Dyla guessed her daughter's habits well and when Lyra came stalking up to her cave, her mother was there. At seeing her, Lyra started, a rare look of pure surprise on her face. Then she was furious. "How dare you, how dare you come here!"

Dyla waited. Lyra walked forward threateningly. "Get out! Go away and leave me alone!"

She picked up a book from a crate and threw it. It struck her mother, the sharp corner drawing blood. Dyla staggered and when she straightened a thin stream of red trickled down from her temple, gathering at her chin before dripping to the floor.

A horrified look crossed Lyra's face before she recovered and her anger returned. Slowly, Dyla wiped the blood from her face, holding her sleeve on the cut. "I see you inherited your father's temper," she said dryly before walking over and sitting on a crate. "We need to talk."

Lyra stayed where she was. "We have nothing to talk about."

Wincing as she patted the cut, Dyla gave a small laugh. "If that were true, you wouldn't be throwing books at me."

After a moment, Lyra did walk over and sit opposite her mother. "Don't try to apologize. I won't forgive you," she spat.

"I know. I don't think I quite deserve forgiveness anyway."

Lyra was surprised by Dyla's bluntness but showed nothing and Dyla continued, "There's a moment in everyone's life that changes them. Perhaps more than one. Yours was when your father came and we left you behind. Mine was almost having my soul and heart cut out and fed to a demon."

Not remembering the time her mother told this story to her sleeping children, Lyra’s eyes widened as Dyla calmly recounted it. "In a way that moment was yours too. When your father saved me, I gave him my heart and soul freely. He is everything to me and although you and Fenrin are part of my heart, I could not stay away from him. I chose Bryn over you and that changed you."

"I noticed," Lyra said, her patience wearing out and she had to resist the urge to lash out again.

Dyla smiled. "Yes, and maybe that change was necessary, who can say? But you didn't just inherit your father's temper, or his philosophy," her face grew dark, "you also inherited his enemies."

"There's a reason your father settled so far north. A reason he keeps such a close eye on the Jarl. And a reason he has formed his army. Alone in the wild, one man can be strong enough to be at the top, but step outside the trees and there are new rules. People make alliances, they band together and no matter how large the bear, sometimes enough wolves can take it down."

Lyra thought of the Jarl, a beaten wolf, unable to call for it's pack. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, startled by her own question.

"Because you've become like your father was when we met. Fighting alone and trying to take everything in sight. I'm afraid that if you and your brother keep spending your energy on each other, that lesser creatures will take you when you are weakened."

Lyra laughed a cruel laugh. "And who was it that made us fight, Mother? Oh, our loving parents, of course. Defeat your brother Lyra, draw his blood, break him and break free."

She saw the hurt in her mother's eyes and pushed forward. "You tore us apart and now you expect me to just forget that! You left me, you walked out of my life and you are not coming back. Stay out of my way and stay away from my brother."

Dyla sucked in a breath and then released it slowly. She nodded at her daughter and left. She may not have made her point or repaired what she had meant to, but she had caught a glimmer of hope.

'Stay away from my brother.'

Dyla allowed herself a grim smile as she returned to Hjor. Perhaps things weren't quite as broken as she had thought.

Ulris' usually controlled face filled with worry as Dyla walked in, her own face still bloodied. He moved forward, grasping her shoulders and looking around for other injuries.

"Calm down, Ulris, it’s just a small cut. A little disagreement with Lyra. Now promise me you won't tell Bryn, I walked right into it and Lyra shouldn't be blamed and you know how he is."

Ulris pursed his lips but agreed. He had no desire to see more warfare in the family. Still, both he and Dyla were grateful that the cut had completely vanished when Bryn returned early.

The master of the house burst in, surprising the servants and bellowing, "Ulris! Ulris where are you!"

The steward appeared in a moment, out of breath from running across the estate. "Here, sir."

"Has the Jarl left yet?"

"Yes, sir. Quite suddenly last week." Ulris jumped as Bryn pounded his fist against the wall, leaving a dent.

Dyla came quickly, her hair still wet from the bath she'd been in. "My lord, what's the matter?"

"The Jarls are gathering. They are demanding rights and favors from the crown."

As the implication hit her, Dyla's face paled. Ulris signaled a servant and whispered them an order and they ran off.

Fenrin squeezed past his father and into the house. He saw his mother's pale face and wondered what was going on. Bryn had driven them silently at breakneck pace back to Hjor, not explaining why. Clearly something was wrong and he felt stupid for not getting it. “Lyra would know”, his traitorous brain thought but he angrily brushed it aside.

After a few moments, the servant scurried back, passing Ulris a paper. He opened it, checking it was what he wanted and then coughed. "Sir, here is the letter we received announcing the Jarl's departure."

Bryn snatched up the letter and scanned it's contents.

Neighbor,

I've been called by the winds of change to the capital. I do not doubt this will be a historic occasion and have heavy implications on this nation. I cannot neglect my duty and lose this opportunity to better my people's condition.

However, if you are in need of anything, my son is at your service.

-Jarl Soren

The Bear’s frustration faded to pleasure. As he relaxed, so did Dyla and the rest of the household. He handed the letter back to Ulris. "It looks like the Jarl remembers his promises. But just to make sure, invite Harold down to stay in the guest quarters."

Lyra returned home late that night and was startled to find the servants still stirring about and it wasn't long before she learned of her father's return. She tried to find Ulris to question him on what had happened, but he wasn't in his study. She was just headed to the kitchen to search when she rounded the corner, nearly knocking into her brother.

"Ah, there you are, sister. I was wondering where you'd slinked off to."

She backed up so their height difference wasn't so prominent. "Why are you and Father back, Fenrin?"

"The Jarl's left for the capital," he said haughtily like it was a big secret. It was a tone she knew from when he tried to bluff his way through his lessons.

"And?" she asked slyly, knowing he didn't know the answer. He stumbled over his words and she rolled her eyes. "Oh forget it, just tell me everything."

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They went to Fenrin's room and he recounted the rumors, Bryn's quick return home, their mother and father's reactions to the Jarl's departure, the letter, and at last Ulris fetching the Jarl's son.

Lyra paced. "Obviously they were afraid the Jarl would use his new leverage to get enough forces together to boot us out of Hjor."

Fenrin flinched. He had never imagined Bryn being afraid of anything. But Lyra, especially after Dyla's words, saw it clearly. "However, when they heard that the Jarl left his son here, it was his way of letting Bryn know he was still in control."

Seeing her brother’s eyebrows furrow Lyra sighed. "Harold was the way Bryn gained control in the first place. He kidnapped him and held him captive until his father agreed to Bryn's demands."

"I-I didn't know that."

Lyra paused her pacing and awkwardly added, "Well, some of us learned some things while stuck here."

It was amazing how familiar it felt. Lyra explaining things while Fenrin listened wide eyed. That's how it had been before. Fenrin would find things and Lyra would have the answer. Whether it was where the eggs at breakfast came from or why their mother got so angry when they'd played with her silver brooch.

Lyra broke the awkward silence. "You know who we should talk to?" Fenrin waited for her to tell him, which she did with hardly any hesitation, "Harold."

The locks around the 'guest quarters' were hardly a deterrent for Lyra. She'd been in here many times, if only because it was locked. It was a nice room but had no windows and its door was locked from the outside and not the inside.

The twins crept in, the click of the door lock startling the man lying on the bed. The room was pitch black, but the little light that entered with the twins let them see him jump up, pressing his back to the wall, and holding his hands in front of him protectively.

"Calm down, Harold Jarlson, it's just me. We aren't here to hurt you." Lyra pulled out a candle, handing it to Fenrin who held it as she struck a light. The spark turned to flame and illuminated the room. Harold blinked and jumped again as Fenrin appeared from the shadows.

"Oh, Gods. For a moment..." He trailed off, embarrassed to say that he'd thought the sixteen year old boy had been his father. Those silver eyes flickering in the candlelight.

"Fenrin, you remember Harold."

"Vaguely."

For a moment, Harold looked offended but then his features melted back into relief and despair as he collapsed onto the bed. "Tell me, Bryndotter, does your father intend to kill me?"

She was half tempted to tease him, but she responded, "Not from what I know." Seeing his relief she couldn't resist adding, "But I just got here."

Harold's face fell into his hands. Fenrin rolled his eyes. "When did you get so mean, Ly. No, I've been with him all day and he's mentioned nothing of hurting you. He seemed quite pleased you were here."

Lyra flinched at her old nickname, but Fenrin didn't seem to have noticed. She bit back a retort about when she'd ‘become so mean’. Harold looked up and seeing Fenrin's earnest face, sighed. "Good. That was the intention."

Fenrin moved closer excitedly. "So your father really did leave you as hostage."

A strangled laugh escaped Harold. "I've been a hostage since your father first arrived in Hjor."

Lyra elbowed her brother back. "I told you." She turned back to Harold. "Tell me what you know about the Jarl meeting."

"Your father already questioned me."

Lyra snorted. "Yes, and I'm just going to ask Bryn." A ghost of a smile flashed across Harold's face.

"I suppose not." He took a breath. "The Jarl's mandate, as they are calling it, is being spearheaded by Jarl Hurson and Jarl Maelif of Taka. Essentially, it's the Jarl's demanding compensation for the wars through rights and power instead of gold and resources. They did it once before on a smaller scale, but this time they plan to strip the king of most of his power. The idea is that in order to avoid another civil war that he probably wouldn't survive, the High King will agree to the Jarl's demands."

"What kind of demands?"

"Mainly the power to further draft their own laws and collectively dethrone a king, which isn't as bad as it sounds since the Jarls hardly ever agree on anything. Although the word is Jarl Hurson wants some exclusive trading rights and Jarl Maelif wants to reinstate the slave trade market in Taka."

"Hmm. And what does your father want?"

"As little to do with it as possible. He might push for protection from future conflicts, the ability to say no to the capital's demands. Anything that would allow us to stay out of any of the south's wars."

Fenrin processed it all slowly, getting why his father hated politics so much. Lyra on the other hand, drank it in, her mind spinning with all the implications. "Thanks, Harold. Let's go Fen." Again Lyra started, her own voice betraying her. But she shook it off and made her way to the door.

"Bryndotter."

She turned and Harold asked weakly, "I don't suppose you could leave me the candle."

She racked her brain for anything he could do with a candle and sucked her lip, finally saying, "Best not. Don't want anyone knowing we've been in. But I'll make sure the cooks don't forget about you." She blew out the candle so Harold saw her grin before the room returned to darkness.

Easily, Lyra reopened the door and pushed her brother out before locking it behind her.

"Well, that was enlightening," she said as they walked down the hall.

Fenrin slowed, "Ly..."

She froze and sucked in her breath. "Don't."

"But—"

"Don't pretend like we weren't ready to tear each other apart. To fight for blood on our birthday. Just...don't." She moved forward, practically running, without looking back at her brother.

Fenrin and Bryn stayed until the Jarl returned. Then Bryn took Harold and met with his father. He returned with a concerned look but not shouting for blood which was a good sign. The concerns he shared with Dyla were the same Lyra had pieced together already.

The Jarls having their own completely independent forces, meant more enemies Bryn would have to avoid. Before, he had been protected by the crown's hesitation to deploy soldiers, but Jarls were more hotblooded and protective and would no doubt be eager to try out their new armies. This was coupled by the concerning rise of Jarl Hurson in the political world. Bryn and Dyla didn't doubt he hadn't forgotten them.

For now, Bryn decided to avoid the southwest, steering clear of Hurson's Jarldom. He and Fenrin left again, more on a mission of feeling out the pecking order than to secure goods. They stalked many travelers in the east but attacked few.

When they returned in the winter, Bryn was not pleased by what they'd found on their journey. The Jarls were flexing their new muscles, sending patrols to guard the roads. Bryn knew it wasn't sustainable and the Jarls would soon grow as lazy as their king had been, but he didn't like to wait.

Dyla reported that it had been agreed that no Jarl could attack another's territory without the crown's consent, a check on the Jarl's power to help prevent coups and petty wars. Jarl Soren had been pleased with this development, knowing it kept prying soldiers away from the festering criminal activity that was Bryn, which he'd been protecting for years.

As the twins' birthday arrived, the tension in the estate grew. Dyla knew her wishes wouldn't stop the battle and Bryn's pride wouldn't allow him to take back his words.

The family feasted in celebration and then it started. The twins stood up, stepping into the open area by the fire. Lyra's face was grim and lacked its usual intense energy. Fenrin slid into his stance but Lyra didn't move. There was a pause and then Fenrin's leg gave way, and he collapsed to one knee.

"What the—" In another moment his eyes rolled back and he fell to the floor. Bryn stood and Lyra calmly walked over nicking her brother's cheek before she turned to face her father, the intensity back in her eyes.

"What did you do?" he growled.

"I poisoned his drink. He'll wake up in a few hours."

Bryn's fists clenched and Dyla hand fluttered lightly onto his arm. Not to deter him, but to make him pause.

Lyra knew she was pushing her luck but she suddenly felt anger well up inside her. "Isn't this what you wanted, Father?" she goaded and Dyla sighed, lowering her hand. Lyra continued, unable to stop the words pouring from her tongue. "For us to fight with everything we had for the honor of traveling with you?"

Slowly, Bryn walked over. He towered over his daughter who found herself trembling in his shadow. "This was not for me."

His voice was low and dangerous. His hand shot forward, taking Lyra's hair and forced her around to look at her brother still on the ground. "Is this what you wanted?" he roared and her legs gave way and she collapsed as he released her.

"Is this your victory?" Her father's voice echoed in the hall and roared through her head.

She stared at Fenrin's still body and her rage grew cold. This was not what she wanted. This was not a victory against Fenrin, but one against Bryn. She knew he wouldn't like it and that's why she'd done it. In that moment, she realized how much a hold Bryn had over her and her brother. They wouldn't even leave their home without his permission, they fought tooth and claw at his word, they betrayed their own hearts just to goad him and get his attention.

"Yes," she hissed, "does it not please you, Father?"

Bryn's temper raged loose and Lyra skidded back on the floor as Bryn backhanded her, like he had years ago. Her vision went red and she pulled out her daggers and bolted forward, screaming. Bryn's knee caught her in the stomach and she collapsed, vomiting and wheezing on the floor.

"Ulris." Bryn was breathing heavily, holding back his rage. Ulris quietly entered and Bryn spoke slowly and deliberately, "Lock her in her room until I decide what to do with her."

The steward gave a small cough. "The young miss has a way with locks and—"

"Then tie her to the damned bed!"

Ulris bowed and signaled. Two of the kitchen boys scurried out, keeping their eyes lowered and away from Bryn. They picked up Lyra and she tried to squirm but collapsed again clutching her stomach. They dragged her away.

Slowly, Bryn's breathing calmed and when Ulris judged it safe he asked, "And the young master?"

Bryn didn't glance at his son. "Just leave him. I'm going to bed."