CHAPTER 41: The Forgotten Ghosts We Loved
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They sat in silence, staring out at the river. The murky water lapped at the banks.
Faye was quiet for once. She sank into a cross-legged position, perched on a large piece of driftwood. The masked man knelt beside her, his presence steady but unreadable.
The lantern light from the festival shimmered against the dark water. The ancient stone bridge arched in the distance. The people walking across it were drifting silhouettes, too far to make out clearly. The noise of the celebration was a distant hum. It could have been peaceful, if it weren’t for the tension stretching between them.
Faye broke the quiet.
“Malakai.”
The masked man tensed. The name hung in the air between them.
Faye didn’t look at him. “That’s your name, isn’t it, Snowfox?” Her voice was even but edged with something sharper. The dark expression on her face betrayed her growing concern. “Malakai will never be king. Those were the wizard's words.”
The masked man rose silently. For a moment, Faye expected him to leave.
“She wasn’t talking about me.” Stepping over to join her, he settled beside her on the driftwood. His hands clenched the fabric of his pants. It was impossible to read his expression behind the mask, but his stiff spine and forced words were telling.
Faye sighed, looking away. “You don’t have to-“
“She meant the lord’s brother,” he interrupted. The moonlight slid over the metal mask. He stared resolutely toward the distance where the grand Eburean castle loomed. Compared to the glowing city, it was a dark, foreboding structure. The man seemed to come to a certain decision.
“Ama Zhula was talking about Crown Prince Malakai," he revealed softly as if the admission itself was delicate. "The lord’s older brother.”
Faye frowned, “The exiled one?” Although she wasn’t entirely clear on the royal family tree, she had heard of the first prince. The suspicion was replaced by curiosity. “I suppose it’d be difficult to rule behind bars.”
The gentle wind brushed through the trees. It swept across them, ruffling their hair and clothes like a gentle tug. The mini waves of the river echoed as they began to rise, reaching tentatively towards the driftwood.
“Not if he were freed,” came the quiet reply.
The air seemed to still.
Faye’s head snapped towards him. “Snowfox, don’t tell me, Nikolai’s planning to-“ She cut herself off, frown deepening. A difficult emotion warred within her. The ruthless general within demanded that she drag out the truth through any means possible. She hesitated. Although they had not known each other for long... the Snowfox was a friend.
If Faye asked further, it would only put the other in a difficult position.
The man’s knuckles were white even though he said nothing to refute her half-formed accusation.
“Forget I said anything,” she murmured. She noted the way his shoulders relaxed slightly at her words. The sight made her lips quirk in amusement. With a huff, her tense shoulders dropped as well. Throwing her arms back, she splayed her scarred fingers against the wood, uncaring of the splinters as she leaned her weight back. The night air was crisp, and for the first time since she had come to the capital, the weight in her chest felt a little lighter.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Craning her neck up, she stared up at the starry night sky. The endless stretch of stars twinkled mysteriously. “When I was a girl, I demanded to have a star for my name day. In front of my father’s entire Counsel no less.”
A quiet hum answered her, letting her know that the masked man was listening.
“My father denied me,” she continued. “He said they were the greatest treasures in the world that no person would ever possess." She reached up as if to grab the dazzling light. "Father said the gods were wise to place them so far out of reach,” she smiled sadly. That was the last they had spoke as father and daughter, before duty overshadowed childhood. Before she became his heir and the Raven General. Of all his words though, she didn't know why these ones had stuck with her.
"I traveled far in my youth," offered the masked man. "It was... lonely, at times. But no matter how far I went, the stars were always there." He hesitated, then shrugged, as if trying to dismiss the weight of his own thoughts. "Sometimes, it felt like my- It felt like they were always watching over me."
Faye let the words settle over her. She understood the sentiment. No matter the battlefield she stood in, no matter how much blood soaked the earth or how many comrades she had lost or enemies she had slain... the stars remained. Sometimes, they were her only constant. Although their patterns changed, and she knew they stretched out across the lands like an uncharted sea... in time, she had learned the truth in her father’s words. Some things were too precious to be posessed.
Faye turned to stare resolutely at the glinting mask, studying the way the moonlight slid over it, the pale light kissing the metal gently. “You shouldn’t trust me with such secrets, Snowfox.” She reached out to press a finger against the streaks of silver. It was cool to the touch. “I don’t think Nikolai would approve. His secrets are precious.”
There was a pause.
“I know," he murmured, "that's why I'm telling you.”
Faye's breath hitched.
"He has many people depending on him," the words were hesitant as if he were surprised by his own admission. "But he doesn't hate you, Faye..." his voice was soft and certain. "Far from it actually."
For a moment, Faye pulled her hand away and stared, dumbstruck. Then, unexpectedly, she burst into laughter, bright and unguarded. The weight in her chest lifted entirely. “Well, at the very least,” she bumped the stiff arm playfully. “If your plan fails, I won’t die. And if I do, well,” she shrugged, “at least you’ll have a new king. Give Nikolai’s younger brother time to practice his sword forms."
She crossed her arms and announced bluntly, "Those forms need work.”
There was a stunned silence.
“Ama Zhula could be wrong,” offered the masked man, slightly concerned at how easily the woman accepted her prophesied death.
“Or she could be right,” Faye countered breezily. “Either way, one of us will succeed.”
The masked man huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I thought you distrusted fortune tellers.”
“I don’t trust those who mess with spirits but,” Faye’s voice trailed off. “But she knew.” A shadow flickered across her face. “And no one else knows.”
It took a second for the weight of her words to sink in. The spirits Ama Zhula claimed to see, he realized.
Nikolai stared. He didn’t know what compelled him but he suddenly felt the urge to press. “Are you certain?” he asked. “She said they died, didn’t she? Someone could have checked the bodies.”
“Impossible,” Faye denied vehemently. “She must have seen them.”
“You cannot know that,” he countered, treading cautiously. “Ama Zhula clearly knows much. She knew I was from Feldgrau. She knew you were the Raven General. Someone could have sold her the information.”
“No one else knew,” Faye repeated sharply, expression darkening. “How could they have sold her the information? I was the only one there!”
“Maybe someone checked after you left,” he reasoned seriously. “A servant preparing the bodies for burial, or a passerby-”
The light mood from before had all but disappeared. A new tension filled the air as they stared each other down.
Faye barked a laugh. “Impossible,” she snapped.
Nikolai pressed forward, insistent. “You cannot be certain.”
“I am certain!” Faye shot to her feet, voice rising. “The assassin set fire to their tent while I was still holding their bodies. I only escaped through sheer luck. Anyone else would have burned with them.” Faye’s breath hitched, her body trembling. “There was nothing left but ash and dust.”
A sudden gust of wind tore through the clearing, whipping her hair to the side. Her eyes flashed.
“I was the only one who knew they were inside.” A single furious tear streamed down Faye’s face. She didn't wipe it away, letting it slide down her cheek with pride. “There was no burial,” she explained slowly, emphasizing each word, deliberately still as her fists clenched. “The reason Ama Zhula saw them is because their spirits must wander."
Her voice cracked. "For eternity.”
Nikolai stilled.
Unburied warriors. A fate worse than death.
It was an ancient grassland belief. A tradition that, when warriors went unburied, their spirits would be condemned to wander for eternity. In tragedies or times of war, something they had treasured in life would be buried in the body's stead. But if all their possessions had burned... there would be nothing left, no way to lay them to rest.
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He reached out hesitantly but Faye recoiled, stepping back as though his touch might burn her.
Ada and Leif.
He’d had Cristin search for those names, but no significant records had surfaced. They were faceless men who would disappear into the annals of history. Cristin had looked diligently. To the world, they were forgotten ghosts. But to Faye... it was clear they had been everything.
During her bedridden state, she had called out to them often. Servants had gossiped, whispering speculations. Past lovers, perhaps. Even Ama Zhula had speculated as much.
Some even jokingly bet on the day two Wenge men would steal the general away. He'd shrugged when Cristin recounted the rumor, rolled his eyes before asking his attendant to check just in case.
But looking at Faye, seeing the raw, unguarded grief on her face, Nikolai only felt the heavy weight of guilt.
Whoever the men were... “They didn’t deserve that,” he said quietly.
Faye turned away, shoulders stiff. “Let’s go back,” she muttered, voice thick. “That was more than enough excitement for today.”
The late night wind nipped at their skin, sharp and stinging.
Nikolai knew he should agree. Plenty of other matters awaited him. His desk was piled high with documents to sign and treaties to read over. Not to mention, Cristin and Darcy would return soon with news.
Faye kicked at the dirt as she trudged back towards the path. “Coming, Snowfox?” she shot him a look.
Nikolai hesitated.
Reaching a hand up to his face, he adjusted his mask.
“Come on, Princess,” he turned the opposite way. “I know a faster route.”
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Faye crossed her arms. She raised a single unimpressed brow at the masked man. “I’m not a child.”
"Of course not," he shrugged casually. His posture was composed but he commented lightly. “I see plenty of grown men and women here.”
Around them, the carnival section of the festival was a swirling mass of people and vibrant games. The colorful chaos seemed to seep into every corner. Every stall’s ornate decorations and large signs taunted the passerby with challenge and delight.
Everywhere they turned, there was something exciting to tempt the eye. The orange lanterns glittered, covering the laughter and shouts with a warm glow. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and sugary pastries. Despite it all, Faye’s gaze remained fixed on the man before her as he led them through.
A few feet away sat a makeshift wooden stage. Atop it, two shirtless men wrestled, grappling at one another for the grand prize. Their veins bulged as they shoved and pushed, muscles straining, all the while grinning as the crowd watched, excitement crackling through every delighted cheer.
Faye’s gaze fell to another corner. A group of girls were tossing iron rings onto a row of wooden sticks. Their tosses were light but precise as they flicked the rings with knowing smiles. The girls took turns, goading each other on as they eyed the prize: a crown of flowers that dangled just out of reach.
Faye tensed as she felt her sleeve being tugged in another direction. She pouted as the masked man steered her away from the games and towards a long narrow field. The bright lights dimmed as they left the lanterns’ glow.
Faye straightened. “Is that…” Her interest was piqued at the sight before her.
Along the field, a line of young men and women held onto wooden bows. Their eyes were narrowed with focus as they aimed into the air. At the far end, three rows of wooden targets stood, awaiting the onslaught of arrows that were sure to pierce through them.
Torches lit the makeshift arena. The crackling fire cast dark shadows across the contestants’ serious faces.
The crowd’s favorite was clear as they gathered around a long-haired scholar whose arrows hit every target, just barely making it within the brightly painted rings. He released his final arrow. The feathered shaft arched perfectly to land slightly above the bullseyes. The crowd erupted into applause.
It was the closest anyone had gotten all night.
The young man beamed. Face alit with pride, his date flew to his side, throwing her arms around his neck.
“Young Lord Vellward wins again!” the announcer boomed, voice thick with pride. “Our reigning champion!”
The line of other contestants drifted away, returning their bows and shaking their head at the loss.
Faye’s eye widened in recognition. It was the scholar from Morning Day!
“If only someone could beat him,” someone noted innocently. The masked man crossed his arms, voice cool. “I happen to know a certain competitive-”
Faye shot him a dark, warning glance.
“… genius,” he finished softly.
The masked man held up a hand in surrender. “What does the Princess think?”
“Well, Snowfox,” against her will, Faye’s lips curved into a grin, “I do enjoy a good contest.”
The masked man’s gaze flicked towards the field. “How convenient there is one right here.”
Faye leaned in closer. Her amber eyes glittered as she turned to stare at the row of targets. “Snowfox, what’s the winner’s prize?” Her teasing tone did nothing to hide the eager anticipation.
Squinting at the announcer’s stand, the masked man faltered slightly. “It is a,” he scanned the display again. “A large glass vase.” He frowned under the mask. That was a boring prize. “It has… roses on it.”
Faye beamed, eyes alight. “What color?”
He scratched the back of his neck, still slightly distracted by the dullness of the prize. “Blue? Perhaps we should try another-“
“I want it!” Faye interrupted, bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes sparkling. “I must have that vase.”
The masked man reached into his pocket for the pouch of coins. Walking over to the announcer, he deliberately placed the extra money down on the counter. Scanning what was available, he secured the best-looking bow for Faye. “I have someone who would like to challenge Lord Vellward,” he said bluntly.
The announcer smiled wide. “Gather round, folks!” he called, beckoning them forward. “Another contestant seeks to challenge the champion!”
At the sudden cheers, Asinoro glanced up eagerly from across the field. His gaze shifted as he sought his new opponent. The young lord’s smile faltered. The woman was marveling over the thin wooden bow. But there was something strangely familiar about her, he thought. His heart skipped a beat as sweat beaded down his neck. He felt a sudden sense of foreboding.
“This was the best they had,” the masked man said, offering the amatuerishly crafted bow to the mighty general.
Taking it from his hands, Faye pulled at the string, testing its durability. “Not bad,” she murmured. She raised the bow’s curve to her eyes to study the craftsmanship. Fingers wrapping around the wood with practiced ease, she bent the bow as far as it would go. “Sturdier than it looks.”
Her amber eyes glanced up to meet his. “Snowfox, this is perfect.”
The masked man couldn’t help but snort. Such a bow was barely fit for a child just learning and he knew it was nothing in comparison to Faye’s own collection. Still, a small spark of pride flared within him. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Faye smirked.
Without warning, she dropped the bow into his arms. Two sturdy hands pushed him towards the contestant line. He blinked in confusion, looking down at the weapon as she shoved him forward. “I thought you wanted the prize?”
"Look at the poor boy," Faye laughed brashly, uncaring as she plowed them through the other contestants and viewers. “I could beat him in my sleep!”
Asinoro frowned at the veiled insult. His jaw clenched.
Faye seemed oblivious but her smirk was wide and wicked. “No,” she corrected, “the real challenge is for you,” she crowed, voice dripping with mischief, “to win it for me!”
The masked man hesitated. His hands gripped the bow, knuckles white. He refused to take the arrow she held out towards him. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered.
But Faye was persistent.
“Weren't you trying to cheer me up?” she asked, easily seeing through his intentions. She pried open his fist to balance the arrow within his palm. “Win the prize and I’ll forgive you, Snowfox!”
The masked man sighed loudly.
There was a pause as the crowd watched expectantly.
“Fine.” He took the arrow and reluctantly nocked it in place. Sighing deeply, he drew the string back. Glancing to the side, he shot Asinoro a nod.
Asinoro nodded back even though hesitation lingered in his gaze. In the next breath, he gripped his bow and nocked his arrow into place. The young lord had brought his own bow. The wood was shiny and new, slathered with a fine polish. Despite the unusual turn of events, his stance was steady with confidence. His title as the reigning champion was a serious matter.
Crossing her arms, Faye stepped back to join the crowd.
The announcer’s voice cut through the tension, echoing across the field. “Are we ready?” The crowd roared back with shouts of anticipation. “Contestants! Release your arrows!”
There was a moment of perfect silence as the crowd watched eagerly, pressing forward. Then, the air filled with the twang of bowstrings.
Two arrows soared upwards, cutting swiftly through the air.
The crowd collectively held their breaths, eyes locked onto the flying projectiles.
Who would win?
And then… the arrows landed.
Jaws dropped. Even Faye’s eyes widened. Her hand flew to cover her mouth. A deafening silence followed.
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"Hey!"
"Watch where you're going!"
The festival’s cheery atmosphere was harshly interrupted.
The festival-goers barely had time to react before a figure barreled through them, shoving bodies aside with reckless urgency. They were like a roaring typhoon, paying no mind to the protests and curses that erupted in his wake.
Like a streak of movement, the person tore through the slow-moving masses. His breath came out in sharp, ragged gasps, as he pushed through a kissing couple with more force than necessary.
A flash of red.
The form squeezed through the wrestlers descending the stage. He tried to ignore their crimson ribbons.
The thought of the color made his stomach sick. Even in the colorful carnival, the flash of red seemed to be everywhere, taunting him. He clenched his jaw to hold back the nausea. For a split second, the bright red twisted into something else. Something dark and slick pooled across the wooden floors of the Lucky Charm. His mind flashed to the crimson streaks that had painted a gruesome image in the establishment’s beautiful gardens.
Blood. So much blood.
Shaking his head, the memory faded. He came to a sudden halt as his gaze landed on a familiar figure in the distance. She was standing among the crowd, watching the archery contest with clear concentration.
“The Raven General,” Rufus realized aloud, eyes widening.
He turned on his heels, boots skidding against the dirt. He pushed past the group of girls huddled over a flower crown. The delicate wreath tumbled to the dirt. Its petals were harshly stomped over, ruined beyond repair.
Rufus wheezed harshly but pushed through the burning pain in his lungs. He couldn’t stop.
A choked sob came from one of the girls, but it was a distant noise. Their cries were unimportant as he ran for the field. He locked onto the figure cheering under her breath like a lifeline.
The answers he needed were just beyond the field.
Please, he begged silently, desperation clawing at his ribs.
Please don’t let me be too late.