“Is she alright?” Tariq asked as Marella reappeared.
“She’s fine; just needs some rest,” she replied gently. “It isn’t that she doesn’t trust you, Tariq… it’s more that there’s so much new going on right now that she needs something old—familiar—to keep her in check.”
“I suppose that means that you will be coming with us if Her Highness chooses to leave?” he said calmly.
“Pretty much. Also, she said that she’d explain all of this to you in more detail when she felt more up to it.”
“Alright, then…”
“Tariq… Does Prince Brandr ever… use outside help when he does this sort of thing?” she asked.
“Only in more recent years and when things truly abandon his control,” Tariq explained. “She is a young woman who calls herself Iva Slavica; fascinating young woman, but dangerous. Why do you ask?”
“Just trying to put things together… You know, get a better idea of what we’re facing,” she explained.
“I doubt that he would actually bother her for this, if that is what you are worried about,” he added. “Her Highness has not yet caused him enough trouble.”
“How, exactly, do you propose to get the three of us out of Emerley without being seen, anyway?” Marella asked, seating herself on the counter.
“I was considering getting a friend of mine to come and help. She would be able to give us a head-start if she were willing, though I am uncertain as to how long it might take her to arrive.”
“Who is she? How could she help?”
“Déjà Glaisyer,” Tariq replied with a wide smile. “A shape-shifter and one of my closest friends.”
“Oh…” Marella mumbled. They were both quiet for several minutes. “So what now?”
“I suppose I will try to contact those people whom I think might help us out; make sure that they are available to help, and all. I shall be in the living room if you need my assistance.”
Kylara lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out what had just happened. True, she knew that she would tend to get visions of what was apparently the future as she slept, but she was conscious. What seemed to be the simplest explanation was that the blow she’d taken that morning did something to her; something that granted her visions access to her attention in her waking hours.
She still didn’t know how she’d gotten the visions in the first place, given the distinct lack of magic in the bloodlines on either side of her family. At least… that’s what she’d been told. Knowing the visions would be more persistent than ever, Kylara felt as though she were entirely alone. Oh, that’s not true, she thought. Marella said that she’d help me through this... and Tariq- well, he’s probably going to end up dead on my behalf, isn’t he?
Slowly, Kylara got to her feet and moved to the desk, determined to write down everything she thought that Tariq should know before they decided on the details related to their departure.
Simultaneously, Tariq was preparing the letter he was going to send to his mage friend in the hopes that he might iron out a few details—like whether or not he would have Déjà’s help. The only thing that truly got Déjà on Tariq’s nerves was the fact that she was more difficult to contact than it was to shoot a creature that spends most of its time invisible.
At this point Tariq was simply hoping that she was visiting with the mage. So far, Déjà’s help seemed the only option to safely sneak Princess Kylara out of Weland. Whether the Princess would agree to his proposal once she was feeling well enough to hear it, or not, was a completely different matter.
Once he had the letters prepared, Tariq started opening drawers, closets, cupboards—anything that might have a deep enough shadow for him to use as a postal carrier. Eventually, he found a dark shadow in the cupboard under the bathroom sink and flicked the letters into the darkness.
“What did I ever do before I figured out shadow-post?” he breathed to the pipes.
“What are you doing in here?” Kylara asked behind him. Her tone was more confused and curious than anything else.
“Your- I was contacting a few friends to see if they would be available to help us, should you decide to trust me,” he explained, straightening almost instantly at the sound of her voice. “Are you feeling better?”
“Not particularly,” she replied, leaning against the doorjamb and fiddling with a piece of paper she’d folded in half. “Why do you not call me by my name?”
“It is improp-”
“You have my permission to be informal and certainly improper. Besides, if I am supposed to be lying low as we make our escape, it would not do to have you treating me like royalty,” she pointed out, running the edge of her thumbnail over a crease in the paper she held.
“I take it you have decided to trust me?” he asked, hesitating to smile.
“I decided a long time ago, Tariq,” Kylara sighed. “I decided that when you left the note on my bedside table.”
Tariq furrowed his brow. “Surely you cannot trust so easily?” he murmured.
Kylara indicated the folded paper in her hands. “We need to talk.”
Iva sighed heavily and lounged unceremoniously on the chez in Brandr’s suite. “Seriously, what do I have to kill to get some food, around here?” she asked as the true Brandr stood from his bed.
“I will have some food sent up shortly. You may have Captain Nejem’s meal since he seems to have been caught in this storm as well,” he grumbled.
“You don’t exactly seem concerned about him,” Iva pointed out.
“I know that he can take care of himself. I just wonder why he has failed to return,” Brandr replied as he looked through the thick window at the somehow-still-worsening storm. “There should be plenty of darkness out there for him to find his way back.”
“What’s he been up to since your last widowering?” she asked, examining and chewing on her nails alternately.
“The usual; spending every free moment writing to those friends of his.”
“The ones that don’t like you?” Iva asked with a grin, noting the slightly bitter tone the prince had used.
“Indeed,” he muttered, giving her a sidelong glance. “Killed anyone interesting, lately?”
“You know that I don’t discuss my other clients, Brandr,” she said firmly.
“I did not ask who requested you; I asked who they requested you for.”
“Same thing.”
“Fine,” Brandr sighed, sitting stiffly on the couch opposite the chez. “I suppose I could ask you to track Tariq down…”
“You could, though you’d have to pay me.”
Tariq remained quiet for nearly a full minute after Kylara had stopped talking. “So you can… I mean, you- well, you…”
“See the future and saw you get run through by a fourteen-year-old trying to kill me? Yes,” she said easily. “I also already know that I can trust you without being concerned about betrayal.”
“B-but you just described Iva as the one who… I mean, she would not do that to me-”
“She did not exactly have a choice since you blocked her shot at me at the last moment,” she said, gently touching his shoulder. “If I knew how to change things, I would not see you dead.”
Tariq nodded silently.
“I have to know… does this change anything? I understand if it does, but-”
“Of course not!” he said quickly. “I knew what I was risking when I made my choice to tell you about this. Besides, you said you saw me get run through, not killed.” He flashed her a grin. “Really, you should not be so concerned for my well-being. It will not be the first time I have been run through, and chances are that it will not be the last.”
“This is not news to you?”
“Iva does not care for me much, though I suspect she may enjoy my company more than that of Prince Brandr. She has stabbed me a couple of times, but she does anything and everything she can to coax a sparring match out of anyone.”
“How many injuries have you had that left you bleeding?” Kylara asked in shock.
“I stopped trying to keep track when I was fourteen,” he said, shrugging slightly.
“I did not know a person’s life could be so full of hardship,” she murmured.
“I am not some weak child; whatever hardships I faced when I was young only made me stronger.”
“I did not mean that as an insult, Tariq. It was an observation of how little I know about real people and their lives. Maybe the time I spend with you outside the castle will help me to understand more.”
“I apologize for my abrupt manner… perhaps I am under more stress than usual,” Tariq sighed.
“Hearing of your imminent fatal injury cannot have helped matters along those lines. I apologize,” she said. She looked down at her list of topics to cover with the Captain and sighed as she noted the one thing she had not crossed off. “Tariq-”
Marella cleared her throat from the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt, but this just shot out of the bathroom addressed to you, Tariq,” she said. “Feeling better, Kylara?”
“Slightly,” the princess replied as Tariq looked over the letter.
“Your Highness, if you will excuse me for about an hour, Déjà has agreed to help us on the condition that I go and fetch her.”
“More shadow-walking, then?” she asked. “And I thought I ordered you to call me by my name.”
“Force of habit; my apologies. To answer your question, yes, I will be traveling by shadow. The journey there should take no more than a quarter of an hour or so, but the return journey will take significantly longer;” he said. “It always does when a shadow-walker brings a non-shadow-walker into the byways.”
“Alright. Marella and I will deal with dinner, then,” Kylara said.
“I said I would only take an hour, not six. I will still make dinner,” he replied.
“Surely bringing a non-shadow-walker through the byways takes a toll on your energy?” the princess shrugged. “Given what is to come, should you not rest while you can?”
“I have endurance. As I said, I am going to make dinner,” he said firmly.
“Not unless you start calling me by my name. You have been avoiding it and you know it,” Kylara snapped as Marella excused herself to laugh in the kitchen.
“What kind of a demand is that?” Tariq laughed.
“I would think that you could see that it is a very simple one, but apparently it is more difficult for you than surviving a battle.”
“Excuse me?”
“You call Marella by her name, why not me?”
“Marella does not have-”
“And Iva!”
“They don’t have titles,” he muttered.
“You call Brandr by his name, then!”
“Only with his appropriate title. Must this debate continue?” he asked tiredly.
“Yes, it must.”
“Could we at least postpone it until after I return?” he sighed in defeat.
“If you insist,” she groused, crossing her arms. “But you have to start calling me by my name sooner or later.”
Aveline stormed into her husband’s office and slammed the door behind her. For the first time in far too long, the fog that invaded her mind was gone. Her husband’s voice was no longer a siren’s song and everything he had put Kylara through on her watch boiled her blood. She had managed to stay away from him since the previous evening and was horrified to discover that her daughter and only heir had managed to leave the grounds early in the day – before this accursed blizzard had set in.
“Where is my daughter?” she demanded.
“What do you mean, my sweet? Kylara is in the castle somewhere; we restricted her whereabouts yesterday,” Dian replied calmly, moving to the sideboard to fix his wife a drink.
“‘We’ did not. That was all you. I have had the guards searching for her since this morning, so where is she?” she barked.
“That is troublesome. Why don’t you have a drink and we can think of the next step?” he offered sweetly, pulling a small vile from inside his robes and emptying its contents into the goblet.
The queen glared at him as he approached. “I want my daughter to be safe, Dian, I do not want a drink,” she yelled, knocking the offered goblet from her husband’s hand.
Dian ground his teeth. “That was uncalled for.”
“You listen to me, Dian: if my daughter is not returned to me safely first thing tomorrow morning, I am divorcing you.”
“But my pet, what does our relationship have to do with Kylara’s return?” he asked, paling in mere seconds.
“Don’t play games with me, Dian. Don’t you think I know your opinion on my daughter? You’ve been showing less and less concern for her over the past months—not that you cared for her much to begin with—and you’ve been doing all you can to make her miserable since her last birthday. I am not an idiot,” Aveline hissed.
“I would never say you were, my love—”
“Eight o’clock tomorrow morning, Dian. If she is not safely in my arms, you will no longer be King of Weland. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” he replied, his pallor fading into simmering rage.
“Shouldn’t he be back by now?” Marella asked, glancing at the bathroom door.
“He’ll be back soon; he couldn’t have given us a completely accurate timeline,” Kylara sighed, crouching to stoke the fire. “Relax, would you?”
“What if he changed his mind about helping you after hearing of his impending doom?” the blonde asked. “Why did you even tell him about that?”
“Because he deserved to know what was going to happen to him if he continued in this endeavor. He should have the opportunity to change his mind,” the princess replied, getting back to her feet.
“No one wants to hear that they’re going to die, Kylara.”
“I never said that he was going to die.”
“Well, what exactly would you expect to happen after someone gets run through? You scared him off! That’s why he hasn’t come back, yet.”
“He’ll be back, Marella, calm down,” Kylara snapped. “Tariq would not just abandon us after risking his life to tell us what was really going on.”
“You don’t know that—”
“Yes, actually, I do. Tariq will be back as soon as he can. Now stop making pointless accusations.”
“Looks like Tariq was right about you,” Marella said, leaning casually against the wall. “You really do trust him.”
“And you are not really Marella,” Kylara sighed. “I should have figured this might happen. You must be Déjà.”
“And smart just like he said, too. He’s working on dinner and Marella is telling him where everything is,” Déjà explained as her usual appearance melted over Marella’s features.
The straight, platinum tresses darkened and twisted until her hair was a mass of semi-unkempt black curls. Her skin darkened several shades and her eyes shifted from sea-glass green to a sparkling hazel. Marella’s petite body morphed into a very curvy, though slightly shorter form.
“I understand that you have something of a pest problem that you’d like to escape?” Déjà asked as timber of her voice deepened and an accent edged her speech.
“Prince Brandr by name—as well as my father, of course,” Kylara replied, doing her best to hide how impressed she was with the shifter now sitting in one of the two armchairs.
“This’ll definitely be interesting,” Déjà muttered, examining her nails.
“If I might ask… how do you know Tariq?” Kylara asked. “From what I understand, he does not, exactly, have a whole lot of time for personal relationships, platonic or otherwise.”
“Maybe I’ll tell you that story, sometime, Princess,” Déjà sighed. “It’s a little soon for such personal questions.”
“Fair enough,” Kylara replied.
“Can’t say I blame you for being curious about it, though,” the shifter added.
“I suppose…”
“Anyway, Tariq said that he wanted to see you once you figured it out.”
“Oh,” Kylara said, moving to the kitchen door. She glanced back at Déjà and saw the shifter’s first attempt to sound like the Wellian Princess. “So, are you ready to continue our little debate?” she asked upon entering the kitchen.
“What debate?” Tariq asked with an exhausted smirk.
“Are you sure you want to handle dinner? You look like you haven’t slept,” Kylara pointed out.
“I am perfectly fine,” he replied. “Where do you keep your spoons?”
“First drawer on the left,” Marella said, looking over a map at the table.
“Tariq, really, you look like you need to rest; let me take care of that,” the princess persisted.
“I told you that I am fine,” he replied, shoving the wooden spoon he’d found into the pot for a taste check.
“Have you looked in the mirror?” Kylara asked.
“Déjà, come in here, please—I need another set of taste buds,” Tariq called toward the living room.
“What are you making?” Déjà asked, poking her head—which was nearly identical to Kylara’s—into the kitchen.
“Last time I checked, it was something you liked,” he replied, fishing out some of the meaty red sauce and offering it to her.
“Oh!” Déjà brightened and returned to her face of choice. “Needs more pepper and oregano. Need any help?”
“Sure-” Tariq started with a nod.
Kylara stared at him. “What?! I just offered to-”
“I should probably have mentioned that he’s basically ignoring any conflict with you,” Déjà said, moving to help him. “If you ask me, he’s being a bit immature.”
Tariq shot her a warning glare. “Noodles. Now.”
“Okay, okay, Mr. Bossy-Booty; calm down,” Déjà laughed.
“You are ignoring any conflict with me?” Kylara asked, stepping closer to Tariq’s side.
“Of course not,” he replied instantly, fixing his eyes on the bubbling sauce he was working on.
“If you were telling me the truth, you would be willing to look me in the eye,” she whispered.
“I am making sure this sauce is done correctly,” he replied coolly. “You will have to adjust to my cooking fairly quickly, so I would rather not botch my first meal for you.”
“Who says that you have to be the one to cook every night?” Kylara burst. “I am perfectly capable of making meals, even if they are simple.”
“Then, at least, you could allow me to finish making dinner,” he replied. “Just this once.”
“Then at least let me set the table,” she muttered, growing frustrated with him, rather quickly.
“Alright,” Tariq said, handing her the spoon so that she could taste the sauce.
Kylara looked around the kitchen table. The only truly familiar face sat directly across from her. Déjà sat—rather animatedly—on Kylara’s left, threatening to tell several embarrassing stories about Tariq, who sat on the Princess’s right.
“Déjà, no,” Tariq said firmly, though there was a smile lingering on his face. “They do not need to know about the Particulars Incident.”
“Oh, but Tariq, now we’re interested,” Marella pointed out. “Go on, Déjà, tell us that story.”
“Okay, so it was only the second or third time I had ever spent time with Tariq,” she started.
“You do realize that you are about to obliterate any sense of credibility that I have managed to give, today, right?” Tariq asked.
“Shush,” Kylara sighed, patting Tariq’s am gently. “It is rude to interrupt.”
“Thank you. So anyway, Harris had just been telling me how determined Tariq was to follow orders. I, of course, had to test this. So—”
“So she decided to make herself look like the woman she was working for at the time and ordered me to do as much as she could before I figured out what was happening,” Tariq finished quickly. “Marella, I do not believe that you have told Déjà how you became friends with a royal.”
“Nor have we heard a decent telling of this Particulars Incident,” Marella interjected.
“Yes, so what sort of things would you order him to do?” Kylara asked.
“Oh, so much,” Déjà laughed. “If ever you need it, he’s really good with foot rubs and running errands. In his defense, though, he’s a very honorable man and downright refused to do anything that might even remotely compromise my boss’s honor.”
“Good to know,” Kylara sighed, grinning at Tariq momentarily. “Who were you working for at the time?”
“Grand Duchess Carolanne of Vàclav,” Déjà replied with a shrug. “Her husband’s brother was threatening her life, so I was asked to step in as a decoy.”
“Ha! You were not ‘asked’ to step in, Déjà. It was your sentence for impersonating her in the first place,” Tariq interrupted, somewhat sour now that his subservient nature had been exposed.
“Sentence?” Kylara asked, looking from Tariq to Déjà.
“Yeah; I was a thief due to intolerance for my kind. No one seems to trust a Shape Shifter as an employee… something about being unreliable, I think,” Déjà explained.
“Did the Grand Duchess survive?” Marella asked.
“She was eighty-six at the time, but she was alive and kicking when I was released from her service. Not really sure what’s become of her, since.”
“She passed six months ago,” Tariq said. “We doubt poison or trauma was her end, since she had such an advanced age at her death.”
“She was a nice woman; I’d hate for her to have been murdered,” Déjà said quietly.
“She was ninety-seven, was she not?” Kylara asked. “My father forbade me from attending funerals of other Royals.”
“I believe that was her age,” Tariq murmured.
“So you and Déjà have known each other for eleven years?” Marella asked. “How old were you?”
“Is that really appropriate?” he responded.
“Well, I was thirteen,” Déjà said. “That would’ve made Tariq eleven or twelve, I think.”
“You’re older?” Kylara asked. “I mean, you seem…”
“Young?” Déjà asked. “Shape Shifters age slowly compared to standard humans. We also react differently to certain magics like the kind Tariq was born wi-”
“That’s enough, Déjà,” Tariq snapped. The warmth vanished from his voice and left cold stone in its wake.
“What? They’ll know eventually, anyway; you may as well tell them, yourself.”
“Not yet,” he growled.
“So… what? You want them to find out when you ‘fall ill’? I’m not stupid, Tariq, I know it’s coming up. Brandr hasn’t been at war for the past four years, which means that you haven’t gotten past the point of ‘illness’ yet.”
“I will tell them when it becomes appropriate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Until you make your reasoning perfectly clear, no, you don’t,” Déjà replied calmly. “I hope you remember that I’m older than you, and that I’ve seen more of this world than you have. Abilities like yours are an asset, whether you believe me or not. And, yes, I do include the darker aspects in that statement.”
“Don’t tell them anything, Déjà. Nothing,” Tariq growled, leaning across the table and looking more ferocious and angry than even Déjà had seen him.
“Tariq, wait,” Kylara said as he moved toward the door into the living room. He acted as though he hadn’t heard her and continued through. “Tariq, stop,” she added as she joined him. “What are you doing?”
“Going for a walk,” he replied shortly, reaching for his cloak still strewn on the couch.
“What? You can’t,” she burst.
“I am perfectly capable of doing so,” he said slowly.
“That is not what I meant, and you know it,” she murmured, touching his shoulder. “You are exhausted, so you should not go through the Byways, and I refuse to allow you to go out in this blizzard.”
“With all due respect, that is not your decision to make.”
“I am making it my decision. I order you to remain in this house until you have rested,” the princess snapped.
“Just leave me alone,” he barked, pushing her hand away. “I thought you did not like giving orders. Besides, the last time I checked, you were not my commanding officer.”
“What is going on with you?” Kylara asked, seizing his hand.
He looked away from her and said nothing.
“Tariq, you’re not very good at hiding your emotions.”
“Don’t you dare give me that. You don’t know me,” he growled.
“And whose fault is that?” Kylara snapped right back.
“You want to know me? Fine. I told you that I lost my mother and sister when I was a child; that I lost my father shortly afterward.”
“Yes, but what-”
“It was my fault,” he hissed. “My mother and sister died because of me, and I was too afraid of myself to save my father.”
“I’m sure that’s not true; lots of children blame themselves for things that weren’t their fault.”
“No, it was my fault. I was the one who killed my family because of what Déjà is talking about. Do you understand that?” he shouted.
“You won’t give me coherent details, so how can I?” she shouted back. She took a deep breath and tried to make him look at her. “Please, Tariq… don’t do something foolish. Stay here.”
“You could die if I stay with you,” he pointed out.
“And I will die if I stay in Emerley,” she replied. “Between the two options at hand, I think I would rather take the possibility of survival. In order to survive, I need you to get me out of here.”
Finally, Tariq looked at her. “Why? Why do you trust me?” he whispered.
“Because I’ve seen what you do to keep me safe. I have to get out of here,” she replied, taking the cloak from his hands. “Stay.”
“As you wish,” he sighed thinly.
“Thank you,” Kylara said, stepping closer and briefly kissing his cheek. “If you want, I can show you to Riley’s room so you can relax; recover a bit.”
“Sure,” he murmured, trying to figure out what had just happened. “That, uh… sounds ideal.”
“Just follow me,” she said, leading him into the hall.