myron walked off to the closest empty set of chairs and seated himself. She followed, if only because of courtesy, and placed herself opposing him with her gaze fallen to her lap.

"I was curious," began the Perrot, "about the status of your upcoming coming-of-age ceremony within the next eight days. First, I can only say that congratulations are in order for approaching the zenith between childhood and adulthood. The springtime of your youth is past, and a new season lies ahead, which is what I wished to speak of the more. I would like nothing more than to claim your dainty hand in marriage so that we may conquer both summertimes together. Consider it my birthday present to you, a forever-long bond that will play the benefactor and keep us merry for the entire length of our existence."

Avdotya felt her hands grow clammy under the table. She wondered how long he pondered this or even how long it took him to commit the speech to memory. She had seen this coming from his glazed stare across the long banquet table inside, but something seemed off, as if the words were placed within his mouth by another. Her eyes darted to the left, to the right, and then back down. She had to speak this correctly.

"Myron . . . I appreciate the offer, but what I desire is more than praise and sugared words."

The young man smirked and toyed with one of the tourmaline gems in his sleeve.

"Is that so? Then perhaps you should see me in a more passionate position, if you get my meaning. I'm a gifted kisser, and—"

"That is far enough, Myron Perrot," she spoke scornfully, reproach in every word. "What I desire more in a man is not the flames and ardour of romance, but trust. Outside of the noble houses, I do not know you, and inside I cannot get but a glimpse of your true self. How can I love someone I could not know?"

"I can promise you that you can get to know me once we get married," he whispered over the table, extending his arm and placing his palm in the centre of the circular table. "What do you say to that, my sweet? I've eyes on no other than you."

"What I say to that is that I'll think about it shortly after you dive into an abyss, if you can do anything but float when dropped in the water, that is."

Myron frowned and looked around, licking the thin lips that so oddly accompanied his fat features. It was the closest thing to getting livid that Avvie had seen from him.

"I'll pretend that I did not hear that," he grumbled lowly, "and forgive you if you take my hand right now. My offer still stands, and I promise you this: you will find no better offer on every of these islands. I am heir to the most prosperous family in all of Palmaria, after all."

"Stuff those words in your windpipe and keep them there! I hope you choke on them!" Avdotya countered, her brows furrowed. "What do you think I care about wealth and offers? Of sly deals and trinkets? These are not the words of trust but rather those of a fool whose desires involve only lust."

Flames burned within the young man's eyes, and he threw the table over after ascending, leaving only air between them. Silverware, glassware, and lantern alike fell to the ground, clanging and shattering on impact. The sound of conversation ceased, and after all was done only the crickets in the field beyond shattered the silence.

Myron did not speak, staring dead into Avvie's surprised gaze before walking off in a storm of rage. The small crowd parted to let him pass, some in shock of what had happened, others like her mother frowning, and Raye Graven as the only one with a flagrant ear-to-ear grin. For a girl just a few months younger than she, the woman was certainly a youthful witch to enjoy the scene, probably craving Myron's attention and wantonly desirous to sell herself for riches and prestige. Raye disappeared beyond the crowd, confirming her suspicion.

Avvie felt her fear recede with every footstep that the Perrot youth had taken away from her. She thought that he was going to strike her cheek with such fierceness in his sight, but if that happened she would surely have responded by snapping the nose back into proper shape for him with her bare fists. As she left her seat and walked off, she grinned at the imaginative blow and stared out at the gardens once more, never minding the stares that burrowed into her back.

At length the party resumed, and valets cleaned up the mess from the upturned table momentarily. Avdotya did not desire to cast a glance back from her seat at the steps. She knew what was happening and she did not dare risk locking eyes with the pig of a Perrot another time, and as such she kept herself focused on the landscape, the only physical piece of solace she could find.

It took the soft sounds of swivelling cloth behind her to cull her attention, and she twisted around on her rump to find Irina looking down from the topmost step, a motherly and nervous expression scribbled over her face.

"Hey, hon-bun. Mind if I sit with you?" Irina asked, offering a faint smile.

Avdotya made an indeterminate face, nodded, and turned away, allowing her mother to seat herself nearby.

"Listen . . ." Irina continued quietly, leaning forward in an attempt to make eye contact, but Av continued to avert her head. "I know your feelings on the whole marriage thing have not come around to see its importance, but you have to trust the fact that this is a custom, passed on for more than thirty generations. It has never done our community a speck of wrong, and it never will."

"Mum, it wasn't that which set me off . . . it was him. Did you not hear our conversation?"

"Many of us heard you finish up, love."

"Then how are we not in agreement?" Avdotya queried, a twang of anger in her voice as she faced her mother. "He's a Romeo and a rich scamp! I am nothing more than a tool to be used in his eyes, and you say that you listened in on our chat, so you must know what services I would perform if so!"

Her mother pursed her lips and nodded, saying in a slow and cautious voice: "We women have our roles to play, as do men. It is life's cycle to be—"

"Subservient to a man who one does not love?"

"You can learn to love him eventually. It just takes time."

"Just like you and Father?"

Irina's mouth and expressions fluxed considerably, sometimes revealing anger, and other times a sense of dread. Av knew the answer before it was spoken.

"Yes . . . just like us, poppet . . ." her mother spoke gently, to which Avdotya turned her head away and closed her eyes in a futile attempt to shut out the world. "I too wasn't fond of the thought when my eighteenth birthday neared, and once the day had come your father and I were paired together. We fought often and argued often, so he did not exactly sweep me off my feet, but looking back at what I have gained through our union I cannot help but feel appreciative." Avdotya felt a reassuring pat on her leg. "You will too when you have your first child."

"I will never appreciate a forced marriage," Avvie countered through sniffles, tears brimming with rage leaving a steaming trail across her cheeks, "especially with a suitor that's been chosen for me!"

She did not bother to dry her eyes or glance over to her mother to recognise that she was staring at her, recurrence and woman's intuition each playing a part in her understanding. She did not want to cry, nor did she expect to cry, but she could not prevent herself from doing so.

"How did you know about that?" Irina questioned in a low whisper.

"Myron's not eloquent enough to propose like that. He's as dumb as driftwood and stumbles on words. Besides, he would never have come without his dear old pop unless there was something important that needed to be done. Someone must have told him I was of marriageable age and helped him along, namely you or Father."

"Ah . . . you saw through that already, huh?"

"I had more than half an hour to think about it," the daughter responded, wiping the tears from her face with the underside of the now-loosened lampas overlay.

"I see. You are a clever girl, my egg. You get that from your mother's side," Irina commented before a soft smile touched her mouth.

Avdotya mirrored her for but a moment before she dropped it and stared out into the midnight sky, noting a flash of red not previously there in the distance.

"Mom?" she uttered curiously.

"Yes, pet? What is it?"

"Do you know what that is?" she asked, pointing deep into the night and past the sea.

Both stared on, finding a candescent light flashing to life and tearing a hole into the forming darkness. High in the star-spackled sky did it stay, looming atop the second largest island within the archipelago like a residing vulture. Av knew that island all too well, having lived there her entire life.

"A Beacon is lit . . ." her mother voiced with such chill that Avvie looked over to her.

"Is that bad?"

"That would depend on how many lights there are, my dear. Can you tell how many? My eyes are not so young anymore."

She squinted into the night in an attempt to pick apart the flames burning so high from the sea, but she shook her head.

"I can only see one. What does this mean, Mother?"

Irina breathed out a sigh of relief, but her mouth fluxed still. A shadow had passed over her visage as she looked back up into the onyx sky.

"Mother, are you all right?" Avdotya questioned worriedly. "Mom, what does it mean?"

"Not now, love. I will tell you on the way. Go say goodbye to your friends. We are leaving in ten minutes."

When the two arrived back at the manor, the poor girl was wreathed in confusion. On the boat ride back, her mother had told the purpose of the Beacons, also informing her that the three torches on each isle were of varying degrees. When one was lit, it meant that an offence worthy of alarm was perpetrated and that a search was warranted on the isle. When two were lit, a more serious offence had been committed, and that all the isles were to answer the call and search. When all three were lit, a conflict between nations had been confirmed on one or more of the isles, and the entire archipelago was to respond with war.

What made things worse was that Irina said nothing more, no matter how much Avdotya pleaded. She even tried to ask the aged oarsman for further information, but the man shook his head saying that he did not remember much from those days and it has been so long since they were lit. She stayed silent for the rest of the journey, on sea and on land. Evidently it was many a year since even a single beacon had been lit.

Once the two had descended, Avdotya thanked the driver of the coach with a smile and a compliment, and he returned it with a meek thank-you as always before trotting down the road back toward town. She enjoyed the man's company, if only because he rarely had anyone else to talk to, but for some reason her brother had never liked it, saying that the man gave him the jitters. The thought struck her silent and glum again, and she started down the walkway with cold colours flashing across her face.

Her mother followed silently, looming close at all times and constantly looking to Av as if looking for something to reassure her. She could not understand it. Before solid land was underfoot once more she seemed so calm and passive, but now she clung to her like a goose with her gosling. She wondered whether there was really anything to fear, as the fire above the isle had been quenched a little more than half an hour ago. Surely the search had ended, whether it was a criminal or simply some poor soul that ran off in the night. The Knights of Palmaria, though few in number, were very efficient in whatever manner they are informed about, or so her father had told her.

Avdotya pulled the leftmost door to the manor open for her mother, who merely smiled in wordless thanks before her skin whitened. The girl questioned as to why before she paled as well, the scent of blood offended her nostrils.

Her eyes shot open as fear overtook her. Did something happen here in the manor? Did some offender break into their house and spill blood? She silently prayed that her father who she had left behind for the party was safe and unharmed and for her brother as well, and without a second notion she ran inside.

"Avdotya! Don't go! It's too dangerous!" she heard from behind her, but she ignored her mother's requests. The lanterns along the twin stairwells on one side of the entry beckoned her to head upstairs, and upstairs she went.

The scent of blood saturated the air, and as she progressed further up the staircase she felt a cold wetness touch her hands while sliding it across the railing. A chill struck her as she stared down onto her hand, but she only quickened her pace knowing that blood was on it. Someone was bleeding. Someone was injured and ventured up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs the blood trail ceased to exist, but when a pair of footsteps lined with dried dirt led further down the hall she carefully followed it. Scenarios embellished by fear drifted through her mind so fast she had a difficult time seeing anything else than the death of one or both members of her family. Wolfe with a knife lodged in his chest, her father with a grisly slash to his hand, her father dead and Wolfe fleeing upstairs only to get killed as well—she feared it all and shook tears from her eyes.

"You must be alive!" she tried to call out, only to have most of the words remain in her throat. "You must!"

A thin stream of hidden light flickered through her parent's door, swiftly attracting her attention towards it. Red stains taking the form of a hand were on the knob, so whoever was wounded or bloody had certainly entered it, or perhaps even remained inside. She slowly approached the door, her heart pounding in her chest, and with eyes wide with anticipation she reached for the metal knob.

Fear held her in check, her hand only centimetres away from the reddened handle. She feared the sight. She feared blood, though she had seen her own spilled too many times to count. Fear overruled everything before she poured every ounce of vigor into moving. Her hand moved, the knob turned, and the door creaked open.

A stocky man in Knight's armour rose from his seat near the bed on the opposite side of the portal, sword-arm trained on his blade. His steely glance locked onto Avdotya and struck her like a wall of brick. She felt herself moving backwards, terror overtaking her. Did a Knight slay her brother and father, and was now about to murder her as well? She let out a short, fearful cry and stretched an arm out defensively.

"Who are you? Speak up!" the Knight questioned gruffly, a third of his winged rapier pulled from his scabbard and shimmering in the golden light of the room. Avdotya felt herself unable to answer, and the man advanced.

"Stand down! That's my daughter you're talking to! Agh!" rasped a voice from deeper within, one that she recognised immediately and loosened her tongue.

"Father? Father!" she shouted, jumping through the portal once the Knight stepped out of the way and approaching the bedside.

Maurus was there, his body stretched out on half of the bed with his head propped upright by a pillow. His rounded chest lay exposed, revealing cuts from many angles that bled through the bonded bandages covering them, and even his face was marked up with finer slashes. The most prominent injury, however, was the enormous bruise in the middle of his chest, spanning so widely that it sprawled beyond the pectorals.

"By the divines . . . what has happened to you . . . ?" she asked, failing to stop tears from forming once again.

"Your succubus-spawn of a step-brother, that's what happened!" Maurus shouted before roaring in pain, a small rivulet of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth from biting down on his tongue.

Avdotya could not believe her ears. Wolfe could not have done this much damage, right? But then again, he was an Adept, and Adepts had dangerous and almost limitless potential, as she had gathered from her lessons. She swallowed hard and peered up from his wounds. She had to make certain, and locked her knowledge of Wolfe's Adepthood away from her speech.

"That's . . . impossible, isn't it? Wolfe would never do this to you, nor could he. He—"

"Daughter, I saw it right in front of my eyes, his murderous intent! He meant to kill me like he did his little friend—agh!" He cut himself off, clutching the right side of his chest. A long bloodied bandage the length of two hand spans shifted a deeper shade of crimson.

"My captain, you must relax, or more wounds will open up," the Knight from before commented worriedly, walking to the other side of the room for another bandage. Under his breath could be heard a light curse toward the Great Healer for taking so long.

"You'd think I wouldn't know that, would you, Heath?" Maurus responded with a grimace. "I've seen more of my blood than you have yours, dotard, so don't try and play a wise man!"

The armoured individual said nothing, merely nodding and reapplying a bandage. The devotion the man had towards her father must have been great.

Avdotya was lost in reflection from what she had heard. Wolfe had never physically attacked anyone before, but she wondered if it were true that he had killed Isha and assaulted her father. If this were all truth, then did she ever really know him? He kept secret his terrifying control of the wind, so maybe, just maybe, he had lied about everything else too.

"No . . ." she voiced, backing up against the nearby wall and attempting to cling to it with her fingernails. The world started to spin in her tear-blurred gaze, her chest heaved in mixed breath, and her knees threatened to give. "No! I could not nor would not believe that . . . my brother would never do such things!"

"Open your eyes, daughter!" the father snarled, propping himself up with an arm to cast a glare toward her. "He hid his Adepthood, he murdered his little friend, and he tried to murder me! He's beyond all—grach!"

"Easy, captain!" Heath commanded as he applied pressure to the wounded man's shoulder. Maurus resisted being pushed down at first, but over time he conceded and lowered himself back to the pillow.

"He's beyond all hope, Avdotya," Maurus continued, blood seeping from his mouth when he forgot to swallow. "When next I see him, I do not care if he is living or dead. I'll carve out his very heart and squelch it under my boot." He craned his head up to eye his daughter, the foulest of scowls smeared across his face. "He is not your brother anymore. He's a renegade, doomed to die with a knife in his back."

Each word sank so deeply into the girl that it penetrated her very soul. All bravery routed, she blindly fled towards the door before toppling into her mother just outside the portal.

There they stood, mother and daughter, one trying to embrace and whisper worthless words of comfort in an ear while the other sobbed into her chest. No amount of console could keep her in place for long. Av broke away from her mother's arms, ran down the hall, and slammed the door to her room closed, burying her face so deeply into a decorative pillow that all the world drowned in silence. No one dared disturb her for the remainder of the night.