Candor could smell the sea before she could see it. After the heavy, humid stench of the sewers, the scent of saltwater felt clean. It drew her forward.
As the group had progressed, having to backtrack only twice at unexpected dead-ends, Candor had learned the stories of every member of the group. Three fairies had been born and raised in the interludes and were quite young. The dwarf, who had not flagged in the slightest, despite hefting the gnome’s interlude, had been captured east of the Reinheold River, the river that flowed both ways. He was missing a few pieces of his spine, and a few organs. He’d been in the interlude for decades. There were a few missing both arms, some missing half a leg, who hopped with the help of their companions, and many missing eyes and tongues.
Candor had asked about the similarities between their injuries. Riven had shrugged. “Easy application, and it lets them harvest more later.” Cairlaen’s orange eye had burned.
By the time they saw a small light begin to grow larger at the end of a tunnel, Candor felt heavy. She thought she could hear her heart beating more slowly, as if learning the evil these beings had suffered had left a physical imprint.
“It’s night.” Riven breathed in relief. Candor eyed him strangely.
“When you experience existence as one continuous grayness, telling how time passes outside of that becomes difficult.” He explained.
Candor could feel a ripple of something beneath her chest. She strove to ignore it.
“I can attempt to steal a boat—” Candor began.
“No need.” Cairlaen interrupted. “You’ve done enough.” The nymph’s voice softened. “We also avoid the ocean. It is not our domain.”
Candor raised an eyebrow. “I’ve always loved the ocean.”
“You are only half Fae. You may walk where we may not.” Cairlaen said simply.
“You are so certain about so many things.” Candor had marveled at what seemed to be a Fae trait, tranquil knowing of the way of the world.
“There are certain things you are born knowing.” Cairlaen shrugged. “If you ever want a Fae education, come find me. I’ll be in the Kotemor.” She murmered a string of words and a thread of images stitched itself to the inside of Candor’s mind. “As will most of us, I imagine. Perhaps we’ll start a small village.”
A small sliver of ice seemed to run down Candor’s spine, but she said nothing.
“We will travel by night and compose illusions by day.” Riven touched Candor’s forearm as she did not seem convinced of this escape plan. “Despite the number of us here captured, we are harder to submit than you might think.” He paused. “Leave the lamp here.”
Candor nodded. The lighter darkness of dusk broke over them as they exited the tunnels and squelched out onto the sand.
“Tide is out.” Candor muttered. “Lucky.”
“Hardly.” Cairlaen tossed her hair. “Icaria looks after us, when it can.”
Candor looked at the nymph. “I thought you weren’t religious.”
“We’re not.” Cairlaen returned Cadnor’s puzzled glance. “That’s simply the way things are.”
“Enough.” Riven held up his hand and his stump. “It is time for us to be away. Candor.” He turned to the girl. “Your blood sings well of you. Should you ever need us, we are in your debt.” He let loose a few guttural sounds, and Candor felt as if a rope bound them for a moment before it seemed to drop.
“You honor me.” Candor hesitated, looking between Riven and the Fae. “I am so sorry.” Candor could feel the tearing in her chest she had been striving to ignore.
“You will always occupy two worlds, little one.” Riven touched her thigh, and Candor bent to look him in the eye. “And things were not always as they are now. You must never lose hope. Promise me. Say this for me.”
“I promise.” Candor felt tears behind her eyes.
“Right.” Riven said gruffly. “We’ll be seeing you.” Riven whistled softly at the rest of the Fae, who had been standing back to let Riven speak with Candor.
The group began to run. Candor blinked for a moment, unsure what she was watching; every Fae of the group, limbless, eyeless, organless, began to sprint or fly down the beach with such grace and such amazing speed, Candor was almost frightened. The ones missing legs took to the ground, running on their remaining limbs like bears. It did not stem their speed, but it also did not look natural. Candor shivered. I did not inherit that either. Candor thought rather regretfully, remembering her labor through the Kotemor.
“Candor.” Cairlaen’s voice startled Candor from her reverie.
“You didn’t go.”
“I need to ensure one thing before I leave.” Cairlaen fixed Candor with her one-eyed stare. “Do you trust me?”
Candor hesitated. “I don’t know you.”
“That is a wise answer, but a sorrowful one.” Cairlaen sighed. “There was a time when all Fae would trust their own kind. Though I suppose you are a special circumstance.” Cairlaen regarded Candor rather distastefully. “That being said, you acquit yourself well.”
“Thank you.” Candor began to feel itchy, her skin growing sensitive as in the moments before a fight.
“I want to teach you something.” Cairlaen said softly. “I want to teach you a blood oath.”
“Why?” Candor asked.
“Because this whole world will try to use you. And this way you might hold accountable some who would take advantage of you.” Cairlaen explained.
“Alright.” Candor, still suspicious, acquiesced. She was curious, and she did not want to show the nymph she was uncomfortable.
“First,” The eye that Candor could see blazed, “I will heal your pain.”
Candor began to respond, but Cairlaen placed her hands on Candor’s ribcage and spoke quietly. Immediately, Candor’s insides began to knit together; she cried out as her broken rib began to heal.
“Thank you.” Candor gasped, tears streaming down her face. “Why did you do that?”
“An offering.” Cairlaen said briskly. “Now, for your gift.”
Candor looked up at the tall nymph.
“Repeat the individual words after me.” Cairlaen began. “Do not repeat them all at once until I say. They will remain in your mind once you have been taught them. This is Fae.”
Candor nodded, wondering what the nymph meant.
Cairlaen began, intoning a word or two, and Candor repeated them.
“Good.” Cairlaen looked fierce. “Can you feel them in your mind?”
Candor took a moment to search her thoughts, finding the words still there. She had an idea of what they meant, flashes of binding and blood, but without their connection, the context of the language was lost.
“Now, put it all together, but start with this.” Cairlaen gave Candor one last phrase. “Say it.”
Candor, caught off guard by Cairlaen’s intensity, repeated the words she had been gifted. As they rolled off her tongue, Candor began to recognize the power and the horror of what she had just done. And somehow, she could not bring herself to stop speaking.
When she finished, Candor collapsed onto the wet sand, shaking. “Why did you do that?” She asked pitifully.
“Because you would not have done it otherwise.” Cairlaen did not look remorseful, though perhaps regretful. “Consider this a bind to your blood.”
Candor looked up at the Fae, teeth bared. “You had no right to take my will this way.”
“I have every right.” Cairlaen dropped to one knee and took Candor’s chin in her remaining hand, gently, but firmly. “Listen to me child. If there is one truth in this life, it is that no one has the right to freedom. You must take it, before others impose their will upon you. Take this as a lesson and a gift. Without the first piece of the oath, you can use it as you wish to bind others to truth or action. It is not majik taught to just anyone, let alone the young.”
Cairlaen stood, and Candor, feeling rather feverish, struggled to her feet as well.
“You are fueled with fire.” Cairlaen nodded. “This will serve you well. Take care it does not burn you down.” She turned to go but remembered something and turend back. “My invitation is genuine. Once you have finished your task, and you have grown weary of this world, you are welcome to find me. I will teach you all that I can.” Without another word, Cairlaen turned one last time and whisked away up the coast as fast or faster than the Fae before her. Candor took a moment to breathe, feeling the tightening in her gut and the ripping in her chest, before stuffing it all down as far as she could inside herself. The sky was lightening in the south, and she had to return. Now more than ever, they had to leave.
Letti was pacing the room, clad in her new tunic and trousers, having packed and repacked hers and Candor’s rucksacks. After the moon had risen high, and Thorn had grown impatient with Letti’s incessant energy, he instructed her to sleep. The pillow ruse had not survived reentry to the bed chamber.
“Where is she?” Letti kept her voice low, but tired and worried, did not keep the creeping panic out of her voice.
“She’s probably stuck in the sewers somewhere.” Thorn’s long body slung along the divan, his arm draped over his eyes, studiousy ignoring Letti unless she spoke to him directly. “That’s not a short endeavor, reaching the edge of the city with mangled Fae in tow.”
“It’s Candor.” Letti threw up her hands. “She should be back by now.”
“She’s Fae, not a god.” Thorn growled.
Letti bit her lip but had half a mind to shove the large man off the divan onto the floor. As Letti contemplated this venture, the door began to slide open, and a filthy Candor stepped into the room.
At once, Letti could tell something was wrong. Her friend was shaking, her white hair streaked with dark matter. Her lower body seemed to be covered in sand and waste, and her eyes flicked around the room, wide and frightened.
“Candor.” Letti rushed to her side.
“We have to go.” Candor grasped Letti’s arm with such strength it hurt, and Letti jumped back with a yelp. “They’re away, and we have to go.”
“Candor.” Thorn’s deep voice rumbled through the room. “Calm yourself.
“You.” Candor spun at Thorn, who found himself with an indigo blade at his throat, once again. “Your friend kept Fae enslaved, a room full of interludes.” Candor was forgetting her speech. As she fought against the tug in her stomach, she stumbled slightly. Thorn used this moment to gently remove the blade from his carotid. He raised both his hands as if he were dealing with a rabid animal.
“Candor.” He said slowly. “I didn’t know he kept live Fae. I thought he bought new magic from vendors.”
“Because that makes it better.” Candor hissed. Her whole body seemed to vibrate.
“Candor.” Thorn started again. Before he could say anything else, Candor doubled over and retched, before sprinting to the chamber pot. She threw up mostly water, before turning back to the others. “We have to go.”
“Ok. I’ll make our exit.” Thorn turned to leave. “We cannot sneak out without telling Zorca. He will know it was you who took his Fae.”
“Fae.” Letti corrected as Cando retched again. “They were never his Fae.”
Thorn nodded and left, leaving Letti to wash Candor and try to figure out what happened. As water poured over Candor in the small basin, Letti watched her friend calm slightly.
“I’ve sworn a blood oath, Letti.” Candor finally said. “I didn’t know I was doing it, but Cairlaen tricked me into it.”
“What did you swear to do?” Letti asked, aghast. Candor looked up at Letti, face contorted in pain. “Kill Zorca.”
It didn’t take long for Thorn to return. Both girls were dressed and slung their packs quickly as he entered. Thorn nodded briskly.
As they made their way out, Candor stopped. “Wait.” She said softly. “There is one more thing I need to do.” She handed her pack to Thorn. “I will meet you at the stables.”
“Candor, no!” Letti called, but Candor had already begun jogging the other way through the home.
“Come on.” Thorn shouldered the extra pack and marched towards the front door. “Something is wrong. It’s time.”
Letti, utterly infuriated at her lack of information, followed Thorn out into the street, flashing back to the afternoon before when she had watched Candor disappear down the drain. She wondered if Candor were going to execute her oath.
Candor sprinted through the house, ducking around corners, and listening for sevants. She tried hard to ignore the pulling in her stomach. The longer she stayed, the more painful it grew. She hoped, desperately, that distance would lessen the impulse.
Arriving at the door, Candor knocked softly, but did not wait to be bidden to enter. She cracked the door enough to make sure Zorca was not in the room, she was unsure if she could hold herself back from killing him if he had he presented himself to her. She was also uncertain why she did not want to kill him. She wished him dead: she knew his actions, his choices, but killing him in cold blood at another’s will seemed different than her past killings.
Miquen lay in the same position he had when Candor had last visited. He smiled at her.
“I hoped you would come.” His eyes darted to the chair next to his bed, offering her a seat.
“I cannot stay long.” Candor stepped over and sat. She took the dying man’s hand. “I needed to tell you that you will die soon.”
Miquen nodded, unperturbed. “You found the study.” He said simply.
“I did.” Said Candor.
“I am glad. I am glad you freed them. And I am glad to be leaving this body.” Miquen’s voice was labored, but his tone was tranquil. “I have been on this earth for too long, and on stolen time. I will not ask for forgiveness, but neither will I leave this world without regrets.”
Candor felt the ripple in her chest again. She fought with it even as she fought with the compulsion in her stomach. She elected not to speak of it to Miquen. He knew enough pain.
“I resolved to give you the book, but only if you came to me of your own accord.” Miquen was saying. “It takes a certain type of person to show sympathy to a creature like me.” Miquen’s hand trembled slightly under Candor’s, as if he were trying to squeeze her. “You can tell a person’s character by how they treat a small or dying thing, and how they treat power. Remember that, Candor. I have a feeling you will be much observed.” Miquen coughed.
“I don’t regret setting them free, though I wished you had been offered a different lot in this life.” Candor said. “I wish only peace for you.”
“I thank you.” Miquen blinked. “This is farewell, Candor, Icaria’s daughter. I wish you well. If I do not see Zorca before I pass, please bid him farewell for me.”
Candor fought the urge to retch once more. She stood, bent, and kissed the dying man on his forehead one last time. “Goodbye.”
Without another glance, Candor was not sure she could stomach it, she turned and left the room, breathing in the cool air of the clean hallway. After a moment, Candor sprinted out the foyer and out of the house, taking care to close the front doors. As she took a few steps, she heard a distant bell, followed by another, and another.
Turning the first corner that would lead her to the stables, she saw Thorn and Letti mounted, trotting towards her faster than they should have been. Candor jogged over and swung herself into her saddle.
“We’ve been spotted.” Thorn informed her grimly. “We need to ride and ride fast.”
Candor’s lips grew thin. “Was it Zorca?”
“No.” Thorn spurred his horse foreward. “I don’t think so. He speaks with petty intentions but would die before letting others into his decisions.”
Not entirely convinced, Candor kept her thoughts to herself, remembering her trek from the night before. She felt her body fighting fatigue and emotional failure as she urged her horse around corners, into canters, and under canopies.
“There.” Candor pointed to a path off an intersection. She remembered the turn from the night before.
“That will lead us to a marketplace,” Thorn disagreed. “But the others seem narrow.”
“We just need to get onto the beach, and we can ride.” Candor whispered.
Thorn did not disagree but led them down a different path than Candor recommended. Just as they turned another corner, the trio ran directly into a column of soldiers, facing away from them.
Before any of them could back up, Thorn’s horse snorted, and the soldiers turned. In a moment of pure surprise, the soldiers waited, frozen. Thorn took the initiative, drawing his sword and charging through the column, scattering the soldiers, and taking off two heads.
Candor followed, whipping her old sword back and forth, leaving her indigo sword across her back. Now was not the time to loose that weapon.
Letti followed, fending off latent attacks and stabbing where she saw openings. Finally, they were through, and Thorn galloped forward.
With a yell, Candor spurred her steed to follow, and the three, covered in flecks of blood, sprinted through the city. They encountered two more squads of soldiers, one in blue and one in red, and treated them the same. Finally, as even Candor’s arm was growing tired, Thorn whipped around the corner of a final turn, and saw the gate closed in front of him. He swore, and pulled his horse into another small street, the girls following him.
“We will have to fight our way out.” Thorn said. “Letti, you stay with the horses.” He rummaged around in his back before drawing out a small horn. “When I blow this, come forward, just until the gate is right over you. Be ready to run. Candor, you and I are going to clear the guards and the first few archers. We need access to a little distance.”
Candor nodded. Both dismounted quickly, and dashed down the street, keeping their backs to the wall. Letti waited, desperately listening for the bugle call.
For this fight, Candor did take her indigo sword. Thorn motioned for her to stop, and she froze, waiting for his signal. Waving them forward, Thorn took the right parapet, and Candor the left. She heard a few yells, and muffled thumps as Thorn encountered resistance, but found her side empty. At the top, a large man and a young boy knelt at the far end of the tiny space, each holding a sword. They both wore red. The man looked up, and with evident trepidation, raised his sword.
Candor lowered hers. “Just go.” She shook her head. “You have lost no honor to me.”
The man gazed at her for a brief moment, before snatching the boy’s arm and running down the stairs. Candor sighed, then turned to the small door that led to the tops of the walls. Running behind the barbed spines that lined the city, Candor did not meet any archers. This lack of resistance chilled her bones more than a fight would have. Something did not feel right. This escape was too easy. Perhaps they thought we would leave elsewhere?
Jogging back to the tower, Candor saw Thorn on the far side. He raised his horn to his lips and blew. He then sprinted back down the stairs, and Candor mirrored him. On each side of the gate, Candor and Thorn wrenched the cable turns into motion, pulling up the gate. Just as Letti arrived and pulled the horses to a stop under the spikes of the gate, a contingent of soldiers on horseback turned the corner at the far end of the street. With yells, they urged their steeds forward.
“Letti, be ready to run.” Thorn hollered, and Letti tensed, ready to urge her own horse into movement. It neighed, impatient, feeding off her frightened energy.
Candor heard the steps of human feet running and guessed the archers had only been late to their positions.
“Candor now!” Thorn yelled, and Candor dropped her side, letting the gate begin its way slowly back down. She and Thorn jumped onto their horses and Letti spurred all three forward as Candor and Thorn attempted to situate.
Candor heard the reassuring crash of the gate behind them even as arrows whistled past her ears.
“Faster.” Letti cried.
With the thrum of the alarm bells still echoing in their ears, the trio of fugitives ran south, even as they had run from wraiths a few days prior. Candor felt the adrenaline surge in her veins as the tugging sensation in her stomach lessened, and she took the reins back from Letti. She was on the move again, and that was more calming than any tonic she could have taken.
They rode until sunset, slowing slightly as the horses grew weary. They had faced no pursuit.
“Don’t you think,” Letti panted as they set down in an outcropping of rocks, “they should have sent soldiers after us?”
“My guess is that they’re having some authority issues.” Thorn replied. He unsaddled his horse and walked over to the waves. “Did you notice the soldiers on horses were of Durevin? And the archers of Ome Chaer?”
Letti shook her head. Candor slid off her horse, ignoring everyone around her. She felt rather shaky, as if the world would give way wherever she stepped next. She began undoing her saddle.
“I think the port master and the Durevin houses are trying to combine forces, but that is not simply done overnight. And we were not important enough to chase out of the city.”
“I suppose.” Letti harrumphed. “I’m tired of riding at a gallop.”
“You and your horse both.” Thorn growled back. “We should not be riding this hard.”
“We should stop getting chased.” Letti fird back, and Thorn cracked a small smile.
“Candor, can you help me—Candor!” Letti rushed to her friend as she crumpled into a ball at the base of the rock. “Candor, twins, Thorn help me.” Letti’s voice grew shrill.
Thorn pulled something out of his pack and handed it to Letti. It was chocolate. Letti cradled Candor and tried to offer it to the girl. She would not take it. A ripping sound emanated from Candor, and Letti recognized it as sobs. Candor buried her head in Letti’s lap and cried until she could breathe no more. She cried for her parents, for her village, for her mothers, for the Fae. She cried for Riven and Cairlaen and the refugees she had helped. She cried for Miquen and Zorca and for what monsters love could turn people into. She cried for the girl she had been, and for what she was becoming, and she cried at the scars she had earned since she’d left the village. She didn’t want to breathe anymore; she wanted to float off into the sea. She wanted nothing more than to stare at the stars and forget the world, full of suffering and terrible people who did terrible things.
Letti stroked her head, murmering and singing and feeling Candor’s warm tears soak into her trousers. Thorn, at a loss for how to help after he offered chocolate, busied himself with making a fire. When that didn’t take as long as Candor’s recovery, Thorn lit the driftwood and sat back into the shadows, fiddling with a broken shell. He watched the girls, sinking into the warmth of the fire. He had spent many nights waiting, feeling the pain Candor endured at this moment. I know that stardust pain more than most. He thought to himself. Thorn felt the stitches of his long-buried wounds tug and stretch as he watched the girls. What companionship he had lost he had sworn never to find again; that loss cut deeper than any physical pain Thorn had ever endured.
Letti did not look up from Candor once; all the wraiths in the world could have descended upon them, and she would not notice. Thorn observed the dark-haired girl, noted her own tears that slid down her face, not for herself or her parents, but for Candor and her pain. Thorn watched Letti lean over and offer the pressure of her body to Candor as the white-haired girl shook uncontrollably. He watched Letti’s dark eyes trace her friend’s neck, her hands stroke the damp hair from Candor’s feverish forehead. As Thorn watched Letti care, he remembered, unbidden, a different warmth running across his chest as she fell back into him, rent from neck to stern… No. Thorn closed that memory, snapping his teeth together. Letti did not look up, but Thorn rose quietly, the moment too intimate, too painful to watch anymore. He strolled down the beach, visiting the horses briefly to water them, before leaving the flickering fire deep in the distance.
Letti heard Thorn stir but did not watch him leave. Candor had not yet turned her face to the stars, and though her sobs had quieted, her body still shook every few moments. Letti wondered if she were on the brink of sleep. She stroked Candor’s hair again and waited. Letti and Candor had wrestled when they were children, but never had Letti held Candor’s weight so personally. She shivered; Candor had always run hotter than the other children. Lola called it Candor’s natural illness defense. Letti hadn’t thought much of it, but as the moments lengthened, Letti felt herself warming under Candor. Finally, she shifted, trying to find the chill of the evening air.
Candor turned, tilting her face up in Letti’s lap. Cheeks tear stained and blotchy pink, eyes bloodshot, lips swollen, Candor had never looked so small. Letti’s heart contracted, and she bent, ever so slightly, towards Candor’s face. Candor stilled, brow furrowed slightly, as if she were returning to herself. Letti sat back up slowly.
Candor too, pushed herself into a seated position, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry, Lettishae.” She muttered, voice hoarse.
Letti did not trust herself to speak. Candor stood, wobbling only slightly, before stripping her tunic off, leaving only her chest binding and trousers on, and walking into the waves, out of the firelight.
Letti watched her go, eyes on the flicker of flames against Candor’s white hair. It’s gotten so long, Letti thought miserably to herself, before slumping back against the rock. As Candor dissapeared into the sea, Letti threw her head back and focused on the stars. They were different here, and instead of reminding her of home, Letti found they made her feel even more alone: a stranger in a strange world. She dropped her gaze to the fire, jumping slightly as Thorn returned quietly out of the darkness.
“Where’s Candor?” He asked.
Letti pointed to the waves, lacking the energy to speak. Thorn surprised Letti by rummaging through her pack and extracting her bedroll. He laid it out at the edge of the fire’s light.
“Sleep.” He instructed, handing her some dried fruit from his own bag. I’ll take first watch.”
Letti nodded, dragging herself into her blankets. Within a few moments of chewing and a quick swig of water, she fell fast asleep.
Thorn watched the water for some sign of Candor. When she still hadn’t emerged, and the fire was dying, Thorn went to stand at the edge of the water. He saw a streak of white, further out in sea than he had expected. Candor’s white hair shone in the starlight. She seemed to be treading water, staring at the sky. As she rotated back to face the beach, Thorn saw her eyes flash with the reflection of the night’s light. He shivered; she looked like a sea monster. Quick as a flash, Candor ducked under the swells again, and when she reappeared, Thorn could see she was remarkably closer than she had been. He watched her take a breath and dive once more.
When Candor rose from the water, she moved with the waves to bring herself to shore, graceful as the large cats of the east.
“Thorn.” Candor greeted the large man.
“Candor.” Thorn observed the girl; her voice held none of the suppressed malice it had for the last few days. He almost complimented her on how long she could hold her breath but thought better of it. For a brief moment, Thorn was certain he was the more locquacious of the two.
“Dry me.” Candor ordered, staring at Thorn. She did not blink, and he grew wary.
Thorn shook his head. “I’ll remake the fire.”
Candor’s head turned to follow Thorn as he trouped towards the embers. She followed quietly, placing her feet exactly in his footsteps.
As she drew closer to the camp, Candor seemed to return to herself, if slowly. Thorn handed her some of the fruit he had offered Letti, and Candor drank deeply from her skin. neither spoke as Thorn blew on the blue flames.
“I am split.” Candor finally said slowly, “between a deep and desperate desire to hurt people, and an urge to protect people.”
Thorn stiffened, then stilled. He was familiar.
“I feel as though I will tear in half with this in my heart.” Candor maintained her cadence. “And I do not know how to escape it.”
Thorn gazed at the girl. Her white hair had grown shaggy, and she bore a small scar on the outside of her face now. Her hands, tough as they had been when they first met, now looked weathered. She seemed to have aged significantly in the time Thorn had known her. Letti too, had aged, but not in the same way. Candor now looked as though she held the weight of a thousand generations between her shoulders, which, Thorn had to admit, she did.
“It won’t get easier.” Thorn murmured.
“I know.” Said Candor. Both lapsed into silence.
Finally, Candor pulled her blankets from her pack and curled up next to Letti, leaving Thorn to watch the fire, watch the sea, and watch the sky.
~.~
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