Chris’s snoring is worst than the morning trumpet forcing new recruits from their cots. His hot alcohol sweet breath sticks to the back of Zack’s neck. The thief sleeps like the dead, limp and surprisingly heavy to carry up flights of stairs. Moira’s slipper feet flops over the floor as she follows closely behind. To her credit she isn’t mentioning the drunk confession from earlier. But it’s a question of when and not if. Hiking his friend higher on his back he pauses to let her search the pockets again. His key is somewhere, but he has a suspicion is laying on the dusty throw pillows of his ‘office’.

Defeated he carries him a few more feet to his own quarters, until he’s coherent again. Still he can’t ignore the guilt sticking to his heart. He doesn’t know what part of their conversation set off the drunken bender, but what ever it was, ended with him passed out in the dark kitchen. If only he kept his mouth shut. Lex is his problem, not theirs, and now she’s involved. It’s his turn to fumble for his key, small and discreet on a sensible ring. It jabs his leg when ever he sits down, but then at least he knows it’s there.

Despite his sleepless night, his space is pristine. Its an unfortunate consequence of kit inspections by fussy superiors. The embers in the fireplace glow, reminding him of the pot of water he has boiling. His mouth waters at the thought of hot tea as he drops him on the bed. That’s when he notices her standing with her hand on the open door. She clenches her jaw as she scans the hallway before closing the door behind her.

The thief mumbles in a drunk slumber, before rolling over on his stomach. He removes the muddy boots and places them on the floor beside the nightstand. She stands against the door, turning the key in her hands. He knows that look. He has observed her enough to know when she’s uncertain. The old Moira would waltz in and reprimand him for Chris’s recklessness. But with Princess Avalon at the helm the old Moira needs coaxing to come out.

“Will he be okay?” she asks.

“He needs to sleep it off. Thank you for the help, Your Highness.” He half expects her to flee, shoot from the room and pretend he doesn’t exist for the rest of the day. But there she is, like a deer in a field, surveying his room with quiet interest. “Can I offer you tea, water’s still hot.”

“Yes please,” she smiles, making herself comfortable in the nearby chair, “milk and—”

“—three sugars, I know.” Using a heavy cloth, he takes the boiling pot from the fire and fills a porcelain cup with steaming liquid. “Your Highness drinks a lot of tea; I noticed your preference.” He goes about making it to her taste, knowing that no matter the mood or circumstance, he’s never seen her angry while drinking tea.

“Thank you,” accepting the cup, “it’s a habit from the Academy. It’s supposed to soothe the mind and body.”

“Glad you didn’t become a drunkard like him while you were abroad.”

“Tea’s generally cheap and easier to pack. Besides, Eclipse insisted I stay on my guard.” She sips from the cup as he takes a seat across from her. May I ask you something?”

“Of course, Your Highness,”

“Please Zack, we’re alone. Drop the formalities, just this once.” But the formalities keep them on their appropriate side of the line. He’s already pushing the boundary with Lex’s orders. Now she’s alone in his quarters. He’s already in over his head and he hasn’t had breakfast yet. But then he notices the loneliness behind her eyes; Eclipse was her only confidant but he’s beyond her reach. Is this why she’s suddenly friendly? It doesn’t matter, he’ll take a quiet conversation over her uncomfortable silence any day. He nods and grants her this victory. “Chris said you told him Alexanderia is going to war, is it true?”

“Chris is a drunk; you can’t believe everything he says.”

“I need to know.”

“It’s classified; I made the mistake of telling him. And General Stone will kill me if I tell you anything.”

“Then it’s true,”

“It’s a precaution. Your father is a Mage, after all, he won’t commit to war.”

“Promise I have your strictest confidence,” the way she pauses with her cup on her lap makes him nervous. “I mean it Zack. Not a word, swear.”

“I swear. Now tell me,”

“In short— my father isn’t a Mage, well not anymore. He denounced it all long ago.”

“Since when?”

“When my mother died. He even forbade me to learn magic; afraid I’d suffer a similar fate.”

“But he still sent you to the Academy?”

“The Oracle arrived on my eighth birthday and fought with my father for three days; then left. He sent me to the Academy after my tenth birthday.” If religious views aren’t hindering his actions; why is he refusing counsel from his general? “Are you prepared?”

“The army is sufficient.”

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“I’m not talking about the army Zack,”

“I will be fine Princess.” He had the same discussion last night. He’s not a child, he’s more than capable of protecting Alexanderia. He glances at his sword laying on the windowsill. She places her cup on the table and approaches the weapon. His gut wrenches when he notices the guarded expression, she wore in Lollardum spilling over her face. “About that night,”

“You aren’t the first person to attack me and you won’t be the last.”

“I want to apologise nonetheless.” It all seems so insignificant now, that night was a lifetime ago. It’s not the same world anymore. He notices her posture relax, perhaps she feels it too, because she accepts the apology with a smile before turning her focus on the weapon.

“How much do you know about the sword you carry?”

“All I know is what the king told me. He said the sun design is the symbol of Zander, the chief Mage God. And the symbols are an old Mage language.”

“Ancient Umarian.”

“You recognize it?” A glitter of hope flickers, for so long the sword has been a mystery. “I like to know what you know.”

“How did you acquire it?”

“Routine scouting mission.” But her eyes demand more. “One summer, while exploring the western mountains, I found the sword wedged behind rocks in a cave. I wanted to discard the rusting heap of metal,” his fingertips tingle as they glide over the steel, “but something beckoned me to keep it.”

He can’t forget the moment it called to him. It spoke in a soundless voice, speaking to him from the blood coursing through his veins. Promising not fame nor fortune but something beyond his comprehension. The sword sings of a destiny; written in the stars. But the song isn’t clear, the words are a whimper, and its the muddy mystery that scares him.

“Do you know how it works?”

“Sometimes it’s a normal sword. Other times it takes over. Like an out of body experience; I see and feel everything but I’m not in control of it.”

“If Eclipse was here, he would call you an idiot for using magic you can’t control.” She frowns, “a sword depicting a snake swallowing Zander’s sun— like on your pommel, is mentioned in a myth. The Great Snake, jealous of Zander’s prosperity, swallows the sun casting Umara in Darkness. Zander tricks the Snake into swallowing him and he uses the sword to cut through its stomach releasing the sun. They called the sword: Zander’s Reaping Vengeance.”

“You think this sword belonged to a God?”

“I read accounts of people discovering ancient relics from the Holy Realm in our world.” She squints as she reads the inscription on the blade, “it’s plausible it was forged in honour of Zander and created by mortals. But the text has no mention of the smith who forged it.”

“You read an ancient language?”

“I was top of my class, plus the marks on my staff are similar. Be careful though, it’ll be catastrophic if this weapon falls into the wrong hands.”

“Are you afraid I’m too powerful for you to defeat?” he jokes, but she isn’t laughing.

“The sword’s magical pull concerns me. Ancient records confirm blacksmiths discovered how to infuse magic into forged weapons. These weapons assisted in conquering the evil creatures of the continent. For the first time, Innocents fought alongside Mages as equals. Once the continent was tame production ceased and the weapons were destroyed. Yet, your sword still functions which raises unanswered questions.”

“Incredible, are there others like mine out there?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“But if the world today mistrusts Mages so much, wouldn’t it make sense to try to create weapons to combat them?”

““The only modern item resembling this production is my staff. They were created, not out of necessity, but to accelerate the training process. Why the process needed acceleration is unclear. But considering when the industry of magical swords unexpectedly collapsed the mass production of Mage staffs increased overnight. It’s almost suspicious.”

He watches her return to her seat. Neither her nor Eclipse speak fondly of the Council. But she harbours a cold disdain that’s only apparent when she’s in private.

“I’ve never met someone so jaded. What did the Council do to you?”

“They made me the person I am today.” she sips her tea, “I am forever grateful.”

“Moira, you are safe here, you don’t need to hide behind this façade.”

“I beg to differ. My father is taking this kingdom into a war, and the madman who killed our families is at our doorstep. Alexanderia is not as safe as you think. Not for you and definitely not for me.”

“The king hasn’t made any decision yet. And he’ll use his magic against Kipling if it means protecting you. He fought him once; he’ll do it again.”

“Are you so sure? Have we been watching the same man?”

“You have been gone for so long, and yes, he may have changed since you last saw each other. It happens as people age.”

“I’m not referring to his grey hairs. When I was a child, he was the most loving and dedicated man. The most doting father I could ever ask for. After the Treason everything changed. And I accepted that, in part. What I can’t accept is his lack of empathy to the situation. He ignores it, sweeps it under the rug, and spends more time with Lord Beckham than any other human being.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“He lost his way. And Beckham has happily given him a path to follow. And that path will never include confronting Kipling. And even if it did, do you know how unpredictable magic is? He hasn’t used it in over a decade, only the Gods know what will happen if he tries. I know it may look easy when I do it, but trust me, after forgoing training for this long, even I’m losing confidence.”

“It’s not going to end that way. Like I said it’s a precaution.”

“There’s only one way this ends, if he fights, he’ll die and Kipling will take the palace. You know it and I know it. And the scary thing is, my father knows it too.” She places the empty cup on the table; signally the end of the discussion.

“Moira don’t go,”

“I shouldn’t be caught leaving your quarters in the early morning. Please keep our conversation between us. With Eclipse gone, I need someone to trust.”

“You can trust me.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, quietly slipping from his room. He glances at the sword resting on the window ledge, bathing in the morning light, and senses something menacing under the dormant steel. He recalls the night he and her fought on the cliffs. The sword awoke and fueled his temper, he never killed a man before but in that moment he yearned to kill her. Chris asked him if, when the magic took over, if he could tell friend from foe. Thinking back on it, remembering how he felt about her then; he can’t be so sure anymore.