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Nora placed a surprisingly gentle hand on the crown of my head. “I mean, I guess we can’t rule out the idea that the demon king’s minions haven’t picked up some intel—”
“It’s not an idea, it’s a fact!” I blurted. “I practically told him I was on my way here!”
What came out of my mouth next is not something I can organize into readable prose. I told her everything in half-choked sobs, splutters, and fragments, disconnected from any spatial or temporal sense. Bits and pieces of our past conversations and my feelings about them were shattered and strewn about, leaving an impossible puzzle for her to piece together. She spent the better part of a half hour asking clarifying questions in a soft tone, never invoking her usual sassy wit to doubt my words or make light of my feelings.
“He told you… he was a figment of your imagination?”
“Yes. Wait, I—” I hiccuped. “No. I guessed he was, and he…”
“He didn’t correct you.”
“Right,” I mumbled between held breaths.
“He knows about CUP and our connection to it, too?”
That was a little too hard for me to answer definitively. “I told him about our interview and what it was for…” I trailed off, hazily recalling his irritation and fear.
“How did he react?”
“He told me not to go,” I sniffled. That’s the worst part. I was even warned.
“But he knew what you were talking about?”
“More or less, I think.” I doubt he would have let on even if he hadn’t.
Nora sat in the dirt beside me, carefully pulling my head onto her shoulder before altering her line of questioning. “When is the last time you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep?” A sudden lassitude settled over me, summoned by her query. “I don’t know.” Does being unconscious count?
“You know what I do when I’m upset about something?”
I recalled the back wall of the garrison. “Uh… Blow something up?”
“Hah, well, yes, but that wasn’t the answer I was going for. I usually write about it.”
“Oh.” She had been diligently documenting in that journal of hers since our arrival. “Your journal has to be half full by now.”
“Actually, a little less than a quarter full so far,” she replied, pulling it out for visual confirmation. “It can hold more than it looks. But anyway… I think you should start keeping a journal of your own.”
“Me? Keep a journal? What for? I’m not sure I’d want to read what came out of my head…”
“You don’t like talking about the things that upset you,” she reminded in a serious tone. “You complain about the little and medium things easily enough, but when it comes to the big stuff, you clam up.”
“But…”
“Journals don’t judge you; only those that read them. There’s another reason I suggest this, too.”
“What’s that?”
“I think it’s a good way for you to keep things straight. A lot has happened, and even more is coming. So why don’t you record it for your reference?”
“Maybe…” It sounded like a lot of work, to be honest, but she had a point.
“I think it would help you sleep better if you did. You don’t have to commit to it yet, though. Just think about it for now.”
Silence filled the tent again, and I did just that. I liked other people’s stories. But jotting down my own? I didn’t think it would make sense to anyone else, especially if it didn’t make sense to me. However, I knew I was always forgetting things, trivial, mostly. The most straightforward explanation was that there was only so much room in my head, and when it was full, something else had to go. My old trauma therapist disagreed with that, citing stress and anxiety as contributing factors. What did I have to be stressed or anxious about back then? The trauma was already over, and I didn’t see any point in spending Mother’s money to talk about it with someone who wouldn’t understand where I was coming from.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“Do I… have to tell everyone about all this?” I asked as soon as the thought surfaced.
Nora’s answer surprised me. “No, no, I don’t think you do.”
I let out a long exhale, but my relief was short-lived.
“We just have to tell them about the concern that he’s aware of and most likely searching for you. Everything else you told me is confidential.”
“I don’t know how to explain—”
“Prophetic vision still works here.”
Maybe I hadn’t been clear enough in my earlier emotional evacuation. “That was a load of… ackamarackus.”
Nora shrugged nonchalantly. “Vision, dream, what’s the difference?”
“I’m sure a dictionary could tell us all of them,” I quipped weakly, caught up in the distraction.
“And a thesaurus would tell you they’re synonyms.”
I glanced at her eyes, which were sparkling with friendly mirth once again. “I thought I was in trouble for hiding the truth.”
“From me.”
“What about everyone else?”
“Well, if they’re mad, let them come to you about it. But that’s on them.”
With silent regard, I realized she had drawn a line between the party and me. We weren’t on the same level in her mind. Part of me was selfishly happy about this, but part of me also felt guilty since every one of them mattered deeply to me.
Nora waved her hand. “We have a few other things we should discuss before returning to the others…”
“Wait. What am I supposed to do about… you know. Him?”
“Keep ignoring him for now?”
This wasn’t like her. She always had a plan. “Nora…”
“I think you’re already on the right path. Getting the Orders in order, delivering an ultimatum to the Council… If he attacks directly, they should be prepared.”
If?
“So, I should just keep doing what I’m doing?”
“Until the situation changes, yes, then re-evaluate. Oh, but you might want to ask Relias about him.”
My stomach flipped with a wave of discomfort washing through me. “That’s going to be an awkward conversation…”
“I still think it would be somewhat insightful. But you might want to feel him out first before diving in.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “Between you and me, what’s your impression of Relias?”
“He seems nice enough.”
“You’re not seeing any blossoming roses or anything when you look at him, right? No birds singing? Wedding bells ringing?”
“What? No!” I felt my face turn red. “That would be so weird!”
Her face turned somewhat serious. “No voices or memories surfaced when you hugged him?”
“No…”
“Hmmm….” She shrugged then. “He’s quite handsome. A little excitable, perhaps, but that might be due to the recent drama.”
“Excitable?”
“When he heard you were unaccounted for, he tried to commandeer Captain Corwin’s horse.”
It might not have been the best decision, but at least he was trying to do something. “Well…” I started, preparing myself to defend his actions.
“While he was still on it.”
For some reason, I pictured him flustered, his robes in complete disarray, trying to unseat a fully armored knight, which sent me into gales of laughter. “He does seem a bit flappable at times—oh…” I suddenly sobered up. “But I’ll be careful not to upset him more than necessary…” He had so much to worry about, and I’m sure my appearance was just a constant reminder of what seemed like a continuous cycle of short-lived hope followed by lingering, painful loss.
“When we can get him alone, we should talk to him about Paradise,” Nora reminded.
“Right,” I replied, realizing I’d need to build up reputation points to unlock that special dialogue.
She shifted then, a Cheshire grin spreading across her lips as she stared expectantly at me. “So now ask me how the Silver Order knew we were here.”
I tilted my head, thinking the answer was obvious. “Didn’t someone from Kopria send a message or something?” Can’t trust anyone to keep their mouth shut.
Nora shook her head as she grinned even harder. “Do you know how long it takes for an army to march? Nah, we were outed way before that.”
Dumbfounded, I asked, “Really? By who or what?”
“Vulture.”
“Who was… wait. In command at Red Mountain, where all of Vernie’s minions went?” I guess I pay attention to some things. Or maybe that was just newer information that pushed out something older.
“Yep. Read this.” She handed me a tattered slip of thin parchment, which had been at one point rolled and shoved into something very tiny, creasing the edges and crushing the fibers. Luckily, it was still moderately legible.
> Dear Captain Corwin,
>
> Today, I write to you not as the thief who has confounded you for years, escaping from every one of your poorly conceived traps, but as a concerned citizen of Speranza.
>
> I have been informed that the armor of the Chosen One has been lifted from my private collection and now stalks eastern Turri like a thunderclap. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have bothered to tell the authorities, but it seems, no joke, that it has also picked up a tiger and an ox after catching the attention of my ex-wife.
>
> Interestingly enough, my subordinates all agree that the new owner of the armor resembles the old one. You should round up a few of your men and visit us here as soon as possible. Bring that sage, too. I’m sure he could use some fresh air.
>
> Regards,
>
> Vulture
Nora’s laughter erupted as I stumbled back over the key phrase. “A tiger… an ox… and an… ex-wife? Who is his… Vernie?!”
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