Young Writers Society

Chapter Twenty-six! Whew. :D I'm sorry if the story has been progressing slowly, but I don't like to have my books to be purely action the entire time ... and by action I mean drama, knives, excitement.

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There had never been such a scramble to retrieve information in all of the Resistance’s history. The messengers from Genor came to their cities with wild and terrified looks, saying that the One himself had ordered the information gathered, and that he was livid. The word had spread to every agent by noon, and by dusk they had all searched every dungeon they knew of.

Only one sent word back—a young lad, freshly recruited, living in Serrno. He himself rode his father’s fastest horse to Bano, passing word to Beo, who started off on her own fastest horse; and the tailor in Senvar took up the message after her, managing to arrive three days later, an unheard of feat of speed, at Genor’s wall.

“I bring word for Lord Genor!” she shouted up the wall, and was a moment later deposited on the other side. She galloped up to the city, and into the castle, having time only to dismount before she was accosted by Lord Genor himself.

“Speak!” he shouted, barely through the archway.

“Serrno!” the tailor said breathlessly. “He is being held in Serrno!”

“Who found him?” Daeun demanded.

“A boy,” the tailor replied. “Hal is his name. He is in Bano, awaiting your orders.”

“Return home,” Daeun said, already turning away. “I will go myself.”

He ran up the steps, into the castle, up to Ianna’s room; she was standing outside her door, waiting for him. She did not speak, but turned at the look on his face, and strapped her sword to her side. “I am ready,” she said directly, and Daeun nodded.

“The horses are being saddled now,” he said to her, as her men joined them. “We will be ready to leave as soon as we can get down the stairs.”

They needed no further urging, running down the steps, robes flaring wide. At the base of the stairs, wearing a long dagger at her side like a sword, stood Anae, arms folded and her blue-grey eyes flat. “I’m coming too,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Daeun opened his mouth, prepared to do just that, but Ianna swept the girl into her arms, and ran with her. Caelun looked at Daeun incredulously. “Can’t you do anything?” Caelun demanded.

“Are you kidding?” Daeun retorted. “Think about what you just said.”

Caelun’s expression faded a little. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and followed Daeun at a jog to where the horses were waiting. Ianna had already set Anae on the horse, and was swinging herself up, lips pressed tightly together.

As Daeun swung his leg up over Tsuunai’s back, he heard Ianna whisper to Anae, “I thought you were going to miss us.”

“I heard the clatter from the kitchen,” Anae whispered back. “I barely had time to grab my knife.”

Daeun sent them both a sour look, and they looked innocently back, eyebrows raised. “You’re going to be the death of me,” Daeun said pointedly. “Both of you.”

“Don’t worry, mistress,” Anae said instead, with a smug look on her face. “He loves you anyway.”

Daeun threw up his hands, exasperated.

Kaenul was in an uproar. It had become a center for chaos, a milling, aimless crowd of people yelling at each other for having allowed their High King to be kidnapped and—for it was only a matter of time—killed. Amidst the chaos, J’engar-suk and J’engar-ean rose up, and took somehow managed to regain a sense of control. Together they reigned in the public, and relieved, the public did not think to ask why the holds had taken over, and not J’engar-ai, who had the king’s expressed approval.

Tsuunai could have made it in a day, but the other horses needed refreshing, and Anae was, for all that she refused to show it, unused to long hours in the saddle. She slept curled beside Ianna, who lay beside Daeun, so that Anae was sandwiched between them. If the others noticed the peculiarity of it, they didn’t show it, though it was certainly odd to see an unmarried couple sleeping together with an orphan as if said orphan were their child—but then, everything about their situation was odd, so what exactly was to be expected?

On their second morning, they awoke to Taejon, who held before him a mirror, with the name “Caelun” etched into its back. “Baesa gave it to me,” Caelun explained hastily, handing it to Ianna. “She wants to talk to you.”

Baesa’s face floated up from the depths, watery and convoluted. “Your Majesty,” Baesa’s voice said, echoing slightly. “Your Majesty, we need you. J’engar will fall—I don’t know where to start. There’s been an uprising. J’engar-suk and J’engar-ean have taken over, and they’re not acting of their own accord. I don’t think that Talon king wanted to crush the rebellion so much as he wanted the whole damn world.”

“Kill them,” Ianna said, her voice blatantly brutal. “Kill them all. Anyone who tries to take my cousin’s rule will have me to answer to.”

“Kill them, majesty?”

“KILL THEM!” Ianna shouted at the mirror. “Their warriors, their nobles, their everything! Leave them bleeding in the burning sands, drag their carcasses over the rocks, toss them into the abyss! I don’t care how you do it, kill them all!”

Baesa’s face looked shocked. “If you simply came—this rebellion would be—”

“You think he’s dead, don’t you?” Ianna hissed, and Baesa’s answering embarrassed expression made her seethe with rage. “He’s alive! When I pry him from the Talon clutches, and take this mongrel’s head from his shoulders, we will see who rules J’engar!”

Baesa nodded sharply. “It will be done, majesty.”

“Baesa,” Ianna said, before Baesa could leave. “Tell them … tell them I miss the sands, and the burning sun, and that I miss my hold.”

Baesa smiled brightly. “We miss you as well, majesty.”

The image wavered and then vanished, and in the silence that followed it, all that could be heard was a quiet sniffle from Anae.

She sat on the blanket beside Ianna, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, and when Ianna looked at her, she jerked away, towards Daeun. Ianna looked at her stiffly, and then simply turned away. Anae rode with Daeun that day, though she did not cry again.

“Anae,” Daeun said, as they rode. “Listen to me. You are an empath; tell me what she feels. You know in your heart she would never hurt you.”

Anae did not speak, but when nightfall came, she lay solemnly down beside Ianna and slept with Ianna’s arms curved protectively around her.