Archive of Our Own

“Brother.”

Uldren snaps to attention as Queen Mara steps into the Archives, though she hadn’t need say a word to announce herself; her very presence had been more than enough.

“Sister,” he returns. He reaches over to scruff Mira and pull her upright from where she’s hunched over some tablet. She hadn’t reacted with more than a cursory glance towards the Queen when she had entered, and Uldren will not have his own protege behave poorly in her presence. “What brings you to our humble abode?”

Mara presses her lips together. She had thought over her words with so much care before she’d made her way to the Crow Archives, but now that she is being prompted to say them… they feel impossible to voice. A simple request, and yet, she fears that they won’t have what she needs.

“I need…” The name catches at the bottom of her throat. “I need my Wrath’s old phone.”

Uldren cocks his head. “Petra never turned her old one in when she returned to the Reef. I could ask her for it–”

“Not Petra’s,” Mara says, her voice tighter than she means it to be.

“Oh. Right, of course,” Uldren says. He clears his throat. “We don’t have the physical one any longer. It was never recovered when–”

“But we have a mirror of the last backup,” Mira cuts in, and for once, Mara is glad for the girl’s interruption. “I can upload a copy to a tablet for you.”

Mara doesn’t miss the thankful look passed between the pair.

“That would be more than enough,” Mara says.

“Do you need anything on it specifically, or just the whole mirror?” Mira asks, picking up a dark tablet from a slot in the counter she stands by.

Mara has to consider the question. Does she want the temptation of what lies within her love’s old phone? The vast number of photos that Mara knows are saved there, the messages she sent to people–to her–or the voice notes she used to send in place of texts because that was easier than texting while she was riding?

It could be so easy to pry into her love’s life with all of her communications and photos at her fingertips. She could look at the face she had loved with all of her heart–the real one, not the one that has been warped by artists who never saw her, by directors of plays and films who used actors that only just looked similar enough to evoke her–and read everything she wrote to her friends and colleagues in that ridiculous shorthand she so loved to use.

Does she even remember how to decipher it anymore? It might feel like breaking a code, only to learn the message was about the most scenic place her stallion had chosen to relieve himself that day, or that the local kebab place’s food was especially delicious that day and she’d be bringing some home for Mara to eat for dinner whether she cared to eat or not.

Another day, maybe. Another time. She has to focus on the task at hand, not be distracted by memories that will only reopen wounds she’d only just stopped picking at.

“Just her contacts list,” Mara says.

If Mira is surprised by the request, it doesn’t show on her face. She’s always been good at that. “Alright. I’ll be right back,” she says, and she swoops from the room to the long, dark hallway that leads to the Archive proper. Mara watches her go until she turns a corner and disappears down the next hall.

“What do you need her contacts for?” Uldren asks.

Mara pins him with a warning look, and he does the right thing and turns his head away.

She can’t blame him for the question, as much as it may annoy her. He is the Crowmaster, he is the one who sees and hears all that goes on within the Reef and beyond, and filters it down to what Mara needs to see and hear herself. It would be of deep interest to him, to know what Mara needs from a contacts list off of a phone that hasn’t been touched in two centuries.

Off a list that may very well be full of dead people and dead numbers and information that has been out of date for uncountable years. Mara just has to hope that the one contact she needs from that list is still the right one, that it’s still active and attached to the right person.

Mira returns from her venture with a tablet that is lit up along the edges, a sign that it contains data, instead of being an empty piece of tech. She hands it to Mara without a question, and then returns to her mentor’s side.

“You’ll need to bring that back for us to erase,” Mira says.

“No. No,” Uldren says, shooting his protege a glare. “If you want to keep it for yourself, it’s yours.”

Mira huffs at this disregard for protocol, and her yellow eyes stare across at Mara, as if imploring her to see reason over the Prince.

“I’ll ensure it is returned for you for proper disposal,” Mara says, but not because Mira has convinced her. She just has no use for a tablet full of numbers connected to nothing, especially if this branch of her plan comes to a dead end.

Mira’s muted smile is so smug, it irritates even Mara and it hadn’t even been directed at her. It would be right at home on Uldren’s face too, but his own is twisted into confusion. He does notice the expression on his protege’s face as Mara is turning away, and she doesn’t miss the way he swats at her and hisses for her to wipe the smug look off of her face.

-==-

As always, matters of state come before personal ones, and so, the tablet sits at her bedside for several days before she can even consider going through it. Her plans may be coming to a head very soon, but that does not mean the Reef stops around her; no, time stops for no one, least of all her, and she must continue to ensure the stability of her Queendom.

The hunting of the Wolves still persists, and while the majority of the clean up has been done, Guardians are still coming to the outpost with death-proofs for even the most minor of Wolf. Petra has been growing irritated with doling out rewards for lowly Vandals and Dregs, but Mara thinks it worth it to keep this line to the Last City open. The Guardians are happy; glimmer and goods flow to them, and by extension, to the Last City, and it will make the future all the more easy to deal with, so long as that continues.

It’s a blur of paperwork about the previous year’s taxes on the food, animals, textiles, and supplies moving through the Reef, of meetings with her Paladins about the final steps in the Wolf conflict and rebuilding of their battlestations, of going over this year’s potential recruits for the Queensguard.

It all feels so… small in comparison to the barrel that Mara is looking down. Only she sees it, and the only two she can speak to it about are not here. They are elsewhere–on Earth or otherwise somewhere in the system–and everyone else among her circle is only aware of the battleplans because they have seen the scans from beyond the Jovians that tells them that something big is moving into the system, and they will need to confront it before it crashes into their shores.

She has less than a month to make the arrangements. It doesn’t feel like enough time, but would it ever feel like enough time, even if she had years?

Now, Mara sits in a little-used chair in the little-used living room in the wing of the Dreaming City’s Palace that had been set aside for living space. Previously, it had been for herself and… the one she had loved, and now it is for herself, her daughter, and the father of her daughter. More than anything, it’s for her daughter and the girl’s father because Mara rarely makes use of the living space that isn’t her chambers.

It just happens that the living room is quiet and away from anyone who might try to bother her. The Paladins would never dare to invade her private space like this, and Petra only comes when invited to do so–despite the fact that she has a blanket invitation. Solvik isn’t likely to realize she’s here and check on her, and he’s always busy keeping a watchful eye on the girls; he has been especially helicopter-like ever since the rebellion.

“Mom?”

Mara realizes that she had been staring at the dark tablet for… well, she isn’t so sure how long she’s been staring at it. Long enough that when she lifts her head, her neck complains about it and she has to fight off a grimace.

Her gaze comes up the rest of the way to avoid irritating her neck further, and they meet an almost identical set of quicksilver eyes.

It still startles her to see her daughter these days. She has been a teenager for a few years, but she has shot up like a weed in the last two and her adult features are slowly coming in; a strong jaw, high cheek bones, and a nose that is looking more and more aquiline with each year… Her face is so much of her father’s.

But it also looks strikingly like someone else.

She has to shake the thought off before it scares her.

Ronja is leaning by the elaborate doorframe, one leg in the room, the other in the hallway so as to make it easier to take off; she isn’t here for a conversation, then. A part of Mara is disappointed. It’s been a while since the girl has come to sit next to her bath and talk in the early morning and she is coming to find that she misses those morning conversations.

They have been very quiet without her chatter, even if Mara hasn’t always offered much conversation in return.

“Yes, my star?” she asks, unsure if the pause has been long enough to concern the girl.

“Oh, you’re working. Uhm, I’ll just see if Dad’s–” Ronja starts to back out of the room.

“No, no. Come here, my star,” Mara says, and she forces herself to sit up. Her back isn’t all that pleased either, and it pops all the way down the column of her spine. “I’m not working on anything that’s urgent.”

Ronja’s expression lifts in surprise, but she steps into the room after a few beats of hesitation. Mara isn’t so sure what she’s going to say now that her daughter has come into the room, but… she’d invited her. So now, she needs to go through with it.

“Mira wants to ride down to the merchants’ quarter and get some food. Can I go with her?” Ronja asks.

Mara frowns. This is the sort of question Ronja had asked her when she was ten, not when she’s sixteen. She hasn’t asked her for permission to go anywhere since she was twelve, and frankly, had been bad about asking for it even before then. Why is she asking now? And even more bizarre, why is she asking to go to the merchants’ quarter with a friend?

“Well… yes, that’s fine. I don’t see why you’re asking me if you can go with her, though,” Mara says.

Ronja gives her a look that suggests she’s just grown a second head. “Dad wants me to ask, or like, at least tell him where I’m going. I couldn’t find him, so I’m asking you,” she says.

“He has?” Mara asks, baffled. “For how long?”

“Yeaahh…?” Ronja says, dragging out the second syllable like she’s talking to someone far less intelligent or hopelessly clueless. She still has that incredulous look on her face. “For a couple months, Mom. ‘Cause he wants to know where I am if something happens.”

Mara’s breath stutters in her chest and her blood runs cold.

How could she be so stupid? Of course Solvik would want to know where their daughter is at all times after… after the rebellion had almost seen her killed. He hadn’t been aware of where she was that day–neither had Mara, but she had been away–and now he wants to know where she is, if she’s to leave the Palace.

“Right. Yes, of course,” she says and it is a testament to her control over her own voice that none of the fear that had coursed through her veins shows up in it. “Well… I know where you’ll be. You can go.”

Ronja smiles. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll still text him, just to be sure. I don’t know if he’d believe me if I said I’d asked you, but…” She shrugs.

“I’ll tell him myself, my star. He won’t think you’re lying,” she says.

“Okay. Thanks.” Ronja hesitates, like she might want to say something, and then settles on giving Mara a light wave. “See you tonight?”

“Probably not tonight. I’ve got some things to attend to that’ll run late,” she says. She wants to un-say it when Ronja’s whole form appears to deflate. That hadn’t been the answer she had been looking for, but unfortunately, it was also the truth. Mara doesn’t expect to be done handling this particular task until very late tonight.

“Alright, well… bye, Mom,” Ronja says, and she hurries from the room. Mara’s chest constricts, and for a moment, she wishes Solvik had been here. He could have told her how to handle this, how to respond in a way that wouldn’t make Ronja look like a kicked dog. She always thinks she’s giving her daughter the right answers, and then it turns out she’s said the wrong thing… This has been doubly so, now that the girl is a teenager.

Mara sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. She will have to talk to Solvik later and see what–if anything–Ronja says to him about this interaction. Maybe then she can see how to handle it better next time… but right now, that’s not the focus. She needs to dig through these contacts and find the one she actually needs.

She turns the tablet on, and she is met with a long list of names she does not recognize.

Well, that isn’t quite accurate. She recognizes some of them, but just as many–if not more–are obvious nicknames, or names her love must have used in her head to refer to people. None of them are all that easy to place, though.

Dumb followed immediately by Dumber. These two are written in English lettering, rather than Reeftongue script, which tells Mara that they’re likely to be Earthborn of some sort. They could be Guardians she got some entertainment out of, or contacts from Earth, but either way… they aren’t Reefborn.

But also not likely to be the one she needs, because she knows her love, and she knows she’d had far more respect for the man than to label him Dumb or Dumber in her phone.

She scrolls by the names written in Reeftongue script. Mara is just going to make the assumption that the ones in Reeftongue are all Reefborn, and the ones that are in English are Earthborn. It’s smart, really; it’s a good way to remember what language to speak and write in, if their names are written in that language.

She does pause over a name in Reeftongue that says in all capitals “DO NOT ANSWER AFTER 5PM”.

Oddly specific. Mara selects it to satiate her curiosity, just the once.

Paladin Rior’s number populates, as does her Paladin contact. Ah. Of course. Mara should have figured that one out, considering how often those two liked to argue about everything and anything. It doesn’t surprise her to know that Paladin Rior may have attempted to continue an argument after they’d all gone home one too many times.

She can’t help but laugh a little at her love’s handling of it.

The amusement passes, and a wave of grief replaces it; Mara backs out of the contact so as to not think about it for too much longer, and continues her search.

All of the Paladins–minus Rior for her crimes of liking to argue–are labelled with their names and ranks, which makes it easy for her; Uldren is listed as “Local Carrion Eater” which gets a little chuckle out of Mara; there is someone labelled “Pretty Boy” as well, and when she takes a peek, it turns out to be Jolyon. That one she should have guessed, because that had been her nickname for him for the entire time they had been friends; that one had been even more obvious than the one for Paladin Rior.

She is skipping over more and more names as she figures out the naming scheme. Most of her contacts are, of course, in Reeftongue, so they won’t be the one she’s looking for, and the ones that aren’t, have names that are far too mean to be him. She had been fond of naming Guardians various words for stupid or brainless or foolish, and that seems to have carried over to the ones she allowed to have her contact information.

Mara’s eyes flick over a contact that makes her heart skip a beat.

She wants to keep scrolling. She doesn’t need to look at it, she can just keep going, and forget about it. It’s not worth the heartache, it really isn’t… But she can’t resist it. She wants to see her own name written amongst all the people her love cared for.

And there it is… Her name written there, in Reeftongue script and decorated on both sides with hearts of different colours. Her love had always been fond of sending emotes and pictures as a way to react to things. It had annoyed Mara plenty of times, but now she misses it dearly… What she would give for a text full of hearts after she had asked a simple question, or had told her that she needed her somewhere.

Without thinking, she taps on her own contact. She wants to see if the data on the tablet has the pictures chosen for the contact; she hadn’t seen any for Rior or Jolyon, but neither of them were people keen on having their picture taken. Mara isn’t any different, but she knows that her love had taken photos of her without her knowledge.

Photos of Mara living life; sleeping, eating, waking up, just existing in the same space as her.

Beauty in the mundane, her love had called it.

It takes a moment, but the contact photo does load when Mara clicks in.

The photo is of her, laying in her bed–no, their bed. It had been their bed, when that picture had been taken–with her eyes half-open and dull with sleep. Her shirt is riding up to expose her stomach, and there is… something there. Mara squints to see, but the photo is too small to make it out, so she clicks on it without thought.

It’s Sjur’s hand–she hadn’t meant to think her name; it appeared, unbidden, into her mind when she saw the photo, and her ears ring with it–and it’s spread out over her stomach, almost cupping it. With a jolt, she remembers when this had been taken.

She had been pregnant then. Really, truly, pregnant. Not just the symptoms, which she’d had many times before, but the smallest of bumps had started to become visible if she was naked, and it was that bump that Sjur’s hand covered. She remembers waking up because Sjur had forgotten to turn off the flash on her phone’s camera, and Sjur had been cursing to herself about it.

Mara’s face grows hot and her mouth waters with nausea.

She backs out of the photo and out of her contact, and she almost throws the tablet across the room.

She should have just pulled Uldren aside and asked him to find the contact for her. He would be able to do that, and he wouldn’t ask questions, even if he had wanted to. It would have taken less time, and it would have kept her from looking at a memory that feels like someone is ripping her heart from her chest.

She takes a series of deep, calming breaths. She can’t panic, she can’t lose her mind over a photo of herself. She still has some photos of herself that… that… that Sjur had taken of her… It’s just that this one also has Sjur in it, even if it’s just her hand. It has their daughter in it, even if she was only a quickening in her belly.

She wants to snap the tablet in two. She wants to throw it across the room and scream at the stars for taking so much from her… But she won’t, because it will get nothing done. It will only set her back, and she doesn’t have the time to be set back; she doesn’t have the time to go back to the Crow Archives and ask for the contact, so she needs to do it now, or she needs to find some other way.

And this is the path of least resistance, even if it may not feel like it.

She continues to scroll, ignoring the way her hand trembles with each swipe against the screen. Her heart thuds in her chest, hard and sluggish. It’s hard to ignore, though she tries as hard as she can.

Her eyes land on a name that is written in English letters and stands out because it isn’t cruel or a mean-spirited joke of a name.

One-Horn.

It’s a weird name, but it isn’t a joke one. She has no idea what it could possibly mean, but it must have meant something to Sjur–it’s easier to think of her name now, but it still stings–so she taps on it to see who it is.

The number her eyes skip over. It’s not really what she’s looking for, but if she has to send a text, she can figure out a way to send it without her name attached. What she’s really hoping for is–

Aha. There it is.

[email protected].

She has what she needs. It hardens her resolve and that awful thud of her heart calms. Her plan may very well go just as she wants it to.

She sets that tablet aside, and picks up the one she always does her work on, and she drafts a message to one Lord Shaxx of the Last City.

-==-

Lord Shaxx,

I write to you from the edge of your known space, from the Queendom your people know little about. I have a need to speak with you, one-on-one.

If you accept this meeting, I will send a subject of mine with what you need to enter the domain of the Reef, along with the coordinates to where this meeting will take place.

Your discretion is key. Tell no one of this message or of the meeting. I will know if you do.

And if you need convincing that this is the truth, and not some joke, I offer you this:

Sjur Eido was fond of you. She spoke to me about you often, and the trouble you both got up to in her time; the hunting on our asteroids for game, and the hunting on Earth for our shared enemies. She told me that you called her a tempest when you first met.

Do not leave me waiting for long, Lord Shaxx.

-==-

The message had popped into his inbox two days ago, and Lord Shaxx had been left baffled by it.

He doesn’t know what to think. At the first two lines, he had assumed it was some ridiculous piece of spam, some sort of scheme to extort money from sad, lonely men by pretending to be an exotic beauty from the elusive Awoken Queendom. It had seemed even more likely to be the case because of the weird address it had come from that was no doubt randomly generated for this purpose.

That is what he’d assumed until he got to the last paragraph.

The one that contained information that only he knows. Information that would have been impossible to find out unless that person had been there… or had been told about it later on. Shaxx had never told anyone of that encounter. He has never spoken of his friendship with the great Sjur Eido to anyone, and he knows that Sjur had never let it slip to anyone beyond the Reef.

He is still considering bringing this to Ikora and having her Hidden sniff out the trail. They’re good at that, and it might be fun to see what weirdo is on the other end of the message. He might even get a good laugh out of it.

But the story of his meeting of Sjur is impossible to ignore. He knows he had never told anyone on Earth about it. Sjur had asked him to be discreet so as not to bring more overly-curious eyes to the Reef, and he had obliged because she was a good woman, and her Queen wife had been terrifying.

Is that who is sending him this message then? He struggles to believe that someone of the Queen’s station would bother sending him a message, but who else in the whole system could it possibly be?

Well, there is no harm in finding out. It isn’t like whoever is on the other end could do much harm to him.

He sends a message back.

-==-

Hello my odd stranger,

I accept your meeting. I look forward to seeing just who has their nose in my business.

Regards,

Lord Shaxx

-==-

One day passes, and then another. Shaxx is beginning to assume that it had been some extortion scheme, and the one on the other end has decided he isn’t worth the trouble. Ah, well. It would have been fun to see where it went, but that thread isn’t going anywhere.

It’s late in the evening, and he’s heading home after a long day of ensuring the Crucible has been running as it should–he’d had to bash a few heads together because a couple of older Guardians were picking on one who was only a few weeks out of the ground–and he’s more than ready to recline and watch some soaps before calling it a night for real.

He makes a stop at the market below the Tower to pick up some ingredients for dinner. He hasn’t made his decision on what he’ll make–he’s feeling spontaneous tonight, and thinks he’ll make whatever speaks to him–and so all of his focus is on the market stalls.

He settles on some fresh pasta, ingredients to make a rose sauce, and chicken that he’ll cut into chunks to add some protein. It’ll be a nice way to end his day, and give him something to do while he watches his shows. He tips the owed glimmer into the waiting palm of the merchant, and adjusts his hold on his bag.

A crawling sensation creeps up his back, up into his neck. He turns around to look behind him, and his eyes lock with a pair of glowing amber ones.

A woman. Awoken. Tall, lean, and dressed in deep navy blues, rich blacks, and cold greys. At first glance, Shaxx thinks she’s a Warlock in unfamiliar robes, but at the second look, he knows that what she wears is not anything that the Guardians would wear. That is probably the point, though; she would blend in well amongst a crowd and few, if any, would give her a second glance.

He is quick to put to memory her appearance: deep purple skin, bare-faced, curly red hair that falls like a mane around her face and down her shoulders. A look about her that does not fit with what he knows of the Awoken born here within the City, though he cannot say for sure what about her makes him think that.

She must notice him looking at her because she inclines her head to him. A fist comes to rest over her chest, and the gesture rings familiar but he cannot quite place it.

In the time it takes for him to blink in surprise, she is gone.

“Celia,” he murmurs to his Ghost as he hurries to the elevator. “I am not crazy. There was a woman there, yes?”

“There was,” his Ghost answers in his helmet, her soft voice a welcome sound. “I sensed her passing us while you were paying for your things.”

He doesn’t need to ask Celia for anything else.

The moment he is home, he dumps his purchases onto the kitchen counter. They scatter across the stainless steel, and the packet of pasta skips all the way off to rattle to the floor. He doesn’t bother to pick it up.

As he sorts through the food, Celia pops into being over his shoulder. She burbles with interest, shell expanding and rotating as she zips over the counter top. She hovers over a spot, and Shaxx follows her.

Aha! He was right.

The stranger had put something in his bag.

He yanks a towel from where it hangs on his range’s handle, and uses that to pick it up. Never mind that he still wears his armour, never mind that if it happens to be explosive, it might already be too late to do anything about it. But if it isn’t… Well. If this is nefarious in some other way, then the Hidden can pull fingerprints off of this, so long as he doesn’t disturb them.

It’s a small data stick, maybe two inches long and half an inch wide. The case is black and glossy, and the light from the ceiling rings around it as he tilts it back and forth. It appears unmarked, at least on the side facing him, so he drops it to the counter so that he can see the other side of it.

Ceila gasps next to him.

A symbol that Shaxx has not seen in years stares back up at them, embossed upon the glossy, black surface.

It’s entirely in gold; three diamonds and two triangles, nestled together so that the triangles are surrounded by the elongated diamonds, giving it the appearance of a minimalist crown. A spiked ring surrounds the crown, like the corona of the sun reaching out during a total eclipse.

“It… could still be a trick,” Shaxx says, but even he doesn’t believe his own words.

No one would dare use this symbol for trickery, not when the Queendom of the Reef has eyes and ears everywhere; its elusive and protective Queen would make quick work of anyone using her royal sigil for nefarious purposes.

Celia swoops down with a curious trill. Her shell expands outward as she scans the little data stick, but there must not be much on it, as her shell retracts back around her after only a few pulses.

“It has coordinates,” she says without Shaxx needing to ask. “They’re set deep within the Reef.”

“That sounds like a very good way to get blown up,” he says. He knows that he would not be welcome within the Awoken nation’s borders without the protection of Sjur Eido. She had been merciful in not simply killing him and Celia the day they had met, and Shaxx holds no delusions that he would be offered the same grace twice.

“It’s also an IFF signature,” Celia adds. “Plug it into the jumpship’s computer and it’d be like we were one of them.”

“Traveler’s Light, she’s thought of everything,” Shaxx says, shaking his head. He steps away from the counter, swiping the data stick from the top as he passes, and then crosses the room to where he last left his tablet.

“‘She’?” Celia asks, gliding after him with a series of curious clicks. “You think you know who sent it?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Celia?” Shaxx asks, plucking his tablet from where he’d left it on the coffee table from the previous night. He pauses to hold up the data stick, and the golden sigil glints in the overhead light. “No one else would use this but her.”

Celia’s shell rotates around her core with uncertainty; Shaxx is already looking down at his tablet as she burbles with worry.

“We’ll leave for the Reef tonight,” he says, typing out a message in reply to the one he’d sent two nights ago. He had never gotten a reply… Or well, not on the message chain, that is. The data stick clutched in his left hand is answer enough. “I am certain she will give us a day and time, and if we must drift near Mars for a while, so be it.”

“What about the Crucible? The Vanguard? Won’t they want to know where you’re going? You never leave the City!” Celia crows like a worried mother. She zips after Shaxx as he crosses back towards his apartment door.

“Arcite can handle the Crucible for a day or two. He’s more than capable.” He is still typing out the message, slow and methodical. The script he writes in is tricky, and it’s been a long time since he’s used it, but it’s coming back to him with each word he types. He tucks the data stick into a pouch on his belt for safe keeping, and to prevent anyone from seeing it, and the sigil it holds. “Zavala won’t ask, and if he does, I’ll just tell him I needed a breather.”

“He won’t believe you,” Celia huffs. She shimmers out of sight, and her next words are in his helmet. “You never need to take a breather.”

“Well, today I do, and he will have to accept that,” Shaxx says. He sends the message, and Celia transmatts the tablet for him. “And if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his nose to himself, and ensure Ikora doesn’t send a tail after us.”

Celia sighs and doesn’t argue further. He knows that she would like to, though; he can feel it radiating through their connection.

He steps out into the hall with a quick glance to ensure they are alone, and then makes for the walkway that will be the fastest route to the hanger.

His groceries still lay scattered about the kitchen counter, forgotten and unused.

-==-

Your Majesty,

I am certain it is you that I write to, my Lady. It is an honour to be asked to meet with you.

I received your gift of safe passage. Give me the date and the time, and I will be there.

Regards,

Lord Shaxx

-==-

Mara is in a meeting with her Paladins; they are shoring up the battleplans for the approach to Saturn, and what will be done when they arrive.

It weighs heavily on Mara’s conscience, that she is leading many of the people in this room to their deaths. She knows that her Paladins would lay their lives down for the safety of the Reef and its people, but she is asking them to face something that cannot be beaten. She knows this, Eris knows this, Osiris knows this…

They are the only two who know the whole plan from front to back, and it is only because they have to. If it had been up to her, she would have gone down this path alone; but Eris had the knowledge of the Hive she needed to make this entire plan work, and Osiris had the extensive knowledge of the Darkness that filled the gaps in Eris’ own.

But they were not the ones at the chopping block. They won’t be because they have other parts to play when this act comes to a close, and Mara will be unable to do her part in the world of the living.

That is not even to consider the fact that she has not yet arranged for her daughter’s sanctuary, yet another thing that she keeps to herself. If the Paladins learn she intends to send the Princess beyond the Reef, into the hands of a very tentative ally, they will question her as to why. She does not want to deal with those questions, not after she had fielded them from her own brother just the day before.

Out of all the things that stress her, it’s that part of the plan that worries her the most. She faces her own death, and yet, her concern lies with her child and her safety. But isn’t that what it means to be a mother? One’s own welfare becomes secondary to the welfare of one’s own offspring.

She doesn’t know how to feel about it, and she cannot even talk to Solvik about it because he isn’t aware of the plan. He doesn’t know anything that’s to come, and while she intends to inform him of the plans to send him, their daughter, and Uldren’s protege to Earth… She can’t tell him anything about the plan itself.

A ping on her tablet draws her from her thoughts. Paladin Fen had been talking about… something, but she hadn’t heard most of it, not that it matters. The entire meeting is being transcribed, so if she misses something important in the present, she will be able to read up on it later. But that is beside the point… A message she had been waiting to receive has arrived.

She smiles to herself, just the slightest curve of her lips. It does not surprise her that Shaxx had figured it out, though she thought that the sigil on the data stick would be more than enough. But there are a lot of stupid people in the system, and some might not think it to be real, not when the Queendom’s very presence is shrouded in so much mystery.

He is a smart man, though. Sjur wouldn’t have given him the time of day if he had been an idiot. She does not entertain unintelligent people, least of all the sort of unintelligence that proliferates among the Guardians. Lord Shaxx would have needed a proper head on his shoulders for her love to call him a friend, rather than an acquaintance.

It does not pass her notice that he had also written the message in Reeftongue.

It’s very formal, more than she’d expect of someone fluent in the language, but it’s more than understandable. Had Sjur taught him some of it, then? Or was there a way for him to have learned it on his own, perhaps as a party trick to amuse Sjur?

Either way, she sends him the reply with the date and the time. She writes it in English, for the sole reason that she doesn’t want him to misread it.

Some of the anxious weight lifts from her chest, but not all of it. This is just one more step towards securing her daughter’s safety, and there are still many more to cover before she can feel that relief she seeks. Lord Shaxx could turn her down, or he could say it was not possible, but she tries not to think of that possibility. He is a Guardian with influence, with tight ties to the Vanguard, or so Sjur had led her to believe as much by what she’d said of him.

“Your Majesty?” Paladin Zire’s voice draws her attention back to the meeting.

“Yes, Paladin Zire?” Mara asks.

“I asked if you had any preference for ship arrangement when we approach Saturn,” Paladin Zire says with the patience of someone who is repeating herself for the umpteenth time.

“Yes,” Mara says, and she reaches out to manipulate the hologram in front of her.

-==-

Lord Shaxx,

We will meet at the coordinates I sent tomorrow at 11PM.

Do not be late. Do not allow anyone to follow you.

May the stars guide your path.

Queen Mara Sov

-==-

Shaxx had been jittery for the entire flight through the Reef.

He knew that the IFF had to be real, but it never stopped him from holding his breath when his jumpship warned him that a vessel was within range of him. Every time, he was certain this one was here to blow him to smithereens and leave him unable to revive anywhere safe, but the missiles never came, and the vessels never veered off of their path, even as he got closer.

The coordinates take him through a massive space-gate; a series of giant rings that rotate around and around, and point him to what appears to be a barren asteroid. The only thing that hints that something might be there are those rings, and the strange, glittering tower that stands vigil in the asteroid field below.

The jumpship hums as he passes through the rings, and then everything goes white around him.

His helmet is quick to engage the shielding to protect his eyes from the bright light, but it still burns as he squints through it. The jumpship jerks and rocks, and he struggles to keep hold of the controls to keep on his trajectory. Celia whines softly somewhere in the back of his head, worried that this might have been the trap all along, and they are done for.

The light clears, as does the turbulence, and what is beyond it takes his breath away.

Vast forests of thick trees roll over mountains below him, and as his eyes follow the trees, they begin to thin out into fields. Green-yellow grass waves in a twilight breeze, so strong and even that he can see it even at this distance. Lights of homes dot the fields and become heavier as he flies further across the asteroid that is so, so full of life until it becomes a town, maybe even a city.

Celia shimmers into existence next to him and she gasps with wonder. “Look, Shaxx!”

Ahead is a series of great, stone towers jutting out of a great cliff face. They glitter in the light of the many lanterns lit along its walls and towers; it looks like it has been pulled straight out of an old fairytale, all the way down to the very stone they are made of, and the banners of the Queen’s royal sigil blowing in the breeze coming off the water below.

The coordinates take him further afield, and he knows better than to land anywhere around here. “Celia, will you take the ship back out until I call for you?”

“What? And leave you here?” Celia asks.

“I would feel better if you weren’t here, just in case things go poorly. I don’t expect them to, but I will not allow myself to be caught off guard,” Shaxx says.

“But–But how–”

“I will ping you periodically. If you don’t get that ping after half an hour, then you know to come and bring me back. And if that doesn’t happen, I’ll call you when I’m ready for pick up,” he interrupts to try and keep Celia from growing anxious. He knows he’s fighting a losing battle in that regard, but he also knows that giving her clear instructions will help her relax.

Celia warbles with worry, but she bobs up and down in agreement all the same. “Okay. I can do that for you. Where’s the drop off point?”

“Northward, it says. Beyond the palace,” Shaxx says.

The drop off point is near a rocky beach, and surrounded by high, grassy cliffs. He has Celia hover well above the ground so as not to make the engines ten times louder by having them roar anywhere near the circle of cliffs; he is sure that someone has already made note of his presence, and he’d like to avoid giving away his exact location.

The transmatt sets him down near the water. The waves are small here, only just lapping at the rocky shore he stands upon, but he can still hear the soft burble as the water collects between the stones, before being drawn back out with the receding wave.

The coordinates are not quite here, though. Now that he’s on the ground, they point behind him, and up a bridle path that disappears between two of the cliffs. He can’t see what lays beyond them, though, nor has he seen any sign of the woman who summoned him here. Still, he had said he would be there on time, and the clock is ticking closer to the hour, so he needs to get a move on.

He follows the path between the two cliffs. It is a well worn path, packed down by thousands of feet using them over the years, and–ah, of course! He bends down to get a better look at the prints left there in the packed earth.

Hoofprints. These ones appear fresh compared to the others he sees, the dirt along the edges has been recently unsettled while the others have settled and shifted with the breeze coming off the water.

He traces the largest one with his index finger. The curve of the shoe is bigger than his own hand, even if he spread all of his fingers out, and he is not a small man. The horse that wears these shoes is no doubt massive… He’d known one beast of that size, but it’s been so long, there’s no way it’s the same one.

He straightens and walks the rest of the way up the path. It curves into the cliff, and for a moment, he thinks he might be at a dead end. There is a cliff face ahead of him, a sheer drop to his left, and there is another cliff face to his right, but as he draws closer, he sees the yawning opening carved into the taller cliff.

White stone pillars edge the opening in the rockface, shiny and glittering in the starlight. They must be made of the same stuff as the palace itself, and he is amazed by the craftsmanship. There are no tool marks anywhere on the stone; it is perfectly smooth all the way along the archway, like it had sprung forth fully formed from the stone.

Ah, but he is still on a schedule. He could stand here and admire the architecture, or he could find out why the Reef’s Queen has summoned him here… And to a place that holds significance. It would not have been guarded by those rings and the illusion that they must project, were this place any old city.

An expansive garden lays beyond the archway; plants of types he knows and ones he has never seen before sprawl out before him, and stone pathways curve through the lush grasses and flowers to guide him through it. He can hear the rushing of a waterfall somewhere out of sight.

The path takes him up a long slope that steadily levels out near the stream that cuts through the garden. Here, he can see the waterfall flowing from a structure that looks like an observatory; a great dome made of that white, glittering stone and triangular glass, with a stone catwalk that juts out across the garden and casts a deep shadow across the stream and some of the flower beds.

Flower beds that have been torn up, he notes. The ones near the bottom of the path had been in good shape, but these ones? Something has happened to them. The flowers have been ripped up and only dark earth has been left behind. It looks intentional, but it’s impossible to say why only certain chunks have been taken out.

“You are taking your time, Lord Shaxx. Do you not see much green in the Last City?”

The voice doesn’t make him jump; it doesn’t even make him flinch.

Shaxx lifts his gaze from the razed flowerbeds towards the voice, and his eyes meet the Queen of the Reef’s own.

Queen Mara stands at the top of a series of stairs that lead to a white stone dais that is raised above the rest of the garden around it. Pillars jut out along the edge of the dais to hold up what–at first–looks to be a roof, but light filters in through the centre, which suggests it’s open to the sky above.

The Queen herself is just as all of the stories have claimed; hair as white and pristine as the stone around her, and her face looks like it was carved from the same stone–smooth, perfect, elegant, like a statue of antiquity–with an ever-present expression that suggests whoever she’s talking to is far, far below her.

Lord Shaxx believes himself a gentleman, so he presses his right fist to his chest, his left fist to the small of his back, and bows low so that his upper body is almost parallel to the ground. He doesn’t think it the most perfect of Reef greetings, but it had been what Sjur had shown him all those years ago.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” he says in his very best Reeftongue, still holding that deep bow. “There is green within the Last City, but none as perfect as all of this. I only wished to admire it. I did not mean to keep you waiting.”

He hears her hum just out of sight. Did his use of her nation’s tongue surprise her? He had hoped it might soften her, just a little bit.

“I see you were at least a good student,” she replies, also in Reeftongue. It takes Shaxx a little longer than he’d like to admit to understand what she’s saying. “But there’s no need for it.” She switches back to English. “I’ve not lost my ability to speak your language. Straighten up and come here. We’ve much to discuss.”

Shaxx straightens his spine and makes his way up to the dais.

“I’ll admit, Your Majesty, I did not quite believe it was you who sent me that first message. I don’t think you could have written it more in a way that appeared like it was spam,” he says. He is testing the waters, seeing how much conversing she is willing to entertain; by her tone, he is already suspecting that this will be entirely business and very little in the way of amicable conversation, but it’s always worth a try.

“Better to prevent anyone from looking twice, should your messages be screened by your Vanguard’s spies,” Queen Mara replies. She sneers the word like it’s a curse or an insult, which Shaxx thinks quite funny, considering she had sent one of her own spies to give him the data stick.

“And what made you think I would not delete it for that reason?” Shaxx asks.

The Queen is beginning to bristle, which means he’s starting to test her tolerance of him. Ah, well… maybe he can ask more questions after they talk about what she brought him out here for.

“You aren’t an idiot,” she says.

“I thought you Reef types thought all of us Lightbearers to be fools,” he says. It’s not a question, really; he’s well aware of the Reef Awoken’s views towards Guardians.

“Sjur would never have befriended a Lightbearer if he were a fool,” she says.

Shaxx’s chest tightens. When was the last time he heard his friend’s name spoken aloud by anyone? It has been decades at the very least, if not more… but he cannot imagine how it must be for the Queen, to speak her name aloud. Had she said Sjur’s name before now? Could she ever bear to, after what had happened to her?

Queen Mara’s expression doesn’t hold the answer to all of those questions. A part of him wishes he could see what she was thinking because it would make navigating this easier, but there are too many walls there. Even before Sjur had passed, she had told him all about how hard it was to get her Queen wife to speak about her feelings, her thoughts… There is likely no one else in the universe now, who could pull those from her.

“You brought me here for a purpose, Your Majesty?” He decides that the safest path to walk is not the one where he talks of Sjur Eido, at least, not until they have squared away what it is that she wants.

“Yes,” she says. She gestures for him to approach, and he does with careful steps, and his helmeted head bent away from her. It had been the gesture Sjur had taught him to do when interacting with any Reefborn of rank; keep your head down and angled away to show them that you are below them, that you respect them and their authority.

He often rolls his eyes at such things, but he is not here to insult the Queen. It will get them nowhere.

She holds her hand out, and sitting upon her palm is a small chit, one that would fit into a slot on his tablet. He takes it from her palm with care, and then draws his tablet from where he has it stowed away on his person. The chit slots into place, and the tablet’s screen lights up without his prompting.

A series of files download onto his tablet, but when he taps to open them, a screen asking for a password pops up. The words are all in Reeftongue script, but he knows what a locked file looks like. Whatever it is that she wants to show him, it is going to only be for his eyes.

Queen Mara doesn’t give him the password. Not yet, at least.

“I summoned you here because Sjur trusted you… She was always one to make friends easily, but the trust she extended to you was not something she offered up to just anyone,” Queen Mara says. Her posture is tight, closed off; her arms are crossed over her chest and her shoulders are set in a hard line. None of this must be easy for her to do. “I do not trust easily, but I trust her judgment of you, and that is why you are the one I wanted to speak to, and no one else from your Tower.”

Shaxx doesn’t say a word; he doesn’t even dare to nod his head. He won’t make any attempt to interrupt her with a gesture to tell her he’s listening.

“What I offer up on those files will be kept between us until you take it to the Vanguard, and then, it will only be between you and them,” she says. “I did not believe they would be willing to hear me out, not when I have kept my Queendom so isolated from your City.”

“And just what is in these files that needs to be kept so quiet, my Lady?” he asks, his voice low.

Queen Mara’s jaw tightens, and Shaxx thinks he may have made a mistake by speaking up. He bows his head as an offer of apology, but he still feels that icy gaze trying to punch through his helmet.

“Something that must be kept safe… Trouble brews on the horizon, Lord Shaxx. My Queendom often lies between the troubles that dog your City, and this is just another of those, only…” Queen Mara’s teeth grind together so hard that Shaxx can hear it. Something about this is upsetting her, and it’s impossible to pinpoint what it is.

It probably is very hard to offer even the smallest modicum of vulnerability, when one is the Queen of a nation. Sjur had mentioned to him a few times just how hard it was to get Queen Mara to speak on any of her thoughts or feelings in a way that was clear and concise. She liked to dance around the point, like she hoped it would dissuade Sjur from asking more questions and figuring it out.

Sjur said she always persisted, though. And now that she’s gone, Shaxx suspects that there is no one around to force the Queen to cough up her feelings. How long has this particular thread been brewing, he wonders? Weeks, months, years?

Queen Mara exhales heavily. “Only there may be calamity ahead. I cannot see the future. But what is in those files must be protected at all costs, and this is the only way I can see that will offer the protection that I seek.”

Lord Shaxx looks down at the tablet, and the blinking cursor awaiting an input that he doesn’t have. “Then, may I see what it is that you want to protect so fiercely?” he asks.

Queen Mara gives him the password, one key at a time. It’s a series of letters, numbers, and symbols with no obvious order, which tells Shaxx it had been randomly generated for this purpose. A hard password to crack, and one he will not remember. He is quite impressed that Queen Mara is reciting this seemingly straight from her memory; he will need to write it down and have Celia memorize it for him, if he is going to keep this chit for himself.

The file opens to a page with Reeftongue script across it.

FOR VANGUARD EYES ONLY.

He can read that, at least.

“Three people are in need of sanctuary,” Queen Mara says. “One I will offer as an emissary of the Queendom in return for his protection. The other two… they are the most important ones.”

Shaxx opens to the next page in the file, and a dossier fills his screen.

The photo draws his eyes first.

A man in a deep purple dress uniform, taken from the shoulders up. His hair is white and long–he has come to learn that Reefborn men keep their hair long, rather than cut it short–and his skin is a deep blue. He has strong features that remind him a little of Sjur; a strong jaw, aquiline nose, bright and intelligent eyes.

There are dots at the bottom of the photo that suggest there is more, so he swipes to see the next one.

It’s the same man, of course, but dressed more plain and with his hair cut very, very short. It looks more of what he would expect of an Awoken man from the City. He is a little softer too, like he had gained some weight between the first and the second one. He swipes to the last photo, and it’s the same man with the same short hair, looking into the camera with warm amusement in his eyes. It is not a formal photograph like the previous two.

“Ser Solvik Vamir,” Shaxx reads. A very Reefborn name. “A Queensguard?”

He hadn’t thought men could be Queensguards. He had assumed that it was a woman’s profession in the Reef, and that men were put into less dangerous roles. That is what he had gleaned from what Sjur had told him, and from what he heard floating in from the rumour mills.

“Ex-Queensguard,” Queen Mara clarifies. “He was one of the youngest to be recruited. A fine soldier, and he has a good head on his shoulders. Intelligent, level, agreeable. He will be a good liaison for the Vanguard and the Queendom.”

Shaxx takes the time to read the dossier itself.

Born to a Techeun mother–Fascinating! He’d had no idea the Tech Witches could have children!–but brought up by adopted parents. Joined the Corsairs the moment he was of age, and was recruited to the Queensguard just a few years out of the Academy due to his performance during a conflict with the Fallen near a battlestation at the edge of the Reef. He served for some hundred and fifty years before retiring, though the dossier doesn’t state why.

Not discharged; retired. The dossier makes a note to specify that it had been a voluntary retirement, and not a discharge due to injury.

He finds that odd. A man had clawed his way up a ladder that was not meant for him, and then chose to let it all go. He hadn’t been wounded in battle and made to leave the service due to it, he had stepped down. Why?

He expects he will find the answers in the next few pages of the file.

The next page is another dossier, this one of a woman. Deep purple skin, wavy red hair that frames her face, and amber eyes. In his excitement, his eyes skip over the white dots marking her skin under her eyes, and the curved marks arching from the tops of her eyebrows.

“A familiar face! I wondered who that woman could be.” He hasn’t even read the name, or any of the information on her. “But why are you requesting her protection under the Vanguard? She seemed like a capable woman to me, and I only saw her for a moment.”

When his gaze meets Queen Mara’s, there is the slightest of creases between her brows. It’s the most expressive she’s looked this entire time, and it’s to make him feel like a complete moron. Surely this is the woman sent to deliver the data stick, is she not? She looks exactly like her! The purple skin, the red hair, those yellow eyes–

He looks again, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. No, he wasn’t, but now that he is examining the photo, he realizes that the photo isn’t of a woman, but of a girl.

Well, that isn’t quite right either. She is young, and he thinks that by the softness of her face that she isn’t a child, but she isn’t that woman he’d seen at the market. Her face had been one of a mature adult, angular and lacking that softness true youth offers. This one’s face still has that softness.

And now he notices the markings on her face. That woman hadn’t had those; he would have remembered them if she did, because they are striking. They give the girl’s eyes a sharpness that her near-twin hadn’t had, and when he really looks into her eyes… there is only a hardness there.

The woman at the market had come across as strange, but she hadn’t seemed like she would harm him. If he saw this girl’s eyes staring at him from across the market, he would be worried she was there to attempt to kill him, and make a damn good effort of it too.

“Ah,” Queen Mara says, and she seems to have come to her own realization. “You saw her mother. They are… strikingly alike in appearance.”

That is putting it lightly. The two may as well be twins, though the longer he looks at the girl’s photo, he sees the subtle differences that says she is not that same woman from the market; a broader nose, heavier build, and that cold sharpness to those eyes.

“Mira Zire,” he reads. “Oh, she is young! Twenty, and already a member of your Crows? I suppose her mother is too, and this is just a family business.”

Queen Mara isn’t all that amused. That confused little frown that had almost been cute on her face has twisted into something far less friendly, and so he is quick to focus back on the dossier in his hands.

He recognizes her last name, and the dossier confirms his suspicions: she is closely related to Paladin Abra Zire. Her niece, in fact; the woman he had seen at the market was Mira’s mother and sister to that same Paladin. There is far less information in this dossier than the last, only stating that she is a Crow apprentice, but anything else has been left out, no doubt to hide just how the Crows operate from the prying eyes of the Vanguard.

It does intrigue him, though. He’d love to see if he could get anything out of the girl, if he ends up meeting her. Young people love to talk, and even more about themselves… Though, he does think the fact that he is a Guardian will not lean in his favour; the Reefborn aren’t very trusting of those reborn in the Light.

Which makes all of this all the more intriguing. Why would Queen Mara seek the Vanguard’s protection of these people? A top soldier and a Crow with the profession running in her blood? They hardly seem like the sort who need the protection of the Vanguard, not when the Queendom has done so well for itself.

He swipes to the next dossier, and he almost drops the tablet.

The photo is like seeing a ghost.

Shaxx had never seen Sjur when she was young, but if he had, he suspects that she would have looked a lot like the girl looking back at him from the screen. She has a similar nose, the line of her jaw–still padded with childhood baby fat–is dangerously close, and that expression that says she is trying so hard to remain serious, but sees no reason for it… It could have been ripped right off of Sjur’s face from the times he can remember her sending a formal message while they were hunting together.

“Traveler’s Light…” he breathes.

He pulls his eyes away from the photo to look at the girl’s name.

Princess Ronja Sov.

Born February 18, YOOQ 931.

Lord Shaxx knows the Queendom of the Reef uses a similar calendar to Earth, but the years have a far different starting point. He also knows what year it is now for them, the Year Of Our Queen 947.

That means this girl is just sixteen. She is a child.

And she is the Crown Princess of the Queendom.

-==-

Mara is growing irritated the longer Lord Shaxx stares at the last dossier, the one of her very own daughter. She has handed him some of the most sensitive information that she has to offer, and he doesn’t even have the courtesy to say anything to her about it? She’s half a mind to snatch the tablet from his hands, rip the chit out of it, and tell him to get lost.

But she doesn’t. She can’t. This is the only way she can secure her daughter’s safety for the coming months–the coming years, if she is going to be truly honest with herself–and no matter how angry she might be about his lack of response, she needs to keep her focus on that goal.

To protect her daughter. To ensure she doesn’t get caught in the political tide that will come.

Lord Shaxx finally looks up from the tablet–or seems to anyway. It’s impossible to know where he’s looking with that ridiculous helmet blocking out his face. She wishes he would take it off–something that would be expected of anyone in her presence–but she isn’t going to make demands that might jeopardize her plan.

“I had no idea you had a daughter, my Lady,” he says.

She hates the way that he says that like he is awed that she would have brought a child into the world. It is a basic function of her sex, and she had barely been able to do it right. Ronja had been a miracle after so many losses preceding her, and the stars had seemed eager to make it a hard won battle, even after she had crossed the point her doctor had said would make the pregnancy more likely to continue to term.

“And that is a good thing. She has been a closely guarded secret since her conception. Only my Queendom is aware of her existence, and that is where I wished it to end, but my hand is being forced. She cannot be kept a secret any longer if I am to protect her, and my legacy,” Mara says.

“She is a beautiful girl, Your Majesty,” Shaxx says. “She is… Well. If I may, my Lady, she is… she has a striking resemblance to Sjur. But she is not hers?”

Mara’s jaw tightens so hard and so suddenly that an ache radiates all the way up from her teeth to behind her eyes. Or is that a migraine blooming? It’s hard to say because the chances of stopping a headache in its tracks and unclenching her jaw are equally futile efforts.

Lord Shaxx’s words are like a strike that’s just missed its mark; it doesn’t lay her out or stun her, but it does set her heart beating in that awful, hard, and sluggish way. It infuriates her, it upsets her… It forces her to look at the reality that she has been trying to avoid ever since Ronja became an adolescent.

It had been easy to miss when the girl was a small child; all children look similar enough, with soft, new features, and only beginning to show a resemblance to their parents as they get older. She has seen some children who are all but clones of one parent from the day they enter the world, but Ronja hadn’t been like that. She had been… generic. Or maybe even then Mara had avoided the obvious.

That had not been the case as Ronja went from her pre-teen years and into her teens and adolescence. Her budding adult features began to make themselves known in the way her face sharpened, the way her nose began to straighten more and more.

What will she look like in ten years, when her adult features have begun to settle? What about in fifteen when she has fully blossomed?

She is going to try and not think about it. She has never wanted to think about it, but now this man with a mouth he doesn’t know how to keep shut is forcing it to the forefront.

Mara knows her face has twisted into a scowl. She hadn’t meant for it to, but she doesn’t bother to flatten her expression. Lord Shaxx should know that the question is stupid, idiotic.

“No,” she says. “How could a woman who has been–” A word dances on her lips, the syllable of it forming as her tongue touches the roof of her mouth just behind her teeth. She reorients, and pushes the word to the back of her mouth. “–gone for two hundred years sire a child?”

Lord Shaxx doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t even move an inch; it gives Mara some satisfaction to think that she’s made him feel like a fool for asking such a question. Even though she knows the question had not truly been framed that way… He had been remarking on her resemblance, and that alone, not the possible genetic relation.

“I apologize, your Majesty,” he says, and he bows his head. “I didn’t mean to… imply anything. It’s just… remarkable. And Sjur, she once mentioned–” He stops, because he must realize he is about to say too much.

“Mentioned… what?” Mara asks, unable to help herself.

“She once mentioned parenthood, in reference to herself,” he says, and she can hear just how careful he is trying to be with his words.

Mara wants to chase this thread down. It is as tantalizing as a fresh piece of meat held in front of a starving dog, and she wants to sink her teeth into it. She wants to know what Sjur had told him about being a parent. Had it been a conversation? Had she mentioned how hard they had been trying to become parents?

Had Lord Shaxx been able to tell that they were almost successful by the way Sjur couldn’t stop peacocking around no matter how much Mara had told her to stop?

But she can’t do that. Not right now. That child is gone, returned to the stars to be remade, and no longer matters. Mara has a child that lives and must continue to live, and this meeting is to ensure that she does so safely.

“My emissary is her father. It is the reason why I chose him for the role; he has the temperament for it, and because it will be easier for them both to be together. He has been her primary parent since she was a toddler,” Mara says.

“And the other girl?” Lord Shaxx asks. She sees him swipe back to Mira’s dossier to look it over again.

“A close friend of the Princess, and my brother’s apprentice. She will one day be the Princess’ right hand, as my brother is mine, and she needs to be protected… And it will make for an easier transition, for the Princess to have a friend with her,” she explains.

Lord Shaxx nods in understanding. The tablet’s face darkens, and it falls to his side as his hands lower. “May I ask a question, your Majesty?”

You just did, Mara thinks with cold amusement. “Speak.”

“Why is it that you ask me to bring this to the Vanguard? I’m certain that if you stressed that this was for the protection of a child, they would listen and they would accept.” He pauses. “It seems… that this is a lot of steps for something so important.”

Perhaps it is, but Mara has an answer. “I do not trust the Vanguard. I am well aware how they see my power and my Queendom.”

“And yet, you want to ask them to care for the one that’s most precious to you?” Lord Shaxx asks, his tone irritatingly incredulous.

“I do not want them to,” she says, and her nose wrinkles as her teeth begin to bare in warning. “But this is the only choice that I can see that will keep my daughter safe and allow her to remain a child. In two years, she will be eighteen and if–” She clenches her jaw again. The ache behind her eyes grows, and she knows for certain that a migraine is coming on. She draws in a deep breath through her nose, counts down from five in her head, and then lets it out slowly.

“Apologies, my Lady,” Lord Shaxx says. “I don’t mean to test you. I just want to know so that I can answer any questions that the Vanguard may throw at me.”

“I do not trust them, but Sjur trusted you,” Mara says. Her heart has calmed to a steady beat again. The ache still lingers behind her eyes, but she has long since learned how to tune out the pain. “And so… I believe you are worthy of my trust. I believe you can advocate for my daughter in a way that the Vanguard will listen to. You know them far better than I do, and they will listen to you over me. Anything you say will carry far more weight than anything I could say.”

Lord Shaxx is silent. He must be thinking, but that infuriating helmet doesn’t allow Mara to see if he is, or if he is just looking at her like she’s crazy. She cannot even tell if he is looking at her, or if his head is just tilted her way.

He tucks his tablet into his belt, and lifts his hands to that very helmet. It hisses as it disengages from his armour, and he lifts it away from his head.

Lord Shaxx is a handsome man–for a human, that is.

Dark brown skin that glows with a warmth under it, golden-brown eyes that carry hundreds of years of life within them, and tightly coiled hair that had once been–perhaps in whatever his previous life had been–a deep, rich black, but now is silvered with grey. The hair on his head is shaved down along the sides, a little longer on the top, and obviously maintained with a lot of care. For a man who doesn’t show his face much, he does seem to care a lot about his appearance.

He is bearded too, something that Mara does not see often here in the Reef. Beards are not seen as particularly attractive, and so most of those who can grow them shear them off before they show. But Mara also knows that particular standard doesn’t carry over to humans; their men relish in the parts that tell the world that they are men, like growing out the hair on their faces.

Lord Shaxx does not seem to notice the way Mara has been examining with distant curiosity. His eyes are on her face–stars, she is glad that she can finally see where he is looking, what his face is doing, instead of having to look at that damned helmet–and they are full of something she cannot quite place. Wonder, awe, gratitude? It seems like a mix of those and something else.

He takes a knee before her and bows his head; Mara lifts her chin on instinct.

“It would be an honour, Your Majesty, to carry out this task for you. I will ensure the Princess’ safe passage the moment I return to the Last City. You have my word as a Guardian of the Light, and as a friend to Sjur Eido,” Lord Shaxx says.

A little more of the weight on her shoulders lifts. But only a little; still so much remains, and she knows she will carry it with her until she sees out her end of the plan.

-==-

Lord Shaxx takes his helmet off for no one. He sees no point in it, not when he is acting as a Titan of the Last City, as a Guardian of the Light. But in that moment, he knew it was the only correct thing to do.

Queen Mara was offering up a precious part of her for him to offer protection for, a part that no one beyond the Reef had known about until this very moment; a child, a girl, a Princess who would succeed her Queen mother on the throne one day.

It seems only right to offer some form of vulnerability in return, and allow the Queen to see his face at a time that he normally would not dare to show it.

“Rise, Lord Shaxx,” Queen Mara says. She sounds every bit of the Queen that she is, even after exposing so much to him.

He lifts his head and he rises back to his feet. His helmet remains tucked against his side, the one remaining horn curling around to press against his back.

He can see the relief in her eyes, dull as it may be. She had been as worried as any mother would be about her daughter’s safety, and it claws at him to why. All that she had said hints at something that’s coming, something that may mean the Princess is at risk of ascending before she’s ready. A child on the throne would not make for a strong leader or a strong Queendom.

He doesn’t dare ask, though. That seems like a very good way to get kicked out of this beautiful place before he’s ready to leave. He wants to spend as much time as he can here and take it all in… He has seen the asteroids that were terraformed before, but they were all wild spaces, of forests and meadows and jungles that people didn’t live within. This place, though… it’s a city, and one with so much green and life, and somehow has remained hidden from prying eyes for hundreds of years within the Reef.

Not even Sjur had mentioned it to him, and she had been surprisingly forthcoming as their friendship grew. It seems she had been keeping many things from him, more than he could have imagined.

“Is the chit mine to keep, for the time being?” he asks. “I’ll make sure Celia keeps it hidden from anyone. No one will find it, and I can have it destroyed after I’ve presented it to the Vanguard.”

“Yes,” Queen Mara says. “I do not want that information falling into anyone’s hands but theirs. I loathe to allow them to see it in the first place, but…”

“You have a child to protect. I understand,” he says, bowing his head.

He wants to bring it up and look over the dossiers again. He wants to look at that picture of the Princess again and see his old friend in them, but he won’t. Queen Mara has been more than tolerant of him and his questions, and he worries if he looks at the dossiers too closely in front of her, she will send him packing.

So, he looks at the Queen instead. There is something in her eyes, a burning question that he sees in there, but before he can ask what she’s thinking she looks away, out towards the part of the gardens that he hadn’t walked through.

He follows her gaze, and he sees that the stretch of garden she is looking towards has the same strange pattern of damage; torn up beds, and missing pieces of the stone pathways. He isn’t sure if questions would be welcome, but after seeing the relief in the Queen’s eyes, he decides it’s a risk worth taking.

“Your gardens are beautiful, my Lady,” he says, hoping a nice, little compliment to something she probably has a lot of care for will butter her up, just a little. “But I noticed on my way up that some of it looks damaged. Is there a reason? Doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the place.”

He regrets the question instantly, because Queen Mara’s whole body stiffens. Her eyes snap to his, and his instinct is to recoil, but he doesn’t. He is as unflinching as he always is. He also knows that the etiquette expected would be for him to lower his eyes and tilt his head away from her, but he doesn’t.

He’s been good and he’s been playing the game for as long as he’s felt like it. And now, he’d like to see if Queen Mara will answer his questions, and being submissive won’t get him those answers… And having his helmet off gives him the benefit of being able to use his expression to show as much; she stares at him with those displeased eyes, and he lifts a brow at her in turn. If she wants to call it a night and send him home over a harmless question, then so be it. But he won’t back down.

“I am sure you know of the Wolf Hunt that was called,” Queen Mara says, her voice stiff with displeasure. “The conflict reached even this place. They killed some of my Queensguard here… I had any flowers or plants that were damaged or killed by what they did, removed. Their memory will not linger longer than it ought to.”

Alright. So she can be reasoned with to a point. Shaxx would smile, if his helmet was on, but it’s not, so he keeps his expression as flat as he can. If he didn’t, she might think he was smiling about the death of her people and, Traveler above, he does not want her to think that of him.

It might get him shot; it hasn’t passed his notice that she has a sidearm strapped to her thigh.

“I’m sorry that your people had to suffer something so horrible,” he says. Were he an idiot, he might point out that this was just the inevitability of allowing the Fallen into the Reef in the first place, but again… trying not to get shot.

The scoff Queen Mara offers to him in reply makes him think she managed to somehow hear his thoughts. She doesn’t reply to him beyond that, though, so he thinks he’s probably in the clear on that front.

It has broken the ice, though. Despite how Queen Mara had stiffened at his question towards the state of the gardens, her expression is beginning to soften, and she turns to him after a moment. Her hands rest at her sides, rather than crossed over her chest. It’s a good sign; she’s opening herself up just a little more.

“There is… another thing, I wished to talk about,” she says.

That piques his interest. He stands a little taller on instinct. “And what would that be, my Lady?” he asks.

“I would…” She stops. He can’t tell why, but he doesn’t speak. He just waits for her to find the words. “I want to know what you and Sjur did together. What you talked about. I… never asked her, when she was still… When you and her were still friends.”

This time, Shaxx does allow himself to smile.

“Of course, my Lady.”

And so, he does.

He tells her the stories of the hunts they went on, painting the scenes of them with his words. They had mostly been on Earth, as Sjur wasn’t as keen to bring him into the Reef, but sometimes she had an itch to hunt something that was not a thing she could hunt on Earth. She didn’t like to kill the animals that still called Earth home because there were less of them, and they struggled enough; the Reef was home to so much wildlife that there was no harm in hunting a few deer, some boar, a wolf or two, or even a bear.

He also tells her the story of how they had met. How he had been so sure that the arrow that had pierced his armour with such ease had to have come from a ballista. It had been so large and so powerful, there had been no way that any person could have fired it by hand.

And then Sjur had stepped out of the trees with a bow of breathtaking size and power, and one of those very same arrows nocked and ready. She had warned him of his trespassing upon the Queendom’s territory, her handsome face pulled into a vicious snarl that bared her fangs to him. He could only call her a tempest in his awe of her.

“And then she shot me through my helmet!” he finishes with a booming laugh. To this day, the memory is a fond one, even if it sometimes aches to look back on. “She let me come back, much to my surprise… I thought she was going to kill me again, and take poor Celia too. But she didn’t! She was curious, and I must not have come across entirely as a threat to be destroyed. She did make it clear I couldn’t stay and that she was giving me a chance to leave, and I told her only if she allowed me to talk to her again. I needed to know more about this woman whose arrows could rip through armour like mine with one shot.”

They are sitting together on one of the benches along the edge of the dais. Shaxx’s helmet sits on the stone floor just by his feet. He’s gotten used to the feeling of the breeze coming off the water on his face, and he doesn’t mind it; it’s something he doesn’t get to feel or smell back home in the Last City.

“She mentioned that she had come across a Lightbearer on one of the asteroids,” Queen Mara says. “I only connected the dots later on that it had been you. She didn’t tell me this story in quite this much detail, though.”

“She wasn’t a woman who cared for the minute details,” Shaxx says fondly.

Queen Mara exhales, and he sees the smallest of smiles pulling the corners of her lips up. “No, she was not. The finer details were my strong suit,” she says. “And I believe she thought that if she told me all of the story, I might not want her to see you. I know you Guardians do not see death in the same way that we do, but I would have worried that you would have held resentment towards her for killing you.”

“No! Oh, Traveler, I would never hold anyone killing me against them. Not when it had been for a good reason… I had been trespassing, and she gave me ample warning,” he says, shaking his head. “And I am not an easy man to kill. I don’t let my guard down easily, but she found a way through it. I only have respect for her and her skill.”

Queen Mara is quiet, her hands resting in her lap. She has not moved much through their discussion, her attention all on him and his stories of his adventures with Sjur. It felt good to talk about her with someone who knew her so well, and he hopes that she feels the same… He has gotten the sense that Queen Mara hasn’t talked about Sjur much since she died by the way her face pinched ever so slightly every time she’d said her name or even heard it.

He doesn’t think that she’d even noticed it was happening, but it had ceased as his stories had continued. He hadn’t even seen it the last few times he’d spoken her name, or when she had said it herself.

The Queen rises to her feet in a single smooth motion, and Shaxx assumes that means their meeting has come to a close. He remains seated, eager to stay here amongst the beauty the gardens offer. He will rise when Queen Mara tells him to and no earlier.

“There is… one more thing I have for you,” she says.

Does he see a little smile on her face? Her head turns away from him before he can confirm it.

Her hand lifts, and he sees her thumb and middle finger bend inwards. A shrill whistle startles him–it is the first time Queen Mara has managed to get him to so much as twitch–and the note carries across the gardens before falling off towards the end.

Thundering of… something heavy striking earth, and then that same heaviness clatters on the stone pathways leading away from the dais. Shaxx rises to his feet, his heart lifting as he sees the flash of white come into view.

A pair of white horses are loping down the stone pathway that leads away from the dais and further into the gardens; one is elegant, feminine, her mane stained with the black her coat had been when she had been born, whereas the rest of her has silvered out to solid white; the other… oh!

“Haha!” Shaxx laughs, a booming laugh that is almost as loud as the hooves striking the stone. The great stallion’s ears come forward to catch the sound, and even from this distance, Shaxx hears a blast of air huffed out from the stallion’s wide nostrils.

The stallion all but leaps up the stairs of the dais, and his sheer size is on display. He dwarfs Queen Mara, he dwarfs even Shaxx; when he rears onto his back legs, he stands as tall as some of the Fallen Kells he has fought, and Shaxx knows this great beast is no less powerful.

“Grandeur!” He opens his arms as the stallion’s forehooves come back to the stone of the dais with a lightness that should be impossible for his bulk. “My old friend!”

The stallion pushes his great head into Shaxx’s armoured chest, and Shaxx reaches up to run his gloved fingers over the stallion’s thick neck. He is as big and as strong as he remembers, that massive head of his bigger than Shaxx’s torso. It takes all of Shaxx’s strength planted in his legs to keep from being knocked back as the horse rubs his forehead against him in an elated greeting.

“Oh, you are as great as I remember you were,” he says, stepping back so that he can run his palm over the spot between Grandeur’s eyes. “I cannot believe this! He still lives! How can that be? It has been… Oh, it has been so, so long.”

Grandeur throws his head over Shaxx’s shoulder with a low, rumbling nicker, and Shaxx runs his hands over the stallion’s neck, down to what he can reach of his shoulders. He can’t stop touching him; he can’t believe that the great stallion is still alive and well, and still so healthy. It has been two hundred years at least since Sjur had died, and yet… Yet, her faithful steed still lives.

Sjur had loved this stallion almost more than life itself. He was her companion on every outing, on every hunt. Shaxx hadn’t understood it in the beginning; a horse was an unruly, unpredictable thing, with a habit of startling and bolting at the smallest rustle in the brush or flash of something in the sky, and yet Sjur insisted on bringing him on their hunts, whether it be for a deer, a boar, or a Fallen Baron.

Grandeur had shown his worth. He showed no fear even against the biggest of foes, and Sjur had often needed to hold him back by wrapping the reins around her wrist and pulling him back when things were coming to a head. He had been a warrior, a soldier, unto himself. A beast with a fighting spirit that Shaxx still wishes some Guardians had when they entered the Crucible.

And when Sjur did allow him to fight, he was just as much of a tempest as she was. He’d seen many a Fallen Vandal or Dreg crushed beneath his hooves, or strike out at enemies twice his size with a strength that even the most war-hardened Titan would envy.

He remembers the races they ran against one another too. He had thought Sjur insane for wanting to race a horse as large as Grandeur against his sparrow–something that did not need to rest–but she had insisted. It had shocked him, that first time, just how fast Grandeur could run and for how long. He had galloped like a horse much smaller and lighter than himself and he had kept up with Shaxx’s sparrow; he had barely broken a sweat, at the end of that race.

“Mine’s better because he runs on grass, and there’ll always be grass,” Sjur had laughed when Shaxx had gotten over his shock. Shaxx had won, but only by the distance of one of Grandeur’s strides.

He realizes that his face is burning hot. Faced with a tangible piece of his best friend’s life, he has been brought almost to tears. Almost. He doesn’t allow them to fall, and instead presses his face to the stallion’s neck where any dampness in his eyes will be swept up by his white fur.

He smells the same too. Like grass, like horse, like the oiled leather of his saddle.

“How?” he asks the Queen when he has himself back under control.

“Our animals are as long-lived as we are,” Queen Mara says. The mare that had been running with Grandeur stands with her, and she is idly running a hand up and down the flat plain of its face. “It is… tradition, that the warhorse of a fallen Queensguard is buried with them. They don’t do well separated from their bonded rider, but… I couldn’t bring myself to have Grandeur sent to the stars with her. So, he is now happily retired. He is a good warhorse, but I have found he is more open to being handled by others than most of his breed. He’s a sire to many horses in the Reef, and he’s very happy looking after the children who like to ride him, including the Princess and her friends.”

Shaxx draws away from the stallion, but Grandeur knocks his head against his shoulder and almost sends him sideways. The great beast is gentle for his size, but he is still stronger than most on two legs. Shaxx laughs, and strokes his hand along that thick neck.

“Yes… Sjur had mentioned something of the sort. That he loved children,” he says. He pauses, considering if it’s worth bringing this up. Queen Mara had looked at him with such desperation when he had mentioned that Sjur had talked in passing about becoming a parent. “She told me she was eager to see her own daughter on his back one day, and that she knew he would take good care of her.”

Queen Mara is stoic in her expression, but Shaxx sees the emotions in her eyes; surprise, sadness, grief.

“Is that all that she said to you?” Queen Mara asks, her voice no less strong than it had been before.

“Yes. It was all that she said,” Shaxx says.

It is a lie. And not a small one, either. He does not think it would improve the Queen’s mood to know that Sjur had let it slip that her Queen wife was with child and that she was excited to be a father. Sjur had been over the moon about something that day, and Shaxx had to know because he’d never seen her grin like that before.

“Mara’s pregnant, for real this time! She’s got a little bump showing and everything!” Sjur had said with a grin that stretched from ear-to-ear. She had been in awe just as much as she had been thrilled, though her tongue was as crude as it always was. “I put a baby in her. Finally! Stars… I never thought I’d get to be a dad, Shaxx, but it’s real. It’s happening! I’m gonna be a dad!”

Shaxx had been over the moon for her in return. He told her that was something worth celebrating, and so they hunted down the biggest stag they could find on Sjur’s favourite forested asteroid, and she had taken it back with her to present to the Queen.

Within a month of that hunt, Sjur had been killed. Shaxx never learned of the true circumstances of her death, and the memory of that happy day had been lost in the grief. He hadn’t remembered how happy she had been, or the news she had brought for him–with the caveat that he was to tell no one of it–he could only remember the sickness in his gut when he’d gotten the message that she had been killed in action, a tragic casualty of the Reef Wars that had broken out not long after their last time together.

Queen Mara had lost that child. A tragedy right on the heels of a devastating loss that he could barely begin to understand.

It puts it all the more into perspective, just why she is being so aggressive in seeking protection for the child she does have. The one that lived, the one she has been guarding with so much secrecy. It must be truly a serious thing that troubles her, if she is willing to reveal something so precious to people she has never offered trust to before.

Queen Mara is looking at him with eyes that pierce into his soul. Does she see that he shrouds the truth? Does she see the lie hiding just below the surface, that he knows more than he lets on? He hopes that she doesn’t, because it isn’t a memory he would like to revisit, not when it was tainted so heavily by Sjur’s death.

But she doesn’t question him, and he is relieved.

With reluctance, he shrugs Grandeur away from him. The stallion blows air out of his nose in a way that says he hadn’t liked it, but the stallion doesn’t follow Shaxx to the bench. He scoops up his helmet, and places it back onto his head; he is seeking the cover it offers, the way it hides his expression, so that Queen Mara won’t be able to sniff out the memory still ringing around in his head.

“Thank you, my Lady, for trusting me with this. It’s a great honour, and I will carry it out the moment I’m back at the Tower. You should have confirmation within the next few days,” he says. His helmet hisses as it seals back against his armour; his heads-up-display flickers back to life and allows him to see the gardens–and Queen Mara–as clearly as if he was not wearing a helmet.

“The sooner the better. It will take a lot of weight off of my mind, to know she will be somewhere safe,” Queen Mara says.

“Then, with your blessing, I will take my leave and make for the Last City,” Shaxx says. He offers her a bow, and he presses one fist to his chest, and the other to his back.

“You are dismissed, Lord Shaxx,” Queen Mara says. There is a pause, her lips parted, and so Shaxx waits. He can tell that there is more she wishes to say, but whether or not she will say it… That he can’t say. “Thank you… for telling me those stories. It was… nice, to talk of Sjur again.”

Shaxx smiles, though he knows she can’t see it this time. “And I’m equally thankful that you asked. I’ve not gotten the chance to talk about her in… ah, likely the same amount of time as you, Your Majesty.”

Queen Mara hums a flat note that he will take as being in agreement. He sees her eyes harden too, and he knows that his welcome is wearing out. The longer he stands here means the longer it will take for him to get this information to the Vanguard. Every second counts, and he will not waste any more time, even if he would love to reminisce until the sun comes back up.

Does the sun rise here? It must, or else these people live under the cover of night all the time.

He wishes he could get that answer, but he has other, more important matters to attend to.

“I wish you all the best, Your Majesty,” he says, offering Queen Mara one more bow. She inclines her head to him, and goes as far as to bow to her shoulders. It’s more than he would have expected from her.

He turns to Grandeur, and offers him one last stroke down his neck. “Goodbye, old friend. I hope I will see you again,” he says, and then steps away from the stallion. He descends the stairs of the dais, and does not dare to look back. It will only delay him further, and he has a job to do; a Princess to help protect.

“Celia,” he hails, once he is beyond the stone archway. “I’m ready for pick-up.”

“Oh, thank the Traveler!” Celia's voice crackles over his comms. The illusion must cause some havoc on the connection, but he can still hear her. “You took so long, I was getting worried, even with the pings!”

This doesn’t surprise him in the least. He chuckles. “I’m fine, Celia. More than fine! But we must be swift. Queen Mara has given me a task, and I do not want to delay.”

When Celia speaks again, she is far more clear; she must have crossed through the gate already. “What’s the task? And why did she drag you all the way out here to give it to you? I feel as though this whole thing could’ve been an email.”

“Trust me when I say it couldn’t have been communicated thoroughly in a message, Celia,” he says. “I don’t even feel comfortable telling you about this over comms. It’ll have to wait until I’m back with you.”

Celia grumbles robotically in his ear, but she doesn’t argue with him, though he knows she would like to.

His boots find the rocky shore he’d landed on, and just as he stops moving, his jumpship screams in overhead. Celia cuts the main thruster engines before they can echo forever on the cliffs around them and wake the entire city from its slumber. The transmatt hums around him, and in the time it takes for him to blink, he is back in his pilot’s chair in the ship.

“Alright. You’re back with me. No more need for comms. Will you tell me what the hell this was all about?” Celia asks.

Shaxx says nothing as he takes the jumpship’s controls in hand. He pulls the ship upwards so as to keep the noise well away from the cliffs, and once clear, he hits the main thrusters. He can see the gate, and as the ship screams towards it, he steels himself for the light and turbulence that will come with it. At least this time he’s prepared.

“Settle in, Celia,” he says. “This is going to take a while to explain.”