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Chapter Text

The world vibrated violently and tilted again without warning. It was without warning every time. The battering scream of waves and shriek of lightning and growl of thunder never ceased, all three dancing wickedly with each other. Sara’s heart pounded wildly with them, keeping the beat as she struggled to find some sort of hold in the darkness to keep her from sliding painfully into the wall and hurting her baby. 

She and Galya had found themselves panting and praying on the sodden, wooden floor of the hold from the start of it all, begging that the Maker would bring them — all of them — out of the storm alive. With a twinge of guilt accompanying it, Sara’s only reassurance was that Galya was more scared than she was, and that she was not allowed to show her terror, for fear of sending her friend into a panic.

Though, she thought  with a bittersweet smile. I think Janner underestimated her resilience. I’ve seen her at other times and I hear her now — and she sounds less scared than I feel. Sara barely heard her own breathing over the sound of the storm, but when she was tossed closer to Galya, her friend’s breathing was not frantic or fast-paced. It was calm and steady, or at least as steady as one’s breathing could be when one was being thrown every which way by a storm.

Abruptly, the ship tossed again when Sara wasn’t expecting it and sent her tumbling across the floor. She managed to curl around her baby to keep it safe, but no sooner did she confirm that they were both alive did water from the hatch begin to pour in, drenching her all over again again. 

Sara struggled to her hands and knees as the floor rocked back and forth, her water-laden dress and trembling legs and unborn child making everything more difficult than it should have been. Another wave pounded against the ship’s hull and an enormous CRACK!!! resounds, and she gasped in a mixture of fear and surprise. The moment of distraction sent her reeling across the hold, and Sara blindly flailed her arms out into the darkness to try and catch herself or find something to grasp onto for support.

Her fingers finally — though it is really only a matter of seconds — met something steady and an unexpectedly warm palm grasped her hand, pulling her close. Galya . Such a kind-hearted, sensible, caring girl. Even though Galya was cold and shivering and now all the more wet because of Sara’s newly drenched clothes, the two embraced as best they could without being able to see. 

Sara allowed herself to get lost in the comfort and shut her eyes against the darkness. The suffocating darkness, with icy claws and freezing breath. She trembled, both from the cold and from fear. She could not help but remember the Overseer’s Coffin. The same old dread crept into her heart in an instant, and she felt herself freezing inside and out. This had never happened whenever Janner was with her. Even before they were married, anytime she awoke from a horrendous nightmare about that terrible creature, he was always there. Somehow, he always knew. When Sara asked him how he knew, he would always just shrug in response and avert his gaze. She had a guess on what that reason was but —

Something slammed violently against the ship’s hull, and only by a small mercy — Galya managed to find a handle hammered into the hold and held it in one hand and Sara in the other — that she did not fly into the wall. She squeezed Galya’s hand out of gratitude and for her own comfort before “settling” back in again. 

Sara hoped Janner was safe. She couldn’t live with the thought of him being hurt...or worse.

Oh, Maker, she prayed. I fear for him now. I fear for his life, for his safety. I do not want to fear. I want this terrible time to end and for the peace we have basked in for so long to continue. I want Janner to hold me in his arms after this and brush away the wet tendrils of hair that are dripping into my eyes. I want him to look into my eyes as he so often does, as he loves to do, and whisper that everything is alright and nothing is wrong. Maker, please, keep him safe.

Something dreadful gnawed inside her heart, though, and as much as she tried to push it aside, Sara could not.

And when dawn broke the next morning and light flooded into the hold, her fears were confirmed.

Chapter Text

Artham, Haldrid, and Brastin, the three (and Artham thought) unlucky men who had been appointed as overseers of Anneria’s three main sections (well, Kalmar had originally used the word, “overseer,” but Janner had been in the room and had quickly opted to use a different term like Governor or Lord) had gathered in Artham's study in attempt to decide what to do. What to do indeed, Artham thought, fears with no reassurances dancing through his mind.

“Both High King Kalmar and his Throne Warden, Janner, are missing. Maker forbid it, but the chances of them being alive are quickly dwindling in number. What are you planning to do about this?” Haldrid looked at Artham, honest earnestness mingled with uncertainty in his gaze.

“Because if I’m being honest here, we really need to come up with some sort of plan, like at least letting the Hollish people know. Trying to keep this under-wraps hasn’t been easy.” Brastin, an incredibly likable man whose upbringing had not been as sophisticated as Haldrid’s, evident enough by his accent and style of speech, inputted. He was fairly young, but he cared about the Annierans in a personal sort of way that made him good at his job.

Despite their clear attempts to be polite, straightforward, and even kind, Artham sighed and closed his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger into them. Even the small movement tugged on the muscles in his back and shoulders, and he held back a wince somewhat unsuccessfully. He had neither the energy nor the motivation to hide the fact that he was exhausted from Lord Haldrid and Lord Brastin, men Kalmar had appointed to govern parts of the Isle soon after Anniera’s restoration. He had also agreed to govern a section, albeit somewhat reluctantly. And it didn’t exactly help that Haldrid and Brastin had instantly decided he should be “in charge” of them. It meant they came to him with questions and expected answers. It meant if there was any speaking that needed to be done regarding their provinces, he ended up doing it. It meant if something went wrong diplomatically, wanted him to fix it or alert somebody. Like now. 

There was a reason Artham never envied Esben’s role as King. He much preferred to live in at least a semblance of the shadows, even though the semblance had mostly existed in his mind and in reality he had been forced to endure much more one-on-one interaction than Esben ever had. But at least he had never had to speak at political functions in front of crowds of people who were expecting to be entertained and informed at the same time.

“Lord Artham, is this a bad time? We can come back later if you’d prefer it,” Brastin began.

Artham shook his head but still kept his eyes closed. “No, now is fine.” In reality he knew it wasn't fine and that if Arundelle caught him he would probably be strongly chastised. The fact remained that this discussion needed to be had and someone had to work on setting it in motion. It looked as though he was going to have to be the one to do that. But I'll let them execute it, he decided, a small smile creeping on his face. It'll set them on a better path for handling issues on their own anyway. Though these circumstances are a bit different than some...

“In legal terms,” Artham opened his eyes and looked at both men standing before him, leaning forward gingerly and resting his arms on his desk and clasping his hands in front of him. “Princess Leeli becomes Queen in the King's absence. She should be the one making this decision. Therefore, I suggest we consult her on the matter before coming to a conclusion.”

Haldrid raised an eyebrow. “You have an idea already?”

Artham resisted the urge to chuckle and masked it with a cough, because the fact of the matter was that he had not even considered any ideas as of that moment. “By the time Leeli finishes, ideas and decisions will most likely be finalized.”

Because his study was conveniently situated inside Castle Rysen, it didn't take Leeli all that long to arrive after they had sent a message to her.

“Yes?” she asked as she pushed open the door, closing it softly behind her. “What can I do for—” she started out, looking at their faces individually as she spoke. When her gaze settled on Artham, he knew he was going to get it. “Uncle Artham!” she exclaimed, a fierce and loving growl in her voice as she placed her hands on her hips and stamped her foot. “Auntie Arun said you're supposed to be resting before going out to look for Janner and Kal again.”

“Leeli,” Artham protested gently, getting the feeling that he was a young child caught by his mother while doing something naughty. “I didn't—”

“Taking business calls does not count as resting!” Leeli snapped, happening to remind him of Podo at the moment. Well, a mixture of Podo and Arundelle, Artham thought, a smile passing over his face despite the rather threatening look in Leeli’s eyes.

“This won’t take much longer; don’t worry,” Brastin said kindly. Artham shifted his gaze to him and saw the twinkle in his eyes and the grin twitching on his face. Haldrid did not have the same amused look, but that was to be expected. He was one of those no-nonsense sort of people who were fairly useful at times but tended to be difficult to work around.

Leeli crossed her arms at his words. “Lord Brastin, I appreciate your reassurance, but how do I know that’s the truth?”

Artham heard the quiet huff of Haldrid letting out his breath. “It will take very little time if we simply succeed in receiving your input.”

The wave of astonishment that washed over Leeli’s face would have been hilarious in virtually any other situation, but because of the circumstances Artham could only think about how funny it had the potential of being. 

“Me?” she asked, her mouth gaping open just slightly. “Why do you want my input?”

Artham glanced between Brastin and Haldrid, seeing uncertainty and hesitation in their eyes that they purposely averted from him. He didn’t blame them. He knew the same stood out in his own eyes as well, not just in his eyes but written on his face, etched in his stance, engraved in his demeanor. 

He beckoned Leeli to come closer to him so he could be nearer to her. “Because,” he said, taking his precious niece’s small hand in his own and looking her directly in the eyes. “We don’t know what happened to Janner and Kalmar. And no matter how much we all want them to be alive — and trust me, Leeli,” he added swiftly when he saw tears glistening in her innocent, blue eyes. “I want them to be alive. I am begging every second of every day and night that the Maker allows them to live and return home. But neither of them are here right now. And that means you are honorary Queen in Kalmar’s stead.”

“And you’re my Throne Warden, just for now?” Leeli asked him, her voice wavering ever so slightly. Artham nodded. He had vowed to protect them once and he had done his best to fulfill that vow ever since. He was not about to stop now. No, he would protect the Jewels until he or they breathed their last. 

Leeli squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before opening them, the same bright, fierce determination that had burned in them when she came to scold Artham for conducting business glowing once more. “Then what do you want to ask?” she said calmly, the tremor that had been in her voice all but forgotten.

Artham glanced at Haldrid and Brastin, indicating that it was time for them to present the details. After all, it had been their idea to come to conclusions so soon after the disappearance.

Haldrid got the message first and cleared his throat. “You see,” he began. “Both the King and his Throne Warden are missing indefinitely. Something needs to be done politically. How are we going to handle the politics of the matter?”

Leeli wrinkled her nose and Artham felt a smile playing across his face. Clearly, Leeli liked the technical details as little as he did, but more than likely not so much as Kalmar hated them. Janner was really the only one who enjoyed the matter. 

“What Lord Haldrid means,” Brastin looked at his companion somewhat witheringly. “Is how and when — or if —  Anniera should let the surrounding provinces know what's happening.”

Light dawned in Leeli's eyes and she furrowed her brow, this time in careful thought. Artham watched her face, taut with determination and felt a little spark of joy lighting inside his heart at the way she worked her eyebrows up and down, almost as if she was having a conversation with an imaginary someone. She really is her grandfather's granddaughter, Artham mused bittersweetly.

“I don’t think there’s a need to let Skree know what’s happening. By the time the message gets to them, which would take two months, there’s a good chance we’ll have found Janner and Kalmar already,” she mused. “But why don't we ask the Green Hollows for help? They have ships and seamen, and they know how to perform search-and-rescue missions.” 

Brastin’s eyes lit up. “That's actually a really good idea! If they're willing, then we can have more help with—”

 “Reconnaissance,” Artham whispered, dipping his head in Brastin’s direction out of respect and ignoring Haldrid’s not-so-subtle shifts of discomfort. “That's genius. Why not have more searchers?” 

Leeli beamed with pride and Artham smiled at her, resting his hand on her shoulder, equally pleased with her decision. “An excellent choice, Lady Leeli,” he said kindly.

“Now will you come and rest?” Leeli asked forcefully. Artham chuckled. The way she said it was almost as though it was her sole purpose for staying and even making a decision.

He glanced back at Haldrid and Brastin, the former of whom mouthed, we'll get this taken care of.

“Sure,” he said, a grin plastered on his face as she slipped her tiny hand in his and pulled him up from his seat — there were some barely held-in grunts of pain in the process, but Artham was not about to let Leeli know about that — and began “dragging” him out of the room and down the hallway. “I'll come.”

Chapter Text

Sara rested her forehead on something that was so indescribably soft, gasping for breath after shuddery breath fighting between the relief that the pain was over — finally, finally over — and the confusion the fluttered across her mind every few seconds.

“Darling, come on, let me help you into the bed,” she heard Nia murmuring gently. She wasn’t sure if she nodded or did anything in response — she was tired, too tired to bother deciding what she had and had not done — but when her exhausted mind became aware again, she was laying in her bed tucked between cool sheets and wearing clean clothes — how she had gotten out of her soiled ones she did not know, but she guessed Nia had something to do with it. And she wasn’t lying there alone:  in each of her arms was a tiny white bundle. Nestled in each bundle was a precious face, reddened and wrinkly from months confined in her womb but clean and lovely. So very, very lovely. 

Looking at them, Sara remembered. There had been pain, indescribable pain, and then it had intensified and crescendoed and then fallen into the wail of a newborn baby (“it’s a girl!” Mother Madalana — once Mother Mungry, but renamed by Kalmar — had exclaimed), only to to feel it rising up again minutes later into a horrific pain (“too much screaming for it to be the placenta,” Madalana had inputted) that also eventually subsided with another cry. 

Twin pains, twin cries, twin children. A girl and a boy, the girl being older by just a few minutes. Both healthy and whole and beautiful. She had held them both for a few minutes, bringing them close to her and kissing their heads, even though the afterbirth was still on them. They nursed for the first time, before Mother Madalana took them away to clean them and make sure, “their feet are all right,” as she stately pointedly.

But now they were back in her arms, darling bundles nursing once again. Sara felt her eyes drifting shut and sleep whisking her away into a lovely land where she would see Janner and show him their children — twins, just like he had said — and ask him for names when Nia whispered, “Do you have names yet?”

Sara smiled softly. “Not yet. But I will soon.”

Chapter Text

Leeli had spent the past several hours waiting in the stables. Even though Thorn was there with her, gently placing his hand on her knee when her apprehension mounted, they waited in total silence. She could have played her whistleharp, but she knew her hands were far too shaky to even finger songs she had played for years. This was not the same sort of fear she had felt when Janner and Kalmar first disappeared. That had had grief and terror interwoven between every fiber. This fear was different. It was a far accompanied by love, concern, joy, anticipation, and all sorts of other emotions Leeli was still struggling to sort out. 

Sara had gone into labor earlier that day. Soon after, Nia and Arundelle had helped her to  her room, Leeli and Thorn had gone to find Mother Madalana and tell her another Anniera child was on its way, and they had returned to Castle Rysen only to be shooed away by those involved in the delivery and instructed to retire to teh stables to take her mind off things. As miffed as she was that she could not be there for Sara, who was as close to her as a sister could be, Leeli knew there was no need for either she or Thorn to get underfoot. 

Her ecstasy about her new niece or nephew coming had quickly been replaced by trepidation, then impatience, then joyousness, then worry, and so on and so forth until Thorn had pulled her off the stairs inside the castle — where she had been waiting because she did not want to miss a single bit of news — and dragged her into the stables so they could play with the dogs and talk to them in dogspeak. His distraction had served well for a while, but even it eventually settled into monotony and tension and hand-wringing and worry.

They waited in the stables far past supper and did not even bother getting anything to eat. The sun began glowing orange in the sky and everything was washed in golden and scarlet light for a few beautiful minutes before darkening into a dusky purple. The purple soon became gray and the gray navy, then the navy black, bringing with it multitudes of crickets and fireflies, singing and twinkling together about the joy the deep of night would bring.

The moon rose high, and out of their sight. Thorn stifled a yawn and Leeli found herself struggling to keep her eyes open, but she forced herself to stay awake. It was not going to be like last time she had planned on staying awake and failed. She would make it. She would really, truly make it. She would not fall asleep until someone came with the news that Sara’s baby had been born.

Leeli had almost resigned herself to sleep and had gone so far as to lay her head on Thorn’s shoulder when the stable door banged open, jerking her out of any semblance of sleep that had invaded her mind and launching Thorn out of his. Leeli saw him rubbing his face out of the corner of her eyes, but she honestly didn’t mind that he had fallen asleep. After all, she was about to (which really infuriated her). She was focused on her Aunt’s tall, slender figure in the doorway. She was holding a brightly lit lantern and her long, lavender dress — she had apparently decided not to sleep either — brushed the ground. Leeli had one of the most random thoughts that people often have when they have not slept ( won’t the hay on the stable floor catch in the trim and ruin the dress? ) but forced it away and replaced it with the demand: “Are they alright?”

Arundelle’s eyes twinkled and the most gorgeous smile Leeli had seen her give since she had Asteria danced across her face. “They’re delightful, Leeli. Do you and Thorn want to come see?”

Leeli gasped involuntarily at the offer and Thorn nodded vigorously. “That’d be right fine, Missus Arun.” 

Even though her legs itched to sprint ahead of Arundelle and even Thorn, Leeli forced herself to walk slowly toward Castle Rysen and through the front hall, up the stairs and down the corridor lined with bedrooms. They finally — though it was just a few minutes — reached the door that led into Sara’s room. Everything was quiet and they heard nothing from the other side, but even so Leeli felt her heart racing with anticipation and joy over who was in that room.

She placed her hand on the doorknob and turned it but paused to look back at Arundelle for reassurance before opening it. Something just felt sacred about the room, as if even though she desperately wanted to go inside, it was not something anyone could do. Arundelle smiled sweetly and nodded. 

Leeli took a breath and pushed open the door, slipping in with utmost silence and awareness of who was in the room. She looked towards the bed and saw Sara sleeping there, her face tired but joyous. Nia sat in an armchair just a few feet away so she could watch over Sara. She looked up and noticed the three of them standing there, waiting. Nia’s eyes settled on Leeli and she smiled softly. She beckoned her forward. “Come and see,” she whispered.

“Did Sara have a boy or a girl?” Leeli asked as she stepped closer. Secretly, she wanted Sara to have a girl. Sara wanted a boy and Janner wanted a girl, so it would be impossible to voice her opinion without risking some sort of uproar regarding whether she was allied with her best friend or her brother.

Nia giggled — oh, it was that same, lovely sound she had made when she and Rudric had been engaged! — and whispered, “Both.”

Leeli just stared into her mother’s eyes that danced playfully. She blinked, utterly unable to comprehend what Nia was saying. “Both?” she finally breathed. “You mean, like —”

“Twins,” Nia said, a laugh on the edge of her voice. “They’re sleeping now so we shouldn’t disturb them but —” she pulled back the thin sheet on the bed that revealed two reddened but adorable faces. “There they are.”

Leeli looked at her niece and nephew with wonder and love. Could she tell them apart yet? No, certainly not. But she would in time. They were beautiful. They were beautiful, beautiful babies. 

“Thorn,” she whispered. “Come see them.”

Chapter Text

It was early in the morning, so early that not a single bird twittered to herald the coming sun. Anniera was still shrouded in darkness, except for a single light in a single kitchen of the only castle on the Isle. Nothing could be heard from the beacon of  love and hope, except the thump of fist against dough as Nia kneaded it over and over and over again. She dug the heel of her palms into the sticky, bright yellow blob — she may have overdone it on the butter, but that was how Janner, Kalmar, and Leeli liked it. They liked it with more butter than it was supposed to have, they liked it hot and dripping with glaze, they liked it paired with traditional stew. 

Most of all, she knew they liked and loved to spend time together. Supper with the family was the only luxury she had clung to when they fled Anniera. Her royal garments she had sewn into normal clothes, and Esben’s ermine cloak he had given her before running back to the Castle became first her blanket and then her apron, when its existence became a threat to their secret.

But the way they always had supper together as a family, no matter what circumstances surrounded the day, that was precious to her. More precious than almost anything. 

Even though Janner and Leeli had been gone for a month and Kalmar had been gone for three — oh, three months, Nia felt her heart aching. Maker, why have You separated me from my children in this way? I beg of You, return them to me.

“Please,” she whispered, despair and longing filling her voice as a single tear slipped off the bridge of her nose and into the butterbread dough. Nia convinced herself to continue kneading the dough for as long as it needed to be done, for as long as it needed to be presentable to her Jewels in the event they did return in time for lunch that afternoon or supper that evening.  

The butterbread kneaded, covered, and set to rise, Nia looked around at the room awash in golden candlelight, an urge to find something that was a mess to clean. But alas, every ingredient was put away, every utensil and spatula had been hand washed, every inch of the floor had been swept —thrice — all the chairs were in place, just waiting to be used.

And because sitting in the kitchen at such an early hour would mount even more fear inside her heart, Nia chose to step outside into the darkness of early morning. When she did so, she closed her eyes for a minute, breathing in the enchanting scent of the summer breeze and savored the feeling of luscious grass caressing her bare feet. 

She walked forward slowly, her head turned up towards the sky that glittered with the light of tens of thousands of stars. They were not bright and there was no moon out, but there was a comfort in their gentle shimmer and in the whisper of their voices. It almost seemed as though they longed to reach down and embrace her, and if they did, Nia was sure she would giggle like a little girl again. 

Oh, how she loved those days. Those days of innocence and joy and peace. Those days that lacked worry and fear and constant terror that death would come charging through the door with its sharpened sword to steal away love and happiness. 

Nia lowered herself onto the ground, folding her legs off to the side and spreading her dress over them. She brushed her right hand against the soft, cool grass and smiled at the thought of how close she felt to it. Outside at night with nothing but the stars above her and the Maker’s blanket beneath — it was like her childhood had stepped out of a long-forgotten dream of memory and loveliness. She prayed it would last forever.

The sound of beating wings — heavy wings, wings like a storm at sea — shattered that dream into a million pieces. Her eyes flew open and beheld a great form, black against the now-grayness of early dawn, flying towards her. A single name whispered in her mind, Hulwen, and she knew it could be no other.

Nia felt a shiver go up her spine and she rose from the ground. If Hulwen was back, it meant Janner and Leeli and Artham had found something. It meant they had found Kalmar…but how had they found him?

Don’t dwell on that, she chided herself as she steeled her nerve, picked up her skirts, and ran towards the place it seemed as though Hulwen was going to land. Don’t think about what could be. Just trust. Trust Him. Trust Him that whatever it is, it is His Will. His and no other. 

“But Your Will may hurt dreadfully,” Nia whispered, slowing to a fast walk as she watched Hulwen’s majestic form slip gently onto the ground beyond the edge of the Isle. The beach was low enough that her back would be parallel to the grassy meadows near Castle Rysen, and it made getting on and off her so much easier.

A figure tumbled clumsily off Hulwen’s back that now looked like a dark sheet in the near-distance and landed in a heap with an oof that had to be loud since she could hear it from where she was. 

The person — a boy, she could tell he was a boy, a tall boy whose shoulders had yet to broaden and match his height — stood clumsily and began running toward her. Nia’s heart was torn. She knew he was neither Janner nor Kalmar, just by the way he ran, by the way he breathed — and yet she desperately begged for him to be one of her sons.

“Missus Wingfeather!” The bellowed voice that sounded nothing like Janner or Kalmar and said something they would never say to her echoed in her ears and prodded her heart painfully. 

“Thorn,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. 

He skidded to a panting halt in front of her and barely stopped to catch his breath before blurting out. “It’s Kal. He’s ‘n trouble, Missus Wingfeather an’ I don’t know what ta do ‘bout it ‘cept warn ya that it’s real bad. I needa run an’ find Doc Jebsun fast as I can.” 

Nia felt a surge of fear run through her with Thorn’s words, but she kept it inside. She dared not show it — not here. Not now. “What is wrong with Kalmar?” she said as calmly as possible, though it was difficult considering the terrified look in Thorn’s darting eyes and his shifting feet that were itching to run.

“I dunno. He’s hurt inside or somethin’ like that, an’ his right arm’s just gone, an’, Missus, I’m so sorry, but I gotta get help!”

Nia was left standing there, staring after his sprinting form as he ran towards the town and feeling icy dread creep into her heart. It was so strong, so prevalent, that she almost missed Thorn’s last holler, “Leeli’s real scared, an’ she needs help! Jus’ don’t move ‘im, wait ‘til I get back with the Doc!”

There were so many thoughts of panic and horror racing through her mind as she tried to sort out what Thorn had said. Had he really said that Kalmar was missing—

Nia shook her head and swallowed her fear. If that had happened, there was nothing she could do. What could she do? Help Leeli. That’s what — I have to help my daughter, she chided herself. Nia gathered up her fear and worry and terror that her son was hurting and in grave danger and that she had no news regarding Artham or Janner and that everything was falling apart all over again because it just couldn’t stay together! Then she shoved it down into a bottle and corked it shut before running towards her daughter.

When Nia got to Hulwen’s side she could clearly see Leeli’s tear-streaked face in the gray light of dawn. Her big, blue eyes brimmed with more tears that would spill over at any second. Her arms were wrapped around Kalmar, sitting in front of her limply. Nia’s heart twisted inside her chest at the sight of her son’s face, pale and tight and drawn with pain even though she could tell he was unconscious. 

At the sound of a sob clawing its way through Leeli’s throat, Nia tore her gaze away from Kalmar’s face and from the heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders that hid his missing arm. 

“Leeli,” she whispered, not trusting her voice to be any louder without sounding shaky and fear-confirming rather than fear-dissipating. “Leeli, it’s going to be alright,” she said softly, reaching over to brush away a tear that streamed down her daughter’s cheek. 

Leeli shook her head. “Mama, I just don’t see how.”

Nia closed her eyes and prayed for strength. “I don’t either. Kalmar,” her voice broke and Nia swallowed, shoving her fear down again. There would be a time and a place for that. That time was not that moment. “The Maker will do as He wills,” was all she could say, because if Thorn’s words were the truth, how could she bear to give her daughter false hope?

It was not until hours later when Doctor Jebsun had come and, with the help of his assistant, had carefully taken Kalmar to his room and done what he could, and when Hulwen had left to do something, but Nia in her grief was not quite certain what that was, and when she was sitting in an armchair next to her son’s bedside — alone, because she had insisted that Leeli and Thorn go to bed, Sara was still asleep, and Arundelle was working on keeping Anniera from falling apart — curled up the way she had when she was younger that she allowed tears to slip down her cheeks. 

She didn’t bother trying to stop them since they were still gentle and soft and they were not a threat. No one was in the room with her. Her fear could come out now, just a trickle at a time so it would not overwhelm her into hysteria, but enough so that it would not spend eternity compressed into her heart. 

“Maker, help us,” she whispered, reaching for Kalmar’s pale, limp left hand. The only hand he had. He would be devastated when he realized what had been taken from him. How had it even happened? And how had he received internal injuries? Would he survive? Would he even wake up?

Doctor Jebsun had not known, and he had not given her much hope either. 

“Why,” she breathed, closing her eyes so she would not have to see how ashen and drained her son’s usually animated face looked. Maker, why has tragedy befallen us again? Why does Death once again bear his sword and swing it dangerously closer? Why do I have to be tormented like this?

Nia felt more tears falling on her cheeks and a sob hitched from her chest. Then she heard the sound of footsteps racing up the stairs toward the room and barely managed to dash her tears away before the door opened softly and Sara’s head appeared. 

“Mama,” Sara breathed, a mixture of joy and fear and guilt dancing in her eyes. “You’ll never—”

But she stopped abruptly when Nia raised her eyes to meet those of her daughter. 

Wordlessly, Sara walked forward and wrapped her arms around her. Nia closed her eyes and felt fresh tears squeezing out and wetting her eyelashes. This was not how it was supposed to be — she was supposed to comfort her daughter, she was supposed to be strong for the others in her family, she was supposed to—

Hush, My daughter. Be at peace. Breathe. Breathe and accept the comfort.

So she let her tears flow, and they were caught by another's shoulder and gentle embrace for the first time in almost twenty years.

Chapter Text

She awoke to her cheek being covered in dog tongue and slobber. 

“Frankle,” Leeli murmured sleepily, batting away her dog’s face with her hand and still keeping her eyes shut. “It’s too early.”

In all honesty she had no idea what time it was or how long she had been sleeping. All she knew was that between worrying Kalmar and worrying about Janner and worrying about Mama and worrying about Sara she hadn’t had the time to sleep much. Wait , she thought. I wasn’t supposed to be sleeping — I was supposed to be looking after Kal!

At that thought, Leeli practically bolted upright. Then, the sound of Frankle’s bark practically made her jump out of her seat. Well, not so much his bark as his I-need-you-to-get-up-but-I-don’t-want-wake-all-of-Aerwiar whine/growl noise. Leeli blinked — she knew that noise and knew it meant something. Her gaze traveled upward and she found herself looking into Kalmar’s dark blue eyes. 

Leeli gasped and tumbled out of the armchair, rushing to her brother’s side. “Kal?” she whispered, joy and excitement and fear threaded through the sound of her voice. She slipped her hand into his gently and stared intently into his pain-filled, unfocused eyes that were still bright with fever. “Kal, can you hear me?”

“J’nner?” he slurred, either ignoring her questions or not registering that she was the one in the room. Likely the latter , she mused, fear clenching her stomach at the thought. “‘r’ you ‘kay?” he murmured before his eyelids drifted shut again, first clenched against the pain and then relaxing as he slipped into another unconscious slumber.

Leeli felt her heart aching. She had wanted to hear something, even one word, of reassurance or something from her brother. But it was to be expected — it wasn’t as though anyone thought Kal would register where he was or who he was with or what had even happened, considering the amount of pain he would be in from the internal injuries and his arm — but that didn’t mean everything was bad.  He had woken far sooner than anyone had expected, yes he was delirious and, yes, he had only been able to stay awake for a few seconds, but it was something . It was a shred of hope. She was a shred of hope that she dared to cling to and she would not let it go.

Leeli was sitting on the floor, absently-mindedly petting Frankle, who, though he was getting restless chose not to prance about like a puppy, laid his head calmly in her lap, when the door to Kal’s room creaked open. Leeli looked up, a little surprised. It wasn’t time for breakfast or lunch or dinner or bed, neither was it time for Thorn or Arundelle to join her or Nia to relieve her. Doctor Jebsun had already visited just an hour before, so it couldn’t be him. Who in Aerwiar — was all she had time to think before the opener had made themselves known. 

“Uncle Artham,” she smiled gently, concern flitting across her mind. She hoped it didn’t show itself on her face, because if the worry lines and stiffness in her uncle’s shoulders told her anything, it was that he had enough to be concerned about as it was. “Are you alright?”

He smiled wearily, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well enough. I have something for you,” he added, stepping into the room. In his hands, he held her whistleharp case carefully, as if it were made of the most delicate glass. 

“My whistleharp!” Leeli squealed excitedly as Artham deposited it into her arms as grandly as he could manage. 

She untied the strings and buttons that head the cover in place and pulled out her silver whistleharp, bringing it close to her chest and wrapping her arms around it in a gentle hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Artham smiled again, but this time his eyes sparkled along with it. “It was my pleasure, princess.” 

Leeli patted the spot on the floor next to her. She thought she saw a flicker of hesitation in her uncle’s eyes before he lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs. 

They exchanged no words for several minutes, and Leeli listened to the sounds of Artham’s steady breathing, Frankle’s bored yawns, and Kal’s halting breaths as she fingered notes on her whistleharp. It was the notes to "Armulyn's Song,"  and even though the thought of it made her heart want to break, it was soothing as well, reminding her that the Maker was ever present. 

When she reached the notes for the line And yet, and yet , Artham’s voice broke in. “How is Kalmar doing?”

Leeli paused in her fingering and cocked her head. “He woke up early this morning.” Artham’s brows raised in surprise. “He wasn’t really here, though,” Leeli added quickly. It wasn’t as though she wanted to shatter hope or anything — she just wanted the facts to be obvious. False hope was worse than grievous news. False hope was a lie. “He thought Janner was here. He wanted to know if Janner was okay.”

Artham nodded and they lapsed into silence again. Leeli found herself becoming increasingly more uncomfortable with how quiet it was and asked, “So is he?”

Her uncle glanced at her. “Is who what?”

Leeli couldn’t help but laugh just a little. “I want to be able to give Kal an answer i- when he wakes up again. So...is Janner okay?”

She swore she saw new lines of fear etching themselves into Artham’s face before her. His eyes traveled about the room as they often did when he was struggling to answer a question, either because he didn’t want to answer it or because he wasn’t sure how, and his hands folded together, clenching and unclenching. They did not twist and turn and intertwine as they had when he was Peet, but Leeli knew it was a sign of nervousness.

“If Kalmar lives,” Artham said slowly. “I think Janner’s heart and mind will heal.”

Leeli looked at him. “Is that all that’s wrong? He feels responsible?”

Artham smiled endearingly and placed his hand on her head. “Dear heart,” he whispered. “If that was the only problem, Janner would be waiting in here with you.”

Leeli felt her heart falter. “Then what is wrong?”

Artham shook his head and stood. “I don’t really know. But I’m sure he’ll be fine. Enjoy your whistleharp, Leeli,” he said softly as he slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Leeli scrambled up from where she sat and found herself staring after him, unsure as to whether she should get up and demand to know what was really going on with Janner or if she should stay put. 

Then she heard the sound of a pained cough behind her and the word — soft and strained and barely audible, but still clear — “Leeli?”

Leeli spun around, all other thoughts being chased away from her mind at the sight of Kal’s eyes fixed on hers, actually registering that she was there. “Kal!” she squealed, rushing over and kissing his forehead gently. He was still hotter than he should have been, but cooler than he had been before. And that was good . That was so, very, very, good .

“I missed you,” he whispered, a tear trickling down the side of his face. Leeli brushed it away with her thumb and blinked to keep back the joyous tears in her own eyes that were ready to come gushing forth.

“I missed you, too.”

Chapter Text

Janner was concentrating very hard on writing the seasonal poem for Anneria’s Annual Autumn Festival. It was customary for Throne Wardens to do that, among other things. Such as the incredibly uncomfortable speech and the poetry recitation, both of which he did not want to do. And the only formality he enjoyed to a minimal extent — the duel — he couldn’t participate in because...he huffed irritably and grimaced at his lungs’ urge to launch him into a coughing fit. Well, because of that .

He rolled his eyes and went back to writing — which really wasn’t writing yet, it was mostly just word-storming and the like. 

He was trying to think of a rhyme for, And the amber leaves her jewel of crowning glory , when the words:“Ugh, you have got to be kidding me!” filtered into the room. Janner found himself smiling just the tiniest bit. Kal was clearly frustrated about something — again , not that he blamed his younger brother — and he wasn’t afraid to mention it out loud.

He pushed away from the desk and stood, glancing back at Evnia who was still sleeping. The twins had both been down for their naps,  but Elquinn had started crying about twenty minutes earlier. Sara took him downstairs to the kitchen (even though Janner had told her he could take care of the situation, she hadn’t listened and had insisted that he keep working on the poem), leaving Evnia sleeping peacefully in her cradle. She was fairly patterned and likely to sleep for another hour at least. She would probably be alright if he went to help Kal for just a few minutes. 

Janner slipped out of the room as quietly as he could and left the door cracked open. It would be enough to block some sound that might wake Evnia, but also open enough that he could hear her if she began to cry. 

Kal’s room was across the hall and two doors down, but even from where he stood Janner could hear the sound of paper being clumsily crumpled. Walking toward the door, he felt a twinge of an ache in his heart. His hand rested on the doorknob, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it quite yet. Kal couldn’t even crumple paper into a ball without having a hard time of it. He took a breath — not too much of a breath, though — and turned the doorknob. 

Without warning, a wad of paper flew in his direction. Janner ducked instinctively, narrowly avoiding what would have been a fairly light hit. Kal’s head whipped around to face him, and just by the way his  eyes shifted to the corner, Janner knew that Kal had not aimed for his head, but rather for the wastebasket. This time, the ache in his heart changed into a flicker of bitterness. Kal’s shot had been foolproof before — it had been for years. He had once been able to hit a target like the fantasy archers in stories, from any distance and with perfect accuracy. Now though…now he couldn’t even throw a wad of paper into a wastebasket that was less than fifteen feet away. If only Amrah hadn’t —

“Janner, what are you doing here?” Kal interrupted his thoughts and brought him back to reality — the reality where Kal needed him and his bitterness towards Amrah wasn’t going to help anything. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on that poem or something? An ‘Abode to Autumn’ or something or other?”

Janner chuckled. “‘An Ode to Autumn,’” he corrected gently. “And I can take a break. It’s coming along pretty well.” In actuality it wasn’t coming along well at all — it didn’t help that Sara decided to not let him outside if she had any say in it because she was worried about leaf mold or pollen or something else ridiculous — but staring at a sheet of paper was useless. “What are you doing?”

Kal shifted, his eyes flickered towards a blank page in his sketchbook. Janner glanced at it and saw that there were many, many missing pages that had been torn out unevenly. When he looked behind him, he saw various sizes of paper scattered across the room where Kal had most likely thrown them.

“I’m trying to draw,” Kal whispered, ducking his head in embarrassment his demeanor shifting from that of a grumpy teenager to that of an upset child. “But it’s just not working.”

Janner’s eyes softened even more. “Do you want help?” he said gently, not intending to intrude or shame his little brother, but wanting to help if he could. “I know something about being left-handed.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Kal’s mouth and his eyes rose just a little. He nodded.

Janner grinned. “Okay. Pick up your quill.”

Kal wrinkled his brow. “Janner, if you’re going to say ‘just try drawing slowly’ I swear I will —”

Janner shook his head. “No, why would I do that? You’ve clearly tried it thirty times already.” He gestured toward the wads of paper scattered about the room. “Just pick it up, make the tip meet the paper, and wait.”

Kalmar sighed but listened. He placed it between his thumb and forefinger that were blackened from many drawing attempts, touched it to the paper, and waited. 

Maker, please let this work , Janner prayed as he slipped his arm around Kal and wrapped his hand around his little brother’s. “Um, what are you doing?” Kal asked warily, looking at him like he was crazy. 

“I’m steadying you,” Janner said in a breathy whisper. “Don’t think about what hand you are using, don’t think about the fact that your right hand is gone, just think about the picture you want to draw and make it happen.”

Kal nodded, closed his eyes, and breathed in and out slowly. His brow was creased at first, as if he were trying to decide what to draw, but soon it smoothed and a gentle smile spread across his face. Janner could see Kal’s eyes moving underneath his eyes, almost as if he were first drawing in his mind what he wanted to create on paper. 

Then his eyes opened slowly and he softly said, “I’m ready.”

Janner smiled, gripping Kal’s hand tightly enough that it would stay still and not tremble, but loosely enough so that it could move the quill to draw. 

It was a work of trial and error, and soon the tip of Kal’s tongue was sticking out just the tiniest bit in his efforts to concentrate, but it was working . Janner could see the image forming slowly but surely: a sketch of a girl with long, curly hair and a lovely smile and a sketchbook. It was a smudged from Kal’s hand inadvertently brushing across it and a bit shaky on the finer details, but Janner knew what it was and he knew who it was and he knew by the trembling of Kalmar’s shoulders that a spark of hope and joy had ignited in his heart.

“It worked,” he whispered, sounding as though he was out of breath after running across the Annieran countryside. “Somehow, it worked. ”

Small, damp circles appeared on the paper, smudging the ink a little, and when Kal looked up at him, Janner saw tears welling up in his little brother’s dark blue eyes. “I never...I just never thought...” 

At a loss for words, Kal stood up carefully and threw his arm around Janner. Janner smiled and wrapped his arms around his little brother as tightly as he dared, not minding but in fact loving the feeling of damp tears soaking into the cloth above his shoulder. 

“You might have never thought it,” Janner said gently. “But the Maker gave you a mind for drawing and two arms for a reason. You can still draw and write even though you only have one hand — I promise you that. It will take time, but I’ll help you. I promise I will. That’s what I’m here for.”

Kal nodded into his shoulder, for once not protesting his claim. For that, Janner was sincerely grateful. They stood like that for a few minutes before Kal spoke. “How can I keep it from smearing so much.”

Janner laughed. He had been expecting the question. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Do you have a new book?”

His little brother met his eyes warily. “Uh, yeah, but why not use this one?”

“Because I can’t show you what I want to if your book is half-empty.” Janner stated humorously. 

Kal opened his desk drawer and pulled out one of his many sketchbooks — he had an enormous surplus of them, just like Janner had a surplus of journals and Leeli had a surplus of lined sheet music without the notes so she could write her own — and laid it on the desk.

Janner smiled, looking forward to his brother’s reaction when he did what he was going to do. He opened it — to the back pages. Kal blinked for a few seconds, then slowly turned his gaze upward, meeting Janner’s eyes. “Why did you just do that?”

Janner grinned. “Start from the back on the right side, and you’ll keep it from smudging.” 

Kal looked at him quizzically but did not question his judgment. Instead, he picked up the quill, dipping it in the inkwell, Janner placed his hand over Kalmar’s, and the drawing began again.

Chapter Text

The surprisingly clean and sparkling white living room below the ice would have been chilly if Maraly and Gammon had not been wearing thick furs. She was sitting cross-legged on a rug on the ground, stubbornly dealing with the cold instead of sitting in the armchair that would have clearly depicted how short her legs were. She had no desire to display her lack of height to anyone, even if that person was Gammon.

They spent most of their time in Dugtown, having all sorts of delightful romps through the narrow, dirty alleys and keeping the still-rowdy citizens in line and trying to prevent them from stealing each other’s dishes and clothes and whatnot. It was nowhere near as bad as it had been seven years prior — and really farther back than that — when they were literally stealing each other’s children but crime still needed to be controlled. And who could do it better than the Florid Sword and Shadowblade? Errol? Maraly snorted at the thought. He was useful and formidable when it came to a fight and a good sailor and everything, but he couldn’t flit across rooftops and shimmy down chimneys when necessary. 

The only trouble was that Maraly and Gammon couldn’t spend all their time in Dugtown, a place where manners mattered not and a million daggers in every inch of one’s clothing were perfectly acceptable. Every so often they had to make trips back to Kimera to deal with business there. The main problem was that there was always a horrid mess to clean up when they returned.

Maraly could have stayed in Dugtown to keep all the crime at bay and leave Gammon to do all the disgusting diplomacy himself, she really could have; after all, who would actually want to trek across the Stony Mountains that stubbornly refused to thaw no matter how warm it was anywhere else in Skree? But the truth that she refused to admit to herself, at least not all the way, was that she didn’t want to be away from Gammon. She didn’t want to do any “Shadowblading” if she couldn’t “Shadowblade” along with his “Florid Swording.” It just wouldn’t be the same. Plus she would miss him terribly. 

Gammon’s presence aside, Maraly still didn’t like Kimera and she would far rather be in Dugtown. There was no way of actually knowing when they would go back, but she was crossing her fingers that it would be soon.

She glanced up at the much-taller-than-her man she was proud to call her father. Sure, she didn’t really express it aloud all the much and hugs were few and far between. But that did not mean she did not love him fiercely.

He was currently sitting in his armchair,  reading some sort of letter or something that had come on the most recent trading ship from Anniera. The delivery had somehow managed to coincide almost perfectly with their arrival, which frankly amazed her. Maraly watched his face as he looked over it, not once but twice and then a third time, his brows raising and lowering, his forehead furrowing, and his eyes squinting in what appeared to be confusion.

“Well, what is it? Are you gonna decide already, or what?” she finally broke in when he began reading it for the fourth time. She could only wait for him to read something so many times before she got impatient.

Gammon shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “You can find out. Have a go at it.” He handed her the letter and she accepted it, wondering what could be so befuddling that it had stumped Gammon.

As she read, though, Maraly began to understand why he was confused. The fact of the matter was that the handwriting was nearly illegible. It looked like somebody had attempted what Gammon called “calligraphy,” but it was thin and wobbly. A bit like what she imagined a child’s writing would look like. `

Maraly wrinkled her brow as she stared at the letter and the words in it. Gammon had been teaching her to read over the past few years, but she hadn’t gotten very good at it. The fact of the matter was that she didn’t care all that much about books. She needed that space in her brain to put information about fighting and daggers and cleaning animals and other useful things. Reading wasn’t useful. Writing was a bit more helpful than it, but clearly it hadn’t benefited the writer all that much. “I just don’t get it,” she said, looking at Gammon for some sort of answer. “I don’t know who wrote this thing, but it looks like it was written by an old person or a little kid. I can barely even read it. Except I think I can make out this one word, in-VIE-tay-shun.”

Gammon’s hand covered his mouth just slightly, and Maraly scowled at him, knowing he was laughing at her. “It’s pronounced inVItation , Maraly, and I must admit that I am slightly confused as well.” He held out his hand and Maraly willingly handed the invitation over to him. She could barely read it anyway. Normal handwriting was bad enough, but that looked like some sort of confusing scrawl that she wasn’t even about to try and decipher. If somebody was gonna send us a inVItation, they shoulda made it clear what they were tryin’ to say , she fumed inwardly, crossing her arms in the process. 

“Aha!” Gammon said after squinted and turning the letter every which way for a few minutes. Maraly grinned. He had slipped into his Florid Sword voice. That was always a good sign. It meant that it was getting bored of Kimera and that they would be going home soon. “I hath deciphered the code of codes,” he continued, still speaking as though he was the Florid Sword. “It’s from Anniera. The seal is hiding here in this bottom left-hand corner.” Gammon pointed to a tiny red inking in the corner, clearly trying to hide from them. “And if I look closely,” he continued, peering at it. “I can see that it’s from the royal court. The King, actually,” he had resumed speaking in his normal voice, and his eyes twinkled. 

Maraly felt excitement creeping up inside of her. It had been ages since she’d had any contact with the Wingfeathers and just the chance of being able to see them again was thrilling. They made the best companions in zibzy and tackleball — especially since Leeli didn’t need her crutch anymore, she was by far the rowdiest of them all. Even rowdier than Kalmar!

“Well what’s it say?” she demanded. 

Gammon laughed. “Calm, my fellow-fighter-of-crime, Shadowblade. I’m getting to that. It’s a diplomatic meeting. The diplomatic meeting, I should say.”

“What? You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me!” Maraly exclaimed, very irritated that the letter she had spent fifteen hundred years staring at turned out to be for the stuffy old meeting between a bunch of guys from different kingdoms who were either boring or bored out of their mind. Kalmar would be part of the latter group, she was sure.

“Wait,” she jumped up, her eyes wide. She could feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, replacing the scowl that had previously planted itself there. “If you have ta go, that means I have ta go, and if I have ta go, that means I’ll get to see Sara and Kalmar and Leeli and Janner and everyone!”

Gammon smiled. “We’ll be gone for at least four months, and that’s assuming that we don’t run into any ship trouble. I don’t know…can Dugtown really survive without Shadowblade keeping her from succumbing to petty crime?” 

Maraly rolled her eyes and tossed her head, her just-below-shoulder length hair (Gammon had once made the comment that he liked longer hair for girls, so she decided to try it. It actually wasn’t that much of a problem, and when she turned into Shadowblade she just pulled it back to keep it from catching on things) flying. “As long as Errol doesn’t touch anythin’ that I’ve put my time into, it’ll be fine. And he’ll be sailing or somethin’, so it should be okay.”

“Well, I was actually planning on taking one of the smaller ships and it could be just the two of us.” Maraly felt her heart beat faster at the thought of it being just the two of them — what luck! “We might get there faster, get back sooner, leave Errol to take care of things here, et cetera.”

Gammon looked at her for a response and she nodded firmly. “Just so long as we can convince Errol to mind his own business,” she said with a slight growl and squint of her eyes. Gammon kept her gaze so seriously for such a long time and couldn't help but burst into laughter, joyous laughter, and throw her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. Sure, they’d be away from Dugtown even longer than she expected. But at least they wouldn’t be a place that was literally frozen. And they would be together.

And I have tackleball to look forward to, Maraly thought mischievously. I’ve got some new tricks up my sleeve.

Chapter Text

It had been eight months since his mess really began, six months since Kalmar had realized he hadn’t killed three (technically four) people, and five since…five since he had had both arms. 

Five months felt like a lifetime. A lifetime of pain, a lifetime of phantoms, a lifetime of frustration, a lifetime of incapability, a lifetime of stares, a lifetime of whispers, a lifetime of self-consciousness. 

At least he’d had practice with most of those. Sure, it had been over seven years since he had been stupid enough to sing the song of stones, but he still remembered how it felt to be in public: he was the object of stares, the source of the whispers, and the creator of his own self-consciousness. 

How similar it was now. At least now there was no shame attached, no guilt. Just embarrassment.

It wouldn’t have been as terrible, except Nia had decided to let him out of Castle Rysen a mere three weeks ago. He had been bored out of his mind and practically insane by the time she chose to open the door, and it wasn’t until he and Janner walked through town for the first time in quite a while — well, Janner had walked through with Sara since she hadn’t been quite as restrictive as Nia, but Kal knew it had been irritating. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought.  An irritated Janner was kind of entertaining to be around, as long as you weren’t the source of his irritation — that he realized another reason behind her hesitation to let him leave.

She didn’t want him getting scared off by the stares. The awkward stares from over the edges of newspapers and books, the purposely averted eyes, and uncomfortable conversations that really never went anywhere, all of them were practically unbearable. And it was when he remembered how unbearable they were, when he remembered how much he hated them, when he remembered how much he wanted to sink into the ground when something like that came up, he was grateful to her for sparing him the confrontation for as long as she could or dared.

His mother, his dear, thoughtful mother, had waited until he had gotten some little levels of confidence back, confidence in his decision making (he had gotten/been forced to participate in some diplomatic decisions, such as Anniera’s hosting of the multi-kingdom conferencein a month), confidence in his relationships (his engagement with Galya that he almost made official and she made official was one of his lifelines), and confidence in who he was at his core: an artist, a King, a brother, and a child of the Maker. Was any of that the same as it had been before? By no means. It felt like it never really would be, especially when eyes were on him. But at least he didn’t feel battered and bruised and beaten every time he went outside because of who he was physically: a scrawny boy with only one arm.

At least, usually he didn’t.

When Kal woke up before the sun rose on a winter Annieran morning, he knew it was going to be one of those days. They didn’t always happen and had started happening a tiny bit less frequently, but when they did, he knew they were coming just by the way it was in the morning.

The question was whether that was a good or a bad thing.

His right arm already felt...tight. Not weightless or floaty like it did in the morning on “good” days. Of course even on “good” days it would eventually feel almost like it was being strangled and constricted, and his fingers would have jolts of static running through them, except it would be stronger than normal static and it wouldn’t stop.

That was when things were “normal.” But if he was just waking up before dawn, not only feeling the constriction but being woken up by it…he was going to be in pain later. He just knew it.

Of course, the weirdest part was reminding himself that his arm wasn’t really hurting even though it felt like it was. His arm was gone. Long gone, the flesh and bone probably frozen in a weird cylindrical block amidst the rubble of Castle Throg.

Reminding himself of that didn’t help, though. A mirror sort of did, but he couldn’t sit or stand in front of a mirror all day. He had things to do even if most of them were stuffy and diplomatic related. Janner was more than willing to help him with that and it wasn’t just a change in his attitude that had happened after he lost his arm: they had done that before, too. Janner hadn’t started acting weird around him or anything or ever really stared oddly or averted his gaze. He just hadn’t. At the beginning of it all he had a little. But who could blame him? Kal certainly hadn’t. He still didn’t. Things between them were as they always were. Well , Kal thought with a bit of a smile, despite the tightness in his right “arm.” We’re closer now. At least, I think we are. Sometimes we feel so close. But other times...I feel further away from him than I’ve ever been.

That did happen sometimes, when Kal almost felt like he wasn’t even in the room with his brother. He and Janner would be doing something like discussing the crop regulations for the following year or the budget needed for Annieran education or something else and then Janner would just be gone. He was still there but it felt almost like he disappeared and was replaced with this strange person who didn’t talk or made eye contact, but when he did make eye contact…Kalmar saw anger. And it worried him.

But that didn’t happen often. And in the present moment, the sun’s rays were reluctantly crawling over the horizon. They didn’t want to deal with the cold of an Annieran winter day any more than Kalmar did, it seemed. Even if he didn’t want to put up with a chilly day, he did want to see the beautiful picture the sun was painting outside. Kal threw back the covers with one arm (since he didn’t have much of a choice regarding that) and grabbed his robe quickly, shivering as he pulled it on much more fluidly than he had a month ago. Holding it closed by bunching the cloth together with one hand — he didn’t have the motivation to tie it one-handed — he walked across the cold floor over to the window and pressed his nose against it instinctively. It burned like wet fire and he pulled back quickly, knowing that as much as he wanted to relive his childhood memories, he wanted to see the picturesque view of the sunrise over the Shining Isle of Anniera, nestled amidst crashing waves much, much more.

Every detail that his eyes took in, every stroke of the sunbeams through the puffy clouds, coating them in every pastel shade of pink and purple and orange and gold that it took his breath and even the tightness in his arm away for just a few minutes.

The relief was enough to convince himself that he just had to find sometime to draw and paint a sunrise that day and that he was not going to say anything about his arm being funny and weird to anybody, no matter what it felt like.

The latter was a poor choice in hind-sight.

It didn’t seem like a poor choice an hour later when he was getting dressed for the day or when he was eating breakfast with the family. He even went so far as to respond to Nia’s, “good morning, how are you doing?” with his own, “I’m doing awesome, actually. Thanks.” It wasn’t totally a lie at that point, but as soon as he said it he felt lightening skipping in his fingers like he was being punished for not telling the whole truth.

Even with that “friendly” edition to his pet phantoms that felt the need to follow him around mercilessly, it still didn’t seem like a poor choice when he and Janner were heading outside to discuss the finer details of the Diplomatic Conference, because that was where Kal would focus better. Sure, the noose was becoming tighter and the lightning was crackling with a bit more of a vengeance now, but it was all things he could handle on his own without telling anyone, especially not Janner who was trying his hardest to help him determine whether the Dang representatives outnumbered the Skreean representatives or vice versa, and whether or not that would send everyone into a brawl. 

It was when they took a break for lunch that it started to become unbearable. Janner went off to the kitchen saying he would make them some sandwiches without dried diggle meat. A false smile on his face, it promptly disappeared when Janner left the room. Kal  had stood to “see his brother off,” but once there was no one to look at his face and scrutinize it for any sign of pain or tiredness, he literally collapsed into his arm chair at his desk, closed his eyes, and buried his face in his hands.

His arm hurt so much and it was so constricted and tingly that it was a few minutes before he realized that he was only burying half of his face in his hands. The other half was exposed to the air, not covered by a palm or tingling fingers.

The realization sent tears running down Kalmar’s cheeks.

They were still there when Janner came back with lunch. The reason why Kal didn’t think to wipe them away was because his eyes were squeezed shut against the pain and he was biting his lip and “cradling” his right arm close to try to stop some of it. He didn’t think to wipe them away because he didn’t know Janner was there — quiet, understanding, Janner — until his head was buried in the cloth of his brother’s shirt and the back of his head was secured there by a lovingly stubborn hand. No words were spoken, no words of pity or reassurance or chiding. Kalmar simply found himself being held and comforted by unconditional love and care and dedication. That wonderful feeling was enough to convince him to loosen his tongue that he had tied together for the day.

“It hurts,” he whispered, feeling hot tears at the back of his throat.

“And we can stop if you want to,” Janner said softly. “We have time. This can wait. You matter more than planning.”

Kal squeezed his eyes shut tighter out of a mixture of pain and frustration. “But —”

“‘But’ nothing,” Janner retorted. “If you really have this desperate need to take care of this today, we’ll take a few hours’ break and get back to it later. But we can push it off and wait another day. I think that’ll help you most.”

Feeling himself resigning to the words, Kalmar knew he had no choice but to listen. He had already told Janner about the pain he vowed not to share that day, he might as well accept the offer. And maybe he could get that sunrise drawing in.

Looking at his brother’s face, Kalmar met Janner’s gray-green eyes that were filled with love and compassion. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Janner smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

Leeli, Thorn, Clout, and Olumphia had just arrived in Anniera from the Green Hollows. They were a little early for the Conference, but since Leeli had to come back they all decided to go at the same time. It was just simpler that way.

On setting foot in Castle Rysen, Nia had immediately insisted on making them tea to drink as they discussed some basic details regarding what was actually going on in the next few days and what the meeting was going to entail. Leeli knew her mother’s words were really just another version of everyone else’s opinion on such a diplomatic meaning: a time of extreme boredom. Still, she was looking forward to it in her own right, since now she actually understood what they were going to be talking about, when in the past years she had had no idea. 

She offered to help Nia make the tea, to which her mother warmly agreed. Leeli could see dejection in Thorn’s eyes as she left him behind and she smiled sweetly. In an effort to smooth things over, she whispered, “I promise, we can go and visit the new puppies in the stable later,” to which his eyes lit up with joy.

When they arrived in the perfectly-clean-and-orderly-as-always kitchen, Leeli set to heating the water in the kettle over the stove while Nia chose the herb blends that were everyone’s favorites. How she knew or even remembered that Olumphia’s favorite was bully blossom tea from a random comment when they were both ten, even though it was a bit sweet and didn’t seem to fit the burly, whiskered woman (she had gotten into the habit of plucking them more often since she had married Clout, but they still stubbornly refused to leave her chin entirely) was a mystery to Leeli, but her mother knew. She always knew. 

That was why it came as such a surprise when they sat down at the table to wait for the water boil and her mother said, “Leeli, I’m not sure what to do about Kalmar.”

Leeli’s jaw threatened to drop open, but she managed to keep it shut. She had been expecting normal conversation, like a discussion on how her time in the Green Hollows was that would be followed by how it had been in Anniera. Or maybe it would be something related to the upcoming meeting. Not that , and certainly not her mother stating that she didn’t know what to do about something. 

Rather than peppering Nia with questions as she longed to do, she simply said, “What do you mean?”

Nia pursed her lips tightly. “I mean he’s worried about the meeting. About Maraly and Gammon and the other people who are going to be there. He’s worried about being stared at and whispered about. I certainly don’t blame him, but I just can’t,” she paused and looked up at the ceiling, blinking as if she were searching for a word, or maybe because she was trying to hold back tears. “I just can’t help him with something like that. I want to, but I just can’t give him what he needs.”

“I don’t really know if any of us can,” Leeli said slowly. “I mean, what more can we do but sympathize? Empathy is a whole different —” her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ and she realized where her mother’s words had been heading. 

Nia smiled. “If you don’t mind too terribly. It might help just a little bit.”

“Where is he?” Leeli said softly. 

Her mother sighed a little. “He went outside a few hours ago and Janner followed him. Sara would’ve stopped both of them — for that matter, I would have stopped both of them — but we were in town. She’s sleeping right now, by the way. Just taking a nap with the twins. Anyway,” she continued. “Artham and Arundelle decided not to stop both of them, partially because they were watching Asteria and the twins and partially because Artham...he just made a decision. And I guess winter won’t hurt them too terribly.”

Leeli nodded. She coudn’t help but agree with Artham that they couldn’t spend their entire time in panic mode but Nia didn’t need to know that. “I’ll go find them. Well, I’ll find Kal first and Janner second, and then we’ll come back.”

Nia smiled a little sadly and opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment the kettle began whistling and she hurried to pour the water and make the tea. 

“Wait, do you want me to help take it in?” Leeli asked.

Her mother shook her head. “No, I’ll manage. What you’re doing is more important.”

Feeling a little guilty about leaving her mother to manage all the tea things by herself, Leeli reluctantly pulled a spare cloak off a hook near the back door and wrapped it around herself as she stepped outside into the chilly air. 

Where Kal was most likely to go was the biggest question. If he was sensible, he would have headed for the forest, where there was more shelter from any cold breezes rolling off the Sea. However, Leeli knew her brother wasn’t sensible and therefore would not have done that. Probably.

The beach was closer than the forest, so she headed there first. As she picked her way down the sand-and-rock strewn path that  was angled far more steeply than it should have been, Leeli couldn’t help but wish that she could do this inside later, sitting in front of the fire with a mug of cider or a cup of steaming hot tea. At the same time, she knew that wasn’t an option. She was the only one — other than her dear, departed Grandpa — who could truly relate to Kal on a personal level and show genuine empathy from experience and it needed to be talked about before there were any conversations with diplomatic representatives. Even if that representative was only her brother’s former Guildmaster, Clout. Somehow she felt like that made it harder, though.

The wind was blowing hard enough to where she could hear whispers from below, whispers that sounded very much like they belonged to her brothers. She couldn’t exactly pick out the words, though.

As she managed to get down to the beach itself, being sure to stay far away from the frigid salt-spray, she made her way toward the somewhat hushed voices. Leeli didn’t want to intrude on whatever conversation Kalmar and Janner were having, but she also had to figure out some way to talk her her younger-older brother alone.

It actually ended up being much easier than she had thought. She finally caught sight of them standing half-way sheltered underneath a few boulders, stubbornly standing rather than sitting down on the rocks that were right there for them to use. She shook her head. Trust them to not be practical if they could help it. 

The slightly strained words, “we saw them get back and we need to go greet them. Please, just come,” floated into her ears, followed by a harsh cough.

“Can’t you do it?” Kal pleaded. “I just…I wanna stay out here. And you need to get back inside anyway before —”

Leeli could see Janner tensing at those words and thanked the Maker when Kal stopped speaking. Pressure points were irritating, sure, but they were still there. Janner didn’t need that specific one being pushed anymore, especially since someone, likely Sara and Nia, unfortunately, was going to be holding it down with a vengeance as the winter crawled by.

“Look, I’m just not ready,” Kal said instead, looking down at the sand at his feet. Janner did not reply, but he sighed heavily and physically resigned himself to staying there for a while.

Leeli decided it was a good time to interject. “Hi. Janner, Mama’s looking for you. Maybe you can just brief Clout on the basics?”

Normally, Janner’s face would have lit up on seeing her, but not this time. “Leeli, I’m so sorry. I’m happy to see you, but I need to stay here with Kal and —” at that moment a freezing gust of wind leapt off the sea and hurled itself at them, nearly taking Leeli’s breath away and successfully sending Janner into an enormous coughing fit that worried her. A lot. 

Well, at least I have my excuse now, she thought wryly as stepped forward and placed her hand on her brother’s back. 

“Janner, go back inside,” she said gently. “I’ll stay out here with Kal.”

“Fine,” he said stiffly, gritting his teeth and jamming his hands into his pockets. 

As he trudged away, Leeli grabbed his sleeve quickly. “Wait, will you take my cloak, please?”

He smiled a little at this. “It’s a minutes’ walk back to the house. You’re staying out here for a while so you need it. But thank you,” he added as she let go and he continued walking away.

“Make sure you actually go inside,” Leeli called, just to be sure he was actually going to, even though she knew he valued respecting people like his former Guildmaster more than almost anything.

“I will,” was the reply that was promptly followed by more coughing. Leeli shook her head and turned back to look at Kalmar, who had also been watching Janner walk away.

“Mama and Sara are going to be furious,” he said, a tiny bit of humor in his tone, but far less than there normally would have been.

“Yeah, well,” Leeli said as she plopped down sensibly on one of the rocks. “While they’re being furious and Janner is hacking his lungs out, let’s at least sit while we wait.”

Kal chuckled at this and shook his head, but he joined her. Leeli had expected no less. She had always had a way with her brothers. Maybe it was because she was the youngest or just because of who she was, but she knew how to convince them of things while still showing them love and kindness.

She was relying on that and the Maker’s guidance to help her switch the trajectory of Kalmar’s mindset, or at least comfort him in the midst of it.

Even as she was struggling to figure out what to say, Kal spoke up, still looking at the sand. “Whatever you’re trying to convince me of, whether you’re trying to get me to come inside and talk to Guildmaster Clout or that it’s going to be perfectly fine when Maraly and Gammon show up, just don’t bother. It isn’t going to work.”

Leeli’s heart fell a little, but at least now she had a basis for speaking. “I wasn’t going to.”

He glanced up at her. “Oh,” he stated awkwardly. “Then, why are you here?”

“I’m here to tell you that I get what you’re going through. I really do.”

Kal started. “No you — wait, no, you do. Don’t you?”

Leeli laughed a bit. “Yeah, I do actually know how you feel. The stares, the pity, the awkwardness, the discomfort, the eyes...it’s been more than seven years, but it was nine whole years that I had to deal with it every single moment of every single day.”

There was silence for a few minutes. “So what do I do about it?” he asked. “Does it ever stop?”

She smiled sweetly and reached over to pat his hand. “You know it does. After a while, they get used to it. They don’t have any reason to not get used to it.” Not like when you were a Fang, she chose not to add. It was unnecessary. 

“I don’t want you to think I’m belittling you, though,” she added. “Just because I can relate…it doesn’t diminish what you feel in my eyes. Not in the least. I think it’s worse for you, though. For you it was and is this abrupt change. For me it was a constant.” The last words were a murmur, and when she finished she looked off to the side and stared at the Sea as the frothing, gray winter waves pounded the shore.

“You still faced it every day, though,” Kal said softly after a few minutes of thought. At least, the way that he said it made it sound as though he had spent the time in thoughtful silence. “And you didn’t just face it: you owned it. When they did stare you didn’t care, you just acted like things were normal. How?”

Leeli knew he had dealt with the stares and whispers when he had been a Fang — why was he asking her now? He already knew the answer. He didn’t need her advice or anything for that. So why was he asking? Because...he needs to hear confirmation. He needs to hear it from someone who really knows, someone who isn’t himself.

She closed her eyes in remembrance. It was hard to share the truth, the long-buried truth. “That’s all it was for a while: acting. I eventually figured out I couldn’t be embarrassed or furious any time someone said something or looked at me strangely. So I pretended like everything was normal and like it didn’t bother me. And eventually it became the truth. Eventually, it was normal and it really didn’t bother me anymore. But you already know all that,” she finished almost inaudibly.

Kal nodded. “But I needed to hear it from you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

With those words he stood up and offered his hand to her. Leeli took it. “Where are we going?”

“To see Guildmaster…well, Keeper Clout. And Janner. If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t tell Mama or Sara where we were and neither will either of us.” They began walking back the way Leeli had come earlier and Kal continued speaking. “When Janner comforts me about it... there are no words. Not really. Just silent reassurance and love. I think it’s because he knows he can’t really give me true empathy, so he’s holding back. I don’t want him to, but he just is. I get it. He doesn’t want to overstep anything. But your words,” he said softly. “I know they’re sincere. I know they come from your heart. And just that is enough to convince me to go up there.”

Leeli said nothing but concentrated on making her way up the sandy, rock-covered incline. Once they were both safely at the top though, she responded. “I’m happy to talk any time. All you need to do is ask.”

“Or not ask,” Kal pointed out, referring to what had just happened.

It was as a result of that comment that they arrived in the library red-cheeked, breathless, and laughing. And it was because of the ease of manner and disposition that Kalmar was able to greet Clout, that Leeli almost believed the smile on his face was natural, and that he felt perfectly comfortable when he shook with his left hand rather than his right as one normally would.

Who knew; maybe he truly was.