Val opened the door to the tavern and guided Bastian through the door. His nose was still bandaged, and the ghost of his bruises remained, but much of his soreness had dissipated as evidenced by his smoother movement. His surly mood had remained, and their stay the past two days in the inn at the edge of Kal’Fall had been an unusually difficult time. Dorius had sulked after fighting with Bastian, and without books to distract him created only work for those around him. Bastian had not needled after Val again, but instead focused his frustration on Dorius who pulled rank to avoid the confrontation. Bastian had therefore kept mostly to his rooms, and Val unable to avoid constant contact with Dorius rotated guard with Til’wane as often as she was comfortable.

Kal’Fall was more fortress than town, the ancient keep was perched at the base of a steep sided valley as the edges of the Spine spilled into the Fourth Pentarchy’s borders. The town at its base had grown through the years as evidenced by the motley collection of architectural styles, but was austere and minimal, serving the needs for the Ivory Guard stationed there and the few travelers, as well as a minor trade. The battlements above flew a gold four-horned dragon on white.

Bastian had scouted them an inn on the edge of town, and after a night in the open they made their arrival in the early morning to avoid as many onlookers as possible. A party of three Fae was unlikely to go unnoticed. From there they had made contact with the keeper of the local tavern and passed on the message, some coin, and a Company sigil to make contact with any scouts travelling ahead of Dorius’ retinue. A day later, if their message had made it they expected to make contact during the lunch hours, a usual maneuver for the Company.

Val hadn’t needed to go, in fact it was likely better if she didn’t. But the suffocation of the past days weighed on her. Til’wane and Lee’to were constantly in her periphery, and her resentment at their presence had only built. With a hint of guilt, they had made useful distractions for Dorius sulking childishly, and Lee’to had continued teaching him the hand language. Val even picked up a few gestures and the basics of the grammar structure, although she had no interest in it academically like Dorius, a silent means of secret communication was only likely to be useful. The Laon’s obliging faces and deferential gestures wore on her though, and she worried at their real thoughts of her. She’d choose Bastian’s company, surly as he’d been, in preference to that. At least Bastian’s resentment at secrets she understood, even if this time he was not letting go of it as easily. This she dismissed as bitterness from being left to the Snake Prince’s hospitality, and so she felt only forgiveness and sympathy in her heart.

Val skimmed the faces of the tavern as they made their way to a seat at the back, she spied no bird symbols, they were hopefully just early. Bastian chatted with the tavern keeper at the bar, far too busy with the crowd to come to their tables for orders, then passed a few coins and came to sit with Val, eyes like hers skimming the room. Work did a lot to distract them both and neither had attempted to address their fight on the road, unusual for their friendship to let a cloud hover whereas Dorius and Bastian could go days.

“No one?” he asked as he sat.

Val shook her head, and purposefully ignored a few curious eyes that glanced her way by fidgeting with her axe harness to reposition it so she could sit sideways on the chair.

Bastian seemed tired, and leaned on his hand with a halfhearted frown on his face.

“Hopefully they are just late,” offered Val, in an attempt to smooth the rift between them.

Bastian raised an eyebrow to look at her for a moment, considering if he wanted to take her bait. Despite herself she felt her breath release and a tension in her back unwind when he looked away and snarked, “Or they found easier work on the way and quit.”

Val tilted her head with the hint of a smile, “Hart doesn’t drop a contract.”

“Ho? Bad habit of the Company then. Problem clients should be dropped, or at least charged a fee for the effort of dealing with them,” he shifted position to make room for a barmaid bringing mugs of watery beer and bread broken and slathered with melting butter. The moment the mug was free Bastian tipped it back and gave a sigh like the world weighed on him. Leaning back, mug in hand, he looked across at Val and seemed to study her, his eyes landing on the broach gifted to her by the Laons. She had not worn the wolf pelt, aware the look was a little too conspicuous, not that she was not already. Val blandly met his eyes, then she helped herself to the bread and returned her gaze to the tavern to keep watch.

“Learning anything interesting from the Fae?” he asked finally. There was an iciness in the question, but it seemed as sincere a peace offering as she would get from him.

Val couldn’t help herself a snort, “I imagine it is how a mother feels, her children constantly under her feet. I get no peace from them.”

Bastian gave her a sly grin at the comment, “What’s this? I thought they were your own kind?”

“I almost need to give them instructions to breathe. I do not know if Til’wane has no thoughts in his head except discomfort when one order contradicts another, or if he has the best poker face I’ve ever seen.”

Bastian gave a genuine laugh, “The little one is useful at least.”

Val let herself a low growl in her throat, “I know less of what to make of her.”

“Dorius can have her, save us the trouble.”

Val watched two Ivory Guard enter the tavern for their own lunch, plumed helmets marking them as officers. She sunk her head low, hoping the crowd would hide her. Bastian followed her eyes to watch them as well, a careful mask of disinterest on his face.

“You see anything to know which cousin is here?” he asked her.

Val gave the barest of head shakes, “Everything so far is the Ivory’s whites.”

“We may have to get a little closer to the keep,” Bastian sipped from his mug thoughtfully. He had not done his usual scouting, a man with a bandaged face was too easy to remember.

The tavern door opened again and Hart walked in with Davern and a younger man, looking about the room, company sigil proud on his breast. Val caught herself before she reacted, letting him scan the room and spot them on his own. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of them, but he shuffled to the bar first to speak with the keeper and exchanged further coin, before dispatching the younger man on some task. He then meandered through the tables towards them, Bastian dragging some unused chairs from a table nearby for them to join.

Hart gave Val a fatherly pat on the shoulder, but his eyes stayed on Bastian’s miserable face taking in the injuries and shaved head.

“How’s it Val. Boy, what happened to you?”

“I’ve been practicing my boxing with Val,” retorted Bastian with a cheeky grin, his eyes and a quick gesture of his hand communicating this was not the place for details.

Hart nodded knowingly and sat, “Aye, she’ll knock your wits out before you know it.”

“The Company?” asked Bastian.

“About a day out still, we rode ahead on talon steeds. You got our client?”

“He’s waiting at the Leaping Hare,” replied Bastian, naming the inn they were staying in, “We’ll have our hands full moving them, we’ve picked up two new companions who are not… discreet.”

Hart rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “We can bring the carriage into town? Pick him up and make a scene of dropping off some of the men who won’t be needed in residence. The Ivory will spot our sigils soon enough and know he’s here.”

Bastian nodded in assent to the plan, “Bring our things with you, we’ll need a change before presenting ourselves to the fort. Word is, there is family in residence.”

Hart furrowed his brow, that would require a more significant arrival party than he had been previously planning.

“We picked up the scouting party just yest’rday, made contact on the way through Barth at the Black Wolf quarters there,” added Davern gruffly, “They said nothin’ about that?”

“Our information seemed reliable, but we’ve seen no colors to know who,” admitted Bastian, “You got my light bow with the Company? I’ve lost my war bow.”

“Your Pop’s one?” asked Davern, and when Bastian nodded added, “Tch, ‘tis a shame, what’d you do that for?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” snipped Bastian in return.

“Your trunks are with everything else,” replied Hart, but his disappointment to hear of the bow's loss was obvious on his face. He had been good friends with Bastian’s father. “What of you Val? Faring better than Bastian?”

Before Val could reply Bastian slipped in, “You’re a grand-da now Hart,” his golden eyes catching Val’s with a glint of playful mockery.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Val blushed and sniffed in disdain, “Don’t say it that way.”

Hart looked curious between them both, eyebrows raised. “You called them your children first,” taunted Bastian, before clarifying, “The new bodies we picked up, you’ll understand when you see them.”

Val scoffed, “I didn’t call them my children.”

Hart gave her a knowing pat on the shoulder, and joining the fun added with an austere voice, “Carry on the family tradition Valina, it's a noble cause to take in a foundling foisted upon you.”

“They’re not foundlings!”

Bastian laughed freely and spared her a soft smile, before moving the conversation on to discuss the remaining logistics of their reunion with Company.

—

Val watched from the open shutters of the inn as the familiar lacquered carriage came into sight, a cavalcade of Phoenix Company men and women mounted on fell beasts clearing the streets for its passage. The majority wore company leathers, but a smaller band that surrounded the carriage were dressed in Dorius’ ashen blues. Hart shuffled his mount back and forth, riding a pied talon steed to facilitate his movement up and down the line as he managed their entrance.

A body double stepped from the carriage, cap worn over their head to hide the fact they lacked Dorius' distinct silver blonde hair, and manservants followed inside with several crates of goods between them. Hart began a grand display of barking for several men to begin unloading goods and negotiating rates with the innkeep that emerged to greet them. Two further figures emerged from the carriage, Elias, with a hood over his head and staff in hand to steady his step on the mud of the streets, and Anette, dressed in magnificent robes almost as fine as Dorius wore and a high collar of black feathers around her neck.

Bastian hovered close to Val, his brow tightening as he watched the Ivory Guard pass on the street below, and he pulled the shutters closed, then went to the next window to do the same. Dorius paced within, he had been restless for the past day once Bastian and Val had returned with news of their plans to move him to the keep.

A sharp rap on the door, and Elias and Anette entered followed by two manservants with a crate between them.

“Elias!” called Dorius, coming to hug the advisor, genuine pleasure on his face. Anette bustled past, snapping quick orders to the men, then back out the room to begin organizing the servants settling into the other rooms. They had taken over the entire upper story of the inn for the purpose of facilitating their trade in privacy. Val ducked her head through the doorway and watched the incoming crates, pressing herself against the wall to make room for them in the tight corridor.

“Til’wane,” she called, “Come watch the stairs, no one comes up except those in blue or wearing the Phoenix,” she ordered, tapping on the shoulder of one of the servants as they passed to show him the company sigil. Anette eyes wide, watched him pass as she came back into Dorius room and Val caught her arm, “We have some of my spare blues to dress him?”

Anette nodded her head, “I was not expecting…” she trailed off as she watched the tall Laon squeeze past them in the hallway to follow the command without hesitation.

“Dorius will have two bodyguards now, especially if there are family here,” explained Val, then as an afterthought added, “He’s not Company, he serves me directly. And her,” gesturing across the room to Lee’to.

Anette was subtle enough to not show further shock at the new arrivals. “We will have everything arranged in a few moments, you can change when we are ready,” she replied. Val shot Lee’to a glance, “Stay here, learn how we do it here. Anette is seneschal and manages Dorius’ house, you will do as she says,” then she leaned through the door to grab Bastian’s attention, “I’m stopping on the street a moment, I’ll let the Ivory see me.”

A servant had already bought her leather Company jacket, Phoenix sigil pinned on the shoulder. She pulled it over her travel wear, she was only going outside in a performatory display of her presence for any watchers. Every member of Dorius’ family, and any scout working for them, would recognize her and she wanted them aware she was around given the outcome of his last visit with family. She bounced down the stairs, the fading sound of Anette organizing the rooms and Elias' questions on Bastian’s changed appearance behind her.

The street had turned to mush outside, the sudden arrival of so many mounts churning up the mud. Val planted herself conspicuously at the entrance of the inn, following the path of two Ivory Guard that weaved through the Company men with her eyes. Hart spied her, and bought his pied steed close.

“We have men stopping at most of the inns and hiring rooms,” he informed her, “Dorius’ll lack the influence to displace any cousins' retinue, better just make it obvious we already know they are there.”

Val only gave the shortest of grunts in the back of her throat to let him know she had heard.

“That your foundling?” asked Hart, bending low on his mount to look through the doorway to watch Til’wane supervising the stream of movement up and down the stairs. “You’re not a half-breed?” the realization made his voice breathy.

“There’s another,” replied Val curtly.

“I have a lot to catch up on,” Hart mumbled to himself, and left her to her guard.

Val waited long enough to be sure anyone spying on their arrival had seen her, then selected a particularly heavy looking crate to help the servants carry inside. The bustle of movement after so many days as a small party had her energized, and she felt both anticipation and anxiety at the prospect of their arrival to the keep.

Anette waved her into one of the rooms on her return, and pushed Lee’to after her. Servants had already arranged her gaudy armor she wore in Dorius' formal company, and she showed Lee’to how it was worn as she dressed. She had rightly guessed that the strange robes that Lee’to had dressed her in for the Vigilants was a hybrid of human and Laon styles, and she would need introducing to the clothing styles of humans to properly serve as a handmaid. When she was done, she gave her instruction to get Til’wane and dress him in her spare set.

He was obediently in the room within moments, and Lee’to helping him change. They, like her, did not seem uncomfortable with skin, and she did not leave the room as he stripped while she carefully arranged the chains and charms on her horns that finished her outfit. Til’wane was silent at the foreign dress, his only complaint an odd look as Lee’to took the wolf skin from him. Val chose one of her chains, and passed it to Lee’to, gesturing to her own horn to indicate what she wanted done with it and Til’wane kneeled to let her swap his own beaded charm for the chain.

Val had thought hard for many hours over her decision to place Til’wane as another bodyguard to Dorius. His natural ease at most guarding duties he had been assigned in their short travel together had reassured her this was work he was already familiar with, and while she had not seen him in combat, he carried his halbard with a familiarity that convinced her he knew how to use it. If nothing else, his Fae strength made him more valuable and dangerous than any human guard would be, so she had raised the idea to Dorius and he had accepted the idea after reassurance she would still be his primary guard. It seemed a more natural explanation of their presence, rather than hiding them. His family knew he had previously found some odd Fae to serve him once, why not the idea that he could have many more at his service? It seemed a suitable escalation of his public image now that he had work directly from the Pentarch.

As she hooked the dragon charm from a head horn, she ran her fingers along the chin horn that had chipped many weeks back now when she had last worn this armor. No trace of it remained, it had grown out since, and the horn was smooth and polished black. An odd thought passed her mind to ask Lee’to and Til’wane later about his broken horn and if it would heal as well.

She took a meditative breath, steeling herself and slipping into the persona she wore most closely around Dorius’ family. It was an act, a play for those to watch. The fire within her chest came to mind and she soothed her thoughts, both anxious and excited. She turned to adjust Til’wane’s dress, Lee’to observing. Val pulled at Til’wane’s sleeves where his shoulders and arms were too slim compared to hers and did not fit neatly, Lee’to catching her frustration and helping to adjust the gambeson beneath and the strapping of the lacquered and gilded plate.

“Do your drones and maidens have infighting? Or between the Matriarch’s daughters?” she asked as she worked, “Disputes for influence or status between each other?” Til’wane nodded briefly and Val continued her explanation hoping she had learnt enough from them for her to emphasize the importance of the roles she needed them now to play, “The Pentarch is our Matriarch, and Dorius is his youngest sister’s son. We go now to meet with one or more of his cousins and follow him into an inheritance dispute.”

Lee’to and Til’wane made an expression which seemed they suddenly had found their odd task following an alate beyond their colony significantly more important than whatever they thought they were doing before. She found herself sympathetic towards them for the first time, and wondered if they were both finding it difficult to adjust to this new world they found themselves in. She wondered if they had volunteered, or even consented to this new role. Or had the drone that oversaw the Laons that served the Vigilants selected them without them knowing, and thrust them both into the unknown.

“The Pentarch is male, his older sister supported his claim when he took the throne from his mother. He has four sisters total, and the children from his older sister are the heirs apparent but have not been officially named as such. In total, Dorius has eight cousins, with Dorius the second youngest,” she continued. “Humans are not born into castes to let them know who they are to become, all they have is their mother’s bloodline. When Dorius’ mother passed away with no daughters, that branch of his family was ended with her. He has no claim to the throne without a female cousin to support him, as he has no way of passing on the bloodline himself. Thus, his influence is lacking and his position tenuous.”

“Why support him?” asked Til’wane. The question shocked her for a moment, as she had never considered anything else. She had given the background only as a warning for how important his role would be.

She hummed, and stepped back to study her work adjusting her armor on him. It was not perfect, but it would pass until a tailor could adjust her spares. If nothing, the sight of a second horned guard was likely enough to impress that the small details of their dress would be forgotten.

“He is like a brother to me. His father saved me, I was found far from any colony on my own as a child. His father’s brother raised me, and his mother named me. He is family,” she admitted truthfully, too shy to meet their eyes to see what reaction confessing she had no colony to them would yield, then she steeled herself and added, “They are a family born to a position none of them earned. They play at leadership, but do not know how the world changes around them. Dorius’ mother saw them for what they were, and left the family abandoning her own claims to the throne. But, they cannot be left to blindly hold back a people organizing and bettering themselves…”

She was surprised at how much Dorius and Elias’ discussions had planted their seeds in her own thoughts, but she had none of their elegance to explain it, and she doubted the Laons had seen enough of their world to care or know. Their faces certainly gave no indication that family meant anything to them as she spoke, and she wondered if the soldiers and workers had any relationships with their breeding caste parents. Hopefully hearing Dorius was something of an equivalent to a Matriarch was sufficient for them. So she bit her tongue from explaining further, and just finished, “He is the best of them. I would support his claim to be Pentarch if he wanted it.”

Realizing she had strayed far from her original purpose of schooling Til’wane in her expectations of him, and a little shocked at how comfortable she already was in speaking to them after such a short time, she marshalled her scattered thoughts. “It does not matter. You will be silent even if asked a question, you will not react even if insulted. The only orders you will follow are my own or Dorius’. Every person is a threat and you are to guard Dorius, and only Dorius, with your life. His life comes before even my own. You will stay behind Dorius to his right, I will take the left. Follow my lead if you are unsure.”

Til’wane’s face was impassive, and she was as satisfied as she could be with such short notice to prepare him.