NOTICE: UNFINISHED AND AS OF NOW WILL PROBABLY NOT BE FINISHED EVER
Aceria is a corrupt land, under the rule of a tyrannical King, and Fyra, a thief who is more than she seems, has seen the kingdom's suffering firsthand. She has wandered the impove...
Guard duty was ridiculously boring. Athan stood with his back to the wall, staring ahead in a halfhearted attempt to appear alert. He didn't understand why the door to his left even required a guard, but he knew better than to question orders.
The problem with boredom was that it led to a spiral of thought that dug up memories he would have rather kept buried. When he was around the other soldiers, it was as if he were a completely different person, free from the mistakes he had made in the past. But when he stood alone, with no one else in sight, the memory one person overtook his thoughts.
Eyes that were sharper than knives, greener than grass. Eyes that softened before she laughed, that lost their steel when they thought no one saw. Eyes that were weary, holding a constant shadow she tried to hide. Eyes that had once looked at him with trust. He never thought that those eyes would fill with tears because of him.
Her hair was fire, flickering and changing as the light of the sun shone on it. Her freckles were stars scattered across her skin. She was beautiful, and she knew it, though she was never vain. As clever as a fox, but as stubborn as a mule. He never thought her stubbornness would keep her from forgiving him, but after seeing the tears and the anger and the pain, he was sure it would.
Athan looked up, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to block the flood of memories that entrapped him when he thought of her. Each detail of her face was seared into his mind with the most brutal clarity, and the thought of seeing her again made his heart both sing and sink.
He had disappeared when he knew another loss would break her; she had been arrested as a result of his carelessness. Suppressing waves of guilt only worked so well when they wouldn't stop coming.
His mind kept driving back to the day he had first met her in that cellar, a scared girl trying to get a few scraps of food. He had never seen another person look so frail and so strong as she had in that moment. She was thin as a rail, her skin hugging her bones and her eyes hollow and hungry. But behind the panic and the loss and the fear was a strength in her stance and piercing gaze that made him pause.
She was more than she seemed. She had secrets she hadn't told him, but he never pushed her, even when his curiously nearly drove him insane. She wouldn't burden him with the tales of her losses, though he could see that she had seen much sadness. He wanted to take some of her burden, but it was her nature to bear it all until she collapsed. Even after she was crushed under the weight of pain and secrecy, Athan was sure she would breathe only for a moment before fighting with all she had to get back on her feet.
Even after the time his shift had ticked away, memories haunted his dreams, whispering that she would never forgive or forget.
That when he saw her next he wouldn't be able to bear her reaction.
•••
Instead of shutting himself in his room as he had considered, Cirian sought to distract himself by making an effort to reach out to Isabella. When they found moments of privacy, Isabella spoke of the magic that flourished in the shadows. Her personal connection with magic was evident, for when she spoke of it, the shadows in her eyes cried out for times long past.
When she told him tales of runes and magic, Cirian refrained himself from asking the question that was always hovering in the back of his mind: what had happened to her magic? He had seen the scar that cut through the marks on her arm. Jagged ink fragments that were once a conduit for the channeling of magical energy, all staring up at him with accusation in their pigment.
It still surprised him that he had lived under the same roof as his stepmother for so many years without realizing her true nature. It was his lack of willingness to accept her as a mother that had prevented their relationship. He had come to realize that blood wasn't everything. Though his blood mother had a place in his heart, the scarce memory of her wasn't comparable to what he felt like with Isabella. She was more of a parent than his father had ever tried to be. For once in his life, someone was looking out for him and his best interests.
In week since the ball, Cirian's worry for Fyra had only grown. It was as if his worry was eating him away from the inside, and eventually the outer shell that smiled and attended court would crack under all the pressure. Her tried to shove thoughts of her into the back of his mind, reassuring himself that Isabella had ensured her safety. He hadn't questioned his stepmother any further on Fyra's well being, because whenever he approached the subject, Isabella only gave cryptic and frustrating answers.
The one other person he could ask was Athan, who seemed care for Fyra in some degree, at least enough to keep her safe. Cirian had seen him lurking in corners around the castle. Athan never met his eyes, but Cirian was sure the soldier had noticed his stare. At the same time, he didn't want anything to do with the person who has caused Fyra so much pain. Cirian was afraid he may loose his temper of he had to face any half-baked excuses Athan may provide.
His father had done nothing, save sending Athan to extract his memories. Whenever Cirian entered the king's presence, his heart beat twice as fast, fear of discovery looming overhead.
Cirian shook his head, clearing his thoughts and focusing on the task he was meant to be performing. Isabella had been going over the seating arrangements for some upcoming social event, and given the remainder of the job to him. Though he found it rather dull, Cirian eventually fell into the routine of seating boorish nobles in positions that suited their self importance.
Just as he placed Lord Deveian next to the equally insufferable Lord Westmore, Isabella sighed. Cirian looked up at her and she met his gaze, tiredness present in her posture and expression.
"I know I should have told you earlier, but Fyra has been released. She is in the barracks. Ask for Mariah." A hint of a smile graced her face, for she knew the first thing her would do upon hearing the news would be to bolt up and find her.
He said nothing as he stood, staring at Isabella. Though he had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, he couldn't find the voice to ask one. Isabella continued smiling as she nodded gently.
He hesitated a moment. Finally he said only, "Thank you," as he turned and walked out the room with new purpose in his gait.
•••
A/N: Chapter with both my boys! Do you have a preference for one?
I got bit (ok a lot) of a late start to the new year...Instead of jumping right in to 2016 I feel like I kind of stumbled and feel flat onto my face. Well...um...better late than never. 😅
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