Bree walked the corridors of the Oaken Keep, Jardur in tow, as she made her way to the training yard that sat just behind the main palace. "I just wanna talk to her," she said with gritted teeth.
Jardur sighed, knowing full well it wasn't going to be just a talk. Bianca hadn't reported to the guild hall last night, nor had she given any indicator that she'd be arriving in the near future. Bree was taken aback by the news of Bianca's conscription into the guild of Gaoling's Blade, to put it mildly.
"One more time, Eren. In through the nose, hold it, and roar!" Ysolda's voice came from beyond the threshold as she Bree thrust open the doors. The training yard was filled with soldiers, men and women fighting with wooden swords and axes, shields, and staves. Ysolda stood at the back of the yard near the stone columns that lined the outer wall, crimson hair tied in a ponytail and training one on one with Eren Titan-Born. Her eyes caught Bree as she turned, ducking a swipe from Eren's axe. "Ah, Lady Brialla. What can I do for you this morning?"
Bree said nothing as she walked towards the High Queen, pushing a soldier aside as she closed the distance between herself and the Elbafan monarch.
"Fair warning, Ysolda. You may want to–" Jardur began, but his words came too late as Bree's fist collided with Ysolda's nose. The queen fell to the ground, alerting the soldiers as they closed in on the altercation.
"Dodge," Jardur said flatly. "Sheesh, Bree. Y'know they behead people for less in more civilized countries."
The soldiers surrounded them, though with only wooden weapons. However, Bree still stood over the High Queen menacingly. As if she were out for the queen's head. Ysolda held her nose, wiping the blood from her upper lip as she rose to her feet. "I'm going to assume you're upset by something?" Ysolda asked nonchalantly.
"How long did you know?" Bree growled.
So that's what this was about, Jardur thought to himself as Bree kept a hand on her axe.
"Brialla, listen–"
"Don't bullshit your way out of this, War-Bear. I'm not a fucking Jarl from your court. How. Long. Did. You. Know?"
Ysolda sighed, wiping the blood on her jerkin. "Titan-Born, see to the men. I'm afraid I must attend to other matters."
"Yes, High Queen." Eren took command of the battalion as Ysolda led Bree and Jardur from the training yard.
They passed the library, the various rooms of the keep, until they reached Ysolda's private study. She sat behind the desk, leaning forward as Bree stood across from her, impatiently. "This is in regards to young Bianca's lineage, is it not?"
"Ben's child, missing for fifteen years, thought to be dead all this time, and now I'm just learning of her fate. Why?" Bree demanded.
There was a deathly silence over the room. Bree had scarcely mentioned Benjamin Miles since she took Jardur in as her son. The only real knowledge of him was that he had been Bree's betrothed at one point. She'd been with him for about a year, even aiding in the care of his daughter, though Jardur never learned her name. Now, it seemed all the pieces were coming together.
"I'm afraid I don't know much about this 'Ben,' my queen. Mind helping me out?" Jardur inquired.
Ysolda nodded. "Benjamin Miles, though you may know him as Benrath, was one of the founding members of Gaoling's Blade. Brialla Nivenor, Brecca, Kaze Itsumi, Jaesda of the Ashka'ari, and Ben supported my father, High King Vignar, when he united the holds to push back against Forswaron and Elvehn. After the taking of Summer's Gleam, and my father's death, I personally awarded them a position of power in my newly acquired kingdom. And I saw to the arrangements for Ben to be entombed in the Hall of Heroes following his death."
"Sounds like Bianca should have been treated like royalty, then. What the hell happened?" Jardur asked, one question opening the door for many others.
"I'm afraid I am to blame, Jardur Far-Strider. My men searched all of Spring's Respite for the girl, even offering many a reward for her. However, prejudice is hardly lost overnight. The concept of an Elf and human union was inconceivable, a shameful spot on an Elbafan's bloodline. So, none came forward to offer any insight, and I left the matter alone. Had I pressed the issue, forced my subjects to comply with my investigation, Bianca's upbringing could have been very different. She would have been adopted into the War-Bear clan, as Ben had wished in his last will."
Bree sighed, shaking her head. "You could have done something."
"I only recently surmised her identity shortly before arriving at the Temple of the Christ that fateful day. I assure you, I kept no secrets from you, Brialla. You have my word."
Ysolda's words granted some comfort to Bree as the Faerie woman stepped back, hand over her chest as she breathed deeply. Jardur watched as she collected herself, giving her space as she composed her thoughts.
"Sorry, I just…" Bree began, but caught herself as she turned her head. "No, nevermind. It's not important."
"So many years, Brialla, and he still holds your heart even in death." Ysolda stood up and walked towards the window.
"And what of Licenia? The girl's mother? Does she know Bianca is alive?" Bree asked.
There was no answer for her.
—
It is said the definition of insanity is to repeat the same action over and over hoping for a different result. Bianca emulated the concept well, for she'd broken seven different weapons trying to destroy Brecca's defenses. Shattered steel, bent iron, and broken hafts of spears and axes littered the training ground as Brecca stood tall, body enveloped in a fiery shield as he laughed.
"Boy, Atticus is not going to like all the extra work you're making for him," Brecca growled, flexing his muscles as Bianca thrusted a sword into his abdomen. The tip blunted and bent against his stomach, earning a sigh from the hulking man. "You've certainly proven your tenacity, whelp. Most give up after the first swing."
Bianca was exhausted, breathing haggard as she held the now ruined sword in her hands. She bared her teeth, focusing her energy into her fists as fire began to erupt from her knuckles. "I'm not finished!" She roared, and charged for Brecca, dropping the sword as she went.
Maybe he's got some enchantment that keeps him safe from weapons. Let's see how he deals with magic.
Bianca aimed her attack towards the side of his face, her thoughts dancing with visions of victory. Yet as her fist connected, pain shot through her shoulder as though she'd punched a brick wall. Her knuckles popped, agony racing through her entire arm as she bit back a scream.
"Huh, feels just like standing too close to an oven!" Brecca shouted as he grabbed her other arm and landed a punch to her stomach. Bianca heaved, spitting out bile and the remains of the sweetroll she'd eaten before flying back and hitting the ground. "Are you hoping to make me sweat, whelp?!"
Bianca came to a stop as her back slammed against the statue. She coughed heavily, retching as she tried to catch her breath. "I said I'm not–" her words were interrupted by another wave of heat, and her vision grew blurry. Brecca's footsteps closed in on her, but stopped suddenly as Bianca looked up at the man. His fiery shield was gone, and he stood looking at the statue of the man Bianca had slammed into.
"Huh, well who would have thought, whelp." His words faded as Bianca fell into darkness.
Only to be awoken by the smell of spiced mead and freshly baked bread.
"Think you may have overdone it, Brecca."
"Nah, she's alive. Look, girl's stirring now. Morning, princess."
Bianca's eyes fluttered open. She was sitting on a bench in the main hall, a plate of bread, cheese, and sliced ham in front of her. To her left, a small tankard of freshly poured, ice cold mead. Was this a dream? One minute she was fighting Brecca, and the next she was sitting in front of a full meal. Well, best not to waste it, she thought. Bianca grabbed the bread and shoved half the slice into her mouth before downing the mead.
"Damn, look at her go," the voice said again. It wasn't Brecca's. This one was more suave. Relaxed. Bianca turned to her right to see the man. Long, braided locks of thick black hair and brown skin. A smile of brilliantly white teeth and a clean shaven face with deep, brown eyes. He wore an azure robe with fingerless gloves and a golden amulet. "I always say one can never best Hildegard's cooking, but I like to think I come close." He winked.
"Close? You sliced some bread, cheese, and ham, put it on a plate, and called it lunch." This time, Brecca spoke. Bianca, however, was more interested in the Al'Maran man beside her. So much so she didn't even look at Brecca. The man seemed so familiar. As if she'd seen him a thousand times before.
"Have we met?" Bianca asked, her mouth still full of food.
The Al'Maran man chuckled. "Doubtful, young lady. Though if you think something like that, perhaps you've seen Rami's work. Tell me, have you read the series Forbidden Desires of an Al'Maran Prince?"
Then it came to her. She recalled the cover from the latest volume, how the Prince sat surrounded by several women, and she instantly knew where he came from.
"That's you?!" Bianca exclaimed, dropping her tankard of mead. However, the small amount of wasted drink hardly mattered in the presence of one of her favorite characters. Or, rather, someone with his likeness. "I'm, um, I'm a huge fan."
"Really?" The man asked, turning to face her and offering his hand. "Nifu al'Casariim, young lady. Tell me, what did you think of the latest book? Was it riveting?"
"Oh, absolutely. I got chills when Prince Hujabara found out his brother was still alive and working for the Crown. And the Dwarven Guild scene. That was just poetic."
"I know, right? Rami insisted that the prince have a conflict with his many love interests, and Ophelia had the perfect motivation considering she was revealed to be pregnant with the prince's child in the second book–"
"I am still here, you know," Brecca said, sounding almost annoyed. However, he laughed as he sat on the bench across from Bianca. "So, let's get down to business. If I had known I'd be entertaining old Ben's kid I would have brought my best!" Brecca slammed his fist onto the table, shaking it vigorously as Bianca nearly spilled her drink.
She stopped eating, laying the last bit of cheese down and looking at the man with confusion. "You knew my father?"
Brecca threw his head back laughing. "Sure did! Benrath Flame-Bringer, Benjamin Miles, whatever they wanted to call him. Only one to match my firepower before or since. He was part of the charge to free the city of Atswala and turn the tide of the war. Gods, how long has it been?"
"About seventeen years since that day." Nifu chimed in, raising a glass and drinking a sip of wine.
Brecca slammed his fist again, and this time Bianca grabbed her plate before the man shattered it. "Right! I'd be dead if not for Benrath. Crucified for defying the Elvehn masters and refusing to fight in their bloody gladiatorial games. That man, Bree, our High Queen, all of them made me into the man I am today, whelp. When I heard of his death, we went on a bloody rampage across Elvehn. Ended the war and put that damn Emperor Acclasi's head on a fucking pike!"
Bianca arched an eyebrow. "You gonna keep calling me that?"
Brecca smirked, sliding over a tankard of mead. The scent itself was intoxicating. She'd had beer traded with Fae and wine in Elvehn towns, but never had she been given the opportunity to try genuine mead.
"How about a round, Ben's kid?"
Bianca rolled her eyes, and took the tankard.
"Eh, it's a start."
—
Footsteps echoed as Bree stormed down the Oaken Keep's halls, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed.
"Bree, wait!" Jardur shouted as he ran for her. He grabbed her by the shoulder, but she flinched away at his touch. "Bree, what's going on?"
"Leave it, Jardur. It doesn't concern you." She shook her head, still storming down the corridor until she reached the great hall. Passing the throne and banquet tables, Bree continued on towards the massive doors to the keep. Her hand rested against the iron handle, an anger and sorrow rising in her heart.
The bandages around her hand were loose, coming undone where she'd punched Ysolda in the face. Puncture wounds and discolored skin from her altercation with Bianca showed along her knuckles. The very sight made Bree sick to her stomach. All she could do was rest her hand, and now her forehead, against the oaken wood of the door.
"Bree?" Jardur asked again.
Bree breathed deeply, shaking her head in disappointment.
"She knew," Bree muttered. Her hand gripped the metal cage of the brazier near the Oaken Keep's door. Her flesh singed, but her anger burned hotter. With one motion she overturned the brazier and spilled the hot coals and metal onto the cobblestone floor.
"She fucking knew!" Bree howled, falling to her knees and staring down at her wounded hand.
"Bree, calm down!" Jardur hauled her to her feet. Bree threw herself out of Jardur's grip, flailing in frustration like a cornered serpent. "Bree!"
"I should have seen it," Bree murmured, pacing like a caged animal. "The way she moved. The way she spoke. Her confidence and fierce determination. She's the spitting image of him. How did I not see it? How?"
"Well you were trying to prevent a war." Jardur shrugged.
"This isn't funny, Jardur."
"Never said it was."
Bree seethed with rage. Betrayal, anger, sorrow, mourning, all swirling inside of her at once. She kicked the metal brazier with her bare foot, sending it careening through the air and into the wall on the other side of the keep.
"Goddammit!" Bree shrieked, falling to her knees and burying her face in the floor.
Benjamin Miles. Benrath of Dawn's Bridge. The love of her life. His daughter had been right in front of her. The one she had sworn to protect from all harm should anything happen to him. She had made a promise to raise her as her own if he were killed. A promise she had utterly broken.
"What would he think of me now?"
The doors of the Oaken Keep slowly opened, and on the other side stood an orc woman in a long, blue robe.
"Ah, Miss Bree. Mister Jardur. The guards told me you would likely still be here. I wanted to–" The orc mage was interrupted by the sight of the metal brazier broken and sprawled out along the floor beside the wall on the other side of the great hall. "Did I miss something?"
"Don't worry about it, Lambur." Jardur said nonchalantly.
Lambur sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. "Anyway," she trailed off. "After Bianca's sentence, and her deal with the court, I had some of our people scour the remains of Verunil's manor for evidence. Clues, a map, anything we can use to find the location of Prince Nazair."
Bree's ears perked up, and she quickly rose to her feet.
"Yes, and?" She asked fervently.
Lambur shrugged. "The entire manor was burned to ash."
And, just like the manor, Bree's hopes had gone up in smoke.
"Oh." Bree sighed.
Lambur held up a finger in protest. "Hold on, I'm not done. There is good news." She reached into her robe, and produced a small slab of marble. The writing was faint, but legible. However, it was in an odd language that Bree had never seen before.
"What is that?" Jardur asked, examining the small stone.
"In Elvehn, during sensitive military operations, Legates would often use ciphers and unassuming stones like this to pass messages along. They would often hold the location of caches full of materials, meeting places for generals…"
Jardur chimed in. "The location of captured princes?"
Lambur nodded.
"Though we have one problem. Verunil didn't have any military training. He was the spoiled little crotch spawn of a Praetor. Why would he have something like this?" Jardur took the stone from Lambur.
"You think it's Crassius?" Bree asked.
Lambur put her hands on her hips, likely deep in thought. "Governor Batiatus assumes control of the Elvehn Empire, turning it into a republic, and establishing a peace treaty with Elbafas. Suddenly, Forswaron stands alone on the mainland. However, this puts empire sympathizers in a unique position to threaten the newly established peace. Sympathizers who may even wish to reignite an old alliance with Forswaron."
"Add the fact that, from an outside perspective, an investigation prematurely ended. By their logic, Elbafas did nothing to return their prince. Neutrality can seem like compliance in the right mindset."
Jardur shrugged his shoulders. "And?"
Lambur sighed. "I'm not entirely sure myself, but there's a chance there might be an outside party involved. One who wishes to see the war between Elbafas and Forswaron reignited." The orc mage took the stone from Jardur and placed it back into her robe. "But alas, it is lunchtime, and I miss my husband terribly. Come, my friends. Off to the guildhall."
---
Of the several races that inhabit Elbafas, the orcish people are some of the last to full integrate into Elbafan society. Usually living atop impassable mountain ranges, the orcs of Djoruun often keep to themselves on the best of days. Perhaps it's a strict distrust of non-orcs, or maybe an understanding of how cruel the elves are capable of being.
Yet for a race so isolated, they have shown a great deal of knowledge. For the last hundred years, an orc has held the position of professor in the colleges all across Elbafas.
-Elsa Fair-Hair, Keeper of History in the Court of Autumn's Gate