It was like he poured acid down her throat.
“I don’t-what are you-I’m-” her tongue felt like it was too thick for her mouth, the words coming out one on top of the other.
“It's fine Raine.” It felt anything but. “I know you and Robert got some kind of agreement, and I’m not trying to get in the middle of that,” he held up his hands in surrender as if to prove himself. “I’m just trying to tell you my story.”
“How does that involve Lorraine Stokes?” The words fell from her lips too quickly, it felt odd referencing herself, yet not herself, in the third person. It also felt weird confirming that she in fact was not Lorraine Stokes.
“Because Bobby and I have that in common.” Seeing that she didn’t automatically understand what he was saying, he thankfully explained further. “My mother died when I was nine. She was exposed to a chemical at the factory she worked at, and her heart was just never...right after.” The ache in her heart felt as though someone had snipped her heartstrings in two. He leaned back on the bed, his shoulders resting against the wall, his eyes drifting towards the window she sat beside most mornings, a sad faraway smile on his lips. “There were some good days though, when she was able to get out of bed or sit outside with us. She’d tell these stories about the constellations, or make-believe places, and it was like things were normal, ya know?”
Her version of “normal” teetered on a feeble edge most days, but she liked the sound of his. There was an abundance of impatient questions sitting just behind her teeth, but the ghost of torturous memories in his eyes kept them at bay.
Coming out in a drained sigh, he plowed on. “When she died, my family, well...they kinda lost it. I was too young to really understand what had happened, but they wanted vengeance. Those guards that came askin’ about ‘defectors’, that was the group my dad befriended a few weeks after her funeral. They publicly spoke out against the crowns, promised fair treatment and safety, and were devoted to overthrowing the thrones. So it seemed like a logical choice.
“Only the crowns weren't too happy about our group. I remember he’d come home some nights paranoid, or covered in blood. Really freaked my brother out.”
“Wait, you have a brother?” She didn’t mean to interrupt, but she totally meant to interrupt.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. His name was Zach. He was five years older than me, real stereotypical older sibling.” He chuckled quickly to himself, but her brain had stopped listening after the word was.
“You said ‘was’” she said slowly, more of a question than a statement.
He slumped further on the bed, taking a bit of the blue sailboat comforter with him as he laid back onto it. “Yeah.”
“Oh.” It was all she could think of. I’m sorry just didn’t feel right, and are you okay was stupid. Clearly he wasn’t.
“He got it into his thick skull that he had to join the group too. I could never tell if he did it for our mom or to make our dad proud, he kinda closed himself off. Then dad got hurt in a failed attack on a country-wide parade the crowns were having. They were in way over their heads. The amount of Royal Guards that surround just one royal is a lot to take on, but could you imagine how many show up when all six are in the same place? Those guards finished them off without even alerting the crowds.
“He's in a chair now. I mean, it's probably for the best now that I think about it. He would have driven himself into the ground without that reality check, and now he's their lead strategist. It's mostly desk work, but it's what he was always good at.” One of his hands had absentmindedly picked up a still-damp strand of her hair that hung next to his face. She watched as it twirled between his fingers, almost hypnotic.
“So what happened to your brother? To Zach?”
“While dad’s accident humbled him, I guess it made Z angrier. He blamed the crowns for what they did to our family. There was no convincing him to see reason. Even when dad explained that what had happened was his fault he still blamed them. Anger. It does stuff to ya.” The fingers twirling her hair moved faster. “It fueled him for years, he flew through the ranks of the group faster than anyone his age ever did. At twenty six he was one of their youngest leaders. Idiot led a damn raid on the Navarrette farms. They don’t look like much, but the place is a fortress. I was twenty one.”
The fingers in her hair stilled. His voice took on a hard edge, and for once she knew what he meant. There would never be enough words to comfort him or provide any closure or peace, so she gently nudged his knee with her own. A silent I’m here, she hoped he understood.
“So that's how I inherited it.” Well there went her understanding. “I was his second in command, I would have followed that moron off a cliff if it came down to it, so when the job...opened, it went to me. It was the last thing I wanted. I had just helped put my brother in the ground. So I left.”
“Left?” He simply nodded without looking at her, those green eyes fixed on the ceiling, but his fingers had resumed their slow twirling. “Is that why you became a fisherman?”
His laugh was more of a quick huff of air from his nose, but she counted it as a laugh. “No, but that would have been a much neater story. Sad man leaves war to become seaman, yeah it has a nice ring to it. No, but it is how I met Bobby.”
“I was wondering how that happened. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to rent out rooms to a stranger.”
“You'd know better than me, room stealer.” This time his eyes did slide over to hers, a flush immediately creeping over her face, which she hid by sliding down onto the mattress next to him.
“That’s a different story,” she muttered as she tried too will her face back to its normal color.
“One I’d like to hear, one day.” Thankful that he wasn’t pushing her for details of her own tale, she joined him in staring up at the ceiling. “How do I put this? I got, real, real drunk, like a lot, and just started wandering. Met some people who probably didn’t like a my midnight singing,” he smirked at the memory, “and Bobby found me lyin’ in the street the next mornin’.”
Davina had a hard time picturing a Finn so chewed up and spat out from the world that he would end up passed out in a gutter somewhere. Then again, how could the cold emotionless Finn who avoided her for weeks be the same person who she was laying next to, who would willingly expose pieces of his heart so she wouldn’t be confused?
“So yeah,” he brought his other hand up to rest it behind his head. “You’re all caught up.”
Rolling onto her side, propping her own head up on her arm, she asked “but if you left then why were you leaving the house every night?”
“Ah, was kinda hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.” He turned his head to face her, and was very aware of the few inches between them. “I’m gonna blame that on my friend Mac.”
“Who’s Mac?” Her curiosity levels sparked with interest.
“He was one of my friends from the group, a real genius when he wants to be. He took over for me when I left, and I started attending group meetings here as a thank you.” She couldn’t help but smile at the amused smirk on his face while he talked about his friend. It was like lighting a candle in a dark room.
“So there's a group here in Redwell? Why ‘group’ by the way? That’s a stupid name.”
That got a laugh out of him. “I’ve been sayin’ that for years, but they won’t change it. Apparently it's just vague enough to not draw attention, and it was the only one everyone would agree on that didn’t sound pretentious or flashy. But yeah, there’s one in Redwell. There’s a group in every town, in every county, all over Nescio. A lot of people are angry with the crowns.”
The flash of the street lights turning on caught their attention. Davina hadn’t realized how long they had been cooped up in her room for, and quietly enjoyed the fact that he trusted her with his secrets.
“Huh, didn’t realize how late it was. Bobby is probably gonna wanna start dinner soon.” His fingers let go of her hair as he sat up and stretched. One of his eyebrows raised, he turned to glance back at her lounging form across the bed, “You comin’ Raine?”
Staring at his outstretched hand she waited a minute, then stared into those green eyes that reminded her of spring. “Davina.”
For once it was his face that was scrunched in confusion. “What?”
“Davina. It’s my name.”
“Oh.” She tried not to laugh as he blinked a few times, and absorbed the information. Standing up, she swore she saw him mouth her name twice, as if trying out the taste of it on his tongue.
“I like Raine though. Never really had any nicknames growing up.” She was comfortable telling him her real name, but not enough to go into detail about the sisters.
“Then Raine it is,” he said as he opened the door. “Hmm, what about Dav, or Vina, though?”
That involuntary smile was back. “I don’t mind Vina.”
“Alright, then how about I call ya ‘Raine’ in public and ‘Vina’ when it's just us?” When she nodded a smug grin spread across his face. He wasn’t sure if it was from her not objecting to the idea of being alone with him, or the fact that she liked his nicknames for her.
His grin quickly disappeared when she announced “Vina and Guppy, together we fight crime!” Shoving her shoulder gently, he shook his head and stalked down the stairs, the whole time muttering “gonna kill Simmons for tellin’ ya that” under his breath.
⟴
The news arrived the next morning, spoiling any traces of happiness.
April Saunders’ somber knocks on the door started the downhill slide. Mug of tea halfway to her lips, Davina glanced towards Robert who shrugged and pushed himself away from the half-eaten plate of sausage and toast. Hearing squashed whispers not too long after, Davina and Finn shared a look before abandoning their breakfast as well, and peeking into the sitting room.
Cradling one of her cats, who looked very unhappy being rocked like a child, April spoke in hushed tones to Robert as they stared down at the newspaper in his hands. Odd, we don’t even get the paper. Robert who’d gone on many long winded tangents about how the paper spread only “crown drama, incorrect weather, and depressin’ bullshit”, refused to pay for it, but now he stared at it as though it said Robert read me!
A light nudge on her arm had Davina peering up at Finn who seemed as transfixed at the scene before him as she did. He drew one finger down his cheek, then pointed to Ms. Saunders who chose that time to give a rather melodramatic sniff. She’s...crying? She shrugged back at Finn not sure what to make of the pair.
Then, clear as a bell they heard “thank you for this April,” then the rustling of paper. They shared another look before quickly returning back to their seats, trying to act as though nothing had happened.
Before Robert could even sit down and pull his chair back in, the question burst from her lips. “What did April want?”
Finn brought a palm to his forehead out of the corner of her eye, and Robert looked at them and mumbled something that sounded like “nosey punks” under his breath. His mouth opened and shut twice, but nothing came out. Deciding that no words would be able to explain what he had just read, he slid the paper out from his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and laid it out before them. Davina and Finn angled their heads closer to get a better look at the large headline that read Crown Murder.
A large black and white photo showed a woman, her angelic face contorted in misery, as she clutched onto the jacket of a stern-looking man. The man’s features could have been carved from ice. His gaze fixed on something just out of frame, she felt sorry for whatever it was that he stared at. His eyes were penetrating, unforgiving, and almost...scary. Nothing in his smooth chiseled face hinted at malicious intent, but those eyes had not known warmth for some time.
Unable to hold the gaze of the man’s photo any longer, her eyes resettled on the woman in his arms. Even with her mouth open mid-wail, she was stunned by her beauty. Her sharp features and flowing hair reminded her of a panel of stained glass from the prayer hall. In it, a woman was depicted accepting Soldeus’ warmth into her soul and being purged of her sins. She was perfect, radiant, and this woman was her personified.
Wanting to know more about her she finally dragged her eyes from her face and read the caption. King Clovis and Queen Maren Devoe, pictured above, mourn the loss of their children. 167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8t8cxxdw0P
Oh my stars. Horrified, she read on, unable to stop herself.
Crown Murder
The bodies of Victor (28) and Victoire Devoe (26), heirs to the Devoe crown, were found late Tuesday night following the events of what some are calling “the most horrific display of anti-crown sentiment the country has ever seen”. Royal Guards found the heirs dead in their beds following a break-in, done by a known group of crown defectors, and violent anarchists. A series of questioning has already begun into how this group was able to enter estate grounds, and possible members of said group. A private memorial service will be held by the family, but a public memorial will be constructed in commemoration of the young heirs on...
The article continued for several pages, but her brain had stopped absorbing information. In all her (albeit limited) learning of the royals, she had never seen photos of the Devoe family. There were portraits of them in museums and whole monuments to the royals that came before them, but she had never actually seen their faces before. She never would have guessed that the first time she’d see them would be during a moment of tragedy.
“Shit. No wonder they were goin’ door to door looking for people.” The dismay in Finn’s voice was thick as he sat back in his chair, tugged off his hat and ran his hands through his already messy hair.
“And you’re sure you had no idea your group was capable of somethin’ like this?”
“I’m tellin’ ya Bobby,” Finn shook his head and rested his chin on folded arms, “gettin’ them to burn those flyers was like convincin’ them to pull out their own teeth and then eat them. They’re not capable of anythin’ like that,” he gestured to the newspaper splayed sadly before them.
“This is huge, boy.” Robert rubbed the back of his neck nervously, and Davina was surprised to see fear swimming in his eyes. “It could mean war amongst the crowns, and lemme tell ya, that shit won’t be pretty.”
Anddd she was back to being lost. “Wait, war?” She understood how maybe the Devoes could fight the group or whoever it was that murdered their children, if Finn was right in his insistence that they weren't behind it, but why would the royals fight each other?
Robert looked at her for a moment without really looking, collecting his thoughts. “Do you know how a crown stays in power, kid?”
She looked back down at that icy gaze and the wailing angel, and tried to recall the lessons her tutor had given her. “No,” she said after a moment.
Finn grabbed the paper and flipped to the next page to read the rest of the article, not wanting to hear a history lesson. Robert took a swig of his tea before shaking himself slightly, and beginning. “Do you know about the first families?”
“The ones who helped rebuild the country after the wars?” As a child she used to dream about helping them, about helping people outside of the confines of the community walls.
“Those would be the ones. Each family was voted into a seat of power as a show of gratitude, for leading the restoration of our society, and they were each given a piece of the country to run. The Navarretes out of Hilrock supply Nescio with farmland, livestock, and the majority of the crops, The Yinz family got Idela and filled it with scholars, medics, and know-it-alls. The Ruchiia family in the Notrose forest are drownin’ in lumber and blacksmiths, and here in Bridlo the Devoes house factories that provide energy. That little island off the coast belongs to the Plucknars, who help with fishing, textiles, and tailors.” Squinting, he said, “I think like half of the sellers in the square are from Bridgeside.”
She nodded, most of that information sounding familiar to her. “Okay, so why the fighting between them?”
Rolling his eyes he waved for her to drink her tea. “I was gettin’ there if you’d let me finish.” She grinned and obliged, sipping on her lukewarm tea and getting comfortable in her chair. “They’re the Royal Six, right?” She nodded. “I only gave you five names,” he said smugly.
“Oh, the Vasils! I know a bit about them. They’re the ones who stepped down.” A sudden pang of longing for her copy of Viperous Vasil Victories rang in the back of her mind.
“Ah, but do you know why?”
“Something about the death of the Queen and the missing princess?” She regretted skimming the book and only studying the lineage chart on the back panel.
“And that’s why there could be fighting between the crowns.”
“Huh?”
“Oh Jesus,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes. Davina, hearing Finn chuckle under his breath, sent a light kick his way. “The only way a crown can stay in power is if they show proof of an heir. Those families were given power as a ‘thank you’, but the moment one of them can’t continue their line, they’re done. That’s one of the reasons why the Vasils ain’t around anymore. King Ambrose wouldn’t remarry, and all of his heirs were gone.”
“That’s horrible.” She remembered the numerous crossed out names in the back of the book, and the lines through the names of his children. She couldn’t imagine living a life so shrouded in death.
“That's how the fighting started. Who got his land? The Vasils were righteous and honorable people, they ran the navy and that jail on top of Grimill. The other families argued that since he was no longer in power they should divvy up the land and his stuff.”
“So what happened?” Knees drawn into her chest on the chair, she mechanically brought bits of food to her mouth as she listened in awe.
“Well, no one really wanted mountains filled with murders, although I don’t know why” he scratched his beard as he thought aloud. “They decided that Vasil could still run the prison, but the navy was divided amongst the remaining crowns.”
The severity of the situation was beginning to dawn on her, “so now that the Devoes have no heirs-?”
“Exactly!” He jabbed a finger at Finn still reading the paper, “with no living heirs the other crowns could make the argument that the Devoes aren’t able to run the county anymore.”
“That's horrible!” she said again. “Would they do that so soon after this?” she gestured to the front cover Finn had folded open.
He looked down and shook his head, unsure. “You weren't around for the Vasil fightin’. Before they could even declare that woman dead, they had decided who was gettin’ what.” Her shoulders drooped under the weight of disgust and pity for people she didn’t know. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the crowns aren’t in Redwell before their funerals.”
How right he was.
⟴
Fate would like to take a brief moment to mention that the Vics, (Victor and Victoire of course) were dicks. They would like to urge readers not to feel too saddened at their loss, for those pompous assholes would have felt nothing for you.
Carry on.
⟴
Davina was beginning to hate red. Their guesses correct, Royal Guards soon roamed the streets in impressive numbers. The deep red of their coats standing out in sharp contrast from the pastel colors of homes and shops, it soon reminded her of a colony of ants that wouldn’t leave the Big House kitchen when she was younger. The matrem had preached about how “we must all look like mere ants to the great eyes of Soldeus. Let our brethren serve as a reminder to the fragile balance between the outsiders and us”. The sisters ate alongside bugs for months after that.
They seemed to be everywhere she turned. They lurked at the edges of the market, inspected ships that arrived at port, looked on indifferently as children ran home from school, it felt as though there was no escaping them. Even when she rose before the sun, panting from nightmares and memories, she still saw them marching and patrolling along the street.
At first she thought their increasing numbers were in response to the attack on the Devoe heirs, but on the third day following the shocking news, Robert was certain their presence meant the presence of other royals.
The memorial for the slain heirs was not mandatory, except it was. As she settled on a black skirt and checkered shirt she hoped was black enough after spending too-long rooting through her clothes for something acceptable to wear, Robert’s warning whirled around in the confines of her skull. They’ll be on the lookout for deserters now more than ever, anyone not in attendance to this damned thing could be seen as a possible defector. She’d never been to a memorial before, and if she listened to that little voice in the back of her mind, she didn’t want to start now.
From the way Robert and Finn were talking, it sounded as though the event (it felt odd to call it that but she didn’t have a better word) would be a day filled with leery guards, mourners, grief, and the layer of evernight storm didn’t help.
As the trio wadded through ankle-deep snow, they followed a few other late stragglers towards the town center. As the loose border between the two towns, it seemed like a fitting place to not only hold the memorial, but to erect statues. She wasn’t sure how the Devoes managed to complete it in such a short amount of time, but a large stone statue now stood at the entrance to Merchant’s Corner.
Raised on a large pedestal, white stony versions of a boy standing behind a seated girl, loomed above the crowd. More people than she had ever seen in her whole life crowded the square, all dressed in dark colors, some holding flowers, others blotting away tears with tissues. They joined the slow-moving procession that shuffled towards the pale statues. Robert had made a point of stopping to grab flowers from one of the only shops still-open before they came, and now she saw why.
As they neared the statue, she saw that the people ahead of them were laying bright colored flowers, small trinkets, and even small versions of the Nescio flag. The red flags fluttered in the harsh breeze, looking sad as they waved cheerily amongst the cloud of crushing sorrow, or toppled over and rested in the snow. Their red was nothing compared to the red jacketed row of men that stood around the square and the statue’s base. Surveying eyes watched the crowds every breath, scrutinizing those who didn’t appear to be grieving enough, and approving of those who openly wept, or left offerings.
Robert made a show of dropping to his knees in the snow, mumbling a fake prayer over the flowers, and looking at the statue with eyes that broke her own heart. Finn had rested a hand on Robert’s shoulder and hung his head, while Davina pretended to use her sleeve to wipe away nonexistent tears. When she looked up up up into the statue’s faces, she was struck by their cold beauty. Perhaps it was the fact that she was looking at expressions carved out of rock, but they shared their father’s eyes. Even made of rock, it was hard to hold the gaze for long. While they had their father’s eyes, thankfully everything else belonged to their mother. Their soft jaws, gentle sloping noses, and round cheeks made them easier to look at...except for those eyes. She hoped that she would never have to see that piercing gaze in person.
Having arrived late to the service, they missed the prayers (which she was rather thankful for, not knowing any other prayers than the ones she grew up repeating), and songs dedicated to the siblings. She was half convinced that Robert planned their late timing, just so the guards would be more likely to remember their faces since they would be some of the last ones they saw. If it was, Davina was glad. The bottom two inches of her skirts were soaked from being dragged through snow, and her fingernails were practically blue from the cold. Even I-never-get-cold Finn shivered from time to time.
Looking around the square, her cold legs were suddenly the least of her worries. It felt like a hunk of ice was growing in her stomach. Huddled under a torn blanket was a woman and a small boy who couldn’t have been more than four. Her bare feet and legs trudged through the snow, and through rips in the ratty blanket she could see the pale skin of her exposed arms. The pair slowly left the square after placing a single flower before the statues, and as she watched them go, couldn’t help but remember how her own feet used to get so cold they burned. When she was younger she used to dread winter, how the snow would make her feet painfully numb, or how the hearths would blow themselves out in the middle of the night. Her Christmas boots felt as though they were lined with lead as she walked past them.
On the way home, she couldn’t help but notice people. A bearded man with hair the color of sand slept huddled between two buildings, an elderly woman in clothing much too light for the weather, two young kids holding hands in coats too small for them who walked into a house with no door or windows. People from all over Bridlo had come to pay their respects to two people they didn’t know, who lived in a castle and probably never knew a day of hardship. 167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlQxX7iADkt
People amazed her.
167Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj2hD9rFCxU
