Dowyr huddled next to Weynon as they sat below deck of the riverboat they’d been granted passage on, trying to avoid thinking about how sick to his stomach he felt. It was a somewhat tight space, which necessitated huddling close to one another when everyone was occupying it, but there was also the frigid air that made him grateful for it. Weynon was asleep, his head leaning against the wall. They’d all needed to get used to sleeping that way, though the soldiers adapted faster than everyone else.

  Everything had gone as Garec planned. They’d flown out of Norwood and nearly frozen their hands off before finding a village that they were able to get horses at, with some help from Dowyr anyway. From there they reached the Missionary River and, with Henric’s charming help, found a boat with a Puffer at its helm that channeled the winds to speed them down the river faster than was natural, much to the displeasure of Dowyr’s stomach.

  Boats are worse than horses, he thought sourly for the hundredth time.

  It had been a week since getting onto the river, and Garec said they should be getting close to Florissant. Everyone had stayed rather quiet for the journey, and there was a heaviness to the air. Dowyr chalked it up to the cold, but a nagging voice in his mind said otherwise. The mission is almost over, the voice said. We’re going to kill or be killed. And he desperately, guiltily, wished it was the former. There was no guilt for the life of the Tyrdens. It was his own life and what he’d done to get to this point that weighed on him. Why had all of this been necessary? What did the Tyrdens really want from war? Something that would’ve made leveling the entire city of Irostead necessary, that would’ve made taking away the young men from Parastenian cities and villages necessary, except he couldn’t think of anything that would. Only a raw hatred of life or a twisted religious fervor would give someone reason to destroy the lives of so many Parastenians.

  Why did such people have to exist? There was a reason for everything, scientifically speaking. There had to be. But he could not, for all the books he had ever read, understand.

  Elethe came below deck, her arms crossed to keep her hands warm. If Dowyr hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought she was frowning at him, but that frown seemed permanently affixed to her mouth since leaving Norwood. She came over and sat up against him, leaning her head on his shoulder. A week ago he’d have been shocked from her doing the same, but now he was merely grateful for more body heat. More eventual body heat; he could feel how cold her ear was through his coat.

  He glanced around to make sure Clarine wasn’t in sight then channeled, “You shouldn’t stay up there for so long.”

  “I know,” Elethe mumbled. “Can you keep channeling? I don’t feel like talking out loud.”

  Dowyr gave her a mildly skeptical look. “But you still feel like talking?” He wondered if she had some ulterior motive in using his Emogic, but then it wasn’t like he couldn’t cut her off, so he kept channeling.

  “Talking is better than listening to all this silence,” she channeled. “It’s like ever since we got on the river, everyone’s emotions have dulled. It’s so quiet, except for flickers of anticipation.”

  “Must be nice compared to before.”

  “Yes… and no. It feels like when you’ve done something so wrong or embarrassing that nobody wants to even look at you.”

  “Ah, well, I wouldn’t know what it’s like for nobody to want to look at me.”

  She reached over and gave a soft knock on his skull with her fist. “That kind of sarcasm isn’t funny.”

  “No, but my face is.”

  Elethe snorted, and there was even a glimpse of a smile.

  “I love you,” she channeled.

  “That kind of sarcasm isn’t funny either.”

  “I know. I’ve never been very good at being funny. My older brother is the one with the sense of humor, but it never rubbed off on me, unfortunately.”

  “You have an older brother?”

  “Had. He passed away a long time ago.”

  Dowyr frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I’m mostly over it.”

  “How did he die?”

  A vision began to play out in front of Dowyr’s eyes. There was a teenage boy, maybe only a year or two older than him. He shared Elethe’s eyes and nose, but the rest of him looked like a younger version of Garec. The vision then showed him with a group of men trying to restrain a horse that was putting up a wild fight. He had a rope around one of the horse’s legs, but then his foot got caught on something and he stumbled. The horse kicked, and he flew to the ground head-first, and didn’t move after that. The vision faded.

  “That’s just how life goes sometimes,” Elethe channeled. “One little unexpected kick and…” She sighed. “Mostly over it. He’s the reason I had my Apex, you know. All the emotions at the funeral swirling around. I was so overwhelmed I ran away, but no matter how far I ran, it wasn’t enough. That’s always been the price of my strength.”

  Dowyr grimaced, unsure what to say.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Elethe continued. “I’m just glad I can still cling to the memory of him.”

  He looked at her. “Are you using telepathy or was that an Empath thing?”

  She smirked. “Neither, I could just tell.”

  He rolled his eyes and laid his head back against the wall. “The Sisters back at the orphanage seemed to be able to do that sometimes too. It must be a woman thing.”

  “Damn right. Or at least that’s what I’d like to say, but it’s a people thing. You’re just not a people person.”

  Dowyr made a noncommittal hum and looked over at Weynon to make sure his hands were still covered.

  Elethe sat up and gave him a thoughtful look. “No,” she channeled. “That’s not it. That’s what you think about yourself, but really, you know and care more about people than anyone realizes. You even care about the other kids at your orphanage, but you try not to show it. People don’t understand you.”

  That came like a gut punch, but he dismissed it with a huff. “Yep, and I don’t care.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Do you care if Weynon understands you?”

  “Shut up, he’s different. Why does it matter anyway? Growing up I learned pretty quick that nobody would understand me, especially without learning all…” He took his hands out for a moment and wiggled them. “And it’s better that way. Honestly, I’m so sick of Elyssanar. Sick of its preachy, holier-than-thou dimwits that barely do themselves what they demand of others. None of them actually cared about me, they just cared that I lived and thought how they wanted me to live and think. But I showed them, and eventually they all gave up on me!”

  She frowned. “Do you hate them for it?”

  He scowled. Why was she grilling him about this? It was getting annoying. “They’re not even worth putting in the effort to hate. They don’t care a lick about me, and I always thought Hell put it so eloquently: swing back the sword that pierces you.”

  “But even then, it still hurt when they left you alone.”

  Dowyr wanted to jump up, storm out, and be done with it all, but his legs were stiff from the cold and he couldn’t get them to do what he wanted. His heart pounded so hard he wanted to scream, not even knowing whether for anger, frustration or, or...

  “You aren’t even supposed to know that!” he channeled. “You ripped that information out of my head like it was nothing, like you didn’t even know what you were doing. Why are you even asking me about it? Since you already know the answers, what else do you expect me to say?”

  “You’re right, I didn’t know what I was doing. I often wish I could take that moment back because I know how invasive and wrong it was. But right now, I don’t care, because I want you to know that I understand you.”

  Dowyr clenched his jaw. She understood him? She had barely made the choice to. Her knowing anything was more like an accident, and now she wanted to pretend that understanding him was somehow meaningful or significant. He gave a long sigh.

  “So what?” he channeled, ready to be done with the conversation.

  Her shoulders slumped and she leaned back against the wall. “I don’t know. Read my mind if you want the answer.”

  “No, I want you to tell me.”

  Elethe turned away. “I already did,” she mumbled.

  What was that supposed to mean? She hadn’t explained herself at all, and now when he actually wanted her to respond, she was done talking?

  No, he didn’t care, he was done with the conversation too, and forget about reading her mind for an answer, even if she was fine with it. It was a waste of time trying to understand the mind of a woman.

  He noticed Henric sitting with the other officers nearby giving him a curious look.

  That looked like an intense conversation, Henric signed.

  Dowyr shook his head and signed, infuriating is more accurate.

  Want to talk about it?

  “Hell no,” Dowyr channeled.

  Fair, Henric signed with a slight smile. Sleep. Keep up strength.

  Dowyr gave a short nod and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. Sleep was still difficult to come by, and the anticipation that they would be in Florissant when he opened his eyes was overwhelming. They would become murderers of murderers and call themselves heroes. Maybe he’d feel better about it if it wasn’t so cold.

  What in Hell’s name did Elethe mean? No, no, he was going to stop thinking about it. She hadn’t even said anything in response to his ‘so what’, just to read her mind as if that was the answer. Had she meant that something she’d said before was the answer? It was going to drive him insane.

  Garec came below deck, his head wrapped in a long scarf so that only his eyes could be seen. He pulled the scarf down from his mouth.

  “Florissant is in sight,” he said loudly for everyone. “We’ll be there within the hour. Be ready.”

  He gave Dowyr a significant look, which Dowyr understood to mean he was the one who needed to be most ready. It was his job to figure out exactly where everyone needed to go, after all.

  Elethe didn’t even react to the news, just sat there, shivering alone. Garec came over to her and put his scarf around her neck. Weynon stirred, rubbing at his eyes.

  “Are we there?” he mumbled.

  “Yes, almost,” Garec said. “Thank you for all your help with the wolves and horses, even if it didn’t amount to much.”

  Weynon shivered. “Wolves… they’re still following us, I think. I saw them watching us yesterday.”

  Garec looked at him. “Did you talk to them?”

  “I told them to stay away, but they wouldn’t listen. They’re worried about me, I think. They can smell Royce in the direction we’re going.”

  “That’s all the confirmation I need.” Garec gave Weynon a soft pat on the shoulder. “Well done. I want you and Sirona to stay in the ship while we go after the Tyrdens.”

  Weynon frowned. “I want to help.” His face darkened as he looked up at Garec. “I want to go after them too.”

  Garec stared at him for a moment and sighed. “You’ll stay close to me and do exactly as I say.”

  Weynon nodded fervently.

  “Good. Be ready.”

  *

  Royce lounged on a plush chair in his meager quarters, staring at the dwindling flames of a brick fireplace. Above him levitated a couple of fist-sized rocks as he channeled the least bit of Rage to spin them about in various patterns, faster and faster. He was quite enthralled with patterns. There was always a new one to discover, to solve as though it was a game or puzzle, and victory was his when the pieces were set in their proper place. That was the whole point of this war. When the pattern of the world revealed itself to him, he realized its pieces were scattered, chaotic, without meaning. They needed to be rearranged to make sense, to bring balance.

  He wanted to scream with impatience.

  The main door to his quarters swung open as a man in plain clothes marched in, eyes set with determination.

  Royce scowled at him. “I said—”

  “That you didn’t wish to be disturbed,” the Seer boomed over him. “Obviously that shouldn’t apply to me. No, it’s not about your brother, and it’s not something trivial, but you will have a devious plan and I, of course, wish to see it through.”

  Royce clenched his jaw. The rocks in the grasp of his Rage cracked. “I hate—”

  “It when I do this, yes. I know. There is a group arriving on a ship within the hour from Elyssanar, they have come to kill you and your brother. They have a Class 4 Empath and a Class 3 Voidspeaker among them.”

  Royce had levitated a glass of wine over to himself as the man talked and was mid-sip when he mentioned the Class 4 Empath. Wine was no easy thing to remove from clothes.

  He ignored the mess and stood up, letting the wine glass fall to the floor. “They have a WHAT?”

  The Seer looked down at the wine puddle seeping into the rug with a blank expression. “Yes, indeed. I appreciate your gratitude, however long in coming it may be. Your brother need not be informed. When the last flame in the fireplace goes out, send Doom Company of Fourth Battalion to surround the prison. Half of the Elyssanarans will be there. They have a high-Class Booster to bypass the voidstones and are looking for something that’s not even there. Yes, that’s ridiculous, but it doesn’t matter. They will surrender. The other half of their group will come straight here. Light a candle after I leave, they’ll be in this room when it goes out.”

  Royce tapped his foot impatiently. “And I assume the Empath and Voidspeaker will be among them? Why haven’t you told me what to do about them?”

  “You like puzzles, and your solution will be adequate. I leave it to you.” The Seer gave a slight nod of his head.

  Royce sat back down and let his rocks fall into his palm, now merely pebbles. He shifted them around each other, listening to the slick, grinding sound.

  “Simple puzzles,” Royce said. “Their strengths cancel each other out. An arrow should work.”

  The Seer tilted his head again. “As imaginative as you are cunning. I will return when there is something else that begs your attention. Oh, and, don’t channel until they’re dealt with.”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  “It needed to be said.”

  The Seer turned and exited the room, leaving Royce grinding his stones for a moment before he took a candle from the mantlepiece and used the fireplace to light it.

  He did not like the Seer. Despite his uses, there was an arrogance to the man beyond salvation, and it always felt like there was something he left out. For having someone around who could see the future, there were too many surprises for Royce’s liking. There was little to trust about an Ark, even if he had pledged his loyalty and services to their cause. He still refused to properly name himself. The Arks had a strange way with names and always wanting to be steeped in mystery. Simply another chaotic pattern in need of his hand. Still, the Seer had foreseen and prevented a number of attempts on Royce’s or Roderick’s life, so his presence was deemed a necessity. But Royce couldn’t make himself fully trust him. It was too strange for a man with that kind of power to request only a common soldier’s wage. Some game was being played, some pattern being woven by him, and Royce couldn’t tell what it was. Perhaps he was too much of a risk to keep around. But how does one capture a man who can see the future?

  It dawned on Royce that it was a game of Kings. Only when the pieces were all put in the right place at the right time would the Seer become cornered, with no way of escape.

  Now, where to put the first piece…