AN: Btw I know this arc was ass. I've talked a bit about it on other platforms if you want to go see (SB and QQ), but the arc also ends this week.
Galladon
They had dragged his body out of the tent already, but I kept staring at the place where the guard had died.
I had heard the scrape of boots, the muted grunt as they lifted him, the wet sound when his head lolled too far to one side. I knew all of that had happened. And yet my eyes stay fixed on the empty space where he had been sitting, as though if I looked long enough he might still be there.
The chair stood crooked, one leg not quite straight. Dark blood had soaked into the wood and the dirt beneath it, pooling unevenly where it had dripped from his mouth. I could smell it. Iron and something sour beneath it, thick enough to coat the back of my throat. I breathed in through my nose and regretted it immediately.
Jace and Grey stood to the side of the tent. Neither of them spoke. I was grateful for that. I wasn't sure what would have happened if one of them had tried.
My jaw was clenched so tight it ached. I realized distantly that my teeth were grinding against one another, a small, constant sound that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet that followed death. I forced myself to stop. Forced my shoulders down. Forced air into my lungs.
It didn't help. The guard had bitten down on his tongue. Instead of screaming or begging or praying, he had killed himself. Just like that.
I had killed men before. I felt like I had to remind myself that. Aboard the Fair Winds and the Western Will, I had cut through the pirates like nothing, like they weren't even there. A dozen at least.
And at the quarry, I had gone through with it despite my doubts, despite knowing those weren't the sea scum I had killed before. And in the end, their deaths had not bothered me
This should not have been different. And yet it was.
My hands curled slowly into fists at my sides. I became aware, with a strange sense of distance, that they were shaking. Just a small tremble, nothing that anyone would notice. But it was enough that I noticed.
Unfortunately, I had yet to learn how to lie to myself.
I swallowed. The taste of blood lingered in my mouth, like I was the one to bite down on my tongue. I pushed it down, the taste and the revulsion and the fear along with everything else. Doubt. I couldn't doubt myself now.
I bundled it all together and forced myself to open my mouth.
"Bring in the other one," someone said.
I did, and my voice sounded wrong to my own ears. I wondered if that was how I truly sounded, or if my head was playing tricks on me. Either way, no one commented on it.
I shook my head slightly, more at myself than at anyone else. Moralistic idiocy, I thought bitterly. That was what this was. I had known what I was walking into when I came here. I had known there would be blood. Pain. Things that could not be undone..
And yet my mind would not accept it.
It churned and spun, thoughts tripping over one another. There was a tightness in my chest that felt wrong, unfamiliar. A pressure that made it hard to breathe properly.
I wondered, with a detached kind of curiosity, if this was what people meant when they spoke of panic attacks. I had never had one before. Not in this life, nor in the one before it. Now did not seem like the ideal moment to start.
I barely had time to collect myself before footsteps sounded outside the tent.
They brought in Arrec. He looked worse than the last time I had seen him. Bruised, dirty, his clothes torn, an arrow still sticking through his arm. Guess when I ordered for the wounded to be seen, that did not mean to care for the enemy.
His wrists were bound tightly. Two men half-carried him, half-dragged him inside and dropped him into the chair opposite me, further binding him with more ropes to his seat.
For a heartbeat, I almost looked away. Ashamed, somehow. I crushed it immediately, forcing my gaze to stay on him. If I looked away, if I hesitated, this would only take longer. And if Arrec did not speak, then I would have to do to him what had driven the other man to kill himself.
I did not think Arrec had that kind of resolve. I would have to see it through to the end.
The men who had brought him in left quickly, as though eager to be anywhere else. The tent felt smaller than before. Too close. Too warm. The air thick with blood and sweat and fear.
Arrec glared at me from the chair, defiance burning in his eyes despite the way his body trembled. His gaze flicked briefly to Jace, then back to me.
"The fuckin' two of you," he started.
I lifted a hand. Likely used to following orders, he stopped.
"I don't want to hear it, Arrec," I said. "My name is Galladon Tarth."
That did it. His eyes widened, the bravado cracking just enough for me to see the fear beneath it. It was a small thing. It should not have satisfied me as much as it did.
"Your lord has taken my mother prisoner," I continued, my voice steadier now that I had something concrete to cling to. "I am here to retrieve her. You will tell me how."
I stepped closer without quite meaning to. I could see his throat bob, could see the vein in his neck pulse.
"You will tell me where she is being kept," I said. "You will tell me how many guards are in the castle. How many watch over her."
With every word, something inside me twisted tighter. Whatever guilt I felt turned hot, sharp, unbearable. Rage flooded up from my chest, choking me, blurring the edges of my vision.
My hands were on him before I realized I had moved. They closed around his neck. He made a sound, half-gasp, half-choke, and his hands flew up to claw at my wrists.
"You will tell me how to get inside the castle," I heard myself saying. "How to take her without being caught."
His eyes were wide now, whites showing. His feet scrabbled uselessly against the ground.
"Or I will kill you, Arrec," I went on, my voice low and terrible and unlike anything I had heard from myself before. "I will kill you, and every man, woman, and child in that castle. In your whole town. I will not spare a single soul. I will burn Weeping Town to the ground until there is nothing left but ash and bones for the dogs to pick through."
Someone wrenched me backward. The sudden loss of resistance nearly sent me stumbling. An arm locked around my neck, not choking me but firm enough to drag me away. Hands clamped onto my arms, pulling them down.
"M'lord!" someone shouted.
I blinked, my mind snapping back into place all at once. Jace had my right arm. Grey my left. Their grips were iron-hard. I looked down.
Arrec was slumped in the chair, coughing violently, gasping for air as he clawed at his own throat. His face had gone an alarming shade of purple, his neck mottled red beneath my fingerprints, as though burned.
I stared at him, horrified. I had been choking him. Almost killed him.
Jack—who had come up behind me without my noticing—released his hold, stepping back carefully as if I were something dangerous and unpredictable.
I dragged in a breath. Then another. My chest heaved, my lungs burning as though I had been running.
"My lord," Jace said cautiously, watching my face, "he hasn't answered any of the questions yet."
I swallowed. It took effort to make my throat work.
"Yes," I said hoarsely. "Yes. Of course." I forced myself to nod, though my head felt light. "Keep at it without me for a moment."
I did not wait for an answer. Walking out of the tent into the dusk, my steps felt unsteady like I was dizzy. Lightheaded. Like I was the one that had been choked.
My hands were still shaking, I noticed, looking down. I flexed my fingers, staring at them as though they belonged to someone else. I had almost killed him. Not intentionally—not consciously, at least, but that distinction felt meaningless now.
I moved away from the camp, needing space, needing air. My thoughts spiraled uselessly. Images overlapped. My mother's face, the guard biting down on his tongue, Arrec's bulging eyes.
I was losing control, and that realization terrified me more than anything else that had happened so far.
Movement in the trees ahead snapped me back to the present. I tensed instantly, my hand drifting toward my sword by instinct alone.
Then I saw who it was.
"Pate?" I said.
The boy came running out of the woods, eyes wild, huffing like he'd been running a marathon. He was holding a smaller figure above him, slung awkwardly over his shoulders.
My heart stopped. "Arianne," I breathed.
I ran to meet them, barely registering as my sword banged against a tree and almost pulled it out of my belt. When I got to him, Pate looked as though he might burst into tears at any second.
"I dunno what happened, m'lord," he babbled as he lowered her to the ground. He was so nervous his lowborn accent came out again. "I dunno. She said she was goin' to do the womanly things and she was takin' so long and she told me she'd geld me myself if I followed and I didn't know what to do and—"
Dropping to my knees, I gathered her into my arms, barely hearing him. She felt frighteningly light as I settled her across my lap. I brushed her hair back from her face. She was not seizing. Not foaming like before. That was something, at least. But a thin line of blood trickled from her nose, stark against her pale skin.
Her left hand was clenched tight around the glass candle, while the right one, hanging by her side, was red and raw as if it had been burned.
"Arianne," I said, my voice breaking despite myself. And for a terrible moment, nothing happened.
Then her eyes fluttered open as if she'd hear me.
"Brother," she said faintly.
Relief hit me so hard I nearly laughed. Or cried. I wasn't sure which. My hands tightened around her as if I could anchor her there by sheer force of will.
"I know how," she whispered.
I blinked down at her. "What?"
She smiled at me. "I know how to save Mother."
xxx
Arianne of Tarth
Standing a little apart from the others, Arianne watched as Galladon rode away with his men and the prisoner. Even in the fading light as night fell, she kept her eyes on him until he disappeared amidst the trees.
He did not look back, and she told herself it was better that he didn't. She might have run to him for a last hug, even if it would be mortifying to do so in front of all the guards.
Hopefully, along with his own plan, the path she had found would make things easier for her brother. She could do nothing about the men inside, however, well-armed and armored and, she was almost sure, waiting for him. She would have to trust him despite the odds.
Despite her trust in him, she had not told him about what she had seen in the vision world, what she had learned, of Lady Specter and everything else. Galladon would only worry for her, and she did not wish to be the reason her brother might be distracted in the middle of a fight.
Once Galladon was gone, only a handful remained behind with her: Pate, hovering close like a particularly big flea she couldn't get rid of; Jace, Galladon's man; and two of her father's guards, Hugh and Derek.
The camp was already broken apart around them. Tents folded down, poles bundled, fires smothered beneath earth and damp leaves. They would leave it all behind. The camp was almost surely to be found, she had been told, given they had come from the quarry in such a hurry with horses and mules. The important thing now was not letting them be followed any further.
Arianne sank down onto a fallen log, suddenly dizzy. The world tilted for a moment. She pressed her right hand into her lap, biting back a hiss. It throbbed dully, the burn mark there still angry and tender, shaped unmistakably like a door handle.
Lady Specter's words came back to her unbidden. The dangers of the vision world were real. The world itself was real. If she had died there, she would never have opened her eyes again.
The thought made her stomach clench, though not with fear for herself. She had done what she had to do, even if Galladon had promised the talking to of the century next they met.
For once, she did not mind the idea of being scolded by her brother, even if his new aura scared her a bit. At least it would mean he was alive to reprimand her.
No, what frightened her more was how natural it had been to move around the vision world after Lady Specter's quick lessons, to let go of her body and reach out with her mind instead. And how eager she was to do it again despite the risks.
Not half an hour later they were deep in the forest. Galladon expected the Whiteheads to turtle up inside their town, but thought it was still best if they went as far from camp as possible. Someone could find their campsite from the tracks her brother and his men left coming from the quarry.
They rode the mules carefully through the brush at first, but after a while Jace had them dismount and flee on foot as he sent the animals in another direction.
After that, they moved at a painfully slow pace. The moon was full and bright in the sky which helped in making their way around, but Arianne knew she was being a burden.
Her limbs felt heavy and unreliable, as if they did not quite belong to her anymore. Each step took effort. Even with Derek's wounded leg, she knew she was the one holding them back. She hated it.
She tried to push herself harder, to ignore the way her calves trembled, but it was no use. Her legs felt like curdled milk. Once, she stumbled outright in the half-darkness, and Pate was there in an instant, hands on her arms to steady her.
"I'm fine," she snapped. Pate flushed and nodded in that stupid way of his, which only made her feel bad about yelling at him.
Couldn't he be a little less eager? Being mean to him felt like kicking a puppy.
As they walked, Jace ranged ahead and behind them. He brushed away broken twigs, scuffed footprints with the heel of his boot, doubled back to check their trail. Each time he returned, Arianne watched his face, searching for some sign of what might be coming.
They had been walking for another hour when Jace came back with his jaw set hard and his eyes dark. "They found us," he said simply.
Derek swore under his breath. Hugh straightened at once, hand going to the hilt of his sword. "How many?"
Jace shook his head. "Can't tell for certain. Less than a dozen, I believe. They have hounds. They followed the false trail I set up, but they caught it quickly." He paused, measuring something in his mind. "They will be upon us soon. Perhaps half an hour."
Silence followed. Hugh and Derek exchanged a look before the older man nodded. "The little lady must keep going, then," Hugh said. "We'll make our stand here."
"Aye," Derek said. "By that thick grove there. Narrow ground. Their numbers will count for less."
Arianne's stomach dropped. "No," she said quickly. "No, I won't allow it."
Jace turned to her, expression grave but not unkind. "You must go on, my lady," he said. "We will stall them for as long as we can. Pate will see you to safety. Lord Galladon has full confidence in him."
He said the last looking directly at Pate. The squire straightened as if struck by lightning. He swallowed, yet his chest was puffed out, fear momentarily forgotten.
"I will not let him down, sers," he said earnestly.
Arianne hated all of it. She hated the calm certainty with which they spoke of staying behind. Hated the way they were already placing themselves between her and danger. She shook her head, helpless frustration burning behind her eyes.
"No," she repeated, more to herself than to them.
Despite her apprehension, despite the warning Lady Specter had given her about overusing the candle, Arianne felt her resolve settle. If she let them do this without trying, she knew she would never forgive herself.
"If you knew their numbers," she asked slowly, "and from where they are coming… could you fight them? Ambush them as you did in the quarry?"
Jace looked at her as if she had suggested flying. "We do not have that luxury, my lady."
"Yes, you do," she said. "You have me."
She reached for the glass candle and drew it out where they could see it, its dark surface catching the moonlight filtering through the canopy.
"I will need no more than five minutes," she went on. "Carry me, if you must."
Hugh frowned. Jace opened his mouth to protest. Before any of them could speak, Arianne closed her eyes and lit the candle with a thought.
The world blinked.
She was suddenly to the side, though her body remained where it had fallen, cradled as the blurry-faced form of Hugh caught her. The forest around her had shifted, dulled, as if seen through old glass.
She felt light again, unmoored from flesh and weight. No weakness in her legs, no wobbly knees. It was great. Giddy, almost.
Drawing a steadying breath, though she suddenly realized she might not even need to do that here, she focused.
Men, she thought. Men following. Hounds, noses to the ground.
The world answered.
She moved through the forest as if borne on a sea current, gliding between trees, over roots and under branches without effort. Ahead of her, shapes emerged: men moving cautiously, weapons ready, hounds straining at their leads, ghosts in the candle-world just as she was.
Arianne felt a flicker of grim satisfaction.
"Found you," she murmured, a small, fierce smile touching her lips as she took in their number and their path.
xxx
POWER STONES PLEASE!
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