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Chapter 26. Second Skin.

Manie looked at herself in the mirror, disliking what she saw. She felt like a traitor, like she was wearing someone else’s skin, pinned up in clothes that were meant to display her to the whole kingdom like a chest full of gold and jewels, a victory flag flapping in the wind. The Princess has returned.

“You look much better now with your outfit on,” Sahlee said, coming into the reflection beside Manie. “More like King’s daughter–less like a cat from the gutter.”

“I can hardly breathe,” Manie said. “How am I supposed to fight in clothes like these?” She turned and tried to extend her arms, the material squeezing both her elbows.

“These clothes are not for fighting. Ladies do not fight. They bow, they say please and thank you, they greet their guests with a smile and say hello. When a Lord comes into the room, they address him or her by their full title, not just the name. Afterwards, they may be addressed however pleases the guest the most.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Manie said, her cheeks growing hot. “I grew up here, remember? Or did no one tell you who I am?”

Sahlee grabbed Manie’s arms and pushed them down to waist level. “You are trying on clothes, not wading a river.”

“It’s so uncomfortable. How can anyone wear this?” Manie groaned.

“It isn’t designed for comfort,” Sahlee said, sounding frustrated. “Even still, you will get used to it.”

“I’m sorry,” Manie said. “It’s just… so different from what I’ve been doing lately.”

Sahlee smiled. “Did you know,” she asked in a voice of playful awe, “as a girl, I used to look up to you. I used to think you were so brave–like a hero. Leaving your home and going to new lands to fight in defense of a race of secret creatures. It was so poetic–like an adventure book. I wanted to be like you so badly it made me want to cry. I used to dress up like you and pretend I could throw lightning from my hands. I’d drive my mother crazy playing hunt the Torch-Wing, capturing them in jars and then setting them free. But they were only fireflies. Not like you, who rescued the real ones.”

“You looked up to me?” Manie asked. How could someone look up to me? She wondered. I killed my own sister.

“I did. I had a picture of you hung on my wall that I drew with charcoal. And now, hearing what you did for the Torch-Wings in the North, I’m even more proud of myself for admiring you.”

“I don’t think that would remain true if you knew what else I’ve done.” It seemed impossible to Manie that someone would think of her as anything but a monster. A hero. It seemed like a cruel trick for someone to say.

Sahlee looked at Manie in the mirror and rubbed her hand down Manie’s arm, starting at the shoulder. “You are going to be the queen one day, Manie,” she said so quietly it was almost a whisper, making Manie shiver. “This is your armor now. It will raise you above the highest mountain, carry your name across the sea, and make everyone in the world remember who you are.” Sahlee looked hypnotized by Manie’s reflection. “This fabric will give you more protection than any plate of steel ever could.”

Manie watched Sahlee’s eyes fall over every curve of her body in the reflection. The red designs in the fabric were dimmer than Manie’s hair, but the black lining near the collar acted as a perfect black canvas to paint every strand onto. She knew she looked more royal in this gown, this armor. More like a Queen.

“I don’t want the power,” Manie said. “I just want my old life back.”

“You must do this, Manie. Who else can? This island has seen too much darkness already. I know you can be our light. I believe in you.”

“Why?” Manie asked, staring at herself in the mirror, judging the girl she saw.

“Because you always do the right thing–even if it means you might hurt yourself. That’s what a hero does.”

Manie swallowed. I’m no hero. “It’s going to take some getting used to,” she said, drowned by her thoughts.

“Everything does. You’re only just stepping into your new skin. Give it time. It will grow on you.”

Manie tried to push air into her lungs. “It’s a beautiful gown,” she said. “Thank you for making it for me, Sahlee.”

“It’s beautiful because of you,” the seamstress said back. “It was meant for your skin. No one else’s.”

Manie stared at herself in the mirror, wishing she could see what Sahlee saw. “Thank you,” she said with a voice that didn’t feel her own.

Sahlee smiled. “You are welcome... Come. You are ready to be presented to your father.”

Presented was the last way Manie wanted to be taken anywhere. But that’s what her life would become if she continued to walk this road. Sahlee led Manie along the halls of red carpet and up a flight of stairs. They came to a passage of gray stone with ivy and moss growing along the walls in a chamber Manie had never seen before. At the end was a window on the right wall, letting silver sunlight flood the hall. Sahlee stopped beside a pair of double oak doors tall enough to let a giant walk through them. Two guards were standing at its entrance with spears. “Your father is inside,” said Sahlee.

“Good evening Princess Manie,” said one of the door guards. “They’ve been expecting you.” Both guards put out their arms and leaned into the doors, making a loud whine of wood roar across the chamber inside.

When the doors were fully opened, Manie saw rows and rows of pews before her. The room was filled with peasants and lords, high ladies and queens from beyond–in a dark, gray chamber, lined up in front of a raised platform where a row of stony seats sat, each occupied by someone from her father’s inner council.

Even elders from some of the smaller villages were present, standing in the back. But if anyone had been focused on the King before, they weren’t any longer. Much of the attention was now on Manie as whispers crossed lips like a sea of flies erupting from dead flesh.

“She’s really back,” said a girl to her mother.

“That can’t be her,” said another. “She’s no older than my own daughter.”

“What kind of trick is this?” grumbled a gravelly voice. “Is she a skin-changer?”

Manie stood, paralyzed by fear, unable to speak, barely able to breathe.

“Manie,” Dukemot called, rising from his seat. “We have a place for you here with us. Come.”

Manie tried to move but found her body wouldn’t react.

“Go,” Sahlee whispered in Manie’s ear. Manie stumbled inside the room as Sahlee gave her a gentle shove.

Manie turned back and watched as the doors groaned and shut with a deep thunk of wood. She faced the audience, who similarly turned back to face the king, relieving Manie of their gaze. This is worse than I thought. Manie felt dizzy already. She took her first step between the rows, slowly hovering through the crowd like a ship gliding across the sea. I’m not meant to be here. I’m supposed to be finding a cure.

A woman reached out and grabbed Manie’s hand as she went by, smiling. “We are so glad to have you back.” The woman must have been nearly a century old. Manie almost instinctively tossed a lighting bolt at her to react to the touch. “I know you’re going to do great things for us.”

Manie stared at the woman, wondering if that was true. “Thank you,” she said with a forced smile. “I’m going to try my best.”

Manie turned and hurried to the front of the crowd, hoping to avoid a similar incident with anyone else. “Welcome back, Princess Manie,” she heard a man to her left say. Another on her right said, “May the gods shine light upon your steps.”

None of it felt genuine, like they were simply currying the king’s favor. Manie reached the raised end of the room where torches hung in a half circle behind the stony seats of her father’s council, and a wall of candles burned on the table beneath their faces, outlining Denengear’s rulers in shadow. Manie saw her father seated in the center, Lord Kevan and the Grandmaster of histories, Rorik Benderstead, to his left, and to his right–Lord of coin, Arryn Onus, and the Commander of the Royal Army Markus Adams. To her father’s left was one empty seat, a wooden chair made of a deep red wood.

Manie went up the steps at the left side of the platform and around the table. “Hello Markus. Lady Onus.”

“So good to see you, Princess,” said Aryn Onus.

“Hello Manie. How do you feel now that you’re settling back in?” asked Markus.

Manie’s smile faded into her cheeks. “Overwhelmed. So much has changed.”

Markus let out a single laugh, like a bark. “You barely know a grain of it. But you will soon enough.”

Even he didn’t seem the same as Manie remembered. She went by Markus, towards the seat at her father’s side, feeling as if she was among strangers.

“Hello Princess,” Lord Kevan said as he stood and took Manie’s hand, sounding very happy. “So good to see you again. We are fortunate to have your mind on our side. I have been gladly anticipating your arrival. Your father and I have been planning to bring you into the fold since we first caught word that you were coming home. It’s been an exciting time, that’s certain. But we can discuss all that later. As our Grandmaster of histories, I’m sure Master Rorik is even more pleased than I to have you back.”

Rorik bobbed his bald head, making his long, gray beard swing. He put up his hand and waved at Manie, as if he was annoyed by the whole proceeding. “Most pleased,” he grumbled, refusing to look in her direction. Lord Kevan’s smile slowly melted. He glared at Rorik, then turned to King Dukemot, who clasped his hands together and smiled. “Shall we begin?”

Manie smiled. “Yes. I’m ready.” Though inside she knew she wasn’t. In her heart she knew she’d never be ready for a throne–whether it be for the Torch-Wings, or her own people.

Dukemot pulled Manie’s chair away from the table. “I thought wood a proper material given your history of saving the forests.”

“Very thoughtful.” Manie sat down in the chair, feeling the grain slide beneath her fingers. It reminded her of Musoni, and how effortlessly the Torch-Wings there had turned wood into glass and all other sorts of shapes to build their homes.

Dukemot went back to his stone seat and sat. A moment of silence consumed the room, then Dukemot looked out into his audience, at the hundreds of eyes staring back at him. “Lords and Ladies of Talmoria and beyond–I welcome each of you to the capitol of our island.” He paused, letting the dark greeting hang in the air for a moment. “Many of the faces I see are new, and cannot remember a time when this city was as beautiful as some of us have seen–but I assure you it once was a shining jewel beyond the Teeth of the Earth. We have been wounded, but we will see Talmoria return to that beauty one day. I will begin our gathering as I always do–by providing a summarization of the state of our Kingdom, after which you may present to me any new information or requests you may have. I have asked my daughter, Princess Manie, to be here with us so she may aid us with her wisdom, and perhaps learn from us as well. You are all encouraged to speak freely and honestly before this council tonight. Let us begin.”

Dukemot held up a parchment, letting it glow in the light of the candle’s flame. “In Market Town thousands are dead following the shipments of food I sent to relieve them of their suffering. We know now that the food was poisoned by some unknown entity before it was delivered to them. We still have yet to uncover who is responsible, but I believe we will soon. As a result of the mistrust this event built in that community, the Gray Death now spreads freely there, as the people are now refusing all aid from the crown, including food. Many are starving, and they will continue to get sick and die if nothing can be done.” Dukemot paused and looked out. Not a word was said amongst the people–only sorrowful whispers. Manie remembered the horrible effects of what had happened there and shivered, feeling the cold rain slither down her neck and the stench of ash and death clog the breath in the air.

“In the plains around Bran’s Basin, bandits have been seen setting up camps and raiding smaller villages,” Dukemot continued, “leaving none alive in their wake. We’ve discovered entire towns slaughtered by these beasts. The roads between Shor-Wood and Market Town seem to be the primary focus, and we haven’t enough soldiers to patrol the area, so many will continue to be robbed and be killed until we can do something about it. To the West we have reports of pirates on the sea raiding ships as they navigate our shores to deliver supplies. At the moment we can do nothing to stop them either, other than bribery. What little good news we have comes from the North, where the Protectors are unifying villages against us one by one, restoring order and peace where they go, and the forests are turning green behind them.”

Rorik shook his head, as if he could knock away the idea of the Protectors’ success like a bothersome flea.

“But one issue rises above all others,” King Dukemot continued, “one that affects us all, no matter who we pay our allegiances to, be he god or man: the Gray Death. Thousands continue to die daily across the island, and their corpses are piling up. That is our future burning away out there in all those hobbled together crematoriums and burn pits. Talmoria’s future. Something must be done, and quickly.”

Dukemot turned his attention to Marcus and Lord Kevan. “Is there anything anyone else wishes to add?” He asked, the soul in his voice crushed beneath the weight of his own speech.

Lord Kevan cleared his throat. “Yes…We have stabilized our shipments with the Raeildi of the East Lands. Food is on the way, coming by way of Boot’s Landing, which as of yet seems to be surrounded by water’s too treacherous for the pirates to risk raiding in. Our armies have been able to secure the roads from Denengear’s gates to the cliffs of Half-Moon Landing, and it won’t be long before the roads surrounding Weaterton and the Bay of Bricks can be declared safe as well.”

Marcus was leaning against his hand, looking bored by the whole proceeding. “My boys are on the job, you can count on us.”

“Yes, well, I do hope so,” Lord Kevan replied.

“There isn’t any worry,” Rorik began. “The Royal Army has been keeping the peace in this country for a thousand years, and they will continue to do so for a thousand more years. All we have to do is maintain faith in logic, and not allow ourselves to be seduced into superstition.” Grandmaster Rorik turned his gaze on Manie. “Superstition, and false hopes!”

Manie glared back at the old man, ready to respond, when she felt her father’s hand gently land on her shoulder.

“Yes, well, our faith in how things should be will not generate any coin for the crown,” Lady Arryn said. “We’ve been bleeding gold like a stuck dragon since before the Gray Death began. We must find a way to plug that gaping wound, and we do that by clearing out these bandits quickly so we may restart our supply routes with the towns and farms across our island. Only then can we truly resume trade with the rest of the world and carve a stream of gold flowing in.”

“That is a goal far…” Grandmaster Rorik coughed and cleared his throat. “Far beyond our reach, Lady Arryn. We must first focus on divisions within our own borders before we can begin to think to trade.”

“The Grandmaster is right,” King Dukemot said, sounding pained to admit it. “We must first solve our problems before we can reestablish ourselves with the world. And that begins with hearing the problems we have to solve.” Dukemot turned to his audience. “Lord Kark of Weaterton. You have our attention.”

A man in a coat of wolf fur rose amongst the audience, pushing himself up from his seat with a long, wooden cane. “Thank you, my King,” he slightly bowed his head. “I am most thankful for the time.” The old man revealed a list from his pocket and unfolded it. “Yes. Firstly, I want to mention that we have no food. We’ve been starving for near on a month, and I, nor my people have…seen a decent meal in quite many days.”

Manie noticed that the old man was skinny. He seemed hardly able to stand.

“Our crops have produced no grain in twelve months. The ashes from the fires blocked away so much sunlight that no seed has been able to take to the soil, and the rivers around our village have become a toxic stew from the soot and corpses settling into them. We were managing to survive–until the devastation in Market Town, which interrupted our supply of food. Now we’ve taken to hunting in the forests and come up with only scavengers to fill our bowls. Many are dying still, and the men who ate the coyote have come down with a strange illness which locked them in their dreams, sweating out all the water they drink. And to make matters worse, bandits have kidnapped our doctor. They…sent me a ransom note, but I’m not yet sure he’s still alive…”

“Thank you for your bravery in sharing that story,” Dukemot said. He turned to Manie. “What do you think we should do?”

Manie looked again at the man in the audience in his wolf coat, noticing the frailness in his bones. She turned back to her father. “We have to help them,” she said.

“Yes, of course we have to help them,” Lord Kevan said from Manie’s other side. “But how? He’s starving, do we send him food? Water? They’ve come down with a strange illness and their doctor is gone, taken by bandits. What do we do to get him back?”

Manie locked eyes with Lord Kevan, frustrated that they were asking her to decide. “Well, first we have to send him back with supplies. We can’t let his people continue to starve. And we have to clean the rivers.”

“And what do we do when the bandits return and take all the food for themselves, possibly growing stronger and increasing their numbers when they realize how easy it is to steal from us?” Lord Kevan raised his brows at Manie.

Lord Kevan was right, but to Manie it didn’t seem like now was the best time to teach a lesson. These were real people with real lives their decisions would be affecting. “Send guards with the wagons–that’s obvious.”

“Is it, though?” Lord Kevan asked. “Because now that we’re sending guards, we have to feed them. And how long will those guards stay? Long enough to ensure that the food ends up in the right bellies? Or just long enough to get the food to the gates?”

Manie took a deep breath, trying not to let her frustrations cut in. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “What do you think?”

“I think we aren’t going to accomplish much when there is a hive of bandits sitting on the town we mean to help. First we must send a detachment to Weaterton and root out these monsters before they can harm anyone else, and then station these soldiers nearby for a time to ensure the town remains secure, and to scare off anyone who might get a similar idea. Once that is accomplished, we can send more supplies.”

“And so it shall be done,” Dukemot said, nodding at Manie.

“Thank you my Lords.” Lord Kark bowed. “And my Princess. You are generous. Most generous.” He coughed fiercely and sat, using his cane to help himself down.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Manie silently watched the man sit, feeling something stir inside her heart. They’d done good, even if it was small. Those people would be safe, soon.

“The next to speak will be Sir Gregory of the East Wood.” King Dukemot looked at a man in rusted armor who stood and bent his body into a bow.

“My King,” Sir Gregory said. “Thank you for welcoming me into your city. I come with dark tidings. A detachment of Protectors have attacked the Moss Canyon. Three villages are under their control. My men and I tried to stop them but they proved too many. We need reinforcements.”

“That area is beyond our jurisdiction, Sir Gregory,” Marcus said, disdain and annoyance in his voice. “You know that. I told you as much myself earlier today. We can’t spare good men for peasants who have nothing to offer the crown.”

“These people are more than peasants,” Sir Gregory said, a fire in his voice. “They’ve come to the aid of the King in many battles before. Their ancestors were there the day Goroth attacked Sarratania.”

Marcus chuckled and sat back. “You mean the day they stood idly by and let the city be destroyed by a monster?”

“That was at King Mikhail’s command and you know it.”

Marcus waved his hand at the man. “That was a thousand years ago. It’s worth less than chicken feed today. Let those peasants be taken by the Protectors, it means nothing to us. Sooner or later they’ll all be brought under the flag of the one who sits the throne.”

“So we’re just going to abandon them?” Sir Gregory asked. “Let those traitors do with our people as they will?”

“This is a travesty!” Grandmaster Rorik said, pounding his fist against the table. “What kind of a King abandons his own people to the enemy?” He slowly craned his neck to look at Dukemot, who shot the old man a sharp look back.

Marcus raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Dukemot once again turned to Manie. “Do you have any say in this matter?” He asked. “Don’t be afraid.”

Manie looked at her father, unsure of what to say. She knew Jarod wouldn’t let those people get hurt. But she still wasn’t sure if she should let her alliances be known. A princess of Denengear would argue for their return. A princess of Denengear would hate the Protectors for fighting against her family. She almost didn’t know who’s side she was really on.

Manie looked at the knight in rusted armor and said, “The Protectors… aren’t evil. They will keep our people safe, even if they are traitors. One day, we’ll bring everyone in the Moss Canyon back under the crown’s protection. But for now, I think we should let the Protectors take charge.”

“Well said,” added Lady Arryn. “More coin to solve real problems with.”

“I cannot believe what I am hearing,” Grandmaster Rorik complained, throwing up his hands. “Travesty! Mockery of the crown!”

“I am the Crown,” Dukemot said. “You best learn to accept it, because I agree with her.”

Sir Gregory shook his head. “My King, this is a mistake. If we let villages fall to our enemy it sends a message to others that our cause isn’t one worth fighting for.”

“It’s been long since we had a cause worth fighting for, Sir Gregory,” Dukemot said, his voice dark and cynical. “I suggest you find one of your own and return to your people of the East Wood. Keep them safe as best you see fit.”

Sir Gregory nodded sharply at the King. “I’ll do that, Your Grace.” He bowed, then quickly turned and left the room, his rusted armor squealing all the way.

Manie felt conflicted watching him go. She wished she could have told Sir Gregory the truth. “Did we make the wrong choice?” she asked.

Lord Kevan leaned towards Manie. “Young Manie,” he said. “Presume for a moment that there is no right answer. You help one, you harm another. Do nothing and both will come to harm. That is the essence of being a leader–choosing. You must decide which way you want the world to turn, and tend to it as you see fit. Only through persistence can any kind of good truly be attained.”

“Lord Kevan speaks wisdom,” Dukemot said. “Choices matter. What you do today will follow you into tomorrow. So you must choose carefully.”

“What if I make the wrong decisions?” Manie asked, feeling drained. “How do I know?”

Dukemot looked at Manie with eyes that weighed as much as the world. “You never know. But if one day you decide that you have chosen wrong–find a way to mend it.”

“You’re going to make lots of mistakes, Manie,” Marcus said. “You’ll know soon enough if you were truly meant to lead. If you aren’t–well, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. Most don’t have what it takes to handle power. I’d be surprised if you were any different than the rest of us.”

“She can be taught–like anyone can,” Dukemot said, turning over his shoulder to glare down at Marcus.

“As you say, my King,” Marcus said.

Grandmaster Rorik stood and began shuffling away from his seat, grumbling, “I don’t know why I take the time. Useless for me to be here.” As he went by Manie, he made a point to bump her seat. “She’ll never have what it takes to run a Kingdom,” he said just loud enough so Manie and the King could hear him.

“You’re a man of the past–these are struggles of the future,” Dukemot said. “Now go back to your books and leave us in peace.”

“I was already leaving,” Rorik complained as he shuffled towards the doors, his sleeves swinging as he tossed his arms for balance.

“I hate to agree with the old man, but this all does seem a bit pointless,” Marcus said as he rubbed his face against his hand. “What next, are we going to send someone a new pair of fur boots? Maybe a herd of goats? How is this teaching the Princess anything?”

“If you’d like to join Grandmaster Rorik, you’re welcome to leave,” King Dukemot bit back, his voice a shadow of dark fury.

Marcus twisted his wrist. “I’m just making an observation.”

“Your observations have been heard. The next to speak will be Lord Feiro,” Dukemot said. “Please stand.”

A man draped in a red cape rose amongst the seats below, sticking out like a bloody slash through the crowd. “Good afternoon my King.” Lord Feiro bowed. “I’ve come a long way to seek your advice.”

“You’ve come to seek my daughter’s advice on this night.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Lord Feiro turned his attention on Manie. “My Princess.”

Manie smiled to make him feel welcome. “Go ahead.”

“I come to seek counsel. I’ve had a problem within my family, one I know not on how to proceed. You see, a boy rode into our village not long ago. He and my daughter quickly fell in love. He convinced my daughter to run away with him, so I forbade them from seeing each other–but it was no use. She snuck out at night when I slept. I was forced to lock my daughter in an attic room to keep her away from his clutches. But she escaped, despite my efforts. As the pair of them embarked on their plan to flee our village, she stole the gold I had hidden away to purchase food for the whole village with. My son tried to stop my daughter from going…and she… she mortally wounded my son with a knife. He died a short time later…in my own arms.”

Manie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand. Veronica’s voice echoed within her mind. Give me the Crystal! Her sister screamed. She saw the window, the blood, the blade burning inside her mind. “Why are you telling me this?” Manie asked.

“I want justice.” The man said, his voice a river of pain. “She betrayed me, my son–our entire village! Dozens starved to death because of what she did. I want my daughter back–so she can face punishment. She’s a murderer, and a thief. She can’t be allowed to roam free, and neither can that boy.”

“How long was she locked away?” Manie asked.

“For just a month,” Lord Fiero said. “My Princess, I don’t have the men to send after my daughter. You must help me track her down so that our village’s gold can be returned… unless you know of another solution.”

“She killed your son,” Manie whispered. “Her own brother.” Manie saw the terror in Veronica’s eyes as the lightning exploded, ripping through her sister’s body–saw Veronica’s clothes rippling in the cold air as she fell. “You want justice for your son?” Manie asked, bringing herself back into the room, eyes wide and burning.

“Yes, and I want the gold back with her. If there’s any left.”

Veronica’s lifeless corpse flashed before Manie’s eyes. “She killed your son because she was afraid.”

“Afraid? Afraid of what?” Lord Fiero asked, incredulous.

Tears built in Manie’s eyes as she remembered the night her sister had caught her hiding in the lower halls after the feast. We’ll always have each other. No matter what, Veronica had said. I killed the person who promised me that, Manie told herself.

“Afraid of knowing what would happen if she didn’t,” Manie said, to Lord Fiero and all the other eyes staring up at her in the candlelight. It felt as if the judgment she would cast would be for herself, not Lord Fiero’s daughter. If this was what being a queen would mean, Manie knew now better than ever that she wanted no part of it. She stood from her seat and leaned down to blow out the candle below. As the smoke rose around her face, she looked to her father and said, “I’m done with this. It’s not for me.”

“Manie…please,” her father begged, his eyes showing his broken heart. “It was my fault. Everything that happened that night. It was me who made the mistake.”

“No it wasn’t,” Manie said. “It was never your fault, it was mine. I should have trusted my sister.”

“Manie,” Dukemot said. “Please stay. We can’t do this without you.”

“I can’t,” Manie said, moving to the edge of the raised platform. “I didn’t come here for this.” A commotion stirred in the crowd as she mounted the steps and descended.

Dukemot sat open mouthed, watching her go. “Manie.”

“She needs time,” Lord Kevan said, firmly grabbing Dukemot’s arm. “Let her leave us for now.” He smiled. “We haven’t lost the battle yet, old friend.”

“Running away again, Girl?” Asked a man in the crowd. “Is this what we can expect from our future Queen? Reminds me of the last one we had!”

Dukemot pointed into the rows of pews as men began to stand. “I’ll have the tongue of the bastard who spoke those words! That girl slayed Goroth the Destroyer and saved the last forest from destruction. She’s got more courage than every last one of you combined. She flees from nothing.”

Silence replaced the furor. Manie went through the middle of the room, avoiding the eyes of people who watched her go, trying not to see the disappointment around her.

“What’s wrong with her?” A girl near Manie’s age asked.

“She’s afraid,” her mother told her. “And I would be too. She’s being handed a dying kingdom.”

Manie tried not to let the words sink in, even though they were true.

“If there was ever any hope, it’s surely gone now,” said a tall man near the final row as if he was watching the world’s last sunset.

The guards at the end of the room pulled on the doors until they shuddered and vibrated open. When they swung wide enough, Manie squeezed herself into the crack, disappearing down the hall. Once she was out of sight, she began to run, following the red carpets and shaded windows to her bedroom near the greenhouse.

When Manie went through the door, she was crying. The drapes inside were blowing in the wind, reaching out at her from across the room. She leaned against the door and slammed it shut with her back, reaching over her shoulder to twist the lock. She let out a deep breath, feeling safe now that she was alone and locked in a cage. She slid down the door to her knees and sat. “I have to focus on the cure. Nothing else.”

Manie had sweat on her forehead from her run across the mansion. She crawled on her knees to reach a pitcher of water at her bedside, but halfway there she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a tall mirror and almost didn’t recognize the girl she saw. “This isn’t who I am,” she told the girl in the mirror. Manie stood and went to the dresser at the edge of her windows. She pulled open a drawer and found her old clothes neatly folded in a corner. She quickly put them on, throwing her royal gown aside.

This time when Manie looked in the mirror, she recognized herself even less. She stared at the empty outfit Sahlee had designed for her and remembered what the seamstress had said. This is your armor now. It will protect you more than the strongest plate of steel ever could. Manie looked at herself once again. I’m nothing in these clothes, just a girl who lost her home.

A stiff pounding on the door broke Manie’s attention. “What?” Manie shouted at the ruckus.

“It’s me,” a man’s voice said.

“Me who?” Manie demanded, wandering closer to the door.

“It’s me… Silvan.”

Manie’s courage instantly returned. “Silvan?” She grabbed the door and twisted it open. And there he was, standing in the entrance as if he’d been waiting there for her the entire time. “What are you doing here? Where have you been?” Manie almost choked trying to speak so quickly from her anger. “I’ve been on my own since Shawn and I got to Denengear!”

“It’s a long story.” Silvan looked around Manie’s room, his eyes hovering over the gold and jeweled trinkets across the tables and walls. “Seems like you’re doing alright. You’ve got a much nicer room than they gave me.”

Manie felt her cheeks grow flush. “I didn’t ask for this room, they just gave it to me, okay? I’d rather sleep in a cave.”

“I truly beg your pardon, Your Grace, I meant no offense. It really is a room fit for a queen.” Silvan smiled.

Manie shook her head at him. “Just shut up and get inside.”

“Your father seemed pretty disappointed you left his little gathering.” Silvan backed into the room, pressing the door shut. “Seems he’s really got his hopes wrapped up in you becoming the queen.”

“Yeah, I think that’s pretty obvious at this point,” Manie said, cocking her head to the side. “Any other genius observations?”

Silvan locked the door, then turned to face Manie. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

“Nowhere,” Manie said, looking down at her clothes. “I was just… trying to remember who I am.”

“You might be the only one around here who doesn’t.” Silvan said back.

Manie stared at him, emotionless. “Why did you come to my room? Where’s Gale?”

“Gale–is fine,” Silvan said as he drifted across the room. “She’s fitting in very nicely around here with the guards. I think she’s out with them on patrol across the city. Seems there’s been a bit of commotion stirring up in Copper Lanes since you arrived. She’s gone to check it out.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Silvan said. “Just letting you know that your arrival hasn’t gone unnoticed: for better or worse. Unsurprisingly you aren’t the only one in this city who has their eyes on the crown.”

“Well they can have it,” Manie said. “I just want to leave this place.”

“I thought all you ever wanted was to return home? Now that you’re here you want to leave?”

“This isn’t my home anymore. Everything I remember about this place has been changed. Even my father isn’t the person I remember. He seems lost…broken. Like all the fire that once burned inside him has gone out. I don’t think he can save the island. I don’t even think he can save himself.” The words stung in Manie’s throat. “I can’t do this, Silvan. I just can’t.”

“Sure you can. You defeated Goroth. This is nothing compared to that.”

“I’d rather relive that night a thousand times than keep up this charade,” Manie said. “What about Shawn? I haven’t seen him since I left dinner.”

“Well, he was supposed to wait in the dining hall for Willhelm to show him to his room, but he disappeared. No one’s seen him since.”

“Where did he go? We have to find him!” Manie felt her heart sink into an abyss. He has to be alright, she told herself. He has to be.

“Hey? Are you forgetting that Shawn single handedly killed one of the most deadly creatures in Talmoria with his bare hands–after almost getting hanged by it? He’ll be fine. He doesn’t need you to keep checking in on him. He might have already found your mother’s lab for all we know. That kid can be resourceful.”

Manie let out a breath to hide her frustration. “I’m not…” She put out her hands and closed her eyes. “Look, my father says he knows a way to stop the Gray Death himself…but I don’t know if we can count on that. He wants me to keep helping him run the island like he’s training me to be queen, but it’s rough. I’m not molded for this like I am for…” Manie looked through the window at the mountains and sparse forests, pointing her hand. “...being out there, in the wild. I just want to find my mother’s lab so we can get the cure to Jango ourselves. Then we can stop the Gray Death and end this nightmare forever.”

“I’m working on that,” Silvan said. “So is Gale. It can be difficult to dig up the past when few are still alive to remember it.”

“Well, dig faster,” Manie said, frustrated. “I’m running out of time.”

Silvan nodded, looking dour. “I heard what that low Lord asked you in there–Lord…Ferry-o? What was it?”

“Lord Feiro,” Manie corrected, her voice as dim as the sunlight.

“Right. Whatever his name was. Must have been tough to hear. His daughter’s story reminded me of you and your sister.”

Manie felt a stream of panic burn into her heart. “Yeah, me too,” she said, trying to clear the memory from her mind.

“Is that why you ran?”

Manie turned to Silvan, insulted that he would ask her that. “How am I supposed to judge others when I’m just as guilty as they are? I’d be condemning myself as much as that girl.”

“You aren’t guilty of anything, Manie,” Silvan said. “What Veronica did that night was wrong. She deserved to die for what she did. I’m not trying to say it’s a good thing to kill people, but if anyone in Talmoria had it coming–it was her. She was asking for it. Maybe she even wanted to die. You never can know.”

“I think she wanted our family back, just like I did. And I killed her for that. I can never be forgiven. I destroyed our family.”

“You’re giving yourself far too much credit. If I remember correctly your mother is the one who released the Gray Death, so really she destroyed your family.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m just as bad as her. The same evil is in me.”

Silven let out a breath and laughed. “Evil… Manie, come here. Sit down with me. Let me tell you a story about good and evil.”

Manie shook her head, letting out a breath. “Fine.” She went to the lounge near the tea table and sat. Silvan found his own seat in a place where he could look through the windows at the world beyond the Rims. “Do you remember when we were in the Sour Marshes looking for Jango and we found that rope dangling from the tree? That’s where one of my sister’s died. My sister hung herself with that rope. She was the first one I found after the Protector drove my family away from the village. She was the oldest of my three sisters–her name was Hildi.”

Manie felt a cold chill rise up in her heart. “Why?”

“I don’t know... Maybe she was afraid of living in a world without our mother, so she chose not to go on.”

Manie was stunned by Silvan’s words. “That must have been horrible,” she said. “I can’t imagine anything worse.”

“Oh it was. But it didn’t…” Silvan let a breath out of his nose. “...it didn’t make me sad. I didn’t… fall to my knees and beg the gods to bring her back. I didn’t curse the name of the Protector who killed our mother and drove them away. I didn’t…cry. I just cut my sister down and carried on searching for the others, because I knew that if I could find at least one of them, then my mother’s death, her sacrifice, wouldn’t have been in vain. I could rest easy knowing that I’d done what a brother should do. That I’d avenged her in some way.

“A few months later I found my second sister’s bones. Some beast in the night had taken her. She was the youngest. Little Yenna. I knew it was her because the necklace my father had given her before he passed was still with her remains.” Silvan looked up at Manie, the misery on his face carving through the shadows. “But still I kept on searching,” he whispered, almost in a rage. “As if that would somehow bring them back.

“I never found my third sister, Ginger. I looked and looked for years, but never found anything–other than some footprints. The footprints led to a shallow river, one that wasn’t ankle deep, and ended there. I went up and down the stream for miles and miles, but never found a hint at where she’d gone. It was like she’d vanished into the water. Like she’d never been real at all.

“But I did find the man who’d done it. One day, whilst I was out searching for my sisters, I saw my mother’s killer tracking a Nightling through the forest. My heart started pounding when I realized it was him. I pulled the bow from my shoulder, drew an arrow from the quiver, and let a shaft fly into that man’s back without even thinking twice.”

Silvan looked up at Manie. “There was no satisfaction, no joy, no surge of vengeance after. Just cold, thoughtless movements–calculating the wind, feeling the strength of the string, deciding how high to aim–all in the length of a breath.” Silvan held up his arms and closed one eye, pretending to loose an arrow from an imaginary bow. “It was only after my arrow struck my mother’s killer that I realized his son had been out hunting with him.”

Manie covered her mouth to hide her silent gasp.

“‘Dad, dad,’ the boy shouted, sounding as afraid as my sisters did the day his father came to our home. ‘Please don’t die.’ When he saw me approaching from the trees, the boy drew a blade to defend himself. But when his father saw who I was, he took the blade from his son and told him to flee.

“I… let the boy go…but his father wasn’t so lucky. There I stood, towering over the man who’d destroyed my family, the man who’d killed my mother, smiling for the first time in years. I told him I was going to kill him, and he said back to me, ‘I know you are. It’s what I deserve.’ I laughed as I pulled the sword out of my sheathe and pushed the tip against his heart. What he deserved. It almost seemed too easy. I expected a confrontation, a fight–something. In the end, he didn’t even beg. He backed himself against a tree and looked up at me, eyes gleaming with that smug blue fire that all the Protectors like him wore. His boy cried out from the bushes, begging for his father’s life, but I wasn’t willing to hear him–even though what I was doing to him wasn’t much different from what had been done to me and my sisters. I didn’t think about that. I just…stuck my blade so deep into his father’s heart that I had to leave it in the tree behind him. And the boy screamed.”

Silvan looked like a ghost of rage. He turned his eyes on Manie once more, freezing in the silence at the end of his words. “Good and evil. Right and wrong. That’s how I got the blue fire in my eyes,” he said. “By murdering that man in front of his son.”

Manie was stunned. She could hardly make her voice higher than a whisper. “I thought Protectors only got the blue flame by doing good things?”

“Good things… When was the last time you thought being a Protector was a good thing? It seems to me this blue fire in our eyes is punishment. The fire traps us in a life of servitude to a god we’ll never see. What could be worse than that?”

Manie watched the blue fire in Silvan’s eyes dance from side to side as if the flame meant something sinister for him, different than everyone else, different from the Protectors. But in her heart she knew Silvan wasn’t an evil man. He was just broken, like everyone in Talmoria was.

Silvan turned and stood, moving towards the door near the end of Manie’s room. “Sometimes good people do bad things, Manie. One act doesn’t make you who you are. It doesn’t wash away what came before. Each of us can change-for better or worse. You make the choice. We always have a choice.” He opened the door and stepped out into the hall. “Your father needs you. You’re the only hope this island has left. Don’t give up just yet. We’ll find a way to the other side. Count on that.”

“I’ll try,” Manie said, trying to swallow away the fear. Good and evil didn’t make much difference when her heart was drowning in sorrow and grief. It would be hard, but she would try.

“Good,” Silvan replied.

“When will I see you next?” Manie asked, not wishing to see him go. He was the only friendly face she’d had to look at.

“Soon. I’ll find you when I learn something about your mother’s lab. Also, I’ll keep my eyes out for Shawn. He can’t be that hard to find.”

“Thank you, Silvan,” Manie said. “Good luck.”

Silvan smiled. “You’re welcome, Princess. Stay strong. We’ll all see each other soon, and then we’ll leave this place forever.” Silvan began to pull the door until it was almost shut, then he paused. “Goodnight, Manie.”

“Goodnight, Silvan.”

Silvan smiled, then shut the door and was gone.