During the time she stayed in his cursed kingdom of light, Malendar asked her why she was loyal to her king. She did not say. She perhaps could put it into words if she recounted the tale as it happened in its entirety but she was not ready to take another step deeper into betrayal. It was bad enough she hesitated.

So, she wanted to forget instead. She wanted to forget the day she saw her lord as her king.

After her first call to action, when she rescued the child, the Honor Guard excavated the ruins of the home. The child survived only by merit of her stature. She was small enough to remain safe in the pocket of space her parents secured for her. She had been cradled in both of their arms. They likely spent their last moments embracing their daughter.

For the child to still be alive, the devastation had to have been recent or else she should have suffocated. Tarica’s lord would have known of it before messengers had time to arrive and there appeared to be no sorcerers on-site to communicate the disaster. The king knew of it because indeed he was the one that brought it about. That was evidence enough as to any claim of responsibility.

The Honor Guard escorted the child to the fringes of the village as the search for survivors transitioned into the collection of the deceased.

Ordelas summoned Tarica and sisters on the other side of the village where he could see everything. He watched as his bodyguards dug out more bodies and laid them out in a row in the center of it all.

“How many survived?” Ordelas inquired solemnly, not looking away for one moment. He addressed them all yet gave them no regards.

“That we are aware of,” Ruhin replied, leaving hope for some future development. Her voice was still faintly insectoid but softer as to be less grating, perhaps to not irritate him any further. “One.”

“How many died?” he continued.

“We can not be certain,” Ruhin explained. Her expression remained hidden behind her mask. “We are still counting.”

Tarica could hear her king grinding his teeth in agitation. He finally closed his eyes and opened them as if that might change what he saw. “How many?” he growled.

“It was a small village, merely an outpost. There could not have been many,” Ruhin deflected.

Ordelas turned to Hílainno. “How many did I kill, Hílainno?” he demanded.

“I estimate the losses to number at thirty-three or thirty-four from the pieces I identified.”

“That many…” he ruminated.

Tarica let that number sink into her heart. It was still a high number to her at the time. In later years, she would wonder how it ever mattered to he who lost count of how many lives were on his hands.

“It is a tragedy, my lord,” Hílainno stated sorrowfully.

“If we add one more to that number, we can make something of this tragedy,” Syicho suggested flatly.

All eyes turned to Syicho. Hílainno and Tarica’s eyes narrowed but Ordelas’s gaze seemed vacant. “Explain yourself, Syicho,” Hílainno demanded.

“If we let the child die,” Syicho considered. “We can say it was an enemy attack.”

“I would agree,” Ruhin stated as she gestured to the tumultuous sky. “But everyone in the kingdom has borne witness to this phenomenon. A disaster like this was to be expected.”

“An enemy could have taken advantage of our weakness. What is more believable? That our foes disregarded our treaty or that our lord brought harm upon his own?”

Tarica said nothing until then. What did she, a stranger, have to say to her three sisters? In that moment, she thought to herself she and those two that could speak of kinslaying could never join in sisterhood.

She asked her tongue to move. To say anything to her worst sister.

“I would believe it was our enemies,” Tarica affirmed. “But…”

All eyes were on her. Hílainno smiled softly while Ordelas gave her a sideways look.

“Continue,” he ordered.

She doubted her next words. What she said next could as easily lead to doom as it would salvation. “But it is for our lord to decide what must be done.”

Tarica’s heart sank that Ordelas did not immediately reject Syicho’s proposal. If anything, he was genuinely considering it in his silence.

For a moment, she thought she might have swallowed her tongue and imagined speaking her whole claim for all the response she received. Her sisters remained utterly silent, awaiting their lord.

He remained quiet for a moment, his lips traced half words she failed to read. “No…” he decided vehemently. “I will not lie to my people. Do not make this a secret. Let this be known.”

“There might be discontent to your rule if you made this public knowledge,” Ruhin warned.

“But I would not be their king if I did otherwise. I killed thirty of my own today.”

“It was an accident.”

“That does not matter. They died because of my impatience.”

“You have the right to stop me but you do not have the right to justify me. Let the truth be known or end this now,” he announced.

Tarica could not help but think of his announcement as a challenge, an ultimatum. There was only one way to stop a king steadfast in his resolve.

“I would thank you to remember, my lord. It has been five hundred years since you left but we agreed that you can not order us to stop you,” Hílainno reminded him with a bow. “It has to be our choice.”

“I was offering you a choice,” the king declared.

“Must it be only be only those two options?” Syicho inquired. “I can not tell you what to think of this but if the blame falls upon impatience would this be any different from any time you gave your commanders instructions and our soldiers died because we required more information?”

“That is different, the commanders-“ the king flattered. “...No, it is no different. I gave the orders just as I caused this.”

“Then why does this accident burden you?” Syicho coldly cut deeper.

“Because-“ The king’s eyes flickered red for a moment as he winced. He arched forward and cupped his hands over his head as if something was clawing its way out. In the corner of her eye, Tarica thought she saw his shadow shift on the ground.

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With a grunt, he straightened his posture. “Tarica,” he suddenly addressed her with a groan.

Tarica tensed. “Yes, my lord?”

“Remind me that I will need to speak with Odlig when I return.”

She bowed her head. “Understood, my lord.”

Odlig had been preparing for war. Her people had been prepared to match since the day he returned. They were simply awaiting the order.

Once the Honor Guard had arranged what bodies they found in one long row, the king and his company went to examine it all. The bodies, if some of them could still be called that after being crushed into featureless pulps, counted at thirty-four as her sister anticipated.

The girl was there as well, silent with shock. She seemed more like a decoration, neither processing anything anymore or interacting with the world.

“Is this all?” the king asked.

“We have found no one else,” one of the Honor Guard answered.

“We must grant them proper funerary rites,” the king declared. “We can return home after all is done.”

“Can you bring the child with us to Raven’s Hold with your sorcery?” Hílainno asked.

“It would be too taxing for her,” the king informed her.

Ordelas clenched his fist and spoke to the air. “Send me a carriage, Malniza.” Ordelas mumbled to himself as he looked over the group. Tarica read his lips to know he was counting before addressing his bodyguards. “Which of you have experience treating battlefield injuries and fatigue?”

“We all do, my lord,” one replied.

“I realized that…” the king noted. “In case I was to be harmed. But I only need one. The rest can return.”

The king closed his eyes and picked one at random. “You may stay.” Ordelas lifted a hand and the same spell that brought them to this place was cast again. The only ones to remain were the king, the selected Honor Guard, and Tarica along with her sisters.

“You kept us here, my lord?” Tarica asked. What purpose could she serve now that all was over.

“You are the one that discovered her,” Ordelas assessed. “You also need an opportunity to speak with your sisters.”

Ordelas counted those gathered again. “I must correct myself, I will require two carriages.”

“I can walk home,” Ruhin offered.

“Would anyone else volunteer to return home by their own power?”

“I would, my lord, if you so require,” the Honor Guard replied. “Though I should not leave your side.”

“No, you should not leave her side,” the king pointed to the child. “You will stay.” The king directed his attention to his assassin. “Stay, Ruhin, there will be an empty seat all the same.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Ruhin remained at Ordelas’s side with the bodies while Tarica, the Honor Guard, and her other sisters took the child and put distance between themselves and the scene to set camp. The sun could not be seen but the growing chill in the air spoke of night’s approach.

Soon enough caring for the child became a topic of discussion after the Honor Guard gave another through examine of the survivor’s well being.

“Do you have experience caring for another, Tarica?” Hílainno asked softly.

“I was the youngest of my family for a long time,” Tarica answered. “They cared for me.”

“I had a younger sister,” Hílainno informed her. “Let me do this if you do not mind.”

The girl laid in Hílainno’s lap while others performed tasks, her amber eyes wide open. There was a hint of brown beneath like bark hidden beneath thinly spread fresh sap. Tarica’s sister combed the child’s hair after brushing away the dust. Indeed, there was a familiar tenderness in her motions like she had done so before long ago.

Tarica could not read her stoic sister’s expression though the elf’s eyes seemed focused on the child even when performing other deeds. Neither seemed inclined to break the silence. Still, there was much Tarica wanted to say, after Syicho’s callous suggestion.

When she thought they were distant enough to not be overheard, she confronted Syicho. “You are not still contemplating that plan are you?”

They were obviously, not far enough. Tarica could see Hílainno cover the child’s ears.

Syicho’s expression failed to change. “May I ask which plan you are referring to?”

“The one you spoke to Ordelas in front of all of us.”

“It was merely a suggestion and Ordelas rejected it,” Syicho assessed.

“Does that mean you rejected it as well.”

“I acknowledge that it is no longer an option.”

That failed to comfort Tarica.

“Do not take every word Syicho says to heart,” Hílainno advised her, after covering the child’s ears once again, when Tarica returned while Syicho remained at work with gathering food. “She regularly says provocative things.”

“Why would she say such things then if we should not regard them with earnesty?”

“Anything I say may not be the truth,” her sister replied. “What is important is that you should not believe a sister, one you should trust, to be an enemy.”

“I do not believe her to be my enemy,” Tarica reassured her.

“That is fortunate. I am all too aware that her presence can be discomforting at times.”

When Syicho returned, she sat with Tarica while the Honor Guard remained near the child. Ruhin in the distance removed her mask but raised a hood over her head while Ordelas burned the bodies. Tarica could see traces of red hair beyond the shadows. The assassin stopped concealing her voice to reaffirm her lord’s prayers but reduced it to a whisper so Tarica was unable to discern what her masked sister truly sounded like.

How well her lord knew the words and motions for the funerary rites concerned Tarica. He had done it many times.

She would not fully understand even after her sisters explained it to her later. Hílainno would reassure her this was the first time something like this ever happened. It took time to grasp why he was so prepared for it. She should have known from his answer to Syicho’s question.

It was when Ordelas reached her parents that the girl showed that she had a will of her own. She walked to Ordelas and joined him in kneeling. She clasped her hands together in prayer but did not join in reciting the final words.

Tarica followed and kneeled as did Hílainno. To her surprise, Syicho joined them as well.

“What were their names?” Ordelas asked the child.

The child remained quiet.

The king’s eyes focused on her. When he breathed, his malevolence could be felt filling the air. “You will not even say the names of the two that saved your life?” Ordelas raised a clawed hand over her head, his every move spoke of raw hostility. Tarica prepared to leap between the two when Ordelas slowly brought it down. His fingers unfurled as they approached and he rested his palm on top of her head.

“I understand,” he stated.

Tarica could not believe what she witnessed. The king she served was terrifying. When she first met him, he had yelled at Odlig. This person was full of anger. What she just saw would be the same as watching a wildfire spare a sapling tree along its path.

He claimed to have killed all those he currently mourned.

“Say what you wish to say. Feel what you want-“ The king swallowed the final word as if he could take it back. He placed his hands on the child’s shoulders. He slumped forward and his back strained as if a burden rested on his shoulders yet none of that weight was allowed to be placed on the girl. “Feel what you must feel,” he finished.

Ordelas's hand returned to his side.

“Your sacrifice was not in vain,” Ordelas promised. “You saved your daughter from certain destruction. I can think of no greater accomplishment. Please rest knowing that.”

Ordelas held the flame over them, he turned to the girl. “You should at least say goodbye to them.”

“I already did,” she finally spoke.

“I see.”

They all watched the fire burn.

Once the flames ceased and the embers began to dim. Syicho leaned over to the child. “Your eyes are dry,” the assassin observed.

“What do you mean by that Syicho?” Tarica had to interject, bitter with the interruption of a sacred rite.

“She has shed no tears.”

Tarica remembered back and when she thought about it, there were no signs that the girl had cried.

Syicho looked to Hílainno. “How did her parents die?”

“They died from… You would already know that,” Hílainno realized. “Syicho, they died holding her.”

Syicho got behind the child then weaved her arms under the girl’s shoulders and closed her hands over the child’s heart. The assassin then rested her chin on the girl’s shoulder. “Like this?”

“Syicho…” Tarica began, at loss for words.

“You can cry now,” the assassin calmly whispered into the child’s ear.

The girl blinked as water formed around the edge of her eyes. Then the tears overflowed and she sobbed aloud. She shuddered violently but Syicho held her steady as she wailed into the night.