The long dreary days blurred endlessly for Tim. He thrust his blunted blade forward one last time, boots sliding in the murky mud of last night’s rain. His lunge carried him too far forward, deliberately so.
Crandon’s smirk said everything. He sidestepped with practiced ease, pivoting on his heel as he swung his weapon in a brutal arc. The steel whistled through the air before it cracked against Tim’s sword arm with bone-jarring force.
White-hot pain exploded up his shoulder. He bit back a cry crawling up his throat, teeth grinding together as his hand went immediately numb. The blade tumbled from his useless fingers, spinning through the air before splashing into a puddle.
Tims burned with rage inside at the humiliating display but forced everything down, doing exactly as he had been commanded. He converted his stumble into a full collapse, his knees buckling as he crashed into the mud. Cold water erupted around him, drenching his tunic and splashing across his face.
Crandon circled him like a predator, blade still raised. “Stay down, bastard!”
Tim’s fingers found his fallen weapon in the muck. With a snarl, he hurled it at Crandon’s feet, not to hit him, but to complete the performance. Then he rolled onto his back, chest heaving, staring up at the gray sky as rain began to fall again.
Laughter erupted across the training yard. Jeers and mocking reenactments washed over the Academy field where he lay, listening for the thousandth time. Some of the younger students mimicked his fall, throwing themselves dramatically into puddles while others howled with laughter. The place became a theater displaying his lack of basic skills.
Being seventeen, nearly eighteen, should’ve meant training with real steel on the upper field. Instead he was stuck here, getting his teeth kicked in by third and fourth levels half his age.
Boots squelched through the mud beside his head. A shadow fell over him. Looming above was Sword Master Keshner.
The man was hard as steel, leather for skin with an iron will. His face could have been stone that saw too many winters, all sharp angles and weathered scars. His eyes were merciless as they dissected you and saw every weakness, pulling it out for everyone to see.
“On your feet!” he bellowed, voice like thunder across the field.
Tim slowly pushed himself up, mud and water streaming off him in brown rivulets. His arm still throbbed, fingers tingling as feeling slowly returned. He swayed slightly but forced himself to stand straight.
A few of the boys snickered at the display, but a quick glance from Keshner hushed them till nothing but silence remained. Even the rain seemed to quiet.
Keshner stepped forward, his finger shooting out to lift Tim’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. The glare in the sword master’s eyes was searing into his brain.
“I don’t tolerate fools!” he growled, eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you a fool, boy?” His bony finger pressed against Tim’s jaw, never letting him turn away.
“No, sir.” Tim fought back the intense need to glare, to grab his weapon and beat Crandon senseless. His good hand clenched into a fist at his side, nails biting into his palm. He held it in, built a wall around his emotions and locked them away. He had to endure the pain.
For a long moment, Keshner held his gaze, searching for something in his eyes. Then, with a long disgusted sigh, he released him and spun to face the rest of the smirking students.
“What are you all looking at!” he shouted, his voice cracking like a whip. “I’ve seen every one of you fall on your butts! You’re no better! Now get cleaned up! Practice is ended!”
At the sword master’s words, the entire throng of students forgot all about Tim and rushed off toward the Winged Hall of the academy for lunch, pushing and jostling each other as they went.
Tim limped to where his blade lay half-submerged in a puddle and picked it up. He could hear Keshner’s words echoing in his head as it was drilled in every student. “Never leave your sword behind. It’s an extension of your hand. If you forget it, you are not worthy to be called a Black Knight. You are already dead!”
Wiping the grime off the steel with his soaked sleeve, he turned towards the Academy building. A few stragglers were splashing through the puddles, but he paid little attention. He walked across the field in a slow, measured pace, each step deliberate. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, mixing with the mud on his face. He had to feel nothing.
Glancing down at his injured arm where his hand still tingled and pain pulsed with each heartbeat, he clenched his fist, testing it. The fingers responded, slowly. He rolled his shoulder, wincing at the sharp ache.
He would endure this humiliation. He had to.
He looked toward the mess hall where the other students streamed in. Closing his eyes, he trailed behind at a distance. Even here on the practice field, he couldn’t escape the jokes and harsh stares. _The King’s pet_, they jeered with sarcastic laughter. Tim Caulder, the pathetic loser who couldn’t even best an opponent. The King relied on whores and bastards to protect him.
The words cut deeper than he let on. After five years, friends were still scarce. Most of his spare time was spent alone in hidden corners unless Averin or Daniel happened to be free.
Cold autumn winds swept across the fields, raising shivers along his sweat-dampened back. The adrenaline of practice was fading fast, giving way to the bitter morning air.
With a long, dreaded sigh, Tim quickened his pace until he reached the Academy doors. He pushed them open and hesitated. Warmth and light flooded over him from the corridor within. The sounds of students rushing to their rooms echoed through the halls as they prepared for breakfast.
He sighed heavily, wanting to be anywhere but the dining hall.
His stomach growled as the smell of bacon reached him.
King Joshua was tied up in meetings today, so seeking him out would be pointless. Usually, he could find a way to eat separately from the other students if his excuse involved the King. Most days, Joshua allowed it. He understood the cruel jokes that followed him and would make excuses for him to dine privately.
The smells of breakfast wafted through the corridor, and his belly rumbled again. Ignoring it, he turned left, away from the dining area.
***
He wandered through the palace, exploring the remote passages as had become his habit of the last few years. At least one of his tutors would have something to say about this—_avoiding your fears_ and all that. But they weren’t the ones branded with a label every day. He clenched his fists and walked on.
He had no clear destination and let his feet carry him deeper into the palace’s forgotten passages. There were plenty to choose from these days. The vacant corridors reflected how rarely King Joshua entertained guests anymore. His popularity had grown thin lately, something Tim had discussed often with Hawkeyes. His mentor had simply nodded at the observation.
The memory surfaced unbidden. “This is why you’re with me, Tim,” Hawkeyes had said in his parlor, sipping tea. “The country is restless. Dangers lurk in every shadow. You must be vigilant in your training. One day, the King will have need of your skills.”
Tim had taken this to heart, training earnestly as his mentor taught. The bubbling glass vials of liquid concoctions, the books of herbs and their potent uses, the specialized weapons, all were tools to teach that wielding a sword alone didn’t win the day. It was the mind, the everyday tools. Skills of invisibility, the constant memorizing of events, using all the senses and retaining everything, these were essential to a spy’s craft. And at times, it was daunting.
Many days, he found himself struggling, his mind reeling as he tried to recall things, the mundane and useless everyday chatter of the market. His mind was training itself to pick up key words and phrases. These were the building blocks of discovering patterns and motives, and it was how one began following trails that led to the discovery of people’s secret lives.
He meandered down another vacant hall, now deep in the heart of the palace. Few people ventured into these parts, as most had no reason to be down here. It had become his mission to map out the entire layout of the palace and memorize its secrets, every hall and shortcut to other places.
He turned into another corridor when, midway down, he spotted a door left slightly ajar. The door itself looked different from the designs usually etched on palace doors. Here, a slight groove was scratched beneath the doorknob, encircling it. He frowned and entered.
Large draping sheets covered the furniture of the parlor. Two cushioned chairs sat facing a hearth with an ornate mantle.
Making his way to the fireplace, he smiled. This room was indeed more elaborate. The carvings on the mantle held intricate details, and the sconces themselves were etched in strange patterns, almost as if they held secret writing on the lamp shades.
Quite by accident, he caught his sleeve on a metal holder. As he pulled away, the sconce suddenly gave, a lever behind it shifting. Gears clicked, and the cement wall the sconce was attached to turned inward, revealing a black opening.
His heart pounded. Hawkeyes had said the palace held deep secrets, but this? He had just discovered a secret passage.
Entering the unknown, he made his way slowly into the dark recesses before, a minute later, finding steps leading downward. He shook his head at the stupidity of proceeding in darkness. Returning to the parlor, he took the candle from the sconce and lit it with the flint he always carried.
The stairs led down to a hallway that disappeared into darkness. Dust and cobwebs choked the air. The place was a testament to its disuse for perhaps a hundred years or more.
Portrait paintings hung on the walls, their subjects faded to near obscurity. Tapestries were tattered and crumbling with spider-webbed cracks lining the many walls. Some parts even displayed pillars half ruined and toppled. It was a labyrinth where many areas were too dangerous to explore. Sarsda Palace had become far more interesting, filled with secrets and an entire world lost to memory.
What began in the palace’s interior led to explorations of different wings, as this secondary layer was a maze that often opened into smaller passages. These passages led directly to walls fitted with spy holes, offering views into various palace rooms.
One in particular opened behind the council chambers of the court of lords.
Many of the halls contained corridors lined with guest rooms for dignitaries, their designs marking them for special purposes. They were unusual, he thought more than once. They held a natural theme, vases and basins decorated with exquisite artistic detail. Whoever had stayed in this part of the palace must have been extraordinarily wealthy to afford such luxuries. Another oddity: he could see where windows had once been, now sealed with brick.
The sections he explored descended flight after flight of stairs, convincing him they led beneath the palace foundation. One particular hall, one of two major arteries of the palace, led to a staircase toward what seemed another wing. This route, however, was impassable. Ten steps down, the grand staircase ended at dark water that submerged whatever lay beyond. With no way to explore those drowned passages, he contented himself with mapping the rest of this mysterious labyrinth.
One thing was certain: this would remain his secret. No one would know what he had found, not even Hawkeyes. He knew everyone kept their own secrets. Now he had one of his own.
***
Tim made his way out into the courtyard on down the cobbled stone path to the stable yards, breathing in the crisp morning air. The day was sunny and warm, promising comfort after weeks of rain. For himself, he felt as though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He had passed Master Bither’s final exam. There would be no more tedious tutoring under him nor under Madam Desue’s watchful eye. He had passed into adulthood a few weeks ago, his training under the various teachers now finished. He was free for several glorious hours until King Joshua would need him. However, one matter he wasn’t free of was the practice field. He was no longer with the trainees, but it didn’t mean his skill had shown to be any more useful in the art of the sword. It had become a known fact throughout the palace that the King had acquired an incompetent squire who wouldn’t be able to defend him when it mattered most.
With the morning sun still rising, casting long shadows across the cobblestones, he entered the stables to find Daniel patting down a chestnut mare being readied for a ride. He smiled at his friend’s gentle nature and called out, “Do you ever get tired of it?”
Daniel looked up momentarily and gave a grin. “Nah, this is where I belong. The horses know me and I know them. I’m content.” He brushed the mare a few times before glancing at Tim. “How long are you going to make her wait?”
Tim took a brush from a nearby pail, joining in the grooming. He knew Daniel was forthright with him on many matters. He liked this about him, but sometimes he just needed to keep silent.
He glared and brushed the opposite side of the horse. “Drop it, Dan.” He let slip a little of his irritation into the words.
They’d had the conversation a little over a year ago when Daniel spotted him watching Averin a little too intently. He said pretty much what Master Richards had said some years ago, but with a more blunt, in-your-face honesty—the kind that came from true friendship. He didn’t bring it up again except in brief moments when Averin wasn’t around. He would, however, jab him in the ribs if he caught Tim staring a little too long at her. No need for this to become another worry for him.
When done, Daniel led the mare out into the yard to await its owner.
Tim leaned against the stable doors and sighed contentedly. “I’m free, Daniel. Can you believe it?” He laughed with a bright grin spreading across his face. “I can do what I want for hours on end, go anywhere without having to learn boring stuff!” He didn’t let on this wasn’t exactly true. The art of spying was a lifelong learning experience. But for now, his prospects were brightening.
“Where’s Averin?” Daniel asked, scanning the courtyard. “She’s usually here by now.”
It had become routine for the three of them. Each morning after all the chores were done, they’d meet together and spend the time talking and laughing.
Tim shrugged. “You know her. One day she’s early, others she’ll come riding here from the streets like she’d been there all night.”
Daniel nodded, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Between you and me, I think she’s hiding something from us.”
Tim laughed and shook his head. “I wouldn’t know.” In his head, he did know though. Something about Averin’s mornings didn’t add up. She was hiding something from him. He just never had the time to figure out what with Hawkeye’s constant drills and morning ritual runs at the crack of dawn. It was a regimen he would have to endure to keep him in shape for the many different challenges he would face. He never dreamed that rooftop escapades as a child in Willow Town would become an actual daily practice each morning across Sarsda City’s sprawling rooftops.
Presently, Averin was spotted strolling down one of the stone walkways from the palace with Eseme beside her, chatting animatedly. Averin looked tired, shadows under her eyes, and when spotting Tim and Daniel, she grinned, waving at Eseme with a few parting words. Eseme, as usual, shook her head with mild disapproval and walked on while Averin abandoned all pretense of being ladylike. She ran across the courtyard till she came up on them in a breathless halt, her cheeks flushed.
“What did I miss?” she beamed with a smile that warmed Tim’s heart.
“Waiting for a bloody lord to get his butt on this horse,” Daniel grumbled, adjusting his grip on the reins. “I swear, they’re late every day on purpose.”
“Well, now that we’re all here,” Tims said with a shrug, “let’s discuss what we’re going to do today.”
For a while, they debated several options: going to the park to hear the bard who was performing there today, or browsing the market’s latest trinkets. Daniel mentioned the King’s Tavern, and Averin gave him a withering glare. “No, Daniel. You keep bringing that up, and it’s always going to be the same answer.”
Daniel shook his head in mock disgust. “You have no adventurous spirit.” They all knew he was joking, of course. They wouldn’t bring the princess anywhere near a tavern or any place like it.
“I guess the bard it is,” Tims said, smiling at the two of them.
A half hour later, Lord Conner finally appeared. His title was financier to the merchant guild, something Sarsda was very much known for. The guild held many buildings throughout the city, with different branches scattered across every district. His servant approached and took the reins from Daniel with a sneer but said nothing in Averin’s presence. Once Lord Conner was mounted, the two of them departed.
“I can’t stand that guy,” Daniel muttered, watching them leave. “He always gives me the creeps. I can’t prove it, but I’d bet gold he’s dirty.”
Tims said nothing. What could he say? That he and Hawkeyes were already watching him? How would he explain that? The lord had deep pockets and some pretty shady acquaintances, just no proof yet that he was dirty.
They rode their horses through the main gated tunnel separating the courtyard from the manor houses, the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves echoing softly against the stone walls.
Both Tims and Averin had changed into peasant clothes with hooded tunics. After smearing a bit of dirt here and there, they looked every part the common brother and sister.
Before long, they were in the city proper. Guards were stationed throughout the streets, standing watch over the many court buildings. From here, Tims led the way south into the livelier districts of the city. He took King Joshua’s words to heart as a spy. When he had finished his last classes with Bithers, the King had called him into his office that morning to make things clear: part of why he had been training under Hawkeyes was to guard the princess. As the two of them were almost inseparable, he was to be her secret guardian.
Making their way through the main market and its winding alleys, Tims instinctively let his training take hold. He listened to everything at once, his eyes taking in every detail, filtering it all through the years of honed instincts Hawkeyes had cultivated in him.
Turning a corner off the main market square, they entered a large grassy park where crowds of men and women had gathered in groups. In the center of a clearing, a wooden stage had been erected. The crowd stirred with anticipation as a man appeared. Loud applause erupted as the first delicate harp strings began to hum.
The River Park, as it was called, ran through the center of the market district. A large open field of grass stretched out beneath towering trees, with wooden benches lining an inlet river that branched off from the main channel flowing through the city. Every week’s end, a performance would be showcased in the park. Today was no exception, and Averin was hurrying her companions along to secure a good spot.
The bard, who went by the name Tom, was dressed in his bright red hat and flowing blue cloak over black pants and a white shirt. It was the signature of a professional bard. Amateurs weren’t allowed the bright colors, as they indicated one’s standing in the class.
Taking up his harp, Tom strummed a few experimental chords before humming softly. Soon, words flowed forth with the eloquent and mystic sound of one trained for the grand halls.
“Oh fair lady of the glen, morning dove I hear so sweet,
Sing your longings to me, sing of beauty’s beating heart
Give over your heart so pure, I would sing to the starlight gods
To beseech a blessing of golden yarn, to give to my morning dove”
The song was a well-known ballad of a fair maiden who enchanted her lover with her voice. In turn, he embarked on a perilous journey to win her heart’s desire. In the end, as most of these ballads went, he won her heart and they lived happily ever after. Or so the audience thought.
Tom strummed a few haunting lines without singing, and his eyes briefly met Averin’s across the crowd.
“In twilight of the forest, a young maiden sang, heart alight in delight,
When the gods came to hear her songs, memories of her lover’s call,
‘They sang, ‘we come to collect our due, oh fair maiden, morning dove,
For we are a fickle bunch, you our servants of creation’s song...’”
He continued on, but Tims felt something inside stir, a warning, perhaps, or recognition. He couldn’t put a finger on what exactly it was, but he sensed Tom had woven something else into his words. He narrowed his eyes slightly. Did the bard know who sat in his audience? And if so, what were his intentions? The moment passed, and Tims shook his head as if dismissing nothing more than a troubling thought.
Another ballad followed, this one lighter and carefree. Averin’s hand found its way into his, her fingers warm and trusting. He said nothing and clasped it gently for the duration of the song.
Some in the audience knew the words well enough to sing along. Tims even tried his voice, and Averin laughed with a sparkle in her eyes, loving every second of hearing him sing. Beside them, Daniel gave his own voice a try, and shortly after, both Tims and Averin playfully shot him down with laughing boos and exaggerated groans.
“Save it for the horses, Daniel!” Tims grinned and patted him on the shoulder.
“You’re just tone deaf, Tims!” Daniel replied and began singing louder, his voice echoing off the surrounding buildings.
“No!” Both Tims and Averin jumped on him and toppled him to the ground, laughing like they were kids again, their carefree voices carrying across the park.
From the park, they made their way over to several vendors that were selling sweets. It was a failing of Tims and they all knew it. The second he caught the scent of baked cinnamon sugar rolls, warm and intoxicating on the afternoon breeze, he was there in a heartbeat with the two others following behind, shaking their heads. Handing the vendor some coins, he bit into the still-warm bread, giving a moan of pleasure that drew curious glances from passersby.
Averin rolled her eyes. “Are you making love to a cinnamon roll? Need some privacy?”
Daniel chuckled under his breath and Tims just shook his head, his mouth too full to respond properly.
“You’re all missing out.” He licked his lips as he finished the first roll, tucking the second safely in a bag for later.
“Come on,” Averin said, pointing down the street. “There’s a new store I’ve been wanting to enter.”
“Let me guess,” Tims said, smiling sarcastically. “Does everything inside sparkle?”
“Why yes, they do,” Averin raised her chin a little, a playful defiance in her eyes. “And they last a lot longer than a food gasm.”
Daniel coughed and looked at her, his face reddening slightly. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. Let’s go.” Averin took the lead and strolled down the road like she owned it, her confidence infectious.
In no time, they were in Royal Gems, waiting as Averin tried on at least a dozen rings, a necklace or two, several bracelets that caught the light beautifully, before setting her eyes on a pair of delicate silver earrings.
Both Tims and Daniel were sitting on the walkway outside the door, watching the street traffic pass by. As Averin approached, Daniel whispered, “Next time, we don’t go this way.”
Tims nodded and stretched, trying to work out the stiffness from sitting on stone.
Call it a sixth sense, but in the same moment Averin walked through the door of the store, something in the back of his mind sent his hairs rising. After years with Hawkeyes and learning to heighten his senses, he knew not to dismiss what he felt. The prickling sensation at the base of his skull was never wrong.
Looking about him slowly as to not give himself away, he watched the crowded streets with practiced casualness. He sighed. He needed a better vantage point. Turning to Daniel, he said, “Hey, I’ll be right back. I’m going to get another sweet.”
Daniel looked at him incredulously. “I swear, you’re an addict!”
Tims shrugged with a grin. “What can I say? I love food!”
He took off running in the direction of the vendor he had gotten the cinnamon roll from. After a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he darted into an obscured alley, his movements fluid and practiced. Reaching into his deep pockets, he grabbed the hood and gloves, tools of his trade, always ready. A nearby drain pipe was his opportunity and he shimmied up the metal with little effort, his muscles remembering the countless times he’d done this before. Ten seconds later, he was on the rooftop and running back toward where Daniel sat, his footsteps silent on the tiles.
Gazing out over the city streets below, he unbuttoned a flap in his overcoat where he concealed several small knives, each one balanced perfectly for throwing. He watched and listened, standing as still as a statue, taking in everything, the merchant calling out prices, the clatter of cart wheels, the laughter of children, the shuffle of boots on cobblestone.
After several minutes of hearing only the ordinary bustle of street life, he was about to give up when the soft crunch of boots on stone reached his ears. It came from behind. He walked stealthily to the edge of the roof and crouched low, peering over the lip.
Two unfamiliar men stood at the back entrance to the gem shop. Each held swords drawn and ready, masks covering their faces, dark cloth wrapped tight, revealing only cold, calculating eyes. By the looks of their garb, they were mercenaries from the free territories. There were camps of them everywhere in those parts where the King’s law didn’t apply, where violence was currency and loyalty was bought with gold.
And now they’re here. Tims glared darkly at the scene below. A pang of fear crept in, cold and unwelcome. He had never killed anyone before. Hawkeyes had always had him use his brain to get out of situations, relying on wit and misdirection rather than bloodshed. He knew his weapons, but they were secondary if possible. He had a dark suspicion he wasn’t going to be given the first option this time.
Watching from his perch, he breathed slow and steady, forcing his heart to calm. What were they doing in the back alley? Unless...
His eyes widened. A robbery. Averin and Daniel were inside.
He got up and quickly made his way to the front of the building, peering down then across the street.
Two men stood out to him immediately. They wore the clothes of merchants but the faces were all wrong. They weren’t the smooth, easy-going type that merchants displayed—all smiles and friendly banter. These faces were hard, scarred, alert. They were like the ones in the back. Lookouts.
Four... Tims breathed in and out, his mind racing. He had little time to think. How would he best four mercenaries on his own? He thought of calling out to the guards, but that would make things awkward, questions he couldn’t answer, an identity he couldn’t reveal. The number one rule of spying: don’t ever get caught.
He ran back to the alley and found luck was on his side. One of the men had an urgency to relieve himself. He was already walking away into a separate alley, sheathing his sword carelessly.
Stealth concealed him even as he dropped silently behind the man, landing in a crouch. Steeling his nerves, he drew a sharp knife from his coat, the blade whispering against leather. One step...two steps...
The man turned halfway, fastening his buckles when a flash of metal sliced across his throat. He gave a short gurgled cry but not enough to be heard over the distant street noise. As the blood poured from his severed windpipe, Tims watched in cold detachment as the bigger man fell to the ground clutching his throat desperately, eyes wide with shock and fear. His life was pouring out of him, staining the cobblestones dark.
Tims stood there for a moment, knife trembling in his hand, feeling the weight of what he’d just done settle into his bones. There was no going back now.
Fighting back the urge to vomit, Tims dragged the still dying man into a crevice of the alley where shadows swallowed him whole. Racing back to where he had sliced the man’s throat, he scuffed the dirt with his boot, covering the crimson stains. He counted the seconds, his heart hammering against his ribs. His time was up. He had to act now.
Approaching a large barrel at one end of the opening used for receiving goods, he spotted the second man watching the door to the gem store, anticipating Averin bursting through at any moment.
Swearing softly under his breath, Tims sighed before stepping out into the open, giving a short whistle. He reached behind him and produced a short sword, its blade catching the dim light. There would be no stumbling in mud here. His eyes narrowed with deadly focus.
The mercenary turned, expecting to see his friend. When he saw Tims instead, clad in a hood with sword drawn, his eyes narrowed dangerously and he snarled. “Where’s Darrel?”
“Feeding the rats in the city, I suppose,” Tims shrugged with a cold smile. “Care to join him?”
The man’s eyes darkened even further until his whole face contorted into rage. “You’re going to die for that.” He charged forward with a guttural shout and Tims spun on his heels, sprinting down the alley. Being smaller and in excellent shape, he let his feet carry him several paces ahead before quickly turning into another alley, then another. He knew these streets like the back of his hand now and used every advantage they offered.
Not even a minute later, he was perched on a roof, peering down at the street below.
The mercenary had stopped, turning in all directions like a confused hound. With a snarl, he shouted, “Where are you, you coward! Face me like a man, you dog!” He swore loud and long for several seconds, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
Tims didn’t let the one-sided conversation continue. He flicked a knife deftly and it spun through the air in a lethal arc. A second later, the man gave a startled gasp as the blade sliced through his neck like his comrade before him. He stumbled forward a few steps, blinking in shock. His sword fell from his fingers to clang against the stones beneath before he collapsed in a heap.
Leaping down from the roof, Tims raced toward the fallen man and grabbed his knife, buried to the hilt in the mercenary’s neck. He glared down at the dying man. “You will never touch Averin.”
The mercenary coughed blood, crimson bubbling from his lips, and gave a short dying chuckle. In his last few breaths, he spat, “You....have no....idea....what’s coming.” He gave one last gasping breath and stared upward with dead, glassy eyes.
Tims didn’t waste time pondering the ominous words. He raced back to the alley behind the store just as Averin and Daniel burst through the door at a dead run. Averin spotted him and shouted in panic, “Ruuun!”
He spun on his heels and the three of them raced through the twisting alley as two muscular men charged after them like hunting dogs.
“Follow me!” Tims shouted with a commanding tone that brooked no argument. He turned through several narrow alley streets, always glancing back to ensure his friends stayed close behind.
After what felt like twenty different turns, with both Daniel and Averin completely disoriented, he led them into one last alley near the river. The stench of fish and rotting wood filled the air. This wasn’t exactly the best place to hide, but it would have to do for now. He found the door he was looking for and slipped inside, followed closely by Averin and Daniel.
Once inside the dark interior, they all gasped loudly, doubling over as they tried to catch their breaths.
Daniel swore under his breath, still panting. “Who were they?” He looked at Averin with wide, frightened eyes. “I got tired of waiting so I entered the shop when I saw these two enormous men racing toward me! They came out of nowhere!” He gave Tims an accusing glare. “Thanks for the help, by the way! You’re the only one who’s been training with a sword. We could have used you back there.”
Tims bit back a sharp reply he would regret later. “Well, I’m helping now, aren’t I?”
Daniel shook his head in frustration. “Where are we?”
“We’re near the docks,” he said, walking carefully through the darkness to a nearby wall. Once there, he found a hidden lever and pulled it, opening a large wooden panel that let sunlight stream into the room.
The place was an abandoned blacksmith shop, complete with anvil and smithing tools covered in dust and cobwebs. By the looks of things, the place hadn’t been used in decades.
Averin turned in a slow circle, taking in every detail, then looked at Tims with a curious expression. “How long ago did you find this place? This wasn’t just chance.”
Tims shrugged, knowing he’d have to explain at least a little. “I do a lot of exploring in my free time.” He walked toward the large anvil in the middle of the shop, running his hand along its pitted surface. He wished he knew more about the craft as it was something that had always fascinated him. “I was wandering through the city when I stumbled upon this place abandoned, and when nobody claimed the building after several weeks, I made it my hideout.” He looked back at Averin and Daniel with another casual shrug.
“And you failed to mention this to us?” Averin was already exploring the building more thoroughly, her fingers tracing over the large ash-stained hearth in the corner. She spun back around and looked excitedly at Tims, her eyes bright. “You’re right! This could be our hideout!”
Daniel cocked his head to the side, a frown creasing his face. “Uh...we’re not children anymore, Averin.” He pointed toward the door. “We were just chased by some insane mercenaries who want to kill you! You’re acting like this is a game!”
Averin’s eyes grew serious in an instant. In a quiet voice that carried more weight than any shout, she said, “No, Daniel. I’m not acting like this is a game. I haven’t had that luxury in many, many years. I know what’s at stake better than either of you.” She looked at him earnestly, her gaze unflinching. “But I also know an advantage when I see one.” She extended her hands to encompass the room. “Tims says it’s been abandoned for years, which means nobody will think to look for us here.” She looked at Tims and he could have sworn a smile began to appear on her lips. “This can be our secret place. Just the three of us.”
“For times like now,” Tim said softly, the weight of their circumstances settling over him like a heavy cloak.
Daniel sighed and paced the perimeter of the room, his trained eyes scanning the stone walls for structural weaknesses, cracks that might crumble under pressure, gaps that could betray their presence. “I guess if we’re going to do this, we’ll need to do it right.”
Tim and Averin both turned to him, confusion evident on their faces.
“A back door,” he said, shaking his head with the faint smile of someone explaining the obvious. “Don’t you two know anything about secrets? Every hideout needs an escape route. One way in, one way out, that’s a death trap, not a refuge.”
Averin’s eyes lit up with understanding, and Tim grinned before his tactical training under Hawkeyes reasserted itself. His expression sobered as he beckoned them closer with a subtle gesture. When they gathered near enough that he could speak without raising his voice, he glanced at Averin, holding her gaze until he was certain she understood the gravity of what he was about to propose.
“We have a hideout, but we need something more binding.” He extended his hand, palm up, and spoke with quiet intensity. “I know the danger this country faces, and I know how close you are to the center of it all, Averin.” He kept his eyes lowered, afraid that if he met her gaze directly, his carefully guarded feelings might show too plainly. “I want to mark this day in our memories. We are friends, but...”
He paused, reaching into his pocket to withdraw one of his throwing knives, the blade catching the dim light filtering through the cracks. “I want us to swear our loyalty to each other. A blood oath that cannot be broken.”
He finally raised his eyes, fixing them on Daniel with an unwavering seriousness that made the moment feel sacred.
Daniel hesitated only a heartbeat before giving a solemn nod. He extended his hand to join Tim’s. They both turned to see Averin blinking rapidly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. In a voice thick with emotion, she whispered, “You don’t have to do this, guys. You don’t have to bind yourselves to me.”
Tim slowly reached for her trembling hand and drew it toward the center with their own, forming a triangle of joined hands. “Yes, we do, Averin.” He paused, his heart straining against the oaths that prevented him from speaking the full truth of who he was. “Since the day you befriended me in the pastures, a King’s daughter showing kindness to a nobody, I had no one but you and Daniel. I still don’t. But in you, I found a sister whom I love deeply.”
Something unreadable flickered across her face at those words, there and gone in an instant.
“The danger surrounding you grows with each passing year as you take on more responsibilities in the court, as your father entrusts more and more of his role to you. We all know there are plots against your family, of the rumors surrounding you and a civil war looming if you die.” He closed his eyes briefly before saying, “There are powerful people who would kill to control or conceal their deeds.”
Drawing the knife to hover just above his palm, he continued, “I want to make this oath to you now as your brother in all but blood, and soon, in blood as well. I swear to always look after you, to be your friend no matter what storms come or when you believe you have nowhere else to turn.” He shifted his gaze to Daniel.
Daniel cleared his throat and added, “This needs to be a vow between all of us, not just protection flowing one way.” He studied Tim knowingly. “What you’re proposing hints at something deeper, doesn’t it? This isn’t just about her safety.”
Tim shrugged with practiced innocence, but the slight smirk tugging at Daniel’s mouth told him he’d been seen through.
“Of course it does,” Daniel said, half to himself. “So this must be a true pact, equal bonds between all three of us. We protect each other. We stand together.”
“You’re right,” Tim agreed, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. He pressed the blade to his palm, met each of their eyes in turn, and spoke the words that would bind them: “We are brothers and sister, now and forever. Through blood and oath, we are bound.”
The knife bit into his flesh, drawing a line of crimson that welled up immediately. He hissed softly at the sharp sting but didn’t flinch.
Daniel took the knife with steady hands and repeated the words, his voice firm despite the gravity of the moment. “Brothers and sister.” He met Averin’s eyes as he dragged the blade across his own palm, watching as blood pooled in the shallow cup of his hand.
Before either of them could suggest a gentler alternative, Averin seized the knife from Daniel’s grasp. “Brothers and sister,” she whispered fiercely through tears that finally broke free, and she drew the blade across her palm in one swift motion. She didn’t look away from the wound, watching as her own blood rose to join theirs in this ancient ritual.
They pressed their bleeding palms together, their blood mingling—three becoming one in purpose and promise.
For a long moment, nobody spoke. The only sound was their breathing and the distant drip of water somewhere in the old forge. They simply stood there, taking in the irrevocable nature of what they had done, feeling the sting of the cuts and the weight of the vow settling into their very bones.
Finally, Averin broke away and moved to a bucket of stale water near the old anvil. She dipped her hand in, watching the water turn pink, then wrapped a strip of cloth torn from her underskirt around her palm. “Now,” she said, her voice steadier as she fell back into practicality, “we need to discuss what we’re actually going to put in here.”
Daniel and Tim exchanged puzzled glances.
Shaking her head with an exasperated sigh, Averin gestured at the bare, dusty space around them. “You can’t have a proper hideout without furniture, supplies, and tools. Water, at minimum. Bandages. Weapons. Maybe even food stores that won’t spoil.” She swept her gaze around the forge with obvious disgust. “You can tell this place was occupied solely by men. No thought to comfort or preparation.”
“Oh brother,” Daniel muttered under his breath.
Tim groaned in realization. She was going to put them to work, and knowing Averin, her standards would be exacting.
But as he caught the determined gleam in her eye and the slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth despite the tear tracks on her cheeks, he found he didn’t mind at all. They had made their vow. Now came the work of keeping it.