Kedemar flinched as the limbs of the crossbow slammed forward. Expected burning pain to tear through his back and chest. But there was nothing.

Instead, it was the crossbowman behind Haeil who gurgled and fell, his crossbow clattering to the rocks, his hands flying to his neck, blood bubbling from his lips, Gavin’s dart buried in his throat.

Gavin had swung his weapon up and aside at the last second.

Everybody except Mendenlau stared, stunned at the sudden turn of events. The Kathiran king turned to see what had happened, and his triumphant smirk was wiped off his face. Furious, he beheld the dead assassin lying in a pool of blood, and both living, healthy prisoners.

“WHAT?” Mendenlau roared. Gavin threw the spent crossbow aside, plucked a knife from his sleeve, and flung it at the Kathiran king. But Mendenlau snatched the blade out of the air, mere inches from his throat, and tossed it aside. Gavin’s eyes widened and he retreated a step. The Kathiran king raised his hands to the sky, his face contorting with fury, and thunder rumbled. A brilliant flash lit the clouds above.

“Must I do everything myself?” Mendenlau growled with rage, then shouted, “Now, DIE!”

Gavin turned and violently shoved Kedemar and Haeil out of the way just as lighting forked down and hit the ground where they had been kneeling. The flash was blinding and the noise deafening. The air was filled with a choking, throat-clogging charred and sulfuric stench. Kedemar and Haeil tumbled to the hard ground eight feet below the ridge they had been on, and hit the rock hard, restricted by their chains. For a moment, all was ringing ears and aching flesh and bruised muscles and choking, throat-clogging sulfur-burnt-flesh-smell. Kedemar’s eyes seemed to be imprinted with the after-image of forking lighting. Dust surrounded him and clogged his lungs. Or was it ash?

He tasted blood, and his lower lip felt wet.

He coughed, dragging air into his burning lungs. When Kedemar finally looked up, Dath’s men were battling the Kathiran forces, and somehow winning. The Gibethonians, their king at their head, fought with such a valor and ferocity that not even the assassins could stand against them. They pushed the Kathirans back toward Fellvale, slaying many of them.

Natalya and Myra rushed over to the prisoners and released Kedemar and Haeil from their chains. Nat threw herself into the young lord’s arms, weeping. Kedemar held her tightly, feeling the pain and terror and exhaustion of the last few weeks fade.

“Oh, Kedemar!” Nat sobbed against his neck, her arms locked around him with rib-crushing force.

“I love you.” He whispered over and over, holding her just as tight, his mouth against her ear, his prison-filthy hands tangled in her sweet-smelling hair. He could not say those three words enough.

Stars, he’d thought he’d never get to see her again. Never get to hold her in his arms, feel the warmth of her skin against his, tell her loved her. He’d given up hope. Made peace with that. But now, with the woman he loved in his arms, the moment threatened to break him. His throat closed with tears, and his voice broke as he whispered his love into Nat’s ear. Hearing this, she just held him tighter.

A couple of feet away, Myra and Haeil were locked in an embrace of their own, the healer’s head tucked against the ex-assassin’s chest as he held her close. His hand cupped her face and every minute or so, their lips met.

Neither woman cared about the dirt, dried and fresh blood, and prison-filth coating both men’s skin and clothes. They were just filled with weak-kneed relief, eyes brimming with tears, neither one wanting to let go of the ones they loved.

But they had to, eventually. There were fallen to tend. Dath’s men had fought valiantly, but not without casualties. Six of their own had been slain by the Kathirans’ swords.

Of the foe, Gavin was only one casualty among nearly a full score of Kathiran dead. The assassin had been the first to die, perishing when the lightning had struck and he’d shoved his son out of the way of harm. He’d taken the bolt of electricity for Kedemar.

Kedemar glanced up at his father’s body, then looked quickly away, swallowing hard as his stomach lurched. Gavin’s corpse was blackened and charred, with raw, red muscle and white bone showing in some places. His face was nigh on unrecognizable. A foul, burnt-flesh-and-hair stench hovered around him.

But the assassin had died instantly, hadn’t suffered at all, and for that Kedemar was grateful. The young lord’s emotions were in turmoil.

Gavin, his blood-father, a man he had hated, was dead. Had died— saving him. If that wasn’t love, Kedemar didn’t know what was.

Did that then mean that Gavin had loved him?

Why then had the man done the things he did?

Kedemar squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about that right now. He’d deal with it later.

The two once-captives sat trembling on the hard, cold rocks, surrounded by their chains, clinging to the women they loved. They paid no attention to the battle raging behind them. They had neither the strength nor the energy to participate in the skirmish anyway.

The six remaining Kathirans, Mendenlau included, broke in the face of the Shadow King’s fury and fled back to the relative safety of Fellvale Keep. The Kathiran king was bleeding from his nose and exhausted from wielding his storm-power, stumbling as two of his assassins supported him between them. Dath and his men chased them back up the pass, halting just out of range of the archers on the keep’s ramparts. The Gibethonians shouted insults and jeers as the gates banged shut behind the Kathirans.

Then they marched back to the camp, retrieving Kedemar, Haeil, and the women as they did. Dath sent a runner on ahead to tell the camp that the Heir and the Protector had been regained— alive— and to make ready for them.

The reunion between Haeil, Myra, Kedemar, and Dath was one of tight embraces and stifled tears.

“I’m sorry.” Dath whispered hoarsely to Kedemar and Haeil, holding them tight. These were his oath-sons, dearer to him than life, and he had failed them.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered again.

The two young men clung tightly to the man they thought of as a father, not daring to speak a word lest they break down into tears.

***

Back at the camp, Kedemar and Haeil were separated and taken to different pavilion-style tents. Inside each warm tent were a lit brazier, a low three-legged stool, a cot laden with quilts, a large washbasin filled with steaming water, buckets full of hot rinsing water, soap and rags, and clean clothing and new armor.

“You can function on your own?” Each man was asked by a healer, and each gave an affirmative.

“When you’ve washed and dressed, we’ll come back.” They were told. Myra and Nat reluctantly left their betrotheds alone, promising to return when they were clean and clothed.

***

Kedemar wearily peeled off his ragged, tattered tunic and trousers and lowered himself into the steaming water, sucking in his breath as the hot liquid hit his chilled, slightly-blue skin. But he settled himself into a state of being mostly submerged. The heated bath worked to relax him, warm him, and soothe his bruised and battered body. He closed his eyes and his mind began to drift. But after a moment, he forced himself to rouse and scrub the dirt and filth from his skin and hair. The frothy soap stung his cuts, causing him to grit his teeth, but it was nothing compared to the fiery disinfectant he knew was coming later.

Kedemar grimaced at the thought, rinsing his body and hair free of soap suds. He climbed from the basin, leaving the water dark. But he was clean, for the first time in over a month, and it felt good. He had almost forgotten what being clean felt like.

He toweled himself off, the rags warm and slightly abrasive against his tender skin. Slipped a pair of dark trousers over his legs and a pair of cozy woolen socks onto his feet.

Someone tapped on the corner support pole of his tent.

“Keds?” Natalya called from outside. “May I enter?”

“Yes.” He answered, and raised his eyebrow at her when she ducked under the tent flap.

“‘Keds’?” He queried. Nat blushed and looked away.

“If you don’t like it, I won’t call you that.” She said quietly.

“No, it’s fine.” Kedemar was quick to reassure her. He smiled. She smiled back uncertainly, her eyes going to his shirtless torso. Her cheeks grew faintly red again.

She studied his emaciated muscles, his ribs showing through his pale skin, the shackle-sores on his wrists, ankles, and neck, his discolored bruises and the red cuts and scrapes that marked him. Her eyes traveled from white scar to small white scar to the long, thin red scar on his sternum to the pale, ridged scar along his ribs to the large, knotted scar that ran across his stomach. Nat’s eyes filled with tears and she stepped forward, reaching slim fingers to gently touch the terrible scar that had resulted from her healing the wound that was to have been Kedemar’s death.

He flinched as her fingers made contact with his skin, and she snatched her hand back like she’d been burned. Kedemar’s hand darted out and caught her wrist. He locked gazes with her as he gently laid her hand on his scar.

Nat closed her eyes in shame as tears slipped down her cheeks.

“I did this to you.” She whispered. Kedemar cupped her cheek with his free hand, wiping her tears away with his thumb.

“Yes.” He agreed. Nat swallowed as her tears flowed more heavily.

“That is to say,” Kedemar continued quickly, “this scar, this is the testimony of how you saved my life. You saved me, Nat, by the grace of the One. You did this, and I am proud of you and eternally thankful.”

Nat opened her eyes to meet his gaze and he could see the pain and guilt in her eyes.

“But it’s so… so…”

“Ugly?” Kedemar chuckled. “It’s a scar won in battle, Nat. I don’t mind it. It’s hidden most of the time anyway.” He cocked his head at her, mildly teasing as he remarked,

“I thought you didn’t regret saving me?”

Nat’s eyes opened wide, and hurt flashed across her face.

“I don’t!” She cried. Her hand pressed hard against the scar. “I just— I just wish it hadn’t healed up like this.”

“Nat, it’s fine.” Kedemar said. He gathered her into his embrace, wincing slightly as the pain in his cuts and scrapes flared. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you like that. I’m sorry, Nat.”

She gave a little laugh— a release of pent-up stress, hugging him close.

“No, I should have realized you would never say something like that to me and mean it, Keds.”

Kedemar relaxed at the sound of his new nickname. It seemed to mean that Nat wasn’t angry or upset with him.

Natalya was soft and warm in his arms, and he forced himself to release her and step back, knowing his thoughts and desires were dangerous right now.

She looked up at him and cupped his face in her gentle hand, and his self-control nearly broke. Her dark eyes studied his face, noting the bruises and cuts, the stubble of his beard, the weariness and haunted memories in his black eyes. She gently brushed his long, black hair back from his face, her fingers tangling in its damp strands.

Kedemar was content to simply stand and watch her. The sight of her was healing to his soul. He winced as her fingers caught in a snarl among his tangled locks.

“Sorry.” Nat said. Kedemar laughed it off.

“No, not your fault. I need to cut it.” The young lord replied.

“I’ll do it for you.” Natalya offered. He gazed down at her, smiling.

“Very well.” Kedemar turned away and took up his tunic, sliding his arms into its sleeves in preparation of slipping it over his head. Nat’s gasp behind him stopped him.

“What is it?” He asked, half turning back to her. She was staring at his back, wide-eyed.

“Where did you get those scars?” She asked. Kedemar stilled. He knew which scars she was talking about. His smiled faded as memories flooded his mind.

He craned his head to look over his shoulder at the raised, white stripes criss-crossing his back.

“Those… those were the result of my disobeying my Captain’s orders, back when I was a simple company captain in the King’s Guard.” Kedemar replied quietly.

“What did you do, if— if I may ask?” Natalya spoke hesitantly. Kedemar swung his arms up and slipped his tunic over his head, settling it over his back and covering those scars. He turned to face Nat, smiling.

“I’ll tell you while you cut my hair.” He said, his tone and smile letting her know that she hadn’t offended him at all. An answering smile, one filled with relief, met his proposal. In the face of that smile’s brilliance, Kedemar knew that he would never regret telling this woman anything about himself.

Kedemar settled himself onto the little, three-legged stool that was in his tent. Nat took a comb from her belt-pouch and proceeded to tease the knots and snarls from the young lord’s tangled strands. When his black hair flowed, shining and smooth, over his shoulders, Nat slipped her dagger from its sheath, gathered each lock in its turn in her hand, and gently cut it away. Kedemar spoke while she worked.

“It was when I was captain of the 301st Company in the King’s Guard. I hadn’t yet been promoted to Fourth Captain. Roland ad Giberah was my lieutenant, my right hand. This was before he was discharged from the Guard on account of injury, and made captain of the garrison at Dinfel Crag.

“I know Roland.” Nat said. “He said I could not be betrothed to a better man than you. He said you saved his life once and that I should ask you for the story sometime. Is this that story?”

Kedemar smiled. “Aye. There are many times I saved Rol’s life, and he mine. But I think this is the story he was referring to, yes.” He took a deep breath and continued,

“One harsh winter, we were stationed at the western border of Kenrath, under First Captain Brinston.” Kedemar chuckled. “We used to call him ‘First Captain Brimstone’, behind his back of course.

Natalya laughed. “Of course. Did he live up to the moniker?”

Kedemar chuckled again.

“He did. He was a just man, and kind, but he was fierce. There’s a reason he was First Captain…. This particular winter was a bloody one, with multiple skirmishes against Kathiran patrols. One day, my company and I fought against a large group of Kathirans, a force twice our size. They ambushed us and half of us went down under the first volley of arrows. I took an arrow between my shoulder and neck.” He tipped his head to the side to show Nat, tracing the raised, white scar with one finger. Spoke again,

“The Kathirans rushed us and began to cut us to pieces before we could re-form our ranks. By the grace of the One, I was able to rally my men and we put up a good fight. But… as battles will, this one went horribly wrong for us— an accident and superior enemy numbers will do that, I guess. In the midst of crossing blades with a man twice my size, I tripped over a corpse behind me. I fell and hit my head on a rock, and was instantly knocked unconscious. I don’t know why the Kathiran didn’t finish me off then. Perhaps he thought I was already dead. At any rate, when I woke, over half my company was lying dead among the rocks, staining the snow with blood. My remaining men were nowhere to be found, but for drag marks leading away deeper into Kathiare. My head was aching fierce enough to make me sick, and I couldn’t see straight. Somehow, I managed to count the dead and make it back to the outpost, where I reported to First Captain Brinston. The First Captain sent out another company to retrieve our dead and search for our living battle-brothers. But… though they found signs that Roland and the others were captives, the First Captain refused to send men to retrieve them. Told me I was not to go. … Well, I could not leave my men to suffer in enemy hands. So when I was healed enough, I… took matters into my own hands. I donned my armor, strapped on my sword and dagger, stole some food from the mess hall, and… set off into enemy territory. I trekked for two weeks through snowy hell, my hands and feet freezing. It’s a wonder I didn’t lose any limbs or anything while I struggled to stay alive. I tracked my living men and their captors all the way to a castle five days past the border. It took me a week and a half to follow those tracks though. I am no great hunter, and weather had already served to make the tracks hard to find. And then, when I had determined that this castle was, in fact, the place where my men were being held, I had a time of it avoiding capture myself. Those Kathirans are canny. I was spotted once, and three different patrols were sent out after me. I… killed every last man in each. Then, one night, I decided I wasn’t waiting any longer. I killed a few sentries and snuck into the castle. I found my men and killed their guards. It was… touch and go for the whole way, to say the least. None of my men were healthy, and all had been tortured. Roland was the worst wounded. His leg was mangled near beyond repair. It’s only the grace of the One that he didn’t lose the limb.”

“He limps now.” Nat remarked softly, her slim hands working steadily. Clumps of black hair fell to the ground around Kedemar’s feet.

“Yes.” Kedemar replied. “He always will… Well, somehow we made it out. We were set upon by the castle garrison on our way out, and I… I fought them and I… killed them all. Even when they threw down their weapons and cried for mercy, I struck them down. I don’t think I left a Kathiran man alive in that castle. I didn’t fight for just freedom, Nat. I killed for revenge, and it… it’s not something I’m proud of. Those memories will haunt me forever, I think.”

Natalya’s hands stilled in his hair, and she spoke,

“What you did to those men was wrong, Keds, but do you regret it?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve made peace with the One-Who-Made-The-Stars?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s done, Kedemar. You have no guilt.”

The young lord swallowed thickly as she resumed her work on his hair.

“I know.” He said. “The memories still remain though.” He sighed. “Well, I brought my men home through the cold and the snow, and I didn’t lose a single one of them. And when we got to the outpost, the men there cheered as we stumbled half-frozen through the gates, my men were whisked off to the infirmary, and I was arrested.” He took a deep breath, continued after a moment,

“I was not discharged from the Guard, but First Captain Brinston had me flogged for disobeying orders and stealing supplies. Thirty lashes. It was some of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. I blacked out at about the fifteenth lash, I think. I’m told my back was a bloody mess when they finally untied me from the whipping post and carried me into the infirmary. I woke up five hours later to find I’d been promoted to Fourth Captain for my bravery in bringing our countrymen home.”

Natalya was silent when Kedemar had finished his tale, digesting the information.

“Nat?” Kedemar asked after a moment, tentatively.

“Hm?” She replied.

“Have… have you nothing to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Kedemar?” She asked, moving around in front of him to work. He lifted his eyes to her face, but there found only steady concentration in her task. He raised his hands to his face, then dropped them back to his lap as he realized he would only hinder Nat’s task.

“I don’t know.” He said softly, gazing at the floor. Natalya stilled her work once more and reached down with one hand to tip his chin up. Their eyes met, and in her gaze Kedemar found only caring and admiration.

“Then I will say this,” she said, smiling, “I think you a brave man, Kedemar. A man of integrity who has earned every bit of your position as Fourth Captain. If I had been in your place, I would have done the same as you did, and hang the consequences.”

Kedemar returned her smile, and Natalya resumed cutting his hair. With each strand that was sliced shorter, Kedemar felt the weight of the weeks of his captivity fall away. When his hair hung to brush his jawline in front and his collar in back— just the way he liked it— Natalya gave it one last brush through with her fingers, sheathed her dagger, and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head.

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Kedemar felt a warm thrill spread from his scalp all the way down to his toes.

“You smell better.” Nat told him, wrinkling her nose teasingly at him as she stepped around the stool to survey her work. Kedemar laughed. Stood.

“Thank you.” The young lord said, grasping her hand. “And thank you for your help.” He bowed over her hand and kissed it.

A laugh bubbled from Nat’s lips.

“You’re welcome, Keds.” She replied softly. Then she slipped out of the tent to go find a healer.

***

Haeil had already washed and dressed, and had just finished trimming his hair when Myra knocked on his tent and entered. He turned to face her and the rush of cold air that entered with her and stayed as she tied up one side of the tent flap. Haeil could see the camp beyond, bustling, snowy, and smoky with hundreds of cook-fires.

“Love,” the young ex-assassin rasped, laying down his knife. Myra’s eyes filled with tears and she rushed into his embrace. The force of her impact nearly knocked Haeil off his feet, but he managed to keep his balance.

“Oh, Haeil, what have they done to you?” She wept, tipping her head up to meet his kiss with her lips. Her eyes went to the terrible scar on his throat, and she lifted trembling fingers to touch it. Haeil stood stock-still as she traced the lingering evidence of that terrible wound.

“Terrible things.” He replied, smiling. His tone was joking, but his dark eyes were haunted.

“Oh, Haeil.” Myra whispered, cupping his face with her hands and pulling him down for a kiss.

And in that kiss he felt his horrific memories fade. In that kiss, he found soothing balm for his soul.

“Alright,” Myra sighed, pulling away. Haeil reluctantly let her go as she said,

“I need to see your injuries, Haeil. I can heal them. Maybe I can even heal this.” She laid a gentle hand on his throat.

“No one can heal that.” He replied in his soft, rasping voice, placing his hand over hers. She ducked her head, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“What exactly did they do?” She asked. Haeil hesitated, his eyes becoming shadowed and his face a stone mask.

“They cut my vocal cords, so that I could not speak.” He replied without emotion. “I insulted Menden-crap. This was the penalty.”

“But you speak now,” Myra said, her voice clogged with tears. Haeil’s stony demeanor cracked as he beheld her pain, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

“Aye, I speak now, by the One’s grace.” He took a deep breath, and hoisted his tunic over his head, then sat on the cot.

“You needed to see my wounds?” Haeil asked, tensing as the cold air hit his bare skin.

Myra wiped away her tears and set to examining his hurts.

“Are your ribs bruised or broken?” She asked. Haeil sucked in a sharp breath as Myra laid her cool hand on the discolored flesh.

“Bruised, definitely. Not broken.” The young ex-assassin replied, trying not to think about her skin on his. Stars, he wanted to marry this woman. Was betrothed to her now, so he had to be doubly careful. He glanced at the open tent flap and was thankful that she had had the foresight to tie it up.

Brief pain flared in his bruised ribs, then all ache faded. The same happened in each of his cuts and bruises as Myra’s mage-craft healed him. She lingered longer over the terrible burn scars and knife scars that marked his torso, but she could not do much more than take from them any remaining pain. When she was finished, her face was paler than normal, but she worked on.

Haeil slipped his tunic back on, and Myra took up his left hand. She wept over his two severed fingers and kissed the scarred stumps that were all that remained of his little and ring fingers.

“A ring will still fit.” Haeil murmured. Myra looked up and smiled through her tears.

“It had better.” She replied softly, fiercely. Haeil chuckled.

Myra fussed over his half-healed broken right wrist. That, too, hurt, when she sped up the healing process. Haeil groaned softly as bone ground against bone and knitted back to wholeness.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Myra whispered, pressing a kiss to his wrist. He laid a hand on her silken hair.

“I’m fine.” He rasped, giving her a small smile. Beads of sweat had gathered on his brow, and he quickly wiped them away.

“Now your leg.” Myra said. “I saw you limping. What happened to it?”

“They broke my knee.” Haeil replied, rolling up the leg of his trousers, paling as he realized that the healing that was sure to follow would hurt almost more than the wound itself when it had been administered.

Myra knelt before him and examined the half-healed, discolored, slightly scarred knee. It was still incredibly sore, and Haeil winced as her hands gently passed over it. The injury had not been helped by his eight-foot fall from a ridge onto the hard rock below. Nor had it been helped by his captors’ refusing to wrap or splint it once it had been able to hold itself together. The ride to Fellvale and the walk to the rise where the ‘parley’ had been held had been agonizing to say the least.

“This is going to hurt.” Myra said, locking gazes with him, her look apologetic.

“Thanks for the warning.” Haeil began to say, but his words were cut off as excruciating pain erupted from his once-shattered knee. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Just a rush of air. He squeezed his eyes shut as his healing vocal cords did not take the sudden stress well. The coppery taste of blood coated his throat. Haeil bowed forward, forcing himself not to fight Myra’s power. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

He buried his head in the curve of her shoulder and neck, clenching his fists on the edge of the cot. Groaned in agony as the bone of his kneecap and the torn tendons and ligaments mended far faster than they were meant to.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Myra whispered over and over against his hair, pressing kisses to his head.

After what seemed like an eternity, the pain faded, and Haeil opened his eyes, panting. His brow and the collar of his tunic were soaked with sweat. He lifted his head and beheld Myra’s tear-streaked face. Tried to speak, but couldn’t. Panic flared in his eyes, and he turned to an empty bucket that had once held rinse water. He cleared his throat and spat a mouthful of blood into the wooden vessel.

He tried to speak again, but his voice was reduced to a mere raspy whisper, barely audible even to himself. Haeil swallowed hard and closed his eyes as a tear spilled down his cheek. Myra’s soft hand cupped his face, catching that tear.

“Can’t—“ He whisper-rasped.

“I’m so sorry.” Myra sat down on the cot beside him and wrapped her arms around him. He lifted a hand and clung to her as he dwelt on what the healing had cost him.

Myra’s hand lifted to his throat, to that red, angry, knotted scar.

“No.” He whisper-rasped, catching her hand. “You can’t heal that, Myra. It is too much, and you’ve done a lot already.”

“I have to try.” She said softly in his ear. “I believe I can heal it. At least, it will be better than it was.”

He didn’t have the strength to resist her.

“Give me something to bite.” Haeil quickly said, before she could start the healing. Myra reached for her healer’s satchel and withdrew from it a wooden rod that was used for such purposes.

Wish I had that before, he thought as he took it from her and shoved it between his teeth. Haeil clenched his fingers around the edge of the cot, then nodded to her.

Myra laid her hand once again on his scarred throat, and pain seemed to spill from her fingers into his muscles and flesh.

Haeil bit down hard on the rod in his mouth as a scream tried to force its way out of him. His breath came hard and fast, and he was almost sick. He closed his eyes as the world spun around him.

“Stop,” he wanted to say, but couldn’t.

But then the pain vanished, and he opened wet eyes to to meet Myra’s weary gaze. He spat the rod into his shaking palm.

“You’ve gotten stronger.” Haeil said.

Said.

His eyes opened wide and he laughed. Myra chuckled with him.

She’d done it. His voice was still a soft rasp, but it was better than it had been before he’d broken the wound back open from the inside. He actually had some of his old baritone timbre back.

Grinning, Haeil leaped to his feet and grasped Myra about the waist. He swung her off the cot and into the air, twirling her around with joy.

She laughed with him, her hands braced on his shoulders.

“Haeil, stop!” She gasped after a moment. “I’m dizzy!”

Laughing, he set her on her feet, steadying her as she stumbled. Pressed a kiss to her lips.

“You beautiful, beautiful woman.” He murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She whispered back, her arms around his neck.

“I’m hungry.” Haeil whispered. Myra chuckled.

“So am I. And then I need a nap.”

“Let’s go find some food then, love.” He answered, pulling on his boots.

He wrapped his arm around her waist. Together, they ducked beneath the open tent flap and entered the camp beyond.

***

Haeil and Myra found Kedemar and Natalya in the officer’s mess tent. There was steaming pot of coffee on the table, and full mugs in front of either person, and jar of honey in between them. Haeil clapped Kedemar on the shoulder as he swung himself onto the bench beside the young lord. Kedemar gave his battle-brother a weary smile.

“You look like you’re about ready to fall asleep.” Haeil remarked, tired himself.

“I am.” Kedemar said. “My stomach is as full as it’s allowed to get at the moment, and my wounds are mended. We are safe, for now. I am ready to rest.”

Haeil poured coffee for Myra and himself. Sipped at the hot, bitter liquid, made a face, and spooned honey into his cup. Myra and Natalya looked at each other and laughed.

“What?” Haeil asked, smiling. Myra sipped her black, unsweetened coffee.

“You’re just like Nat.” The slim healer chuckled. The huntress ducked her head modestly, a teasing smile on her lips.

“Well, you can thank Adalyyn for teaching me her secrets.” Nat replied.

“So that’s where you learned that particular habit!” Kedemar said, grinning. Nat laughed and laid her head on his shoulder, wrinkling her nose at him. He resisted the urge to kiss her.

“Got you to do it too, didn’t I?” Natalya teased him. He chuckled as Myra rose and strode off towards the cook-fire outside of the mess tent.

The healer returned a moment later, laden with two bowls of steaming soup and half a loaf of fresh bread. Haeil rose and took one of the bowls and the bread. She gave him a grateful smile. They reseated themselves, and Haeil began to wolf down his meal.

Myra caught his hand as he was lifting his fifth spoonful of soup to his mouth. He looked at her, and she fixed him with a stern look.

“Slow down, or you’ll make yourself sick.” She admonished. Chagrined, he lowered his spoon back his bowl. Myra handed him a chunk of the fresh bread she’d brought. The young ex-assassin dipped the bread into his soup and bit off a piece. He closed his eyes as he savored the taste.

“It’s been so long… so long since I’ve had any food that was this good.” He said softly. “Taste or otherwise.”

His companions fell silent, and Kedemar laid his hand on his battle-brother’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

The young lord said nothing, for there was nothing to say.

The silence was interrupted a moment later when a soldier jogged up to their table and stood respectfully waiting for them to notice him.

“What is it?” Kedemar asked, looking up. The soldier inclined his head to the young lord.

“His majesty, King Dathran, requests the presence of Lord Kedemar of Kenrath and the Protector, Haeil No-Name. His orders are to report to his majesty’s command tent, if you are done eating.”

Kedemar looked at Haeil. The ex-assassin froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

“Well?” Kedemar asked. Haeil sighed, plopping his spoon back in his bowl.

“We can go now.” He said. “I’ll eat on the way.”

The two men rose; Kedemar laid his hand on Natalya’s shoulder.

“I’ll come find you after.” He told her, and she nodded with a smile, watching him stride away.

Haeil kissed Myra and snatched up his bowl of soup before hurrying after Kedemar.

***

The Heir and the Protector stepped into the open-sided, pavilion style command tent at the center of the camp. A canvas cloth covered the ground under the tent, and a large table dominated the off-center of the room; it was butted against the center support pole. A large map dotted with little marble figurines representing men and supplies lay over the table. A plate with the remains of a half-eaten meal covered a portion of the map labeled Fallónë. As he walked up to the table, Kedemar nudged the plate aside and glanced at the location. Fallónë seemed to be a coastal city, and a prominent one.

Dath was currently conversing in low, frustrated tones with Second Captain Kedrin. Kedrin gestured with his hands and Dath’s voice grew more angry. Neither man seemed to notice Kedemar and Haeil. The young ex-assassin took the opportunity to slurp down more of his soup. Kedemar merely stood by the map, clasped his hands behind his back, and waited patiently, wishing he could take a nap.

“I’m telling you, we don’t have the men!” Kedrin shouted angrily.

“And I’m telling you to defend those cities!” Dath shouted, equally forcefully. Both men’s faces were flushed with anger. They stared at one another for a moment, veins bulging, fists clenched. Finally, it was Kedrin who broke the silence.

“If you would but send with me some of the men stationed here, I would be able to defend those cities better.”

“I can't.” Dath replied, turning away, his voice breaking slightly. “I need all the men I have. In fact, I need more, but I don’t have them. I am spread too thin, Kedrin. If the Kathirans decide to take this pass, there will be nothing I can do to stop them in the end. If I don’t take that keep, Kedrin,” Dath pointed out of the tent and up the pass, “it won’t matter if the coastal cities are defended or not! Gibethon will be lost!”

All fury faded from Second Captain Kedrin’s face; he became expressionless as his king’s words sank in. He stepped back and bowed low.

“Very well, my liege.” He said stiffly. “I will defend the coastal cities the best that I can.”

Dath turned to him and laid his hand on Kedrin’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” He said. “I will send more men when I am able. Just— not now.”

Kedrin nodded.

“I understand, my liege. Just tell me, when I need men, where am I to get them?”

Dath thought for a moment, and finally noticed Kedemar and Haeil. He gave them a brisk nod before replying to the Second Captain.

“Conscript them from the towns and villages. Utilize the city watches and garrisons. Do what you have to, within reason.” He gripped Kedrin’s forearm hard. “Do not fail me, Kedrin.”

“I won’t.” Kedrin regarded him steadily. “My word on it. My liege.” The Second Captain saluted, bowed, and then exited the tent. Kedemar watched him stride across the camp, calling for his horse.

Kedrin rode out at the head of his standard guard of twenty men, their horses’ hooves scattering snow and pebbles.

“Kedemar.” Dath said, and Kedemar turned his attention back to the king. The weariness and frustration faded from Dath’s face, and his lips curved in a fond smile.

“Son.” He said, then his gaze shifted to Haeil, and he laughed at the sight of the spoon tucked between the young ex-assassin’s lips.

“My boys.” The Shadow King spoke softly, stepping toward them. He embraced each of them and kissed them on the brow in blessing.

“Father,” Kedemar greeted Dath, then gestured to the map. “What is happening? How— how is the war coming?”

Dath sighed. Rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Not— well.” He replied. “Arthold and Londe have been razed. Burnt and smashed into rubble. Gothonel, Havath, and Vathond are under siege from Mendenlau’s fleet. Hundreds are dead, some missing, and many more wounded.”

Haeil paled and Kedemar grasped the edge of the table. His knuckles turned white with the force of his grip.

“What—“ Kedemar’s voice failed him, and he licked his lips, cleared his throat, and tried again. “What do you mean to do?”

Dath sighed again.

“The First and Second Captains I have set over the defense of the coastal cities. Third Captain Moarin is in charge of the other three northern and western passes on the border. And I— I mean to take back Fellvale Keep.” Dath informed them.

“Let me fight for you!” Kedemar at once offered, eager to prove himself in his oath-father’s eyes, to redeem himself from his supposed failings. “I have failed you twice now, Father. I will not do so again.”

Dath smiled kindly at him.

“No.” He refused.

“But—“ Kedemar protested. Haeil cut him off by clapping his hand over the young lord’s mouth. The ex-assassin turned to the king.

“I’ll fight.” He said.

“No.” Dath repeated.

“But—“ Haeil began, but Dath would have none of it.

“You are going home to Dinfel Crag, both of you.” The king said, eyeing Kedemar and Haeil sternly. “And you are taking Natalya and Myra with you.”

Kedemar tugged his friend’s hand off his mouth, shooting a glare at him as he did. Stepped forward and opened his mouth to speak, but Dath forestalled him. The king placed his hands firmly on the young lord’s shoulders and looked him square in the eye.

“You will marry that lass.” Dath said. “You have both waited long enough, and neither of you are going to live forever, especially in these times. There’s no telling what might happen. You’re going home, Kedemar.”

Kedemar bowed his head in submission.

“Yessir.” He said. Dath smiled.

“Why the long face?” He asked.

“Always thought I’d get married to a woman who loved me, in a time of peace, with all my loved ones there with me.” Kedemar mumbled, staring at the floor. “Foolish wish, I know.”

“Not a foolish wish.” Dath replied gently. “I can help with part of your wish, lad. I’ll be coming with you to Dinfel Crag and stay long enough to see you wed. Then I am returning here.”

Kedemar looked up with a smile that accentuated the weariness in his eyes.

“Thank you.” He whispered. The look on his face, a look that showed his youth and longing, told Dath just how much the king’s presence meant to the young lord. Dath wrapped him in a strong embrace.

“It’s going to be alright.” He spoke softly to the young man. Kedemar held on to him with the strength of a drowning man.

“I thought I was going to die.” The young lord’s words were muffled as he hid his face in Dath’s neck. “I thought I was never going to see her again. I told her, Father. I told her I love her, but she hasn’t said so to me. It hurts and I’m scared.”

Dath met Haeil’s eyes. The ex-assassin was just standing there, arms crossed, unsure of what to do. He swayed slightly, weary and in need of sleep.

“Go get a nap.” Dath mouthed at him. Relief cascaded over Haeil’s face and he gave Dath a grateful smile before nearly stumbling from the tent.

Dath stroked Kedemar’s hair, wishing they could have more privacy, and wishing that he could have been there for this boy throughout all his life and not just during the parts when the lad had already been dealt pain.

“It’s going to be alright.” He told Kedemar again. “I— I believe that Nat loves you, my son. I know she hasn’t yet said it, but she’s just as scared as you are. Give her time. She’s been burned before. It takes time to heal from that, lad. She’ll say the words you want to hear, one day. Until then, just keep on loving her.”

He pushed Kedemar back a little ways, met his haunted gaze and saw the dark memories, pain, and lingering fear hidden there. Dath’s heart ached then, for he knew that he could not, was not able to, soothe his oath-son’s hurts.

Motion in his peripheral caught the king’s eye, and he turned his head to see Natalya approaching. Kedemar looked too, and some of the haunted shadow faded from his gaze.

Natalya smiled at the young lord, and a giddy feeling welled up in him. Suddenly, all Kedemar wanted was to go home and marry the woman he loved.

***

It was a slow, weary eight weeks back to Dinfel Crag. Dath did not set a quick pace for the company, knowing that Kedemar and Haeil would not be able to hold a fast pace for long. He watched them closely during the trip, and, for the first few weeks, the two young men were visibly exhausted by the time they stopped for a meal every noon. They were still recovering from their captivity under Mendenlau.

It didn’t help that, every night, both of them suffered nightmares that left them drenched with sweat and screaming until they were woken.

The first night, while they were still in the camp by Fellvale Keep, their nightmare-induced screams rang through the camp, beginning nearly simultaneously. Dath was jolted awake out of a sound sleep by their cries. He leaped out of bed and grabbed his sword, flicking it from its sheath in one smooth movement. He paused only to tug on his boots before striding out into the snowy night, armor-less. He made his way quickly to his oath-sons’ tents.

Half the camp, it seemed, arrived as Dath did; the king shoved them out of the way.

“You and you!” He shouted, gesturing at two sleep-foggy captains. “Get in there and wake him up!” He motioned to Haeil’s tent, which stood right next to Kedemar’s.

“The rest of you, go back to bed!”

Dath himself strode inside his heir’s sleeping quarters, scanning the interior of the tent for any physical threat that might be there.

Just as he had thought, there was none. He turned to Kedemar, the young lord’s cries ringing in his ears.

In the dim glow of a brazier full of coals, Kedemar was writhing in the throes of his nightmares, captive to the terror that plagued him. His bedclothes were tangled about his legs and were halfway on the floor. As Dath watched, the young man clawed at his arm, then lifted his hands to his head.

“Stop!” Kedemar screamed. “Stop it! Make it stop!”

Dath sheathed his sword and strode swiftly to his oath-son. Grabbed Kedemar’s wrists and shook him. Kedemar cried out, struggling against his grip. The young man’s eyes opened wide, but unseeing. He was still asleep.

“Wake up, Kedemar!” Dath ordered, releasing one wrist. The young lord’s now-free hand came up and clenched around the king’s throat. Dath slapped him across the face, hard.

Kedemar gasped and blinked. He looked up at Dath, at the king’s hand clenched around his wrist, at his own fingers slowly crushing his oath-father’s throat.

“Let go, lad.” Dath choked out, reaching his free hand up and digging his fingers into the wrist attached to the hand that was crushing his throat.

Sleep and terror fading from his eyes, Kedemar abruptly loosened his finger and snatched his hand back, wresting his other wrist from Dath’s grip. He sat up and scooted back away from the king as Dath sucked air back into his starved lungs.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Kedemar whispered hoarsely, his wide eyes on the bruises he’d left on his oath-father’s throat.

Dath sighed. He wasn’t angry; he knew all about horrible, traumatic memories and terrors of the night. He sat on the edge of the cot and reached toward the young man.

Kedemar flinched back, and Dath froze.

“It’s alright, son.” The king said softly. “You are safe, you are free, and no one here is going to hurt you.”

Kedemar allowed himself to be drawn into his oath-father’s embrace. There, he finally relaxed, his body shuddering with silent sobs. Dath held his oath-son close, wishing he could spare him this pain.

“You’re alright.” He whispered.

“I was so scared— he tried to repair the brand tether— he tortured Haeil— the screams won’t stop, the pain won’t stop.” Kedemar’s voice was muffled against Dath’s broad shoulder. “I was powerless, helpless…”

Cloth rustled as Natalya stepped into the tent. Her keen eyes took in her distraught betrothed, the bruises on Dath's throat, the tangled bedclothes on the floor.

“Nightmares.” She said in a flat tone that told the two men she understood perfectly.

“You heard?” Dath asked quietly, feeling Kedemar stiffen in his embrace.

“The whole camp heard.” Nat replied, crossing the tent to wrap her arms around her husband-to-be. He relaxed into her embrace, and Dath stood, suddenly noticing the quiet. Haeil must have been woken too. The king hoped that no one had been seriously injured in the process.

“Myra’s with Haeil.” Nat said, guessing her oath-father’s thoughts. “He’s as fine as can be expected. One of the men who woke him has a broken nose, and the other man had the breath knocked out of him. Haeil calmed down when Myra got there though.”

Natalya looked down at Kedemar; the young lord was resting limply against her, much like the night when she had shown him how to break magical tethers. She murmured,

“I’m not sure who has the worst nightmares— him or Haeil.”

Dath sighed, passing his hands over his face.

“What about you? He asked. Nat smiled, shaking her head.

“My body doesn’t know that snow is just frozen rain. When the winter snows hit, I am free from nightmares until the spring.”

Dath nodded. Swayed as his adrenaline faded.

“Go back to bed, Dath.” Nat said. “We’ll be alright, and morning comes soon enough.”

So Dath left them and stopped at Haeil’s tent on the way back to his own. He made his presence known, and entered when Haeil called,

“Come!”

The young ex-assassin was sitting on the edge of the cot, his hands folded, his arms resting on his knees. Myra was seated beside him, her hand in his hair. Haeil looked up as Dath entered. In his dark eyes, Dath saw the haunted fear and phantom pain that he fought to hide.

“I’m fine.” Haeil rasped quickly before Dath could speak. “I’m sorry. I’ll apologize in the morning.”

Dath shook his head. “You’re not fine, lad. And you have nothing to apologize for.” He hesitated, then added,

“Any time you need to talk about— anything, I’m here.”

Haeil nodded. “Thank you.” He said hoarsely.

“I’ll be posting guards outside your’s and Kedemar’s tents from now on.” Dath went on. He gave a wry smile. “Try not to kill them, will you?”

Haeil’s lips twisted in a grimace.

“If I wake up in time, they have nothing to fear.” He replied.

“It’s the waking up that I’m worried about…” Dath muttered, gently touching the bruises on his own throat. Haeil noticed, but said nothing about them.

“Kedemar has the nightmares too?” The younger man asked. Dath nodded.

“You didn’t know?”

Haeil shook his head. “I don’t think either of us noticed each other’s nightmares. We slept at the same time, didn’t see a need to set a watch in a prison cell.”

Dath sighed. “I see.”

The king stepped back in surprise as Haeil abruptly stood. The ex-assassin’s fists were clenched, his breathing heavy, his tone bitter as he said,

“No, I don’t think you do. How could you? You’ve never had to go through anything like this!”

Dath’s eyes hardened slightly, but his voice was soft as he replied,

“You know I have, Haeil. Do not forget what I suffered at the hands of Ulrek.”

Haeil dropped his gaze, ashamed. But Dath wasn’t done. The king yanked up his right sleeve, exposing the white scar of his brand.

“I was once an assassin as well. Did you forget? I too have shades and ghosts that haunt me. When I broke my tether and fled, when I married and fathered a son, I was forced to watch my family murdered in front of my very eyes. And then, I was denied the relief of joining them. I have suffered just as much as you, Haeil. Maybe more. I can help both of you lads get through this, or you can spurn my help, I don’t care. But do not ever again make the mistake of thinking that I do not know what you are going through!”

“Yessir.” Haeil said, eyes on the floor. Dath’s gaze softened, and his tone became once again compassionate. He stepped forward and embraced the younger man.

“I know it better than anyone.” The king finished softly.

“I know.” Haeil mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Dath soothed. “It’s going to be alright.”

And Haeil believed him.

Dath left a couple of minutes later, and Myra stood. Approached Haeil and laid her hand on his shoulder.

“I should go too.” She murmured.

“I know.” He turned to kiss her. His gaze lingered on her as she left the tent. With a sigh, the young ex-assassin flopped onto his back on the cot. There was no way he was going back to sleep tonight.

He glanced at the entrance to his tent as Kedemar ducked under the flap. Without a word, the young lord went and sat on the little, three-legged stool. He dropped his face into his hands.

The two men stayed that way for a long time, until the sun had risen and their betrotheds had come looking for them.

***

By the time Dinfel Crag came into sight, Kedemar and Haeil had regained much of their strength and stamina. Throughout the journey, Myra and Nat had tended them, and Dath and his fifty men had focused on protection, not allowing the Heir and Protector to take even a night watch. Instead, the king had night watches set on them, ensuring that his oath-sons would be woken when their nightmares came.

The winter was mild and short, and the journey had not been especially hard. In the balmy weather of the seaside, the vegetation was already greening with early-spring buds.

The company were walking their horses, and stopped atop a rise at their first sight of the beautiful, crashing sea and the walls of Dinfel Crag shining in the late-winter sun. Natalya wrapped her arms around Kedemar and leaned against him as they savored the sight. He held her close and smiled.

“Home.” Nat said softly, breathing deep of the sea air. She smiled and looked up at Kedemar, saying,

“And now you’re here too.”

Kedemar smiled down at her, then suddenly went down on one knee before her.

“Natalya,” he spoke quietly, holding her hands, aware of the many glances they were getting, “I know we are betrothed by prophesy, but I should have asked this question a long time ago. I was too afraid, and I’m sorry for that. Natalya ab Hiram, will you marry me?”

Nat’s eyes filled with tears of joy, and she threw her arms around Kedemar’s neck, sinking into his embrace.

“Yes!” She cried. “Yes!”