Young Writers Society

Marie

At Casilda's request, I sang softly until she drifted to sleep, her head against the pillows and her hand tucked neatly between my two. I let the words drift away from me as I looked down at her smooth, girlish fingers between my own, slightly worn from a youth of scrubbing pans and washing clothes. I let out a soft sigh as I released her. Lately I couldn't stop looking for proof that I had been misplaced, and finding it.

There was a pain somewhere and this time it wasn't in my heart. Lifting my foot up, I looked in surprise at the torn sole of my soft, cushion shoes and the small incision there. I recalled the glass and with it Derrick's room. Something would have to be done about that. Standing slowly, I tip-toed across the room and slipped softly out of the door. "Happy dreams," I whispered. "Little sister." I wished the words back as soon as I said them and looked quickly about me, foolishly startled. But of course there wasn't anybody about. I'd said it just- just to try it out. Because it was what I felt, what I wanted. Sometimes. Most times. It was hard to tell myself that it was unfair to the real sister I had out there and the real brother. There were possibly more of them now, more than I remembered or ever met. But I forgave myself. Afterall, this life was hardly fair on me.

I returned to my room to put a dressing on my foot and change my destroyed shoes for harder ones, my best ones. I didn't mind much about the broken pair as I was given an allowance for clothes and spent little enough that they would be easily replaced. While there I took up a lantern for lighting and then walked downstairs to the storage cupboard for cleaning supplies. Casilda wasn't the only one who had difficulty sleeping but my solution was to be physical exertion. And it might as well be his room. It seemed to have been forgotten by everyone else.

And so it was that I found myself sweeping up broken glass and scrubbing blood stained floor-boards in the early hours of the morning. More than once I had convinced myself that it was time to go to bed, otherwise I would hardly be fresh for the next morning. Except there was so much work to be done and I was loathe to not see one little job finished. First it was the sweeping but with that past, I simply had to get the rest of the blood mopped up and then I added his soiled clothes to the bucket and still there was over-turned furniture to be righted and only then did I look around and consider the progress I'd made. It was certainly enough for one night.

Arianna-

"What are you going to do about it?"

She took a deep breath, considering her options for answering. What could she tell him, what was safe to tell him. Whether it was true or not was really rather secondary.

"Firstly," she said, "I'm going to get some food, because nearly dying really does take it out of one so." She turned her back rather deliberately and began to walk down the corridor. To her pleasure, Sandor followed. She never thought she'd want his company.

"Mind if I join you? I was going to get a drink."

"You are a free man, are you not?" she replied tersely.

His lips curled a little at that. They approached the kitchens in unison, causing a huge stir- especially amongst those who had been serving at the assembly the night of Derrick's death. Him threatening her with blood quite literally on his hands. She smiled and kissed the cook on the cheek and found herself a huge plate of meat and bread and a bowl of warm soup. Sitting opposite Sandor, his mutilated fingers curled around a mug of ale, she met his eyes with her own cool grey ones.

"Now I think you've had enough time to mull over your answers," he said, leaning forwards. "What do you plan on doing about your intended killer?"

"The man? I intend on slapping him, then executing him." Sandor raised his eyebrows slightly at the first part. "He dealt a blow to my honour. I should like to deal a blow to his. Not to mention the fact he killed my brother and tried to kill me."

She watched Sandor closely. Marie may not have told her much, but she knew. She just knew that Sandor was in cohorts with the assassin. She made no comment about this though.

"Surely, though, an assassin is only a tool," he said quickly. "You know who I'm talking about."

She bit off a piece of bread, chewing it thoughtfully. "What would you have me do?" she asked. "And why do you care?"

Sandor shrugged, swigging his ale. "You're my sister. That's what counts."

"As is Rosalie and as was Derrick." She pronounced every syllable very clearly. "And you may consider me your sister, but you will never be my brother."

He snorted. "Don't we both have a mother dying upstairs?" She thought of the queen, her breathing no louder than a butterfly's wings. "And a brother dead upstairs?" Derrick, his smile wiped off for good.

Arianna shook the images out of her head. "What are you trying to insinuate, Sandor?"

Sandor
Note to self: never let Ari within a hundred feet radius of Garis. Make sure the reciprocal is also true. Spent too much effort keeping him alive to let him get killed now. Maybe figure out why the slap, too, so he could have more fodder to use when yelling at the man.

“I’m not insinuating anything, Ari.” He laughed, a low, bitter sound. “But I’m not an idiot either. We both know how convenient his death was for you.”

He caught the flash over her own face, the sharpening of her gaze, the pinch of her lips. Oh, such a sensitive chord in her their brother was. Touching, really. “Don’t you dare.” A few years, a few nights ago even he might have balked under such a glare, the cold fire in those blue eyes, but it was not so anymore. Maybe it was the alcohol running through his system and buoying his newfound resolution. Maybe it was Derrick’s shadow, stretching bloody and pale between them. Maybe it was both, or something else still.

“Easy there, sister dearest” he drawled, eyeing Ari over the brim of his mug and tipping his head towards the serving staff carefully milling around and pretending not to be listening, an implicit I know not to throw accusations around when there are ears about. “You know I’ve never been one for games, or words, so I’ll keep it simple: I don’t want to have to fight you.”

“And go against your sovereign? As if you even could.” She was back in control now, looking down on him and fully confident in herself. Oh Ari.

“Mother isn’t dead yet,” he bit out, eyes narrowed. Don’t back down now. “You have your tools, and I have mine.” And one of them they might share, but that was not something she needed to know. Not now, nor ever. “I don’t want anymore deaths in the family, Ari, but I suspect that might be too much to ask. So I’ll just say this now: I want Casilda safe and out of whatever the hell you and Rosie are playing at. And if anything happens to her...”

He knew that look, hated it, in all its superiority and smugness. "Threats, now?"

"I have little love to spare for our youngest: as little as I have for you." Perhaps even less. But she did not need to know that either. "Leave Casie alone."

Garis

The assassin was lying on his bed, limp and occasionally whimpering, and feeling quite sorry for himself as he tried to calm down. He heard the door creak open and a set of unfamiliar footsteps approach his bed, probably Ilgard, but he couldn't be bothered to take a look, though he did make the effort to look as unconscious and injured as possible. Hopefully the old man wouldn't bother him.

There was a tinkling of glass as the old man went through the vials and daggers Sandor had confiscated and placed on the bedside table. At first, Garis didn't mind it much, but when the chinking and shuffling kept going on, he couldn't help but feel more than slightly curious what Old Illnessbane was looking for among all the vials. He had better not be stealing trade secrets!

Just as the assassin was about to open his eyes and snap at the old man for ruining his rest, the sounds stopped. There was a moment of absolute stillness, broken only by his own ragged breathing and the more steady breaths of the old man, which were not as rasping as Garis remembered... There came a touch on his shoulder, gentle, from a hand smaller and softer than Ilgard's or Sandor's, and the assassin was filled with sudden dread.

As the adrenaline began pumping through his veins, Garis snapped open his eyes and suffered his second panic attack that day. Looming above him, his own dagger at her belt, was the other assassin.

Vivian

She quickly clamped a hand over the assassin's mouth, muffling his sobs and whimpers while letting him breathe. The panic continued, to the point she reached into her belt-purse with her free hand to find one of her vials. A flick of her thumb and the vial of calming serum was uncorked, cap hanging by a string. She held the vial under the assassin's nose, waiting for the potent smell to calm him down enough she could lift her hand from his mouth.

But considering the look of sheer terror still in his eyes, Vivian figured calming him down too much would simply make him more afraid. And for a possible contact, that was not something to be done. This fear should be enough to last a few months at least.

"Hush," she whispered, placing a finger on his lips. "I have no need to hurt you."

A shudder went through his body, his face no longer able to hold any more fear. He knew what she had meant.

Vivian let her fingers brush over his face, wiping away sweat— and tear— dampened hair. "I just came to find out what poison you, my dear assassin, used on the crown prince."

Arianna-

She pushed a strand of yellow hair behind her ear as Sandor's words rang in her ears. Leave Casie alone...

She found herself sighing and looking at him. "Sandor, I don't want to..." She wondered how to phrase this without admitting she had killed Derrick. "I don't want blood on my hands, let alone my little sister's." She met his eye, surprised, as always, at how blue they were, how much like her mother's.

"What about your other little sister?"

Arianna immediately turned to the table again. "She tried to kill me, that's different," she said, taking a spoonful of stew. Sandor laughed a sort of mirthless laugh, and she had to smile just the smallest bit.

"This whole situation is totally... well. I'll tell you when I come up with a word to describe it that I can actually imagine myself saying."

He really did laugh at that one and it made Arianna happy- until she remembered who he was and what he was. Her illegitimate half brother. The assassin's friend, the man who had threatened her in front of the entire court. He was an enemy as much as any of them.

"But further than that, my business is my own," Arianna said, standing up and walking stiffly away.

She had killed her brother. She would never see Derrick again. And Rosalie was as good as dead to her, Arianna wished she would never have to speak to the girl again- except maybe on formal occasions. And Casilda, well, Sandor had asked her to leave her alone, hadn't he?

Arianna had promised herself she wasn't going to kill anyone, but that didn't stop the others. And being attached was only going to cause pain and pain was weak. Her mother knew that, and Arianna knew that. And an illegitimate, interfering soldier with unsuitable friends really wasn't worth any pain at all.

Garis

He was going to die. That was the only thought running through Garis' head as the other assassin pressed her hand over his mouth to muffle his cries. He was going to die.

But then why wasn't he dead yet?

As Garis calmed down thanks to that serum which under normal circumstances he'd resent were it not helping him regain control of himself, he scolded himself for having lost control in the first place. If his teacher could see him now... well. It was a good thing the old man was dead. Garis happened to like staying alive and as pain-free as possible.

By now, Garis was calm and in control of himself enough to gain some hold of the situation. The other assassin was in his room. She had gone through all the poisons and antidotes Sandor knew about and had taken them. He was not dead yet, so she wanted something. He would have to be very careful in his answers.

By the time Viv replaced her hand with a finger on his lips, Garis had decided that acting like he was still on the brink of panic and too terrified to think straight was his best bet for survival. It was surprisingly easy.

"I have no need to hurt you," she said as she shushed him gently, like a mother would a fussy child. Garis couldn't help but shudder. The mother/child comparison was the furthest from the truth -- it was more like a spider/fly trapped in its web with Garis as the fly and his injuries the snare preventing his escape. Not that the assassin needed to dirty her hands; all she had to do was tell Princess Arianna his identity, and he would be doomed to execution.

As the assassin trailed her fingers over his face, Garis had to keep himself from flinching. If she were still trying to calm him down, it wasn't working (and was doing quite the opposite in fact), but at least now he knew what she wanted.

"A rare potion," he replied, the terseness arising more from his shortness of breath than any intentional curtness. While whatever it was Ilgard had done had made breathing easier, it was still a bit of a struggle. "Not sure what it's called. Got it from a traveler years ago. Very expensive."

"And what is it made from?" She toyed with a strand of hair with one hand, the hilt of his dagger with the other.

Garis cursed Sandor for disarming him so effectively as he answered, "Don't know."

Faster than he could have stabbed her were he armed, the assassin brought his dagger up and pressed it almost tenderly to his throat. "Is that so?"

Garis tried vainly to shrink back into his pillow. "Truly."

"Then you can tell me where to find more."

"There's no more. I used it all on the prince." Though the dagger pressed into his throat, Garis felt remarkably calm. "Truly." He smiled his most charming (with a touch of delirious) smile. "You're really pretty, you know that?"

The other assassin smiled, quickly masking her annoyance. "Thank you," she said, leaning down so that her mouth was near his ear, her breath warm and tickling, as she circled the pulse on his neck with one finger. "And now, it is time for you to sleep. It would be a shame if you died before I finished with you, so stay still."

She pressed down the pulse and Garis let her, still amazingly calm. Must have been some strong calming serum, he realized as his vision slowly faded to darkness. Just before he blacked out, Garis heard her whisper, "Sleep well," as he realized he forgot to ask her her name...

Vivian

She lifted her hand slowly, making sure he was completely unconscious. Once she knew he was, Vivian put the stopper back on the calming serum. Whether or not he was telling the truth, she could at least try to find the matching poison. Without being disturbed.

None of the vials next to the bed smelled anything like what had been at the crypt. It was probably hidden somewhere in the assassin's room, but Vivian was not about to spend any more time than needed in this room. If Sandor came in and caught her here, and caught Garis passed out, he would at least have reason to engage her. She did, however, keep a poison or two for her collection. It was a disappointment she couldn't take them all, but those two would have to do.

She kept Garis' dagger in her belt for later. He'd probably want it back at one point. What to ask for became the question...

The door closed silently behind her, the only sound being the click of the mechanism keeping it closed. Vivian began slipping down the hall, needing to get to the crypt before the smell of the poison faded to much for her to be able to figure out what it is. She smirked to herself. The assassin might have gotten it from a traveler, but he was most likely underestimating how much she had traveled.

A shadow down the hallway alerted her to another presence. Vivian paused, glancing around to see if there were any escape routes. None in sight. As the shadow got closer she realized it wasn't Sandor, too short, and relaxed enough to continue walking down the hallway. Until she heard footsteps catch up with her.

Casilda:

"You there," Casilda called once she was close. The woman paused, glancing back at her. "What are you doing in this part of the castle?"

Casilda smiled a charming, little-girl smile as she skipped over to the woman. Something had woken Casilda up, but she had yet to figure out what. Then again, Casi hadn't been able to stay asleep.

The woman waited patiently, eyes on Casi's face. That was when the princess saw the dagger and gasped.

"You're an assassin!" The girl's tone was child-like and full of awe.

"What makes you think that?" the woman asked. Casilda just pointed to the dagger in the woman's belt. "Oh." There was a short pause while the woman moved the dagger. "Don't women around here wear daggers?" she asked.

Casilda grinned. "Only women assassins."

The woman chuckled and leaned against the wall. "I take it, since you haven't run to the guards yet, you need one."

Casilda sighed, overly dramatic in a child-like way. "Yes..." she hedged, and rolled her eyes. "It's Rosie. She's in the way."

The princess swung her arms back and forth for a second, then crossed them over her chest, pouting. The woman frowned, fingering the dagger's hilt.

"How is she in the way?"

Casilda sighed again and kicked at the floor. "She just is. She's Ari's favourite and she's always there, and I can never get a word in--" Casi took a deep breath... The woman nodded, as if she were listening. "--and they never let me join in with the really interesting, really important things.... And Rosie. It's always Rosie-this or Rosie-that when I try to talk to them."

"How will you pay?" she finally asked. Casilda blinked and looked up at her.

"I'm a princess," Casi told her, smirking. "I think I can pay. And if you tell anyone, I'll kill you."

The woman chuckled and said, "What makes you think I won't kill you first?"

Casi opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. She had her; this woman had threatened her? How dare she. Casilda's gaze narrowed and a playful smirk appeared.

"I don't think Sandor would appreciate his little sister being killed," she said in a low voice. "Especially his favourite little sister. And besides, what were you doing in Sandor's guard's room?"

The woman gave Casi a little half smile. "Sandor wanted me to discuss something with his guards."

Casi eyed the dagger. She didn't believe the woman at all. "And you're leaving with said guard's dagger too. What else have you stolen?"

"Sandor gave it to me when he met me. A gift, so to speak."

Casilda sighed, a little dramatic. Sandor. Sandor-this, Sandor-that. Wonderful. Now he was in the way too, but no. Casi couldn't kill her favourite brother, could she?

"Sure, it is," Casi said, rolling her eyes. "Looks stolen to me."

"Alright," the woman said, completely ignoring Casilda's comment. "Payment." She leaned forwards and whispered a sum into Casi's ear. The little princess stared at her for a moment, then nodded. She'd find it, even if she had to go annoy her sisters. "And neither of us tell the others about this." There was a pause while the woman eyed Casi. "Deal?"

"Deal," Casi said and watched as the woman walked off down the hall. She disappeared around a corner, leaving Casi alone in the hallway. "Time to go check on that guard of Sandor's," she whispered and turned on her heel, heading back to the room she saw the woman leaving.

Sandor
And that was why he never knew how to deal with Ari. One moment she’d be acting like she was finally getting over the inconvenient fact that he was a walking reminder their mother had strayed once (alright, maybe more than once) twenty-five years ago and finally lighten up and deign talk to him normally, then she’d suddenly clam up and look at him like—well, like he was that one bastard that had somehow been kept around, against all common sense, and she couldn’t wait for the day he’d finally be gone.

Screw you too. He sullenly glared at her retreating back, hazily trying to decipher her thoughts in the set of her shoulders, the beat of her steps as she put more and more distance between him and her, and bid that part of him that insisted he go after her to shut up.

At least Casie should be alright. If he could trust Ari on that, which was a big if indeed. Rosie... Rosie could be dealt with, if things came to that. Too bad Garis was still out of commission, or he might have gotten him to tail her. Given how much trouble he’d gotten in lately, surveillance duty was more than he deserved. What would be needed to beat some caution and forethought into his pretty head, Sandor had no idea. He sighed, drained the last of the ale and made it to his feet, then to the door. Probably it was time to check on his assassin again. Knowing him, he’d managed to get injured. Again. A goddamn leash is what I need.

At this time of the evening, the hallways were singularly empty. Small favors, he supposed: at least it allowed him to go straight for Garis’ room without having to avoid crossing the paths of too many people—discussing how a subordinate was currently sporting both signs of recent poisoning and having been involved in a rather damaging fight, and was somehow important enough to warrant a visit from him when times were asking for a tad more attention paid to the castle’s security and a more involved search for Derrick’s killer was not high on his list of priorities.

It did mean Ilgard would be gone, which was Bad. The door to the room being slightly ajar when he’d specifically told the physician to at least close the thing on leaving? Enough to prompt rather creative curses to run through his mind and set him on edge, hand dropping down to his sword as he pushed the door open wider—

And drew to an abrupt stop when his eyes registered what exactly was going on in front of him.

Namely, his baby sister curiously leaning over his still-passed-out and strangely limp assassin. “What the hell?”

Casie at least had the grace to look startled and sheepish. “Oh, Sandor!” And turned on that one look he’d never been able to withstand.

None of the previous times had involved several attempts on his friends and family’s lives though. “What are you doing here?”

She pointed at Garis. “What happened to him?”

More like who, but I don’t think I should tell her that. Worrying point #1: Casie was looking at Garis funny. Worrying point #2, it wasn’t like Garis to be so still and quiet when he could be milking some attention, injury and all.

As much as #1 grated and rang alarm bells ringing loud and clear through his head, #2 was more urgent. Which was why Casie was summarily, if rather gently, herded out of the way to let Sandor lean in and check on Garis from up close. At least he’s alive. That was one thing. No sign of further injury either, though given how that woman seemed to work, it may not mean anything.

“Hey. Wake up, you idiot.” Where the hell was Ilgard when you needed him? The good old shake/prod/poke till you wake only worked when one was actually asleep, as opposed to comatose or whatever the hell it was that might have happened this time.

“Casie, how long have you been here? And what are you doing here anyway? You know as well as I do it’s dangerous lately. What the hell were you thinking, coming alone?” Had that been a bit too harsh maybe? He couldn't quite keep the snarl out of his tone, and the nagging worry did nothing to help. Damn, he was tired.

Vivian

That was perfect. Rosie needed to die anyway, and now Vivian was getting paid for it. And she was not about to let her end of the bargain slip by saying who her next employer was. So long as that little brat didn't let that blunt personality get in the way of keeping her end up, she could stay alive.

Vivian continued down the hallway, smiling despite how dangerously close that girl, Princess Casilda from the way she referred to the other two princesses, had come to prying too far. She would get her reward for being momentarily careless soon enough.

But before that could happen, there was that poison to figure out. So much for finding out what it had been from that assassin. It would had been a fruitless trip if she didn't have the extra weight of vials and a dagger on her belt.

She swiftly descended into the crypt, not wanting her shadow to be visible on the walls for any longer than necessary. One accidental meeting— no mater how profitable— was enough.

A groan made her freeze. When Vivian was sure it was coming from in front of her, she crept very carefully into the main chamber. And her jaw came about as close to dropping as it had ever gotten.

Prince Derrick, after having shown every sign of being dead just a few hours ago, was sitting on the edge of the stone pedestal.

That clever bastard, Vivian thought with a smirk. So the poison was rare indeed— it would have to be, if it could fake death. And she was the first person around to witness. Possibly one of the few people other than the assassin and prince to know about this little stunt in the first place.

She walked out into the light, hands behind her back. This was going to be interesting. "Good evening, Prince Derrick."

He jumped, nearly knocking over a candle. "Who, who are you?"

"Vivian."

"Vivian who?"

She smiled, whether it was slyly or sweetly was up to him to decide. "Just Vivian."

He swallowed, getting some idea of who she was. The dagger in her belt was one indication. "Wh—what are you doing here?"

Vivian sashayed closer to him. "I came to see what sort of poison you had been given, but, I don't think that will be needed now."

Derrick got off the pedestal and backed up. "What are you going to..." he trailed off to swallow. "To do to me?"

She smiled, stopping. "Nothing. The dagger's just for show at this point." At his scared silence, she continued. "Now, I take it you needed to lay low? No other reason to play dead for a few days. I take it you'd rather continue hiding? I can get you out of the palace, if that's what required. People won't suspect you staying there at least one night."

"What makes you think I'll go with you?" he said, crossing his arms.

She let a single chuckle escape. "Do you have all that much of a choice?"

The stunned look on his face made her smirk widen. She turned on her heel, keeping her eyes on him. "Come on now. We need to get moving before the night guards wake up too much."

He followed her out of the crypt.

Casilda:

Casi watched Sander fuss over Garis, ignoring the harsh tone of her brother's voice. "I haven't been here that long, Sandor," she said quietly, eyes on the assassin's face. "I couldn't sleep," she added, voice turning whiny. "And I got bored staying in my room so I went for a walk....and then I saw the door open and came in."

Sandor didn't appear to be listening to her. Not fully, anyhow. She sighed, rather dramatically, and drifted closer to the bed.

"Sandor," she complained and her brother shot her a glare. "Sandy.... He looks hurt.... And I think he's unconscious... And I don't want to go anywhere alone now..."

"Get back," he snapped. "Honestly, Casilda. I could strangle you right now."

Casilda gasped, and then her eyes teared up. He had been a little too harsh. Sandor blinked, staring at her. And she let out a sob and ran for the door. And found it blocked by a crazy old man.

"Ilgard." Sandor's tone was icy. Uh oh, Casi thought and ducked to the side, looking from the physician to her brother.

Sandor
Temper frayed and nerves more or less rubbed raw by the day’s events, Sandor couldn’t quite bring himself to apologize for snapping. Not when she hadn’t been supposed to be here in the first place, and when she’d been so obviously risking herself. Didn’t want to go anywhere alone, right. How’d she even come here then?

Breathe. She’s fifteen. She’s not actually trying to give you a stress-induced heart attack.

At least she was leaving without being more of a brat. And he was a bastard for thinking like that. Except Garis was injured and she wasn’t and he couldn’t do his goddamn job if she was wandering around at night just asking to get killed when that woman was still lurking around.

And Ilgard was at the door, and suddenly a much better target for his ire.

He gestured towards Garis. “You left him alone?” His look was a practiced one; it might have gotten some new recruits to reconsider messing with him a couple times.

Ilgard was rather immune to it. Perks of the job, when one had to deal with moody soldiers and haughty nobles all day long. The old man simply allowed Casie to slip past and turned on a more-than-unimpressed look on him. “I happen to have other duties, Sandor.” Oh crap, that was the I am disappointed in your lack of trust in me tone.

Getting the man in charge of keeping you healthy was a bad idea. Of course he only remembered this now. Time to quickly divert the subject to something a bit less antagonizing. “He’s unconscious. Again. That supposed to happen?” That was perfectly acceptable concern from officer to subordinate in his tone, yeah. And never mind the late-night visits.

That Look told him that his poor attempts had been duly noticed, and magnanimously allowed. “Let me be the judge of that.” Suddenly placated by that fact that yes, some who knew what he was doing was here, Sandor obligingly shuffled out of the way.

Only to be intercepted mid-retreat by a “Go to sleep. You’ll be of no use to anyone like this, and I cannot work when you’re constantly trying to stare him into wellbeing and hovering over my shoulder.” Sandor winced, opened his mouth to protest, then reconsidered. For one, you just didn’t try to defend yourself when subjected to that specific frown. It spelled ‘lacing of drinks with sedatives if you don’t cooperate’. Also, denying his fatigue would be like trying to demonstrate that Ari and Rosie were unrelated.

In other words, a prudent retreat was in order. “Keep the door closed this time,” was all he dared (and had the time to) say, before said door was indeed shut in his face.

There was some little solace to be found in the sound of the locks being put to use, he supposed.

Sleep now? It took five steps away from Garis’ room to decide that hell no. After this mess, what he needed even more than rest was a drink. Or two, or three.

Make that a whole bottle. No Garis along at least meant he didn’t have to worry about beating the crap out of him again. Anyone else... well. A fight now and then couldn’t hurt.

And so it was that he found himself stalking into the Dancer again, going straight for the counter and asking for whatever they had that was strong.

One look at him and the ‘keep obliged. Thus began what would have gone on to be a quite thorough session of drinking oneself into sweet oblivion had some movement from the stairs to the rooms above not somehow caught his wandering eye. He knew that walk. And that silhouette, for that matter. What the hell? Garis had mentioned—

Sonnova—

Liquor all but forgotten he was suddenly on his feet and marching through the thankfully less-crowded-than-usual room to the man, who—please don’t let this be a hallucination—holy—thank God—I need to punch Garis and then maybe kiss him—Derrick.

A harsh, hoarse almost-whisper: “Derrick?” So he didn’t quite trust his eyes. Alcohol plus fatigue tended to make a man doubt himself.

For once things were looking up for him, as those blue eyes widened in recognition and... relief, maybe? “Sandor! What happened?”

What hadn’t happened? “Not here.” He grabbed his brother’s arm (and damn if being able to do that had ever made him happier) and pulled him up the stairs with him, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

“Too much. You know the family. What I want to know is how you got here—you were dead, damn you!” Voice, don’t you dare break. “What happened?”

“Garis said the potion would make it look like I’d died.” Yes, he was going to Talk with Garis. Soon. When maybe he could breathe properly again. “And that woman—Vivian—was there when I woke up? Took me here. Couldn’t quite say no.”

Wait. Play back. “What woman?”

“That would be me.” Oh he was learning to hate that voice so very much. He whirled, taking care that he was between his brother and her, and cursed at the slow reflexes. Of course the one time he’d be indulging in alcohol would be when he actually needed them.

“You know each other?” Oh Derrick. Sandor wished he could answer in the negative.

She visibly had no such qualms. “You could say we’re acquaintances. Similar goals and all.” One day he was going to wipe that smile off her face.

“Explain.” The now was very much implied. So was the it better be good.

Vivian

"Can't blame a girl for being curious about what poison she could smell," she said, shifting her weight to one leg and sticking out her hip. "Especially when it seems so rare."

Sandor simply continued glaring at her, ready to spring. "I said, explain."

So much for having a little fun. "I went to the crypt to see what poison that assassin of yours— Garis, is it?— used. As it turns out, the dosage was wearing off. I figured taking the prince here was the best, considering there might be other assassins, aside from your little friend laying injured in his room, who might want him gone."

"What makes you think he would be any safer here of all places?" Sandor said somewhere between a hiss and a growl.

Oh yes. Vivian was most certainly going to have to try not to get punched. "Any assassin at the palace is probably working for the nobles, who may or may not be working for the royal children. I didn't want to take that chance."

He flexed his hands, gritting his teeth together. "Why, are you suddenly, Interested in protecting anybody?"

"Need I remind you I prevented Ari from being killed?" she said with a grin. "I'm very interested in protecting the royal children."

The poor man could no longer contain himself. Sandor lunged at her, ready to beat her into a pulp. Vivian dodged his wild punch, thank God he was drunk or dodging would have been that much harder, and pressed on the pulse at his neck. The man dropped mid-lunge.

She looked at the incredibly shocked Derrick. "Help me get him into his room, will you?"

Derrick just gaped at her. Vivian went to Sandor and pressed on his pulse a little more, making sure he'd be out for the night. "Come on, we don't want anybody to find him here."

The prince worked through his shock and slung Sandor over his shoulder. Vivian walked down the hall until she reached the room she had been staying in the past few days. A swift movement to unlock the door and she was already directing Derrick to place Sandor on the only bed.

"Now," she said, gathering her things. Not that she had taken much out. No use showing the world what she'd brought. "Unless you want to be sharing a bed with him, I should get at least a cot in this room."

Derrick was alternating weary glances between the unconscious Sandor and her. "How will you manage that?"

She just smiled. "I have my ways."

"Don't... don't kill anybody."

She laughed. "Oh that's much too harsh a method for simply getting a room."

Wisely, he let the topic drop. Vivian took her bag out of the room, the trunk with her second was locked and it would be unwise to retrieve it now, and went down to the tavern owner. A few minutes later and a cot was in the room. When she walked by Derrick's to get to her new room, he was still casting glances at Sandor and looking stunned. And afraid. Vivian smiled and continued down the hall.

Sandor
He really needed to stop waking up like this.

“I really, really need to stop waking up like this.”

Life was enough of a pain without the headaches, and he hadn’t even managed to pull off the whole ‘drown sorrows in alcohol’ this time around. Maybe he should just cut on the drinking for a while...

“Sandor? You’re alright?”

That had him up in a heartbeat and wincing at the sudden pain that bloomed at the movement. Derrick was sitting an arm’s length away, peering at him with slight concern, and it took everything he had not to just lunge and make sure that yes he was alive and not about to bleed out on him the way he had last time because having his brother’s blood on his hands was not something he wanted to repeat anytime soon and—

“Did Garis injure you? He better not have, or I’m going to—” He couldn’t see any signs of hurt from here but that didn’t prove anything and like hell he was going to risk another stunt of worsening pre-existing injuries (why yes, he did learn from his mistakes sometimes).

“What?” Derrick blinked at him, confused by the sudden change of topic from Sandor to himself, then caught on. “Oh, the blood. Not mine. Garis didn’t hurt me, other than that potion—”

Why’d he stop himself? Oh, right. Wipe homicidal look off your face now, not the time to scare him. Which included no breaking down in relief either. That’d probably make things even weirder, and he couldn’t afford it now, not with that woman around, so he worked past the pesky knot in his throat and just settled back a bit, less obviously on edge.

“Where is she? Did she do anything?”

“Aside from knocking you out?” Mild glare, more out of bruised ego than offense. At least Derrick was used to those. “No, actually.”

They shared a vaguely surprised look, Sandor’s tinged with suspicion. Didn’t like this. There was this disagreeable feeling of being the mouse stuck between a particularly playful cat’s paws, and he’d never liked being toyed with.

But she’d gotten Derrick out and he was well, and while he was more than sore about her getting a hand over him so easily the previous night, he couldn’t deny she’d left him unharmed but for his pride. And given he’d seen her poisons firsthand, well, it was something.

And he couldn’t bring his brother back, because she’d had a point: his coming back would just send more assassins after him, and it had gotten too goddamn close already. He wanted Derrick safe first, the crown came after.

I hate compromises.

“You’ll be safe, here?” Stupid question, it was his job to know, but he wanted to see what Derrick thought of it. No leaving him behind, not like this.

A frown, a bit of a pout: he’d always liked having his way. “I want to go back. But yes, I’ll be fine.” Looked like he’d learned. Or Sandor was just too used to thinking of him as his kid brother, even if they’d gotten over that stage a while ago.

“Have you seen her around today?” No question as to who the ‘her’ was: the tone was more than indicative enough. Thankfully the answer was negative. Hopefully she’d lurked back to the palace and would leave Derrick alone.

Right. Fat chance.

Reason told him to get up already and go back. He hadn’t even been supposed to spend the night away, and there were Casie and Garis left, that did not benefit from the great advantage of being thought dead.

His heart Instinct told him that hell no he was staying here or bringing Derrick with him, but he was not leaving his sight ever again. Nothing bad could happen if he had him at hand, right? Right?

Little contest, but still not an easy decision. Curse that woman for forcing him to choose.

“You don’t look happy.” Thank you Derrick, for that statement of the obvious.

“Nothing about this whole goddamn mess makes me happy.”

The door was way too close. It did make things easier, in a way. As long as he didn’t look back or think about this too much. “Just... stay safe, alright?” No voice, no breaking now either. “Losing you once was one time too many.”

And if it was cowardly of him to run before he could hear any answer, well. Did it matter, really? Yes, actually.

Casie and Garis and he might need to talk to that woman again. Garis. Casie.

The injured one first. He shuffled into the room, checked for presence of Ilgard.

“Garis?”