The scritch-scratching sound wiggled its way into Lyssia’s sleep-muddled mind.

“Diyana…” she groaned.

The scratching ceased for a moment and then started up again, louder. Lyssia, eyes still closed, rolled over to grab a pillow and threw it toward the cage stand that stood beside her bed. The stand fell over with a clang.

“Diyana! Ah!”

Lyssia sat bolt upright, reaching for the birdcage that...wasn't there.

She flopped back on her bed and pulled her blanket up to her chin as she remembered the scene from the previous day that she had re-lived over and over in her dreams. Her parting with Drottingr Igone and the Drakun Thisska. Diyana's last goodbye. The twins’ cart rolling away. Their sad expressions as they watched the distance between them grow, and the moment when they finally turned and she was blinded by their golden halos of hair and the tears in her eyes.

The rest of that day was already beginning to blur and fade, but she wasn't worried about losing it altogether. She had risked her father's anger for arriving late at the formal supper he had planned and used up the last of the writing vellum she had begged from the Master Skald to record all the details she didn't want to forget. The pages were folded and tucked safely away in the darkwood box beneath her book of Listorian Laikari. She would take them out and read them again when it was less painful to think about.

The twins - gone.

The peace treaty with Listoria - gone.

Diyana, her beautiful songbird - gone.

But if Diyana was gone, then what was making that noise?

"Ahhh!" Lyssia yelled again, clutching her blanket to her chest. Her heart - switching so suddenly from panic to numbing pain to panic again - protested loudly.

Someone - or something - thumped twice against the wooden door before resuming its scratching.

Listening to the sharp claws of the thing standing outside her door brought to mind the claws of the Listorian Drakun she had met yesterday. She chastised herself for the thought. Of course, it wasn't Thisska; she had left along with the rest of the Listorian party. But still, conjuring up an image in her mind of the little Drakun eased her fear, and it was curiosity that motivated her to slip out of bed and wrap a blanket around her shoulders.

She rushed across to her desk first, searching for a mask she could comfortably hold up with one hand. If a wild beast had somehow gotten into the building and a group of men was racing up the stairs to defend her, she had to be prepared. She had been too tired to complete her face care routine after supper. Her cheeks stung as she pressed a mask against the tender skin and tiptoed over to the door.

"Three...Two...One…"

The lantern outside her door wasn't lit anymore, but someone had already thrown open the set of windows further down the way, and weak morning light revealed the empty hall.

"Hello?" Lyssia whispered, leaning around the door jamb to peer both ways. The hall appeared empty. Something cold and wet pressed up against her toes. She jumped back with a squeak, her eyes dropping five feet to the ground.

Her cry of surprise startled the black puppy that had stretched up out of the crate that sat in front of her door. It fell back against a brown and white spotted puppy, who yipped loudly in protest. Lyssia glanced swiftly toward the door to her father's rooms. Was he awake and gone already, or was he allowing his guests a late start after their late night?

She had no way of knowing the answer. Either way, she couldn't leave the tiny creatures out in the drafty hallway. She stepped over the crate and began maneuvering it into her room with her legs and feet.

"Come here. It's nice and warm in here. There we go."

The black puppy jumped out of the crate as soon as she slid it into the room. Its fellow sat on its hind legs and cocked its head to the side as it glanced up at her. Lyssia knelt beside the crate and reached a tentative hand out to stroke its head.

One of her father's hunting hounds had spots that exact color. No one had told her that puppies were on the way, but where else would they have come from?

“Vas Morginnen,” she whispered, smiling when the puppy licked her hand.

“Hello! Don’t yell. Haha.”

Lyssia’s first instinct when she heard the voice behind her and the door closing was to run for the dagger that had gone undisturbed since her father had instructed it hung it from the peg on the inside of her wardrobe door. She lunged in that direction before she had fully made up her mind. The blanket slipped from her shoulders. She tripped over it and landed back on her knees, the mask flying from her fingers.

“Lyssia, are you okay? Oh no! Are you hurt?” A hand pushed against her shoulder, gently guiding her to turn around.

“Az...Azerian? Why? Why are you…?”

Lyssia looked up at him slowly. Every inch felt like a noose was being tightened around her throat until she met her cousin’s gaze and she saw his expression fall.

That’s when the invisible rope around her throat yanked her back, and she fell onto her side and started gasping for air.

“Lyssia! Drottine!” Azerian grabbed hold of her shoulders again and shook her, trying to force her to take a breath. “Please, Drottine! Breathe!”

He gave her a hard thump on the back, and her lungs finally responded. The sensation of air rushing through them felt both like cool, sweet relief and a hot, burning brand, and it started a flood of tears down her cheeks.

“Oh, Lyssia! Yute et saedas!”

Azerian sighed in relief and sat back, but as soon as his hands left Lyssia, she pulled herself another arm’s length away, curled up into a ball, and began to wail.

“Nooooo!”

“Lyssia, what---?” Azerian’s breath hitched as he reached for her again, but Lyssia held a hand up and threw an arm protectively around her head.

"No, don’t touch me! Leave me alone! Don’t hurt me!”

“Hurt you? Lyssia, don’t be silly! Look...Come here.” Azerian scooted forward and threw his arms around her.

“No! No! No!”

Lyssia was not in control of herself anymore. She watched as if through a fog as her hands clawed at Azerian’s and her nails left long scratches on his arms. He tried to be gentle at first, but when she didn't respond to his words, he pinned her arms to her sides and hauled her up by force to sit beside him on the end of the bed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, you dunga! I’m trying to make sure you don’t hurt yourself!” He craned his neck, ignoring the scratches on his own arms as he searched for places that she might have scratched herself. He transferred his hold on her wrists to one hand and reached out to brush the hair out of her face.

“No! No!”

Lyssia tried to free her hands to cover her face. When Azerian wouldn’t let them go, she threw herself at him instead. She buried her face in his shoulder, her muddled mind grasping onto the one thought that remained crystal clear: hide.

Azerian's arms wrapped around her in something akin to a bjurn's embrace. Lyssia didn't protest. The pressure ground her and helped her fight against the scream that still threatened to break loose.

In all the hours she had spent woolgathering as she sat hunched over her desk, she had never pictured what it would be like if someone barged into her room and she had to meet them face to face. Her daydreams were usually reserved for setting sail from the coast on a grand adventure or sneaking out for a twilight dance in a meadow full of glowing buttercups. Maskless, yes, but alone.

Because if she had pictured someone else there, it would have been a nightmare.

Even her father could not bear to see her deformed face. How could anyone else? They couldn’t. They shouldn’t. They wouldn’t.

He had explained to her the reason for the mask and the locks and the dagger as soon as she was old enough to understand his words. She couldn’t show her face to anyone or tell her about the scars, because there was no way to tell how someone would react. Either they would pity her outright for her weakness, or they would fear her for the mark of illness she bore, or they would hate her for being so different and ugly.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

He had never used that word - ugly - but it wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks.

She could hear his hard voice echoing in her ear and his rough hands holding her head still so that she couldn’t look away as he spun his cautionary tales. The ending was always the same.

People hated the unknown. They feared the unknown. They would not want the unknown to walk among them. He didn’t know exactly what the outcome would be if her secret ever came out.

Ostracization. Banishment. Death.

“But if even one person finds out, then the whole stead will know, and the Jarls will know, and the whole village, and”---his voice would dip into a whisper and his hands would shake---”I would not be able to protect you against so many.”

Which was why he had made his choice to protect her savagely now. It was her shame, her secret, but he would help her keep it.

Her father acted out of love. She had never heard him utter the word, but she held onto that truth. He would protect her because he loved her. The least she could do was obey him. Wear the masks, lock herself in her room, attend private lessons. Learn how to not appear weak, improve her mind, learn to protect herself. And above all, keep the secret.

She couldn’t even do that. Azerian had seen her damaged face, and she had recognized the look of horror on his. It was only a matter of seconds before he would cast her aside and run to find someone to help drag her out to the courtyard to be judged.

What was he waiting for?

Lyssia gathered all her strength and pushed away from Azerian. She turned to crawl up the bed until she reached her pillow and thrust her head under it.

“Lyssia?”

“Go! Just go!”

“Lyssia!” Azerian followed her and tried to push the pillow aside.

“No! Don’t look at me! I’m hideous!”

“Hey! Don’t you talk about my best friend like that!”

He gave one more tug and fell onto his back, the pillow clutched in his hands. He tossed it over his head. It smacked against the wardrobe. The puppies, who had been investigating the wardrobe’s legs, turned tail and ran for the cover of Lyssia’s bed.

It wasn’t their yips of protest that made Lyssia glance up but Azerian’s words.

“Your best friend? Really?”

“Well…” Azerian sat up and looked down at her with a lopsided grin. “I know you don’t have one, and I don’t have one. I don’t have any friends here. And I saw how upset you were about those Listorian girls and your bird. You loved your bird. I don't know why you gave her away. So I thought maybe we could be friends. And...and then I thought what do you do when your friend is sad? You cheer her up. So...the puppies.”

“You brought me puppies?”

“I overheard the houndsman talking about a dog that gave birth a week ago and---”

“You stole them?”

“I borrowed them.”

“You stole them!”

“For you!”

Lyssia couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so she laughed. It felt so good she didn’t stop for a full two minutes. Azerian crossed his legs before him and continued to smile down at her. His expression held a touch of pride as if he was mentally patting himself on the back for single- handedly turning her tears into laughter. Most of her face was covered by hair and her arm, but she still had to turn away from his scrutiny.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered into the heavy silence that followed Lyssia’s laughter.

“No one does.”

“Who did it?”

“What?” Lyssia peeked up, surprised by the new vehemence in his voice.

“Who hurt you? Was it...was it your father? I heard him yelling at you the other day, but I didn’t think...Hviss, Lyssia! Does my mother know?”

Lyssia sat up inch by inch, her eyes fixed on Azerian’s bare feet. “No…”

“Well, we have to tell someone! Come on!” He jumped up and reached for her hand, shooting her a pained expression when she shied away.

“No, my father didn’t hurt me. Why would you even ask that?”

“If he didn’t do this to you, who did?”

Lyssia’s propped her hands on her knees and started down at them as if searching for the answers in the lines on her palm. Azerian waited patiently for her to speak.

“The same thing that killed my mother did...this...to me.” She waved a hand in front of her face and let it flop back to the bed, glancing at Azerian to see his reaction. He looked confused. “She got sick. She died when I was a baby. I was sick too. I got better, but the scars never went away…”

“I’m sorry,” Azerian said.

He sank onto his knees and placed his head on the bed facing her. She stretched out until her head lay opposite his. “No one can know, Azerian.”

“Why not?”

“Because if anyone knew, they would kill me.”

“No, they wouldn’t!”

“Shhh!” Lyssia hissed, her eyes flying to the door for the first time since Azerian had surprised her. “Yes, they would.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes, and thank you for that.” She snorted to show that she was making a joke, but she did feel more than a little grateful for this turn of events. “But if my father finds out I told you, he’ll kill us both. Even if you are my best friend.”

“Really? I am?” Azerian’s smile lit up his face. It was the brightest smile Lyssia had ever seen. She nodded and ducked her head, embarrassed by the sudden wave of shyness that overtook her.

“Then as your best friend, your best cousin---"

"Hey!" Lyssia said, feeling a tad protective toward Roakev who, insufferable know-it-all that he might be, had been the only person at the stead even close to her age before Azerian's arrival.

"---and steadfast ally, I pledge myself to your service, Lyssia, future Drottingr of Ilvana.”

Azerian held out his hand for hers, and this time Lyssia allowed him to pull her from the bed and lead her to the center of the room. He knelt and, with the utmost solemnity, bent his head over her right hand.

“I shall be your most loyal champion. My hands, my feet, and my voice are yours. Your fight is my fight. Your secret is my secret. Until the day I die...or the day you decide that you are ready to take your mask off. And on that day, I must insist that you call your best friend to stand by your side.”

When Lyssia didn’t respond, he looked up. She had known him for only a short while, but she was certain this was the most serious she had ever seen him.

Carefully, so as not to offend him, she said, “That day will never happen, Azerian.”

"You becoming the Drottingr or you taking off your mask?"

"I've been thinking…" Lyssia'a gaze blurred as her eyes turned inward to the quiet place she went to think things through. Azerian's grip on her hand reminded her that she should try to speak her inner ruminations out loud, but she wasn't sure how to find the right words.

"I've been thinking that everyone wears a mask. Like...mhmmm...all the time. Or nearly all the time. Not a leather mask. We're always...we...hide from each other. Even you. You're not wearing a mask now, but you are."

She looked out again and met his eyes. "Even me. You have no way of knowing what part of myself I'm hiding or how much. You just know that...I am."

Lyssia gulped when she saw the frown in his eyes. "That's how it is with everyone is what I've been thinking," she finished in a rush and then bit her tongue to keep from continuing.

Azerian was silent for a moment, still as stone frowning up at her, and then he shook his head and declared, “You’re real smart. You know that?”

Lyssia shrugged.

“But despite all that, I trust you. I pledge my life to you, my lady.”

Lyssia's lips pursed like she had bitten into a sour cherry. "I don't know if I should, but I trust you.” She squeezed his hand, her expression softening. "This is my first pledge of fealty. I think I'm supposed to have a token to bestow you or a gift, a piece of land or something."

"Yeah?" Azerian's lopsided smile was back, the one that hinted toward mischief.

"But all I have to give you is my trust."

"And it is more than enough, Drottine." He dropped her hand and stood, giving her a bow as he spoke her title. "Although, I have a boon to ask of you."

Lyssia backed up until her legs hit the bed and sat down. Her hair fell into her face again. She raked it forward and let it hide her face for a moment before gathering the loose strands together and tying them back with the length of string tied around her wrist. She met Azerian's gaze head-on. His eyes did not stray from hers, though her scars were on full display.

“A boon? So soon?”

"Just one." He held up a finger and paused, waiting for her to nod to continue. “Your first duty as my best friend should be...returning these little guys." He bent to scoop a puppy up with each hand. Lyssia held out her arms, and he deposited the brown and white puppy on her lap.

"But...I didn't steal them," she said, rubbing along the puppy's back and scratching a finger behind its ear.

"Yes, but it's your duty to assist me."

Azerian set the black puppy on the bed and sat beside it. Lyssia hid a yawn as she leaned her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and smiled, allowing a few seconds for him to wonder what her answer would be.

"Fine,” she sighed. “I'll help. But if my father or uncle sees us, we're going to be dragged into a Dunival meeting."

Azerian made a sound like the thought disgusted him. Lyssia wondered if he would react that way to any meeting or if he harbored hate for the Dunival party, and then she wondered if she should be shying away from her duties. Whatever those were. No one had told her what was expected from her today.

She shoved both thoughts to the back of her mind where they wouldn't bother her and held her puppy close. “Could we sneak down to the kitchens first? I didn't eat much at supper last night. I was too nervous."

"Really? I eat more when I'm nervous. Oh, hey! I almost forgot."

Azerian gave her head a gentle push with his shoulder so she sat up and dug into his pocket to retrieve a blue handkerchief. "This is for you. I might have sat on it, but it should still be good."

He unfolded the handkerchief on the bed to reveal a mess of slightly squashed berries and a round breakfast pastry that looked sad and flat.

"Oh...thank you," Lyssia murmured. Azerian gave her such a pitiful look that she could do nothing but pop a berry into her mouth. She took a bite of pastry, closing her eyes so she wouldn't see its shape. Her stomach didn't care that it had been Azerian's pocket. "Mmmm." She finished the pastry in three bites.

"We'll stop by and relieve the cook of a tray of those on our way to the houndskeep.”

“Mmk,” Lyssia said, licking sticky juice from her fingers. “But I need to get dressed first and...take care of my face.”

Azerian gave her a sidelong look full of questions, but all he said was, “I’ll wait outside.”

He plucked both of the puppies from the bed, placed them in the crate, and started for the door. Lyssia followed to close the door behind him, but he stuck a boot out to catch it and whispered through the crack, “Don’t take too long, best friend. I’d rather not get caught before our adventure even begins.”

“Alright, best friend. Just keep them quiet.” Lyssia laughed and closed the door in his face.