The guard asked kindly, “What are you doing here, little boy?”

Margaret, through her male guise and identity, replied through crocodile tears, “I don't know where I am! I want my mother!”

“Are you here with someone from the banquet?”

Margaret nodded.

“Well then, let's get you back there and find your parents, okay?” The guard extended his hand kindly.

Slowly, Margaret reached out to take it. Once she grabbed hold of his palm, she pulled herself in and jumped towards the guard. Her free palm punched the side of the guard's helmet, no doubt sending rings through his head. Releasing her grip, she dropped to the ground and with a leg sweep, toppled the man twice her size. Finally on her feet again, she dropped a kick to the side of the guard's head, knocking the man out.

Her child size meant she had to use momentum. Her weight unable to stand up in a brawl. But that was fine for her. That was how she was trained. Fast. Efficient. And only targeting points of weaknesses.

With heaves and huffs, she dragged the guard into a nearby closet, tying and gagging the man with the rags and cloths within. After making sure her knots are the tightest she could get them, she left the closet, closing the door behind her.

It'll take at least ten minutes for the guard to untie himself, not counting the time he might spend unconscious. It was more than enough for her to commit her deed.

She circled the corridor to where she knew the king's bedchamber was on the floor below. The royal would be preparing for his entrance to the banquet at the time. According to their intelligence, the man liked to spend that time alone. In meditation or contemplation, she did not know, nor cared. As long as the information was accurate to a point.

Looking out a castle window, she could see the balcony of the royal bedchamber to the side. She backed up to give herself a running start. Once she gauged she was able to pick up enough speed, she sprinted towards the window and jumped out. Her hand stretched and grabbed the edge of the opening, swinging her body at an angle and turning her trajectory towards the balcony while she released her hand to fly off in the direction. She kicked off the wall, for a moment glancing down at the plummet into the courtyard if she made even a single misstep.

Then, she fired a blast of fire out her hand, propelling her the last distance towards the balcony. She was launched through the final portion before breaking her fall with a quiet roll on the balcony's floor.

But the first thing she noticed about her surroundings was the king's room next to her being shrouded in darkness. She wondered if she had been too slow, and that the king had already left for the banquet. She gauged the festivities down in the courtyard and it was nowhere near the anointed time for his appearance.

Though wary, she decided to investigate. Slowly pushing open the glass paned balcony doors, she stepped into the bedchamber. Her eyes could not adjust to the darkness so she held out a hand and produced a flame.

The light flickered in the umbra, dancing shadows and glimmers off the silvers and golds of the room and the lacquered furniture frames. It played a ballet of contour on the face of the woman who sat on the chair across a table from her in the middle of the room. Margaret recognized her. Lady Marianne La'Grey. The Royal Tactician of Aleynonlia and a Clover famous for commanding her forces to victory in the Battle of Three Worlds.

“Lady La'Grey,” Margaret greeted.

“Please, Margaret Hari,” the woman replied with a smile. “Call me Mary. All my friends do.”

“Are we friends now?”

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“If you'd like.”

Silence fell between them. Margaret contemplated between running away and killing her, but settled for staying when she realized that the woman knew her name and had likely been waiting. If the tactician was as smart as the stories told, Margaret was already trapped.

“Your mother sure has gotten bold. To send an assassin for the King of Aleynonlia. Honestly, had I not been given the resources the king gave, I would have failed to see this coming.” Mary sighed. “I'm hoping we can end tonight without any bloodshed or starting an international crisis.”

Margaret asked, “I don't think that's possible. You know who my mother is. If you captured me, do you think she will stand idly by?”

“Of course,” the tactician replied without hesitation. “Why do you think your mother have you as a son in public? It's to distance herself with any 'daughter' that might come up in an emergency.”

“I... I don't believe you.”

“Of course you do. You know your mother. And You know what she did. Your love for her is as real as those that cling to a driftwood out in the middle of the sea. She's your whole world because otherwise, you'd drown.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want to offer you a place to land.”

Margaret considered it for a long moment, the fire from her hand dimming slightly. “You're using me.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Then why are you doing this? To gain an advantage on my mother?”

“Sure. I would get rid of one of her most talented spy and assassin, but honestly, I can do that by having you executed. That would be require the least resources and effort on my part. She would disavow you either way.”

“So why not do that?”

“I see a girl, well beyond her years. Listen to yourself. You sound nothing like a teenager. I see someone whose childhood has been sapped. And honestly, giving it back just seems... the right thing to do. I used to be much more a pragmatist, honestly. But I've been around the Clovers for so long, I'm getting emotional.” Mary pushed across the table a stack of papers. “Here are identity documents prepared for you. Pick any one you like, and that's you for the rest of your new life.”

Margaret looked down to the pile. “Why not just prepare one?”

“I wanted you to be able to choose something for once.”

She held back a welling feeling in her throat when she heard that. She heaved as her eyes strained. She picked up the first of the papers and read the name aloud. “Shjacky Loyard.”

Mary smiled. “Good choice.”

*****

The restaurant was empty by the time Shjacky finished her story. The servers had given them birth to discuss, and the owner had closed the establishment until dinner. It was a silent agreement that whatever was happening seemed important enough to hold off on the normalcy of day-to-day. Shjacky and Ishumi simply rode the waves of good fortune.

“That's how I became Shjacky Loyard,” she finished.

“Did that all really happen? Because it sounds almost like a story.”

“Why can't it be both?”

Ishumi scoffed a laugh and quietened into thought before asking, “And you said Quinton and Four-Chan knows this?”

“Most of it, yes. Quinton has the whole story.”

“Is that why you're so close to him?”

Shjacky giggled. “No. I just can't resist that handsome mug of his!”

Inshumi smiled. “So, was it worth it? All of that for a few years of...” she gestured to themselves. “This. Normal, boring life. Well, maybe not normal. And maybe not boring. But definitely not 'international spy' exciting.”

With a gentle, satisfied smile, Shjacky replied, “That's what Quinton and Four asked me when they found out.” Then, she nodded. “My answer hasn't changed. Yes. Every second of it. I would give it up for the world.”

The door to the restaurant swung forcibly opened. “Shjacky! Ishumi! What happened?”

Standing at the entrance was a dark skinned teen in a well tailored ash suit with red tie and a dark green inner shirt. His short black hair and shoulders were littered with snow. Pempe Byrne, numbered Five, stood with hand on handle, panting.

“Nothing!” Ishumi replied, surprised at their friend's appearance. “Where's the fire?”

“Sir!” One of the servers approached him. “I'm afraid we're closed until dinner.”

“It's fine,” Shjacky said, getting to her feet. “Thank you for your hospitality and patience, but we will be leaving now.”

“Oh,” the server let out, looking at his boss for directions. The latter simply shrugged.

Shjacky and Ishumi picked up their stuff and put on their coats before heading to the door. Shjacky asked Pempe, “What's the rush?”

He sighed exasperatedly, “We heard the two of you got into trouble with The Janus, so we rushed to find you.”

“We?” Ishumi asked.

Pempe let the way outside where another familiar face waited. His elven ears prickled at their footsteps. Kingston Hox, numbered Thirteen, tipped his hunter brim hat, his own coat drizzled with snow. “Ladies.”

Shjacky turned back to Pempe. “How did you find us?”

“I followed him,” Pempe pointed to Kingston.

Shjacky turned to the latter. “And how did you find us?”

He shrugged, matter-of-factly. “I followed the wind.”

“You two gave us a scare. We thought you were in some real trouble,” Pempe sighed. “But it's good you're fine. Now hurry, we've got to go.”

She asked, “Go where?”

“Have you forgotten?” he answered. “We need to prepare for the opening ceremonies. Now come on, or we'll be late.”