Page 31 of A Song of Thieves

“I hate to break it to you Aiden, but we can smell a mother's favored son from the top of the highest summit in the Kotar,” Ari says straight faced, before her and Otto erupt into more laughter.

“There’s nothing wrong with the love of a mother and her son, Aiden,” Otto says in between his bellowing amusement.

“A mother's favored son, what? No. I could kill a man with my bare hands. I’m strong and fierce!” I hear him say, trying to shout it above their amusement. Aiden has long since shed the physical traits of youth, his sharpened features boasting that of young man instead of a boy. But something about his innocent nature still betrays his age. He’s no stranger to the difficulties of being a guardsman, but he hasn’t let any situation harden his demeanor.

“It’s unkind to tease him simply because he loves his mother,” I interject. The laughter dies off as their eyes turn in my direction, unknowing that I eavesdropped on their conversation.

“Aye, Captain. We weren’t trying to carelessly tease the boy. Just lifting our spirits with an innocent game,” Otto answers, glee still in his eyes. “Why don’t you sit and join us?” He waves me over, scooting to make room beside him.

Ah. A game. More than most I understand the need for distraction— the need to uplift the spirits of your men and women, especially in the most dire of circumstances. A reminder of what, exactly, we are fighting for.

“Your opponent tells one truth and one deceit,” Otto continues, “and you must decide which is which. Our boy over here just happens to be easier to read than Ari and myself.” His happy demeanor is untainted by my mild rebuke.

“I’m not a boy.” Aiden throws his hands up, irritated by the repeated torment of his age.

Aiden is the youngest in the Guard, but he more than makes up for it in talent. His use of the bow may just be the best in our entire unit, and he hits as hard as many of the seasoned men. He hails from a great family, and I’ve gotten to know his mother and father well. Aiden seems to be enjoying himself despite Otto and the girl’s ribbing remarks. I nod for them to carry on as I turn to leave.

Ari sighs loudly before turning her focus back to the other two. “I don’t think your captain’s station allows him to tell a lie. Or perhaps it’s the truth he’s incapable of?” She lowers her voice, but purposefully keeps it loud enough for me to hear.

Heat rises to the surface of my skin, any empathy from the knowledge of her father forgotten.

My honor has been questioned more times in the last two days than in the last two years combined. I pride myself on my composure, having to work with the dour Lady Margaret, or those like the nefarious Sir Reynauld. But with everything that’s happened— the anniversary of Evander, a traitor within the Palace Guard, Lena being taken— my cool control continues to evade me.

“Excuse me,my lady.” Two can be gruesome in a verbal battle. “Pray tell, how much truth do you speak on a daily basis, in between your spying and thieving and whoever knows what else for the Lady Margaret? Maybe before you accuse others of the own faults you yourself carry, you may look at the hypocrisy you’re drumming.”

The girl doesn’t look the least bit frazzled at my statement. Instead, she begins to laugh— an incongruous gesture to the words I just spoke. My frown deepens at the sound. “You speak of hypocrisy, yet you are head of the most duplicitous organization in our whole city, maybe the whole country. You mask your face behind honor and protection, only to expose it with neglect and destruction.” Her laughter fades, her eyes going somewhere dark.

“I don’t know what you speak of, or what past hurt you are bringing forth to the present to lay on my head. But I assure you, I wear no mask.” I want to dispute whatever accusation she is making against me, but I don’t know what, exactly, she is accusing me of.

She stands, walking from her perch around the warm fire to face me directly, our toes nearly touching. The flush of her cheeks matches the fire in her eyes. “That is certainly true,” she says, her calmness making her meaning even less clear. “Your colors will always shine through no matter how much you try to hide them.” This time her words are only loud enough for me to hear.

She reaches a hand to rest gently on my chest. What is she doing? Her warmth bleeds through my shirt, mixing with my own. Instinct tells me to step back, to let her hand fall away. But another force, something foreign, compels me to stay put. Her hand begins to glide down my ribs and to my side, landing at my waist.

“Red,” she continues, twirling a finger around the hilt of my sword, “the color of desire, blood, and death. Gold, the color of wealth, superiority, and greed. Perfectly fitting to represent the Royal Guard, is it not?”

Every sword forged within Turin has a hint of these colors etched and welded into its hilt, the blacksmiths embedding each weapon with a love of our country. Of course you can commission one without the customary red and gold, but its unique construction will cost you.

Ari looks to our two other companions, their gazes honed in to our interaction. They both look over at their swords and the royal colors inlaid there, neither one understanding how the night could have shifted so suddenly. Hell, I’m trying to work through it myself.

A tug pulls at my waist. Before I fully comprehend that she means to release my sword, I grab her wrist. She doesn’t look surprised nor does she try to break loose, as if she knew what my reaction would be. Our eyes lock, the space between us electrified with our shared fury.

I force my pride down in one quick swallow, forcing out my next words. “I don’t know what I’ve done to offend you. But if you won’t tell me, then at least take my apology.” My gaze stays firm, but my grip softens.

“Would you accept an apology as debt paid from the men who took your princess?” she counters, poking a finger from her free hand into my heaving chest.

My muscles tense as I close the remaining distance between us, our noses almost touching. “Their lives will pay their debt.”

“Exactly,” she whispers. Her teeth remain clenched even through her quiet response.

Silence stretches between us. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, magnifying the blaze that rages within them. For just the briefest of moments, I see the girl behind her stubborn, impervious facade.

My face continues to soften the longer I look at her, recognizing the anguish behind those tears. How long had anger prompted me forward after Evander’s death? The guilt and shame I felt swirled into an intensity I couldn’t understand for many years, still haunting me if I’m not careful, much like is radiating from the girl in front of me.

“Ari, I…” I’m at a loss for words, unable to figure out how to ask someone I barely know about all the things that have brought them to this point, about the misery that creates people like us. But something snaps her back to the moment, her distant focus returning to me. She tugs on her wrist, still wrapped within my grip. I want to hold on, demanding her to tell me everything, but I know how ridiculous it would sound coming from me, a stranger to her life.

She rips herself from my grasp, inching toward the forest edge. Her anger no longer festers on the surface, instead replaced by something else entirely. “I’m…” She tries to talk before shaking her head, looking between a confused Aiden, a concerned Otto, then back to myself. Our penetrating stares seem to push her further away until she finally turns and runs into the cover of the trees.

Aiden stands, moving to run after her. “Let her go,” Otto says, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

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