The reply lingers throughout the dusty chapel.
I watch as Valeria lies down on the bench in front of Leara. She takes up the entire thing, boots propped up and all.
With a relieved exhale, I sit up on the armrest of the bench across the aisle, facing the drowsy Mad Raven. My sword sits on the bench in my stead.
"Missing your beauty sleep?" I may as well get the quips out of my system. It's getting a bit excessive, to be honest.
"I suppose." Her gaze is distant and hazy, the words crisply touching her lips.
My shallow breaths hasten.
We sit in silence, listening to nothing but the sleeping Valeria's occasional loud exhale.
Staring at Leara's enticing form in complete silence isn't awkward. In the moment, The Stupid Game—dubbed by Valeria—becomes a bit more perceivable in my eyes.
This calm is filled with mental static; we meticulously sculpt potential words. The Stupid Game is a hard concept to define. A sport of verbal pins and needles.
But Leara doesn't seem to be much in the mood. There's something wrong with her. Vulnerability, or the like.
There's something wrong with me.
Leara eventually turns her head to meet my gaze. It's like my entire internal composure has gone haywire. My heart beats faster, my breath erratic, my fear compounded.
My external facade is normal. I have no direct explanation; it's everything, it's nothing, and it's the unseen. My self-delusion has chipped. Now I am far too mortal.
My jaw tightens. I think of all my grievances, the mangled bodies of my parents, the slum's death and starvation, and the billions in bondage. Hatred glues me back together.
"Onto business, then?" I break the silence.
Leara looks a bit disappointed, but understands necessity and pragmatism better than most. So she complies.
"We're losing," Leara declares. "If you hadn't noticed."
"The Exam just started."
"The Exam is tertiary. It's the war with the Landeskogs that we're lagging."
"It isn't tertiary to me," I shake my head. "I need a high-ranking."
"You'll get it, so long as you demonstrate your full abilities."
I don't doubt that statement. To me, it's concerning—most tests are quantitative. There's truth and security in numbers. Qualitative, subjective measurements that require a proctor's keen eye are quite uncertain and unnerving.
It all just works into Leara's hand. I want to play along, but constantly going along with her schemes is a recipe for disaster. Tempered with caution, it shouldn't be an issue. Still, getting into such a habit will be cause for concern.
"Where's Alexander?" I move on, implicitly signaling my agreement.
"On the mountain."
Fighting an uphill battle in the literal sense. How'd he get there so quickly? And how'd he know where to go? It reeks of foul play, but maybe he truly lives up to his reputation after all.
"Appreciate the sword, by the way," I mention. She nods in reply. "Where'd you get it from?"
"The Dim places supplies in these buildings. More buildings toward the center, more supplies, more activity."
"I thought as much." My genius is proven once again. "So what's on the mountain?"
"A fortress."
"Probably with enough food and water for a year," I think out loud. "Soulsteel weapons, armor, and more. Speculatory, but likely"
"Alexander will have a force of 3 teams at a minimum. We have three teams: yours, Evan's, and mine. But we're outskilled, outpositioned, and outarmed."
"You want to siege Alexander's fortress?"
"Yes."
"Absurd."
"Perhaps."
Leara says that with full belief. To her, it's difficult, but not impossible. You aren't called the Mad Raven by being wary.
To me, it's a grim pipedream. We have no advantage. Sabotage—being a minor nuisance—seems like our best, most realistic bet. But hope's victory is a realist's folly.
"Looks like we need to throw ourselves at Sebastian Cossa's feet and beg for his help."
"That'll be the last resort," She gives the lightest, most imperceptible of smiles. "But we do need help. And he's high up the list."
"My issue is trust," I half-heartedly sneer. "Even if you trust Evan of Cicily—I'm assuming you do—we can't guarantee their teammates will simply fall in. That goes for all future allies."
"You want to use the capture system?" she asks, but I can tell she has already thought it through.
"Force solves the issue of trust," I shrug. "The system is there for a reason."
"Slaves still cost resources," she uses the term slave, but the rules do more or less relegate the captured to that status. "They might obey, but they won't act with vigor. The bare minimum is all we'll get."
"Alliances will be even more tumultuous."
"Often the best way forward is through the hardest path."
"You look like you should sleep on it," I reply. I'm not entirely torn either way between the two positions, but maintaining a healthy opposition to her is best. Leara doesn't need a yes-man; those types have encapsulated her entire social life, no doubt.
Leara looks at me with a twitch, as if I've committed some grave sin by pointing out her obvious weakness. Despite being extremely cognitive, she's still dead-tired.
"You look well, contrarily." Leara kindly retorts. "Has Valeria been that much of a joy to travel with?"
"The absolute worst," I snort. "Strong and trustworthy, at the very least."
"I'm… not… a fucking dog." Valeria hushedly groans out in her sleep.
You are. You absolutely are. In the worst, most lobotomizing ways. Hopefully, I get to be the one who euthanizes you, mutt.
The conversation resets. We are back to silence. A soothing calm.
It's backgrounded by an uncanny shift in the air. A gloss in the eye. Leara is wrong.
As am I.
Leara stands up, walks toward me, and meets my eye. My heart pounds.
Her gaze is a concoction of every emotion I have felt.
Hatred. Yearning. Fear.
She is completely deadpan.
"I want to trust you, Auren of Ovine."
…
"Then what's stopping you?" I reply.
"The secrets."
My stomach sinks at the confrontation, but a little logic reverses it.
It's as I thought. No one wants to walk on pins and needles among allies. Too many unknowns in an ally is a disaster. My Landeskog affiliation and very uncertain background frustrate the tactical move of inviting me into her circle.
You can confide in me, she says. Give up the secrets, and everything will be right. Then I can trust you. You are desired. You are wanted. Rest the burden on me, so we can both be lighter.
Laughable.
"Good try." I chuckle a reply.
…
Leara's smile turns wide with pleasure.
The Mad Raven is a devil. And she nearly duped me.
Through rain, blood, and sleep, this joust will never end.
We both love The Game too much to quit.