Father had left me outside with the rat, Siniestro, the thief-taker who had apparently been paid by the Crown to assist us. “Assist,” of course, being a loose term. As always, my father engaged in his high-and-mighty state discussions with Lord Ruger Stunn and his gaggle of self-important men while I was left to twiddle my thumbs in the hallway, unwanted son that I am. Worth was never seen in me; for Arvin Slait the point of a child was to have someone marriable around to escalate his own power when someone spouseless became more important than him, and sadly no single woman is more important than Arvin Slait.
Sir Judon Olsain was the name of the knight at the door, a man built like a castle wall with about as much personality. His armour was polished to a blinding shine but it did little to distract from his stern, blocky face. A face, I might add, that looked like it had never once been introduced to the concept of humour. I suspected his mother might have carved him from a particularly stubborn piece of granite. You wouldn’t at all feel threatened if he was alone with your woman.
“Come on, Judon,” I said, trying to plaster on my most convincing smile. “Let me in. I promise not to embarrass myself too much.”
Judon stood firm, his expression as immovable as his stance. “I have my orders, Sir Dontin. No one enters without Lord Stunn’s permission.”
I sighed dramatically, rolling my eyes for effect. “Well, I’m sure Lord Stunn would be rather disappointed if he were to miss out on my spectacular wit and charm. You should ask him again just to make sure.”
Judon’s lips twitched slightly, the closest thing to a smile the world has ever seen from him. “I doubt that, Sir Dontin.”
Before I could continue my verbal jousting, Siniestro decided to make his presence known. He stepped forward, his dark eyes glinting with a dangerous amusement. “Sir Olsain,” he drawled, “They call me Siniestro. I believe we’ve met, sir, when was it…perhaps during my duel with Diegle Keiter, captain of your House’s Guard? Well, former captain. Unseamed him from the nave to the chaps, if you remember.”
Judon’s face paled slightly at the mention. Siniestro leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper which still retained his thick Navarre accent. “I’d hate for you to have to explain to your Lord why you refused entry to his guests. Especially when one of those guests could easily dispatch you with a flick of the wrist.”
Sir Olsain gulped, his resolve visibly wavering. He glanced at me, then back at Siniestro, clearly weighing his options. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he stepped aside. “Fine. But any trouble, and it’s on your head.”
I clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Don’t worry, dearest Judon, we’ll behave. Probably.”
As we stepped through the door, I couldn’t help glance back at Judon, who looked as though he might rather face a Novak atop a manticore than deal with the likes of Siniestro. “Cheer up, good knight,” I called. “I’ll put in a good word for your Lord.”
Father’s eyes narrowed the moment we stepped inside, giving me the look of someone who swallowed spoiled milk. “Papa!” I exclaimed gleefully, knowing every second of my presence gnawed at his innards.
He sighed. “I see you managed to worm your way in. And you brought the thief-taker with you. How charming.”
“Wouldn’t want to miss out on another thrilling council meeting,” I replied.
Siniestro, ever the picture of insouciance, gave a mock bow. “My Lord, I don’t mean for my presence to offend. But I’m here to assist you.”
Father’s eyes flicked to the thief-taker disdainfully. “Assist me? You’re a hired sword with delusions of grandeur, nobody needs you here.”
“Now, now, Father,” I interjected, “let’s not be too harsh. After all, Siniestro here has a way with words and swords. And look at those pretty guns he has, you can’t get those anywhere else. Quite the asset, I would believe.”
His glare could have melted steel. “Sit down.” I sauntered over to an empty chair, making a show of settling in. The room was filled with the usual suspects: Lord Ruger Stunn, with his hawkish features and permanent scowl; a few of his men, looking as though they’d rather be anywhere else, and a handful of advisors who probably hadn’t had an original thought in years.
Ruger cleared his throat, drawing our attention. “We’ve received a letter from Lord Foler,” he began, holding up a piece of parchment as if it were a wild snake. “Taunting me. Calling me weak, a poor excuse for a family man. Threatening what he’ll do to my daughter if I don’t yield and declare my traitorous brother Lord Stunn.”
I leaned back. “A letter? How quaint. Did he write it himself, or did one of his seven wives do it for him?”
“Five of those wives are dead, and a sixth one escaped,” Father informed me.
Ruger ignored the jibe altogether. “He wants a meeting before we face the full force of his army.”
“Why entertain him?” I asked. “Surely we can crush him without the pretence of civility.”
Ruger sighed. “It’s not that simple, Dontin. We can’t risk any harm to Alarina. You of all people should agree with me on that.”
I swallowed, silently acknowledging my agreement, then looked around. “I notice for once I’m not seeing a Witanegemote about. Shouldn’t there be one here, offering sage advice?”
Ruger’s expression darkened. “Gregory stopped sending them. They kept getting caught in the crossfire of this damned civil war. Five hundred years of conflict! Royal aid is all but extinct in these parts.”
“Convenient,” I muttered. “Nobody here to muddy the waters with logic and reason.”
Siniestro leaned in. “Perhaps their absence is a good thing. The old ways are dying, and new methods must be employed.”
Father snorted. “Spare us the philosophy. We need solutions, not riddles.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Then let’s provide one. Based on what you just told me I’d argue Foler’s weakness clearly lies in his family. You said a wife of his has escaped? Find her and use her against him.”
Arvin’s gaze turned to Ruger. “Do you hear that, Stunn? Even my son has better ideas than your lot.”
Ruger bristled but held his tongue and turned back to the table. “Now, to the matter at hand,” Ruger began, eyeing Siniestro. “You are right, Dontin, a thief-taker may prove useful to us, especially this one. You’re quite the legend here, sir. Stories of your exploits spread through the commonfolk like Death’s Ulcers. We can use that to our advantage.”
“So you want me to be some hero of the people now?” Siniestro said with a sly grin.
Arvin’s lips curled into a sneer. “I’m not convinced he’s anything more than a double agent. Give him the arms of the smallfolk and he could turn them against us in an instant.”
Siniestro’s grin widened. “Suspicion is a wise man’s shield, my lord, but I assure you, my loyalty is to the highest bidder. And currently, the highest bidder wants me to serve you.”
He remained unconvinced. “Send my son to rally them.”
“Why am I always given the tedious tasks?” I asked.
My father looked at me witheringly. “Because, Dontin, it’s the only work you’re capable of. Anything more and you’ll muck it all up.”
Ruger, surprisingly, took my side. “Perhaps your father fears you might surpass him if given the chance. Is that not right, Arvin?”
His face remained stony, but the flicker of anger in his eyes was unmistakable. “We’re not here to discuss my parenting methods. Once House Foler is crushed, will you declare for His Grace Styve Woodgairrd?”
Ruger nodded slowly. “When the Folers are annihilated, House Stunn will declare for King Styve. But I want every last Foler dead first.”
I leaned forward, fingers drumming on the table. “I need a private word with my father.”
Ruger glanced between us, sensing the tension. Alarina’s stoic father had that look about him, the look of a life well-lived, one where battle blocked the view of love. With a nod, he gestured for everyone to leave. The room gradually emptied, leaving only the strained silence between father and son. I expected a snappy line from him to start us off, but instead in his face I saw a rare crack, a flicker of something…almost human.
“There’s something you should know,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Since Emannar died, everything’s been spiralling into chaos. I have married my daughter to a tyrant, her sisters have disappeared, and Kase…I underestimated him too much. If he wins this war…it could be the end of our House for good.” The vulnerability was startling. Arvin Slait was admitting to feeling cornered. “A lifetime of work for this family and I may have ash to show for it. I never thought I’d see the day. What cruel god took Emannar from us so soon? He was virtuous. So kind, and just…the Kingdom is poorer for his loss.”
I studied him. “Maybe Elizella has found her way to Kase. Doubtless she won’t support Styve after he murdered her son. She can put in a good word for us if Kase proves victorious. And if Lord Stunn keeps his word, your loyalty to Styve will be proven too. We should be fine. Do you trust Lord Stunn?”
“Trust?” Arvin let out a bitter laugh. “Trust is irrelevant, I need fear! Fear is what readies a man to be beneath you.”
“Have you received any word from or of Styve since Siniestro arrived?” I asked, shifting the topic.
“Yes. The latest news was the election of the Chief Sirenman, a new position he’s forced upon them, likely because he can have more control over them if their structured hierarchically. A man called Bohan was elected. The King’s Guard has been renamed to the Royal Guard, probably to leave his mark even though the next King will change it back. He’s even debating a new name for The Great Kingdom itself, I hear. The change will never go through, as uninteresting as its current name is.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And whose idea was it to make Edd Malver his High Earl?”
“Lord Malver has far-reaching claws,” Father replied. “His son Lawrence aids Damon Pargion at Bernstaplen, and his daughter is Dromin Tanner’s new wife. With Edd by his side and Ashlyh as his queen, Styve now has influence over the four biggest Houses.”
“Who makes up the rest of his council?”
“Gregory, Francis Ashford and Tobas have kept their seats. Stephyn Tanner is now Lord Commander of the Royal Guard, with Garvy Orkwood as his Lieutenant General. Dromin Tanner has taken Kase’s seat, and I suppose I have taken Styve’s. After Varn’s assassination, Annyte Pargion was killed and blamed for it. Her sister Kristyne was forced to confirm that blame, and thus many will probably believe them. But we both know Annyte would never have done such a thing.” I nodded. “Styve is undoubtedly going to prove an unpopular King, but he surrounds himself with wise and dangerous men. We need him to find us agreeable, so we need to make a bold move against David Foler and get this civil war done so Ruger will declare for him. And you are right, there was a wife that escaped. If we find her, we will know where to strike.”
“How is Mother doing? Where is she right now?” I asked.
“Your Mother is at Hagueveil, managing the household and searching for your missing sisters.”
I couldn’t help but comment, “It seems you and Mother were put together only to be apart.”
His response was sharp yet tinged with a rare hint of regret. “At least our relationship lasted. The same cannot be said for yours with Lord Stunn’s daughter, yet here we are plotting her rescue.”
That stung, and I rose to leave, unable to face him any longer. My father had a gift for delivering barbed comments wrapped in a veneer of paternal concern. He always knew just where to cut a man to make his soul bleed.
It was far from the first time he had used my past against me in an argument, but this one hit harder than most. Alarina was more than just a girl I knew; she was the gate to my memory’s cemetery. We had dreams, plans—well, I had plans. She had a way of making me think that maybe, just maybe, I could stop my father’s shadow from swallowing me up and be whatever I wanted.
But Ruger, the ever-practical Lord Stunn, had steered her away from me. His counsel, wise in its own right, had shattered that illusion. Alarina the Romantic went to bed and Alarina the Realist stood to attention, and just like that, the future we had imagined lost its head. A decade later and here I was, trying to save the very woman who slipped through me for the man who liquefied her.
Father knew it stung, of course. Anything to get under my skin and twist. I hated him for it. I wanted to prove him wrong, to show him that I was more than the sum of his dismissive comments and my own perceived failures. And the want was burning me alive.
Outside the council chamber was Uncle Drevyn waiting by the corridor, looking as out of place as a shepherd in a ballroom. He had the same family resemblance as Arvin, though without the polished arrogance and the glint of cruel ambition in his eyes. If anything, Drevyn was a reminder of what could have been if the family’s more endearing traits hadn’t been smothered under the weight of our own machinations.
Drevyn’s eyes, weary but kind, flickered with curiosity as he approached. “How’s your father faring?” he asked.
I couldn’t help but let out a sardonic chuckle. “Oh you know, same old, same old. Still convinced that his own shadow is trying to usurp him. Today’s special was a side of bitterness with a dash of condescension. But at least he’s consistent.”
Drevyn winced slightly. He knew what I was describing all too well. “He’s always been a hard man,” he said, more to himself than me. “But I guess he’s more so lately. Anything else going on?”
I waved a hand dismissively. “Just the usual family drama and political manoeuvring, nothing’s concrete yet. Speaking of which, I need you to do me a favour. Send Manrel and Dallar to scout ahead to Lakewell. Get a lay of the land before Ruger and the rest show up for the meeting, just to make sure we’re not caught with our trousers down. We’ll need all the advantage we can get if we’re to deal with this mess.”
His face fell. It wasn’t the first time he’d been given a task he would rather avoid, and it seemed unlikely that it would be the last. But I didn’t care, I’d let him off if my order was unfair. “I’ll send my sons immediately,” he said wearily. “They’ll get the job done, sir.”
Drevyn turned to leave, his shoulders slumping a little, the weight of endless subservience apparent in every step he took. I felt for him, how he bore the brunt of his brother’s expectations without the privilege of any of its rewards. I knew the feeling all too well and, watching him walk away, I felt pity. Maybe if I ever got that fisherman’s hut I dreamed of, I could let him snatch a carp or two.
I lingered for a moment to take in the view of Colbagne. The seat of House Stunn was so beautiful you would hardly think it a place of constant war. Its most famous landmark, the Lake of Kings, stretched out like a sapphire under the waning light, its ripples swaying to the pulse of the calming core of the water body, smiling at the sky. Named for the macabre end of Kings Hubert III and IV, who chose to meet their deaths by drowning in its depths. The corpses had long been cleared out, but the legend lingered. If the place was not so war-torn you would probably have members of the peasantry bathing in it daily, believing it could cure sickness.
The halls of Colbagne were equally captivating, adorned with statues of water droplets that seemed almost alive, glistening as if they were truly wet. Water was a motif the Stunns used, and I thought it fitting using something so cyclical, so conscious of life and death and fluidity and stillness in this forsaken corner of the Kingdom. It was a curious irony that so much water, even the most famous lake, resided in Colbagne rather than Lakewell, the land of David Foler, which I hear is actually quite dry in comparison.
There were also several carvings of Hydriths, the resident beasts of Colbagne. They’re somewhere in between an otter and a horse, with powerful tails, webbed feet and glossy fur. Children love them. I could hear the distant calls of a few as they returned from their masters with a day of fishing in the lake.
Soon I was pushing open the door to my lodgings and I stepped inside to find Siniestro lounging casually on the edge of a chair, his gaze fixed on the fire crackling in the hearth. He was the best thief-taker anyone had ever seen, a ghost for the most thrilling Lords, eliminating political rivals, criminals and heaps of good men, women and children, taking every coin owed to him along the way and making mountains of them. He was one in the chamber, a breathing rumour. He looked up with a smirk that could have sliced through stone. He knew more about me than I cared to admit.
“Sir Dontin,” he said in his thick Navarran accent, rising to his feet with an exaggerated grace. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever join me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do you ever sit still, or is this all part of your grand charade?”
He chuckled. “You have figured out well, Sir Dontin. Though I prefer to think of myself as a man of action rather than a mere ‘charade.’ A man everyone fears, mostly because of these marvellous revolvers.” He waved one of the pistols, the metal catching the firelight and gleaming like a promise of danger.
I settled into a chair opposite him, crossing my arms. “How’d you find those? My understanding is your discovery of them led to their invention, practically.”
“It was quite the day,” he began. “I found a cache full of these fine pieces by chance. I worked out how it was used, what it could do. I tested it on the first man I saw. Then I thought of the riches that I could acquire were they used more widely. I took one to an alchemist, a brilliant man, revolutionary. He disassembled the weapon, studied its every component, and through trial and error came to understand its operation. But he couldn’t do it alone. Witanegemotes, blacksmiths and craftsmen were soon all working together to replicate the design. And now thief-takers all over the Kingdom are using them. But nobody else wanted them. They were declared too dangerous for the smallfolk, and the Sirenmen and the King’s Guard preferred their swords.”
He leaned forward. “Thanks to their efforts, every member of my Take carries two of these beautiful things. They are part of my legend. But don’t be mistaken,” he added. “They will never be used on you. I’m no agent of the King. I was hired as a thief-taker, as I always am. I don’t even know who my contractor is, never met them; I only know that I will be paid handsomely and the work suits my skills.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And I’m supposed to just take your word for it? How do I know you’re not playing some double game?”
He shrugged theatrically. “You don’t. But trust is a rare commodity in our line of work. I could just as easily accuse you of being some spy or agent of chaos. We’re all just players on a grand stage.”
I leaned forward, locking eyes with him. “I’ve dealt with enough treachery to know when I’m being toyed with.”
“And I’ve dealt with enough arrogance to recognise when I’m being threatened. But enough of this grim business. I have one more thing I would like to share with you now. One of my victims was a bard. Fascinating man. Before I took his life, I watched him recite one of his poems at the Wraith Inn. Allow me to share it with you.”
Before I could protest, Siniestro began reciting, his voice smooth and resonant:
[the author has chosen to redact the poem for now until it’s perfect]
Siniestro finished, a soft smile playing on his lips as though he’d just delivered a masterpiece. “There you have it,” he said, leaning back. “If you’d like, I can give you more poems another day. I could fill an armoire with them.”
I stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and begrudging respect in my eyes. “You certainly know how to put on a performance, Siniestro.”
He chuckled, rising to his feet. “And you, Sir Dontin, know how to keep life interesting. Until next time.” With that he left.
I was now alone in the room and suddenly it felt a lot colder, as though the fire in the hearth was mocking me. I sank onto the edge of my bed and let her caress my cheeks with a familiarity that gave me heartache. She was the most astonishing girl I ever met. There’s beauty in being a good listener, someone who seeks to connect with you and make you smile, all the while looking at things from your perspective. She had safe eyes, if that makes any sense. She was my one true girl—mine before she was mine and mine for all our days. And I knew she’d never change. Age can’t touch a face like that. It just sticks somewhere at the back where it belongs.
“Thank the gods you’re here,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I reached out to her and swore I felt her gentle skin.
She smiled, her eyes full of a warmth I had needed for years. “I’m always here, Dontin,” she said softly. “You just need to remember.”
I closed my eyes and leaned into her touch, feeling a sense of peace I hadn’t known since the days when everything seemed simpler. “I love you,” I murmured, more to myself than to her, though I hoped somehow she could hear me. “I’ve missed you.”
Her gaze was tender, almost sad, and she whispered back, “And I’ve missed you too. But you must find your own way, Dontin. We cannot turn back time.”
“I know,” I said aloud, though she was already fading. “The last time we were like this, it was after Arvel died. I was so lost then, so broken.” Arvel was a peasant boy we met once and continuously snuck out to play with. He caught Death’s Ulcers and passed away. He was only fifteen then.
She smiled. “Arvel was a good friend,” she said. “I remember he used to save two of his mother’s lemon cakes for us and they were so delicious. I miss him.”
“His death wounds me still. More than my own death would for my parents.”
“Never listen to what your parents say about you,” she said. “They’re wrong about you. They’ve got everything wrong. They see you for what you are, not who you are.”
I still hadn’t risen from where I felt her caressing me. “Before you, I never considered love, do you know that? I was faithful to my desire to work and do great things for House Slait. Now, even a decade since you left my side, all there is left of me is love for you. Even if we should evaporate as some vapours into the sky, that will remain true for all time, always. My heart stopped searching when it found you…your eyes, your voice, your smile, your touch…you make of me what no other ever will. I was never able to love. It was like my soul was trying all the wrong keys to get me out of the basement. You picked the right key instantly. You had it like a god put it in your pocket as a little secret. I was alone for so long that it was almost unsettling to have company. You can never go back on a sense of company. However far away we are from each other, I will always carry you on my shoulders.”
She giggled. “How do you feel? About everything?”
“I feel so silly. So useless. So frustrated and pained. But I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I told her. For a moment I forgot her presence was intangible and I rose from the bed and turned to look at her, only to find she had dissolved into the ether.
I lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. If I could wish for a magical carriage to bring her here with golden horses, I would. I’d wish it and wait by the window.
‘Day…I’ve lost count. The days here blur together like the ink smeared across this page.
Captivity is not what I expected. I always imagined it would be chains and darkness, the kind of suffering one hears about in songs of martyrdom and glory. Instead, it is the slow erosion of self—a gnawing boredom that settles into the bones, grinding away at who you are. My cage is not iron bars or cold stone walls. It’s gilded, elegant in its cruelty. The Folers are nothing if not refined in their torture.
I’m kept in a chamber far too beautiful for what it holds. The curtains are velvet, a deep crimson like spilt wine, and they flutter with the slightest breeze as if mocking my stillness. There’s a window, but it looks over nothing but a courtyard, where the Folers’ soldiers march in tight formation, practicing for a war that seems endless. Their faces are as blank as the walls around me, and I find myself wondering if they ever tire of the fight. If they even know why they fight.
Rumours find their way to me, though. It’s amazing how little escapes the lips of those who think you’re too powerless to matter. And what I’ve heard lately has me… conflicted. They say Lord Arvin Slait has come to my father’s aid, and that Dontin is with him. Dontin. It’s been years since I saw him last. We were foolish then—naive in the way young lovers always are. I didn’t know what we were doing, only that when I was with him, the world seemed quieter, less sharp. And then, of course, Arvin found out and saw to it that we were parted. He was too much like my father—practical, ambitious, and unwilling to let sentiment get in the way of alliances. I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye properly. He was whisked away, and I was taken back home to be educated, to become the daughter my father would rather I be.
I should hate Dontin, not for leaving but for never coming back to see me. I should hate all of them, for the way they toy with us. But I don’t. Not really. It’s hard to hate someone when you know they are as trapped as you are, in their own way.
What am I to think now? That they have come to rescue me? That Dontin still remembers the girl he kissed while afloat in the Lake of Kings when we were too young to know better? I’ve changed since then. We both have, I’m sure. If he remembers me at all, it’ll be as that girl—innocent, wide-eyed, hopeful. I am none of those things anymore. Especially not since I’ve been here. Captivity hardens you in ways that are hard to explain. I’ve had to make a weapon of my mind. There’s nothing else to do here but think and plot. The Folers are foolish if they think this is my surrender. It’s merely my waiting. I’ll find a way out of this. If not by their hand, then by mine.
Still… I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to see Dontin again. To look him in the eye and see what remains of the boy I once loved, if anything. Would he still care? Or would he, like all the men in our lives, see only the advantage? The potential alliance, the politics behind every word, every touch. I don’t want to care, but there’s a part of me—a small, stubborn part—that hopes he’s still the boy who looked at me like I was something more than my father’s daughter.
But I won’t depend on that hope. It’s been years since I was that foolish. I’ve had too much time to think, too much time to strip away the illusions of our world. Men like Dontin, like my father, they’re useful. Necessary. But I’ve learned not to expect salvation from them. They’re a means to an end, not the end itself. I’ll welcome them when they come. I’ll play my part, whatever that may be. But I will never be just another piece on their board.
If Dontin comes, I’ll see who he is now. And I’ll let him see who I’ve become. Let him feel the weight of the years between us. I’m not afraid of that. If anything, I look forward to it. Whatever happens next, I’m ready.
Let the Folers think they’ve broken me. Let my father believe he can use me as a bargaining chip. Let Dontin come and see for himself what they’ve all made of me.
I am Alarina Stunn. And I am no one’s prisoner.
Dylan Brennan 
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